#first time writing a head canon

[treeslugss]

Tartaglia as ur husband who’s got a breeding kink. He’s already given you three kids and wants to fuxk more into you. When he sees you being such a good mom to your children it makes him go feral. He can hardly hold back until they’re asleep and it’s just you and him.

Of course you’re tried from taking care of three kids all on your own, while your husband is away for long hours…if not weeks or months at a time. But don’t worry, he’ll take care of your tired, worn out body! In more ways than one!

[eikichi-supremacy]

If nothing else Koenma is a Kuwabara stan and I'm right there with him o7 (I need to write the kuwameshi fic that goes with this fr)

[al-luviec]

id like to thank ninjago episode snake jaguar for everything but nothing all at the same time

[unmooredmonroe]

i'm learnin' how to draw ferengi >:}

[normal-internet-user]

Could I get added to your taglist for DC if you have one?

Also what does the Superfam and Batfam do for doctor/dentist appointments? Does the Superfam constantly x ray you to check for issues?

What would they do if you have a toothache? Or would they notice before you?

(Sorry if this is a lot. I’m currently stuck in bed for a few days.)

Okay Hi yes yea, hello hi DC ask literally so excited forgive me- I literally adore you for this (i can totally tag you in my dc stuff just tell me what you would and would liked to be tagged in<3

Ehem.

Now, I personally don't think the Superfam would use x-ray vision to check you over unless they thought you were seriously hurt, you feel me?

I feel like they're all well aware that it's a huge invasion of privacy, and the most they would probably do along those lines is check in to make sure your heartbeat is as normal as ever ykyk.

How they would treat appointments is also I guess just dependant on YOU and how you feel.

If your scared of the dentist for any reason, they'd treat it sensitively, but it necessary. The doctors as well, wether it's a fear of needles or the offices themselves. You're treated with care, but they can't just NOT let you go.

THE BATFAM HOWEVER.

Call me OOC or whatevs idk but they're all detectives and invasive af. Private information? Don't know her. Them mfs know what time you drank a glass of water at school.

If they think you're sick they WILL find out with what, the flu, cold, or even just a gd migrain.

Doctors office immediatly. No if's and's or but's. Scared of needles? That's okay, just squeeze your eyes closed and hold my hand but we gotta be here boo.

They know when you got a toothache. Body language said it all.

(All jokes aside, it's just because they care and they're all severly emotionally unwell and don't know how to ahow it without knowing all things.)

[spittingspite]

It's always "character who will do anything to protect their loved one, even commit horrific acts of violence, learn kindness and mercy at the request of their loved one" and never "merciful character who hates violence and fighting makes an exception because they love someone so much they will disregard their own morals and values to commit horrific acts of violence if that's what it takes to keep their loved one safe"

[cursezoroark]

afterthoughts

[doctorbrown]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 ⸺ 「 9 / 31 * A NEW ‘PUPPY’ 」

August 7, 1895

“Are you sure about this, dear?” The sun streaks across the Train’s sleek lines and Clara marvels at the massive steel beast, powerful and elegant, carving its presence out of the otherwise dreary California landscape. Much like her husband, it is a fusion of the times, the present—by her account—and the future, blended seamlessly to create something larger-than-life that would put even Captain Nemo’s prized Nautilus to shame.

“I’m positive it’ll work. Besides, somebody has to test it to make sure everything is properly calibrated and I’d rather not put you or the kids at risk.”

It isn’t that she doubts her husband on this—he’d already invented a Time Machine once—that fancy metal behemoth propped up in the Delgado Silver Mine where it would wait for another sixty years until Mr. East—Marty came to retrieve it, facilitating the events that, to them, have already occurred.

He had been working diligently on this ever since they’d agreed that they couldn’t remain in this time, lest they threaten the space-time continuum and potentially jeopardise Emmett’s own existence. Even when she could no longer keep up with his future knowledge of science that still bordered the realm of science-fiction by this time’s standards, she had nothing but confidence in his ability.

No, it is the inherent risk that any scientific experiment entails that has her worried for Emmett’s safety, for time is the one barrier she has no hope to breach should something go terribly wrong.

But she can’t allow herself to think like that.

“I’ll be back in about ten minutes’ time from your perspective.” Emmett wraps his arms around her waist, radiating such confidence and conviction that Clara almost feels foolish for worrying so much.

“And not a minute longer,” Clara teases, leaning in to send her husband off with a fond kiss.

The train whistle blares, slicing through the tender parting and causing both Doc and Clara to leap a foot in the air. Laughter, muffled, yet still filtering out from the open cab, takes the place of the silence and if Clara strains her ears, now ringing from the sudden unexpected noise, she can hear Jules and Verne shouting at each other from inside the Train, the latter complaining how he wants a turn.

“I’d better go before the boys decide that I have to wait for them to be finished before I’m allowed to interrupt.”

“Boys, come out of there,” Clara calls, projecting her stern teacher voice that leaves no room for discussion or debate. “You know the Time Machine isn’t a toy and your father has very important work to be doing.”

Jules and Verne both groan, but in mere moments, they trudge their way out of the Train, carefully descending the steps.

“Can we come too, Dad?” Jules asks, throwing that wide-eyed, pleading look at his father that usually has him folding.

“Yeah! Us too!”

“I’m sorry boys,” Emmett says earnestly, “not this time. But I promise that the next time we use the Train, it’ll be as a family.”

“He’ll only be gone for a few minutes,” Clara adds, to which both of the boys’ faces immediately fall, their expectations of some grand adventure dashed.

