#cause i have caught too much of this to call myself employed

[reasoncourt]

just for the record, when i said “hardcore fans” i rlly was talking about ppl who won’t criticise her or hear any tiny criticism of her and who send death threats to music reviewers.

idc when swifties are cringe cause i love me some cringe and i like getting down to cringe songs. i got no issue with that

i mainly find it ironic when people who hate her get so obsessed they listen to a whole 31 song album and give their opinions on it without being paid at all + they often defend shit they say they’re against when it comes to her (like AI porn or revenge porn or misogyny etc) so i can’t take them seriously at all

like - hardcore swifties are weird af and hardcore taylor swift haters are right there with those hardcore swifties. and they’re both sanctimoniously screaming that they’re better than each other but they’re the same flavour

controversial opinion but a lot of people who hate Taylor Swift rlly rival her hardcore fans in the competition of who can be most delusional and unemployed

[differentpostrebel]

Lost and Found: A Pirate's Promise

Chapter 33: The Unseen Battle: Allies, Rivals, and the Quest for Justice

A/N; We are back with another chapter! I promise you guys I wasnt holding these chapters hostage, Its my birthday today! I officially turn 27!. And we are getting two new chapters!. I cant wait for you guys to read these.We starting off with that Sanji POV. As always thank you guys so much for everything! As without further a do let the adventure begin! 

Word Count: 7.3K

Sanji X Reader, Sanji X Y/N, One Piece X Reader 

Sanji POV.. 

I must have dozed off in Y/N’s room, because suddenly the ship’s motion changed and we had arrived at Zou. The familiar sound of Brook’s voice roused me from sleep. “Sanji? Where are you?”

I stretched my arms and got up from the comfort of your bed. The room still smelled faintly of you, and I took a moment to tidy up your bed, leaving it just as you had it. Sighing, I glanced around one last time before heading out to the deck.

“There you are,” Brook greeted me, still holding his tea. “Get changed. We’re heading out to explore.”

I nodded and made my way back to my quarters, my thoughts consumed with worries and hope for you. As I changed into my usual attire, I muttered to myself, “Mosshead, I can only hope for your sake, I get Y/N back.”

After getting dressed, I joined the others on the deck, ready to explore Zou alongside Caesar. 

Y/N POV… 

As we dashed through the chaos, Zoro glanced at me. “Luffy, is that squawking peacock guy a friend of yours?”

“Oh, you mean Cabbage?” Luffy answered, clearly unbothered.

“Yeah, Cabbage. What an odd name for someone too!” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“He’s a real weirdo, huh? I met a whole bunch of people at the Colosseum,” Luffy said.

“Well, at least we aren’t being chased—that’s a relief,” I said. But just as I finished my sentence, our path was blocked by a swarm of citizens and pirates hunting us down.

“Damn, spoke too soon,” I muttered.

“There they are! Make sure the princess is caught too!” one of the men shouted.

“Don’t let them get away!” another yelled.

Grabbing one of my blades, I activated its power, the electrical current mixing with the bright yellow light. Luffy used his Gomu Gomu Whip to kick attackers away, while Zoro employed his Two-Sword Style Rhino Cycle to blow his opponents back. I focused on my attackers, and with a determined smirk, I drew on my blade’s power. “What’s she going to do? She’s surrounded!” one of the men said.

I grinned, clenching my left hand to activate its power and forming a circle. “Now, Rush!” I commanded. A surge of electricity shot through the crowd, causing them to fall one by one.

“We’re still dealing with more!” we shouted in unison.

“What’s the plan, Luffy?” I asked.

“If we handle this mob, we’ll be here all day,” Zoro said, knocking down another opponent.

“He’s got a point,” I agreed, taking down another attacker.

“There you are, Strawhat!” a voice called out from the debris.

“Luffy, do you know him?” I asked.

“Uhh, thought so! We need to go!” Luffy said urgently.

As we fled, I struggled to catch my breath. “We’ve got more company!” I yelled.

Looking at Zoro, I tried to lighten the mood. “If we get out of this one, I’ll work out with you and spar for a week,” I said with a smile.

Zoro smirked. “Looking forward to that!”

Just then, Luffy turned around. “Just go away already!”

“Hey, stop all three of you!” the man shouted as he lunged toward us. “Y/N, look out!” Zoro yelled, pulling me out of harm’s way to avoid being crushed.

The man began to laugh. “Just hear this old man out for a moment. I wanted to let you know I have forgiven the grudge I held against your family,” he said.

“Luffy, I didn’t know you and him go way back,” I said.

“We are here for one thing: to eliminate Doflamingo’s immoral business. We don’t care about the money. A puny bounty like that is mere change for us,” said the man next to the old man.

I let out a breath of relief, placing my hands on my knees. “Well, that’s a relief.”

The old man placed his hands on Luffy’s shoulders. “I must thank you and your friend God Usopp, who rescued me in my darkest hour.”

I turned to Zoro. “Looks like Usopp really outdid himself.”

“That’s why I’ve decided to repay my debt to the Straw Hat crew by obliterating Doflamingo and his monarchy,” the old man said.

“Huh, you too? The only guy kicking his ass is me!” Luffy retorted.

The old man’s expression darkened. “Speak up. What did you say?!”

“You heard me. I said don’t bother!” Luffy shot back.

Just then, the floor rumbled beneath us. “Strawhat! I was searching for you,” a giant’s voice boomed.

“Oh, the giant guy,” Luffy said.

“I say we bury the hatchet between us. As a proud warrior of Elbaf, I’ll slay Doflamingo for God Usopp,” the giant declared.

“Huh! Get lost, I said I got this!” Luffy insisted.

“Now, boys,” I said, as Zoro grabbed my wrist, halting me. “Just wait one moment. I’m here from the Providence Kingdom. We long owed King Riku an enormous debt. I’ll bring down Doflamingo with my own two fists!” he vowed.

More people began to approach us, eager to take down Doflamingo thanks to God Usopp.

“You really attract some oddballs, huh Luffy?” Zoro and I said in unison.

“You’d be a fool to forget about me!” Cabbage said, riding in on his horse.

“Ehh, not this guy again?!” I said, moving closer to Zoro.

“Hey, are you all serious about helping?” I asked, stepping forward.

“Ah, Princess, might I say you look dashing in red,” the old man said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Uh, thanks?”

“Alright, now this is getting annoying,” Zoro said, scratching his head. “What if we do it this way!” he yelled. “Us three will handle taking down Doflamingo, while you guys watch our backs. Sound okay?”

“Absolutely not!” they all yelled in unison.

“This might be a tough negotiation, Zo,” I said, giving him a playful nickname.

“Forget it, there are way too many egos involved,” Zoro said, clearly frustrated.

I agreed with him. “Alright, everyone, listen up! I’m making the call here!” Luffy said, raising his voice. “If anyone’s going to kick Doflamingo’s ass the way it needs to be kicked, it’s going to be me!”

“What did you say?!” one of the men barked, grabbing Luffy roughly.

As I moved to intervene, a spear flew through the air and stopped me mid-step. “What the... a spear?!” I exclaimed, looking in the direction it came from.

“That’s where they were!” one of the voices said. “Splitting up all those bounties could be quite the haul!” said another.

“And the princess is looking rather good for someone with that high of a bounty,” another man added, making me step back uneasily.

“Let’s get that bounty!” one of them shouted.

“Weren’t they the toys from the factory?!” another man exclaimed. “Bastards, how dare they!” said another.

“You ungrateful swines, I’ll see you in hell!” roared the giant as he dealt with the hunters.

“Let’s go, guys!” I urged, turning to Zoro and Luffy.

“Yeah,” Zoro agreed. Just then, a bull charged out of the alley.

“It’s Ucy!” Luffy shouted. “I’ve got an idea!” With determination, Luffy led us to climb onto the bull’s back, and we started racing through the streets.

I clutched the tiara tightly as it began to slip. Zoro noticed and moved closer, his hands finding their way to my legs to secure me on the bull. His touch was firm and reassuring, and I could feel his warmth. “Hold on tight,” he said with a teasing grin. “Wouldn’t want you falling off now, would we?”

“Thanks, Zoro,” I said, trying to suppress the blush on my cheeks. “I appreciate the support.”

Law, still in sea prism stone handcuffs, glared at Zoro from a distance. His eyes were filled with frustration and jealousy. “I should be the one protecting her,” he grumbled under his breath, unable to hide his irritation at seeing Zoro so close to me.

"Master Pika! I spotted the Strawhats! They came right to us! Don’t let them get away!" one of Pika’s subordinates shouted as they began firing at us.

“What, Strawhat!” the old man’s voice boomed.

I turned slightly, still gripping my tiara, Zoro's arms tightening around me for security. “Looks like they followed us here, huh?” I said with a sigh.

“Huh, I told ya, I got this! Get lost!” Luffy shouted, as more and more of the group caught up, trying to attach themselves to the bull.

I shook my head, placing a hand on my forehead. “Well, this is... eventful,” I muttered.

“Luffy, what should we do with all this extra weight?” Zoro asked, his grip still firm on me.

“You bonehead, stop talking trash!” came Pika’s high-pitched voice, which caused all of us to burst out laughing in unison.

“Why is he so squeaky?!” we chorused, unable to hold back our laughter.

Pika’s face twisted with rage, launching a massive attack toward us. “Hope it was worth it! You’ll be laughing in your graves!”

Just then, two of our new allies sprang into action, managing to shatter Pika’s arm with their attacks. Zoro and I exchanged impressed glances.

“Way to go, guys!” I cheered, a smile spreading across my face.

But the celebration didn’t last long, as the bickering resumed almost immediately. The arguing over who would kill Doflamingo first started again, their voices rising over the sound of the crumbling debris.

“Why does it always come back to this?” I said, rolling my eyes as I looked at Zoro, who shared the same exasperated expression.

“Yeah, well, at least they managed to break something useful,” Zoro added with a smirk, still holding onto me as if it was second nature.

As the debris began to fall, Lucy (the bull) managed to dodge them with ease. "That was close. Yeah, giddy up!" Luffy shouted, excited to be riding the bull.

"Easy, boy, we’re all counting on you!" said one of the men on Luffy's side.

"Ah!" I yelped as I suddenly noticed a few more of the men clinging onto the bull. "When did they get here?!" I exclaimed, trying to keep my balance while still holding onto my tiara.

"Ah!" I gasped again, feeling Zoro’s grip on my leg tighten, his hand moving slightly higher.

"Zoro!" I whispered sharply, my face heating up.

"Relax," he said with that familiar, lazy grin. "Just making sure you stay on the bull."

I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath, "Yeah, right."

Luffy, completely oblivious to the tension, was laughing as usual. "Zoro, hold on tighter! This ride’s getting crazy!" he shouted, clearly enjoying the bull ride and trying to get the men clinging to us off.

"Oh, don’t worry, Captain, I’m holding on real tight," Zoro said with a smirk, causing me to blush at his comment. His hand on my leg felt both reassuring and heated.

"Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ve got you. Wouldn’t want you to fall off now," Zoro said, his eyes taking in my figure with a lingering gaze. The way he looked at me made my cheeks flush even more.

"You sure it’s not because of something else?" I teased, though I couldn’t help but smile faintly at his possessiveness.

Law, clearly frustrated and feeling a pang of jealousy, shot a glare at Zoro. "Roronoa, can you stop gripping her like that?"

Zoro’s smirk didn’t falter. "Hey, I’m just making sure she’s nice and secured. Wouldn’t want her to fall off with all this chaos going on."

Law, still handcuffed and unable to join the fray, grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, well, try not to enjoy it too much."

Despite the chaos, I found some comfort in Zoro’s presence. His confident grip and protective stance provided a sense of stability amidst the turmoil.

As we continued the wild ride, I leaned closer to Zoro, feeling the warmth of his body against mine. "Thanks, Zoro. I really do appreciate it."

Zoro’s eyes softened slightly as he looked down at me. "Just doing my job. And keeping you safe is part of that."

As the allies continued their fierce battle against the subordinates, we dodged bullets and struggled with the chaos around us. The argument over who would take down Doflamingo escalated, and tensions were high.

"He’s mine! Go away!" Luffy shouted, his frustration evident. Suddenly, rose petals began to drift down around us, settling on the bull and us.

"When did these get here?!" I exclaimed, brushing one off my hand.

"Haha," came a familiar, infuriating voice. "There’s no way…" I muttered, recognizing it immediately.

Cabbage appeared, landing gracefully on the bull’s back. "Cabbage!" Luffy said, clearly irritated.

"Ah, not this guy again?!" I said, trying to distance myself from Cabbage.

"Destiny, conquested its melody, bringing me back," Cabbage declared dramatically, holding a rose aloft. His gaze shifted to me, and he reached for my hand, pressing a theatrical kiss to my knuckles. "Princess, have you reconsidered my offer?"

"What part of ‘I’m not interested’ wasn’t clear?!" I said, exasperated.

Cabbage completely ignored me, leaning closer with a smirk. "Ahhh, such a feisty young princess. I could get used to that."

Before I could react, I felt a sudden jolt and found myself seated firmly on Zoro’s lap. His strong arms wrapped around me, his grip tight and commanding.

Zoro’s eyes narrowed, and he glared at Cabbage with a fierce intensity. "What the hell do you think you’re doing, Cabbage?"

Cabbage, undeterred, attempted to pry me away from Zoro. "Princess…" he cooed, reaching for my hand.

Zoro’s grip on my waist tightened even more, his hold almost possessive. "Don’t you dare touch her," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "She’s not going anywhere with you."

Cabbage’s persistent kisses on my hand only intensified Zoro’s protective stance. His hands remained firmly on my waist, making sure I was securely held against him.

"Get off me!" I demanded, trying to wrench my hand free from Cabbage’s ironclad grip. Despite my efforts, his hold remained unyielding.

Cabbage’s gaze was unwavering, his smirk persistent. “Ah, such a spirited princess. You’re even more captivating when you’re resisting.”

Zoro’s eyes flared with anger. “I said don’t touch her. Let go of her now!” His voice was a growl, filled with authority and frustration.

Cabbage’s grip didn’t waver as he leaned in, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that bordered on obsession. “Princess, you and I are destined to be together. Why resist such a fate?” His tone was both fervent and invasive.

I struggled to keep my balance on Zoro’s lap while desperately trying to shake off Cabbage’s unrelenting hold. “Are you out of your mind?!” I snapped, my voice a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Law, glaring at Cabbage with palpable anger, tried to intervene. “Cabbage, get your hands off her!”

Despite Law’s threat, Cabbage remained undeterred, his focus solely on me. Zoro, his protective instincts fully activated, tightened his grip around my waist, his expression a blend of concern and possessiveness.

Seeing the situation escalate, Luffy acted swiftly. With a powerful kick, he sent Cabbage flying off the bull. “Get lost!” he shouted, his irritation clear as he watched Cabbage hit the ground.

Cabbage landed roughly, his face contorted in frustration as he glared up at us.

“Thanks, Luffy,” I said, relief evident in my voice as I tried to steady myself.

“Don’t mention it,” Luffy replied, his eyes still fixed on Cabbage. “The guy was being a creep.”

Zoro, still holding me securely on his lap, looked at me with a protective concern. “Are you okay, Y/N?” His voice was soft but edged with a possessiveness that was hard to ignore.

I nodded, managing a small smile despite the chaos. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

Zoro’s gaze remained focused on me, his hand still firmly around my waist, ensuring that no one else could get close.

I took a moment to check my belongings, my mind racing with the need to ensure everything was still in place. “Rings, check. Bracelet, check. Anklet, check. Swords, check,” I muttered to myself, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as I confirmed that everything was secure.

Cabbage’s grip had been surprisingly strong, and with the tug-of-war between him and Zoro, I needed to make sure my rings and other items hadn’t fallen or been misplaced. Satisfied that everything was still intact, I took a deep breath and looked around, grateful for Zoro’s unwavering support and Luffy’s timely intervention.

As we continued to ride the bull, the allies and Cabbage remained hot on our tails, their bickering with Luffy about who would take down Doflamingo only escalating. The commotion around us seemed endless.

Feeling a mix of exhaustion and frustration, I laid my head on Zoro’s shoulder. "This constant bickering is getting out of hand," I sighed, closing my eyes briefly to collect my thoughts.

Zoro’s grip on me tightened slightly, his presence offering a comforting sense of stability amidst the chaos. "Tell me about it," he replied, his voice steady and calm. Just then, our unexpected guests froze, their bickering cut short. "What is it now?" I said, clearly annoyed. We all turned to see Pika towering before us, his massive form looming over. "I won't let you get near Doffy!" Pika growled, his arm regenerating and growing back to full size again.

I sighed, glancing at Zoro. "What a pain," I said, watching Pika’s arm slowly piece itself back together. The bull, Ucy, charged faster up Pika's arm as Luffy jumped off, ready for a fight.

"Mr. Strawhat!" one of the stowaways shouted in panic.

I smirked. "Don’t worry, he's got it!" I turned my attention to Luffy, who was already in full battle mode. "Third Gear! Armament Hardening!" Luffy shouted as his fist, now enormous and hardened, landed a clean hit on Pika's head. The impact was tremendous, and Luffy laughed triumphantly as Pika reeled back.

Zoro, meanwhile, carefully released me from his grip, his eyes narrowing with that sharp intensity he always had before a fight. He rolled his shoulders, getting ready.

"You sense something, Zo?" I asked, my gaze softening as I watched him. There was something captivating about him in moments like this, the way he stood so confidently, always prepared to face whatever came next. 

"Hey, Luffy!" Zoro suddenly shouted, drawing my attention back. Luffy was running alongside Ucy, laughing as usual. "Don’t celebrate just yet, the head you shattered was a stone decoy!"

“What?" I whispered in surprise. "So, does that mean squeaky got away?"

Zoro smirked as a massive figure emerged from the stone. "Well, well, looks like somebody’s pissed off. His real body’s up ahead!"

"You mean to tell me that huge guy is Pika—and he’s got that squeaky voice?!" I said in disbelief.

"He's got a huge katana! It’s not too late to turn around!" the unwanted guests on the bull screamed, clearly terrified.

Luffy grabbed Ucy—and us—leaping into the air just in time to dodge Pika’s colossal strike. "Hahaha, that voice gets me every time!" Luffy laughed, despite the danger.

"He's going to hit again!" someone yelled. Instinctively, I reached for my blades, preparing to defend us. But Zoro’s hand was already on mine, stopping me.

"Zoro, what are you—" I began, but he cut me off.

"I got this," Zoro said, his voice steady, never taking his eyes off Pika. His grip on his swords tightened, his entire body exuding confidence.

"Zoro..." I said quietly, concerned but trusting him completely.

"Y/N, stay with Luffy and Law!" Zoro ordered, his tone firm yet protective. "I’ll handle it from here!"

I nodded reluctantly as Luffy and I settled back on Ucy, the bull charging forward. "Be careful, Zoro!" I shouted after him as his figure grew smaller and smaller in the distance.

The guests, tears streaming down their faces, looked on in awe. "God, you have such badass friends," one of them cried.

Zoro smirked, glancing back one last time. "You go get him, Captain!" he yelled toward Luffy, before turning his full focus back to Pika.

"I'm gonna give Mingo the beating he deserves!" Luffy declared with fire in his eyes.

Minutes passed, and Ucy was gliding gracefully downward, inching closer to the palace. "Woohoo! Go, Ucy!" Luffy cheered, clearly exhilarated by the ride.

Taking advantage of the moment, I clenched my left hand, activating its power. With a burst of energy, I adjusted my balance on Ucy and leaped into the air, gracefully shifting to sit beside Luffy and Law. The unexpected guests below stared in awe, unable to hide their amazement. "How did she—" one of them exclaimed, while the other murmured, "She really is lethal!"

Ignoring their stunned reactions, I focused on Law, who was still in his cuffs, lying on the bull. I gently took a seat next to him, placing a hand on his forearm with a flirtatious smile. "You don’t mind if I sit next to you, do you, Law?" I asked, my fingers lightly tracing his arm. "I thought I'd offer a bit of company."

Law’s initial surprise was quickly replaced by a soft blush as he felt my touch. He flexed his forearm slightly, trying to appear nonchalant despite the rosy tint on his cheeks. "Comfort is always welcome, even in these circumstances," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of flustered amusement. "Especially when it comes with your company."

"Just you wait, Mingo," Luffy declared, his fist clenched in determination. "I don’t want anybody kicking your ass but me."

"Hey, Strawhat," Law said, grabbing Luffy's attention. "I realize we have no choice but to kill Doflamingo now." I reached for one of my blades from the thigh halter, feeling its familiar energy channel within me.

"I know that’s not the plan we had earlier," Law continued, his voice filled with resolve, "but to be completely honest with you, I want to make him suffer with my own hands. I won’t let him defeat me again."

Law hesitated for a brief moment, and I gave him a reassuring nod with my other hand. "Thirteen years ago, there was a person I cared for deeply, and Doflamingo killed him," Law said, his voice filled with pain.

"Law..." I whispered, my heart aching for him. I couldn’t imagine the suffering he must have endured.

"His name was Corazon. He was a top executive for the Donquixote Family."

I was stunned. Glancing at Luffy, I saw he was also processing this new information. "Mingo killed his own friend?" Luffy asked, incredulity in his voice.

"Corazon was the man who saved my life," Law continued, his gaze unwavering. "Corazon was more than just a member of the Donquixote Family. He was... his younger brother."

My hand went to my mouth in shock. "He... killed his own flesh and blood?" I whispered, unable to fully grasp the magnitude of Law's revelation.

Before I could say anything more, one of the unwanted guests interjected, "This is it, Strawhat! We are about to reach the bottom, and we have unexpected guests too!"

As Ucy glided down, I slowly rolled my shoulders, wincing slightly from the bullet wound on my left. I clutched my blade tightly, ready for action. "Yeah, we are the first ones to make it!" Luffy said, his excitement palpable. "That means we get first dibs on Mingo!"

"That’s what I’m talking about, Captain!" I said with a smile.

"Fire!" Luffy commanded as another round of bullets rained down on us.

"Allow me, Luffy," I said, smirking. Clenching the blade with my left hand, I felt the familiar fire blaze around it. With a swift motion, I leaped into the air, heading straight toward the subordinates. As I swung my blade, the bullets transformed into blazing fire, redirecting their trajectory back toward the enemies.

With precise control, I guided the fiery projectiles to impact the subordinates, sending them scattering in retreat. The flames danced around me as I landed gracefully back onto Ucy, “You made it look easy!” Luffy grinned, clearly impressed.

I chuckled, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face. “It’s all about confidence and control.”

Law, his cheeks slightly flushed, watched me with admiration. His eyes were wide with awe as he took in the display of power. He couldn’t help but smile, though his face betrayed a noticeable blush. “That was... incredible,” he managed, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. “The way you control the flames... it’s something else.”

I glanced at him, noticing his reaction. “Thanks, Law. I’m glad you think so.” 

His blush deepened as he spoke, making it clear that he was both impressed and somewhat flustered by what he had witnessed. “You really have a way of standing out,” he added, trying to sound nonchalant but failing to hide his admiration.

One of the unwanted guests, still trying to process the spectacle, stammered, “Did she really just turn those bullets into fire? That was incredible!”

We finally made it to the palace, still riding Ucy with the wind rushing past us. "Only an idiot would mess with the Strawhats!" exclaimed one of the unwanted guests behind us. I turned around, glancing at them in disbelief. “And why are they still here?” I muttered to myself, shaking my head slightly.

Luffy, clearly fed up, chimed in. "The idiots behind me can hit the road too!" He shot a look over his shoulder, causing them to nervously chuckle.

“Come on, Strawhat, you don’t mean that! We’re your buddies!” they said, laughing nervously.

I sighed, turning toward Luffy. "Looks like we’re stuck with them, huh?" I said, shaking my head in exasperation.

Before Luffy could respond, a voice shouted from the front, "Die, Strawhat!"

“Gomu Gomu no Stamp Gatling!” Luffy called out as he launched into a series of rapid-fire kicks, each one landing squarely on the faces of the subordinates ahead of us.

Amid the chaos, a sudden crackle on the transponder snail grabbed my attention. "Strawhat Luffy, Law, and the princess are all at the front part of the palace!" a subordinate yelled, trying to alert the others.

Without hesitation, I clenched my left hand, the fire still blazing within me, and fired a burst of flame straight at the transponder snail, hitting it dead-on. The subordinate yelped in fear as the device burst into flames.

“We won’t be needing any of that now, will we?” I said, turning my gaze back with a smirk.

The unwanted guests stared at me, wide-eyed and stunned. “She really is lethal!” they said in unison, admiration mixed with fear.

I just rolled my eyes, clearly unimpressed by their reaction. “Alright, let’s go!” Luffy shouted, full of energy. Ucy picked up speed as we continued toward the palace. 

Sabo POV… 

The heat of the flames surrounded both me and Fujitora, the air thick with tension and embers. He stood there, calm as ever, but I wasn’t backing down. "I don’t suppose if I asked nicely you’d move out of my way?" Fujitora asked, as if this were some casual conversation.

I grinned, flames flickering around me. "I suppose not. I stand with the Strawhat Pirates and those who’ve risen up to join them. So, if you or anybody else gets in their way... you won’t be taking another step." I wasn’t just speaking for them—I meant every word. I’d be damned if I let anything happen to them. The groans of fallen soldiers echoed in the background, a reminder of the destruction my previous attacks had caused.

"Is that the Revolutionary Army’s job?" Fujitora inquired, still maintaining his calm demeanor.

"It is now," I responded with a cocky smirk, standing tall. "And I think I can say that, seeing as I’m the Chief of Staff." My voice held firm, but there was something deeper in my words. "More so, I say that as a brother."

