#like i read these and i am genuinely interested and want to regal it to other people bcs yay history!

[skitskatdacat63]

Niche history ramble(also boy king mention at the end ofc) //

I was reading abt Maximillian I today, the second Habsburg emperor, bcs ive prev read about his father who I think is very interesting. But omg somehow this guy is even more interesting, but in a completely different way(I like his father Frederick III bcs I think his life is very funny ooc, but Maximilian I is genuinely really cool!) Also it's surprising to me that it took me this long to read about him, considering I very vividly remember seeing his portrait in a museum in Vienna. It's weird looking at it being used as the display pic for his wiki page bcs im like ...I've seen that in real life omg....

He's referred to as "The Last Knight"(as well as being nicknamed "Heart of Steel") And god I love now having random knowledge, cause I'm reading this like "ha, how very Don Quixote of him" and then the very next line in the biography was like, historians question whether he genuinely was like a knight or if he was a Don Quixotic figure 😭😭 glad to see I was on mark. Anyways, I wonder if Cervantes knew abt this, like I wonder if him being popularized as the last knight was a widely known thing back then. It's funny how Don Quixote was written at the end of the 16th century, but even back in the beginning of the century, being a knight was still kinda an outdated thing. I like how the two views on Maximillian I are either that he was the Last Knight or the first Rennaisance prince who had Machiavellian ideals. It fits into my weird obsession w those two works(The Prince and Don Quixote)

Anyways that being said. Boy King au Fernando is def like this, except he has literally nothing to back it up djfkkglg. Like at least Maximilian I was actually out there being insane. Fernando just sits in his cozy reading room, fantasizing while reading The Prince, and commissioning suits of armor as decoration(thats what he says. The real purpose is to dress up in them so he can feel cool.) I think this is honestly a reason he goes along with the marriage. He begrudgingly finds Seb's family history to be very cool and interesting, and he isn't opposed to being around it 🤭 Well, begrudgingly isn't the right word. He's very earnestly obsessed with it, but he can never tell Seb that bcs Seb will literally never let it go.

Seb just finds him staring up at paintings of Seb's ancestors, and Fernando, tears in eyes, hand on his heart, proclaims "I'll continue your legacy!!!" Seb is both mocking him like "he's not even your relative" but also has tears in his eyes like omg he's my family 🥺 he's accepted being my family 🥹

[desultory-novice]

Why do I see Magolor using his ship to look into other timelines, to which he ends up stumbling upon the timeline where Adeleine and Noir end up fusing into that... thing and ultimately die. (Or any alternate timeline of Apologies really, they're all despressing and messed up!)

He probably turned the screen off pretty fast.

[Requiem For a Mask]

-

Magolor:  "Heheheh... Kirby and friends will be SO surprised when they see these masks!" (And I'm giving them a two for one deal! Am I generous with my genius or what?)

Magolor:  "But what to do for Adeleine? No offense, but from what I've seen, she's pretty boring--...I MEAN! She's a good girl with a stable head on her shoulders!" (...No one heard me say that right??)

Magolor:  "But that makes it hard to imagine a good alternate mask for her. Maybe she gets more interesting in another timeline? Lor...? Do me a favor and search her dimensional signature for me!"

-

BZZT KSSH

Adeleine:"...You're not allowed to leave, Noir." Noir:"...I don't want to leave you either..."

-

Magolor:  "...Hmm? This looks different. ...I'd heard she had a brother, long, long ago. Is that what he looked like before he got turned into...?" (...You know what? I'm not ready to go there...)

-

King Dedede: "Hey, I think these two are still alive...!" Waddle Dee: "But...what are they...?" Meta Knight: "They don't look like anyone else alive on this planet." "Frozen remains of an extinct species?" "But how are they the only ones who..." King Dedede: "What they are is kids in need of help, obviously!" Meta Knight: "...Well, Kirby? It's your decision." (Hey, don't go above me! I'm the king here...!) Kirby: "I say we help them!"

-

Magolor:  "Ahh, yes, yes. And they get rescued! Happily ever after~! Just what I expected from Kirby and friends! ...Only difference I can see with her here is that she's not wearing that hat. Boy! Does that girl have a forehead you could park the Lor on or what? Heh he--"

-

Noir:"Adeleine...!! What did you DO to her?!" Dee Child: "We didn't do anything! We just asked if...!" Dee Child 2: "The ground!! It's turning to snow...?" Adeleine: "N...No...ir..." Dee Child: "Is that...her doing...?" Noir: "Don't TOUCH HER! Stay back...!" "...Stay away...from BOTH of us...!!"

-

Magolor:  "...Hmm? What's happening to...?" "O-Oh... Ohh Stars......."

-

""Is ts He un rk tr sa MD oe rm ea TS he ah nT Jo ut sn tI Mg yn Hi eh at ry tr .e Iv tE He ug rn tu sl IP no MT yt Sn oa uW lI""

-

Magolor:  "......Shut it off, Lor. Back out. Cancel the stream. Now."

- King Dedede: "Don'tcha hear them screamin' in there?!" Meta Knight: "...Of course I can! Which is exactly why we nee--!"

-

BZZT KSHOO

-

Magolor:  "................"

Magolor:  "...Boring is good, I think."

-

Magolor:  "Let's stick to boring."

-

-

-

-

Zero III's dialogue reads: "It hurts more than just my heart. It hurts in my Soul." "I want to plunge everything into the same Darkness."

-

Since we're here, I just wanted to take this moment to regale how hair-pulling it is to write Zero III's dialogue!

It starts with thinking up something somewhat fitting for both siblings to say (Adeleine's dialogue always leaning towards sad or naive, Noir's always leaning towards rage or guilt) then stretching and twisting and trimming till they are the exact same number of characters, which generally means making a good guess, finally flipping Noir's backwards and painstakingly inserting each letter after Adeleine's, one by one, until I realize I was off by ONE letter and have to start the WHOLE PROCESS over again!

This happens about three times per attempt. All to come up with a dialogue quirk that NO ONE can read and that I have to spoil what they say at the bottom of the post anyway! XD

-

Also, Magolor's feelings on Adeleine do not reflect my own!! I think she is a good girl (/genuine) and I apologize for writing up a bunch of timelines where awful things happen to her! (...Looking at my Marx, Magolor, DMK and others, that's kind of a theme with me, isn't it? ^^;;)

And while the sadness will continue for a while longer, I can assure you that Apologies DOES end with Adeleine, Noir, and the rest of their new family both safe and content!

[ironwoman359]

Taylor Reads: 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea  

I have to admit, when I first started reading 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea by Jules Verne, I was surprised by how readable it was compared to H.G. Wells’s The Invisible Man, despite being nearly thirty years older. I embarked on my undersea journey with no small amount of optimism then, that despite the length being two to three times greater, I would finish 20,000 Leagues in about the same amount of time as The Invisible Man, if not even a little faster.

Unfortunately, the initial readability of the prose and drama of the narrative set up gave way to long stretches of novel where nothing very interesting happens and we are instead regaled with long lists of different species of fish, mollusk, and other zoophytes that our marine biologist protagonist is excited to study, but I as a modern reader found quite tedious. By the end of the book, I was skipping over entire paragraphs to bypass the fish and get to the next part where a location of note would be visited or an interesting character drama would unfold.  I found a reddit comment that sums up the book perfectly:

[ID: a reddit screenshot of a comment by u/burnaccount_12343 that reads “The book is like 70% fish, 20% fanboying and simping over Nemo, and 10% adventure.” End ID]

I made a post recently about how sometimes to enjoy older books, you have to put yourself in the mindset of someone from that time to truly appreciate them, and I still stand by that statement, but there’s another aspect that I forgot to consider as well: often, old genre fiction was serialized before it was published as a single novel. Trying to push through the entire 300+ pages of this book in one week was at many times a slog, but the original audience had bits and pieces of the story drip fed to them over 15 months, and if I take that into consideration, the repetitive lists of locations and fish are slightly more forgivable. Still, I can’t ignore the fact that I found large swathes of this book boring at best and frustrating at worst. 

Frustrating, because the parts that weren’t just a biology textbook in the guise of a novel were extremely interesting, and I wish that more of the narrative focus had been on the interplay between our four main characters. The setup here is really strong, and I think that it’s a huge part of why the story has endured for so long. I genuinely am finding myself thinking about the characters when I’m not reading the book, and just like The Invisible Man, there were many parts that were genuinely poignant.

However, I find myself at a loss on what rating to give this book, because while I can appreciate the parts that I enjoyed, and can appreciate the way its original readers would have enjoyed it (to say nothing of the political metaphors and references that went over my head as I am not a historian or literary expert), reading this book often felt more like a chore than it did leisure. For me, 3 stars is the lowest rating I’ll give a book that I still thought was ‘good,’ or at the very least, good enough that any problems I might have had with the book didn’t detract too significantly from my enjoyment. Often, a 3 star book for me is a somewhat generic ya fantasy, a cozy mystery without a super compelling mystery plot, or a book that I should have really liked, but had some problems in the execution. 

But with 20,000 Leagues, I feel as though my enjoyment was impacted to the point of non enjoyment, making me want to dip below the line and give the book a 2.5 out of 5 stars. And yet, that seems incredibly unfair, both for how this book has stood the test of time and for how much I enjoy the version of it that exists in my head, which is more than can be said for any other book I’ve given below 3 stars. I gave The Invisible Man 3.5 stars, and I wonder now if that was too high and the true answer is that both of these books were 3 stars for different reasons. 

(Honestly, regardless of whether I give Leagues 2.5 or 3 stars, I think I may knock Invisible Man down from 3.5 to 3; the extra half star was a result of how strong I found the ending in the moment, but now a week and a half removed from it, the ending is pretty much the only part I still think about. This indecision is precisely why I do not fill out my physical book journal until the end of every month, by the by.)

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐄! 𝐎𝐂: 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍

Name: Dantalion

Occupation: Owner of Majolish and Chief Editor of "Devil Style"

a/n: i had so much fun coming up with this character, so feel free to come talk to or ask me about him!! i might even feature him more often on my blog from now on (again, i had fun and am low-key in love jshsh)

obey me! masterlist

The owner of Majolish and chief editor of “Devil Style”, a pride demon of shapeshifter nature. Asmodeus is not only his best customer but also a very good friend, a relationship that has been established through millennia of interactions and shared interests. As such, Asmo receives special treatment in form of deals and early access to new releases he then promotes on his social media. Sitting in on one of their private conversations would open a whole new world of gossip and make one look at a multitude of demons, angels and humans in a completely different light.

Dantalion has had many faces over the course of his long life, able to present himself in the shape of any man, woman or anything that lies within and outside of the spectrum. Still, he doesn’t make this ability widely known, sticking to his “original” appearance and only tweaking aspects that others can also change easily, like hair colour or length. So, he usually presents himself as a tall young man with lightly tanned skin; poised, regal and dressed in a glamorous manner.

His often billowy clothes flutter with every step, as if a light breeze is always blowing to flaunt the pattern of his silk blouse or ruffle through his perfectly maintained hair. Paired with the light reflecting off his complimentary jewellery and the subtle scent of his cologne in the air, Dantalion is sure to capture the attention of everyone when he steps into a room. With an appearance like his, he could certainly model for “Devil Style” and he has done so on occasion.

Speaking of work, the demon is a perfectionist in everything he does. He prides himself in the quality of his products, the aesthetic of his store, his top-notch customer service; he’d be damned if somebody left Majolish unsatisfied. In his eyes, it’s not just shopping, entering his store should feel like entering a world where there’s no need to worry or stress, where you can elevate yourself to the best version of yourself. With this high standard in mind, it’s no surprise that he oversees all aspects of the brand before they’re launched, from goods, advertisement, social media down to the latest issue of the magazine.

His demon form, much like that of the avatar of his sin, resembles that of a human world peacock. But instead of feathered wings, Dantalion parades around an impressive set of tail feathers. Naturally, he takes as much care of them as of the rest of his appearance, if not more, so they shine with every little motion he makes. His feathers tend to be folded into a regal train sweeping behind him, adding a show-stopping layer to his clothes, but he can unfold and open them into a wheel behind him if he feels like it.

Just like in his “normal” form, Dantalion’s demon form gleams from head to toe with accessories. From his horns to his fingers, which are stained the same colour as his claws, he wears the most precious jewels and metals he can find. Although he doesn’t have wings, his demon form clothes are generally backless, showing off his flawless skin and the soft feathers where his skin fades into his colourful tail.

However, there’s another power he conceals even better than his shapeshifting abilities. With just a glance, he can read a person’s mind and influence their thoughts, often by showing them visions. Considering his business, he tends to use those powers to ascertain what his customers are looking for or showing them flattering images of wearing certain clothing if they’re unsure about a purchase. This is equal parts to increase sales and a genuine want for his customers to gain confidence in their appearance, which in return feeds into his demonic nature.

To shield himself and others from reading their minds willy-nilly, Dantalion wears shades most of the time and has an extensive collection of them in all shapes, sizes and colours to always perfectly match his outfit. The demon prefers shades that don’t completely obscure his eyes, because their mesmerising kaleidoscopic heterochromia is just another detail of his which draws people in. Besides that, he also thinks colourful glasses shaped like hearts, clouds, stars and the likes are just more fun.

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

[shychangling]

No one asked me this one... but Top 5 Megatrons

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Aurex|Unicron Trilogy: My most beloved poor terrible evil nasty unrepentant privileged wet Moose.

He's funny, goofy, he's elegantly spoken (sometimes), he's also a force of abuse. Carnage for carnage, power for power.

He will WEAR THE GODS as testament of his domination. Nothing will stop him from total utter collection of the universe in his hands.

But deep beneath... is a lonely mech... gee hun. Maybe if you were nice and not trying to enslave the universe people would care about you instead of fear you.

-

Prime: Shark Megatron. Flight fulfilled. He's power, he's regal. He's just a wee bit unhinged.. He's impatiant, he drags out as well. Instant gratification so long as it serves him out weighs the long game.

-

G1: Classic evil for conquest sake. The conqueror vs the universe. He's hilarious and I love him forever.

-

IDW1: While I do not care for Redemption arcs for Megatron as I much more in love with watching his unrepentant conquest and destruction. I gotta give credit for IDW1 actually keeping me interested in the development. They did good for showing the Arc. The fact he only wanted to extend his life a little longer (as it read to me), but then showing deep down he is grown into the genuine want to be better.

Thank fucking god.

I need to read more of IDW1 I am jumping too much in the comics sometimes but still. IDW1 Megs is fun

-

I'm having a hard time weighing them all out help... I guess I could just say Animated since I still need to finish Cyberverse and the likes.

Animated did have a very interesting calculated take on Megatron.

[lunabonita]

My Webtoon Recommendations

These are webtoons that are all 10/10 for me. Of course it doesn’t have to be a 10/10 for you, so just a reminder, do not attack me for liking a webtoon that you do not. These are my opinions and we are not going to have the exact same taste. Please be respectful.

Your Throne

Genre: Fantasy

Chapters: 75

Status: Ongoing

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“Tensions are brewing under the seemingly calm surface of the Vasilios Empire, a kingdom ruled by the Imperial Family and the Temple. Lady Medea Solon has lost her place next to Crown Prince Eros, but resolves to win back whats rightfully hers. Will she reclaim her throne?”

You know whats amazing about this webtoon? The summary leads you to think that what shes winning back is the prince. Wrong. Shes trying to win back the throne. I love how this webtoon doesn’t try to make it a girl focusing her goals on a man, but on power. Medea is such a strong and well written character that you can’t help but love her.

The second protagonist Pschye, who of which is the person who took Medeas place as Crown Princess, is the complete opposite of Medea. At the beginning you hate her, but as the webtoon goes on and Medea and her get a better understanding of eachother due to them switching bodies as a wish from God, you begin to root for them as they team up to take over the throne from the Crown Prince.

The art is so beautiful and I constantly found myself at awe from the amount of detail put into it.

-

The Makeup Remover

Genre: Romace

Chapters: 78

Status: Ongoing

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“After years of being told to focus on studying, Yeseul feels lost when she starts college and is suddenly expected to pay attention to makeup. When a chance encounter with brilliant makeup artist Yuseong leads to her taking part in a televised makeup competition, Yeseul begins to question the role that makeup and appearance play in society.”

This was created by one of my favorite webtoon creators Lee Yone. Their art is just so amazing and their stories always include such good topics.

For instance, The Makeup Remover’s theme is loving yourself for who you are. It shows how people treat you based on your looks and as someone whos struggled with that kind of thing for a while, this webtoon really touched me. The main character Yeseul is such a relatable character, even when trying to reject beauty standards, she still came subject to the pressures of living up to the people around her. She struggles with trying to love her own appearance and I really like that this webtoon didn’t try to be like, ‘fuck the beauty standard im better than that screw pretty people!!!’ it actually showed realistically how people struggle with self-image. I also love the main love interest because oh my god, we need more men like him please. He doesn’t care about Yeseul’s appearance and genuinely loves her for her personality.

Also, art is amazing. The author is so talented and you should support them by reading and liking the chapters.

-

Surviving Romance

Genre: Horror

Chapters: 14

Status: Ongoing

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“When Chaerin Eun becomes the protagonist of the romance novel she is reading, she expects a fairytale ending with the novel’s love interest, Jeha. But when a bizarre twist makes her realize the story is not playing out as it does in the book, she’ll need the help of an unlikely character from her class to defy the new storyline and find her happy ending - if only she can figure out who this ‘Unknown Extra’ is first!”

Hands down one of my favorite webtoons by a long shot. You ever see a webtoon and think, ‘oh yeah, thats going to be a good webtoon��? Thats how this webtoon was for me. It was so good that I spent hours searching for other chapters that hadn’t been uploaded to webtoon yet on other manhua websites. I discovered it because it was also by the author of ‘The Makeup Remover’.

If there is one thing you need to know about me, its that I am a huge horror fan. So when I saw that my favorite author on webtoon had a horror themed webtoon out? You bet your behind that I binged it. Let me tell you, best choice ever.

Think of it as if ‘Ino’s Law’ and ‘Quarantine’ were combined with amazing art and a badass MC.

The Remarried Empress

I love how it is set up to the point where she cannot ‘quit’ until she completes the novel. Creating scenarios where she must survive while meeting the standards in the book. It is such an amazingly written webtoon and I cannot wait for more chapters to be released.

-

Genre: Fantasy

Chapters: 82

Status: Ongoing

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“Navier Ellie Trovi was an empress perfect in every way - intelligent, courageous, and socially adept. She was kind to her subjects and devoted to her husband. Navier was perfectly content to live the rest of her days as the wise empress of the Eastern Empire. That is, until her husband brought hone a mistress and demanded a divorce. ‘I accept this divorce… And i request an approval of my remarriage.’ In a shoking twist Navier remaarries another emperor and retains her title and childhood dream as empress. But just how did everything unfold? “

Am I in love with Navier? Yes.

I absolutely adore how this story was set up. The first chapter begins with the big divorce scene, followed by Navier saying that she was going to be remarrying someone else since he wants to divorce her. This sets up a picture that gets completely shattered as you read the chapters. How everything falls into place with the reason behind the divorce and the remarriage is just so well written. The art is so good and and everything is just so insanely well done.

I absolutely love Naviers character, from her regalness and devoted loyalty to her role as empress, all the way to her petty moments and times of sadness. She is truly a character that you want the best for, and I cannot image anyone not liking her. Also the story is just so capable of making you feel emotions. I’ve laughed, cried, and got angry during the course of reading this webtoon. I love how betrayed I felt when the emperor brought home his mistress. It felt like I was in Navier’s shoes!

This is such a well done webtoon and I'm so excited for Navier to get all of the good things she deserves in her new Kingdom and with her new husband.

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Witch Creek Road

Genre: Horror

Chapters: 74

Status: Ongoing

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“A survival horror about love, acceptance, death, and revenge. And sexy flesh-eating demons. Yeah, it has those, too.”

This series seriously mind fucked me. The way that this story is set up, you don’t see the full picture until the later chapters. Season two literally blew my mind. It is also very gorey so keep that in mind if you don’t like that kind of stuff, but for me that makes it all the better. It is just so wild and crass that you can feel your heart pumping in anticipation.

They even have their own website that goes further into the lore because it’s just so wild. Also the art style is just so amazing, because it complements the story and horror theme so much. You hate most of the characters because they suck, and it is so satisfying when they are killed. Also it has it’s sad moments but I think it is a nice break from the horror so it isn’t so overwhelmingly scary.

I binged this series and I recommend reading only a few chapters a day so you don’t overload your brain.

Other then that, an amazing webtoon. Seriously, go read it, support the author, so much work goes into the story and art that it’s insane.

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Dating With A Tail

Genre: Romance

Chapters: 36

Status: Ongoing

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“On the dawn of her 29th birthday, unlucky-in-love Yunha discovers a shocking family secret: she’s started growing a fox tail, the mark of an ancestral curse. She must find her fated love before her 30th birthday or she is destined to become a fox forever! Even with her new-found enchanting power to attract men using her scent, will one year be enough to break the curse before it’s too late?”

Oh my gosh this is just such a good webtoon. It has amazing art, story telling, and characters. The true love interest was there the whole time, the villain isn’t who you’d expect it to be, and the spirit who cursed her is just! Im not going to spoil it but go read this webtoon!! It is so good and deserves more love.

Also Yunha is just so relatable?? Like she put off finding the woodcutter (her fated love) for 29 years and waited last minute to find him. Homegirl is me trying to do a project for school. Also to get rid of the scent that makes men attracted to her, she just starts eating a ton of garlic and that is just so funny to me.

Also I would go to church for the priest anytime if you know what i mean ;)

-

Omniscient Reader

Genre: Action

Chapters: 53

Status: Ongoing

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“Dokja was an average office worker whose sole interest was reading his favorite web novel ‘Three Ways to Survive the Apocalypse.’ But when the novel suddenly becomes reality, he is the only person who knows how the world will end. Armed with this realization, Dokja uses his understanding to change the course of the story, and the world, as he knows it.”

I cannot get over how high quality this story is. The world building is phenomenal, the art is fantastic, and the characters are very fleshed out. This deserved all the hype it has gotten so far and more.

I love the ‘mc thrown into a different reality’ trope so much. Just like with surviving romance, Dokja’s world became the story he was reading. Also a very cool aspect of the story is the level up and the fact that its like a game. Earth has turned into this show for god like creatures to watch and it follows Dokja trying to survive. I also really like that TWSA has a protagonist, but Omniscient Reader’s protagonist is not the protagonist that was in TWSA. There is just so much lore and I’ll say it again, the world building is just phenomenal.

The Ddokkaebi’s and Dokja’s interactions are also just some of my favorite moments from the story so far. And oh my goodness I would die for Lee Gilyoung. Thats it, thats the tweet. That little boy could probably kill me with his giant praying mantis and I would let him if it would make him happy.

-

Not So Shoujo Love Story

Genre: Comedy

Chapters: 45

Status: Ongoing

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“Romance super-fan Rei Chan is ready for her first boyfriend and she knows just who it’ll be: the most handsome boy in school, Hansum Ochinchin. But her plans for the perfect story are derailed when the most popular girl in class declares herself a rival… for Rei’s heart?! This is the year her not so shoujo love story begins!”

This is just such a cute webtoon. The style is very appealing and while the humor can be childish and weird sometimes, it still has made me laugh a lot. I know the humors not for everyone but just keep in mind that it does get better as the story progresses and gets more serious.

Also its a gl! I’m really unable to find good gls these days that don’t fetishize wlw relationships. Rei being painted as a mean trouble maker whos just misunderstood and Hana being the ‘perfect girl’ who only wants Rei’s attention is such a cute dynamic. They balance each other out and better each other. Also stan Rei for constantly sticking up for Hana even if she doesn’t necessarily like her in the beginning, she has very good morals and sticks to them.