Emmett climbs into the cabin and retracts the steps and Clara ushers the boys back several feet, mindful of Emmett’s tales of the first Time Machine and its aggressive displacement method. The boys wave as the Train picks up speed and Clara finds herself holding her breath, her chest tightening with each crack of thunder resounding through the air in spite of the idyllic blue California afternoon. The shockwave rattles her bones and when the flash of light subsides, leaving nothing but a trail of fire and smoke where the Train was only a moment ago, Clara finally lets out the breath she was holding.

“Whoa!! Did you see that, Mom? Dad’s gone!”

Verne runs along the side of the tracks, chasing the ghost of the train with Jules in tow, and Clara stays rooted where she is, overcome with a number of complex thoughts and emotions. The reality of it thrills and excites—time-travel would open doors and wonders that she only ever dreamed about, only ever found through the escape of fantastic books—while paradoxically releasing hordes of butterflies in her stomach, each flutter of its wings an uncertainty, a yet unforeseen trouble, an obstacle to overcome.

The Twentieth Century awaits—she could practically grasp it in her hands now, alive with possibility and promise and peril—and they were going to greet it together, as a family.

Clara doesn’t know how long she stands there until she comes back to herself, pulling out her pocket watch to check the time. Two minutes until Emmett should be getting back. Jules and Verne have moved well enough away from the tracks now, likely chasing one of the small critters if their fixation with the ground is any indication.  

When the storm rolls in despite the conspicuous lack of overcast, Clara’s attention snaps back to the tracks at the same time the boys whip around, eagerly awaiting their father’s return. The Train returns with all the pomp and circumstance it deserves, steam rising from its engine, and once Clara confirms that it’s safe to approach, the boys take off, meeting Emmett at the cab.

“It worked, Dad, it worked—but it’s so loud!”

Emmett peeks his head out of the window, grinning triumphantly down at his family. “Right on time. The temporal displacement worked perfectly—in reality, I was gone for almost three hours.” Both Jules’ and Verne’s eyes go wide. “But according to my watch”—he digs around in his pocket, fishing out the watch—“it has only been ten minutes exactly. I thought I might have to recalibrate the Time Circuits, but it looks like—”

Something barks from inside the cabin and Clara and her husband exchange a look.

“What was that, Dad?”

“It barked! Did you get a dog?” Verne gasps. “Did you bring a dog from the future?”

“You remember me telling you stories of my faithful companion Einstein, don’t you?”

“Named after one of your heroes of the Twentieth Century,” Clara says, recalling the countless tales in which Einstein the dog made an appearance. She had known she would come face-to-face with her husband’s best friend—before Marty, that is—at some point, but she had hardly expected the large, shaggy creature sitting comfortably in the train as if this is old news, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Einstein looks around at the unfamiliar surroundings, then appraises each new unfamiliar face in turn.

“And the world’s first time-traveller,” he says proudly, reaching down to scratch Einstein behind the ears. “I grabbed him from the lab when I could be certain Marty wouldn’t show up unexpectedly.”

“Does he bite?” Jules asks, his voice trembling slightly.

“Only if he doesn’t like somebody. But Einstein is an exceptional judge of character—he’s more likely to lick the skin off your face if you don’t push him away than he is to bite you.” Emmett ushers Einstein out of the Train and gestures to each member of his family, introducing them as if Einstein was possessed of human intelligence.

“I know this is all confusing right now, Einie, since I’ve only been gone a couple hours as far as you’re concerned, but I’d like you to meet my family.”

[13reasonstoeatthatcake]

Fourth Wing's Worldbuilding

I'm currently reading Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros and I adore the concept of the world, but so far all of the crumbs of worldbuilding I've been given only make me want more. I've heard that apparently she doesn't get much into it in the first book, but I love worldbuilding and I have a lot of questions I'm sure she's not going to answer so I've written them down for myself for later (hopefully) fanfic worldbuilding instead. These are very much not in order.

how is general sorrengail allowed to place violet in a quadrant made up of volunteers in the war college she's the general in charge of and kick her out of the scribe quadrant without a valid reason, is that not some sort of preferential treatment?

what is the rough technological advancement of the world, are there mass-produced weapons or singular smiths? why is not metalwork a course in the war college/another college? do they use ppl with metal bending signets instead?

is the person with the make-small-things-big signet able to do that with food? is that food nutritious? what is the common diet of the navarre and is it different between what violet as a highclass general's daughter (albeit one w a disability as opposed to a soldier) is used to eating?

how does trade work when navarre is allegedly ignoring the fuck out of the literal apocalypse happening outside its borders? are there other continents that saw the venin invasion and were like 'fuck nah, we're bailing' and just. wrote the whole damn continent off??

does the whole, brutal darwinist society mentality affect anything else in the country?? like the characters admit basgiath is brutal yes but they also talk about removing the weak for the good of the wing a lot, is this also common in other spheres of life? is infant mortality relatively high because if they have a visible disability they're seen as lesser? what does this mean for violet, does she feel the priviledge of being alive as a high-class military family member, since she has obvious internalised ableism or is she stubbornly refusing to see herself and any theoretical disabled children as one and the same in order not to think too deeply abt it (she never sees herself as explicitly disabled as far as i've read, just 'broken'); what does the theoretical darwinism of the society mean for healthcare and its accessibility? are only 'badge-of-honor' disabilities (like lost limbs or other permanent damage from battle and such mental illnesses like PTSD) valid, or are they also looked down upon? what does the existence of menders mean for healers? birth control is obviously not an issue, how are periods treated? are there mental health experts?? if a mender were to 'mend' the battle wounds of a trans man who's undergone gender-correcting surgery, will the gender-correcting surgery also be undone???

