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eveninglakehomeworld · 25 days ago

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hi friends and lovers, I've gathered a small collection of dialogues from Zevran in DA:O regarding Antiva & the Crows.

I got this together mostly for myself, but thought I'd share in case anyone who is maybe looking to flesh out their new Crow OC, write fanfic involving Crow characters, or is looking for a refresher on early Crow lore would like something to reference. I trimmed down dialogues a bit, so mostly just information relevant to the Crows, Antiva in general, and Zevran's own attitudes about being an assassin are present.

this post has dialogues from Zev's recruitment event and a couple of early game camp conversations. because it's only a handful of dialogues, this is, ostensibly, part 1 of several. I plan to post more as I progress through my replay of origins. enjoy! <3

Recruitment

Warden: "What are the Antivan Crows?"

Leliana: I can tell you that. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.

Zevran: Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous.

Warden: "You came all the way from Antiva?"

Zevran: Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.

[After being asked if he's loyal to Loghain]

Zevran: Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.

Warden: "And now that you've failed that service?"

Zevran: Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.

Warden: "When were you to see him next?"

Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.

Warden: "How much were you paid?"

Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.

Warden: "Then why are you one?"

Zevran: Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't give much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.

Warden: "Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"

Zevran: Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.

Warden: "I'm listening. Make it quick."

Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.

Warden: "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"

Zevran: To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on the principle of failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.

Warden: "Won't they come after you?"

Zevran: Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?

Warden: "Why would I want your service?"

Zevran: Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.

A few early game camp conversations

Conversation 1 Warden: "What does it take to become an assassin?"

Zevran: Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them. But quite frankly the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field.

Warden: "It doesn't take any special skill?"

Zevran: I don't know about that. It's simply a slightly different skill set from your average killer, as I see it. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. Debilitating your foe, either by poison or by crippling their limbs, makes any follow-up combat you need to engage in that much simpler.

Warden: "That sounds like it could be useful."

Zevran: See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery. So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?

Conversation 2 Warden: "Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"

Zevran: Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?

Warden: "You didn't choose the Crows?"

Zevran: Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.

Warden: "That sounds awful."

Zevran: "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining. [note: I transcribed the first line of the last section as it was written in the subtitles because it seemed to make more sense in context, but when Zevran speaks it aloud he actually says "That does not mean doing what is expected of you." presumably an editing error, but can't be 100% positive which is the intended message.]

[After being asked what he thinks his future might hold]

Zevran: As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one... I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.

Warden: "Won't the Crows eventually find you?"

Zevran: [laughs] Eventually can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right. Come, now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so.

Conversation 3 Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?"

Zevran: And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part, well... some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?

Warden: "You've never killed an innocent?"

Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to truly be innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens. It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.

Warden: "I suppose that's true."

Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.

Warden: "I know what you mean."

Zevran: There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules... oh, so many rules! But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?

Conversation 4 [note: I trimmed this one down a lot bc it's just one of the ones where he tells you about a job and there's not a lot to be gleaned about Antiva, how the Crows operate, etc] [In response to being asked, "The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?"]

Zevran: In Antiva, nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows. They have killed kings and queens. That's simply how it is.

[After elaborating on how he fumbled an assassination attempt and the mark died accidentally, instead of by his hand]

Zevran: Then I found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She has planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.

Conversation 5 Warden: "Tell me a little about Antiva."

Zevran: Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes.

Warden: "Don't you want to go back?"

Zevran: [sighs] It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?

Warden: "I'm not from any glittering gem, no."

Zevran: No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do! Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most.

Warden: "Is that some kind of euphemism?"

Zevran: [laughs] It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.

Warden: "That's a little bizarre. There's leather everywhere."

Zevran: Ah, but it's not Antivan leather, is it? I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but ther is no leather more supple nor more fragrant.

Warden: "You sound like you've been away from home forever."

Zevran: Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship—ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, "Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward from a job well done." More the fool I, no?

Warden: "Your home is still there, Zevran."

Zevran: True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next.

Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.

Bonus banter snippet because I found it amusing:

Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.

Zevran: [laughs] Only the really good ones.

#dragon age #zevran #zevran arainai #antivan crows #hopefully someone besdides myself finds this useful and im not just clogging up tags!!#yapping #daoblogging

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 month ago

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Mint Plays Games: Changelings, Trauma & Gaming

Over the course of October and November, I returned to one of my favourite ttrpgs of all time with @thydungeongal and my girlfriend: Changeling the Lost. About once or twice a year, I get the itch to run the 1st edition of this lovely, lore-heavy game, and every year I come away from it thinking about its potential. This is meant to be a quick break-down of my latest Changeling session, as well as a reflection on the parts of Changeling that really touch my heart.

The Game.

This game happened over three sessions, involving a character creation session, and two sessions of play. We had one character who was a Darkling Gravewright - folks who dealt with the dead in their time in Faerie (and can also see ghosts), and another who was a Fairest Flamesiren, whose entire deal is about burning bright, but also burning out quickly.

I decided to give these girls a murder mystery, with a mortal body found just outside a gate to a Goblin Market, and a missing changeling to track down. We’d talked about themes of grief and addiction prior to my planning stage, so I figured dealing with both a death and a place that offers your wildest dreams (for a price) might be a good place to start.

I don’t like planning out specific plot beats in my games, so instead I tried designing the Market like an adventure location, with various vendors to tempt the players with their wares, while dotting the landscape with NPCs in various states of distress. I figured the Changelings would pick something that resonated with them, and we could go from there. This process also generated a few different villainous characters who could be responsible for the murder, which I’m glad I did, because as usual, what the players decide to do always falls outside the bounds of what the GM plans for.

The story ended up being about saving a kidnapped changeling from a hungry Fae, and bluffing through a group of Privateers (read: mercenaries) and bringing the victim to safety. However, they didn't escape completely unscathed - coming face to face with a True Fae caused a cascade of terrible memories coming back to visit one of our characters right after she thought she'd made it to safety.

Our session was an introduction to the world and lore of Changeling, and I feel like I did a pretty good job on that front. On the other hand, I felt like it was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things I think Changeling can be about.

The Potential

When it comes to the World of Darkness in general, I think Changeling: the Lost has a relatively sleek amount of lore regarding the various Courts, Seemings, and faerie characters. Each Changeling’s durance can be typified, but ultimately what they went through can be up to the player who designs them, and the Hedge is limitless in its weird and strange creatures, which gives the GM license to create all kinds of goblins and monsters to fit what they want their game to be about - and the players aren’t really expected to know what’s going on in there anyways. Most Freehold history exists in rumour, because talking too openly about it feels like you’re inviting the Fae to your front doorstep, and in the same way, the true nature of the Fae is left up to rumour and superstition, allowing your group to decide what they really are, or leave their nature forever a mystery.

That being said, the toys that you can play with are still more numerous than anything that you can fit into any one campaign, even if you’re playing that campaign for 4+ years. You can very easily play Changeling as a magical urban fantasy game (and I’ve done this fairly regularly with my group), but C:tL also has a lot of poignant themes that can delve into themes about trauma, addiction, and mental health.

Disclaimer: CtL is not always graceful in the way it represents mental health. There are antagonists presented in the books that come across as “madmen”, some pretty gross Merits you can take that can feel bad to play at most tables, and characters that have lost what makes them human, becoming threats to the players. However, I think that the Clarity system does have some interesting ideas in it that, if treated with care, can still provide some interesting depth to the game.

Clarity

Clarity is meant to be a measure of how well your character can tell truth from Fiction - a high enough Clarity score, and you can sniff out a Fae even if they’re trying to hide themselves; a low enough Clarity Score, and you have a hard time differentiating colour and smell, and might even start seeing an overlay of your Durance infiltrating your weekly grocery trip.

Your Changeling moves up in Clarity if they’re able to keep a stable life with elements that help you ground yourself and give you a sense of identity - and mechanically, once you spend Experience points. Your Changeling moves down in Clarity when they suffer “sins” - moments that disrupt that hard-won stability. This sins could be something we’d consider morally fraught, such as stealing, assaulting someone, or murder - but they could also be significant life changes, like losing your job, buying a house, losing a friend or getting married. You also always suffer a Clarity sin when you come in contact with a reminder of your durance - particularly a True Fae.

The higher your Clarity score is, the harder it is to keep yourself there. Smaller and smaller things can trigger a Breaking point, like going a day without human contact, starting a new college course, or using a Faerie token. Furthermore, the lower your Clarity score, the more difficult it is for you to tell truth from fiction - think of the scenes in Mockingjay where Peeta has to ask Katniss “real or not real” and try to trust her answers.

It doesn’t help that so many pieces of the Changeling experience after getting out of the Hedge seems designed to Fuck You Up - like the doppelgänger that’s been living your life ever since you left, or the fact that mortals can’t seem to notice the ways that Faerie has changed you: you can feel the horns on your head, but all they touch is a well-coiffed hairstyle. In many ways it feels like your whole experience with Faerie is invisible - and you’re fairly certain that even if you told a mortal the truth, they’d never believe you. If they did believe you, they would never treat you the same again.

I like this system because it doesn't really measure how "good" or "bad" your character is - instead it's a representation of how your lived experiences can often trigger symptoms even if others get lucky enough to survive those events with their mental health intact. I'm not a bit fan of derangements - but I think dropping in Clarity is an excellent time to ask characters about pieces of their time in Faerie that haunt them, and perhaps saddle them with Frailties instead - what personal rules do you have to follow in order to navigate the world when you have a hard time telling friend from foe?

Other Themes & Metaphors

The Fae themselves are also exquisite boogeymen, mercurial abusers without the familiar human emotions that we might feel more equipped to understand. They act on their whims and follow their appetites - and while real-life abusers often have very human reasons for being that way, we need not feel such compunctions from the Fae.

We might have to feel some compunctions about their right-hand Loyalists however, changelings who have agreed to work for their Fae Masters in exchange for some semblance of freedom. These are enablers: giving the Fae a step into the mortal realm and throwing mortals and other Lost under the bus, just so the True Fae won't turn their abuses back onto them.

Much of the ethos of the seasonal courts in the first edition has to do with different strategies for preventing a day where you find yourself back under your abuser’s control. Do you pretend that everything is fine, because they won’t recognize their victims if they’re happy? Make yourself physically stronger so you can tell yourself that you’ll win next time? Amass magic rituals in the hopes that learning just the right order of steps will keep you safe? Or do you make yourself as un-interesting as possible in the hopes that they give up on you for other prey? (Yes, I think the Winter Court could totally be all about grey-rocking).

On top of that, the Changelings that your characters embody (and interact with) are far from perfect. They have vices, fears and trauma responses that pull and push them into a dance of backstabbing, power-grabbing politics, full of seeking the upper hand and possibly even selling out their fellows in a gambit meant to keep the Fae focused on someone other than them. (A political game or LARP with these themes in mind feels so juicy to me.)

Next is the metaphors of power and/or addiction. The higher your Wyrd is, the more Glamour you can hold, and the more powerful your magic is. At the same time, the more Glamour you can hold, the more you need to hold it: what starts as a fun magical resource can grow into an addiction, if you lean into it hard enough. Sure, your Contracts become easier to activate and you can Incite Bedlam if you get powerful enough, but are you willing to chance withdrawal if you can’t get your daily fix of goblin fruit? How much are you willing to play with human emotions in order to get that sweet sweet taste of anger or grief?

Then there’s the seeming-specific traumas. Beasts struggle with wondering whether they can be human after giving in to animal instinct; Darklings fell into Faerie because they crossed an invisible or moral line and have had to make morally questionable decisions in order to survive. Elementals are used to being treated as part of the scenery, moulded to fit the whims of their captors; Fairest are constantly pressured to be the prettiest or the best with the threat of terrible terrible things should they fail. Ogres have undergone terrible physical hardships, including physical mistreatment and deprivation, while Wizened have been told time and time again that they are only worth something if they are useful. Stepping out of Faerie doesn’t magically “fix” any of these complexes, and as a result each Seeming has to wrestle with stereotypes even amongst their own: if you need someone murdered, go to a Darkling, If you need something made, go to a Wizened. If you need a hot piece of ass, a Fairest is sure to oblige - right?

Lastly, there's the Fetch: a copy of yourself that was made to replace you when the Fae took you away. This other-you is often so much better or so much worse than the person they used to be - they can act as a foil to your character, haunting you or making your life difficult, reminding you of who you used to be, or never letting others forget how badly you may have screwed up. In Changeling society, killing your Fetch is at the very least a regrettably convenient way of tying up loose ends, and at the most, a rite of passage. But it's also a surefire way to risk losing Clarity. Kind of a catch-22 situation, isn't it?

My Experience So Far

Past Changeling sessions I’ve run have included NPCs getting kidnapped by misguided friends, stumbling across characters who were at an all-time Clarity low, trying to save other Changelings from their Faerie kidnappers, cannibals, Fetches, and antagonists who are set out to betray one or more factions of the Freehold that is supposed to protect them. It’s always bits and pieces of what feels like a bigger picture.

On the one hand, I think that's to be expected. There's so much in this game, and I doubt that any campaign can really dig in to all of its systems and complexities. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve been able to really dig into the themes of Changeling: the Lost in the way that I’d really love to be able to do.

The subject matter can be so close to real struggles, that I’m nervous about making those struggles too bare-faced at my local table. Gas-lighting, torture, hallucinations, drug abuse and cannibalism are so very easy to drop into a Changeling game, but are also so very easy to hit uncomfortable moments for someone who's unprepared.

At the same time, I think that playing a game like Changeling with a high-trust table that uses robust safety features has so many interesting stories that can give power to players, even if the setting is technically a horror one. I’ve been having conversations with @psychhound about a lot of the themes that folks try to explore in ttrpgs, especially in response to this post he commented on back in April. To summarize that conversation: TTRPGs are a great way for folks to tackle personal struggles and traumas from a safe place, in ways that can give them a cathartic experience or that can give them a fresh sense of identity. Changeling has been a significant part of those discussions.

I came to Changeling: the Lost as a fairly new GM the first time I picked it up, and the more I learn about Safety Tools and a culture of care, the closer I feel to getting to that game that lives in my head that lured me into TTRPGS in the first place. Every time I come back to It, I think I'm closer to pulling together a Changeling game that sinks its teeth into the themes I’m interested in and hit some of the grime beneath all that glitter. So every time I come back to it, I’m going to create funky little goblins and design weird Fae bars and take the characters’ memories and ask them why they hurt - figuring out how I can twist the knife just enough to peel back the glamour, without opening any wounds that we’re trying to keep closed.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #changeling the lost #mint plays games #mint speaks #world of darkness

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purseowner4thequalityanimation · 1 month ago

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SMT Boardgame Kickstarter Smells Like Suspicious Fish

There's an SMT boardgame. Curb your enthusiasm, you shouldn't back it. And if you did, lower your pledge to like a buck until they clear things up, because as it stands it seems like an incredibly suspect product.

Checking through the Kickstarter comments and Japanese Tweets about the boardgame makes the entire thing seem poorly planned at best. I'll summarize as best I can;

The designer is incredibly infamous in the boardgame community

Naoki Matsunaga, a self-described "board game sommelier", is the designer. You'll find tweets lamenting that "the board game sommelier is involved". Why is he so hated? This thread goes into detail: co_boze on twitter. Part of it is they bashed Werewolf over one game they saw of it, another is they took on a kind of public-face role for boardgames appearing on late night TV shows to talk about them in ways that annoyed boardgamers. They seem to have designed a boardgame based on "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People" which ripped off Sid Sackson's 'I'm the Boss". But it's what co_boze talks about next that's really bizarre. The game was apparently banned from most board game cafes and playing spaces. Seminars where people could play the game were hosted, but the venues that hosted these seminars all closed down.

If you keep looking through comments, you start finding claims that his company does multi-level marketing (ie pyramid schemes). To be honest, I don't know if this is true. But even if it isn't, it is really not hard to find people who know of this guy and would really really really REALLY prefer he was not involved.

"Oh fuck, it's THIS guy" is not a reaction that inspires confidence

2. Questionable development and presentation issues.

A regular collaborator with Atlus recently tweeted "The use of AI in Atlus works or derivative works is stictly prohibited." He responded to a reply asking if this was about a board game.

The staff running the SMT BG Kickstarter later clarified the actual -game- wouldn't use AI graphics... but from the looks of it, the promotional materials do.

Dig that... generic metal pipe aesthetic. Nothing screams MegaTen like black plumbing to nowhere.

In totally unrelated news, a board game manufacturer recently tweeted that a Kickstarter used their name without permission, and they're not sure why.

Quote tweets on the post would suggest it was the SMT board game. The comment they are loosely referring to is this:

In a follow-up post, they do specify "The product figures will be made of PVC." and "We will be manufacturing the games in partnership with a factory in China that has a proven track record... " "Figure director Kimura Yuzuru has over 10 years of experience..." and other boring development stuff that I have no issue with. What I do have issue with is how they can say things like they're "considering" which manufacturer to use and namedropping other companies that they're unrelated with. (While I was typing this post, they posted an update that clarified the CMON issue and literally nothing else: here.)

The boardgame is being presented with machine translated English printed on the same cards as the Japanese. But the actual game will have a translator check everything.

they hire translators to localize all game content

Additionally, there was a week long radio silence on the Kickstarter. For reference, Kickstarters are normally very active with the project planners dropping updates, responding to feedback and clearing up any concerns.

Some of the concerns were "How does the game actually play?", a question that would be best answered by dropping a rulebook for people to look at, or better yet showing them an entire run of the game. The SMT BG Kickstarter has boldly chosen neither. Devs have commented the game is on Version 11 and plays well, which makes it strange that they can't share any of it with anyone else.

Actually, when you compare this to how most Kickstarters are run, it becomes very clear the SMT BG Kickstarter is, uh, kinda failing in all possible regards. The first Backer Goal is "Jack Frost Dice" at 2000 backers (not funds raised, BACKERS). Despite getting 300%(!!!) of the initial pledge needed, there are no bonuses or unlocks.

Mind, this lack of information comes after they already delayed the start to supposedly improve Backer Goals and other aspects.

There aren't a shortage of issues - it's ICREA's first boardgame (but not their first tango with SMT; they made the SMT30th Logo, for instance.) The timeline seems totally wack. The staff have been incredibly slow to respond. Cards with tiny font and two languages printed on them. Etc, etc. Maybe individually these issues wouldn't be too concerning. But all of them combined make the product seem incompetently run at best, and at worst an actual scam.

I'm hardly a big influencer in the SMT scene (my biggest contribution is when that fucking succubus gif gets 36k likes on Twitter every 5 months) but I haven't seen any English speaking sources discuss this in detail, when there really should be at least some noise about all of this. Still. if just one of you end up saving 600 bucks on what ends up being a trashfire carcrash project because of this post, then that'll have made the past 30 minutes of typing this shit worth it.