The marines were stunned, whispers circulating through their ranks. Fujitora remained unphased, but I could tell he was curious. "I see, that begs the question of who your sibling might be," he mused, still calm, even as chaos surrounded us.

The marines began cocking their guns, preparing for another pointless assault. "Don’t bother," Fujitora interrupted. "I know he’s our enemy, but you'd only be wasting ammunition."

"But Vice Admiral—!" one of the marines protested, looking between me and Fujitora.

"You’re leaders, right?" I said, flames swirling around me. "None of you stand a chance."

Just then, a marine, not heeding the warning, fired a shot at me. The bullet was no match for the Flame-Flame Fruit’s power; my flames absorbed it effortlessly. I smirked, relishing the surprise on their faces. "Told ya," I said, glancing at them. "I ate the Flame-Flame Fruit."

The marines stood there, stunned by the revelation. A few more bullets followed, but they all met the same fate—burnt to ash before they even touched me.

"What the hell, man!? Nobody’s fingers should be that strong!" a marine shouted, his voice shaky with disbelief.

I chuckled, feeling the power surge within me. "These aren’t fingers—they’re claws." With a swift motion, I grabbed one of their weapons and crushed it like it was made of paper. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I sent a Fire Fist crashing into the marines, flames erupting and engulfing the area. Some fell immediately, unable to withstand the heat.

"Physical attacks don’t work on him!" one of the vice admirals shouted as he launched his own attack, swinging a sharp cleaver in my direction. I caught it mid-strike, stopping the blow with ease before breaking the cleaver in half with a single motion.

I smirked again. "By the way, once these claws grab a human skull, they can shatter it like an egg."

Before I could follow through with another attack, I felt something—a sudden shift in the air. A meteor. Fujitora’s doing, no doubt. The Birdcage sliced it into pieces before it could fully descend.

"Ah, man, should’ve thought that one through," Fujitora said, his tone almost amused.

I emerged from the smoke, holding onto the vice admiral’s mask. "I know admirals are nothing to scoff at, but that’s one hell of a trick." I wasn’t hiding my admiration, though I made it clear I wasn’t backing down. "I’m still getting used to my new powers," I said, flashing a confident grin.

"You’ve really caused quite the mess," Fujitora commented, though I could tell he wasn’t entirely blaming me.

"Not half as much as you," I shot back, incredulous at the destruction around us.

Fujitora’s eyes softened, as if recalling something. "You mentioned your duty as a brother. It reminds me of Fire Fist Ace. He said that Strawhat Luffy was his brother, though not by blood. Are you his brother?"

His question hit me harder than expected. Memories of Ace, Luffy, and I flashed through my mind—the day we exchanged sake cups, the bond we swore to never break. "The three of us… exchanged a cup of sake. Even in death, our bond will never break," I said, my voice steady though the weight of the memory pressed down on me.

Fujitora remained silent, listening.

I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar pain of not being there for Ace when he needed me most. But this time, I swore things would be different. "Mark my words," I continued, my eyes locked with Fujitora’s, "no matter where I am, or what I’m doing, even if I have to abandon my duties, I won’t let him down. I’ll be there for Luffy."

Fujitora seemed to understand the depth of my promise. But this wasn’t over yet. His next move was coming. I could feel it.

As his first attack launched, I readied myself, gripping the metal pipe tightly in my hands. The flames engulfed me once more, power surging through me.

"Luffy, I swear… I’ll protect you," I thought, as the battle began again.

Y/N POV… 

"Go! Go! Go!" Luffy’s excitement radiated as Ucy barreled forward, knocking down subordinates like they were nothing more than mere obstacles. I tightened my grip, not wanting to be thrown from the bull with all the chaos unfolding around us.

"Luffy? What’s that ahead?" I squinted as the debris began to clear, trying to make sense of the figure coming into view.

Suddenly, Ucy halted abruptly, throwing me forward into Luffy, while Law—ever quick—caught me from behind, softening the impact before the two unwanted guests behind us could knock me over entirely.

"Oww!" I groaned, rubbing my head, feeling the weight of my tiara, making sure it was still secure.

"Cabbage!" Luffy shouted.

I stared, completely stunned. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me!"

Before I could fully comprehend the absurdity of the situation, I felt a hand settle firmly on my waist. Looking down, I saw the familiar "DEATH" tattoo on Law’s knuckles. His touch sent a jolt through me, not just from the contact but the possessive energy behind it.

"Don’t worry, princess," Law said, his voice low and dripping with possessiveness. "Even in these sea prism cuffs, I’m not letting him try anything." His tone was both protective and slightly irritated, adding a layer of tension that made my heart race.

I glanced forward and, to my absolute disbelief, Cabbage was there, sitting tall on his white stallion, with a rose in his mouth like some ridiculous storybook hero.

"This man can’t be for real," I muttered, barely able to believe my eyes.

And then, in true dramatic fashion, Cabbage pulled out a megaphone. "Pardon me, but I'll be taking the lead!" he announced loudly, as if we were all here just to witness his grand performance.

"You mean to tell me he actually has that?" I said, shaking my head in disbelief.

Cabbage's gaze landed on me, his voice filled with exaggerated charm, "Why, princess, it seems destiny keeps placing you in my path. Could it be fate that brings us together?" His declaration was loud enough for the whole world to hear.

That was it.

I clenched my blade tighter, feeling the familiar surge of energy pulsing through it. My patience was thinning by the second.

"You idiot!" I snapped. "Why don’t you just scream it to the heavens while you’re at it? Are you trying to get me taken?!" My frustration echoed through the battlefield, as I gripped my blade, ready to unleash its energy if I had to.

Law’s hand on my waist tightened, his presence grounding me, but I could still feel the tension radiating off him. He rolled his eyes slightly at Cabbage’s antics.

Cabbage simply laughed off my frustration, as if my outburst was nothing more than a playful jest, before charging ahead on his white stallion, heading straight towards where Doflamingo was waiting.

"Damn it! I thought I was taking a shortcut for sure," Luffy groaned, his eyes set on Cabbage speeding off. "We gotta pick up the pace, Ucy!" He urged the bull forward, but the gap between us and Cabbage was widening.

Just then, I noticed the crowd we had left behind earlier was now catching up. "How are they catching up to us?" I muttered in disbelief.

"This sucks! We’re losing!" Luffy growled, gritting his teeth in frustration.

As if on cue, the subordinates started firing again. "Shoot the bull!" one of them yelled. Ucy bucked and dodged as bullets whizzed past us, causing all of us to bounce precariously. We clung to Ucy as best as we could, but the wild movement was making it harder to maintain grip.

"Damn these idiots!" I cursed, feeling my grip slipping. Just then, a figure launched himself at the attackers, throwing punches left and right.

"Hey, crapbags! Keep your paws off Strawhat!" the man shouted, knocking subordinates down with each hit.

"Luffy, you know him?" I asked, squinting at the guy in confusion.

"Not a clue," Luffy replied casually.

The man let out an exaggerated groan, clearly offended. "Why, you're breaking my heart, Strawhat! I was in Block C, remember? It's Kelly Funk!" He pouted, trying to jog Luffy’s memory.

Luffy blinked, clueless. "Who?"

Funk let out an exasperated sigh. "Your buddy God Usopp saved my tail today! Just bein' friendly!" he explained, landing another punch on someone sneaking up from behind.

"Anyways," Funk continued, "I found a shortcut you can use! It'll take you right to the Sunflower Field and straight to the palace!"

"Really?!" Luffy's eyes lit up with excitement. "That's awesome! Thank you so much!"

"Yeah, thanks!" I added, trying to maintain my grip on Ucy. But as Funk turned around and his eyes met mine, his cheeks flushed a deep pink.

"Wh-Why… Pr-Princess…" he stammered, swallowing hard. "I… I must say, seeing you in person is truly a rare sight indeed."

I raised an eyebrow, surprised at his sudden bashfulness. "Why do you say that?"

"Because… when I saw your name pop up on Doflamingo’s list, I couldn’t believe it! Might I say, red really does highlight your features more." He smiled nervously, clearly flustered.

I returned a polite, short smile, feigning sweetness. "Can you take us to this shortcut you found?"

"Of course! It’s the least I can do! Right this way!" Funk exclaimed, still blushing as he led the way.

As Ucy continued to follow Funk, I leaned closer to Luffy, lowering my voice. "There's something off about him, Luffy," I murmured, glancing at Funk suspiciously. "I don’t trust him. Keep your guard up."

Luffy looked at me, confused. "Huh? You think so? He seems helpful."

I narrowed my eyes at Funk’s back. "Just a gut feeling. Let’s stay sharp."

As Funk led the way, I was still processing the unexpected situation when Law’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Hey, Strawhat, we need to find the keys to the cuffs. There’s no point in reaching the palace if I can’t fight. At this rate, Doflamingo will just kill me.”

Luffy paused, his expression thoughtful. “Eh, it’ll all work out. Or at least I hope it does!” He said, chuckling to himself.

Law’s frustration was evident. “What if it doesn’t? If we don’t win this fight, then we’re all dead!” His voice was a mix of urgency and annoyance.

Sensing his mounting frustration, I stepped closer to Law, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “Hey, don’t stress too much,” I said, offering him a teasing smile. “We’ve handled worse. And if anyone can get us through this, it’s Luffy. 

Law looked at me, his frustration softening slightly. “You make it sound so easy.”

I leaned in a bit, my fingers lightly brushing against his arm. “Well, it might be easier if you stay calm. I’ve heard that a little distraction can go a long way.”

His eyes widened slightly as I gently traced a finger along his cuff. “A distraction?”

I flashed him a playful grin. “Yeah. You know, just to keep your mind off things. It might help you stay focused.”

Law’s cheeks reddened a bit as he tried to maintain his composure. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

I chuckled, giving him a flirtatious look. “Oh, I’ve got a few ideas.

I started, but before Law could respond, Funk abruptly stopped and revealed the passageway. “There’s something unsettling about this,” I said, eyeing Funk suspiciously.

“Luffy? Are you sure about this?” I asked, still feeling uneasy.

“It’s our only shot to the palace faster, Y/N,” Luffy said confidently.

I glanced at Funk, then back at Luffy, and sighed. “Alright, captain, if you say we should trust it, then let’s go.” I smiled, trying to push away my concerns.

“Ucy! Let’s go!” Luffy called out as we entered the narrow tunnel. The unwanted guests, who had managed to hit their heads on the entrance, tumbled off the bull.

“Ah well, we didn’t need them, did we?” Law remarked, glancing at the two fallen guests.

“Nope, no turning back now. To the sunflower field!” I said encouragingly as we continued riding Ucy.

Just then, we heard the sound of a transponder snail. “Looks like it’s coming from your pocket, Law,” I said, noticing the source.

“Get it,” Law instructed. I reached into his pocket, retrieved the snail, and handed it to Luffy.

“Hello, this is Luffy, the man who’s going to be the King of the Pirates!” Luffy announced with his usual enthusiasm, causing me to chuckle at his exuberance.

“Hi Luffy, it’s me,” came the familiar voice.

“Robin!” we both exclaimed, relieved to hear a familiar voice from our crew.

“Right now, we’re at the plateau, same as before. And you?” Robin asked.

“We’re at the bottom of that other plateau, on the way to some sunflower field,” Luffy replied, keeping his focus on the path ahead.

“Good news, Viola found the keys to the cuffs. Let’s meet up,” Robin said.

“Oh, thank goodness!” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Let’s hurry.”

Law, visibly relieved, looked hopeful. “This is Leo, from the Tontatta tribe. Soon, Ms. Rebecca, the rooster guy, and Robin will be heading over there at supersonic speed,” Leo added.

I couldn’t help but gush at his adorable voice. “Aww, his voice sounds so adorable,” I said with a smile.

With that, we ended the call. “It’s pretty dark down here, huh?” I said, looking ahead.

“See, it all worked out!” Luffy said with his characteristic grin.

“Yeah, by coincidence?!” Law retorted, still visibly frustrated

I gave Law a teasing smile, leaning in despite his cuffs. “Progress is progress, and you’ve definitely earned this,” I said softly before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, leaving a faint red lip stain.

Law’s face immediately flushed with color, and he shifted uncomfortably, unable to touch his cheek due to the cuffs. “Y/N…” he stammered, his usual cool demeanor cracking under the sudden affection.

I chuckled at his reaction, finding his flustered state endearing. “You look cute with a little blush on your cheeks,” I said, enjoying the sight of his reaction. 

I said, enjoying the sight of his reaction. As I turned my attention forward, I heard Law’s concerned voice.

“Hey! One second, feels like this passage is sloping down,” he warned.

Suddenly, we found ourselves in a flooded area. “Turn back! This place is flooded!” Law said urgently.

“Crap,” I muttered, glancing around at the rising water. “I knew I had a bad feeling about this,” I admitted.

“Huh? I thought this was a shortcut to the top of the plateau?” Luffy questioned, his confusion evident.

“It’s a dead end!” I said, trying to think quickly. “We gotta get out of here now!” I commanded, urging Ucy to navigate out of the water.

“Wait, you guys hear that?” I said, my senses alert as slow footsteps approached.

“This is nothing more than a sideways water well, more of a trap if you will,” a voice echoed through the passage.

“It’s…” I began, clenching my blade tightly.

“It’s Doflamingo!” Luffy said, his voice filled with determination.

The tension in the air was palpable as Doflamingo’s presence became more pronounced. I felt a mix of anticipation and anxiety, readying myself for whatever confrontation lay ahead.

[theshadowrealmitself]

Infodump on something you’re working on? Just anything. Go for it.

I wanted to do this as an actual story, I had it geared up, but demand avoidance or whatever dictated that I didn’t fucking finish it, so I’m just gonna talk about what I was gonna write here:

So, recap, for anyone who hasn’t seen my other post, a Vulcan who recently graduated from the Academy has not gotten a ship assignment yet and is working on a case where a bunch of Academy students keep getting found with illegal contraband, and Starfleet wants to know where from

So the Vulcan, Nesheh, looks into it, based on advice they got from an older Vulcan who’s been in Starfleet for longer, and finds out that a popular establishment that always has rumors circulating around it because it employs mainly Orion women is connected to another establishment with almost the same name, that people thought was a coincidence

So Nesheh is thinking that the establishment (I forget what I called them, I think it was Veqqie’s: D&E, and plain Veqqie’s?) is doing something illegal, and they’re just using the second location to hide it, and that’s why they’ve never been caught

So Nesheh goes to confront Birdie (a Human friend of his that he may or may not have a crush on), cause Birdie works at the “unsuspicious” Veqqie’s

That’s where we left off, the conclusion:

Nesheh confronts Birdie, and Birdie agrees to reveal it all, why the other location mainly employs Orion women, why so many rumors run rampant, why the authorities never find anything suspicious in that location

The secret?

“There’s nothing illegal actually happening.”

D&E employs Orion women so that customers, mainly Human men, will think they can get away with something

It’s an entire script that comes from corporate

The Orion server escorts the customer(s) to their table, making sure to flirt and be very nice, but oh! they’re so packed! they can’t stay and talk anymore, they have to do their job 🥺 unless, you could buy this [horribly upmarked item on the menu] 🥺

Which is actually a really simply drink, but it’s made at the table, so the server can stay and talk longer, and they just keep doing that, getting every customer at every table to spend a wild amount of money, because the customers think they’ll get lucky

And why do they think they’ll get lucky? It’s not just because the servers are so nice, but because there’s always rumors being fueled

So why the second location? To help spread the rumors! Every time a customer comes in, Birdie “makes sure” that they know they’re at the right location and not that “sleazy other location” where the servers are “too friendly” with customers

(There’s also supposed to be a whole thing where Birdie works with a Ferengi who had no idea about any of this)

(Birdie also is specifically friends with some of the Orions and is like “those girls pay our bills, how tf do you think this location stays open?”)

Veqqie’s is in no way connected to any illegal stuff, it’s way more profitable for them to be on the right side of the law, it would’ve been a logical guess, but the world doesn’t just always work out “logically”

At this point, Nesheh would realize that it would’ve been incredibly logical for it to be this “shady” place ran by Orions, and he comes to a sickening realization that his Vulcan coworker is a part of the contraband ring and deliberately set him on the wrong path

I am so mad at myself not finishing the small fucking drabble, but at least now I have it written on a post!!

Thank you so much for asking!!!!!

[metalnecklace]

There Was Heaven In Your Eyes

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader (plus size)

Words: 4054

Notes: Still not as much Javi in this one, but it’s getting there for sure. Pablo Escobar is in this one a bit. Also I tried to stay as close to the timeline as possible but I probably overlooked a few things, sorry about that!

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Threats of Violence, Not the Best Spanish Translations, Pablo Escobar

Masterlist

Chapter 2

Months went by in the blink of an eye. Turns out Luis used to talk about me to the other men working for Pablo, and would brag about his kid having a great teacher that he got to look at. Because of this glowing review, and the need to stay out of the public eye, Pablo decided to hire me as a nanny for his two children, providing me with a new identity and passport to match. He wanted to make me disappear as quickly as possible, which happened to align with my interests as well.

It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that I was not just employed by a drug cartel, but I was working directly under the boss. I knew he was not a good person, but his children were sweet. I kept my head down and focused on making sure they were cared for and his wife, Tata, was supported while I was given a roof over my head and food and clothes.

I never left the properties that we stayed at unless we had to move. It was too dangerous. There were times I hardly left the houses, which weren’t too bad but I tended to feel claustrophobic at times.

I hardly ever saw Pablo, unless he was coming to check in on his children. Usually it was just Tata, Pablo’s mother, and I using our small understanding of each other's languages to get by. I was grateful, but I still wondered if my day to day life was an improvement on how I had been living.

Finally a year passed with me working for the Escobar family. Things had started getting tense with Pablo moving us around more, which caused Tata to grow irritable. Pablo’s mother insisted that we trust him, but it was hard when I heard the men talking about different things that had been going on. I only caught some words here and there, my Spanish getting better but still not a hundred percent.

Weeks went by where I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing my life in Canada. Old friends, family members, and even better memories of my husband played out behind my eyelids like my own home movie. I yearned for some of my life to return, but knew better than to hope.

Some nights when I couldn’t sleep I found myself pulling out the folded up card I was given just over a year earlier. It was thin and frayed, the lines well worn in from being unfolded and folded back up time and time again. I didn’t need to look at the numbers anymore, having committed them to memory, but I found comfort just reading over his name at times.

Javier Peña.

I was embarrassed to admit to myself how much I fantasized about what might happen if I called him. How would his voice sound? Would I have the nerve to actually talk to him? I had only been trying to do my job, but I wondered what would have happened if I had given him the information he needed back in that classroom.

Fantasies were what kept me going as I blocked out the evidence that things were falling apart day by day. Tata’s hands shook while she did dishes, their children often asked questions that I couldn’t answer about their father, and Pablo was seen less and less.

I was outside by the pool with the kids one day when I heard some of the men talking. I couldn’t understand everything they were saying, but the words La Catedral were being said over and over again.

Tata had explained briefly to me what was going to be happening, considering things would change slightly at home. Pablo was going to prison, but one that he built. A paradise it sounded like.

Except his family would stay behind, as would I. I was grateful for that, even though I knew it would be hard for them to be apart for so long. I just didn’t want to be that close to his operations, even though I was already almost as close as you could get.

I was settling into bed one night after a long day. The children were restless, wondering why their father was leaving them, so I spent most of the day trying to raise their spirits and reassure them of their fathers love. It was hard to promise something that I didn’t quite believe, myself, but I did care for them and hated to see them be upset.

The house was quiet, as my room was just far enough that I could hear if the kids were awake but that was it. Pablo and Tata’s room was too far away for me to hear anything, luckily, but I knew they wouldn’t be asleep yet anyway. It was almost eerie how quiet everything was. There was nothing that could drown out the thoughts and worries that spun around in my head. I felt my fingers itching to reach for that card held snug in my wallet when the silence was broken.

My ears rung and my lungs filled with dust. Part of my wall was collapsed onto the floor at the foot of my bed. There had been an explosion, and I had to act fast.

I raced to the kids rooms without a second thought for my own safety. Pablo held his daughter in his arms, shielding her head with his hand and neck, his son was already with Tata who was frantic. Pablo rushed us out of harm's way and into a separate room. I helped Tata settle the children as Pablo paced back and forth.

His doctor came rushing in with Gustavo right behind him. They spoke fast between each other while the doctor checked us over, making sure we were alright.

“Fue un autobomba, desde la calle,” Gustavo told Tata. (It was a car bomb, from the street).

Without acknowledging it, we all knew that meant somebody had given him up.

I needed to get out of there.

I tried to focus on a plan, but Pablo’s men seemed to double around the house we were moved into. I couldn’t seem to catch a break, always finding somebody around the corner just watching. Even when I was alone in my room at night I had the feeling of a presence just outside my door.

It all came to a head when the family had just sat down for dinner one day. I had helped Tata prepare the meal and the table for her family before going to take a break in my room. As I was leaving I bumped into one of Pablo’s men, one I had seen many times. He paid me no mind as he rushed into the kitchen. I paused, wondering about the ghostly look that his face displayed before I heard wailing behind me. I turned and rushed back into the kitchen to find Pablo holding his mother who was in absolute shambles.

Pablo turned to me, his face more serious than I had ever seen. “Gustavo está muerto.”

Tata looked at me and I could tell I was not wanted in this intimate moment. I scurried out of the room and into mine, closing and locking the door behind me. My knees were wobbly as I made my way to my bed before I laid on my back, trying my best to keep my breathing even.

Gustavo was dead. A man who I started to believe was untouchable. Just like that, he was gone.

I couldn’t tell what I was feeling. Relief, mostly, but also worry. What was going to happen next?

The answer to my question was apparently nothing.

Pablo still went to his prison, life at home was still the same. The kids missed their father, but they still did their best to live their lives.

Tata started to allow me to leave the property just to go to the market if I ever felt I needed to. As long as I had some of Pablo’s men with me. It felt nice to finally get out a bit, but I knew I wasn’t truly free. I still had eyes on me at all times.

The family visited Pablo in Le Catedral a few times, but I stayed behind. I was never completely alone in the house, but I still felt much lighter on those days. I also found my eyes straying toward the phones, Javier’s number rolling through my mind each time I was alone. It would have been so easy to dial, listening for the sound of his voice.

I had only spoken to the man once, but something kept me hanging on. He was my last connection to the world outside of the war I was living through. I didn’t even know if he would still be on the other end of the line, or if he was still working for the DEA, or if he was even still alive.

I tried not to dwell on those thoughts and kept myself away from temptation, only worrying about preparing meals and keeping the house tidied for when they would return. I had thought about running, trying to leave, but my guilt wouldn’t let me leave the children when I could tell they were unsure of what was going on. They asked more and more questions that I couldn’t answer, but I tried to fill our days with moments of peace.

I continued each day the same, and soon the days blended together. I surrendered myself to the idea that I would never live free again. I sealed my fate the day I left home, and would live the rest of my life for others.

Things didn’t even change when I was woken up by people talking outside. I had been exhausted by the day to day steadiness and had gone to bed fairly early that night. I listened closely and could hear Pablo’s mother exclaiming. I knew in my gut what was going on.

He was home.

I left my room and walked into the kitchen where Pablo entered with his arm around Tata. He looked up and released Tata so he could stand directly in front of me, bringing his hands up to cradle each side of my face. I tried my hardest not to flinch at the warmth of his palms, remembering the last time I had felt them.

“Thank you for caring for mi familia.”

My eyes caught on the graying hair by his temples, then to the dark circles under his eyes. Clearly it had not been a paradise.

I nodded, his hands shifting against my skin. “Siempre, Pablo.” (Always, Pablo).

He smiled and lowered his hands, returning to his wife.

All was right once again for the family.

We settled back into our routines again, and I was still allowed to go out to the market once a week. I wasn’t sure who was more excited about that, me or the driver who escorted me. He usually spent most of his time flirting with one of the cashiers while he let me go about my business.

This worked out very well until one evening when I needed to grab a few things for the weekend. The kids had been wanting to help me prepare a meal for their parents and gave me a list of items to purchase. It seemed like a normal outing, but the regular cashier looked tense as soon as we walked in.

“Cariño, ¿por qué pareces tan preocupado?” Hugo, my escort, asked her. (Baby, why do you look so worried?)

“No hay razón, sólo me siento mal.” She shook her head at him while he held her hands. (No reason, just feeling off.)

I left them to talk as I worked my way down the aisles. I knew that market like the back of my hand, and especially loved the freedom that came with nobody knowing who I was.

Until I heard my name. My full name. My real name.

I immediately looked up in the direction it came from, mentally punishing myself for giving away my identity, before my eyes landed on him.

I could feel my lips part around a gasp as I laid my eyes on Javier Peña. He looked just the same as he did the day I saw him, only this time he wore a leather jacket that I had no doubt concealed another gun tucked into his pants.

“(Y/F/N),” he said again, and I hated how much I loved the way my name sounded coming from his lips, “that’s you, right?”

I drew in a shaky breath. “Lo siento, no sé de qué estás hablando,” I told him. (I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about).

He huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth going up. “Your accent is much better than before, but you’re not fooling me, sweetheart.”

My heart was beating so loud I was sure he could hear it as he stepped closer.

He lowered his voice. “You disappeared that day. I went back to find you, but you were gone. What’ve you been up to?” His eyes shifted around us to confirm we were alone.

Before I could even think of an answer I heard yelling toward the front of the store, a gunshot, then screaming.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath. “Come with me, (Y/N).”