how does a culture predisposed to short, practical hair for all genders view hair-care? there's a precedent for hairdye and funky modern-world punk hairstyles in the riding quadrant, but how do common ppl see it? what haircare products and hairstyle trends are there, do high-class ppl imitate riders?

how do newbies deal with watching their comrades being burnt to ash? is there a disdain for ppl who refuse to eat meat because it seems like having a weak stomach not to want to eat cooked meat after watching your friends be cooked to death? does that mean there's a portion of ppl learning to shovel food in their mouths without tasting it in order to get nutrition and/or not look weak, which in turn makes them easier to poison? how does that intersect with probable religious cults/sects where there's food restrictions?

how come there’s 171 first years but 5-6 ppl in a squad and three squads per squadrons? am I just bad at math?

why does a dragon bond with jack who tried to kill a dragon baby? is there a possible larger disagreement in how to choose a worthy rider in the empyrean, and are Sgaeyl and Tairn on the more or less popular side with their opinion kindness is important?

why is Violet, the daughter of a war general whose siblings are soldiers actively fighting a war, so against taking a life? is it something religious, done to spite her mother, a gripe because of the way her scribe father raised her, a distaste for death? is it because they're on the same side/she wouldn't have an issue killing ppl if they were in an official skirmish?

how widespread is the erasure of culture and language after the unification?

how many languages on average should one learn if they’re a soldier, a scribe, a normal civilian? are there multiple scripts being taught or just the cyllian(?) one? how do spies and information gathering work if the larger public isn't supposed to know about venin?

what do civilians think of the 600-year war they’re supposedly leading against Poromiel, are they dissatisfied Navarre isn’t winning yet? What are they being told is the reason they're not allowed to cross the ward-borders of the country (if they're allowed to leave at all)? Does Navarre have somebody with a signet like Imogen's and are deleting/rewriting memories instead? Does Navarre even know Imogen has a signet like that at all, or is she lying about it?

the scribes have apparently been hiding the truth of the world for centuries, but as violet’s dad says history survives in folklore; does that mean there’s a sizeable portion of Navarre that remembers venin because they can’t murder every single superstitious villager? does that mean settlements around the borders are discouraged bcoz that means there’s a bigger chance of someone seeing smthn, or are border villagers discouraged from entering the army? surely talking abt myths like venin isn’t forbidden but maybe military families keep silent bcoz of class loyalty and not let common-born up the ranks but use them as canon-fodder against venin to make sure the info isn’t leaked to the civilians?

what is the common level of literacy in this society anyways?

if assassins can volunteer to come to the rider’s quadrant to take out their targets, how do they leave or get paid?

are there inside assassination jobs, like if somebody is conscripted as a punishment for a crime like the Marked Ones as a method of execution but ends up surviving, can someone be ordered to dispose of them? in that case is it an official execution or is it an illegal assassination?

why did nobody react to andarna being yellow if there’s no yellow dragons, did they just think she was a mega-weak orange??

why does dain know abt the empyrean and mentions it to violet but professor kaori the dragon expert is excited abt learning more, shouldn’t they already be aware of it?

why does the common misconception that dragons despise weaklings exist, why do the dragons not correct it or confirm it?

how do religion and dragons intersect if dragons canonically aren’t impressed with human gods? does that mean that once upon a time bonding with a dragon meant being the fantasy equivalent of a satan worshipper? if every single god has a separate temple like it’s said Amari has a temple in Aretia then does that mean that, just like in Ancient Greece, every kingdom-now-province had a separate patron god? if yes, then were they a pantheon from the beginning or were they monotheistic religions that merged together after the unification, does that mean there’s separate cults for every god, traditionalist and reformist worshippers? can you tell from what province someone is by which gods they call upon, do they have different hymns or prayers, does every god/cult/province have different superstitions and attitudaes towards different tyopes of dragons or signets, what was the historical attitude towards inntinnsics, were they priests, demigods, cursed?

do dragons know when their next bonded human will be their last, is it something to do with their power level, the closeness of their bond, and (i forgot this question but it was smthn to do w signets?)

do they or do they not use saddles and if not then what is the purpose of the pommel thing on top of the dragon they hold onto that I keep reading about?

if tairn and sgaeyl bone so fucking much then why haven't they had a hatchling yet? is there a dragon contraceptive???? is it some sort of magical 'i'm not getting pregnant if i don't want to'? is it some sort of mystical 'only on the first blood-moon in february and after we murder three virgin goats together' type of deal???

[non-un-topo]

Biggest fear is that the long-awaited old guard 2 is going to be really disappointing because we've built up years of fandom and headcanons and whatnot, and that a week or so after it's released the fandom just dies

[crystalkitty1220]

Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN

[good-beans]

Miscellaneous Milgram logistics headcanons:

The bell rings in the morning and evenings at regular times. At night when it rings, it marks curfew: the cells don’t lock, but Es takes one lap around the panopticon to make sure prisoners are in their cells. The only time the bells ring otherwise are during interrogations, and when prisoners are summoned before Es in the courtroom to receive their verdict.

In the second/third trial, guilty prisoners’ doors do lock. Innocent prisoners are not allowed to spend the night with guilty prisoners, but those with alike verdicts can share cells overnight.