#smt #shin megami tensei #megaten #boardgame #kickstarter

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mc-lukanette · 2 months ago

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Luka didn't consider himself particularly stupid, but he probably could've caught on earlier to what was going on. In his (weak) defense, Marinette had always been generous with her gifts.

Their friend group wasn't very large: it was him, Marinette, his sister Juleka, Ivan, and Rose. It was also common for them to give each other gifts even if it wasn't their birthday, just to show they cared.

Ivan, for example, gave him a CD one day. It was from a band he didn't recognize, but he was always open to hearing something new. Ivan had that exact thought, knowing he probably hadn't heard it but figuring he might like it. Luka appreciated it.

Then, only a couple days later, Marinette brought him a set of CDs, all from relatively new bands who'd yet to make a name for themselves. Perhaps that should've been suspicious to him, but they'd initially bonded over music in the first place and she was the designer for his band.

Still, he couldn't help commenting, "You didn't have to spend this much on me, Marinette."

"Oh, this?" She shook her head. "This is nothing! I had extra money from some commissions I did!"

There wasn't any sign of a lie. He smiled, thinking how it would be rude to reject the gift in that case. "Okay. Thanks for thinking about me."

She beamed with pride, and something else he couldn't quite place.

—————

The next gift was from Rose. She'd called his name in a sing-song voice and presented him with a thick, fluffy scarf. It was going to get cold soon and the insulation of the houseboat was only so-so.

She didn't hesitate to point out the absurd length either, which Luka had noticed but thought it polite not to comment on. Pointing at it from end to end when he held it stretched out, she didn't bother hiding the fact that it could be used as a "scarf for two."

Gently, he'd reminded her that he and Marinette were not together, nor was he interested in any sort of scheming to make it so. He was perfectly happy being friends and didn't want to push anything on her that she might not want.

It was that same train of logic making him believe that Marinette giving him a handmade scarf, less than a week later, was probably a coincidence.

Probably.

—————

Juleka made plushies of the five of them during art club: soft, carefully stitched together, and absurdly cute. She handed each friend's matching plush when they were all together and blushed when Rose insisted they trade because she wanted the Juleka plush. Luka, meanwhile, placed his atop the speaker next to his bed, impressed when it sat upright all by itself.

It felt like no time at all before Marinette brought along her own handmade plush to show him: himself in his Kitty Section costume.

"It's merchandise!" she explained excitedly, flipping the mask a few times and wiggling the guitar to show that they weren't stuck on the plush itself. "It's just a prototype, but I wanted you to have the first."

Using him as the prototype made sense. He was the oldest, even if only minutes older than his sister, and there was an unspoken agreement that he was the "leader." Decisions about the band tended to go through him as the final, most important voice, and he often spoke for all of them when in public.

The thing that tipped him off, however, was that Marinette was thorough. He would've expected her to drop a full set in front of him, a plan for how to market them, and a sketch of what the best place to sell them would be whenever they played somewhere, just for good measure.

Of course, he wasn't going to say any of that out loud and he loved it anyway, but something felt strange.

—————

"...Marinette," Luka said patiently.

She was all smiles and innocence, practically hopping in place as she held out the tiny jewelry box to him. "I just thought it'd be nice to have another set of earrings to wear!"

That sounded fine enough on its own. He supposed it'd be boring to play the same song over and over again, but this was her first attempt at making jewelry and she was giving it to him. There was something so obviously special about that, yet she was playing it off casually.

Taking the box and looking at the earrings themselves only made it more apparent. It wasn't just some jewelry she'd done up as a test and barely thought about the design of.

The earrings were simple, but clearly themed: a flower on each, but crotchet rests for leaves and a whole note as the center. There was no reasoning of merchandise or just trying something out this time; these were made with him in mind.

And, going off of the flower design, a little bit of herself too.

"This is a lot," he pointed out, and even that felt like an understatement.

She softened, sympathetic. Raising her hands up, she assured, "You don't have to wear them if you don't want to! I already thought that your earrings might mean something to you, so—"

"No," he cut in immediately, catching the misunderstanding. "I meant that you've been giving me so many gifts. You don't have to."

"Huh? But I do," she began as she straightened her back, glaring with determination and clenching her hands tightly into fists, "if I want to get that best friend spot!"

"What?"

He blinked at her, wide-eyed at the sudden declaration. Marinette herself only realized what she said a second later, her posture turning to a slump as she groaned into her hands.

Part of him thought about letting it go, but he was too invested in how important this was to her. He leaned in, asking softly, "Best friend spot?"

She lowered her hands just enough to look at him, then sighed and dropped them at her sides. "Juleka and Rose are already best friends, and Ivan has Mylene, so..." She flicked her wrist in his direction as if to say, 'well, you know.'

Luka did know now, but it hit him like a truck. He flashed back to times of the group playing video games together and the way Marinette's competitive spirit came out, quite literally, to play.

That expression he couldn't quite place all this time and her giving him so many gifts suddenly made sense: she'd been "competing" to take the role of his best friend. There wasn't even anyone to compete with, and she'd known that, yet something so basic held value to her to the point of seeing it as something to "win."

Luka turned his head away and covered his mouth with a hand. He wanted to laugh, but didn't want to give her the idea that he found her efforts something to laugh at. No, it was simply that it was the cutest thing he'd ever heard and it was taking actual effort not to say that out loud.

"A-ah? Luka!" Marinette called, leaning to try and catch a glimpse of his expression.

He went to speak, but remembered the hand covering his mouth and lowered it. Grinning at her, he replied, "You've already got the part."

"The part?" she repeated, then grew excited when what he meant hit her. "Really?"

Cute. So cute. The absolute cutest. How'd she been friendless for so long before meeting him and the others was beyond his understanding.

"What did it?" she pressed. "The CDs? The scarf? The plush? The earrings? It was the earrings, right?"

He shook his head, unable to stop smiling, and didn't elaborate beyond, "It's you." Then, staring down adoringly at the earrings in their little jewelry box, he added, "But I do want to wear these. Can you put them in for me?"

She was still in shock, but shook herself out of it to answer him. "O-oh, sure..."

She took the jewelry box back and he turned around to take out his earrings. He knew it wasn't like he was getting undressed in front of her or anything, but he was learning quickly that even he had limits for how long he could deal with her pretty face saying pretty things.

He removed both earrings, then heard a tiny pecking noise from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Marinette, turned away from him but not enough that he couldn't see the kiss she gave one of the earrings.

He could hear a pounding in his ears, clutching his earrings tight in his hands to feel them poking into his skin, just to make sure this was real.

—————

Luka honestly - perhaps foolishly - thought things would remain like that: with them being "officially" (whatever that meant) best friends and Marinette not feeling like she had to compete with it. She did take the hints that the gifts weren't necessary, and thus gift giving had returned to their usual back and forth.

He hadn't considered anything further than that.

One day, Juleka and Rose were preparing to go on a long walk together, off to a place they hadn't been before. Luka knew they'd be alright, but gave his sister a cheek kiss in a silent wish for luck and safety.

He felt a pair of eyes on him at that moment, but Rose was busy excitedly putting semi-random objects in her bag for the "trip." Also, what was the sudden sense of foreboding going up his spine?

Juleka and Rose waved goodbye and departed the Liberty, Ivan having already left a while ago to see Mylene. Knowing that left only one possibility, Luka glanced over his shoulder to see Marinette, sitting on an instrument case and looking his way.

Immediately, she dropped her gaze to her lap, pouting.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, walking over to her. "We're best friends. You can tell me anything if you want to."

"I-it's nothing," she insisted when it was clearly not nothing. "It makes sense. She's your sister, so it works differently."

Utterly lost, he merely blinked at her, mind racing to understand what had her sulking like she was. It was only when she brought a hand up, her fingertips idly skimming her cheek, that it registered.

"...You want me to kiss you on the cheek?" He sat down next to her, turning towards her as much as possible without their legs brushing.

She blushed, but answered noncommittally, "If you want?" Her voice lowered as she mumbled more to herself than him. "My skin probably isn't as nice anyway. I bet Juleka uses a lot of moisturizer."

Evasive as it was, her position was clear: he was doing something with Juleka that he wasn't doing with her, and thus she was "losing." She wanted him to do things with her that he'd do with anyone else, and maybe even more than that. In his personal opinion, that wasn't being best friends, but—

Well, point being, he was happy to "prove" that they were best friends if these were the standards to hold to.

He leaned over, pressing a light kiss to her cheek that was slightly longer than the one he'd given Juleka, just to be safe. Marinette still smelled faintly of strawberries and coconut, a scent he'd long grown fond of whenever she'd press herself against him in her eagerness to show him something.

He could also confirm that her skin was actually very nice.

She stiffened, mouth dropping open in surprise that he'd actually done it, then delight. A little giggle-hum came out of her as she rested her hands in her lap, looking absurdly pleased with herself.

Luka wasn't sure how she always did that. She was unpredictable, even when he felt he knew her, and was practically preening from a little kiss on the cheek. It was such an easy thing for him to do, but it meant something to her.

His role in the band as "leader" hadn't been self-designated, as he'd always been fine playing in the background if need be. He had no need for attention, fame, and the like. Marinette was different though, and not at all in a bad way.

She was making him center stage, showing him again how much impact his presence had. He didn't know how he'd gotten so lucky.

"Ah," Marinette began even though that wasn't really a word, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She was trying to be "cool" about all this, but that was hard to do when she swayed from side to side, her prior pouting swallowed up in her bliss. "You don't have to worry about the earrings, by the way."

"Hm?"

She pointed at one of his earrings - the ones she made for him - and clarified, "I'll make you another pair if you ever get bored of them."

He'd done such a good job at not chuckling at how cute she was, but that finally made him snort. She raised a brow at the reaction and he grinned, pointing out, "That won't work."

"Why not?" She leaned in, genuinely curious.

He reached up to the earrings, affectionately stroking the delicate lines of the flower she designed. "I won't get bored of them. If you make me another pair, I'll just get my ears pierced again."

"Wh—" She shook her head in disbelief, having expected a more practical answer like 'you shouldn't be making me more earrings on a whim.' "You can't do that!"

He shrugged unapologetically, because he absolutely could do that, and he would. Maybe he could make an appointment sometime soon just to prove it.

Shoulders tense in her defiance, she challenged, "And if I get you another pair after that?"

As if it were obvious - and it was to him - he replied easily, "I'll get them pierced again."

"You'll run out of room eventually!"

"I have other places I could get pierced."

She was looking deadly, comically serious about all of this. She brought a fist up to her mouth, her eyes darting all over him like there might be a big sign hanging on him, saying that he didn't mean it.

He wasn't sure what she was actually looking for, but when she made eye contact again, there was something familiar; something blazing behind her gaze.

With her other hand, she reached out and snagged his sleeve. Her pull was strong, bringing him close enough to where he could feel her little huff against his skin. Then and there, she kissed his skin back, right next to his lips.

It was like a tiny lightning bolt hitting him, sparks spreading out all along his face and down his neck. He couldn't tell if the warmth was from her or his face heating up.

Her hand left his sleeve and pressed against his chest, putting him at arm's length to her. Her own cheeks were red, but that fire in her eyes was still there: her competitiveness.

Looking away from him, she stood up quickly and shouted, "W-we'll see!"

Then she ran off further into the Liberty, as if to flee from the bold move. It didn't serve the purpose of actually running away - he lived there - nor did it clarify on what they would "see" about, but it at least gave him a moment to think.

He'd thought before that she hadn't had any competition to be his best friend, which was still true. He couldn't have imagined anyone who could've taken that place but her, so the only obstacle after that was saying it out loud as far as he was concerned, and they'd done that.

But now there was a second competition he hadn't been aware of, whether that was being the best best friend or whatever else she was aiming for. Regardless, she did have an opponent - him - and he'd seen how merciless she could be when it came to competitions.

One thing was for sure: he was in so much trouble.

#queuekanette #lukaneventte: No Context November #Flower Arrangement Shipping #Pro LukaMari #Lukanette

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arkhammaid · 10 months ago

Text

— ˚₊‧⁺˖ THE LIGHTNING ON TRACK | THE STRATEGY CALL

fandom. formula one & mcu

about. in which the stark racing f1 team talks about the 2025 strategy and beyond

content warnings. written in 3rd person

word count. 1.4k words

notes. with this chapter i wanted to involve a bit of politics and 'realistically' explain why stark racing won't immediately win a wdc (because with the whole set up, it would be possible). f1 are politics and no matter how many drivers say cash is king, connections have sometimes more worth

"welcome, everyone. thank you for tuning in", greets tony with a big smile on his face, spreading his arms as if going in for a hug.

"as you can see, i'm not currently with any departement, i'm doing the finishing touches in my own lab back in new york... since i don't want to drag anyone here to the US for meetings, we will proceed like this until january next year."

"now, i know it will be annoying with dragging your equipement with you and it's also unsafe, since you know... data secrets bla bla- so, in the next few days, each stark racing employee will receive the so called 'tactical intelligence glasses', which you can see me wearing. it's voice activated and can only be used by the one who sets it up, which will be you!" while speaking, tony fiddles with a pencil in his hand and starts walking around in his lab, showcasting it to every viewer.

"to cut things short, you'll receive a tutorial on how to use these glasses and set them up once you receive them. if you ever lose them, don't worry, we can track them. destroying them is pretty hard, but please don't try to make it a challange... our plan is to use them not only during meetings but also during the race, to keep our data from the cameras. with netflix, paparazzi and other cameras from the news, it's easy to steal data that shouldn't be accessible."

"alright then", he ends his ramblings with a clap, "we're going over the interesting part now. let's talk strategy..."

y/n let's her father's voice wash over her, her own glasses perched on her nose and feeding her constant information. in front of her are two holograms, projected by the hologram table in the meeting room she's currently in. the standing figure of her father and the presentation he's currently rattling off, all of it in a glowing blue.

next to her sits kevin, her future teammate, exhausted from the long 24 season but still paying attention. the rest of the room is filled with their team, the race engineers and trainers- each of them having their own glasses on.

to outsiders it looks like they're clowns, but it's a common sight in stark industries. decades ahead of the general public, stark stands for the future. of course they're trying to push it to the outer world, selling hologrammic equipement to both the industry but also private customers, but it's a slow progress.

the marketing team of SI hopes with their public use of the glasses and other devices they'll attract more customers, leaving the age of apple and samsung behind and instead welcoming the age of holograms. powered by starkanium, the production of phones, tablets, computers- anything really, is much cheaper and enviroment friendly than what's currently dominating the market.

shaking her head, y/n focuses on the presentation again. of course she knows it by heart already, she helped writing it, brooding over the strategy with the team ever since the team got announced.

"... the plan is to finish between 5th-3rd on the construction championship. not higher, not lower. we don't want to place higher, because this is our testing season. we will be practically sandbagging from the beginning, not revealing our true power for 2026."

yes... the construction championship. it will bring in money, not that they would need it, but it will justify the expenses they're going to make during the season to prepare for their second one. y/n is under no illusion, if they want, they could go all out and snag at least p2, if not p1. maybe she would even get her world championship- only then for everyone to say she won because she's driving a stark machine and not because of her own skill.

it sounds arrogant, she knows. but y/n believes, no, she doesn't only believe, she knows, she is one of the best in the whole world. if she can go against her father in an iron man suit, who can be only piloted by less than ten people in the world... winning in an f1 car is nothing.

but they've already made enemies for not waiting until 2026 like audi, 'enemies', who have much more pull within the motorsport world than them, simply because they're already established. christian horner is one, followed by toto wolff, the iconic red racing team not far behind.

with they're entry, they didn't make friends on the paddock, so for their first season... they can't be too good. or else their future seasons will be ruined.

it's stupid, to think like this, to think so far ahead, to think of others, in a sport where winning is everything. but it's not. cash and connections influence everything you do, how far you succeed. they have plenty of money, but are practically poor in connections. heck, even haas is better established than them.

they won't be, not after they're done after their first season. they will show the world, what stark racing is truly made of. and y/n will prove, that a woman can win.

"-bought data packs from previous seasons, dating back a whole decade, from mercedes and aston martin. cost a pretty penny, but data is everything. not to mention, after the big leak that happend in the middle of the season, we managed to grab enough data on all teams to calculate 3523 outcomes to this season. points, standings, anything." kevin wheezes at the number, which is followed by several data sheets. he gapes at the calculations, which predict another world championship for max 2064 times. all from the data they managed to collect.

"insane, right?", y/n whispers to kevin, who turns his head to her. his wide eyes make her snicker.

"welcome to stark racing, mate. just you wait until JARVIS and FRIDAY start feeding in new numbers and information." a muttered 'holy shit' is the only answer she gets and y/n has to snicker again. toto wolff once said something about formula one being war planning... well, he should know that stark industries and it's most brilliant minds know everything about war. be it on the market, by income or an actual alien invasion.

"we want to achieve at least one win, be it in a proper race or sprint, three podiums per driver and at least two fastest laps. and it will be possible", her father continues, pointing at a hologram of their car. it spins lazily in a circle, showing off it's aeorodynamic curves.

"this car is faster than the rb19, goes on par with the rb20. we don't know the upgrades from red bull, but another year and we can pretty much predict their stats for 2026. newey is predictable, all his upgrades point towards the perfection of the car, he focuses on what to make better and not invent something completely new. and if he does, he takes ages to prove it's better than what they had before. newey is brilliant, but he's no stark." there it is again, the facts of their rivals, taken apart and put back together to summerize their data in a few simple words.

"so, our motto for this season is testing, collecting data and improving for the next season. we're sandbagging, we're restricting ourselves. so if we ever do bad... we all know we could do much better. the engineering team will send first comparisons between the SR-1 and SR-2 out next week, y/n has already tested both cars in the sim, so we will have some data to read off."

"so, with that, we're pretty much done. thank you everyone for listening, i know for some it's very early right now, so if you have to read over the spark notes- JARVIS has put a summary of the most important information together, you'll receive the mail right after this converence. thank you again and welcome to stark racing, everyone!" claps fill the room and y/n takes off her glasses. it's exhausting to play mindgames like this, to calculate the desired outcome, but it will all come together.

hopefully, with her as a world champion, with the bold stark name on her back.

taglist. @lilypadlover , @adorablezhui , @peqch-pie , @keyz-writes , @obsidianjewel , @aimixx , @themercyverse , @lem-hhn , @akiraquote , @kiiyoooo , @nichmeddar , @nothingfuninthislife , @minkyungseokie , @fionaschicken , @lyrasconstellation , @spideybv28 , @keii134 , @starssfall , @tpwkstiles, @fangirl-dot-com , @nichmeddar , @lady-laura-speaks , @nikfigueiredo , @hinamesgigantica , @brakingboundaries , @almostjollypizza , @yoremins , @raizelchrysanderoctavius , @celesteblack08 , @watermelon-sugars-things , @lighttsoutlewis , @radiantdanvers , @vellicora, @sterredem , @hiireadstuff , @jolixtreesunn , @mypage-myfandoms , @nelly187 @greeneyesandsunshine , @fulla02 , @welovediaaxx , @whyamireadingthis , @67-angelofthelordme-67 , @blueberry64857959 , @winchesterwife27 , @six-call , @skywalker1dream , @mellowarcadefun , @cherry-piee , @peterholland04 , @motorsportloverf1 , @renarots , @msbyjackal , @woozarts , @leclucklerc , @yl90

crossed off tags mean i can't tag you!

