#but i wish i had a stronger more defined grasp on what that is

[spittingstar]

i live in the sphere of style where everyone strives for the best normal ass outfit

[imperial-daffodil]

Below is me rambling about the Emperor because I love him. And I have gotten a bit carried away x)

_ __ _ __ _ __ _ __ _

The Emperor is a Victim as much as Shadowheart or Astarion. He has been stolen from his old life forced to embrace a new way of being and even more violently so that he had to shed his old self - is whole body.

And yet. After years of absolute complete entrhallment once he broke free from it for a moment - he learnt to accept to love himself.

To love himself in spite of having been turned forcefully - another face - another species - another shape. He learnt to carry the WEIGHT of his traumatic experiences and grow stronger out of it.

He learnt to love himself and that despite the excruiatingly achingly painful adversity he faced - the worst kind that one can face: his one true companion, the love of his life, his Guardian, Ansur, not only forcing upon him the idea that he needed to 'be cured' but then, wanting him to die because he could not go back to how he had been before the trauma.

The Emperor is a victim.

The Emperor is a survivor.

And he is the strongest of the whole game.

Because he survived his trauma alone. He had no one to turn to for so long. His self love, his unbreakable will to survive and be FREE to LIVE as HE IS, he had to build it up all alone.

In a world in which anyone who would see him truly, would kill him on sight.

He had to hide it, who he was, who he IS, who he has learnt to love BEING.

Despite all the pain he has endured, the pain that was forcefully inflicted on him.

Despite the hatred he faced, the hatred from the sole person he believed and genuinely thoughts and felt he could put his trust in.

The Emperor is a victim, and a survivor, who had to learn to make the weight of his traumas his own. Own his past, his pain.

Own what was inflicted to him, forced on him, until he loved himself again.

Wishing for nothing more than to live, for who he is. Fully. his past, and present all part of that beautiful whole that is him.

The Emperor is not a clumsy kid waiting to be taken by the hand and told what to do by Tav.

The Emperor is a man who has seen hell, been to hell, been inflicted hell, and is back and still loving who he's become.

And he deserves nothing more than to live freely as himself, and to have a true companion, an equal, who will accept him WHOLE. past, present, future, name, species, and shape.

Mind, body, heart, and soul.

It must be so hard to grasp those nuances for some. To understand that one loves themselves as their are, embracing the trauma that shaped them, made them stronger, more beautiful, more whole.

To understand, and accept that one's darkest hours, and part of them, but it never, ever make them lesser. On the contrary.

And to accept, that some, would not exchange a grain of sand of their life story. because that is what defines who they truly are in the present.

To have such a strong sense of identity and having learnt to love oneself despite having always faced only pain and hatred and yearning.

To be a person who won't be told what to do and who to be - because trust me, when you've seen hell, been there, and lived it, you know, exactly, what is best for you, and who you truly are.

And there is beauty in blooming anew after everything has crumbled - down to yourself - born anew, like a phoenix too magnificent to even be looked at without teasing the fires of jealousy, misunderstanding and hatred of those who cannot even fathom the beauty of it all.

_ __ _ __ _ __ _

[zmb1eslut]

Luke Castellan x hypnos!fem

tags: non-romantic relationship, fluff, Luke's pov.

summary: Luke Castellan was found by the way out his nightmares.

1,6k words

-

Luke remembered it quite clearly, the night in which the whole... something between them came to be what is now.

He was sweaty and drained, being the only wishful thought he felt brave to feed, for the air to reach his lungs so he could run a little further. He had lost all his will, and he was now running on the only thing stronger than his determination, his fear.

Both Titan and kid could feel it, that night he was fated to succumb to the torture. His mind had already given its last pleadful breath when his foot tripped and his face met the floor. And he now cannot phantom the thought of how different his life would be if he hadn't lifted his head, she hadn't been there.

Luke saw her sitting, with a blank expression on her face, looking down at him. His hand reached for her never expecting to actually be aid, she took it and pulled him towards her. Once they were close to each other she said to him in a bizarrely sweet voice "Your screams were getting too loud". That was the last time the girl acknowledged his presence, as well as the last time he felt that sort of fear.

Somi kept rescuing him like that every night. She never explained why. Luke never asked her either. He would only sit there in what he guessed were the girl's own dreams, and wake up in the morning with just a thin grasp of the events.

Most things about the dreams (and the dreamer herself), were awfully confusing for the swordman-boy. He felt like she looked at reality with an eager infatuation, like she knew that guy better than the arbitrary rules that defined him ever could. Being inside her mind perhaps was making a number on him. Perhaps that's why she at some point stopped posing as the spacey buzzed girl everyone meditated with at times, and held herself in a homely sort of normality he developed a liking for.

She showed a part of her no one else ever saw. Altough it would probably be more precise to say she eventually stopped hiding it. Being honest with himself, Luke admitted that he toyed with the idea of him having found her.

She acted exasperated, bored, mean. She behaved like any person he would never mistake for her on the other world would behave. Their exchange right now was especially out of character.

She had entered his dream, as every night. She stepped in front of him and pushed his shoulders down, when he fell, he was met with the softness of a bed. Tonight's dream was apparently on a room. "Sorry for the mess." She said to the boy's surprise. He wasn't opposed to a change on their routine.

"Kinda used to it and all." he said. She answered with an understanding nod. "Did anything happen?" the Hermes boy asked just to keep this anomaly alive, to which she sighed.

"Evan just left." Curiosity flourished on the boy's throat.

"Like the real one?" the girl took way too long to answer and started stroking his hair while she thought.

"No... the dream one. But I'm pissed at him. And that's a naptime dream" she answered as if it was obvious. Even more questions arose, so she explained "Those are the dreams you aren't supposed to watch." Huh...

"What dreams I'm not supposed to watch?"

"You know, Castellan." she really meant it, he didn't had a clue. She got close to him to whisper teasingly, even knowing no one would really be able to hear. "The inappropriate ones" Oh.

He understood fast though, making sense of what teenager needs usually were. "I was naive on that one, wasn't I?"

"I mean..." she said chuckling while walking away from him. She sat down on a chair in front of a desktop. The place was humorously colorful.

"Ok. But like... Evan? Does that happen often?" He asked almost gossiply.

"I mean! Not anymore! He's a total prick." that made him laugh.

"Is he?" Luke asked, enjoying seeing her so annoyed, especially as he wasn't the cause.

"Yes. And you know what? I hate that, I hate this. Cause he goes around just getting the fuck he wants, and then pretends he 'didn't mean it like that'. Then I get mad, and he thinks I'm pretty when I'm mad, and I get pissed off when he says that, and then I'm horny when I'm pissed. And you know what? He doesn't deserve horny me." Sometimes she just was that unexpectedly honest. Luke just listened amused. She looked up and let out a frustrated groan. "And now I have to take care of you." That made him laugh, but he didn't want her to know that.

"C'mon I'm not that difficult" he pretended to be offended.

"No. But right now you're truly inconvenient" He put his hands up in the air as his sign of surrender before laying down in the bed. She stayed silent for a minute and Luke almost thought they went back to normal. The girl usually was quiet and still, looking lost into the air, or, only the contrary, highly invested in a task and barely paying him attention. Now she was neither, the chair was slowly spinning with her wearing a childish expression. She controlled every aspect of every scenario he had observed, and even when she didn't feel like going strong at it, she would prove her domain by popping something for him to distract himself. He took note of that when he saw a ray of sunlight entering the window, leaving a path she was now following in his direction. She was standing in front of the side of the bed again. "Sit." she said, way too used to having control over here. And, listen, he wasn't about to oppose an emotional all powerful being. Once he stood straight, she st looking taller than him, barely. She supported her arms on the top of his head. And sighed again. "I hate men".

"Oh, they are terrible" he teased.

She stayed silent for a bit, he was just being used as a table. Then he heard her. "What do you think about... weird". He understood perfectly.

"I've met so many demi kids, that word just simply lost meaning at some point"

"Ok, then..." she took a step back and looked at him now, lowering her head a bit. "do you consider me pretty?" He took a second to look at her, then shrugged and nodded. "Great then... tell me when to stop." She said while sitting on his lap, with both her legs at his left side, and reaching for his left hand. The girl held it against her face and started nuzzling against him. He couldn't ignore the thought that her actions weren't sexy at all, not as much as they were needy. She was like a cat looking for attention, and he truly didn't mind. He lifted his right hand to caress her hair, and she gave in to the touch. She had closed her eyes and moved the hand of her face down to her outer thigh.

His strong hand gripped her skin, almost performatively. He flirted using a lower voice. "What do you want?" his nose under her jaw, his breath against her neck.

The answer came only with her voice, as she didn't even bother to open her eyes or explore his touch. "I'll let you know when you're doing it wrong." Moody, bossy, and assertive. This was not more than a game for them. This was just a caprice. What is wrong with wanting things that feel right?

The girl held onto his left bicep and hid her face on his neck. They just stayed like that for a couple minutes. Somi hiding on his arms when Luke faintly felt the scent of her hair.

"Why did you rescue me?" wasn't enough to disrupt the comfortability of their scene.

"I already told you why."

"I wasn't screaming tonight."

Then the silence prolonged itself for longer than he would have chosen. The girl just gently pushed his body with hers, making them lay on the bed, side by side, looking into the ceiling.

"We... don't really know each other." He agreed with the sentiment on silence. "But, we both have been here for years so I know you know me." Of course he did. "And everybody knows you." He felt like he didn't quite know what she meant by it. "Luke 'the greatest swordsman in the last 300 years' Castellan, a born leader whose smile has infatuated half our population of half-bloods, who is always there to help when someone gets hurt."

Luke analyzed those words for a couple of seconds. Apparently not enough seconds. "Do you... like me?" She laughed.

"I don't mean it like that!" She then took a pause and moved her head to look at him, he followed. "What I'm trying to say is. There are so many children looking up to you, learning from your effort, going to sleep smiling because they know you'll be there to protect them, and when they fail... you don't make them feel like they failed you. I guess for a second I realized how much our spirit was relying on you. I thought maybe you needed someone to rely on too. I'm sorry if I'm making it awkward now." He didn't know how to answer, her eyes on his were feeling heavy for a second so he escaped by closing them. He didn't know how to answer so he just breathed and hugged her, hoping she wouldn't tease him about his heart rate. She didn't. She hugged him back.

[bright-and-burning]

i just think that up until this point in my life everything was so clear cut with easily definable metrics for success and progression. i had my (admittedly extremely vague) life plan, which had included “get phd” since i was literally 16, but turned into question marks after the “start career” point. equally up til this point i’d never really been friends with anyone outside my age group? like, deeper friends than “weird line cook i would chat to while rolling silverware,” or “older cousin i see twice a year” lol. which contributed very heavily to how muddy my idea of the middle future was. i knew what like, 50 looked like. and what 20 looked like. i could not even begin to picture what 35 looked like, especially for me

AND THEN. i dramatically deviated from the life plan by dropping out of the phd program at the last possible minute, was unemployed w a tech degree and a really limiting factor known as “morals” during the whole tech industry implosion, and, 5 months later, made this blog. now i’ve made friends who are 5, 10, 15 years older than me, and it’s kind of felt like i’ve wiped condensation off the windshield a little? like ohhhhhh, that’s what’s ahead. i still don’t have a map or anything, but i can see the road now? its been . healing isn’t the right word. strengthening? invigorating? to get more of a grasp on like. how varied people’s lives look, when they’re not just other people in their early twenties who equally have no fuckin clue. to listen to people talk abt buying a house, or getting married (or divorced! shoutout to “the pipeline” which deserves its own footnote for impact despite not being uh directly applicable to my life in any way), or distinctly doing none of the above!! but also infinitely “”smaller”” things, like trips to see friends or solo vacations or picking up random hobbies on a whim, that remind me i can just. choose to do things. just because i want to!! i have free will!!!

it’s such a deep contrast to my irl experiences (eldest sibling, frequent advice giver/caretaker/mom friend at school). and it’s had an indescribable impact on me, i think, to have older people to look at a la learning to be spider-man but also that actively share advice and root for me… like yeah i already had a rather strong sense of self but now i also have a stronger sense of possibility to go with it? far beyond *clueless zoomer voice* “oh yeah when im 30 things will be so good.”

all in all this is still not articulated nearly as well as i had it in my mind yesterday lol. but hopefully it isn’t too nonsensical. i am just deeply deeply grateful for the shift in perspective f1blr has given me the space and connections to have, and i wish i could return even a fraction of that to you all

trying to articulate my thoughts on how f1blr has genuinely improved my life and i have completely lost the thread that i was tugging on yesterday

[unohanadaydreams]

DAMAGE DONE FOR KENPACHI SOULMATE CAN YOU IMAGINE THE A N G S T AND CONFUSION

 I know ppl who follow this blog have taste because you were the the first of four ppl to ask for this exact combo jdhdjsjs. We are all Kenpachi brain rot compliant.

Features: Cutting/self harm, a real shit start to a relationship, and angst.

Bleach Your Soul: Ask Meme

Kenpachi Zaraki + Damage:

So much of your life was defined by isolation. A patient treated terminal. Everyone paid you the same attention they would a ghost, fleeting smiles and tears that fell over your bed as though it were a grave.

How could you not feel tortured and angry, to be saddled with a soul mate determined to drag you through hell with them? There were times you truly believed were your last. Stabs too close to your guts. Slashes peeling open to far towards your heart.

There was little room in your thoughts to worry about who suffered with you, other than to curse them. Whether they struggled to live or delighted in violence, you didn’t know. You didn’t care. It was hard to care about anything while laying in your deathbed. Through childhood, your heart withered like the flowers always dying on your window sill. If only they’d throw you away for good, as well.

You garnered hobbies to keep busy rather than to enjoy them. Your stitching, calligraphy, and precocious little drawings stained in blood more often than not. The 4th division was your jail. Your soulmate, your warden. Keeping you there, always.

For years, you begged them. Desperate to be heard--to have a modicum of fucking control--, you carved words into your skin. Were they scared the first time you did it? Did they hate it? Did it hurt them?

Vindictive, you hoped all your horrible thoughts were so. When you cut ‘stop. stop. stop. stop.’ you did it on your side and hip, so it would reopen. Again. And again. And again. And--

They never responded. No matter what you wrote. ‘Please stop.’ ‘It hurts.’ ‘Doesn’t it hurt you?’ ‘I hate you.’ ‘Who are you.’ ‘Don’t you care?’ ‘Kill me.’ ‘Die.’ ‘I’m sorry.’ 

Slowly, then suddenly, the damage that had been near daily stopped for so many years stopped. Your family settled you back in the home, a living urn. They said your name and stroked your cheek and smiled too small when you spoke.

Your skin buzzed with the absence of what had plagued your entire youth. Was it sickness or shame that drove your blade through your skin still? Did you just miss it? Was the violence boiling you alive with no where to spill out anymore?

There were times you swore minuscule nicks would appear, healing too fast to smooth over, but staying long enough to feel. Older, able to be among people, you realized what that could mean. What kind of person you’d told to die as a pithy little tween.

Were they alive--really alive? Did anyone else care or were you the only one?

‘Songbirds.’ ‘Hello.’ ‘Your name?’ ‘Sorry.’ ‘Work sucks.’ ‘Too hot.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Hotpot.’ ‘Cut words.’ ‘Please.’ ‘Alive?’ ‘Shinigami.’ ‘13th.’ ‘Rank?’ ‘Rukongai?’ ‘I’m sorry.’

@

Retsu Unohana, the only woman he couldn’t quite look in the eye, was there to smile all serene-like over him. After he’d lost. Figures she’d be there when he fucking lost.

She asked him all those annoying questions about how his body felt and told him all the things he needed to heal from. He wanted to shake her like Yachiru did when he wasn’t paying attention enough for her liking. Who gave a shit about all that--he lost and got what he deserved. He had to get stronger. Just because she’d abandoned her pride didn’t mean he would. 

“Your soulmate is here, too.”

Kenpachi couldn’t ignore that one. He never ignored that one. Not that they let him, with all their fucking writing. Saying the strangest shit sometimes too.

When he was young, he’d been paranoid, not knowing what the fuck was doing the writing. He’d swing his sword over his calf or side or thigh, expecting to lob and invisible arm off. Running, Kenpachi would try to out pace the fucker.

 Yumichika explained it like having one was exciting. Ikkaku had yelped for Yumichika to knock it off as the man with beautifully kept hands had given himself a paper cut.

“See? It means the person you’re meant for feels everything you do on the battlefield.” His colorful eyelids narrowed, sights shifting between his captain and Ikkaku. “Or in the file cabinet, if either of you would bother to help out.”

The more he understood--and thought about it--the less he wanted to meet them. His soulmate. Kenpachi wasn’t a person who forgave weakeness and anyone meant for him wouldn’t either, right?

He’d been consumed by sleepless nights, futile attempts to nap, and brutal training sessions, trying to keep his failures out of mind after the realization. What if Yachiru had been forced to take every blow the same as he had? Whenever he tucked in his lieutenant, the question ate at him further.

With time, there had come some form of solace--one day he’d find the thrill of a horrible battle again, to drown the thoughts out. But what Ichigo Kurosaki had offered hadn’t been horrible in the way he’d imagined. And here he was, face turned away from Unohana’s thinly veiled impatience, his feelings too complicated to bother with fully.

“Well?”

Unohana stood, like she was disappointed and Kenpachi couldn’t help but snap at her, “Fine. Whatever.”

She smiled, soft as she’d gotten, and went to the door. “Fine to what? I only told you they’re here. But if you’re so determined to see them, Captain Zaraki, follow me.”

@

Grumbling about how much he hated ‘that sneaky shit’, Kenpachi did follow her, and went through the door she gestured at before being closed in with your recovering body. Your body hadn’t healed as fast as his, but that wasn’t a surprise--you’d be a captain for sure if you could pull that shit off.

Worst of all, you were awake, the scar lining one side of your face as thick as his own. No one else was in the room with you. There were no flowers or cards. And your mouth was hanging open.

“You’re alive.”

“Yeah well,” Kenpachi didn’t know what to say, trailing off as one of his fingers brushed over his thigh.

“Everyone is talking about your fight,” you said, filling his silence with a light shrug. “I figured it was more than coincidence that I ended up like this at the same time. I’m glad it was you and not the ryoka.”

“You thought that kid was your soulmate?”

“How was i supposed to know? No one’s seen him since your fight, or so they’re saying.”

“The scar’s pretty fucking obvious.”

“Uh, I’ve never seen you before and it’s not like you’re ever in the Seireitei Bulletin or...or wandering around where people could find you!”

Kenpachi winced, not because of your words, but because the closer he got, the more your sweat and shaking arms showed. You must’ve been like this for a lot of your life. A worming feeling of guilt he seldom felt curled in his belly. Now that he had a person to pin to the thought, it swelled large.

Maybe if he were a softer person, someone rounded out like the long gone Yachiru turned Unohana, he’d say something comforting or concerned or even charming. But his hand was still on his thigh and his mounting frustration at himself, all revolving around his lack of strength, felt thick on his tongue.

“This mean you’re gonna stop with the fucking words?”

You pulled your head back slow, looking up at him like you couldn’t decide between succumbing to exhaustion or lunging at him.

“What if I don’t? What if I just keep going till you respond?”

“You’ll keep going until ya die.”

“Well, great! There’s you’re answer,” you scoffed. “You’ll have to kill me.”

It was a shit start, all things considered, and the silence that took over the room as Kenpachi sat on the nearest chair, so hard it almost cracked, felt as horrible as his zanpakuto refusing to answer him.

“The name’s Kenpachi Zaraki,” he said, resolved to at least get your name.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Damn right, you do. Now tell me yours.”

You wouldn’t have introduced yourself if he hadn’t looked so...well, you couldn’t quite tell what he looked like. Tired, maybe. Tired and wanting something.

So you gave him your name, your relief that he was alive, that you hadn’t wished him to his grave in your youth, outweighing your anger. An apology for putting you here was like grasping at the sky and hoping to hold a star, if his reputation proceeded him. So you let it go as best you could.

And Kenpachi settled back in the chair, grunting in acknowledgement. He didn’t think learning your name was gonna make him stronger, but it felt nice to hear someone talking to him like a person and not a beast.

If he was being honest, it’d always felt nice to be given your words, when so many people refused to give him any. A bit awkwardly, he stayed while you fell victim to sleep, your breath slow before he spoke again.

“Thanks.”

