roqnpix

[gayemoji]

i hated reading around the world in eighty days but ive just learned david tennant plays fogg in some adaptation of it so i might need to pack my bags for sudden and 'unexplainable' change of heart town ...

[vasito-de-leche]

Hello!😄, I admire the way you write ✍️The way u never mischaracterized characters and the way you write them accurately is fascinating to read for ,and how you also took focus on small details about the character heck im starting to believe you work on the game R1999, if may I ask if you could write about Six from R1999 with a timid S/O or about a self-aware au of Six ? It had been my obsession of him after he came out and with his story making it more fascinating and made me attract towards him more

;R1999 6 - Self-Aware AU

Headcanons about how 6 would act upon becoming self-aware. Related to this Self-Aware AU post.

tysm for the kind words! I rlly like overthinking and overanalyzing stuff <3

I'll do the self-aware AU for this post to match the other one posted recently about 37, but feel free to send another ask if you'd still like 6 with a timid S/O!

There is a lot to be discussed about 6 and how all four characters of the 1.4 update contrast and complement each other so wonderfully, but I have a lot of trouble narrowing down what exactly I want to talk about here and what I should save for a proper analysis of the characters and the way I interpret them. So as usual, I ask that you guys bear with me with these trains of thoughts!

For starters, in my opinion, 6 is a very good narrative foil to 37.

Both focus on alienation and isolation from their respective communities, both are characters that struggle with the concept of fate, and both were born knowing their numbers--the key difference is the way each tackles this piece of information.

As discussed before in her own post, 37 does not question the reason why she's 37: like 210 says, "she stumbled upon fate at birth," and did not go through the same process of having to figure out one's number like the rest do. When it comes to 6, it's slightly different but the fundamentals are the same: he knows the number he will be assigned, and yet this revelation is not part of a natural process, it's something that us forced upon him and his family.

What I'm trying to say is that 37 and 6 weren't given the choice of discovering their soul numbers, and thus lack the most important part: the understanding of their own lives and selves. Compare this to 210, who became "too predictable" upon finding out his own soul number, or Sophia, who has clearly developed a very complex relationship with her own friends because of the inferiority and feelings of inadequacy she feels not knowing her own number.

And this is when the contrast between the two become clear: 37 is partially isolated from her community because she doesn't understand fate, nor the importance of one's journey, she doesn't respect the discovery of one's number. 6 is partially isolated from his community because no one else but him is able to see the concept of fate--or the Revelation--as a negative thing. His entire life, his entire bloodline is defined by fate and the Revelation, but only he understands the burden and the pain such knowledge entails.

Because only he has seen the way this Revelation takes over his loved ones, until they become strangers, mere vessels for infinite knowledge and bound to their role as perfect, eternal leaders. His character event shows the radical change in his aunt once she receives the Revelation and 6's fears of his entire self being rewritten once he receives it as well.

It's important to note that the moment Atticus becomes a proper 6 and receives the revelation happens on the very same day that everyone on the boat becomes a victim of the "Storm." Sophia's father and 37's mother were on that boat--but so was Alma, the current 6 at the time and Atticus' aunt. This event is crucial for all characters, as it cements their chosen paths: it's the study of the Emanation for 37, to continue her mother's research.

It's the day 6 will receive the Revelation and see if his efforts to prepare for it will amount to something.

And yet we know that 6 was able to withstand this Revelation without his entire self being washed away by the infinite amount of knowledge. We know this because we see him retain his hermit-like behaviour in the main story, avoiding people and preferring peace and quiet. We know this because, at the very end of this event, he says that the revelation is "just as simple as it is."

37 does not understand fate, but she doesn't fight it either because studying it won't change the fact that her soul number is 37. 6 understands and once feared fate, and he fought to resist it because his entire life, his memories, his personality and essence were at risk. I also really love that small detail about how 1.4 focuses on Plato's allegory of the cave, with 37 and 6 being put on this pedestal as those who witnessed the truth and came back to save the others--and yet, these two characters needed people OUTSIDE of the island to help them with their respective journeys (37 with Vertin, and 6 with Sophia). It just clicks so right to me!

In the context of a Self-Aware AU, I like to think that the self-awareness is something that comes with the Revelation. That every 6 before Atticus himself realized the truth of their world, similar to how 37 sees this self-awareness as yet another eternal truth. And because the number 6 is meant to represent harmony and perfection, they understand more than anyone that to ensure the peace in Apeiron, they cannot allow others to know the truth. Think of it as the whole deal with Pythagoras and irrational numbers--the discovery of irrational numbers ruined the whole system.

I think that a much younger 6 would've been distraught at this information, to know that Alma was the only person who was "real" and that he began to drift away from her because he couldn't recognize her anymore. But now, after receiving his Revelation and becoming the new leader, he might be more focused on appreciating life as it is. Why would he be bothered by knowing everything so far has been a script? He's already been haunted by fate his whole life, this is, in the end, the same thing. Of course, 6 is a philosopher in his own right, despite knowing pretty much everything there is to know, I think he would like to ponder about the more existential issues and topics that come with self-awareness.

I also like to think that his self-awareness and the Revelation come with knowing how the story will develop, at least in relation to Apeiron. He knows of Vertin's arrival, he knows of Arcana's schemes, he knows that by the end, Apeiron will be revealed to the human world. 6 believes it's impossible to change the course this game and its story, and the best thing he can do is help everyone prepare for it--I like to think that's why he specifically sent 37 to greet Vertin and the rest!

When it comes to finding out about the Player, I already said in 37's post that it would be very nice if she could see the player, but not hear them. And to contrast that, I wanted 6 to hear the player, but not see them.

The Player's existence is the one thing that 6 cannot pinpoint nor rationalize. He listens so very attentively when you speak, and he quickly realizes that you are not part of this infinite stream of knowledge from his ancestors, you're ... Just a person. What are you trying to teach him, if that is even your goal?

At first, I can see him struggle with this strange presence interrupting his very much needed alone time, choosing to remain silent until you go away, but he would grow to find it comforting, similar to his friendship with Sophia when they were children. You are an outsider, you're not part of this little world he lives in--you can offer a refreshing and different perspective. Once he's used to this new change, perhaps he will speak again, either to ponder out loud about your existence or monologue about whatever might be occupying his mind. Unlike 37, he wouldn't tell a single soul of your existence, largely because he believes it's something unique to him, entirely unaware that there's someone out there behind the screen rooting for him.

[four-loose-screws]

FE2 Novelization Translation - Chapter 2 Part 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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———————————

Chapter 2 - Mila’s Restoration Army

Part 1 - Celica Embarks on Her Journey

Black rain. Few people knew what it meant - just a fraction of clergy units - who learned of it in their studies and through their heightened spiritual senses.

The sky and earth are not filled with only good substances, such as the nourishment that fosters life. For whatever amount of good exists, so does an equal amount of bad. The black rain was the result of those bad substances gathering in such a great amount that they boiled over.

It was also proof that Earth Mother Mila was abandoning her very duties as the Earth Mother. That was the true meaning behind the black rain.

And why was Mila abandoning her duty? Had a god appeared that commanded greater control than she did? Or could it be that she was dead? So long as the black rain fell, ascertaining its cause was the sole duty of all clergy units in Zofia.

…About as far south as Ram Village, but off the southeast coast instead, was Novis, an island that took roughly three days to reach by boat from the Zofia Castle town harbor. If the Mila Shrine on the northernmost tip of Zofia was the Mila Faithful's mecca, then Novis was the central location for their clergy units to train and study.

The very same black rain that dirtied Sister Silque's cheek was also streaking down the windows of Novis' priory. A black thrush, resting its wings by the window to escape the rain, looked inside a room in the priory, and saw the bright lights of a lively banquet currently ongoing.

On this very day, a holy woman of the highest rank had been named, a Priestess unit who appeared only once every one hundred years, and excelled in both magic and sword. Because one of the core teachings of the priory was a life of modesty and simplicity, its members only drank herbal wine together. It was not a luxurious beverage, but it possessed a very deep meaning.

"May Mila bestow her divine protection upon Celica, of which she is more than worthy! May she guide this priory as Priestess to further deepen our faith."

This new Priestess' name was Celica. She was a young woman with thick hair as red as a strawberry. It had never been cut once in her entire life, and curled around her waist like a lion's mane. Transcendence need not happen at a specific age, but it was considered exceptional that she had transcended to Priestess at age eighteen. If Alm was a prodigy of swordsmanship, then Celica was a prodigy of spiritual wisdom.

After all of the various ceremonies were over, only the units closest to Celica gathered to celebrate, so the number of people at the banquet table was small. After the priory's highest ranked male clergy unit, the Sage Nomah, proposed the toast, Celica did not even drink a single drop in her glass, pursing her rose-colored lips. 

Celica was still just a baby when she was brought to the priory. To Nomah, that was as unusual as her transcending to Priestess so young. He'd watched her grow her entire life.

Nomah said, "Celica, tell me what is weighing on your heart." He saw straight through her, taking her by surprise. "I will support your decision. Though I am three times your age, you are a Priestess, and I am a Sage. We are equals. I cannot stand in the way of your path."

Celica had been impatiently awaiting this day for a long time. Now that she was a Priestess, her mind was finally made up. She said, "I've decided to go to Mila's Shrine. I want to find out where she is, and learn why the black rain is falling."

Nomah was ready to hear those words. When he became a sage, he decided to devote his abilities to teaching the students who all loved the priory dearly. But Celica was different. She was choosing to go out into the world.

"The shrine is located on the northern tip of Zofia. You will need to travel across the entire continent. But Zofia is currently being ravaged by the civil war caused by Chancellor Desaix's coup-d’etat, and groups of Brigands are taking advantage of the chaos. I have even heard that evil spirits are being set free by selfish and heartless Mage units. The roads you travel will be a far cry from what they normally are.'

"I know the violence in Zofia is because of the strange things happening to Mila."

It was also unusual for a person of the highest clergy unit rank to thrust themself into the secular world. Priestess and Sage units were a symbol of every unit's soul, and their purpose was to serve as leader of a priory or shrine, and be a sacred figure who could not be swayed from their faith. But if one looked from Celica's perspective, they would know immediately why she was so determined.

And beyond all of those details, the black rain was currently a very real reality dirtying the roof of the priory. Nomah did not even attempt to stop Celica because he felt his aging body might prevent him from taking the long journey to the shrine; and as a holy man, he should devote himself to his sole duty.

"You should take as many people as you need with you." Nomah said.

In response, out of the numerous people sitting around the banquet table, three young units all stood up at the same time and walked behind Celica. Among them were two Mage units, a young man named Boey and a young woman named Mae. The final member was a cleric named Genny, who shared the exact same ideals with Celica. They all still had youth in their facial features, but Nomah knew they were the three top students at the priory who would go with Celica. She did not even have to ask.

-

"Sage Nomah is so formal it's a huge pain! He was like that the other day, too! He already knew that Lady Celica had decided to travel, and when he ordered me to travel with her, he also told me which chair to sit in, and exactly what to do, step-by-step!" Boey said from the back of the group.

Celica was the lead, the middle was Sister Genny, and Mae was in the back with Boey. They traveled in that formation down the road at night, the priory lights already far off in the distance.

Mae answered, "It's all because he loves her so much! You may not have noticed because you're a boy, but he had tears in his eyes. He really did! He even remembers changing her diapers! …Oh, that was rude of me to say out loud."

Celica looked back with a smile on her face. Mae bowed in response, but did not look too sorry about her own mistake, as she also quickly stuck her tongue out.

Boey snorted, folded his arms underneath his mage's cloak, and said, "Nomah is old. He's just gotten soft."

"Don't try to tell me you're some kind of big manly man!" Mae retorted to Boy's rude words without skipping a beat.

"You're such a child! I'm gonna call you babbling baby Boey!"

"I'll never forgive you for talking to me like that, Mae!"

"I'm just saying that a baby like you, who can only cast Thunder, can't understand how deep his feelings are."

"Is that a threat?!"

"You are so rude to women! How are you going to fight me when you slack off in your wind magic training every chance you get?! You know I'm better than you in every way. After I wipe the floor with you, you'll be begging me to forgive you! You're such a baby you can't even drink herbal wine without adding sugar to it. Babbling baby Boey!" Mae shouted.

Genny finally couldn't take it any more, and angrily stepped between them.

Ever since they came to the priory as children, as they both concentrated on their studies, they had developed a relationship like that of siblings. To outside observers, they sounded as if they were having an intense argument, but their fights were actually a sign of how close they were.

However, there was no time for them to have such fun right now.

There was a reason why they had decided to set out not in the morning, but at night. The base of Grieth's Pirates was located in the deserts of central Zofia, and they had for some time been sending ships out into the strait between Novis and the Zofian mainland. However, they were now finally beginning to act like Novis itself was their land to do as they pleased with. Though at first they acted as thieves stealing in the night, being little more than an annoyance to the people; recently, they had begun to show themselves during the day. Now, the greatest danger at night was simply the darkness, making it once again the safer time of day to be outside.

So long as nothing got in their way, they would make it to Port Novis by daybreak to secure a ship and travel to Zofia. However, that would not end up being the case, as Celica realized when she sensed a presence nearby, and stopped moving.

"Someone's coming! Stay in formation!" She said, and drew the sword at her belt.

"Is it Brigands?!" Boey whispered.

"No, not Brigands!" Mae answered. "I don't feel any warmth from their bodies in the night air. They aren't human!"

"Ghosts!" Genny shouted in response to the figure that appeared from the darkness. 

Ghosts are the spirits of the dead, both those that no longer have a corpse; and those whose corpses had long ago been buried beneath the ground, then come out from the ground to gather together and take new form. One of Earth Mother Mila's duties was to keep the souls of all dead life within the ground so that they could not escape. Their appearance made Celica feel that something very, very wrong must be happening.

They had no idea how many ghosts there were. The ghosts wore withered plant matter, innards and bones of beasts attacked by wolves, and rotting flesh on their bodies to give them human-like form. Thinking that killing a human would mean they could obtain a new body that perfectly matched their desired form, the entire group inched closer and closer, their intent to kill very clear to sense in the air.

"Boey, Mae, protect Genny!" Celica said, and raised her sword. "This is a new type of Terror I have never seen before. Don't cast any spells until I give the order!" She jumped like a deer crossing between two rocks, and swung her sword at the head of a ghost. 

Having taken a direct hit from the Priestess' sword, the ghost vanished, leaving behind its small pile of rotting matter.

"These guys are total wimps!" Boey breathed in surprise at the sight of how easily the ghost went down. "I'll show you what my wind magic can do, and you'll never say I slack off ever again!!" He said to Mae, underestimating the ghosts.

"Don't do it! What did Lady Celica just say?!" Genny shouted, but it was already too late. She tried to grab the hem of his mage's cloak to stop him, but it slipped through her fingers, and Boey ran off towards a group of ghosts still far off from them.

"Wind! Cut through my enemies!" He chanted a wind spell. For a moment, his body was enveloped by it, then the gust shot out and shook the ghosts' flesh and leaves. However, that was all it did before the wind petered out.

Without mastering a spell first, there was no chance that it could have an effect on any foe. The ghosts immediately circled Boey.

"You're such an idiot!" Mae shouted, and started running. As the ghosts wriggled their way closer and closer to Boey like maggots, she chanted a Thunder spell. "Thunder! Slay my enemies!"

A bolt of lightning appeared in the sky and pierced the darkness, falling amongst the group of ghosts, smashing them to pieces. After they all disappeared and returned to piles of rotting matter, Boey stood up from the middle of it all, covered in viscera and clumps of putrid stems and leaves. 

Contrary to her ashamed expression, Mae was actually furious, but it was only a moment later that something made her freeze where she stood, and forget all about Boey's rash move.. 

She whirled around to see that Genny had been captured by a ghost. It was dragging her into the even deeper darkness of a cluster of trees. 

When Genny looked at Celica, she saw her slashing away with her sword, surrounded by a group of seemingly never ending ghosts.

Mae ran after Genny, with Boey following after her. 'The ghost that took Genny must have disappeared around here!' She guessed, and walked into the trees, but their thick branches blocked the sun, and the area was truly pitch black. Then, a small ball of fire appeared from within the darkness when her torch went out.

The fire slowly got bigger and bigger, proving that it was coming closer and closer.

Was the fire the faint light that a ghost emitted? Or perhaps another new enemy? Mae froze once again, this new development making her nervous once more. She instinctively reached out to grab Boey's hand, who was standing next to her, proving that no matter what she said out loud, she still depended on him. Boey spread his cape open to hide her in its shadow and protect her.

The fire was now close enough that they could clearly see what it was - the light of another torch. A unit, holding a torch in their mouth, was always coming their way through the trees. Because of where they held the torch, Mae and Boey could clearly make out their facial features, and see that he was a young male unit with unkempt hair.

He had his torch in his mouth because something - or rather someone - was in his arms. It was none other than Genny, unconscious but safe.

An eye patch made from wolf hide covered his right eye, and judging by the light armor he wore, he was a Mercenary, a unit with their own freedom that worked under contract. A Mercenary's core principles were centered around their own personal profits. The benefits they could reap from their contract was their absolute. And so, when they met a Mercenary they did not know, it was common sense for all units to first judge whether or not they were an enemy. And on top of that, while Brigands ignored all rules, no units were truly allowed on the holy island of Nova aside from clergy, meaning his presence here was very suspicious. Boey did what was only natural, and shifted into a fighting stance.

"Thank you for your assistance. I have no intention of fighting you." The unit spit out his torch atop the grass and said. He paid no mind to Boey and his threat of a fight, instead gently laying Genny down beside the grass now brightly lit by his torch. "This cleric's quite a beauty. I assume she's with you religious sheep, and got snatched away by that lump of garbage."

Boey's face turned red with rage upon hearing words that belittled his sacred duties. "A hired thug like you has no right to speak to me like that!" Boey shouted, and drew the mark of a fire spell into the air.

"You may be overreacting, but seeing as how you couldn't protect a lone cleric, you don't seem to know much about magic!"

“Fire!” …Boey chanted and tried to attack, but the mercenary was too fast. 

He must have been experienced in battle, as he danced expertly through the shadows of the complex and twisted trees. Whether wielding a physical weapon like swords or magic, terrain has huge influence over the effectiveness of an attack. That was why he put his back against the trees, and would never reveal himself on open ground like Boey and Mae were on. All Boey's fire magic did was turn three trees to ash.

"I'm not sticking around to be cooked and served for dinner! I'm not a sheep!" The mercenary shouted from the darkness before all signs of his presence finally disappeared.

[otmaaromanovas]

@melthehoneyjar posted an excerpt from this article saying that on the way to Yekaterinburg, OTMA got sexually molested. Is this true because i do not think it’s true and @melthehoneyjar is also unsure.

TRIGGER WARNING - sexual assault and rape

This is a very sensitive topic so please don't read it if you will be triggered! It's difficult to talk about this and I want to stick to what the sources say. I've added a cut so you can skip this post easily if this is upsetting and/or triggering for you

The article linked is by Simon Sebag Montefiore, who is most well known for writing the huge book 'The Romanovs'. Like Helen Rappaport, there are a lot of mistakes in it, and he doesn't provide references in the actual book itself. The references are instead buried online somewhere on his website.