DO YOU WANT TO JOIN THE SERIES TAGLIST? please leave a comment on this post or send a non anonymous ask!

ARKHAM MAID 2024

#f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 female driver #fem!driver #female driver #f1 x reader #f1 x female reader #kevin magnussen x reader #tony stark x reader #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ lightning on track #— ˚₊‧⁺˖ creations

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goldsbitch · 9 months ago

Text

Just don't talk--------

-and remember my coffee order.

p12 to Just don't talk

summary: First outing in public, as the two don't even try to hide that they're in love with each other.

As far as bizarre goes, this meeting was up there at the top, yet again.

The comms team had a big chart put up in the meeting room, with timelines, platforms, twists and turns - it was like watching someone explain a plot for some movie script. This is where you'll be spotted kissing for the first time, this is when you post a photo with a family member, this is when you'll go on a vacation together (faked, obviously) and this is when you'll part on separate vacation and soft launch your break up - and this is your break up note for social media. It was funny, yet a little overwhelming.

"Obviously, this will be adapted as we move forward. As you can see here on the next slide, these are the numbers we are setting as our targets. The amount of revenue generated by this will be affecting the schedule," the assistant presenting this seemed to have a little too much fun with it, up to the point when Lando thought they were getting off on it. He saved his comments - why would he stir the pot too much? Now that he has what he wanted. This is just a charade that they will have to get through. And if all goes according to their plan, all of the people making these presentations will be very surprised one day. He was sort of looking forward to wiping their smiles off.

"talk about romance," Y/N texted Lando secretly. He chuckled and shared a look with her, as if to say "we got this".

The numbers part was where it reached the peak of weird. The pair sat, watching people calculating how much money they will make out of them sharing few kisses in public and estimating how much will this affect their marketability.

Y/N had few issues with their plan. Mainly, it seemed to avoid anything really personal. As if a relationship was only about sharing a holiday and flaunting around with family pictures. She for one hated this part and made it very clear that no family of hers will be involved. But where were the shared streams, the dinner dates and shared hotel rooms? If this was a blueprint of their relationship, then it would have been a very shit one. But then again, this was the fake dating public part - they could not control what they did in their own real relationship. But she really hoped it would not be like that.

Their first public scheduled public outing - a very simple coffee run together, no hiding, little cute chat and holding hands. Those were the instruction they'd received.

It was one of the rare free days between races. She woke up at his place after spending first stressless night with him after few hard days. They both woke up early, still processing the time difference.

"Hello, sunshine," he whispered, as they laid side by side, legs tangled together. He watched her attentively, studying her face as she let a smile out upon hearing him.

"I don't wanna get up," she mumbled and wiggled her way deeper into his embrace. "Let's just stay here, like this."

She was just too cute to resist, stuck somewhere between sleep and awake. So honest and unguarded. Lando hasn't felt this relaxed in years. He held her tightly as her breath tickled him in his chest.

"I'd love nothing more that to stay here, my dear. But we gotta go out today, remember?"

"But it's just so comfortable here, please," she set her voice higher than usual, as if to convince him to skip school with her.

"Don't be a little tease, otherwise I'll never get anything done ever again," he joked and pulled away a bit in order to give her few pecks on her cheek.

"I'm a tease? What a double standard," she remarked curiously, as she traced his morning wood with her fingers.

He took a deep breath, trying to gather all the morale he had in him. "I can't exactly control that," he said heavily.

"I like it. Can you be my breakfast?" she asked, suddenly full of life. She abruptly sat up on him and demonstratively licked her lips, morning hair all tangled up, no clothes or make up on. How was he supposed to resist that? She smirked as she saw his determination leave and went on to suck him off while holding his hand.

His moans were louder that what she used from him. It was like entering a different room this time. A very pretty one.

"Did I ever tell you that you have really beautiful eyes?" she asked all of a sudden, as they were heading towards his fridge for a premade breakfast.

He looked at her as he opened the door. "I don't think so," he answered shyly. She could melt right then and there.

Lando took out two chai bowls and put them on his table. All very casual and comfortable.

She took her first spoon and immediately noticed her favorite smell. "My chef always skips on cinnamon. He believes it's bad for the gut."

"Do you not like it?" he asked, worried he unintentionally fucked up.

She licked her spoon, reminiscing of having his cock in her mouth just moments ago. "No, I really love it. Miss it, actually."

"You need to get a different chef, what kind of a bullshit is that?"

"Life is full of bullshit, Lando."

"Well aren't you a philosopher," he teased her once again.

They made sure to be at the top of their game. Tried on few outfits, trying to find something that might fit them both, Y/N being in her full on follicular phase and focusing more on removing the outfits from him, rather than putting them on. He acted annoyed, but was over the moon she finds him attractive as well. Once they finally rolled out his apartment, they were quite sight to see.

"Do you realize we did not decide on the most important thing," she said as Lando casually walked over to the driver's seat of one of his cars.

"Hm?"

She gave him a look instead of speaking, letting him figure it out on his own.

He was usually quite oblivious to these hints, but this one dropped fast.

"Absolutely not."

"I share your sentiment, absolutely not. I know how you drive, Lando."

"More podiums than you, so I get the driver's privileges. Stop overthinking and get it the car."

It was a matter of principles - she was not going to let them fall into relationship stereotypes automatically. And also she just did not accept other people driving, making her awfully similar to Lando.

"Have we never sat in a car together before?" he lost track a bit, trying to recall any other time they'd share a car.

"Nope."

It was becoming a stare down at this point. Neither of them backing down.

"My car is parked nearby. We can go separately," she bargained, waiting for him to back off. But he saw right through her, his ego not letting him get her away with that.

He replied without blinking. "Sure. Why the hell not." She wanted him to back down and he wanted the same from her. "Do you want me to drive you to your car?"

He was mocking her and she was not having it.

"Nope, just text me the location and we'll see who gets there first," she challenged, still sort of hoping for him to fold.

"Great, I'll give you a five minute head start," and he nonchalantly sat into his car.

"Fucking idiot," she mumbled under her breath. He heard her and had to bite his lips to stop himself smiling.

She tried to race there first while not breaking that many laws and not endangering anyone, but he still won. He was standing there, leaning on his car with all his glory, as he watched her park angrily.

"Hi, baby," he greeted her and took his hat off. "Better luck next time." He gave her a mocking pseudo-sad pout.

"For each speeding ticket you'll get 30 seconds penalty," she hit him back.

"Worth it and still first," he winked. "Ready?"

"I guess so." He walked over to her and took her hand in his. Already there were few bystanders noticing them.

"We'll be ok," he reassured more himself than her probably.

"I was kinda hoping for more than that," she tried to lighten up the mood, as sudden nerves washed over her.

"You just never stop, do you," he laughed as they walked over to the café and he held the door open for her.

"You wish."

As they entered, he asked about her coffee order and made sure to memorize it for the future. If he was to be a boyfriend, he would be the best one. She kept looking to the ground as he order for both of them. He saw her slight distress and hoped that she was not regretting this - being out in the open with him. Even though their teams thought this was all fake, it was more than real for him. He would not admit this to anyone, but he was also kind of nervous. But there was not a doubt in his mind about this being worth it. She stood next to him, practically glued to his side and it felt nice as they waited for their order. He had to find a way to cheer her, main reason being that he cared about her mood and the second being their first pictures had to have looking at least little bit like having fun.

"It's actually quite exciting, isn't it?" Lando asked, unsuccessfully fighting his smile. The more he thought about them, the more was starting to like this whole thing.

"What is, Lando?" she replied, coming back to reality and locking eyes with him. It worked like magic. Within seconds, she was smitten through the roof.

He held her hand as a lover would. It was like touching a life wire. Sending impulses throughout their bodies.

"Being able to do this in public," he mumbled under his breath and stepped just a little bit closer. Time to break the rules.

He licked his lips "Ready?"

She was on the same wavelength as him. "Will this be our first kiss?" she teased, shifting towards him.

He put his arm around her waist, pushing her as close as possible. "Uhm."

"But this is ahead of the schedule they'd planned," she teased, totally on board with him.

"And you can watch me try to give a damn." There was fire dancing in his eyes. She put her arms on his chest, letting herself go into his embrace and closed her eyes, as he put his lips onto hers and kissed her. It was a gentle peck, their lips slowly brushing onto each other, the way that they had many times before. Yet, it still felt special. Carefree. Bold and confident.

There weren't many people in the cafe and the kiss wasn't exactly a long one, but it was enough. They had it documented from several angles. Y/N searched for the photos and saved them all. Neither of them quite ready for the storm coming their way.

_________________________________________

@scopeiguess @leclercsluv @sulliamour @starmanv @riverxsq @eviethetheatrefreak @chonkybonky @bicchaan @saachiep81 @chezmardybum @a-beaverhausen @tbsloneely @iamkaku @amberpanda99

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artists-ally · 1 year ago

Text

{Dirty Little Curse} Azriel x Reader x Xaden

Here is a continuation of She Me Where It Hurts!!! No this isn't a series, but rather a collection of stand alone fics about the same characters if that makes sense. You don't need to read the other parts to enjoy. There's no plot. Just smut hehehehe. Happy Wednesday!!

Word Count: 5,498

Warnings: ACOTAR x Fourth Wing, Smut (dom!Az and Xaden, sub!reader), use of the nickname "pet", DP, spanking, praise kink, breath play, shadow play, unprotected sex, degrading, choking, exhibitionism, just a touch of fluff.

Tagging: @librafairy @needylilgal022 @harrystylesfan2686 @justdreamstars @cyrygher @agent-anna @thelov3lybookworm @blessthepizzaman @highladyofterrasen7

