#i just don’t know though. the issue is me and well by extending my life i am basically harming everyone else. maybe my creations deserve | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

storiesforallfandoms · 2 years ago

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i don’t ever wanna see you with him ~ roman godfrey;hemlock grove

word count: 2551

request?: no

description: after he gets jealous of her best male friend, she decides to put him in his place

pairing: roman godfrey x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

Roman Godfrey was spoiled and entitled. Everyone in Hemlock Grove knew that. He was the heir to the massive empire in their small town, so it wasn’t a surprise that he had a sense of entitlement. That entitlement tended to extend to his romantic relationships, too. Roman was often very possessive and jealous over his girlfriends. Most of them liked that, most of them viewed it as hot and endearing.

(Y/N) was not one of those girls.

She and Roman had met through (Y/N)’s best friend, Peter. He was enamored with her the minute he laid his eyes on her, and, secretly, (Y/N) had felt the same way. Not that she would ever tell him that. She had been warned about Roman before she met him. She wasn’t about to give into him so easily; she made him work for it - for her. And he really did put in the work until (Y/N) trusted his commitment to her and agreed to date him.

There was one issue about Roman, though, and that was his jealousy towards (Y/N) and Peter’s friendship. He thought he kept it lowkey, but both Peter and (Y/N) knew. They both knew Roman better than he thought they did. They could see when his eyes darkened whenever he looked at them. They could see his jaw tighten whenever (Y/N) laughed at something Peter said. They could see the way Roman always needed to be touching (Y/N) whenever the three of them were hanging out.

It wasn’t that Roman didn’t like Peter. When it was just the two of them, they were the best of friends. It was Peter with (Y/N) that Roman didn’t like. And that was what pissed (Y/N) off. Peter had been her friend long before he was Roman’s, and long before Roman and (Y/N) started dating. And that’s all they were - friends. There had never been any sort of romantic feelings between them, and there never would be.

That’s why (Y/N) was walking up to Peter’s trailer on her own on a sunny afternoon. He was laying in a hammock, his eyes closed as he soaked up the sun. Upon hearing her footsteps, he opened one eye and peered over at her.

“Where’s your shadow?” he asked.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “He’s not that attached to me.”

“He may as well be a wart on your ass, (Y/N). Especially when it comes to me.”

“He’s certainly a pain in my ass,” (Y/N) muttered. “Move over, I want some hammock.”

Peter chuckled and shuffled over slightly. (Y/N) got into the hammock, laying with her feet towards Peter’s head and her head towards his feet. The hammock swayed with the motions before it settled again.

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” (Y/N) said as her body relaxed into the swaying fabric.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Roman. I didn’t tell him I was coming.”

“Is that healthy? Like, for your relationship.”

“I didn’t lie to him or anything. He’s busy with some family shit, so I haven’t even heard from him yet today. If he were to ask, I’d tell him I’m here.”

“And then he’d show up and kick my ass.”

(Y/N) sighed and rested her head back against the hammock. “Do you think he’ll ever stop being so...”

“So Roman?” Peter finished. (Y/N) nodded. “It’s hard to tell. His entire life he’s been surrounded by enablers, or he’s been under the control of his insane mother. I think we’re the first people to treat him like an actual person and not like he owns the world. So either we could help him, or he’ll annoy us both to a point where we can’t deal with him anymore.”

The latter option was what worried (Y/N) the most. She loved Roman, other than his jealousy he was an amazing boyfriend who loved and cared for her so deeply. She didn’t want to lose him, but she knew Peter had a point about if Roman couldn’t control that jealousy. She couldn’t live the rest of her life wondering how Roman was going to react to every guy she interacted with, whether it was friends, co-workers, or just random guys she ran into on the street. And she definitely was not going to be made to choose between Roman and Peter when she had known and been friends with Peter the longest.

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. Peter knew what she was thinking. It wasn’t the first time they had this conversation.

They fell into a comfortable silence. There really didn’t need to be any conversation. This was the first time in quite some time that the two were able to spend time together and actually enjoy it. So that’s what they were doing: enjoying their time.

The enjoyment didn’t last too long, though, as they heard a car pulling up in front of Peter’s place. Peter’s mom’s car was already in the driveway, so there was only one person it could be. That suspicion was confirmed by a car door slamming and Peter rolling his eyes when he saw whoever it was approaching. (Y/N) huffed out a sigh as she prepared herself for the argument that was undoubtably coming.

“You two look comfy,” Roman commented.

“We are,” Peter responded. “Wanna join? you can lay across us.”

Roman glared at him before turning to (Y/N). “I was trying to call you. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

She looked down at her purse where her phone was, which she had left on the ground when she climbed into the hammock. She gestured to it. “It’s too far away for me to reach. And my phone is on vibrate, as it always is, and you know that.”

His jaw clenched. (Y/N) felt her frustration reaching its peak.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” Roman asked.

“Well, for one, you haven’t responded to my texts at all today, so it’s not like I’ve even been talking to you today,” (Y/N) retorted. “And two, you don’t own me, Roman. I’m not required to tell you every single thing I’m doing or where I’m going.”

“You do if you’re hanging out with other guys by yourself.”

(Y/N) swung her legs over the side of the hammock and stood up so quickly that Peter nearly flipped out of it. She approached Roman with such ferocity that Roman took a step back before she reached him.

“Let me tell you one thing, Roman Godfrey: I’m done with this jealousy bullshit. I am not your property, I am your girlfriend. You do not control where I go or who I’m friends with. Especially when the person in question is my best friend who I’ve known way before I met you. This dark, entitled rich boy bullshit might work on other girls in this town, but it’s not working on me. If you want someone to put up with that, then you may as well find someone else to be your girlfriend, cause I can’t do this anymore.”

She picked up her purse and put it over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Roman asked as she started walking away.