Requests come in from Es’ room. Prisoners aren’t allowed in their, or jackalope’s, room without one of them as escort. Es is never around when requests arrive, but they can’t seem to find any doors or hatches that would allow entry (or exit). There are warm/cool breezes to maintain a comfortable temperature throughout the prison, but no one can find any vents or openings. 

“Increased physical restraint” punishments occur at random, unexpected intervals and appear like the trailer shots (aka, more restraints/equipment than just the uniforms are put into place.) The guilty prisoners could potentially leave their cells during this time, but usually they don’t want to be seen like that. Can happen at any point, day or night, and last several hours. This is when Kotoko planned her attacks. Enforced by mysterious Milgram magic – no one remembers how the restraints fastened, only that they wake up trapped.

(I’ve been picturing an interrogation room, but only just realized it may be done in their individual cells? But in my head,) it’s a room near that courtroom at the end of the hall. There’s a table, prisoner chair, and guard chair. The machine is integrated into the wall and invisible until paneling starts separating – when that noise plays in the voice dramas. Then, it reveals wires, tubes and pretty stereotypical sci-fi nodes/needles that Es needs to attach to the prisoner. A screen also becomes visible to play the video.

From some of the prisoner reactions, I’ve pictured the chair itself changing very suddenly to lock/strap them in place.  Es walks to the opposite wall to pull a lever with their famous line.

Someone mentioned it already, but I like the idea that the interrogation is placed before (rather than the more logical after) the extraction because the machine works off of priming. Es is instructed to bring up their crimes and past just enough to get the idea in their mind. They have to finish by saying “sing your sins” to really ensure the prisoner is thinking of their murder before it begins. The prisoners then enter a dream-like state in which they experience the raw emotions and thoughts that go into the video, but they don’t see or hear it. Afterwards, they’re aware of the kinds of things Es saw, but it's more abstract to them.

[gynaiko]

ㅤㅤㅤSTELLA   IS   NOT   A   GOOD   MOTHER,   AT   ALL;   QUITE   NEGLECTFUL,   ACTUALLY.   THE   KIND   TO   SAY   ‘THAT’S   NICE,   DEAR’   WHILE   NOT   EVEN   LOOKING   AT   VIA.   HOWEVER,   I   DON’T   SUBSCRIBE   TO   FANON’S   GENERAL   INTERPRETATION   WHERE   SHE’S   APPARENTLY   WILLING   TO   KILL   HER   JUST   TO   SPITE   STOLAS.   WE   STILL   HAVEN’T   SEEN   HER   INTERACT   WITH   OCTAVIA   BUT   IF   SHE   TRULY   HATED   HER,   SHE   WOULD   HAVE   THROWN   A   FIT   WHEN   ANDRE   POINTED   OUT   VIA   WOULD   GET   EVERYTHING,

ㅤㅤㅤ&   WHEN   SHE   WAS   SCREECHING   AT   STOLAS,   ASKING   IF   HE   WAS   ‘TURNING   HER   ( VIA )   AGAINST   HER   ( STELLA )’   —   CLEARLY,   SHE   CARES   FOR   VIA.   AGAIN,   SHE’S   NOT   A   GOOD   MOTHER,   PERHAPS   NOT   CODDLING   OR   ‘MOTHERLY’   BUT   ENOUGH   THAT   VIA   HAS   GOOD   MEMORIES   OF   HER   ( PER   THE   LOO   LOO   LAND   EPISODE ),

ㅤㅤㅤREAD   THE   TAGS   FOR   MY   TINFOIL   HAT   RAMBLINGS ,

[missazurerose]

FFXIV Write 2024 - Day 15

Extra credit - Tundra

(very minor DT spoilers for the tank role quest)

While the chocobos settled into a corner of the stall, Aymeric found some livestock blankets tucked away for them. Riona smiled as their birds happily cuddled up to each other while he covered them. “If the storm lasts too long, we might end up just like those two.”

He took her hand as they went downstairs, his thumb brushing against the opal ring on her finger. “Regardless of the circumstances, I can think of no better way to spend the night.”

Once they had a fire going, Aymeric shed his armor in favor of a heavy blanket. He settled onto the fur rug in front of the mantle and she settled into his lap. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. 

“You're always so warm. Feels like home.”

[non4ry]

just two partners relaxing after a mission <3

[provincial-charmer]

As Boundless As The Sea

We'll be posting this in order directly from my AO3, so the first two chapters, then updating as more is added, so...

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

When This Takes Place: After On Stranger Tides, but in the year 1742, due to the fact I really just couldn't stand how many time skips there were and wanted to just keep At World's End 10 year time-skip. There's another reason, but shh...

Rated: This chapter is E for Everyone, as it mostly sets the scene, but later chapters might not be! No warnings for this chapter, either!

Fic Summary: Marco Montero has, for the most part, lived a quiet life. Raised on a family fortune built by academia, he was sent many years ago to Venice, Italy in order to pursue the career of his dreams. However, these dreams would never come to fruition, as the death of his father would suddenly send him back home to Cádiz, Spain, in order to claim what remained of his family inheritance.

What a pity that inheritance also included a steep debt to the Spanish Royal Navy. Eighteen years later, it seemed to get no smaller, and Marco’s threadbare patience only grew thinner with time. That is, until one fateful day, when the work that nearly killed him brought him a strange map...

Chapter One: The Sun Rises Regardless

In which we are introduced to our protagonist, his daughter, his neighbors, and his schedule on his days off.