Summary: Xaden has been A little more stressed than normal and due to complications at Basgiath, he isn't able to make it to Velaris for his normal training schedule. Az takes it upon himself to bring him an early Solstice gift.

~~~~~

I made my way down the cobblestone street, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as I made my way back home. The market had been full of people preparing for Solstice; buying presents and decorations for their homes or shops.

With two bags in my hand, I had plans to spruce up my front door. The holly and various berries would make for a great-

“AHHHHH!” The ground shrunk beneath me, disappearing as I’m lifted into the air. “Oh my fucking- what the fuck.”

A deep laugh rumbled through me, and I looked up and behind my shoulder. “Good morning.”

“Azriel,” I shrieked. “What the- what the fuck are you doing?”

“We’re going on a trip.” He adjusted his grip under my arms and hauled me up. I wrapped my legs around his torso and locked my arms around his neck. “I won’t drop you.”

“What do you mean we’re going on a trip?” I looked out at the Illyrian mountains, watching them fade away.

“We’re going to Basgiath. To visit Xaden.”

My chest tightened, my blood running rampant. “We are?”

“He couldn’t make it down for his lesson. Happy Solstice,” Azriel smiled, kissing my cheek.

I beamed, “It is a wonderful Solstice gift. Thank you. How far is it from here?”

“Oh, we’re not going to fly,” Az said, slowing down his pace and coming to a stop. He set me down and flared out his wings before tucking them in tightly to his body. “It’s almost a month's travel.”

“The world is that big?” I gasped, taking his open hand.

“Yes. Now hold tight, it’s a long winnow.”

I did as told, choosing to let him hold my waist instead of my hand. In the several months that have passed since I first met the shadowsinger and the shadow-wielder, Azriel has stopped by my house numerous times. To give me small gifts, or to take me out for a nice dinner. Or to warm my bed . He was a generous male to say the least.

Xaden wrote often after he left for Basgiath. Not being shy with all the things he wanted to do to me when he came back to Velaris. Thanks to Az, sending and receiving them made communicating so much easier.

It felt far longer than a normal winnow, at least forty-five seconds of pitch black whirling around us until we came to a stop. I blinked away the stars and we were in some giant training center. I counted four-five-six-seven sparring mats and a line of machines in the back.

“Where is he?” I asked, not seeing him amongst the few faces. He’s easy to pick out from a crowd. And he wasn’t here. There were several heads of similar hair; one female on a mat with bright pink hair cropped close to her jaw.

“He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“I can’t wait to see him.” I played with my hands anxiously.

“I didn’t tell him I was bringing you,” Azriel smiled, heading off towards one of the empty mats in the back corner. I had to skip a few steps to keep up.

“What? Why?”

“Because you were going to be a surprise for him. We do talk about you, and he is far worse at keeping his desires to himself than I am,” he smirked. “It’s my Solstice gift to him. Plus, you’ll help throw him off his game when we’re fighting.”

“You train him as well? Not just with the shadows?” “If he wants to be as strong at wielding as I am, he has to be as physically strong as I am to do so. It can take an incredible toll on the body. And who has more experience, some fifty year old male who has never dealt with a shadow-wielder before, or a five hundred year old male who has had them all his life?”

“Point taken.”

Azriel smiled and kissed the top of my head. “He’s almost here, just tuck yourself back here until I tell you to come out and surprise him.”

“Okay,” I chuckled, sliding behind one of the pillars holding up the ceiling. It was carved from a massive piece of black stone. So shiny I could see my reflection in it.

A few minutes went by and I could hear the sound of footsteps approaching. The sound of Xaden’s voice greeting Az made my heart jump. He sounded a little gruff, like his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t long before I could hear punches and their feet sweeping across the mats’ surface.

“Okay, stop.” Azriel shouted through a painting breath. “What is with you today? You’re sloppy. Had I been a real enemy I would’ve already detached your head from your neck.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Xaden said. “Keep going, I’m not going to be the only one bleeding here.”

“Xaden.”

“I said it’s fine.”

“Well, if you won’t tell me-” I felt a cool brush of shadows circle around my hand. “-then maybe you’ll talk to her.”

I stepped out of the shadow and into the light, greeted by the beautiful sight of Xaden’s back. Azriel looked at me, a smile playing on his lips. Az gripped his shoulders and spun him around. Those onyx, gold flecked eyes found mine and I could physically see his shoulders relax.

“Yn…”

“Surprise!” In two seconds I was up in the air, spinning around in his arms. I giggled, clutching the back of his sweaty head, letting the hair curl around my fingers. “I missed you too.”

“What are you doing here?” He set me on my feet, cupping my face. “I- how are you here?”

“Az winnowed me in. And I had no idea I was coming today, he kind of kidnapped me on my way to my house. Happy Solstice, Xaden.”

He looked behind him as Az stood with his hands on his hips, grinning at both of us.

“Prick,” Xaden smiled, then kissed me so hard I thought I’d fall over. But the grip he had on my waist wouldn’t ever let me dream of falling. “Okay, sparring done. Let’s get you upstairs and-”

“Not so fast,” Az interrupted, stepping next to me. “You still have training to do.”

“But it’s Solstice, can’t he just skip it for today?”

“Yeah Az,” Xaden mocked. “It’s Solstice, can’t I skip it for today?”

Az glared at both of us. “No. Get back on the mat.”

Xaden groaned. He slid his massive hand across the front of my throat. “How am I supposed to focus now?”

“You weren’t focused before,” Az retorted, picking up a sword. “Now let's go, these drills aren’t going to run themselves.”

Xaden groaned in annoyance. “Will you stay and watch? I need you in my corner to throw him off his game. And to motivate me, of course.” I couldn’t do anything to keep my smile away. “Sure.” I pressed up on my toes and left him with a parting kiss on his damp forehead. “Go kick his ass. Just for me, and I’ll make sure you get first dibs when we get upstairs.”

His eyes darkened. Xaden was not shy when it came to practically shoving his tongue down my throat before he leapt up on the mat. “Let’s get this done, shadowsinger.”

I watched the two males battel, swinging swords around and clashing them together. Azriel was impeccable with his footwork, but so was Xaden. The two of them looked like a forbidden, hidden secret weapon of mass destruction. They ebbed and flowed. When one moved, the other followed. It was mesmerizing to watch.

And, not to mention, seeing them with both their shirts off, all slick with sweat… It made it impossible to pay attention to anything around me. I was hardly able to force myself to breathe.

“If you keep staring, pretty girl, you might burn a hole through me,” Xaden said slyly, taking a drink of water. I wasn’t shy about the way I raked my eyes down his torso, and he wasn’t shy about flexing and showing off.

Az jabbed him in the ribs with the butt end of his sword. “Alright, we’re done for the day.”

“Finally, now we can actually have some fun,” Xaden grinned, pressing me up against the wall. The kiss was full of need, and I could feel just how much he needed me as he pressed my hips into the cold stone.

Heat radiated off of him. His scent was thick with his sweat and made me want to drop to my knees and run my tongue all over his carved stomach. Had it not been for his hold on me I might’ve just done it. Dropped to my knees, undone the belt holding up his pants, and taken him down my throat…

“Fuck Yn, you don’t know how long I’ve waited to taste you again,” Xaden purred, kissing down my neck. “To hear all those pretty noises.”

“Please,” I breathed. I couldn’t think, not with his scent strangling my brain

Xaden gripped my jaw, forcing me to look at him. “Please what?”

“I need you,” I pleaded. “I need you so bad Xaden. I need you, Azriel.”

I could see that predatory hunger glaze his eyes. From one moment to the next I was in a room, no bigger than my closet back in Velaris. There was a bed, a clothing chest, and that was it save for the line of weapons on the wall.

Not much. And the bed was… not even big enough for Xaden let alone all of us.

“This isn’t going to work,” Azriel grumbled, knocking his wings into everything around him. He let out a string of curses and I could see the shadows curling around his shoulder begin to accumulate.

“Agreed,” I sighed, running my hands over Xadens shoulders. “Anywhere else we could go?”

“Unless you guys want to do this on one of the training mats, then no.” Azriel and I exchanged a look. “I was joking.”

“Don’t care,” Azriel quickly took me out of Xadens grip. “There’s no way in hell this is going to work here. I’d rather sleep naked in Illyria than try to do what I want to do with my pet here.”

My knees went weak. “But what about all the people?”

“Leave that to me.”

Once again, we were back in the training room, Xaden and Az blocking my view.

“Everyone out,” Azriel’s voice carried over the entire center. People quickly darted around, grabbing bottles of water and shirts left and right. In less than a minute the entire arena was empty. Except for us.

“I cannot believe you just kicked everyone out,” Xaden scoffed.

“I won’t hear you complaining when Yn has her mouth on you,” Azriel rolled his eyes. His hand went to my shoulder and he pushed me to my knees. “Get to work pet, I’m getting impatient.”

“Yes sir,” I grinned up at Xaden, undoing the belt at his hips.

“Fuck I missed your tongue,” Xaden gathered my hair at the back of my head. The soft skin of his tip did wonders for the built up anticipation I’ve had since Az told me where we were going.

I hummed as he settled in the back of my throat. I worked up and down, holding still when he forced me to. Ten seconds would go by without a breath. It filled me with the most delicious fear. Tears already pricked my eyes.

“Why are you holding back?” Az asked, pushing on the back of my head until I gagged so hard those tears fell down my cheeks. “That's it, pet. Fucking take it.”

“Easy Az, she still needs to breathe,” Xaden chuckled, wiping away my tears. “But she does look so pretty stuffed full of my cock.”

“Don’t get too used to it,” Az said, pulling me off of him. He grasped my jaw and forced his own cock down. “She’s here to be shared.”

“I wasn’t finished with her yet, shadowsinger,” Xaden growled, shoving Az aside to claim me again.

“Take what is mine again and I’ll cut out your tongue,” Azriel snarled, pulling Xaden to the wall in a second.

“Woah woah woah,” I hurried over and stood between the two of them. “As hot as it is to have you two fighting over me, let’s not get violent, okay? There is plenty of me to go around, see?” I took both of their cocks into my hands, stroking them together.

Xaden shuddered, tossing his head back. Az just grinned down at me. “Does our pet think she’s in charge?”

“No,” I shook my head. “I just want you two to get over yourselves and fuck me senseless.”

“Look at her begging for us, Az,” Xaden took a step towards me, absolutely towering over me. “It’s almost like she has a choice. How pathetic.”

“We’re gonna make you regret saying that.” Az had me on my chest, knees digging into the mat in a split second. He literally ripped off my pants before I could say differently. A hard, unforgiving hand came down on my ass and I screamed. He did it again.

“The whole fucking Quadrant is gonna hear her if we don’t make her be quiet,” Xaden warned. He kneeled in front of me and lifted my chin. “Unless you want that, pretty thing. Would you like for all of Basgiath to know you’re being fucked dumb by us, hmm? I bet you would, you fucking slut.”

I whimpered, trying to lean away from Azriel so I could take Xaden down my throat.

“Oh Az, you’ve got to see this. Come look at her,” Xaden mocked, teasing me by inching his hips forward to watch me strain, only to yank it away at the last second. “Did you see that? She’s literally chasing my cock. You want it that bad, huh? Gosh, Yn, you are like a pet.”

“Please,” I begged, nearly frustrated to tears. “Please let me taste you.”

“What do you say, Az. Should I give her what she wants?”

“Just for a minute. I wanna have her even more limp than she was the last time,” Az said. I could feel his smile against my back where he placed a kiss.

“Be a good girl, Yn.” Xaden finally shifted his hips far enough for me to suck. He wouldn’t move any closer and I could only barely lick his tip. I groaned, the impatient noise carrying farther than I wanted to. I tried to reach as hard as I could but Azriel kept yanking me back every time I got closer.

I got close again, only to be ripped away. I cried out, dropping my head as I pounded on the floor. “Please,” I begged. “Please let me have him Az, please please.”

“She is literally throwing a tantrum because I won’t let her have your dick, Riorson. This… this is what power is,” Az said, pure sin dripping from his tongue. “You’re fucking defenseless, Yn. We own you. We own your body, we own your pleasure.” A brutal smack to my ass. “Do you understand? You don’t get anything until we say so.”

“Yes,” I gasped, a little light headed at the force of his hand. My voice was trembling. “Yes, you own me. Both of you own me.”

“Good,” Az grit through his teeth, fisting his hand in my hair. His hips met my ass and he walked me forward into Xaden’s lap. With his other hand, He gripped my cheeks until my lips parted. All I could do was take the cock in front of me. “Now make him cum.”

Az moved my head up and down for me, controlling my movements. By the power of magic, I was stripped of the rest of my clothing and those ruthless shadows were back, circling every inch of my skin.

There was nothing I could do but let Azriel force me onto Xaden. I just kept moaning, which drew the most wonderful noises from the shadow-wielder.

“You’re really being ruthless tonight, huh?” Xaden said, bucking his hips so my nose hit his pelvic bone every thrust.

“She was being a brat,” Az explained, releasing another lethal blow on my already sore ass. “She needs to be taught that she can’t get away with any of that.”

“I think she’s learned her lesson,” Xaden said, caressing my damp cheek. “She looks so pretty like this. Ass up, lips swollen… fuck I’m gonna cum.”

Az moved my head even faster, forcing me down down down until I couldn’t breathe. In a minute or two, Xaden was so far down I couldn’t taste him at all. The only sign he was cumming was the strain in his neck and the heaving of his chest.

I choked, gagging for a breath but Az held firm until I began to panic a little.

“I’ll tell you when she’s learned her lesson.”

I was, yet again, yanked away from Xaden. So quickly I was a little dizzy when I ended up in the same position in front of Az. He didn't say anything. Just shoved his cock down my throat.

“Get behind her and keep her moving, Riorson,” Az commanded, letting go of my hair so Xaden’s hand could take its place. Xaden’s cum trickled down my lips and around Az, I thought he didn’t notice but- “You didn’t even swallow, pet? Bad girl.”

“I- I tried,” I pleaded as I was lifted off. “It was so much, I didn’t have time to-”

“I don’t want to hear excuses." His eyes were like emeralds, but his voice like a knife. “Apologize to Xaden for wasting it.”

“I’m sorry, Xaden,” I sighed, trying to catch my breath.

Azriel’s hand clamped on my throat so hard I screamed. He tightened and tightened and tightened. “You can do better than that. Tell him what you’re going to do to make it up to him.”

“I’ll- fuck I’ll do anything you want, Xaden. Anything. Anything.”

“You’re really making her beg, Az,” Xaden grinned, taking Az’s hand off my throat so I could breathe. “It’s okay, pretty girl. I know you didn’t mean to waste any of it. It was just too much to swallow down. I’ll just replace it all in your pussy. I know you’ll be able to keep it all in. You won’t have a choice.”

“Please.”

“You’ll get it, after I’m done with you.”

Az positioned me over his cock again, guiding it into my mouth. Without Xadens help, I took it all down and then some. He let me move at my own pace for a little, letting me do as I please. I didn’t falter once, I was too afraid that I’d get another punishment. I’d be lucky if he let me cum.

Xaden’s finger ran from the top of my ass all the way to my clit. He sunk in two fingers and I could hear my wetness hit the floor. “So messy.”

“Fuck her if you want. What’s she gonna do?” Az grinned, now putting his hands on my head. “Ready to take it, pet?”

I nodded, mumbling around him as I prepared. I don’t think I’ll be able to talk tomorrow, that’s for sure.

Every single square inch of my body was on fire. Between the lack of air, Xaden teasing my clit, and their shadows? I’d be lucky to ever walk again. My fingers and toes were numb with a mix of pleasure and raw, primal fear. Knowing that they, at any point they wanted, could do whatever they wanted to me was… exhilarating.

“You’re doing such a good job, Yn. Making Az feel so good. Keep it up and I’ll make you cum. Would you like that?”

I helplessly nodded.

“Make her beg for it,” Azriel interjected, forcing me so far down on his dick that I couldn’t breathe. I tried to relax, but I couldn’t breathe. My chest started burning and I was gagging uncontrollably. I tried to pull away, but the hold was too strong on my head. I thrashed. I tried to reach for Xaden, for leverage to get away but I couldn’t move. “Ah ah ah, you’re okay. Stop moving and I’ll let you go. The more you squirm, the more I want to keep you here.”

The words barely registered, but I stopped, tears streaming down my face. A burst of air swept into my lungs and I felt the relief wash over me. Where it came from, I’ll never know, but I was grateful. The taste of Azriel’s cum shot across my tongue and down. Gods above was there a lot…

When he let me up, I scrambled away, backing up into Xaden. His strong arms circled around me as I caught my breath.

“Too much?” Xaden whispered, pressing kisses to my head.

I just panted, eyes closed, the ringing in my ears too loud to hear anything. I was so lightheaded. The world was spinning but… I liked it. It felt good to be that out of control of my own body. Nothing could compare to the feeling of my life in someone else’s hands.

“Yn,” Xaden said a little firmer when I didn’t respond. I just went limp in his grasp. “Are you okay?”

“Y… Yes,” I breathed, my voice nothing but fragments of syllables. “I’m fine.”

“Let's take a break,” Azriel kneeled in front of me, playing with my lips. “Let's get you some water and then we can-”

“No,” I begged, staggering to my knees and into Az, eyes wide. “Please, I need it. I need you so bad.”

“I know you do,” Az said, kissing me gently, “but you also don’t know how terrified you looked. Two minutes, then we’ll get you what you really want.”

I couldn’t really argue against the spymaster. A cup was placed on my lips but I refused to drink. I wanted something first.

“Yn, please. Just drink a sip. Two sips and then you can have us,” Az baited me, but still refused, turning my nose the opposite way. He sighed. “Don’t make me force you. Please, Yn.”

“Xaden,” I looked over my shoulder. “Can I ride you?”

His eyes went a little wide, but that sly, cocky grin settled on his lips. “Of course you can.”

“After you drink,” Az snapped. “Just two sips is all I’m-”

I got to my knees and straddled Xaden, sinking onto his hard cock. He hissed at the pressure, at the force of me sinking all the way down. I wiggled my hips, taking him deeper until he couldn’t go any more. “I’ll take the water now.”

Azriel just stared at me, white knuckling the cup. He had this feral look in his eyes. That was the only possible way to describe it. He blinked and it was gone, then the cup was at my lips. His hand gently tilted up and I drank it all down, wiping my upper lip with the back of my hand before turning all my attention back to Xaden.

“I got too impatient,” I grinned, crushing my mouth to his. He leaned back, taking me with him as he laid flat on the mat.

“Ready to do what we talked about?” Xaden said, looking over my head. The light was blocked by Azriel’s silhouette, the shape of his wings casting a shadow over us.

“Yes.”

I lifted a brow, “What did you two talk about without me?”

“You’ll find out,” Xaden said, bringing my mouth back to his. He caught my tongue between his teeth and pulled, moans spewing out of my mouth. He fucked up into me, feet planted on the floor as he held me in place.

The sound of our bodies together filled the room and I prayed to the Mother that no one would come in. I don’t think we can explain this one away.

Hands raked down my spine, caressing every dip and curve of my body. Azriel kissed up my neck. I shivered uncontrollably.

“Can I cum? Please? I took my punishment so well, please let me cum.” I’m not sure I’m even speaking a language anymore. This might all be in my head.

“I think we can give you that,” Xaden smiled, fingering my clit. The touch was so light, but it sent me over the edge immediately. I shook and trembled and gasped. Stars filled my eyes as he fucked me through it, not slowing down. A firm hand pushed me flat onto his chest and I could feel Az close in.

I felt an enormous amount of pressure against my pussy.

“What are you doing?”

“What we discussed a few weeks ago,” Azriel said, keeping me pinned down. “Now, you have to relax or else this is going to hurt. Do you trust me?”

I nodded, “yes, I trust you. I trust both of you.”

“We’re gonna take such good care of you,” Xaden kissed up my chest, teeth grazing my nipple. His hands rubbed up and down my sides, across my thighs. I jolted with another press against my cunt. “Easy, Yn. Just let us take control. You’re being such a good girl. I know it’s a lot, but you can take it. It’s gonna feel so good.”

The tip of Azriel’s cock slipped in right next to Xaden. I couldn’t breathe. At the same time my mind went completely blank. There wasn’t even pain, just pure bliss. I could move my eyes, but nothing else. My arms were pinned down, my legs locked around Xaden’s middle.

The shadows around me were endless. Holy shit…

“That’s it,” Azriel cooed. “Just let us take you. Just keep drifting.”

I could feel Az sink in, but it was only pressure and pure pleasure. My mind was flooded with images of us, all tangled together, of them to the hilt inside me. I twitched, but I didn’t shudder like I should’ve.

“We’ve got you, pretty thing,” Xaden’s thumb brushed my cheek. “Just take us. You’ll be alright.”

“Fuck she’s so tight. Cauldron Yn you feel… you’re so incredible.”

I was lifted up, then I was brought back down. Over and over and over. I was reduced to a whining, begging mess of just noise. I couldn’t think words if I tried. I could only feel. Could only feel both of them inside me at the same time.

My skin was on fire, yet it was cool. The shadows offered a nice sense of reality. It kept me grounded.

My head lulled back as I was lifted up, rolling forward as I came back down.

“Malek spare me,” Xaden cursed, throwing his head onto the mat. “Az- Az I can’t- fuck I can’t hold on any longer.”

Both of them moaned at the same time, and I felt Azriel’s teeth clamp onto my shoulder. Warmth bloomed into me and I think I’m cumming, I can’t tell. Maybe it’s Az or Xaden. My mind isn’t my own, every part of me belongs to them now. Every inch of my body is theirs to use.

“You’re taking us so well, Yn. Such a fucking good girl, taking both of our cocks in your pussy like this. I bet you came with Xaden didn’t you? Added to the mess, huh? All you can do is whimper. It’s so adorable, watching you submit to us. You’re nothing but a good fuck toy, a mere pet for us to play with whenever we want.”

“Come on, Yn,” Xaden gripped my face. I could see him, but it was like I was looking through some filter. “You can take more, can’t you? Az still needs to cum. Are you gonna be a good little girl and make him cum?” He nodded my head up and down for me. “Yes you are. You’re gonna take all of it. There's already so much, you're so messy, wanna taste?”

Not that I could nod, but if I could, I would’ve. Two fingers pressed into my lips and the sweet, yet tangy taste filled my senses. It was like I only knew how to suck on Xadens digits. Like I wasn’t good for anything else but eating the cum he dumped into me.

“Goooood girl, Yn,” Xaden praised, gagging me slightly.

I could hear the noises coming from behind me. Azriel was a mess of curses and panting breaths. I could feel the wind from his wings. He was fucking into me so hard.

Blinding pleasure ripped through me, along with this… this roar from Azriel. I was flattened on top of Xaden, being forced farther and farther onto him. The mighty beats of Az’s wings sounded through the room, he must’ve been using them to fuck into me harder and harder.

I don’t know when it stopped, when I finally came back to reality. But I opened my eyes and could feel my fingers, could feel the cold mat under us.