“Anywhere that’s away from you!” she hissed. Over her shoulder she added, “I’ll talk to you later, Peter.”

~~~~~~

(Y/N) was home by herself that night. Her parents had gone out to some kind of function, and had asked if she wanted to tag along, but she told them to go on without her. She felt like she needed some time alone to come to terms with what had happened that day.

Peter had texted her asking if she was okay, but she hadn’t responded. She wasn’t upset with him by any means, as he didn’t even do anything wrong, but she just felt like she didn’t want to talk just yet. When she did respond, it was going to be to tell him she wanted to forget everything that had happened that day and to move on as if everything was normal, minus the fact that she and Roman were no longer together.

Roman hadn’t texted or called at all. She wasn’t sure if it hurt more that he hadn’t, or if it had hurt less.

She was sat in the living room, half paying attention to some movie that was playing on TV, when a knock came at the door. The sudden sound startled (Y/N). She wasn’t expecting anyone, and she knew her parents weren’t either as they weren’t even home. She figured it might be a door to door salesman, or someone trying to talk to her about the Lord, although it seemed too late at night for any of that. Either way, she stood from the couch and went to answer the door.

Standing there, leaning against her doorway, was Roman Godfrey.

“What are you doing here?” she asked him.

“Can I come in?” he asked in return.

“Not until you answer my question.”

“I came to talk to you.”

“You have a phone, which I know you know how to use because you were blowing mine up before you came to attack me and Peter.”

“I wanted to come talk to you in person. You’d be more likely to answer the door if you didn’t know I was coming than to answer your phone if you knew it was me calling.”

Okay, he has a point.

(Y/N) reluctantly stepped aside and gestured for Roman to come in. She closed the door behind him and led him towards the living room. She had been sat with all the lights off before Roman knocked and hadn’t realized just how dark the room had become. She switched on a small table lamp and muted the movie before sitting back in her spot on the couch.

“Your parents aren’t home?” Roman asked.

“No, they’re gone to some gala for dad’s work,” she responded. “Don’t get any funny ideas. We’re not together anymore, remember?”

Roman winced, as if her words had physically harmed him. “Yeah, I know. That’s what I came to talk about.”

He sat down next to her on the couch, but left a respectable distance between them. She appreciated that it seemed like he wasn’t trying to be too pushy towards her or anything, at least not yet.

“Go on then,” she said, waving her hand at him. “Start talking. What was so important that you had to come down from your castle to speak to the commoner?”

Roman scowled at her. “You know you’re not a commoner.”

“Compared to you and your wealth I am. But that’s not the conversation we’re having right now. Whatever it is you wanted to say, say it, and then I’ll decide whether or not I want you to leave immediately.”

Roman sighed and ran his hands through his hair. (Y/N) quickly glanced at the dark brown strands that were between his fingers. His hair was always incredibly soft. (Y/N) always loved to run her hands through his hair and seized every opportunity to do so. She had to look away just as quickly and shove down those painful memories. She couldn’t let herself break and go back to him just because of something so trivial.

“I’m sorry.”

The words shocked (Y/N) so much that she almost physically jumped when he said them. They were words she had very rarely ever heard said with such sincerity coming from Roman’s mouth. She had heard it in sarcastic mutters under his breath whenever his mother chastised him for something stupid, or said to defuse a situation that was getting a little too heated, but this wasn’t in either of those ways. This time, he actually meant it.

“Can you say that again?” (Y/N) asked.

Roman chuckled and rolled his eyes. “I said I’m sorry.”

“One more time.”

“(Y/N), I do have more to say.”

“Yeah, but this is what I want to hear.”

Roman shook his head at her, a smile threatening to break out across his face. “Look, what you said earlier, at Peter’s, you were right. You are my girlfriend, not my property. I shouldn’t have been so possessive and attempting to control your friendship with Peter. I just...every time you two are together, I’m reminded about the fact that you and Peter are close, and that you’ve been close for a very long time. I know that Peter isn’t as much of a prick as I am, some would say he’s an actual nice guy I guess. I know there’s nothing between the two of you, but there’s always been this fear in the back of my mind that maybe...maybe that could change. That you would want Peter more than you want me.”

There was hurt in his big green eyes. His confession surprised her because Roman always seemed so confident in himself. It was one of the first things she had ever heard about him, about how cocky he was.

“Why did you never tell me before?” she asked.

Roman shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to seem like a crazy, possessive boyfriend. I didn’t realize I had already been acting like that. I actually thought I was hiding it well.”

“Yeah, because showing up to Peter’s place because I didn’t answer my phone is totally not a crazy, jealous boyfriend move.”

He chuckled. “Okay, touché. That was not one of my better moments.”

“None of how you were acting was one of your better moments,” (Y/N) said. “I would’ve much preferred you to have told me how you were feeling instead of bottling them up and allowing yourself to treat your best friend like garbage whenever we were hanging out.”

Roman cringed. “I did treat Peter pretty terribly, didn’t I? God, he probably hates me.”

“You’re definitely not his favorite person right now, but I’m sure you can get back in his good graces by acting like an actual person and not like a jealous piece of shit.”

“What about your good graces?”

(Y/N) thought to herself for a moment. He had come to apologize in person. He knew the way he had acted was wrong, he actually apologized for it, and it seemed like he was willing to make a change. That’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? For him to work on the jealousy and actually change it.

“I think you can get back there,” she said. “You’ll just have to work for it again.”

“I’ll do whatever it takes.”

(Y/N) smiled. She moved closer towards him and unmuted the movie. “You can start by cuddling me and finishing this bullshit movie with me.”

He smiled back at her and put his arm around her shoulder. “I can do that. But why are we finishing the movie if it’s bullshit?”

“Because I’m invested in the bullshit.”

Roman chuckled and pulled (Y/N) towards him. She rested her head against his shoulder and he put his head on hers. He tested the waters by placing a kiss on the top of her head. (Y/N) didn’t argue. Instead, she turned her head to kiss his cheek before settling against him again.

#Roman Godfrey #roman godfrey imagine #roman godfrey x reader #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard x reader #hemlock grove #hemlock grove imagine #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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mysticheathenn · 1 year ago

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Who Are You Meant To Be?

Hi there! Remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement seeking professional help.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations This is a Patreon Reading for both tiers.

The extended reading includes:

Who are you meant to be?

What is stopping you from progressing?

Advice

Pile l:

Who are you Currently? (Tarot: Page of Cups, 2 of Cups, King of Wands, The Wheel, 3 of Wands, The Magician) This pile feels like my go-getters pile. Whenever you want something you will stop at nothing to go out and get it. You have a lot of fire and water in your pile of cards meaning you are empathetic, caring, sensitive, and loving. You are a natural giver, wanting the best for those around you, and love to see the best in people even when they show you their worst. I think some of you this is your downfall a little bit. Maybe you like to ignore the red flags and bare your soul for people who wouldn’t do the same for you. You are also a wanderer and explorer, always wanting to know more about the world, your passions, those you care, for, just anything you have a curiosity for you want to know more. Maybe you’re even a huge daydreamer and for some of this can also be your downfall. It gives me 500 days of summer in the scene where Tom has his fantasy in his head of how he wants things to go vs how things actually go and is crushed even though he knew his fantasy was a slim shot he still felt it could have happened. Extended Reading on Patreon (Who are you meant to be? What is stopping you from progressing? & Advice)

Pile ll:

Who are you Currently? (The Priestess, 5 of Pentacles, Queen of Swords, 9 of Pentacles, 7 of Cups (reversed))

Pile ll I just want to give you a big hug because you are the type of person who doesn’t fully believe in themselves. Some of you feel that you don’t even deserve nice or great things. For some of you, I feel someone like a toxic family member, friend, or ex-partner planted these thoughts in your head while for others I feel you slowly started to develop these thoughts yourself. The scene in Black Swan where the mom says “What happened to my sweet girl? And Natalie Portman’s character says “She’s gone.” For those who resonate with this life has hardened you. Maybe you used to be optimistic about life but life and those you met along the way really did a number on you. Some of you may even not see the beauty in life anymore or even the potential that you may have because you are just so low in the dumps. Some of you may even deal with severe depression and anxiety. For some of you, it's passed down, for others it's due to your circumstances like being unemployed, lacking money to live life without constantly surviving, etc. Please be easy and nice to yourself, life may be hard but that doesn’t mean you make it harder by giving up on yourself and life. Remember you are not your circumstances, mental illness, or what people think of you. Your current situation is just a pit stop, not a life sentence.

Extended Reading on Patreon (Who are you meant to be? What is stopping you from progressing? & Advice)

Pile lll:

Who are you Currently? (6 of Swords (reversed), Hanged Man (reversed), 8 of Swords, The Hierophant, 2 of Pentacles)

Some of you may be drawn to pile number ll, only a few of you but pile lll you feel trapped. Stuck as if you don’t know who you are, where to go or be in life. Some of your are possibly afraid to be your authentic self maybe.I feel some of you may have chosen the pile in another reading I did a week or two back where I slightly spoke on a similar issue. Some of you may also be drawn to pile number l as well because I see people pleasing as well amongst a few of you but overall, what I feel currently for you is you aren’t sure who you are. You remind me of this video I once saw about how people are out here with personalities from the internet because they can’t think for themselves, so they follow the masses in hopes of stumbling into something and I get that feeling for you pile ll. You aren’t sure who you are, what you want to do with your life, where you want to go, what kind of people you want around you all you know is that where you are currently isn’t what you want anymore. It reminds me of the SpongeBob meme where that fish goes through life living day by day the same routine in and out just miserable because they lack passion or some sort of direction. For those who don’t know what I am referring to here’s a link to a YouTube clip of the meme http://tinyurl.com/2jutee6y . Maybe some of you are going through the motions of life unsure of how to live because you follow the influences of TikTok, friends, and family, but I feel some of you are slowly starting to see that not even the material you soak in and people around you are actually living or know what the f*ck they are doing or want in their own lives. They are just sheep following the machine to the slaughterhouse because they feel it’s what they are supposed to do.

Extended Reading on Patreon (Who are you meant to be? What is stopping you from progressing? & Advice)

Thanks for checking out my reading. I appreciate all of you, until the next reading.

Stay Safe and Be Blessed.

#pick a card #pac reading #witchblr #pac tarot #pick a pile #pick a picture #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #divination #higher self #patreon #kofi #tarot cards #spirituality #authentic self

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 7 months ago

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Behind closed eyes I see you just the way you are

Dracule Mihawk x reader.

This fic is part of the Beast in Black series.

Montserrat Caballé was a famous operatic singer.

*****

You stare at the man sitting across from you behind the heavy wooden desk, your face fully expressing how unimpressed, not to mention less than thrilled, you are with the proposal you have just been extended.

“If this is a joke, Vice Admiral, I am not laughing.”

“It is not a joke, (name).”

“Then you will agree I am not the right person for this sort of… task. Ask someone else.”

“She asked for you expressly. She has heard how capable you are, and she believes a woman would have the necessary gentleness to deal with this… fugitive.”

You sigh, fully regretting having answered when two hours ago, as you enjoyed a delicious lunch in a newly inaugurated restaurant not far from the Marines HQ, your Den Den Mushi rang, and Garp’s disembodied voice asked you to come to him, because he had an extremely important matter to discuss with you. You thought a new bounty had been issued, a dangerous criminal who needed to be found and neutralised, and the Vice Admiral had decided you were the most appropriate person to deal with them; after all, you are one of the most capable and efficient bounty hunters allied with the Marines, and it wouldn’t have been the first time you had been offered a priority claim on a new bounty.

You had been flattered - excited, even; not to the point of interrupting your meal to run to the Marines HQ, but you did skip dessert, even though the diners at a table near yours had been enjoying a chocolate layer cake so inviting you had felt your mouth watering at the sight. You had walked into Garp’s office, ready for a new task that would bolster your reputation and, equally important, earn you more than enough to help finance your newest project to improve life on your island, and then…

And then this. Gods, why hadn’t you remained at the restaurant to enjoy the layer cake?

Garp looks at you, his arms resting on the top of the desk; next to his elbow is a pile of light blue leaflets that you vaguely remember having already seen around the HQ and in the city, even though you have never picked one up. The large window behind him is open on a clear, cloudless sky, the azure almost blinding in its intensity “Listen, (name), I know this is not what you were expecting…” he begins.

“This is not what I do. There are professionals who take care of this sort of issue, but I’m not one of them.” you point out, a hand resting on your faithful derringer, as usual hanging from your waist in its holster “I’m a bounty hunter, I catch criminals.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask you if the Fleet Admiral’s wife hadn’t made your name specifically, and as you can imagine, it is not the sort of request one in my position can easily ignore or dismiss. If it helps, she is extremely worried for her… ward.”

“Is she? Maybe he ran away because he couldn’t stand her, or because he was mistreated.”

“I can assure you he wasn’t. Major Whiskers was well looked after, a beloved member of the family. The Fleet Admiral’s wife is terrified someone might have kidnapped him, be it to ask for a ransom or as revenge after a disagreement with her husband. She has also authorised me to offer you a substantial reward for your time and effort.”

“That is not the problem.” you point out, already fed up with the whole affair “Also, Major Whiskers? With a name like that I would have run away as well…”

Garp hides a chuckle behind a cough. “Here, that’s him.” he informs you as he retrieves a picture from a drawer of his desk and then hands it to you “Please do it, (name); it would save us both a lot of headaches.”

You don’t comment as you observe the picture now in your hand. Major Whiskers is, you have to admit, a fine specimen, a short-haired tortoiseshell tomcat, with a long tail and an impressive set of bristles, wearing an elegant black collar as he sits on a soft pillow in what has to be the Fleet Admiral -and his wife-’s living room.

“How long has he been gone?” you inquire, despite yourself intrigued enough you’re seriously considering doing this.

“Three weeks.” Garp promptly answers; he’s clearly been briefed thoroughly, and you wouldn’t be surprised to discover the Fleet Admiral is treating the disappearance of his wife’s pet as a state affair. “As a matter of fact, he had already disappeared once, a month and a half ago, after a maid had unwittingly left the back door open after taking the trash out; that time the cat had returned the next day. The family hoped that would be the case this time as well, but they were wrong. It is a sociable animal, so an hypothetical kidnapper would have simply had to offer him some food to appease him and take him away.”

“A domestic cat could be unable to fend for himself in the streets; maybe he has had an accident, or he might have been taken in by another family, or he has jumped on a ship that has by now brought him halfway to Dressrosa or Alabasta.” you point out “I’m not sure I can find him, Vice Admiral. In a port town like this there have to be hundreds of stray cats.”