Also the defying stereotypes in this webtoon? Just god-tier. Really makes you think twice when you judge someone just on first impressions alone.

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Odd Girl Out

Genre: Drama

Chapters: 264

Status: Ongoing

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“After a successful winter break makeover, Nari is finally ready for her high school debut. But somehow, she ends up friends with the three prettiest girls in school! Follow Nari as she tries to navigate her brand new high school life surrounded by beauties.”

This story has made me cry multiple times. A lot, even. It is just such a beautiful tale of friendship and finding support in people who are unlike those around theme. It also tells a great story about how anybody can be the ‘odd girl out’. Be it the fat girl, the beautiful girl, the rich girl, or the laid back girl.

It goes so deep into its characters that you even feel bad for the minor antagonists. It really makes you feel for the characters and the reasons behind their actions. Also I know its long, believe me I binged all 260 chapters in the span of three days, but oh my god it is worth it. Also I know the art is kind of off-putting, in fact that’s kind of why I put off reading the story, but I’ve honestly grown to love it and the writing is so good that the art could be literal stick figures and it wouldn’t matter.

The story is amazing and also I just love Nari. She’s just the best.

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Gremoryland

Genre: Horror

Chapters: 67

Status: Completed

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“Six old school friends are invited to be the first visitors of GremoryLand, a new horror theme park that promises an experience as unique as it is spooky. But once this experience starts there is no turning back, and they find themselves tested beyond what they imagines, facing their most desperate fears in order to survive.”

This is definitely one of those stories were you kind of need to turn of your brain and choose to ignore ‘plot holes’ while reading the early chapters because this story definitely gets crazy if you don’t know the ending. Believe me if you stick with it it will all make sense and the satisfaction you get from finding the ending is just so worth it.

The story is so good, and who Gremory is you would literally never suspect. When it was revealed who Gremory was and how he was able to create Gremoryland is so fucking mind boggling that you would never guess. I had to do a double take. It wasn’t like one of those random characters with a vendetta type of twists, but like one you can pick out from clues throughout the story.

Its so good and twisted and just so worth at least giving it a chance.

-

These were some of my favorite webtoons on the app! Of course it’s not all of them because unfortunately there is a 10 image limit. I also made this because I’ve run out of new webtoons to read and would love if you guys commented some of your own recs. I can also do a part two with other ones I liked if y’all want more recommendations. You guys can even request specific categories like Drama or Sci-Fi and I can tell you my favorite ones from that genre.

Also a reminder - if you disagree with any of my praise of these webtoons be respectful about it. At the end of the day it’s my opinion and you don’t need to be rude when disagreeing with that opinion.

[amiedala]

SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 4: An Open Wound

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, canon-compliant violence, graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of past abuse/trauma

SUMMARY:  “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello my loves and happy Something Deeper Saturday! this chapter is truly a whirlwind, it's hard and sweet and intense and simple all at once. there are very graphic descriptions of violence and death in the one (in the form of Force visions, no one's actually dying, I PROMISE!!!), so please be aware that there is potentially triggering material in what you're about to read. it mentions past abuse and dives pretty deep into current violence, so please just read with caution! i hope you enjoy this journey—i certainly did writing it! more notes at the end!!! <3

*

Mandalore isn’t a ghost town.

Not how Nova originally thought, anyway. The throne room is filled with wary, armored people. Some are the guards that usually stand watch outside, through the giant palace doors. Nova recognizes Koska Reeves and Axe Woves from the brief, charged encounters she’s had with each of them. Bo-Katan is there, of course, regal and pristine, her shoulders pushed back, her red hair impeccable. There are a handful of villagers that Nova’s seen in passing, but besides the few faces she recognizes, most of the people gathered in the throne room have been hidden somewhere on Mandalore, away from this strange Capitol, away from the everyday. Half of them are without armor, without impressive beskar helmets to hide their wary expressions. Bo-Katan’s icy, measured gaze is clearly a popular currency on Mandalore, because every single person in this room looks skeptical at best and enraged at worst. Nova keeps her eyes on Din, who’s decided to stand at the helm of the dais instead of taking a seat on the beskar throne, watching his every movement to ensure he’s safe up there, and that he stays unharmed.

“I want...to be your leader,” Din says, his voice quiet but earnest. He sounds like he’s incredulous at his own words, like he’s reading off a script he’s never seen before. But there’s power hidden underneath whatever’s scaring him, an undercurrent that Nova knows is unfettered, genuine passion. “I wasn’t raised in the way of Mandalore. Not in the ways that you were—”

“Clearly,” Koska whispers, and the Mnadalorians standing closest to her proximity offer uncharacteristic smiles and snorts. Nova steps forward, but Bo-Katan raises her sharp hand at her side, and they immediately fall silent.

Din looks back at Nova, and for the first time, she can see the fear in his eyes. She nods, encouragingly, even though she has absolutely no clue what point he’s trying to make. Every time she closes her eyes, even if it’s only for a heartbeat, she sees the strange, young hologram of her face, with the word MURDER, MURDER, MURDER flashing back at her, a ceaseless and terrible pattern. Nervously, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, realizing that she’s the only person in this room who isn’t outfitted in Mandalorian regalia. Her black shirt has remnants of dust on the sleeves from the amphitheater. Her pants saw their best days weeks ago. Her shawl, the only proof that she wears any sort of allegiance to the throne, Mandalorian blue and regal, is thrown haphazardly over her rounded shoulders. The boots on her feet are older than her relationship with Din, picked up planets and planets ago, somewhere sunny and warm and an entire lifetime away. When Din’s panicked brown eyes find hers again, Nova smiles, taking a half-step forward, trying to portray anything other than her own frenzied state, the hammering heartbeat that could likely be heard outside of the palace.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Din finally continues, turning back to the crowd. Even from this angle, with most of his face obscured, Nova knows how hard it is for him to stand here, in front of dozens of people, without his helmet, how many rules he thinks he’s breaking, how this must feel like agony. He reaches for the Darksaber hanging on his belt, and when it ignites, every single face in the room is on Din, on that horrific, captivating blade of electricity and death. “I won this in battle. Twice. Both were accidents,” He inhales heavily, studying the flickering, wicked blade. “But they still happened. I wasn’t born on Mandalore. I wasn’t raised here, either. I’ve given some of you this speech before, when I first took the throne.” He exhales through his nose, and Nova wets her dry lips. Her throat feels like the middle of the day on Tatooine, parched and treacherous. “I...I am not a Mandalorian in the way that you’re Mandalorians.” Nova chances another half-step forward, letting the captive, tensioned room blur in her vision as she just focuses on Din. There’s a tremor in his voice, something alive and unsteady, something she only notices because she’s spent over a year studying every inch of him, memorizing Din right down to his bloodstream. “I follow a Creed that you don’t. I’ve spent most of my life trying...trying to be a good soldier, a true Mandalorian. I know I’m not the leader you wanted. I’m not even sure if I’m the leader I wanted. But I’m the one we’ve got, at least for right now. And—” Din exhales sharply, his breath strained, and Nova knows he’s suppressing a sigh, “I swear, I will try my best to do right by this planet. But—but I’m not only the reigning Mand’alor. I’m—”

“Right,” Axe interjects, but there's no malice in his tone. Nova stiffens, crossing her arms over her chest, staring over at him. But he doesn’t look threatening. His smile seems genuine, like he;s just attempting to get Din to lighten up. “And a bounty hunter. A damn good one, at that. He’s caught me twice.”

“Three times,” Nova corrects, and her eyes go wide when she realizes that everyone’s attention is now on her. “But,” she continues, rather nervously, trying to square back her shoulders in a shoddy imitation of Bo-Katan to not display that nervousness, “Din hasn’t been just a bounty hunter in a long time.”

Din sheathes the Darksaber, and instead turns his outstretched hand to Nova. Heart pounding, she slides her hand into his large, gloved one, trying not to show the massive tremble in her fingers. Quietly, he reaches for the Skywaker lightsaber hanging from her belt, and when Nova hesitates, he lets her hand close over the grip instead. Bo-Katan moves forward, so quickly Nova doesn’t even notice, and when she ignites the crisp, illuminated blue blade, half of the people gathered in the throne room draw a weapon. Nova’s expecting Bo-Katan to do the same, but she raises one impeccable eyebrow and turns back towards the room.

“Stop,” she says, and immediately, the majority of the room lowers whatever weapon of choice they’re gripping. Nova manages a tiny, stuttered breath. “She’s not going to hurt us.”

“She,” a voice says from the back of the room, “is wanted by multiple parties. Contacts all over the galaxy will pay a pretty price for Andromeda Maluev, you know. I accepted the cult member as Mand’alor. I accepted you standing down from the throne, Bo-Katan. I will not accept harboring a criminal,” he continues, voice as icy as Hoth, “and a Jedi, at that.”

Din moves forward, all tension, all rage, but Bo-Katan holds up that same, steady hand, and the man making his way across the foreground halts in the same beat that Din does. Nova pulls her own lightsaber back, pocketing it, pulling the shawl higher over her shoulders, trying to unclench her jaw before all of her teeth break off in her mouth. She’s tired. So tired. Exhausted, slogging through this conversation, her heartbeat accelerating, stars shooting out behind her eyes. And still, this time, when she closes them, all she sees is MURDER, MURDER, MURDER.

“Her name,” Bo-Katan returns, measured and cool, “is Novalise Djarin. And yes, she is wanted by both the scum that still survived after the Empire’s demise, and a middleman somewhere in between which we cannot identify yet. Yes, she is a Jedi, or at least is certainly heading in that way. Yes, I stood down from the title. But that wasn’t because I was weak, or because I wanted them on the throne.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Nova,” Bo-Katan interjects, “I’ve got this.” She steps off the lowest stair on the dias, posture perfect, right arm curled around her distinctive helmet. Everything in her screams royalty, regality. Behind her eyes is a fire so much stronger than the ice in her voice. “I didn’t want this. Neither did you. But Din won the Darksaber, fair and square. And Mandalore isn’t what it used to be. None of us are, either. We’re good at surviving, but we’re even better at fighting. And I believe,” she says, pointedly, glancing over at Din, who’s still coiled in an attack position, “that was the point our Mand’alor was getting to. So let him finish. With your mouths closed.”

The man who spoke, wizened but grizzled, exhales angrily through his nose, but his mouth stays clamped shut. Bo-Katan stands at attention, nodding back at Din.

“War is coming,” Din continues stiffly, and half of the people crowded around the room roll their eyes or mutter under their breath.

“War is always coming,” another woman enunciates, “it’s what the galaxy knows best.”

“War is coming,” Din repeats, and Nova has to force herself to unfurl her palms. Before she can even try to jump to his aid, though, he walks down the steps and presses his flat palm against the holotable. Reflected in the glittering dome above them is thousands of pixels of blue light. Nova’s juvenile mugshot is up there for the entire room to see, but so are statistics from every mission they’ve engaged in, anything even remotely related to the Order. Hundreds of faces swarm the screen, all with interwoven lines connecting them to other profiles and rotating planets. There, at the center of the screen, is the First Order’s name in menacing, large letters. Underneath are the silhouettes of Luke, Nova, and Grogu. When Din opens his mouth this time, his words are vivid and clear. “I know that Mandalore has been razed and sieged. I know that in your eyes, I’m not one of you. I know that none of you signed up for another battle. But I also know that fighting,” Din says, his voice weary, but his dark eyebrow raised, “is what’s in our blood. All of us.”

“I won’t follow a ruler who isn’t a true Mandalorian,” the same man finally continues. He steps towards them, and his face is angry and ghastly in the flickering blue light. His rage is barely concealed, and Nova’s hand flies unconsciously to the lightsaber hanging from her belt. “And I certainly won’t protect a Jedi who doesn’t belong here.”

“Well, then,” Nova says, and she’s so bone-dead tired that she doesn’t realize she’s the one who’s speaking until the second word is out of her mouth, “good thing I can protect myself.” She chances a glance at Din, who could very easily be aggravated at her stoking the fire. The only thing written across his face, though, is pride. Nova’s eyes flicker over to Bo-Katan, who is somehow, unbelievably, wearing the same exact expression.

Din slams his fist down on the holotable, sending all of the blue light back into the atmosphere it came from. The low light of the war room is returned to its usual state, but no one speaks. “I don’t expect you to follow what I say. I’m not a dictator, and I have no interest in becoming one. But if a single one of you brings danger to this planet you claim to love to hurt me or my wife,” Din continues, and the way his lips shape around the word wife makes something warm and wet unhinge in Nova, “there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide from me.”

Still, no one moves.

“Mand’alor,” Bo-Katan snaps, icily, all of her usual vigor and venom back in her voice, and it’s like she’s given an order no one can deny. Half of the Mandalorians nod in wary agreement, and the other half keep their low mumbles close to their chests, all of them shuffling out of the throne room, presumably to disperse outside. When the heavy door closes shut, with only the three of them remaining, Bo-Katan turns back to Nova. Din is already climbing the steps back up the dais where the menacing beskar throne sits to retrieve his fallen helmet. When he pulls it back over his handsome face, it’s like closing an open wound.

Nova looks at Bo-Katan, who doesn’t look nearly as threatening in this low light. Her hair is slightly ruffled, and the hard set of her jaw is tense, electric. “Bo-Katan,” Nova whispers, and her gaze snaps impeccably back to Nova’s. “Thank you,” Nova continues, earnest, “for defending me. Defending us. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did,” Bo-Katan counters, but there’s the ghost of a small smile on her beautiful, cold face. “They were wrong, and they needed to hear that. See? I’m not always a total bitch.”

The word—so commonplace, so foreign—sounds absolutely ludicrous coming out of her mouth that it makes Nova laugh out loud. The sound is both musical and jarring, and the tension held in Bo-Katan’s shoulders evaporates, even if it’s only momentarily.

“Noted,” Nova says, smiling. Maker and all the stars above, she’s exhausted. Bo-Katan glances back at Din, armored and impenetrable, and then back at Nova.

“You need sleep,” Bo-Katan allows, pulling her own helmet back over her head. “Both of you. I’ll stay down here and monitor any incoming correspondence. I’m too wired to go to bed anytime soon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I do,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her usual edge is back in her tone. “And I will. Go.” She raises that commanding arm again, and Nova’s too exhausted to resist. She wants to take a shower and wash the last few days off of her, and then sleep for three more. Her scar hurts. Her shoulders ache. Her head feels impossibly heavy. Silently, she lets Din lead her over to the heavy double doors, her ears buzzing with fatigue, but before they step into the hall, Nova hears her name chase her across the war room. In tandem, she and Din turn, watching Bo-Katan ignite the blue holotable. There’s something unreadable about her, even under the helmet. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and the heaviness of her words is louder than the doors when they close on her impenetrable face.

*

Steam from the shower fills the entire fresher. It’s wet and hot, the humidity seeping deep into Nova’s skin, burrowing under the residual ache from the last few days, nestling between her cold bones from the chill back on Ahch-To, the frigidity back on Hoth. Din joins her once he wrestles off the rest of the armor, and before Nova can explain she wants him, but it’s impossible right now with how exhausted she is, how she can barely keep her eyes open, Din wordlessly lathers up his hands with her favorite, clean-smelling soap, gently raking the suds through her hair.

Nova sighs in the silence, letting her shoulders hunch over, her body weight alleviated by sagging against the warm shower walls and by the soft grip Din has on her arms, making sure she stays upward. For what feels like years, they stand together under the warm running water, reveling in the steam, the heat, without either of them needing to say anything. Din wraps Nova’s long hair up in the freshly washed towel, while she dries off the residual runoff down her arms, her thighs.

The room is cool and dark in the blue twilight, that same fog and haze sinking over the horizon. Wherever the rest of the Mandalorians went, they’ve all but disappeared off the face of the planet. Everything is an eerie kind of quiet, no bugs, no animals, no clamor, nothing that signifies any kind of sentient life outside of the castle. Most nights, that kind of awful silence makes Nova wired, like it permeates even into her dreams, but not here, not now. She has what feels like years’ worth of sleep to catch up on, and the second that Din pulls back the fluffy, silk comforter on their giant bed, Nova steps out of the towel and into the soft cocoon. Din’s barely even settled up behind her before she drifts off somewhere peaceful, somewhere that’s not here.

*

She sleeps. For hours, maybe days, Nova sleeps. It’s dreamless and empty, warm and safe. Usually, nightmares flicker and flash through her mind, her legs sprinting away from whatever menace or threat is chasing her, but not tonight. Nothing wakes Nova up, not the strange quiet, not Din tossing next to her, not the immeasurable weight of saving the galaxy on her shoulders. She sleeps, uninterrupted and powerfully, swaddled up under the light blue blankets that are somehow keeping all the bad things away.

In the end, it’s not a nightmare that startles her away, nor is it Din’s unshaven face pressing into the crook of her neck. It’s the sleepy, quiet beeping of her commlink, which has somehow been removed from its usual place on her wrist and is buried under the extra pillows that stand sentinel over their bed when neither Nova or Din is there.

Din, at this very moment, is also nowhere to be found, and Nova rakes a hand through her hair, tries and fails to suppress a yawn, and digs through the array of pillows on the floor until she can see the bright, red light. “Hello?” she asks, her voice still off somewhere in dreamland, and she rubs sleep from her eyes as she collapses down on the bed, body still stuck in sleep.

“Hey,” Nova hears, and it’s halfway through another yawn before she realizes it’s Cara calling. “Listen, I’d love to actually catch up, but—”

“You have news?” Nova asks, suddenly wide awake. She smooths the comforter out under her hand, crossing one of her legs underneath the other. Outside, the sky is dark.

“I have news,” Cara confirms, grimly. “I know Wedge called you to Hoth a week or so ago because there was a prison break somewhere outside of my jurisdiction.”

Nova nods before she remembers Cara can’t see her. “Yeah,” she adds, belatedly. “Yeah, but no one seemed suspicious or in league with the Order, and it was a holding cell full of minor offenders, so it was kind of a dead end.”

“Well, it was,” Cara sighs, “until it wasn’t. We were right, kind of, because no one who escaped was linked to the First Order. But the night after that prison break happened, your photo with your old name and manufactured crimes popped up as a hit from the Guild.”

Nova’s heart sinks. Something suffocating is blocking her airway, and she tries to swallow past the feeling before she can exhale. “What does that mean?” she manages, barely, hand fluttering around her necklace, pressing into the embossed star.

“Someone’s setting you up,” Cara continues, and her voice is gentler than Nova’s ever heard it. “Someone who likely knows you or Din, knows how to get under your skin. The reason why this is so dangerous is because whoever did it knows exactly what they’re doing. I’ve tried, and Karga has tried, but we can’t even identify where the hit originated from, let alone who put it out. We’re not going to stop looking, but it’s going to be hard to figure out who did it. And because the warrant is for you alive or dead…” Cara trails off, the silence buzzing and dangerous.

Nova closes her eyes before she fills in the blanks. “I’m going to be in danger anywhere I go.”

“Listen,” Cara tries, but it’s too late. Nova’s still exhausted, she’s in pain, she has no idea where Din went, and all she wants to do is to bury her face in Grogu’s head and smell his sweet, reassuring baby smell. Her heart aches. “Novalise, I’m not going to let them get to you. You have some of the strongest forces in the galaxy who’ve got your back.”

“Yeah,” Nova whispers, “and I appreciate that, Cara, I do, so much, but—but Mandalore isn’t exactly a safe haven, either. The planet knows I can use the Force, and besides that, most of the people Din’s supposed to be ruling hate our guts. I’m not scared of being left to defend myself, because it’s kind of what I’ve learned to be best at. But with what you’re telling me, there’s not a single safe place left in the galaxy for me right now.”

Cara’s silence is deafening. Nova’s heart sinks just a little bit deeper, swimming around somewhere in her stomach. “It’s not forever,” she says, but her voice is a little too glum to be anywhere near reassuring.

“I’m so tired,” Nova admits, feeling tears bubbling up at the corners of her eyes. “And I can’t rest, because that’s when someone can get me. I mean—what would you do, if you were me, Cara?”

Nova can hear Cara moving, a soft rustle underneath the comm. When she speaks again, her voice is low and clear, like she’s telling a secret that only Nova can hear. “I would do what we both know you’re going to do. You’re the rebel girl, remember?” She pauses. “So rebel.”

Nova watches as the comm clicks off, everything in her body electric, a live wire. Before she can bolt to Kicker, or try to find where Din’s hidden in the chambers of the palace, or call Wedge and tell him she’s coming back to Hoth, the door opens, and Din walks in.

“Hi,” Nova breathes, suddenly very aware she’s not wearing any clothes, which is completely ridiculous, because Din has seen, ravaged, and worshipped every inch of it. “Where were you?”

She watches as Din crosses over the floor, the low light of the day catching on his armor. He sighs, moving closer to Nova until he’s standing in between her open legs. Halfheartedly, he hooks his fingers under the rim of the helmet, but gives up completely the second Nova’s hands reach to pull it off instead. Underneath, his mustache isn’t manicured, his hair has been weighed down by the metal, and he looks about as exhausted as she feels.

“Ruling,” Din says, tiredly, and there’s a flint to it Nova hardly hears. He lets out a small scoff in the silence, and she reaches out the smooth palm of her right hand for his cheek to nestle against. “Trying to get the people of this planet to recognize I’m not here to destroy it, or that you—we’re not the enemy.” He catches his slip almost as quickly as it comes out of his mouth, but still, Nova’s heart sinks deep down in her chest again. “I didn’t—look, Nova, I’m not blaming you—”

“It’s okay,” she whispers, even though they both know it’s not. For a second, Din just stares at her, and then he presses his forehead against hers. The warmth his skin gives off is almost enough to make her forget about where they are, about the people that refuse to see her as an ally, about having to save the galaxy from forces that want her dead or for their own malicious intent. “They’ll come around,” she offers, her voice barely there, and Din shakes his head, his hair rustling against Nova’s forehead.

“What if they don’t?” Din asks, and by the weight in his voice, it’s clear he’s not just talking about Mandalore accepting her as the Mand’alor’s riduur, as an ally, as on their side, but about the infiltrated Guild that’s out to kill her, and the First Order that’s out for worse.

Nova’s quiet for a long time, just listening to him breathe, trying to map both of their heartbeats, yearning for the constellations hiding above the hazy Mandalore sky. “What if we can’t do it?” she whispers, her mouth hollow, her head aching. “Any of this? What if we can’t pull this off, Din?” She doesn’t point out the specifics, the weight of planets hanging over both of their heads. They both know what she means. The silence is horrible, but Nova keeps her eyes closed, just like she used to, predicting every move Din will make in the dark.

“Then we don’t,” Din breathes back, and Nova’s about to resist, tears springing back to life in her eyes, and then Din’s mouth is on hers and nothing else matters. She lets him sprawl her back on the bed, the smooth satin coaxing and cool under her skin. Stars are burning out behind her eyes, the same celestial imprints that flood through hyperspace, something more, something deeper, something beyond this planet, this moment, this darkness. When Din’s mouth leaves Nova’s, her eyes stay shut, and his lips trail down to her ear. “I’d give everything else up but you.”

They both know he’s lying—Din’s heart is too big, Nova’s purpose is too bright—but neither of them say it out loud. Nova keeps his words in the hollow of her mouth, something shiny and devastating, a supernova or a pearl.

Din kisses Nova like he’s never had her before, low and desperate. It’s an echo of what happened in the amphitheater just hours ago, but it’s sustained, huge, warm. His mouth is made to devour, and if he’s whispering anything to feel the silence, Nova can’t hear it. She’s focused on where his kisses are trailing, desperate and hot and everything she didn’t know she needed. It’s freezing in here, but he’s so warm, his body heat louder than the cold.