“There she is,” Azriel’s strained voice whispered. “Shhh, you’re alright, we’ve got you.”

I mumbled something. Even I don’t know what it was supposed to be.

“Easy, Az. Just lay her down,” Xaden instructed and I could feel my legs unfold. I groaned, the stiffness making my joints crack. “We’ve got you, just let us move you.”

Hands were all over me, and I gave up trying to figure out whos belong to who. Every second that passed I gained more feeling back, the tingling subsiding, giving away to pain and this settled ache in my bones.

“Still with us?” Xaden kissed my cheek, then the tip of my nose.

“Mhmm,” I nodded, keeping my eyes closed. “It’s just bright in here.”

“Let's change that,” Xaden said, and then the room felt ten degrees cooler. “Better?”

I looked around and there was a wall of shadow around our mat. It blocked out most of the light. “Much.”

“You did so well, Yn,” Az said, massive hands squeezing my thighs to get blood back to them. “So so so fucking good.”

“The best,” Xaden agreed.

I smiled, lifting up my head, I tried to turn over but my arms were trembling so badly I couldn’t. I giggled, “What did you guys do to me?”

“So many wonderful things,” Xaden grinned, kissing my swollen lips. “You were so perfect. You did so amazing. So proud of you.”

I was mush as I laid back down, warm and fuzzy with their sweet words.

“What do you need?” Azriel asked, playing gently with my hair.

I took a moment to listen to my body. I noted the utter calm that was inside, and the sheer pain between my legs. There was no moisture in my mouth and I knew it must’ve been intense. I must’ve made a face because there was instantly another cup of water at my lips.

“Sit up just a little for me, sweetheart,” Az put one of his, again, massive, thighs under my head so I could sit up without having to use any muscle. I could get used to being pampered like this. “Drink slowly.”

It was so refreshing, so cold I could feel it go all the way down. My mind slowly became my own again and I could see clearer. There was no longer this fuzz to my vision. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” A kiss to my forehead. “Anything else?” I shivered. He chuckled, “Clothes it is.”

“Maybe a bed? Not this hard mat? No offense Xaden but you all should really get more comfortable sparring rings.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Xaden grumbled, throwing me a lazy smile. “Let's get you dressed.”

One limb at a time they stuffed me into clothes. They were not the ones I had been wearing, but I wasn’t about to object to them. They smelled like Xaden, and when I looked down, I saw the Fourth Wing patch embroidered on the breast. My heart swooned.

“Are you in any pain?” Az asked. His concern was so sweet.

“I’m okay, I promise. You don’t need to worry,” I rubbed his cheek.

“If you could see what you look like right now you might be singing a different tune,” Xaden scanned my face, tucking hair behind my ear. “You look… thoroughly fucked, to say the least.”

“Good,” I smiled, nuzzling into Az. “Can we all go back to Velaris and sleep now?”

“Sounds like a lovely plan.”

I let them haul me up and I barely clung to Az as he stood up. He positioned me with my legs around his hips, his arms around my torso to keep me strapped to him. The world whizzed by in an instant and I knew we’d be home soon.

Somewhere along the way I fell asleep, knowing that they would take care of me. Knowing that I couldn't be anywhere safer than in their arms.

#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader x xaden riorson #xaden x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing fanfiction #fourth wing fanfic #fourth wing smut #fourth wing #acotar smut

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months ago

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Neal Stephenson’s “Polostan”

NEXT WEEKEND (Novem<p>placeholder </p>ber 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

Science fiction isn't collection of tropes, nor is it a literary style, nor is it a marketing category. It can encompass all of these, but what sf really is, is an outlook.

At the core of sf is an approach to technology (and, sometimes, science): sf treats technology as a kind of crux that the rest of the tale revolves around. The Bechdel test invites us to notice that in most fiction, stories revolve around men – that it's rare for two or more non-male characters to interact with one another, and if they do, that interaction is triggered by a man.

The sftnal version of this would go something like this: "a story gets increasingly stfnal to the extent that interactions among characters either directly relate to a technology, or are triggered by the consequences of such a relation, or fears, plans or aspirations for same."

(Note that this implies that science fiction is a spectrum: things can be more or less science fictional, and that gradient reflects the centrality of a technology to the narrative.)

No one's work demonstrates this better than Neal Stephenson. Stephenson's work covers a lot of settings and storytelling modes. His debut, The Big U, was a contemporary novel lampooning academic life. Then came Zodiac, another contemporary novel, but one where science – in this case, extremely toxic polychlorinated biphenyls – take center stage. Then came his cyberpunk classic, Snow Crash, which was unambiguously (and gloriously) science fiction.

A couple of books later, we got Cryptonomicon, a finance novel that treated money as a technology, and, notably, did so across both a near-future setting and the historic setting of WWII. In addition to being a cracking novel, Cryptonomicon is exciting in that it treats the technological endeavors of the past in exactly the same way as it does the imaginary technological endeavors of the future. Here's Stephenson fusing his contemporary sensibilities with his deep interests in history, and approaching historical fiction as an sf writer, doing the sftnal thing to gadgets and ideas that have been around for more than two generations.

Stephenson's next novel was Quicksilver, the first book of the massive "System of the World" trilogy, in which the extremely historical events of Newton and Leibniz's quest to discover "the calculus" are given a sweeping, world-spanning sftnal treatment. As "system of the world" suggests, Stephenson uses this sftnal trick to situate a scientific advancement in the context of a global, contingent, complex system that it both grows out of an defines. This is the pure water of science fiction, applied entirely to real seventeenth century events, and it's definitive proof that sf isn't a trope, a style or a category – but rather, it is a way of framing and understanding the world.

You can think of Stephenson's career up to this point as a series of experiments in applying the stfnal lens to events that are progressively less historical (and, with The Diamond Age, events that are atemporal inasmuch as the book is set in a futuristic revival of the Victorian Age). Experiments that range over contemporary settings, and then contemporary settings blended with historical settings, then a deep historical sf trilogy.

(It's rather exciting that these books came out right as William Gibson was entering his own "predicting the present" decade, where he exclusively published sf about the recent past, a prelude to a series of sf novels set in a future so far from our present that the characters literally have no record of which events led up to their own circumstances):

https://memex.craphound.com/2014/10/28/the-peripheral-william-gibson-vs-william-gibson/

Having proved how successful an historical sf novel could be, Stephenson then bopped around with a lot of stfnal historical ideas, from the "transmedia" 12th century setting of the Mongoliad to a madcap time-travel book (The Rise and Fall of DODO). Stephenson's work since then have been pretty straightforwardly sftnal, which means that he's a little overdue for a return to historical sf.

That's where Polostan comes in, the just-published inaugural volume of a new interwar series about the birth of atomic science:

https://www.harpercollins.com/products/polostan-neal-stephenson

Critics and even the publisher have called this a "spy novel" or a "historical novel" but it is neither of those. What Polostan is, is a science fiction novel, about spies in an historical setting. This isn't to say that Stephenson tramples on, or ignores spy tropes: this is absolutely a first-rate spy novel. Nor does Stephenson skimp on the lush, gorgeously realized and painstakingly researched detail you'd want from an historical novel (Stephenson has long enjoyed a fruitful collaboration with the brilliant researcher Lisa Gold, whom we can thank for much of the historical detail across his body of work).

But the overarching sensibility of this work is a world full of people who revolve around technology. You'd be hard-pressed to list more than a handful of actions taken by the characters that aren't driven by technology, and most of the dialog either concerns technology, or the actions that characters have taken in relation to technology. It's unmistakably and indelibly a science fiction novel.

It's great.

Polostan raises the curtain on the story of Dawn Rae Bjornberg, AKA Aurora Maximovna Artemyeva, whose upbringing is split between the American West in the early 20th century and the Leningrad of revolutionary Russia (her parents are an American anarchist and a Ukrainian Communist who meet when her father travels to America as a Communist agitator). Aurora's parents' marriage does not survive their sojourn to the USSR, and eventually Aurora and her father end up back in the States, after her father is tasked with radicalizing the veterans of the Bonus Army that occupied DC, demanding the military benefits they'd been promised:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bonus_Army

After the efforts of Communist organizers in the Bonus Army were mercilessly crushed by George S Patton, Aurora ends up living in a Communist commune in Chicago, where she falls into a job selling comfortable shoes to the footsore women who visit the Century of Progress, as the 1933 World's Fair was known:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Century_of_Progress

At the Century of Progress, Aurora sits at the junction where many global currents are mixing: she is there when Mussolini's air armada lands on Lake Michigan to the cheers of thronged fascist sympathizers; and also when Neils Bohr lectures on the newly discovered – and still controversial – neutron. She is also exposed to her first boyfriend, a young physicist from New York, who greatly expands her interest in nuclear physics and also impregnates her.

This latter turn in her life sends Aurora back into the American west, where, after a complex series of misadventures and derring-do, she embarks on a career as a tommy gun-toting bank robber, part of an armed gang of her cowboy shirttail cousins.

All of this culminates in her return sojourn to the Soviet Union, where she first falls under suspicion of being an American spy, and then her recruitment as a Soviet spy.

Also: she plays a lot of polo. Like, on a horse.

This isn't just an unmistakably sftnal novel, it's also an unmistakably Stephensonian novel: embroidered, discursive, and brilliantly expositional:

https://maryrobinettekowal.com/journal/my-favorite-bit/my-favorite-bit-cory-doctorow-talks-about-the-bezzle/

It is funny, it is interesting, it is even daffy in places. It's sometimes absolutely horrifying. It skips around in time like a subatomic particle bouncing around in a theoretical physics model. It creates and resolves all manner of little subplots in most satisfying ways, but also ultimately exists just to tee up the main action, which will come in future volumes. It's a curtain raiser, and like any good opening number, it hooks you for what is to come.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/04/bomb-light/#nukular

#pluralistic #science fiction #post cyberpunk #historical fiction #cold war #nukes #neal stephenson #polostan #gift guide #reviews #books

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stayteezdreams · 11 months ago

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Celebrating Valentines Day {Hyung Line}

Headcanons/Scenarios: How you celebrate Valentines Day together - Hyung Line

{Maknae Line}

Pairings: Ateez Hyung Line x Gn!Reader (separate)

Warnings: Mentions of food/eating

Words: 0.6k

Seonghwa

Seonghwa is a classic romantic.

So when you woke up on Valentines morning you wouldn't find him in the bed beside you, but a single flower on his pillow instead.

He would surprise you with breakfast in bed, more flowers, and your favorite chocolates/candy.

Seonghwa gets gratification out of how you react to this, and his smile would never leave his face.

It would shine even brighter when you surprised him with his own flowers and gift that you had gotten him.

He got you matching couple rings as a present, sort of like promise rings in a way.

If you don't wear rings he would get you a chain so you could where it around your neck, or hang it somewhere.

You spent the day together before going out to a special dinner together.

Ending the night with a lovely walk, holding hands while looking up at the starry sky.

Hongjoong

Hongjoong would stress about how to surprise you on Valentines Day.

You had a reservation at one of your favorite restaurants for dinner

But, he wanted to do something unique, fun and special before then.

After various ideas and scrapped plans, he decided on taking you to a flower market.

He bought you one of every flower you loved.

So by the end you ended up with two enormous bouquets.

They also had various sweets and desserts, which he bought you many of as well.

Even though you enjoyed the market Hongjoong knew it wouldn't feel like enough to him.

So he had spent the few days prior finishing a song he had been working on for some time.

It was dedicated to you, and showcased his love for you.

It was beautiful and heartfelt, and one of the best gifts you could have ever asked for.

Yunho

Yunho decided to take you on a picnic for Valentines Day.

He had asked you about it before, to make sure it was something you would enjoy.

You were very happy with the idea and helped him plan various foods and drinks.

You even baked a cake together, complete with strawberry hearts.

You spent the morning preparing the food together.

He took you to a cute and somewhat secluded spot in a wooded park with a view of a small rive.

Yunho surprised you with a chain that had a key with an engraved heart an Yunho's initials on it.

He had a matching chain on that he had been wearing around his neck unseen by you.

It was a lock with a heart on it and your initials.

Because to Yunho, you had the key to his heart.

Yes it was cheesy, but it was cute.

You spent most of the day lounging around in the park, playing games like tag, hide and seek and I Spy.

The day didn't have to be exciting and "special" for the two of you to enjoy it to the fullest.

Yeosang

I imagine Valentines Day is yours and Yeosang's anniversary.

He admitted his feelings on a previous Valentines Day and the two of you started dating.

So each Valentines for you was a bit more special.

After you surprised Yeosang with a cute breakfast - which he adored- the two of you took a trip to the beach.

It was a bit cold, but he made sure you dressed warm.

He bought you a hot drink, and held your hand.

The two of you walked along the beach for a couple hours before walking around the nearest town.

You got food and did some shopping.

He bought you flowers and some decadent chocolates, while you bought him a teddy bear and some cakes.

You ended up booking a hotel near the beach for the night before getting dinner.

You watched the sunset on the beach your head on his shoulder as he held your hand tightly.

Bonus: I think Yeosang would propose to you on your anniversary/Valentines Day as well once you had been together for a few years.

General Taglist: @otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669, @tinyelfperson, @the-lemon-boy

Ateez Taglist: @soso59love-blog, @dlmlufics, @hongjoongsprincess, @tunaasan, @thedistractedwriter, @dear-dreamie, @thunderous-wolf, @briqnne, @hyukssunflower, @dinossaurz, @dancelikebutterflywings, @skz1-4-3, @staytiny2000 Seonghwa: @ye0nvibezzn

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syndrossi · 3 months ago

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And now for a continuation of what I'm calling the Rescue AU aka "what if Ser Thoren successfully extracted the boys from the Gates of the Moon?" Part 1 and premise can be found here. It ended pretty abruptly, and so we pick up pretty abruptly! This one has a more proper "end" to it, though it's not finished.

x~x~x

“May we go to the market on River Row?” Rhaegar asked. He seemed to pick up on Daemon’s surprise at the request, adding, “Laenor mentioned it before. He said they have all manner of wares from within the realm, and even from across the Narrow Sea.”

“We may,” Daemon said, warmed by the pleased smile he received in response. “Do you seek anything in particular?”

He had presented them with gifts for three of their name days thus far, but that still left five. And some of his other planned gifts would not be ready for months. Any insight into what his children enjoyed was sorely welcome. They spent so little time at play, too serious about their studies.

“Princess Rhaenyra said that your name day is in less than three moons,” Rhaegar said, smile turning stern. “So you must not look if we choose something for you.”

Daemon had not celebrated his name day in nearly a decade, other than alone with Caraxes and one of the few barrels of good wine that made it on occasion to the Stepstones by way of Driftmark. His last true celebration had been a pleasant supper with Viserys, Aemma, and Rhaenyra, followed by a drunken night of debauchery in Flea Bottom that had earned his brother’s disapproval in the morning upon hearing of it.

It had been only two moons after Viserys had quietly taken him aside and “suggested” that he take Lord Beesbury as an advisor in his yet-new position of master of coin. Daemon had known the true source of the suggestion: Otto Hightower. Daemon had been only three moons in the office and still learning its scope; bringing in the former master of coin to all but do his job for him had been clearly intended to undermine him by implying he could not manage on his own.

That was the one office Daemon had resigned from before his brother could directly dismiss him, as he made a habit of. That had been before he’d realized just how short his leash would be for any office while Otto Hightower whispered in his ear simultaneously of Daemon’s immaturity and ambition.

A hand squeezed his, jolting him from his thoughts. “Father?” It was Rhaegar’s voice, gentle with concern, rather than stilted as it could sometimes be when addressing him.

Daemon smoothed wisps of light hair from his son’s forehead, then rested his hands on either cheek, heart a jumbled mess between the sentiment and the barest trace of wariness that lurked in his eyes whenever Daemon behaved in a way he did not expect. He kissed his brow, vowing that one day Rhaegar would come to expect only love at the hands of family, rather than the cold indifference—or worse—he had suffered under the Royce household.

“You can give me no greater gift than your company that day,” he said, transferring a hand to Jon’s cheek as well.

Jon gave a solemn nod. “But if I wrap Rhaegar to leave outside your door, who will wrap me?”

Daemon nearly choked on his laugh, the humor entirely unexpected. His eldest was quite sneaky in that regard, though both had a similarly clever wit. He feared for whoever might earn their wrath once they reached adolescence.

“Would you like a small purse apiece for the market, then?” he asked. “So that you are spared solving such a riddle?”

“There is no need,” Rhaegar said, revealing a bulging purse beneath his jacket. “Uncle Viserys gave us an allowance for it.”

“That was very generous of him,” Daemon said, smiling to mask a sudden flood of resentment at the reminder that nothing that he had to offer them was his own. It was all through Viserys and the royal treasury. He had no holding of his own to build an income, nor would he.

Curious stares followed them through the streets, news of the strange circumstances of his sons’ birth having traveled beyond the court. Laenor had informed him with great enthusiasm that a troupe of mummers were at work on a new play with a working title of “The Hidden Princes and the Witch of Runestone.”

If his sons were uneasy with the attention, they did not show it, more fascinated by the sights and sounds of the city. I should have taken them out sooner, Daemon thought fondly. There was a minstrel at one corner, playing the lute outside of a tavern to lure travelers in, and Rhaegar’s head tilted a moment, listening, before his eyes brightened. He hurried over, Daemon and Jon a few steps behind, and joined the minstrel in his song, his higher pitch shifting into an effortless harmony.

The minstrel looked startled by the sudden accompaniment, and even perhaps dismayed to find himself outperformed by a small child, but his eyes took in Daemon as he approached, and the princely attire his sons were wearing—as well as the growing crowd, drawn by the unusual spectacle as well as the sweetness of the song—and the man seemed to then accept the situation as one of good fortune.

Daemon smiled as he watched Rhaegar, enjoying his son’s obvious joy at an excuse to sing. The song was familiar to him, one of a wandering hedge knight in search of a maiden he had spied bathing in the moonlight and fallen in love with, but rendered nearly haunting with the addition of Rhaegar’s voice, which made it into a duet of man and maiden.

At the final verse, the minstrel made as though to bow, only for Rhaegar to continue on alone for another four, and the tale went from one of happy reunion to bittersweet loss as the maiden revealed the true reason she had evaded the hedge knight’s pursuit: the waters had told her that when she found love at last, they would have but a year before death claimed them.

There were very few dry eyes in the crowd at the song’s conclusion, and there was a light ache in his own throat, but the ending seemed to upset Jon in particular, so Daemon wrapped him up in his arms. “It is only a song.”

“If he had not gone after her, they both would have lived,” Jon said into his abdomen.

“Perhaps so,” Daemon murmured, stroking fingers through his hair as he pondered why the song had touched him so. Elys and Corwyn had died two years after the twins’ birth, and his sons had thought them their parents most of their lives. Rhea’s death was still fresh for them as well, he supposed. “But the life of a hedge knight is not without peril. Perhaps he would have found death another way.”

Jon frowned, not liking that response, and Daemon sighed, releasing him. “Come, let us collect your brother from his admirers.”

The minstrel was splitting his attention between collecting the shower of coin that had fallen at the song’s conclusion and interrogating his son on where he had heard the additional verses.

“From a harpist who wandered through the Gates of the Moon,” Rhaegar said, beginning to look uncomfortable.

Daemon quickly moved into the man’s view, fixing him with a look that halted further questioning.

“My prince,” the minstrel said, bowing with a flourish. “What an honor to have the privilege of sharing a song with your son.”

“Indeed,” Daemon said, beckoning Rhaegar back to his side. “I suggest you content yourself with your good fortune.”

“I am sorry,” Rhaegar said once they were away from the gathered crowd, flicking anxious glances in Daemon’s direction. “I did not mean to—”

“Nonsense,” Daemon said firmly. “You may sing whenever you like. You upstaged that minstrel and he knew it.”

Rhaegar moved to walk at Jon’s side, whispering something quiet to him—another apology, perhaps? Jon shrugged, the motion stiff, but he summoned a small smile in response. Fortunately, the distraction of River Row seemed to take their minds off the matter. The street stank of fish, and was awash in colorful stalls loudly peddling their goods.

They were not even at the market square yet, and he had to corral them back within reach several times with stern warnings of pickpockets and unsavory characters who grew in number as Aegon’s Hill grew more distant.

The chaos was nigh unmanageable by the time they reached the market. They still drew glances, Daemon’s hair and attire—and Dark Sister at his side—making his identity plain. But the people in the market were here for one of two purposes: to sell or be sold to. They kept their gawking to sideways glances for the most part, aside from one very bold hand that curiously reached for his hair before being swatted aside.

The strong scent of cooked meat and vegetables from the side of the market that served tempting dishes that could be held in one’s hand to eat while walking covered up the worst of the encroaching smell of raw fish and nearby sewage. There were sweeter fares as well, including a stall that spun sugar into elaborate shapes to cool and be sold.