“I know; can you at least try? As I said, you’ll be generously rewarded.”

“I’ll send Major Whiskers’ mistress my bill if I find him, rest assured. Although…”

Your gaze falls on the leaflets stacked on Garp’s desk; a moment later, the one on top of the pile is in your hand after you placed the cat’s picture on the desk.

“The Marines Ball is taking place soon, I gather?”

“In two weeks.” Garp confirms “Always a fun evening if you like that sort of thing, even though when you’ve been in the business for as long as I have even the most exclusive parties lose their appeal. Does it interest you?”

“It might.” you concede, your eyes skimming over the leaflet’s content as a plan quickly forms in your head “Especially if, as it says here, the event will include a performance by Lady Montserrat.”

“Do you know her?”

“Someone I know is a fan of hers. Could you get me two invitations to the ball, if I find the Fleet Admiral’s cat?”

Garp promises to reserve as many invitations as you want, if you only return Major Whiskers to his anxious mistress, who has been weeping inconsolably since her beloved pet disappeared and whose broken-heartedness has become an issue the whole Marines HQ has to deal with. The next step would have probably been to have all Seven Warlords of the Sea intervene, and that is a hassle the Vice Admiral would rather spare himself.

“Alright; this is not exactly my area of expertise, but I’ll try.” you promise as you finally stand, pocketing both the ball’s leaflet and the picture of your new target “As soon as I find him I’ll bring it here.”

“Good luck, (name). You’ll need it.” the Vice Admiral wishes you, clearly relieved to have burdened someone else with such annoying a task; you wave good-bye to him as you depart, vaguely wondering if you could have gotten the invitations to the ball, the perfect gift for your mother even though her birthday is still two months away, in any case, even if you had refused the assignment or had asked twenty thousand berries as a reward. You should have at least asked; nonetheless, you have committed to finding that cat, and as your grandfather told you many times, a bounty hunter worthy of the name never abandons a target they set their eyes on.

You leave the Marines HQ in the middle of a sunny afternoon, the hem of your skirt barely stirred by the salt-laden breeze, and depart, ready to begin your search.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty… Major Whiskers, where are you?... Come on, your mommy is looking for you…”

In the end it takes you three days to find your target, and by that time you could swear you have become acquainted with the whole feline population of the town, from the newly born kittens no larger than your hand to the old, mangy male cats, scarred or missing an eye, an ear, or a piece of their tail. Most of them are predictably wary of two-legged beings like you, even when bearing a generous offer of cat-food brought in the same shop the Fleet Admiral’s wife usually patronises, and that you have chosen in the hope that Major Whiskers lets himself be tempted by his favourite meal. In the end, confident your contractor will readily reimburse you any expenses made to find and retrieve her beloved pet, you distribute the pricey cat-food in no less than a dozen street corners, nooks and abandoned buildings around the HQ where you have seen stray cats are wont to gather, and plant as many -newly rented- Visual Den Den Mushi in the vicinity, which allows you to monitor which cats haunt a determinate spot.

You are in luck, because barely eighteen hours later you recognise your target in the images transmitted by one of the tiny devices, that you have carefully monitored: no more than two hours before Major Whiskers has appeared in a narrow dead-end street not far from the town’s harbour, sharing a plate of its favourite low-fat yellow tuna jelly with a white cat before leaving to enjoy his freedom. Satisfied you have already, if not properly captured your target, at least identified his favourite hiding spot, you reach the alley -the stench of urine so heavy it will probably linger on your clothes and hair for the rest of the month, vulgar slogans and love declarations graffitied on the walls- fill the empty plate with cat food once more and hide behind a crate.

Who knows what your grandfather would say if he could see you now, you wonder as you search for the least uncomfortable position to sit as you observe a cat -not Major Whiskers, unfortunately; it’s a black long-haired female, a relatively placid specimen you have seen sunbathing on the low walls surrounding the city harbour- approach, sniff the content of the plate and then depart, either because she had already eaten or because yellow tuna jelly is not to her taste. After all he has been one of the most formidable bounty hunters allied with the World Government for decades, countless outlaws and dangerous killers having been felled and brought to justice thanks to his efforts; he has been the one to put a gun in your hands for the first time, to teach you to use it and to make sure you understood that shooting a person is different from doing the same to a line of cans on a low wall, and what it meant to actually kill a person, no matter how grevious the crimes they had committed. He certainly never imagined you would use all the knowledge he bequeathed you to hunt down a cat; would he reprimand you? Find it amusing? State that Major Whiskers is a target like any other and commend you for all the effort you’re putting into his search? You are not sure, given that he passed many years ago, when you were still a girl and before he could see you become an equally respected killer for hire - a regret you know you will carry in your heart forever. You are at least confident he would approve you have accepted the assignment in order to procure your mother an invitation to the ball, and consequently to the performance of an artist she admires; after all she was the apple of his eye, his only child and heir, and he loved her dearly just like you do…

Wait a moment. Is that…?

Lost in your thoughts, kneeling on the ground in the dark nook behind the crate, you had briefly lost sight of the task that had brought you to that uncomfortable stakeout, and that moment of inattentiveness very nearly proved fatal - or at least risked making all your efforts go to waste.

Major Whiskers is back; you are absolutely sure it’s him, having looked at the picture Garp gave you times enough as you observed the Visual Den Den Mushi’s recordings to make sure you could recognise him among a thousand similarly-coloured cats. The most sought-after feline of the country has approached the plate you placed near the alley’s dead end and is now cautiously sniffing at it, maybe to make sure the yellow tuna is still fresh. You wait for him to begin eating before you stand, your knees hurting after the long hours spent in contact with the ground, and cautiously move a first step, having already retrieved the large sturdy sack, the sort usually used to store flour or other foodstuffs, that you had brought with you. Major Whiskers doesn’t seem to hear you approach, too focused on the expensive food he has the chance to taste for the second time in almost four weeks; you are no more than three paces from him, the sack already open and lifted in your hands to capture him, when suddenly a door slams loudly in a street nearby, and that is enough to alert your target. The cat lifts his head, turns, sees you, and a moment later he has bolted towards the alley’s exit, two seconds away from disappearing from your sight.

You swear under your breath -and reflexively you can almost hear your mother’s voice chiding you: (name), language!- before giving chase, following the cat out of the alley and into a larger street, the soles of your boots pounding on the ground. You run past the outdoor tables of a restaurant, a woman pushing an empty stroller, and a small crowd gathered around a kiosk, without the time to ascertain what they are selling. You follow Major Whiskers through the whole neighbourhood, heart pounding in your throat as the cat avoids or gets past any obstacle on his path with an easiness you can’t help envying him, zigzagging among the legs of the passers-by and easily climbing over a fence while you waste precious seconds looking for a passage. This is far from the first time you are forced to chase a target, but though small Major Whiskers can count on twice the number of limbs you have, and you can see the distance between the two of you growing by the minute; the cat only has to find a crevice where you’re too big to follow, or climb over a wall you find no other way to overcome, and for you it will be the end - at least temporarily.

Determined not to admit defeat, you order your legs not to give in now that you’re so close to success, and realise that Major Whiskers has stopped running, as if the chase had tired him out as well; he is sitting in the middle of the road, the people walking past making sure not to step on him but otherwise unnoticed. He is not wearing his collar anymore, and has lost weight since his escape from home, no doubt due to the need to obtain food for himself instead of having it served to him, but he seems to be in good health, which is enough to make you heave a sigh of relief.

You look at him as you pant, and the cat calmly licks at his paw before staring back at you, his oval yellow eyes impassible, or maybe full of emotions you cannot decipher. “Listen, I just want to bring you home; they’re all very worried for you.” you tell him, squatting in order to bring your face as close as you can to his; you can hear someone snickering behind you, probably having noticed you’re talking to a cat as if sure he can understand you, and maybe he can, who can say? Your grandfather was sure his hounds could actually comprehend his words, beyond recognizing simple orders like sit or shake; he loved dogs, your grandfather, almost as much as he loved guns, and your mother and you “You must have seen how hard it is to live in the streets, especially now that the winter is coming and days are getting colder; freedom is nice and good, but don’t you miss your meals and sleeping in front of the fire?”

Major Whiskers stares at you for a while, his long tail raised behind him like a question mark, clearly unconcerned even though he had run from you until a moment ago; you see him stretch, his tiny fanged mouth open wide in a yawn, turn and walk away, this time unhurriedly. Resigned, you follow him towards a nearby building, its bolted door and windows suggesting the last occupants have left some time ago; on the back is a small courtyard, waste of various kinds and overgrown weeds occupying most of the space.

This must have been his lair for the last four weeks, you think as you use a sleeve to wipe off the sweat off your face; you’ve never been a guest of the Fleet Admiral and his gracious wife, but you wonder what Major Whiskers’s mistress would say knowing her beloved pet has abandoned their comfortable and clean house to settle in this dump, without a silk pillow in sight.

You follow the cat to the farthest corner of the courtyard, covered by a metal roof. There, lying on a filthy blue blanket and surrounded by empty plastic plates and bowls some generous offerer has to have left a long time ago, is another cat, that you easily recognise as the white specimen that the Visual Den Den Mushi recorded as she ate the food you had left together with Major Whiskers.

You say she with confidence, without the need for a closer inspection, because when the white cat raises from her bedding to join the newcomer, you can see a roundness in her belly that you are quite sure is not due to an abundant meal. And the way the two cats are now interacting with each other, the white female licking your target’s face and him rubbing his head against her side, are quite telling, even for someone like you who has never had a pet cat…

You find yourself smiling as you squat. He had already disappeared once, a month and a half ago; this is what Garp told you, and it’s easy to guess it was then that Major Whiskers met his friend, who he then missed enough to decide to run away a second time.

“Well, it seems like you’re taking care of her; good job.” you tell him as the white cat, surprisingly friendly for a stray, approaches to sniff your hand and then allows you to pet her “You want me to bring her home as well? I’m sure your mistress will be happy to have her, and she’ll take care of your kittens as well.”

Again, no answer -obviously- but when half an hour later you return with a transport box large enough for two, having lost your sack along the way, both Major Whiskers and her mate let you put them inside, especially after you have given them the little food you have left, and remain placidly curled up side by side as you set off towards the Marines HQ.

As you step into his office, Garp is once again sitting behind his desk, smiling as he offers you a white envelope. “I knew you could do it, (name).”

“Thank you for the confidence, Vice Admiral.” you answer as you delicately place the transport box on the flat surface between the two of you “Here’s Major Whiskers, safe and sound, his new girlfriend and their unborn kittens, conceived the first time he had run away.”

“I see; so that’s why he had escaped again. Major Whiskers, you slyboots…”

Both cats are purring loudly, indifferent to the attention heaped on them. You find yourself grinning as you look at them before opening the envelope and retrieving the two cards inside it, printed on thick high-quality paper, that cordially invite you, or whoever will present them to the doormen at the entrance, at the ninety-fifth Grand Marines Ball and, more importantly, to the main event for the evening, lady Montserrat’s performance.

“As you requested.” Garp points out as he opens the box’s little door and begins scratching Major Whiskers’ girlfriend on the chin, the cat now purring loud enough to be heard from the corridor “Thanks for doing this, (name); you saved me a lot of trouble.”

“Very special; I’ll be coming with my mother.” you explain, and you see Garp’s expression betray a moment of surprise, as if he were wondering why a woman your age doesn’t have a partner on the arm of whom to attend balls and other social occasions. At least, he is delicate enough not to express that disbelief, keeping it to himself; so many, a growing number over the last few years and including members of your own family, have been less respectful.

“Don’t thank me, it was… fun, in a way; and be sure you’ll be receiving my bill for this little operation.”

“I’ll forward it to this rascal’s mistress, don’t worry. Taking anyone special to the Ball?”

“I’ll be seeing you then.”

“You probably will. Good evening, Vice Admiral.”

You linger a moment longer to say goodbye to the two cats and then depart, the invitations safe in your pocket. Tired but satisfied, you start along the sun-lit corridor, headed to your inn for a good night’s sleep before sailing home. You have almost reached the building’s main door, mentally sorting through your favourite dresses to decide which one would be more appropriate to wear at the ball, when suddenly a well-known figure catches your eye, unmistakable among the many, mostly anonymous men and women surrounding him.

It’s not the huge black sword hanging from his back that you notice first, not the equally dark tone of his clothes, standing out against the white of the Marines’ uniforms. Rather, it’s like you couldn’t help noticing him - the relaxed but elegant pose stricken by his body as he rests with his arm pressed against the wall; his lovely yellow eyes, reason for the moniker that makes every single swordsman in the world quake in their boots, lost in the view beyond the window next to him; the elegant, deliciously masculine features of his face, the well-kept beard and the short, shiny hair you have found yourself wishing to feel under your hands…

In a word, it’s him; not his weapons, not his clothes, not even what he does or says. He could be standing still, silent, a single man in a crowd, and you know you would see him in any case, perceiving and being attracted by his presence as if the two of you were the opposite poles of a magnet.

You never had the courage to properly wonder why; you probably don’t need to.

“(name). Good to see you.” Mihawk greets you with a slight nod of his head as you reach him; he is not smiling, you rarely have seen him doing so in the many years of your acquaintance, but you could swear he is actually happy you’ve met, and how many people in the world can say the same?

“And you. Here for a Warlords meeting?” you inquire, well aware the man in front of you wouldn’t be at the Marines’ HQ but for a very important reason.

“Indeed. I just hope it will not drag on like the last, I thought we would have to camp in the room for the night.” he confirms, turning to face you “What about you? Have you come to deliver a prisoner?”

“I have indeed; just… not the sort I usually deal with.”

“Do tell.”

“Well…” you begin, already regretting having broached the subject; what tasks you decide to accept or refuse is your business alone and no one, not even Mihawk, can make fun of your job, but you couldn’t bear to make a fool of yourself in front of him “It’s quite a funny story. You see, I… I mean, it all started with the Fleet Admiral’s wife, and…”

You find yourself stammering, wondering how to best present the matter without coming off as an overpaid cat-catcher, but then you meet his gaze, where a twinkle of amusement is shining, and you find yourself smiling - grinning, even. “You know already, don’t you?”

“I do indeed; I heard the Fleet Admiral’s steward discussing the matter with another officer. I… might have eavesdropped when I heard them mentioning your name.”

You doubt he said it with the intention to flatter you, he probably didn’t even think about it; but flattered you are, in the privacy of your heart. “You think me a fool, don’t you?”