“Kiss me,” Din whispers, his voice rough, a plea. One of his hands comes up and braces against Nova’s chin, not an order, but a question. She reaches towards his neck, trying to pull him down, to anchor their bodies together. It’s dark in their room. Without the stars shining above, it’s even darker.

She’s so tired. Still, even after all that rest, it’s like the exhaustion has permeated Nova straight down to her bones. She shudders and sighs as Din moves down her naked body, his lips planting kisses that she doesn’t know she needs until he’s already there. It’s easy and devastating and wonderful and crushing all at once. When Nova tries to return the favor, Din gently pushes her down, mumbling something about taking care of her.

It’s sweet. So sweet, even, that she’s on the verge of tears. Nova would do anything to stay here forever, to feel her husband’s lips on her bare skin, washing away all of the horror, the trauma, the darkness. She doesn’t open her eyes, even though she wants to. Din’s spent so much time without his helmet to appear like one of the people that call themselves Mandalorians, and she wants to give him back every single second of the time that prying eyes stole away.

Before long, Nova’s already close—her orgasm bubbling up quietly, without fanfare, without dramatics, just because Din knows exactly how to make her body sing—and when she taps at his arm to let him know, his mouth unlatches from the small hickies he’s leaving on the terrain of her bare stomach, and moves in between her thighs.

Effortlessly, he hold her legs up, hooking both of them around his shoulders so that his tongue can stay anchored in place. Nova moans, a quiet, radiant thing, and Din’s tongue finds exactly where she needs it to go. It pulses there, on the sweetest of spots, over and over again until she’s finished.

Breathless, she claws at his pants again, but Din shakes his head, his mouth dropping to her forehead as he pulls her into bed. “Rest, Nova,” he whispers, his voice faraway, a deep rumble. He pulls her in against his body, warm and soothing, and both of them are out before their heads hit their pillow.

*

Din’s asleep next to her, his slow, even breaths barely anything even in all the silence. Nova wants to fall back to sleep, but she knows she can’t. Her heartbeat is running itself rampant, and she’s a tangle of wants and needs, everything pulled in opposite directions. As quietly as she can, she slides herself out from the protective warmth of Din’s arms and the comforter, gently placing her feet on the floor. Even in the cool darkness of the night, her wardrobe, sleek but huge, has nothing but clothes in the same shades of Mandalorian blue, of beskar silver, but right now, Novalise doesn’t want to be a Mandalorian. She doesn’t want to be royalty, doesn’t want to be a figurehead. She doesn’t exactly want to be a Rebel either, because both titles mean the ultimate fate of the Outer Rim and beyond in her hands, so she settles for somewhere in between.

When she’s all dressed—black monochrome right down to her scuffed boots, in a weak imitation of the Luke Skywalker style—she braids the top half of her hair back, sleek and functional, and chooses a shawl buried at the back of her closet, underneath all of the Mandalorian haze of clothing. It’s a stormy grey that shimmers with the silver her husband wears when the fabric catches the light. If you pay close enough attention to the shawl, small, intentional stitches of rust and orange are woven into the fabric, hidden, furious, tiny flames.

Not exactly Mandalorian, but not entirely Rebel, either. And when Nova looks at herself in the mirror, studying the way her eyes flash with all that fire she was so certain was gone a few minutes ago, she sees herself right down to the quick, the high wire in between—she looks something like a Jedi.

So she pulls the Skywalker family lightsaber out of the hook on her door and pulls it to her belt loop, watching as the metal sways and dances in the low light. The weapon seems ancient, like something from another world. Something holy, even though she knows Luke Skywalker is a man and not a myth.

When she closes the bedroom door behind her, Din doesn’t even move. Usually, Nova’s the loud and clumsy one, worlds more obnoxious than Din’s practiced quiet, but she’s grown into her stealth over the last few weeks, especially living here, in a palace that has more rooms than the planet does people. It’s strange and eerie here at night, down the sprawling marble stairs, and she takes the first corridor she can find, just trying to walk off some of the pressure, to put her head back on her shoulders.

It’s lit only by candlelight, an archaic, flickering warmth, so in contrast to the rest of the steel and metal that Mandalore is made up of. It’s like she’s stepped into something that’s been around for years, even though she knows that it’s not possible. Mandalore was sieged, usurped, sieged again, razed and brought to the ground, destroyed. The planet’s atmosphere is mostly ash and haze, all that leftover war from years ago. But this part of the palace looks older, like a tomb that somehow survived.

It’s too creepy, Nova decides, even though the curious part of her is itching to explore it. She wants to pore through every aspect of it, try to find remnants of lost Mandalore, like her father used to unearth texts, like her mother used to excavate history. Before the war, before the Alliance was necessary, before all this death and darkness. When Nova comes out the other end of the corridor, she’s right next to the intimidating double doors of the war room, the holiest place Mandalore has. She pulls her shawl a little closer to her body, trying to retain the warmth she left back upstairs, trying to hold onto a memory more than anything tangible.

Nova isn’t intending to slip into the war room, let alone walk towards the sprawling dais that holds the beskar throne, but she does. It’s still quiet, so quiet, and the dark is coaxing her closer, pulling her up the steps, something beyond a simple want or need. She has the sneaking suspicion that she’s not supposed to be in here, not this late, not without Din, not when she has no legal or physical right to this place, but when she sits down on the throne, something deeper echoes out from within her chest.

It feels like a hymn and a battle cry. Before she has a second to adjust, to rationalize anything, everything becomes starry and disconnected. It’s been so long since she had a Force vision this immediate, this intense, and it hurls her through the proverbial hyperspace, everything dropping away.

It takes three steps forward in this strange, terrifying liminal space before Nova can even identify what’s scaring her. It’s the same kind of evil she felt way back on Takodana, before she was married to the ruler of a planet, before she even knew it was her destiny to be both Rebel and Jedi. There’s a mask she doesn’t recognize, twisted and devious. Behind its menacing, blank expression is something horrifying. Looking into the visor, it’s like her own soul is being fractured into pieces.

It’s humanoid until it’s not. The figure wearing the mask of destruction is tall, easily a foot taller than she is, horrible and menacing. But when the lightsaber they’re using ignites, it’s scarier than the vision of the person at all. It’s awful. It looks like it was forged out of lava, menacing red, the blade flickering and hissing in a way that’s somehow even more terrifying than the stark contrast of the Darksaber’s blade. Nova gasps, the light too bright, too sudden, and she can feel the residual thud on the floor, even in the vision. She knows when she comes out of it, she’ll be hurt, but the blade is getting closer. It looks like a giant rapier, a sword made only for evil things. At the hilt, spraying out in both directions, the blade extends. When the figure in the mask swings, it’s without remorse, so quick, so terrible.

But Nova’s not the target. She rolls away, out of the strike zone, and then she hears Luke Skywalker’s voice cutting through the darkness. She turns, and suddenly she’s not in the horror of the vision, anymore. She doesn’t know where she is. The ground looks icy, like Hoth, but there’s red powder spit everywhere, vomited across giant salt deposits. It’s so bright that her hand comes up in front of her eyes, and when she lowers it, Luke is gone. She’s gone, too. She turns around, hair whipping in the furious wind, trying to find where her name is being cried, and she trips over a mound on the salty ground, and when she falls to her knees, it’s a person, newly slain. The blood is so red, redder than the powder, redder than the evil lightsaber. It drowns through the lines on her hands, slips through her long fingers. She screams, trying to back up from the body, and then she realizes it’s Bo-Katan, gurgling through the slit in her throat, and when Nova tries desperately, in vain, to buffer the blood spilled, Luke Skywalker calls her name again.

But it’s not Luke. It is him—for a second, for the tiniest fraction of a moment—but then it’s not. His lightsaber floods with red, cancelling out the green light. The hallway flickers, once, twice, and then Darth Vader is charging towards her, and all Nova can hear is her blood pounding frantically in her ears and his heavy breathing through his mask, the sound that used to fill all of her nightmares. She’s slamming on the door at the other end of the hallway, and when it opens, the only person standing there isn’t a person at all, but a small alien baby all of two feet tall, green and adorable, and Nova drops her body around her son, protective and sobbing, curling every single inch of her around his tiny little frame, trying to shield him from Vader’s wrath, but when she cries, the vision changes again.

She can feel the motion sickness bubbling up in her stomach, horrible and nauseating. When Nova lands, she doesn’t open her eyes. She’s seen more than enough. Even right now, in the middle of her Force vision, all she wants to do is go back to sleep. She can feel the ache she slept away burrowing right back into her bones. Her scar is pulsing, enraged and angry. The headache she spent the last two and a half weeks fighting off is back, radiating straight down to behind her left eye. It’s all too much, and she can’t look. She doesn’t want to see anything else.

“Novalise,” she hears again, and the only reason she opens her eyes this time is because it’s her mother speaking. Her mother, who only ever called her Andromeda. Her mother, who spent half her life in the stars. Her mother, long dead. Her mother, who never got to know this version of her daughter, this Jedi-in-training, royal Rebel Girl that just desperately needs a hug from her mom.

“Mom,” she cries, and it’s so white. Everything here is antiseptic and deafening. It doesn’t even look like a planet, or even a room, or anything at all. She’s not even sure if there’s a floor, but Nova starts running like she’s never ran before in her life. Her breath is ragged and coming out in bursts. The jiggle in her chest and thighs burn under her speed, but she doesn’t care. She’s racing towards her mother, towards open arms, towards everything she’s been cheated out of for the last ten years.

It lasts for a second. Just a second. The figure is Piper Maluev, her skin dark and radiant, her hair down to her waist. Her lips are wide open and welcoming, her eyes crinkled at the seams. She’s tall and radiant and strong, and she’s everything Nova’s missed for nearly half her life.

And then it isn’t Piper. It’s not Luke, either, or Darth Vader, or whoever the dark, terrible, masked figure was. It’s not her usual nightmare transformation of Jacterr Calican. It’s not Bo-Katan, convulsing and dying. It’s Din. Just for a moment, a tiny fraction of relief, and then it’s not Din, either.

It’s a woman Nova’s never seen before, and her hand is clamped firmly around Nova’s windpipe. Like it’s nothing, she pulls her right off the disappearing floor and choking the life out of her. Her eyes are light but so terrifyingly menacing, her hair is a mess of a dark blonde. She’s pale and awful and her face is gleeful as she pulls the life out of Nova, a sucking, open wound.

She can’t talk. She doesn’t even want to plead for her life. If she’s this close to death anyway, and she just saw her mother, Nova figures there’s a pretty damn good chance that both of her parents are just over the other side. The woman is so happy to be killing Nova off, she doesn’t want to fight it. When her grip recedes, just for a half a second, Nova chokes out a confession that makes everything else grind to a halt.

It’s four words. Barely anything. Tears are streaming down her cheeks when her lips finally open. “I want my mom.”

Then she’s being dropped onto the floor, which very much exists now, and the light room filled with nothingness curls away, receding like it’s being burned. It’s dark in here, the tiled floor slippery and treacherous. In the background, there’s a makeshift trophy made from what looks like bones. Nova’s gasping for air, fighting back with a newfound vigor, kicking her legs helplessly to try and get some leverage on this woman who wants her dead, when, suddenly, she’s at eye level with her.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she seethes, a terrifying smile still spread across her horrible, beautiful face. “When I find you, you’re going to be begging for your life instead of your death.”

“Who—who are you?” Nova manages, through agony. Her shoulders hurt. Her headache feels like it’s trying to split her jaw in half. Her scar feels like it’s being reopened. Everything is torture, and she can’t even breathe.

“You’ll see,” the woman whispers, and her voice is so deadly that Nova internally corrects every time she’s ever called Bo-Katan venomous. Bo-Katan Kryze is a flower. One of the iridescent, gorgeous ones, that lined all the brush on Yavin, the ones Nova’s spent years pressing into the pages of every journal she’s ever owned. She’s kind and lovely and Nova’s very best friend, and when she gets out of this alive, Nova’s going to tell Bo-Katan that. “I’m going to enjoy killing you, Andromeda.”

Nova heaves one giant breath into her lungs, trying to muster up anything that she can, even if it’s just more air. “I—” she starts, and the woman smiles again, loaded and dangerous. “I—I already did that, you miserable bitch,” Nova manages, and when she’s slammed into the awful floor, it’s worth it. There’s some kind of desperation behind the woman’s eyes, now and when her hand finds Nova’s throat again, she spits in her face.

And then she’s out of it. Hurtled out of it, actually, like a dying starfighter in the middle of space. She gasps and heaves on the floor, and as her sight comes back, her breathing does, too. Her head is still killing her. Her shoulders feel like they’re trying to carry the entire weight of Mandalore. Her scar is awful, white-hot and painful to the touch. Somewhere, distantly, her knees hurt like she’s fallen to them, and when she gains back her sense of sight and the feeling of her life being choked out of her body subsides, Nova realizes she has fallen to them. She’s fallen a lot, actually, down multiple steps leading to the floor from the raised platform where she was once sitting in the beskar throne. Nova shudders, inhaling through a terrible wheeze, curling her legs up close to her chest, trying to shake off the absolute shitshow that just hurtled her through the most traumatic Force vision she’s ever had.

“You,” comes a booming, rueful voice, and when Nova’s eyes flutter open, she’s expecting it to be the malicious, purple-haired woman from her vision. Her eyes take a second to adjust, her left one throbbing from the horrid ache pulsing behind it, and when she finally locates the source, it’s the miserable man from the gathering earlier.

“Can I help you?” Nova asks, her voice shooting up at the end, on the verge of tears.

“You aren’t supposed to be up there,” he spits, and Nova squints up at the throne she’d just fallen from.

“I know,” she whispers, dully. She presses a shaking hand to the ache behind her eye, trying to shut out this conversation like she wishes she’d ignored the vision. She tries to stand up, but her knees are too bruised to sustain pulling her to her feet, so she just slumps back against the step she’s on, trying to muster all the strength she has in her exhausted body to not break down. “I’m sorry,” Nova tacks on, the words barely there. “I—I wasn’t intending to sit here, or even come in the room, it just—”

“Happened,” he finishes, oddly calm. His voice sounds closer. Much closer. Nova opens her right eye, and he’s only at the bottom of the staircase. There’s something so wretched and dangerous about the energy he’s giving off, and she wants to run, but she’s in no position to even stand, let alone fight him off, so she just sits there, curling her knees into her chest, pulling her shawl as tight as she can against her upper body. “You’re an abomination.”

A laugh, the traitorous thing, bubbles up inside Nova’s throat. It’s not funny. It’s not. It’s pathetic, and likely racially motivated, but she can’t help herself. Her ribs ache, like they got banged up in her distant fall down these sharp, steep marble steps. “That, surprisingly, is not the first time I’ve been called an abomination in my life.”

“Do you know what the Jedi did to our people, little girl?” He’s angry. Nova can hear it in his voice. And normally, it would scare her, trigger her fight or flight reflex, keep her moving, but after her paranormal face-off with two of the scariest figures she’s ever seen, this one isn’t really that high up on our list. “I do. You were eradicated for good reason. You scorched our planet down to nothing, and now you and your cult leader husband come back here and try to take over? Not on my watch.”

Nova can feel him getting closer. He’s so much bigger than she is, up close, tall and buff, menacing and taut. She weakly pulls her hand away from her eye, trying to at the very least give him her full attention, but she’s so fucking tired. It’s in her bones, at this point. She doesn’t want to be royalty. She doesn’t want to be a Rebel. And, in contrast to what the man in front of her is screaming, she doesn’t want to be a Jedi.

She wants to be the Novalise she was on Naator, with nothing but domesticity and yellow leaves and pink skies. She wants to be the protector she was out there in hyperspace. And, for the first time in ten years, she wants to be Andromeda Maluev, fifteen and gleeful, running around Yavin knowing the stars were her destiny and that evil could always be defeated.

“I don’t even want to be here,” Nova whispers, finally, and it’s like something inside her breaks.

“Good,” the man spits, “then we’re in agreement.” And then his hands are yanking away the hood of her shawl and tangling in her braided hair. Nova’s scream gets cut off as she’s thrown down the rest of the stairs, like her body’s giving up. She chokes out something horrible, fighting to get to her bruised, banged up knees, sore from the fall, aching from the blissful time riding Din’s face less than an hour ago, but she can’t summon the strength. Somewhere, she knows Luke Skywalker is yelling at her to use the Force, but Nova’s had enough force today to last a lifetime. When she’s kicked in the stomach, brutal and awful, she just curls in on herself, hoping her death isn’t a slow one. He startles towards her again, ripping her shawl off of her body, clawing at the meat of her upper arm, and something snaps inside of her. If she’s going to die, really die, it’s not because she succumbed to the injuries this rabid Mandalorian is giving her to try and put the blame on her shoulders. She survived Moff Gideon. She survived Din and Grogu leaving her. She survived her parents dying. And she survived the abuse of Jacterr Calican’s awful hands. Novalise can survive this.

When her lightsaber roars to life in her hands, it’s not only Nova swinging. She can feel the weight of what it being the Skywalker family lightsaber, of Luke and Leia before her, of his father before him, of all the generations yet to come to wield this weapon, this holy sword, this impossible thing. It takes all of her energy, a brilliant beam of blue light, and then she falls to the floor, knowing that even if this is where it ends, that she fought back.

Everything next comes in flashes. It’s in these tiny fractals like what happened when the Crest had died right over Dagobah and crashed to the surface. She sees a blade ignite, and in between the rhythm of her fading in and out of consciousness, Nova thinks she’s just watching herself fight the man back. Suddenly, he drops to the floor, his body nothing but dead weight, and she wants to scream, but she’s back out. It’s horrible and deafening. She’s being scooped up, she can feel that. She’s crying. She’s definitely crying. There are voices, loud ones. When she has enough strength to open her eyes again, Din is slamming his gloved fist against the airlock on Kicker, his voice frantic. She can’t make out what he’s saying, though, and another face appears above her. Din gently transfers Nova’s limp body into someone else’s arms, and when Nova looks up, it’s Bo-Katan, her face so panicked it’s almost impossible to recognize who it is.

“Nova, you gotta stay awake,” Bo-Katan whispers, her palm slapping softly at Nova’s cheek. “C’mon, I mean it. If you die here on this planet you hate, I will haunt you in the afterlife. I swear, you have to stay awake.”

“I don’t—” Nova starts, and Bo-Katan shakes her head.

“You literally should not be talking,” Bo-Katan says, her eyesight dipping to Nova’s neck. Her eyes widen for a second and then her smooth fingers ghost over the outline. Nova coughs at her light touch, and she realizes that the marks from the vision she had of being choked within an inch of her life are here, that they followed her back out of the vision and into this moment. “Nova, no, shut up, I’m serious—”

“I don’t—don’t hate Mandalore,” she manages, her voice sounding like shards of glass, and Bo-Katan offers her a hasty, worried smile.

“You do,” Bo-Katan argues, but her voice is so gentle. “But don’t worry, princess, we’re getting you the hell off of it. No complaints now that you’re off Mandalore, you got it? The second you got here, I knew both of you wanted to leave.”

Din’s at her side again, and Bo-Katan kneels down, gently placing Nova in her familiar tangle of blankets and pillows. Nova’s eyes close again, and when they slide back open, Bo-Katan is standing, trading worried glances and hushed tones with Din.

Nova’s head hurts. So bad. It’s splitting down the middle of her skull, actually, but all she can do is press a hand over her eye and try to block out the familiar low light of the ship that smells more like home than this entire planet ever had.

“Listen, about what I told you back on Hoth—”

“It’s fine,” Din cuts her off, and his next few words are warbled. “I get it. Your allegiance is to Mandalore, not to us.”

Nova can’t hear Bo-Katan’s answer. In fact, she’s not even sure if there’s even words being spoken, because the next time she looks up, Bo-Katan is just staring down at her, incredibly concerned, such an obvious change from her usually stoic expression. Nova’s whole body feels like it’s on fire. She’s exhausted. Bo-Katan kneels down again, just for a split second, to pull the loose end of Nova’s shawl over the rest of her folded body. Nova wants to cry.

“Flower,” she garbles, nonsensically. She’s trying to tell Bo-Katan that she’s sorry for all the animosity, that she trusts her, and more than that, she likes her. It doesn't make a single lick of sense to anyone outside of Nova’s head, but Bo-Katan offers a tiny smile anyway.

“Here,” Din says, stiffly, holding out the sheathed blade of the Darksaber to Bo-Katan. Nova’s eyes flutter closed, just for a beat, and when they open back up, Bo-Katan is pushing the weapon back into Din’s grip.

“It’s not mine,” she insists. “Besides, you’re not getting out of it that easy. You’ll be back.”

“Bo-Katan—”

“Take care of her,” Bo-Katan interrupts. Nova blacks out again until they’re up in hyperspace. Din’s body is shielding her from the cold, his limbs draped all over the places that hurt the least. When she opens her eyes, they’re floating through the cosmos, and all her eyes can see is sweet, sweet stardust.

*

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*

[sweetestlamb]

Mostrami Amore.

Summary: Cha-young tries to move on from a certain mafia boss. 

Author’s Note: Thank for to everyone who sent in prompts for Chayenzo, it resulted in this mess. I don’t have much to say, I considered making this into a multi- chaptered story but honestly I don’t have time for another ongoing story so if this seems rushed it was a little, I wrote it in one go today. Hope you enjoy this, I stuck in some of my favorite crack ship because I am weak and obsessed. Happy reading! 

p.s takes place after final episode but han seo lives because this is my world and I get to play God. 

Another postcard.

Their delivery becomes sporadic and she’s embarrassed at the giddiness that washes over her each time a new square is sent miles across a wide stretch of ocean, the view on the card most likely lackluster in comparison to the true rendering of Malta. She has spent many hours on her laptop searching for images of the small paradisiac island, yearning to see what he sees and feel just a tad bit closer to him. Most of her life has been spent in solitude with only her work acquaintances filling the void at times, so she expected herself to be more equipped to deal with his disappearance and subsequent absence. But nothing prepares her for those moments at the coffee shop, when she finds herself smiling across a table only to realize there is no miniature espresso cup in the hand of a very dangerous Italian Korean mafia member grinning back at her. 

The smile melts off her face and she swallows the bitter cool sludge in her cup, the beverage tasting exactly as he had described it without him there. 

Nights are the hardest, loneliness coils around her like a snake. 

There was never any other fate for them, she knew that when Vincenzo murdered all their enemies this was their only real outcome. He would always be a fugitive on the run and she an accomplice if he were captured and questioned, it was in both of their best interests if he vanished from the face of the planet. But knowing that does nothing to qualm the ever present feeling of isolation that clings to her skin as she sits alone on her couch, downing makgeolli at a vicious pace. Trying to wash his taste from her mouth, that kiss on loop in her mind and the phantom grip of his hand on her neck. 

It’s those treacherous nights without the plaza members that have become a second family to her and Han Seo following her like the lost puppy he is calling her “Noona” so freely and frequently until she forgets her own name, that she allows herself to feel exactly what she’s feelings. 

Heartbroken. 

Desperate. 

Lonely. 

Rage. 

The last one she hides like a dirty secret in the closet of her heart, she knew what she was signing up for. She has no legitimate reason to be angry, or so she tries to reason with herself. But. This was the same man who had bypassed the security of one of the richest men in Korea and ultimately killed him without leaving a trace. She had watched him do despicable things, blackmailing, threatening, seducing, and murdering others as he saw fit and yet, he hadn’t used any of those dastardly ways to see her. That chance meeting at the art gallery had been the last she had seen of him, Then a few weeks later another postcard with the same message she had boldly uttered at the airport, it feels insufficient after having him in her arms again. She knew in that moment that they would never be enough again. She hadn’t even argued when Mr. Nam claimed he would leave this one on his table instead, she merely nodded and walked away to peruse the new sexual assault case she has taken recently. 

It gets harder and harder to hear Han Seo regaling the wonders of his “hyung”,  her anger boiling deep below the surface like magma waiting to explode and transform into something tangible and destructive. 