I'm going to reference only primary sources (writings made at the time by the Romanovs, or by the people who knew them, so are directly from the time period and not a historian's interpretation). Some people believe that OTMA were raped on board the steam ship Rus, which took them to Tobolsk, then to Ekaterinburg. Olga, Tatiana, Maria, and Anastasia all shared one room on the ship.

There is no evidence in any of OTMA's, or the other Romanov's written work, including letters, diaries, and postcards that have survived, to suggest that they were sexually assaulted

Sidney Gibbes, the English Tutor, says that he heard the girls screaming in their cabins whilst they were on board the Rus. However, this source came from Greg King and Penny Wilson's book 'The Fate of the Romanovs', which popularised the lie that Maria had a relationship with a guard. They also relied on a lot of unreliable material, such as Tatiana Botkina's memoirs and Yakov Yurovsky's 'unpublished memoirs'. They also allege that Sophie Buxhoeveden betrayed the Romanovs, which is categorically untrue. This lie has sadly tarnished Sophie's reputation in history. I plan on making a post debunking the lies in that book.

Their research was not thorough, and the book aimed to sensationalise. Furthermore, the book I have that is comprised entirely of Gibbes recollections, writings, and diary entries make no mention of this. King and Wilson claim that they heard this information from George Gibbes, Sidney Gibbes' adopted son. The only reference for this is simply "George Gibbes to King, May 1989".

This book is the only book, and the only place where this rumour, originates from. Nothing in OTMA's personal writings suggested that they were assaulted. It must be considered, however, that they might have been and didn't put it into writing. But the lack of reference to this by other writers such as Pierre Gilliard, who sought to emphasise the villainy of the Bolsheviks, could suggest otherwise.

I am going to include information regarding the Rus steam ship journey from primary sources:

Gilliard about the journey on the Rus steam ship, from his diary: "Monday, May 20th. At half-past eleven we left the house and went on board the Rouss. She is the boat which brought us here with the Czar and Czarina eight months ago. Baroness Buxhoeveden has been granted permission to rejoin us. We left Tobolsk at five o'clock. Commissary Rodionof has shut Alexis Nicolaievitch in his cabin with Nagorny. We protested: the child is ill and the doctor ought to have access to him at any time."

Nicholas' diary, 4-5 August 1917: "4th August. ...There, the train arrived almost next to the wharf, so we only had to walk down to the ship. Ours is called Rus . They started to load our things, which continued through the night. Poor Aleksei went to bed God knows when again! Banging and pounding lasted all night and did not let me sleep. Departed from Tyumen around 6 o'cl.

5th August. Cruising down the river Tur. Alix, Aleksei and I each have a cabin with no facilities, all the daughters are a five-bed [cabin], the suite is close by in the hallway; farther towards the bow cafeteria and a small cabin with a piano..."

Nicholas' diary, 10/23 May 1918: "In the morning we were told within the space of an hour: that the children were a few hours from the town, then that they had reached the station, and finally that they had arrived at the house, although their train had been in the station since 2 o’clock at night. It was an immense joy to see them again and to embrace them after four weeks of separation and uncertainty. There was no end to the mutual questions and answers. Very few letters had got through either way. The poor things had suffered a lot of anguish, both in Tobolsk and during their three day journey. Of those who accompanied them, only the cook Kharitonov and Sednev’s nephew were allowed into the house."

To conclude, although we don't know for sure, the lack of first hand writings from OTMA and the Imperial Family make me unsure to conclude that they were assaulted. The only source for this being from a flimsy-researched book and from word-of-mouth rather than a concrete piece of writing also makes this questionable.

I just hope and pray they weren't.

Sources:

A Lifelong Passion - Maylunas and Mirenko

The Fate of the Romanovs - King and Wilson

Thirteen Years at the Russian Court - Pierre Gilliard

Diary of Olga Romanov - Helen Azar

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Daily Planet Classifieds

Fandom: DC Comics, Superfam, Young Justice 98, Titans

Summary: Laney Hausler is currently attending classes at Metropolis University when he sees a boy with his face in the library. At first, he thinks he's seeing things. Later, he starts to realize something strange is going on.

Conner Kent lives off-campus with his friends, but he sees a boy who eerily resembles him, and he hires a private investigator to look into the life of his doppelganger.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jonathan Lane Kent, Conner Kent, Eddie Bloomberg, Rose Wilson, Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark, Cissie King-Jones, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Meloni Thawne, Vic Sage, Slade Wilson

Relationships: Past KonBart

Additional Tags: Father-Son Relationship, Father-Daughter Relationship, No Powers AU, Found Family, Stalking, Family Secrets, No Powers AU, No Capes AU, Complicated Relationships, University AU, Roommates, Private Investigator, Twins, Multiple POV, First Person POV, Obsession, Psychological Drama, Complicated Relationships, Unrequited Love, Platonic Relationships

Chapter One: Move-In Day (Laney's POV)

Orientation and the move-in weekend started on Thursday. I spent my entire childhood in home school, but after weeks of begging, Father agreed to let me go away to college. It was the only time I’d ever been alone, so my departure was not without tears. Father set me straight, and he put me on the train. I waved until I could no longer see him, and my journey began. I slept in my train car for a few hours until the sun peeked through the blinds. I woke up and waited for breakfast. Father gave me a book to read to keep me busy, but I couldn’t focus on the words. I pulled my sketchbook out of my backpack and drew our house. It was a little bluish-grey house that you had to take a boat to get to. Just beyond the front door, our wooden dock and willows surrounded the home, almost swallowing our blue house up. I lived in isolation there with my father until I was old enough to sit quietly in his office and tend to my studies.

Father sat with me and worked on my reading between surgeries and consultations. He told me I required more attention than the public schools would’ve afforded me, and I saw things I wouldn’t have in a public school. I sat in on Father’s surgeries when I wasn’t doing homework or sleeping in his office. At home, I’d work on our land, and on weekends I’d make money selling produce at the farmer’s markets. Sugar cane, garden eggs, corn, carrots, and figs. All sorts of things. The farm and the hospital were all I knew. But I sat on the train, looking out the window at unfamiliar territory. I was far from Kansas. And the marsh. And our little bluish-grey house. And Father.

I ate breakfast in the dining car, watching the trees zoom past, wondering when it’d all stop. Smallville to Metropolis was a forty-hour trip by train, requiring a transfer. I was too nervous to travel by plane. But I always had lovely dreams about trains. My breakfast had too much sugar, but I didn’t mind. It gave me such a rush.

I returned to my car, finishing my sketch before listening to the audio for the book Father gave me. I tried to follow along, but I couldn’t stay awake long. I stopped the tape and lay on my stomach.

The train ride went smoothly, and from there, I lugged my suitcases to the nearest cab. The cabbie helped me load my luggage into the trunk. “Where to?” asked the cabbie.

“Metropolis University,” I answered.

“Long way from home?” he questioned.

“Mhm… All I wanna do is lie down in my dorm and sleep, but I’m thrilled-. I’m rambling,” I muttered.

“That’s alright. Most kids don’t wanna talk at all. These drives go a lot faster when you have someone to talk to,” he replied. So, we talked. Or at least I talked. When I arrived at the campus, I ran into a large crowd of people, and I grabbed a map from one of the tables. I’d never had a cellphone before because I never needed one, so I nearly forgot to text my new roommates to let them know I was on my way.

I sent a short message and received a call immediately. “Where are you? I’ll meet you there,” he said without so much as a greeting.

“Um… I’m at the big statue of the bulldog,” I replied, “And… I have a question. I hope you don’t think I’m rude for forgetting. It’s just that I don’t know how my phone works yet-.”

“You don’t remember my name. Do you?” he laughed. “That’s okay. It’s Eddie. You’ll remember it once you meet me in person.”

“Eddie. Right,” I smiled, “Um, I don’t wanna cause you any trouble. If you’re moving in, I can find-.”

“I see you! I think. You’re the one with the hat, right?” Eddie asked.

I looked around and tipped my hat. “Sure am,” I replied.

He tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned to see Eddie for the first time. I don’t think I ever would’ve expected to see the person I did. He was a ruddy ginger boy with blue eyes and a wide smile. “Rose would’ve come too, but she’s putting together furniture, so she’s not exactly in a pleasant mood… And she doesn’t read Swedish-.”

“I could help. I don’t read Swedish, but I’m a whiz at assembling furniture,” I interrupted without meaning to. Eddie laughed and led me to our dorm suite, which was more like a small house than a room. A girl sat on the floor with a cigarette in her mouth, cursing as she tried to assemble a bookshelf.

“Stupid old man and his stupid Swedish furniture. I hope I see that bitch in the street-.”

“Rose,” Eddie raised his voice. She put the unlit cigarette in its box and extended a hand to me. I shook her hand.

“I’m Laney… Um, you bought Swedish furniture from an old man?” I asked.

“No… My fucking dad ordered it as a character-building exercise. I should take this fucking deformed screwdriver-.”

“Allen wrench… It’s an-. I can put that together for you,” I offered, “I can put it together in less than twenty minutes.”

“Fuck yeah, I’ll order takeout. What do you eat?” Rose asked.

“Tacos,” Eddie whispered, “Say tacos.”

“Sure, I’ve never had tacos before,” I replied. Their jaws dropped and they stared at me in silence. “Well, I-. I um-. I lived in a small swampy town outside Smallville… And we didn’t eat out a lot.”

“Put the Alex wrench down. We’re going to find you the best tacos Metropolis has to offer,” Rose replied as she stood up. Eddie grabbed his car keys, and I followed them out the door.

“Oh, it’s no big deal-.”

“Laney, it’s a big deal for us,” Eddie interrupted.

They took me across town in Eddie’s car while Rose smoked a cigarette and looked at ratings for taco restaurants on her phone. “The best one is by S.T.A.R. Labs,” Rose replied, “Hey, Lane? What’s your major?”

“I’m Pre-Med. I wanna go into pediatric surgery,” I answered, “What about you guys?”

“I’m Women’s Studies, and Eddie’s a film major,” Rose answered.

I couldn’t remember much after that because I fell asleep. When I woke up, Eddie and Rose were in line. Eddie walked over and leaned in the window. “What kind of meat do you like? They’ve got chicken, pork, beef, lamb, fish, shrimp-.”

“I’ll have lamb,” I answered.

“Lamb… Okay,” Eddie replied, “Do you want a Coke?” I shook my head.

“I don’t drink pop… Um, I’ll have tea or fruit juice if they have any… And if they don’t, I’ll have water,” I replied. Eddie nodded and tapped the hood of the car.

Eddie and Rose came back to the car several minutes later with drinks and tacos. “You’re a real straight arrow, you know that?” Rose teased. “Do you have a problem with me smoking around you, because-.”

“No, it’s alright. I don’t mind. A lot of the doctors at my father’s hospital smoked cigarettes,” I replied.

“Your dad’s a doctor?” Eddie asked.

“Mhm, he’s a neurosurgeon,” I replied.

“Oh, shit… Is he pressuring you into Pre-Med? Slade almost blew a gasket when he found out I wanted to major in Women’s Studies,” Rose replied, “He’s military.”

“My dad’s a car salesman, but I don’t think he cares what I do. I’ve lived with my aunt for the past six years,” Eddie replied.

“Oh, my father and I are close… We did everything together,” I explained, "I think he wanted me to go into architecture instead, though."

"How come?" Eddie asked as he dipped his taco in sauce and took a bite.

"Surgery is high-stress, and he wanted me to stay closer to home," I replied. Rose gave me my to-go plate and a styrofoam sauce cup. I set the cup inside the lid of my container before dipping my taco like Eddie and taking a bite. It was spicy and savory with hints of lime. Not to mention the lamb. It was cooked to perfection, and the tortilla crunched wonderfully between my teeth. I made a noise and they fell into a fit of laughter.

"Good, huh?" Rose chuckled.

"It's amazing," I replied before taking another bite. I must’ve eaten ten tacos that night. I assembled the bookcase and unpacked after we got home, and I would’ve slept in my bed, but we all fell asleep on the couch after setting up Eddie’s bookcase.

[embodyingchaos]

❥ evermore | chapter two

pairing: george weasley x oc genre: friends to lovers! warnings: unedited word count: 2.1k masterlist: evermore last chapter: chapter one next chapter: chapter three

THE JOURNEY FROM the train station to hogwarts was a first experience nobody could ever repeat. genesis was having the time of her life admiring the scenery as she rode in a boat with her sister, hermione and the boy who had lost his toad named neville longbottom.

yes, you read right. she found her sister at last.

walking through the main entrance, which was a door five times their size, they were told to walk up the main staircase until they reached the great hall. there they would meet professor mcgonagall, and meet they did.

“welcome to hogwarts.” the witch draped in green robes with a pointy hat placed atop her head, presumably professor mcgonagall, greeted the group of first years with a small smile. “now, in a few moments, you will pass through these doors and join your classmates but before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses. they are gryffindor, hufflepuff, ravenclaw and slytherin.” as the professor continued her explanation, genesis glanced downwards to the ground.

she squinted her eyes, spotting something dark and glistening on the ground. when it started to move, genesis realised what it was. she gave neville’s elbow a light tap, “neville, isn’t that your toad?” she quietly asked, pointing at the creature.

neville’s eyes widened and he leapt forward just as mcgonagall finished talking. “trevor!” he exclaimed, kneeling on the ground, cradling the amphibian in his hands. as the boy stood up, he apologised before retreating back to his original spot next to the blue-eyed girl.

with that, the professor left to finish preparing the sorting ceremony for them. lovelynn could barely contain her excitement. 

“ugh, i wanna go in already! it’s taking too long!”

“lovey, it’s been 30 seconds since she’s left.”

“yeah! 30 seconds of my life wasted when it could have been spent getting sorted into my house!” genesis could only roll her eyes at her sister’s dramatics.

suddenly, a boy with platinum blonde hair spoke up. “it's true then, what they're saying on the train.” he started, walking towards harry. “harry potter has come to hogwarts.” the boy’s simple sentence has the entire group of first year students bursting into murmurs and gasps.

“this is crabbe and goyle, and i’m malfoy. draco malfoy.” the random pause for dramatic effect has both ron and lovelynn snorting, stifling their laughter.

malfoy looked between the two, “think my name’s funny, do you?” he asked, sending them glares. “i’ve no need to ask yours. red hair, and a hand-me-down robe? you must be a weasley.” the blonde sneered at ron, who only frowned at him. “hey, now. there’s no need for aggression.” genesis spoke up but malfoy only snapped his head at her. 

“i wasn’t speaking to you.” at his comment, the girl raised her hands as if to say ‘alright, i surrender, geez.’ as the boy turned back towards harry, who wasn’t enjoying this one bit.

“we’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than others, potter. you don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort.” malfoy said, referring to ron. “i can help you there.” harry only stared at the blonde’s extended hand before deciding that he was the wrong sort.

“i think i can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks.” the two’s conversation was cut short by professor mcgonagall coming back, eyeing malfoy as he walked back to his original spot but not without giving harry a sort-of determined look, a look that would prove to be one that would follow the scar-headed boy for the rest of his years in hogwarts, but lets not get ahead of ourselves.

the first years walked into the great hall, lined up in pairs of two. genesis walked beside hermione as lovelynn walked beside neville.

the bushy-haired girl noticed genesis staring up at the ceiling, mesmerised at the floating candles and night sky- wait, night sky? “it’s not real, the ceiling, it’s just bewitched to look like the night sky.” hermione explained, “i’ve read about it in-” “hogwarts: a history?” genesis asked, cutting her off. the girl looked taken aback for a moment before giving her a wide smile, “so, you’ve read it, huh?” genesis grinned, answering with a ‘possibly’.

the group gathered along the platform as a wizard’s hat on a stool was before them.

“now, before we begin, professor dumbledore would like to say a few words.” these few notices would consist of few notices such as staying out of the dark forest (which applies to all students), and the fact that the third floor corridor is out of bounds to anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death.

lovelynn grumbled, “talk about a warm welcome.” she snorted to neville, who only stared at her with a confused expression.

as the headmaster finished his tiny speech, professor mcgonagall unravelled a scroll. “now, when i call your name, you will come forth. i shall place the sorting hat on your head and you will be sorted into your houses.” genesis took a deep breath, it was finally time.

with each person getting called, the more nervous the brunette got. especially when her sister was called and sorted into, predictably, gryffindor.

“yes!” lovelynn exclaimed, almost accidentally dashing off with the sorting hat still attached to her head. she sat between neville and a boy named seamus finnigan.

“genesis heath.” hearing her name being called had her heart plummeting to the pit of her stomach.

she slowly walked up the platform, trying her best to keep her breathing steady and quiet. “another heath in a row? how quaint.” the hat started it’s judgement.

“the quieter one, the one easier to pick on, but nonetheless, the one who stands her ground. the one who is bolder and firm, the one who will live on to do great things. things that could change our world. i find it a bit peculiar to place you in ravenclaw, especially apart from your sister whom you seem inseparable from. i guess i’ll put you in gryffindor!” the sigh of relief that left genesis’ lips was only a big clue to the obvious, she was happy to just be sorted into the same house as her sister.

as she walked towards the table, lovelynn stood up again and wrapped her in a big hug. “we’re together! and now there’s like three sets of twins in this house.” she told her with a big grin, finding the random fact amusing.

genesis had gone to sit beside hermione and lovelynn had decided to sit beside her sister and neville longbottom.

after a few minutes of waiting and watching harry potter get sorted(into gryffindor, no surprise) the feast had begun.

genesis wasn’t particularly hungry since she was still feeling rather anxious.

“come on, now. you’ve got to eat something. you’re going to complain later that you’re starving.” lovelynn told her, muffled by the food in her mouth. the girl stared at her with disgust. “i was going to eat something but now that i’ve looked at you, i’ve lost my appetite.” genesis’ comment has ron’s older twin brothers snickering.

the two turned to them and then to ron, “don’t mind them. they find everything humorous.” he said with his cheeks stuffed.

“i’m ron weasley, by the way. i met your sister on the train.” he said to the other twin, “i’m lovelynn heath! nice to meet you, ron.” her enthusiasm makes ron baffled, as she was completely different from her sister.

the weasley twins smiled at them, “i’m fred,” “and i’m george.” they introduced themselves continuously, lovelynn beamed at that.

with a gasp, “we should try doing tha-” “no.” genesis turned her down without even thinking twice. her immediate answer has lovelynn pouting, “you’re no fun.” she complained, “i’m lovelynn, this is genesis. she’s the lesser fun twin.” the short-haired twin emphasised on the word ‘lesser’. “yes. yes, i am.” genesis agreed with a toothy smile, having no problem with the insult.

fred and george chuckles, “well, then, i think you’d fit great with us.” “we’re the most fun pair of twins.” “more like the most getting into trouble pair of twins.” ron’s other older brother, percy, butts in, making lovelynn giggle and genesis smile.

as the dinner went on, ron let out a loud yelp as a ghostly figure’s head popped through their table.