“I think this task was well beneath you; but perhaps you simply had some time off, or you were worried for the cat’s well-being.”

You admit neither option was the real reason you decided to accept the assignment; rather, it was the reward you asked in exchange. “Garp procured me two invitations for the Marines Ball, in two weeks.”

“I see. You…?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” Mihawk quickly answers, rather evasively it seems to you; silence falls between the two of you, and you are suddenly aware of how awful you must look right now, after a whole day spent patrolling the city harbour, your clothes covered in dirt and cat hair. For the first time since you became acquainted, you regret meeting Mihawk; if hearing about your latest assignment didn’t make you look bad in his -lovely, captivating, that as of late you have found yourself thinking and even dreaming about- eyes, looking like something the cat (!) dragged in surely will “I would have thought you had enough of balls, given the fact you probably take part in occasions like this quite often on your island.”

“I do indeed; but this is special. You see…”

“You’re taking someone, perhaps?”

The question catches you off guard, even though at first you couldn’t say why - nor indeed why Mihawk felt the need to ask; you did tell him the Vice Admiral had given you two invitations for the ball, does he think you’ll let one of them go to waste?

“I am indeed.” you answer in the end, already anticipating your mother’s joy when you’ll tell her she’s going to see one of her favourite artists performing; it’s still too early for it to be a birthday gift, but at least you know she’ll appreciate it “Will you be attending?”

Mihawk admits he hasn’t decided yet: he has naturally been invited to the ball, but that sort of occasions bores him in the best of cases, and he has no interest in spending more time among the Marines than he strictly has. “On the other hand, if you’ll be there I’ll at least have someone to talk to.” he adds, and remains silent -hesitates?- for a moment before adding: “If your escort doesn’t mind, that is.”

“That won’t be a problem.” you reassure him, since no matter how close you and your mother are, she doesn’t need you to keep her company, even in a crowd of people she has never met before. Knowing that your company would make for Mihawk a boring event more bearable makes you happy, and for a moment you seriously consider telling him he’s welcome to ask you to dance, if it’d help pass the time, but the last thing you want to look is desperate; one thing you’ve never been is shy, and if you’ll want to dance you’ll invite someone to partner you. Maybe you’ll ask Mihawk himself… “Then… I guess I’ll see you soon.”

Mihawk nods, an unreadable expression back in his yellow eyes; you just know he’s thinking intensely about something, but for the life of you you have no idea what, even if you’d really like to find out “I’ll see you then, (name).”

You can still feel his gaze on the back of your head, as keen and piercing as the one of the bird he has adopted as his sobriquet, as you turn and walk out of the room.

Lady Montserrat is one of the most famous singers in the world, her lovely, powerful voice admired by other artists, music aficionados and countless fans. Even you, who never had much interest for her musical style, have to recognize she is exceptionally talented, a veritable pleasure for the ears; it’s no surprise that the Marines have chosen her to perform on an important occasion like its annual ball, after the countless stages she has already enchanted.

You will never forget your mother’s joy when, stepping into the spacious courtyard, habitually used for military exercises and tonight furnished with a flower-decorated stage under a white tent and long lines of chairs for the audience, she saw her favourite singer’s picture on the posters and the flyers placed on each chair, with the list of the pieces lady Montserrat would perform.

“Oh, my love; thank you.” she murmured, happiness and excitement filling her eyes, and when she hugged you in front of everyone you thought you would have gladly followed Major Whiskers to the other end of the Grand Line and back, if capturing him meant giving your mother such a welcome gift. Later, as the singer’s pure and powerful soprano voice filled the air and dozens of spectators, Marine officers and guests like you alike, listened enraptured, you felt her hand take yours.

“I wish your father were here.” she murmured, and while she didn’t seem sad as she said that, only vaguely melancholic and wistful, as usual when she mentioned or even just thought about him, it was you who suddenly felt the need to retrieve an handkerchief from your skirt pocket to dab your eyes, a tiny sob drowned by the singer’s virtuosic warbling.

An hour later, the two of you hold each other’s arm as you enter the great hall, festively decorated and already populated by a great number of invitees, both Marines in uniform and elegantly-dressed guests. You and your mother wear matching dresses, as you are wont to do when hosting or participating in an official event on your island, in order to present an united front against opposers and critics; you take your time observing the formal but vivacious gathering you have just joined, the dazzling light propagated by the crystal chandeliers reflecting on the arch windows of the hall, the scent of champagne wafting from the buffet table, the soft music produced by the orchestra playing in a corner. Not so different from many other social gatherings you have taken part in ever since you were a girl, but you’re happy your mother is there with you, for once a guest like many others, free to relax and socialise and enjoy a performance, instead of having to play hostess and being surrounded by people attempting to curry favour with her.

Garp is the first to notice you, leaving the small group of Navy officers he was with to greet you. “(name); you look lovely.” he says kindly with a slight bow of his head, which he then repeats to your mother. “Ma’am.”

“Vice Admiral, meet my mother, l…”

“Veressa; such a pleasure.” she quickly introduces herself, omitting her title for the first time since you know her “You must be Vice Admiral Garp; (name) told me all about you.”

“She never mentioned you, which is clearly a shame. Hope you enjoyed the performance, (name) went to great pains in order to earn the invitations.”

“Did she now?”

“I had tasked her to capture an extremely dangerous criminal, and in the end she brought back both him and his accomplices.” Garp explains very seriously before turning to you “You’ll be pleased to know the Fleet Admiral’s wife has decided to adopt Major Whisker’s girlfriend, as well as their future kittens.”

You are happy to know it, but when you turn your gaze towards the long buffet table set against the wall, considering your first drink of the evening, Major Whiskers is suddenly and resolutely pushed out of your thoughts, and the same happens to Garp and even to your mother, as your eyes fall on a solitary, black-dressed figure standing near the hall’s perimeter, indifferent both to the many people chatting around him and the many couples who have already started dancing.

Mihawk is not looking directly towards you, but once again, is it as if the two of you were able to perceive each other’s presence, because a moment after you have noticed him he turns in your direction, meeting your gaze across the room. This time you decide not to go to him -you’re not his daughter, nor his valet, after all, and he has two fully functioning legs- but limit yourself to a smile and a nod of your head, before lightly touching your mother’s arm to ask her if she’d like something to drink.

“Not yet, my love, thank you.”

“I’ll go get one for me, then. If you’ll excuse me…”

A minute later you’re standing in front of the buffet table, supervised by uniformed waiters, but you barely have the time to observe the different bottles of wine and champagne in their buckets, when a glass of your favourite drink appears in front of your eyes.

“Thank you.” you murmur as you delicately accept the glass and turn to smile at the offerer “I particularly enjoy this kind, how did you know?”

“I know you’re a woman of refined tastes.” Mihawk points out, without a trace of flattery in his deep voice “And since your date was too discourteous to bring you one, I thought I would step in.”

“I actually offered to take one for both, but my mother was less thirsty than I am.”

“Your… mother?”

You point to her, busy being introduced by Garp to a couple of female officers her age. “That woman over there.”

“You… brought your mother to the ball?”

You look at him, surprised and hurt by the incredulity in his voice. Not you as well. “Yes. Shouldn’t I have?” you ask, your tone just a touch polemical “She spends most of her time on our island, and she’s an admirer of the artist who performed earlier. Is it so ridiculous that I invited her?”

“On the contrary; I think it was a kind gesture, which does you credit. I simply… don’t remember you mentioning her when we last spoke.”

“Oh, right…” you realise, thinking back to your previous conversation, two weeks ago “I probably didn’t. Forgive me, I… think I misunderstood what you meant.”

You smile at him from behind your glass, feeling suddenly shy, and for a couple of minutes you both focus on your wine, observing the now numerous couples who have joined the dances, officers and guests twirling more or less gracefully as the delicate notes of a minuet fill the room.

“You look lovely tonight.” Mihawk murmurs after a while; he’s not looking at you, but you find yourself smiling.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I really, really don’t.”

“Then I appreciate your compliment, kind sir.” you answer with a slight bow of your head, as you privately think he’s the one who should be admired; Mihawk really looks dashing, his black suit softened by a pattern of burgundy roses on the sleeves and hems, his crisp white shirt’s collar open just enough to leave his throat and a hint of his chest naked - a view you are soon forced to tear your gaze away from, aware that you are blushing like a fifteen-year-old who just visited a communal pool for the first time.

“You’re alone as well.” you point out after a while, not realising you have started nodding along with the music; Mihawk sneers softly beside you.

“This sort of event is tedious enough in itself, without the need for a companion to introduce and take care of.”

“No one you… would have liked to have beside you?” you ask tentatively, receiving in response an unimpressed, but vaguely ironic, raised eyebrow.

“In all the years you have known me, have you ever heard me mentioning a partner?” he points out, and you admit you haven’t, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t have one, given his preference for keeping his affairs private.

“Truth to be told, I have never found the need for one.” Mihawk admits as he sips the content of his glass “I mean, I do enjoy the occasional… dalliance, but I am content with my solitary life in Kuraigana; most people bore me in the best of cases.”

“Including me?” you joke.

“Clearly not including you, since we’re here talking.”

“Hmmm, I should feel honoured…”

“You probably should. What about you? No… important man in your life?”

He’s still not looking at you, focused on the dancers in front of him with an intensity you are not quite sure it’s genuine; for a moment you allow yourself to believe he is feigning disinterest, and that his desire to know whether or not you have a partner goes well beyond the need to keep the conversation going. Wishful thinking, probably, you admit in the privacy of your heart; while he has stated more than once you are one of the few people he respects and even likes, in the many years you have known Mihawk you never had the impression he cared for you like you have come to wish he did… like you have come to care for him.

“I’m too busy with my duties on my island and my activity as a mercenary to devote much time to courting and relationships.” you admit as you shrug your shoulders, vaguely melancholic as you wish you could give him a more favourable answer “I occasionally take a lover during my travels, since I’d rather my name not become a topic of gossip while I’m on my island, but truth to be told it’s been a long time since someone has actually caught my eye. I enjoy sex as much as the next person, but I think I have reached an age at which a nice body is no longer enough to keep me interested for more than one night.”

Mihawk grins, now openly amused, as he turns to look at you. “You talk as if your best years were behind you.”

“Of course they aren’t; in fact, I suspect these are my best years. But as relatively satisfied with my sex life as I am, I sometimes wonder how it would be to form a connection that lasts beyond a couple of orgasms or a shared bed for a week-end; to meet someone I could share my thoughts and my feelings with, if not my life. Someone who would value and respect and trust me; someone who knows I can take care of myself, and is ready to defend me nonetheless.”

This must be the most intimate conversation the two of you have ever had, and perhaps it should feel weird, discussing such private matters during a ball, but it doesn’t, rather it feels good and natural and even liberating, at least when Mihawk is the one listening. You smile at him, shrugging as if to apologise for these confidences your friend never asked to receive, and he shakes his head lightly, as if reassuring you there is no need.

“Didn’t your mother look for a suitable husband when you came of age?” he asks a moment later; the subject of your discussion has in the meantime been invited to dance by Garp himself and is now happily swaying around with him, who is a surprisingly capable dancer for a man of his age and size “As far as I know this is the norm among noble ladies.”

“It usually is, but things are different on my island; I don’t even have to worry about producing an heir anymore.”

For the first time, the expression of the man next to you betrays genuine surprise. “... what? You have a child?”

“No. I almost had one, but they died, and the trauma made me infertile.”

The words leave your lips so instinctively, as if your mouth had a life of its own, for a moment you struggle to believe you have actually uttered them; but the voice was yours, no doubt, and the hand you press to your lips is too little and too late a remedy.

“I’m sorry.”

“(name)...”

“I… I really don’t know why I said it.” you stammer, suddenly upset for a reason you can’t quite pinpoint “It was inappropriate, forgive me…”

“Again, you have nothing to be forgiven for.” Mihawk murmurs, his voice suddenly soothing, as if he were talking to an upset little girl, or a spooked horse; you are neither, and still, you perceive no condescension in his voice, nor the exasperated annoyance he treats any form of weakness and indecisiveness with “I… should be the one to apologise; that was too personal a question to ask.”

“You simply couldn’t know.”

You hesitate for a moment, and then, aware of how foolish you have already made yourself look, you add: “But I’ll forgive you if you invite me to dance.”

Mihawk seems to seriously consider the offer for a minute. “Very well.” he decides in the end “But not here.”

You let him lead you out of the chamber, your hands only brushing against each other as you slip past the door unnoticed, and a moment later you have reached the building’s west-facing veranda, far enough from the ball hall to drown the chattering, even though the music still reaches you.

“This is nice.” you murmur as you observe the harbour opening in front of you, ships of all sorts and sizes neatly docked at the various ports. That sort of view never fails to bring a smile to your lips, and to soothe whatever pain is filling your heart at the moment; perhaps, you like to think, it’s because after all you’re the daughter of a pirate, a man who spent most of his life on one of those vessels, travelling far and wide and seeing a different dawn every day. Looking at a ship, even a tiny fishing boat or a slow, heavy merchant vessel, reminds you of him.

“Do you have a father, Mihawk?”

“I used to.” he answers as he joins you, resting his elbows against the parapet “But I haven’t seen him since I was seven years old.”

“Did he teach you how to wield a sword?”

“He taught me absolutely nothing, save perhaps what sort of man I didn’t want to be. He never cared for me, I was too introverted and headstrong for his liking; on my part, he wasn’t a man I could respect, let alone love. He gave me and… he gave me the booth when I was still a child to build a new family, and I never saw him again. I was already an adult when I received word he had died, and… I felt absolutely nothing. No pain, no regret, no sense of loss.”

He turns marginally to look at you, as if to test your reaction to his declaration, but you simply shrug your shoulders again. “I guess that since he did nothing to deserve your love and respect he didn’t deserve your mourning.”

“That’s what I thought as well. What about you?”

“My father was a pirate, but I lost him a few years back; he gave his life to save mine.” you explain, well aware that no matter how many years pass from that terrible moment, a day that had started like so many others and that took from you more than you thought possible losing without dying yourself, you’ll never stop suffering for it, and that is well, your mother told you as you both mourned, because the sense of loss meant he had been important for you, that you had loved him like he had loved you, and that as long as you missed and remember him, he would not die completely “I wish we had more time to spend together; he arrived late to our family and he left early. But I loved him dearly, and he taught me much.”

It is odd, maybe, to spend time at what is essentially a party discussing about loss and heartbreak, but the two of you are unusual as well, having seen places and experienced things most people could only dream about; you feel at ease talking to Mihawk, whatever the topic, and you know it’s the same for him.