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (3)

 Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf, fantasy 

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting 

Summary: Denial is a crude adversary in how it battles your want to accept the alpha that has no shadings of doubt that you are, in fact, his mate. He intends to clear things up for you using the one surefire thing that will, however, prove him to truly be yours and you are utterly helpless in denying him.

A/N: So, here we are with part three already. Goodness, I can’t even believe how much attention this has gotten so far. Please keep it up, you guys! It really feeds my creative juices and encourages me when you guys let me know what you think of the stories I put out! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this next part. Things are gradually going to begin to heat up from here on out and I can’t wait to see how you all react! 

Part 1  Part 2  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8 Part 9

You try to swim through the flurry of thoughts, the floundering disbelief heavy as you wade through it in spite of the amused alpha that watches you with interest as a myriad of expressions pull at your features. It’s difficult to keep yourself afloat amidst the frenzy of emotions that cascade over you and your alpha notices this in the way that you fidget where you stand in the intensity with which he regards you, your hand clutching at your skirt as you inhale through your mouth to attempt to replace the air that eludes you.

 One side of his lips curl upward in the effect he’s already had on you that only deepens in your silent refusal to acknowledge the final piece of the puzzle that would complete the missing segment of conviction still lost to you.

 Unlike you, Jungkook has not an inkling of doubt that you are, without question, his mate. He just hadn’t known up until a few moments ago that you are to become something so much deeper than that to him that will extend into his very being, for even he’d had no idea that you are destined to be his soulmate in which there hasn’t been a pair of wolves like that for many thousands of years.

 It all made sense to him in how his eyes had found themselves magnetized to the opposite pole that was you,  the constant holder of his attention whenever he’d had the privilege to watch you frolic gleefully with your omegean friends outside your den whenever he passed by through the cover of the trees after a successful hunt, his own scent masked by the carcasses of his prey.

 He’d never been able to explain the inexplicable pull toward you that had grasped him unrelentingly until he’d managed to catch sight or smell of you to, nor had it made sense to him why he’d wanted to express himself to you so much so that he’d danced in effort to satisfy the need to bask in the warmth of your intrigued gaze.

 Nothing has ever quite compared to the way that his blood races when you so much as glance at him now that he thinks on it and gods, he longs for you to welcome him now as eagerly as you had in the supposed safety of dreams. Even now the inebriating scent of you coils around him insistently as it begs for him to come closer to the source of his desires he’s yearned for years.

 It’s not as easy for you to accept this, though, no matter how much you want to. Gods, do you want to.

 In light of the bright, flashing signs that your wolf begs for you to heed, there’s a very critical and very crucial element that would immediately clear away the lingering shadow of denial that this creature before you who looks to have been crafted by the gods is meant to be yours. Despite your purebred omegean blood that distinguishes you as the most desirable of candidates for alphas and betas alike in the rarity of such a pedigree amongst your dynamic, Jeon Jungkook could have any bitch in the pack he wished. There were many others who you believed looked better and gave back to the clan more than the likes of you.

  And in the self-consciousness that shackles you, you had not breathed through your nose ever since he’d brought himself near to you.

 You know that the moment that you do, there will be no question that he is truly the alpha from your dreams who boldly claims to be your mate, for the intoxicating scent of him that had incensed itself within you was deliciously unforgettable in the way it had had the power to have you glistening with slick upon a single whiff. Because of that, there is a reason that you are actively choosing not to use your olfactory sense around him.

 Only within the old tales written in the aged tomes of the compound’s archives which are guarded by the elders has there been recollections of the legendary lupi antiquis, who were the progenitors of the werewolf race. These creatures were incarnations of nature manifested into the bodies of wolves that were guided by the moon’s phases in the celestial body’s wish to bring life to the earth in the decay of other mythical creatures who had grown sad and lifeless without a companion in the rarity of which they’d roamed.

 To ensure the strongest and most virile of the moon’s creations found a partner that would belong and be designed solely for them, it was said that the celestial body preselected the companion that would remain loyal to them through the entirety of their life by choosing for them a soulmate.

 The word has always been held close your heart in the romantic radiance of it, for it had been said that a bond unlike any other in the lupine world burgeoned inside two destined mates of the moon’s selection among the abilities that allow such a pair to share thoughts and feelings with one another telepathically across insurmountable distances in addition to each wolf becoming stronger where the alpha would gain physical strength while the omega would be granted bolstered mental fortitude.

 Beyond that, the wolf’s kiss could cure their mate of any ailment or injury in the profound love that the very essences of each kindred spirit were vested with as they longed ardently to remain together forever and always.

 As time had passed, the word had begun to become diluted in the diminished occurrences with which it happened as more and more werewolves began to populate and once pure bloodlines became soured by excessive mating between different partners in the uncontrollable ruts and heats that drove them to couple with any wolf in the vicinity under the influence purely of instinct to breed and be bred.

 Many lives had been lost during the violent, territorial battles over both alphas and omegas for a partner that often ended in death to one or both participants, the lessons of the past yielding guidance to the future generation in the written accounts left behind so that the fledgling pups that came after would not suffer as the earlier wolves had.

 It is why your pack has such defined rules now upon the presentation or period of peak maturity for omegas in particular because they have always been the desired mates of alphas.

 It is also how the entire compound knows when the last happening of two soulmates was, which had been a couple thousand years ago when the moon had aligned with the rest of the planetary bodies in the meticulously structured history courses that all maturing wolves are mandated to take and in the stories that are told by the elders over annual bonfires celebrating the bonding between two wolves.

 Perhaps it is all of these reasons that have every wolf in your pack still able to discern and recognize the defined series of circumstances that present themselves between two lupine creatures fated to be each other’s soulmate.

 The first is the gift of sight, which allows each lupine creature to see the eyes of their mate. The second is the gift of olfaction, which is the amalgamation of scents naturally produced from the scent gland of each wolf that have the ability to draw the undivided attention of their destined other so temptingly that it causes sudden production of either slick for omegas and pre-ejaculative fluid for alphas. In addition, this one is powerful enough that it acts an effluvious vice that impulses each lupine creature in how desirously their mate can waft into and draw out their counterpart’s instincts.     

 Each are granted only after the moon lights a path for them both to meet, but that hadn’t happened for you, had it? After all, it’s not like the stream of dreams every night after the last eclipse could have-

 Your eyes widen bigger than the largest star as your cheeks color themselves redder than a ruby in mortification as the links join together and that has the alpha relishing in the adorable sight of you as he croons, “There it is, pretty. I knew you would come around soon enough,” he fixes his sight on the edge of a reddened petal he’d caused to fall over your skin in your supposed fantasy that peeks out from under the edge of your silken choker that he wishes he could tear off of you and add more of his marks to as he continues, “Did you think I would allow my mate to suffer with how desperately you whined and how loudly you howled for me?”

 You fumble for words in the embarrassment that soaks you as you try to speak past a mouth that is dryer than the desert while you shake your head like you’re in a daze and you might as well be in how incapable you are of rationalizing at this point.

 “This can’t be… it can’t be possible.” You whisper quietly as if thinking aloud and Jungkook finds that he appreciates the sound of you, that he is pleased in how you’ve finally chosen to use that cute voice of yours and let him into your thoughts.  

 The alpha coos, “Oh, my pretty omega, but it can,” he takes one calculated step closer, “Come on, little omega, smell me.  Do not think that I have not caught on to the fact that you haven’t used your nose in your efforts to deny this, to deny me.” His honeyed voice slathers itself over you, as you melt under its thickness, “You asked your alpha to come find you and I have, pretty. Now, it’s time for you to do the same. Scent me and see that I am the one the moon has promised you to, that I am the alpha you belong to.”

 He delivers his words to you in the form of a command as he takes another step toward you only to have your heart beat faster against your ribcage, your wolf lowering its head in submission as you try to make yourself smaller under his searing, prompting gaze and the longer that you dangerously surrender yourself to those golden irises that are still speckled with the silver that mirrors your own, your resistance cracks and folds gradually under his increasingly prominent pressure. It can only be compacted and compressed so much until nothing remains and, unable to disobey his directive, you swallow a thick lump of nervousness down your throat before clearing it as he looks on expectantly.

 His avid attention sears into you doggedly and, under its power, your omega blood boils in need to heed him and, purely driven by your body’s desideratum to yield to him without the input of any cognizant thought, your hand finds itself slowly and tentatively lifting toward the exposed neck that he has bared torturously against the obscenely opened shirt.  The fluttery wings of anticipation flap animatedly within you as the alpha watches with intrigue, allowing you to slowly near him.

 Your fingers do not stall as they ghost over the notch between his collarbones as you dare to allow yourself to touch the skin that tries to reach for you in the waves of heat that roll off of him and when you turn your hand so that the soft underside of your wrist just barely manages to rub against his sensitive scent gland that all but strains and pulses against you, your breath hitches as a deep rumble of a growl tumbles from his throat in response.

 It is not a sound born of aggression, but of satisfaction that has your omega preening under its euphoniously low trill and when his fingers close around your forearm to possessively drag your radiocarpal joint back and forth over the intimate area that secretes pheromones wantonly for you, your wolf sings at his hot touch, at the way that his fingers curl deliciously over your delicate skin.

 The whole time, his irises flash tellingly in gratification that has you helplessly falling for the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters as he greedily drinks in the way your mouth has parted dazedly while he coats himself in your own essence that is produced richly from the glands in your wrist.

 The scent glands of the neck were far stronger, far more potent, but right now, he will take from you what you decide to give. There will be time for more later, he is sure.

 Your delicious scent is quick to consume him, the sound that drips from his lips deepening in pitch as your aroma drapes itself over him in its entirety before sinking into his very pores until he’s momentarily drunk off you, his pupils enlarging until there is only you.

 “Gods,” he utters, “you smell like sin, pretty. You’re like a fucking aphrodisiac in how you tempt me.” Somewhere in his pants, his cock twitches to life at the mere scent of you as your carnal essence awakens something far too primal within him.

 “J-Jungkook,” you whimper, your wolf baying in delight at his admission and wantful actions.

 In response to him, your own irises dilate as your heart pangs wildly against your chest, breath a hard companion to come by in his overbearingly alluring presence that seeks your own in the warmth of his skin that reaches longingly for you.

 You can’t begin to rationalize how long he slides your wrist sinfully against him as he makes a point of trailing your radiocarpal joint over the vast expanse of muscles that line his neck as they all but jump at your touch as the sound that tumbles from his lips darkens impossibly more only to draw out a whine from you. Minutes or hours could have passed since this started, but you have no care in the world because of how caught you are under his simmering stare.

 Once he’s secure in the knowledge that succulent scent of you has smeared him to the point of no return, that’s when he pulls your hand back until he holds it under your nostrils while his mouth waters at the delectable waft of you through his own that sets his very blood on fire.

 His fingers sink wonderfully into your skin and it is positively unholy in how his heat permeates you until you’re filled gloriously with it he orders, “Go on now, my pretty omega.  Breathe me in until every last doubt is torn from you and all you can think about is me,” his breath is hot against your cheek as he inches impossibly closer in the need to be impossibly closer to you as you shakily exhale while he finishes, “Drink me in until this little body of yours is sated in the sweet recognition of the alpha that owns it.”   

 His words settle viscously over you and in the command of the alpha that you are helpless to resist with your omegean blood, you do. You did not want to fight this, did not want to fight him. It went against your baser instincts and nature to do so. It was all just your self-consciousness that had bound you back and away from him, but under his attention that does not waver in the imposing neediness of it that glints with a savage saturation dripping from his very being, you can’t withstand it. So, you obey.

 The change is immediate.

 Upon the first whiff of him that drizzles up through your nostrils to trickle fluidly like that of a delicious philter through you, your every cell is flooded with stimulation that is guided by the heady essence that is decidedly and uniquely him. He tastes of newly dewed grasses that are accented by an earthly underlayer and somehow it is all bolstered by the overwhelmingly delicious amalgamation of blooming gardenia, black vanilla and freshly matured pear.

 A sudden deposit of slick finds itself between your folds that glisten to life and it earns a sharp growl from him as he brings one lip between his teeth.

 He reeks of pungently dangerous desire that beckons your very being and your eyes roll to the back of your head at in its insistent invitation as he fills you with his quintessence and soon your body can no longer bear your weight in the way that his strong incense curls around you to have your limbs grow weak under its inexorable consummation of you.

 Your weakly whisper, “Alpha…my alpha,” the concession quick to run through your veins as you yield to him.

 Your legs begin to tremble precariously with each breath you take in effort to collect as much of him as you can, the familiar smell exactly alike to that of the one belonging to the wolf from your dreams as understanding and recognition saturate your being.

 “Omega,” Jungkook breathes, satisfaction washing over him as he watches your body react so affectedly to him.

 And when your body is no longer able to bear your weight in how quickly the alpha has drawn away their strength through his own power, he is there.

 At the same time that your head falls back and your sense of equilibrium leaves you through numbed legs, one of his large hands finds its place along your nape while one muscled arm wraps around your back to pull you against the built planes of an aureate chest as he croons, “My beautiful omega. You’ve acknowledged me at long last. Such a good girl for me, you are,” he angles his head low so that his heated breath once more billows against you, “I’m going to take you with me to the forest now, pretty. Once we’re there, you’re going to watch me shift so that I can hunt just for you. When I return,” his pink tongue darts outward to wet his lips as his gaze surges with hunger, “I expect my mate to be waiting for me before I let every wolf in this fucking compound know that you’re mine when I claim you at the ceremony tonight.”

 Your breath stutters at that and when his arms dip to collect you like his bride as he tucks you against the muscled chest that you subconsciously lean into you in the safety that pours from him that your wolf relishes in. Through it all, you can only barely utter, “As you wish, alpha.”

 As he holds you close, you nuzzle your alpha and there’s a high-pitched, satisfied purr that easily cascades through your throat in the warmth and security that his able body offers. You care not how far your song of satisfaction is carried in the winds that swell against you only to roll tauntingly over all the alphas in the distance that Jungkook is in charge of as the pack alpha’s son who is meant to one day lead the compound.

All that matters is that you’ve found your alpha and that he, in turn, has found you.

 High in the sky, the moon hides behind the awakening sun as golden rays begin to filter searchingly through the thick underbrush of the forest lining the horizon as far as the eye can see.

[biderboy]

The Video || H.P + J.P

description- harry finds an old video james recorded for him

-

harry was gifted an old video camera for christmas, from sirius and remus

they had a sad look in their eyes when they gave it to him, and he didn’t understand why

nor the, “he’d want you to have it” they whispered

well, not until later, weeks later. when he’d finally found the time to sit down and look through it.

at first there was just blurry pictures of skies and quidditch fields

and then pictures of a young blonde boy, and then a young boy with long black hair, and one with all too familair face scars

there were pictures of all four of them together, a boy with curly hair and glasses had joined the other three, a boy harry came to realize was his dad

there were other pictures, girls and boys he could not recognize, pictures of a black dog, trees, shoes and a messy gryffindor dorm

there was also a lot of pictures of a black haired boy, who seemed to look a lot like sirius, but not exactly. harry didn’t know who that was, but there were plenty of pictures of him and his dad

harry felt emotional looking through the pictures, but he felt his heart clench when he reached the last thing on the camera, a video.

he pressed play.

it opened with his dad, that he recognized. the messy hair, the glasses, the slightly crooked smile. he knew him.

he was sitting on the floor, in a place harry never knew.

the camera shook a little bit, before harry heard his fathers voice for the first time.

“hi harry.”

harry froze, heart beating vividly in his chest. that was his dad. his dads voice. it was soft, his accent was stronger than harry expected, but harry thought it suited him quite well.

“it’s your dad, but i expect you know that. or well, i hope you know that”

“you were born just a few days ago. can you believe that? you’re so tiny.”

and james laughed, and harry recognized that too. he had that laugh.

“i’m making this video for a stupid reason, as lily says. and i hope you never have to watch this.”

“we’re in the middle of a war harry. me, your mum, uncle moony, uncle pads, uncle pete, we’ve all lost a lot of people already.”

harry smiled at the mention of his godfathers, but quickly let it fall.

“and i’m afraid one day, one of us may be next.”

“wishful thinking, nothing is going to happen to us. we’ll be fine. but incase something terrible does happen, i wanted, no. needed you to have something.”

harry’s heart thumped in his chest. his father knew something could happen, would happen. his father knew he’d die, didn’t he?

“harry james potter, the moment i held you in my arms, i knew you were everything to me. you opened your little eyes and i knew i’d do anything to protect you.”

“harry, you are so loved.”

harry blinked back the tears, he wouldn’t cry. he wouldn’t.

“you’ve got all of us wrapped around your little finger and you’ve barely been here for a week. remus cried the first time he held you, you know?”

“we all love you, so much harry.”

his dad took a breath, so he did too.

“and i know, that no matter who makes it out of this war, no matter what happens. we will never stop loving you.”

“harry if you’re watching this, it means i’m no longer around.”

harry bit his lip.

“i don’t know how old you are, or how old you were when- when i died. i don’t even know if you knew me, or can remember me.”

he watched his fathers eyes fill with tears.

“but i know, that i didn’t want to leave you.”

“and i know, that no matter where i am, and no matter where you go. i’m with you. that’s the thing about love, it doesn’t fade, it doesn’t just go away. love is keeping me with you harry, always.”

harry clenches his fist, wills the tears to go away.

“it’s going to be okay, you’re going to be okay.”

“i- i know it’s probably hard right? but i hope remus and sirius make it out, i hope- i hope theyre the ones with you if i can’t be.”

they are, he thought, they are dad.

“there are some things a dad is suppose to say right? i- i don’t know. i’m still new to all this, believe it or not.”

“i just, i need you to know that you are worth it. you are worth it again and again. you’re worthy of love, and acceptance, and all things good in this world. you deserve them.”

harry whimpered, not wanting to close his eyes even for a moment, not wanting to let his dad disappear.

“i don’t know if we won this war, or if you’re still fighting for our fails.”

“but harry, you don’t need to save the world. dont listen to anyone who says you do. harry, you save yourself. you save the people you love. the rest of the world can save itself.”

harry let a few tears falls.

“and harry? i am so proud of you.”

“i’m sure you miss me a lot, so look at the moon for me alright? i’ll be there. i’ll always be there. you aren’t alone harry.”

the pale moonlight shined from outside, maybe his dad was right.

“you are everything. and nothing will ever change that. you are the bst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“i love you pup, more than the stars combined. more than magic can define. more than anything alive.”

harry felt himself shake with sobs that raked through his body.

“and no matter what, i’ll make sure you make it.”

and in a split second, the picture of his father faded away as the video ended.

but harry kept the camera clutched to his chest, as if said thing was his father.

it was the closest thing he had to him, hell if he’d ever let it out of his grasp.

and there harry sat, finally letting himself sob, and feel, and be.

it was a small video, it was sad and broke his heart and he was frustrated his dad even had to make the video.

but he held onto like a lifeline, replaying it again and again until he fell asleep to his fathers voice.

that night, he had a dream. he coudlnt remember much, a soft warm feeling, a hand brushing over his cheek, and a whisper of

“dad’s got you”

maybe it wasn’t a dream after all, maybe, it was a memory.

maybe, just maybe, james never left harry at all.

[thenovelartist]

Game Over: Be Mine

Happy (late) Birthday to my friend @galaxyofconstellations​

“I swear, Adrien, you frickin’ blue shell me, I am going to kick you out of my house right now.”

The young man sitting beside her just laughed. “It’s not like I have the option of who to blue shell, though.”

“You have the option to not blue shell me in the first place.”

“Yeah, but what’s the fun in that?”

“Adrien Agreste,” Marinette growled.

He shot her a smug grin. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette huffed. To say this was out of the ordinary for her to sass a supermodel would be a lie. She’d met the man beside her a couple years ago when her best friend happened to start going out with his best friend. And then game nights between the four of them began to transpire every once in a while. And then once a month. And now about once week. However, there were times Alya and Nino, due to their schedules, wanted to ditch game nights so they could actually have a date night that week.

Just as they had done tonight.

And that was all right by Marinette and Adrien. Because they had become plenty close over the past couple years and had learned to enjoy solo game nights without the lovey-dovey couple getting all lovey-dovey on them.

“I am not kidding.” Marinette warned.

“I’d love to see you try.”

“To kick you out?”

“Yeah.”

“I will.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t underestimate me. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’m not. I’ve seen you lift flour bags. I know full well what you’re capable of.”

“Therefore, you know better than to use that blue shell on me.”