“He told me that he has a room for me too. I wonder when he’ll let us visit.” 

She nods absently, staring out the window at the sunlight twinkling in through the blinds but then his words register and the gears in her head churn before running the sentence back through to carefully process them. 

“He---what? You spoke to Vincenzo?” 

The human puppy pouts his lips before tilting his head and dealing a hard blow to her ego and her heart, “Yeah, he sends me letters. I got so scared the first time! He said the letter would self-destruct after I read it and I really thought that was true and I dived across the room to escape but I bumped my head on the table and then...” 

He sent Han Seo letters.  

She had received the same fucking postcard for months on end with the same message she had said to him, and he had time to write Han Seo letters. He hadn’t sent her even one in the time he had been gone. 

“That fucking bastard!”  She explodes interrupting Han Seo’s recount of his near death experience and he looks wide- eyed and taken back by her outburst, she almost soothes him before another wave of anger rushes through her veins. She had accepted the bare minimum because she thought this was all he could give her but it seemed she was being too naïve. He was Vincenzo Cassano after all, he could make anything happen. She had seen it with her own two eyes. If he wasn’t reaching out to her maybe that was a message and she was too blind to see it. 

“Noona? Are you okay?” Han Seo looks absolutely terrified, eyes huge and quivering. She doesn’t bother answering, grabbing her cup of lukewarm coffee and stomping out of the office ignoring Mr. Nam’s calls behind her. She’s tired of being an idiot. 

She throws herself into forgetting him, the same way he seems to have forgotten her despite his words to her that fateful night on the stairs. 

I thought about you everyday. 

Actions speak louder than words and she is done accepting his crumbs. She has never needed anyone, had even accepted when her own father wanted nothing to do with her; she has basically been prepping for this moment her entire life. 

So she goes shopping with Miri, buying gadgets that she has no idea how to use but that the other girl makes sound like things that she definitely needs such as a new home security system, her break in still fresh in her mind. She grins at the pretty smile on the other girl’s round face as she explains the specification of the machines around them and she can see why Han Seo has such a huge crush on the girl, the pretty blush that blossoms on the other girl’s cheek after stating the fact out loud is adorable and she pinches said cheek much to her chagrin. 

“You should worry about your own love life.” Miri teases but the words sting like acid on her skin and she turns away to hide the grimace on her face, but she’s not fast enough and the other girl catches her wrist halting her movement. 

“What? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Mr. Cassano?” Miri whispers the last part, looking around to make sure that nobody overhears them. 

She forces herself to stifle her emotions, trapping them in the back of her mind refusing to let him have this kind of affect on her. 

“I wouldn’t know.” She tries for a emotionless tone but even she can hear the bitterness in her own voice and Miri’s eyes fill with pity and it makes her sick to her stomach, “Don’t. I am going to be fine. Let’s just go.” 

They don’t utter single word in the car ride home. 

After that it becomes painfully obvious that everyone in the plaza thinks something is wrong with her and are teaming up to make her feel better. It’s the packed lunches that keep showing up on her desk without fail, her clothes being steamed and pressed for free, the way that they won’t allow her to be alone and there are countless spontaneous family game nights all ending with her drunk and being carried home. 

Tonight Mr. Tak is the unlucky volunteer, dragging her limp body in her father’s house and she thinks of all the times that they drank here together and a certain person was the one hauling her body to bed complaining and grumbling but that distractingly fond smile on his face that he only ever seemed to shoot her way. Her heart thumped loudly as he loomed over her and leaned in close, getting her hopes up only to brush her hair behind her ears and softly tell her, “Go to sleep now,” and she had never been obedient all her teachers could testify to that but when he looked at her like that she was powerless to do anything else but listen. 

“I miss him.” The traitorous words fall from her lips and vanish into the inky darkness of the night. 

A deep sigh from the left of her, “We know.” 

She feels vulnerable, the worst thing about having a weakness is other’s noticing too. She hates how weak she feels. 

“I am going to forget him.” 

The body supporting most of her weight tenses under her arm and she waits for his response, they all love Vincenzo- he had become their unexpected hero and leader in many ways. They would always take his side, she knows that. 

“If that’s what you need to do to be happy. Then, do it. Loving a man like Vincenzo isn’t easy.” 

She turns to look at him in genuine shock. 

“What? You thought I would tell you to keep waiting with no end in sight? You should know by now, you mean a lot to us too. Your happiness is important to us too, we’re a family.” 

“But we’re the Cassano family,” she challenges unable to accept that they could love her without Vincenzo attached, but Mr. Tak shrugs at the clarification, “We can be the Hong Family too.”

She feels her eyes swimming. 

“I should go inside.” 

She feels sober and more awake than ever, she stays up all night twirling the long strands of her hair in between her fingers. 

Thinking. 

Variety is the spice of life. 

She doesn’t know where she’s heard that but it’s those sage words that are the catalyst for her spontaneous decision. 

“Same as always? Silky with some body?” Her stylist peers into her eyes through the wide mirror and she hears herself say, “No I want a cut and some color.” Yu-jin raises one pretty tweezed brow but nods after a moment’s pause, “Okay. How short are you thinking?” 

And that’s how she starts her day with long thick hair that grazes her lower back and ends it with a short bob that tickles her neck. It feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulder, metaphorically and literally and she loves the face that she sees in the mirror, her eyes looking brighter than they have in months. She feels more alive, like a snake shedding its skin and becoming a newer and fresher version of itself. 

“Your hair?” That becomes the running theme for her day, shocked gaping mouths and hands reaching out for the hair that was once there.  She merely smirks at their palpable surprise, especially Seol-jin who doesn’t recognize her from behind. 

“I haven’t seen a pretty lady like you aro--Oh Ms. Hong! I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you, I am so sorry please excuse me!” The interpretative dancer bolts away leaving her to watch him bemused, she skips to Jipuragi with a pep in her step laughing loudly when Mr. Nam drops his coffee upon seeing her and the brown liquid goes flying and douses him in a sticky hot mess. 

It’s an entertaining day to say the least. 

Moments later when he’s finished cleaning himself up and changing into the cheetah print track suit that he insisted to keeping in the office, he mentions that a new postcard has arrived. She nods at the information, looking at her laptop and it’s only seconds later that she finally looks up and sees that he’s waiting for her response. She doesn’t have one. 

Forcing a tight smile on her face she replies, “Oh that’s great. Just put it with the others.” 

He does. 

But she can feel his eyes on her, his concern heavy and tangible in the air. 

She pretends not to notice and keeps clicking away on her laptop, only glancing over at the card once or twice. But it’s only out of habit. 

Nothing more. 

She starts going on dates with random men. Men she meets in coffee shops, on the streets, in bars, hell one time even the bookstore. She never meets the same man twice and they never get what they want but it does make her feel desirable and that’s all she’s looking for. 

“Where are you going?” Han Seo asks her curiously, Miri by his side as she struts out the plaza new perfume on her skin. 

“On a date. I’ll see you both later.” They both gape at her and can only watch with wide eyes as she sashays away, heels clicking with every step. 

Word spreads like wildfire and no one takes it harder than Mr. An, who calls her a “jezebel” and cries at the front of the law firm for hours, she has to step over him to go get lunch shaking him off when he latches on to her ankles. 

The others just look at her with sad eyes, filled with both understanding and disappointment. 

Much to her surprise the lunch boxes keep coming and her clothes are still pressed and starched to perfection though. 

She also starts taking self defense classes, Korea is much more dangerous than she had first suspected and she has to be able to protect herself because nobody is coming to save her.  Not anymore. 

It becomes a great outlet for her built up anger and her instructor praises her for being a fast learner. She grins and nods before flipping him and twisting his arm around his own neck in a modified sleeper hold. When he taps on her arm she squeezes tighter instead of letting go and he goes limp for a moment before she comes back to herself and releases him hastily with a quick apology, “Sorry!”

He rubs his neck, panting for air and she feels guilty, there's a tinge of that but most of all she feels powerful, more so than she has for a long time. 

It’s crazy but she finds herself asking him for drinks after class and even crazier is that he agrees even with her marks still there on his skin, the area bruised and red. He looks at her like she’s challenge that he wants to conquer, she lets him believe that’s possible. It’s only a bit of fun anyway, she has no plans for anything serious. 

Drinks turn into a drunken cab ride home with his hand on her thigh, hot through the thin material of her tights and they don’t feel right- too small and not rough enough but she’s moving on and she has no time to reminisce. 

There hasn’t even been a postcard lately. Message, loud and clear. 

When she shoves the keys into her door, he’s glued to her body leaving wet kisses on the long column of her neck and she tries to suppress the nausea that swims in her stomach, everything feels wrong and she hates herself for feeling that way. Why shouldn’t she fuck whoever she wants? He is probably doing the same thing, everyday on his beautiful private island. Kissing women that aren’t her and whispering dirty Italian words into their ears as he rocks back and forth, nary a thought of that Korean woman he knew once upon a time. 

Fuck him. 

She rocks back into the purposeful grind of the hips behind her, feeling the hardness that digs into the soft flesh of her ass and finally the door opens and they both tumble in haphazardly and he thrusts a hand under her loose shirt fingering at her breasts before a dark figure moves far too quickly in her peripheral and she hears her date cry out in pain. 

She almost faints at the familiar sight of the one person she never expected to see, the hard glint of his cold eyes as he twists the same hand that had just been fondling her chest. The grip looks painful, the wrist contorted in an unnatural manner. 

“What the fuck? You have a boyfriend?!” Her instructor cries out, voice high pitched falling to his knees as Vincenzo kicks his feet out from under him. 

She rolls her eyes, of course he would come now when she is trying (and failing) to get over him. 

Vindictively she answers the question, ‘No.” 

But that makes Vincenzo twist the wrist in his grip even tighter and she can see the bones breaking so she takes pity on the poor man, he didn’t sign up for a murderous mafia leader after all. 

“Just let him go. You have no right to do any of this.” 

He doesn’t listen right away and absently she wonders if she’ll need to test out her new moves on him, it would be satisfying to deck him square in the face. She dreams of that as often as she dreams of their reunion. Her feelings are...complicated to say the least. 

Then with a grunt, he throws the other man away like he’s trash and growls out, “Get out of here before I kill you.” 

She tries not be get turned on by that. But it’s a hard sell, her body already getting revved up. He’s telling the truth. 

The man wastes no time, jumping to his feet and bolting out the door without one backwards glance. Asshole, he was really just leaving her with a clearly unstable and dangerous man. 

“We need to talk.” Vincenzo squeezes out between clenched teeth, and her blood runs cold but she stares him dead in the eyes tired of this game they’ve been playing, if he’s here to end things she wants to know. 

“Okay. Then talk.” 

She looks insanely beautiful, with her hair cropped so short bringing his eyes to the tantalizing length of her neck. His eyes close in on a spot of moisture on her neck, he feels his blood boiling imagining that bastard touching any part of her.  She’s glaring right back at him, her chest rising and falling and he can’t help but check her out, it’s been months since he saw her in person the photo of her doing aerial yoga above his bed couldn’t compare to the tempest that is Cha-young in real life. 

The flat plane of her belly is on display under the white crop top loosely stretched across her chest which leads down to her slim hips and legs wrapped in white spandex, leaving very little to the imagination not that he hasn’t imagined her in far less many, many times. Too many times to count. Spilling across the silk adorning his king sized bed with only her name on his lips. 

She looks fucking hot. 

That makes it even more frustrating because he can still clearly see that bastard wrapped around her like a snake and his hands going up her shirt---he has to take a deep breath before he breaks something. Or chases that asshole to break his face. 

There’s so much he wants to say to her, so much he owes her. 

I missed you. 

I love you. 

Come with me. 

“Who the hell was that?” He says this instead then watches her eyes glint over into nothing but pure murderous rage. Wrong move. But he couldn’t help it, green eyed raged taking away his decision making abilities. 

“That’s all you have to say? Get out.” 

He wasn’t expecting rose petals and trumpets when he returned but he definitely wasn’t expecting this, her cold glare or another man in his spot. He thought she would wait for him, just as he had done for her. 

“Are you serious right now?” He counters, flabbergasted. 

“Deadly. Get out.” 

He clenches his fist, and then stomps out. Turning back but only to watch the door slam in his face. 

What the hell. 

It had only taken a letter from Han Seo to get him on boat that would take him to an open field and hours later he was soaring through the skies on a hot air balloon, on his way back to Korea. It was insane and he barely had time to explain to his family but Luca nodded at him like this was the only choice and told him that he would take care of everything, and he trusted those words more than he had ever trusted anything in his life.

“Vai a prendere la tua donna( go get your woman).” 

He had nodded, gruffly patting the other man on his shoulder before hopping over into the waiting boat. 

But he wasn’t so certain anymore that Cha-young was his. 

She seems different. Colder almost, she leaves whenever I mention your name and she goes on dates now. I think she’s moving on hyung, what are you going to do? 

Those words had been the scariest thing he had never seen. Scarier than every gun that had ever been pointed at his head. He thought what they had was something special, something that could stand the test of time and distance. He stared at the huge pile of letters on his bedside, all addressed to her. He had written one everyday since they had been separated, but each time he was too much of a coward to send it. In those letters he could say things that he could never say to her face, things like how much he ached without her by his side and how her smile was the only thing that kept him going. In those letters he could regal the ways he loved her, and how deeply she had been branded into his soul, every atom of his body belonged to her and her alone.  He would kill for her, die for her, anything she needed or merely wanted he would provide it, all she needed to do was ask. 

He could only share those feelings in the letters. 

He walks for hours, until he ends up at his old apartment the familiar door greeting him and he sticks his hand in his pocket before he remembers that he gave the key away, with a sigh he starts to walk away before the door creaks open and he hears a voice he hasn’t heard in months. 

“Hyung!” 

A warmth spreads across his back as a solid weight almost knocks him off his feet. He reaches one arm around his body, awkwardly slapping the face that is pressing into his collar. 

“You really chose to stay here.” 

He feels the nod on his shoulder, “Of course. It made me feel closer to you hyung, I missed you.” 

He grunts in response, before turning around and tugging the younger man into a real hug. He had missed the annoying little leech too, he had missed everyone. 

They are still in each other’s embrace for a moment before Han Seo pulls away, sympathy etched deep on his face. 

“She wasn’t happy to see you.” 

“There was someone else there.” He hates the words even as they leave his mouth and Han Seo winces, looking pained for him before tugging him into the small apartment. Everything is just like he left it.  He looks around in awe. 

“I’m sorry hyung. What are you going to do?”

That’s the golden question, he pondered it all the way here and he’s no closer to knowing the answer to that. Usually she is the one that makes the move, she has always been the brave one between them. He back steps and says things he doesn’t mean and she sees through him and smashes down all his walls. That’s how this has always worked. 

“I don’t know. Maybe I should just leave her alone. Let her be happy.” 

A loud scoff reaches his ears, “Sure. Is that why you sailed across sharked infested waters and trusted a hot air balloon company run my former thugs?”

He smarts at the sarcastic reply and glares before flicking the cheeky brat on his nose, "I liked you better when you were stupid you know. Now you're a little smart ass."

The younger man looks even more youthful as he grins back at him, rubbing at his nose before shrugging.  "I learned from the best."

He has no rebuttal for that so he tries to flick him again, giving chase when he darts off.

It feels good to be home.

He warns Han Seo not to tell anyone that he's here least they give away his location.

So he's not surprised the next day to find the cavalry at his doorstep hands filled to the brim with containers of food. There are tears, mostly from Mr. Nam who won't stop screaming his name and pinching his cheeks to see if he's real and Mr. An who wraps around him like a koala despite his very detailed threats. It's all chaos and so familiar that his heart aches but her absence is like a hole in his chest. Nobody mentions her but they all keep looking at the door, so it's obvious that she was invited but chose not to come.

Because she didn't want to see him.

"You're here to win her back right?" He doesn't know who even utters the words but when he glances up they are all looking at him expectantly.

He didn't know that was what he was indeed here for thought that she would happily welcome him back and they could pick up where they left off but she's made it clear that this won't be the case. This will be the most important fight of his life.

"Yes. I'm here for Cha-young."

He gets enthusiastic thumbs up and a loud giggle from the Yeon-Jin  and Cheol-Wook’s adorable baby, her little hands too uncoordinated to do a thumbs up but she waves excitedly  feeding off the energy around her.

He wonders how Cha-young would look with a baby in her arms, their baby it's a dangerous thought. But one that he can't get out of his mind once he thinks it.

They stay until midnight, forcing him to eat and drink too much soju until he passes out to dreams filled with a round Cha-young, belly swollen and protruding from her body. 

It doesn't take much to learn her schedule(Mr. Nam hands him a laminated copy) and he has to put on a disguise but he enters the shop seconds after her, hearing her order that god awful sewer water she's so fond of.

"An espresso for me." He leans in too close, almost brushing her shoulder and she jolts at the sound of his voice, turning to stare at him as if she's a mirage.

"You're still here?" She whispers and then shakes her head and looks away as if she's hadn't meant to say the words aloud.

It hurts him that she thought he would leave without telling her but he can't blame her, he has been anything but consistent. Instead of answering, he leans forward to hand his credit card to the cashier who glances between them suspiciously before accepting the card.

Their orders are ready in seconds and he follows her as she walks to their table, butterflies in his stomach at the familiar sight.

She turns to him with a glare, "It's just the only available table."

He moves to pull out her chair and she starts at him tight lipped before sitting down. She's in a tight black suit today, two long slits on the side of her pants going all the way up to her thighs. He gulps down his drink to get rid of the drool pooling in his mouth.

"You're upset with me."

She stares at him like he's the biggest idiot on the planet, it's not a look he receives often but she's always the outlier in his otherwise organized life.

"Astute observation." She quips back, sucking loudly at her coffee.

"Why?"

He considered how to go about breeching this subject and in the end had decided on going straight to the source, he had been under the impression that this was working for them.

Her face morphs into a person he hasn't seen for a long time, the Cha-young that would berate him and make him angry enough to curse in Italian.

"Do you think this little of me?"

He's completely lost, "What do you mean? What did I do that was so wrong? Wrong enough for you to cheat on me!" He's panting now, his voice has gotten loud enough to catch people's attention he can feel them watching their table, nosy and invested.

"Cheat on you?"

Cold as ice, her voice is. It almost makes him shiver.

"How could I possibly cheat on you? We're not together. You send me the same postcard with the same message every few months. I have no idea what you're doing in Malta, who you're with. You can't even be bothered to send me a letter, do you think this is a relationship? You think it's enough to pop up like this every once in a blue moon? You've told me nothing about how you feel about me but I'm supposed to be satisfied with whatever you throw my way?"

If he wasn't sitting down his legs would have already given out he's certain about that. Her voice is deadly quiet each word landing and chipping away at his confidence.

"I'm doing the best I can! You knew it would be like this after everything was over, why are you blaming me now? How about you, I don't know how you feel either!"

"I love you! Anyone with eyes can see that, I told you that at the airport too. And again when I took a bullet for you, you didn't think that meant I loved you? I was willing to die for you."

Shit.

It's not at all how he expected them to confess their love for each other, it's hard to believe the words that are coming out of her mouth as she bares her teeth at him.

"So why are you doing this? Why are there other men?"

Why aren't I enough? He wants to say but he's scared of her answer, terrified that she'll say that she can't do this anymore. That he just isn’t enough anymore. 

She stares at him long and hard.

Waiting for something. But he doesn't know what.

"You haven't changed at all. You're still a coward, I'm not interested in guessing anymore. I’m done playing this game.” 

She stands up and walks away, leaving her unfinished coffee on the table.

Unwanted just like him.

She doesn't see him for days and she accepts that her words had done their damage, she had cried until she fell asleep that night. Waking up with swollen red eyes that no amount of concealer would save but thankfully no one commented on her state.

She goes through her day on autopilot and before she knows it she's back home, ready to face her night alone  again. She pushes the door open, half praying he'll be waiting for her but her hopes shattered when she turns on the lights and finds no one.

"It's better this way." She lies to herself, pouring herself an obscene glass of soju. She's going to need plenty of alcohol to get through this pain.

Her head is woozy and heavy when she hears a sound, suddenly alert she stills in her chair before rushing over to get a frying pan walking on the tips of her toes she prowls closer to the clicking sound, finding herself at the window peering at a long lost friend. Placing the frying pan on her window sill she pry opens the window, screeching when the audacious bird flies inside landing on her table as if he belongs there.

"Hey Inzaghi! Get your dirty bird feet off my table!"

He looks at her nonchalantly, making himself comfortable on said table and she sighs before shutting the window and drunkenly swaying over to him.

"What are you even doing there? Do you want to be my bird now, I won't be a very good owner. I won't remember to feed you. I barely remember to feed myself."

Despite being a bird he finds a way to roll his eyes at her before standing up and only then does she notice something on his leg. She looks at him cautiously before moving closer and untying the paper on his leg, the pigeon barely reacts before flying over to her couch. She sighs in annoyance, she's going to have to clean everything after this bird leaves.

She unwinds the string holding the paper together, unrolling the paper scroll. There is a message written inside: the rooftop. 9 pm.

Glancing at her clock the time shines at her.

7:34pm.

"This could be a trap."

It very much could be, she has enemies now. It was a small price to pay for taking down Babel but she's always looking over her shoulders now, so this note could easily be someone luring her to hurt her or get back at Vincenzo.

Inzaghi coos loudly at her as if he can hear her thoughts. This time he finds a way to look exasperated.

She stumbles off to her room.

She needs time to think.

"So she told you that she loved you and you didn't say it back?"

"I was shocked. She was growling at me and looked ready to kill me at the same time." He reasons back, trying to show his hyung his point of view. The younger man doesn't look even a little bit convinced by his logic.

"Okay and? That sounds perfectly normal for you too. You should have shot someone and wrote it back in their blood on the table."

He recoils in disgust at the suggestion, "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you actually insane, why the fuck would I do that?"

Han Seo stares deadpan in return.

He puts up a hand trying to stop whatever response he has, "Don't say it."

It doesn't work.

"Pig's blood. Don't forget I saw it all, I've never seen Ms. Hong look so excited before. You're both crazy."

Well, that had been different. It was an old tradition, she simply had an appreciation for the classics.

"And I bet you're defending her right now in your mind. Noona is just like you, that's why you're made for each other. She's the gasoline to your fire."

"You know that would just make an even larger fire right?"

"Yes. I'm smart now remember? I know what I said."

He sighs falling into the comfortable familiarity of the couch, a spring digging into his thigh.

"Why didn't you say it back?" His stills at the barely whispered question, his chest constricting as he recalls the passionate confession. He had frozen, like he'd always known she was the brave one between them. Always doing the unexpected and the time was no different, her words had knocked him off his feet.

"Because I was scared."

Han Seo huffs at his honesty. He doesn't know where the words are coming from but he's tired of keeping it all in.

"Because if anything happens to her it'll break me, I thought it would be better if I kept her at a distance. I thought this was enough. I thought this would be easier. When I think about her I want to drop everything and just be with her and that...was too dangerous. I had to keep my distance."

There's a pregnant pause, just the sound of their breathing filling the void.

"Was it?"

"What?"

"Easier. Is this better? Enough?"

He thinks about Cha-young getting married to a faceless man, exchanging vows and sealing it with a kiss, happy and in love on their honeymoon wanton moans and screams from their room, learning that they're having a baby and her round and glowing with someone else's child smiling brightly as she rubs her belly and it's too much. He wants to smash it all into little pieces.

"No. It's not enough. I need her, without her nothing is enough."

"That's what you should have said to her. Don't glare at me I'm right, but I have an idea. I saw it in an American cartoon."

And that's how he lets his younger brother convince him to send a note to Cha-young using Inzaghi, the pigeon had shown up one night and he'd been so happy he almost kissed the bird.