“hello! how are you? welcome to gryffindor!” and after him, came more ghosts from around the hall, or you could say through the hall. 

genesis beamed at the sight, “ghosts?! kind of scary.” lovelynn commented, “they aren’t that scary. they aren’t suppose to be hostile.” her twin informed, george turned to look at her. “well, if you don’t count peeves that is.” fred said just as he was about to speak, “peeves is more trouble than we are, though the bloody baron can always keep him in check.” george explained, taking a bite out of his garlic bread.

“hello, sir nicholas. have a nice summer?” percy asked the ghost head that popped through their table, “dismal. once again my request to join the headless hunt has been denied.” he told the boy in an unsatisfied tone before slowly floating away.

genesis’ eyes slowly widened in realisation, “wait a minute, i know you! you’re-” “nearly headless nick!” ron yelled out, cutting the girl off. “i prefer sir nicholas if you don’t mind.” sir nicholas sassed, the annoyance extremely clear on his features. “who?” lovelynn asked, mouth filled with food once more. 

“sir nicholas de mimsy-porpington.” her younger sister’s reply has her staring with a blank expression. 

“my god, you’re a walking enclopyedia.”

genesis scoffed, “you asked.” she replied back.

“nearly headless? how can you be nearly headless?” hermione’s question has harry rolling his eyes and genesis cringing due to knowing exactly how he’s nearly headless. “like this.” sir nicholas proceeded to tilt his head to the side before it suddenly popped off, hanging onto his body only by a little bit of flesh. ron yelled out in shock as hermione and harry grimaced. the twins only stared, completely indifferent and taking bites out of their food.

“improper decapitation certainly is the worst.” genesis sighed and shook her head while sir nicholas popped his head back on. “it certainly is, ms. heath.” he agreed before taking his leave.

lovelynn shivered, “that is not something you want to see while eating.” she muttered, suddenly not in the mood for her minced pie. “i have no idea what you’re talking about. i am suddenly starving.” genesis grinned, stealing her sister’s minced pie before taking a huge bite from it.

after dinner, the first years were all set to follow percy to their common room. lovelynn stared at the moving staircases with incredulity. “if they move all the time, how do we know when it’ll lead to the place we want to go?” she whispered to her sister, “schedules.” genesis simply answered, staring at the moving paintings they passed by. the older only stared at her weirdly, not understanding what she meant by ‘schedules’.

when they reached their common room with the usage of their password ‘caput draconis’, they headed straight for their dorms. genesis was relieved to know she’d be sharing a dorm room with her sister and hermione, people she was familiar with. their other dormmates were lavender brown and emma joyce. 

“genny, look who it is!” lovelynn exclaimed loudly, pointing her attention to something that sat on her bed. not only did ‘genny’ turn to look but all the girls did, and they were greeted with the delightful sight of the twins’ cream-coloured, fluffy maine coone kitten, carlyle(who didn’t look like a kitten at all since maine coones grew very quickly).

“oh my stars! carlyle!” genesis cried out, approaching the well-groomed kitten and giving him a pat. “aw, he’s adorable.” hermione complimented, smiling at the sight. “he is, isn’t he? he’s also apparently allowed to roam hogwarts on his own which is nice for him since he enjoys watching people study.” genesis explained, lovelynn snorted before leaning towards the other girls. “guess how we found out about that.” she muttered, gesturing to the fact that carlyle started accompanying genesis during her long nights of going through her hogwarts books and has been hooked on watching people read or study ever since.

the girls had decided to wash up and hurry off to bed, figuring they had a long day ahead of them tomorrow and that it was best they slept early. 

lovelynn was the only one to disagree but was the first to start snoring off into dream land, leaving genesis to stare at her sister with a look of utter disbelief and endearment.

[moonspower]

“Dear Diary” (specifically for something from his ffx verse?)

✨ @starvingtongue. meme. still accepting! ft. @meyvn of course!

I feel insane over all of this shit going on right now and maybe that's because I'm a failure. My pilgrimage is a bust, my home has been destroyed, my grandparents are dead, all of my neighbors are dead, and I've lost so many people. So many people, I can't even count anymore. I've been sending so many souls to the Farplane—they keep uncovering corpses from the rubble. I don't know what to do with myself. It shouldn't have been this way. It's been days since the destruction of Kilika by Sin and the body count rises.

People shame me for not doing what I needed to do. Not directly to my face, but they say enough for me to read between the lines and pick up that they're disappointed in me. I don't really blame them, I made a promise before I left this place.

It's unfair to blame myself. A lot of summoners really don't make it to Zanarkand, but I could have fucking made it. I was too afraid. And, I hated my guardian. The journey with him was pretty much over by the time we got on the boat and left Kilika. There was no way in Hell I'd actually trek across Spira with him.

At the same time, I should've loved Spira enough to finish my training earlier and get a move on. Maybe I'm just looking for a place to put my negativity. And, I'm completely jaded by my faith. So much of my life was wasted on Yevon. Worship, the temples, apprenticeship, scripture, trials, trying not to sin. For what, though? For fucking what? I'm in my twenties, I don't even know who I am! I never got to find out! I was too busy kneeling down and putting my head to stone, praying! And, still, I spend my days now dancing for the dead.

This is a life wasted. I'll never get those years back; instead, I'm going to meander through my entire days wondering what I could've done and who I could've been had I not devoted myself to becoming a summoner when I was just a child. Why do we let children make this decision knowing that a completed pilgrimage means death? I miss my best friend. Nooj should be with me. I don't even know if he'd acknowledge me. He doesn't write to me anymore.

I did hear whispers that he's coming back, but we'll see.

I'm just not happy, right now.

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Reader X Loki] Chapter 3

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 3: Nighttime pancakes

The next few days you got to know everything a little better: The tower, the Avengers - as far as they were present and showed themselves - and the rest of the staff that you ran into from time to time. You also discovered that the tower had its own training halls. Actually this was just logical given the team that lives here. Often when you were out and about in the building, you got the faint feeling of being watched. It was a little disturbing, but you dismissed it by saying that the environment was still new to you. Also, you had learned that JARVIS had access to all the public rooms and most of them were probably video monitored too. You weren’t sure about your own quarters yet, but you were also not sure if you wanted to know the answer.

Unfortunately the nights are very long, because you sleep very badly here. Despite the short time, you miss walking outside, through the streets, and besides, you are used to a rather strict daily routine. Sure, it's nice to switch off for a few days and not have to do anything. A little vacation, so to speak. But you're someone who soon gets bored with that. You chose a profession that requires you to spend hours running around the kitchen, preparing dishes and finishing orders for a reason after all. The price of your now lazy life is that you toss and turn in your bed at night without really being tired. Maybe there are some additional worries that keep you awake. For example, the Hydra question that was still unresolved.

This night you turn from side to side again, sighing, and at some point take a look at the digital alarm clock. Its digits glowing a light red in the darkness. It's three in the morning. Or night. Depending on how you see it. After a few more unsuccessful tries to sleep, you give up and decide to roam the halls a bit. Just walking around and stretching your legs. Outside, it's quiet. Only the soft whirring of some working machines can be heard. The corridors are discreetly lit, so you have no trouble finding your way, which leads you into the large lobby. It’s actually the first time since your arrival that you find it completely empty. Still, you have the familiar feeling that you are not alone. Jarvis probably never sleeps.

Out of habit, you end up in the kitchen and take a bored look into the fridge. Nothing in there appeals to you, but you're not really hungry either. Not even for a little snack. Still, you feel like cooking. Maybe pancakes. You could eat them for breakfast later. Without thinking too long about it, you get a bowl from the cupboard and tie an apron around yourself, which you have obligatory lying here by now. Flour, milk and eggs are quickly mixed and a few other ingredients are added for flavor. You put some butter in a pan on the stove. When it became liquid, you start to fry the first pancake and gradually got more and more, so that you quickly have a respectable pile together. Quietly, you hum to yourself.

"It's been a long time since anyone has been here at this hour”, you suddenly hear an unfamiliar voice behind you. Surprised, you whirl around, holding a knife that had been lying next to the stove. A dark-haired man in a green shirt is standing by the kitchen island, watching your actions curiously. When he sees the knife, he raises both hands to calm you down. On each of his arms you notice a narrow silver hoop with a red dot flashing. You hadn't heard a door, and you're not sure how long he's been standing there. "What’s your deal? Can’t sleep?", you ask him. "Just like you apparently." You raise an eyebrow and set the knife aside as the pancakes demand your attention. "You're Loki, aren't you?" It's more of a statement than a question, and the man nods. "And you're the archer's sister", he respond, which makes you in turn nod. "I‘m Y/N, pleasure to meet you." "You don't often hear that as a prisoner", he says amused, but still keeps eye on you, waiting for your reaction. "Heard about it. I guess we're sitting in the same boat." "Oh, really?" "Well, I probably won't be tasered right away if I try to leave the building." "Probably?", Loki follows up. "Yeah, I'm not entirely sure about that."

You talk for a while until you hear the elevator ping quietly in the lobby. But you're not paying attention right now, as you're busy scraping the last bit of dough out of the bowl and then turning off the stove. "Would you like some?" you ask Loki, turning to him only to find that he has disappeared. Taken aback, you turn your attention to the room next door, where you hear muffled voices. Then the door opens. "THAT'S what I call a nice welcome," Clint grins, looking at the stack of pancakes. "Brother dear", you greet him equally pleased and surprised at his unexpected appearing. Smiling, you walk up to him and hug him. Along with him, Steve Rogers, whom you've also already seen on the news as Captain America, came in. He seems a little confused at first, but after you fill him in on who you are, he welcomes you as well.

"What are you doing here?" your brother then asks you. "You can see that. I'm making breakfast for you." "No, I mean, what are you doing here?" He specifies the question with a gesture that included all the surroundings as well as the Tower. "Oh..." It's clearly too middle of the night for you to be that precise. In a few words, you explain your situation. Clint has some encouraging words for you, but can understand that you are not enthusiastic. "At least we can get more on each other's nerves again. Why don't you start right now and join us while we eat?", he laugh, putting his arm around your shoulder in a brotherly fashion as he pushes you toward the stove. You have to laugh, too. "You mean while you eat my breakfast." "Exactly." You go get two plates from the cupboard and serve the men each a good stack of pancakes with maple syrup. They thank you and the group of you make yourselves comfortable at the kitchen island. "Where and how do you guys usually eat here?", you ask in the meantime. "We each order our own food. Probably have a flat rate with all the suppliers in the neighborhood," Clint explains. Steves' gaze is on you questioningly. "Don't you want some pancakes, too?" "In the middle of the night? No thanks, I'm not hungry." "Then why did you made them, if you don't mind me asking?" "I knew you'd come and could use something in your stomach", you reply with a serious expression, to which Steve shoots first you and then your brother a scrutinizing look. He’d seen enough weird shit while working with the Avengers to take such a statement quite seriously. And he wonders whether you, unlike Hawkeye, have superpowers. But only until you can no longer stifle the broad grin, because his facial expression is just too funny.

Before you can say anything, though, Clint interjects. "As siblings, we've just developed some sort of telepathic ability." You nod in agreement. "Exactly. That's how I always know when he's going to say something stupid and deserve a head butt." "To be honest, I never heard him talk about you before”, Steve admits. "See”, you wink, "It‘s working out just fine." You laugh, and while they continue to eat, Clint tells you about the mission they just came from.

Afterwards, you put another stack of pancakes on a plate to take it with you back to the lobby. "Hungry now, are you?", your brother asks you, clearly tired after the long journey and at this late hour. Just as the super soldier. "Maybe”, you answer shortly and wish them both a good night. The greeting comes back double and you head into the large lobby with the elevators. "Jarvis?" "Yes, Miss Barton?" "Where is Loki's apartment?", you ask the computer. "You are not exactly authorized to receive this information." "I just want to get him something to eat."

You raise the plate in your hands a little higher and apparently your answer is analyzed, because for a few seconds there is silence. But then you get the information you want and are directed to the door you are looking for. It was on another floor and at the end of a long corridor.

You knock, but at first there is no response. So you try again. "Come on, my prince, I know you're not asleep and it's rude to leave a lady at a locked door." You hear an amused sound from the other side and shortly after the door is opened. With his arms crossed, Loki stands before you. "It's also rude to disturb a prince in the middle of the night, M’Lady", he replies. "Rude would be to refuse a dinner from a lady. Especially when she personally hands it to you", you add, giving him the plate. It's impossible for you to tell if he's amused or annoyed as he looks from you to the pancakes in his hand. "I never said I wanted any“, he states. "But you didn't say you didn't want them, either. Just give them a try. I'm pretty good at cooking." With that, you turn to go. "Good night, dear prince," you wish him, but without turning around. So you miss the grin on Loki's face as he closes the door.

[elizabeethan]

Rising Tide

An Overboard Addition

The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.

For @the-darkdragonfly​ for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.

Rated M

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~~~~

There are too many people on this bloody boat. 

 Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person. 

 Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog. 

 The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together. 

 Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them. 

 Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier. 

 At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.

 It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse. 

Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat. 

 The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing. 

 Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard. 

 It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is. 

 He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff. 

 “It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”

 “The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”

 She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again. 

 It’ll be a long season. 

 ~~~~

 He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented. 

 Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy. 

 “Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”

 She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”

 “You’re a brilliant cook.”

 “Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”

 “Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.” 

 “That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.” 

 He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes. 

 They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair. 

 “It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”

 “Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?” 

 “Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”

 “Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”

 “You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?” 

 He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”

 ~~~~

 Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks. 

 Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high. 

 Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away. 

 He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result. 

 Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened. 

 Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves. 

 They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes. 

 They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much. 

 He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard. 

 “Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”

 She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free. 

 She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off. 

 “Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten. 

 “Are you--” 

 “The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”

 A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright. 

 “She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”

 “Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”

 He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”

 “Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified. 

 “No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”

 “Killian!” 

 He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him. 

 “I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

 She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?” 

 “Is it hurting you?”

 She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.” 

 They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks. 

 He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”

 “No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

 When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”

 “You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.” 

 He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”

 She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere. 

 “I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.

 “Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.” 

 “I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.” 

 In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking. 

 She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her. 

 She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded. 

 Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want. 

 His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”

 “I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions. 

 “Take me. Take what you need, please.” 

 Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter. 

 “I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him. 

 He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut. 

 The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.

 “Emma, fuck.” 

 “Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”

 So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds. 

 She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache. 

 He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another. 

 Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said. 

 “You’re okay?” he asks in clarification. 

 “I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.” 

 “I’m always here.” 

 “Then I’m always okay.” 

 He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”

 “I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.” 

 With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.” 

 “Only because I love you very, very much.” 

 “I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”

 She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.” 

 “You’re quite something.”

 “Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”

 “It’s only four thirty.” 

 She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers. 

 “Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.” 

 He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.” 

 She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?” 

 He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

 “You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.” 

 “When did you get so deep?” 

 “The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.” 

 He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else. 

 She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.” 

 He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…” 

 “I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”

 Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was. 

 “I know,” he concedes. 

 “And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”

 He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know. 

 “It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.” 

 There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish. 

 “They’ve been doubting you all this time?”

 With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.” 

 “Three years,” she confirms happily. “And we’re pretty content, aren't we?” 

 “Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

 “They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.” 

 “I know, I just--” 

 “And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.” 

 He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?” 

 With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”

 “It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.” 

 Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him. 

 “You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.” 

 “Aye, I know.” 

 “And you love me more.” 

 He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.” 

 “And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly. 

 “Emma--” 

 “I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”

 All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent. 

 Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things. 

 “Your life as a child who was, well--”

 “An orphan,” she tells him firmly. 

 “An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”

 With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug. 

 His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.” 

 She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs. 

 “We are.” 

 “Are you sure?” 

 With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.” 

 She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”

 “I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her. 

 “I love you more than everything.” 

 “Cheeky scoundrel, you are.” 

 “For you, babe.” 

 “When did you start calling me babe?” 

 She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here. 

 He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family. 

 ~~~~

 Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel. 

 When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was. 

 Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”

 Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.” 

 Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”

 David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”

 The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?” 

 “My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?” 

 “No,” Leo laughs. 

 Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?” 

 “Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!” 

 “Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!” 

 “I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.” 

 “I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface. 

 “Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.” 

 Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”

 David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.” 

 In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”

 He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer. 

 “Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?

 Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”

 David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.” 

 “We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.” 

 She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back. 

 David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.” 

 Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.” 

 “I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”

 “We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down. 

 “We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.” 

 There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing. 

 “We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.” 

 It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him. 

 “I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.” 

 She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”

 ~~~~

 The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it. 

 “Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose. 

 “Hi babe.”

 The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”

 “And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple. 

 “You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”

 “Those are my options?” 

 “Take ‘em or leave ‘em.” 

 His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.” 

 “Just like I told you.”

 “Aye.”

 “You should listen to your wife, Jones.” 

 “I suppose you’re right, Swan.”

 “It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater. 

 “My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.

 They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.

 “Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves. 

 “Aye, are you? Are you cold?” 

 “No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?” 

 With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.” 

 “And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice. 

 “Well, no one messed up my boat.” 

 She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.” 

 He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.

 “I’m glad we… I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.” 

 She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”

 “Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.” 

 “Yeah.” 

 More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.

 “I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would. 

 “I love you, too, babe. More than anything.” 

 He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers. 

 She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat. 

 She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves. 

 Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard. 

 Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.” 

 He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.” 

 She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.” 

 He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”

 “Agreed.” 

 Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect. 

 The End

Tagging:

@courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4​ @stahlop​ @klynn-stormz​ @laschatzi​ @emelizabeth88​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook​ @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx​ @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ @hollyethecurious​ @ouatpost​ @daxx04​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​ @xsajx​ @itsfridaysomewhere​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​​ @qualitycoffeethings​​ @rapunzelsghosts​ @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice​​ @batana54​​ @sailtoafarawayland​ @deckerstarblanche​​ @zaharadessert​​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @pirateprincessofpizza​​ @captainswan21​​ @hookedmom​​ @lostintheskyfaraway​​ @undercaffinatednightmare​​ @strangestarlighttree​​

[bloodycassian]

heavy is the head - Cassian x reader-  reader has to deal with Night court forces in a battle with Spring. Part two likely.

"Look who's come to plead for help." Cassian drawled, looking you up and down. Rhys gave him a sharp look that he shrugged off. You held back your fighting words and approached with false confidence.

"And look at the male who lost a fight to a giant fish." You retorted, giving him the same judgmental look.

"The levithan-" He began, and you swore you saw the Shadowmaster roll his eyes.

"Enough. We have matters to discuss." Rhys silenced him before he could continue. You gave him a sweet smile and turned to the high lord. 

You noted how the shadowmaster smiled. His dark hair glinting in the pale light of the meadow. They all looked alike, the dark hair that reflected the moonlight like a river. The dark wings that blended into the night far too easily. The sight of them made you shiver.