You spend a few minutes side by side, content in each other’s company. The maybe ten inches separating your left shoulders from his right one feel like a stellar distance, the awareness that you’d only have to raise your arm to touch him -to feel the skin of his cheek under your palm, to run your finger through his dark hair, to to brush the pad of your thumb against his lips- making it hard for you to swallow; you glance at the man that has aroused those feelings in your heart, wishing for the barest hint they are reciprocated. But Mihawk’s handsome face is guarded, almost hermetic, and you wonder what would be worse, to confess what you feel and be rejected, or to keep them for yourself, denying both of you the chance of pursuing a relationship.

You should tell him; Mihawk is different from any man you have ever met but you’ve never shied away from speaking your mind and you don’t intend to start now. You’ll find the right moment, the right place, soon; but tonight, you decide, tonight you’ll simply enjoy his company, and the unexpected, precious intimacy it has afforded the two of you.

It feels nice.

You follow his gaze when Mihawk turns towards the corridor you have crossed coming from the hall. “A waltz.” he notices, listening to the sweet melody wafting towards you.

“It is indeed.” you confirm, and he turns, silently offering you his hand.

Who knows who taught him to dance, you wonder a minute later as you let Mihawk guide you through the steps and turns, one of his hands holding yours and the other resting on your shoulder blade; as it’s common for young lords and ladies in your country, you have taken classes since you were a young girl, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it had been the same for him, if he had applied himself to those lessons with the same resoluteness and dedication he reserves for his training and that emerges from any action or movement of his body. There is self-confidence in the way he holds you, the surety of a man unconcerned with propriety or awkwardness; waltz is relatively intimate as far as couple dances go, the body of the two partners brushing against each other, but Mihawk is the last man in the world you’d expect to see perturbed, or embarrassed, by that closeness, and this is, for some reason, part of the reason you are trembling as you feel his breath against your cheek, as if you were still the twelve-year-old acerbic girl who had a crush on her dance teacher and blushed every time he took her hand.

What would happen if you took advantage of that proximity the two of you had never experienced before to kiss him? It would be easy, slipping one hand to the back of his head to draw his face near, and a moment later you’d be tasting his mouth, the sweet scent of the red wine on his lips, the honey of his tongue as it caresses yours. Would he sigh? Moan? Murmur your name as he kisses you back, hungry and passionate like you are sure he would be, the embers hidden under the ashes but still burning, scorching hot? Methodical, sparing in his actions and words as he is, you don’t doubt Mihawk would be a passionate lover, leaving behind self-control and reflectiveness to strip his partner naked and pound them against the wall.

You wouldn’t mind; you would let him cut your dress open with the Kogatana, or fuck you in front of the whole crowd gathered for the ball -well, except your mother, probably- if he wanted; you’d be happy to, even. Who knows if he’s thinking the same, if the presence of your body so close to his is making his heart beat faster and the desire to let his hands wander fill his mind? Is he attracted to you, at least now that he has you in his arms? Is he indifferent, simply focusing on the moves with the same effort he employs in everything he does, but otherwise unaffected by your embrace? Is he, worst of all, bored, having accepted to dance only because you asked him and wishing this damn waltz would end?

You don’t know; you really don’t have the faintest idea, but on your honour, you will. You will know what he feels, for and about you, if it’s the last thing you ever…

“You’re thinking too much.”

You blink, for a moment taken aback, before meeting Mihawk’s eyes once more. “Excuse me?”

“You’re deep in thought, which is unusual for a person who is dancing.” he points out as he leads you through a spin, his chest for a moment pressed against yours in a way that has no reason to leave you breathless, but does “You should simply enjoy the experience, or talk to your partner.”

“My teacher said no one should talk during a dance, because we should focus on the music.”

“And you always did what your teachers said, (name)?”

“Not always; at least, not unless I did think it was the right thing to do.” you admit, and smile “Which did land me in trouble sometimes.”

“A small price to pay, I think, in order to be a leader and not simply a follower.” Mihawk muses; through your dress, you can feel his hand descend from its place on your shoulder blade towards the centre of your back “Tell me something about you.”

“What?”

“I… have known you for many years, but I just realised there is much I don’t know about you. Tell me something you consider important about yourself.”

You take a moment to think about it; the fact that he asked makes you happy. “You tell me something about you.”

“I asked you first.”

“And as we just agreed, I find it beneath me to do as I’m told.”

Mihawk sighs, less irritated and more amused than he’s trying to appear. “Let’s see.” he muses as he moves gently; he really is a talented partner, but the pleasure you receive from your shared dance goes way beyond that, the subtle intimacy of his handsome face a breath away from yours, the unspoken promise of a touch “I sew my own clothes.”

“... seriously?”

“Not all of them, mind you; but I like embroidering my capes and jackets, especially when I’m not satisfied with what I find. The one I’m wearing tonight, for example; I made the roses myself.”

“It’s amazing.” you murmur, sincerely impressed; on instinct, without stopping to consider whether the contact could feel unwelcome, you move your hand from Mihawk’s shoulder to his chest, brushing your fingers against the red flowers embossed on the fabric; for a moment you could swear you have felt him tense under your touch “Our favourite tailor would love this. Fighter, dancer, embroiderer; is there something you cannot do?”

Mihawk smiles, openly flattered. “I may not be able to breathe fire and to fly.”

“I’m sure you could learn in time. Who taught you to sew? Your mother?”

“... in a way, yes.”

You are still touching his chest; you quickly withdraw your hand, embarrassed, but instead of returning it on his arm you snake yours around his neck, your body lightly pressed against his. You hold his gaze in yours, wishing, waiting, to see something in those lovely hawk eyes -arousal, embarrassment, confusion; anything, just to know for sure you can have an effect on him, that you’re not so indifferent to him as you fear- and something you do see, just as you become acutely aware of the warmth of his hand against your back, but you can’t give a name to it, he’s still too good at hiding what he feels to let you read him, and that is frustrating, but hopeful as well, because maybe one day he’ll feel comfortable telling you himself…

And then, suddenly: “(name).”

“Yes?”

“The music has stopped.” Mihawk murmurs, and it’s like emerging from a deep, pleasant sleep, when dreams have not fully given way to reality and everything feels possible and hazy at the same time. Everything you can hear, besides the thumping of your heart, is the chatting wafting from the ball hall, a bit louder and more animated than before. Maybe the orchestra is on a break, you suppose, or the musicians needed to tune their instruments.

Before, you think then; how long has it been since the two of you have left the hall? Ten minutes? An hour? The whole evening? You can’t say; what you know for sure is that you don’t want it to stop.

“I know.”

Mihawk’s arms close around your waist a moment after you have rested your cheek against his shoulders; you keep moving, keep dancing, and the world fades away around you.

“Oh, hello, my love.” your mother greets you warmly as you reach her, standing from the comfortable settee she has occupied for the last hour, happily chatting with a drink someone has fetched her in her hand as the participants to the ball started to leave “Here you are; are you alright?”

“I’m perfectly fine, mother.” you reassure her, not lying: you’ve spent the better part of the last three hours dancing with Mihawk, and then letting him accompany you on a lovely walk in the gardens. Nothing happened, nothing at all beyond your shoulders brushing against each other and his hand taking yours when he insisted on helping you climb over the trunk of a fallen tree that obstructed the passage; still, you feel happy, and hopeful, more relieved than ever that you decided to attend the ball “You? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left you alone…”

Your mother, a perfectly sociable woman who never struggles to make a good impression on people, assures you she easily found a way to entertain herself, receiving several offers for a dance and making the acquaintance of a few ladies her age, two of them daughters of officers who knew her father when he was a bounty hunter.

“What about you? All of a sudden I didn’t… oh.” she adds, noticing the man standing behind you “I see you met your friend.”

“I am Dracule Mihawk; it is a pleasure to meet you, lady Veressa.” he greets her politely with a bow of his head and a level of courtesy no officer of the Marines has ever received “Forgive me if I monopolised your daughter for so long.”

“There is no need; I am glad (name) could enjoy the evening as well. She speaks about you often.”

“Does she indeed?”

You look away, suddenly bashful but happy to see two of the people you care the most about in the world interact. A minute later your mother asks you if you’re ready to go, given the late hour, and Mihawk offers to escort the two of you to your carriage outside.

“You two go. I need to, err… visit the ladies room.” she mentions as she glances at you, and you bite your tongue, hoping fervently Mihawk, who doesn’t know her, can’t see how openly she’s lying “I’ll meet you outside in a moment, (name). Mihawk...”

“My lady.”

The two of you look at her departing. “She’s exactly how I imagined her.” Mihawk murmurs after a moment.

“What do you mean?”

“Like you, just older. Elegant and sensible, at ease in her own skin.”

You smile, proud of that praise from a man who is so sparing in his compliments. “I’m glad you think that.”

“And I’m glad I could meet her. Shall I… accompany you outside?”

The truth is, you’re not tired - not to the point that you wouldn’t spend even just a minute more in his company, if given the opportunity; on the other hand you appreciate the offer, and the last thing you want to look is clingy, so you nod your head in thanks and allow Mihawk to accompany you outside, his hand on the small of your back. As you walk, you meet Garp’s eye, standing near the corridor’s wall busy in conversation with the Fleet Admiral, unlike him clearly more than a little intoxicated; he sees you, sees Mihawk, and grins, openly amused.

Soon you have reached the vast courtyard, dozens of wall-mounted torches illuminating its circular perimeter; a number of carriages wait outside the gates.

The night sky above your heads is clear, which makes a sigh of relief escape your lips: your ship is sturdy, and its captain capable, more than enough to bring you back to your island safe and sound, no matter how violent a storm you could encounter, but your mother occasionally suffers from sea-sickness, and you don’t want her pleasant trip to conclude with an uncomfortable day spent bent on a basin.

“You never told me, you know.” Mihawk points out; he has been looking at you out of the corner of his eye, while you were too preoccupied considering the weather to notice “I had asked you to tell me something about you few know; you never did, but you asked the same to me.”

“You’re right, I owe you that.” you consider, pensive as you try to choose an anecdote he would find sufficiently interesting; you don’t think you need to prove yourself to Mihawk, as if to deserve his friendship and respect, but you didn’t expect to find out he can sew, and you’d like to surprise him as well. In the end you turn to stare at him, indifferent to the small crowd now gathered around you as the ball’s invitees say their goodbyes, and announce: “It’s not really a secret, but I can promise you it’s true. I’d really like you to visit my island, if you have some time to yourself and nothing more interesting to do.”

If Mihawk is taken aback as you hoped he’d be, he doesn’t betray it, not beyond a slight rising of his dark eyebrow. “Do you now?”

“I do. It’s a lovely place, and I’d be happy if you could see the city where I was born. I know you’ve just returned from a long mission for the Marines; consider it a holiday. You can stay as long as you want. I can’t promise you I won’t have a few engagements to take care of, but I’d make sure…”

“I don’t need to be entertained all day, (name); I understand you have duties.” Mihawk points out; for a moment, in the relative darkness of the night, you could swear he’s smiling “And I’d like to see your island, very much so.”

Your mother, who has been hidden behind a pillar for a few minutes, waits discreetly to see Mihawk kiss your hand and depart before reaching you. “Is everything alright, my love?” she asks in a murmur, a question many would find superfluous, since you’ve only been apart for a few minutes, but you know her well enough to understand she’s not worried something bad might have happened when she was in the ladies’ room.

“I invited Mihawk to visit us at home.” you inform her, not bothering to hide your joy “He has accepted.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, my love. He’s clearly an interesting person, just like you have always described him.”

She’s smiling, openly happy for you, and you think about her, about your father, and the many happy years they could have had together, hadn’t tragedy befallen your family. Then you think about Mihawk, about the time you have spent together tonight, and the promise you have exchanged only a moment ago; you might have time, but you might not, and you’re determined not to waste a single day more, now that you know your heart.

“Shall we go home?” you ask, and your mother nods, slipping her arm under yours.

“I’ve spent a lovely evening; thank you for this, (name).” she murmurs before kissing your cheek; the stars seem to shine brighter than ever as you walk arm in arm to reach the carriage waiting for you at the gate.

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Dracule Mihawk #Mihawk #Dracule Mihawk x reader #Mihawk x reader #Steven John Ward #Bellona's stuff

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amorchai · 10 days ago

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐓’𝐒 𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒.

original post was 140 notes.

pairing(s): platonic!schmidt x platonic!reader

words: 669

warnings/tags: platonic only, no romantic involvement.

“why do you need to paint my nails, y/n?” asks schmidt, feet carrying him out the bathroom and through the expanse of the loft, you following swiftly behind him with eagerness present. “because, no one else is in and i’m so bored,” you reply.

“where’s jess when you need her?” schmidt sighs as he sits on the corner side of the couch, you sitting far too close beside him for his own comfort as he swindles his body as if you just tried to attack him.

“you’re a crazy person! no! no you can’t paint my nails, i’m a male, i’m a man. plus, the moment nick sees he will make me regret it for the rest of his life,”. “that’s traditional views, boring. plus, it’s nick, we know that’s not for much longer, he’s an old man,” you try to joke, moving yourself to follow him teasingly, “don’t say that.”

you whine as schmidt stands from his position, back towards the television as he turns to you who sits on the edge of the couch, staring at him with a hopeful gaze. “why is this so important?”, “i’m so bored, you know that. i’ve been dealing with so much workload recently, you also know that. let me have a half hour break to paint your nails, please.”

schmidt rolls his eyes in despair, meanwhile walking back to the couch to reply with a very low and quiet, “okay, fine.” you squeal in joy as you stand to run to jess room to grab her endless number of nail polishes, pretending the laptop with your deadlines sprawling the screen isn’t placed upon the desk awaiting your return.

once you walk back, you notice he’s not by the couch anymore and for a moment you think he’s made a run for it until you hear him from the kitchen and following his voice, he is perked upon one of the bar stools, kitchen roll placed on the table where one hand holds it down. “i don’t want any nail polish on my suit or furniture, i would simply scream”.

“so what colour is the suit you are wearing tomorrow? i’ll pick the same colour so you don’t look like an idiot going into work,” schmidt eyebrows furrow at your words, in complete shock, “like the colour of my nails are the issue here — what even makes you think i know what i’m wearing tomorrow?” you raise your eyebrows towards him, expression one which indicates you know him far too well.

“fine, it’s navy.” his words cause you to litter through the large bag filled with coloured nail polishes, most of them bright and colourful like jess’ personality, left are the duller colours at the bottom, clearly discarded and unused at the bottom of the bag.

you pull a shade of navy from it, showing him which only causes him to continue rolling his eyes dramatically all the while he extends his hands, dress shirt riding up his wrist and blazer already hung neatly away in fear of a singlet droplet of varnish tarnishing his outfit.