"How will he know where Cha Young lives?" He asks skeptical even as he ties the note to the birds leg.

"I showed him a picture of her house. According to the cartoon, birds just know.” 

He stares at the younger man, wondering why he's listening to this ridiculous plan.

"This is stupid. I should just text her, Inzaghi is never going to deliver this. He's just a regular pigeon." 

"This is more romantic." He answers matter of fact.

"How is a pigeon delivering a message in anyway romantic?" He challenges already knowing from the shit eating grin he won’t like the response. 

"The same way pig blood was." The brat counters and he doesn't get a chance to respond before Han Seo picks Inzaghi up and throws him out the window, "In the name of love!" He only barely stops himself from bashing his head into the wall, the younger man has to wrestle him to the ground.

It's stupid. They did all of this for nothing the cool breeze makes him pull his coat tighter around his body, exposed to the weather on the open space of the rooftop.

He checks his watch, 9:48.

She's not coming and the worst part is that he doesn't know if it's because that damn bird never delivered his message or if it's because she really doesn't want anything to do with him. The burden of not knowing hurts more than anything.

Expelling the air in his lungs he walks back to the single door that leads off the roof, twisting the doorknob in his hand and pulling it open.

Meeting the shocked face of one Cha-young.

They both just stare at each other before he speaks, "You came."

He can't believe it. Inzaghi had actually delivered the note, somehow the pigeon had found her house and she was here. He almost pinches himself to see if he'd passed out on the roof and this was just a dream.

"I didn't know Inzaghi was a carrier pigeon." She futilely tries to change the subject and he takes a step back, gathering the tattered pieces of his courage. The same courage that had propelled him to kiss her all those months ago on the stairs.

"I'm so happy you're here. I waited for you."

She stares at him like he has two heads before blushing, and avoiding his eyes.

"Come with me." He extends his hands and tries not to be too hurt when she bypasses it and steps around him instead.

At least she was here.

With a quick swipe of his hand he sends the message to his accomplices.

Now.

The lights come on, fairy lights decorating the roof top in a heavenly glow. She spins around in wonder, eyes nearly as bright she's so beautiful it's almost painful to look at her.

Then the music starts.

The soft notes filling the space.

When I walk down a road I don't know well....

She looks around in wonder, staring back at him she can’t believe what’s happening. 

Then the letters start falling from the sky, all the letters he had written to her alone and missing her thousands of miles away. His plaza family smiles down at him, throwing letters from a higher building.

Cha-young stares up at the sky in surprise, hundreds of letters landing all around her.

It had taken a few days for Luca to send them all over and then another day to get the guts to do this, there was no turning back now. He had never willingly made himself vulnerable to anyone else, but according to Han Seo it was the only way he was going to win her back. 

“She just wants to know that you love her too. Show her.” 

He watches anxiously as she picks up a letter, stroking lightly at her own name on the front looking at him with stunned wet eyes. 

“You wrote me a letter.” Her voice is revere and awe that he doesn’t deserve, not after everything he has put her through in the sake of protecting himself but he’s too elated to see her looking at him like that again, like he’s someone important to her. 

“182. For each day we were apart. I told you I thought about you everyday, and every time I did I wrote you a letter.” 

She stares at the letter in her hand, gently ripping it open and devouring the words on the page. Nerves shoot up and down his body as he watches her read his most private thoughts about her, her expressive face for once empty of emotions as she silently reads the letter. 

He waits. 

Breathless and terrified. 

“Why didn’t you ever send them? They were mine so why did you keep them?” He hears an edge in her voice that makes him wonder if she’s only talking about the letters. 

“Cha-young, I don’t think you understand.” 

She breathes out loudly, stomping over to him until they are inches apart and he has no choice but to look into the deep pool of her eyes. 

“I don’t! I don’t understand anything, I thought you had found someone else in Malta and the postcards were just your way of being nice. I thought you didn’t feel the same way I did, you were sending Han Seo letters but you wouldn’t do the same for me. What was I supposed to think? Why didn’t you try to help me understand, you were gone for six months!” 

There’s so much wrong with everything she said, how could he find anyone else when his heart beats for her? How could he forget her when everything he did reminded him of her, he saw her every night in his dreams. But he doesn’t make the same mistake this time, he says what’s important. 

“I feel the same way. I love you Cha-young. I thought this was better for you, that this could be enough. But I was wrong, I missed you every minute of every--” 

“Come home with me.” 

He stops, stares, gapes and then stares some more. 

“What? I wasn’t finished confessing though.” Actually offended that she interrupted his planned speech. He was about to recite one of his favorite Italian love poems for her and then ask her to dance. 

She rolls her eyes dragging him towards the door, “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time? It’s been six months and you have been here for too long, you have to go soon.” 

She’s right, he has a flight in two days for an identity he borrowed for his escape. 

“Listen to her, just go back to her place and have a good night!” That sounds like Cheol-Wook and then they all erupt into applause and start cheering and hollering, chanting their names and then to his embarrassment they start chanting, “Go have sex! Go have sex!” complete with the monks banging on their drums and he doesn’t think he will ever live down this moment, especially when he sees Miri capturing it on the new video camera he had gifted her. 

He flips them off as an eager Cha-young pulls him away their laughter following them all the way. 

The car ride is too long on the way over and she wonders how quickly she can undress them both as soon as they reach, there is simply no time to waste. 

But once they get to the doorstep he suddenly freezes, tugging her backwards into his chest. 

“This looks familiar doesn’t it?” His voice is dark and smoky and she immediately knows what he’s referring to, and she refuses to give him any reaction. 

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” 

“You let someone else touch you. Here.” He runs a hand up her neck, briefly squeezing, “And here,” she gasps at his hands suddenly on her breast, squeezing harshly at the tender flesh. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” She knows that she’s playing with fire, but that is their foundation. She has never aimed to cool him off or tone him down, she sees the dark side inside of him and loves it, encourages it and feeds on it herself allowing it to bring her darkness out too. 

He kicks the door open, shoving her side and she delights at the rough treatment. She hopes that she is filled with his bruises tomorrow. 

She doesn’t wait for his next move, pulling her shirt up and over her head before tugging off her skirt leaving herself in a barely there lace panties and a matching lace bra that is translucent, her nipples peeking through the sheer material. He stares at her transfixed, his hunger evident in his eyes and in the tent forming in his tight dress pants. 

“Take those off.” She commands and he smirks before obeying, peeling the pants off his thighs standing in his button down shirt and tight boxer briefs that leave nothing to her imagination, every delicious inch of him visible. She steps forward bringing their bodies in contact, before thrusting her hand inside the opening of his briefs. He feels hard and smooth, liquid pooling at the tip and she twists her hand collecting it to ease her slow strokes up and down. His voice hitches as she fingers his balls and without warning she tugs his boxers off, leaving him bare to her eyes. 

Mesmerized by the unencumbered sight of him, she drops to her knees using her hand to guide him to her eagerly waiting mouth. 

His flavor explodes on her tongue and she swallows more, grabbing his hips to drag him deeper into her mouth until she can feel him in her throat, but even after her eyes start to burn and she feels herself choking she doesn’t stop, bobbing up and down hungrily, sloppy wet sounds filling the room in a filthy symphony. At first he lets her control the movement, pliant in her hands but as she increases her speed and suction he starts groaning and huffing loudly and then she feels his hand on the back of her hand, keeping her in place and when she looks up at him he looks wrecked. Eyes dazed and his face red and flushed, she ingrains that image in her mind, for when he’s gone and all she has are her toys. 

She stares back defiantly before he draws himself out of her mouth, a single line of spit connecting them and then he thrusts back into her mouth roughly and she opens her mouth wider to accept the abuse, loving every second of it even as a her throat aches. He sets a frantic pace, his balls slamming against her chin and she doesn’t realize at first that his grunts have transformed into words, too much blood rushing to her head. 

“Mine. Mine, nobody can---ah fuck! Nobody can see you like this. Only me. You’re mine.” 

He fucks her mouth like it’s his to use and do what he pleases, and she’s wetter than she’s ever been listening to him claim her verbally and with the wet push of his dick in her mouth. 

She starts grinding on the floor like a cat in heat and without preamble he grabs her under her armpits and lifts her like she weighs nothing, his dick sliding free from her hot mouth, “I want to make you scream.” He says this like a declaration of love and she throws herself at him, kissing the words off his lips. His tongue swirls in her mouth and she wonders if he can taste himself in her. It makes her hotter and she grinds her barely covered pussy onto his naked length, groaning at the friction even though the thin layer separating them. 

He tosses her onto the bed and she doesn’t even remember them walking, his tongue and his wondering fingers had completely distracted her. 

She lays sprawled across the bed as he stares at her, like she’s feast he can’t wait to devour. 

“Nobody has been in here.” She doesn’t know if he’s asking a question or making a statement, but she feels that his jealousy is real. Seeing her with someone else had done something to him, guilt washes over her. If she had seen him with someone else she would have lost her mind too. 

“Nobody. I never brought anyone home before, that guy was a mistake. I was just hurt and missing you. I’m sorry.” 

He had abandoned her for six months and she didn’t owe him anything but his pain is her pain and they are stronger now, everything has been said. 

“Good.” 

Then he rips her panties away and buries his face between her legs, prying her wide open with his hands and lapping at her with his searing hot tongue. Immediately he has his wish and she screams, loud enough to fill the entire room. 

“Already screaming amore? It’s going to be a long night, I want to make you hoarse.”  

She doesn’t get a moment to respond before he’s back to licking and sucking at her most sacred part, fingers deep inside her as he thrusts and strokes alongside his tongue, his fingers and tongue moving in tandem and she tries to stifle the scream but a particularly deep fuck makes the sound erupt from her throat and her head feels dizzy from the overwhelming sensation. 

He has boundless energy it seems, as time drags by and she feels her body tightening up as he systemically destroys her, he never takes a break or pauses, slurping up all the liquid that drips from her and the sounds of him swallowing are beyond erotic. When a hand runs up her stomach and squeezes at a bouncing breast she can’t contain her moans of pleasure, crying out as his fingers pinching the tight bud of her nipple. 

“Please.” 

He coos in her, “So pretty when you beg.” Then he sticks his tongue as far as it can go and she hears the rush of blood in her head as her body shakes apart and her release gushes from her body, twitching when he laps it all up her oversensitive body recoiling from the overstimulation. 

She has never come like that before, most men have never put in the work necessary to make her come and she wasn’t one to fake it so her experiences with sex with someone else were few and far in between. 

This feels like nirvana. 

“You still with me amore?” The bastard looks so smug, looming above her naked arms on the side of her head, and she had no idea when he took his shirt off. 

“I can’t feel like my legs.” 

He chuckles loudly at the statement, grinning growing wider. 

“Well I can assure you that they’re still there and they will look great wrapped around my waist.” 

Raising to his challenge, although her body is still buzzing she wraps her legs around his waist, they feel like jelly but she finds the strength to follow through with her movement. 

“I was right they do look great.” 

“Well this would look great in me.” She counters, grabbing at his thick ruddy red dick jutting from his body and he rocks into her hand before knocking her hand away and taking himself in his hand. 

“Do we need a condom?” He asks her, looking like he is ready to stop at nay minute if she tells him that they do. 

“No.” 

She has been on birth control since she was a teen and there’s been no one for her since she met him, and she trusts that it’s been the same for him. 

“Thank goodness, I want to feel everything.” He barely finishes his sentence before he’s easing into her, slow and steady. She lets him continue for a moment before she tightens her legs around his waist and pulls him in roughly, as deep as she can get him in this position. “Fuck, you’re so impatient.” 

“Shut up and fuck me already.” 

He grumbles at her calling her bossy, but she sighs when he draws out and slams back in with a quick snap of his hips. 

“Yes just like that!” 

He takes direction very well, repeating the motion until the bed starts to creak from their movements, he pistons in and out of her gone all semblance of gentle or slow, they have teetered into a speed that can only be defined as “break neck” and she feels her body sliding up the mattress as he pounds into her over and over again, she latches onto his neck eager to leave a branding mark on him and he groans at the suction, grinding harder into her and gripping her ass to force her to meet his vicious thrusts. 

Absently she feels him peeling her bra from her body, the only remaining item of clothing that has survived their coupling and she knows exactly when he sees the scar. The grotesque knitting of skin that had left a permanent scar on her shoulder, she almost covers it up but when she peels her eyes open he is staring at her mesmerized. 

“Don’t look.” 

He leans down to kiss it, the softest more precious kiss she has ever received in her life. 

He peppers more kisses all over, then strokes at it with a single finger. 

“I should have realized, this was your confession. I was an idiot. I will never be that stupid again, I love you so much. I would do anything for you. Anything.” 

He puts her legs on her shoulder, nearly bending her in half before resuming his thrusts but they are less frenzied now, it feels like lovemaking. Her eyes prickle when he kisses her scar with every downward thrust, whispering, “Beautiful, so beautiful. Every inch of you.” 

She cries out. 

With every thrust he kisses her scar, making her feel lightheaded and naked. 

When he moves them into a new position, her back to his front giving him better access to her scar, she loses herself as he whispers sweet nothings into her ears and litters the spot with warm kisses. 

She falls off the edge with his lips on her scar and him deep inside her, warm bursts filling her up before leaking out onto the bed sheets. 

“Today’s our last day.” 

Waking up next to him is torture, she tries not to ingrain that in her mind but it’s too late it’s already there. He blinks away the sleep in his eyes at her words and then nods solemnly in agreement. 

“Yes for this visit. But I’ll always come back for you.” 

She smiles brightly, “Don’t keep me waiting for too long.” 

They don’t leave the bed except to get breakfast and that ends with her laid across the kitchen table getting taken from behind after teasing him. He can’t seem to keep his hands off her new hair, twisting the short strands in his hands and yanking on them. She catches him looking at her heatedly more than once. 

Then they wind up in the shower, trying to clean up and getting dirtier instead, his hands tight in her hair and around her waist as he hoists her up to pound her into the wall. Making up for lost time. 

They get messages from their entire family, Vincenzo showing her a message from Han Seo asking if he’s going to be an uncle soon. She promises to embarrass him in front of Miri very, very soon. 

Both pretend they don’t feel the day fading away, bringing them closer to their goodbye. 

Tomorrow he will be gone again, but there’s no guessing now. She knows what she means to him now and that’s more than enough. 

She wakes up to an empty bed and a ticket to Malta, the ball is in her court. 

[egoludes]

the greatest gift of all.

note: so, to be honest with y’all...i have no idea where this came from. i was just minding my business this weekend, @adorecevans​​ and i started talking about one (1) headcanon scenario, and now here we are! this is going to be a v casual series, basically just snippets of dom!chris and sub!reader (in no particular order) building a relationship. future installments will explore the history more, but what you need to know for this one and the series overall: dom!chris meets sub!reader through a dom/sub dating app of sorts and have been engaging each other long distance for a few months. reader has no idea that it’s chris evans for the obvious reasons, and since he doesn’t give a name at all, she addresses him as Sir. i’ll explore all that background more in the future, but for now: i really hope you enjoy!

credits: unsplash for the stock image, and an anon in @honeychicanawrites​​‘s asks one day for the image of cevans calling his lady ‘mama’... i had to do it. 

warnings: masturbation, voyeuristic vibes, intimacy over video call, dom/sub dynamics, long distance / virtual relationships, sex toys, use of title as name (sir).

wc: 2.3k

The thought comes to you on a Sunday afternoon.

You’re on your belly thumbing through texts, legs up and crossed at the ankles with Sir’s newest gift -- a pretty pink slip -- and your laptop beside you. The screen is dark, save for a grey circle with an initial in the center that lets you know he’s there, listening, when you say: “Have you ever tried one of those dildo molds, Sir?”

The initial silence is suffocating, and you worry for a second that the idea - spur of the moment, really - goes too far. You’re just learning each other, after all; still adjusting to the pictures, the calls, the gifts you model for him with pride. 

But then, he speaks, a familiar rasp to the words that makes you clench in your fitting black shorts. The question comes from a place of genuine curiosity, but you’ve riled him up still, which excites you; always does. “That’s what you’re thinking about over there, huh? Feeling me?”

Your body heats, conditioned already to react to that dangerous tone in his voice; but you try to keep your expression reticent when you turn it to your camera. There’s another moment of nothing -- just you watching the lens like it’s him before you. Then, your lips curl, lids narrow, and your voice turns playfully sweet. “Well, when am I not?”

He hisses, a sharp sound that makes you preen, and you can hear him on the other end, adjusting his screen. “Easy, mama,” he growls, earning himself a giggle, “it’s too early for you to be working me up.”

You laugh again, this time with more body before resting your cheek on your palm. Without his video on -- a compromise you’ve grown used to -- you can’t know that he’s actually watching you. But you lean into it all the same, swinging your legs behind you. “But, have you?”

He clicks his tongue, a thoughtful sound, and you imagine what his features must look like, twisted by consideration. “No - I don’t think I know anyone’s who has either.”

You hum, eyes glinting with something that makes him suck in a breath. “I’ve always wondered about it. Not just the process, but just...having one,” you murmur, settling deeper into your pensive stance. There’s a dreaminess to your tone that not even you notice; but he, that ever-mindful man, takes note.

You continue on, none the wiser. 

////

A week later, you come home at the top of rush hour, grateful that you’ve made it so early, but burdened all the same. Stress is a fickle, but poignant thing, and you’re feeling its weight extra today as you make your way up to your apartment. You’re excited for the time to yourself, thinking on what you might make for dinner, when you see it - a small, but noticeable box at the foot of your door.

Immediately, your expression turns, confusion and wariness turning your mouth into a scowl. You don’t remember ordering anything, nor are you expecting something for anyone else. You hope the label will give you a clue about what this could be, but to your chagrin, it has no company - just your address and a generic return location. 

Still, you take it in, setting it on the kitchen counter, where it stays forgotten as you shower, eat, and pour yourself a glass of wine. You’re halfway through the second when the package re-snares your attention from the corner of your eye. You drain the rest of your drink with a gulp, wiping red off the corners of your mouth before you stand, determined, to approach it.

The box is unassuming; plain cardboard with nothing but the barebones label to distinguish it. You lift it again, this time with both hands, to measure it and feel something heavy shift inside. It’s enough to pique your curiosity, and you tear through the packaging until you can see what’s in it.

At the center is another, smaller box made of sleek black velvet. A card is attached with red ribbon, careful lettering penned in dark ink. Even before you fish it out, you can work out the message, but it doesn’t feel real until the note sits in your hand and you’re reading it up close.

For my favorite girl; so you can feel me any time you want.

Sir.

Your eyes dance over the words a few times before their meaning sinks in and you realize it’s a gift from him. Then, you’re practically rabid, tugging out the box out and flipping the lid in one motion.

When you see what’s inside, it’s all you can do not to buckle at the knees. In the middle of the box, set up almost regally on a bed of plushy silk, is a veined, pink dildo. You don’t need to touch it to know that it’s heavy, but that doesn’t stop you from doing it all the same. Your fingers take it by the base first, wrapping firmly above the balls to test the weight. And you moan at it, that delicious thickness as you lift it from the box with both hands. Your palms curve around it, twitching with want, and you realize then that this is what he looks like, what he feels like.

What you would get if he came home to you for real.

The thought is too much to bear. Your breath quickens, fingers dancing deliberately up and over the shaft to size it up. You tell yourself that this is all you need for now ---- you know better than anyone that to use this toy for the first time without him is a test of his patience you’re certain to fail. But, the more you touch, the more you need, and before you can reconsider, you’re on your hands and knees on your couch, panties pressed sloppily to the side as you guide the heft of Sir’s length past your aching entrance.

The impact is immediate. You fall forward with a gasp as every inch stretches you open and by the time it’s fully seated, your face is completely hidden in your couch cushions. The fabric muffles your voice as your hips start to move, a slow, languid grind to make sure everything is felt. 

You get so lost in it, you don’t hear your phone buzzing until it’s almost too late. But, at the nth moment, you recognize the ringtone you’d chosen just for him and, despite the clear risk of answering, you reach for the device, trembling with nerves, excitement, and lust, at the dangerous game you’re about to play. 

When you answer, there’s nothing but darkness from his end and your face in the corner. You’re sitting on your butt now, legs carefully spread and hips angled to keep from jostling the toy inside you. But, it’s hard not to squirm in a situation like this; even more so, when he starts to talk, voice raw from the day. 

“Hi, honey,” he breathes, the endearment -- your favorite -- making your heart swell, “almost thought you were already asleep.”

You shake your head, biting back a knowing smile. “No, Sir… I’m still awake, just...watching tv.”

“Yeah?” He says, something skeptical in the tone. Even without his video on, you can almost feel his gaze burning a hole in your expression. Like he’s inspecting it, picking it apart for clues. He must find one, because he hums lowly; a dip in the sound that makes it sound like he’s smirking. “Only watching tv?”

“Y-Yes, Sir…”

“Okay, okay -- what’re you watching? Is it any good?”

Your eyes flicker towards the television to glean what’s playing, but Sir catches you before you can get a good look. “Nuh uh -- eyes over here.” 

Despite your better judgment, you pout, all but caught now, and the expression makes him laugh. He’d had a number of subs before you -- people who had piqued his sexual interest, but never quite held up to any of his other, more innocent expectations. But you ---- even if he wouldn’t call you something as invested as a lover, your personality makes it hard to be anything but endeared to you. Before he knew it, he was in headlong, calling you for sessions a couple times a week, sending gifts even more than that. You’re fun to just exist with, even in this moment as he’s so deliberately toying with you.

“Can’t be too good if you can’t tell me anything about it without looking, huh?” His voice drops, a dangerous timbre taking it, and you feel your body shake. “So you gonna tell me the truth before you get yourself in more trouble?”

A whimper breaks past parted lips and you bite down a little too late to stifle the sound. “T-The toy,” you whisper, clenching around his cock despite him being hundreds or thousands of miles away. The irony isn’t lost on you - if anything, it’s making your need spike. There’s something so odd, but so enticing about the whole thing. “I couldn’t wait, Sir… your cock just looked so good.”

Sir curses near the phone, so close that you swear you can feel the breath of it on your palm. “Jesus...I knew you’d be hungry for it, but I didn’t think it’d get you this much. Breakin’ our number one rule and everything.” You shift on the couch, free hand reaching to pull out the dildo in anticipation of his punishment. It’s likely to be no orgasms for the night which, as disappointing as that is, seems almost worth it for the pleasure of this weight inside you. Then he speaks again, forcing you to pause in your motion.

“Get on your computer ---- I want to see the way I fit inside you. Then, we can talk about your punishment.”

The minutes between your phone call and the start of the call on your laptop are equal parts tantalizing and tortuous. You’ve only broken this rule once prior and ended up having to watch him fuck his hand through two sloppy orgasms before getting sent to bed without touching yourself even once. So the fact that he seems to be inclined to let you keep the dildo in gives you pause.

But it’s the sort that’s almost intoxicating. Your adrenaline is pumping, thighs slick with want, and by the time you’ve gotten the video up and running, you’ve shed your panties completely, legs wedged open with the camera trained between them as directed.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetie… look at that pussy eating me up.” You whine out for him, walls clenching visibly at his words in a reaction that makes him purr. “That good? Everything you thought it would be?”

You nod in a daze, cock drunk even with your hips still, and Sir shifts on the other end, the telltale clink of an open belt alerting you to how good it feels for him too. You’re in two minds to beg him to see, even if it’s just a view of the waist down, when he beats you to the punch. “Take it out --”

You blink, trying to focus on his words enough to make sense of his command. He can see the confusion in your face and has to try not to laugh. “Take it out,” he repeats, “and sit on it. I want to see you take it properly.”

It’s a scramble after that -- you, shifting and guiding the toy out of you until you’re hovering over the tip of it on your knees. Lidded eyes dance towards your laptop as you still there, body wound tight in anticipation, and like many times before, you hold his gaze through the lens as you sink down, down, down onto the dildo he made for you.