He reached out to grab my arm but I pulled back. I didn’t want to be taken again, even though I could see the understanding and care in the pools of his eyes. I shook my head at him and turned toward the footsteps rushing in our direction.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered before turning to go toward the commotion. A hand grabbed onto my arm, pulling me back toward the agent.

I could feel myself getting lost in his eyes yet again as he pulled me closer to him.

“Please,” he begged.

“I can’t, Javi.” I pulled away from him, watching his eyes darken slightly at my use of his nickname.

Another gunshot rang out, causing him to curse again and retrieve his gun. Hugo rounded the corner, gun aiming straight toward Javi, who shot toward Hugo first just barely missing him. Hugo shot again, forcing Javi to take cover before I was pulled in the line of fire. I was being used as cover for Hugo as he pulled me toward the front of the store.

“Get to the car, now,” he snarled in my ear and pushed me to the doors.

I ran as fast as I could trying to ignore the body of the cashier that laid between the cash and the exit. Her face was frozen in a look of terror, which I was sure mirrored mine.

More gunshots rang out behind me as I ducked into the back of the car. I knew the drill: keep myself tucked down between the back and front seats with my head as far down as possible.

Hugo slid into the front and sped out of the parking lot, jostling me against the seats.

“She ratted us out,” he panted as though he was still running. “La putita era una rata.” (The little whore was a rat).

We sped along twisting this way and that until we finally came to a stop. Hugo turned around as I wiggled my body up onto the seat properly.

“What did he say to you?” He asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t really know, it was all Spanish and I didn’t quite understand.”

He nodded, turning back to the front. “Okay.”

We got inside and Hugo left to talk to Pablo about what had happened. I went straight to my room and laid on my bed. After a few seconds I rolled onto my stomach, buried my face in my pillow, and cried.

I was so frustrated with myself. Once again I was given a lifeline and I didn’t take it. It would have been so easy. Instead I just froze. That’s all I had been doing ever since I moved to Colombia. However, the last time I had done the opposite was the day I had left. I was still dealing with those consequences.

Because of the incident at the market I was no longer allowed out. Pablo had been right all along, it was too risky. I was beyond frustrated with myself, the family, and the entire world, as I was once again a prisoner.

I no longer felt like I had any sense of how many days, weeks, months, had passed. Had been passing. I had grown numb to the timeline. My mornings were filled with teaching and caring for the children, my afternoons and evenings were for cooking and cleaning. I rose and set with the sun.

One evening the entire family was outside enjoying the weather after their dinner. Pablo looked over at me as I sat with his children in the shade of a tree.

“Rest, you look tired,” he said, nodding his head toward the house. He reached over and held Tata’s hand. “Lo tenemos.” (We got it).

“Gracias,” I thanked him before bidding the children goodnight. I stood and walked into the house, my feet automatically pulling me in the direction of the phone in their bedroom.

I wasn’t even thinking as I dialed the numbers. The movement felt well practiced, though I had only ever dialed that number in my head.

He picked up on the third ring.

“Agent Peña.” His voice was gruff and laced with exhaustion. I choked back a sob at the sound of it.

“Javier?” It was all I was able to say, my eyes filling with tears, my hand trembling terribly.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed the nickname out like it was a part of him.

I felt my throat constricting, unable to do more than choke on my words.

“It’s okay, respira,” he spoke calmly, helping my heart rate begin to slow down. (Breathe). “Where are you?”

“I-I don’t know,” I finally got out. “I’m with the family, but I don’t know where we are.”

Yet again I was frustrated with the way I kept my head down. I had kept it too far down, which was exactly what Pablo had wanted. The less I knew the better.

“That’s alright, we’ve got guys flying overhead,” he still kept his voice steady. “We’ll find you, lo prometo.” (I promise).

The dial tone buzzed in my ears. I looked down at the receiver to find someone had hung up. Pablo stood just behind me with a fire in his eyes that I had never seen directed toward me.

“¿Quién?” He asked. I averted my gaze. “¿Con quién hablabas?” (Who? Who were you talking to?).

“Nobody,” I lied, horribly. “Nobody, Pablo.”

He shook his head, stepping closer.

“Una vez más.” His voice laced its way into my heart, turning my blood cold. “Quién.” (One more time. Who.).

My whole body was trembling, my mouth opening and closing like a fish. If I wasn’t so scared I would’ve been embarrassed at my state.

He rushed forward, bringing his hand up to my neck and pushing me toward the wall. My head hit the surface with a thunk, making me gasp and struggle to see straight for a moment. When my eyes finally settled on the man in front of me I realized just how close he was to me. His face hovered less than an inch in front of my nose, a snarl spread on his lips. He looked like he was about to eat me alive.

“¿Crees que eres inteligente? Pequeña rata.” (You think you’re smart? You little rat).

I gasped as his grip tightened, my airway closing more and more. My breaths felt sharp as I struggled to keep my eyes open.

“No. Eres peor que una rata.” (No. You’re worse than a rat.). He let up on my throat, allowing me to take in more air. Just enough that he could keep my attention. “Eres un traidor.” (You’re a traitor.).

“P-Pablo,” I sputtered, barely getting any sound out, “por favor.”

He turned his head to the side and spit at my feet. I cringed at the sound, and closed my eyes.

“Mìrame,” he demanded. (Look at me.).

I obeyed, opening my eyes as he cocked the gun that now rested against my temple.

“¿Crees que alguien más te protegerá? ¿Después de todo lo que hemos hecho? Debería matarte…” he trailed off, lowering the gun and letting go of my throat. (Do you think anyone will protect you? After everything we’ve done for you? I should kill you…).

I dropped to my knees, my hands rushing to my throat while I coughed and gasped. The ground felt as though it was moving under me. Pablo knelt down to look at me face to face once more.

“¿Cómo pudiste hacerlo? ¿A la familia? ¿A los niños?” (How could you do this to us? To the family? To the children?). I choked back a sob. “¿Crees que no entrarán aquí con sus malditas armas? Los matarán. They’ll kill my children.” (Do you think they won’t come in here with their fucking guns? They’ll kill them.).

I was fully sobbing, shaking my head back and forth. “Lo siento, Pablo. I don’t want the children getting hurt.” (I’m sorry, Pablo.). My throat felt raw, the words coming out raspy.

My translations weren’t coming as easy as they had been, but I got the gist of what he was saying. It was my fault that his children would be getting hurt. I dug their graves with my bare hands and stupid decisions.

“¿Quieres ser una rata? Muy bien. You’ll live like one.” (You want to be a rat? Fine.). He stood back to his full height and tucked his gun into the back of his pants. “Ya verás lo que pasa cuando se den cuenta de que eres un inútil. Fucking useless.” (You’ll see what they do when they realize you’re useless.).

He spit on the floor once more, just missing me, and turned to leave. Before walking out of the door he looked at me.

“You’ll live out the rest of your life in fear. You’re a disgrace.” He growled, reaching into his pocket and throwing something on the floor. Then he walked away.

I sat on the floor trying to catch my breath and calm my nerves. A sharp pain drove through my skull when I laid my head on the wall behind me, causing me to hiss. After a few minutes I finally stood and made my way to the object on the floor. I gasped when I realized it was the card with Javier’s info on it. I felt so stupid thinking I could keep that from Pablo.

I ran to the front of the house, just in time to see Pablo in the backseat of a car with his family, all of their eyes on me. My heart cracked as I looked into the eyes of his children. I truly did care for them. They were innocent, stuck with the roles they were born into.

Pablo shook his head, disappointment clear on his features, as they drove away into the setting sun. One of his men was still lingering in his vehicle as the rest drove away. He leaned out his window and whistled for my attention.

“¡Eh, puta! If any of us see your face, you’re fucked!” He raised his gun out of his window and shot once into the sky. I flinched with the sound, and watched him drive off, cackling.

It was obvious that Pablo had been ready. He knew that I was cracking, probably knew my plans for weeks, if not months, depending on when he found that card. I had it just the night before but he could’ve gone through my things at any point. His family had been packed away into the car with their necessary belongings while he had been catching me.

I ran back to the phone and lifted it to my ear. Nothing. They had cut the lines.

“Fuck!” I shouted, throwing the phone against the wall I had been held against. I watched it shatter into pieces and rain onto the floor.

I was truly alone.

[sinisterexaggerator]

Headcanon...?

Spoilers for a fic I will write eventually?

Do not read if you do not like made-up, author-indulgent backstories for characters who exist in the GFFA. This one is almost hard to post because it's kind of personal. Like, a story so plot driven that I am nervous people will hate my interpretation and my ships. Oh well, I guess, it's happening.

A discussion in the Duros hoes chat, and then between me and @allsystemsblue, got me thinking about what is Cad Bane's real name? It sure as hell ain't Cad Bane. A lot of the fandom seems to agree on that. "Cad" and "bane" are both words in the dictionary that can be defined.

Cad: a man who behaves dishonorably, especially toward a woman. / scoundrel / rogue / rascal.

Bane: a cause of great distress or annoyance. / scourge / ruin / death.

We shall come back to this.

I have a scene mapped out for Stars Above in which I want Cad to run into his sister. I have a plan for his backstory that does not include this particular fanfic, but another, a series I am working on that will be entitled "Annuals of an Outlaw," and is essentially a collection of works I have outlined that will contain my version of Cad Bane's "story" from his beginnings on Duro in the Descent Ghetto, to after the Clone Wars and beyond.

Yes, it will have smut. And angst. Lots and lots of angst. Many character will appear, including Jango, Hondo, Aurra, Bossk, Embo, Zam, Dengar, Todo 360, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and even Boba at some point. Oh, and let us not forget Shriv Suurgav. :)

Yes, Shriv.

You cannot stop me. Don't even try. This is my magnum opus, and by God it will make sense narratively. Just you wait. Or don't. I don't care. I am still going to write this thing if it's the last thing I ever do.

First of all, I enjoy playing around with Star Wars name generators. That is how I came up with the name of my OC, Zulara. I started sifting through them, piecing last names together with other first names, and voilà, a new name appeared to me that caught my attention.

Originally, I was looking for Durese words that maybe meant something in relation to his occupation or personality, but none of them called out. It appears others had that same idea in the past, so it makes sense to go with something new.

Anyway, my name for Cad Bane is Lumoon Troks.

Here are the outpouring of thoughts I had on the matter before I could stop myself. I came up with this over the last hour or two, and I am digging it so far. Who knows, maybe I will change my mind. It's helping me to fill in a lot of gaps, anyway, that I had in the plot, and I am happy about that.

So, I am giving Bane siblings. Two much older sisters, two brothers who are 1-2 years apart, and a younger sister who is four or five at the time Lumoon finally leaves home.

His siblings call him Lu, or Moon for short. When they want to be annoying, they call him Moody Moon, or "Lemon" because of his sour outlook ( lemons are "canon" in SW, I checked).

To sum things up briefly, Bane's mother was a kindhearted woman and his father was a gruff workaholic. They both were employed in the factories and rarely had time to spend with their family, but had too many mouths to feed.

Cad gets into trouble quite often. He runs wild in the streets from a young age. Maybe he hooks up with the wrong crowd. Nothing too menacing; some petty theft, vandalism, etc, etc.

His father's angry about it. He refuses to take on work in the factories with him. He wants more for himself. He's not about that grind day in, day out life. Things get so toxic between them that he leaves to make his own way, stops coming home, worries his mother sick, and his little sister to boot.

So much so, his little sister ( talking maybe preschool / kindergartener age ) decides she has to "bring Moon home" and takes it upon herself to find him. She loves her big brother and sorely misses him.

This does not end well. At all. The worst possible scenario unfolds. The first of many tragedies in Cad Bane's life. It deeply affects him. He tries to go to his mother; she isn't the same Duros any longer. She coldshoulders him, ignores him, and she suffers from a broken heart.

Cad blames himself. "She went out to find you and never came home." This time, he really does leave and never returns. I am sure there is a final fight between him and his father that maybe seals the deal. He takes up random jobs, anything that pays, from sex work, to being hired muscle, to thieving, to murder, you name it, as long as the pay is good and it keeps his mind off his own problems.

He learns skills along the way, and he also learns from his mistakes. Things start being a little too easy. He's tired of being bossed around. He wants to be his own boss. So, that's exactly what he becomes.

He decides to try his hand at bounty hunting. He begins to make a name for himself, except, he hasn't. He needs a new one, something intimidating, striking, and rememberable. Plus, he doesn't want his birthname floating around; that makes him vulnerable, as well as the rest of his surviving kin.

Bane's mother, in the early days of his youth, used to scold him for misbehaving. She called him the equivalent of a cad in Durese, and it translated that way from basic, something along the lines of "Lumoon! Quit being such a cad, you naughty boy!"

It means something to him. He feels it embodies what he has become. It is also a tribute to his mother as well as a punishment; something he has to live with and that he brought upon himself.

The next thing you know, one of his many enemies makes a snarky comment, saying to him, "you are the bane of my existence," or simply, "you are a bane!" From there, his new name takes shape in his mind. He thinks if you put two and two together, it sounds kind of nice. It sticks. He starts to introduce himself like that, when before he had only referred to himself as Cad.

Another misfortune befalls him, which I mentioned I wanted him to run into his sister. This would happen off-world somewhere, years later, and during the reign of the Galactic Empire. She would say something to the likes of: "Mom died. She never gave up on you. She waited for you to come home, everyday. I didn't have the heart to tell her I had seen your wanted posters."

It tears him apart for awhile. His second great tragedy. Never getting to reconcile with the Duros who raised him and whom he loved. He harbors this for the rest of his life.

Of course, running in the streets, he learns not to trust people. He's jaded. He gets fucked over a time or two, badly, and by people he thinks he can trust. He develops a shell; a way of looking at the world that allows him to keep his guard up for his own protection.

In that same vein, I believe Bane can love and that he can love hard given the right circumstances. One of the many reasons he's kept from saying it, is because every person he has ever cared about has either turned on him or dies. The galaxy is a harsh mistress. He's afraid of a repeat scenario; he doesn't let himself get close. He tells himself he's better off alone, doesn't need anybody; he prefers to run without a pack.

That is, until he meets Jango.

And, that, my friends, is a whole other story, but I want to add that Cad Bane has bad dreams. Nightmares, even. Visions. Terrible things happen, old memories replay, he is haunted by his past. The sister he couldn't save; the mother he thought had stopped loving him; the father he was never good enough to please.

Hondo compares himself to a sun, and Bane is the moon. This would fuck with him psychologically, and cause him to react unexpectantly should the nickname stick - one that is reminiscent of his childhood. It is Hondo Ohnaka in my story that saves Bane from himself after Fett meets his untimely end.

Jango, Hondo, and Shriv may call him moody from time-to-time, or grumpy, but that also does not sit well, either, considering his past.

Once Jango dies, and once he fails at training Boba, Cad is even more a wreck than before. In my story, he also does not get to reconcile with his old partner and mentor after their falling out. He drinks himself stupid in the presence of Boba to the point the boy gets fed-up and they have their duel.

Bane, in my mind, can't accept Boba as Fett's son; he is a clone; he could never accept the clone contract from the get go - it put a rift in their relationship. This adds more fuel to the "look out for yourself" fire that is his quote in the Book of Boba Fett.

Sorry this got so long-winded, but, I had to get that out as it came to me. Now, to actually write the story all these ideas are for!

[liskantope]

Looking back at the culture war battles of 2022, one development that particularly sticks out to me is the American Republican/anti-woke side latching on to the idea of everything social progressives call for that involves minors being a form of "grooming" and/or adjacent to pedophilia. This welled up during the 2022 midterm campaign season and I doubt it reached its final boil during the elections; it probably isn't dying down anytime just yet.

My first reaction, around mid-2022, to seeing this new-ish trend was that it was once again an example of the Right looking at a rhetorical tactic of the Left (in this case, finding a near-universally despised personal trait and relentlessly tarring as many opinions as possible from the opposing side as coming from that trait) and deciding that hey, two can play at this game. The main name that the Left has taken to using against as many opposing opinions as possible is "racist"/"racism", and what's arguably the one label even worse to have attached to you than "racist"? Probably "pedophile" or (more mildly) "groomer".

From that point of view, I can see where this Republican/anti-woke strategy comes from, to the extent that it's been consciously employed and regardless of how blatantly hypocritical it is. But it still caught me by surprise and feels strange, I think because of my impression of being anti-grooming as more of a liberal progressive cause. Now mind you, I know that anything adjacent to pedophilia is reviled by pretty much all parts of the political spectrum, and I also know that the conservative Right (at least in America) has a history of tarring gay people as secretly pedophiles, insinuating that open homosexuality (and other forms of queerness) corrupts and endangers children, and so on. But over the 5-10 years or so previous to the rise of "groomer" accusations from the conservative side, I had come to firmly code raising the alarm about grooming behavior as more of a progressive SJ-ish thing, naturally occurring as a part of the Me Too movement. I had been exposed to a lot of talk in progressive circles about the power differentials that come with age differentials and so on. The whole Josh Duggar scandal some years back seemed split roughly along political lines, with only conservatives (most infamously Mike Huckabee) being willing to come to his defense. And I had a vague notion that liberal people took child molestation and terrible behavior adjacent to it as a sort of higher-priority societal crisis than conservatives did, much as this was clearly the case with rape in general.

So I had thought of cries of "Groomer!" and "Pedophile!" as similar to cries of "Racist!" in that they involve a name that absolutely nobody wants to be branded with, which refers to a type of person that almost everyone looks down upon and is determined not to be but which the Right has a stricter definition of, doesn't see in as many places, and tends to think the Left is overly paranoid about. And yet, for the time being at least, the Right seems to have gotten hold of "Groomer!" and "Pedophile!".

I found this a sort of bemusing (and also of course disturbing) irony, given the extent to which so many socially progressive people around me see grooming / pedophilia / child abuse as a very serious problem and are very sincere in their concerns about it. And to be honest, one of the things I couldn't help saying to myself was, "Let's see how this goes and how people feel when 'Groomer!' is used against them, when the other side stretches at every possible opportunity to compare our side to something we truly find despicable whenever we stand for something they don't like. Maybe this will give some people a new insight about how ineffective it is to blast everything they don't like on the other side as "racist" or other -ists or otherwise coming from something purely evil. It's going to be interesting to see how this changes the dynamic."

(It's worth mentioning as a qualification that the American Right did do something like this as recently as the mid-00's with comparing everyone less hawkish than them with terrorist-sympathizers, but that was a little less direct and seems to have already faded from many people's memories. A closer example would be some decades earlier when an awful lot of Americans seemed determined to brand anyone to the left of them as a Communist sympathizer, but of course this is even further removed from the present.)

It's interesting to look back on this half a year later, because I definitely intended to write a more sharply pointed post expressing most of my paragraphs above sometime around last summer, but it got lost in the shuffle as many of my potential blog posts do. And now it seems like it sort of came to an anticlimax. Anti-woke conservatives did quite well in the midterms as long as they weren't too Trumpy, but Democrats put in a better-than-expected performance. My liberal colleagues and acquaintances mostly seem to have ignored conservative rhetoric about groomers or just dismissed it as idiotic (which, to be fair, it basically is) rather than let it bother them beyond that, either on a direct, immediate level or in terms of making them rethink messaging or persuasive rhetoric from their/our own side. All of this seems to be fizzling over, relative to what I imagined back around July.

[apocryphalfiles]

Each winter night in the tool shed: Part 2

Mysta   For Mira, this meeting had been the culmination of a carefully laid plan, something she had anticipated for some time. Mysta, on the other hand, was taken completely off guard by her arrival. He hadn't noticed the girl that had been observing him from afar.

There was a point in time where Mysta would have prided himself on his keen eye for detail, but all he could do to get by was keep his head down and turn the other cheek. Maybe it was the loss of his senses that had caused him to become so numb.

However, the appearance of these two girls managed to spark something that lay dormant in him, a fire in his belly that he mercilessly snuffed out as a necessity. No matter how angry he felt, he could never raise a hand against his captors.

There were times that he forgot his place, stepped out of line, but he was always beaten back, put down, made an example of. His contempt for his tormentors was obvious. He knew it. They knew it.

For those on the outside looking in, they might be mistaken for thinking he was just another one of many mysterious yokai the Emperor had in his employ. But that damned head priest and the Emperor knew full well what they were doing. He endured humiliation after humiliation.

However, what he was feeling right now was not the impotent rage of the victim, this righteous fury was reserved for the fate of the girl in front of him.

"It makes me feel sick."

Maybe there was some justification for it-- he wasn't a God, and didn't understand the mechanics of shaping an entire world, much to his chagrin. However, even if there was some need to house this body without a soul--

Why the hell did you bring me into this world here and now? Just to make me see the woman I love reduced to... this?

Mysta couldn't start sounding off about that in front of these two girls, even if he shouted the truth from the rooftops, he would seem like nothing more than a raving madman. The Emperor of this world was a generous and fair ruler. That was the sentiment the people shared in this world that was built to serve his ends.

"...I'm... sorry. I should have never let this happen..."

His voice was filled with genuine regret. This shameful defeat. It was something he could never accept no matter what happened. Even now, as he was forced to bow his head and lick his wounds, Mysta's heart was filled with smoldering resentment and rebellion.

Mira   Mysta had broken Altera's fall by catching her, leaving the girl in his hands. Were the emperor or his high priestess to catch wind of this scene, they'd undoubtedly be enraged. But this was not Mysta's plot, whatever might be misunderstood in the event that their veil of secrecy was broken, it was hers.

"...Sorry?" Mira tilted her head quizzically at Mysta, watching him, waiting for something. She looked a little disappointed. "Is that all?" Did he not love her after all? It wasn't like that was difficult to accept; under pressure, most good relationships might just fissure and burst anyway. Still, Mira sighed at the tin man in a disapproving manner. "So, when you see Altera, all you feel is resentment?"

Altera, for her part, was too apparently confused to make heads or tails of the situation- and Mira was taking lead anyway, stifling the useless questions she wanted to ask like "what's going on?"

Mysta   His metallic body tensed up, readying his stance as he carefully caught Altera's body. It was clear from this alone the concern he had for her. As a disembodied suit of armor who lacked a sense of touch, it was extremely important for him to be wary of his own strength. But the way he held Altera in his arms was filled with intimacy. From this perspective, her body seemed so very fragile and small.

"That's not even the start of it!" All sorts of complicated emotions were swimming through this tin can he called a head. "The guilt is eating away at me. No matter what they do to torment me, its nothing compared to what I do to myself." It was at that moment that Mysta realized that Mira wouldn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

"If... I told you the truth, told you everything that happened between us, there's no way you'd even believe me..." He gazed down at Altera, who he was still holding in his arms. She seemed more confused than anyone. He hated that look on her. Altera was a strong and capable girl, not some helpless bystander who could be dragged around and made accessory to someone else's scheme.

Of course, he would first need to get a feel for what Mira knew. Get his story straight. He had no intention of telling a tale that was too unflattering to himself. His guilt? That was real, but his essential nature hadn't changed. There were countless things he would do differently, but the abuse of his captors had done little to make him actually reflect on his actions.

Mira   She would let those words which could be interpreted as looking for sympathy slide; she had little interest in berating him as Kana and (though she hadn't seen it herself) Takumi would, and she only wanted to satisfy her curiosity.

"Won't I? I'm here right now, in front of you, aren't I?"

Mysta   He seemed to relax a little, impressed by how mature Mira's response was. They weren't the same, these two "sisters", but the two of them had a lot in common, naturally. It was his realization of this that allowed him to breathe easy. That was a metaphor, obviously. He had no lungs, and his voice was projected without him ever needing to take a breath.

"Me and Altera, we were lovers in a past life. In the world that came before. Her goal... was to become the Goddess of a new world. So she could save the world, so she could save you." He wondered, just how much this girl understood about her own nature.

"As you can see, I failed her. We were defeated. Our dreams of ascending to a higher plane of existence and ruling over the world together died before we could make them a reality. Your father made sure of that. And as punishment for supporting her, for trying to take his daughter away, I was reduced to this."

Mira   Her eyebrows didn't raise in surprise even as Mysta spoke of what should have been an arcane truth privy to only a select few.

She had come to understand the natural conclusion that few people in this world remembered the last. She was granted that special privilege. Whatever the reasons for things being this way, she would be grateful all the same, she would stand tall and live well with the knowledge of what was lost to pay for it. She had long ago made the determination not to let these losses weigh her down. Her life would not be so impeded by guilt or shame.

"I see. So that's why Altera... ended up like this..." Another "punishment?" She let that implication hang. Mira had no way of knowing, but she found it unlikely that Kana and Takumi had shared their future plans for Altera with Mysta.

Mysta   "That's right." There was a pregnant pause, his gaze lingered on the woman in his arms, she had remained quiet up until now. It was difficult to put a finger on, the exact specifics of her condition were lost on Mysta as Kana and Takumi weren't exactly keen to keep him in the loop when it came to how she was doing.

However, if he had to put a word to it, it felt like all the "color" had been drained from her. She lacked that fiercely intelligent and headstrong attitude that he admired in the woman he had chosen, the woman he believed with all his heart had what it takes to grant him divinity. To think, the two of them had almost managed to claim the throne of god for themselves. How far they had fallen...

He brushed a lock of hair out of Altera's face. Her eyes seemed just a bit glassy, like a dolls. If what he lacked was "body", Altera was lacking in "spirit".

"She's... not really with us, is she?" He wanted to phrase that as delicately as he could, though there were only so many ways to talk about someone as if they weren't there, and none of them were tactful. Yet, he was left with the impression that it would be of little consequence.

Mira   "What do you mean?" Mira played dumb. "Altera is right there. Look, she's clearly listening. After all the outrageous things you've just said, I can't blame her for being confused." And Altera did look confused, not trying to get away from Mysta's grip but looking back at Mira helplessly, although Mira made no attempt to rescue her.