30th of November of 1742  Today, I dreamt of a storm. A storm too terrible to be natural, one that tossed rugged waves over the deck of the ship as sailors struggled to keep her afloat. The wind threatened to rip her sails apart. The water threatened to sweep her crew away. The only light that reached us came with the clash of lightning, which danced around us in flashes of blue and white.  I know not what I was doing aboard. Was I part of the crew, or an unwitting passenger? Was I a body, there to withstand punishment, or merely a ghost, only there to bear witness?  It didn’t matter. Whatever I was, I wasn’t staying there. With another crashing wave, a young man near me was swept off of his feet and over the side of the ship. The lightning showed me his face for only a moment.  He wasn’t much older than my daughter. His eyes were full of fear. I briefly imagined the grief of his mother, learning she would never see her little one again, his body lost to the unforgiving sea. To lose a man’s body at sea is to be expected, but to lose a child…  I couldn’t bear the thought. I dove after him.   It was strange, I thought, that I could see the storm better in the water than on the ship. However, I had neither the time nor the mind to question the reason behind it. My focus was on saving my fellow sailor. Luckily for me, he had not drifted far. His body, so light and so fragile, had been swept below the waves.  He lingered there, motionless. It wouldn’t be long before he drowned.  Quickly I swam down to him. I did my best to wrestle against the ocean’s conflicting currents, but she was a relentless beast, refusing to give way. However, I was equally stubborn, and so with unending determination, I made my way down.   But then, I saw something else. As I took hold of him, as I drew him under my arm, the lightning flashed again. And in the light that flashed through the dark ocean, I saw another face, looking up to me from deeper down. It was the face of a young man. One that was younger than me by many years, with long, dark hair tucked under a bandana, and sweet, sorrowful eyes.  Eyes that were open. Eyes that watched me. Eyes that were accompanied by other eyes, belonging to other faces in the deep.  I was staring at another crew, at another captain, on another ship. A ship that looked as if it sailed under the sea itself.  And then I woke up.

 As I laid my pen down, I turned to look out the window. Had the weather been warmer, I would have blamed the sun for my nightmare. I had forgotten to draw the curtains shut before retiring the previous evening, so it would not have been difficult for the radiant sunlight to disturb my slumber. Unfortunately, that was not the case, as the sunlight this morning had been far more welcoming against the cold.

 I was certain that whatever had troubled my sleep, I only had myself to blame. I couldn’t cast ill blame on the sun. I usually loved waking up to the sun on my face, whether I was watching it through my window or basking in it on my morning walks.

 Of course, that was on the days when I awoke at such hours by choice. This was not one of those days.

 But then there came a knock at my door. One that I knew by heart. As soon as I heard it, all ill thoughts fell away from my mind.

 “Papá?” That darling little voice called to me, “Papá, are you awake yet? I have breakfast!”

 I smiled. “I am now! Come in!”

 The door carefully creaked open, and in walked Perlita. Perlita was my daughter. Oh, she was just the sweetest little thing, with her strawberry blonde hair cut in short waves, her dark brown eyes shining, and her little blue dress bouncing with each happy step. She was planted on my doorstep around sixteen years ago by a late friend of mine, with only a note with her birth name - Toireasa - and a plea to care for her. How could I refuse?

 “Took you long enough!” She teased. “I was afraid you would sleep through the entire morning!”

 “Part of me wishes that I did!” I responded in earnest. Certainly, it would have taken precious time out of my day. But my sleep might have been more peaceful. “But the sun seemed to think that I had slept for long enough. I had a nightmare.”

 She paused as she was setting down the tray. “Oh, you did? What was it about?”

 “The ship in the storm.”

 “… Again?”

 “Again.”

 Perlita sighed. We were quite used to this. The same subject would repeat for some days, if not weeks, and then stop. Then I would have new, unique dreams until another recurrence happened. She was always very sympathetic. I was just glad that she never had to deal with them, for they sometimes granted me some truly cursed visions.

 “That’s the second time you’ve dreamt of that.” She went on to say. “I hope it doesn’t happen again. I can’t imagine what it could mean.”

 “I think it means I need to stop drinking cocoa before bed.” I set one hand on her shoulder to reassure her, “I'm certain it won’t happen again.”

 She frowned in a way that left me uncertain as to whether I had truly convinced her, but regardless, she dropped the subject, instead focusing on serving breakfast. She had always been like this. Worrying over her old man day and night. I was often endeared by it, in spite of how silly it felt at times. I was supposed to be taking care of her, after all!

 But then, some part of me couldn’t help but feel bad. Would she worry over me nearly as much if I could take better care of us? If I didn’t have to worry about paying off the Navy, what kind of life would we have? I thought I knew what hers might have been like – all the time in the world to talk to her friends, to learn medicine, to enjoy herself without judgement for who she was.

 So what would my life be like? If my father hadn’t fallen on that expedition, if I hadn’t been saddled with this debt, what would I be doing with my time?

 I didn’t know. All I knew was that the more I thought about it, the worse it would make me feel. So I pushed it aside. I had to focus on the life we had. Where we were, there and then.

 And I had places to be.

 Before I continue, allow me the courtesy of an introduction. I am Marco Montero, the last son of Lazzaro and Diamante Montero. At the time, I had spent eighteen long, loathsome years as a translator for the Spanish Royal Navy, with only occasional commission work for other customers. What free time I had was spent helping Perlita read, translating personal subjects in my study, or sitting at one of the local taverns at the docks to watch the world go by. Outside of that, I had very little else on my schedule.