If you thought you were full before, you’re certainly learning your lesson. The change in angle has the cock dizzyingly deep, enough that it punches the air out of your lungs. You can feel the balls against your bare skin, a permanent reminder of how much you’ve taken, and when he calls for you again, adoration in the breathy tones, you can’t help but buzz. 

You love to make him proud of you.

His tone is so tender that you nearly forget you’re in trouble and are about to lift your hips and give him a show when he stops you. “You heard what I said, honey,” he teases when your confused expression returns. “I want you to sit on it. You stay right where you are.”

The urge to beg is potent -- a searing kind of desperation that you’ve never minded indulging with him. But before you can form words in your head, let alone out loud, the dildo comes to life inside you, shaking with such force you cry out from the suddenness. Between being full, and the toy revealing itself to be a vibrator, it’s all too much, so much, and you’re falling back into the couch knees shaking beneath you.

“Now, now, don’t give up on me yet,” Sir coos, a distinct click sounding from his side of the screen and confirming your suspicions when the vibrator turns off right after, “you wanted  to feel me, didn’t you?” He pauses long enough for you to nod, gasping in a breath as your teary eyes dance blindly over the screen you wish you could see him on. There’s another click, then a cry as your body arches in an involuntary jolt.

“Then, be a good girl - show me how well you can handle it.”

[brownandblackpearls]

📜 🖋 𝒞ourting with 𝒟r. 𝒟evorak (Julian x BlackReader) Pt.1

PART 1 SUMMARY:

You are a reputable, young beauty of means in Vesuvia, enjoying the winter courting season. An odd letter from an odd doctor finds its way to your door. You decide to respond.

─── Julian x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── regency/historical/fantasy, courtship rituals, wealthy! MC, love letters, drama, handsome redheads

☾ next.

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

“Letters for you, Miss!” The scullery maid calls through the door.

You pause your writing, hesitating over your final line before turning to answer the call.

“Come in!”

The maid strides in with your daily mail on a silver platter. As expected, there is a heap of them from various suiters, all interested in seeking your hand. 

Some young, some old, some men, some women, some wealthy, and some positively blue-blooded, they are all voracious. Usually, your interest tends to wane after weeks and weeks of these greetings each season. The feeling especially set in after getting the particular suspicion that the lords, duchesses and dukes reaching out to you were having their own maids and butlers pen these letters, a copy of an inquiry to every potential young beauty in the region.

Consequently, many of the letters did not seem to genuine, remaining vague and distanced. Polite. 

Today, however, you find your lessons to be going slow. You decide to take a break and browse through the inquiries.

“Read through them for me, Delilah?” You call out the request as you lower your pen and clean your fingers in a warm, sudsy bowl of water on your desk. Drying your hands, you apply a spot of scented lotion on your fingers before smoothing it in and sliding your delicate gloves back on.

Delilah clears her throat, interested in the letters herself. 

You had no doubt the contents of the proposals would make waves throughout the household by sunset, but all of your staff were well-meaning. Just bored during these slow winter months. Honestly, you didn’t blame them for indulging in your courting dramas.

“Well,” Delilah begins, “Here is a letter from a Clarence Dunford Winthrop, hailing from Bremens County! He greets you and wishes you a very warm winter. ‘I am most pleased to write to you, Miss ------. I possess a healthy 34 years in me, and I seek the opportunity to meet and possibly enter the idea of courtship with you. Are the tales true that you are quite fine and b-buxom…? Goodness, how forward!”

You bite back a chuckle, allowing Delilah her scandalized looks and comments. After she’s thoroughly read Winthrop’s letter, she moves on to the next.

“This one,” she exclaims, “is from a young, Fiorentina Agosti, hailing from the Suthlands. She greets you amicably and wishes you a cozy winter. ‘Dear Miss ------, I am most delighted to write to you. I am a young woman of etiquette and good breeding. I am 23 years old, and yet for one so young, I am more certain of my passions and ambition than most grown adults. I seek the window of opportunity to introduce myself and my estate to you, as I am seeking to build my relationships with the nearby families of standing. I favor women only, as I’ll need a good, feminine eye to steer my estate towards a glorious future…what a boastful girl! I hear she is very attractive, though…”

Delilah goes on, examining letter after letter, reading aloud excitedly. Finally, she lands on a slightly ragged one, with a wax seal bearing no crest. Only a simple plant pattern with dried flowers and ferns trapped to the note.

“My,” Delilah wonders, flipping the envelope, “what a...humble introduction. Let’s hope that the contents are more splendid than the package they came in!”

Delilah adjusts the paper before her and begins.

“This one,” she explains, “is from a young…doctor…in the capital, near the palace. Oh, I think I recall this one? He is of great renown, but markedly odd. Hmm…He greets you fondly and asks if…if you have ‘seasonal allergies’...? He is more than happy to forward any herbs or teas that can help soothe inflammation…as a ‘show of good faith and possible friendship’—yes, very odd...He would like to know if you would be interested in accompanying him as an honored guest to his annual medical tools gala. There will be anatomical displays as well as guest surgeon speakers. Afterwards, he would like to take you to attend the opening night of a Vesuvian theatre drama, and then dinner. I—that sounds more exhausting than eventful. Goodness….“

Despite Delilah’s somewhat opinionated concerns, your interest perks at the oddness of the inquiry and the oddness of the planned date. You’re not so sure a medical gala will be of interest to you, as you’ve never attended one before, but you would like to try.  

“Delilah, please. No more commentary. What does the rest say...?”

Delilah harrumphs, moving on. “Well, he seems certain that you will find the engagement eventful and enlightening on his personage and he hopes to show you how good of a ‘provider he can be for a woman of your means’. He has ‘no grand heritage or acreages’, but he does have one of the ‘best practices in Vesuvia’ sporting several underling surgeons and plenty of business. New blood, instead of blue blood from the looks of it, if you ask me.”

You pause, thinking it over. 

The letter all sounded personally tailored and individualized for your reception, and clearly not something that was drafted up in the monotonous manner of house staff doing as ordered. 

The doctor seems very keen in meeting you... 

...You can’t help but feel the same.

“What is his name?”

Delilah levels you an uncertain look, noticing your choice, before sharing.

“The suitor signed off as a Dr. Julian Devorak.”

“Devorak,” you try out, rolling the name around in your mouth. 

It feels good.

“Thank you Delilah. You may place the letters in my box, save for the doctor’s. Please bring his to me, as well as my pen and good ink. I’ll also need the courting stationery.”

Delilah sours slightly before perking back up and doing as ordered quickly. She clearly does not approve of the choice but remembers her place, and knows that you are not one to be bossed. 

You wait until she delivers the stationery and retreats from your room before turning to your pen and paper, glancing at the letter from the doctor.

You perfume the parchment slightly, and use a fine, shimmering ink to dot the thick, French paper. You being to write, peering at your refined, swirling letters.

“Dear Sir…I take the first opportunity to acknowledge the flattering letter with which you have favored me…your discernment is of my deep interest, as well as your detailed plans for our hopeful outing. I consent to the date and time, and I look forward to your academic gala, as well as the theater and subsequent dinner. I implore that you arrive to chaperone me long before the sun is high in the sky, as we may need much time together that I am wont to spend with you. I will admit, I find you very curious and am interested to learn more of you. Warm Regards, ------.”

You finalize the paper with a neat calligraphy of your signature, before cleanly folding and pressing the letter. You choose a lovely envelope and seal it with wax before stamping and sending it off with Delilah to be mailed. 

“Hmm. Odd man,” you murmur to yourself, before moving on to send responses to the other requests of interest. 

The days pass by, eventful.

You go on several dates, some of note and some not so much. 

A few remain in your mind of potential. There was a beautiful countess seeking companionship after a split from her count…Nadia. Buxom and svelte, she was also the epitome of regality, and a brown-skinned beauty like yourself. You couldn’t help but feel drawn to her. 

There was also Asra, a mischievous but enchanting merchant king. You suspected a penchant for the occult on his end, but his beautiful face was too good of a distraction to focus on what may hide behind it. 

Then there was Muriel, a mysterious man with one of the largest claims of land in Vesuvia. He was fidgety and reserved, but you sensed a deep soul in him. 

Portia, the jeweler of the aristocracy, and her passionate stares paired with her down-to-earth jokes were enough to make you lower your guards and raise your spirits. 

Lastly,  Lucio. Oddly enough, he turned out to be the count that split with Nadia. You found his countenance alarming at first, only to later find a subtle charm in his passion for life, luxury and you.

All of them were far more interesting than the duds you’d went on dates with the past few weeks. 

Valdemar, the ambassador, had spilled soup all over your dress during a brunch while he spoke wildly about some conquest of his past. Then there’d been Volta, an odd little thing that insisted on trying all these unappealing, exotic dishes. There’d been Vlastomil, a weevil of a person who seemed more eager to gossip cruelly than to learn of you. And lastly...most memorably...there was Valdemar…you weren’t too sure what Valdemar did, but you were certain whatever it was, you wanted absolutely no part in it.

Weary from all the courting, you put your best face forward and hoped this day ended up being a delight instead of another disaster.

Foregoing flat-ironing, blowouts, presses, braids and twists this time, you decide to arrange for your servants to outfit you in lovely, long locs for the evening. You line them with fine silver trinkets, baubles, and rings before arranging your makeup to perfection and dressing in your finest, warm regards from the tailor.

Today was the day with the doctor, and you wanted to see exactly what kind of man he was. 

You donned a beautiful gown beneath your long, furred coat and lined your neck with a shining collar of diamonds. The winter snow would reflect stunningly off of them, as well as you.

Perfumed, plucked, and preened, you stand, assessing yourself in the mirror.

Vesuvia’s treasure.

You laugh, satisfied with the show stopping look, before leaving your room. You almost bump into a servant, rushing in to announce to you that the doctor has arrived with a carriage for you both.

“Let him in,” you say kindly, glancing out the window. Sure enough, a large, black carriage awaits. You lift your chest, square your shoulders, and raise your chin, allowing your lashes to lower and your aura to project.

You descend the stairs of your home into the grand hall, your eyes pinning the man that entered and awaited below, greeted politely by your staff.

‘Oh,’ you realize.

He’s gorgeous.

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him. Tall, tousled, and terribly attractive, Julian Devorak watched you, open-mouthed, as if you are some sort of ethereal being that decided to grace his mortal existence. Descending the marble stairs, you feel him watch every step you take until you finally reach the landing.

You decide to close the distance and break the ice when he makes no move, still in awe of you. No need for those stars in his eyes, you think. You want him dazzled, not anxious or elevating you to something or someone that is inaccessible.

He is here in your home, after all. If you were inaccessible to him, he wouldn’t be.

“Hello Dr. Devorak,” you grace easily, smiling. “I’m ------. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“J-Julian, please, no need for extraneous titles,” he insists in a light stammer. “The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you.”

‘Aaw,’ you think to yourself, looking fondly at him. You’ve heard the line so many times before, but somehow, the words sound so genuine coming off of his tongue. You also like the sound of his voice very much. He sounds like how he looks, you realize.

Julian mistakes your silence for something bad, and rushes to fill it.

“I-I can’t tell you how…how long I’ve anticipated today.”

“Oh?” You ask, tilting your head in wonder. 

Were you the only one he was querying? That wasn’t possible. There had to be others. You respond pleasantly.

“I’m honored...’Julian’. But I’m sure an interesting man such as yourself is entertaining many acquaintances and possess many options.”

Julian blushes, surprising you. He shakes his head, fingers fidgeting at his sides.

“Not exactly,” he offers, leaving it there.

Your brow lifts in wonder. 

“Really...? But I loved your letter. I’ve reread it several times and am not afraid to say so. I find you quite striking.”

If possible, Julian blushes even harder at that, daring to hold your gaze. You see an odd sort of mask arise on him then, a false yet endearing bravado. You don’t call it out and simply watch as he does his best to disguise his rampant shyness.

“Ah...thank you madam! But not nearly so striking as one such as yourself! Why, I remember the feeling of when I first laid eyes on you. It was as if  lightning had struck me.”

Your eyes widen in pleasure, curious. 

“Such flattery! Where did this occur?”

Julian smiles triumphantly, happy to visibly pique your interest.

“The theater! I noticed you in your private box and it was then I decided that I must inquire to learn more about you.”

Your smile broadens, and you can’t help but step closer. Julian feels very comfortable and warm, even with the pomp.

“So that’s how you knew I’d enjoy the theater!” You exclaim. You had wondered about it since his letter first arrived. He could’ve invited you to any event, any activity, and yet he knew the theater was the right choice...

Julian tenses as you near, unsure of where to look. You can’t tell if he wants you closer or farther away. You decide to hold firm and give him time to sort it out for himself.

“I-uh…yes.” He swallows thickly. “Allow me to enlighten you of the day’s activities in the carriage…?”

You nod, realizing that your questioning is holding the both of you up from your date. You step back, cowed.

“Of course! My apologies.”

Julian swiftly holds out a broad, gloved hand for you to take. The gentleman’s escorting hold.

“No need to apologize,” Julian insists, guiding your offered palm gently, “I...I actually should be the one to apologize.” He bites his lip, thinking of some unknown err. 

You glance at him as the two of you step out the front door together, waved off by your staff.

“Whatever for…?”

Julian looks sheepish, rounding you both to the carriage door and opening it for you.

“I....well!”  He pauses, the words sticking in his mouth. “I was...told by a confidant very recently that the medical gala may have some things that are not...er, conducive for a romantic atmosphere. So I must ask...you’re not squeamish of leeches, are you?”

.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:.・゜゜・✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:・゜゜・．✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

AN: Do not copy, repost, or edit. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

[senorarelojes]

Pizzaverse artwork and ficlet: 'A Little Piece'

@maiyashu made this really cute and beautiful Instagram post of Pizzaverse Dave being silly and drawing little monsters/creatures on the notes he leaves for Alan and their kids around the house. Of course, Alan shows off his husband's work on Instagram. Under the artwork is an accompanying ficlet set in the future for the Pizzaverse timeline. Thank you dear Shu for your gorgeous (and funny) artwork! Happy Father's Day to the boys!

Title: A Little Piece Pairing: Dave/Alan Rating: General Tags: Pizzaverse, Kid Fic, Fluff

Dave was always amused whenever Alan teased him about being the one in their relationship who was more addicted to social media. It seemed they were both on an even keel; Alan posted more often, while Dave had a variety of accounts across various platforms that he’d lost interest in after the initial posting frenzy. They had their different addictions too: Dave liked the spontaneity of Twitter and TikTok, while Alan for some reason preferred Facebook and Reddit. But Instagram was their common vice, and most of their friend circle were on it as well.

Before fatherhood, Dave had imagined that his use of social media would dwindle because he simply wouldn’t have the time. But instead he’d found the opposite to be true: now he wanted to post about Alan, Paris and Stella all the time, and he didn’t even care if no one outside their family and a few chosen friends would find it cute.

Of course, both Dave and Alan took care to obscure the faces of their daughters. But the adorable things they did were up for grabs: Paris’ first steps, then followed by Stella’s in a few years. Their first stuffed toys. Their first drawings. Dave shamelessly spammed his IG feed with various pictures and videos, and refused to feel bad about it because Martin was doing the same with his kids, and so was Fletch, who seemed convinced that his daughter was a maths prodigy.

Of course, Dave posted pictures of Alan on his feed as well. Naturally his husband was usually included if it was a picture or video with one of the girls, such as Alan helping Paris with her homework or feeding Stella at dinnertime. But sometimes Dave saved a few precious shots he’d snuck on his phone, like Alan frowning at the computer in his tiny makeshift home studio, or stealing a rare moment after the girls had gone to bed to listen to one of the many records he owned. Those didn’t get as many likes and comments as anything Dave posted of the girls, but he didn’t care much.

In truth, Dave would have probably gone on like this if Alan hadn’t taken him aside one night and asked him why he’d stopped posting pictures of his art. “My art?” Dave echoed, genuinely surprised that Alan had been keeping track because Dave certainly hadn’t.

“Yeah, your paintings.” Alan gestured towards Dave’s most recent effort, which was a white cat posing regally by a candle. Even that had been painted more than a year ago, before Stella had come into their lives. “You don’t really post them anymore. Or paint much more, for that matter.”

Dave just kept staring at Alan in astonishment. When they had gotten married and subsequently made the decision to become parents via surrogacy, it had been pretty much an unspoken agreement between them that family and work would have higher priority. This meant their hobbies were naturally the first thing to be sacrificed for time, and Dave had been fine with that. They hadn’t touched the band in years, not since the last time everyone had performed at Martin’s wedding.

But now Dave realised that he missed painting with an ache like a phantom limb, like something that had always been a part of him was now oddly missing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d picked up a paintbrush for the hell of it. Everything he’d designed or illustrated over the past year had solely been for work, and that thought pained him like a spike through his solar plexus.

In contrast, Alan - who had always been very driven and disciplined - seemed to have no problem reviving his interests in mixing and composing after Stella had started sleeping at more regular hours. So Dave didn't even have the excuse of fatherhood.

“You should pick it up again,” Alan told him with a gentle squeeze of his hand, before moving on to the topic of Father’s Day, which was coming up. Dave just nodded distractedly when Alan suggested ordering in brunch from a nice restaurant, still preoccupied with thoughts of Alan’s mind-blowing revelation.

After that conversation with Alan, Dave decided to try and carve out time for painting. Although that wasn’t always possible, he did want to show Alan he was trying, so he started with small gestures. If he left reminders and post-its for Alan around the house, he’d be sure to draw a funny cartoon to accompany his loopy handwriting, like a sentient postbox (to remind Alan to go to the post office) or a funny caricature of Martin and Fletch (to ask Alan if he wanted to have dinner and catch up with them).

Alan never really mentioned the little drawings beyond an amused eye-roll, but Dave knew Alan was never particularly verbose about his true sentiments anyway. Dave had learned to look towards Alan’s actions instead. Sure enough, Alan started taking pictures of Dave’s little drawings and posting them on Instagram with an accompanying dry and witty caption, along with the hashtag ‘#artisthusband’. To Dave’s surprise, it really took off among their friends and other family members, and Dave always had to fend off demands from his mum and Sue about more cute artwork everytime he called home.

Since Paris and Stella loved the drawings too, he started drawing little monsters for them on their paper lunch bags, which he would prepare for them before Alan would drop them off at daycare. It wasn’t long before Alan started posting these on Instagram too, and his comment section would get animated at times because Martin, Fletch, Paul, Daryl and the rest would start discussing which creature Dave had meant to draw. He didn’t have the heart to tell them he’d made them all up on the spot.

Having Alan’s support like this, even for his silly little drawings, was more fulfilling and touching than Dave had expected. So he’d really meant it when he said he was going to get art supplies, but more often than not Dave would get distracted and buy Elsa colouring books for the girls instead. Alan hadn’t said anything at all, but Dave knew how to read him pretty well by now. His husband was definitely planning something.

On the morning of Father’s Day, Dave was the first out of bed so he put in the order at the restaurant before going for a run in Hyde Park. His metabolism wasn’t what it used to be, and he’d gotten into the habit of eating off the girls’ plates whenever they couldn’t finish their food. Alan was a really good cook too, so Dave knew he had to fit in a run today if he was going to be feasting on french toast and eggs benedict for Father’s Day.

When he got home, he thought he spotted Alan in the study with a giggling Paris and Stella. “Hello, my loves,” he yelled out at the door, even more mystified when Alan quickly stepped out of the study with the girls, closing the door hurriedly behind them.

“The food’s just got delivered, I’ll set the table,” Alan told him with a too-bright smile. ‘You go shower first, yeah?”

Dave decided to let his suspicious behaviour go for now. “Alright, sure.” He loped over to where they were, giving Alan a brief kiss and a I’m-on-to-you squint before bending down to stretch his arms out to the girls. “Can I get a hug first?”

“Daddy’s stinky!” Paris protested laughingly, while an uncomprehending Stella just giggled along with her older sister.

Dave’s jaw dropped in mock outrage. “Stinky, am I? How about I make you stinky too, huh?” He pretended to chase a squealing Paris and Stella for a hug, laughing when they ran to hide behind an amused Alan’s legs.

“Just go shower, the food’s getting cold, you lunatic.” Alan shook his head at Dave with a grin before shepherding the girls to the dining area. Dave left him to it, washing up quickly so he could join his family for breakfast.

However, he wasn’t expecting to find Alan and the girls waiting for him outside the bedroom, all of them grinning innocently at him. “What’s going on?” a suspicious Dave asked.

Paris took his hand and tugged him to the study, Alan picking up Stella and following with her in his arms. When Paris pushed open the door, Dave stared in shock at the brand new easel waiting for him, along with the art supplies neatly piled on top of a blank canvas. He stepped forward, picking up the paints and brushes with trembling hands. Alan had gotten everything right, remembered every detail from when Dave used to paint before they’d gotten married and become fathers.

“I had to take a bit out of the holiday budget for this,” came Alan’s soft voice behind him. “But it’s worth it for me to delay our trip. I’d rather see you painting again.”

“We want more of Daddy’s paper monsters!” Paris declared gleefully, while Stella stared at all of them in bafflement.

“I--” Dave just couldn’t speak. His heart was so full, like it was going to overflow with joy and sentiment and his overwhelming love for his family. There were simply no words that could possibly encapsulate the emotions warring within him now, so instead he grabbed Alan and the girls to him in a tight hug, his breaths ragged and his eyes wet.

“Happy Father’s Day,” Alan said quietly, the smile evident in his voice even though Dave couldn’t quite see his face.

“You too, Al.” Dave pulled away to kiss him, then smothered his squealing girls with equal affection.

[gottawriteanegoortwo]

Yancy x Illinois - First Impressions Aren’t Always the Best

I decided to try properly writing Yanois, just to see how I’d manage it. After rewatching Illinois’ scenes, I think he would get on the nerves of the Yancy I write at first.

Word Count 2,122

(Read more because Illinois talks so much...)

-

Happy Trails Penitentiary was renowned for its rehabilitation initiatives. They had a wide variety of classes and visitors to help prisoners. Educational courses, chances to learn new skills, pen pal projects. Many prisoners would never have the opportunity for such experiences, and it was an integral part of helping them prepare for a better life outside of prison when their sentence was finished.

There was one visitor that most prisoners in Yancy’s ‘Gang’ adored. His name was Illinois, a renowned adventurer and archaeologist. Between his job in the university and research trips, he only had time to visit once every few months. It worked in his favour, as those that wanted to visit were able to to hear the various stories that Illinois was more than happy to tell. Not only that, it would encourage the small ‘fan club’ among the younger prisoners.

It was one of the few events that Yancy avoided. Something about Illinois rubbed him the wrong way. He was so arrogant and cocky, acting like the world revolved around him. It wasn’t an act, either. Yancy had spotted Illinois speaking to the Warden on his first visit two years earlier, and he acted the exact same way as he did in the talk that happened that day. After that, Yancy decided he didn’t want anything to do with the adventurer. But if Illinois were to ever become an inmate? Yancy would make sure Illinois had the snot beaten out of him within the first week.

Unfortunately, a lot of the Gang were of the opposite view, especially those around Yancy’s age. To them, Illinois walked straight out of an adventure movie and lived the ideal life. What prisoner didn’t dream of going exploring in uncharted territories? It meant that they would frequently share Illinois’ tales in rec yard when he came to visit. Yancy would roll his eyes, but keep quiet. Let them have their fun.

Today was the day that Illinois visited the prison. It had been over three months since the last visit, so there was an excited buzz among individuals in the Gang. Yancy spent the morning bracing himself. There was a talk after lunch that the others would go to, which would mean the rest of the afternoon and evening would be nothing but historical chatter and “Illinois is so cool!”. He would grumble, but he would keep that to himself. It wasn’t fair to deflate their excitement. He went to the library, found some random book and focused on that for the day. Then, once they had their excitement, it would die down and Yancy could enjoy more casual conversation.