Marinette snuck a glance at Adrien, who was wearing a smile that she Did. Not. Like. It was that smile that always meant trouble yet caused her heart to flutter. It was not fair that he looked extra attractive wearing that grin. Being a fashion designer, she’d seen her fair share of models. She hardly cared for them beyond being able to display her creations. Attractive men who constantly made passes at her while she fitted them with clothes were a dime a dozen.

However, the model next to her with his tongue slightly sticking out while his brows furrowed deeply in concentration could not be so easily tossed under that blanket statement, even if he had jokingly made passes at her while she tailored his outfits. Honestly, she found herself wishing more often than not that he’d meant them despite knowing he hadn’t.

“Well…” he said, shooting her a quick wink before turning back to the screen, “knowing and doing are two different things.”

“Adrien Agreste.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“About pressing this button?”

“Yes.”

He moved his finger.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oops.”

“Screw you!”

Marinette watched as the blue shell flew through the course and struck her, causing her cart to explode right before the finish line. Before her cart could even fully recover, she watched as Adrien’s cart zipped past her across the finish line.

“Winner!” he shouted, tossing his hands in the air while wearing a beaming smile.

“You mangy—”

“Hey hey, be nice.”

“Nice?!”

“Yeah.” He shot her a smile that did not under any circumstances cause the butterflies in her stomach to swirl. “It’s not becoming to be a sore loser.”

Marinette sputtered. “It is when you’re a cheater!”

“How’d I cheat? I merely used what the game gave me.”

“You strategically planned to screw me over.”

“But but but…” he began with a pout. “That’s kinda the point of Mario Cart.”

She let loose a growl before turning away from him. “Honestly, you’re such a piece of work.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

The words were said in jest. Marinette knew this. Her heart could not take it in jest. Not when she had developed a healthy crush on the man who was now behind her.

“Mari?”

Adrien’s concerned voice floated towards her, and her anger was already fading. She couldn’t stay mad at him, even if he did win this game five times in a row. She wasn’t a sore loser, but she also knew she was better than this.

“Maaaaariiiiii.”

His voice now resonated right by her ear. She could feel the couch cushion sink under his weight as he crawled across the couch to now be right behind her.

“Get lost. I’m sulking,” she snarked, turning her face away from him in hopes to hide the smile growing on her face.

“Oh, are we now?”

“We are,” she resolutely returned.

“Oh.”

There was a pause, and Marinette felt the cushion under her return to normal as Adrein shifted off the couch entirely.

“Well,” Adrien said, rounding the arm rest to place himself right before her. She had to cover her mouth in hopes of hiding her grin just a little while longer. “I do know one way to get you to stop sulking.”

Marinette froze for a second, hand falling away from her face—her smile was long gone now—as she looked towards Adrien.

He was grinning.

She began panicking.

“You wouldn’t.”

His smile only grew in responce.

He would.

In a flash, Marinette spun around, planning to bolt off the couch and out of his reach.

Unfortunately, she was not fast enough to escape. And she squealed as he began his attack.

His tickle attack, that is.

“Adrien!” she shrieked, collapsing onto the couch in a fit of laughter. She tried to wiggle away from him, but it was no use. He had crawled over the arm of the couch and was now hovering over her. “Stop.”

“Never!” he cried, wrapping his arms fully around her to hold her close as his assault on her sides continued.

Marinette let out another shriek, laughing so hard tears were forming in her eyes as she tried to wiggle her way out of Adrien’s grasp. He was now laughing along with her as he pinned her fully beneath him to the couch, his arms around her waist that held her tightly enough to continue tickling her sides. “Give up,” he cried, giggling all the while.

“I give!” Marinette screamed, still laughing as her back arched and hands pushed against his shoulders in an unfortunately futile attempt to escape his grasp. “I give! I surrender! Please.”

He held his hands still, though his fingers still lingered on her exposed skin right between her pants and where her shirt had ridden up on her hips. He propped himself up best he could and pulled her back towards him, close enough for his face to hover right above hers. “No more pouty Mari!”

“Yes, yes! Okay. You win. Stop!”

With that, he fully halted his attack, allowing Marinette a moment to breathe. Wide smile still lingering on her face, she let her eyes shut as she took heaving gulps of air that she wasn’t able to get during her tickle-induced laughing attack.

Faintly, she became aware of Adrien also breathing heavily, a short chuckle escaping him here and there. “Hey.”

She opened her eyes, only to come face to face with Adrien. “What?”

“I didn’t go too overboard, did I?”

With a heavy sigh, she let her eyes drift closed for a moment before shaking her head. “No. No more than usual.”

“Good,” he huffed, clearly relieved.

While the two were coming down from their giggle fit high, Marinette became increasingly aware of their very precarious position. At the moment, she was pinned to the couch, a fact she had already been aware of, but not to this extent. Adrien’s face was barely hovering above hers, looking every bit as handsome as he possibly could be while he laid on top of her, their legs intertwined and his arms fencing her in.

She felt all her blood rush to her cheeks that moment. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t be able to have this affect on her. He was a model like any one of the dozens she was frequently surrounded with.

But he was also her friend. And a huge dork. And great at video games. And skilled both in the art of cheering her up and melting her heart. And and and…

And it just wasn’t fair how badly she’d fallen for him. Or how badly she wanted to kiss him right now.

“Adrien.”

“Hmm?”

“What… what if…”

She bit her lip. Just what did she think she was doing right now?

“What if I told you you did go overboard? What would you be willing to do to pay me back for it?”

He paused, distress slowly beginning to shadow his pretty features. “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“I have Nino, who’s my best bro. But beyond that, the person I’m closest to… is you,” he quietly admitted. “I’d do whatever it took to make it up to you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Her heart was racing as she looked at the handsome man before her, the one she’d come to care for deeply and sincerely. She knew better than to take advantage of this situation. She knew better than to be manipulative like this. And yet, as Marinette looked at him, she also wasn’t sure she cared. “Then, close your eyes.”

Without hesitating, he did just that.

It wasn’t lost on Marinette the amount of trust he put into her. He was the kind that asked “how high” when asked to jump, but only for a select few people. Everyone else could take a long walk off a short pier for all he cared.

It made her realize once again just how precious that trust in her was.

Which made her rethink what she was about to do.

Ultimately, she shoved doubt aside as she raised her hands to cradle his cheeks, and he sucked in a sharp breath at her touch. They were soft to the touch yet very well defined. He was so handsome. A model through and through.

And maybe, she should stop saying such things, because what did it matter that he was a model. That was the one thing she could care less about when it came to him. Not when he had so many other qualities that shone far brighter.

Slowly, she started pulling him closer. And he came willingly. Yet, at the last moment, she froze.

In the end, she couldn’t go through with it.

“Adrien.”

“Please tell me you’re going to kiss me.”

She gasped quietly, unsure how to proceed or even answer that question. “I…” Words choked up in her throat. “I… wanted to.”

“Wanted to?” Adrien asked, eyes cracking open to match hers.

Her hands fell from his cheeks, curling together on her collarbone. She glanced away shyly. “I don’t… can’t take advantage of you.”

His hand reached up to brush aside her hair before cradling the back of her neck, bringing her attention back to his soft and sweet smile. “You’re not,” he gently assured. “Not by a long shot.”

“Then…” Marinette once again reached up to cradle his cheeks, and Adrien took that as his cue to pull her close and kiss her.

It was a single kiss, one that was a firm, lingering press of their lips together.

And in that moment, Marinette knew this was game over for her and her heart. Adrien had won again. But this time, she hardly minded.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Adrien whispered. “But… seems like you were braver than I was. It never felt like the right time, and I was too chicken to push my luck when I knew I could end up losing you.”

Words now completely failed Marinette. What was she supposed to say to that? How was she supposed to respond? “I… get… how you feel.”

Above her, Adrien’s loving smile grew. “So, does this mean I can press my luck and get a favorable answer when I ask if you’d be my girl?”

Marinette was quick to nod. “Yes.”

Adrien visibly relaxed, faint blush growing on his own cheeks. “I’m… really glad to hear that.”

A short silence passed between them.

“Second question.”

“Yeah?” Marinette whispered, her heart already over the moon and head completely in the clouds.

“If I asked to kiss you again,” Adrien said, leaning closer. “Would that answer be a yes?”

Those words wracked around in her mind for two seconds before short-circuiting everything. Forget speech, because that had become physically impossible, Marinette just grabbed his cheeks again.

Right before she could pull him down to grant his request, she could hear him chuckle softly. “I like that answer,” he whispered. “But…”

His lips brushed against hers as his voice got low and so quiet she could barely pick up on the words that fully destroyed her. “I like you even more.”

[sparklingpax]

We return to another episode of Kuni rambles incoherently on tumblr with a phone at 18%

Alternately titled, someone take my phone the f r ag away from me

Ok. I apologize if someone else has come up with this idea first and this is therefore a pale comparison to the original idea, but um, here goes. 

I want an au (?? Might have a different name based on what I'm talking about Actually, but brain Fried so I can't remember) where optimus gets to talk to his youngest self--to Orion Pax :0

Note: the times it mentions Optimus is like. from Op’s pov? Since Orion never learns his name?? If that makes sense?? Sorry this is so confusing aa a a--

so anyway Sorry for typos and grammar stuff, I'm typing this on my phone as it slowly dies Hfkdjsj hH 😳

///

Orion is pulled from his study books at the sound of footsteps.

A shadow is cast over him.

Wonder and disbelief spark in his gaze as he stares up at the rather grand figure before him.

This mech--plating a nearly exact match to his own in the red, blue, and silver coloring--seems to possess an air about him that is...neither true confidence, nor uncertain existence.

At the very least, it seems he knows who he is, and his purpose in this world. Something Orion is still working on.

Silence rests between them.

Optimus, meanwhile, feels an overwhelming sense of yearning.

Seeing Orion--seeing himself--he wishes he could go back to those days.

The simpler days of youthful naivety towards life.

When Cybertron still thrived under golden days and the silvery illumination of the moons at night.

When the buildings stood tall and beautiful and untouched.

When he could never have known the awful sight of a corpse at the end of his own sword, or the unnatural cries a bot makes as it is brutally murdered next to you, and you can do nothing but continue to fend for your own life...

"You are...studying for a quarterly exam?" Optimus asks, leaning closer to see the book. He recognizes the cover and feels a twinge in his spark.

He remembers the book.

...And that he never enjoyed Chemistry much.

"...I am.....but...how did you know?" Orion stands slowly to meet the gaze of the mech standing over his desk. His gaze turns to light worry and confusion.

Orion is acutely aware of a feeling in his spark that...a lot about this mech feels familiar.

Somehow even...intimately.

"A-actually...um...."

He stammers in the silence, fishing desperately for the words to use that would ask his question, yet still be polite.

After all, 'are you related to me?' is definitely an awkward--perhaps intrusive--question to ask a complete stranger...

Optimus continues to regard the young bot, slightly amused.

He knows what Orion is hoping to ask, but also that it would be hard to ask a question like that upfront, at least when he was a younger mech.

"Orion Pax," Optimus says, placing his servos on his hips.

"Y-yes?"

"Be careful not to stay up too late with that book. Tests require knowledge, but they also require one to be awake to take them...and sleep--"

"--helps a processor function, yes..." the smaller mech sighs, frustrated. He's heard that one before, but his mind isn't thinking about that at the moment.

Alright, so he knows my name, too. But...I've never met him? There's absolutely no way he doesn't know me somehow... but how could I possibly--

"Orion?"

He jolts at his name, almost blurting the question before pulling himself back.

The mech standing over his desk gives the gentlest of smiles and rests a firm servo on Orion's shoulder.

"I know what you are going to ask, Orion."

"You...do?"

"And I will tell you as much as I can."

What is he, inside my head now?

But he receives an answer that shocks him more than that would.

"I....am you, Orion, and beneath my title and age from my timeline....I am still you," he pauses, beginning to look a little sad now.

Orion blinks a few times, absolutely shocked.

"....but you're so....tall..." Is all he manages to murmur before realizing what he just said and instantly feeling heat rush to his face.

Optimus tightens his jaw as he doesn't wish to embarrass the archivist any further by laughing.

I was less careful with my thoughts and emotions once. If only I still knew how...

"I am a Prime, and I am fighting a war."

"A war?" Orion frowns in thought.

There's hasn't been a war since the revolution against the Quintesson oppressors.

What need had Cybertron to fight again?

"Is it an invasion of Cybertron to come? Or a resources conflict?"

And me? Fighting in that war? But...I fail every self-defense practice with Megatronus, at that's true no matter how hard I try...

Optimus feels his chest grow heavy as he remembers the pain Megatron's anger alone had caused him after the council of Halogen.

The guilt, regret, frustration at his friend's obstinance, fear, sadness...

He realizes quickly that he can't possibly unload the heavier truth to Orion--to himself--all over again.

He can't...bring himself to tell Orion that his closest friend and mentor would be the leading force in a centuries-long, gritty, bleak and somewhat horribly hopeless war against him and his cause.

So he instead offers a rather sad smile, and chooses not to answer the question.

"Orion, hear my words, even if you don’t understand them at present. No matter what happens or who around you turns for the darker path, you must never lose your spark, hope, or your character."

"My spark....and character?" He echoes, distantly. "Hope?"

"Indeed," Optimus affirms, feeling an uneasiness of his own. 

The light in his eyes has dulled, yet they also maintain a grim light to them.

One that tells Orion that this mech has seen things he wished never to have seen, and never to see again. 

A grief so strong it....scares him.

Orion feels a wave of uneasiness wash over his whole body.

Something very dark is somewhere in the future...and now he has something to do with it?

And...it involves him becoming bigger, taller, stronger? Learning to fight...to kill, maybe? 

To kill means to take a life. To end it. 

Orion swallows, at last processing the other part of what the mech had told him.

He had to become a Prime??

"I--but I couldn't...not in any dream could I..." He trails off, feeling almost too much at once. 

I cannot kill. 

Optimus senses the turmoil he's set in the younger mech and feels guilty immediately.

"Do not worry," he consoles him, reaching for his smaller servos. He then looks Orion in the eye, knowing the firmness will settle his mind. "My being here alone may be enough to stop what might happen to you, to this planet..."

Orion indeed beings to feel the pounding in his spark settle just a little.

A war would mean all kinds of devastation he couldn't begin to imagine...but this mech was from another timeline.

Perhaps we...are destined for another future.

"Above all, know that if you never lose yourself, then....whatever you become will be just as true as that," he tells him. The words are weighted with something profound. 

The archivist knows in his spark that it will be a long time before he can grasp that emotion, but he is fine with that. 

Orion blinks at him, feeling a new wave of mixed emotions he can't define. He feels himself tense as he tries to control it.

But the mech's hand reaches to his arm.

He nods encouragingly, and Orion just knows the Prime doesn't want him to pent up his emotions.

"In my eyes, Orion, you have always been a prime..."

Optimus draws back at last and slowly begins to leave.

It must be time for him to go...

Orion stands at his desk, staring, a forearm still raised.

"...Or so I am told by those around me..."

The mech adds with a mild chuckle before finally leaving the room.

Orion continues to stare at the now empty doorway ahead of him.

Was that even real?

Himself?

From another future?

And yet...there is that feeling in his spark...the gut instinct telling him to trust in what this mech had been saying, that it was all real...

He plops back into his seat, staring at the ceiling.

He is too lost in thought to try and get back into his late-night studying.

And then it sinks in.

I never asked him his name!!

He deflates a little and facepalms.

Orion, you dumbaft....

///

Nhjdjdjs I hate this, writing skils have left the chat 

bye ;w;

[aspoonofsugar]

Hello, I would like to know what you think about the discussion that Cinder and Watts had.

It is interesting to note that what Watts tells Cinder is that her suffering doesn't make her strong or special or worthy of anything and by extension Watts tells Cinder that as much as she pretends that her suffering made her strong in reality she is still quite fragile and vulnerable because she hasn't been able to overcome her trauma and still wants to give meaning to her life and suffering.

Hello anons!

These two asks can be answered together.

First of all, I really liked that scene! It is probably my favourite moment of the episode together with the sequence in the underground.

I think there are two ways to see Watts and Cinder’s interaction in the episode.

1) Cinder

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

As I have written here:

Cinder’s way of thinking is very similar to Mercury’s. Not only have they both endured their parents’ violence, but they have tried to give this violence meaning. It is because of Madame that Cinder has become “everything” and it is because of Marcus that Mercury has become “strong”. They must believe that it was not all for nothing and that the pain they felt made them stronger instead of weaker.

This is why Cinder thinks that deep down her “hunger” is good. It is because it drives her, but she ignores that it blinds her too.

The idea that suffering made her stronger and more deserving than others is Cinder’s main coping mechanism.

She was treated as nothing, so she needs to believe she is secretly worthy of things others are negated. As I have stated here, she deep down wants to be chosen:

I would say that Cinder wants to be chosen. She wants to be special and to be given value. This is probably why she is serving Salem. It is because Salem has chosen her for an important role.

Well, Watts’s speech is about exactly this:

Watts: You think you’re entitled to everything because you’ve suffered, but suffering isn’t enough. You can’t just be strong, you have to be smart. You can’t just be deserving, you need to be worthy.

In a couple of phrases he deconstructs Cinder’s coping mechanism and this is why she is made to feel so vulnerable.

The whole point of Cinder is that she should stop reducing herself to her trauma and pain. By doing so, she both dehumanizes herself and dismisses others.

She dehumanizes herself because she tries to overcome her inferiority complex by looking for power and she does not realize that this is turning her into a monster:

Raven: Aura can’t protect your arm, it’s Grimm. You turned yourself into a monster just for power.

She dismisses others because she is so focused on her own pain that she can’t notice others’.

In short, she must stop pretending everything revolves around her and should start working on herself and her own issues. This is thematically what Watts’s speech is about. It also ties to the teaching of the Fall Maiden about choice. Destiny is not something that is given to you, but something you work towards:

Pyrrha: When I think of destiny, I don’t think of a predetermined fate you can’t escape. But rather… some sort of final goal, something you work towards your entire life.

Cinder is looking for worth outside herself. She wants Salem to recognize her and magical powers to be strong. She misses that self-worth is something only Cinder can grant herself.

However, things are not as simple in-universe because Watts is not referring to this in his speech. What he wants is not for Cinder to overcome her issues and to realize serving Salem is wrong. What Watts wants is for her to become better at her job.

Not only that, but in Watts’s speech there is hidden also this message that @luimnigh and @harostar have discussed here. Their posts are already clear, so I won’t spend much time on it.

The main idea is that Watts is worthy, while Cinder is not and how it goes back to their different upbringings and social status. In short, Watts is an Atlesian elite, while Cinder is a no-one, who was bought as a slave. Cinder keeps feeling this difference and can’t really break free from this kind of mentality.

That said, I think this last point gains more nuance when one looks at what this speech means for Watts himself.

2) Watts

Watts’s allusion is Watson and WoG says that he is Watson if he had connected with Moriarty instead of Sherlock. Personally, I think that as for now another good way to describe his allusion is that he is Watson if he were jealous of Sherlock instead of loyal to him.

As for now, Watts’s defining trait is his jealousy of Pietro Polendina and of his creation:

Watts: She’ll open the vault and she’ll destroy herself...And our little Penny problem would be...

It is not by chance that he wants to blow her up, even if that would not really be necessary. The Little Penny Problem he is talking about is really his problem and not Salem’s, who could not care less about Penny once she has the relic.

Watts wants to destroy Penny because he wants to be better than Pietro. Still, he misses why Pietro is better than him:

Watts: She’s on a set-path now...At least she should be...As much as I hate to admit it there seems to be some part of her capable of resisting...

As we know, the part of Penny who is capable of resisting is her humanity. Penny is a masterpiece not because she is a war machine, but because she is a real girl. This is the core of Pietro’s genius and this is what Watts can’t grasp:

Watts: Our tin soldier's heart has cost him his mind. We need to keep their attention on Mantle for as long as possible.

Watts, just like Ironwood, believes that feelings make you weak and stupid. Of course, this is the anti-thematic statement which has already been proven wrong over and over. Even when it comes to the situation above, Watts is actually being baited by Ironwood and him falling for it results in his arrest. The moment Ironwood is more open about his feelings is also the moment he is acting more logically.

In short, Watts is a brilliant scientist, who bought in Atlas’s ideology that you must pursue success at all costs. You must be strong/clever because only in this way you can be successful. If you let feelings cloud your determination/mind, you are a failure.