 Now, my usual morning routine went as follows: I would wake up, grab a cup of coffee or cocoa, then head out on an early morning stroll. I would walk all throughout the quiet streets to the port, find my usual spot to rest, and watch the sun rise. I would greet whoever might acknowledge me in passing. Then, once the sun had risen fully from the gentle embrace of the sea, if I had nowhere else to be, I would walk back home and get to work.

 I had no such work that day. No one had commissioned me in some time, and the Navy had not bothered me for work for several weeks. So I was left with what I hoped was a significant amount of free time. Once I had gotten dressed, I took my cup of coffee, thanked Perlita for cooking with a kiss on her head, retrieved Orfeo from his cage, and headed down to the docks.

 Ah, that’s right!

 Orfeo!

 I haven’t introduced him yet!

 Orfeo was the family pet. A Macaw of proud stature who had been with the family for nearly twelve years at the time. He was a big bird, with feathers the color of sapphire, tall enough to stare down small children and playful enough to pull at their hair. But we taught him how to act and how to talk, so that he would behave himself in such situations. He only pulled on someone’s hair if they upset him, or if we gave him the secret signal to be a little troublemaker. And when he behaved well enough, we would reward him with treats. 

 He loved plátanos and mangos best.

 As I removed him from his enclosure for our morning routine, he greeted me as he always did, with a facsimile of Perlita’s voice. “¡Buenos días papá!”

 “Ah, buenos días, Orfeo! How did you sleep?”

 “How did you sleep?”

 I laughed. He was imitating me now. “No, no, I asked you first! How did you sleep, Orfeo?”

 He would do this sometimes, making circles out of conversations. But I was patient. I had to give him the chance to properly respond. He would know what I meant after a few rounds.

 Eventually, after some thoughtful bounces on his part, he finally gave me a different answer. “Like a baby! ”

 “Good boy!” I responded, holding out a small plátano piece for him. He took it with his beak so carefully, it was as if he was handling glass.

 I always tried to tell people he was smarter than he seemed. Sometimes, he would hold entire conversations with himself, in absence of me or my little pearl! I’ve caught him doing it! Sometimes, he would even come up with responses to conversations that I never taught him! Yes, surely he copied them from others, but the fact still remains that he learned to apply it!

 And yet our neighbors were insistent that he was nothing more than some “dumb tropical bird.”

 Pah!

 I took him with me on my morning walk, as I always did when the weather was fair enough for him. And it was off to the docks we went!

 The docks were easily one of my favorite parts of Cádiz. Second only to the beaches and bakeries, of course. Ever since I was little, I loved heading out at the earliest hours I could, just so I could watch them come to life. I watched the sails of returning ships billow in the breeze before they were doused, as men on the docks and on the boats prepared for the arrival of the other, voices calling out to one another, like seagulls coming home.

 They were always glad to see the land, too. There was never a sailor who came back who didn’t share some look of relief at the sight of the pier, or show a big smile when he undoubtedly saw someone he recognized waiting for him, to be answered with a cry of joy in return. For I watched as loved ones came out bright and early to see their ships return, tying their hair up as nicely as they could with pretty little ribbons of all colors, waving favors and hands to greet their jolly sailors.

 Today, a ship of particular pride was brought to port. Yes, new ships were always a sight,  but this one in particular was truly a sight to behold. One that caught my eyes as well as the eyes of any dock workers awake at that hour.

 The Pride of Venus.

 She was a ship of the line, and a fine example of her craft. No other ship present could compare. Elegant and lethal, she was fully rigged with three masts, three decks full of cannons, and three emblems of the Spanish Royal Navy hand-sewn upon her sails, with details of doves and dolphins on display anywhere they could be painted or carved. Her figurehead itself represented Venus in all her glory, rising from the waves with her arms outstretched in invitation. The sunlight warmed her painted skin so much, she looked like she was just as real as I was from a distance.

 She was a treasured gift to King Philip V from King Louis XV. Any Spaniard would have been proud to sail under her banner, making their way in the world with such beauty beneath them.

 I would have been proud of her too, if only she didn’t serve the Navy. But I could admire her fine craftsmanship without thinking of the blood she was stained with. The art of creating such beautiful vessels was slowly but surely falling out of public practice. Newer ships were being made with more cannons, more masts, and sleeker, simpler shapes, leaving little room for expressions of art such as this.

 It was such a shame. It was far easier to identify ships and their captains from afar when their ships were just as unique as they were. If they all started to look alike, I was afraid I wouldn’t enjoy watching them anymore. And one day, The Pride of Venus would fall out of my sight forever, into the endless blue sea.

 My only hope was that, perhaps if such creatures as merfolk existed, then they would appreciate such ships as her more than we ever could. That perhaps the fish in the sea would make a good home from her bones.

 Still, I could appreciate her while she stood. So I did. I slowly whittled away at my coffee, getting lost in dreamy ideas as to her adventures overseas while the world came to life around her. Dock workers helped tie her and other vessels down, while their crews filed out of their ships in orderly lines. The sailors maintained their professional airs while their captains addressed them, but once they were dismissed, they turned from men into boys once again. Those that had loved ones to reunite with did, running to them with much excitement, to be greeted with excitement in kind by those they left ashore.

 Some of them were taken into open arms, while others had their weary faces cradled in the hands of their other halves. A lucky few were painted in kisses from sweethearts that clearly missed them just as much, leaving colorful marks of affection wherever they could.