The peddlers’ calls grew particularly loud whenever they were noticed, to the point where Jon was beginning to look overwhelmed. Daemon was not without his own tension. Every voice that carried an accent from the Free Cities, and especially the occasional spoken Valyrian, transported him back to the crush and throng of the Stepstones.

They eventually reached a portion of the market that was less frantic, where he was no longer touching four different bodies at once, and Daemon slowly relaxed. The boys went from stall to stall with Daemon looking on a few steps back, moving with them. Occasionally they would lean in for hushed discussion, dark hair against light, then turn to him in unison with appraising eyes before resuming their conversation.

Daemon had no idea what they would decide upon for gifts, but he was greatly looking forward to finding out what they had deemed worthy. They had found something at the present stall, which seemed to be an assortment of leather goods ranging from cow’s hide to more exotic sources.

Jon looked back toward him. “Turn around,” he ordered. “She has to finish making it and then wrapping it.”

Daemon gamely turned away. “Tell me when it is safe to look.”

He contented himself with scanning the rest of the current extension of the market, occasionally meeting the quickly averted gaze of an onlooker startled to be caught. That was nothing he wasn’t accustomed to when walking about openly, though years ago in Flea Bottom, the denizens had come to view his frequent presence among them as something to be expected. When he truly wished to walk about without fuss, he went cloaked and hooded.

A startled cry rang out back toward the portion of the market they had just left, and Daemon glanced that way to see that one of the food stalls had caught flame. He could make out the shouts for water, and a few nearby peddlers flapped with cloth at the fire, seeking to smother it. It seemed to only inflame it somehow, the fire almost dancing from one stall to another, which then caught.

Daemon recognized in the louder murmurs of the crowd the sound of unease yielding to panic, his own alarm growing with it. Panic was unpredictable, and the crowd would seek whatever outlet they thought offered safety, willing to trample whoever got in their way.

He turned back to the stall, ready to sweep his children up and leave before the chaos reached them, only to find the stall empty and his sons nowhere in view. His mind blanked with incomprehension for a moment, breath catching in his throat, and he closed the distance to the stall in an instant, looking around wildly. His sons were nowhere to be seen, but there was a woman’s body in rapidly pooling blood slumped at the other side of the stall.

No. Daemon’s hand closed around Dark Sister’s hilt, an icy fear flooding his veins. He took a deep breath to call for them, only to freeze at the sudden prick of something sharp and metal against his back.

“Quiet,” a voice said behind him, soft and unaccented. “Do you wish to see your sons?”

“Where are they?” Daemon asked, holding perfectly still. He might be quick enough to move before the man behind him sunk his blade in, but he did not know if there were more. There must be, to have taken his sons away. “What do you want?”

“If you do as I say, I shall take you to them. Fight, and you will never see them again.” The man waited, as though to see if he intended to put up a struggle. “Remove your hand from your blade.”

Daemon stared forward, paralyzed by indecision. He could mean to kill me anyway. This may be intended to buy time so that they may take the boys further out of reach.

But what could he—or they—even want? If it was ransom they sought, then the more captives, the better. If it was revenge, they would have killed his sons, and Daemon after.

“That dragon blood of yours is worth a great deal,” the voice said with a hint of impatience. “But only balanced against the trouble you might cause. Remove your hand.”

Ransom, then. Daemon clutched that hope to his chest and released his grip on Dark Sister. His hand was grabbed and twisted behind his back, firmly but not painfully so, and he was guided between stalls, out of view. Then, something smooth and rounded was pressed into his hand.

“Drink this.”

The shouts in the market square had grown louder, and the wind was beginning to blow smoke in their direction. Daemon had spotted the occasional gold cloak earlier, but there were none to be seen now, the men likely moving to seek control of the fire or the crowd. There were far more pressing things for the people milling about the market to pay attention to than a prince tucked just out of view, a blade to his back.

“What is it?” Daemon asked, though he could guess. If it was not poison, then it was something intended to dull the senses and render him easy to move without struggle.

“Drink,” the man repeated. “Or I spill that royal blood onto the cobblestone, which would be a shameful waste.”

Daemon brought the bottle into view, its milky glass obscuring its contents save for a faintly darker line where the liquid within sloshed. A tiny cork served as a stopper.

I cannot see them again if I am sliced open in River Row.

Ransom could be paid. Daemon knew that Viserys would not hesitate on his behalf or his sons’, whatever objections Otto might raise.

He brought the cork to his teeth, and pulled it loose, then tipped the liquid back. He held it in his mouth for a few seconds, debating whether he could feign swallowing, but a hand closed over his lips and pinched his nostrils shut until he swallowed, at which point it moved to grip his right arm again. The man made no move to lead him anywhere, seeming content to wait for the potion to take its effect.

“You have not hurt them?” Daemon asked, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

“They are not harmed,” the man said with a hint of amusement. “Though I cannot say the same for some of the others. I did warn them about Jon.”

A dizziness rolled over Daemon, followed by a heaviness that came in waves that settled deeper each time. At last he was prodded forward, and it took all his concentration to put one foot ahead of the other. Then another. Then—

#resonant 'verse rescue au #resonant concept writing #aka writing 2.5K of concept stuff instead of resonant like i should be

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hiroshiii13 · 9 months ago

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Head Disciple Binghe x Young Master SY #Bingqiu thoughts

Sometimes I think about Binghe that didn’t have to lose his parents. Didn’t have to go through the abyss and didn’t have to fight for the acknowledgment of his Shizun.

He’d be the darling of the demonic and cultivation world; doted upon in his younger years and a respected cultivator after his coming of age. He’d be self-assured, almost cocky, the way young masters who have never experienced being wronged are.

But Binghe would always have the skills to back it up, besides his innate talent, Su Xiyan, head of HHP, made sure that his son was grounded and hardworking. In fact, he commands HHP when his parents would up and travel for months at a time.

He’s forthright, which he learned from his mother, yet empathetic and charming, which he got from his romantic father.

I still think Bingqiu would be a thing. They meet as desk mates (borrowing this @/Gusu Lan arc) and wouldn’t hit it off at the start.

SY has always admired Binghe from the stories he’s heard from his older siblings. Binghe, the leader of the next generation. He looked forward to meeting him.

Imagine his surprise when the first day of his excursion led to sparring with said leader of the next generation and his humiliating utmost defeat in .005 seconds. He wanted to look cool in front of him but he can forego this embarrassment. It’s okay!!! This was expected from Binghe!!

But what was not okay was the harsh training at HHP. SY could not help but feel a little resentful towards BH. He was the third son in a merchant family. His family’s cultivation was in refining pills and artifacts, you could say it’s 80% marketing and 20% refining even, so he had never done hard labor in his life!!

He almost regretted saying he would join HHP for the summer instead of joining another sect specializing in botany and alchemy, which was his specialization.

Binghe, as the head disciple in charge of training, provided a plan that was standard in his sect. While he does enjoy seeing this pretty gege scrunching his brows, pursing his lips, flushed like a tomato during drills, (Heh.) he does feel pity and gives him a little less reps.

But it’s in the study portions where SY shines. LBH is astounded with SY’s encyclopedic knowledge.

Reminiscent of the child-like wonder he experienced as TLJ told him stories before bedtime. Of monsters that can swallow suns and plants with roots so deeply in the earth that it shakes. He learns later on of course that these were mere exaggerations but at that time, as SY babbles on about plant no. 4892, he could not help but feel that same fascination.

Their relationship starts getting better. Binghe would pick his desk mates brain despite knowing (some) of the answers, the other would prattle on, patiently teaching.

From an outsiders point of view, LBH looked indulgent, a soft smile ever present on his face, while his deskmate would fan himself while explaining, obviously enjoying the attention. And who could blame him?? He was teaching THE Luo Binghe! From then on, Binghe would teasingly call him Shizun.

Despite SY being slightly older than BH, he is the youngest son, (he has 1 meimei) in their family. Compared to Binghe who was raised to meet certain expectations, SY had a more unrestrained behavior. If he wanted a snack, he would get it. If he wanted to nap, he snuck it in.

And nothing could stop Binghe from doting on him on their free time. As an only child, he never had someone to spoil or play with so he recaptures some of his childhood like this. Sharing snacks, showing parts of HHP and sometimes sparring in the fields between laughter.

But SY’s pride cannot take being coddled, he’s older than him! so he dotes back. Bringing him refined pills for his cultivation, sending in some rare herbs and animal skin. (He is working his nepo baby network overtime!)

When he teaches BH during self-study, he compliments him when he gets things right while patting his head. And how BH thrives from being dotted on, now at his grown age! LBH feels lucky.

He found someone, who was not only smart and chatty, but was thoughtful and indulgent towards him. He… he really liked SY. Meanwhile SY found himself even more gently stroking his hair. He can’t wait to share to his siblings how the great LBH was completely docile from his head patting. SY could not help ruffling his curly hair, almost pulling. (As for what that would awaken later on, we won’t discuss.)

They part after that summer, but keep in touch through letters. Both feeling a longing to meet. SY decides to pick up a sword and learn how to fly it. He can definitely learn it and fly to HH and casually meet BH. His siblings give it a week til he gives up. But surprisingly 1 week turns into 2, then a month, then on the 6th month he could fly long distances.

His nausea was still as bad as ever but he can endure, he will learn how to endure. As to why he didn’t tell Binghe though? he didn’t know why he wanted to keep this as a surprise.

—

The Immortal Alliance Conference was upon them, and SY had received BH’s letter and how he might not be able to respond as quickly for the time being. But in fact, he was very much aware of the event. He even haughtily bet a few hundred spirit stones when someone mockingly said LBH would not place.

No one could escape his scalding critique had anyone even breathed wrongly towards BH. The public ate their melon seeds while watching another one succumb to that monster. They could not outbid him and even more so, out talk him. What a rabid fanboy. He gained notoriety overnight.

So imagine their surprise when the conference was over. How LBH saw SY, how he ran and hugged him, bombarding him questions of how he got there. LBH showing a small cut the size of a nail, a slight glassy look in his eyes as he retold his hardship and triumph.

The passersby knew it was an exaggeration, they were all watching him effortlessly kill the demons!! His confidence practically oozing. Even the ladies fainted against such charisma. What is this?? The fiersome leader selling meng??

AND THE DEVIL INCARNATE, who ate his every opponent in a bloodless battle, was suddenly a gentleman, waving his fan with a sweet smile, talking softly while patting the champion’s head.

WTF??

They take a few more years of friendship before eventually tying the knot but their families have long known each other since those two have been inseparable. SY spends his days at HHP in the summers while LBH goes with the other’s family in winter. TLJ still feels a little sour in his heart that his son would spend his bdays w/ SY more than them.

The 2 men were even more sticky when they got married. Waking up, preparing meals, cleaning up, lounging, it’s as if they could not get enough of the other. The Regret of Chunshan exists btw, but rather than an angsty story of abandonment and conflict, it is said that they just, really, really loved each other for a lifetime.

(Of course the papapa is front and center!! LMY writes about a rich, young master fanboy and his seemingly respectable cultivator idol having loving, disrespectful, s/ex. She delivers always!)

END.

#svsss #mxtx #luo binghe #bingqiu #shen qingqiu #hiroshi drabble

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spookedem · 4 months ago

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After weeks of sleepless research, I now present...

The Full Callum Crown Timeline! (for now)

In 1923 - Callums father, a marine died in china during the US's engagement with China. November 19, 1923 - Callum Crown Was Born in Dialtown, WI for most of the 30s - Callums early childhood was affected by living during the great depression, growing up in poverty to a single mother. He ran a repair shop in his garage for most of his childhood. Early 1940s - Callum Built his first prosthetics, and ended up getting his first phone however got rejected by DT's head enlister May 8, 1945 - The war ended. From 1948 to 1953 - Callum sold his prosthetics as a door to door salesman, and after following the market started producing phone heads to much success. Sometime in the 50s - Crown runs for mayor using his newfound popularity. Marla, a Journalist and his future wife helps portray Crown as flattering to the people of Dialtown ensuring his election; she would also get Callum to make typewriter heads for women common place. From 1953 to 1956 - Callum serves as mayor of Dialtown, where he met Milton at a political rally in Madison, they bond over wanting to combine the organic and inorganic. He also ended up changing the towns name and flag. (this last bit is kind of a guess) From 1956 to 1960 - Callum served a partial term as a Senator as a response to GOP isolationism at the time. During 1960 - Callum ran for president again Nixon, with Milton as his campaign manager/partner helping write his speeches. Callum gives Milton his original right hand prosthetic as a gift to his "Right hand man." From 1961 to 1965 - Callum served as the 35th president of the united states, with Milton became his vice president and his wife Marla becoming his Press Secretary. This replaced Kennedys term. In this time Callum made/changed many laws. In this time he also became more paranoid having his memory erase button installed and being generally more distant.

From 1964 to 1965 - Callum meets with Norm in the summer of '64 before he's sent into the worm hole. Callum and Milt had a final argument over the Dialup, demanded his hand back resulting in them cutting ties and Milt killing himself. Near the end of his term Marla was pregnant with their son and Callum was distant. From 1965 to January 1st 1967 - Callum became Honorary Leader of the UN, purposing a plan to bring worldwide peace, (with step one being the Dialup) but keeping his plans secret due to paranoia. Sometime in 1966 Callum visited Dialtown and sent Marla the postcard. Its also safe to assume his son was born at this point December 31st, 1966 - The worldwide Dialup happened converting EVERY living creatures head into some object. January 1st, 1967 - Callum wearing his original prosthetic gave his final speech, wiping his memory before saying his plan.

#dialtown #callum crown #milton r wallace #marla crown #dialtown theory #timeline #sgt norm allen #If yall see any issue or have any questions feel free to say em!

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writingescapades · 9 months ago

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Peafowls I - Peacock

It was your book that started the whole escapade. Here he was, a senior manager with the IPC. A man with a troublesome past, a burdensome present, and an uncertain future. Blessed by the goddess, he still gambled with his fate and let all outcomes rain over him. Pretentious, he waved his feathers to razzle, dazzle, and take back what stolen from him.

And you?

You were the Chief Information Manager of the IPC. A silent figure in the background that most people forgot about or groaned over. You did you job and because you did it well, you were partnered with him. A new project meant generating, accessing, creating, and storing information and given the precarious nature of this new project, Aventurine found that he had to work closely alongside you in order to see this project through.

At first, he thought this would just be another project with another IPC member. He wore his sunglasses but waited for the inevitable questions that failed to soften the speaker’s malicious thoughts. He waited for the brisk attitude and the clear desire to be anywhere but around him. But you smiled at him. You greeted him, and you asked him how he was doing.

He watched you. Your reputation preceded you. You came ready with information and questions. You knew how to extract information out of others, and you knew where to keep it safe, secure, and away from prying eyes. Focused. Responsible. Brilliant. So what were you doing working for the IPC? Wasting your talent with an unsavory crowd? It was clear you actually enjoyed your work, but there were other organizations desperately in need of the same role. If you went out into the market, people would chase after your skills. What kept you here?

He fell into his flattering speech. He called you his friend. He told you to use and misuse him as you liked. You gently brushed off his charms. You smiled when he called you friend, and you frowned when he told you to twist him about your fingers. But you didn’t comment much else. Warm but distant to everyone, not just him. Antisocial. Afterall what else would you call reading at a casino? Everyone dresses to impress at a casino. It’s just a part of fitting in while subtly communicating to desired parties. Yet there you sat, near the bar, in plain clothes, engrossed in a book. He saw the glares the bartender threw at you. Your association with the IPC was all that kept him from kicking you away for a paying customer.

Aventurine played a few hands. Each time he won he found himself glancing at you. You were right in his periphery, but you never lifted your head from the book. It was to become a repeated occurrence, the only thing changing was the book you read or the game he played. Finally, one night, he decided to indulge his curiosity and ask what you were reading. You mumbled the name, your attention not yet pulled away, towards him. It irritated him, though he couldn’t understand why. So he called you out, asked you why you were even here when you could go home and read.

Now you looked up at him, and Aventurine saw eyes that revealed nothing. He rested his head over his folded arms and watched as you rested yours on your palm. Neither person spoke, though for different reasons. Finally you sighed and looked at him with a small smile.

“Because I’m your friend, aren’t I?”

Aventurine stayed silent. He watched as your smile turned more mischievous as your waited for his response. Were you really here because you thought of him as a friend? Unable to answer the question or face you, Aventurine left that night. But something changed in your relationship. You became chattier and he often had to watch his words least you thew him a quip. He found himself asking for your thoughts as he planned. It was, fun. Nice. Certainly entertaining. You didn’t stop reading at the casino, but now you both went and left together. He was often the one to lead you to the casino, but you lead him out into the night air.

It was here, in twilight, when most were between sleep and rising, that Aventurine found answers to his questions about you. He saw your kindness. He saw your humour. He found himself slipping, forgetting who he was and just enjoying the moment. You were dangerous. What’s more, Aventurine saw your true character, the way your face warped to hide the insanity that lay thinly underneath. The sudden change in your personality when someone passed a snide remark about him. The way you stood by his side with your head held high. But he wasn’t a fool. He knew you were acting by your principles and not for him personally. You were harsh, and he told you so one night.

You stared at him with stiff eyes and tight lips.

“It’s who I am. To change would be to lie to myself”.

Oh, you had a story to tell. But, it slowly dawned on Aventurine that he cared too much about you to ask for that story, to try to pry it out, or go behind your back. He started to wonder. To dream. Hope. Did you feel the same about him? Is that why, despite curious eyes, you never asked too much about him? Did you already cast judgement on his soul? Or did you just not care about him? Was he just another story in the hundreds you razed through? He didn’t know which outcome he desired enough to gamble upon.

“You see things too intensely,” he found himself saying to you one day. “I think that’s why you’re so disenchanted by life. You can only find admirable people in your books”.

Yet despite his premonitions, Aventurine found himself drawn towards you. He had long stopped wearing his sunglasses around you. He always strutted for himself but was pleased if his dance caught your attention. You walked calmly ahead in life while he danced around. Sometimes he stumbled and wondered if you would leave him behind, but you always slowed down, stopped, and held out your hand, waiting for him just as he waited for you. You desires overlapped despite the difference in personalities.

“Is it so wrong to desire power if it’s only over your own life?” You had asked him one day, and he found himself unable to oppose you any longer.

He tested you, told your things to gage your thoughts and reactions. Instead of running away, he realized that you two started to dance around each other. Promising everything but that which neither was willing to barter.

“We’ll crown ourselves with crests of spurs,” you said softly as your looked out into the land. It had been a tiring day and for once, Aventurine just wanted to collapse into bed. He had too many wishes of you being there beside him, but it was still to frightening. Still to early. Not yet, but maybe, maybe one day.

He didn’t tell you his plan. He didn’t tell you what was about to happen, and his only regret was not being able to see your face crack one last time before he disappeared.

#hsr #honkai star rail #hsr aventurine #aventurine #kakavasha #hsr aventurine x reader #hsr x reader #honkai impact #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #writing #sorry if it's garbled nonsense

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 7 months ago

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Sanji being kidnapped by your father and the two of you falling in love would involve…

Sanji x reader

*****

🩵 Imagine being the daughter of a feared criminal; most of the world knows him as an important businessman, but that is actually only a facade covering a vast criminal empire, whose activities range from extortion to kidnapping, theft and racketing. The list of murders he has ordered is endless, and he has never shied away from killing people who had betrayed or posed a threat to his business himself. Few are those who can hear his name without shuddering with fear, but the general public only knows him as a wealthy, driven but otherwise innocuous entrepreneur, at the head of an important company.

🩵 You are his only child, who he loves dearly and tries with all his might to keep in the dark regarding his criminal activities, knowing you would be horrified. Because of this, you have grown up somewhat sheltered, unaware of your father’s criminal activities and convinced he is simply an important and powerful businessman, respected -and not feared- by partners and employees. He has also made sure all his subordinates and the people you come into contact with keep up the ruse; you are tutored at home instead of attending a normal school, only go on holiday accompanied by him or his bodyguards, and your friends, mainly children of your father’s associates, are likewise vetted to make sure they don’t reveal the truth.