However, it is precisely this ideology taken to its extreme that is Watts’s own downfall.

He can’t understand Pietro’s ideal and is overshadowed by him. What is more, the idea of not being the first in his field drives him to disgrace.

His backstory makes so that Inside team WTCH Watts represents Salem’s entitlement.

This makes him similar to Cinder, as well. He is different from her for upbringing and status. Still, they both have the same flaw. They believe they are entitled to things.

Cinder does so because she has suffered. She was no-one, so now she must be the most important person in the world.

Watts does so because he was born an elite and he should stay an elite forever.

Watts is there not only to tell, but to show (both Cinder and the viewers) that the path Cinder is on leads nowhere. Watts had probably everything Cinder ever wanted. He was successful and rich. He did not have to worry about food or poverty. Still, that was not enough for him. He wanted more and this led him to betray his own country and to join a nihilistic witch.

In other words, Cinder will never find what she is looking for in power or success. Watts had both, but he is empty just like her. He is hungry just like her.

This is well conveyed symbolically by Watts being one of the very few characters that never unlocked his semblance. It means he never truly unlocked his full potential. He never truly understood who he wanted to be. He tried to be who his society wanted him to be, but he was not satisfied and decided to destroy it instead.

So, when Watts talks about the need to be smart and the difference between being deserving and worthy, he is actually talking about himself, probably without even realizing it. He is projecting his feelings of failure on Cinder. He was deserving, but not worthy. Pietro was the worthy one.

Other than these two, there is also another level to this confrontation that has been underlined by @misstrashchan​ here.

It is about the parallel between Cinder and Ironwood when it comes to their reactions to Watts spelling them the truth about themselves:

Ironwood: I will sacrifice... whatever it takes... to stop her.

Watts: Oh, I hope you do, James. I hope you do.

The difference, as the post above explains very well, is that Cinder is able to listen to Watts, while Ironwood ignores his words altogether.

This ties to how Ironwood’s inability to recognize his mistakes and to change his mind (literally what his semblance Mettle is about) is why he is the main villain in an arc where we are having the first redemption arc of one of our original trio of villains:

A redemption, which will probably be followed by other defections among the AceOps themselves.

In order to redeem one-self, a person must accept they were wrong and change their mind. Ironwood is unable to do so and this is why he is dangerous.

In conclusion, I love this confrontation because it is very complex, has many levels and is gray. In terms of complexity it reminds me of Tyrian’s interactions with Emerald and especially Mercury:

 Tyrian is seen tormenting the two kids whenever he gets the chance. That said, he ironically ends up spelling out for them truths the two must face:

Tyrian: Do what makes you happy children… please? I’m begging you…

Tyrian: Of course she is! You’re surprised? Salem is destruction incarnate! Our mistress wishes to see the end of it all! There is no ideal more beautiful.

Tyrian is a great evil mentor because he manages to spell out what Emerald and Mercury should do and to make sure through his body language that they are not able to. He tells them the truth and threathens them, so that they can’t pursue what they need.

Here, Watts tells Cinder the truth by lashing out about how she is so worthless, that a machine must do her job.

It is also interesting because both Emerald and Mercury are clearly set-up to have an evil mentor figure:

Emerald and Hazel’s foiling has already paid off, while Mercury and Tyrian’s will probably pay off in the future.

I am not sure if Cinder will have a similar foiling/relationship with Watts. Still, it is an interesting possibility. Especially because one thing I would really like to happen with the original villain trio is for the abuse and the manipulation they are subjected to backfire. I would like for them to break free (with others’ help obviously because they can’t free themselves alone) by taking all these thematic truths they are told, so they can be manipulated, and to change them in teachings they can use against their abusers.

In short, I want Cinder to say...”Yeah, I do not need to be deserving of power because I am already worthy on my own”. And I want Mercury to free himself and to tell Tyrian...”This is what makes me happy”.

I think that this has partly happened with Emerald in the sense that Salem’s tactic to weaken her loyalty to Cinder through fear backfired:

Salem: Emerald... I want you to tell me whose fault this was. Now

Emerald: Cinder! We failed because of Cinder...

Salem: That's right. I want you to understand that failure. I want you to understand why Cinder must be left to toil in her isolation until she redeems herself.

The whole point of this interaction was to make Emerald submissive. It is clear Emerald is there for Cinder and not for Salem, so Salem frightened her and forced her to symbolically “betray” Cinder.

Still, this did not work for two reasons.

a) Emerald needs to see Cinder for who she is, so that she can break free from her.

b) Fear is among the factors that motivated Emerald to leave:

Yang: You're gonna have to try and summarize it. Why should we trust you?

Ren: Because she's scared. Just like us.

Not only that, but in an inversion of what usually happens with fear in the series, it is specifically because Emerald and JOYR are all scared that they can overcome their conflict and work together (as @echo-from-the-void​. noticed). Fear has separated our protagonists from the AceOps, but has brought them Emerald.

These are my main thoughts on the scene, thank you for the asks!

[amishfruit]

Lady Of The Lake, Chapter One: Wade

pairings: fakir/ahiru, background mytho/rue

word count: 7048

on ao3

A young woman comes out of the lake one day mid summer, walking into town completely nude, long ginger hair falling in waves over her petite frame. Her wide blue eyes blink naively back at the stunned people milling about. It doesn’t take long for someone to provide her with a blanket to cover herself with and later clothes once they’ve gotten somewhere safe to dress.

Once the initial shock wears off a bit, the woman observes the space she has been welcomed into. She sits on a bed dressed with a soft purple duvet and a pleasant assortment of pillows. It is simple but elegant, the walls were left mostly bare, but the sweet collection of knick knacks more than made up for it. The clothes she's wearing now were given to her off a rack by the bed, where a modest number of dresses hung. She finally turns to the friend who had invited her into their room and attempts to speak, at first nothing but a strangled call comes out but after clearing her throat she begins again. “Thank you.” she meets eyes with them earnestly, “for helping a stranger.”

The person across from her flushes lightly, seated on a stool in front of a small vanity.

Tucking a strand of their long black hair that had fallen out of a lovely ribbon behind their ear, they answer. “You’re very welcome, though I don't think we are truly strangers anymore.” Their voice is gentle and light, but there is a playful glint in their grey eyes and the woman of the lake realizes she is being teased.

Her cheeks heat, but she knows it is not malicious. “You're right, we aren't strangers.” She huffs a small laugh, “though i do not know your name, i am..” her face falls momentarily as she struggles to remember, but it comes to her in time. “Ahiru. my name is Ahiru.”

Her new friend smiles beautifully in response, rosy lips contrasting against their pale unmarred skin. “A lovely name, I am Raetsel.” A pause, “..forgive me if this is rude, but why, or, how did you walk out of the lake today? Where do you come from? Also, are you alright?” it all comes out in one breath and Raetsel gnaws on her lip anxiously once she finishes.

Ahiru smiles a small, sad smile, blue eyes seeming to dim. “I don't remember..I cannot answer even one of your questions, Raetsel. I only know my name.”

Raetsel leans forward delicately, concerned. “You don't need to answer me Ahiru, i'm sorry to have upset you.” She grasps ahirus hand in hers and gives an encouraging squeeze.

This seems to warm Ahiru who lifts their joined hands and leans forward to embrace her new friend. “I think I am alright.”

-----

The sun was just at its highest when she had risen from the lake and after a very eventful few hours of awareness, she finds herself quite hungry and tired. Raetsal hears her stomach growl and laughs, leading her to the kitchen and informing her that it is time for supper. Upon entering, Ahiru wakes up a bit in response to the wonderful smell coming from the stove. She follows and sits next to Raetsel at the table, there is an extra setting next to her. Before she can ask, the smell gets closer and stronger and she can't suppress a delighted sound as her nose chases the scent. Opening her eyes after a particularly deep sniff she is met with the sight of a tall, handsome stranger. Their skin is a deep olive shade and it compliments their dark green hair beautifully. Like Raetsel, a few locks of shorter hair fall out of a low ponytail that reaches down to the middle of their back, the ribbon tying their hair in place is simple and not as decorative as Raetsel’s, but it has its own charm. Their face is stoic, thick eyebrows resting low over their sharp green eyes. They turn to the side a bit and Ahiru admires their strong profile, a strong nose is the most noticeable feature from this angle, long and curved down with a high bridge that flows into sharp brow bones. Their jaw is square and defined, but their neck and shoulders are more lithe than she expects. There is clear strength in their arms but they maintain a lean figure that holds a surprising level of grace.

They turn to ahiru with a quizzical expression, lips twisting before they decide to speak. “I take it you are the lady from the lake?” Their voice is rich and low, quiet but stern.

She nods slowly, “yes, i am Ahiru. Thank you for allowing me into your home.”

The stranger sets a plate of food in front of Raetsel, and then another in front of her giving a noncommittal grunt. “Mm. I’m Fakir, am I correct in assuming Raetsel has already introduced herself?”

Ahiru smiles, “yes, she has been very kind to me.”

Fakir looks at Raetsel, searching for something in her face that he seems to find. He nods to himself, sitting down next to Ahiru. “I hope the food is acceptable to you.”

She grins, “it smells delightful, I have no doubts I will enjoy it.”

He flushes a bit at this, fidgeting with the rolled up sleeves of his white linen button up.

Raetsel laughs lightly, “Please excuse my brother dear Ahiru, he is not accustomed to company.” She leans closer to Ahiru and continues in a conspiratorial tone, “Especially not company as kind and lovely as yourself.” She ends it with a wink, laughing as fakir chokes slightly on his food and flushes red.

Ahiru, for her part, is just as embarrassed and is very sure her face has turned the same color as her hair. Rather than trying to respond, she stuffs a bite of the meal into her mouth, quickly forgetting her own embarrassment as she tastes things she has never tasted before. “Oh!’ She exclaims after swallowing, “this is so good!”

Raetsel hums her agreement, “Fakir is a talented cook, most of his ingredients come from the garden out back as many of them are not commonly used in this town.”

Fakir seems to be pointedly ignoring the conversation, focusing on his plate and pretending not to notice how his ears are burning.

Ahiru turns to him, “where did you learn to cook like this?” She asks earnestly.

He seems surprised at being directly addressed but he swallows and clears his throat, looking to Raetsel for help but eventually realizing he cannot avoid the question. “I taught myself.” he meets her eyes and looks away quickly.

Raetsel, satisfied that she has tortured him enough for one night, fills in the blanks. “Fakir came here as a very young boy from a place far away, there are spices and herbs from his home that aren’t commonly used here and when my mother took him in she provided him with many books about his culture, though the food is what turned out to be most important to him.” She smiles at her adoptive brother, who’s embarrassment seems to have faded if only slightly. “He has been cooking for our family ever since.”

Ahiru is very impressed, taking a moment to look at Fakir with appreciation. He pointedly ignores her stare and lets his bangs fall forward to shield his eyes.

They finish the rest of their meal with minimal conversation, both of the women respecting Fakirs clear desire for the topic to be dropped. When every plate has been cleared, Ahiru offers to clean them up. Raetsel quirks a brow at her and asks if she has ever actually washed a dish before.

Ahiru rubs the back of her neck, “well I.. don’t remember if I have.” Fakir seems surprised at her response and she avoids eye contact with both of them, “but it can’t be that hard! I remembered that they needed to be cleaned, right? I’m sure I can figure it out!” She is so passionate that Raetsel chooses not to question her further, but she does accompany the tiny woman into their kitchen and watches over her as she carefully cleans and dries each dish. Fakir joins them in the kitchen, quietly putting away ingredients and tools that he had used to cook their meal, when he is done he bids them both farewell and retreats to his room.

“I hope he hasn’t put you off.” Raetsel comments, showing Ahiru where she can hang the dish rag.

Ahiru shakes her head, “not at all! The food was so delicious, he is very skilled.”

Raetsel is amused, “you didn’t find him rude?”

Confused, Ahiru tilts her head to the side. “Why would i? He fed me.. that was very kind.”

Raetsel smiles, “you have a very open heart, many of the townspeople have issues with him. He's just a bit too blunt..” she puffs out a breath, “sometimes they misunderstand him, and he gets frustrated.”

Ahiru nods sadly, “I would too.”

Raetsel seems surprised at this answer at first, before settling into a very pleased disposition. “You are really something new Ahiru.”

The aforementioned lady blushes softly and straightens up. “T-thank you Raetsal.” She ducks her head in a miniature bow.

“Come dear, I’ll show you your room.”

————

Once she gets settled and bids goodnight to her host, Ahiru takes a moment to breathe. Slow, in and out. Feeling a bit overwhelmed with, well everything that had happened in the day, she wishes to braid her hair, dress down and sleep. In the room Raetsel provided to her there is a vanity, and on top ribbons and a wide tooth comb. Ahiru smiles at the thoughtful touch and carefully undresses, mindful of her steps so that she does not damage Raetsels’ lovely dress. She hangs it on a hook by the door, removing her socks and leaving her chemise on, remembering the earlier incident and cringing at herself. Next, she sits on the vanity stool and takes the comb carefully, starting at the ends of her long hair and working her way up slowly. Once all the tangles are gone she separates it into three sections and plaits in a simple pattern. She hums as she does this, a tune she knows and loves, something comforting. At the end of her hair, she ties a thick satin ribbon into a bow and tucks herself into the comfortable twin bed.

She is on the lake, dancing mournfully by herself. In the distance, she sees a royal couple performing a grand pas de deux. They only have eyes for each other, and she dearly loves them both. Her steps don’t falter with her sorrow, she only dances more freely, allowing her tears to fall as she lifts herself up into the air. The foggy air grows dark and eventually she realizes she’s alone, the prince and princess are gone and everything is quiet except for the sound of her own crying as she falls into the lake.

She wakes with a start, the grief in her chest real and heavy, cheeks wet. Deep breaths in, and out. Again, until she feels ready to open her eyes. The sun is rising, shining soft light on her face and the pain from her dream eases slightly. She sits up, donning her socks once more and making her way to the window and leans on the sill, observing the small flock of birds on a neighboring roof. Soon Ahiru is able to put the nightmare out of her mind, and the sun gets higher so she dresses once again, at first struggling to fasten things by herself but figuring it out through trial and error. Her braid is a mess from tossing and turning, so she sets to combing her hair out once more and choosing to do two braids today, parts it all down the middle. Her fingers are quick and nimble and she picks a set of wide gray ribbons to match her dress. Once she is ready, she makes her way back into the kitchen, hoping she hasn’t woken up too early.

At the stove once again, Fakir doesn’t notice her right away, continuing to add ingredients and muttering quietly to himself on occasion.

Ahiru chooses to sit down rather than interrupt, leaning on her palm and watching him as he works. His shoulders are wide but she can see how narrow his waist is, emphasized by the plain apron he wears. Fortunately, she catches herself as her gaze wanders lower and her eyes snap back up to his hands. They are large and clearly strong, but he handles everything he holds so gently. Ahiru wonders if she would ever want to see the strength in those hands used rather than controlled, and she cannot decide. Lost in thought, and busy staring a hole into fakir, she doesn’t see Raetsel come in.

“Oh ahiru! You look lovely this morning!”

She doesn’t react quick enough and is caught when fakir turns around quickly, eyes wide and mouth opened in a surprised little ‘o’. they both flush and break eye contact, electing to ignore Raetsel’s amused smirk.

“Smells good Fakir, something special for our visitor?” Raetsel continues teasingly.

He shoots her a sharp glare but it lacks it’s usual spark when his face is still bright red. “It’s just bread, Raetsel.” His tone is measured but it’s clear he’s irritated.

Ahiru finds the exchange remarkably cute and tilts her head to the side in wonder as she observes the siblings.

“We should get you your own clothes and shoes.” Raetsel says to her, looking at the ill-fitting dress she’d loaned ahiru. “I don't mind sharing, but they’re much more comfortable in the right size. When we are done eating I know someone who can help.”

Ahiru is hesitantly excited about this, swinging her feet a bit under the table.

Fakir comes with the food soon after, setting each plate on the table.

“Woah.” Ahiru states quietly, when Fakir had said bread earlier, she hadn’t expected french toast. Upon tasting, she notices something floral and a bit of spice and sweet honey. She can’t identify all the flavors but she loves it all and happily digs in.

Raetsel watches her in amusement for a moment and then turns to Fakir who also watches Ahiru eat with an unreadable expression. He is focusing more on their guest than he is his own breakfast and she stifles a laugh as he misses his own mouth.

Ahiru seems to realize she has all but ignored the two others at the table and slows down, swallowing and wiping her face with a napkin. “This is very good fakir.” She looks down as she says it, a bit embarrassed by her own actions.

Raetsel agrees, “delightful as usual.”

Fakir thanks them quietly, looking at his plate with the same unreadable expression and eating slowly. The two women finish eating before him, but Ahiru still insists on cleaning the dishes that he isn’t eating off of. He almost smiles at her, but the urge to confuses him and he is easily distracted.

“Are you coming with us?” Ahiru asks when he brings his own plate to the sink, wide eyes boring into his skull.

Fakir falters, looking at Raetsel who simply shrugs. “Uh.. I don't know if I would really be of any help.” He hopes his reasoning is enough to appease her.

Ahiru furrows her eyebrows, “why not?”

“He’s avoiding his fan club.” Raetsel chimes in, amused by the exchange and how easily their guest catches her brother off guard.

Ahiru does not know what this means, imagining a group of people gathering together to discuss fans or perhaps dance with them as she remembers doing many times. She notes the remembrance to herself before speaking, “was there a disagreement? If you’re in a club with them, you should be friends right?”

Fakir looks at her incredulously, “I'm not in the club.”

“Well then, what’s the problem?” She asks innocently.

Raetsal chooses not to help clarify, retrieving her boots from the front door and sitting at the table to lace them, leaving the two alone.

“It’s- well,” he shoots her a quizzical glare, “are you teasing me?”

Ahiru is thoroughly confused, “what?! No!! Why would you think that?”

Fakir can tell she’s being truthful, “it's not really a club Ahiru, Raetsel was joking.”

She sticks out her lip in a small pout, “why?”

He sighs in defeat, “you’ll understand once we get there.”

Raetsel returns to them, “so you’re coming?” She sounds surprised and more than a little impressed.

“Yay!” Ahiru claps her dainty hands together cheerfully.

Fakir nods, still unsure of how she had convinced him.

—

The summer weather allows them to leave the house quickly, not needing to don cloaks or extra layers, and they walk a short while to the stables.

Raetsel turns to Ahiru, noting the nervous glances she shoots towards the horses they pass. “Have you ever ridden?”

Ahiru’s face is pale and she wrings her hands in front of herself. “No.”

Fakir turns from where he is retrieving their steeds. “No? Or you don’t know?”

She laughs a bit at this. “Definite no. I think I would remember a creature of this size.”

Raetsel notes that Ahiru is a whole head shorter than herself, and Fakir towers over

her in a way that would intimidate anyone else, but it doesn’t seem to bother the bright little flame of a woman. “You should ride with Fakir then, he can keep you safe.”

Fakir looks at her, opening his mouth to argue but he snaps his jaw shut once he sees that Ahiru looks less afraid. He waits for Raetsel to mount her own horse before swinging himself up onto his. They both look at Ahiru who is once again starting to look a bit sickly.

“You’ll be fine.” Fakir reassures, “you were watching me and Raetsel right?”

She nods, spark returning to her eyes and mouth set in a hard line of determination. She steps into the stirrup that Fakir has left empty for her and attempts to swing herself up onto the horse's back like her two companions. At first she thinks she has succeeded, but her leg doesn’t go all the way up and she begins to slide backwards towards the ground. Fakir grabs her ankle, then uses his other hand to guide her by the waist until she is settled in front of him. Her head is still spinning from the near fall and it takes her a moment to find her words again.

“Thank you.” She breathes, overwhelmed by the feeling of his hand still on her waist.

He moves his hand as if he’s been burned and thanks everything that she can’t see his face. “Dont mention it.” he responds gruffly, avoiding Raetsel and using the reins to steer their ride forward.

Raetsel follows them close behind, looking up at the bright sky and wondering what good deed she did for the universe to think her worthy of this newfound entertainment.

They ride mostly in silence, except for Ahiru’s occasional exclamations of delight or awe as they pass under trees and through town. She is constantly turning her head in an attempt to take everything in.

It isn’t a very long journey, and soon they come to a quaint little shop with mannequins dressed in a variety of fabrics displayed in the large front windows.

Raetsel is the first to dismount, smoothing her skirts down as Fakir follows her and offers a hand to Ahiru.