his face remains stoic and mildly confused as you begin to start from his left thumb and work your way across the hand, delicately and carefully shaping the colour over the area of his nails. schmidt’s expression softens slightly while he watches the way you hardly blink, tongue poking from your mouth as your concentration sticks to his hand in order to perfect your work.

“kim is totally going to make fun of me in front of all the woman at work tomorrow,” schmidt complains while you move to the other hand, even though his words show discomfort, he raises his finished hand to admire, causing you to laugh.

“well they’ll be jealous, you’ll be the prettiest one there,” you tease coolly as you continue, his free elbow nudging your side jokingly as he goes back to look over the navy blue fitting his nails perfectly, and he thought that maybe it wasn’t so bad.

amorchai masterlist . taglist form

#➵ amorchai works ౨ৎ #new girl ⁑ schmidt #new girl #schmidt #new girl x reader #new girl imagine #new girl show #schmidt x reader #schmidt imagine #schmidt fanfic #schmidt oneshot

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endclover · 2 years ago

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TRUST ISSUES - Grian x Reader

Warnings: Angsty (kind of), blood, wounds and injuries, wild animals (wolves), and of course death.

Note: This is based on The Life Series and can be read as part of any season. Grian has wings and Reader is allies with Cleo.

My first mcyt fic!! English isnt my first language so i'd appreciate if you stay kind ♡. Might make a part 2, most likely not though.

A small gasp escapes your mouth, the sting of the cold air coming in contact with your wounded thighs was slowly getting to you. Not only that, dusk was slowly creeping in and night in the mountains wasn’t a fun time.

“I’m serious! please just cooperate will ya’. I’m carrying you back home whether you like it or not.” Grian kept on insisting

“I told you I don’t want to!” You weren’t quite sure how to tell him, that your crippling anxiety and trust issues simply don’t trust him enough to not drop you a hundred miles up in the sky.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of heights” He questioned in disbelief

“Am not” You defended

“Then why wont you just let me fly you home?”

“Its just-” You wanted to trust him. But after all that’s happened, you don’t think its possible anymore. And to put yourself in such a vulnerable place is asking for a death wish.

“Do you not trust me?”

Silence befell upon the two of you. Your heartbeat was racing, trying to supply your body with the blood it need that was constantly being loss due to the huge scratch that was causing you excruciating pain.

The whisper of the wind filled the surrounding area, along with the hum of leaves and snow. You looked at Grian in the eyes, and you knew he understood what your silence meant.

"Well then, I’ll be off to hunt." You said, putting on your boots

"Be back before night; they might be around. And try to only go after passive creatures, you know how wild animals can be" Cleo advised

"Alright, alright." You wave, making your way out the front door.

You were halfway up the mountain when you realized you'd forgotten to bring a shield.

"Oh well, already up here, might as well continue," you sighed.

Little did you know that letting that slip would cause a catastrophe.

You extended your arm to fire another arrow. You preferred to hunt from a distance, seeing as you haven’t got a shield to protect yourself. You reach to your waist, where the pouch containing all your arrows was, but to your surprise, there was none left. What an unlucky day you whine to yourself after coming to the conclusion you didn’t refill it the last time you foraged.

After getting over your mistake, you approach your now-dead target to get the resources you needed. You reach down to grab the miss-shot arrow by its side in case you might need it again, and as you do, lurking behind you was a pack of hungry wolves looking for their dinner.

In the snowy alp you were in, the song of the snow and occasional rustling of leaves is all there was to hear, so the low growl and sound of steps were definitely noticeable, but you weren’t able to react quick enough.

As you turn around to the woods, a wolf pounced on you. The wild animal’s claw dug into your thighs; it retracted its paw, making the scratch bigger than it already is almost reaching up to your knees.

You skillfully draw your sword, swinging it across the wolf’s chest giving you time to get back on your feet and retreat. But the rest of the wolves wouldn’t let you get away so easily.

As fast as you could, you ran to the woods to hide. You knew it’d be damn near impossible to make the wolves lose track of you because of their unmatched sense of smell, plus the trail of blood your leaving but you had to try. You can’t die a coward.

The rest of the pack swiftly chase after you, their large paws leaving prints on the ground, their claws and fangs ready to attack.

A smaller but faster wolf got to you, but after slashing it with your sword it backed-out. Soon after, the rest of the unfriendly gang retreated after discerning that you weren’t such an easy target.

You didn’t want to take any chances so you continued to run, the adrenaline in your blood was pumping making the wound barely noticeable but soon enough it started aching. the unbearable snowy terrain made it more and more difficult to run, and the possibility of running into another wild animal made you anxious. There was no decision or choice to be made, however. The only correct answer was to run.

After figuring you had gotten pretty far from the scene of injury, you stopped to catch your breath. Near a cliffside you took a seat, weapon still in- hand, just in case.

You heaved out a big sigh and closed your eyes for a while. Moments after, you regained a bit of energy and stood up, though your legs weren’t quite ready to walk. You turned your head to look back at the forest, where you saw a figure in the distance.

‘huh… didn’t know hallucinations were a side effect of wounds.' You whisper to yourself.

"Hey [reader]! "Is that you?" A familiar voiced called out. the figure now running towards you. Once again the adrenaline started kicking in. Surely, they aren’t here to kill you.

In the cruel game you were in, it was every player for themselves. Past friendships were barely taken into consideration and if they were, most of the time it would end in betrayal. With only a few hours left before you turn red, you too were starting to get desperate.

“What happened here? are you alright?” He said, wings drooped down. He tried to approach you further, taking small steps to where you were stood.

“No! don’t get any closer.” You step back, using your bad leg accidentally, causing you to whimper.

“It’s alright, I wont hurt you. I’m only here to help.” he claimed

You sneered to yourself. After all the deaths he directly and indirectly caused, it was quite reasonable for you to be wary of him. But your brief alliance and agreement during the start of this world made you ponder if he means the truth.

“Ah that looks bad; you’re losing too much blood.”

“Yeah, obviously.”

“Come on, I’ll fly you back.”

You were stunned by his words, and shocked at how much he thinks you trust him. For him to fly you home, to bring you up in the sky, hundreds above the ground, is basically giving him the opportunity to drop you and gain more for himself.

“I’d rather bleed to death, thank you.” you said in a monotone voice.

“I’m serious.”

You cant help but take a step back despite having a cliff behind you. “You have it wrong Grian, I am not afraid of heights, nor am I afraid of anything.”

“I am too.”

”Well, I think I’d rather have you be upset about heights than have you dead. So stay still because I’m carrying you back.” Grian said, moving forward and reaching over to grab hold of you.

“Then what’s all the fuss about?”

The moment you’ve been dreading, to tell him four simple words ‘I don’t trust you’. This game is one man for themself. No feelings or emotions have to be taken into consideration, and all relationships are out the door, yet you cant help but be disheartened to tell him the truth.

“Its- Its just…” You cant find the words, a thousand voices are speaking in your head yet the one you have doesn’t have anything to say.

“Do you not trust me?”

“…”

“If you stay here, you have zero chances of getting out alive. If you go with me, at least there’s still a slither of hope.”

“With the way you say it, you make sound so easy.”

“I just want to help. And to put justice to the agreement we made at the beginning”

You recall the start of this world, where all the worries of death are far, and alliances are being built. Now’s the complete opposite.

“Grian, this game is life or death. Trust is more rare than diamonds you should remember.” you murmur.

“And more valuable. I know with all the disasters and chaos I’ve caused, its hard to trust me. But just this once please let me help. After this, we owe each other nothing.”

You couldn’t keep up the facade you were putting on. You knew you needed help, and you were willing to trust him. ‘Just this once’ you promise yourself knowing damn well it won’t the last.

#mcytblr #hermitcraft #hermitblr #mcyt #the life series #3rd life #double life #limited life #3rd life grian #limited life grian #double life grian #grian life series #grian x reader #grian hermitcraft #grian limited life #gaming #minecraft #clover's blob

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lightlycareless · 2 months ago

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it just crossed my mind I ought to explain why there's such a huge gap between Naomi and your second kid. sneak peak under the cut, still not finished:

Discreet is not a word many would use when describing you.

When you want something, it’s nothing but obvious, clear as water to those attentive enough.

From the lingering gazes, the twinkle in your eye whenever seeing them…

To the absentminded searches on your phone of surrounding topics, constantly daydreaming that you often have to be pulled back to reality…

It’s plain to see—you were showing the same signs you did many years ago once your life began to feel a little lonely, empty.

To claim otherwise is nothing but silly:

You wanted another baby.

Oh, but that didn’t mean you’ve grown tired of Naomi. No! Far from it…

You loved her so, so much—your little blessing, just a smile from her and all your worries would melt away.

However, whenever you pictured a family… there were always more members in the equation.

A sibling for Naomi to play with after coming home from school and both her parents were busy.

A baby for you to no longer feel lonely when Naoya and Naomi went away, keep you company through the coldness that seemed to engulf the estate as of recently.

Perhaps your desire for such stemmed from how you were raised; you didn’t have a big family, but you weren’t an only child either. And the moments you shared with your siblings are ones you’ll greatly cherish—even the ones where they seemed to get the worst out of you.

It was simply how families were, and that was something you wished Naomi to experience as well.

But as much as you wanted so, desperately craved to welcome another baby in your life—

It just hadn’t happened. In the almost 7 years of Naomi’s life, your expectations for a second child, even third, were not met.

Nowhere to be fulfilled. Not even close.

And this made you miserable. Everyone could see so, lament that this was your present circumstance.

But only your most trusted ones would be brave enough to speak up.

“Y/N, why don’t you speak to Naoya about this?” Your sister would suggest. “It’s clear that you want to have another baby—so why keep denying yourself?”

“I… I don’t know.” You murmur, look down at the plate you’ve barely taken a bite of—topics like these always sucked the appetite out of you. “I guess I just didn’t think it was important.”

“I’d say welcoming another member into your family is important enough to discuss.” She retorts, you sigh.

“Well then, let me help you.” Hinata suggests. “If we can dissect the issue then it’ll be much easier to find a solution.”

“I guess…”

“Let’s see… is Naoya going through a financial issue?”

“No.” You blink. Never. Far from it, really; since now that he’s of a higher rank he’s getting paid much, much more. Perhaps even enough for the grandchildren of your grandchildren to live comfortably…

Though he also gets deployed on far more dangerous missions that always have you praying for his safe return. Even when his skill and talent is one few, if any, could surpass—there’s no true risk in his work, yet…

But returning to the money, if his salary wasn’t enough, the Zen’in were more than kindly obliging to give you whatever you desired in hopes of inspiring you to have more kids. More heirs.

A change of tune from their initial disdain, all thanks to Naomi proving to be quite promising for the future of the clan.

“Ok… we know dad is more than willing to move in with you if needed, so… are you no longer assisted by your staff?”

“No, it’s not that.” You respond. In fact, they seem to have taken Naomi as a niece of sorts: whatever she needed, she had. And that naturally extended over to you too, of course. The one they considered a sister of sorts.

“And it can’t be that you’re actually doubting your skills as a mother, can it? You’re by far the best mother I know! And Naomi is a testament to that. She’s such a sweet child… you’d hardly believe she’s Naoya’s daughter!”

You frown.

“You know I’m just teasing.” Hinata gives you a sheepish smile. “But if it’s none of these things… then why are you still so against having another child? Certainly, you’re nothing but overqualified!”

“I… don’t know.”

“Oh no, is Naoya planning to separate?”

“What? Why would you even suggest that??”

“Are you sick, then?”

“I hope not.”

“Do you no longer love him?”

“Hinata!”

“Then what is it? Why are you holding back from one of your greatest wishes?”

“Because I’m—

I’m—"

I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of going through the same horrifying thing I did when Naomi came to this world.

I want to make smut out of this but I don't know how. :) pray for me.

#leaf.talks

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1moreff-creator · 1 year ago

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Is anyone still trying to figure out the final code on the MV? The one with (the world of abnormal sentiment dances)? No judgement, I have no idea what's going on with it either, but I'm surprised there's so little discussion of it. I’m making this post to share some observations, and some of the things I’ve tried as I go insane over this MV. Warning, don’t expect anything too revolutionary.

+First, the code doesn't have a direct parallel in the original LGI MV, so no clues there.

+But I did find something possibly peculiar. You know the "find the 'n'" bit that shows up right after it? Well, it's lifted straight from the original LGI video, but the symbol you're supposed to find there is somewhere else.

That's the equivalent from the og LGI.

And there's the n. It's in a completely different spot, which makes me wonder if it's somehow related to the code. The n does pretty much coincide with a number of the images. Here's a transcription of the numbers, with the numbers related to the n in blue (you should still check I didn't fuck anything up though). Italics and bold means I'm not completely sure about the number.

1 4 6 3 1 4 8 4 2 6 8

1 7 3 7 4 1 0 2 0 1 4

3 0 3 6 4 5 1 1 7 5 9

2 3 3 6 8 6 3 6 2 7 8

9 3 0 4 0 4 9 2 3 7 4

3 0 8 2 4 3 6 7 7 2 0

6 9 7 0 5 2 1 7 3 2 6

4 3 6 0 7 8 8 6 5 0 3

7 1 8 8 1 1 5 2 5 7 9

8 7 6 4 3 2 1 6 8 6 4

9 5 6 2 8 0 7 1 3 5 3

0 8 5 9 5 6 3 3 0 7 1

7 5 8 1 4 9 8 3 7 5 2

9 1 4 4 4 1 0 0 5 2 6

Does it mean anything? Hell if I know! I have no idea how any of this works!

+Perhaps a more out there possibility is the changed alphabet. I've mentioned it before, but there's a point in the David MV where a modified alphabet shows up.

In case you can't tell, not only are letters listed in both capital and non-capital form, the alphabet ends W-U-X instead of W-X-Y-Z. This changed alphabet is not in the original LGI.

This is the equivalent scene. You can see it's perfectly fine, and as far as I can tell (aka: zero Japanese, just the translation and vibes) the letters aren't listed twice. And this is the video the David MV is based on, there are a lot of similarities.

This would imply, in my mind at least, that the alphabet was changed for a reason. I've seen it interpreted as another sign David doesn't see himself as human, as he doesn't even use the same alphabet, but it feels like a weird way to go about showing that to me.

So, uh, if you're trying something, and some words don't look right, maybe this can help?

+I have no idea what footnote 14 is supposed to be. "Hint: word length of 256". I've seen it suggested that it relates back to Hamlet's "To be or not to be" thing, but... while I think I did see one source with 256 words once, the word count is highly inconsistent throughout the internet, and almost none of them have it as 256 words. I checked with wordcounter.net.

-Wikipedia: 275 words.

-Poetry Foundation: 259 words.

-Poets.org: 276 words.

-Nosweatshakespeare: 275 words.

-Representative Poetry Online: 265 words

-Shakespeare Resource Center: 261 words.

-Litcharts: 273 words.

See the issue here? And now I don't have any idea what footnote 14 is. Here's some other things that it isn't.

+Literature Girl Insane: >256 words.

+Colored lyrics in the MV: ~190 words

+Lemon: Way more than 256 words

+The part of lemon in the MV: 113 words.

+The defense of Socrates: Way more than 256 words.

+The defense of Socrates, but only the part in the MV, and extended to the next end of sentence: I want to cry. 257 words. 257. One off. Why? Why are you like this? Please, someone check the fucking text and tell me I accidentally pasted in a word I shouldn't have. PLEASE-

+That part of the Little Prince in that one part before the tally 5 code: 198 words.