"The condition of a new life was given to all of us except for a select few. Hm... is that a little vague? I mean to say, is this conclusion really that surprising? Altera is living a normal, happy life. She isn't special. She isn't different from anyone else. Don't you think that father fulfilled his obligation as a parent by keeping her safe?"

Mysta   Even if Mira refused to acknowledge what was staring her in the face, Mysta's confidence in his conclusion was not shaken. He knew Altera well, better than anyone. This much wasn't enough to confuse her to begin with, even if you had taken away all her memories.

"Surprising? No. Not at all." That didn't make it any less bitter a pill for him to swallow, though. "Altera is special." Mysta insisted. "Making her the same as any other ordinary girl doesn't suit her at all. This isn't what she would have wanted for herself. She deserves so much more."

The last thing Mysta wanted to do was give Takumi credit, no matter how deserved. Still, he decided that he should at least give Mira an answer.

"She opposed her father to the very end." Mysta felt that Altera's own feelings were more compelling than any case he might make on her behalf, at least, it was certainly more difficult for Mira to poke full of holes.

Mira   "In that case, I suppose this isn't what she would have wanted." She granted that much without argument. "But then again, the loser doesn't determine their own settlement. That's the price of being defeated." So what if it didn't suit her? So what if this could only be called saving "Altera" in the most literal terms? "This is what father decided." The price for defeat, in other words, Altera's punishment for opposing him. "I had no hand in that."

Mysta   "Can't argue with that." His tone made it clear that he was anything but happy about it, though. "I suppose I have no right to complain, as the loser." He understood that, and yet-- "But, no matter how hard I try, I can't accept this reality."

He was treading on some dangerously thin ice by even entertaining such an idea, let alone putting it into words. It was only one or two steps removed from outright treason, though he held no loyalty in his heart towards the Emperor and High Priestess who treated him like a punching bag.

"I know Altera would feel the same way. She'd never accept this outcome." The Altera he knew wasn't the sort to give up, even after she had been defeated. If there was even a 1% chance of turning things around, she would never give in to despair.

Mira   "It's far too late to turn things around, though." The chance to turn things around, however slim, had passed a long time ago. The losers had no choice but to accept defeat. They didn't have to accept it gracefully- screaming, thrashing, crying at their impotence, dragging their knuckles through the dirt, all that was acceptable- but there was no other option.

"Will you love her even though she's like this?" Poor Altera, she must have been so confused, caught between these two people who were treating her like she wasn't even there. Mira didn't show any kind of consideration to that Altera's feelings. "Or does the thought nauseate you?" That wasn't even Altera, you could argue, and... that was true. Even so, killing her as though she wasn't a human was out of the question. She was still alive.

Mysta   He was as sore a loser as there was, having resorted to each and every one of those modes-- thrashing, screaming and yes, even crying, albeit without tears-- but those wounds were no longer fresh. He had not healed, rather, these wounds to his pride had festered and rot. He had no recourse but to sit and stew in these feelings of impotence.

"..."

His gaze lingered. He took a good, hard look at Altera. At the girl in front of him. She was nothing more than a ghost of her former self, but even an illusion could seem frighteningly real to the man who found himself lost to the desert. This mirage was certainly a seductive one.

"I will always love Altera."

Even if he could no longer have her. No, especially because she was so very far away. They say absence makes the heart grow fond. The hole she had left in his heart was larger than he would ever have expected.

"Nauseated? That's not what I meant by sick. My heart is aching."

Altera   But she didn't know this suit of armor who claimed to love her. This was something frightening to her, bewildering, and she didn't know how to react; her confusion kept her from resisting until now, but finally, after she accepted that Mira, who'd brought her here, wouldn't help her, she tried to pull away from Mysta's hands. "G-Get off of me...!"

Mira   She paid Altera's resistance no mind at all, still acting like she wasn't even here, and that her speaking up made no difference. "Hm." Instead, her gaze remained on Mysta, and, after evaluating him, she seemed satisfied enough to speak up again.

"I admit, I did lie a bit. That is Altera, but for now, it's only her body." She said something strange and scary that Altera couldn't possibly understand. Maybe later, Altera would write this incomprehensible situation off as a dream. How could she explain it to her parents?

Mysta   Altera struggled rather ineffectually against Mysta's iron grip until he realized she was shaking, and he released her. That look in her eyes, abject confusion mixed with a tinge of fear, it was painful, but it was something that he could accept, because he had already arrived at the very conclusion Mira was leading him to.

"I knew it. Something felt a bit... off." He understood that Altera was listening, and that meant it was rude to talk about her in this manner, but Mysta couldn't help himself. "Do you have any idea what exactly is going on?" He wondered, deciding to double down when it came to trying to get to the bottom of this, even if this line of questioning was bound to make the current Altera uncomfortable.

Mira   "It's exactly as I said." Innocently, the child tilted her head slightly to the right, as though she didn't understand the armor's confusion. "Is it not apparent what that means?"

Mysta   In truth, he knew damn well what it meant, but he'd have preferred not to be the one to spell it out loud, given that it had become crystal clear that despite her lack of response, Altera was certainly listening.

In the end, his frustration at beating around the bush like this won out over his sympathies to the woman who he was now confident didn't have feelings to hurt in the first place.

"She seems sound of mind and body, so... she's probably lacking a soul, right?"

He came right out and said it. It was a bit awkward and uncomfortable for him, especially given his own origin. He had been born without a soul, and yet, he had always been vibrant and bright, lively, not lacking in passion or personality.

This girl, seemed even more "incomplete" by comparison.

Mira   It was wrong of a child to fail to show respect to her elders, so the patronizing disappointment that showed briefly on her face when Mysta spelled out his theory must have been very rude, and recognizing this, Mira quickly wiped the condescending smile off of her face. If you were avoiding saying it, it didn't need to be said at all, you know? I'm not quizzing you. She held her tongue.

"Will you give up on her?" Instead of pressing the point, she moved on, asking a leading question. He already answered that he loved her- maybe she was trying to confirm something?

Mysta   He saw that look on her face, brief as it was, but did not let her clear disapproval bother him any. This girl, she might have been nearly identical to Altera in terms of appearance, but that didn't mean they were the same, far from it. He knew Altera's story well, he had seen her in her most private moments, and so, he was one of the few people in the world who could truly appreciate the dichotomy between the two "sisters".

"No. I won't give up on Altera, not ever." For as much humiliation and torment he had endured, he could not turn his back on Altera, for that would practically invalidate everything he'd been through. He would not surrender, no matter how far he lowered his head, in his heart of hearts, he would continue to oppose the Emperor and support Altera.

Mira   "I see. That's good." Altera was naturally confused, yet her response was irrelevant. Mira ignored it, like Altera represented just another fixture of the scenery. She was nothing of consequence. Yet, she did fight for her, so she deserved Mira's sympathy, not her malice. That was why she treated her kindly, even knowing she was only a corpse. If she stayed like that forever, would she be happy? No, of course not. It was humans that Mira loved, not dolls. She had no need of puppets. When Altera woke up, she might even have a friend. That was what her father offered her.

"If you have not lost your heart, then hold fast to those feelings." He might not have a body, but maybe emotions were enough. "Maybe?" Indeed, Mira wasn't sure. If they could be, then that was a wonderful thing. "To love must be to walk a path of hardship. To go against society, to go against the world, the strength of will to overcome any obstacle will surely stoke the hottest flames of love. If you are forbidden it, all the more so. If the one you love is claimed by another, all the more so. The greatest romance is found in the conquest of the heart."

Mira Kano folded her hands against her chest. She spoke eloquently, and with conviction, an orator like no child her age should be. Love dripped off of each and every word she spoke, so that there could be no doubt about her sincerity.

"If you're told that you were wrong for who you loved, then I will rebuff those accusations. For she only existed because of me, although I have forgiven her, who else could be more deserving to speak on matters of the heart that was born from me?" Altera couldn't say a word. All the better; let her forget tonight. Later, Mira would insist that this was all a dream, that this unbelievable scenario she couldn't hope to understand couldn't have been real, and her fragile mind, looking to connect the pieces of her memories cleanly so that they would be nice and neat and useful when they were given to their rightful owner, would surely fall in line, too. "I do not know you myself. But it isn't the same for her, right? And so I will support her love."

"There may be love in victory. There may still be love in defeat. Love transcends all things, even logic and reality themselves. If you treasure love above all, then what are form and role but obstacles to overcome, so that you may present them as gifts at the altar of your union?"

"If your love is weak, then you may surrender and admit you were wrong. But if it your love is too strong to be doused by the doubters who reject you, then hold your head high and swear that no force in the world could take her from you for good, and that it is those enemies of love who are wrong."

Mysta   He, too, had decided to ignore Altera entirely. Now that they were on the same page, now that he could be certain she did not possess a soul, there was no reason not to speak his mind freely, though Mira seemed to think little of his need for outright confirmation of his suspicions. He had already put that momentary unpleasantness out of mind.

Far more interesting than what Mira thought of him was what she had to say, and for his part, Mysta listened intently. With each passing moment, Mira reminded him more and more of the woman he knew and loved. A passionate and heartfelt speech delivered by such a fearsome intellect was sure to sway hearts and change minds.

Mira spoke with such conviction that even the pitiful Mysta who could only console himself with impotent declarations of love began to believe in himself. Ever since the day he had been reduced to this state, since his ego had been torn to shreds mercilessly by Takumi, there was a part of him that felt guilt, genuine remorse for his actions.

But Mira's words inspired a newfound confidence in Mysta, reigniting the embers of a long snuffed belief in himself. A rousing speech that could shake him free of his doldrums and inspire him, if not to act, than wait patiently, to bide his time until the right opportunity presented itself.

True love was patient, true love abided. He believed in the love that they shared, genuinely, truly. Even if they had met under suspect circumstances, his betrayals of her confidence withstanding, the connection he and Altera shared was real, and that was something that Takumi could never take away from him much as he tried.

These words, they were exactly what he needed to hear, delivered to him in precisely the form that would inspire him most. Mira did not know him, not truly, but nevertheless, her words held immense weight.

So this... this was the girl that Altera was willing to sacrifice everything to return to the world. He felt a newfound appreciation for Altera, for the love they shared, and their eternal struggle. They were alike in that, the abject defeat they suffered would only bring them closer together, surely.

"Thank you, Mira." His voice was full of emotion, something he was very much still capable of despite everything. He felt refreshed, reinvigorated. A fog had been lifted. Now that he had been freed of that haze, Mysta could see clearly, even if the path forward remained unclear.

"In the meantime, please look after Altera's body for me." He didn't say anything that would suggest this, but from tone and even posture alone, it was clear that Mysta had searched within himself and found a new well of strength. This newfound resolve would serve him well in the days to come.

Little did Mysta know, the opportunity to make good on this newfound promise was close at hand, much closer than he could ever imagine.

Mira   "She'll be looked after." That was not her responsibility. All the same, she was sure that Altera would be looked after.

Taking Altera by the hand, Mira led them away from the shed, through the snowy fields, and inside. She snuck in through one of the back exits from a smaller courtyard, away from the sleeping quarters, and, taking pains not to make too much noise, brought her back to her room.

Then, she noticed she was shivering. Altera was, too. But making them a cup of hot tea or cocoa at this late hour might risk waking up one of the servants if nothing else, so she decided that this was just another inconvenience that they had to endure and put her sister to bed as she was.

[tornparts]

PHEW HOW DO I COMPOSE MYSELF WELL ENOUGH TO LEAVE A SEMI SANE REVIEW… let’s just say i caught a cold and am just now getting better from it mostly— so i was off doing lighter reading but i felt the call to return tonight… and my what a glorious night it is I gave the bestie who shared this work to me the play by play as i was reading. THERES MUCH TO COVER Y/N IN FACT DID NOT CAUSE TAE TO LOSE THAT MATCH. and pls y/n was doing the running and fleeing in trauma scared i felt dragged and seen all at once like me too sis how does one react to a guy showing interest before you ??? 😭😭😭😭 RUNNING FOR HER LIFE BUT THE DICK IS SO BOMB KEEPS GOING BACK HES A DRUG FR. namjoon running the record store and having the boys employed and one best girl. we absolutely adore her flirting and wanting Jimin,,, can i just say i screamed over seeing his appearance he’s my other bias #2 what can i say i love busan a bit too much the water looks tasty down there. n e ways getting distracted JK gonna fight hyunjin don’t hurt my #2 bias in SKZ he’s doing his best and they just homies. Felix my main bias said holding it down in bisexual pop off bby. JK IS LITERAL PERFECTION HE WAS SO PATIENT AND WENT AT HER PASS POSSESSIVE OR NOT ITS HOT AND THE FWB BUT FEELINGS TO LEAD TO MORE COMMUNICATION UNALIVE ME SINCERELY IM DONE SHE GONE OHHHHHTHAT SISTER DEAD. 😂💀 the pipe he was laying do i even bother and start my head is empty fuzzy gone that bit of y/n scared but wanting to be consumed by him too mood me that’s my exact feeling over he. exposing myself here but fuck it this fic did a number on me we love to see it ig. and then i had to be dragged in breeding kinks and marking he wants to fuck raw get in here big boy 🫡😩 i’m a lost cause i need to see my way out now. before it gets rough— he said for hygiene purposes condom for butt stop love a gentlemen who’s so considerate and tae a mvp fr said all on me just don’t hurt him and they have history together i love these boys and this fic and u mean to tell me i have a whole 3rd part to work the courage to venture through too smite me where i lay rn i might not be strong enough lol. thank u for this beautiful plot full character building character growth smutty ass fic pls it’s healed me sincerely i hope this gives you a cackle too i’m broken i’ll hit u with the besties handler to thank them bc she’s a rl on fr 😤🥴✨👁🫦👁💜 i’m out LATOM OTL it’s 3am hobi water and namjesus can’t save me none of their counsel or divine intervention is saving my soul from perdition to hell i go room and board bought to steal satans job from him straight up

Leave The Door Open 2 | JJK

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

Pairing: neighbor!Jungkook x (f)reader

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, humor

AU: fwb to lovers

Wordcount: 27,942 I’m so sorry

Summary: Loosely based off this request. The aftermath of hooking up with your neighbor is not what you expected it to be.

Warnings: Language. Possessiveness. A little bit of a creep vibe from Jungkook if I’m honest. They’re both dumb. Slut shaming (not in a sexy way & she slaps him in response). It’s implied that both Jungkook and reader are bi or pan. I don’t make the rules.  

Smut warnings: Explicit sex. Protected sex. Unprotected sex (Wrap it folks). Pet names (Sparkles and baby are used an OBSCENE amount). Edging. Whole lot of heavy petting. Oral (f receiving). Fingering. Squirting. Light choking/breath play. Masturbation. Use of sex toys. Anal and anal play. Double Penetration. Spanking. a lot of Biting. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Technically cum eating. Creampie. I’m sure there’s more. I’m tired.

Rating: M / 18+

AN: This wasn’t meant to happen. Part 1 was just an open ended one off where you can decide what happens next. But @btsgotjams27 loves to taunt me in my DMs, sending me this gif and then a few days later posting the boxer prompt. and I immediately started writing. It was only going to be 6k max. But I’ve basically quadrupled it. This is a lot. I’m so sorry. Read More right at the beginning so you know it’s smutty. Thank you to the owner of my love and affection @here2bbtstrash​ for beta-reading this madness that is essentially a continuation of their request. Banner and Divider made by the beautiful @classicseffects​​

and as usual, please leave feedback. Either with a reblog or send me an ask. It’s greatly appreciated. 💜

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[ashasmonsters]

The Middle Prince

Male reader x Male Tiefling (Amon)

Citrus rating: Lemon

Content: Detailed wet dreams, alcohol

Words: 8k

Note: Some MLM goodness for Pride Month! This took me longer than I intended, but only because I wrote it way too long and had to break it up into parts! Expect more in this series.

The dreams started assailing you a little over a month ago. During the first week, you couldn't remember anything. You would awake in your bedchamber covered in sweat and panting as if you had just finished a sparring session. These nights, a name danced on the tip of your tongue, escaping just as you attempted to sound it out and make it real. Confused and alone you would promptly go back to sleep after flipping over your pillow. As time passed, the dreams grew both in intensity and clarity. Though still more mysterious than normal dreams, little details here and there coalesced in your waking memory: a soft touch followed by a rough one, the smell of lavender, your fingernails gliding over shallow ridges, the color of aquamarine gemstones. These dreams visited you every night without fail.

The determinations made by the court oneiromancers were limited in scope. After spending the night in the care of one such dream diviner, they found these dreams to be coming from somewhere else. The dreams were not your own, at least not fully. Beyond this, they had no more revelations. Anything more was conjecture; one stated that if magick was involved, it was either massively strong, thus able to conceal its origin, or so fleeting and ephemeral that even the oneiromancers couldn't trace it.

Your father's concern waxed but mostly waned. Perhaps if you were the eldest crown prince instead of the middle one, the answer would have been willed into existence by his command. He simply asked that the oneiromancers track your condition and report any findings to him, but no more than once each week. Though dismayed that little was being done to solve this mystery, you were used to being far from priority. Even years ago when an attempt on your life left one of your legs still and unresponsive, a leg brace allowing you to stand at public appearances was issued and the problem was declared solved. You vividly remembered the look on the assassin's face when he realized he had accidentally struck third in the line of succession rather than first. His reaction was not dissimilar from your father's when you mentioned your dreams: a mildly amused but primarily disappointed visage. The spot where the dagger had pierced your spine no longer ached but your discontent was as raw and fresh as the day the realization struck.

With the oneiromancers essentially told to only report something unquestionably threatening to your life or the family's honor, you shared very little with them. Several times you had dismissed them with little more than a hand wave. None of them ever protested. To their knowledge, no new developments within these dreams came to light. It was just another little curiosity that came with the court.

To their knowledge, anyway. In truth, there had been a quite substantial development that you withheld from them.

The night air was cool and crisp. From your bedchamber's veranda, you let the gentle sound of the garden's fountains below soothe your nerves. This had become your regular nighttime ritual; your last chance to feel relaxed and cool before waking up overheated and frantic. You enjoyed the last of it before sliding under the sheets and waiting for the dream to visit you.

This was the clearest dream to date. The scattered sensations and feelings from prior episodes came into focus: the touches came from smooth, tender hands, the smell of lavender from purple cups of herbal tea. Your fingers played over short, filed horns. That bold aquamarine color like a burning emerald belonged to a pair of eyes, their pupils narrow and catlike. The overall plot of the dream remained unknown to you. What came next, however, was new. Very new.

A pair of hands caressed your body as whatever clothing you had dissolved into the air. Your mind reeled from the realization of what was happening, yet you were relaxed all the same. Though surprised, you didn't wish for it to stop. Even as the tender hands had you at their mercy, one playfully pinching a nipple as the other reached lower in between your legs, you welcomed their touch without knowing why. You just did. It felt right. The hand between your legs started confidently stroking your shaft; making you moan. Their touch was expertly coordinated as if they knew everything about you. Not long after, the building pressure within you was too much to bear, then...

"AMON!" You cried out, the name that had eluded you all those nights finally woven from syllables into a complete utterance. You were no longer dreaming, your own hands reflexively covering your mouth in a futile attempt to take back the exclamation. In the dead of night like this, you most certainly alerted someone.

"My Prince, are you alright?" Your chief courtier, Petra, had burst through your bedchamber door. Guards with polearms at the ready had her back.

"I'm alright," you caught your breath, "it's the dream again. No cause for alarm." As usual, you bore a sheen of sweat and your heart was thundering in your ears.

"You've never called out like that before," Petra noted, not yet dropping her guard.

"I called out?" You lied, wincing as you felt something viscid and slimy on your groin under your dressing gown. Deep embarrassment came to the forefront of your mind, your face helpless to hide it. "Bring me my washbasin, please," you quickly uttered.

"At once, my Prince." Petra left the room as the guards resumed their posts. You peeled back your dressing gown to inspect the damage by moonlight. It was worse than you thought. Undoubtedly this gown would have to be thrown out. You groaned, disappointed in your own body for betraying you like this.

"Your washbasin, Prince." Petra returned and you hurriedly covered yourself up again. The moonlight was too dim, or perhaps she pretended not to see, but she was soon at your bedside without pause, brandishing a sponge and towel.

"I can do this myself," you said, taking the implements from her. She looked at you with intent to interrogate.

"Prince, if there have been changes with your dreams, you must inform the oneiromancers."

"No need," you said, eager to fully clean yourself. "You are dismissed, Petra."

Petra held her tongue. Her eyes told you she only did so because she was eager to return to bed. When she departed your bedchamber and closed the door, you finally discarded the soiled gown and did your best to cleanse yourself of your nocturnal emission. You donned a new gown and welcomed an ordinary slumber.

When morning came, so did Petra and a bevy of assistant courtiers. From the accoutrements they wielded you identified them as the "fashion corps," your nickname for the hairdressers, wardrobers, clothiers, and makeup artists whose arrival portended a formal event you were required to attend. As the squad of aesthetes communicated amongst each other, Petra drew you a bath. While the tub filled, she came to your side and took your shoulder on hers to help you hobble into the bathing chamber.

"What's the occasion, Petra?" You unfolded a privacy screen, dividing your bathing chamber in half. As you stripped and entered the balmy water, you heard Petra pull up a chair on the other side of the screen.

"The biannual alliance gala, Prince."

"The alliance gala?" You asked. Your appearance had not been required at one for quite some time. "Why me?"

"Your father has requested that the entire court attend. From what I've heard, there is quite the number of fiefdoms and baronies joining the kingdom at this one."

"Grand." You sighed and resigned yourself into the water until it met your chin. You imagined the great hall of the palace, teeming with strangers from far-off lands all speaking in such meaningless platitudes that they needed alcohol in hand to tolerate it.

"If it makes you feel any better, Prince, most of the night depends on your elder brother and your father. You have the freedom to do whatever you like once your father's opening speech is concluded," Petra said with a mild tone.

It didn't make you feel better. Your father built a kingdom that, apparently, smaller domains were scrambling to join. Your elder brother was the crown prince with hordes of suitors seeking his heart. Even your elder sister, with no direct claim to the crown, was quite sought after. Then there was you, with permission to get as drunk as you like at the gala. You seriously considered exercising that privilege.

Your ruminations were interrupted by the clatter of hammered metal and leather straps from beyond the screen.

"I've got your brace ready, Prince. Let me know when you're dry," Petra said. You reluctantly finished scrubbing and soaping yourself before heaving your body onto the lip of the bath and toweling off. Sat there, damp with dripping hair and a towel round your waist, you permitted Petra to attach the brace to you. She respectfully averted her eyes as she affixed the contraption to your immobilized leg. With it attached, you traded comfort for the ability to limp and stand unassisted.

Next came the gauntlet of clothing, hair styling, and makeup that the fashion corps employed. Even for today, which was merely a rehearsal for the true event tomorrow, they gave no mercy. They encircled you and passed you around as they worked like a knight being suited by his squires. The process was grueling. Your hair was tugged and the breeches squeezed your brace into your leg. With the freedom to choose your own clothes removed from you, there was no choice but to deal with the feeling of metal biting at your skin.

Bound in the tight, ceremonial clothing, Petra took your arm for the long walk to the great hall. It was full of palace staff and buzzing like a beehive. The ceiling, high as a cathedral's, let in beams of sunlight through its many massive windows. Tables were being arranged with the intent to give each attending guest a view of the stage: the stage where your father and elder brother would be giving their opening speeches tomorrow. The two of them were behind a podium, your brother reading a piece of parchment over your father's shoulder. Behind them towards the back of the stage was a row of ornate seats; not quite thrones but just as uncomfortable. Your elder sister met your gaze as she sat on one. She beckoned you over.

"That will be your seat for the rehearsal, Prince," Petra said.

"Rehearsal for sitting?" You quipped, walking towards your seat anyway. Resistance was futile no matter how silly this all was.

"I'll undo your hair and get you into more comfortable clothes as soon as I can, Prince," Petra said apologetically. "Bear with it. I must attend to the other staff now."

With that, Petra disappeared into the crowd of scrambling staff arranging the great hall into order. You limped to your seat, your brace clicking all the while.

"You look excellent, little brother," your sister said. She was attempting to alleviate your sour mood, but she still hadn't figured out how. Neither had you.

"I look like an idiot. And my leg is killing me," you snapped.

Your sister merely sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her hair, in a high bun, bumped the bejeweled headrest and made her curse.

"You used to love these events when you were smaller. You had perfected waving to the crowd before you learned to talk," she said.

"That was a long time ago. Things were different; I was naive, none of us had official duties, the assassination attempt hadn't happened, I wasn't bedeviled by these dreams... mother was alive." You cast your gaze downward, examining your buckled leather shoes. You heard her sigh.

"Not all change has to be bad. And to be fair, you still don't have any official duties to worry about." She placed a hand on your shoulder.

"That's a polite way of saying I'm useless." You looked up at your father and elder brother. They were discussing something about their speeches, annotating and marking the parchment before them. A small audience of pages stood in front of the stage, listening to them run through portions of their speeches. They hadn't yet paid you any heed.

"It's a blunt way of saying you're free," your sister said firmly. "Every week I'm fielding suitors from all over the world, and not one of them has proven to be anything but repulsive. I'm terrified that one day strategy and diplomacy will land me with someone like them."

Your eyes widened at her open disdain for the matters of the court.

"I'm sorry," you said, reconstructing your vision of who your sister truly was. "I had no idea you felt that way... I thought—"

"You thought I was traipsing about with handsome men from far-off lands every day?" She smirked.

"...yes." You blushed.