Once the three of them are safely on the ground, Fakir guides their horses to a small grazing area where they will wait obediently until the shopping is complete.

Raetsel leads them into the shop, Ahiru close behind her and Fakir bringing up the tail end. A bell rings as they open the door and a head of blonde hair pops up from behind a counter.

“Welcome in- oh! Raetsel! Let me grab Pike.” Before they can respond, the shopkeeper is running to the back, pigtails bouncing as she moves.

Fakir finds a bench in a corner and sits down, hoping the racks of fabric and garments are enough to hide him.

The shopkeeper returns with her coworker, “has Lilie helped you at all yet?” She asks, tying her shoulder length violet tinted hair into a high ponytail.

“Hmph.” Lilie pouts, “I thought you’d want to do the consultation together.” She lowers her voice so only the three women can hear her, “plus, the handsome Fakir has graced us with his presence.”

Pike rolls her eyes, “you are so dramatic.” She scolds, though it doesn’t have much bite when she is craning her neck to peek at the man hiding in the corner.

Raetsel clears her throat politely, “My new friend could use your expertise.”

The two shopkeepers turn to Ahiru at last, looking her up and down before turning to each other.

“Do we have enough yellow left?” Pike asks Lilie, ushering Ahiru to a section of the room where the floor is cleared and producing a measuring tape from thin air.

Lilie hums, moving towards a rack against the wall and sifting through the materials until she finds a sunny yellow linen. “Yes! And perhaps a blue?” She suggests, stacking a soft blue cotton atop the yellow draped over her arm.

“Oh yes, that will compliment her eyes nicely.” Pike addresses Ahiru directly for the first time, “how many dresses are you looking for today?”

Ahiru looks helplessly towards Raetsel, letting Pike move her arms as she takes her measurements.

“We are starting her wardrobe today, so however many items you both think she will need.” Raetsal answers, earning a surprised look from Lilie.

“What happened to the rest of your clothes?” The blonde asks, pausing in her search for fabrics.

“I don't have any.” Ahiru answers simply.

“Long story.” Raetsel adds.

The two accept this answer easily, “Well then, we should send you home with something today. Lilie?”

Lilie looks over, setting the chosen materials on a large cutting table. “A premade garment for now?”

Pike nods, “just try to find the smallest things you can and we can alter it to fit her properly.”

Raetsel interjects, “she will also need shoes, mine are too large for her. Do you think you have something that would work?”

“Oh i’m sure we do,” Lilie answers, returning with an armful of dresses and blouses. “Shoes are over by Fakir.”

He starts at the mention of his name, looking at his surroundings and finding the shelves stocked with shoeboxes.

Pike measures her feet and calls out the length, instructing Fakir on where to find the correct size of boots.

He carries them to Ahiru once he has found them, bringing a few different options and setting them down next to her before awkwardly standing off to the side.

“Alright, you can try those on Ahiru. We’ll be right back.” Pike says before disappearing into the back of the store with Lilie.

“Do you need help?” Raetsel asks, showing Ahiru where she can sit to unlace her borrowed boots.

“No, thank you, I think I'm alright.” She smiles gratefully at her and sets to work, slipping her feet into one of the pairs Fakir brought her. She carefully tries on each pair but ends up settling on the first, made of dark brown leather with a slight heel and strong black cord lacing them securely.

Lilie returns and writes down the price on a pad of paper tucked into her dress pocket, setting it aside and guiding Ahiru to a fitting room. She helps Ahiru undo the fastenings on her loaned dress, hanging it carefully and instructing her to keep the chemise on before darting out and returning with Pike, both women are carrying armfuls of clothing and Pike has a pincushion strapped to her wrist. They help her into a simple white blouse, pinning where it needs to be taken in. The remaining garments are tried on in the same fashion and Ahiru watches them work. Before she knows it, they are done, helping her back into Raetsel’s loaned dress once more and walking her back to her companions, assuring her that they will return momentarily and asking her to wait while they stitch the adjustments into place. Ahiru seats herself on a bench next to Fakir and Raetsel follows the two shopkeepers to assist them and discuss the items they will be making for pickup at a later date.

“So..that’s the fanclub?” Ahiru guesses.

Fakir looks uncomfortable, “that’s just what Raetsel calls them.”

She giggles, “did you hear what they called you when we walked in?”

He shakes his head, too afraid to ask.

“The handsome Fakir.” Ahiru tells him, stifling another giggle. “Is that your title?” She teases.

He shoots her an irritated glance, “you know that it’s not.”

She shrugs, an impish grin stuck on her face. “It could be.” she states it as if it is a fact and doesn’t seem to catch what she is implying.

Fakir stammers, embarrassed. “W-wha-“ clearing his throat and looking out the window to hide his blush, he scolds her. “You can’t just say things like that!”

She sticks her tongue out at him, “why not? They said it first!”

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “They shouldn’t be saying it either.” He groans, wishing he had stayed home.

“Hm. whatever, I still don’t get why it’s such a big deal.” Ahiru bumps her shoulder against his, “are they your friends?”

“I barely know them.” He answers honestly, “they’re the best seamstresses in town so I’ve been a customer but Raetsel is the one that comes here most often.” He looks at her for a second before continuing, “I usually avoid them.”

Ahiru hums, “I think I understand why.” She acknowledges, “they’re a bit like a whirlwind aren’t they?”

He snorts out a laugh, “don't tell them that, they’ll never let it go.”

She nods. “Yeah, that doesn’t really surprise me.”

They fall into a comfortable silence and fakir studies her when she isn’t looking, trying to understand the mystery of this little lake lady.

It doesn't take long for Raetsal to return with a large package wrapped in brown paper and fastened with twine tied in a bow. “That’s it for today, we will return at the end of the week for the rest of it.”

Ahiru moves forward and takes the package despite Raetsel’s protests, “wow! That was so fast!”

Raetsal winks, “6 hands work faster than 2!”

Fakir takes the package from Ahiru while she’s distracted and holds it where she can’t reach when she tries to take it back. “You’ve paid already?” he nervously glances around the store as he says it.

Raetsal laughs. “Yes Fakir, don't worry. Those two are busy in the back, we’re done.”

He relaxes a bit and they make their way out again, Fakir holding the door for both of the women.

Ahiru skips forward, looking down at her new shoes and admiring how comfortable they are. When she looks up again Fakir and Raetsel have already mounted their horses, the package safely secured to the back of Fakir’s saddle.

“Do you need help? Or would you like to try again on your own?” He asks, looking down at her with his brow furrowed in concern.

Ahiru answers by sticking a boot in the stirrup and once again trying to lift herself up. This time she gets closer to her goal, but Fakir still has to catch her when her leg doesn’t properly hold her up.

“Good try!” Raetsal encourages from behind them, smiling as Fakir adjusts their friend with gentle hands before taking up the reins.

They ride home with minimal conversation, the two siblings focused on steering their horses in the right direction and Ahiru distracted by the people out on the streets, going about their days.

When they are home again, Fakir helps her down and retrieves her parcel, leaving no room for her to argue as he carries it inside.

She follows him, Raetsel not far behind. He stops outside the door of her room, waiting for Raetsel to open the door before carefully setting the package on her bed and excusing himself politely.

Raetsel helps her unpack and hang her new clothing, she picks out a new chemise for Ahiru and shows her to a room down the hall where she can bathe. After making sure she knows how to fill the tub, she too excuses herself with the promise that they will see one another at lunch.

—

Once she has dried herself and wrung most of the water from her hair, Ahiru dons the fresh chemise and pads up the hall to her room. The new clothes hang neatly and she has trouble choosing when given so many options but eventually she settles on a short sleeved, collared blouse made from a lovely cream colored cotton and a simple, tea length yellow linen skirt. Plain white socks cover her feet and the boots are left by the door for when she needs them. She sits at the vanity to comb her hair, leaving it down to dry but tying a yellow ribbon under her hair and around the top of her head to keep it from getting in her face. She smiles at her reflection, the clothes fit perfectly and she can finally see herself now that she isn’t drowning in fabric.

She retrieves Raetsel’s loaned dress and chemise and carries them out to the room she was first brought in to. She knocks gently, and when there is no response, she cracks the door open.

“What are you doing?”

She jumps, turning to find Fakir glowering at her. “I-well I was trying to find Raetsel!”

His face softens, “she’s the door at the end of the hall, moron, this is my room.”

Ahiru flushes, indignant, she bites back “I’m not a moron! How was I supposed to know that! I've only been to her room once and it was a really hectic day!”

Fakir puts a hand on her head, “I know, I was teasing. Could you move out of the way?”

She settles down, embarrassed. “Yeah, sorry.” She shuffles off down the hall and he watches her go, shaking his head and entering his room.

Raetsel, having heard the exchange, opens her door before Ahiru can reach it and gives her a kind smile. “You can just set those in the laundry basket over here.”

Ahiru follows her instruction and smiles at her gratefully, “Thank you Raetsel.”

“Anything for you Ahiru, now, would you like to see what’s for lunch?”

Confused, Ahiru tilts her head, “didn't Fakir just go to his room?”

Raetsel nods, “He’s probably referring to one of his cookbooks.”

“He doesn’t keep them in the kitchen?” Ahiru asks, following Raetsel back out into the hall.

“It’s easier to keep them in good condition away from the steam and mess of food.” Fakir answers from his doorway, “Plus, I don't always need them.” He closes his door and leads the way to the kitchen, resuming his work.

Raetsel and Ahiru seat themselves in the same spots as always, chatting and watching Fakir cook. Raetsel asks how she likes her new clothing and Ahiru gushes her thanks and talks about her favorite things.

Fakir comes with plates of food soon after and seats himself next to her.

Ahiru claps in excitement, tucking her long hair towards her back before digging in.

Raetsel eats more politely, complimenting Fakirs choice of ingredients and asking him questions about the recipe.

Ahiru barely pays attention to them, so focused on enjoying her meal that she doesn't notice when the conversation turns to her.

“Ahiru?” Raetsel prods gently.

she starts slightly in response, looking up and finding them both turned to her. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Raetsel smiles, “Do you know what you want to do here? I work at Ebine’s bakery for part of the week and Fakir writes for our local paper. Pike and Lilie offered to teach you how to cut fabric but you are free to choose what you like.”

Ahiru blinks, “I’m...staying?”

Fakir answers this time, rolling his eyes. “Of course you are, where else would you go stupid?”

Raetsel swats his shoulder, “Oh be nice to her Fakir.” Turning back to Ahiru, “Yes, you are welcome to stay with us as long as you wish dear.”

Ahiru grins, “Thank you! I like it so much here, I’m so happy!” She looks down at her hands, “As for what i want to do.. I’m not really sure yet. Pike and Lilie are very nice but I don’t know if I could really be of any help to them.”

Fakir nods, “You don’t have to decide yet. You haven’t even seen your other options so take your time and don’t feel bad about it.”

Raetsel agrees with him, “I'm sure you will be good at whatever you choose, with passion like yours you can do anything.”

Ahiru flushes and curls into herself, hair falling forward to hide her face.

Fakir watches in horror as a lock of her hair begins to flop into her plate, instinctively he tucks the hair back into place. Once he realizes what he’s done he can feel the steam coming out of his ears, “Y-you should probably tie your hair up when you eat.”

Raetsal barely stifles her laugh, shoving a bite of food into her mouth to keep herself quiet.

Ahiru stares at Fakir, mouth open and cheeks pink. It takes a few more blinks before she twists her knee length hair up and up and up, using the yellow ribbon to loosely tie it into place, it’s the best imitation of a bun she can do with the current materials.

Clearing his throat and drinking water in an effort to cool the flush on his skin, Fakir continues eating as if nothing happened and the two women soon follow his lead.

Ahiru is grateful for the diversion, feeling more shy than usual and needing the silence. She is also easily distracted by how much she loves this food and each bite brings her farther away from the embarrassment.

Soon, the meal is over and they separate, Ahiru washing the dishes without supervision as Raetsel has deemed her able. Fakir puts away anything left over in the kitchen and excuses himself to his room.

When the dishes are cleaned, dried and put away, Ahiru wonders what she’s meant to do, yesterday and this morning there was no time for boredom. Now she feels like she should be doing something and without noticing she has begun to dance, the kitchen floor not ideal for ballet but accommodating her nonetheless. There is no music, but the early afternoon sun shining through the windows above the sink highlights her more beautifully than any spotlight. When she finally realizes what she’s doing, she is in the middle of simple barre exercises. Her muscles ache in relief, as if they have been waiting for her to use them. She smiles, closing her eyes and tilting her head up towards the sun, letting muscle memory take over.

Fakir carries his notebook under one arm and holds his inkwell and quill in his hands. He is headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, but stops when he sees her. Not wanting to interrupt, he sits at the table, partially hidden by the open doorway that connects the two rooms. His things are set down carefully and quietly, and then he turns his attention back to the ballerina in his kitchen.

She moves through her relevés with the ease and joy of someone who lives to dance.

Chin in palm, Fakir watches her. The light flickering over her face moves with her and he is entranced. Warm ups finished, Ahiru moves into a choreography as if it’s second nature. His heart aches in his chest when he realizes it is meant to be a pas de deux, her body struggles to support itself and he longs to take the weight for her.

She continues, oblivious of her audience, dancing to the song only she can hear and baring her emotions with every movement.

When the steps come to a close and her head is bowed in an ending curtsy, Fakir panics, realizing that soon she will open her eyes and he will have to explain why he’s been creepily watching without saying a word. Cringing, he braces himself and opens his notebook, hoping to at least look busy when she catches him.

She lets out a small startled noise when she opens her eyes, coming back into her mind after letting her body take over. She sees Fakir sitting at the table and despite the open notebook, she knows that he has not written a word for she would have heard the scratch of his quill. She flushes prettily, sneaking out of the kitchen while he’s still looking down and all but running to her room.

She leans against the inside of her closed door, putting her head in her hands and trying to calm herself down. She hadn’t planned on dancing and she definitely did not expect an audience, no matter how politely he pretended not to be watching she knew he had seen at least some of her dance and she hopes that she danced well. Most of the remaining afternoon is spent like this, trying to distract herself by thinking over the job offer from Pike and Lilie, but mind wandering back to the kitchen and her dream from the night before. There is a mix of confusing emotions swirling in her chest and she unties the ribbon holding her makeshift bun in place, running her hands through her own hair in a calming fashion. The dream had felt so real and coupled with some of the memories that had come back to her, she has a feeling it was something that had really happened. Brows furrowing as she thinks, she tries desperately to recall the events of her dream but most of what she can remember is emotions and steps of a dance. There is a flash of black curls and red lips kissing a pale figure with hair like the feathers of a swan, but this imagery brings a panging sorrow and the tears rising in her eyes warn her not to push this memory back into her conscious mind. Wiping her cheeks where they have gotten wet, she takes Fakir’s advice and sets to braiding her hair into a crown. It doesn't take her very long, and soon Raetsel is knocking on her door to alert her that supper will be ready soon. Ahiru thanks her and says she will be there in a moment, needing some time to collect herself and finish tying the braids in place around her head.

When she finally comes to the dining table, Fakir and Raetsel are already seated and a plate is waiting in her usual spot. She squeezes by Fakir, who avoids her eyes and looks at his plate with pink dusting the bridge of his nose. Once she is settled, the three begin to eat, they are all tired from the eventful day and conversation is light.

It is a quick meal and Raetsel is the first to bid them goodnight, letting Ahiru know that she will be gone for work by the time they wake and making sure Ahiru does not need anything before she excuses herself.

Ahiru pokes at her remaining food listlessly, wishing she could enjoy it the way she wants to but emotions ruining her appetite. Sighing, she carries the dishes to the sink and begins scrubbing, not even noticing when Fakir follows behind her.

“Ahiru?” Fakir asks quietly, “I hope I didn’t upset you earlier.”

This breaks her reverie and she looks at him, confused. “What? No! Why would I be upset?”

Fakir seems doubtful. “Well you’re obviously upset about something.”

She puffs her cheeks out. “No, i just…” brows furrowed she admits defeat, “Okay yeah you’re right I am. But I promise it has nothing to do with you!” She says the last part earnestly and Fakir is momentarily stunned by the shine of her eyes.

“Do you.. want to talk about it?” He says it awkwardly, as if the idea is foreign to him.

Her eyes dim, “I don’t think I was very happy before I came here.”

He seems surprised at her answer, “Was the lake not good to you?”

This makes her puff a tiny, sad laugh, “The lake may be where I came from, but it wasn’t where I lived before.”

Fakir looks at her concerned, “You don't remember very much, do you?”

She shakes her head, “Most of it is just feelings, there’s something there definitely but trying to recall more than just blurs hurts.”

He feels deeply sorry for her, “It sounds like.. well sometimes our brains try to protect us by blocking some things out.”

She tilts her head to the side, “You think it could be that?”

He nods slowly “There are many written accounts of this experience, if you’d like, I can help you research more about it tomorrow?” He says the last bit as a question, unsure if she really wants to open herself up to possible pain.

She smiles gratefully, it is smaller than her usual grin but still makes his heart skip, “Thank you Fakir, I would like that very much.”

Flushing at her sincerity, he looks away. “D-dont mention it.” He dries the dishes that she is finished washing and together they finish the chore faster than either could on their own. When the dishes are put away and the kitchen is clean, Fakir walks her to her room and bids her goodnight with the promise of a library trip the next day. Ahiru is so exhausted she barely manages to take her hair down and remove her blouse and skirt before crawling into bed and falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

[kim-miri]

HALF(have a little fun) pt. iii

→ one | two

→ Sayomi Zoldyck is the eldest child and twin sister to Illumi, of the renowned Zoldyck family of assassins. At the age of ten she’s taken away to Meteor City by her mother, Kikyo Zoldyck, unbeknownst to the rest of the family, as well as newborn Killua, and left to fend for herself. This is the story of the long-lost Zoldyck and those she becomes acquainted with, all while she just wants to have a little fun.

» part three / ?

» pairing: eventually - chrollo x oc x feat. hisoka

» warnings: drugs, blood/violence

» a/n: helloo~ this is my first write ever, and it’ll probably be a pretty long series. I’m also balancing school and a part-time job so forgive me for slow updates! If you’re reading this, thank you so much for showing interest and please leave comments below with your inputs!

» word count: 2,948

☾ iii.

Name: Sayomi Zoldyck 小夜美 | "小" is small | "夜" is night | "美" is beauty |

Hair color: White

Eye Color: Purple

Nen: Manipulator (same exact abilities as Illumi)

Abilities: Same as Illumi Zoldyck - Body Alteration, Hypnotic Spell, Corpse Control, Needle People, Katana

☾ iii. part iii: meteor city

Sayomi woke up with a start. 

Her violet eyes flew open as she gasped remembering the past events and how her mother had drugged her.

Attempting to rise from her less than comfortable position on the ground, a nasty stench made her cringe as she gaped at her new surroundings. 

Trash and dumped items made up the entirety of where she sat, as well as everything else she could see from her spot. Most of it was worn down enough to be unrecognizeable, only looking like jagged pieces of material building upon each other.

Standing up in one swift movement, Sayomi stretched out her tired limbs as she tried to grasp the situation she was in. Maybe mother threw me in the junkyard?

It wouldn’t be the first time her mother had tried to dump her somewhere, but Illumi or her father would usually come running for her before she would even have time to recognize her surroundings.

Taking a step forward to start exploring, she paused as she kicked something lying by her feet. 

The item stood out amongst the rust and filth, as it was immaculate and seemed to radiate a familiar aura. A katana?

Tilting her head curiously, Sayomi reached down and grabbed the sheathed weapon. It was indeed very clean and actually seemed brand new. 

Looking it up and down, a silver gleam caught her eye- it was an engraving left on the otherwise black covering. 

‘Sayomi Zoldyck’

A rush of adrenaline ran through her blood as she recognized her own name engraved on the sheath. But why would mother reward me after dumping me in this junkyard?

Thousands of questions and possible scenarios ran through her head, but she pushed them aside with a shake of her head. I might as well play with this to pass the time.

The 10 year old unsheathed her new weapon, getting ready to take a practice swing when a rolled up piece of paper dropped from the katana.

Unravelling the note, Sayomi read it contents without a moment to lose. 

Sayomi,

Welcome to Meteor City. 

I’m sure you recognize the name from the many stories I’ve told you and your brother about my hometown. 

And from those same stories, you should know that those who make it out of the city come back stronger than they’ve ever been before. 