🩵 Unaware of the world of lies he has constructed around you, you adore your father, spend as much time as you can with him and trust him completely. Something you share is an appreciation for good food: the two of you enjoy visiting the most refined restaurants and trying food from different cultures. You also have a private chef at home, the last of a long series, since your father is very picky; he once had a cook beaten to a pulp because he had forgotten to salt the water when preparing pasta for the two of you.

🩵 One day, during what you believe is a brief holiday but that is actually a business trip that your father took advantage of to meet the head of another criminal organisation and make plans for the assassination of a few politicians who opposed their activities, you visit the Baratie, and are both impressed with the quality and taste of Zeff’s food. You are particularly enthusiastic, eating your fill and expressing your appreciation for each and every dish; your father, who never misses an opportunity to make you happy, immediately sends for the chef and asks him to come work -and cook- for you. Zeff thanks him for the offer but refuses, preferring his restaurant to a role as a private chef. Your father is highly displeased, but can’t insist too much, given the fact you are present, listening to their conversation; nonetheless, he plans on sending his most capable henchmen to force the chef to reconsider, and then have you informed Zeff had changed his mind.

🩵 He has no time to implement his plan since, having requested a background check on Zeff to make sure he is actually suited to work for your family, your father discovers the man had an adopted son, who also worked at the restaurant and was known to be an excellent cook; Sanji, a young man who is now part of a pirate crew. A man your age would probably be better suited, your father reasons, since he’d know what sort of food is more appropriate for and appreciated by a girl your age, and he’d probably also be easier to keep in line than a powerful former pirate captain like Zeff. Without wasting any time, your father has Luffy’s crew located, and a team sent to kidnap the chef. When they find him, on the latest island the Merry has docked on, Sanji is at the town market, gathering supplies; he is unfortunately alone, as he prefers to be when choosing the best foods and ingredients for his crew, which means no one notices when your father’s men attract him in a back-alley with an excuse and jump on him. Sanji valiantly defends himself, but he is vastly outnumbered and in the end the men force him at gunpoint to follow them; he has no way to let his friends know what happened to him, or even just to inform them he is in danger.

🩵 Sanji is brought to the huge kitchen of your family villa, where your father is waiting for him, having made sure you’re away; he orders Sanji to cook a few of your favourite dishes, which he does, furious at having been kidnapped but forced despite himself to do his best as always. The result is good enough to satisfy your father, who then informs Sanji he is hired for the job he never applied for, and has no way to refuse. “Your main task is to cook for my daughter; whatever she asks for, whatever she wants, you will prepare it, even if it’s a fifty people banquet on an hour’s notice or a snack at three in the morning; buy the best ingredients, the best tools, hire assistants if you need to; I don’t care about the money. Make sure she’s satisfied, and that her health is not badly affected; this is the only thing that has to matter to you.”

🩵 At first, Sanji refuses; he doesn’t need to know your father’s name to realise he must be a criminal, a man used to get whatever he wants through force and intimidation, and in any case he is not interested in any job that is not cooking for Luffy and the crew. He orders your father to release him, and even violently hits him with a kick in the stomach; as a result, he is locked in a cell, kept there for four days without food, and beaten mercilessly. In the end, starving and bleeding, Sanji decides to obey and bide his time, waiting for an opportunity to escape or contact his friends; he already hates his job, and while his pride as a chef forces him to cook at the best of his abilities and make sure his employers are well fed, he prays he will soon find a way to regain his freedom.

🩵 And then he is introduced to you, and everything changes - even if Sanji doesn’t immediately realise. “You are our new chef? It’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me (name), I hope you’ll like working here, and I can’t wait to taste what you’ll prepare for us. Is the kitchen of your liking? My father is very picky, so if I can offer a suggestion, make sure you always salt the water for the pasta! He once dismissed a chef without references for that. Do you like the room you’ll be staying in? If you need anything please let me know.”

🩵 Sanji can’t believe it. How can a kind, friendly and unpretentious -not to mention very pretty- girl like you be the daughter of a violent and cruel man like your father? At first he treats you coldly, convinced it’s just a mask, and you’re feigning courtesy and cordiality even though inwardly you are as bad as he is if not worse, but he soon realises the truth couldn’t be more different: you really are genuinely courteous and friendly, and more importantly, you have no idea who your father actually is, and what he does. “Miss (name) knows nothing about her father’s activities; he has always made sure to keep her in the dark.” the housekeeper tells him “The master must have forgotten to tell you, since he hasn’t hired anyone new in a while, but this is very important: you mustn’t tell her, if you don’t want to be killed.”

🩵 And so Sanji’s new life begins. From a professional point of view he has nothing to complain: he can use the best ingredients, his kitchen is every shef’s dream and his employers are invariably satisfied with the dishes he presents them; he sleeps in a comfortable room, and even the pay -because he is paid, unlike what he expected- is more than acceptable. On the other hand, he is virtually a prisoner in the house: your father’s men keep an eye on him constantly, make sure he cannot ask for help, either writing a message or calling with a Den Den Mushi, and escort him when he goes to the market or to the shops. Only a few days after his hiring, while you are out of the house with friends, your father has the whole staff gathered to witness the execution of one of his men, guilty of having written a letter to the local head of police asking for help against him; the man is shot in front of everyone’s eyes. “This is what happens to those who betray me.” your father states calmly “You do your job, obey, and you’ll be safe; but I want all of you to remember how you’ll be repaid if you prove disloyal.”

🩵 Your father is a monster, an unmerciful tyrant who kills people without a second thought and commits crimes of the worst kind; and you, his only daughter, have not the faintest idea. It’s not like you are stupid, or even particularly naive: rather, you are an intelligent young woman, surprisingly humble and unspoiled for someone who has grown up in cotton wool, with money and power enough to satisfy any whim, but while you have received a good education and enjoyed many privileges, you have always lived a sheltered life, detached from the world outside. Your father has carefully surrounded you with people on his payroll or that he can control, and has bodyguards accompany you everywhere, keeping away anyone who could even just suggest the truth is different from what you have been led to believe. You don’t really question it, since this withdrawn existence is everything you have ever known; sometimes you do wish you could have gone to school like most children, or travel alone, but you are sure your father only has your safety at heart, and chose to have you educated at home to hire the best tutors in the country. Yes, sometimes you feel like he vets people your age before you have the chance of making friends with them and it’s strange sometimes his employees look nothing less than terrified while in his presence, as if they had something worse to fear than being reprimanded or fired, but he’s your father, and an important man: it’s normal he wants to make sure you don’t associate with unsavoury people, and expects the best from those who work for him.

🩵 You love him, and trust him completely; he’s your family, your role model, the person you care about the most in the world. Sanji sees it, and also sees how protective and affectionate your father is towards you, not only buying things for you and paying for holidays and other treats, but sincerely making sure you’re happy and well looked after; he treats you gently, spends with you as much time as he can, and welcomes as a priceless gift every care you have for him, even just a cup of tea brought to his study or a small surprise party organised for his birthday. When you are with him, your father is a different man, and Sanji can’t blame him for wanting to keep you in the dark regarding his activities; you would be undoubtedly horrified, because you… you are different, and he likes you more with every passing day.

🩵 At first he keeps his distance, since he has no idea of what sorts of person you really are and can only imagine what would happen if your father saw him flirt with you like he’s used to doing with girls; he does his job keeping his head low and waits for a chance to escape. Soon enough, he starts growing fond of you; he likes how kind you are towards the other members of the house staff and your father’s employees you come into contact with, sometimes even warning them of any mistake that would lead them to incur his wrath; the fact that he’s the only person your age in the house also helps. Unlike your father, who sometimes wakes him up in the middle of the night requesting a snack he could simply take from the fridge or forgets to warn him he’s going to host a dinner for ten of his associates, your requests food-wise are never outrageous; you enjoy most of what he prepares, and never fail to thank and compliment him. Once he finds out you dislike one of his dishes, one he has prepared many times already for your father; he asks you why you never told him, since he could have simply prepared something else for you. “Well, I didn’t want to inconvenience you.” you admit, blushing a bit, perhaps out of embarrassment or because of the attractive young man in front of you, who is looking at you with those lovely brown eyes “I know it took you hours to prepare that dish, and it wouldn’t have been fair to ask you for something else, since it’s only two of us. Anything you prepare is delicious; it’s not like I was forced to eat something I actively disliked.”

🩵 Sanji can’t help appreciating how considerate you are, which in turn leads him to make an even greater effort to please you and prepare your favourite dishes; he tells himself it’s only because of his pride as a chef, because cooking -and cooking well- is what he does and not because he cares about you and wants to make you happy, but less than a month after meeting you he already knows in his heart the truth is different.

🩵 One night he notices you have barely touched your food, even though you insist it was well-cooked as usual and you are simply not hungry; your father is not at home that night, and Sanji can’t help noticing you seem sad as you stare wistfully out of the window, unenthusiastically picking at your food, a tell-tale redness at your eyes. Sanji is immediately worried: have you discovered your father’s secret? Did the two of you have a fight? Did he -unlikely, but you never know- hurt you in some way? The matter doesn’t concern Sanji, not to mention he doubts you’ll want to confide in his since he’s just an employee that you have only known for a few weeks, but he can’t help it; he prepares your favourite dessert, waits for the housekeeper to have retired to her room, and then goes to knock to your door.

🩵 “I’d like to be left alone tonight, please.” you murmur from the inside, your voice breaking as if you had started crying again. Sanji clears his voice and “Miss (last name), this is Sanji. I have brought you a dessert.”

🩵 A moment later you have opened the door, vaguely diffident. “I already had dessert tonight; you served me crème brulée less than an hour ago.” “I did, but… well, I saw you seemed unhappy tonight, so I prepared your favourite.” Sanji explains, holding the dish in front of him as an offering. He’s already regretting his idea, fearing you will tell your father he has bothered you, but suddenly a tiny smile appears on your face. “Wow, that’s… so kind of you, Sanji. Please come in; you want something to drink?” And so, a minute later you’re both sitting at your desk, you busy enjoying your dessert and him sipping a glass of wine you have poured from your mini-fridge. You share a smile, both aware of how anomalous, not to mention potentially inappropriate, his presence in your room this late at night is, and you tacitly decide to ignore the matter. You freely share the reason for your sadness: one of your dearest friends, who you have known since infancy on account of your fathers working together, has suddenly broken all ties with you, without even explaining why. “I can’t understand; we were as close as siblings, I loved and trusted them more than anyone else besides my father… Their father died last week, and I tried to support them, but they told me I was a naive idiot and they couldn’t wait for me to see the truth. I honestly have no idea what they meant! And now they swore they never want to see me again… I miss them already, but what really hurts me is that I don’t understand what I did wrong…”

🩵 Sanji easily perceives the truth: your father had your friend’s, his associate, killed for some reason, maybe a suspected betrayal, and they blame you, if only by association. Seeing you so sad, partially comforted by the delicious dessert you are eating but still frustrated and lonely for the old friend you have lost without knowing why, breaks his heart. You don’t have many friends, you admit, and are well aware that many of the people you know only pay attention to you on request of your father, because he knows their parents and employers, or because they hope to benefit from the money and luxuries he grants you. “You must feel very lonely; I’m sorry, (name).” Sanju murmurs, using your first name without realising; he is all too aware of how your knees are touching under the desk “You deserve to be surrounded by people who appreciate you for what you are, because believe me, anyone would be fortunate to be your friend.” He fears you might think he’s only telling you what you need to hear, since you still know each other so little, but you smile at him, shy and grateful, as if you could perceive how sincere he’s being. “Thank you, Sanji; the truth is, this has already happened more than once. People I cared for -friends, members of our staff, employees of my father I had been acquainted with for years… they simply leave without a word, or disappear in thin air as if they had never been there. Now, I know it’s normal for a person to change jobs and even the best friends can grow distant, but…” “But?” he invites you to go on. “... but sometimes I feel as if there was something weird about it; as if those people hadn’t simply left… they were gone. And my father had something to do with it.”

🩵 You force a smile, as if to apologise for the absurdity of that idea; no matter how suddenly tense he is, Sanji can’t help noticing how enticing your mouth looks at that moment, the teeth biting into it emphasising the plushness of your bottom lip, your tongue darting out for a moment to clean a minuscule spot of cream left from the last bite of your treat. “I know it’s absurd; I feel guilty just talking about it, but… most of the people I know, friends and otherwise, I have met them through my father, and he’s a good and kind man, but he’s so protective of me, and sometimes I feel like… well, that he’d be capable of pushing away, or even firing, people he doesn’t approve I make friends with. I know, I sound like an idiot, and ungrateful, given everything he does for me; you can laugh if you want.” But Sanji has no intention of laughing; quite the opposite. He can see how close you are to realising the truth, to understanding your father is responsible for the disappearance of your friends and other people you have lost contact with - even though he did much more than dismissing them or ordering them to stay away from you. No matter how much you love him, and he you, you are no longer a child and you deserve to know the truth about the man you live with and are so devoted to; for a moment Sanji is about to tell you, fuck the consequences, but then something -perhaps the fact that he still knows you so little, or that it is not up to him; or simply that, maybe, he’s afraid of how you could react- stops the words in his throat. “I can’t speak for your father; what I know for sure is that even if he only has your best interest at heart, he has no right to make choices that should be yours, and you deserve to know the truth.” he softly murmurs in the end; for a moment he regrets those words, fearing you could decide to confront your father with dramatic and even potentially dangerous consequences, but then you smile at him, comforted and relieved, and he can’t think about anything that is not the beauty of your face and how your naked knee has been pressing against his for the last five minutes.

🩵 You change the subject, spending a bit of time talking about your lives and your dreams; in the end, it’s time for him to go, since your father will be home soon. You walk him to the door, and “Thank you, Sanji.” you murmur, meaning those few words more than any declaration you have ever uttered; you felt so lonely until an hour before, and now you feel much better, thanks to a delicious dessert and more importantly to the young man who served it to you, out of pure, selfless worry for your well-being “I know you’re already so busy in the kitchen, so… I really appreciate you coming; I often feel lonely, but tonight in particular I didn’t want to be alone.” “I’m glad I did it. I’m sorry if you feel alone, and… well, if you need to talk, or you have nothing else to do, you know where to find me.” That is a promise Sanji knows he shouldn’t make, because no matter how fond he has grown of you, he’s still waiting for his occasion to escape and leave without looking back - which will mean you will lose another person you care for. He doesn’t want to pain you, and you don’t deserve it; but when you smile at him, your face filled with the childlike and almost painful joy of having found a new friend, Sanji knows he has done the right thing, no matter how much you both may come to regret it in the future.

🩵 From that night, a quiet friendship develops between the two of you. On the nights he sees you sad or pensive for some reason, or he simply wants to surprise you, Sanji brings a treat to your room, careful not to be seen by anyone, and you spend some time talking; in turn, you begin visiting him in the kitchen, to observe him as he works and even help with the dishes after a meal. You bring him little gifts, not necessarily costly but that he appreciates because he perceives the thoughtfulness behind the purchase: a tie in a colour you thought would look good on him, a cooking book he had mentioned he wanted to read, a new apron with his name embroidered. Slowly, quietly, you become important to each other. You appreciate the fact that unlike most people in your life Sanji does nothing to endear himself to your father -rather, he seems to dislike him a lot, even though in your presence he makes an effort to hide it; who knows why he accepted your father’s job offer, you wonder, since Sanji loathes him so much?- and that he is sincerely interested in what you have to say; in turn, Sanji can’t help appreciating your kindness and quiet intelligence, that few in your life value as they should, and thinking that you’d deserve more than living a lie, chained to a father who does not deserve you.

🩵 You are also very aware of how attractive you find each other, even though you both hesitate to make your feelings known. You fear the potential inappropriateness of a relationship, given the fact that after all you are the daughter of Sanji’s employer -you would never ask your father to fire him if you were to fight or break up, but still- and the possibility of losing what is already a precious friendship. Sanji, on the other hand, is more and more anxious with every passing day, hating himself for his inability to tell you what sort of man your father actually is; he is lying to you, though simply avoiding telling you the truth, which he knows is unacceptable both for a friend and a romantic partner, and he feels unworthy of your affection… no matter how often he fantasises about holding you in his arms and kissing you until you both forget how to breathe. What’s more, he still plans on leaving, as soon as he can; Sanji has started planning his escape since day one, keeping note of the least guarded exits of the villa and the possibility to steal a vehicle to reach the harbour, and already feels guilty at the thought that he will have to abandon you, like so many people already have. The last thing he wants to do is break your heart, making you believe he never cared for you; all things considered he should have never formed a relationship with you, not even a purely platonic one, given the fact he didn’t plan on staying and he could never give what you needed and deserved, but he couldn’t help it! You’re so lovely, so pretty and kind and devout to the people you love; how could he not become fond of you?

🩵 He is, if not confident, at least hopeful he can keep his feelings for you under control until one morning you join him in the kitchen, and ask him for cooking lessons. “I can’t do anything; not even boil an egg or cook pasta.” you admit, only partially embarrassed, because you know Sanji will not mock you, not even if you admitted you cannot even tell a fork and a knife apart “And I’d like at least to learn the basics, since it may come in useful one day when I have my own family to cook for, or maybe I could prepare something for my father to surprise him. Could you help me, Sanji? It’d be our secret, and I know you’re already so busy, but I’ll pay you…”

🩵 He immediately tells you he could never accept to be paid, and that he’ll be happy to help. From that night on, you start meeting in the kitchen at night after dinner or in moments of the day where the two of you are alone at home. Sanji is a capable teacher, patient and understanding since he appreciates your desire to learn, and you are determined not to waste his time. You start from the very basics, and as he teaches you the right time to wait to boil an egg -five minutes if you prefer a runny yolk, eight if you want to make hard-boiled egg, never go above twelve- or to calculate how much salt to put in for the pasta depending on the quantity of water, you feel happier, more active, than you remember ever being; you usually enjoy studying and your tutors are more than satisfied with your results, but this is different… not theoretical notions of history or mathematics you could never find an use for, but a practical ability that you could employ in your everyday life, either to surprise the people you love or to avoid giving yourself food poisoning. It’s nothing grandiose, only a fish soup or a plate of vegetable spaghetti, you still require Sanji’s constant supervision and make so many beginner’s mistakes, but you’re having fun, and you feel well… and all of it is due to the blonde young man next to you; you know a relationship between the two of you would probably be complicated, given the fact he works for your family, and you’re not even fully sure he has feelings for you, but in the privacy of your heart you’ve come to hope Sanji will remain part of your life, that he will not leave like so many have in the past… and that he will never lie to you.

🩵 After three months of regular classes, you decide to prepare your father’s favourite dish to serve to him as he returns from a business trip; you’re more than a little nervous, wanting to prepare it by yourself but fearing the dish is still too advanced for what you have learnt, but Sanji has faith in your abilities, and promises to warn you if you make some grave mistake. In the end, the dish turns out perfectly; Sanji is proud of you, and your heart is full of joy and gratitude for all his help. As you celebrate together, you hug him tight, and you’re about to tell him how happy you are that he is now part of your life, but a moment later, on impulse, you decide you better show him, and press your lips on his. Sanji immediately kisses you back, his chest pressed against yours as his hands hold you by the waist; it’s lovely, sweet and intimate, and like most good things it ends before you want it to, with the house door slamming and your father’s voice announcing he is back. “I better go.” you murmur sadly, loathe to end that moment of intimacy now that you have discovered how soft Sanji’s hair is as you caress it, how pleasant the feeling of his body against yours “I�� I’ll see you later, alright? And… thank you, Sanji; you made me happier than I’ve ever been.” He smiles, but there is sadness in his eyes as he does, and as he lets his hands fall from your hips. “Believe me, (name); you have nothing to thank me for.”