Which was the plan… Until Bam-Bam pleaded for him to go to the last talk of the day. It turned out that his shift clashed with the talk everyone else they knew went to, and he didn’t want to go alone. Begrudgingly, Yancy closed the book, returned it to the shelf, and followed Bam-Bam. A flaw of being a loyal friend was knowing when to swallow your pride and do something you would rather not do.

-

When you go to something with low expectations, it can be incredibly difficult to feel the time was used in a worthwhile manner. Some might have memories of a teacher they hated, or a family gathering they had been dreading. This was a similar position to what Yancy found himself in. One of the ‘classrooms’ had been adjusted slightly to allow various displays to take center stage, with the chairs in neat rows in front of it. Bam-Bam and Yancy claimed two seats at the back, allowing the greaser to slouch in the chair with his arms crossed. Then, once more prisoners had arrived, the talk began.

On and on Illinois went, droning endlessly in that slow drawl. Yancy wished he had a TV remote to speed up the talking a fraction. Was Illinois focused on making sure everyone could understand him, or did he want to prolong the joy of hearing himself talk? It might have been more tolerable if Bam-Bam wasn’t genuinely engrossed in the lecture. They could have made amusing comments throughout. Instead, Yancy was stuck. Sure, history was interesting, but Illinois really drove home the stereotype of boring history teachers. The ‘adventures’ even sounded cliché and fake. Maybe he should have taken the book with him after all...

A painfully slow half hour passed. Once the talk was over, Illinois would literally open the floor to the other prisoners. The chairs would be pushed aside and those that wanted to look at the items Illinois brought were welcome to do so. Yancy was dragged along to view the pieces. Most of the articles were dated to be approximately eight thousand years old. What caught Bam-Bam’s attention was a stone carving that vaguely resembled a cat.

“Ahhh, I see the ‘White Jaguar’ has caught your attention.” Yancy had to repress a shudder at the smooth voice interrupting their own questions back and forth. Illinois stepped over, resting an arm against the perspex container. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she? A miracle we even found her in the first place. She was why I wasn’t able to visit like I said I would last month.” Bam-Bam’s eager question had Illinois chuckle and shake his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m sure you two gentlemen have much better things to do than hear about how I nearly lost my right hand in my most recent adventure.” When Bam-Bam insisted otherwise, Illinois smirked (and Yancy nearly gagged).

“If you insist. While on our recent dig, I noticed one of the ruins had a floor panel that looked a little different from the rest. It took a little persuasion, but I got that pesky stone up. There, sprawled out before me, was a staircase leading down into the earth. I picked up one of the torches and made my way down. Slowly, I delved deeper into the darkness. One step gave way under me to set off a series of poison-dipped darts, but I was able to dodge them all without breaking a sweat.” Illinois continued, dramatically regaling every single trap that he encountered until he found the White Jaguar. When taking everything around it, he surmised that the owner of the house had been a thief. The jaguar motif was familiar, as he had noticed something similar in a nearby cave that had been repurposed at the time as a sacred spot.

“- Now, this heart of this cave was still guarded by ancient jaguar spirits. They rattled the large statues as I approached, obviously sensing the treasure I carried. In the middle, there was a jaguar’s head carved out of stone. Its jaw was open wide and I couldn’t help but feel as though it was just the right spot for this precious lady. But then, skeletons of what I assume were magic users from an era long gone by pounced and tried to wrestle the statue off me, but I was too fast for them. At last, I reached the carved head, put the White Jaguar in the mouth… and the stone head moved, trapping my arm in a ferocious bite!” He gestured to the cloth wrapped around his right wrist. It was unwrapped just enough to show the healing bite marks. “It had the strength to bite it clean off, but relented when it realised what I had done by offering my arm as blood payment to return -”

“Wait wait wait.” Yancy’s interruption had Bam-Bam elbow him, but it didn’t stop the objection. “That can’t be right. If youse managed to bring this back to where it’s meant to be, why the fuck is it here?”

“An excellent question. This is my recreation of it. I am no thief. I return artefacts to where they belong. Archaeology has a rotten connection with thievery, and I try to rectify the mistakes of my predecessors.”

“So then this entire thing could be bullshit!” Yancy scoffed. “Bam-Bam, this guy just got bitten by someone’s dog and has made this pile of baloney to hide that.”

“Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“Well, I ain’t calling you a ‘truther’, that’s for sure!”

Yancy was ready for a proper argument. In fact, he was hoping for one. Instead… Illinois laughed, and it wasn’t that typical ‘cocky chuckle’. It was a bright, genuine laugh. He could almost see Bam-Bam go starry-eyed at such a rare moment. Typical Yancy. Getting more attention from Illinois when he wanted to rile him up.

“I suppose it all does sound rather suspicious when you put it that way. Let me show you something.” Illinois gestured for the pair to follow him toward a display of photographs. Instead of pointing to these, he instead reached for his briefcase. A small photo album was pulled out. Yancy noticed that it was dated three months prior. While Illinois flipped through it, both prisoners could see what looked like an area that had been dug up. It matched the pictures in front of them of an excavation site. At last, Illinois found what he was looking for.

“One Guardian Jaguar, complete with the White Jaguar in its mouth. As you can see, the teeth have fresh blood on them. It was an… Oddly tranquil sight, despite the unfortunate situation.”

“So then why act like these are the real deal? People just take youse’s word for it?”

“Normally those that attend my talks know that what I show are my artistic recreations for purely educational purposes. I suppose I do take for granted that those who attend here are invested regulars.” Illinois gave a small shrug. “It’s an easy mistake to forget to remind people who might be new to my talks. I’m sorry if you thought I was a fraud, but I am the real deal. Too good to be true, yet here I am.”

“Yeah yeah, ‘sucks that I’m perfect as shit’, I get it. Least you knows not to make that mistake again.” Yancy rocked back on his heel with the intention of turning and walking away.

“Now now. I can’t let you walk off like that. Take this.” Another item was pulled out of his briefcase. “I made this smaller model of the White Jaguar as a ‘first draft’. I was intending on using it as motivation to my first-year students but… I think it should stay here with you.” Illinois took the opportunity to reach for Yancy’s hand. The small clay model was gently placed in it before Illinois curled Yancy’s fingers over it to keep it in place. His hands stayed where they were as he continued, “We think the White Jaguar was a symbol of good fortune. Perhaps it might bring you some good luck.” He smiled at Yancy, only to have the moment broken by the guard announcing that there were five minutes before the prisoners had to return to their cells for the afternoon count. Yancy took the chance to quickly leave the room without as much as a ‘goodbye’. At least his friend, who introduced himself as Bam-Bam, quickly thanked Illinois before darting out.

A few more questions were asked of him by other prisoners and curious staff; and then it was time to tidy up to bring everything back to the university. It was only when he reached the White Jaguar model did Illinois hesitate. There was something about that abrasive prisoner he couldn’t put his finger on. Was it because he seemed uninterested in the adventurer? Or was there something else? It was a rare moment that Illinois wished he’d had an excuse to chat to the prisoner longer. Maybe not here, but somewhere quieter. Just the two of them.

Huh… Was this what an attraction felt like? He joked about others falling in love with him so often, he wasn’t sure if this was payback for never returning interest in others. He was drawn toward a prisoner that seemed keen to dismiss his hard work and reputation. And worse! Illinois didn’t even know his name!

Then again… A good adventurer always loves the thrill of a mystery. Maybe he could try and find that prisoner next time he visited. Now that the university was open again, he’d be able to drop by more frequently…

--

For what it was worth, Yancy also had a mystery on his hands.

Namely, how to get away from Bam-Bam - who would not SHUT UP about their prolonged conversation with Illinois - and half the gang - who were incredibly jealous Yancy got a gift from the Illinois!

He dropped his head against the chow hall table with a low ‘thunk’. This was the opposite of getting the others to stop talking about Illinois around him!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Little Things in Life - 6

Warnings: cheating, non-consent sex (series); toyplay

This is dark!Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Summary: Your suburban life begins to show cracks and your next door neighbour, Steve Rogers, seems intent on shattering what’s left.

Note: I’m a bit all over so forgive me if I bounce around but thank you to all of you lovely readers. Weekend might be a bit of a break for me and I am doing Sinday Drabble for Sunday. :D I do appreciate you all reading. Thanks to everyone for their feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Based on this drabble

You helped Sharon clean up after dinner. Well, you actually did most of the work. She was on her second margarita and you had filled your glass with water. She was regaling you as you washed the dishes with a story about how Hailey down the street had torn her pants in front of her very attractive trainer.

You wondered for a moment if it was inevitable. In this neighbourhood, as dulcet as it was, that one’s eye should wander eventually. Or was it some innate flaw of humanity? You finished drying up as Sharon showed you where it all went. You were reluctant to leave the shiny, marble kitchen.

Steve and Logan barely noticed as you and Sharon entered. Steve stood by the mantle over the artificial fireplace, his hand on the brick as he watched a dusty player slide for third. Logan grumbled at the out and adjusted the leather recliner. Sharon sat on the sofa and you followed her meekly; as if she could protect you.

“How about that selfie?” Steve’s eyes found you as his hand slid along the wooden mantle. He tapped the old metal propped up on its stand. “I promised.”

“Oh, you and your war toys.” Sharon rolled her eyes. “I never took trophies.”

“You never were much for sentiment,” Steve flicked two fingers for you to get up. “Come on.”

He lifted the helmet and the straps hung loosely. You glanced at Sharon and she rolled her eyes. She gulped a mouthful of the melted cocktail and you stood. You crossed to Steve and came up before him shyly. He lowered the heavy helmet onto your head. He fumbled with the straps, his fingers tickling your neck and chin as he did it up.

“Your phone?” He asked.

“Oh, shoot, it’s in my sweater,” You huffed as you reached up to the helmet.. “You know what, I don’t need the picture.”

“Stay here,” He held up a hand to stop you from moving. “Right back.” 

He strode quickly into the hall and you waited quietly as Sharon finished her drink. Logan flicked to another game and you picked at your braided belt. Steve returned with your phone. He handed it to you and you swiftly unlocked it and gave it back.

“Smile,” He said.

He stepped back and framed you with the lens. You gave a thin smile and he snapped the photo. He took another and returned the phone to you. You thanked him quietly and loosed the strap under your chin. He removed the helmet and placed it back on the mantle.

“Now you can brag to all your friends,” He chimed and you went to sit on the sofa beside Sharon.

“Steve, I’m her friend,” Sharon snickered. “And I don’t care.”

He laughed but there was something in the glimmer of his eyes that told you it wasn’t genuine. He crossed his arms and paced across the room.

“I’m sure she has lots of friends,” He stopped just behind the corner of the couch where you sat. “I bought some ice cream bars for dessert if anyone’s interested.”

“I can’t,” Sharon replied. “I’m still shedding my baby weight.”

“I’ll have one,” Logan accepted. “And I’ll have hers too.”

“And you,” Steve tapped your shoulder.

“Sure,” You kept your head down. “Thank you.”

🏠

Logan was well past buzzed by the time you got home. You didn’t feel bad that he had to get up early for work the next day. He stumbled into bed on his own as you hung your sweater on the hook on the back of the door. Your hand brushed something hard in the shallow pocket and you stopped.

You’d already plugged in your phone as it sat on the night table. You peered over your shoulder and slowly reached into the pocket. Logan’s breaths got heavier and longer. You scooped out the tubular object and a paper fluttered to the floor. You knelt and turned the lipstick in your hand.

You stood and unfolded the square of paper. The border was framed in red and blue. The letters scratched across the white space was slanted cursive. ‘I hope you think of me as much as I think of you.’ 

You stared at the lipstick and popped the lid of. The tip was plastic and you felt along the end. You hit the small button there and it buzzed against your hand. You flinched and looked over at the bed. Logan was snoring.

You hit the button again and again. Several times before it stopped. You were mortified. You ripped up the small paper and tossed it away in the bathroom bin. You put the fake lipstick in your makeup box and shoved it back under the sink.

You went back into the bedroom and changed into your loose cotton nightie. You turned off the light and laid down next to your husband. Your phone vibrated beside you and you ignored it. It vibed again and you sighed. You grabbed it, careful not to unplug it and looked at the screen.

‘Lights out, honey,’ The number was unknown but you could guess at the sender. ‘Hope you have fun with your new toy.’

You deleted the text and muted your phone. You placed it face down and rolled onto your stomach. You should’ve drank more; at least then, you would be able to sleep.

🏠

Logan left early. You stayed in bed until he was gone, pretending to sleep as you heard him downstairs. You drank your coffee as you stared at the fridge. The drawing Kayla had made for you weeks ago hung from a flower-shaped magnet. You smiled as your eyes pricked. 

How had everything gone to shit so fast?

Your mother said she’d bring Kayla back just before dinner. A day alone was a rare luxury but now it was purgatory. You needed the distraction of your daughter’s insatiable curiosity. You could work and keep your mind on your computer. At this rate, you’d be ahead of schedule. Ahead of schedule and listless, great.

You leaned back in your chair as your eyes turned bleary from staring at the monitor. You touched your temples and the wheels squeaked as you pressed yourself against the worn pleather. You sighed and dropped your arms. Your mind flew back to all the thoughts you were avoiding, not that they ever truly relented.

“Busy?” Steve’s voice frightened you.

You nearly overturned the chair as you spun around and rolled it back until it was touching the desk. You gripped the arms as your lip trembled.

“What the hell? How did you get in here?” You snarled.

He leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and one foot leaned against the other.

“Looks like you’ve got an empty house.” He commented. 

“I… have to go get Kayla soon,” You lied. “You should go.”

He smirked and hooked his thumb in the top of his jeans pocket.

“Hey, I just came over to chat,” He said.

“And you just walk in without knocking?” You asked.

He chuckled and stood straight. 

“I texted you.” He raised his eyebrows as he came closer. “You didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, that’s usually a hint.” You stood up. “Go. Now.” You reached behind you for your phone just beside your keyboard. “I will call the police.”

“Why, officer, she asked me to help her out with some stuff around the house? You know, he husband’s never home and she has a broken faucet. I was just being neighbourly,” He feigned innocence as he neared. “Then she just… well, I guess she was lonely and when I reminded her that I had a wife, that she’s married too, she just changed. So angry.”

“You’re insane,” You breathed. “Fine, I’ll call Logan.”

“Do you think he’d leave her to come sate your paranoia? Do you think he’d believe you?” 

“Please, I’m begging you, leave me alone. I have a daughter. I can’t--”

“Shhh,” He was before you in an instant, his hands on your arms. He eased you back to your chair and pushed until you sat. “I just want you to answer a few questions, honey.”

“You’re really scaring me,” You leaned into the chair as if you could dissolve into it. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I like the way your ass looks when you’re bent over my pool table,” He retorted as he stood and his hands went to his hips. “Now, let’s calm down.”

You watched him pace back and forth. He looked at the framed flowers along your wall. A rose from your wedding bouquet hung by the window. You stood and he turned quickly. He was on you before you could reach the door. He wrestled you back to the chair and sat you down. He knelt in front of you, his hands on your thighs as he held you in place.

“No,” He warned as his eyes bore into yours. “So… did you use it?”

Your lips parted. You were breathless. You shook your head and his tongue poked out between his lips. His fingers kneaded your thighs. You still wore the night shirt you’d slept in, they barely concealed the polka-dot panties beneath.

“Did you want to?” He asked.

You frowned and blinked at him.

“Honey, just answer me.” He coaxed.

You looked down at his hands, his fingers rubbing along the hem of your nightie. You bit your lip as he squeezed your legs and you nodded. Your stomach was in knots.

“Use your words,” He urged.

You kept your chin down. “Yes,” You quavered. “Okay?”

“So why didn’t you?” 

“Steve, stop,” You grabbed his hands as they crawled higher. “Go home. To Sharon. Your daughter.”

“I would if Sharon would let me,” He sneered and you glanced up at him. “We just got into some spat about her return to work. You know, she’ll find any little thing to bitch at me about. I give her everything and what do I get?”

“She’s still your wife,” You argued. “And I still have a husband.”

He tilted his head and his face darkened. He stood slowly and let out a long breath.

“Where is it?” He asked.

“What?”

“The toy.” 

You swallowed and shivered at the tone of his voice.

“The bathroom attached to my room. Under the sink in the make-up bag.” You said quietly. “Upstairs. Second door on the left.”

He smiled again and took careful steps towards the door. He turned back as he gripped the door frame.

“Stay here.” He ordered. “I don’t want to have to stop you, honey. And you don’t want that either.”

His knuckles whitened as the door frame groaned. The trim suddenly fell away in his hand and his eyes rounded. 

“Oops,” He said dryly. “Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

He left and you listened to the soft creak of the stairs. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You clamped your lips shut and looked around the room. You reached for your phone. Your finger hovered over ‘emergency call’. His words replayed in your head. You didn’t need Kayla coming home to cop cars. 

You set your phone down as you heard him coming. He entered with the faux lipstick and twirled it between his fingers. You made to stand and he tutted.

“Stay,” He said. “I told you.”

You sat back and clung to the arms of the chair. He got to his knees again and you shuddered. He touched your knees and you pushed your legs together tightly. The vibe pressed against your skin and he pushed harder.

“Honey,” He cooed. “Don’t make this difficult. I can tell by the way you’re shaking how bad you want it.”

“I don’t--” You gasped as he pulled your legs apart. He was terrifyingly strong.

He rolled the vibe along your inner leg as he shushed you. His eyes followed his hands as they crawled up your thighs. He pressed the toy against the front of your panties and clicked the button. You inhaled sharply and your nails dug into the arms of the chair.

“Please, Steve, I have to--”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” He said as his other hand slipped under your shirt. “I just want to make you feel good.”

He tickled your stomach and cupped your breast. He moved the vibe against your panties and you let out a wispy moan. The friction sent a buzz through you and you closed your eyes in shame. You threw your head back as he clicked the button again and the toy sped up. He flicked and teased your nipple as your heart raced. You felt as if you were floating, waiting for the steep descent.

Your orgasm shook you. The noise which escaped you was strangled and desperate. Your legs closed around Steve’s hand and you arched your back as you topped the peak. You panted as he slowly drew away, dragging his fingers along your panties as your cum soaked through them.

“Take your panties off,” He stood and admired the wet toy. “Now.”

You hesitated but his blue eyes startled you as he turned his attention on you. They were dark, dilated. You rose and shakily rolled the cotton down your legs. You lifted them and Steve snatched them from you.

“Something to tide me over,” He smiled as he tucked them into his pocket. His jeans could barely restrain his erection. He shoved the vibe into your hand.  “And you, too.”

[kunstpause-archive]

Read on Ao3

Day 8: Adroit

And again some more modern a - I swear I am also going to write something else this month - eventually 😅

Emet/Reader

When Hades shows up the following evening, he holds to boxes of steaming Thai food in his hands, insisting that if you are already staying late, you should do so with a somewhat decent dinner. And it’s definitely more than decent. Not to mention the company is delightful. You talk about this and that, not even looking at the time as you tell him how you are slowly making your new apartment habitable. Hades meanwhile regales you with some more anecdotes of his friend upstairs and his never-ending quest to get him to work less. Over an hour has passed until you finally get around to talking about anything work-related.

“So, what kind of name is ‘Emet-Selch’ actually?” you ask the question that has been repeatedly on your mind.

In front of you, Hades coughs, needing a moment to not choke on his food before he looks at you with a question written all over his face.

“Pardon me?” he murmurs. “What?”

“The boss,” you point out. “I’ve wondered about that; it sounds like a strange name, don’t you think?”

“It’s more akin to a title, actually,” he says after clearing his throat, and that information makes you perk up.

“It is? Oh, kinda like a stage name?” you wonder. “That makes sense; I guess he is an artist, after all.” With a frown, you add, “So what’s his real name then?”

Across from you, Hades lets out a laugh. “I am sure you can easily find that out by employing twenty seconds of your time into a search engine, my dear.”

You shake your head vehemently.

“I am not going to google my boss; what if I find out something I really didn’t wanna know?”

He looks at you across the rim of his glasses like you lost your mind.

“And how is this any different?” Hades asks with a raised brow. “You don’t know what kind of stories I could tell you, after all.”

“Yeah, but then it would be your fault for blabbing and not mine for snooping,” you claim, nodding gravely to underline your point.

“That… is not how it works,” Hades mumbles before he goes back to his food with a shake of his head. “Seriously, you have not looked up the company you’ve come to work for even once?”

You had not. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it, but ultimately, you had decided against it, and so you give him a shrug.

“It has a splendid reputation, everyone in my class wanted a job here, and I didn’t see the point,” you say before grabbing another bite. “I guess I just like to make my own impressions?”

“An admirable attitude,” Hades murmurs with another shake of his head. “If, perhaps, prone to complications.”

“Huh?” At his muttered afterthought, you look up, but he just waves it aside.

“Ah, don’t mind me.”

You finish your dinner with some more not work-related talk, and before he leaves to get some more work done himself, you give him the small folder you prepared with your proposed changes. He assures you that he will forward them once again as he wishes you a good night and a relaxing weekend.

You have both, but you are almost tempted to go to work on a Sunday for having nothing better to do. You could finally unpack the rest of your things, get your apartment into a state that is actually comfortable to live in, but you’re still not feeling like it. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s not necessarily the work itself you miss and wanna sit around at the company for. Out of all the people you have met over the past week, you definitely like Hades the most. He is kind, thoughtful, unobtrusive, and he listens to your complaints as well as talks to you whenever you both seem to have a little time. And sometimes… Sometimes you notice his eyes sparkle when he looks at you, and it is not only a welcome sight; it is one that sends little jolts of excitement through you each time you catch him. It doesn’t even matter that you have basically just met the man or that he seems to be a good few years older than you - you would like nothing more than to get to know him better.

A feeling that only grows on Monday when you go through your inbox, and an email from your boss already contains some parts of your proposed changes, together with a small thank you note for your very skillfuly adjustments. Hades didn’t waste any time relaying your thoughts, it seems, and you smile to yourself before you decide to visit the coffee cart downstairs and get him something as a thank you. You have no idea what he likes, except for coffee, of course, but the elderly lady behind the counter knows her customers, and a little while later, you are on your way up to his floor, carrying glazed donuts with you. You wouldn’t have suspected him of having a sweet tooth, but the coffee cart lady insisted that those were his favorite.

When you exit the elevator, you look around. You have no idea where his office is precisely, only the floor it’s on. You’ll simply have to ask the next person you see to point you in the right direction.

It turns out to be unnecessary, as you round a corner and practically run into the man himself.

“Persephone,” he greets you with a confused look, holding your shoulders steady to keep you from stumbling. “What are you doing here?”

The way he seems so surprised but at the same time genuinely happy to see you makes you smile. He looks a little different, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that, for once, he is not wearing glasses.

“Looking for you,” you say, holding up the bag with the baked goods to show him. “I brought a thank you for playing messenger for me.”

He looks a bit confused, but as he sees what’s in your hand, his eyes light up.

“Are those donuts?”

“You really do have a sweet tooth,” you laugh as you nod. “So, I was wond-”

You stop talking in surprise as his hands around your shoulders tighten, and he pulls you further around the corner all of a sudden, looking past you with a slight frown.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, unsure just how to react when Hades motions you to be quiet.

“Shhh, I think I saw Hythlodaeus,” he whispers, and now he has you thoroughly confused.

“Your friend?” you murmur back as you wonder about the sudden secrecy.

“He is trying to rope me into something, and I am avoiding him,” he explains quietly, shifting you just a little so he can peek around the corner. “Oh no,” he murmurs. “He’s heading straight this way. Get in there.”