My only daughter, you know how much I cherish you and wish to see you succeed. 

When the time is right, you will find your way back home and claim your rightful spot as heir of the family business.

Until then,

Mother

Meteor City. As the reality of her situation started to sink in, Sayomi found it hard to breath. Whether it was the anxiety starting to take over her brain, or the barely breathable, polluted air of Meteor City, she found herself falling to her knees, nauseous.

☾iii.

Sayomi was desperate. She had been walking alone for close to four hours before traces of civilization began to appear in the distance.

Her wounds were splitting open under the cloth bandages she wore, and dehydration sent black spots dancing across her vision. 

Sayomi remembered something from one of the stories her mother had once told them. It was that the citizens of Meteor City refrained from hostility between one another unless they were threatened first.

With this in mind, Sayomi continued on to the tents and vast pillars of smoke in front of her. 

Clutching her side, which was now bleeding through the wraps Illumi had given her, Sayomi spotted vague figures moving about within the camp.

The sweat dripping into her eyes didn’t help her already blurring vision as she squinted hard to try and identify the faint figures that grew larger as she approached them.

At last within modest range of the camp, one of the members turned to face her. 

One after another the citizens turned from their positions, analyzing the outcast that had stumbled upon their camp.

Struggling to remain upright with her wounds and burning lungs, Sayomi let out a cry of pain before falling to the ground once again, the jagged surface cutting into her ankles.

Several of the figures rushed towards the fallen 10 year old. With caring hands, one of the citizens lifted the girl into her arms, her lightweight figure not being a struggle to carry.

Sayomi looked up at the woman weakly, she was most likely in her 40s, her eyes gray and facial features dull.

At the same time, the woman stared back, seemingly trying to analyze Sayomi’s strong features. She recognized that her slanted violet eyes were far foreign to Meteor City, along with her intricate kimono and katana. How did a child of such status end up here?

Taking Sayomi to her own home within the camp, she treated Sayomi’s wounds and gave her water along with a small portion of food to eat.

The woman had introduced herself once Sayomi was back on her feet. Her name was Rin, and she had been living in Meteor City since she could remember. 

She introduced her husband and daughter as well. Their names being Shota and Ayame respectively. 

Ayame turned out to be two years older than Sayomi. She had ashy brown hair and gray eyes like her mother.

The rest of the community welcomed Sayomi with open arms, not bothering to ask where she came from or why she was here. It seemed they didn’t care.

Though Sayomi was grateful of their hospitality, she was homesick already. Missing the mansion where everything was familiar and made sense.

When night fell on her first day in Meteor City, Sayomi shut her eyes tight from her spot next to Ayame on the floor. It didn’t seem real to her. Just yesterday she had been with her family and everything had been as it always was.

Did everyone want her gone? Not just mother?

Thoughts like these ran through Sayomi’s fragile mind. All this stress at such a young age poisoned the girl’s mind, making her question the validity of those who loved her.

☾iii.

Much like Illumi back at the Zoldyck mansion, Sayomi spent most of her time in Meteor city training.

The environment, as well as occasional gang fights taught Sayomi real fighting, and not the guided sparring she would do back at home. 

Mirroring the techniques she had once seen while shadowing a senior assassin, Sayomi worked towards extending her abilities to mastering the katana.

Her needles remained as well, safely tucked away on a band she kept around her left thigh, hidden from others. They were a constant reminder of Illumi, her best friend and the only one she had her hopes left in to save her.

On another note, the family she stayed with was generous to point that she began to grow suspicious of their willingness to take care of her.

Hospitality was one thing, but she knew enough to recognize an odd-favored deal when she saw one.

Sayomi had been freeloading off the family, wearing the extra clothes they provided her, eating their food, drinking from their water supply, and even sleeping in their tent. 

But as wary as she was, she knew this was the only option she had. For now.

She had already stayed far from the city’s borders, and the only way off of the island in the first place was by boat. 

Sayomi would have to wait for the right time in order to escape the city alive.

☾iii.

6 years later

“Sayomi~” 

The sun rose over Meteor City, waking its inhabitants, and marking the start to another day.

Inside one of the many worn tents at the camp, a girl with tangled, brilliant white hair laid sprawled out on the cardboard-floors.

“Sayomi!” Ayame entered the tent once again, waking the girl to join her family for breakfast.

Sayomi groaned at the sunlight that entered the tent with Ayame’s return.

Sitting up, her hair cascaded down her shoulders and back, just barely touching the floor below her waist. 

Now 16 years old, Sayomi’s face had thinned out, no longer round and chubby, but firm and angular with more defined features. 

Her striking violet eyes and silky white hair were the only things that seemed to remain the same from when she was dumped 6 years ago. 

With a noticeable number of inches added to her legs and arms, as well as new subtle curves adorning her body, Sayomi had matured a great amount, both physically and mentally. What had once been an innocent, joyful 10 year old girl, was now approaching the end of her youth days trapped in a foreign city.

Sayomi didn’t talk about her family. Or the past for that much. 

She didn’t like to remember the feeling of waiting desperately for someone to find her. 

As a 10 year girl, she didn’t know any better than to rely on her family to come rescue her. But as those days turned into months, and the months turned into years, her hope had died miserably, being replaced by a deep sense of betrayal.

The most she had told the family about her life before Meteor City was about Killua. She had beamed proudly as she told them how similar they looked to each other. Killua. I wonder how he’s turned out to be. If he’s 6 years old now, that means he’s already started training...

But this was her life now, whether she liked it or not, and she would make the most of it even if it meant living only for herself.

“Sayomi! For the last time, waaake uppp. Breakfast is ready.” 

Yet another day in Meteor City began for Sayomi. After finishing up breakfast with Ayame and her parents, Sayomi grabbed her katana to go run through more forms on her own.

6 years with the katana, and Sayomi was almost considered proficient in the sword’s fine practice. Without a master to learn from, the majority of her techniques were either gathered from faint memories of when she was younger, or those she came up with herself.

She had also taken the risk of going into some of the gang fights using only her katana, and though she had gotten in dangerous situations to begin with, her hard work didn’t betray her. 

Standing in the piles of junk with her arms raised naturally behind her head, Sayomi took a deep breath in and out, ever so bored of the dull features at Meteor City.

☾iii.

After another day filled with meticulous training, Sayomi head back to camp, making her way to Ayame’s tent.

However, upon approaching the little green tent, she sensed within the air that something was off. 

She could feel the abnormally tense auras of those sitting inside the tent, much like those of someone caught lying. Slowing her steps towards the tent, Sayomi activated her zetsu in order to listen in to the apparent conversation going on inside.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s her full name. Sayomi Zoldyck. She’s the one we’ll give you instead of Ayame.”

It was Shota’s voice. 

His normally confident tone was replaced by one filled with a thousand concerns. 

“I assure you she’ll be here with us when you arrive tomorrow. Thank you again, sir, for accepting the replacement. Good Night.”

Could it be another gang looking for trouble? She was sure she could take them, whoever they were, but it still hurt to be referred to as ‘the replacement’. 

Sayomi shook her head out of such thoughts, realizing how panicked she was becoming over another silly gang. She made her presence visible once again, taking louder than normal footsteps as she returned into the tent for the night.

☾iii.

It was a quiet night much like usual, but everyone inside the tent could feel the discomfort that seemed to radiate around the 4 in endless circles.

Sayomi shifted in her sleep, unable to ignore the itching feeling in the back of her mind. 

The gangs here are nothing, I’ll be fine. 

She fell asleep late that night, despite being exhausted from a full day of training. A battle of worries and self-reassurance eventually died down in her mind, letting her sleep in peace.

Having fallen into a deep sleep, she had missed the sound of Ayame crying softly next to her. The older girl fell asleep facing away from Sayomi, feeling too guilty to even look at her.

“I’m so sorry, Sayomi.” Ayame whispered into the darkness. 

☾iii.

Early morning the next day, a commotion stirred through the camp.

The sound of multiple vehicles treading over glass and broken fragments awoke Sayomi, who sat up too quickly for her tired self.

Her body lurched to the side, thrown off balance by the sudden movement she had made to get up.

Groaning while she firmly held her balance with a single hand digging into the blankets pooled around her, Sayomi was confused to see that the tent was empty around her.

Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, Sayomi slung her katana over her shoulder hastily before making her way outside, her left hand hovering over the needles strapped to her thigh.

It was still dark out when Sayomi lifted the entrance of the tent. Quite close to golden hour, but still dark enough for her to have to strain noteably in order to see.

The vehicles she had heard were parked about 50 feet from where she stood. There were 3 cars parked side by side, black sedans that looked much similar to the ones back at the estate. 

Upon her eyes’ adjustment to the dark, Sayomi could see several men dressed in black suits conversing with Shota and Rin, Ayame by their side.

She kept her guard up as she attempted to read the auras of the people standing in front of her, getting a faint feel for their emotions.

Ayame and her family were tense, worried, but Shota showed small signs of relief in his expression. The men in suits were less readable, their emotions hidden behind an experienced aura of composure.

Looks like they’re pretty experienced… But they don’t look like a gang, or like they’re even from around here.

Taking a risk, Sayomi edged closer to the group, trying to listen in on the conversation. She was partially concealed by a pile of junk, only peeking out once in a while to confirm their positions.

Her new spot was about 30 feet from the closest man, and she could now make out parts of their conversation.

An unfamiliar voice rumbled “Rest assured, she will be provided with more than she ever was here.”

Shota’s voice was next. “And will she be safe on the trip to Yorknew City?”

Yorknew City. So whoever these people were didn’t want to kill her, but take her with them to the great city of opportunities? Well, damn.

Sayomi stepped out from her position behind the pile, not caring to keep her guard up as she willingly presented herself to her soon to be captors.

Ayame gasped upon seeing Sayomi walk towards them with her hands relaxed behind her head. Her eyes shifted to her parents. They were just as surprised, having not noticed her presence earlier.

The men looked from the shocked family of 3 to the teen strolling towards their makeshift circle. She could sense them growing tense with each of her steps, deducing her identity as their target.

One of them finally broke the silence, acknowledging her presence. 

“Sayomi Zoldyck?”

Sayomi gave a flat-lipped smile in return. “Yes sir.”

The family was wading in embarrassment and horror, caught red-handed agreeing to sell Sayomi off.

The men scoffed at the brazen teen, preparing to catch her off guard with the proposal, but Sayomi spoke first.

“So, what I’m getting from this- is basically that… you had a deal with this family for whatever reason. And were going to take their daughter from them, but they pleaded with you and insisted that I could be a better replacement?”

Her deductive instincts had helped her reach the conclusion that was pretty much dead on.

The family remained still, averting their gazes from the teen in front of them, while the men nodded several times before speaking.

“Correct. Your arrogance will surely not be needed where we’re going, but I guess it’s alright as long as you’re able to back it up.”

Leaving no opening for Sayomi to respond, another one of the men spoke up. “Shall we get going then? It seems like force won’t be necessary, so we might as well move while everyone’s cooperating.”

Sayomi had only nodded, a slight skip in her step as she seized the opportunity to leave Meteor City at last. Whatever business awaited her ahead could be dealt with, and she found it in herself to smile as she faced the family that had supported her for the past 6 years.

“Shota, Rin, Ayame. I could never thank you enough for your generosity during these past years of mine. And so, with all due respect, please forget all about me and flourish in the love of your family once again.”

No matter how blunt, she had meant every word she said, and with that Sayomi turned her back to the people who had raised her up through her broken youth. 

She felt no remorse for their guilt-ridden feelings, for it was just another thing in the past.

The 3 cars took off through the rubble, Sayomi in the backseat of one of them. Her violet eyes reflected off the glass of the window beside her, reminding her of the first time she had arrived. She sat in silence as she watched the hell that had been Meteor City flash past her.

Old news.

Just like her family.

☾iii.

to be continued.

a/n: i made a taglist if anyone wants to join! :)))

[soyforramen]

Faith

Another update to the urban-fantasy AU I will eventually finish:

-

“Running away again, Jonsey?”

Penny’s voice echoed in the alley around him, her voice surrounding him, trapping him. Jughead gritted his teeth and ran for the street. His side throbbed and screamed with every step, but Betty’s grimoire had held up beautifully. At least until his leather jacket had finally given up under the heat of demon fire and grafted onto his skin.

Sanctuary was close by, so long as the Father was in. Glancing up and down the sidewalk, Jughead realized he was the only one out on the streets this late. That meant that there was no one he’d have to try and save from Penny’s wrath, but it also meant she had nothing to distract her from her pursuit.

Hearing Penny’s footsteps, he stumbled into the street and scrambled towards the sacred steps.

His shoulder screamed when he raised his arm to lift the clunky, rusted gargoyle door knocker. It slammed into the wood, creating a hollow, ominous sound. Panting, Jughead glanced behind him only to have Penny’s smirking face burned into his retinas. Another fire bomb flew his way, and he jumped back onto the thick cement railing. A shock of hellfire lit up his neck and Jughead realized his hat had caught on fire. He threw it towards her and turned back towards the door, only to find it standing strong without a single scorch on it.

“Aw, you think Father is going to save you Jonesy? Just like he saved dear old daddy? Are you gonna scream? Beg for mercy, just like F.P. did back in the old country?” Penny taunted.

The chains around her hips clanked softly in the night air as she sauntered towards him. At least one of them was enjoying this, though Jughead would rather see their roles reversed. Just as she reached the curb, the door behind him creaked open and he lunged inside.

“Forsythe? What on earth brings you –“

A burst of hellfire threw Jughead the rest of the way through the door. He landed hard on the old, polished marble and skidded across the floor only to slam into a pew. Every inch of his body was heavy; it was impossible to raise his head. Jughead blinked, but all he could see was the spark of flame coming at him, the afterburn of Penny’s latest attack.

“You have no power here, demon,” Father Mason said, his voicing booming in the high cupola above them.

Penny growled something low and unintelligible. Father Mason responded in kind. A bright, chiming song cut through their noise and it took Jughead almost two passes to answer his phone.

“Where are you? I lost Penny,” Betty’s ragged, gasping breath came from the speaker.

Jughead let out a long breath, thankful that she’d managed to get free. “8th and Elm. St. Hermione’s.”

“You’re in a church?”

It was quiet a moment. Another blast of fire managed to make it over the threshold and wound it’s way directly at him. Jughead dropped the phone and rolled away from it, letting the rest of his jacket take the direct hit.

The door slammed shut, and the air calmed.

“Jug.”

Cool hands cradled him, lifting him into a sitting position. Jughead blinked back the nausea, and Moose’s face swam into view. Wisps of grey threaded through his hair, and there were a few more lines around his eyes, but this was the same, kind face that had proselytized to his small village when Jughead was just a boy. Jughead reached up a hand, only to gasp and shudder at the pain.

“Are you hurt?” Moose asked, his voice brooking no lie.

“No more than the last time you saw me.”

Moose frowned, and a wave of shame hit Jughead.

“Sorry, I know it’s been a few …”

Days? Months? Years? Centuries?

Somewhere in the back of the apse a door slammed shut. Jughead started, adrenaline coursing through his body, but Moose gently guided him back to the floor.

“That demon will never cross my threshold,” Moose promised.

“Juggie?”

Moose stood, his center of gravity low and his hands clenched in fists, ready for a fight. He’d always been ready to protect, and die for, a member of his flock, no matter how lost they may be.

Jughead tugged on Moose’s frock and managed to croak out, “A friend.”

He turned to see Betty rushing around the alter, her blonde hair outshining the painted angels above her. Jughead refused to note the comparison as another wave of pain hit. Ignoring the priest, Betty rushed towards Jughead and pulled him into her arms.

“Are you okay?” Betty asked as her hands hovered above his shoulders, assessing the damage that had been done.

“Never better.”

Her hands landed on his side and he yelped. Blackness swam across his vision and he felt Betty grasp him even tighter, cursing under her breath.

“He needs blood,” she muttered.

She unbuttoned her cuff to roll up her sleeve, but Moose stopped her.

“I’ll be right back.”

Jughead turned his neck, squinting to watch Moose walk towards a cabinet behind the alter. They’d done this many times before, though often it was more an act of contrition than one of necessity. In truth, Jughead had little interest in faith or religion. He’d gone to church not out of a sense of duty, but because of the stories that Father Mason wove, day after day, about men claiming to be sent from God. And as he grew, he and the Father had formed a strange sort of friendship between a devout holy man and a scoffing, peasant teenager.

Even when Jughead’s life had been taken by a woman who smelled of lavender and leather, her touch tender against his throat and his soul, it was Father Mason who brought him sanctuary. Touched by an unholy fever and an unnatural hunger, it was Father Mason who knew the rites to perform.

Now, knowing what was to come, Jughead’s teeth ached and his mouth filled with saliva. The pain shifted from his shoulder to his stomach as it clenched in anticipation. Watching Father Mason pour the sacramental wine, Jughead could smell it’s acrid stench, the rotting grapes taking on a light, delicious temptation.

As he neared, Betty curled Jughead closer to her.

“Are you trying to kill him?”

Father Mason held up a hand and prayed. The low mumble of Latin lulled Jughead into an almost catatonic state, an addict waiting for his next shot of morphine.

“It’s fine, Betts, we’ve done this before,” Jughead said. His eyes locked on the chalice where the wine was slowly thickening.

When Father Mason was done, he held the chalice up to Jughead’s lips. It was pure ambrosia – the sweet, tangy flavor had increased in the now consecrated blood – and the tang of it sent ecstasy running through every inch of Jughead’s body.

“For this is my blood of the covenant,” Betty murmured. She shook her head in wonder. “That’s impossible.”

Moose smiled sadly and sat back on his heels. “Everything is impossible for those who doubt.”

She frowned. “No, there’s no way you could do that without …”

Another blast hit the door, and though it held, the chandeliers swayed above.

“You’re a witch,” Betty concluded. “You have to be.”

Father Mason jerked back, staring at her. His lips were set in a thin frown and his grip on the chalice had tightened.

“I’m no such thing.”

“You have to be, otherwise –“

Jughead wrapped a hand around Betty’s arm and shook his head.

“Faith alone,” Father Mason said firmly, “is what gives me power.”

He set the chalice on a nearby pew and stood, an imposing figure even in the black cassock. From this angle, Jughead realized for the first time he’d known Moose for almost three centuries. It was a strange thing that he’d never realized this before. Father Mason should have been dead, or at the very least a very old man, but Moose didn’t look a day over forty-five. Forty, in the right light.

“But –“

Jughead sat up slowly and shook his head. “Let it go. Please.”

Betty chewed her lip and they watched as Moose walked towards the door. Without effort, he opened the massive door - carved figures from biblical times, sinners and saints alike, lit up with fading hell fire.

“Father,” Penny spat out.

“You have no reason to be here. Leave,” Father Mason ordered.

She laughed, the sound distorted and warped within the church. “I have every reason to be here. Jones is in there, and I’m not. You know the rules.”

Father Mason shook his head and stepped out of the church. “This is a place of sanctuary, or have you forgotten the ancient rules?”

“Have you? I’m surprised you haven’t burned to ashes in there. Heretic.”

Carefully, Betty pulled Jughead to his feet. He leaned against the pews for a minute, too in awe of the changing lights around him to move. The consecration always hit him differently, the faith put into the wine stronger and stronger each time. Now, though, it appeared that Betty’s doubt had only increased the potency of Moose’s faith.

“My sins have been forgiven,” Moose’s voice bellowed, “as will yours. Repent and you too shall be brought back into the fold.”

Demonic cackling had Betty and Jughead clinging to each other.

“Forgiven? Us? Is that the lie they told you? We don’t get forgiven, Marmaduke. We’ve fallen, remember? We’re the rejects, the ones cast out by God and his holy entourage.”

The air in the church dropped a few degrees and the light dimmed. Jughead tugged Betty away from the door, and together they drew closer to the altar. Even from this distance they could see the sag in his shoulders, hear the desperation in his voice. Jughead felt a sting of sympathy run through him; he knew, painfully, what it was like to loose something that so defined one’s personality. It wasn’t a pain he would wish on anyone.

Without an ounce of fear, Father Mason opened the heavy doors and stepped out. Their carvings - images and figures from the Bible, depicting saints and sinners alike – glowed amber from the hellfire barrage they’d undergone. To Jughead’s eyes, they danced and shimmied, mocking the demon who dared attack them.

“Shouldn’t we –“ Betty leaned towards the doors, watching the priest take each step deliberately.