You began before one of them could bring up anything else. There was no other reason for you to call the meeting, it was pain. You were desperate. And if Rhys was so adamant about keeping all of Prythian safe, he would listen. "Spring court presents more of a problem than we thought. Tamlin's son is preparing to invade." You reported, extending your palm for them to see the evidence you'd brought. 

A fragment of an arrowhead tipped in faebane. You kept it wrapped in a leather cloth for a reason. "Where is he getting these?" Azriel asked, his shadows running over your palm and the arrow there. The tinginging feeling they left behind made you sick to your stomach. “That’s out of my pay grade, shadowmaster.” You said with a bitter smile.

 “You’re the next heir to the throne.” Cassian laughed despite himself. He wasn’t a fan of Summer Court after the blood rubies sent to them by the previous ruler. They had recalled them, but the message still stung.

“I am the throne. My father’s time is coming quickly.” You said with a clipped tone, not sparing them any room for further questions before continuing. "Summer court cant risk any more ships to the southern border. We are losing more and more soldiers daily just to hold the line." 

"Perhaps you could train better-" Cassian was full of fight tonight it seemed. And you were willing to oblige, you bared your teeth at him and cut off those words before you could 

"Perhaps you could allow us some help. We are allies if I recall correctly?” You tapped a finger to your chin, earning an eyeroll from the two generals. Rhys just leveled you a cool glare.

"Reluctantly." He admitted, then looked to the sky. "Cassian..." He called. You felt there was some other conversation continuing in their heads based off Cas’ reaction. It was predictable, him acting like such a child. But it still hurt, nonetheless.

"Rhys- No..." He whined, his wings flaring out a bit. You watched the sharp tips of them as they so expertly avoided catching his hair or head. You wondered what it was like having such an advantage. You wondered what all Illyrians thought of the wings, if all of them loved them or if they had mixed opinions. 

You knew a few Peregryns from Dawn court that resented being born with wings because it meant they had to serve in the army. Some even ‘went missing’ to other courts to avoid being enlisted. You wished you had that option at all. But Tarquin would likely send the entire army after you if you had done so. Being his only child meant good training, as well as being very well known throughout Prythian. Just like Kova.  

"We can discuss this later.” Rhys said with a sharp tone. Cassian’s look of betrayal made you wonder what the actual conversation would be about. “Now I need you to pledge forces to our Summer ally. We can't risk Kova moving north." 

Cassian was silent for a long moment. Contemplating. He knew he couldn’t tell Rhys no. Especially in front of a different Court member. But his battle instincts told him hell no. Do not give forces over to someone who dosen’t even know how to handle them. "Cassian." Azriel said softly, his shadows circling his brothers. 

He compromised. "Two legions. I will lead them tomorrow." 

You hated the reluctance in his voice. "Two legions are a sacrifice. You don't know the terror that child brings-"

"Two legions or nothing. Your choice." Cassian said firmly.

"Cass-" Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose. "We will consider more options. For now, we will give you what we can spare in weapons as well as the legions." He held a hand up to Azriel when he made to argue. 

"Thank you, your highness." You gave a half assed bow, and he was gone before you rose. You smiled to yourself at the faint echo of a growl in the meadow. 

+

You donned your most threatening armor and set out to greet the Illyrians. The far hills of Summer court were donned with swaying brown beach grass that hissed in the wind. The ocean spray shimmered above the dark ranks of warriors. The sun did not glint off their armor like it did on yours. 

Cassian's look of distaste said all you needed to see to understand that the Illyrians were not ones for following orders. "One hundred Illyrians. All with weapons that they will take care of." He gave a sidelong glance to the males to his left. They tensed, but did not scare from their general. Whatever they had done must not have been too awful if they were still standing.

Azriel squinted against the Summer sunlight. His shadows seemed more highlighted than ever against the beating sun. "Welcome... I will guide us the rest of the way to the camp." You said, loud enough that the entire crowd could hear you. 

You marched forward, and none followed. 

A male spat on the ground where you had been standing. His wings were gray and tattered, face a strange pale color that didn't match the rest of the Illyrians. A man who had seen too many days for what Illyrians were used to. 

"We dont take orders from a Summer court-" Cassian did not let the male continue. He took the crossbow from his hands, and gave the soldiers around him a nod. They parted around the male. His face went white as a sheet. Cassian's frustration turned his expression into that of a wild wolf. He knew that there would be some to stand against him in helping.

"ninety nine soldiers, I must have miscounted." Cassian announced, and waved the forces forward to follow. You smiled to yourself, and led them through the tall pine and larch trees that made up the forest border with Spring. 

Cassian carried the crossbow the entire journey from the hills to the camp. Summer soldiers did not hide the way they stared at the winged males. Some even moved their setups to be further away. You didn't blame them, but embarrassment ran through you at the message it sent. 

"Half of you will flank Tamli- Kova’s…” You corrected yourself and spat the name. Cassian wondered what kind of hatred lie there. There was obviously something beyond just enemy courts. “-forces from the shoreline. The other half will follow the second front into the border.” You ran a finger across the map. Cassian was thoroughly impressed with your planning. He noted the details of which fronts were where and what diversions were being made by specific groups. 

“Az will lead the flank. I’ll take the front.” He spoke with the confidence of a male who had never lost a battle. He knew Tamlin’s upfront ways on top of it all. He would have trained his son to do the same. 

“Dismissed.” Cassian announced, and the Illyrians went straight to the long dinner table. Az followed, giving his brother a long look before departing. Cassian knew that look. The one that said ‘watch your back. I’m not watching it for you.’ After centuries of giving each other that look, it was enough to rattle him. What exactly had he been doing to warrant that from his brother? He stared at the map on the table. 

He felt your presence before he heard you. Like a snake creeping around, waiting to strike. “This is a good plan.” He approved, then stole a glance to see your reaction. 

“I would hope so. It’s our last push to keep them out of Summer territory.” You collected your pawns from the table and tried not to look at him. He watched you move with fluid grace that was common in Fae.. but you were different somehow. Like you moved with extra care. It made him uncomfortable. Why did it bother him so much? He tried to shake himself from the stupor he felt around you.

He took crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his wings flare at the frustration he was “If you had boats to help that would ensure you winning this.” 

“You mean us winning this?” He bit his tongue. He didn’t like the idea of allying with someone with a reputation like yours. It was dangerous even getting this close. As if you could read his thoughts, you rolled your eyes. “Like I said, we can’t risk any more.”

“But you can risk my people?” The words stung with accusation. With a underlying tone of shame and history there. He tried not to think of himself as fully Illyrian after what they’d done to his mother. But he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the brutality of the culture. It made him what he was. It forced him to survive instead of dying in those camps alone, freezing to death.

You were silent at the simmering question. He smiled bitterly. “You can say what you want but I brought them here. Now you need to make sure your side keeps them alive.” He didn’t look back when he left you standing there in front of your battle map.

“Heavy is the head...” You thought.

[batfamily14]

The Sun Queen

BOBA FETT X BLACK QUEEN!READER

Chapter 2

Rating: explicit

A/N: You were raised to be strong, fierce but when you suddenly come into power with the task of fighting a war and for your people’s freedom becoming queen is more challenging than you imagined. Recruiting a fearsome bounty hunter by your side, it’s up to you to restore your kingdom. Follow your journey to becoming a royal legend and perhaps find love on the way.

You caught yourself thinking...

he may destroy you.

And you know what? That’d be fine.

To be completely disintegrated by all the best parts of him. At least then you’d know what you had was real.

Even if it killed you.

You’re settled in the garden, your crown perch on your head. The thick loth cat cloak you wear stands out against the black gown that slit up both your thighs. It’s you who now caught Boba staring.

Boba.

The name so fitting. As if it were crafted for him, and him only.  It wouldn’t make sense if it belonged to anyone else.

You.

He couldn’t help but to look at you. The hunter notices that your skin makes it seem like you were conceived by the night sky, the stars caught in your eyes. Sparkling when you smile. He has been with plenty of women and seen dozens of beautiful girls but when he made love to them or kissed them, it didn’t feel right. When he was a young teen he often wondered what was wrong with him, thinking perhaps he would never be capable of falling in love.

But now, he thought maybe he just didn’t recognize those other girls. When he touched you he recognized you, as if your entire essence was lost to him at some point and now you’re finally his again.

Home.

You’re complete. You’re real. A living and breathing artwork met before his eyes and all he wanted to do was memorize your details. So, then maybe he’d appreciate everything in the universe that was bright, soft, and brown.

And it’d lead him like little boats down aisles floating back to you.

Back home.

~*~

You’re sitting, gazing at your mother’s statue, you squint your face up. You did that when you’re about to cry, he noted. Which you often did when you thought of your mother. He reaches out and touches you, touches you like you’re a rare and universal treasure. Precious. Fragile.

A confronting hand on your shoulder. He did that more often now, his hands becoming an extension of you.

“Little one,” his modulated voice came. The nickname shatters you. Pleasantly breaking under the unmerciful weight of him. “Fett,” you respond, coolly. His finger traces patterns into the skin of your shoulder, another new sensation.“What was her name?” He questions , softy.

“Saphoriae,” you tell him. “ In my language it means “The loved one.” ”

“What does your name mean?”

“Shining light.”

He smiles under his helmet.“How fitting.” The hunter thinks. “It’s perfect, practically designed for you.”

He’s gone back to guarding the garden entrance behind you, blaster to his armored chest. You’re perched on a bench, eyes carefully tracing over him. His body seems as if it's sketched from charcoal like he’s art and art isn’t beautiful, it’s supposed to make you feel something, and every time you see him something blooms in you. It always did. You try to remember how this happened, when you started to wonder why he wasn’t a painted portrait hung everywhere in case the universe forgot he existed once, and that thankfully at the same time you did too. What luck that is. That you could climb up his ribs into his heart if he let you.

You shift in your seat, your hand caressing through your hair. His visor gleams in your direction, his head doing his signature tilt which you found yourself growing slowly fond of. He strides closer, walking with purpose, always moving with a reason. He stops at the edge of the bench next to you. When Boba looks at you, he focuses on you as if you’re the only person in the world. Despite how unimportant the thing you could be babbling about, he makes it seem like you’re telling him the galaxy’s greatest secrets.

Your eyes unintentionally linger on the battered scars of his armor. Dents and scrapes, you cherish them all. The armor is a part of him like an exoskeleton, a shell that you so desperately want to see him crawl out of. Not so that you’d appreciate the real him, the honest him is a bounty hunter too. Just so that you could appreciate every layer of him, peel back every exterior of his being and appreciate each surface.

“What’s on your mind, little one?” He questions. You bat your lashes at him, chewing on your bottom lip.

“Your armor, how did it get like that?” You ask, gesturing to a rather large dent on the side of his helmet. He huffs, “I’m a hunter after all.” He says matter of factly. You roll your eyes to the sky making him let out a breathy chuckle. “I mean...did it hurt?” You inquire.

He sighs dramatically, peering down at you and offers a small shrug. “All a part of the business.” Boba lets you run a shy hand across his chest plate. “I’ve seen you train in the Sparring Hall, I would...watch you.” You confess. You hear the rumbling of another chuckle bubbling up in his throat.

“I know.” He almost teases, and you think you should feel embarrassed but you don’t. If he really didn’t want you to watch him he wouldn’t let you. Boba has a way of disappearing and reappearing whenever he pleased. You awe at him,“The way you fight it’s…”

Breathtaking.

He moves fluidly, as if he was dancing. Every flick of his wrist or thrown kick and punch roll one after another. His build is strong and a bit slender but nevertheless his form showcases all his strength.

“It’s what?” He probes, two fingers smoothly lift your chin up when your eyes shift away, forcing you to look at him.

“It’s...it’s fascinating.” You answer, flush with nervousness.

“Fascinating?”

“Yes...I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“How to fight?”

You nod. “Our warriors have a particular way of battle but you...you’re ruthless. You’re brutal. I like it, the fierceness of you.” Boba chuckles putting away his blaster to cross his arms over his chest, listening. “When you fight,” you continue. “It’s a testimony to your power. I want to fight like you, I need to.”

“Why do you want to fight?” The hunter questions.

“I want to feel what it looks like when you do.”

“And what’s that, girl?”

“Alive.”

~*~

The sparring hall is carved under the kingdom, built firmly with mud brick. Heavy wooden doors open to a sweeping

aged cream colored staircase leading to a platform covered with a blue mat. There’s various weapons draped on the walls. Spears, knives, a hunter’s wet dream. You’ve changed into your mother’s old sparring clothes when she waged in wars. A manogany thicken fabric wraps around your breast and crisscrosses over your stomach and spine securely, a pair of shorts with a pooling fabric hangs in the front and back like a skirt split in half, and leathery strapped sandals lace up your legs and thighs. Your locks are pulled upward with a silk wrap revealing your whole face.

Boba wears grey sweats, and it feels like a violation to see this much of him. As if he’s wholly exposed though his helmet is still on. Boba’s body is lean and muscular, his skin tan, littered with scars like his armor. But still...art nevertheless just greatly more detailed now. You find it strange, almost comical actually. At first he wasn’t your anything, a guard if you had acknowledged him in the least, always looming behind. A second shadow. But, now he's undeniable and suffocating, he’s like…

fire.

It’s always fire with Boba, burning inside you. You’re surprised him touching you hasn’t completely disintegrated you yet. You used to go all night without thinking about him, place him far enough in the back of your brain so you could survive eight hours. But, being without him is like not breathing, even in your mind. So, waking up in the morning and seeing him bathed in the sunlight is as if taking your first breath after an eternity of drowning.

It’s a desperate gasp from the loss of him.

“Let’s start with something simple.” He says. “A punch.”

You nod focusing on him and he directs with his hand to back up. “I’m going to teach you primary types of punches, first a jab.”

Boba demonstrates a series of jabs, arms moving in a blur. You can hear the wind whipping with the force of it.

He’s strong, grateful, ruthless. He’s advised to watch his form, observe his steady movements. “When it’s a decent fighter,” he begins. “they won’t be easy to read. They’ll move their arm from the place where it is right forward , so you need to have a quick reaction time and defense saved in your muscle memory to react to it automatically. You understand?” You nod and he circles around you talking. “You won’t be able to tell which arm will strike first. So, when your punch lands, your arms should be close to fully extended, extending your striking range and improving your punching power.” He demonstrates again by throwing a quick punch that breezes pass your face and you flinch away.

“Land the punch with your index and middle fingers, with your fist rotated so that your thumb points downward on impact. Power is transferred better there, and you're less likely to break your hand.” You lower yourself into stance, but your form is all wrong so he comes up behind, his hands on your hips. “Relax your upper body and use speed instead of strength.” You let him correct your stance and he knees your thigh making you slide your feet further apart . “Rotate your body and be sure not to lean forward. And most importantly...” he trails off and you hear the smile in his voice. The sound of it makes you shudder like his breaths prickle your neck. “...protect that pretty face.” You nervously adjust your footing, squaring your feet just below your shoulders.

You throw a sloppy jab that makes the hunter grunt under his helmet. “Were you even paying attention?”

You grumble under your breath a few frustrated curses before throwing another jab. He shakes his head in disapproval and grabs your arms. “Straighten up and twist your hips. Keep your eyes on your target.” You try again and though you do a lot better you almost embarrassingly lose your balance, making Boba have to catch you. He groans under his helmet frustrated but pulls you up to your feet anyway. “Try again.” He orders. You can already feel yourself prickling with irritation but you're too keen on not giving up so easily. You ultimately go at this for hours, him grunting under his helmet and correcting you, you groaning and cursing. Finally Boba has had enough and tries a new tactic, “hit me.”

“What?” You gasp, stopping your fist in mid air. You’re drenched in sweat and heaving from exhaustion. Boba feels himself twitch in his pants. “Hit me.” He repeats, voice stronger. “N-no.” You protest and he shakes his head growling. “It won’t hurt.” He argues, and admittedly that stinks but you still refuse making his cheeks burn red. “Hit me like your people depend on it.” He says suddenly, and your eyes narrow at him. “I mean it!” He growls. “Hit me like I’m the only thing standing in your way of freeing your people.”

“No!” You choke, backing away. “I won’t.”

“If you won’t hit me! How will you ever defend your people?” He insists. You push at his chest but he doesn’t budge. “I can help them. What do you know?” He grips your arms firmly. “I know alot about war, girl. There’s no mercy for the weak and hesitant.” You scold him, this time pushing past him. “I’m not weak nor hesitant!” You sneer.

“Prove it.” He hisses. When you don’t turn around he pushes at you once more. “You say death is better than bondage? What is different from giving up and living and giving up and dying if either way you’ll be remembered as the last of the Nivrols.” You hault, your skin burning, you’re practically seething at his words. Knowing they held a deadly truth. “Because we’ll die with honor.” You growl, fisting your hands at your side. Boba steps closer, his head tilting down close to your ear. “But you don’t want your people to die, you want them to live like every great leader would.” He whispers, and you clench your eyes close as you feel him tilt closer. “So, are you willing to lay down and die for your people or are you going to fucking fight?”

You don’t think, you just move like he does. Fast and fluid.

It happens so fast, he barely has time to register what happens. You hardly know what’s happening yourself before it’s too late. He lands on the matted ground with a heavy thud and you hold your aching knuckles close to your chest. D-did you just fucking uppercut him? You’re bewildered, panting and staring at him with wide eyes. He’s still...too fucking still but then you hear it, grumbling from the depths of his chest and you’re frozen. He lets out another animalistic growl at the sight of you. Horribly disheveled, a wondrous messy thing. Lock strands loosely hanging, clothes ruffled and nearly exposing the sensitive skin he’s dreamed about mindlessly. You tower over him like a true Nivrol warrior, a savior coming to cut down a sarlacc herself. Your chest heaving and stickyly coated with sweat. Mouth parted and tongue peeking out and licking the saltiness tethering down to your lips.

You could crumble right now, he’s a vision of ecstasy. Pure static plowing right through you, electrifying every nerve in your body. He’s on his hands and knees gazing upward at you, panting. Then all of sudden he’s growling and springing forward, latching his arms around you and using all his weight to knock you over. Forcing all the wind out of your lungs. He wrestles your arms over your head once you’re on the ground and you grit your teeth squirming. Great sun god he’s fucking strong! His visor glaring below at you, you give in, gasping for air. You could fight him, you feel the edge of it curling in your stomach but you release the urge. Instead relenting and letting the sensation of him hovering over you consume you. Overwhelm you.

You’re like that for a while, a sweaty messy pile on the floor. He’s snarling at you as if he's an animal, ravishing with no reason, with the desire and instinct of wanting blood between its teeth. You’re afraid to move, laying like a corpse underneath him. His blunt nails bite into your skin as if he can’t decide how to devour you yet. You feel yourself clenching around nothing between your legs, grasping at an emptiness, longing to be full. You brace yourself for whatever comes next. His head lowers slowly and you’re trembling in his grasp. His visor comes closer until it’s taking up nearly all your vision.  Then suddenly you’re closing your eyes, waiting in anticipation. Agony. Then...there’s a cool icy sensation pressing against your forehead. it’s heavy and hard, shoving your head into the mat. Your eyes hesitantly peer open and you realize he’s connecting your heads together, comfortably. It’s… debilitating.