"Hah! I wish!" Your sister flinched at her own exclamation, then relaxed when she realized the monarch and the crown prince hadn't noticed. "But you don't have to wish for that. You're free to traipse with whomever you please."

You blushed harder. Turning away from your sister, you saw your brother and father finishing up their speech revisions. On cue, Petra emerged from the throng of staff to conclude this "rehearsal."

"Looks like Petra's coming to get you," your sister noted. "I know you'll be free to retire to your bedchambers as soon as the speeches are over, but I want you to try and enjoy yourself tomorrow night. It's what I would do if I could." She gave you one final smile before getting up from her seat.

"I will," you said, finally cracking a tiny smile in return. Petra had your arm soon after.

"Your presence is no longer required, Prince." Petra helped you up. "Shall I take you back to your chambers?"

"Yes, please," you said, giving your sister a thankful glance. She returned a similar expression as Petra whisked you away.

When you had finally returned to your chambers and changed into less constrictive clothing, you asked Petra to stay awhile to converse. Your sister's advice had forced you to re-evaluate your approach to the gala. Your priorities had shifted just as much as your notions of her personality had.

"You mentioned there were many newcomers to the kingdom? Quite a few tables were being set up in the great hall," you quizzed Petra.

"Yes, from what I've gathered, it's expected to be the largest event we've hosted all year. We're expecting guests from as far as Ankara and Nubia," she answered matter-of-factly. Perhaps she was a little proud, too.

"Are there any specific guests I should know about?" You asked with the grace of a war elephant. Courtship had crossed your mind for the first time mere minutes ago. "Anyone of high repute?"

Petra picked up on your clumsy intent immediately. She knew you too well.

"Prince, it would be quicker to list the attendees not worth approaching than those with stellar accolades. If it were me..." she drew in air through her teeth as if expecting to be reprimanded, "I would consider tomorrow's gala an excellent time to court someone."

"I'll try to take that advice to heart, Petra," you said.

"I'm pleased, Prince. Your matters are your own, but if I may speak unequivocally..."

"Speak your mind." You gave her permission. She hesitated, then sighed.

"You strike me as lonely, Prince. Ever since the Queen passed, your social life has suffered." Petra paused again, considering her words carefully. "You deserve love of that measure once more, whether from a partner or a good friend."

"Thank you," you sighed as if she had given you permission to use your heart. "I appreciate the advice, Petra."

"Of course, Prince." She glanced out the window towards the setting sun. "I recommend you retire early tonight to be invigorated tomorrow, lest the dreams strike again."

You nodded.

"They will." You avoided her eyes as you remembered what happened last time. "Have a washbasin ready. For the, erm, sweat."

"Of course, Prince," Petra said, her face remaining unmoved. You didn't bother trying to discern whether she was oblivious to last night's gown-soiling or if she merely extended you the courtesy of pretending. "I'll leave you be. Get some rest."

You watched her exit your chambers without another word, finally exhaling the breath you held. The idea of having to clean yourself up again was hardly appealing. Standing on the veranda and enjoying the cool night air was only prolonging the inevitable.

The aforementioned inevitable reared its troublesome head as soon as you surrendered to sleep. Your consciousness materialized somewhere, a location unidentifiable but still more detailed than you had ever encountered before. You glimpsed kaleidoscopic carpets, hammered brass, and vines growing freely about the place.

"Welcome back." A man's voice like sweet honey floated through the warm air.

"I missed you." The words left your mouth without you knowing them. You were merely an observer to your own actions. "Amon."

"My sweet prince." Lips on your knuckles. The smell of lavender tea. "Tea?"

"No thanks. We must keep this quick," you uttered again, breathless and surrendering to a desire that was both yours and unknown to you.

"Tut, tut. What's gotten into you, my prince? I've never seen you so impatient," the voice teased. Your head spun.

"I need my energy," you gasped, something warm and wet lapping at your member. "For tomorrow." The ministrations paused.

"Of course. Tomorrow will be very special indeed." The tongue on your shaft resumed, making you squirm. You reached out into the nothingness, your fingers grasping at frayed carpet tassels. Your other hand reached in between your legs and found a head of hair. You grasped a smooth horn that curved neatly behind an ear. It bobbed up and down at a tantalizing pace.

"Amon, I... I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what?" Another pause in the pleasure. You caught your breath. Those eyes again, burning into yours with the hue of warm ocean waters. "Say no to me, my prince. I implore you to try."

Caught in the stare you were helpless. You quivered with need, your manhood twitching and drooling. Only a high whine left your lips.

"Thought so."

You shot up in bed, crying out and spasming. Once more you had spilled yourself into your gown, your entire body slick with sweat. As a small victory, your cries remained nondescript rather than referential to this "Amon." In the dream, you had felt a sweet warmth in your breast each time you spoke to him and even warmer when he responded. In your waking memory, this name was empty. There was no connection and no feeling of belonging. If you hadn't heard your own voice leave your mouth in the dream, you would have had no way of knowing those experiences were your own. Your dreaming memory and conscious recollection were severed, at odds with one another. What did he mean when he said tomorrow would be special? Did he know about the gala? You didn't know how much you knew.

"The washbasin, Prince," Petra uttered as she carried it into your chambers. She stowed it at your bedside. "Shall I leave you like before?"

"Yes, please... but would it trouble you to return afterward?"

"Not at all, Prince. I'll return at your word." She slipped out of the room. You took the opportunity to cleanse yourself of the evidence before permitting Petra to return.

“Petra, would it be possible to acquire a guest list for the gala?” You asked.

“Possible, yes. However, it will be quite long without any qualifiers. As I mentioned previously, this is one of the largest events of the year.”

You considered simply asking her if the name Amon was among the attendees, but Petra would likely alert the oneiromancers and in turn, your father. You doubted anything would happen at all if she did, but this was a matter you wanted to confront on your own. Like all other decisions made for you at your father’s behest, your own interests would unquestionably be cast aside if he decided to involve himself.

“I’d like to know the first names of all the male guests scheduled to attend,” you said. Petra raised an eyebrow.

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Prince,” Petra answered. The sweet, honeyed voice from your dream remained in your mind. It was the voice of a young man, one likely of your age.

“Only the male guests around my age, then,” you specified. Petra raised her other eyebrow, making her expression one of surprise rather than skepticism.

“Ah. That kind of list. I see...” Your cheeks burned; though you didn’t know where this inquiry would take you, you also felt the conclusion Petra came to was not wholly inaccurate. “Shall I make,  erm, other arrangements as well?”

“Arrangements?” you asked. It was Petra’s turn to blush.

“The standard things... extra pillows, oils, skins—”

“Yes, of course, Petra,” you cut her off, not wishing for her to extend the list of amenities any further. Searching for a suitor was a favorable charade. If nothing else, if this search for the mysterious Amon proved fruitless, then you would at least have the means, motive, and opportunity to bed somebody... if you had the audacity. The look on Petra's face said she didn't think so.

"I’ll have the list and the... goods brought in before sun-up,” Petra said. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, Petra, that will suffice.”

“Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Morning arrived and so did Petra's promises; the chief courtier herself was nowhere to be found, but a neatly transcribed list of names and a box tied with a bow sat atop a chaise lounge when you awoke. You already knew what waited inside the box, so you went for the list. Though only containing the names of guests that fit your qualifiers, the parchment was both long and double-sided. Your eyes began to tire just as they fell across what you were looking for:

Amon II - Eparch of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia

You were puzzled. Makuria and Elodia were names you hadn't heard since you were tutored. Even your father's kingdom with its diplomats venturing far and wide rarely mentioned them. You only knew they were small kingdoms far away from this one. There was not one but two oceans between here and there, they spoke a language no tutor in the palace taught, and both titles of "Nobatian" and "Eparch" were unknown to you.

Then the fashion corps arrived. You dropped the parchment and pondered the new information as they manhandled you into the appearance they had crafted for you yesterday. Perhaps due to more practiced hands or being lost in your thoughts, the process seemed to go much faster than previously. You almost didn't believe it when they told you they were finished, but the shifted sun and your appearance in the mirror confirmed that the gala would soon begin. Your hair was fashioned into an unnatural shape, your face was dusted with powder, and your clothes were so form-fitting that you appeared sewn into them. The bulge of the leg brace through your breeches peeked out at the ankle; the leggings were so tight that your overcoat preserved more of your modesty than they did.

With Petra absent and likely scrambling to put last-minute touches on the gala, you walked to the great hall with the assistance of the fashion corps, who likewise made hasty repairs to your appearance as your gait jostled things out of place. When you arrived, the great hall was even busier than at the rehearsal. It seemed there was a member of palace staff for each seat at every table, all of them fastidiously arranging cutlery, plates, decorative vases, placemats, and myriad other things you didn't know the names for.

“Little brother!” You turned your head and spotted your elder sister within a parade of her own fashion corps regiment. She waved at you from one of the great hall’s entrances.

“Sister,” you responded with a nod, your own cavalcade parting to allow her approach.

“Have you given tonight any consideration?” She asked.

“Yes, actually...”

“You’re not going to retreat to your chambers?”

“...not immediately,” you said, noncommittal.

“I’m glad.” She smiled gently. “I’ll likely be busy most of the night, though if you’d like me to send anyone your way, let me know. Who’s on your list?”

“My list?” you sputtered. “Petra told you?”

“Petra? Goodness, no,” she chuckled. “I just figured you’d have one. It’s standard practice for these sorts of things; I’ve a list as well. So... who’s on yours?”

You lowered your head and examined your shoes.

“Well... it’s quite long.”

“How scandalous!” she gasped exaggeratedly.

“I’m just casting a wide net is all! I don’t intend to bed every single male my age!” Your cheeks burned again. You considered dropping the charade if it meant this level of humiliation.

“I expected my mild little brother to have a rebellious phase eventually, but this...” she said, ignoring your cries.

"Sister, please," you pleaded. The tone of your voice convinced her to return to normal. She extended a hand to ruffle your hair but stopped herself when your fashion corps hairstylist glared at her.

"Apologies, little brother. I had to jest a little," she smiled at you, this time without intent to tease. "They're going to start letting in the guests soon. We should take our seats."

You nodded and followed her to the stage. The fashion corps fell away from you and went to help elsewhere. You sat in your uncomfortable pseudo-throne and waited, eventually joined by your other siblings save for your eldest brother. They greeted you as they took position at your side, but there was very little to talk about. This was the first time you had seen them in a while.

Then came the guests: the table-setters had cleared out some minutes before the floodgates burst and more staff escorted groups of people to their tables. The cathedral-like great hall was full in mere moments. Sorted by table, there was a sea of people in colorful finery all conversing amongst themselves and giving you and your siblings the occasional glance. You tried to pick out Amon from the crowd but quickly realized half-remembered fragments from your dreams wouldn't be enough to pick him from a sea of hundreds. Even finding his name on the list took a considerable amount of time.

Then the hall fell silent, or something close to it. A lively conversation between hundreds of people dropped to hushed whispers. Your father and brother had entered the hall and begun their walk to the podium, silencing the crowd with nothing but their appearance. When your father reached the podium, he extended both arms palms up and the previously subdued crowd erupted into cheers. If not for the applause, he would have heard you groan. Your sister said nothing, only giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

When the speeches started you practically willed your ears shut. Perhaps you would have built a tolerance to them if you had appeared at more of these events, but you couldn't bear to listen to your father and elder brother boast of their achievements to a sea of complacent, nodding heads. It was like a reminder that within the kingdom your father built, you served your purpose by distracting that assassin some years ago and now outlived your usefulness. At this gala, you were decoration only a few ranks higher than a potted plant.

You thanked any and all higher powers when the speeches were over. Father and his crown prince had left the stage to begin their targeted commingling with VIPs, prompting you and your siblings to stand from your seats. They all dispersed before you could look to them to follow their lead. When you stumbled off the stage and distanced yourself from it by leaning against the wall as you walked, hardly any attention came your way. Thankfully, the attention you did receive was from Petra.

"Prince, are you alright? You look troubled," she said, sidling up to you.

"What do I do, Petra?" you asked, intimidated by the sheer size of the room and the attendees within it. Each table was like its own little kingdom with strangers you didn't know and faux-pas to stumble over.

"See how each table has an empty chair or two?" She pointed to the tables nearest you, one full of scaly Sāmm-abraṣ emissaries and another with human diplomats bearing the flag of Bavaria. You nodded. "All the guests are expected to stay seated while dinner is served. They won't get up to dance and drink until the meal is concluded. Right now, only people from the host kingdom— like you, me, your siblings, and other members of the court— will be walking around."

"So I just sit at whichever table and introduce myself?"

"If you even need to. The fact you're walking will show them you're hosting. They'll pay you proper respect without you saying anything at all."

"Hm," you mused. That sounded like a lot of work, especially since you weren't aiming to meander. Finding Amon would be immeasurably more difficult once the crowd was disorganized and inebriated, though, so now was your best chance.

"I've a copy of your list, Prince. Shall I help you navigate it?" Petra asked, holding up parchment.

"Yes, let's," you said. The lengthy document threatened to touch the floor. "Let's begin alphabetically."

"Alphabetically, Prince?"

"By first name."

"Of course, Prince. That means we should visit Aariyeh, Sardar of Anatolia, followed by Abdul II, Knez of Smederevo—"

"Any Eparchs on that list?" You winced at your own forwardness. The charade was wearing dangerously thin.

"...Eparchs?"

"I'm in an Eparch mood at the moment," you explained weakly. Petra looked at you as if checking for signs of illness.

"I see. There's one: Amon II of Nobatian Lower Makuria and Alodia."

"He sounds splendid. Take me to him."

Petra, either from exasperation, deference, or both, folded up the list and took your arm without another word. She led you through the clusters of gala attendees. You could feel every one of their eyes watching you as you caught their attention. Just as the scrutiny was starting to become too much, your eyes found a target of their own. A warm shiver ran through your spine, a sensation the French would call déjà rêvé: a dream made real.

His verdigris eyes locked onto yours. They peered at you from behind short, white curls of shiny hair. His skin reminded you of the bluebells in the gardens, and his pert, curled horns were a shade darker. He flashed something between a grin and a smirk at you, revealing pearlescent teeth with canines that could be mistaken for fangs.

Amon was breathtaking and he knew it.

If your arm wasn't in Petra's grasp already, you never would have made it to the chair. She struggled a bit as she plopped you into it, your leg brace protesting with clicks and creaks. The other tieflings at the table, all varying shades of azure, stopped what they were doing to acknowledge your arrival. You gave them a weak nod while you regained your composure.

"Greetings, delegation from Lower Makuria and Elodia. I'd like to introduce you to our Middle Prince," Petra said from over your shoulder, upon which she planted a firm hand. She squeezed hard.

"I'm pleased to meet you all," you managed to get out. Your audience of tieflings nodded and muttered.

"As am I, Middle Prince." Amon set his cutlery down and rested his chin on interlaced fingers. His voice was high and carried a boyish, scheming air; you envisioned him stealing lumps of sugar from a pantry. "I didn't think my kingdom warranted such a visit. What brings you to my little exclave of Nobatia?"

"A whim."

"How quaint," he said, still smirking. His gaze shifted as he eyed his all-tiefling entourage. The intent was to communicate something, though you didn't know what.

"I am the middle prince, after all. I've few obligations. None, actually," you said.

"Hm," Amon said, looking decidedly amused. "We may have more in common than we thought." His retinue nodded along with his observation.

"Surely you are a busy man? You are Eparch of not one, but two territories."

"Do you know what the title 'Eparch' entails, Middle Prince?" Amon said, more as a targeted quip than an actual question.

"I... am not familiar, I admit," you ceded.

"An Eparch is a figurehead. Makuria and Alodia have long been ruled by invaders and rebels, respectively. I'm kept in a symbolic position to preserve what's left of Nobatian culture," Amon sighed. "In fact, I was sent here in place of the true rulers since they thought it so unlikely that you would have anything important to say to us. Anything other than absorbing us into your hegemony, of course."

You averted your gaze. He clearly was not happy with his status, and while his discontent wasn't targeted at you, it hovered about him like a cloud. He picked at the remainder of his meal while the cloud dissipated and you plucked a topic from the clearing air.

"How was your journey here? You've come a long way," you said.

"It was pleasant enough. Your trains and... horseless carriages are quite impressive," Amon said, pausing. "What's your name for them again?"

"Automobiles," you answered.

"Yes, automobiles." He rolled the word in his mouth as if tasting wine. "Though you have such a fine river and only use it for cargo. A felucca would have made my journey quite enjoyable."

"A felucca?"

"Ah, it's my turn to inform you." Amon smiled. "A felucca is a sailboat we use on the Nile. It's built for comfort, with carpets instead of hardwood decks. Some even come with a kitchen, and it's unheard of to sail without finishing a pot of tea."

"It sounds lovely," you said. "Lavender tea, I hope."

Amon raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, my favorite," he looked amused. "How did you know?"

"A whim," you answered. "The same one that brought me over to your table."

"I see." His eyes locked with yours for a lengthy pause. His retinue shifted in their seats at the uncomfortable silence. He was thinking hard about something, but the subject of his thoughts remained unknown to you. If he truly shared the dreams with you, surely you must have gotten the point across by now?

"It was lovely chatting with you, Middle Prince." He broke the silence and straightened his posture. "But I would hate to keep you when you have other guests to see."

"I really don't—"

"Nonsense, my prince," he interrupted, "go on and mingle. Perhaps, if we're lucky, our paths will cross when the festivities begin in earnest."

You couldn't believe your eyes. Did he wink at you?

"Of course..." you said, slowly realizing he was scheming. "Enjoy the gala." He locked eyes with you again.

"Oh, we will."

You had resumed hovering with Petra on the edges of the great hall. More staff had filed in to take away dirty dishes and the remains of the guests' meals. The dance floor had been opened, the musicians were in position, and staff bearing silver trays readied drinks for the merry and hors d'oeuvres for the peckish.

"How was your visit with the Eparch?" Petra asked.

"Enlightening," you answered cryptically. The need for secrecy hadn't passed, but now you were unsure of what charade to uphold. You only knew Amon was in on it as well.

"I trust that means it went well?"

"Yes, I think so." You scanned the crowd of attendees, which had now gotten up from their seats and begun to mix and intermingle. Amon disappeared like an ace into a shuffled deck. Petra flashed you an impatient expression.

"Prince, do you want me to help you get with him or not?" She said with folded arms.

"Petra!" You gasped. "You're rather forward."

"It's quite literally my job to make sure you end up with him if you wish it, Prince," she assumed a stern tone as if you refused your vegetables. "Give me a yes or no."

You stewed under her gaze. It seemed the pressure and time-sensitive nature of the gala had started to affect her as well, though for different reasons to you.

"Yes." You muttered. She didn't ask for confirmation, instead slipping away into the crowd with nothing more than a nod. Was this part of the charade, still? You had no idea what Amon even wanted, or frankly, what you wanted from tonight.

The musicians started and the small groups that had formed on the edge of the dance floor produced couplets of dancers. They were eager to begin the waltz, a somewhat contentious dance that had only recently come into popularity.  You hadn't been practiced in it, instead learning of court dances like the cotillion. As you watched it take place, the dancers seemed awfully close. They were practically pressed against one another!

While you tried to discern the intricacies of this new style of dance before you, that familiar azure face peeked at you from the crowd. Amon smiled and raised his drink in your direction. It was a small gesture but you were helpless to do anything other than join him. Before you knew it, you were at his side in the sea of people and some sort of libation had been thrust into your hand.

"You know, I'm starting to grow partial to this stuff," Amon said, sipping on a duplicate of the drink you held.

"I was under the impression your faith disallowed the consumption of alcohol," you said, watching him finish the glass.

"An easy mistake to make." He handed off the glass to a roving staff member. "Modern Makurians and Alodians don't drink. Nobatians like me do. It's one of the holdovers of my dead culture."

You looked at the glass in hand; it was a clear, cold drink with a slice of lime. As you expected, the taste was bitter and unwelcoming.

"You like gin?" You asked, one taste enough to identify it.

"As I said, it's starting to grow on me," Amon chuckled. "It's not good enough to stop me from missing home, but it'll get me through the night."

"Speaking of home..." you started, looking around. You were unable to spot any other blue-skinned tieflings in the crowd. "where has your retinue gone?"

"I told them to enjoy themselves. As my courtiers, that means they're likely hovering by the exit, waiting to escort me out of here when I leave."

"They seem like a serious bunch."

"They're overprotective," Amon hissed. "As I said, my culture is long dead. They see it as dying. They think they can save it by putting me in a glass case for future generations to study."

"You've given up on Nobatia?"

"Pah! Of course I have!" He deftly procured another drink from a passing waiter. "Nothing will bring the old country back. Nobatia is a minuscule region; I can say with certainty I'm the youngest one left. When I'm old and infirm, Makuria and Alodia will reject the idea of a royal family entirely and I'll finally be allowed to be forgotten."

"That's quite a bleak outlook, Eparch," you gently chided. "Perhaps in war, things would be on a fixed course, but matters of diplomacy are more malleable."

"Perhaps," Amon said, sipping his gin. "But that's enough about me. I'd like to know more about you."

His eyes looked into yours as if he would magick the information he wanted straight out of you. No incantations were uttered, though, and you took a pragmatic sip of gin to fill the pause.

"What would you like to know?" You said.

"I'd like to know about this 'whimsy' you have," Amon probed. "To be frank, my prince, I expected to be out the door by now. Instead, I'm here, conversing with you. It doesn't make sense."

You finished your gin. This was as good a time as any to explain yourself.

"What do you know of oneiromancy?" The question left your lips and slapped Amon across the face. He chuckled.

"The school of magick so vague and unmeasurable it's not even officially recognized?"

"It seems you know the same as most," you said. "Oneiromancy is real. At least, real enough to give me the same dream night after night."

"I see..." Amon was mulling something over.

"In each one of these dreams, though my waking memory is hazy, I remember one thing they all had in common." You took a deep breath. "You."

"We should discuss this in private," Amon interjected, gently brushing your hand against his. You had been so caught up with telling Amon that you forgot you were in the middle of a crowded gala. Concern crept into the corners of his face. "Do you have a place we can go?"

You nodded and grasped his hand in earnest. The spot you took him to was one of the many balconies that overlooked the palace gardens. The sun had set fully at this point, and waltz music lazily floated out of the great hall. A few revelers who had over-indulged caught the fresh air in the hedges below. You and Amon rested on the cool marble balustrade, momentarily admiring the mingling of crickets, music, distant conversation, and the night air.

"I've been having the dreams as well. All of them involving you in some... capacity. I wasn't sure it was you at first. The dreams were so vague..." Amon kept his gaze fixed on the gardens below.

"Were the dreams... um, did you wake up... well..." you stammered. He looked at you knowingly.

"Yes, a few times," Amon answered. He didn't seem nearly as embarrassed as you. "You suspect oneiromancy is at play?"

"The court oneiromancers determined the dreams are being intentionally created. They're not a coincidence."

"Court oneiromancers?" Amon nearly spat out his drink. "My, you do have everything in this kingdom."

"Yes, we have court oneiromancers, but your surprise is beside the point." You had finally found the mysterious Amon, and you didn't want to waste any time on tangents. "Surely you're just as curious as I? Do you know anything about these dreams?" Amon drained the remainder of his gin in response.

"When I was a child..." He paused and shook his head. "When I was a child, my mother told me folk tales. The standard stuff: damsels in distress, slaying horrific beasts, that sort of thing. But she also told me tales of lovers who met in dreams. She said that was how she and father met."

"Something tells me you don't believe in that."

"When I grew too old for fairy tales, I saw it as her way of helping me keep hope that the one would be out there. With Nobatia falling and no suitors left..." he trailed off, setting his empty glass on the balustrade.

"So what if she's right?"

"That's a rather large 'if,' my prince. She was the only one that believed in that stuff... Aside from an uncle who would tell more dreamers-to-lovers tales, but only after drinking too much boukha, and always with a sarcastic tongue. They're just that: tales."

You felt Amon's cloud of discontent precipitate once more. His words were scathing, but not towards you; they spoke to a painful past and familiarity with disappointment. He saw something hopeful, happy, and promising, then cast it down in order to never feel the pain of losing it. You rarely had such clear insights about people, but with Amon it was different. It was as if you had known him for a long time and learned the language spoken by his brow, posture, and eyes. You knew what you had to do.

"Amon," you sighed, placing a hand on his, "even fairy tales originate from some truth, even if only a little. Don't be afraid to entertain the notion that your mother might be right."

You tried to look him in the eyes, but he cast his gaze down to the gardens below. His quick tongue failed him and silence ensued. His hand had reluctantly surrendered itself to your grasp, resting warm and limp.

"Look at me," You commanded with a firmer tone than expected. Reluctantly, he swiveled towards you and his aquamarine eyes found their way to yours. "Think about what you truly want. Don't be afraid to take it."

He swallowed. After a pause of a few heartbeats, his free hand grasped the back of your head, entwined his fingers in your hair, and pressed your lips to his. Your hand that held his grasped even tighter. The two of you were entwined in your own scandalous waltz. You could feel his hunger just as clearly as you felt his discontent when he parted your lips with his tongue. You reciprocated, catching fleeting impressions of his sharp teeth. He tasted like gin and figs. Short, passionate gasps and moans escaped the two of you and joined the chorus of crickets. You pulled away only to catch your breath.

"Amon," you gasped, his name sweet on your tongue. He looked at you with a bewildered expression and flushed navy cheeks. Neither of you could believe what just happened, yet surprise gave way to familiarity. Kissing Amon made your heart race but your shoulders relax. Being breathless and panting in his embrace was as recognizable to you as Petra's morning wake-up calls, or the smell of the gardens, or the feeling of your bedchamber floor on your bare feet. Déjà rêvé.