 I did my best to ignore that. Instead, I drank in the warmth of the sun, the songs of the gulls, and the smell of the sea, along with my coffee. Once my cup was empty, I wiped it clean, stowed it, and moved on.

 My next stop was the book store. Carrasco’s Book Shop, to be precise. Pearce was an old business associate of mine, having worked with my father long ago. Whenever I needed new paper, or was interested in the newest book release, he was the man I went to.

 Orfeo couldn’t come inside. This was due to a no-pets policy on Pearce’s part. An understandable rule, given the destruction any untrained animal could inflict upon those old bookshelves. Even my lovely bird was no exception, with beaks and talons that could make bedding out of any book’s pages. At my command, Orfeo flew up atop the sign for the shop and stayed there, well out of the reach of any would-be thieves. He was a very valuable bird, after all. Very pretty and bright.

 The bell above the door announced my arrival, prompting a look from Pearce behind the counter. He was a lean old man, as lithe and lax as an old cat, with just as fine of a face. What few scars he bore at his neck and arms told of his old life at sea, the life he said he had left behind for the comfort of the shore. He seemed to be finishing setting up shop for the morning, as I could see him putting a few things beneath the counter when I arrived. When he saw me, he smiled.

 “Good morning, Marco!” He greeted me, with a voice that creaked softly. “Normally you’re here before I’m open! Is it safe to assume that you slept in?”

 “Yes, sir,” I responded with a smile of my own, “but certainly not by choice.”

 “Is it ever by choice?” Said he. It was a tease, we both knew, so we shared a chuckle at the idea. Once he was finished putting things away, he then told me, “Your order arrived just this morning! If you’ll allow me to fetch it for you…”

 “Of course, sir! Take your time!”

 And so he disappeared into a room behind the counter, well out of sight. While I waited, I looked around. Hand-painted scenes on the wall depicted all kinds of adventurous moments, from a meeting of politicians to a crew of sailors heading out to sea. A fisherman had caught a mermaid on his line above one shelf, while another showed a procession of fairies walking through the woods, to the amazement of the children looking on from the bushes. Opposite of the sailors, a crew of pirates were burying their treasure, with their captain hiding a pistol behind his back.

 They had not been repainted in some time, so all their colors were worn. But in my mind, they were as bright as they were when I first walked into the shop, back when I was just a child. My father would happily chatter with Pearce while I looked through the shelves, only to stare at me in shock at the tower of books I came out with. My appetite for knowledge was insatiable.

 It still was. I just didn’t have as much desire to read as I used to. And most of it I had already read through countless times. I didn’t pick up too many books these days.

 “Here you are,” Pearce said as he came out, holding a wooden crate of fair size, “all blank pages, as requested! I have the paper for you to sign here…”

 I watched as he set the crate on the counter, waiting until he had fully released it before going to inspect it for damages. Sometimes, my shipments from overseas came in less… desirable condition. So it was always good to check.

 The crate itself looked to be intact, save for some residual dampness from the rain the night before. Upon prying the lid off, however, I was relieved to find all the paper inside to be completely untouched. Dry as sand, even. Perfect!

 He handed me the papers to confirm I had received my package, and I took them, and the quill, quite happily… only to stop.

 The name on the shipping order wasn’t mine.

 Instead of Marco Montero, it was addressed to Lazzaro Montero.

 My father.

 This happened sometimes. Mail for our house would come in with my father’s name, even though he had been dead for many years. It had been so long, in fact, that I had made the mistake of assuming these kinds of things would eventually stop.

 I was wrong. As usual.

 “... Marco?”

 I glanced up to Pearce.

 “Is everything alright?” He asked me. His oak-brown eyes were alight with concern behind his eyeglasses. “Is anything damaged?”

 “Oh, no,” I reassured him, “not at all! In fact, it’s all in remarkably good condition! It’s just… they put my father’s name on it again. See?”

 I showed him the paper, taking care to point out where his name was. Upon seeing it, his expression fell only further. “Oh, Marco, I’m so sorry… You would think they would learn to fix that by now!”

 “You would think… ”

 Regardless, I signed the paper with my name. When I handed the paper and quill back, Pearce reassured me, “I’ll correct them as soon as I’m able. This can not keep happening, it’s incredibly unprofessional…”

 He didn’t need to. Not because nothing would change, but because it didn’t bother me as much as it used to. It was just one small thing. An ant hill in a mountain of other, far more worrisome things. That, and I confess, I did still miss him. Sometimes, it was nice to think that perhaps that name wasn’t a mistake, and I would see him again when I went home.

 I would. But never in the flesh. I had long since accepted that.

 Holding the crate under one arm, I made my way to my next destination: a bakery. It was only a wooden crate full of parcels of paper, so it was no trouble for me to carry on my walk, even with Orfeo having returned to my shoulder. I walked slowly through the streets, letting the smell of firing ovens and baking bread delight my senses. If the coffee didn’t wake me up, this smell always would, without failure.

 I was most loyal to one bakery in particular. I could partake of the others whenever I liked, but my most devoted business was reserved for the Belmonte Family Bakery. It belonged to one of my dearest friends, Isabela.

 Isabela wasn’t the easiest friend to make, mind you. She was hard to crack open, with a harsh temper. To me, she was like one of those German nutcrackers, with a bite that could break bone and a stiff spine that no man could bend. In spite of it all, I knew that beneath that harsh exterior was a good heart. I wouldn’t hear anyone say otherwise.

 She was already dealing with a customer when I came in, so her greeting to me was brief. “Morning, búho!”

 “Morning, burra!”