You’re certain his eyes are close and you think maybe yours should be too. Some of the most beautiful moments in life are often spent with your eyes closed. Praying. Dreaming. Kissing. Wait, is this kissing? It feels like it, spine tingling and disembodying but it’s so much more. You know it. So you close your eyes and relinquish, pressing your head back into his. His breathing shudders at the action but he doesn’t move away. Instead his hand comes to gently cup the side of your face. With your free hand you hold the back of his helmet. His fingers loosen around your wrist, thumb brushing up and pressing into the center of your palm.

You’re disintegrated.

Utterly annihilated. This is it, he’s finally done it. Like a laser beam from the Death Star he’s ripped and vaporized you molecule after molecule. So, you catch yourself wondering how long does it take for a galaxy to collapse? Because it feels like only mere seconds for stardust to flood behind your eyes as if Boba has ignited a billion supernovas inside you.

Boba’s weight is heavy on yours, his legs stretching out and on either side of your own , trapping you in. You can hear faint panting breaths beneath the hem of his helmet. Your heart beats an inconsistent thump in your ears, and you absently wonder if you’ve ever heard it this loudly. His visor is a shimmering vision of your own reflection, holding it eagerly. You see your face glancing back at him with a peculiar look of joy and adoration, as if you’ve transcended. You’ll never get over how he looks at you. How could someone ever get over how a deliciously tan man admires them, as if they're a kaiburr crystal. His strong arms help pull you to your feet. You could smell the million miles of the galaxy on him. Feel the raveled adventures and experiences buried within his heating skin. You stand entwined , his arm swung around your waist and yours looping around his neck.

You almost ask him to lift his helmet, promise him you won’t peek, that you just want him to lift it so that you can kiss him...again. This time traditionally on the lips. Your mouth stutters open hesitantly but a voice stops you.

“Your majesty.” It proclaims.

There’s a brief silence.

You turn to glance at a man standing at the doorway, his braided beaded hair is tied back from his handsome face. He wears a wool brown coat and unpolished leather boots. You recognize him as Zoid’s son, Randdem. Zoid towers directly behind him, a disdain expression looms over his face. You nonchalantly remove yourself from Boba’s grasp and the hunter follows in suit. You felt pearls of sweat trickle down the back of your neck. If Zoid wants to say something crude he stifles under his breath.

You nod to Boba who takes that as his crew to leave, he walks casually to the changing room outside the hall. Zoid and Randdem wait for you to stride up the steps with the little bit of dignity you have left. You’re quite as their judging eyes glance you over, once Zoid has emptied all the pitying remarks from his head he sighs deeply before saying, “You remember my son, don’t you queen?”

Randdem is a husky young lad, bolder and fuller in outlines where Zoid is thinner. He’s worse than Zoid, really. He’s a four part combination of Zoid’s arrogance and pity with his mother’s selfishness and pride. Talking to him is like speaking to a tornado, not much to deliberate with a thing that only wants or knows destruction and dominance. The saddest part of it all is Randdem is fairly handsome and if it wasn’t for his redundant personality more suitors would surely be in his favor. You’ve never liked him, not even when you were children.

“Of course,” you swallow. Zoid nods approvingly,”I brought him here to get to know you better, seeing as he’ll be serving at your side as a council leader once I’m gone.”

Yeah, great. “My queen,” Randdem says and he halfway bows to you. “If you’d like I’d love to request having you to dinner this evening.” You must pull a face because Zoid scolds you. “I-I’m sorry!” You try to recover. “This is so unexpected.” You rub the back of your neck, embarrass.

“I understand your majesty, which is why I made sure to ask on a day I knew you’d be free.” Randdem continues. You give him a puzzle look. How long have they been planning this meeting? “Though, I wasn’t expecting to find you here?” He goes on. You try grinning but you know you must look ridiculous because all you want to is snarl at them so you just purse your lips instead and nod. “R-right.” You answer, your hands fidgeting at your side.

“So you’ll be ok with this evening?” He asks again.

You frown,“Well, actually-”

“Of course she will!” Zoid interrupts, and it takes every ounce of self restraint in your body not to uppercut him. “Isn’t that right?” He turns to you with a look of expectancy in his eyes. And you’re left gawking between the two before mustering up the tintest smile you could without cursing at them both.

“Of course.” You finally utter through gritted teeth. “It’ll give us time to catch up.”

“As I thought,” Zoid nods. They both turn to leave but before they’ve finally left Zoid turns around and crinkles up his nose. “And please I’d advise you freshen up before the evening, if you don’t mind. You smell ranted and too much like him. ” Randdem and Zoid chuckle on their way out before letting the heavy doors slam close behind them. You turn around, sighing with exasperation. Boba stands with his arms crossed, now fully armored. “So,” he began. “You have a date?” You groan, “Shut it, fett!” He chuckles and you feel your heart flutter but you are in too much of a sour mood to truly enjoy the sound of his laughter though it is nice to hear.

Great sun god give you strength. What have you been dragged into?

~*~

The dress Galine has fastened you in is way too nice for an evening to be met in disaster. The hunter is cautious with his hand, lingering and pressing into your back lower than what’d normally be appropriate. He lets it slither away and melt down at his side when the merchant warriors come into view at the entrance of the dining hall. Randdem leans back casually against the large doors, arms crossed and an impatient expression sunken in his features. “Shall you accompany me inside?”, he began. “Without your…companion.” He flicks his hand in Boba's direction and recoils it just as fast as if his skin cells reject even being near the same air as him. Your inside grind together to mush. “If your warriors will keep him company instead.” You bargain, and Randdem scowls at you but you just smile which makes his scowl impossibly more scornful. He clamps his mouth shut and nods pointedly, escorting you into the dining hall. His brows never unfrowrow . Like father, like son you supposed.

~*~

A single marble table with a white sheet handsomely decorates the dining hall. Two chairs set out on either ending sides of the table, and bestow on top are delicate appetizers and aged wine. Randdem pulls out your chair for you before walking and plopping down on his own. He picks lazily from a bowl munching on a purple fruit.  While a young peasant boy fills your goblet , before scrambling into the kitchen away from the tense atmosphere. The air is stale from the lack of conversation. “I didn’t know you took an interest in me.” You quip, taking a slow sip of your wine. “I’m interested in our people’s future.” He sneers, plucking again at the fruit.  A smile stretches thin on your lips. “I figured.” His own grin is sly and conspiratorial, making your leg twitch under the table. “You’re leading an entire world now. Do you believe it’d be wise to do it alone?” You shoot him a curious glance and it’s like he relishes in watching you grow flustered. “Historically,” you began. A knowing smile tilting upward on your lips, “women led their kingdoms better compared to kings. Especially alone.” He scowls at you but you pretend not to notice, instead politely sipping more wine.

“Are you referring to your grandmother?”

You nod, “When my grandfather passed she raised my mother alone and cared for the entire kingdom. Then for ten years my mother led this kingdom before marrying my father. During that time we prospered.”

He clasps his hands. “Those women were not only queens, but warriors.” You cock your head, a challenging glint in your eyes. “Warriors can be judged more than on just their fighting.”  You respond. “They can be judged on their character. I was raised by two of the most prominent warriors of our lifetime, and not just because of their fighting skill but because of their heart.” Randdem gives you a smug impression. “Our people need more than good spirits and charm.”

“Then I will be whatever they need me to be.” You say.

He crosses his arms, leaning back making the wooden chair creak in protest. “Why is it then you pranced around with that hunter in the training hall?” You squint your eyes at him. “That doesn’t concern you.” He chuckles amused.“You know I’m right! That’s why you were down there with him.” You flush warm with embarrassment. “You shouldn’t comment on what you don’t know.” You snarl. “I've seen enough of your gushy display in one of the most sacred rooms in the entire kingdom to know you have no shame. How dare whore yourself out to t-that damned cloned buckethead your father allowed to roam the kingdom and filthy it!” This time you scowl at him. “You dare speak ill to me? You’re queen! Who are you to speak to me this way and question my father?!” You shot to your feet, voice ringing out. He jabs his finger in your direction, “You are not my queen!” He growls, teeth baring.

“But I am, whether your father or you can accept it or not! I am your queen.” You hiss, gripping either side of the table. “But, you’ll never be king.” He glares at you, eyes like two black infinite portals. “What were you expecting? That I’d marry you?” You croak. “Never.”

“The kingdom needs an honorable leader.” He retorts. “And that isn’t you!” You huff, crossing slowly around the table like a predator onto its prey. Menacing and delighted to devour. “And you think that’s you?” You snarl, lifting an eyebrow amused. “You have less honor than you think. Your father would rather give in and lay over as our people become enslaved, he’s less of a warrior than he is a leader.” He’s taken back by your words, fisting his hands in his lap.

“That’s not true you lying bastard!” He snaps, rising to his feet and knocking over his chair behind him with a loud clang.

“But it is.” You sneer. “My father and I wanted to fight for our freedom, but yours wanted our people to suffer again. And you accuse me of being the weak one? So, don’t you dare question me or him.” You growl, closing in. “And don’t dare talk about the hunter like that again or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?!” He interjects as he rounds the table all fuming anger and resentment. “Don’t make me laugh, boy.” You huff. “You think you’ll bring back our honor? You’ll have no honor left if I find out your father had anything to do with my father’s death. You and your whole family will be banished!” Randdem stills, paling at your accusation. “N-no!” He can barely spit out. “No! That’s isn’t t-true! M-my father is a man of honor!” He screams, like a child throwing a tantrum. You know the help is listening, who wouldn’t. You’re sure there’ll be rumors spreading like vicious fire tomorrow. You turn away and he’s left trying to follow after you but he’s so angry and confused he stumbles over his own feet having to use the table as leverage as he walks, while cursing loudly behind you. The dinner hall’s doors abruptly open and the hunter and merchant warriors usher themselves inside. You carefully maneuver yourself around them, making a hasty exit while Randdem spits more cruel insults. The hunter half expects you to turn around but you don’t budge. Instead you walk calmly out of Randdem’s sight and request the guards not let him enter the castle again without direct permission from you.

~*~

“What happened?” Boba spoke first and you’re startled by the gentleness of his voice. Your chambers are dark and quiet, chilly from the wind blowing in the open window. You perch yourself on the edge of your bed. “We had an argument, and he said some rather distasteful things...and so did I .” You groan and run a tiresome hand through your locks. “It’s clear Randdem and Zoid don’t want me to be queen.” When he steps closer you shift your eyes away. The hunter tilts his head.

“What else is bothering you?”

“He...well he insulted you.”

“So?” The hunter shrugs and you roll your eyes to the ceiling. “So,” you mock playfully. “I defended you.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted to.”

He huffs as if scuffing down a laugh and you glare at him. The hunter looks down as if his shoes suddenly needed a close inspection. His shoulder shaking lightly, the corner of your mouth quirks up. “I thought you once saw me like you saw dirt on the bottom of your shoe.” He suddenly comments and you flick your eyes at him in shock and this time you make a quiet sound that made him peer halfway up at you.

“I see you like I see the sun, blinding. Even when I’m not looking at you, I feel you.”

The hunter’s head snaps up at you and you take a breath.

You wondered if he was smiling, imagined his eyes crinkling with the force of it. As if reading your mind a hesitant hand reaches out and touches the bottom of the helmet. You suddenly seem incapable of moving, face deliberately blank. He waits and there’s a brief moment before your eyes grow wide. You rise and walk close to him and your hand covers his own. His gloved hand is warm underneath the rough leather. You’re trembling with pure adrenaline, heart fluttering. You let him guide you into lifting it, you go slow enough for him to stop you if he wants to, but when he doesn’t you see his soft lips first and you almost lose your composure and kiss him right then but instead you take a deep inhale. Dark trimmed facial hair prances across the lower half of his face and his upper lip, it  prickles against your fingers. Dark hair brushing under his ears and trimmed and faded almost down to his gorgeous sharp jawline. Some of his hair extends long over the back of his neck, then his broad nose comes into view, straight and wide. And suddenly...his brown eyes meet yours and you realize he’s more breathtaking than you could’ve ever dreamt. Handsome and sculpted as if everything in the universe that blooms from a certain beauty that commands your attention cracked open and offered you him. Now that you see him for the first time...smiling at you...you realize

like the moon he’s a stealer of light but you know nothing better that could hold light like the smile upon his face because just like the moon he’s crafted to glow. So, maybe he’s collected borrowed time, star dust, and gunpowder. Enough wisdom and morals to fill a holy scripture but enough violence and death to also burn the same book to ash by the touch of his fingertips. Enough adventure to last lifetimes and fill children’s heads with a mindless abundance of wonder and fantasy. Enough vulnerability hidden away to quiver at your hands and melt like an ice sculpture to his knees. There’s so many ways this could end, but with him in front of you like a heavenly body, you know it’s barely begun, whatever universe that was slowly being born into existence between you two. You knew you’d be tethered to him by it forever.

“Come with me.” You whisper softly and his brown eyes gleam, heart thumping against his chest.

“Where?”

“Outside.”

You point to the window and he rubs a slow hand up his arm while the other holds his helmet against his side.

“It’s cold.” He protests and you giggle to yourself as you begin to clamper out the window anyway. The ledge is much smaller compared to you now of course, though you still manage to crawl out and sit near the window. You lean back on the kingdom wall carefully, knowing Galine would kill you if you soiled your gown. Your thighs rest on the ledge while the rest of your body hangs over. You close your eyes but the corners of your mouth twitch up in a small victorious grin when you hear his defeated sigh. Boba comes out more smoothly than you as if the womp rat has done it a thousand times and he rests himself beside you.

After a moment of staring into endless space he utters, “Tell me about the stars.” You bite your bottom lip. “The stars have secrets like us my mother used to tell me, but they also have stories.”He tilts his head, waiting. You smile, closing your eyes tighter and breathing in deeply. You remember your mother taking you into her lap at the window and oiling your small braids and scalp. “She’d say the sky and the world fell in love. That the sky hung the moon for the world, and that the world in return gave the sky, flowers. My mother said the sun god was born first, then all the other gods followed.” She’d tell you each god’s birth and their purpose as her soft massaging hands lulled you to sleep.

“You believe that?” He questions, lifting an eyebrow . You look at him, baring a cheeky smile. “That two powerful lovers created a universe of their own? I witness it all the time.” You gesture to the hundreds of homes stretching out in the grasslands of the kingdom. Boba chuckles, smiling at you and leaning his head back against the wall and you couldn’t help but stare at the subtle movements. You know he wasn’t doing anything extraordinary but you could tell he was the god of his life, of his own destiny. We’re all the gods of small things, even if it’s just ourselves. With an upturn face you peer at him. If you both were gods you wanted to meet him halfway to an astral plane where both your heavens collided.

So...you kiss him, mouth slotting over his gently, soul transcending to the stars. Your mouth becomes an open exhibit for his tongue to explore through. Instead of his eyes, his wet warmth admires the best parts of you. Flicking and tasting the dirtiest details with the filthiest sweetness he’s ever known. Your fingers curl into the nape of his dark coarse hair, tugging. As if teasing the strings from an instrument it pulls a wondrous sound from his lips, an orchestra rumbling in his chest. His heavy groan quiet against your lips, a song only yours.

If tonight you could make love to him, you’d push him over the sheets of your bed, lay him bare and golden like a horizon. Kiss his scarred skin and lick the stardust from his flesh. Let him wither you down into a vulnerable shaking pile on the blanket and obliterate your ego and the rising sarcastic remarks on your tongue and so maybe then when he’s laid warm on top of you, weary and desperate, you suddenly appreciate everything in the universe that is...

...metal, quiet , and green.

And it lead you like little boats floating down aisles back to him.

Back home.

[raviotherabbit]

royal pain in the ass - chapter 1

Chapter 1: Era of the Wilds Queen Zelda rebuilds her palace.

[first] - [next] read it on ao3!

  △ ▲△

Three months ago, Link started this time travelling journey. Before he left through that portal, with eight heroes waiting behind him expectantly, he held onto Zelda’s hand and promised he’d tell her everything.

They were a good bunch, by Zelda’s judgement. She was relieved knowing that the Hero of Twilight was looking out for her former knight. And the Hero of Time and Hero of Warriors seemed to have good heads on their shoulders, so she certainly shouldn’t be worried there. And Link was even friendly with the others, like the Hero of Hyrule and the Hero of Winds! She was glad there were at least some people there to indulge him, once in a while.

One of their visits landed on a beautiful day, right on the edge of summer. As a bit of a treat, Zelda let the Hero of the Four Sword and Hero of Legend loose on what remains of her library. She idly watched as her Link—Wild, the others called him—disappeared into Castle Town with Wind in tow, both of them giggling.

“We should probably follow them,” Twilight grimaced.

Zelda startled, caught off guard by Twilight’s suggestion. They were sitting against the wall below the castle’s observation room, comparing and contrasting their respective monarchies when he’d abruptly changed the topic.

“What for?” she questioned. “There’s not much trouble for them to get into. Let them have their fun.”

He sighed. “Wild’s idea of fun usually involves explosives.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re exaggerating. He can be very responsible.”

“You were there when he launched himself halfway across Hyrule, right?”

Zelda paused for a moment, glancing back to the palace gates Wild had disappeared past. Their last visit, he had wanted to show off to Hyrule just how far he could launch himself with his bombs, and, somehow, he’d made it all the way to Hateno.

“Perhaps I’m a bit lenient with him,” she relented. “I suppose I just like seeing him happy.”

Twilight said nothing, but he arched an eyebrow at her. Something about his scrutiny made her heart drop, and for a split second, she wondered how much he knew about her and Wild’s shared past. What happened to him, how she couldn't save him before-

“I mean, he deserves as much, doesn’t he?” she hastily explained. “He’s got a second chance, now.”

  △ ▲△

Queen Zelda Sarya Hyrule awakens for the day, leaning her hands on the balcony as she looks over her kingdom’s sunrise. It’s a bright, fresh morning, the smell of last night’s rain still in the air. This morning marks three months, officially, since Link's last visit.

Zelda sighs. She supposes she ought to be used to this. She’s got a hundred years’ worth of experience waiting for Link, she can survive however long it takes him to finish this mission. She could spend her time worrying over her friend’s safety, but really, eight other heroes from eras past? He couldn’t be in safer hands.

It’s only a shame they had to halt their weapons training, for the time being. Zelda’s getting tired of sparring with dummies.

She steps away from the balcony, stretching her arms out. She’s been using the observation room as her temporary quarters. And it’s not that she wouldn’t rather stay in her old room, if it weren’t for the broken bridge and collapsed roof, it’s just…

Well, Link always referred to his life as a new beginning. Maybe this can be one for her, too.

First thing to do, get dressed. Yesterday was laundry day, so her clothes are nice and clean.

Second, get some breakfast. What she wouldn’t do for some coffee-

Splash!!

“Oh shit!”

“No! The pallets!”

Upon further analysis, it appears Zelda won’t have any time to get dressed before her day begins.