+Undefeated by the Rain poem: 139 words (in English Wikipedia, or 180, in the English translation found in Spanish Wikipedia, because my life can't just be easy so apparently the English version of the poem is different in different languages of Wikipedia what-)

+Just the correct/incorrect code: The most is 247 characters, if you include "correct13" and "incorrect".

+Yamanashi, the story "kapukapu" comes from: Thousands of words.

I didn't check anything else, but I can't for the life of me find what this is referring to. And it feels important, seeing as it's on the goddamn equal sign. Maybe it’s one of those excerpts from that part of the MV right before the “correct/incorrect” code? I don’t know.

If it helps, I’m pretty sure the code’s going to translate to something related to Xander, seeing as his numeral flashes on screen right before that. And because of that, it’s possible this 256 word thing refers to some kind of revolutionary speech or text or something the like.

How would the footnote matter? Well, you know the ampersand symbol (&) that shows up between the numbers?

Maybe, if we put the numbers on both rows together:

14 43 66 30 17 48 88 46 25 60 83

17 71 38 78 41 11 05 22 05 17 49

38 07 36 64 43 52 11 16 78 56 94

29 35 36 62 88 60 37 61 23 75 83

90 38 05 49 05 46 93 23 30 77 41

37 05 88 21 44 39 68 73 77 25 02

69 91 74 04 54 21 10 70 35 22 66

Then reference whatever text is 256 words long, we can assign each number a word. Possibly, we would only start where the n appears, just to give that some meaning.

Like, here's what you get if you do that with the Wikipedia version of "To be or not to be", starting with the 05 the n represents (starting from the beginning gives you a completely nonsensical message, I didn't even go all the way).

to - sleep - to - and - dream - of - against - to - die - opposing - to - that - and - no - them - consummation - to - to - fortune - be - devoutly - death - die - not - the - and - question - to - and - arrows - ‘tis

Like, that almost sounds like it works, but obviously we would need to find the actual text of 256 words, which isn’t the Wikipedia version of the Hamlet speech. I also tried with the Socrates text, but I don't think it works (from the n you get, like, "O - but - O - word - ashamed", and that's going to be in there even if you start from the beginning).

I also tried some kind of alphabet cypher thing, both with the regular alphabet and with the modified alphabet, and while I would like second opinions on account of my skill issues, I didn’t get anything.

If that’s not what the ampersand is for, here's what you get if you add the numbers together instead of just putting them next to each other:

5 7 12 3 8 12 16 10 7 6 11

8 8 11 15 5 2 5 4 5 8 13

11 7 9 10 7 7 2 7 15 11 13

11 8 9 8 16 6 10 7 5 12 11

9 11 5 13 5 10 12 5 3 14 5

10 5 16 3 8 12 14 10 14 7 2

15 10 11 4 9 3 1 7 8 4 12

It looks like it could be translated to hex almost perfectly, with the 16s possibly just translated to 10s, but I don't know what to do with it. I tried converting to hex and just putting it in as a Tumblr image URL, but nothing. Though there’s a chance I just didn’t do it right, I guess. I even took the first part up to the "n" and put it in th goddamn tally 5 page just in case it did something, but no. I tried the "word association" thing with the Hamlet thing as well, but nothing. Also tried alphabet cypher, even with the modified alphabet, and nothing. But again, any cypher cracking I tried to do should be taken with a grain of salt, since I’m a bit of an idiot at it.

One thing I didn’t do, simply because I don’t know how to, is try to use column cyphers. You can look them up and try them yourself, but I sorta doubt that’s the answer.

Finally, it’s a possibility “world length of 256” is actually some kind of cypher key. Like, not whatever it’s referencing, just “word length of 256” as a key. I severely doubt it, but if anyone wants to try it, be my guest.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, I kinda just wanted to tell someone, I guess. I’m going insane over most of the MV anyways, might as well share a bit of the madness. Also because of the content drought caused by me working on the MV video which is coming I promise but it’s going to take a while-

Anyways, thanks for reading my inane ramblings for so long! Take care!

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt mv #can you even call this a theory?#it’s just a series of failures #like my life #/j

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ahamkara-apologist · 1 year ago

Note

you have GOT to post guardian pics I'm begging you. feed us (me?) information about your characters. I must know. it is imperative

TYSM FOR ENABLING ME ANON BC THEY ARE MY BLORBOS AND IM VIBRATING ABOUT THEM. buckle the fuck up because this is gonna be a long fucking post

Okay first up is Aeris Sharphawk- aro/ace, he/him. he's my main character, my hunter, and the Young Wolf of my timeline.

He’s half-Awoken, half-Human (I’ll get to that in a moment, he’s actually an older oc of mine that I ported over from Bloodborne whose bastard nature needed a D2 equivalent), and the older half-brother to my solar titan, Marcelline Attenbough- one of the few little remnants from their past life that they were able to discover in a diary on Marcie’s corpse when they were rezzed together (which occurred because their ghosts are twins). He’s autistic, lawful neutral, and vastly prefers using Darkness over Light because of sensory issues; his ghost (Hoarfrost, previously Mercury) mods his helmets to drastically reduce noise, but he can’t help how Arc tingles, Solar burns, and Void numbs. Tends to spend most of his battles either hyperfocused or dissociated to deal with it. As for the lawful neutral title, that’s because he doesn’t fight for the Vanguard because of a loyalty to humanity, but exclusively for the survival of the Last City and everyone in it. This extended to House Light and the Cabal under Caital instantaneously, and would do so to Eramis if she so chose, because he really just doesn’t take most things personally. He's sometimes derogatorily called 'the Vanguard's Hound' because of this.

He’s skilled with a bow, and is cursed with a resting haunted stare that can rival even the fiercest bird of prey- hence his title, given to him because his last name wasn’t present in the little diary that Marcie had when they were rezzed. Personality wise, he’s quiet, stoic, extremely efficient at what he does, fiercely protective of those he loves, and deeply curious about the unknown- though if you don’t know him, you’d never be able to guess it, because he struggles deeply with facial expressions and tone, giving him the appearance that he’s ruthlessly cold and unfeeling (pretty much the Guardian we see in game). Because of this, he tends to do much better with Eliksni than most of humanity- bar the Awoken, though Mara makes him deeply uncomfortable- and is thus far more comfortable with them. He’s the moon to Marcie’s sun, and helps keep her in check, for despite her cheery personality, she has a very strong sense of justice and a penchant for impulsive, temperamental behavior when she thinks that justice has been wronged. This goes both ways, however, as Aeris is the very definition of ‘curiosity killed the cat’; he voluntarily gets bit by venomous snakes at venom labs to see how immunity/allergies develops over time, and has a fascination with the Vex that got him a ‘needs watching’ report after he nearly jumped into a pool of radiolaria to see what would happen. The older-brother affection isn’t related to just Marcie, though; he’s unofficially adopted Eido as his younger sister (or kid? Because uhhh that curiosity of his has extended to fucking Misraaks once or twice), and is a mentor figure of sorts to Crow, though he’s unaware that Crow idolizes him; he only hunted Uldren down to keep Marcie out of trouble, as he didn’t like Cayde and was neutral on Uldren, so seeing Crow for the first time didn’t bother him at all. Tutored on occasion by Osiris, and thus has a very deep respect for him.

People other than Marcie that he likes: Zavala, Ikora, Osiris, Eido, Misraaks, Eris, and Variks, Petrichor-12 (oc), Viper-4 (oc, lightless guardian), Crow

People he dislikes: Cayde, the Spider, Clovis Bray, Savathun, Mara Sov, Petra Venj (can’t read her very well), anyone who is loud or insistent or confusing

Primary class (Dark): Stasis

Primary class (Light): Arcstrider

Motifs: Dark, cool blue/silver, viper and hawk symbolism

Likes: Learning about things, working with the Eliksni, being good at being a hunter, bows/glaives/swords, playing with Strand, Gambit (surprisingly)

Dislikes: Crucible, loud noises, fusion rifles, snipers because of the kick (despite being very good with them), shotguns, fans and most other guardians

Fun fact: When Hoarfrost and Solaris found them, it was in a frigid part of old Russia, with Aeris holding Marcie close to his chest with his back to the door- they had frozen to death while trying to keep each other warm, and were under a thick layer of permafrost. When they were risen, they found out their names, their relationship to each other, and the fact that their father was a cheating bastard who produced Aeris after screwing an Awoken woman for the novelty of it because Marcie had a little diary in her front pocket, which had been somewhat preserved by the cold. Both their ghosts theorize that the reason why Aeris is so drawn to Stasis and Marcie to Solar is because of how they died, though neither guardian will say anything about it. He can also speak near-fluent Eliksni.

Then there’s Marcie, younger half-sister to Aeris and the sun to his moon; she/her, Solar Titan, lesbian, lawful good. Where he is quiet and introverted, she is loud and bombastic, and where he likes to dart in and strike down his enemies from afar, she likes to punch. I just recently made her in Destiny because the character creation doesn't really match how I see her, hence why she's got Arc on here

(closer to her actual face minus the blue eyes; this is a very old bloodborne pic)

Unlike her half-brother, Marcie is a full human, and- according to the diary she rezzed with- was objectively her father's favorite, though the feeling was not mutual, and their relationship was strained by her taking so kindly to the bastard son he tried to send away. Compared to Aeris, she's bright, bubbly, and outgoing, but has a fierce temper, and is quick to snap if something has pushed her too far-think a jack russel's terrier of a human being. Her ghost's name is Solaris (previously Quicksilver), and she prefers the Light and Solar by far. Her preferred method of combat is to hit first, ask questions later, which can be incredibly effective or incredibly dangerous depending on who's on the opposite end of her wrath. Her and Aeris share many quests together, with me typically attributing all the seasons that I didn’t play to Marcie, given that I didn’t make a Destiny character for her for the longest time.

She was best friends with Cayde, and was so devastated by his death that Aeris had to go instead, as she would have killed anything and everything in vengeance without a second thought. She did, however, kill Riven- something that Aeris himself was somewhat reluctant to do,given his fascination with the Ahamkara. She's stubborn as a mule, surprisingly strong despite her small stature (well, small-ish), and is an absolute massive lesbian, with her type specifically being 'big strong ladies who can kill me'- which was primarily why she wasn't allowed to fight Eramis, or other big hotties, as she has a pretty hardcore crush on her. (The second reason was that she would have stood and bickered with Eramis about the ethics of what she was doing until either one or the other yielded). Instead, she was assigned to work with Misraaks to evacuate House Light refugees, which ended up being a fortuitous partnership with the coming of the Endless Night. Now, her primary work for the Vanguard consists of aiding Eliksni refugees, along with general alien-human politics and tackling xenophobia, as well as working on being an apprentice Splicer. She is very, VERY passionate about equal rights and will drag you to the Crucible if you fight her- and good fucking luck winning against her, because she fucking loves the Crucible and will beat your ass everytime. She’s somewhat of a local celebrity in that reguard

Her deep fondness for her brother comes primarily from the fact that he is one of the few people to take her seriously without either asking her to calm down or come off as patronizing- he's also a well of stability to her excitable moods, the voice of reason to her hyperempathy. While he keeps her from biting off more than she can chew, she acts as his translator + guide, yanking him back onto the path of sanity if he starts to wander into the Deep, and helping him with dysfunction things that Hoarfrost can’t do. She also enjoys working through the data he collects, even if she has no desire to go searching for it herself, so they make a good pair- even if, like most siblings, they will argue over every little thing and sometimes drive each other up the walls with their stubbornness.

I've already mentioned that she got along with Cayde, but her other friends at the tower are Shaxx, Drifter, Saint-14, and Ada-1. Misraaks is her mentor, as well as one of the few people who can talk her down from stupid shit, with uh…questionable results. And while she couldn't stand the sight of Crow when Aeris dragged him back, she managed to befriend him reguardless, mostly because he was so different from the Uldren she remembered that she couldn’t help but accept him for who he was. She often went out drinking with him and Amanda, and was devastated when she died.

People she likes: Cayde, Shaxx, Drifter, Saint-14, Ada-1, Misraaks, Crow, Amanda (rip), Caiatl

People she dislikes: Uldren Sov, The Osmium Siblings, The Spider, Lakshmi-2, anyone against the Eliksni or people who are rude to Aeris, Calus

Likes: Crucible, Gambit, fucking around with weapons in new and creative ways, going out to drink with friends, playfully flirting, helping with construction work around the Eliksni District, playing around with the Light, moths and other fuzzy creatures

Primary Class (Light): Solar

Primary Class (Dark): Strand

Dislikes: Fighting Eliksni, any exploding enemies that she can’t punch, bows because Aeris will always be better than her at using them, the fact that Aeris fucked Misraaks at one point for science, being alone, her inability to score a girl who isn’t a war criminal

Motif: crimson and gold, bears or lion with eagle wings

Fun fact: Her grasp on Eliksni is actually more fluent than Aeris, and she spends a good deal of her time in the Tower socializing with people while he’s off doing…whatever.

Okay, now onto Petrichor-12, who decided to nope out of being a Guardian so I deleted their slot to make Marcie before I really did anything to dazzle them up

Petrichor-12 is a now-retired guardian that actually came from a dream I had before I even played Destiny. They/them or he/him, neutral good, Void titan, ghost is seldom-speaking and called Whisper. Neutral good. I attribute them with D1 content, so they’re the guardian that killed Crota and Oryx, though Marcie and Aeris were also there to help.

Petrichor is an older, somewhat quiet, melancholy do-gooder that's been haunted by guilt ever since they found out the memories of who they were via the Deep Stone Crypt- a bodyguard for Clovis Bray that was turned to a path of anger, abuse, and violence after agreeing to be tested on for power, and got corrupted by the Darkness. This, paired with being rezzed in the Dark Ages, means that they have a lot of trauma surrounding violence, power, and the dilemma of being made to kill when all you want to do is save people. As such, Eramis's predicament troubles them greatly, and while it was them who gunned her down in conjunction with Aeris, they often found themselves returning to her frozen body on Europa to talk to her (presumed corpse) about Darkness corruption in a sort of venting monologue-advice system, which worked both as a way of fending off their troubles as well as keep an eye on her state- though now that she’s defrosted they’ve vowed never come near her again out of embarrassment.

While retired, they are a stalwart defender of anyone who needs it and a keeper of peace, driven partially by a genuine desire to do good and a need to prove themselves not the person that they used to be. No longer able to mingle with other guardians or humanity at large due to PTSD from what they learned, they live in the Botza district as an ambassador between the Eliksni and humanity, they like to knit + quilt in their free time, teaching whichever hatchlings will listen and getting tutored on weaving by old Wolves in return. They're also 6'3", so…lorge. Zavala and Misraaks are the two people they talk to the most outside of the Eliksni refugees, and they drop by to say hi to Eva and knit with her whenever they have the chance. The war with the Witness is threatning to bring them out of retirement, something that they are deeply unhappy with.

People he likes: Namrask, Misraaks, Saladin, Zavala, Ikora, Osiris (recently), Marcie and Aeris, Saint-14, Eris (complicated)

People they dislike: Themselves, Osiris (formerly), Eramis (reminds them of themselves), Ghaul, Oryx, Xivu Arath, Clovis Bray, anyone who goads them to fight, Elsie and Ana Bray by association, Rasputin

Motif: gold and sapphire blue, used to have a gryphon motif but stopped wearing it because they don’t want to be recognized as the Kingkiller

Likes: Knitting, sewing, weaving, gardening, really anything restorative they can do with their free hands that forces their mind not to wander

Class (Light): Void, sometimes Arc

Class (Dark): no.

Dislikes: War, fighting, being a guardian, everything that has to do with what they used to be, anything Braytech sciences, the cumulative trauma from the Dark Ages and seeing recordings of who they used to be in the Deep Stone Crypt, their own fear of themselves