Jughead clamped down on her arm and pulled her closer to him. He knew, without a doubt, that she would run to Moose’s aid if given the chance. “This has always been his fight,” he told her softly. “I’ve only been a way to get to him.”

His words, an attempt to quell her fears, only seemed to wind her up like a toy, ready to leap forward at the first hint of trouble.

“Besides,” he added, “his name’s Moose. I think he’ll be fine.”

Another flare of heat rushed through the church and they drew back further from the door.

A howl of rage and pain mingled with Latin chants, the sound even more chilling that the last. There was a clacking noise, and Jughead glanced down to find Betty running through a string of charms, her lips chanting their own sort of prayers of protection.

In less than a second, the world went silent. The air was suffocating in its stillness, and the temperature suddenly dropped ten degrees. Jughead waited, his eyes never leaving the door; while his faith in Father Mason was absolute, even he had to admit there were enough things on heaven and earth, live or not, who could destroy even him.

One minute passed, then two. Betty jumped up and dashed towards the door quicker than Jughead could stop her. He followed cautiously, still waiting for another flash of hellfire to come his way. But when he reached the stone steps all he found was a calm, exhausted Father Mason and Betty, hovering over him, trying to find some way to help him.

“She’s gone,” Father Mason said from his seat. He wheezed out a cough, and Jughead noted a grey streak running from his temples that hadn’t been there before. “For now at least.”

He waived Betty away, thanking her for thinking of him, and nodded to Jughead.

“I wondered when I might see you next,” he said to Jughead, offering a hand. Jughead took it, and Father Mason clasped it in both hands. “But maybe next time call first.”

Father Mason dropped Jughead’s hands and reached for the railing. He leaned on it heavily, groaning as he took each step. They watched warily, both aware of the tremendous toll the fight had taken on him. Betty kept opening and closing her mouth, full of a million unanswered questions, but to Jughead’s relief she didn’t ask a single one.

It wasn’t until the old wooden doors were shut that she turned to Jughead. He held up a hand.

“It’s a long story,” he offered. Betty pursed her lips at his answer and he continued quickly. “Let’s go get someplace safe, and I’ll fill you in.”

“Fine.” Her voice was petulant and not for the first time Jughead wondered whether it hurt her to keep so many questions inside. “But you’re going to have to start with how on earth you didn’t catch on fire.”

He raised an eyebrow and matched her stride as they walked down the road. “Pretty sure –“

“I mean in the church,” she said, cutting him off with a roll of the eyes. “And how you were able to drink consecrated wine? Last I checked, vampires tended to avoid that sort of thing. And what in Gaia’s name was that thing with the Latin? No one’s ever heard of –“

Jughead let Betty’s stopped up curiosity spill out of her while his mind wandered back to Father Mason, wondering not for the first time what type of creature he really was.

[ishgardianrose]

FFXIV WRITE - Day One: Foster

Gareth Hyland, twelve winters old, stared down at his shaking hands. He glared, willed them to be steady, mouth full of the bitter taste of humiliation. Everyone who had come to observe the sparring matches had seen what had happened. He silently prayed his father, the renowned dragoon Erik Hyland, had not been among the crowd of knights.

“There you are, Gareth!” the ever cheerful voice of his best friend and fellow knight-in-training, Jourdain Benoit, sounded near his elbow.

Gareth rolled his shaking hands into fists and let out a long breath.

Jourdain sat down beside him and held an apple out towards him, gifting him his trademark grin. Gareth flicked a glance towards the apple and then away, his countenance darkening.

“I do not deserve it.”

“Come now, Gareth! It’s happened to all of us,” Jourdain said.

“…Really?

“Well…usually not instantly,” Jourdain admitted a bit sheepishly.

Gareth frowned down at his knees. He was seated on a stone bench, facing a small garden that overlooked a sheer drop into mist and the half-concealed fangs of rooftops. The day was shading towards evening, and he was eager for the stars to appear, to lose himself in their calming glow. In truth, Gareth wanted to be alone. Usually he was glad for Jourdain’s company, but right now the elezen’s presence was only deepening the pit of Gareth’s humiliation.

As if sensing Gareth’s wish for silence, Jourdain’s usual energetic presence whittled into something quieter and more contained. He placed the apple down beside Gareth while juggling his own between his hands. A clear sign that Jourdain was thinking, but had not yet found the right words.

“…Was my father there?” Gareth asked, finally giving breath to the fear that had been pricking at him since the defining moment of that day.

“I didn’t see him,” Jourdain said.

“Oh…” An unexpected pang struck Gareth. His brow furrowed as he stared ahead, gaze narrow but unfocused. He should be relieved. Instead, he only felt a deep disappointment. Of course, Father had not been there. Gareth knew he was not worthy yet of his attention. Father was an important dragoon with important matters that required his care. He never looked in on Gareth’s training.

Gareth’s shoulders curled, and his eyes started to sting. He should be relieved. It was bad enough that Jourdain, many of the other boys and girls in training, and a handful of well-regarded knights had seen Gareth’s miserable failure.

Gareth had been so excited when he heard they were to participate in sparring matches that day. Nervous. Terrified, even. But excited. His hands had started to tremble the moment he clutched his training spear, but he was convinced he was ready. Heart pounding, he had fallen into his well-practiced stance, tightened his well-practiced grip. Faced down his mentor, determined to do something to make his father proud. And then the lance had been wrested from his grasp in the first blow. It was over, just like that, and that stupid kid, Gaspard, was laughing at him. And some of the knights were laughing too.

Gareth rubbed his arm quickly across his eyes, trying to fight back the sharp sting.

“Hey, listen,” Jourdain started.

Gareth peered over at him morosely.

“Let’s spar,” Jourdain said firmly, the apple no longer bouncing between his palms, but now gripped in one determined fist. He glanced over at Gareth and sighed.  “Don’t give me that look! I want to spar. Let’s go. We can eat later.”

“Why are you mocking me like this?”

“I’m not! When have I ever?” Jourdain said, jumping to his feet and glaring. “Come on. Let’s go. I know you’re stronger than everyone thinks. You beat me at knuckles last time we played. You can hold your lance for longer than one swing, can’t you?”

“Of—Of course I can!” Gareth shouted defensively and stood.

Jourdain met the hyur’s glare with a challenging smirk. “Then, come on! If you win, you get both apples. See how sure I am that you’re going to lose?”

Gareth’s glare grew fierce. “Those apples are mine!”

“Let’s see if you can live up to your words,” Jourdain urged. And then he ran off towards the training grounds.

Gareth ran after him, determined to prove himself, encouraged by his friend’s belief.

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 46

The truth begins to be untold, from multiple perspectives.

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Actress!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strangers to friends to ??? I honestly don’t know what this counts as anymore

Warnings: Strong language

|mlist|

<–– Prev  Next ––>

You can’t breathe for several seconds. You feel yourself begin to tremble, and Wonho must feel it too, because he places a protective hand on your shoulder. “Y/n?”

For a moment, the club swims before you. No. No. You’re not letting her win, not again. With enormous effort, you summon that numbness once more, letting it settle over you. In a single moment, you adjust your posture and expression, and although your throat feels like it’s about to close up, you don’t allow your voice to change. You’re an actress, after all. “Good to see you’re having fun,” you tell Yoongi cooly, ignoring Seoyeon. The redhead’s eyes narrow at your obvious disinterest. Yoongi’s gaze sweeps between you and Wonho, who’s glistening with sweat from dancing. Wonho’s mesh top is sticking to his defined abs.

“Looks like you are too,” Yoongi replies quietly. His brows knit together and his eyes search yours, almost pleading –

He can’t do this to me. It’s not fair. And you can’t keep your voice steady much longer. You take a long pull of your drink.

“Suga-bear~” Seoyeon whines.

“Hyung!” Out of nowhere, Hoseok breaks through the crowd, looking wildly between you and Yoongi. “Ha… I-I didn’t know you’d be here!” He says through a too-wide smile. 

Still looking at you, Yoongi jerks his head toward Seoyeon, who continues clinging to him. You notice Hoseok twitch. 

Without breaking eye contact with Yoongi, you reach up and rest your hand on Wonho’s, who’s still holding your shoulder. “Wonho, I’m going to BTS’s private room. Hoseok, is it okay if Wonho comes with?”

“Of course.” 

Wonho seems confused, but – bless him – he goes along with you as you turn your back on Seoyeon… and Yoongi. 

“So! Tell me about your mixtape, how’s that going?” You hear Hoseok shout over the music as you lead Wonho away. By the time you finally shut the door, closing yourself off from the club, you feel like the night has lasted for far longer than a few songs. 

The other members have disappeared, surely out on the dance floor or by the bar. Coats are strewn on the couch and chairs, and you can spot several empty bottles of soju on the counter.

‘Hey… you okay?” Wonho asks, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” you answer too quickly. 

“Want to talk about it?”

For a moment, just a moment, you consider telling him everything: about Lisa, missing and possibly dead. About Xiumin, who proved that you really couldn’t trust anyone. About Yoongi, whose betrayal hurt you more than any real boyfriend could. About Seoyeon, how she and her cronies followed you out of the hospital. About that night, the shove, the blood, the walk, the cold. About the photo, and how it ruined your lamppost meetings with Yoongi forever. You could tell him about how you found Seoyeon’s picture on Lisa’s laptop, making you fear the worst. 

Or the relentless cyberbullying. Would Wonho understand? You reach up, rubbing your thumb against the Starry Night pendant. Your situation is comically unique – would anyone understand? You’re stronger now, yes, but what does your strength mean if Lisa is gone forever and Yoongi is dating your attacker?

Your phone buzzes. Finally, is it the contract from FYP Entertainment? 

@mrsminnie<3: Guys! I made a poll, vote who u think Yoongi is better with- @seoyeonnielovesbts vs @yourname!

@jjksaysfuck: WHY does @yourname still think she’s relevant? Suga BROKE UP WITH HER lollll her career is #deadinthewater

@captainkookie21: @jjksaysfuck kinda like @yourname soon ;) #SUGA belongs to ARMYs! You’ll see ^-^

@streamDIEnamite03: Ok but like,,,, did anyone see that commercial with @WONHO and @yourname??? That was spicy 0_0

“Y/n?”

“Oh, sorry!” You realize you’ve been silent for several seconds too long. “Yeah. I’m fine. I should’ve known this would happen eventually, just…” You tuck your phone away. Not so soon.

“Dunno what he thinks he’s doing, showing up like this after that PR fiasco,” Wonho says, eyeing the door as though Yoongi is right behind it. “I mean, it looks like the girl wanted to come, Yoongi’s never been one for clubs. But seriously, dating a fan? You’d think he’d know better.”

You freeze. “Right.” You forgot that to the public, you and Yoongi met on the set of Possible. You forgot that you were never an ARMY – Yoongi wouldn’t date a fan.

“She gives me weird vibes, I dunno. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod. “I just want a few minutes without having to worry.” You’re both still standing awkwardly by the door, and you nod at the couch. “Wanna sit down? We can go back to the dance floor once we’ve caught our breath.”

“Sure. Hey, I never mentioned it earlier and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but that outfit looks really great on you.”

You laugh. Maybe the night doesn’t have to be a waste after all. 

~~~

“Suga-bear~” Seoyeon coos. “Buy me a drink?” “Get your own,” Yoongi growls, tugging his arm out of her grasp. He forgot the group had a VIP room at Club Xyon; what were they doing in it?

Spread around the dancefloor, he sees Jungkook and Jimin having one of their famous dance battles; Taehyung is dancing in the front, vibing with the smitten DJ. Jin and Namjoon are sitting in a booth, surrounded by gorgeous idols.

And Hoseok is with him. Y/n and Wonho are alone.

Seoyeon is still whining. “But Suga, I want you to get it for me!”

Ugh. “Fine, what do you want?”

“Anything. Make it strong.”

Yoongi locks eyes with Hoseok, making sure he knows to keep an eye on Seoyeon, before heading to the bar.

“Suga!” The pretty mixologist grins broadly at his approach. “I’m a big fan! What can I get for you?”

Yoongi nods. “Thanks. Can I get some sparkling water with vodka on the rim and – I don’t know, something strong? Whatever you want to make, but with an extra shot.”

She nods, and sets about making the drinks. As he’s waiting, Yoongi’s phone buzzes with a text:

D-man: eyo Gloss [11:13]

D-man: got some shit for u [11:14]

Yoongi: Please tell me it’s good [11:14]

D-man: u don’t pay me for good u pay me for results [11:15]

D-man: anyway idk about good, but it’s something? [11:15]

D-man: seems weird tho [11:16]

Yoongi: What do you mean? [11:17]

D-man: hang on there’s more [11:17]

D-man: lemme call u soon [11:17]

Yoongi: ???? [11:18]

“Here are your drinks – oh, no charge!” The mixologist says with a wink. “I’m never taking a cent from BTS.”

Yoongi laughs, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Call it a tip, then. I insist.”

Hoseok’s smile is strained as Seoyeon dotes on him. Yoongi wishes he could laugh at his discomfort, but Hoseok is the only one besides him and Y/n that actually knows what the girl is capable of. 

“Here.” He hands Seoyeon the drink and sips from his own sparkling water. He refuses to lose his inhibitions around her.

Wonho and Y/n are alone. What if he hurts her?

Seoyeon takes a big swig. She was already drinking in the car on the way to the club, and Yoongi doesn’t understand why, with so much at stake, she can have fun. 

She hurt Y/n. She has Lisa. She hurt Y/n. She has Lisa. She hurt Y/n.

What he can’t understand is why Detective Kang and the rest of the police department aren’t investigating Seoyeon. Y/n did turn Lisa’s laptop over, right? Seoyeon’s photo was there, open on her desktop. Maybe they knew each other for unrelated reasons? But D would have told him.

Argh. This night wasn’t supposed to be such a mess. And what is Y/n doing?

~~~ 

“You’re kidding!” You snort into your glass of soju, almost spilling the drink down your front. “He said that?”

“Oh yeah. So I was like, dude, I’m not gonna fight you. Right? He was a head shorter than me. He didn’t like that, so he started swinging, but he ended up hitting my buddy–” 

Already buzzed and determined to forget about Yoongi, you laugh harder than you need to. “That’s crazy.”

Your phone buzzes once, twice, three times. Argh. You glance at Wonho, hoping he didn’t notice the notification, but… 

“Go ahead and take it,” Wonho says, ruffling his hair. “You’re hoping it’s the contract, right?”

“Ah – yeah, sorry.” You scroll through your notifications, past more hate messages. There’ve been fewer lately. You suppose you’re becoming old news. Still, some accounts have been more persistent. A text notification catches your eye:

Hi, L/n Y/n. I’m messaging you on behalf of Mr. Park of FYP entertainment. We expect a response to the contract offer by 5:00pm Tuesday.

“What?”

Wonho looks up from his screen. “What’s up?”

“This…” you furrow your brow. “This says I’ve already received the contract. But I’m certain I haven’t!” You reload your email inbox desperately, but nothing changes. Wonho leans closer, until you can feel the heat radiating off his body. “Check your trash folder?” he suggests.

“But I haven’t deleted anything!”

“Just check.”

You sigh and click to view your recently deleted emails. There, staring at you, is an email with the subject line L/n Y/n FYP Ent. Contract of Employment 20xx.

“Oh my gosh, there it is!” You squeal, quickly moving it back to your inbox before tossing your phone aside and throwing your arms around Wonho. “Thank you so much!”

Wonho is quick to hug you back, laughing. “Of course. Glad I could help solve the mystery.”

As you gaze at Wonho, you’re filled with elation. Wonho’s easy. Unproblematic. Kind. “Wanna go back and dance?”

“Your wish, my command,” he replies with a wink. As you stand from the couch, Wonho steals a last glance at his phone- and does a double take. “Yo, what?”

“Wassup?”

“Ah, nothing. Just some stupid gossip about, er, Yoongi’s new girlfriend.”

Something burns in your throat. “Anything interesting?”

“Nah. Some people are saying that ‘cause her dad’s a cop, Yoongi must’ve committed a crime and her dad is letting him off if he dates Seoyeon.” Wonho chuckles. “The things people invent when they’ve got too much time on their hands.”

“What do you mean, her dad is a cop?”

He shrugs. “Detective, I guess. Same difference, and somehow I doubt Yoongi’s a felon. So! Are we gonna go dance?”

Kang Seoyeon.

“Yeah,” you reply, suddenly breathless. “Let’s dance.”

~~~

“I love this song!” Seoyeon squeals, waving her arms in the air. Yoongi, sipping his sparkling water, is doing his best to ignore her, while Hoseok is amusing himself with Seoyeon’s antics.

Yoongi wishes he could relax and enjoy himself, but with Y/n’s would-be killer and most certainly Lisa’s kidnapper now throwing it back to HyunA, and with D having something for him, Yoongi can’t do anything but stare around tensely. Suddenly, he notices Y/n and Wonho rejoining everyone on the dance floor. They’re laughing shoulder-to-shoulder. He feels a bolt of jealousy strike him like lightning, so fierce that he can barely breathe.

“Suga bear!” Seoyeon shouts, slurring her words slightly. She’s already finished her drink and is halfway through another. “You love me, right?”

Fucking hell. “No,” Yoongi replies, his voice flat. Behind Seoyeon, Yoongi can see Hoseok slap a hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter.

Seoyeon’s eyes fill with tears. “B-but you have to love me! I worked so hard, Suga! I did it all for you! You have to love me!”

Worked so hard? She had stalked him, tried to kill Y/n, and kidnapped Lisa. “Did all what for me?” Yoongi snarls. “You little –”

Bzzt. Bzzt. D is calling him.

Yoongi stares from his phone to Seoyeon to Y/n and Wonho across the dance floor. Shit. “Hoseok, keep an eye on her, okay?”

Hoseok salutes dramatically. “Yessir!”

With that, Yoongi snakes away from the crowd, eventually finding a less populated corner that gives him a perfect view of Y/n and Wonho having a great time. Wait…  is it his imagination, or does Y/n look-

“Gloss! Yo, my guy!”

Yoongi tapped his foot impatiently. “C’mon, what’ve you got?”

“Jeez, gimme a sec! Okay, so. Remember how that photo of you and Y/n was going around?”

“Yeah.”

“Right, so it came from, like, one of the red-haired chick’s backup accounts.”

“D, you fuckin’ told me this shit already, man.”

“I’m getting there! Stardom’s making you annoying, come back to Daegu.”

Yoongi snorts. “Keep talking.”

“So, you asked if Lisa had any side socials that weren’t under her name, right?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Well, I did a bit of digging – I charge extra for all the thirst tweets I had to look at, by the way – and I found that the fan account Seoyeon posted on has a very interesting username… one that corresponds pretty damn well to one her mutuals.” D took a deep breath. “Seoyeon’s account was called ‘@capkookies_btsbff’, and her mutual’s account is @captainkookie21. Remember how she kept talking about someone named Cap? Sooo I looked at that account, poking around, yknow? First thing: This was a total BTS fan account till, like, a few months ago. But after that? Gloss, this is some of the worst hate I’ve seen in a hot sec.”

“Whaddya mean, hate?”

“Hate towards your girl, bro! All sorts of bullshit, creepy stuff. Now, the IP address – which I took the liberty of finding, you’re welcome – tells me they’re in Seoul. The more interesting thing is that the address changed, and only a little over a month ago.”

“How can that change? I thought IPs were tied to devices.”

“They totally are! But socials aren’t. So this person was using one device, up until a month ago, and then switched.”

“They got a new phone?”

“Maybe. Or maybe they were trying to hide their location and were forced to use a new device.”

Yoongi’s forehead wrinkled. “Wha…”

He could hear D sigh over the phone. “Dude! Don’t you get it? Before they switched devices, this account was linked to Lisa’s phone!”

Yoongi’s jaw goes slack. That night at Seoyeon’s house… “Cap said you’d come to me. We’re meant to be.” 

~~~

“W-Where’s Suuuu-ga?” Seoyeon whines, clutching at Hoseok’s arm. She finished the rest of her glass and is now clearly well on her way to drunk.

“He’ll be back soon,” Hoseok replies, trying to blend his movement in with the heavy bass so that he and Seoyeon don’t stand out too much.

“All I did was love him,” Seoyeon says now, her eyes wide and doe-like. 

Hoseok makes a face. “You stalked him.”

Shaking her head vehemently, Seoyeon takes another pull of her drink. “Nuh-uh. I never did.”

Hoseok purses his lips. She’s clearly willing to let slip information, but he doesn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. “You followed him to that hospital, and that lamppost. That’s called stalking.”