She shows up to the moat wearing an old, plain shirt and shorts, her pajamas since she’s woken up. Her hair is messy and tangled, and she’s still having trouble keeping her eyes open. But when Bolson and Karson notice Zelda, the latter bows to her as though she were the picture of beauty.

She has to resist rolling her eyes. What would her father think of this?

“What’s the issue?” she asks them as Karson rises. “I heard something about palettes?”

“Ah, well-” Karson stammers. “You see, your majesty-”

“Our horses,” Bolson explains, mercifully cutting Karson off. “They were carting pallets of material for our work today, when something spooked ‘em. Knocked the pallets into the water, ‘n Karson and me were trying to figure out how to fish ‘em up.”

Zelda raises an eyebrow, glancing at each side of the bridge. Aside from the rushing water and the slight breeze, all is still.

“What could have possibly scared your horses? There’s nothing up here, and-” She peeks down at the river. “The Zora aren’t supposed to arrive for a few more hours.”

Karson speaks. “I’m sorry, your majesty, I don’t know-”

She holds up a hand. “I’m not blaming you, Karson. I’m simply confused.” She sighs. “Don’t worry about your supplies. Do whatever else you can for now. When Prince Sidon and his guard report to the palace, I’m sure I can convince some of them to scavenge your belongings.”

“Thank you, Queen Zelda,” Bolson responds before Karson can make a fool of himself again. “Hudson went after the horses. Karson, we should see if he needs any help.”

Zelda watches as the two of them leave. Link had personally attested to the quality of work Bolson Construction could do, and truth be told, she’d hired them on his recommendation alone —though the fact that one of their members had built an entire town by hand had been particularly alluring. Her father would have thrown a fit at Bolson’s “manners”, or lack thereof, but that very trait was the reason she enjoyed working with him so much. He understood that she was in the same boat as the rest of them.

But that story about the horses had her worried. On such a calm morning, when most of the kingdom had yet to stir, she couldn’t help but fear that whatever had spooked them so bad had been malicious.

She looks back over the bridge, trying to peer down into the dark water. It wasn’t so long ago that the castle had been teeming with monsters, after all. Sure, they aren’t quiet, but is it possible some of them were missed?

Well, whatever it is, it could at least wait until she’s dressed.

  △ ▲△

“I’m worried about excavating the Great Hall.”

Zelda is enjoying her breakfast (buttered bread, Hylia, how she misses Link’s cooking), when Yunobo approaches her. He, along with several other young Gorons, volunteered to help clear the debris from Hyrule Castle and its adjoining town.

At first, Zelda had been a bit concerned about having not only Vah Rudania’s new pilot, but Daruk’s direct descendant working so closely with her. Daruk had been a dear friend of hers, after all, and she wasn’t sure she could bear having a reminder of him walking around her home.

But right away it had become apparent that Yunobo is nothing like his grandfather. He’s innocent where Daruk had been optimistic, hesitant where Daruk had been a leader. It was easy enough for Zelda to pretend that there was no relation at all.

Wordlessly, she motions for Yunobo to sit beside her, which he does.

“Link got your slate to you, correct?” she asks, pulling out her own.

Zelda had been quite shocked when Purah had presented her with a brand new slate, a replacement for the one she’d given to Link. Apparently one hundred years of research and a now-peaceful world meant technological advancements could happen fast. And with the correct payment, she was willing to make a few more for the rest of the new Champions.

Yunobo nods, shyly taking his slate out. His is much larger than the ones provided to the rest of the Champions, on account of his larger hands.

“Perfect.” Zelda pulls up a file, a diagram of the castle’s interior, and taps their slates together. “Did that transfer work? You should have a copy of the castle’s blueprints now.”

“Oh wow!” Yunobo holds his slate to his face, marvelling at his screen. “This is amazing, your majesty!”

Zelda can’t help but smile along with him. “I thought the same thing when I first started playing with the first one,” she admits. “You can use this to show me what’s troubling you.”

“Right.” He points to the main entryway to the Great Hall. “See, we’re focusing on this part here, because it’s easier for us Gorons to move around. But I’ve been noticing a lot of rocks in the rubble from further up the castle.” He sighs. “It’s unstable. If we keep going as we are now there’s going to be a hole in the rock right up to the Sanctum.”

Zelda frowns, eyes fixed on the blueprints. So far, they haven’t had any issues like this. Most of the ruins have been from the stone lining the hallways, not the mountain itself. And, despite being a researcher, she’s not exactly an engineer. Can something like this even be fixed?

“Well, first of all, we’re stopping construction on that area immediately,” she instructs. “Make sure the rest of the Gorons know that. Then, go to Bolson with your concerns. His work has been temporarily delayed, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you figure out this problem.” She tucks her slate at her side. “Does that work for you?”

“Thank you!” Yunobo beams, and isn’t that a sight? Link told her he used to be very anxious a while ago. “I’ll get on that right away, your majesty.”

What she wants to say is ‘No need for that. Call me Zelda.’ But something about it gets caught in her throat.

“If there are any other issues, let me know,” Queen Zelda says.

  △ ▲△

There have been talks, lately, of turning Castle Town into a trading hub for the rest of Hyrule, and Zelda thought it was a wonderful idea. It was, after all, how the capital had been established many years ago, and returning to its roots would be a good way to build it back up again. She’s already gotten the word from several villages that they’d be willing to send merchants. The only thing left to do is to strike up a deal with the Gerudo.

Lady Riju is wise beyond her years, and Zelda can’t help but see herself in the girl. Forced into a role of importance at such a young age, carrying the burdens of loss and leadership on her shoulders…

“Using Castle Town as an in-between for your trades with the Gorons would make for shorter journeys in the long run.” Zelda and Riju are seated at a table in the dining hall, which the Queen has converted into an office of sorts. Both are flanked by several guards, yet their attention is focused on the slates in their hands, displaying a map of the kingdom.

“We would get our gemstones faster,” Riju reasons.

“Exactly,” Zelda says. “Not to mention, this would also open up opportunities for you with Zora’s Domain. I’m not sure whether you would appreciate their fish, but one of their other major exports is Luminous Stones.”

Hearing this, Riju raises her eyebrows. “Now that is interesting.”

The Gerudo are lucky to have Riju, Zelda decides. She knows there’s only one jeweler in Gerudo Town—aside from a few hobbyists—and yet, the chieftain was clearly interested on her behalf. Now that the Calamity is gone, the Gerudo may as well expand their horizons a bit.

Urbosa would be proud.

Zelda immediately shakes that thought off like a dog out of the water. “Of course, you’ll have to work the details out with the Zora themselves, I’m just offering the venue. But Prince Sidon is supposed to come by later today.”

Riju hums to herself. “Buliara,” she says, turning to the guard by her side. “Make sure we get a meeting with him before either of us leave.”

“Yes, Lady Riju.”

With that assurance, Riju faces Zelda once again, standing. “Well, Queen Zelda, it looks like we have a deal, then.” She offers Zelda a hand.

“Thank you, Lady Riju.” Zelda takes her hand, and the two shake. And that’s where Zelda assumed it would end.

“Actually,” Riju clears her throat, and suddenly it isn’t Riju, Chieftain of the Gerudo standing in front of her. It’s Riju, the thirteen year-old child, eyes wide and pleading, awkwardly holding onto one of her arms. “I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything for a while…”

Zelda winces, and in that instant she sees Riju avert her gaze. “Oh, Riju,” she says. “I’d love to, but…”

Riju holds up her hand. “It’s no matter, your highness,” she claims, displaying strength as if Zelda didn’t just see her put a wall up. “I should discuss the changes to our trade routes with the Gorons, anyway.”

Some other time, Zelda promises herself. She’ll make time for Riju soon. But as Riju beckons her guards and leaves, she can’t find it within herself to say it out loud.

  △ ▲△

Zelda really thought she could do it this time.

Ever since she’d gone through the process of selecting new Champions, new pilots for the Divine Beasts, Zelda has spent quite a bit of time with them. Training, maintenance, everything to help them move along as smoothly as possible. And it’s been fine with all of them!

Well, with the exception of one.

Riju and Yunobo are both generations removed from their ancestors, and if Zelda doesn’t remind herself, she can almost pretend there’s no connection at all. And Teba isn’t even related to any of the former champions. But Sidon…

Zelda storms into the makeshift infirmary, a large tent just outside the castle, to find Sidon having a wound wrapped by a nurse. Noticing her arrival, the nurse offers a bow before sliding out of the tent past the Queen.

“Prince Sidon,” she fights to keep her tone diplomatic. “Please tell me Captain Bazz lied to me.”

Sidon is so Mipha.

“Queen Zelda-”

“Stop,” she commands, and some part of her mind recognizes it as one her father took often. “You-” She points a finger at him. “-the crown prince of the Zora, a race known for their weakness to electricity, decided to take on a Lynel, of all things. Is that correct?”

Somehow, in all her five-foot four-inches worth of glory, Zelda has successfully gotten Prince Sidon, a fish towering over ten feet, to cower under her glare.

“Yes, Queen Zelda.”

Of course, Mipha wouldn’t have been nearly as brash as her brother. She knew her limits, knew the risks of facing a Lynel head on, especially a Silver one. She knew she wasn’t the one to take on that task.

Sidon, for some reason, didn’t.

“Okay,” Zelda sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why?”

“Why?” Sidon echoes back at her. He finally meets her eyes, matching her own harsh gaze. “Your highness, that Lynel was too close to Helmhead Bridge! If I hadn’t stopped it, it could have gone on a rampage throughout Castle Town!”

But he had her passion, that’s for sure. Where Mipha had been drawn to healing the injured, Sidon found himself drawn to battle away every danger that could befall the innocent. In that sense, the two of them were the same.

Sidon, like his sister, is a protector.

“You were under orders to clear out the Military Training Grounds! That’s it!” Zelda counters. “That Lynel was not your responsibility!”

“Hyrule is my responsibility! You made it my responsibility when you gave me Vah Ruta!”

Sidon is Mipha in every way that Mipha wasn’t. And how dare he come to her castle, acting the brasher, braver Mipha?

How dare he, Mipha’s most precious brother, risk himself for her?

“I’ve already led one set of Champions to their deaths, Sidon!” Zelda shouts, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “I’m not going to let you die as well!”

Sidon reels back, looking at Zelda with wide eyes.

Zelda covers her mouth, and her spine goes rigid, like ice. She turns on her heel, making a beeline out of the tent.

“Your highness!” Sidon calls after her. “Zelda! Wait!”

But Zelda ignores him. She pushes the flap out of the way, and once she’s finally outside the tent, she runs.

  △ ▲△

Of course it’s her old room. Zelda hadn’t even realized it was her destination until she arrived there, eyes blurry with tears. She slams her door shut behind her and sinks to the floor, finally letting herself cry. Sobs rake through her body, and she’s reminded of the times a hundred years ago, when she would lock herself in this same room after yet another day of failing to unlock her powers.

It’s been a century since then, and she’s right back where she started.

The Champions, all of them, deserve this future much more than Zelda does. She failed them all.

She’s not sure how long she sits there, curled in on herself, crying like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Seriously, what’s wrong with her?

Suddenly, there’s the sound of wings flapping from the literal hole in the room, rattling Zelda out of her sorrow enough to look up.

It’s Teba, because of course it is. Who else would fly all the way up here? His expression is difficult to read, but he’s focused on her.

“There you are,” he says, landing on the ruins of her wall. He hops down. “You scared Sidon, back there.”

Zelda looks back to the floor, head turned away from Teba. Her face and chest burn with shame.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles.

There’s warmth next to her, Teba sitting by her side. “Now, why are you saying that?” He drapes one of his wings over her shoulders.

It’s disgustingly casual, certainly not the image a distinguished queen should be projecting. But Teba is concerned for her, and Zelda can’t remember the last time she let someone do that. Even Link, her closest friend, she’s kept at a distance. He’s been struggling so much, how was she supposed to burden him with her own issues?

“I keep ruining everything,” she admits, choking back a sob. “His sister is gone because of me. I let Hyrule fall.”

“Zelda-” and how great it is to hear her name. Not your majesty, your highness, the great and wonderful queen who could do no wrong. Just Zelda, the person. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

If only it were that easy.

“I should have,” she retorts. “How stupid were we to believe that pig would fall for the same trick twice?”

“You’re a kid.”

Zelda can’t help but laugh at that, though it isn’t particularly funny. Some of her loose hairs fly away from her face as she does so.

Teba, unamused, sighs. “What are you doing here?”

She rolls her eyes. “I came to my room to cry, obviously.”

“No, I mean-” Teba tries again. “Why are you at the castle?”

“To rebuild Hyrule,” Zelda answers automatically. “To lead my people.”

“Who told you to do that?”

Zelda blinks, and she realizes she doesn’t have an answer for that. Rarely does she ever find herself in this situation.

“Well, no one, but…” she struggles. “It’s what my father would want.”

Teba points at her. “There’s your issue,” he says. “You’re putting yourself in this box, trying to be the person you think everyone wants you to be. And in the process, you’re ignoring yourself.”

“Teba-”

“The reconstruction effort doesn’t necessarily need you, Zelda,” he tells her. “We’re glad to have you, but if you need to go off somewhere on your own, we’d get along just fine.”

Zelda scoffs. “Where would I even go?”

“I don’t know.” Teba shrugs. “Maybe you could check out what Link’s been up to?”

  △ ▲△

Teba’s suggestion rings in Zelda’s mind. She tries to sleep, truly, she does. But she ends up kicking her way out of her bedroll in frustration.

So, just as her day began, Zelda finds herself standing on her balcony, staring out at Hyrule. The night is cloudless, the vast sky full of twinkling stars. Hyrule Field is still, save for the breeze that passes through it. It catches her hair, long and golden, bringing it to sway.

Maybe she should cut it.

Hyrule is large. She’s heard from Link of his journey and saw much of it herself. Their initial tour had been half a year ago, when the Calamity had finally been defeated. Sadly, they’d been limited to the main settlements, focusing on making peace with their leaders and spreading the news that, yes, it was over. They hadn’t had much time to divert from the path, to see the little wonders Link spoke so fondly of.

Zelda knows Link would want to show her these wonders himself, but perhaps she could find some of her own to show him? Do something nice for him, for once.

If he ever comes back, that is.

Once upon a time, Zelda told the Hero of Twilight that she was happy for Link, happy for his second chance. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for a second chance of her own.

Behind her, she hears it. The sound of reality tearing, ripping at its seams. It’s a sound she’s heard before, everytime Link and the other heroes dropped in unexpectedly. She turns around, and there it is, the oval portal glowing a soft, golden light.

She leans against her balcony and waits, patiently, for Link. It’s rude of them to show up so late, especially when she’s so underdressed, but she can make an exception for the heroes.

But nothing happens. Instead, Zelda feels a tug in her own chest, an instinctual pull that says ‘Hop in’. And she’s reminded of what Link told her about how the group finds their portals:

They’re drawn to them.

  △ ▲△

When Zelda doesn’t show her face the next morning, they go looking for her. They find the observation room scarce of most of Zelda’s belongings, her bedroll and clothes all missing. The queen herself is also gone, and in her place is a note.

Dear all,

I went to go see Link. Keep up the work without me. I will return sometime soon.

Your friend, Zelda

[frunbuns]

You’ve Been Hurting For a Long Time

Some days, when he sees someone on the street that looks just a little too like Graves, that makes his blood run cold. He’s quick to apparate home then, trembling hands trying desperately to open the front door until he remembers that the door is locked, and he’ll pull out his wand and wordlessly unlock it, slamming the door shut behind him. He stumbles into the flat, breathing so fast he feels light-headed. That he might pass out right then and there.

And the panicked feeling of; “This is it. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to—”

Newt rides it out on the floor of his empty London flat, with only Pickett as company who chirps at him with concern, unable to do much to help him.

Read on Ao3

It’s a testament to how lonely he really is that he doesn’t even notice it until he’s alone again. New York had been an adventure he’d not forget any time soon. He’d spent a little under two weeks in the city, and yet it had made a larger impact on him than any place he’d ever been. And he had been all over the world.

As the boat had made its way to London Newt spent his time taking care of the creatures in his case. He’d kept himself busy as the journey had dragged on.

Theseus greets him at the docks. He welcomes him home with a tight hug and a pat on the back. He takes him home and they eat dinner together. He wants Newt to be his best man at his and Leta’s wedding. He tells him he’s proud of him and wishes him good luck on the book. Then he leaves for the night.

And suddenly Newt is alone again.

He gets to work on his book, looking through his countless notebooks full of scribbles and messily written notes. Months and months worth of research. He spends hours upon hours every day. 

When he’s not writing he takes care of his creatures. Feeding them, treating their injuries, and studying them.

At night, when every time he closes his eyes all he sees are the malicious eyes of Percival Graves as Newt writhes pathetically down on the train tracks - every part of his body screaming in pain - he stares up at the white ceiling of his bedroom. Heart pounding in his chest.

It’s when it’s pitch black outside and the silence in his flat is so quiet his ears almost start ringing that he feels it the most. The pressure pushing down at his chest, making it hard to breathe. The ache in his heart. The one that doesn’t ever quite go away, but had lessened in New York - and then gets even worse at nights like these.

The crippling loneliness.

Suddenly his creatures aren’t quite enough. It’s not quite the same, and now that he’s had it, losing it had been so hard.

He falls asleep after what feels like an eternity, and wakes up the next morning with the sun shining in through his curtains, and dry tear-tracks on his face. He doesn’t dwell on it for long. He has a basement full of magical creatures that needs taking care of.

He puts it in a small box and stores it away for later. (But later doesn’t come. It never does.)

Theseus talks to him at the Ministry. Asks him how the book is coming along and makes all kinds of small talk that Newt hates. He invites him to have dinner with him and Leta, but Newt declines. 

Every time.

(When he gets home again, to his quiet, empty flat, he wonders why he did it. He never has a good answer. He can’t even remember why he started saying no in the first place.)

Sometimes, when Theseus is talking to him - about the most casual of things - he’ll zone out. The world around him disappears entirely as he stares blankly forward, a faraway look. Theseus will stop talking, and when he comes to again he hears the snapping of fingers, and he sees Theseus’ concerned face in front of him. 

They never talk about it, but the older Scamander brother gives him worried glances at him from time to time. Like he wants to say something, but isn’t sure how - or even if he should.

Part of him wishes he would. (Just push a little harder. Prod a little more. And maybe then Newt would finally break apart and tell him everything.)

(“Newt,” her voice rings out from the other side of the door.  “Why don’t you come out? You’ve been holed up in your room for days.”

Newt stares at the floor, lips pressed into a thin line. He’s sat against the wall next to the door, knees drawn up to his chest. Around him, his bedroom is an untidy mess, more so than usually. The curtains are drawn, blocking most of the sunlight out.

Leta sighs. “We’re worried about you.”

Newt looks up then, eyeing the door. “We?” he asks, voice hoarse and quiet after so long of not using it.

“Yes, we,” she says. “Theseus is your brother, and I’m your friend. Of course we worry about you.”

Newt lets out a shuddering breath, blinking away the stinging sensation in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s sure if he did his voice would crack.