"I..." Amon sighed, "I shouldn't. I've had too much gin. I've been foolish." He released you from his arms and took several steps backward. Your jaw hung agape as he jogged inside and disappeared from view. Too shocked to try to catch him, you remained outside and alone on the balcony with only the sound of crickets and distant strings to keep you company. Just as silently and perceptively as a cat, Petra crept from the doorway a short while later.

"I saw Amon run away and came to check on you." She looked at your expression and reciprocated with a downtrodden look of her own. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. Probably not." You sighed and buried your face in your elbows until all you could see was the balustrade. You sensed Petra take a few steps towards you.

"What happened?" She asked delicately.

"We kissed, passionately. Then he said he was foolish and ran away," you mumbled into your self-embracing arms. Petra rested a hand on your shoulder.

"Some people just can't handle the fast pace and the pressure at galas like this. I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"I know..." you sighed. To Petra, your attempts at flirting simply failed to land. She didn't see the dreams. She didn't see the look in his eyes. She didn't hear the fear of hope in his voice. There were not enough hours in the night to explain to her the true extent of your sorrows.

"There's always tomorrow, Prince."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tonight is only for the Gala," Petra explained, her tender tone turning slightly optimistic, "anyone attending will be staying at least until tomorrow night for the treaty signing."

"So Amon is still here, then?" you asked, finally pulling your forehead from its resting place on your folded arms.

"He was likely running to the guest wing of the palace, where all the other dignitaries will be. If you truly wish to meet with him again, breakfast tomorrow morning would be an excellent opportunity."

You considered things for a moment. If Amon were to stay one more night, then that was one more dream to share. Tonight, you and Amon would spring awake in bed at the same time after another shared dream, but he would be only a few corridors away.

"Petra, get me an oneiromancer." You commanded.

"An oneiromancer? At this time of night? They're probably attending the gala with the rest of the court."

"Petra, this is important," you said. "I haven't exactly been forthcoming about everything in these recent days, and I'm sorry for that... but I need an oneiromancer before I sleep tonight. If you can do this for me, I promise to explain everything soon."

Petra looked at you silently, deciding whether or not to press you for details now rather than later contingent on your promise. She chose the former, nodding and silently fast-walking inside.

Alone once more on the balcony, you leaned on the balustrade and studied the stars. The moon's halo of illuminated night sky was the same color as Amon's lips. With any luck, you'd be seeing them again soon in tonight's dream.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Hi, Em! I’m currently stuck between ISJ and INP types (leaning towards TiFe, though). If it helps, I’m pretty sure that I’m a 9w1.

- I usually have random emotional outbursts about specific things when I’m stressed even if, on a regular day, I wouldn’t care much about them. One day, at a family lunch, I got annoyed because everyone “forgot” that I was a vegetarian, so I wouldn’t be able to eat the main course like everyone else. In these situations, I usually get irrationally mad and start crying about it when, on a regular day, I would’ve found another option just fine, without making a big deal out of it;

- When I react emotionally to things, I usually do this through crying. That’s how I “get rid” of my feelings, keeping them inside will probably lead to the outbursts I just mentioned;

- I always think about what moments could be instead of appreciating them for what they are. I’m either doing that or being way too focused on my personal interests to care about anything else;

- I easily convince myself of things if they make enough sense to me. I wouldn’t say that I completely ignore facts, but I can easily manipulate them to fit into my personal logic;

- During conversations, I automatically mirror others. I just turn it off if their opinions are hurtful enough to make me mad;

- If it wasn’t for my parents, I probably wouldn’t have gone through my college major. Even now, currently graduated and employed, I still gravitate towards striking different careers because I like the idea of them (at the end of the day, I hardly act on these impulses because it’d cause a major change in my life, so I just keep wondering);

- Sometimes I think of myself as an “impulsive” person, but I guess that I overestimate that a little. I like shopping things that I don’t necessarily need and may throw caution to the wind from time to time, but that’s pretty much it;

- I’m haunted by some past mistakes of mine and I fear committing them again. Since I can get caught up in the moment sometimes, I’m afraid that I’ll end up forgetting of how bad these things hurted me once;

- Comparing present situations with past ones calms me down when I’m anxious. Knowing that someone went through something similar and ended up just fine really helps me out;

- I may keep people away because I look kind of cold/unapproachable. I also don’t reach out for others a lot through texts or phone calls. I care deeply about my friends and family, but I usually demonstrate through actions: helping them out when they need me, etc. It’s hard for me to put my feelings into words unless I’m close to someone;

- I always plan my days and don’t like dealing with changes imposed by anyone who’s not me. I’m also concerned about deadlines and can’t fully rest until all of my work is done.

Thank you!

Hi anon, it sounds like your Si is higher, between planning things carefully, finding comfort in the familiar, and preferring closure. It also sounds like you use Ti logic (convincing yourself of what you already believe rather than going to an external source) and Fe (mirroring, the anecdote about your parents) so ISFJ sounds most likely!

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift Turns on a Facsimile Machine for the Ingenious Recreations of ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’: Album Review

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

By Chris Willman

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

There is no “best actress” award at the Grammys, perhaps for obvious reasons, but maybe there should be this coming year. And the Grammy would go to… Taylor Swift, for so persuasively playing her 18-year-old self in “Fearless (Taylor’s Version),” her beyond-meticulous recreation of the 2008 recording that did win her her first album of the year trophy back in the day. It’s impossible to overstate just how thoroughly the new version is intended as an exact replica of the old — all the way down to her startling ability to recapture an untrained teen singing voice she’s long matured and moved on from. It’s a stunt, to be sure, but a stunt for the ages — mastering the guile it takes to go back to sounding this guileless.

There are two different, very solid reasons to pick up or stream “Taylor’s Version,” regardless of whether you share her ire for the Big Machine label, whose loose ways with her nine-figure catalog precipitated this, the first in a six-album series of remakes where she’ll be turning on the facsimile machine. One is to marvel at her gift for self-mimicry on the album’s original tracks, where she sounds as possessed by her younger self as Regan ever was by Pazuzu. The other reason is, of course, to check out the six “vault” numbers that Swift wrote during that time frame but has never released before in any form, which dispenses with stylistic fealty to the late 2000s and frames her “Fearless”-era discards in production and arrangements closer to “Folklore.” Those half-dozen (kind of) new tracks really do sound like modern Taylor Swift covering her old stuff.

But those original lucky 13? It’s the same damn record… which is kind of hilarious and marvelous and the kind of meta-ness that will inspire a thousand more think-pieces than it already has, along with possibly efforts at forensic analysis to figure out how she did it.

It would not be surprising if, as we speak, Big Machine was putting a combined team of scientists and lawyers on the case of the new album’s waveform readouts, to make sure it’s not just the original album, remixed. Honestly, it’s that close. The timings of the songs are all within a few seconds of the original tracks, if not coming in at exactly the same length. The duplication effort doesn’t allow any detours. If “Forever and Always” had a cold open then, it’s going to have a cold open now. If the 2008 “That’s the Way I Love You” had slamming rock guitars with an almost subliminal banjo being plucked beneath the racket, so will the 2021 “That’s the Way I Loved You.” A drum roll to end the old “Change”? A drum roll to end its body-snatcher doppelganger. And if she chuckled before the final chorus of “Hey Stephen” 13 years ago, so will that moment be cause for a delighted giggle now.

Of course, much analysis will be put into whether the new laugh is a more knowing-sounding laugh. And that will be part of the fun for a certain segment of audiophile Swifties who will go looking for the slightest change as evidence of something meaningful. When “Love Story (Taylor’s Version)” first came out weeks back to preview the album, there were reviews written that swore she’d subtly changed up her phrasing to put a contemporary spin on the song. And maybe they were right, but, having done a fair amount of A/B testing of the two versions of the album, I found myself feeling like I do when vinyl buffs insist there are significant sonic differences between the first stamper version of an LP and one that was pressed a year later. If you can spot those very, very, very modest tweaks, go for it.

But my suspicion is that if Swift has decided to turn a phrase a little differently here or there on this album, or done anything too differently aside from brighten the sound, she’s doing it more as an Easter egg, for the people who are on that kind of hunt, than anything really designed as reinterpretation. Because the last thing Swift wants most of her fans doing is A/B-ing the two versions, the way I did. The whole point is to have folks retire the OG “Fearless” from their Spotify playlists, right? The Swift faithful were already threatening to rain down damnation on anyone caught sneaking an audio peek at the old version after midnight. What she intended was to come up with a rendering so faithful that you would never have a need to spin the vintage album again. In that, she has succeeded beyond what could have been imagined even in the dreams of the few self-forgers who’ve tried this before, like a Jeff Lynne.

Is there any reason to find value in the new versions if you couldn’t care less about the issues of masters and contracts and respect in business deals that made all this strangely possible? Yes, with the first one being that the new album just sounds like a terrific remastering of the old — the same notes, and you’d swear the same performances, but sounding brighter and punchier just on a surface level. But on a more philosophical one, it’s not just a case of Swift playing with her back catalog like Andy Warhol played with his soup can. It’s really a triumph of self-knowledge and self-awareness, in the way that Swift is so hyper-conscious of the ways she’s matured that she has the ability to un-mature before our very ears. With her vocals, it’s virtuosic, in a way, how she’s made herself return to her unvirtuosic upstart self.

On Swift’s earliest albums and in those seminal live shows — at the time when she was famously being told she “can’t sing,” to quote a song from the follow-up album — there was a slight shrillness around the edges of her voice that, if you lacked faith, you might’ve imaged would be there forever. It wasn’t. That was partly youth, and partly just the sheer earnestness with which she wanted to convey the honesty of the songs. She’s advanced so much since then — into one of pop’s most gifted modern singers, really — that the woman of “Folklore” and “Evermore” seems like a completely different human being than the one who made the self-titled debut and “Fearless,” never mind just a woman versus girl. It wouldn’t have seemed possible that she could go back to her old way of singing at the accomplished age of 31, but she found and recreated that nervous, sincere, pleading voice of yesteryear. And maybe it was just a technical feat, of temporarily unlearning what she’s learned since then, but you can sense that maybe she had to go there internally, too, to the place where she was counseling other girls to guard their sexual virtue in “Fifteen,” or wondering whether to believe the fairy tale of “Love Story” or the wakeup call of “White Horse,” or proving with “Forever & Always” that writing a song telling off Joe Jonas for his 27-second breakup call was better than revenge.

If at first you’re not inclined to notice that Swift has re-adopted a completely different singing voice for the “Fearless” remakes, the realization may kick in when those “vault” tracks start appearing in the later stretch of this hour-and-50-minute album. The writing on the six songs that have been pulled up from the 2008 cutting room floor seems primitive, even a little bit by the standards of the “Fearless” album; there are great lines and couplets throughout the rescued tracks, but you can see why she left them as works-in-progress. But she doesn’t use her youthful voice on these resurrections, nor does she employ the actual style of “Fearless” very strictly. Of course, she feels more freedom on these, because there are no predecessors in the Big Machine catalog she’s asking you to leave behind. Her current collaborators of choice, Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner, divided the co-producing work on these fresher songs, as they did for the two all-new albums she released in the last year. (The “Fearless” recreations are co-produced by Swift with Christopher Rowe, someone who worked on remixes for Swift back in that era.) They co-produce the vault songs in a style that sounds somewhere between “Fearless” and Folklore”… a more spectral brand of country-pop, with flutes and synths and ringing 12-string guitars and a modicum of drum programming replacing some (but not all) of the acoustic stringed instruments you’d expect to be carried over from “Fearless” proper.

Of the previously unheard tracks, Swift was right — she’s always been her own best self-editor — in putting out “You All Over Me” first, in advance of the album. With its imagery of half-muddy stones being upturned on the road, this song has advanced lyrical conceits more of a piece with the level of writing she’s doing now than some of the slightly less precocious songs that follow. Still, there’s something to be said for the sheer zippiness with which Swift conveys teen heartbreak in “Mr. Perfectly Fine,” which has a lyric that shows Swift had long since absorbed the lessons Nashville had to offer about how to come up with a high-concept song — the concept, in this case, being just to stick the word “mister” in front of a lot of phrases relating to her shallow ex, as if they were honorary titles to be conferred for being a shit, while she employs the “miss” for herself more sparingly.

Some of the remaining outtake songs go back more toward the sedate side of “Fearless”-style material; she didn’t leave any real bangers in the can. “We Were Happy,” the first of two successive tracks to bring in Keith Urban (but only for backgrounds on this one), employs fake strings and real cello as Swift waxes nostalgic for a time when “you threw your arms around my neck, back when I deserved it.” It’s funny, in a good way, to hear Swift at 31 recreating a song she wrote at 17 or 18 that pined for long-past better times. The next song, “That’s When,” brings Urban in for a proper duet where he gets a whole second verse and featured status on half a chorus, and it’s lovely to hear them together. But, as a make-up song, it doesn’t feel as real or lived-in as the more personal things she was writing at the time — and the fact that its chords are pretty close to a slightly more balladic version of the superior “You Belong With Me” was probably a pretty good reason for dropping it at the time.

the 18-year-old Taylor Swift is a great place to visit, but “Folklore” and “Evermore” are the place you’ll want to return to and live, unless you have an especially strong sentimental attachment to “Fearless”… which, sure, half of young America does. It’s not irreconcilable to say that the two albums she issued in the last year represent a daring pinnacle of her career, but that “Fearless” deserved to win album of the year in 2008. Has there been a greater pop single in the 20th century than “You Belong With Me”? Probably not. Did the album also have lesser moments you probably haven’t thought about in a while, like the just-okay “Breathe”? Yes. (I looked up to see whether Swift had ever played that little remarked upon number in concert, and according to setlists.fm, she did, exactly once… in 2018. Because she’s Taylor Swift, and of course she did.) It’s not certain that her duet with Colbie Caillat really needed to be resurrected, except it’s fun, because hey, she even roped former duet partners back into her time warp. But there are so many number that have stood the test of time, like “The Way I Love You,” an early song that really got at the complicated feelings about passion and fidelity that she would come to explore more as she grew into her 20s… and just kind of a headbanger, too, on an album that does love its fiddles and mandolins.

It doesn’t take much to wonder why Swift put up “Fearless” first in this six-album exercise; it’s one of her two biggest albums, along with “1989,” and it’s 13 years old, which does mean something superstitious in the Taylor-verse. In a way, it’ll be more interesting to see what happens when she gets to more complicated productions, like “1989” or “Reputation.” But maybe “Fearless” did present the opportunity for the grandest experiment out of the gate: to recreate something that pure and heartfelt, with all the meticulousness a studio master like Swift can put to that process now, without having it seem like she’s faking sincerity. Let the think-pieces proceed — because this is about six hundred different shades of meta. But, all craftiness and calculation aside, there’s a sweetness to the regression that’s not inconsequential. It harks back to a time when she only wondered if she could be fearless, before she learned it the harder way for sure. What they say about actors “disappearing into the role”? That really applies to Taylor Swift, playing herself.

[professorsnape394]

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Seventeen: Heart or Head?

A/N: This is the seventeenth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-17 can also be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below or send me a message if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 1756

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

"Severus. Aria. May I speak with you both?" Dumbledore requested the next morning after breakfast.

The two professors exchanged an awkward glance, rising from either ends of the headmaster, unsure of the old wizard's intentions.

The hall bustled with noise, students and teachers alike eager to escape the great hall, enjoying their last day of freedom before yet another week begun.

The trio remained behind, exchanging not a word nor glance, until Dumbledore spoke once more.

"I assume you know what this is about." Albus questioned, his eyes travelling between the pair suspiciously.

Unable to force their eyes to meet the headmaster's, both Severus and Aria's minds began to race. Each of them suspecting that the other had divulged unto him the events of last night.

"I'm afraid not, Headmaster. Care to enlighten us?" Severus finally found the courage to say.

"As I am sure you were both made aware this morning at breakfast, Professor Karkaroff has found himself in a rather unfortunate state." Dumbledore explained, his eyes still surveying their faces through the top of his glasses.

Aria let out a huge sigh of relief, glad that Snape had not humiliated her further. Severus too was more than thankful his employer remained unaware that he had both seduced and rejected his beloved granddaughter in the early hours of the morning.

"What does that have to do with us, Grandfather?" Aria asked innocently, knowing fine well who was responsible for the wound.

"Nothing, as for as I'm aware." Dumbledore hummed. "There is no concrete evidence of what happened to Igor has anything to do with the two of you. However, given that the two of you, along with Professor Karkaroff were significantly late to breakfast, and given the state in which the two of you look, I have my suspicions."

"And what reason would either Miss Dumbledore or myself have for harming the man in question?" Severus retorted. "And surely you must be aware that I, as I always am on October 31st, was in my office until the small hours of this morning. I cannot, however, speak for your granddaughter's whereabouts, and why she looks so uncharacteristically dishevelled this morning."

The potions master glared at his apprentice out the side of his eye. It was the first he had dared to look at her all morning. Her face was bare; clearly she had made no effort to apply a face of makeup this morning, but a slight trace of eyeliner and mascara was still visible around her tired puffy eyes. She had hastily scraped her hair back into a tight ponytail, a half-hearted attempt to salvage her borderline greasy hair. Admittedly it was the worst he had saw her look since their meeting, but even then he could still appreciate her true beauty. Once again Severus Snape found himself getting lost in the woman's features, enchanted by her mere presence.

"The party." She blurted uncontrollably, upon noticing her mentor staring. "The Halloween party, it went on very late. I apologise, I should have been more responsible." She turned to the headmaster.

"Very well. I believe the two of you have very solid alibis, therefore I have no reason to suspect you any longer. As of now Igor is yet to come forward about the incident, so until he does, that is if he does, the two of you are... what's the phrase? 'Off the hook'." Albus said, raising an eyebrow, throwing his hands in the air.

Sensing that the pair were very eager to leave, Dumbledore took his chance to stop them once more.

"I would, however, like to make it known that Igor Karkaroff, along with the rest of Durmstrang school are here as our guests and should be treated with the utmost respect by Hogwarts students and Professors alike. However first and foremost, Aria, you are my granddaughter. And if a problem had to occur, that deserves appropriate repercussions, I should hope that any of my professors would be able to confide in me. And the issue would be dealt with by me, and me only. That being said; is there anything you would like to tell me, my dear granddaughter?"

She remained silent. Her eyes once again falling to the floor.

"And you Severus? You have never lied to me before. Is there anything you have to say on the matter?"

Snape paused for a moment in deliberation, remembering the promise he had once made to obey his employer entirely.

"Like I said. I was in my office all night." He lied, never once looking away, breaking his gaze.

The headmaster looked between the pair, disappointed and frustrated.

"You may go." He sighed.

Taking off in the blink of an eye Professor Snape disappeared from the great hall, his assistant following not far behind.

"Severus, wait." The young professor called out, trying to rush her way past the small clusters of students that filled the halls.

The potions master slowly came to a halt, clearly unsure whether he wanted to hear what she inevitably had to say.

"I want to talk about last night." She confessed, lowering her voice as she caught up with the potions master.

In three large strides Severus Snape turned to the woman, grabbing onto her forearm and walking her backwards into the hard castle wall. It was obvious he was paranoid of anyone, student or staff, overhearing what she was about to say regarding the events of the previous night.

Taken aback by his sudden movements Aria took a moment to catch her breath. Meanwhile Snape had gathered his thoughts on the matter.

"I am unsure of what you are referring to Miss Dumbledore, but as far as the staff are aware we never crossed paths last night, and I would like to keep it that way. Forget about whatever you want to say, anything that may or may not have happened is now considered null and void. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

Almost instantly Aria found herself becoming defensive in the face of the Professor's aggression. She had come to him with heartfelt intentions, but she'd be damned if she allowed another man to walk all over her again. She was quickly tiring of Severus' yo-yoing insight on their friendship.

"Do not tell me what I can and cannot say, Professor." Aria said, ripping her arm from her colleague's grasp. "However much you'd like to erase the of memory of the two of us, at this moment in time it remains a reality, and I have something to say on the matter. I will not let you silence me for nothing but your own benefit."

"Very well." Snape huffed, slightly impressed that she had stood up to him. "Say what you have to say, if you must, but be quick about it, I would like to enjoy the last day of the weekend without you pestering me for once."

"I wanted to apologise." The witch admitted, raising her head to lock eyes with her mentor.

Snape cocked an eyebrow curiously, silently permitting her to go on.

"I want to apologise for... for try to take things a bit too far last night. I shouldn't have expected you to... well, you know." She shrugged, eyes darting below Snape's belt.

"There is no need for an apology, Miss Dumbledore. After all, it was I who initiated the whole... situation. Like I said, I would prefer if it could be forgotten about to entirely."

"But Severus I- "

Snape held up a palm, signalling for her to stop.

"It was a mistake." He insisted. "You were drunk, Aria, and I took advantage, it was wrong of me. Besides, you're in a relationship, and I would very much appreciate if I were to remain entirely uninvolved in any of your possible drama."

Aria's multiple attempts at interrupting went unsuccessful. Snape was adamant that he wanted to forget the whole thing, therefore it was clear to Aria any attempt at convincing him otherwise would be futile.  Sensing the finality in his tone Miss Dumbledore took a step away from him, letting him go.

"Just one last thing." She blurted, causing Severus to pause halfway down the corridor. "We broke up. Just, if that means anything to you."

Aria waited hopefully for him to turn back to face her, but he never did. It was clear he had heard her but had chose not to acknowledge her words as he disappeared into the labyrinth that is Hogwarts.

*

Once again Severus Snape found himself consumed in thoughts of his assistant. Ever since his lips touched hers he couldn't get his mind off of her. With no idea what had come over him to make a move, he was sure she would reject him. But when he found that no only had she returned his kiss, but was willing to go further, panic set in.

He wanted nothing more than to let her do it. To just let her hands wander freely over his naked body, allowing him to do the same to her. He could have had her right there in his office if he wanted, but he was scared. Scared that he was right about what he said all those weeks ago in the Three Broomsticks, or scared that she would change her mind all together, but mostly he was scared that after it all, if she did actually go through with it that is, she still had a boyfriend and he would inevitably be tossed aside, forgotten and rejected all at once.

So, he convinced her, and himself, that it had all been one drunken mistake, and that it meant nothing to him. He refused to let her think for one second that he feelings of any kind for her. He would not allow himself to be humiliated by her of all people.

It would all have gone just as he had planned if Aria hadn't said those few words. 'We broke up'. Why did she tell him that? What difference did it make to him? Was she trying to get in his head? Or was she trying to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear?

Deliberating over the meaning of her confession kept the potions master preoccupied all day. In his heart he wanted to believe that she felt just as he did. But his head told him no one would ever be able to love a beast like him.

Soon enough all of Snape's uncertainty was to be put to rest by a single knock at the door.

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel​

@lizlil​

[buglife]

Perhaps a meeting between Dadmaster and the White Lady?

“Do you think that they might be okay with taking students again?”

Mato thought for a moment, walking beside his child in the restored Royal Gardens. They were just enjoying the quiet sights for a while, when Ghost brought up the possibility of teaching nail arts to the guards and knights of the realm. The question was a surprising one, which for a moment worried the beetle that something may be going on that he wasn't being told about.

“They might be, why do you ask?” He leaned down to look Ghost in the eyes. “Are you worried about something?”

“I just...I can’t be everywhere at once, even as a god.” They admitted, averting their gaze as though ashamed of the fact. “I want my people to be protected, even If I can’t be there. I don’t need protecting, but they do.”

“Well, that’s a fine reason as any.” Mato answered with a reassuring tone to his voice, glad to hear that nothing nefarious was going on. It was just Ghost being Ghost, worried over everyone's safety again. “You indeed can’t be everywhere, and perhaps more people knowing the nail arts would be a boon to the kingdom.”

“I thought so too, but there’s only you, me, Uncle Oro and Sheo, and Grandpa Sly who know how to even teach it. I can’t teach everyone by myself.” They gestured to themselves and their current 'mortal' form. They were certainly not as large as their twin, Hollow, nore were they even tall enough to reach Mato's shoulder. Even being a god, they wouldn't be able to instantly teach a rather intensive and practice heavy technique like the nail arts. It would have to be done the old fashioned way with actual teaching. They were right, they couldn't do it all by themselves. They would need some help.

“Did you ask Sly about this?” Mato thoughtfully replied. “He was the one to teach us, after all. He’d be able to help you for sure.”

Ghost nodded their head. “I asked Grandpa Sly and he said, and I quote, “I trained enough kids, now I want to enjoy my goddamn retirement.”

“Then what did he say when you offered to pay him?” Mato crossed his arms and raised a brow, anticipating the answer.

“Where do I sign?” The void being snorted in amusement, shoulders shaking with the effort to not burst into outright laughter. Mato was not so reserved.

“HAHA! Of course that old miser would!” Mato bellowed a deep belly laugh and slapped Ghost so hard on the back it sent them stumbling a little. In the corner of his eye, he could see the posted guardsmen stiffen at the interaction. “To be honest, I think he also wants to be able to brag about being able to beat up knights and guardsmen all day without getting a treason charge.”

“That and I think Uncle Oro would be down with It too. He’s that kinda guy.” Ghost chirped, eyes now full of mirth. They didn’t seem to mind being bodily hauled around by their father, despite their status as a King. “He likes putting bugs who are a little too full of themselves back in their place, and I saw some of the new applicants. I think he’d do a lot of good here.”

Mato hummed in thought. Oro was very different from the rest of the brothers, and even Sly. He'd need special motivation and he wasn't always swayed by Geo. “What do you have in mind to get him out of his hovel and here in the city?”