“Nooooooo I di-hic-didn’t,” Seoyeon warbles, swaying. Hoseok catches her and props her up, brows knit. Is she okay? Of course, Hoseok was the last to claim a title for holding one’s liquor, but Seoyeon seems insistent on getting wasted.

“I was just –” Seoyeon hiccups and giggles to herself. “Captain’s orders!”

“Orders?” 

“Oops!” Seoyeon claps a hand over her mouth, stumbling backwards and bumping into an actress Heoseok recognizes from his favorite drama. “Nothingggg.”

This could be interesting. Hoseok plucks the glass from her hand, holding it away as she reaches for it. “Ah-ah-ah. I’ll give it back once you tell me what you meant.”

Seoyeon laughs, the sound going from a cute drunk giggle to something more intense, more concerning. “C-caaan’t~ Cap said I had to keep quiet.”

“Just tell me why you said you weren’t stalking Yoongi. You were following him, right? How else could you have found him at the hospital? And that lamppost?”

Seyeon sticks her tongue out. “Not telling!”

Is this really the same girl who shoved Y/n into a river and kidnapped Lisa under everyone’s noses?

Hoseok pauses and thinks. “Yoongi hasn’t kissed you, has he?”

Almost immediately, Seoyeon’s eyes well up with tears once more. “No! He never even touches me!”

“You know, I bet if you told me everything, he’d be really grateful.” Hoseok leans forward conspiratorially, barely able to hear himself over the music and shouts on the dance floor. “I’m sure he’d love you then.”

Seoyeon lets out a squeal that sounds practically inhuman. “Really?”

“Mhm.” Hoseok swallows down his guilt with the reassurance that he’s doing this for Y/n and Yoongi’s sakes. “So what were you doing at the hospital?”

Seoyeon stops and thinks hard, her face serious for the first time all night. “You really think he’ll love me? He won’t be mad?”

“Of course.”

Suddenly, Seoyeon shoots forward and snatches her glass away from Hoseok, downing the rest of the drink before he can blink. “I just wanted to be with him,” she says, wiping a droplet from her lips. “But I wasn’t following him. Cap said that she was at the hospital.” Seoyeon’s eyes turn dark, furious, the change so severe that Hoseok flinches. “Cap said she wanted to take Suga away from me. So I waited outside the hospital with my friends. Suga doesn’t belong to her!” Placing her glass on a nearby table, Seoyeon tugs at Hoseok’s sleeve desperately. “He belongs to me! To us, to ARMYs!”

 Goosebumps erupt along Hoseok’s arms. Fans like this have always terrified him. To claim ownership of a person just because they were an idol… “And the lamppost? You didn’t follow Y/n, did you?”

Seoyeon blinks heavily. “I didn’t seeeee her after she fell into the river. Cap just told me where to go, and when I saw them hugging, I wanted to kill Y/n.” She smiles sweetly as though her words were nothing but innocent. 

Hoseok can feel his stomach roil. “Why did you do all this?”

“Duh!” Seoyeon sweeps her arm around, gesturing at the club. “Cap’s friends with BTS! I was promised that Cap could set me up with Suga. And – hic – it worked.”

“We’re not friends. What?” Is this person someone the group knows? But Hoseok can’t think of many people the members of Bangtan are all friends with, except Y/n. No, surely…? She wouldn’t do that to herself.

It’s getting her a lot of publicity, a tiny voice in Hoseok’s head reminds him.

“W-What do you mean?” Seoyeon asks, a pout forming on her lips. “‘Course you are. After all, she has a video of Jimin saying her name.”

Hoseok’s heart is hammering in his chest. Y/n does love to tease Jimin. “At a fansign?” It would make sense, at least.

“Noooo~” Seoyeon says in a slurred singsong voice. “In your apartment.” She giggles, covering her mouth. “I recognized it from your lives!”

Hoseok’s own mouth goes dry. Had Y/n been manipulating his friend this whole time? “Oh.”

[o-wise-corvid]

Okay so there’s some mentions of children in pain and going through some severe physical stuff. Dark Side torture to build their hatred type stuff. DONT read if that’s too much.

People who were wanting more: @captainrexisboo @clonetrooperrights @koskareevesismyqueen @gospelofme @jgvfhl @ct-27-fives

WARNINGS: mild mentions of torture/ broken bones/ character in pain

Chapter 1: Two, Three, Four, Five

“Get your elbow up! Block with your shins and forearms... Use your points! There you go!”

To be possessed of such a small frame, Gaia never failed to impress Cody with the way she could change direction. She could run full tilt at a training droid, her whole body leaning into the sprint, then check herself, pivoting on a dime to swing up behind it. One firm kick and there was a clanker head lying at his feet.

She ran with what he could only define as commitment, pushing her entire being into a single goal. That wasn’t something he’d taught her to do, but something she’d brought herself; Cody encouraged her natural talents as often as he encouraged the practiced techniques he’d been showing her for over a year.

Gaia rode the toppling chassis to the floor, crouching on its back with a triumphant smile on her face. “How was that?”

Cody grinned at her. “Very nice. Those reinforced gauntlets really help with the punches, don’t they?”

Gaia inspected the new armor that sheathed her arms from knuckles to elbow, matte black instead of shiny. Which was a good choice given the wear the things had already gotten after one day. “Yes. No more broken knuckles.”

“No more broken knuckles,” he agreed, scooping her up. Gaia laughed and rested her small hands on his chest plate. Cody could swear she’d grown since the day before, her weight already not so easy to manage as it had once been. “But what did Papa tell you about broken bones?”

“They grow back stronger,” Gaia recited dutifully, dark eyes serious. Too serious for one so young. “Did you ever break your knuckles, Papa?”

Cody opened his mouth to answer, smiling at a memory of another brother, Kix, belligerently scolding him about his frequent visits due to how he fought droids. But another voice interjected.

“Captain.” Sixthree wobbled over anxiously, arms lifting in manufactured excitement. “You are being summoned by Lord Vader. He wishes you to bring the young lady along.”

Icy tendrils of fear shuffled their way through his body and he tightened his grip on Gaia reflexively. “Bring her with me? You’re certain about that?” he tried, despite knowing the droid would have relayed the message accurately.

“Yes sir.”

“Papa.” Gaia pulled his face around to look right at him. She touched her forehead to his. “I know what to do. Let’s go.”

He couldn’t help but smile. Her accent had changed, picking up the thicker vowels and light r’s that Jango Fett had passed down to all his Clones. In such a clear, delicate voice, it sounded especially sweet.

“I know you do,” Cody told her, lowering her to her feet. “What do you call me?”

“ ‘Sir’ if I speak at all, sir,” Gaia snapped, spine straightening like a flagpole.

“Do you look at me if you’re asked a question?”

“No sir.”

“Do you fear me?” He put a little edge in his voice, looming to his full height as he paced a tight circle around her.

“Yes sir.” Gaia didn’t track him with her eyes, didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. She was good, he had to admit. She’d picked up on what survival meant so quickly and she’d practiced everything to the point that she performed without thinking.

“Do you fear Vader?”

“Even more.”

“How do you address him?”

“My Lord.”

“Alright,” Cody finally murmured, as satisfied as he was bound to get. He touched Gaia on the top of her head, feeling the tight pattern of her braided hair under his glove, then sheathed his face in his helmet.

They stalked through the ship as one. Gaia had assumed a posture and cadence to her steps that mirrored his own, which carried a menace that even ranking officers knew to give room. She had figured out an expression of intensity that looked positively chilling on a little girl and wore it whenever she was in public. Cody admired the girl’s drive and grasp of her circumstances, even though their routine was beyond familiar.

Vader was awaiting Cody in the hangar bay, just as imposing as he’d ever been. Gaia didn’t react to his presence as they entered the long, mostly empty expanse. He wondered how she perceived him in the Force, what he felt like to the other senses that she was gifted with. From the outside, she looked inscrutable, her boots clicking in time with Cody’s as they approached the hulking figure. When Cody stopped, so did she and they both snapped a salute.

“Captain,” Vader rumbled. His sloping helmet shifted so that his attention was obviously fixed on Gaia. “Cadet.”

“My Lord,” Cody and Gaia said together and they both gave a short bow.

Vader stepped over to Gaia, sinking down on one knee until he was more level with the girl. She stared stoically ahead. “I see your training is progressing well, young one. Tell me, what do you sense in this room?”

Gaia frowned a little, but her expression was one of concentration rather than concern. “You, my Lord. The Dark Side is strong with you. The Captain. And... two others.”

Vader actually chuckled and the sound made the buzzed hair on the back of Cody’s neck stand on end. “Well done, little one. Your training has indeed progressed.” Rising, he affixed Cody with his soulless stare. “You are being tasked with the training of two others, Captain. Your success with this one is evident. I am leaving these in your command.”

Two Stormtroopers came hurrying up, each gripping a squirming person in their arms the way someone holding a feral animal would. Cody could see that they were children due to their size but because they were thrashing so wildly, there wasn’t much he could tell about them apart from the fact that they were both Zabraks.

Vader nodded to the Stormtroopers to set their burdens down, which they did, and then hurriedly backed away. Which Cody almost snorted at because it wasn’t like the kids could bite them through their armor. But then he noticed the scrapes and gouges in the white helmets; one of the eyes was shattered.

“Mind the horns, sir,” one of them offered nervously.

One of the Zabrak children twisted around, flailing a little with bound hands and legs, and actually growled at Cody. His blue eyes burned against his dusky skin, bits of plastoid shavings and visor glass stuck in the crown of amber horns along the boy’s scalp.

“I’ll have them tamed in a month, my Lord,” Cody said confidently though he had to admit that both boys looked fierce enough to take on Wookies.

“We shall see, Captain.”

Cody and Gaia glanced at each other, as Vader turned, the Stormtroopers sweeping into his wake. “Can you help me get them to our quarters?” he asked quietly. “I can get one; two might be a lot.”

Gaia grinned and stretched out a hand toward the boys. The other, green-eyed one shot up, dangling by his ankles. Cody almost laughed. Gaia wasn’t one to overdo it if she didn’t have to. Lifting the boy by his binders was easier than trying to just lift his entire body.

Cody snatched up the blue-eyed one in much the same way, keeping him at arm’s length as much as he could. The Zabrak swayed and snarled nonetheless, trying to reach Cody with his horns. Once, Cody was sure he felt the Force flutter weakly at his armored side.

Gaia had a worse time of it. Her size was the biggest problem. Green eyes squinted furiously at her and her legs flew sideways as if she’d walked over an oil slick. Gaia caught herself without dropping the Zabrak on his head and glared hotly at the boy. “Do it again and I’ll break your ankles.”

Cody looked at her worriedly, glad for the concealment of his helmet. He’d never heard such a deadly note in the girl’s voice and it chilled him. He knew she was under the charge of a slightly Forceful woman who visited the ship once a month, but what exactly happened during the hours Gaia would be away from him there, he could never say. He knew how she returned, though; it was usually hours before she finally responded to him verbally. She always crawled into his bunk on those nights, clinging to him like her sanity depended on it.

When they were finally inside his quarters, Cody flipped the blue-eyed boy as gently as he could onto the bunk, carefully righting him so he was sitting up. Gaia did the same with the other and then threw her arms around his neck. The boy’s eyes flew open wide.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” she hurried. “I promise. You have to make everyone out there feel like you would though. If they don’t think you’re bad, they won’t trust you. Do you understand?”

A wave of fierce pride seemed to bubble up from somewhere near Cody’s feet, thawing the frost of Vader’s presence out of his veins. That was his ad’ika, his Gaia. If she could keep that moral core, that goodness, and survive what could be a very horrible existence with it in tact... What a warrior she could be.

Both boys were listening now, glancing between Gaia, who knelt between them on the skinny mattress, and Cody. He took off his helmet and set it on the Gaia’s bunk. Guess he’d be needing to add two more. His quarters were starting to get really cramped now that he thought about it. He felt his lips tug to the side; Fives would’ve loved it, though, wouldn’t he? Fives always did prefer to keep everyone close, within arms reach if need be.

“You’re... wait...” The one Cody had hauled in was frowning, trying to make this new information make sense. He stared at Gaia as if he’d never seen anything so perplexing in his entire life and then his gaze shifted over to Cody. “You’re a Clone.”

“Yeah.” He knelt down and Gaia scrambled off the bed, looping her arms around his neck from behind. He patted her clasped hands and locked eyes with both boys. “I won’t lie to you. This place is dangerous. For all of us. Clones aren’t supposed to be like me. They’re all under the control of the Empire, in here,” Cody tapped his temple for emphasis. “Gaia, here? If she was what they wanted, she really would have broken your ankles. It’s not easy, being us and being here. But together, we can make it. Think you can find it in yourselves to trust us?”

“How long have you been here?” It was the blue-eyed Zabrak who spoke. His accent was as sharp as his canines.

“Over a year,” Gaia replied with a tightening of her arms around Cody’s neck. He wasn’t sure, but it felt like she was somehow guarding him, like she was prepared to launch herself over his shoulder if one of the boys tried anything. “Papa Cody helped me. He’ll help you, too. And when they start teaching you how to... do things, it won’t be easy. But he makes it better.”

The boys looked at each other and then both sighed. “Okay... what should we do?”

“Pick your names.” Gaia beamed at them both. “You can pick anything.”

Cody chuckled, Gaia’s excitement tangible as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “My brothers, the other Clones, all chose their own names before the Empire happened. It was something we all looked forward to.”

“Soren,” bubble the green-eyed boy. He beamed at his brother. “Like that pilot.”

The other boy rolled his eyes indulgently. “I know.” He looked down in his lap as Cody gently unfastened the binders around his wrists. “Who was your favorite?”

Cody frowned. “Favorite...?”

“Brother.”

Gaia was looking at him now, too. She knew, Cody suspected. He’d told her so many stories about his little brother, the one who’d earned Jaig eyes his first tour. The brother who’d walked out of the barracks fresher one morning with bleached, barely-there hair and a strut like some sort of Coruscanti model. The brother who’d stood up to a rogue Jedi, defying orders despite the knowledge that doing so might’ve meant his own life.

“Rex,” he said in a tight voice.

“Can I have it, too?”

Cody swallowed, which was difficult, but nodded. “Sure. I think... I think the other Rex would be happy to share his name with you.”

The next six months skipped by very quickly. Gaia went through a growth spurt, shooting up to only an inch or so less than Cody. Soren and Rex took to their combat training like they were born for it. Their physiology leant itself to acrobatics and the boys both favored using their own heads as weapons whenever they could.

Cody finally took the leap and shaved his head, actually feeling pleased at the result. The kids all took turns helping him, giggling and getting into a shaving gel fight before everything was said and done. Then they took turns “buffing” his smooth scalp to make him “shiny like Sixthree”.

Gaia took to guarding her new brothers like they were her own flesh and blood. She talked gently but firmly to them prior to their first session with the woman Gaia called The Teacher, and while both boys looked markedly frightened, she promised them vehemently that she would be there the entire time.

Cody tried not to think about the way all three had looked upon returning for their sleep cycle. Acid burns had peppered the left arm of each child, and Gaia sported an angry red and purple slap mark on her left cheek. He’d arrived back at their jammed quarters after a day spent forcing himself not to think about what was happening with... with his children, only to find them huddled together on his bed while Sixthree tried to soothe them while he applied bacta to their blistered skin. Gaia had thrown herself into front of the door when Cody had turned on his heel with murder in his heart, barring his way and begging him to just stay.

“Papa, what happens if you do kill her?” Gaia had demanded quietly. “They’d kill you. And then what about us?”

His awe of the girl never seemed to lessen, but only expanded more and more every day. She was so strong and so smart, protective to a fault, even of him. He adored her in a way that was no more or less than the boys, but was something different. The boys were like shadows of his childhood, ghosts of little brother cadets possessing different bodies. They felt familiar and like parts of himself that he’d lost. Gaia was more like a miniature, not quite realized version of something that Cody had never actually experienced: a mother. But this would have to be how mothers were. Right?

Two more kids were brought to the ship a week after the head shaving event. Both were just as feral and unwieldy as Soren and Rex had been, especially the youngest one to date, who was only nine. He was the most difficult of them all. And Kali was the one who had tried to Force choke him the second she’d laid eyes on him.

Shriek, the boy, had done exactly that the second that Vader and the kid’s handlers had departed. To say that the boy had a pair of lungs on him was an understatement, but it wasn’t the volume that sent Cody to his knees. Images of his brothers screaming in agony seared his brain like hot knives. Rex, falling and tumbling, the fear in his voice split Cody’s skull. Kix taking blaster bolt after blaster bolt, toppling to his knees with lifeless eyes before anther brother took his place. Wolffe stretched with his limbs pulled taught, Grievous placing a lightsaber at the junction of his shoulder and arm as he unsheathed it. The screams layered, the same but different faces bleeding over and around each other in an unending torrent of pure misery until... the varactyl scream.

Soren surged into action, clapping a dark hand over Shriek’s mouth so hard that it made tears spring into the boy’s dark hazel eyes. Rex tackled Kali, who had flown to her feet and was running away like a frightened animal. Gaia planted herself between the boy who would be called Shriek, arms raised defensively, face taught with concentration.

“Get... out... of his head,” she struggled to say, sinking down on one knee as if some huge weight was pressing her into the plastisteel floor. She whooped in a breath and then growled through gritted teeth, arms trembling furiously. Cody had relied on later recounts of the event to fill in the gaps in his memory but that moment, the relief as... it withdrew from him, was one that remained crystal clear.

No one had moved for a long while after that, all five just breathing loudly. Shriek lay stiff and shivering in Soren’s arms. Kali had allowed Rex to turn her loose, her purple lekku draped over each shoulder as she slumped to her knees. Gaia had collapsed to her hands and knees, but not before knocking her foot against his arm. Are you okay?

He started to tell her he was okay, but he knew he wasn’t, so he didn’t say anything. Such tenderness also wouldn’t have looked good to outside eyes. Instead, Cody straightened out of the curled ball he’d been reduced to by a child and tried to get to one knee. A lancing stab of white hot fire shot through his head, cracking over his right temple and behind his eye. The noise that tore out of him was startling even to him.

“I’ve got to get him to medical,” Gaia said quietly, glancing at Soren and Rex. “Take them to our quarters. Gag that one.”

Kali didn’t resist and instead benignly followed Rex and Soren as they hefted Shriek between them, careful not to glance worriedly back at Gaia as she struggled to get Cody standing again.

“Come on, Papa,” she whispered, fitting her shoulders under his arm. “Help me.”

Energized a little by the girl’s plea, Cody got his feet under him, live blaster round loose in his skull and all, and kept himself righted long enough for Gaia to half drag him to medical. How she did it other than through the Force, he was never able to really comprehend afterward. It was only the next morning, after he came to with five small faces watching him intently did he realize that he’d been unconscious.

“Captain, sir,” Gaia roused the group with a sharp salute and they all lined up beside his bed. Each was dressed in matching simple black body glove, kama, and black vambraces, their faces ghostly in the too bright lights of the medbay.

“At... at ease,” he said, groaning quietly at the sensation of light in his eyes as he slowly pushed himself up on the bed. The five children obeyed in flawless, unnerving synchronization.

“Cadets Kali and Shriek have made a change of opinion since last you spoke, sir.” Gaia intoned in what he could only describe as a menacing voice. But the names... that was promising, he hoped.

She broke rank and placed behind the line, her recent gains in height very evident amongst the others. “Haven’t you?” she snapped pointedly, glaring into the faces of the vibrantly purple Twi’Lek and pale young human as she gave each of them a healthy smack on the shoulder that was anything but friendly.

Again, Cody felt the gnaw of worry mixed with shock at how good Gaia was at this.

“Yes sir,” they both answered, addressing Gaia. That was a nice touch.

She turned to Cody, betraying not announce of emotion other than agitation. “We will leave you to your rest, sir. I would like to put the newbies through their paces, sir, with your permission.”

“Permission granted,” Cody said in as flat and hard a voice as he could muster.

Waiting until the kids had trooped out in single file, he reached over to the pile of discarded armor that someone had removed from his body and grabbed his communicator. “Sixthree?”

There was a pause and then the too chipper voice of the protocol droid responded. “Captain. Oh, I do hope you are sufficiently recovered?”

“I... yeah, I’m okay. Listen. We’re gonna need a bigger room. Six beds. A master suite for myself, a group room for the... squad.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Maybe room for a proper kitchen and place to eat. See what you can do about that, yeah?”