He hears Leta sigh. “Just… We care about you, Newt. I don't know what happened in New York, but it must have been bad. We just want to be there for you.”)

Some days, when he sees someone on the street that looks just a little too like Graves, that makes his blood run cold. He’s quick to apparate home then, trembling hands trying desperately to open the front door until he remembers that the door is locked, and he’ll pull out his wand and wordlessly unlock it, slamming the door shut behind him. He stumbles into the flat, breathing so fast he feels light-headed. That he might pass out right then and there.

And the panicked feeling of; “This is it. He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to—”

Newt rides it out on the floor of his empty London flat, with only Pickett as company who chirps at him with concern, unable to do much to help him.

(Logically, he knows that Grindelwald is locked away at MACUSA. That there’s no way he could be in London of all places. Especially not disguised as Graves again. That would be foolish of him.)

Newt can only describe it as if he's swimming in deep, freezing water, barely able to keep his head above the surface. He gasps for air that never quite reaches his lungs, unable to call for help. And just when he thinks he might have found his footing, a new wave rolls over him, pulling him back under. 

At times he's worried his body might give out to the exhaustion, and he'll succumb to the dark depths of the sea where no one can help him. (Or maybe he’s already there and he just can’t tell.)

—

It gets better after he receives the first letter from Tina. It says so little, but so much at the same time. He’s quick to write her back. It makes the feeling of loneliness - the loneliness that’s taken such hold of him that it never quite leaves - lessen slightly. 

It’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He smiles for what feels like the first time in forever. It feels good. He’s not quite so alone anymore. Tina is his friend. (The water doesn’t feel quite so bottomless now.)

He wants to go back to New York, but it's rather difficult when he's got an International Travel Ban hanging over his head. He tries to appeal it multiple times, but he's never successful, even with Theseus' help and influence.

— 

He sees Tina’s picture in the paper. Pride swells in his chest, warming his entire being. His heart flutters in his chest when he looks at it. MACUSA is lucky to have her with them.

He’s disappointed to see that the picture doesn’t give the full effect as seeing her in person does. He cuts it out anyway, and keeps it in his case where he can see it. (He’ll see her again in person, he tells himself.)

Theseus does his best to talk to him. (He’s insistent on dinner, even though he knows Newt won’t accept. It’s almost as if he’s on autopilot.) It almost feels like he’s walking on glass around Newt at times, but it still doesn’t mean they get along all the time. They argue. Usually about Aurors. It never gets too heated - Theseus always seems to know when to stop - but it can sour his mood for the rest of the day. (Newt actively avoids him the next day.)

He finishes the book, and he sends it to his publisher. It’s not too long until it’s out. Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. Theseus and Leta come with him to the book signing at Flourish and Blotts. Leta doesn't seem to be angry with him for not coming to dinner, but Newt has never been good at reading people. Still, it’s a bit of a relief that they’re there. (Theseus has always been a people pleaser, and he basks in the attention as Newt practically cowers behind the desk.)

He meets Bunty, an enthusiastic woman who shares a love for beasts only rivaled with his own. He decides he quite likes her, and she’s more than willing to become his assistant and help him take care of the creatures he has. With the book money Newt finds he can afford it, and decides to hire her.

The rest of the day goes by in a jiffy, and before he knows it he’s back in his quiet, empty flat. But it’s not as bad as before. (It’s as if the water is getting shallower.)

He waits for Tina’s next letter. He’s ecstatic to hear from her again. Even if he can’t keep his promise and deliver the book to her in person. Still, he keeps a copy for her hidden away for when he eventually can.

Tina’s letter never comes.

The weeks drag on, but not as much as an owl pecks at his window.

(She must have finally had enough of him, he thinks. He must have annoyed her too much. Written something he shouldn’t have. Said something wrong, like he always seem to do.)

(Maybe Newt Scamander just wasn’t meant to have friends after all…)

Still, he holds out hope for her. That it isn’t like that. That it’s not his fault. Something else just got in the way. But the emptiness in his heart, that had ever so slowly started to heal again, grows. (The water around him rises.)

Life goes on. He still can’t get his travel ban appealed. Bunty is nice company when she comes, but it’s just as lonely in his flat when she leaves again. It’s better than it was though, and it eventually fades a little into the background. Never quite forgotten, but never fully present either. 

It gets easier to breathe, he finds. The rainy days of England don't seem as bleak and dreary anymore. It gets better. (It’s not quite as empty anymore.)

Paris happens. Leta dies, and Queenie joins Grindelwald. And all the things he thought he had left behind in New York comes rushing back. Just when he thought he might be healing.

It feels like he’s drowning all over again. The waves crash into him with more force than ever and Newt can’t breathe. It feels like there are ankors tied to him, or that he’s suddenly forgotten how to swim.

It’s easy to shit himself in. Isolate from the rest of the world. From everything and everyone. He doesn’t leave his flat. He skips meals. Some days he sleeps the day away and others he doesn’t sleep at all. He stays away when Bunty comes. He never quite knows when the next time he’s going to burst into tears or have a panic attack might be - and he doesn’t want Bunty’s concern - so he doesn’t take any chances.

(It should have been him.)

Newt is not used to being angry so when he first notices it, he’s scared. He finds that he’s angry at Grindelwald. At the Ministry. At Queenie. At everyone, even himself. 

He’s not himself anymore, and he’s not sure if he ever will be again. (He will, but it will take time.)

At night he dreams of Grindelwald and Graves. He tosses and turns until he wakes with a yell on his lips. The nightmares are bad. Sometimes it’s just Grindelwald, other times they involve his Tina, and Jacob, and Queenie, and Theseus. Other nights the nightmares don’t even have anything to do with Paris or New York.

But some nights the dreams are pleasant. About him and Leta. Sometimes at Hogwarts. Sometimes not. He misses her.

(“You should come out,” she says, then after a pause, “I know you’re listening, Newt. You should talk to him.”

Newt closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall.

“I know you’re hurting… but so is he. He needs you just as much as you need him right now. You don’t have to go through this alone, Newt.”

He looks at the door separating them. 

“You’re the most important people in my life, and I hate to see you suffering like this. Just—” She pauses for a second. “Just let us in, Newt. Please.”

A beat. 

“I love you, you know.”

Newt stands up. He takes a shaky breath and goes to the door. He swallows thickly, hand hovering over the door handle. Leta remains silent, as if she’s expectantly waiting for him.

He opens the door.

And then he wakes up.)

Time goes on.

—

The cold winter air dances around him. Newt buries himself further into the coat. His shoulders are stiff as he walks the streets. Pickett chirps softly from his breast pocket.

He stops in front of Theseus’ door. He finds himself hesitating. This is the first time he’s been outside - properly outside - in weeks. It had all been on a whim. He hadn’t planned on going out today, and now he finds that he regrets it. 

He had gotten a quick look in the mirror as he threw on his coat and scarf. He’s a mess. Messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, ghostly pale skin, and sunken cheeks. He had barely recognised himself where he stood. Surely Theseus can wait another day. He can come back sometime else, when he’s not so disheveled.

Pickett chirps at him and Newt shakes his head.

‘Worrying means you suffer twice,’ he tells himself. A motto he hasn’t lived by in a while now. Something he hasn’t thought about in ages.

With a shaking hand he moves to ring the buzzer.

The door opens.

Newt gasps, breath hitching in the back of his throat as he jumps back in surprise.

“Newt—?” Theseus looks equally surprised to see him there, looking him down with wide eyes.

The older Scamander doesn’t look much better than Newt. He’s pale too, his normally pale freckles a stark contrast to his light skin. His hair is disheveled, like his, and he’s not wearing a suit like he usually does. It takes Newt by surprise.

They stare at each other in silence.

Then theseus clears his throat, looking him directly in the eyes. Newt wants to look away, but finds himself unable to. “Newt, what are you doing here? I haven’t seen you in weeks—”

Newt opens his mouth to answer, but he chokes over the sound, a wet sob passes through his lips. He blinks away tears. “I— I’m—”

Theseus sighs sadly. “Oh Newt,” he says softly before he pulls Newt into his arms. He rubs his back soothingly as the younger Scamander sobs into his shoulder, gasping for breath between each one as his body shakes as they rack his body. “I know, I know.”

“I’m— I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. I—”

“It’s alright, Newt,” Theseus murmurs to him. “You’ve been hurting for a long time.”

They stand there for a while, taking comfort in each other’s presence, until Newt’s sobs subside to shuddering breaths and sniffles.

“I miss her.”

Theseus swallows thickly. “Me too,” he replies, voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with unshed tears. “Me too.”

The ocean splashes at his feat, but it’s alright. Newt knows how to swim now.

[loxare]

More Untamed ficlets when I should be sleeping, yay!

Madame Yu hated the boy.

But if she were inclined to be fair, which she usually isn't, she would have to admit that it wasn't because of anything the boy himself did. No, she hated the rumors that his presence sparked, that her husband would disrespect her enough to have an affair with a woman who had rejected him. She hated the way that despite her best efforts, her children regarded him as a sibling. But most of all, she hated the way her husband looked upon the boy with more tenderness than he did upon his own children. Her own children.

It was far too late to get rid of him. Now that he had developed a golden core, to toss him out without teaching him how to properly develop it would be worse than negligence. An improperly developed core could lead to overloaded meridians, causing weakness in the body later in life. So no, she couldn't just kick him out.

But perhaps she could make use of him in another way.

Her maids packed efficiently, as they always have. The boy was training, and as such it was nothing for Yinzhu to sneak in and put a change of clothes in a bag for him. He would not need much. As Madame Yu wrote a note to her daughter, to avoid straining her constitution with worry, Jinzhu got the boat ready. Jiang Fengmian received no such note. He could pace a hole in the floor for all she cared.

By the time Madame Yu walked onto the dock, the boat was prepared and her maids were seated primly, a confused, sulking and soaking wet Wei Ying between them. She raised her eyebrow. Yinzhu said, "He was struggling, so I put him in the lake until he cooled off."

"I told you I could walk by myself," Wei Ying groused. "You didn't need to carry me."

Madame Yu's exact order had been for Yinzhu to pick up Wei Ying from training when they were ready to go. If she decided to interpret her orders entirely literally, Madame Yu was not going to take that from her. Especially since she had also ordered her maids to mind Wei Ying and keep him from annoying her as much as possible. They should get to have some fun.

The journey was peaceful. The river was slow this time of year, so the trip upriver was quick and not turbulent. Wei Ying ran to and fro on the boat but, largely due to Jinzhu and Yinzhu's efforts, stayed away from the shaded pavilion Madame Yu sat under. He fell into the water twice. Gradually, the river narrowed as tributaries branched off, and the water became the swift, clear white waters Madame Yu knew best, and the disciples driving the boat were forced to put down their bamboo poles and use talismans to propel the boat instead.

Finally, they stopped. Meishan Yu had one dock for trading, situated on a slow moving canal dug for that exact purpose. The rest of the river was too fast for any boat to stay docked for long and ran as wild and free as the people who lived along it. The disciples were given their orders, to wait for Madame Yu's return, and then Madame Yu and her maids took their charge into the mountains.

The hall of her grandmother was grand and old, although not as old as the woman herself. It was not a sect headquarters, not technically, but it was where most of the juniors were trained before they were sent into the wilds to complete their lessons.

Her grandmother sat in the central chair on the dais, with Madame Yu's twin elder sisters on either side. Madame Yu stopped a respectful distance away. Jinzhu and Yinzhu retreated to the sides of the hall. They would not be needed here. At her side, Wei Ying fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the floor, as she had instructed him. Madame Yu bowed. "Popo. Da-jie. Er-jie."

"Ziyuan." Da-jie stood at her grandmother's nod, and took three steps forward, so Madame Yu was addressing her directly. She was the head of Meishan Yu. It was only right. "Why have you come here?"

She knew already. Madame Yu had sent a letter ahead. But now it was time for Madame Yu to make her case. "I have come to have this child trained as a Pearl." Beside her, Wei Ying gasped. She had not told him of the reason she was bringing him here. It was not his business. Wisely, he said nothing.

Da-jie sniffed. "You have two Pearls, Ziyuan. To have more is greedy."

"Not for myself. For my son."

Er-jie laughed. She had not approved of Ziyuan's marriage, but she had not had a voice at the time. "Your son is Jiang. Only Yu may have Pearls."

"My son is half Yu. The blood of the steppe runs through his veins as it does mine." He was not much of a Yu, to be fair. His anger was as quick as the river that rushed through the wilds, but he was timid in his decisions, too soft and slow to deviate from the path carved before him. He was like the slow rivers of Yunmeng.

Perhaps he should come here for training as well.

Da-jie considered. Madame Yu knew it would not be a hardship for her to train Wei Ying. The training for a Pearl was far more intensive than for a disciple, but Wei Ying had already shown a knack for learning and adapting quickly. And it would be a change of pace for Da-jie, who changed the training schedule weekly to keep from getting bored. Training a Pearl would keep her entertained for a while.

Slow as the sun setting behind the mountain, a smile crept over Da-jie's face. "One Pearl for half a Yu. Very well, Ziyuan. Shanzhu. Fengzhu." At her call, Da-jie's Pearls came forward. "Take this out into the field and test him."

Shanzhu grabbed Wei Ying by the back of his robes and hauled him to his feet. He looked upon her with eyes wide. "Madame Yu?"

She did not owe him an explanation. He owed her sect his life and she was going to ensure that life would be a useful one. But something in his gaze made her soften. She did not owe him an explanation. But for most of his life, he had not had a home. And now she was taking from him what her husband had promised would always be his. So Madame Yu said, "you may return to Lotus Pier once you have finished your training."

Wei Ying did not get a chance to respond, as Shanzhu pulled on his arm and dragged him away. But he looked determined rather than frightened.

Er-jie watched as they left. Then she slung an arm around her younger sister's shoulders. "Well. While you're here, why don't we renegotiate our trade contracts? I would love to take even more chilis and lotus silk from you."

"Xiao-Yan." Popo stood and took Ziyuan's hands in her own. "Welcome back, Xiao-Yuan. Come. You shall have lunch and tell me of my grandchildren, and then you will explain why they haven't visited me in four years."

"Yes Popo." Lunch was delicious, and almost as hot as she preferred it to be.

The trip home was quick and quiet, especially with Wei Ying no longer on the boat. When she got home, she was pleased to see that a-Li had not told her father where Wei Ying was, as she had requested. A-Cheng was grumpy but not worried, so she had told him, but Fengmian was in a state of panic. He clearly hadn't played enough attention to his children to see that they were calm.

He was not pleased when she told him where Wei Ying was. But in the end, he did not have a leg to stand on. As the Lady of Yunmeng Jiang, she had final say on which disciples she trained personally and which she did not. If she decided to outsource the training of a disciple to another sect, that was her business. Additionally, she could guarantee that Wei Ying would be fed, clothed, and housed while he was gone, which is what he had been promised when Fengmian had acquired him.

A-Cheng and a-Li both spent the fall and spring in Meishan for the two years after that. The year after, Wei Ying returned as Tiezhu and received Wuxian as a courtesy name, the same day a-Cheng received Wanyin.

Wei Wuxian had used his time in Meishan well, and it did not take him long to catch up with the other juniors. Fengmian named him head disciple, probably to spite Madame Yu, but even she had to admit that he had the skills for it. Wei Wuxian was better even than some of his seniors.

Fengmian stopped praising Wei Wuxian for his skills when the boy stopped reacting well to them. In Meishan, pretty words were meaningless, as ephemeral as the clouds in the sky. Fengmian had never understood that in all the years they'd been married.

Wei Wuxian was stronger than her son. He always had been, and he always would be. Madame Yu had always known this. But now, he was a weapon for her son to wield, a sword to pierce his enemies or a shield to take the blows meant for him. Now, Wei Wuxian's strength was Jiang Wanyin's strength.

Madame Yu watched her son grumble at his laughing Pearl, as a-Li fed them baozi. Her own Jinzhu brought her some more tea while Yinzhu stood at her shoulder.

Her son would always be protected. Her daughter too, if Madame Yu read Wei Wuxian correctly. And this, this was something she could be content with.

***

Madame Yu gets Jinzhu and Yinzhu (gold pearl and silver pearl), so why not Jiang Cheng, I ask myself at an hour past my bedtime? Tiezhu means iron pearl, but the (very brief, very sleep deprived) research I did said that 铁 tie also means weapon, unshakeable, determined, strong, and close, as in "always close to Jiang Cheng". I thought it fit but I might disagree with myself in the morning.

Oh, and Shanzhu means mountain pearl and Fengzhu means summit pearl. Probably. Feel free to correct me if those are wrong

[theparanormalperiodical]

Top 10 Scariest Horror Films You Didn't Know Were Based On A TRUE Story feat. Trailers + Where To Watch

There’s something about horror films that are based on real events that just make me weak.

So weak, in fact, I’ve decided to spend the last *checks watch* one and a half years of my early 20s delving into the facts and the fiction haunting the horror genre. 

My parents must be so proud.

Most of these films wear the badge of ‘this is reality or close enough to it, anyway’ with dignity, leveraging gullible paranormalists like me to drive ticket sales. The Conjuring (2013) is just one of these films that is explicit in its basis in reality, going on to rake in 16 times its budget and inspiring me to delve deeper into my occultist journey.

(No, really, they’re so proud.)

But the ventures of Ed and Lorraine Warren are not the only experiences of horrifying and haunting events to be reinterpreted via the silver screen. There are some horror films you wouldn’t expect to have reality flushing through their veins.

Some of horror’s biggest hitters aren’t just living in your nightmares. They actually happened IRL.

Which is, ummm, fine, yeah, it’s not like I need to sleep anyway.

*Stay tuned to discover the horror films you didn’t know were based on true stories and the real accounts that inspired them.*

Jaws (1975)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U1fu_sA7XhE 

This cinematic classic follows the adventures of a great white shark as it terrorises the summer resort town of Amity. A couple of corpses later, and the local police chief, rookie marine biologist, and wild-card shark hunter track the beast down themselves.

Most horror films use a person or a story as a basis for a film. Jaws, however, is an amalgamation of experiences recorded by the writer of the novel inspiring the film, Peter Benchley.

Benchley admittedly had a life-long obsession with sharks and was inspired to write a book on a rogue great white after reading about a bloke called Frank Mundus.

"...in 1964, I read an item in a newspaper about a fisherman who harpooned a 4,500-pound great white shark off Long Island. I remember thinking at the time, Lord! What would happen if one of those monsters came into a resort community and wouldn't go away?”

Quint, the wild card shark hunter, was based directly on Mundus.

Another influence, although not referenced by Benchley, was the 1916 New Jersey shark attacks.

In high summer, five Americans were attacked by a great white off the coast of the Jersey Shore with 4 falling victim to their wounds. For the next 11 days, the same shark cruised along the 70 miles of the beach towns and small villages. The shark even performed the first shark attack reported in US history, countering the long-standing belief that sharks couldn’t bite through human bone.

(Spoiler alert: they can.)