🩵 Later that night, Sanji has just finished cleaning the kitchen and is about to return to his room when your father enters, followed by two of his bodyguards. “You have been giving (name) cooking lessons.” he states; it’s not a question, so Sanji doesn’t answer, simply standing in front of the older man; part of him fears your father knows about the kiss, since someone might have seen you as the two of you were too focused on each other to notice, but a moment later he decides he doesn’t care, since he has nothing to be ashamed of. “She told me tonight, since she didn’t want to take all the credit for the dish she had prepared for me, but I knew already; if you had hoped to keep it secret, you never could. There is nothing that happens in this house without me knowing.” Again, Sanji remains silent, and your father looks at him, a merciless look in his eyes. “I don’t mind if you teach her to cook, since it makes her happy, but I want you to know one thing; if you think about taking advantage of those moments alone to… touch my daughter, or even flirt with her, you better change your mind now. She is not for you; she deserves better than a simple cook and former pirate, and in any case she’s still too young for a relationship. You only touch her with a finger and you’re a dead man. I’m not kidding; if you think the lashing and starving you experienced when you first came here were painful, you have no idea what I’m capable of doing if you hurt my (name).”

🩵 Again, no answer. “Well? You have nothing to say in your defence?” your father asks, curious despite himself, and finally Sanji speaks. “Do you know why (name) wanted to learn to cook?” he asks “To surprise you… and because she thought it could come in handy once she has a family of her own. Your daughter is not a child; you may have done everything you could to keep her prisoner in this house, surrounded by people you trust and have chosen, but you can’t keep her from thinking with her own head. Don’t you think one day she might fall in love, desire to get married, and have a home of her own? Will you force her to live here with her spouse? Will you choose her partner for her?” Your father doesn’t answer, for once in his life taken aback; the truth that Sanji cannot know but easily perceive, is that he has already compiled a list of potential spouses for you, children of his associates or people he trusts, to casually introduce to you and have them ask you out. The last thing he wants is for you to get a crush on someone undeserving, someone he can’t trust and who would take you away from him… someone like that young blond cook who is now looking at him, rage burning in his eyes “I’m right, aren’t I? Don’t you see how everything you do hurts (name)? She is an adult, she doesn’t need to be protected! All you have done is lie to her about the sort of man you are, surround her with people who don’t really care for her instead of friends she has chosen, and stop her from learning to take care of herself! You know what the truth is? That your daughter is a lovely person, good, kind, always ready to help others, and you can’t help keeping her in the dark regarding your activities, because you know she’d be horrified about all the atrocities you have committed! You know she’d hate you, because you are a monster who doesn’t deserve her love and sure as hell you don’t deserve her!”

🩵 Sanji knows perfectly he will pay dearly for his lack of respect, and he does: your father, livid with rage at the young man, his prisoner, who has spoken to him like no one has ever dared to do and forced him to confront his sins and admit in his heart how deeply he might have ruined his relationship with you, orders his bodyguards to punish him, which they do. Once again, Sanji fights back bravely, alone against five armed opponents, and in the end is beaten to a pulp. Your father seriously considers having him killed, since the young chef is clearly trouble, and telling you he decided to resign, but you were so enthusiastic about your cooking lessons, and he doesn’t want you to have to renounce them. Furious, and scared for the first time he might seriously be unable to protect -this is the verb he uses in his mind- you from the truth, the man warns Sanji that he’ll kill him with his bare hands if he tells you anything and leaves.

🩵 The next morning you’re horrified when, coming into the kitchen to greet Sanji and ask if he needs help with breakfast, you see his bruised face, and the cautious way he walks, as if he had a broken rib or was hurting in some other way. “What on earth happened to you?!” you scream, brushing your fingers against his cheek, your heart immediately filling with pain “Did someone jump on you? Sanji, you need to tell my father, he can protect you…”

🩵 Sanji looks at you; he has known you for six months, but suddenly he feels as if he’s seeing you for the first time. “Are you sure you want to know?” he asks in a murmur, wincing at the pain shooting through his body at every breath; you blink. “Why, yes, of course, if you want to tell me…” “I’m not talking about what happened to me; well, that as well, but the whole story is much bigger than that, and concerns you more than me. Is there a way we can talk without your father or his men knowing?” He is so serious, so tense and openly worried -not for himself, perhaps- that Sanji is starting to scare you, but you keep your questions to yourself, and admit there is a corner of the villa that everyone else has all but forgotten about: a tiny shed at the back of the garden, empty except for a few tools and bags of soil no one has touched in years. As a young girl -and also, err, until six months ago- you used to go there and hide to eat sweets you had stolen from the kitchen without your father knowing; you know for sure no one else has set foot there in years. Sanji asks you to meet him at the shed that night, making sure no one sees you, and also to ensure your father doesn’t suspect you’re worried about something; you promise, and then leave, your heart heavy with fears you can’t even give a name to.

🩵 Soon after midnight that night, both you and Sanji are at the shed, having eluded the guards who patrol the estate; security has always been your father’s top priority, even though you privately think he exaggerates a bit: he keeps a large sum of money in his personal safe and you do own a few precious objects, paintings and jewels he has gifted you, but after all he is just a businessman, why does he feel the need to protect himself as if a whole army could try and invade you? Who in the world could want to hurt a good man like him?

🩵 “So? What do you have to tell me that is so important we had to meet in secret?” you ask Sanji; you have allowed yourself to hope he had asked you to come there to spend a little time alone, doing what you had started in the kitchen that night, but the expression of the man in front of you immediately dispels those romantic musings. Sanji looks scared, tense… and guilty, as if he were about to confess some grave sin he has committed; and he does, having taken your hands in his. “Before telling you the truth, I want you to know I have never wanted to hurt you; in these six months I have grown to care deeply for you, and you deserve to know what is really going on here. I should have told you months ago, as soon as I realised you knew nothing; I was afraid to do it, afraid to make you cry, and please believe me when I say I am really sorry for it.” Dumbfounded, you listen as he spills it, revealing the truth everyone you have ever known has accurately kept from you: that your father is a criminal, the head of a powerful and dangerous organisation involved in shady business of all sorts, who has threatened, tortured and killed countless people. Most of the people who you were told had suddenly resigned or decided to move away have actually been murdered, because your father couldn’t trust them to keep his secrets or were simply an obstacle for his business; some of them he has killed personally. The authorities and the police know, even though they have never been able to incriminate him, or have been bribed to look the other way.

🩵 In short, everybody knows… everybody except you, his daughter. “As far as I understood, he has always made sure to keep you in the dark; he has surrounded you with people he trusts to keep his secret, didn’t let you go to school, always has his men accompany you wherever you go… and probably has spread the word that anyone who made you aware of the truth would pay with their life.” Sanji explains; you’re sitting on a pair of old garden chairs, your hands in his, a chaste but sweet intimacy you are at the moment unable to appreciate “I know it’s a shock; but your father… I do believe he loves you very much, and would never hurt you, but he is not the man you think he is; he has lied to you your whole life, even choosing your friends for you and making sure you remained under his influence, to stop you from thinking for yourself and realise you are a prisoner in your own life. I’m sorry I’m upsetting you; but I know you deserve to know the truth.”

🩵 Sanji looks at you, afraid you’re going to faint or to start screaming any moment, but you don’t; dumbfounded, you remain on your chair as you feel all your life, everything you thought true and safe, your whole world, crumbling around you. Your father, the kind, patient man who taught you to ride a bike and knelt to check there were no monsters under your bed, is a criminal - no, he is a murdererer, a man who resorted to violence to reach his goals and kept you completely in the dark, forcing you in a bubble where nothing is what it seems and all the people you came in contact with were actors playing a part. Everything you own - everything he has given you, from your education to the clothes on your back, is the results of those crimes; everyone you ever cared for, and who appeared to care for you, had been chosen, paid, or even threatened by him, in order to surround you with people he trusted would keep up his ruse. You feel as if your life until now had been a dream, from which you’re finally waking up… to discover reality is a thousand times worse than you could have ever imagined.

🩵 What will you do from now on?, you wonder. Even Sanji admits your father, for all the crimes he committed and the cruelty he treated so many people with, loves you deeply and has never wanted to hurt you, but you only need to reflect for a moment to know you can’t remain with him, going on as if you never knew the truth; you don’t even know how you’ll be able to look at him in the face from now on, and the last thing you want is to keep eating the food, living in the house and enjoying all the comforts his criminal activities have paid for. But what else can you do, given the fact that you own nothing that your father hasn’t given to you? You are not afraid to work hard and you could find a job to support yourself, but disgust, shame, and fear for the future make you feel as if you could suffocate. You need to act, you think, to stop your father and find a way to make up for his crimes; you did nothing wrong, you honestly never suspected anything, but having benefited from his crimes more than anyone else you have the duty to do something. But what?

🩵 Sanji is still by your side, silently and patiently waiting for you to come to terms with the truth; in the end he sees you sigh, and straighten your back as you remind yourself you have more important and urgent things to take care of before succumbing to a mental breakdown. “Was it my father who did this to you?” you murmur quietly as you brush your fingers against one of the many bruises on his face; your touch is gentle and delicate, and Sanji feels himself leaning into it, his heart full of tenderness. “It was; well, his men, but the order came to him.” he reveals, hating himself for the guilt and shame he sees reflected on your face “He also had me kidnapped to have him work for him; his men waited for a moment where I was alone, and my friends have no idea what happened to me.”

🩵 “Oh, that explains everything…” you murmur, and confess that a couple of months ago, while your father’s men had accompanied Sanji to the shops to buy provisions, two people had come to the villa, claiming that their friend, who they had been looking for after he had disappeared, was working there: a red-haired girl and a boy with a straw hat. You had heard your father deny knowing Sanji, and tell them that there was no one matching his description at the villa, whatever the two had heard. “I… happened to pass by the door as they were talking, and listened from behind a corner; later I confronted my father, asking him why he had lied to those two, and he told me that you had confided in him that someone could come looking for you, a crew of pirates who had kidnapped you some time ago, and that he was only trying to protect you. I… thought it was a bit of an unlikely story, but I trusted my father, and he asked me not to tell you anything because it would only upset you to know your former captors were onto you once more.” you admit, your heart full of guilt; had you been less naive, you could have saved Sanji months of captivity! “I am so sorry, Sanji, I should have told you…!”

🩵 Luffy and the others had been looking for him! If only he hadn’t been out of the villa at that moment, Sanji thinks with a sigh, but it can’t be helped, and he knows his friends will not give up until they have found him. “What are you going to do now?” he asks once he has reassured you he doesn’t blame you for having kept silent on a matter he dearly wished he had known about, and with a sigh you recognise you have a duty to expose your father and make sure he pays for his crimes; for this purpose, tomorrow you will wait for him to have left, find as many incriminating documents as you can in his study, and bring them to the local police. In part, despite everything, you feel ashamed, because he has been a good, doting father to you and you’re going to put him in jail for the rest of his life, but his victims deserve justice, and if you don’t act there’s no knowing how many more people he could hurt and kill. Sanji promises he will come with you, and you decide that in the morning you will pretend to feel sick and remain in bed; he will come to serve you breakfast, and together you will slip over to your father’s study, hopefully unnoticed.

🩵 It’s time for both of you to return to bed, and pretend nothing is amiss. Instead of the ardent kisses the more naive, innocent you -in other words, the girl you were an hour ago; and yet, you feel as if you had aged a decade since then, almost not recognising the scared, jaded person you are now- had hoped you would exchange taking advantage of the privacy of the shed, you simply embrace, both apologising and forgiving the pain you indirectly inflicted on each other. That night, after you have said goodbye to Sanji and stolen back to your room, you lay awake in your bed and cry silently, mourning a man you had loved and trusted with all your heart and who, perhaps, never existed to begin with.

🩵 On the next morning, hearing you don’t feel well your father offers to call for the doctor, but you convince him you just need to rest for a while and you’ll feel better soon; he kisses you good-bye, a kiss you force yourself to respond to with a smile even though it tastes like poison. An hour later Sanji comes to your room with a tray full of food that remains untouched; you succeed in walking to your father’s study without being noticed, and after you locked yourselves inside you begin searching for the proves of his crimes - which you find pretty easily, in the form of letters and photographs that connect your father to a long list of crimes, including several murders. Sanji opens the safe hidden behind a painting, containing several bundles of banknotes… and an old paper envelope, with your name written on it. It’s a letter, you discover after opening it, from a woman whose name you have never heard… and who claims to be your mother. “I… I can’t believe it; he always told me my mother died when I was born.” you murmur, once more appalled by the magnitude of your father’s lies “Here it says that he forced her to leave me to him, after promising he would give me this letter when I was ten, so that I could decide if I wanted to meet her or not.” He never did, no doubt as part of his all-encompassing plan to keep you for himself, preventing you from forming relationships out of his sphere of influence. Your own mother has been alive all this time and you didn’t know! This is the ultimate betrayal, a breach of trust you know you will never be able to forgive him for, but you have no time to reflect on the potential consequences of this discovery, because suddenly your father’s men are knocking at the door, having realised both you and Sanji are not where you should; you are able to escape through the window, and he defends you from the men who try to stop you.

🩵 Fortunately, the local head of police is one your father has never been able to bribe or intimidate, and hates him with all his might; he’s at first suspicious of you, fearing this is all a plan your father orchestrated against him, but he changes his mind when you hand him enough evidence to formally accuse your father of at least a dozen crimes. The whole time, as you answer the many questions the police has for you, Sanji remains by your side, holding your hand and silently reassuring you have done the right thing; you are too heart-broken, too full with self-loathing and shame and fear for the future to find some comfort in it, but you are nonetheless happy, and relieved, at least one person in your life respected and cared for you enough to prevent you from living the rest of your life in a lie.

🩵 Hours later, as you are still at the police headquarters, your father is brought in escorted by a small army of agents, his hands cuffed. When he sees you, for a moment he thinks you’ve also been arrested, perhaps on suspicion of having taken part in some of his crimes, but then he sees Sanji next to you, and the way you are looking at him, ashamed and furious and heartbroken, and the truth dawns on him; he looks away, and lets the agents lead him to his cell. “You can talk to him, if you want, provided that one or two agents are present.” the head of police informs you, but you shake your head: you have nothing to tell him, and you don’t have the heart to find out what he thinks of you now that he knows you have betrayed him.

🩵 Now that your father will pay for his crimes, your next intent is to help Sanji return to his friends - which is easier said than done, since while the Straw Hat Pirates may have suspected their cook was kept in your home against his will, months have passed since then and now they could be looking for him on the other side of the sea. Suddenly, you have an idea: knowing Sanji’s friends have the paper delivered to their ship, and that the news of your father’s arrest will appear on the front page, you pay for a message to be printed at the bottom of the article, with Sanji’s name and your Den Den Mushi number, through which his friends will be able to contact him. Sanji thanks you for your help, and tells you how brave you have been to expose your father knowing well how your life would change from then on, but you don’t feel particularly proud of yourself, let alone worthy of being praised: rather, you feel empty, dirty, on account on the kinship with your father, and alone, knowing that you have no fault for his crimes, and at the same time that no matter how much you do to rectify them, you will never stop feeling guilty for having remained blind to the truth.

🩵 Another unconfessable source of pain is the fact that Sanji will leave soon to rejoin his friends, leaving you completely alone. He’s the only friend you have left, the sole person you know for sure has stood by you and offered his friendship of his own accord and not because your father has paid or threatened him, and even though you have only known each other for six months you can’t imagine your life without him, and you know you’ll miss him terribly for the rest of your life. The truth is, you have grown more than a little fond of him, and while you wish you could ask him to remain there with you, not necessarily in the role of a paid chef, you know Sanji has suffered more than enough at the hands of your family, and even just an offer he could be free to decline would be unjustifiably egotistical of you. You do know -or is it simply wishful thinking? After all, for all you know, perhaps he has a girlfriend waiting for him somewhere, perhaps that very pretty red-haired girl who came looking for him months ago- Sanji cares for you, and you are confident he will remember you fondly; that is - that has to be enough.

🩵 As you expected and hoped, the newspaper with the message for Sanji’s friends -and a four pages-long article regarding your father’s arrest and the revelation of his crimes, with so many people now coming forward to attest the abuse and violence they suffered by his hand- has only been circulating for a few hours when your Den Den Mushi receives a call from Straw Hat Luffy himself. Twenty-four hours later, Sanji and his friends are together once again; the others thank you profoundly for what you did, even though you still feel unworthy of their gratitude, convinced as you are that your father’s cruelty and crimes have rubbed off on you, if only because you were too naive, too dumb, to realise what was going on, and you deserve the solitude and shame you already feel.

🩵 You offer Luffy and the others to stay at the villa for the night, before they -including Sanji- depart to resume their journey. That night, the two of you take a walk in the garden, enjoying what you know is your last moment together. “What will you do now?” Sanji asks after a while, and after he has taken your hand in his as you walk, and you admit you are not sure. “I want nothing of what my father owns; I have decided to sell the house, and the proceeds, and all of his money, will go to his victims, the people he wronged and hurt, and their families. It will not cancel his crimes, or bring back the people he killed, but it’s better than nothing. The designer clothes, the jewellery, all the precious things he bought me… I will give everything away; I want to own nothing I have to thank him for, even if it means going around naked and starving.” you explain “All I want to keep is the little money I earned recently with a summer job I had at the company of a friend of his; that I think I earned, even though it was my father who got me the job… and I will use it to go look for my mother. I know where she lived when I was born, and when she wrote that letter; I will go there, and if I can’t find her, well, I will decide on the moment.” Sanji agrees it’s an excellent idea, and that finding your mother will surely make you feel better and help you give a new direction to your life. For a moment he seems about to say something else, but then he bites his lip, and swallows, and “May I kiss you?” he asks in a murmur, and thank all the Gods the night is pitch black, because this time you’re outside. An hour later Sanji walks you back to your room, and after a moment of embarrassment you part at the door.

🩵 The next morning you accompany Sanji and his friends to the harbour, and as the others carry the provisions you have insisted they take -almost all the food that once filled the house’s pantry, and that would have otherwise gone to waste, since you plan on leaving that very day as well- Sanji thanks you for all your help and hands you a paper envelope. “Please read it after we have left.” he asks you, and you promise, unsure of what it could mean but willing to trust him. “I don’t know what I will do without all the good things you have prepared for me.” you murmur, forcing a smile despite the tears that fill your eyes; you’re only partially comforted by the fact that Sanji is clearly as upset as you are. He kisses your hand, and a moment later he has climbed aboard, leaving you alone.

🩵 You remain on the pier until the candid sails of the ship have disappeared on the horizon, a gentle wind pushing it towards lands you don’t even know the name of; as a new warm day rises around you, you open the envelope in your hands, finding as you expected a message from Sanji, short but sufficient to fill your heart with joy. “My darling (name); I know you want to find your mother, but once you have met her would you like to join our crew? Luffy and the others would be happy to have you, and I think you’d enjoy being a pirate. I care for you more than I can put into words; you would make me the happiest man in the world if you just let me show it to you. Take your time, the offer always stands; I know you will make the right choice. With all my love, your devoted chef Sanji.”

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Sanji #Sanji x reader #Taz Skylar #Bellona's stuff #100 notes

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