He nudges you through the door right next to you into an empty office. Everything goes fast, and before you know it, you find yourself on the inside, slightly wedged between the office door and Hades, who quietly snaps the lock shut.

You look at him questioningly, trying to make sense of all this when he puts a finger over his lips, indicating you not to make a sound.

A second later, you nearly flinch when someone knocks sharply at the door.

“Hades, are you in there?” an impatient voice asks, and in front of you, Hades mouths the word ‘Hyth’ in a quiet explanation.

“You can’t avoid me forever, you know?” the voice comes again. “This fundraiser is happening, you are going, and if you want to look approachable for once, you’re bringing someone.!”

You have to swallow down a giggle as you realize what it is he is trying to avoid. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise you. He doesn’t seem like the very outgoing type.

“Come on,” comes Hyth’s voice again through the door. “You could ask that cute singing girl from downstairs you’ve been mooning over to come with you; it will be fun!”

Hades winces slightly in front of you, and your eyes widen at those last words as a sudden feeling of giddiness has your stomach jump. With the way Hades looks at you almost apologetically by now, there is little chance his friend means anyone else, and the thought is nothing if not exciting.

“I’ll just be back…” the voice from outside claims before you can hear the sound of someone walking away.

For a moment, you stay quiet, almost unwilling to say something. The slight tension in the air is far too precious, after all. But at the same time, you are not the calmest or most patient person, after all.

“Cute singing girl from downstairs?” you comment with a raised eyebrow, and for a moment, Hades has a sheepish look on his face.

“Well…” he starts, but before he can say anything more, you give him a playful wink.

“You know, I think I’ve heard of her,” you say with a knowing look. “Rumor has it she has been slightly mooning herself about some upstairs guy. So…” you trail off for a moment, grinning at him. “If you ask her, she might actually say yes.”

Something between you shifts as the sheepish look from earlier is completely gone from his face now, replaced by something decidedly different. Unveiled interest is in his eyes as a slow smile spreads across his face.

“Is that so?” Hades murmurs in a low voice, and you are suddenly acutely aware of just how close he is.

His arm against the door, he half cages you in, and with the way he is so much taller than you are, he is practically filling out your whole view. He gives you a long look, and then his other hand rises, and your stomach flutters as his fingers graze your cheek, gently brushing over your skin as he draws a strand of hair out of your face. He tugs it behind your ear, fingertips ghosting over your neck in the process, and you swallow heavily as you look up into his golden eyes that are, for once, not behind a pair of glasses. He is so close all of a sudden, and you lick your suddenly dry lips, very aware of the way his eyes follow the motion. You barely dare to breathe as you wonder if the intense way he looks at you means he is going to kiss you when his smile slightly widens.

“Good to know,” he finally says, letting his hand fall away but still keeping close.

“Are you going to ask?” you wonder with bated breath, and there is a twinkle in those warm eyes as he gives you a slight nod.

“Eventually,” Hades says, still smiling before he finally takes a step back. “But Hyth is not going to let this rest,” he adds with a frown at the door. “I’ll leave to go look for him, and you can sneak out of here a few minutes later.”

The assumption that you would somehow need to sneak out has you furrow your brow in confusion.

“Sneak out?” you ask. “Why would I need to do that?”

“You really don’t want to get people talking,” Hades says with a sigh. “Everyone on this floor is a horrible gossip; you have no idea what you’d set yourself up for if you just walked out of here.”

It doesn’t lessen your confusion at all as you wonder just why anyone would even care if you walked out of a random office with him, but before you can point that out, his hands run over your upper arms, and he nudges you to look at him.

“Persephone, I’m going to come by your office tonight, and I’m going to ask you to go to a fundraiser with me,” Hades says in a surprisingly serious voice. There is a slightly crooked half-smile on his face as he looks down at you with clear anticipation, and you smile back at him at that.

“I look forward to it,” you say with a genuine smile, but Hades doesn’t seem to be done.

“In the meantime, please do me one favor, and google this company,” he murmurs, and just like that, your confusion is back, and you scrunch your nose. “Trust me, my dear,” he insists, “You really want to know some things before you decide to say yes!”

That is not ominous at all, you think, but with a final smile, he lets go of you, unlocks the door, and is gone faster than you can process. A bit forlorn, you look at the bag still in your hand before, for the first time after being dragged in here, you look around the room. It’s the most spacious office you have ever seen. There are shelves willed with folders on one side, a couch, and a sitting area on the other, but at the center, behind a large desk, it’s the floor-to-ceiling windows that catch your eyes the most. The view from up here is so breathtaking that it takes you a few more moments to notice that some impressive things are hanging at the far wall. Honors, prizes, and rather prestigious awards. All made out to…

Emet-Selch.

You nearly let the bag of food slip from your grasp as you realize in whose office you stand, where Hades had dragged you in to. For a few seconds, you think you both can count yourself lucky that it was empty when you notice something else. There is a pair of glasses lying on the desk before you, glasses that look very familiar. You have stared at them quite a few times over the last week, after all. You realize that Hades’ colleague had straight-up assumed he was in here when knocking at the door, and behind the desk, the windows show a clear view of the nearby park as things suddenly click, and you are not sure if you are mortified, very confused or maybe even slightly angry. All you know as you put the bag from the coffee cart down on his desk for him to find later is that the first thing you will do when getting back to your office is heed his advice and look some things up. And tonight, when he shows up at your office, you will make him give you some answers.

[johannstutt413]

(requested by coldgoldlazarus)

“Hey, Rope, question.” Vanilla approached the Cautus while they were both working the northern trading post. “Did you grab a bottle of pills from my pocket earlier?”

“Maybe? Hang on...No, I’ve just got mine in my pocket.” She gave the Vouivre a thumbs-up after patting herself down.

The Vanguard reached into her bag and pulled out a prescription bottle. “You might want to check the label, because these aren’t Biggie’s stomach meds.”

“They aren’t?” She read the label on her bottle. “Oh, okay, so those are my- Oh! Oh, no...”

“It’s fine - I’m just glad we checked before you had to get your stomach pumped, and Biggie melted through his home again. Honestly, it’s really impressive you took them in the first place and remembered to give them back. I remember the last time you accidentally took my wallet and I had to ask Liz to cover lunch for me.”

Rope sighed. “Yeah, that’s good, it’s just...I didn’t want anyone to know, you know? Being infected is one thing, but if people knew, they might look at me differently.”

“...If they knew what?” The Vouivre cocked her head. “I think I’m missing something.”

“Wait, so you didn’t read the bottle?”

Vanilla was steadily getting more confused. “No, I read it, but I don’t know what it is. What do you take Aldactone for? It’s not a migraine medication, is it?”

“No, it definitely isn’t that.” She couldn’t help but chuckle a little at that; she’d forgotten who she was talking to. Telling her couldn’t hurt at this point. “It’s part of my hormone therapy so I can, uh...be the me on the outside I am on the inside, if that makes sense?”

“Not really?” The Vouivre was quick to admit.

To be fair, the Cautus never knew how to answer questions like this. “I’m a woman, but my body doesn’t match - or at least, it didn’t until I met Aak.”

“Oh!” A few puzzle pieces clicked together in her mind. “Now I get it.”

“Good, cuz I don’t know if I could find another way to explain it,” she sighed, relieved.

That didn’t mean that was her last question, though. “Do you not like talking about it?”

“No, I don’t.” For exactly this reason, honestly. “People start asking me all kinds of questions about it, and I just wanna be me, you know? That’s the whole reason I have to worry about the pills and stuff.”

“Right, sorry. I, uh, won’t ask anything else.”

Rope looked at her for a moment before sighing again. “You have a lot of questions, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Vanilla visibly relaxed. “I don’t want to bother you, though.”

“...Tell you what: buy me dinner, and I’ll answer a couple questions, whatever you’ve got. Sound good?”

That did perk the Vouivre’s interest, and, somewhat unexpectedly, a bit of a blush, too. “I’d like that, yeah. Tonight or...”

“Sure, if you don’t have plans.” That was a very enthusiastic no, apparently. “Cool. Well, I’m gonna take a break, so talk to you later!”

“Uh-huh!” Once she’d left, Vanilla let herself start breathing rapidly before pulling out her phone to text Franka. She had a favor she needed to ask.

--------------------

About an hour after dinner service opened in the cafeteria, Rope got a message from Vanilla saying she was on her way; that’d given the Cautus enough time to pick out something to wear - something without pockets, to keep herself from stealing as much stuff as she might with places to put it - and psyche herself up for a kind of awkward conversation with someone she worked with and hung out with at a couple of parties but didn’t talk to all that much otherwise. Still, that put her in the Top Ten on her “friends and associates” list, since Rope didn’t really talk a lot, period, and she was so innocent and soft...Would’ve been a good mark back in the day, honestly. Course, if she tried anything serious these days, Dobermann would chew her head off, and who knows what Blacksteel would do to her…

Ding-dong! That was her cue. The Cautus gave herself one last once-over and opened the door. “Evening, Va...Vanilla.” Holy shit, she cleaned up well.

“Good evening.” The Vouivre looked more than a little out of her element, admittedly, but that just added to the charm. “I, uh, already got us a table at a place, if that’s alright?”

“Hey, I came in from off the streets; anything’s good enough for me.” True, she did have a couple preferences, but since her...since Vanilla was paying, it wasn’t going to be an issue. What was this, exactly? And wait, didn’t this imply she’d make reservations somewhere? Like people did on dates in movies or whatever?

Doing her best not to jump to conclusions, Rope walked with Vanilla to a nice-looking Siracusan place not too far from her apartment. “This place looks nice, but you didn’t have to spoil me.”

“I know, but uh...I wanted to.” Since there was no way in hell she could be nonchalant about this, she was just going to be as genuine as possible. “We’re at a corner booth, and they aren’t too busy tonight, so we won’t have people listening in on us.”

“Well, well, I didn’t expect you to think of that. Sorry, that sounded meaner than I meant it to be.”

The Vouivre shrugged. “It’s fine - I know people don’t expect it from me. Um, are we drinking tonight, do you think?”

“It’s your money, not mine,” the Cautus replied, “but it’ll probably help if I have a lil’ wine.”

“That works. Excuse me, reservation for 2 for Vanilla?” And with that, their dinner date began.

Once they’d been seated, given a bottle of wine to start with, and ordered their meals, Rope took the lead. “So, you’ve got at least a couple questions for me, right? Wanna make this worth the cash you’re spending on me, after all.”

“How did you know?” That was the most interesting question to her. “Your body says one thing, your heart says another, how do you know which one’s right?”

“I mean, you don’t eat the wrapper, you eat the candy, right? Took some time to figure out why I felt so uncomfortable just, well, being, but as soon as I did, I knew what I wanted to do. Problem is, it’s kinda expensive to get the medications and the surgery and stuff, so for someone stealing just to eat every day, there wasn’t a lot I could do. Then I met Aak, and he helped me out a lot before I got locked up - he’s actually the one who gets me my prescriptions here, too - but I lost some progress since they wouldn’t let me take my meds in prison. The Doctor got me out of there, though, and now I have all the support I need. Sorry, that was more than you asked for.”

Vanilla smiled. “That’s alright; I wanted to ask about all of it. You know, I really had no idea. I mean, even up close, you’re so pretty, I’d never have guessed...”

“Thanks, I think.” Something about that smile raised a question in the Cautus’ mind, so she decided to try and confirm her suspicions. “Where’d you buy that dress, by the way? It looks really good on you.”

“Oh, thank you! Croissant’s resale shop, they might not have another one, but she sells a lot of good stuff for reasonable prices.” It helped that she had a concrete answer, but there was no hiding how happy the Vouivre was to receive that compliment.

Which gave Rope the confidence she needed to say, “It looks like it’s pretty easy to take off, too.”

“Yeah, it’s only got the one strap that...” Vanilla realized what’d happened when the Cautus started giggling. “I was going to ask for help with that later, but I guess you beat me to the punch.”

“If I ever had doubts I was a woman, I definitely don’t right now.”

Now the Vouivre was bright red. “Am I really that obvious?”

“You don’t wear a sign or anything,” Rope replied, still smiling genuinely, “but the way you’ve been looking at me tonight was enough.”

“Yeah, I guess I, um, have been staring...Does this count as a date?”

Rope nodded, having thought she’d regained her composure but finding more giggles to release. “It does now. Oh, man. This was the idea from the beginning, right?”

“I was going to ask you out when I went to give you your meds back,” Vanilla admitted, “so when you asked me to take you out, it was kind of perfect.”

“Wow. I played right into your hands, huh?” The Cautus hadn’t done something like that since she’d tried to pick Miss Swire’s pocket all those months ago - the thing that’d gotten her locked up, actually.

She shrugged. “You kind of did, yeah. We should probably eat our food before it gets too much colder.”

“Shit, how long have we been talking? I lost track.” The ex-thief cut into her steak, watching it bleed with a satisfied smile. “Nice and rare. Oh, sorry, you’re an animal-person, right?”

“W-well, as long as they’re raised humanely, being used for protein isn’t the worst thing that could happen to them. I mean, slugs eat meat, too, although Biggie’s actually doing really well on the low-meat high-protein diet I have him on.” At the mention of her beloved pet, her eyes lit up.

Rope leaned forward. “I’ve seen you driving him around base in a stroller before. You really love him, don’t you?”

“He’s so precious, how could you not!” And as planned, she was off. “Oh, you should have seen him the other day...”

What’d started off with an awkward moment in the trading post was quickly shaping up to be the best night either of them had had in awhile; as the Vouivre began regaling her with stories of her precious pet slugs, the Cautus ate her meal, paying close attention. Vanilla would’ve made an easy mark, it was true, but looking at her now, that was the last thing on Rope’s mind, even though she had plenty of thoughts on what she could do with her...

[synnefo-nefeli]

Working on a WIP scene for Heard Your Heart Beating, my Klapollo friends to lovers post AA5, slow-burn fic

___

//Come fix your prosecutor// read Athena’s text. Apollo groaned wondering what Klavier could have done in the hour Klavier had spent at the WAA.

He adjusted his tie in the mirror of his locker, checked to make sure that he no longer looked sweaty from his ride over from court, and shoved his cycling outfit into his locker along with his helmet.

He could hear laughing on the other side of the office’s front door so that was a good sign, he hoped, as he swiped his keycard through the lock.

“Herr Forehead has finally arrived from his battle with the courts!” Klavier beamed at him with the smile that Apollo was now coming to call “on-stage-mode”. Klavier was sitting on the sofa next to Athena, coffee cups and tea biscuits between them on the table.

He could hear Mr. Wright bustling in the office kitchenette.

“I am back,” Apollo announced, “...and I survived Blackquill-“

“Oh, is that the reason you biked back? Simon didn’t offer to give you a lift?” Athena laughed, “how mean. He needs to learn to leave it in the courtroom.”

Apollo rolled his eyes, “Probably, but I am sure it has more to do with him needing to go down to the precinct and yell at the poor detective who sent him into court with an outdated autopsy report...also, what would I have done with my bike? I don’t want to ruin the guy’s new car by stashing it in the back seat.”

Mr. Wright arrived from the kitchen, fresh pot of coffee in hand, “Wow. A defense attorney having an updated report instead of the prosecution? Never thought I’d see the day...”

Apollo flopped on the couch opposite Athena and Klavier, “Hey. Miracles do happen...and considering all of our court win-streak, we shouldn’t be too surprised that they exist.”

“Here. Here.” Klavier said amiably into his coffee looking as if he was about to attempt to change the subject. Oh, Klavier wasn’t getting away from whatever occurred before Apollo arrived so easily,

“So... what’s this about me needing to fix ‘my prosecutor’?”

Klavier made an amused expression, “Ah, is that what I am called? Well I am honored to be Herr Justice’s”

Athena rolled her eyes, “Oh stop with the charm-“ she looked at Apollo, “he doesn’t want you to know that he’s never been to the Tragic Kingdom”

Apollo stared at Klavier, “Seriously?” which earned Klavier a playful elbow to the ribs from Athena, “Told you he would react like that”

Klavier sighed, “Is it really that big of a deal? Not going to a children’s amuse-“

“HOLD IT!” Apollo didn’t care that everyone about him flinched (“Indoor voice, Polly, jeeze”, Mr. Wright muttered”), “Disneyland is for everyone,” Apollo breathed, “you seriously haven’t gone? Ever? I mean...it’s only in Anaheim. That’s less than an hour without traffic from here-“

Mr. Wright handed Apollo a cup of coffee, “It’s been a while since ‘Mr. Disney Adult’’s shown his face at the office.”

“You say that as if you don’t have an annual pass too, Mr. Wright.”

Klavier appeared lost in the conversation; it was refreshing to see Mr. Tall, Blonde and Unflappable looking out of his depth, “Is it really a big deal that I haven’t?”

“Mm...not so much,” Mr. Wright said before Apollo could object, “well it wouldn’t be a big deal if you were hanging out with someone else, but I mean considering that you two have been spending a lot of time outside of court together, I think it’s more shocking that Apollo *hasn’t* dragged you down there already.

“You act like I go there all the time-“

“Says the person who has scheduled himself to come in late on days where there are morning annual passholder events,” Athena mused, “or how about the time you, Clay and Trucy, just decided to go to Disneyland after work because you wanted corndogs for dinner”

Across from him Klavier made a face, as if silently saying “Corndogs for dinner? Really? What are you, five?”.

Apollo met ‘his prosecutor’s’ eyes, “Those corndogs are legendary, and the only ones I’ll eat,” he rebutted, not caring that Klavier hadn’t actually said anything.

“He has a point there,” agreed Mr. Wright, “so I guess the big question is- how long before Klavier gets pulled into driving Apollo down to Anaheim?”

Klavier looked around the room at all of the other attorneys as if expecting for someone to tell him suddenly that this was all an act. Apollo meanwhile was mentally running through his calendar to figure out when he would have time to properly take Klavier to the park. There was so much to do at work-not to mention, he would have to prep Klavier for his first park visit.

“Do you like amusement parks?” Apollo asked Klavier.

The blonde man simply shrugged, “I’ve only been to a few in my life. Mein family wasn’t really into things like theme parks; didn’t see the value in them as entertainment. And when I moved here, I just didn’t go-“

“Not even grad-night?” Athena asked, “Junie told me that’s what the student council is setting up for the seniors. It’s tradition. Heck, every high school in Southern California does a school trip there at least once.”

Klavier shrugged, “I graduated early, remember? I guess I could have gone to the ceremony with the class that was graduating that year, but I wanted to get mein badge so I went home as soon as I could to pass the bar in Germany.”

“There’s one in France!”

Klavier sighed, “If I asked to do anything outside of museums and cultural experiences while we were in France, I would have been left in Germany.”

“Anyway,” Athena said, “If you’re going to hang with Polly, you’re going to have to go to the parks eventually-“

Apollo felt his cheeks heat, “I mean if that’s not what you like to do for fun, you don’t have to-“

“Oh please,” Mr. Wright interrupted, “I can confidently bet that you’ve been sitting here this entire time planning a trip for him.”

Apollo crossed his arms and sat back in defeat as Athena continued to regale Klavier with anecdotes of the WAA’s trips to the parks as well as Apollo’s impromptu visits,

“Has he shown you his pin collection yet?” Athena said in a tone that was too close to the tone she liked to use whenever she teased Apollo about his and Klavier relationship not being as platonic as Apollo made them seem.

//As if she doesn’t know the actual truth// Apollo grumbled, “Okay enough. Klavier already knows I am a nerd- he doesn’t need any more evidence about it”

“Ach you’re always cool, Herr Forehead,” Klavier smiled again in “on-stage mode”, which made Apollo decide that he needed to show Klavier what he was missing.

“When’s your birthday?” Apollo blurted.

Athena groaned, “Oh my god, Apollo, haven’t you heard of Wikipedia?”

“I like that Herr Forehead doesn’t feel the need to research me, it makes a rock god like me feel practically human,” Klavier teased and then with an amiable grin, “May 23rd.

However-I told you that on Valentine’s Day, don’t you remember?” He said a little too suggestively for Apollo’s comfort,

“I’m hurt that you don’t remember… and here I thought things that were shared during sleepovers were sacred,” he added a pout for good measure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Apollo saw Athena not-so-subtly pull out of her phone to text something, most certainly to Trucy.

Great, he was not going to know peace from either of them for the foreseeable future.

Although, Apollo appreciated that Athena had the grace to attempt to hide her grin.

Whether or not Klavier was aware of what was happening next to him, Klavier only sipped at his coffee.

“So in three weeks. Great, guess what we’re doing to celebrate your 26th birthday,” Apollo announced.

“It’s on a workday.”

“Take off.”

“Don’t you have to work?” Klavier asked

Apollo turned to Mr. Wright, “Mr. Wright, may I have the 23rd off?”

“Of course. Just put it on the calendar.”

Apollo, having won the debate, smiled smugly at Klavier, “Get ready, we have a lot to do before then.”

Klavier looked genuinely confused, “Like what?!”

He was about to ask what Klavier’s favorite Disney movie was, but then Athena’s phone buzzed, “Simon’s here- he needs help bringing up the food...and Trucy says she wants to also go to Disneyland for Klavier’s birthday, I think that’s a good idea; what do you think, boss?,”

Before Apollo could say anything about Athena or Trucy inviting themselves, Mr. Wright smiled and said,

“You know what- unless something pressing comes up and Trucy doesn’t have any projects or tests at school, I think the agency needs a mental health day. Maybe Miles and Prosecutor Blackquill need one too,” he remarked walking towards his office in order to most likely call his fiancé.

Finally alone- sort of. At least until Athena and Prosecutor Blackquill came upstairs with the food. But still, alone enough to enjoy Klavier silently trying to figure out what the hell just happened...or Apollo would have enjoyed Klavier’s genuinely flummoxed expression, except that he remembered how Klavier, despite his celebrity status, didn’t like to draw attention too himself unless it was in court or on stage- and especially not in public.

It was the reason Klavier hadn’t shown up to Clay’s funeral after all. He looked at Klavier feeling guilty for putting his friend on the spot,

“Sorry, if you don’t want to- we don’t have to-“

“Nein, nein,” Klavier said with his genuine smile, “you all are so passionate about it, now I have to experience it”

“Are you sure? I didn’t even ask if that’s how you wanted to spend your birthday-I just kinda got caught up in it.”

Klavier shrugged, “Honestly, considering that I usually spent the last few dragged to stuffy VIP lounges of clubs I wasn’t interested in, with people who, as it turned out, cared less about me- I think this may be a gut change of pace.”

Well that made him feel better...and a bit sad for Klavier, “I’ll make sure you have a good time and we won’t be overwhelmed. A lot of celebrities go to Disneyland, and they don’t get mobbed- people are pretty respectful of celebrities having their time in the parks.”

“You sound as if you are familiar.”

“Clay...worked there for a summer, celebrities would come all the time as park guests. And aside from maybe helping a celebrity escape a crowd, they don’t give anyone special treatment unless they’ve paid for a guided tour-“

“Oh- are we not doing that, Herr Forehead?”

Apollo snorted,“Hell no, you’re going to stand in line for Space Mountain like the rest of us plebes.” Also I’m not about to suggest we spend $800 an hour for a theme park tour...

Klavier’s laugh was enough to make Apollo feel better and better about commandeering Klavier’s birthday. He was going to look forward to these next few weeks in getting Klavier ready for his first time at the park. The thought of movie nights made Apollo feel a bit warm inside. Warm in a way that he hadn’t felt since Klavier had comforted him during his own birthday.

The office door opened, Athena holding it open so that Simon could come through with the large box that contained their takeout dinners. Apollo braced himself for any barbed words from Athena’s prosecutor; considering how the day’s court proceedings had gone, Apollo expected some amount of sour grapes. Instead Simon ignore Apollo and incredulously regarded his co-worker with,

“You’ve seriously never been to Disneyland, Gavin-dono?”

***