When beach goers came to the beach early morning to discover the 3rd victim bitten in half, this was disproven. After that discovery - which bares a striking resemblance to the opening scenes of Jaws - the story hit The New York Times front page.

Just like the film the mayors tried to deny there was a deadly shark making the rounds to secure profit to their seaside resorts. And just like the film a swimmer was even mauled in an estuary.

It wasn’t long before they settled on the identity of the perpetrator and the locals set off with rifles and pitchforks.

(Not sure how useful they’d be against a shark, but okay.)

The shark met its end after it attacked one of the hunters’ boats, a scene we also witness in the film.

You can rent it for £2.50 on Amazon Prime.

Deliver Us From Evil (2014)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YWDM_p68HAQ

We follow a policeman who has a side gig as an exorcist as he encounters strange goings on in the Bronx. Ralph Sarchie chases up the paranormal activity and attempts to untangle why possessed people are painting ancient messages and images in various places.

Here’s the thing: none of this actually happened. As far as we know, anyway.

What this film is based on is the real Ralph Sarchie who wrote the memoir Beware The Night as an ode to his work as a demonologist. It’s based on his character, his tone of voice, and how he carried out his work.

Sarchie presents his work as his destiny, as some form of divine intervention he believes was signalled by his survival of a severe illness he contracted when he was 10.

He claims to carry a splinter of the ‘true cross’ - I guess the one Jesus actually died on - and considers himself more of a priestly figure armed with relics and holy water than a paranormal investigator.

Sarchie has worked on many possessions and hauntings, claiming he didn’t charge a cent despite the high fee he probably got from the book sales and the film’s debut. The most famous tale is that of the ‘Halloween Horror’:

A woman named Gabby began to see a woman floating in a cloud of white smoke in the corner of her bedroom. It wasn’t long before this smoky woman began to speak through Gabby according to her partner Dominick.

Gabby’s friend then says this was the ghost of a woman murdered on her wedding night. She then apparently saw the spirit of her father. Activity followed with flying books, moans and growls, and the word ‘HELP’ written on the mirror. Eventually an incubus rocks up and is hell bent on attacking various family members.

When Gabby gets possessed in the presence of Sarchie and his paranormal-busting-partner, he exorcises her of the spirit.

In total, Sarchie has assisted in 25 exorcisms and hundreds of ‘house exorcisms’.

You can watch it for free on Netflix.

The Blob (1958/1988)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdUsyXQ8Wrs

*cue the canned screams*

In some rural town in America, a meteorite crashes to the ground. Someone investigates and a jelly globule attaches itself to their hand before consuming it. It then begins to consume their entire body. It’s not long before it starts to consume, well, everyone and everything in its path.

8 years before the horror icon first became a cult classic, two police officers in Philadelphia saw something float down from the sky. They thought it was a parachute and decided to investigate.

What they discovered was a six feet wide purple glob of odourless gloop. It was filled with crystals and gave off a mist. One of the police officers took the plunge - quite literally - and dipped a hand in. He kept the hand, but noticed the sticky residue left on his hands.

The gloop quickly disappeared and left the grass underneath it unbent. It was allegedly only there for 25 minutes. They were the only ones that saw it. It soon made its way into the press and the FBI asked the Air Force to investigate. They declined.

You can watch it for £3.50 on Amazon Prime.

Wolf Creek (2005)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8S13W69FQhs

Two British tourists are backpacking across Australia when they run into trouble in Wolf Creek National Park. A helpful local offers to help fix their broken down car and provide some shelter. Turns out the helpful local is actually a psychopathic xenophobic murderer. He entraps tourists, lures them to his shelter, and tortures/kills them.

Most gory horror films can be compared to real life murders and other crimes. Unfortunately, even the most imaginative forms of torture or murder has probably already happened. But the film was directly based on the backpacker murders committed by Ivan Milat in the 90s.

Milat murdered 7 people aged 19 to 22, preying on those encouraged to backpack across Australia after several tourism campaigns revealed how cheap and easy it was. In ‘92 and ‘93 the bodies were discovered in Belanglo State Forest with the wounds and injuries suggesting the scenes played out in film were similar to those Milat committed.

In late ‘93 a force dedicated to hunting the unknown killer emerged. It used gym memberships, gun licensing, and police records to narrow down a list of 32 suspects.

It was only when Paul Onions, a British backpacker reported he was nearly murdered near Belanglo State Forest that the police could pinpoint that Milat.

You can watch it for £2 on Amazon Prime.

Open Water (2004)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9q1qJi1nMs

It’s everyone’s worst nightmare: being left in the middle of the ocean. A distant couple decide to take a relaxing break and head out for a scuba-diving vacation. Their holiday is ruined, however, when the guy driving the boat f*cks up the head count and thinks everyone is back on board after a diving sesh. The couple come back to the surface and discover the boat is gone.

Yep, this all happened in real life.

In 1998, Thomas and Eileen Lonergan went on a scuba diving trip to Australia’s Coral Sea. They were mistakenly stranded by the boat crew leading the dive and their absence wasn’t noticed until 2 days later when a bag containing their belongings was discovered.

The crew and other rescue teams searched the area but did not discover their bodies. Personal belongings were found.

A diver’s slate - a device for communicating underwater - was one of these items.

"Monday Jan 26; 1998 08am. To anyone who can help us: We have been abandoned on A[gin]court Reef by MV Outer Edge 25 Jan 1998 3pm. Please help to rescue us before we die. Help!!!"

The other items that washed up, including a wetsuit, suggested they had probably not fallen victim to shark attacks but had become disoriented, dehydrated, or injured by coral. Alternate theories claim it may have been a murder-suicide to avoid the slow, distressing death of being left at sea, or that it was a faked death/disappearance. No bank accounts had been tampered with, however.

Tougher regulations for scuba-diving in Australia shortly followed their disappearance.

You can watch it for free on Amazon Prime.

The Rite (2011)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hG3ktopqv8

We follow exorcist-in-training Father Gary Thomas as he navigates the loss of this faith. When the opportunity for fighting growing demonic possessions arises, Thomas decides to become an exorcist. We see Thomas as he is confronted by evil and reaffirms his devotion to God.

Portrayed by veteran actor Anthony Hopkins, Father Gary Thomas is a real American exorcist - one of the 14 Vatican-verified exorcists working State-side. He did in fact study in the Vatican to become an exorcist, and another student he met there would chronicle his experiences in the book The Rite: The Making of a Modern Exorcist.

Thomas even spent a week on set advising the director, utilising his experiences of the 100 odd people he had seen possessed in his career.

Just like in the film, Thomas echoes that most people that come to him for an exorcism have been abused in their past, linking mental health issues to demonic attachment. Thomas also has a lot of praise for the film, claiming the way those possessed moved in a serpentine way is accurate to those he has seen:

“I was beginning to do some deliverance prayers. Within a few minutes she began to tremor and her facial countenance began to change. You saw a snake. She began sticking her tongue out like a snake and hissing and rolling her eyes. She coiled herself up.”

- Father Gary Thomas on a possessed Venezualan woman

You can watch this on Amazon Prime for £2.50.

The Silence Of The Lambs (1991)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W6Mm8Sbe__o

Anthony Hopkins refers to a staple horror film - a film with truth spilling like blood from a bloated corpse…

This psychological horror sees an FBI trainee as they work with an imprisoned serial killer to hunt down a murderer, Buffalo Bill. Add in just a dash of transphobia and we arrive at the film that made my parents actually walk out of the cinema when they first saw it.

First, let’s talk about Hannibal Lecter and his role as an advisor to the FBI: this has actually happened, using a seasoned killer to catch another. The most famous example of this is none other than Ted Bundy, one of the most infamous in history. Bundy told investigators to stake out the graves of victims or the places where bodies had been dumped as necrophiles like himself would return to the site.

Bundy actually helped them catch Gary Ridgeway who killed an estimated 90 people.

Now let’s turn to Buffalo Bill. The characters were never directly inspired by real people but their crimes were. He was an amalgamation of other crimes with Ed Gein serving as the main inspiration. Ed Gein, most known for skinning his victims and wearing the skins, took 9 lives and would also inspire the character Norman Bates.

He would make clothing out of body parts, make soup bowls from dug-up skulls, and build chairs from human bones.

Ted Bundy even made another appearance in Buffalo Bill’s character in terms of how he lures his victims, acting hurt and helpless until the victim was just within reach.

You can buy this film on Amazon Prime for £8.

Scream (1996)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWm_mkbdpCA

This satirical slasher redefined the genre, putting comedy firmly into horror as we know it. It follows Sidney Prescott, a preppy high school student, as she navigates high school drama and a rampant serial killer.

Just like The Silence Of The Lambs, the crimes witnessed in Scream had basis in reality. Daniel Rolling - the Gainesville Ripper - was an American serial killer who murdered 5 students in Florida within the short span of 4 days back in 1990.

Rolling would sexually assault, rape, threaten, and kill his young victims before leaving them in ‘sexual’ positions. He even decapitated one of those murdered and left the head on the shelf opposite the rest of the body amongst other vile acts. He later claimed his motive was to become a ‘superstar’ like Ted Bundy.

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

You can watch this on Amazon Prime for £2.50.

The Hills Have Eyes (1977/2006)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CUQd9OB75dw

It’s time to hear about another vacay gone cray-cray. In the middle of a roadtrip to California, a family’s car breaks down in a mysterious area closed off to the public and they encounter a strange community of cannibals.

Instead of being based on modern crimes that hit far too close to home, this film is based on a historic event - or the legend of Sawney Bean.

Bean was a mythical leader of a cannibalistic group of insurgents in the 16th century. He grew up in a community of witches and later began his own community full of his children which he expanded with rampant incest. They would leave traps and eat their prey in a cave.

The King of Scotland, James VI, even led a team to root the family out of their lair. According to legend they were burnt at the stake while others were hung.

This tale also bears similarities to urban legends from Russia: there is a trope in the Southern Urals which claims after the Chernobyl accident irradiated peoples would become savage peoples, echoing the nuclear testing themes shown by the film.

You can watch this on Amazon Prime for £2.50.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1978)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKn9QIaMgtQ

In this cult class gore-fest we see a group of friends visit an old homestead but instead run into a family of murderous cannibals.

Yet again the crimes of Ed Gein make an appearance. The friends walk in on a home full of furniture made of human remains and meet a man - Leatherface - wearing a mask made of human skin. We also witness various people butchered in different brutal ways.

But this film also has a more political inspiration. Tobe Hooper - the director, producer, and writer - pinned his inspiration on changes in the cultural and political landscape, focusing on misinformation that overran America during the 70s.

*looks into camera a la Jim from The Office*

Hooper pinned the claims of a true story onto the film, responding to how he felt he was being lied to by the government regarding things like Watergate, the 1973 Oil Crisis, and the Vietnam War. The news only confirmed the brutal acts of humanity.

"man was the real monster here, just wearing a different face, so I put a literal mask on the monster in my film".

You can watch this for free on Amazon Prime.

Well that was, uhh, fun?

If you enjoyed these traumatic discoveries - you know, that some of the most terrifying horror films of all time are based on real people and crimes - then make sure you like ‘n’ reblog to let me know.

I post a new article on horror and the paranormal every Saturday + a new real ghost story everyday so make sure you hit follow to tag along for the ride!

[strangerays]

Nothing in Particular Update #1

Hello, hello!! It’s been a really long time since I’ve written an update for this story! (this is a real update btw, forget the “first” one I had) To be honest, I haven’t been able to work on this story as much as I would like, being busy with classes and... well just life in general. (what I mean by this is that Shadow and Bone was released on Netflix) But! I do have some excerpts I wanted to put out there as well as some overall changes to the story.

Before I start: here’s the actual link to the story synopsis/characters!

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-): @wannabeauthorzofija @a-completely-normal-girl @baguettethebooklover @corkytheguar @writeherewaiting​ @raenawrites

STORY CHANGES/IDEAS:

First off: I had to rewrite 30,000 words and basically turn it into 10,000. The first draft was icky, but I turned it into something I really enjoy! This is a sign that writing is always worth it!!

I added in a couple of characters! I was starting to feel like the story might not have been balanced enough. Luckily, the muse struck me and I created Mars and Theo! Mars is a lovely (and enigmatic) older woman that Ray meets at a bird sanctuary and Theo is a new friend of Lonan’s.

There wasn’t much action in the beginning of the story, so I wrote a confrontation between Jude’s friends and another person that Ray spies on. This is how she meets Jude, and I am in lovvve.

The timeline for the entire story might be a little bit longer than I intended! I went into this project thinking it might only take place over a month, but in order for Ray’s mental health journey to be realistic, I’m going to shoot for an entire school year (around six-seven months). Honestly, I’m just happy I get to write a Halloween scene. As for the word count total HAHA I have no clue what that will look like.

I think Lonan will be a bit of a back-burner character! At first, I was a little wary of this decision since he’s my favorite, but I think it would be very exciting to have Ray hype him up before he ever appears in the story. That way, the reader sort of starts to think about him in one way, yet he might be completely different when he finally shows up...??

Chapter titles are one of my favorite things about this story. Also! I am a huge fan of short chapters! They move the story right along.

I prefer to write slower and use other projects to balance out this one when I get a little tired of it. Over the last month or so, I’ve gotten really into short story writing again! This has been really helpful in working on my specificity and pretty prose. Even though the short stories don’t contribute to Nothing in Particular, I’ve been taking a lot of what I’m learning and applying it!

EXCERPTS (UNDER THE CUT)

CHAPTER ONE: THE SPY

#1

During the summer between my sophomore and junior year, Lonan Herrings packed me into his Dad’s repainted Chevrolet, left his name sharp on his mother’s tongue, and drove to New York City at six in the morning. For the first time since we’d become friends, jealousy weighed our silence. He buzzed across the highway, even though we knew his mother had no intention of finding us.

#2

“Which animal would I be,” he asked, “if I left tomorrow and lived in the forest?”

“Why would you want to do that?” I smiled even though I knew he was probably serious.

His shoulders squared and he looked out his window. Two men in the next car shouted at each other, their windows down. Something about a mortgage. “You would come with me, of course.” He turned to me. “Which animal gets along best with a doe?”

#3

I shut my eyes to snap the cold. It might have been the fact that, most times, his gentle voice pulled ragged words from his throat, as if he had just stepped out of the rain after standing in it for hours. It might have been the way he cupped the rim of a camera with humble demure. I was never afraid to tell him anything in the patience that bled from him. His eyes were milky blue and he wore an olive jacket covered in pins that kept strangers interested. Since he seemed like he felt out of place most times, I never did. We were a grade apart; our friendship bloomed late. So long as I had a friend at all, I didn’t care how we’d met.

“You would be a blue jay,” I decided. For only a second, I’d been worried that I offended him, until his mouth curved to one side and he laughed softly, as though he wasn’t sure he was allowed. His head hovered over the steering wheel. A patch of freckles absently creeped over the bridge of his nose like winter weeds.

This first chapter is a flashback to exactly a year before the second chapter takes place! After an argument with his mom, Lonan drives out of state with Ray. I plan for it to be all we see of Lonan (in the present) up until the halfway point of the story.

CHAPTER TWO: I WAS QUIET

#1

I was a firm believer that the best art was created when the artist was alone, angry, or depressed.

After Lonan secured his train ticket to New York, I was surprised to find that I became none of these things. We buried a time capsule, painted his walls cerulean, and drove two-hundred miles without a word to anyone. Some of my most colorful memories were unplanned in the beginning.

#2

Katherine Herrings’ bakery loitered over the coast of town, sheltered in pitch crags and shallow tide pools congested with cigarettes. I often ate lunch on the deck on my break. She was the only person I knew who – after everything her nephew had said – didn’t make him the first topic of our conversations.

An indie rock song that I recognized buzzed from a radio below me. I pulled my tablet screen down and pushed my chair out so the plastic legs kicked up and scratched the backs of my legs.  Slowly, I peered between my ankles, through the patio boards, and into the boat lodge below. Pumpkin-red hair plastered to my forehead in the heat that clung to the late days of September. Waves bubbled and crashed, peanut oil dripped from hot dog buns, and muffled gossip chirped like a family of cicadas. I bit my tongue at the bitter smoke that warped the wind.

#3

Jude laughed then, and her shoulders tipped, haughty. Waves hissed in her silence as the lights in the kitchen behind Katherine flickered. Her mouth opened slightly at the ring of dishes and laughter that danced with each other inside. A moment passed before she took a wide step back.

Together, her accomplices waltzed after her as she ran down the pavement, flecking sand until the night’s blue air gulped their outlines. Katherine beat a towel against the patio leg, then she slid and locked the door. Frogs jeered in the silence that pervaded the sea.

I whispered the name back to myself so I wouldn’t forget it. Jude Ahuja. I took a sip of ginger ale, and she buzzed on my lips.

The story cuts to Ray’s senior year of high school. Summer has just ended, Lonan has left for college, and her camera is broken. Jude is a bit like a character out of a film to her, and she wishes she could know more about her after witnessing a loud argument with Katherine Herrings, Lonan’s aunt.

CHAPTER THREE: PEOPLE-WATCHING

#1

Early into our friendship, I’d learned this patience. The first time he brought me to Sugarfell, he told me that all of the paths led back to the same place. As long as you played the game, you were guaranteed a prize. He didn’t speak much, but I knew he wasn’t a very good liar.

Less than an hour passed when I was met with silence. I crept up and down the same path four times. Each step sent a shock through my legs to my chest. The sun hadn’t risen to the highest point in the sky, still glimmering through tree branches in golden fractals, pulling on static darkness.

#2

“Are you crying?” he asked.

I shook my head fast. “No.” My voice barely reached a whisper. It was a lot deeper than normal.

He puckered his lips as though I had offended him. “But you were about to.”

“You said that all the paths lead back to one another.” I stood up from the jagged stump and shuffled through the leaves until the tips of our shoes were inches apart. “I knew you’d come back. And you did.”

#3

When I turned back, sore curiosity teased the emerald in Lonan’s eyes.

“Do you ever people-watch?” he asked softly.

This chapter is another really short chapter that I’m ultimately not sure I’m going to keep! I sort of included it by accident while Ray was riding her bike to the forest, but I ended up really liking it as a bridge into the next scene. Hopefully, I find I way to make it fit!!

CHAPTER FOUR: SUGAR-COATED

#1

Years with Lonan had prepared me for being alone. If you spend any long amount of time with someone, you’ll become a thief to their behaviors. Lonan observed too much. If I stared long enough, trees began to replace all of the people we’d ever seen. Oaks with roots that serpentined the ground like children splashing in the bay, pines with needles like spindly old hands, maples with hollows like watchful eyes.

#2

I did remember, but I couldn’t then. Blood gushed too close to his eyelid and dripped down his cheek like tears. There was a grace period in my life – likely when I was a newborn – when I couldn’t picture what my blood would look like on the light side of my skin.

And this is where I’ll leave off on the excerpts for now! I’ve been really focused on taking my time and setting things up before the next chapter, which is going to have lots more action in it. Things are going to start picking up again, so I’m really excited for that!

Thanks for reading if you made it this far :)