“I think he wouldn’t mind if I offered to give him a private candy chef on call that I will employ.” They drummed their claws together, amused by their own cleverness. “I remember that he used to train me in exchange for honey I’d sneak out of the Hive. Imagine what he’d do for whatever sweets his heart desires that could be made on demand?”

“There’s my little tactician! That will get him for sure.” Mato beamed with pride, not like Ghost had to do much to get him to be proud of them to begin with. “Sheo I think might just be too busy with his husband right now for teaching beyond his art school.”

They nodded in response and smiled up at their father, who quickly reached down to give them a gentle noogie. They didn’t bother trying to escape and accepted their affection without so much of a flinch. Good. Mato released them after a chitin crushing hug and set them back on their feet.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” He asked softly, deciding to voice the thoughts he was having. It was one thing to feel pride for someone, it was another to let them know that you thought as such.

Ghost nodded, a bit of gray coloring the shell that made up their face, nudging a few pebbles with a foot. “I know, thanks Dad.”

He was about to comment further when a little dragonfly suddenly dropped out of the air and pancaked into the cobble stones below them. Both Nailmaster and King leapt backwards from the sudden noise and movement, drawing their nails together in a smooth motion through instinct alone. Then, when nothing outright attacked them, they took a second look.

It was a messenger to be sure. The dragonfly was wearing a bag and a hat that denoted them as a member of the messenger corps. At first Mato thought that the bug was injured from the crash, but the amount of scrapes and cuts alone couldn’t have been caused by just hitting stone. They wearily reached up to hold out a hemo-stained letter, somewhat reeling from the hit they took, antenna bent and crooked.

“Messenger Stikks, reporting with an urgent message from Kingdom’s edge!” The dragonfly slurred, struggling to focus enough to hold the letter out straight. They closed one eye and narrowed the other, adjusting their grip so that the letter was actually in front of Ghost and not a few feet to the left. “Antlion larvae have dug in from the wastes and they are everywhere!”

Ghost took the letter and read it quickly. Then read it again. They finally put the paper down and sighed, all the humor they had merely seconds ago sucked out by the reality of their station.

“Something the matter, my child? Do you need help?” Mato had yet to release his grip on his great nail, moving the other hand to rest it on their shoulder in an act of comfot.

Ghost shook their head with a huff of annoyance. “This wouldn’t be a problem if the coliseum would have just left the larvae alone. The letter is from the head Fool, apparently they caught a few, which then escaped, and now is tunneling under the arena and is causing sections to collapse on itself. They are requesting aid from me as per our treaty.”

“Well, they are called Fools for a reason.” Mato could only shrug at that. “Even I wouldn’t mess with a doodlebug.”

“...A what?”

“Just a nickname for them.” Mato bent over and picked up the dragonfly. “You alright son?” He looked the bug over. They were kind of smooshed and bent up, but it seemed like they’d be okay after getting some medical attention.

“Aye aye, sir!” The dragonfly saluted and missed, causing them to punch themselves in the head with a CRACK.

Mato was then holding a completely unconscious bug. He winced and waved over a guard, handing the poor bug over to be taken to the nearest doctor. Ghost was trying to not laugh, obviously feeling bad for the poor bug, but Mato had to admit it was kind of funny.

“You sure you don’t need help, Ghost?” Mato asked again, once the guard and dragonfly were gone. He focused hard with his dad powers to determine if Ghost was going to tell the truth. God King or not, they were still his kid and he’d be damned if he let them run off and get themselves hurt.

They shook their head. “No Dad, I will be fine. I’ll just have to pull out the larvae and then set them loose out in the wastes. Nobody else has to get hurt today.”

He nodded. “As long as you’ll be okay. I trust you to know your own limits.”

“I will.” They tilted their head up in a smile. “Feel free to wander around for a bit, I’ll be back soon and we can meet up with Quirrel and Hollow later for dinner.”

“Sounds good to me, come back safe.” He gave them a short hug and a pat to the back.

They nodded and stepped back, suddenly dissolving into liquified void, seeping into the stonework and vanishing from view. It was a very blink and you miss it type action for sure. Teleporting was different from bug to bug, but Ghost sure did know how to make and exit when they needed to make one quick. Soon the last bits of excess void evaporated and not a single trace was left behind that the King was even standing there. Well, with nothing else to do but wait, he decided to take their advice and take a look around. After the palace was built over top of the old one, the gardens were also revitalized. A lot of work had been put into the place and once things were green and blooming again, it was opened up for the public. It was fairly peaceful and offered a lot of nice spots to simply sit and reflect should one want to.

He decided that perhaps the best thing to do was to find such a spot and meditate for a while. Ghost had given him quite a bit of information to consider. The idea of teaching the nail arts to the next generation of warriors was a interesting one and he wasn’t quite sure how to implement such an ambitious plan. Perhaps a school would have to be made. He’d have to talk to his own father and brothers as well about it. Perhaps a solution would come to him once he emptied his mind for a while.

He walked around gardens, looking for a quiet spot for Ghost to find him later, when he was stopped by a sight that made him question his vision. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes, but he still saw the same figure that used to be everywhere before the infection began.

The White Lady sat on a stone bench, idlily watering a patch of flowers using a simple watering can. Mato could see no finery on her or any mark of a station beyond a civilian on her person. She was dressed simply in white robes, the roots on her head curled up and branching outwards in a mess of tiny white leaves and petals. She didn’t seem to notice him, giving the flowers on the ground a drink as she hummed to herself, her eyes closed in either thought or contentment.

To be honest, it Mato didn’t quite know what to think at first. Most of the citizens of Hallownest gave little thought to their previous Queen. Before Hollow was even locked into the temple, she had fled her people and her home to wall herself within her personal gardens, taking one of the great knights with her. When it was clear that Hollow wasn’t going to be able to hold back the wrath of the Radiance, the King also fled, abandoning the kingdom to their fate. Most remembered this, and cared little about the fates of the rulers who vanished during the kingdom’s darkest hour, leaving the common bug to fend for themselves with no leadership and no help.

They weren’t remembered fondly, regulated to history books and a cautionary tales of pride and cowardice.

It was only years of training that kept him from fully succumbing to rage. How dare she! How dare she sit here all pretty in the palace gardens, like she never allowed the king to murder their own children and abandoned every bug that looked up to her when things didn’t work out perfectly? The same lady who annexed an entire section of another people’s land for her own personal gardens? The same Lady that sat a scant few meters away from the home of those she most hurt?

And why was she here? From what he understood, Ghost did not like her one bit. Even gentle and sweet Hollow only recalled moments with her to be painful and refused to further elaborate on the matter. He got most of the story from Ghost, and what he heard made him livid. He often wondered what he would say to the former king and queen should he meet them again, and now he was being presented with such an opportunity.

He took a few deep breaths. As far as he knew, she was no longer his Queen nor any sort of authority over him anymore. He would get a few answers, no, he demanded them.

He approached her, no longer masking the noise of his movements as his boots crunched a few discarded dead leaves. She paused in her humming and turned her face to fix her startling blue eyes on him. Mato stared back, unafraid and resolute. She balked slightly from the force of his stare, but composed herself by sitting up and gently smiling down on him.

“Hello.” She said, her voice soft and whispery, like a breeze through the leaves of a willow tree. “How can I help you?”

“What are you doing here.” Mato demanded. The question was short and very much to the point.

“Me? Well, my child-”

“They are not your child.” Mato hissed, cutting off her words with an enraged snarl. “You don’t get to call them that, not after what you and the pale bastard  did to them!”

She seemed taken aback for a moment, narrowing her eyes as her roots shuddered, before she seemed to slump into herself. She turned her head away for a moment, taking in an audible breath as she turned it back to glance back at the Nailmaster. “You act as if I don’t regret what we were forced to do.”

“You always had a choice.” Mato countered. “You could have done anything other than let thousands of your children lay dead at the bottom of the abyss. Have you even gone down there to see them? Offer some sort of rites like any parent would do for their deceased children?”

“It does not matter, Ghost has-”

“King  Ghost.” He once again corrected her. Only family got to refer to them by their name alone and fiercely guarded such a privilege. Especially since they had to pick their own name. The Lady and the King didn't even feel it fitting to give them something as simple as a name.

“Yes." She sighed, "King Ghost has informed me that their siblings besides Hollow now reside within the void... at rest, which is now a part of them. Empty rites and platitudes will not bring them back, nor erase what I have...what we have done.”

Mato stared at her for a moment, scanning her face and body for any hint of lies or manipulation. To his surprise, he found none, just an old woman who was full of regrets.

“Then why are you here?” He finally spoke and crossed his arms in front of him. “My child obviously knows that you are here, why let you in? You told them to kill their own sibling and take their place in a plan that already failed, just to hold the mad goddess at bay for a scant few more years while you could still hide in the Gardens and play pretend. Why?” He could barely keep the fury from his voice as he spoke. He could see her flinch with each accusation, her eyes blurring with what might be tears, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that was he was saying was impacting her in some way, and he was happy for that at least.

She was silent for a moment, the roots and branches that made up her head curling in on themselves and shuddering slightly. A few leaves and petals dropped to the stones below and rapidly lost their otherworldly shimmer. “I don’t know, to be honest.”

Mato narrowed his eyes behind the hard shell of his mask. “You gottah be shitting me.”

“I speak the truth.” She shifted in her seat so she could face him fully. “All I know, is that one day, King Ghost arrived where I have made my exile. They commanded me to unroot myself. I could sense the brand on them, the pieces of my husband and I that made them, and the spark of a higher power, so I obeyed. It took time to unroot myself, but once I did they commanded me to unbind myself and to come with them.” She paused a moment to look up, as thought remembering a feeling or a snippet of a memory. “I had diminished myself, made myself weak. I could no longer see, so they commanded that I reside here to recover. I did so, and when I saw them for the first time I was astonished and humbled. I had believed that perhaps that they would take revenge and have me executed or banish me to the wastes, but... they did not. Instead, they told me that I will do what I was meant to do and I was not permitted to run away again.”

Mato was silent, listening as the White Lady spoke, watching her face as it went through a range of emotions. Regret, bitterness, elation, joy, shame...all flickered through her pale face and shimmering eyes.

“My sentence was to bring life back to the kingdom, as it was my duty long before the Pale Wyrm even chose Hallownest to rebirth himself in. I would, as they put it, ‘have to clean up my mess’ and I have been doing as such.”

“I did notice everything get greener.” Mato muttered. He had noticed the yields from the farms were also quite abundant and rich. The kingdom should have gone through a period of famine as they rebuilt, but there was food. Nothing refined at the beginning, but nobody went hungry. “Was that you?”

She nodded, serene as she put her watering can to the side. She lifted one of her roots from the ground, leaving a neat little hole that she dropped a single seed into. “Yes, I am a goddess of life and fertility, it brings me joy to know that life has begun anew.”

“Are you a prisoner here, then?” He looked, but saw no chains, no shackles, and not even the delicate weave of spells or magic. Nothing that could force her to stay here.

“Goodness no.” She shook her head, eyes curled up in slight amusement. “There is not a place I could run that my ch….my king could not find me. Nore do I expect that they are such a god to begin with. I am here as they said, to clean up my own mess. Nothing more, and nothing less. I have been given my own home here.” She gestured to a cottage nestled in among the trees, just barely out of sight, most likely for her own privacy. “I have no need to leave, nore am I under duress. I simply am.”

Mato’s rage was beginning to cool somewhat. From what he understood, his child had decided to grow beyond the pettiness and childish ways of the former higher powers, and instead, enact rather wise and mature decisions. With a start, he realized that he may have had a hand in that decision. He thought back to a moment, a scant couple years ago when rebuilding hasn’t even started yet.

“Dad?” Ghost asked. They had just had their first molt, resting their now slightly bigger body against their twin sibling. Hollow was in bed, their head and body haven just gotten new fresh bandages. It had been only a bare few months after the death of the Radiance, and Ghost had had some time to sit and think about their situation.

Of course both of the void siblings were a mess after the final battle, and Mato had commandeered an empty home in Dirtmouth to care for them both. Herrah had awoken from her slumber and was there to care for Hornet, but she had Deepnest to restore. Hornet jumped back and forth between both homes, bringing honey from the Hive and silken bandages in the effort to bring Hollow back to some semblance of wellness.

“Yes, my child?” Mato had adopted Hollow instantly, the poor injured bug still was very much a child despite being the tallest bug they’ve ever seen. He coaxed Hollow into opening their mouth and letting him stick another spoonful of light broth inside. He patted them gently when they did, helping them get ready for the next spoonful.

“How did you learn to forgive Uncle Oro?” Ghost was staring at their new set of arms, clenching and unclenching their hands. They tripped over their new telepathy a few times, but they were able to be understood. Mato stayed steady enough to get another spoon of sustenance in his largest child, but was quite surprised by the question.

“That’s quite a question, Ghost. What suddenly brought this on?”

Ghost was silent for a few moments and Mato gave them time to get their thoughts together. Hollow tried a chirp of encouragement, but Mato tapped them on the snoot. No chirping, only soup for the moment. They harrumphed and took another spoonful, which earned them a nice rub to sooth the healing cracks in their face.

“Uncle Oro hurt you and Uncle Sheo, really bad.” Ghost started. “But now, you are all okay again. How did that happen? What do you do when someone hurts you, but you don’t want to be hurt by them anymore?”

Ah, there it was. No doubt this had something to do with the sibling’s awful, awful parents. He didn’t want to accidentally poison his child with his own bad memories, nor the awfulness of why the situation actually happened in the first place. Instead, he decided to be completely honest.

“Well, Sheo and I were hurt, yes. We took space for ourselves to sort out our feelings. By then, the infection was in full swing and we didn’t know how the other was doing. When you let us know that all three of us were still alive, that’s when we knew there was a chance.”

Ghost looked up, tilting their head backwards so they didn’t have to get up from where they where lounging. “A chance?”

“Yes, the only time a chance to fix something between someone is gone, is when they are gone themselves. When we realized that we were all still alive, I knew that a chance still existed to get my brothers back.”

Ghost nodded, listening closely. Hollow subtly curved their head to listen as well, and Mato suddenly found himself with the full undivided attention of two children. He would have to choose his words carefully

“So, a few weeks ago, we both went to see Oro, and we talked. We talked about how we hurt each other. We talked about how we were sorry. We talked about how we can improve ourselves and move on. In the end, we decided to give each other a chance again, at least for one last time. Obviously, Oro wanted to be back with us again, because we worked it all out. We missed each other a lot, so I found that we could forgive each other and start again.”

“Uncle Oro is still really grumpy though…” Ghost added as an after thought.

“Oro was always a grumpy little bastard, that hasn’t changed.” Mato laughed. “ What changed however, is that we realized what we all did to cause the problem in the first place, and apologized. Now it’s just letting time go by to heal the wounds and give everyone a fresh chance again.”

“That’s it? Just time and a chance?” Ghost tilted their head to the side, eye’s narrow as they did their best to grasp the concept. Hollow moved their head just enough to give their smaller sibling a nuzzle. Ghost sighed and shifted so that they could hug Hollow back with nuzzle of their own, melting into the cuddle pile.

“If you think they are worthy of a second chance, than yeah. If not, than don’t give them a third.” Mato stopped assaulting Hollow with soup for the moment, letting them have a bit of a break for a cuddle. He took the time to look over the bandaged socket where their left arm used to be. He’ll have to ask Sheo and Smith if they could do something about that. "It's up to you to even consider giving that chance. If you don't want to, nobody is going to blame you for that. It's your decision alone and nobody can force you to do otherwise." He waggled the spoon at Ghost to further get his point across, as well as a subtle unspoken 'I will beat anyone who tells you otherwise with this spoon'.

“Thanks, Father.” Ghost looked up, eyes shining with resolve. “I think I know what to do now.

“They are giving you a second chance.” Mato spoke aloud once he finished with his memory, startling the White Lady with the suddenness of his voice.

“I’m afraid I don’t..” She looked confused by it all, looking Mato up and down as though he suddenly went crazy.

“They are giving you a second chance to be in their life. Both theirs and Hollows.” Mato’s voice took on a hard edge again as he pointed to her. “They are deciding if you are going to hurt them again, as they are not going to give you a third chance.”

“You mean...they’d want me to be…” her eyes widened and glistened with moisture, speaking some delicate hope that still resided within her. Mato knew he could never understand her particular pain, nore did he feel like she even deserved to have that hope after all this time, but that was not his decision to make.

“I don’t think they want you as their mother.” Mato took no joy over crushing that bit of hope, but she needed to know the truth. “After all this time, I don’t think they can let you be that intimate with them, at least for a very long time. Of course I’m speaking of Ghost, not Hollow. But for Ghost, I would shoot for just being a friend, someone they can trust again. Maybe it can evolve into something else besides that, but who knows what the future can hold."

"It is clear that you do not like me, or approve of my presence here at all. So why tell me this?" She bent her head down to regard Mato as though searching for the punchline to a cruel joke.

"Because it's the truth, and yes, I don't like you one bit, but the ones Ghost choose to be in their life is not up to me. If they want to give you a chance along with Hollow, than so be it. It's their life, not mine. BUT..." He stopped slouching and pulled himself up to his full height. "If you hurt them again, either of them, I will make you regret that. Do you understand?"

She nodded. "I do."

"Good, then we have nothing more to discuss." He turned on his heel and left, not even giving her a wayward glance as he left her behind. He could have dragged more answers from her for sure. Even if they only needed one vessel for the plan, they could have taking in the 'rejected' ones and cared for them. Was she even there when the selection was taken place? Did she also leave Ghost to fell back into the abyss, never to see light again for years, maybe decades? Too many questions, and he doubted he'd get satisfying answers to any of them. Perhaps for now, it was best to let it go. Ghost or Hollow will bring it up on their own time and he would do what he always did, be there when they needed it. He loved them, even if it was later in their lives than he wanted it to be.

He wished he could have been there from the beginning. How different would they have turned out if he could have scooped them up at their hatching and carried them away to raise and love? All of them, not just those two, every single cracked shell in the abyss belonged to an individual child. He didn't know how, but he figured he'd have enough love for them all if needed. Perhaps he was feeling jealous that she could have had that, but chose to throw it and her own children away instead.

Too many feeling and not enough answers. He needed to get some meditation done and sort himself out before Ghost came to find him again. It wouldn't do for them to see him angry and conflicted like he was. He marched along until he found a nice, quiet section of the gardens and sat. He folded his legs under himself and let his cloak fall around him, emptying his mind and falling deep into the calming waves of meditation. He let the feelings come and wash over him, letting himself experience them without becoming consumed. The memories and the experiences were neatly sorted as he pulled himself together where he'd be able to experience them again should he wish to. Soon, there was nothing but calm. Everything was in it's right place and Mato let himself drift away into the nothingness and soothe his heart.

He started back into reality when he felt a tug on his cloak. He instinctively looked down where he expected a tiny void creature to be tugging on his cloak, looking for hugs. When he didn't see them down there, he looked up to see his grown child tugging on his cloak, eyes curled up in amusement.

"Hey Dad," they said with a giggle. "Sorry to wake you, but I'm back."

"That you are." Mato replied with a 'smile' of his own, standing up to stretch. He must have been sitting for a while, as his legs began to buzz with pins and needles as he worked the numbness out. "How did it go?"

"Well. The larvae were moved with no more injuries. The Fools will have to fix their own coliseum, since it was their fault it got damaged in the first place." Ghost giggled again, something amusing must have happened, and no doubt they were saving it for dinner later.

"Let me guess, there's more too that?"

They nodded, vibrating slightly. "Yes, but I want Quirrel and Hollow to hear it too. They'll get a kick out of it and you'd spoil it if I told you now."

"Then let's not keep them waiting." Mato mock bowed. "After you, your majesty."

"Dadddd noooo." They waved their hands around, trying to get him to stand again. "That's embarrassing! Monomon doesn't do that!"

"She isn't allowed to bow because it gives her cover to get smoke bombs out of her veil without getting caught." He countered with a laugh.

Ghost just sighed dramatically and grabbed his hand, dragging him off towards the palace where dinner and company awaited. Mato found that he couldn't stop laughing, letting his child drag him around just for the fact that he could.

It was then he realized that he pitied the White Lady. All these little moments she willfully gave up, never to experience it for the foreseeable future. It struck him as very sad that she would give up such a thing, but he decided there was no use in trying to understand why.

After all, he would be too busy coming up with ways to spoil his own children, and that thought would consume most of his days, as It should be.

---

Heyo another request down!!! Next up will be SIBLING DAY!!!

Also antlion larvae are terrifying, but the fact that they have 'doodlebugs' as their nickname is strangely endearing.

I feel neutral about the white lady. Yes she willfully participated in the plan and no in no way innocent, but boy did she make herself suffer for it. Hence here, Ghost gave her a chance to just be who she was before, just god doing god things, without having to balance a kingdom. She just has to help clean up the mess she left her kids to deal with and can't run away when the going gets tough again. To be honest, I feel like she's a lot happier now to just have her nice little private cabin in the gardens with no royal responsibilities and the hope that one day she may have more than a professional relationship with Ghost and Hollow.

Hollow knows she is there, but is working through their own feelings before they decide on what to do about it. They love her so much but remembers the pain in being constantly rejected and treated as though they were already dead by her. It's complicated, but there are therapists in the kingdom now and that will help over time.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #16: Crane

Crane - stretch out one's body or neck in order to see something.

Kugane tended to get very warm this time of year, and Ranaa Mhigo was grateful that the casual attire she wore was so breathable. It did an excellent job of keeping the sun from her bronzed skin, but let those all-too rare cool breezes grant the full measure of their cooling relief when they did show up.  

One was arriving now, and she let out an enjoyable sigh as it passed through. Unfortunately she also raised her her ever so slightly, and the movement sent a small stab of pain through her neck muscles. With a small exclamation of pain, she reached up to rub the pain away.

Makoto, who was sitting at the table of one of Kugane's smaller teahouses with her, looked over to her with concern in her eyes. "Are you well, my....friend?"

The small hesitation told Ranaa that she'd almost finished that sentence with "heart" as she often called Ranaa in private, but that she'd stopped herself from doing so. Public displays of affection were somewhat frowned on within Hingan culture, and relationships with foreigners or people of the same gender were even more so. Makoto occupied a somewhat prominent position within Kugane as captain of the Sekiseigumi, and so she had to keep their relationship private. Sometimes she went a little overboard on the caution, but Ranaa couldn't be too mad about it. After all she was very affectionate in private.

"I'm fine, just a little neck cramp." she replied. She leaned in and whispered "Between all his training we've been doing for our next performance and all the times we have to crane our neck to look up at Fearless, I think maybe it's gotten more sore than the rest of me!"

Makoto giggled quietly, smiling even as she cast her eyes around, confirming that no one else was within earshot. "You might jest, but honestly mine has been hurting me more than usual lately as well! But I don't think I can ever really complain about it. Seeing her look down back at me with all of that love in her gaze....it is very much a worthwhile trade."

Ranaa smiled back at her. "It really does. Hey, I'm curious, actually. What was your reaction the first time you ever saw her?"

She thought back to those days when she had traveled to Eorzea, seeking the legendary samurai Musosai, hoping he might be willing to rejoin them in bringing the insurgent who wanted to burn the city they all now called home to the ground.

"I will honestly never forget the sight. I was right outside the tavern known as the 'Quicksand' in Ul'dah, hoping to catch sight of Musosai, when this absolutely massive woman approaches me. I remember being equally terrified and entranced, my very breath taken away by how beautiful she was, to the point where it took me a few moments to realize that she was both wearing a katana at her hip and addressing me by name. I remember keeping my eyes absolutely fixed on her own, but my mind was practically begging me to allow myself to admire just how well her armor fit her!"

She looks down at her teacup. "Of course, it was then that I had learned that the man I had pinned my hopes on was no longer among the living, so that did put somewhat of a damper on my traitorous mind."

Makoto shook her head and looked back to Ranaa, smiling. "No. I'm not getting lost back there because it has led me here, and here, in my greatest happiness, is where I wish to be. So, now you must tell me, my dearest Ranaa. What was your own reaction to meeting "our girl" as you are fond of calling her?

Ranaa laughs. "Well, I'll be honest, I don't quite remember the first real time I laid eyes upon her. She was just another member of my first audience in Eorzea. Said audience was quite large, as a Thavnairian dancing troupe performing is hardly a common occurrence in Limsa Lominsa and there was no shortage of beautiful girls watching, both Roegadyn and otherwise. I make it a habit of catching as many eyes as possible when I dance, if only for a brief few seconds. I remember seeing her in the crowd, mostly cause of her axe. She was carrying a real big one"

"But then afterwards, Mistress Nashmeira brought her over to the Troupe and introduced her as her new protege and my new dance partner." Ranaa blushed a little. "I tried so hard to come off all smooth and confident when I talked to her, but inside, I had two conflicting thoughts going through my head. The first was 'How is this mountain  of muscles and tits ever going to have the grade needed to learn the Kriegstanz?' The other was 'Oh, Twelve, I'm going to get to look up at this gorgeous mountain of muscles in a dancer's costume...a lot...'"

Both of them erupted in laughter. Makoto managed to regain control of herself first. "We should make our way home, dearest. Perhaps we can convince our 'gorgeous mountain of muscles' to put them to good use in giving us a shoulder massage"

Ranaa smiled coyly at her. "I love you and your brilliant mind. Let's go!"

A short walk to the ferry and a ride across the river later, the pair arrived in their neighborhood, walking hand in hand. Unlike Kugane, Shirogane was reserved exclusively for foreign inhabitants, as well as any citizens who were invited to live with them. The pair were known to a few of their neighbors, but no one else even bothered the pair. Makoto thoroughly enjoyed being able to let her guard down at the end of the day. No one here knew she was a part of the Sekiseigumi, and unlike most Hingashi natives, the residents were not bothered in the least by "less traditional" romantic arrangements.