 She finished packing up a loaf of bread for a young man she was dealing with, then spotted the crate under my arm and stopped. She tilted her head and frowned, a crooked frown that favored the right side of her face more than her left.

 “That’s funny, I don’t recall ordering any books.”

 “Ah, that’s because you didn’t. This order is mine. ”

 “So what are you doing bringing it into my shop, then?” She asked.

 I teased her and replied, “I figured you could use kindling for your oven. I don’t see any devils flying about to keep it alight, so I must assume you’re actually using your firewood, in which case you must be struggling.”

 She laughed. It was a loud sound, and a lovely one at that. “Ah, so you’ve noticed! Give it an hour or two, then you’ll see them, don’t you worry!”

 Once she had sent her customer on his merry way, she turned fully to me. She leaned against the counter with one arm as she asked, “Now, what do you need?”

 “I was wondering what your recommendation would be for us today.” I then told her, smiling. “I’m thinking Perlita and I could try something new!”

 Her proud brow-line lifted slowly. “New? You? Ha!” She scoffed loudly at this. “The day you try something new is the day Hell freezes over!”

 “Ah, but you were married to the Devil once,” I teased, “so you would know if Hell was cold today, wouldn’t you?”

 This got a good, long laugh out of her. This was because her former husband was a terrible, terrible man. One with a hard-earned reputation for putting past wives in the ground. He died several years ago, having apparently choked on his dinner.

 She insisted she had nothing to do with it. I pretended to believe her.

 When she could eventually speak again, she said to me, “Well, he was always complaining about having me around, so I figured I would give him some space. But the next time I go down to see him, I’ll check on him, just for you~”

 She then gestured for me to set my belongings aside with a wave of her hand, so while she perused what she had on display, I set the crate on the part of the counter farthest away from her work space.

 As I stood there waiting, I took the time to enjoy the atmosphere of the room. There was some comfort to be found in roasting wheat, in the smell of toasting almonds and slightly burned sugar. Isabela’s cooking always felt comforting. For all how harsh her exterior was, one could taste the truth in her mazapán, delicate and sweet. One could feel her comfort in the warmth of her bread, and find her kindness in the quiet tang of her mantecados.  

 But it wasn’t mantecados she brought me, or mazapán. Instead, what she brought up was a small woven basket, full of sugar-dusted pastries cut into familiar, fluffy squares. I would recognize them anywhere. My mother baked them every so often for my father when we were small.

 Beignets.

 My familiarity must have been obvious, for her typical biting commentary came more softly than before. “It’s been a while since you’ve had these, right?” She asked. “The man who ordered these threw me a fit, so he didn’t get them. I don’t know if you still like them or not, but…”

 Looking over to her, I only said this: “If ever I were to fall out of love with beignets, then I would no longer be myself. How much do you want?”

 “Don’t bother.” She slid the basket over to me. “It’s on the house.”

 Now, I hated to leave anyone unpaid for their services, and she knew this. But when I tried to object, as she no doubt knew I would have, she only snapped her fingers at me. “And you’re going to take it, or it’s going on the house, got it?”

 “But– you could still sell it to me–”

 “I’m not selling anything that isn’t hot and fresh.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “ Please. At least I know you’ll eat them. Now take them and go, before another customer sees.”

 So I looped the basket over one of my arms, took up my shipment, and did just that. If Perlita somehow didn’t appreciate the treat, I knew that I would.

 Perlita was already gone by the time I had returned. She was apprenticed to Dr. De la Fuente, and so spent much of her afternoons with him, learning what she could on medicine and the human body. He was the only one willing to teach her, as no one else took her seriously when she told them she wanted to be a doctor.

 This was alright with me. I knew she would be safe there. And it gave me plenty of time to myself. I set all of my things aside, set the basket of beignets on the coffee table, then took my shipment of paper upstairs to my office. But not before putting Orfeo away.

 Once I was inside, I got to work sorting out my shipment. The parcels were sorted onto my paper shelf one by one, nestled in neat and orderly fashion with the rest of the blank paper I had. It kept them cleaner to leave them in their parcels, rather than removing them. Especially with a pet like Orfeo. As well as he behaved, he still could make a mess if I wasn’t careful!

 That, and my office didn’t have that much space. Compared to my bedchambers, it was much smaller, with only enough space for my writing desk, my work table for book binding, and some bookshelves for storage. The window to the room also wasn’t as big. My father’s personal study back at our old home was much larger, with more breathing room, more books, more seating…

 This office felt more fitting for a mouse. I could scarcely be satisfied with my sorting, when I didn’t have much room to store the new paper in the first place. This was the other reason they stayed in their parcels.

 Not wanting to get lost in my thoughts, I went back downstairs for the beignets. With no commission work currently available, no tasks from the Navy, and Perlita gone from the house, I was hoping to finally be able to relax. So I took a beignet for myself, seated myself in the nicest armchair in the reception room, and was just getting ready to take my first bite… when I heard it.

 A knock at the front door.

 This knock was also familiar to me. However, unlike Perlita’s knock, this was a knock I never looked forward to answering. Also unlike Perlita’s knock, this was a knock that I couldn’t turn down. With a great sigh, I rose from the chair I had just seated myself in. I took a bite of my beignet to comfort myself, then came to answer the door.

 When the door opened, I was greeted with a charming smile. One filled cheek to cheek with wolf’s teeth.

 For my own well-being, I chose to be polite. So I answered his smile with one of my own.

 “Ah. Good morning, Captain Gutiérrez.”