Fun fact: Petrichor-12 can speak Eliksni fluently, having modulated their voice and hearing to be able to incorporate the subsonic clicks and chirps in their speech, and is now working on learning Ulurant despite not at all liking the Cabal empire

Ash: Another dream character of mine, and my newest Guardian (so she’s somewhat of a wip). She/her, solar + void warlock, chaotic neutral to lawful evil depending on her mood. Pansexual but bitchless. Rezzed in the tail end of the Dark Ages, just long enough for her to see how horrible everything was but not long enough to see the true extent of it. Scholar of the Light, and most recently a scholar of the Dark as well.

Ashe is a warlock with an awful temper, a moral code that changes on a whim, and a ravenous appetite for knowledge that comes at the cost of everyone else, including herself. Her ghost (an anxious and caring little lass) is called Nutmeg, and is pretty much the only indicator that she has a soft spot. Ashe dedicated herself to learning how to get closer to the Light, but unlike the more conventional meditations that people usually do to, she was inspired by ancient Greek priestesses and decided for a more unconventional route- by doing hard drugs. By getting either extremely drunk or very high, she claims that she overcomes the need for meditation (or, rather, bypasses it entirely because she’s too impatient for it) and gains a deeper connection with her powers, as she’s connecting with it instinctually rather than choosing to seek it out. Nutmeg and many others are not as convinced about this method, but they also can’t deny that it doesn’t have its perks, as Ash does have a very powerful connection to her light- mainly through exploding things, or setting everything around her on fire. It’s how she used to survive the Warlords she’d steal from in the Dark Ages, and she’s known specifically for her ability to mimic a nova bomb, but with solar power, which is strong particularly for how unexpected it is.

However, being constantly hungover and harbouring no friends doesn’t exactly have its benefits, and as a result Ashe is almost always grumpy, abrasive, quick to anger, quick to turn to cruel jibes and mocking when being defensive (which is often), and is generally awful to be around. She has no friends other than Nutmeg (whose bond has become strained as of late, since Ashe is now turning to substance abuse for coping with the impending threat of the Witness rather than simply using it for her studies), her apartment is an uncleaned shithole she only uses for crashing in when she’s particularly out of it, and she's constantly in a state of passive-aggressive warfare with Osiris, as she and him used to occasionally cross paths and share research; they might have had a student-teacher dynamic if they didn’t grate so abrasively, and if Ashe wasn’t so much of a lone wolf. He’s tried to whip her into shape a couple of times, but to no avail- they just devolved into shouting matches. Pretty much the only people she listens to are the Drifter and Nutmeg, but whether or not she’ll actually take their advice is a toss-up.

Despite this, she will overall always choose to do what's right and will begrudgingly trudge along with people in random strikes to ensure that important missions get done, as she fears failure more than she does judgment. And yet, to an extent she also fears judgment, for part of the reason why she’s so cruel is to keep people at arm’s length, so as to prevent them from learning her weaknesses- not even her constant complaining about being bitchless will cover up that the core reason why she makes no effort to clean herself up and be nicer is because she fears vulnerability. She’s also brilliant with the Light and cunningly adept with the Dark, which is why the Vanguard continues to ask for her help and expertise.

People she likes: the Drifter, Hawthorne, Nutmeg, Eido, Toland, Shaxx to most everybody’s surprise

People she dislikes: Pretty much the whole Vanguard and 90% of other guardians, Saladin, the Iron Lords, Osiris, Misraaks,

Primary class (Dark): Stasis, wants to learn Strand but has a hard time letting go

Primary class (Light): Solar, Void

Likes: Learning nuances of the Light that others don’t go into detail to, connecting with the Light, growing more powerful and shaping it into new, experimental Supers that would make Zavala have a heart attack if he saw them in action, taking leadership in Strikes and prodding around New Lights to teach them about what it is to be a Guardian (but gently), killing assholes to put them in their place, spooking people

Dislikes: Being told what to do, being reminded that she’s a mess, being reminded that she’s afraid and that her behavior is starting to turn self-detrimental, being looked down on by other Guardians, the restrictive nature of Vanguard protocol that keeps her from playing around with her experimental supers, guardians who have no respect or care about mortal lives, getting kicked from bars for fighting said guardians with no respect or care for mortal lives, being reminded that she has a soft side and cares so much for other people that it scares her

Colours/theme: black, flame-gold, and green

Fun fact: Likes the Hive aesthetic, and knows their tongue just for the hell of it. Has quite a bit of fun tormenting and taunting Hive Lightbearers, loves digging around the Osmium Siblings. Despite this, she’s not passionate about the Hive, and doesn’t care one bit if they’re wiped out or not. She also pretty much never takes off the Stag helm, as dropping a rift on death has saved her ass more than once, and tends to sleep in her robes. It’s a miracle that she doesn’t stink something awful, but smells perpetually like smoke instead.

and last but not least: Viper-4, an ex-guardian who I have almost nothing on because he tends to be a side character: he/him, trans exo, primarily black chassis with red markings, not yet settled on alignment. A friend of Aeris, he's an ex-Hunter who is now the primary caretaker for a variety of venomous snakes whose species have survived the Collapse. He collects their venom to try to recreate old Golden-Age medicines and antivenom- which he does with Aeris's help- and had his forearms modded with soft silicone so that the snakes don't hurt him if they bite him. Generally a friendly and chill guy, but has a melancholy air as most Ghostless do, and wants to learn Strand so that he has some modicum of control over the elements again, as his lack of feeling the Light was the hardest part about his Ghost's death. Much like Brya and Sagira, his ghost sacrificed her to save him, but he blames himself for her death and pretty much entirely refuses to talk about it. Used to be quite adept with Void. I note that he's trans here because it carried over into his exo body, as he was raised with synthetic top surgery scars that were then worked into beautiful engravings of flowers, swords, and snakes by Viper-1

#long post #destiny 2 #my ocs #my guardians #oc: aeris sharphawk #oc: marcelline attenbough #oc: petrichor-12 #oc: ash #oc: viper-4 #maybe i should have used a readmore but #im paranoid about accidentally deleting this blog and having it be lost #sjdhfg

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scifimagpie · 11 months ago

Text

Tagback superpost

@toribookworm22 did this first, but I liked the idea, so here's an extended excerpt from The Foundling City, book 3 (the final one) in The Nightmare Cycle! Book 1 is available here or here. MAJOR SPOILERS FOLLOW!

***

I’ve only looked at videos and pictures of big animals before. Understanding the concept of ‘megafauna’ means absolutely nothing compared to seeing a huge, stocky thing that’s like a deer but way too big, with a fat, weird nose and strange, chunky antlers that just kind of moseys towards you, flapping its small, absurd stub of a tail. Apparently, it was called a moose, and it was like ten metres away, which was still way too damn close. I screamed, and it moseyed back down the river, not even bothered—then dropped a huge pile of turds on the riverbank and kept clopping along.

I’d seen the odd picture of a moose here and there, but let me tell you, when I saw it in real life, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack.

It’s amazing how many animals there just are up here. It’s wild. Literally. Being up here all the time means we get to see plenty of days with like—actual clear skies? So life is really hard compared to what I’m used to, but it’s also so beautiful that my eyes burn and my chest hurts sometimes. I thought we’d only have Dust above us forever, the way it had always been as far as I knew and remembered, but no—with so much Dust having migrated back to its home—dimension? Plane? Other place, anyway—you can actually see how blue the sky is.

It’s this thin but deep blue that goes on forever. Apparently there’s this atmosphere that’s layers and layers of different molecules and different kinds of air and a jet stream or something, and water vapour? And outside of it is space? I don’t really understand how space works, but at night, it’s dark like Dust but different, so deep, and all the stars come out, and sometimes I cry just looking at it.

Apparently cities used to be like this, glittery and bright but on the ground. Dad told me that once. I can’t imagine it; it sounds weird. Sometimes the wide open spaces and the flatness up here are kind of scary, like it makes you feel naked and small? A few people have had agoraphobic panic attacks since we’ve had to come up here, and I can’t really blame them, because the bigness of the world just doesn’t end unless you go inside and get to stop looking at it.

But it’s more than I ever dreamed of, and if I’m really honest? Which I can be, I guess, since this is my journal, not just some big fancy chronicle of the history and exile of my people. Well, if I’m honest…sometimes, when the night is clear and sparkling and I can hear the coyotes and wild dogs singing to the moon? Being exiled was worth it for all this beauty.

The one thing I don’t understand is how people from before could stand building over all of this and making so much city. Didn’t they miss the wilds? Then again—we lived in a city, down below. But—they had the choice. We didn’t.

Maybe it’s a good thing their world died. But then—so many people died with it; sick people and well people. I remember being those people, and dying, and I remember bits of that tame, domesticated world with its sidewalks and lawns and so, so many smelly, loud cars.

It was a comfortable world, a safe one. They had no way of knowing it would be taken from them.

I don’t know if it’s good or bad, what was lost. But this is what we have to work with, and I’m going to fight to make sure more of our people don’t die.

All of this, though, is just kind of a big, philosophical distraction from my real problem, which is that my spouses are fighting and I have no idea how I feel about this whole baby issue, and it’s making my head explode.

Nathu took us aside to check on things—after all, neither of us has immediately moved out, or anything. At the end of a long day, we all sat down on the crappy couches in this crappy apartment.

“So…how are you doing?” he said cautiously, hands wrapped around a mug of herbal tea.

Una glared at him. “Not well, asshole.”

I winced. It wasn’t a great start.

Nathu took a deep breath. “Technically, this is my fault. Would you like to punch me?”

That, at least, got a little laughter, and a hint of a smirk. “That won’t actually help.” She let out a sigh. “I’m just…overwhelmed by this right now. Frankly, I still don’t know how I feel about…” She gestured between him and us, then set a hand on mine. “Things between Janelle and myself are fine, but with you…I mean, you lied to us, Nathu. About something huge. This entire project. And then, faking your own death like that? I guess I’m just wondering, how can I even trust you?”

He rubbed his temples and set his face in his hands. “To tell you the truth, Una, I don’t have an answer. There’s nothing you’ve said that isn’t absolutely right. If I were in your shoes—I wouldn’t know how to trust me, either.” He looked up, grave seriousness on his face. “But I will do anything you ask me to, whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. I owe you that, and—whatever you choose,” he said, his voice husky and cracking with tears, “know that I love you. I love you beyond reason or fairness or logic, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to mend this.”

The earnest way he gazed at her, like a dog trying to please its master, made my heart twist.

She pulled in a long, shuddering breath. Tears were trickling down her cheeks unwillingly. She inhaled, taking a sharp breath. “Nothing except telling the truth, I guess.”

He winced like she’d stabbed him in the chest, and looked down. There was a long, heavy moment of silence.

“I—I don’t know what I need,” she said, her voice a little more even, measured. “But I know the people of this community need us, and that we have to keep working together. Keep doing that, and—keep giving me space.” Her voice quavered. “I don’t know whether I want to leave you or not.” She shut her eyes, and shook her head slowly.

It was petty and stupid, but I felt ignored. “Is anyone gonna ask what I want?” I said, my voice small and petulant.

Una whipped her head over to look at me. “Well, hell, what do you want?”

I froze up. “To be honest, I wasn’t actually expecting to—get this far.”

Her lips quirked in a tiny smile. “This whole conversation is a disaster.”

All three of us couldn’t help laughing a little at that.

Nathu sat up, though, and directed his attention towards me. “I’m sorry, Janelle, you’re right; I did lie to both of you, after all. I’ve just been…very thrown off and focused on Una because of this pregnancy issue. But you’re not less important.”

Una let out a huff of breath and glanced away from both of us, tears beading her eyes. “Can I actually get some space? I need some mental quiet.” I saw that she was wearing the silver and real shell button earrings I’d made her, and they swung through her pale gold hair, catching the light for a moment as her head turned. My heart clenched again.

Nathu just nodded and stood, then held out a hand to me, and pointed to the bedroom.

So we went there, and each of us sat down on the bed cautiously, on each end.

“So,” he said.

“So,” I echoed.

The words hung there like the fog of breath on a cold day.

(I never used to be this poetic. Maybe it’s all the manual labour driving me crazy, or all the novels and crap I’ve been reading at night. I’m so tired that it’s about all the energy I can muster—flipping pages, that is.)

Anyway, poetry or not, there was a heavy silence between us, and it just went on and on.

“Everything I said to Una, I meant for you as well,” he finally said.

I nodded. “Well—no offense, but watching you two fight is also just worse somehow. You’ve been together for so long, and…I always loved how you are together. So seeing you both like this, now…I dunno. My heart just kind of aches even to see it.” I let out a long sigh. “And I’ll be honest, Nathu—things weren’t really good between us, you and me anyway, for a long time when we were down there. You spent so much time like, brushing me off. And like—don’t get me wrong, there’s part of me that’s really, really relieved that you secretly agreed with me the whole time. But I feel pretty rotten and awful about being lied to so thoroughly.”

He took my hands in his own and stared at me earnestly. I would have thought it was a move if not for the ashy circles below his eyes and the seriousness in his dark brown gaze.

“—And I don’t know what I need, either,” I said, before he could ask, “but—actually, I think one thing I need is for you to be honest with me. To know you’re really saying what you think and believe, now that you don’t have to hide anything. Can you do that? Like—just be honest to a fault. And, try to spend time with me. We were barely around each other for a while there, and frankly, it sucked. I just want some of your time. To know I matter.” My throat closed up.

He nodded and stroked the back of my hand with his thumb, gentle as a breath. “I can do that. Anything else you think of, don’t hesitate to ask, all right?”

“I’ll try.”

“How are you feeling?”

I choked up a little laugh that died on the way out. “Right about now, I got the most mixed feelings a person ever did have.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “I can’t blame you.”

Hot, helpless anger rushed up behind my cheekbones and burned behind my eyes. Why can’t I just forgive him? Why can’t I just say “okay” and let things be the same as they were? It should be so simple.

And yet, somehow, I can’t.

I stood up abruptly. “I think I might get some air. Go for a walk.”

He looked alarmed. “Janelle, it’s cold out right now. At least minus fifteen.”

“I have a coat.”

He gave assent, resigned. “If you insist.”

So I opened the door, stepped carefully through the living room without making eye contact with Una, and brought my journal and a pen out here.

There isn’t much light—pretty much just the moon, and it’s a skinny little crescent; almost a new moon. I’m still not used to how damned dark it gets up here, too. Down in the tunnels, it was a different kind of dark; more absolute, when all the lights went out. Up here, sometimes you see a little light from one of the houses or the apartment windows, and of course there’s all the stars up there. If I look off in different directions, I can see a bit of light where I think Downblack might be. But the snow’s really reflective, so that helps.

Okay. I’m cold, and I think I’m done pouting, so I’m gonna go back upstairs and get some sleep.

I still don’t know how I feel about anything. How can one person’s head and chest contain so many feelings? It’s absurd. It feels downright unfair. And yet, I’m still here, my whole body knotted up tight and tense, feeling way too old and way too young at the same damn time.

***

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