Ranaa had stopped to speak with a Lalafell neighbor of theirs, a man employed by the East Aldenard Trading Company in the city, and was just catching back up to Makoto when she noticed a familiar person walking up the road. "Wait....why is Franks here?"

Sure enough, the "Old Man" as he preferred to be called, was  indeed walking up the road, away from their home. He was carrying a large satchel which Makoto could see held all manner of tools. "Franks, is that you?" Makoto called. "What brings you here?"

Franks waved. "Ah, ladies! Well met. You're just in time, I just finished the addition!"

Ranaa and Makoto exchanged glances. "Addition? What addition?" Ranaa inquired.

He smirked "Ooooh, she didn't tell you! Well, I'll say nothing more, lest I let the rest of the metaphorical couerl out of the bag! Enjoy it!" With that, he gave them a wave goodbye and sauntered onward,

"What in the star was THAT about?" Ranaa wondered as they watched Franks head for the ferry.

Makoto took her hand again. "I suspect we shall find out when we get home, love."

A few less eventful minutes later, they arrived at the home they shared with Fearless to find her waiting for them at the gate. "Oh, good, you're home!" she said, kneeling down to embrace the pair, one under each arm. "I have a surprise for you, come on!"

Fearless stood and  spun around, grabbing one of their hands each as she did, and quickly walked around to the house, Both Ranaa and Makoto stumbled as Fearless almost dragged them behind her, but they quickly adjusted their pace and caught up to her.

Around the back of the house, up against a small rocky cliff that gave them some privacy, Makoto spotted a feature that had not been there that morning. It was a large rectangular wooden structure built onto a series of carefully sculpted rocks that gave an illusion of being naturally shaped. On the far end, a taller wooden structure rose, topped by a black tiled roof. Steam rose from the structure.

Ranaa gasped. "Is...is that a personal hot spring? Do we have a HOT SPRING in our backyard??"

Fearless smiled at her. "We do! I've wanted to take you both to one for so long, but the only ones I know of are in Eorzea, and we haven't had time for an extended sojourn there. I haven't been able to find one in Doma, and I know going to any of the ones in Kugane would be too risky. I mentioned it to the others, and Franks came up with this wonderful idea. He crafted it entirely himself. Fire crystals keep it heated, water crystals continuously replenish the supply and keep it clean. Now we can enjoy it whenever we like!

Ranaa lept up into her fellow dancer's arms. "And I'm sure getting to see us in swimwear a lot didn't factor into your decision at all" she teased.

Fearless kissed her. "Well, I see you in minimal clothing a lot as it is, sweetling. Makoto on the other hand? Yeah, totally did all this just to see her wear swimsuits more often

Makoto blushed and smacked her on the arm. "Do you want to tease, or shall we go inside and change and see how nice it is?"

A few minutes later, Makoto found herself loving the addition to their home as she leaned back against Fearless' legs while strong but gentle hands massaged all the aches out of her neck and shoulders as Ranaa sat next to her, awaiting her turn with her usual amount of patience. Which was to say, none at all. She continuously tried to distract her with kisses and teasing touches, waiting for the moment she could slip into her spot and begin receiving Fearless' ministrations.

Though it had not ended as she hoped, Makoto was very glad she'd made that first trip to Eorzea. It had changed her life in ways she never could have imagined, all for the better.  

[beautiful-bau-beau]

helloooo!! I have a Spencer request :) Could you write one where Spencer is injured (maybe like when he broke his leg or something like that) and he stays round yours and you look after him, help him shower, comfort him and stuff :)

Anonymous said to beautiful-bau-beau: could u do a soulmate au w spence where you feel the share pain with your soulmate, i think it would be interesting since spencer seems to be shot or nearly killed in almost every episode 

Sticks and Stones

fem!reader/Spencer Reid

masterlist

[Set in season 5 when Spencer gets shot in the leg but makes references to Maeve]

----

To the average eye flowers are soft, simple little things. They spark romance in the hearts of budding couples, they aid the grieving widows, their beauty inspires the masses in forms such as poetry and art. For some, flowers only caused distress.

Few were "fortunate" in the world to have soulmates. Once twelve years of age, a soul bound to another would feel the pain, to a lesser extent, as well as receive a flower at the sight of the intrusion. Small purple blooms grew at bruises, at a cut, the flowers would mimic the length and size. Any other type of pain was indicated by large, red blossoms. As each wound healed, the flowers would wilt and die.

You were among the many to few flowers as flimsy nuisances, only serving as reminders of the pain you had to go through.

Before turning twelve you often wondered if you had a soulmate. You had spent many days vividly imagining who your soulmate was, what he looked like, what he did for a living, choosing to ignore that if you indeed had one, a lifetime of pain was sure to follow.

Lifetime of pain indeed.

Your soulmate must have been a stuntman, a police officer, hell- even a lion tamer with the amount of pain he seemed to put you through. The occasional bruise and scrape seemed to hit you up until your early twenties, that's when the real pain began.

Every other day it seemed that you were doubled over, screaming in agony. You were an ugly vision of purple and red, but hell, it seemed to strike up a conversation with you and your patients.

You served as a private duty nurse, taking care of patients in the safety of their own home. You enjoyed the one-on-one with your patients, and it was decidedly better than working in a crowded hospital with a difficult schedule.

You had just finished a job working with an elderly woman, as her granddaughter had recently decided to move in with her to take care of her. It was a sad departure, but the job had finished and it was now time for you to find another patient in need.

You were employed through a small local medical office and received career requests through their office website.

One particular request caught your eye that morning from a Ms. Penelope Garcia. A friend of hers had recently been shot in the leg and needed to quickly recover before returning to his job.

You eyed your own leg, sighing heavily. It still seemed to throb harshly every once in a while.

A week ago, out of nowhere, an extreme pain radiated through your leg, causing you to drop what you were doing and scream. Thankfully you hadn't been on the job but the look of pity your neighbors gave you the next day felt just as awful. Every time you glanced at the offending appendage you could swear you saw another blossom grow.

"You and me both, buddy." You mumbled, picking up your phone. The job seemed simple enough, and hopefully you would be able to bond with this new patient by shared leg pain.

-

"You ordered a nurse for me?" Spencer hissed into his cell, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can take care of myself!" He eyed your figure, currently unpacking a medical bag. You had entered his apartment mere minutes ago, not understanding his confusion.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" You asked, greeting his wheel-chair bound figure. "I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the nurse your girlfriend Penelope ordered." You were met with a blank stare. "Is she uh.. here?"

"I'm going to have to make a phone call." Spencer blurted, wheeling himself inside. He left the door open so you took it upon yourself to enter.

"Spencer, I love you but are you listening to yourself right now?" Penelope replied, twirling a pen around her fingers. "You were shot a week ago, you're in a wheelchair. How are you going to shower? Replace your bandages? Sweets, this nurse will help you. And before you even have to ask I already checked and your insurance covers this!"

"Garcia-"

"I won't hear anything more about it as I know I'm right! Goodbye, dear!" A heavy sigh came from the man, and he placed his cellphone back in his pocket. He turned to look at you again, wheeling his way over to you.

"I apologize for earlier. I wasn't exactly informed that you would be coming here." He placed his hands on his lap, awkwardly.

"That's alright!" You chirped. " You’re low-risk so I won’t invade your space too much by staying overnight with you. I'm here to help with personal medical care, bathing, trimming nails, and making you comfortable.... as well as urinary and colostomy care." His eyes widened and you simply waved him off. "I get it. It's weird. But from what I read through of your medical reports, the bullet went clear through and you'll need a crutch in two weeks! At least you're not hooked up to a catheter?" You tried to joke. You were met with another simple stare.

"Let's uh, change your bandages, shall we?"

-

It had been a few days since you started working with Spencer. He was a nice man, a little awkward, and seemed to be more of an introvert, so you respected his space. He seemed to take to staying in bed, simply asking for books every once and awhile.

"There's no way you're able to read all these so quickly. You'd have to be superhuman..." You teased, bringing him a stack of his latest requests.

"I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer replied, catching your eye. He flushed under your surprised glance. "...Not to brag."

"Well... that'll do it." You set each book in your arm down, one by one, a particular title catching your eye. "The Narrative of John Smith?"

"Have you read it?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. He hadn't originally pegged you for an Arthur Conan Doyle fan.

"Uh, no." You scratched behind your ear sheepishly. "But a few friends of mine have, they all highly recommend it. What do you think? Does it live up to all the hype?" Spencer opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, causing your brows to furrow.

"I can't tell you what to read... it's just a very special book to me."

"Did someone special give you the book? Penelope?" Spencer let out a chuckle, hissing as he adjusted himself on his bed.

"Garcia is just a friend but you're correct, someone special gave me the book."

"A soulmate?" You asked, immediately regretting your choice of words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I'm just the nosy nurse that asks too many questions." You knew it was a sensitive topic for some, with or without the soulmate.

"No, it wasn't from a soulmate... but I wish she was." Spencer's voice grew soft. You felt as if you had stepped too far, intruded upon a fond memory.

"I do have one though." He continued, noticing your unease. "Sometimes I worry I imagined her but every once and awhile, I'll notice some flowers by my legs, the likely result of a cut from shaving or bruises." You let out a laugh, leaning against his door frame.

"I would love a low-risk soulmate like that. He must jump through flaming hula-hoops or something. I could make a decent living as a florist." You murmured.

"That's got to be tough." Spencer observed, noticing no flowers on your arm.

"I guess he's a lot like you." You lifted up your pant leg, crimson petals on display. "His reason can't be nearly as heroic as yours, though." Spencer couldn't suppress the smile that grew from the compliment.

"Well I guess you'll have to find him and ask."

"Well you're in the FBI right? Let's formulate a profile and find him so I can give him a piece of my mind. You in?" You teased.

"Sounds like a worthy use of all my newfound time." He let out a small huff of amusement, eyeing your figure. He appreciated how lighthearted and casual you were. He noticed the space you gave him and your little efforts to make the apartment easier to maneuver around. Although he hadn't seemed motivated at first, something told him he should get to know you more.

-

"Y/n?" Spencer asked, drawing your attention away from one of the books you had borrowed from his shelf. "Is there any way we can wash my hair?" He had procrastinated in asking, too embarrassed for whatever your plan was for showering.

"Of course! I could cut it too if you'd like." You offered, standing to wheel him into the bathroom.

"Are you saying you don't like my hair?" He faked an offended tone which he knew would make you laugh.

"I think your hair is beautiful, right at that perfect length before it gets too weird for any man to wear." You snorted. You moved him to a stool, not too difficult a feat as he was able to support the majority of his weight on his good leg. "Alright, the shirt has got to come off."

"Isn't against a code to try and seduce your patients?" Spencer teased. Since your conversation the other day he had grown to feel more comfortable with you and a friendship ensued. You took care when treating him and told stories of past patients. It was clear you loved what you did and cared for the people even more.

"Oh please. If I was seducing you, which I'm not, you'd know." You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to lift his arms before peeling his shirt off of him. He leaned back, long tresses falling into a pool in the sink.

He was extremely handsome, you couldn't deny it. His sharp cheekbones and jawline, his full and enticing lips, the way his hand flexed as he read.... you didn't notice any of that. You especially didn't notice how wonderfully intelligent he was, or how kind. Not at all.

Besides, it would never work. You both had your respective soulmates and he seemed to still be carrying a torch for the past relationship he was in. Not to mention the most important factor of all, he was your patient.

You carefully stepped around him to grab a large and small towel, snickering as you found a familiar design on one.

"Star Trek fan?" You asked, hanging the fabric on the shower rail and turning the tap on to warm water.

"Typically I'm not one for fiction but surprisingly there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors, which make it so enjoyable to watch."

"Eh, I've only seen the film from 2009, and I was mostly paying attention to the deliciously handsome cast." You knew that would agitate him. "And not just for Chris Pine but Zachary Quinto as Spock? Oh, he is gorgeous, even if he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, and not that I had a chance with him anyway." You laughed.

"Y/n, I am not one to comment on the education of another but you are seriously missing out! Star Trek: The Next Generation is one of the most influential series of it's time. the new film doesn't even have Data! Data, y/n, Data!" He grumbled as you washed his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you're going to tell me that the 1996 Doctor Who movie is better than the series?" He opened his mouth when you raised your soapy hand. "Disregard that statement, I can't afford another argument, I'm already too emotional from our last one." You faked a sniffle.

"You know, most females I talk to don't watch Star Trek or Doctor Who."

"I'm just that amazing, I know." You sighed, moving to grab the washcloth and dousing it with water, handing it to Spencer so he could wash himself. You grabbed the Star Trek towel and started to dry Spencer's hair.                                           

"You're something alright." He retorted, drawing a gasp from you.

"I could have let you sit with greasy hair, you know!" Just for extra measure you rubbed his head a little harsher than before but miscalculated your aim, accidentally hitting your wrist against the marble sink.

Spencer felt pain radiate through his wrist and time seemed to slow. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him all at once. You experienced constant pain, pain he gave you because he was often injured on the job. Not to mention his gunshot wound on your leg and now the purple blossoms forming on his wrist.

 He wanted to shout, yell, jump up, wrap you in a hug. He had finally found his soulmate! However, he remained silent.

When you spoke about your soulmate the other day you seemed angry and forlorn at the amount of pain you had to endure. There was no doubt in his mind that if you knew he was your soulmate, you would walk right out of his life, but not before giving him a swift kick to the ass.

So he stayed quiet.

-

You weren’t sure what changed between you and Spencer. After the shower he mentioned he didn’t feel too well so you guided him to bed. Since then he stayed in his room, barely calling you to his side.

It was weird. If it was any other patient you would have paid no mind and kept to yourself but you thought you had made a connection with Spencer. You enjoyed the banter between you both and finding out your shared interests. It must have all been in your head. You brought yourself out of your thoughts to prepare Spencer’s tea. 

“Here you are!” You called, stepping into his room to hand him the mug. “I’m about to head out, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You stayed by the door, waiting to see if he would even spare you a glance. When he made no motion to move, you gave up, spinning on your heel to grab your purse and coat. 

“Ah!” You heard Spencer hiss from the other room before feeling a sharp sting on your tongue. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, brows knitting together in confusion. Was he…? Did he…? 

Spencer was your soulmate, he had to be. There was no possible way that him burning his mouth and your pain that followed were coincidences, right? Spencer was your soulmate! So why did you feel your heart drop into your stomach?

You shut the door, racing down the stairs and out of his apartment building, letting the cold air sweep over you. 

There was nothing special about you. You were just a simple nurse and he was your patient. Besides, how were you deserving of Spencer? You weren’t. 

He couldn’t find out, he just couldn’t.

-

You didn’t know if it was just because you knew that Spencer was your soulmate but the tension between the two of you was… palpable. 

“Hey!” You popped your head into his room, his figure jumping in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” You exclaimed.

“Hi?” He greeted, trying to seem calm. You were leaving tomorrow and he was panicking. The past few hours were spent debating about whether he should tell you that he was your soulmate. Could he really just let this opportunity pass by?

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything? I figured you probably ran out of books by now. Everytime I think you’ve reread all the books in your library I keep finding new ones.” You tried to joke. 

“I… Yes. Yes, please.” He mumbled, hiding his gaze. You sighed, wondering for the millionth time what you had done wrong to make him so distant and reclusive. 

“Alright, I’ll take the stack.” You bit your lip to keep from sighing once more, groaning as you picked up the books littered around the room. “God these are heavy.” You whispered under your breath, trying to waddle into the other room as you quickly realized you were losing your grip. It seemed as if it was too late, the pounds of literature falling on your feet.

Both you and Spencer let out a groan, heads snapping towards each other in surprise. 

“Did you- did you feel that?” You asked, even if you knew the answer.

“I did.” Spencer’s voice seemed small. “Y/n, I am so sorry.” You were taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” You questioned, pain forgotten as shame radiated through you. “Am I that bad of a soulmate?” You whispered, clenching your fist to keep tears from pricking your eyes.

“No! No, no, no!” He tried to sit up as straight as he could, internally cursing at how hurt you looked. “I only apologized because… I can’t help but feel like I disappointed you! I am an FBI agent, I’m always going to be in danger therefore putting you in danger. When you first mentioned your soulmate you seemed so… upset. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to make you happy.” He admitted, the tips of his ears turning red as his gaze fell to his lap.

“Disappointed? Past-tense?” You cried. “Did you know about this?” He didn’t move.

“Well… I guess I can’t be angry with that.” You sighed. “I knew too. I just thought that… you wouldn’t want me. You still seemed so in love with whatever woman gave you that book. And out of my league. And my patient.” You let out a wry laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you kidding me? You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. You make me laugh and you are so kind and caring. I am proud to be your soulmate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Spencer you are selfless. You dedicate your life every day to helping others. You are handsome, sweet, and hilarious.” You reached for his hand. “And I am so happy you turned out to be my soulmate.”

Your eyes finally met and before you knew it, your lips smashed against his. 

“I don’t know if you know this… but I happen to get injured on a lot of missions.” He uttered as you pulled apart. “So I have a feeling that I’ll need you around more often.”

“Well Doctor, I think you just might be right.” You giggled, drawing him in for another kiss. 

-----

Feedback is always appreciated!

[shhh-no-ones-home]

noir 1/2 bucky barnes x vampire!reader

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part 1 part 2

i had thought about making a part three with smut in it so if thats something you would like to see please let me know and ill finish it lol

Song: my name is human by highly suspect

tag list: @cynic-spirit

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I sat at the table across from James and watched as he looked around nervously. We had already ordered drinks but not much conversation had gone on yet.

"This isn't really your scene is it?"

I asked and he finally looked at me, brows raised like I'd caught him off guard.

"Uh, my uh, last date didn't go so well."

He said and I nodded.

"I'll drink to that."

I raised my glass to him before taking a drink. He let out a short laugh before looking away again.

"So, James, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself."

I said and he cleared his throat.

"Well for starters uh you can call me bucky, that's what my friends call me."

I nodded slowly, he seemed like he was reminiscing for a moment.

"Um I'm a hundred and six."

He said lightly and I laughed. He looked nervous again.

"If you're a hundred and six then so am I."

I quipped back and he seemed shocked.

"Right."

A nervous laugh. Cute. I took another drink.

"No seriously."

I said and he nodded.

"I'm not really one for mockery."

He said stoically and I shook my head.

"No, no, don't take it that way! I'm not either. I'm sorry it came off that way."

I said quickly and I could see him shift to rub his gloved hands together under the table.

"In all actuality 1917 was a pretty interesting year, if I'm doing my math correct."

He drew his brows.

"It was?"

He asked and I nodded.

"Well it's not every day America joins a world war, late to the party as usual but still. Don't get me wrong there was a lot that happened that year but that was probably the most memorable. My husband at the time was drafted that September."

He looked even more confused than he did earlier, his brows almost touching at this point if it weren't for the frown line between them.

"I know it's impolite to ask a woman her age but exactly how old are you?"

He asked quizzically and I looked up to think for a moment.

"Uh, this year on my actual birthday I will be two... Hundred and... Eight? I think?"

He laughed before taking a drink, finally smiling.

"Great."

He said before leaning over and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

"This was fun."

He said, slapping a twenty on the table and moving to stand.

"Bucky wait!"

He paused and looked back at me.

"Can we talk... Somewhere a little more private?"

I asked and he sighed, looking to the ground.

"Fine."

I stood quickly to match him, grabbing my bag off the back of the chair and following him outside. When we made it out the door I saw him tense a little bit, glancing to me a few times as we lazed down the sidewalk.

"Are you cold?"

He asked, reaching for his jacket zipper and I stopped him.

"No, no, I'm perfect, thank you though. You probably need it more than me."

There was the confused look again.

"You're probably trying to figure me out aren't you?"

He sighed, half shaking his head as he looked to the ground ahead of us.

"I guess I'm just trying to figure out why you would lie to me? Forgive me for being blunt but that's at least how it seems, even after I told you I didn't like being mocked."

I laughed a little.

"Bucky I didn't lie to you. My situation is - complicated."

He looked over me again.

"I am two hundred and eight, that wasn't a lie. Or, at least I don't think it was, it's hard to remember after all these years the exact number. But I was born in 1815 in new York after my mother immigrated to the states. It was a rough childhood and an even rougher lifestyle growing into my teens."

We kept walking. He was listening intently but seemed like he still wasn't so sure about me.

"I was engaged to be married by my seventeenth birthday but the night before my wedding I was kidnapped."

He looked to me in surprise.

"I was placed as an indentured servant in a trading charter, seen by many of the soldiers stationed on the coast of the capitol. That went on for a while and when I had reached my twenty fifth birthday I had earned my freedom."

He motioned to a small cafe on the strip and I nodded, him holding the door as we stepped in, the warmth engulfing both of us.

"Do you want a drink?"

He asked and I nodded.

"How about I get this one."

I offered, ordering before him and paying after him. When we had gotten our drinks we took to a booth in the very back of the cafe.

"So, you were free..."

He started and I let out a short laugh.

"Nice to know you're listening."

I said and he raised his cup to me. I cleared my throat.

"I was free, finally. It felt like forever to get there. But by then I was seen as too old; too old to Mary, to have kids, to live a life on my own. Many assumed I was a widow at this point, even moving back to new York with as progressive as it was still didn't feel right. It didn't feel like home anymore. Until I met him."

He raised a brow and I smiled to myself.

"My first real love, the one who made me."

"No pressure."

He said and I laughed, taking his one hand in mine. His body tensed.

"Don't worry, he's been dead a while."

I said, letting him go and he nodded once.

"Right."

I side nodded.

"Well to make that long story short, he proposed to me after two weeks of courting, we got married the following spring, and on our honeymoon he revealed to me what he really was."

"A crime boss?"

Bucky said and I laughed, him finally loosening up a bit as he took another drink.

"I think that would've been easier to live with but no. And I ask that you please don't laugh at this next part but rather, hear me out."

He rested both his hands on either side of his cup and gave me his full attention.

"Cross my heart."

He said and I sighed.

"He revealed to me that he was undead, that he was a vampire of sorts."

When I looked to him he looked like he was going to crack.

"I'm serious."

I said light hearted, hitting his shoulder as he started laughing.

"He turned me before our trip back to the city."

He nodded, rubbing his eye as he settled down, the smile still prevalent on his features.

"Sure."

I crossed my arms over my chest.

"Now who's mocking who?"

I asked and he shook his head.

"It's just a little hard to believe is all. You seem like such a normal young woman. Maybe a history buff who digs this old man but still."

I snorted at his words, taking a drink.

"You are young in my eyes bucky, believe me."

He shook his head.

"Okay, this is what, 1840?"

"Forty two i think, but yeah."

He sent me a look.

"Let me just get back to the story okay?"

He held his hands up in defense.

"Please, by all means."

I playfully rolled my eyes.

"Thank you. Now we were home, I was a newby and was so hungry all the time. He was terrible at taming a new vampire and I did eat a few of our neighbors but we lived in a bad part of town so people didn't really question it much when residents went missing. But what I didn't realize is that we were being watched and one day when I came home from work I found my husband decapitated on our living room floor."

His eyes went wide.

"I cried like a maniac but when I had heard someone still in the apartment I attacked them. They told me they were assigned to kill me because I was too dangerous. I ended him and I've been on the run ever since. After that I was desperate to find new love again. I've had courtships over the years but the early 1900's were pretty rough. Every husband I ever had was drafted into a war that shouldn't have happened. And I don't fear for my life as much anymore since I've lived in almost every state in this stupid country,"

We both laughed a little at that.

"But I do think of it often. The later years, the eighties and nineties were much easier as far as life and lovers went but even then I couldn't stay with them long."

He seemed empathetic.

"Why not?"

"Well, many people don't employ the idea that you'll live longer than them, it's a losing game. And even those I was open with, they begged me to turn them but I always refused. It didn't seem worth it to put the hurt I felt onto anyone else. And I don't say this to scare you off bucky but I've lived, and I mean really lived. I had one husband murdered, three drafted and lost to war, and three divorces; two of which ended with my exs dying of natural causes shortly after getting into new relationships. One had a heart attack and the other passed during a surgery."

I paused, looking to the table as his eyes tried to study me.

"Ive heard about you, I've been to the Smithsonian exhibit and honestly it all seemed like a myth. But then your friend saw me and pushed you to ask me out I actually saw hope for the first time in a long time. It's not often I can find someone with as much... Uh, life experience."

He cleared his throat, looking away when I looked back up to him.

"I'm not perfect."

He said and I could feel my features soften.

"It's seems I've lived just as much but I don't know if I'd exactly call it living. I was an experiment, an assassin, and a broken man. I've got a troubled past and I'm trying to work through that. Hell I wasn't even sure I'd get through this date given how my last one went."

I half smiled at him, reaching for his hand again. He wasn't as hesitant as last time but was still tense as I took it away from his cup. I looked over his face before pulling the glove off, holding the cool metal against my palm and tracing the fingers of my other hand over it.

"I wasn't blipped, I saw the news, and I saw what was lost. And I think part of you got lost with it but at the end of the day you are trying to get better. You are a hero bucky, even if it doesn't feel like it."

I watched as his jaw clenched and tightened. Then he turned his hand over and held mine. It wasn't hard or uncomfortable but it was firm, like he meant it.

"I haven't had the luxury of opening up to many people in recent times but you feel different. And don't take this the wrong way but you do feel like home."

He said softly and I couldn't help the smile making its way to my lips.

"You wanna get out of here? Maybe go back to my place? The coffee is much better."

I joked and he smiled, intertwining our fingers.

"Yeah, I think id like that."