#they rarely provide any sort if relief from it for her

[z-eusie]

the more I scroll through the tags, the more convinced I am that people want Hera to be miserable

and by this I mean that there's this obsession with making Zeus more cruel, more incompetent, and more harmful than he really is, and in doing so, make Hera's experience so much worse than it is... without a single consideration to how this truly impacts Hera

[makoodles]

ミsomnophilia

🍓pairing: tonowari x human!reader x ronal

🍓tags: nsfw, interspecies relationship, somnophilia, thigh-fucking, thigh-riding, size kink, threesome, soft femdom (ronal)

🍓word count: 3.7k

masterlist

At first, you’re not entirely certain what’s pulled you from sleep. 

Since you had started living with Ronal and Tonowari in their marui, you’ve been sleeping like the goddamn dead. Sure, you may miss Earth pillows and foam mattresses, but you could never have expected the sheer comfort of being all wrapped up in the arms of two Na’vi almost twice your size as they purr comfortingly to ease you sleep. They’re always so warm, and they hold you so gently that you feel like something rare and precious.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so comfortable in your life. Even as you blink awake sleepily in the middle of the night, you find yourself all encased in hazy warmth – you’re curled up on your side facing Ronal, with Tonowari plastered against your back. It’s their favourite position; there’s little they enjoy more than having your small soft warmth all safe between them.

You mumble sleepily as you half-raise your head, brow creased as you try to figure out what’s just woken you. You blink rapidly, reaching automatically for Ronal in front of you – she snuffles, still asleep herself, and shifts closer to you.

At first, you think perhaps you’ve woken up because it’s hot in the marui. You’ve always enjoyed the tropical climate of Pandora, but when you’re pressed in between two big sweaty bodies like you are right now it can get a little overwhelming. You shift a little, closing your eyes again, and lay your head back down on Ronal’s shoulder. It’s a little too warm, but you’re reluctant to pull away from them. You like feeling them all pressed tight against you, and you hum quietly to yourself as you press your face into Ronal’s neck.

 In doing so, you pull slightly away from the searing heat of Tonowari plastered against your back. The sudden lack of hot skin against your back provides temporary comfort as cool night air hits the newly exposed skin, but it doesn’t last long. 

Within seconds, Tonowari is all pressed up against you again. You can hear his soft snuffling breaths as one of his big arms winds around your waist, but that’s not what has your eyes shooting open all over again.

Tonowari is hard. His hips are pressed right up against your ass, the thickness of his erection rocking steadily and insistently into you. The base of your spine is a little sticky, and you realise that the head of his cock is grinding into the exposed skin of your back and leaking little trails of precome all over you.

“Oh!” You breathe, eyes widening.

This is hardly the first time you’ve had the heavy weight of him grinding up into you like this. 

He’s always seemed to love rubbing against both you and Ronal any chance he can get during the daytime. Ronal has always embraced this with an eyeroll and a sly smile, throwing her head back when he ducks his face into her neck and humps up against her backside. It became clear that this was just something Tonowari did – he would steal away moments with you or Ronal (or both of you) throughout the day, pulling you to the side away from prying eyes and grinding his clothed erection against you as a sort of very temporary stress relief.

It had taken a while for you to get used to it – he’s strong, and when he grinds into you he damn near knocks you clean off your feet. Whenever you grind back into him he'll loop his arm around your waist and keep you in place so he can dry-hump your ass for the few brief moments he manages to snatch with you before he has to break away from you in order to calm down. The way he turns near-mindless when he gets horny like that is impossibly heady, and it goes straight between your legs.

But this is the first time you’ve experienced him this way at night. 

You crane your head around in an attempt to catch a glimpse of him, and you’re surprised to find that his eyes are closed and his jaw is slack. He’s still asleep.

“Tonowari-” You begin to whisper, but then his hips surge again and your words are lost beneath the sound of his breathy, sleepy whine.

The next time his hips rock gently against you, you let out a soft little moan of your own. The long line of his body is so soft yet so firmly muscled, so large as he curves around you. The heat of him is almost overwhelming, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the stiffness of his erection pressing into the plush skin of your ass.

When you hazily blink your eyes back open again, you’re startled to find wide blue eyes already watching you. Ronal has woken up, and is watching your face with rapt attention.

“He is so hungry for you, little thing.” She whispers, one of her big fingers coming up to stroke over your cheek.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp stupidly, right as Tonowari rumbles sleepily and humps up into you again.

Ronal glances down, her sharp eyes taking in every movement. “What for?”

“Waking you up.” You whisper, a little nervous that she’s going to be annoyed at you.

“Oh,” She coos, cupping your face with her palm. “You think this is the first time I have been awoken like this? Our boy is so greedy, isn’t he?”

“He’s- I just-” You start, but Ronal’s hand trails from your face down to your chest, and cups at your breasts.

Your human underwear is so damn skimpy, but it’s the most comfortable thing for you to wear at night. Ronal pulls your bra down and out of the way as though she has a grudge against it, baring your tits. You let out a shaky breath as her long, strong fingers grope at you, squeezing gently but insistently at their soft squishiness.

“Shouldn’t we wake him up?” You whisper, reaching out to clutch at Ronal’s shoulders. You are suddenly, breath-takingly relieved that the kids sleep in a separate, adjoining section to the marui so that they’re not witness to this.

“And take away his fun?” Ronal purrs, her chest rumbling as she presses up closer to you. “No. Can’t you feel how happy he is?”

You certainly can. His happiness is currently rutting into you so insistently that your panties are giving you the nastiest wedgie, and when you squirm it only serves to wind him up even more.

He grunts, all sleepy and hoarse as he humps so slowly and leisurely into the plumpness of your ass. You shiver, the heat between you all ratcheting up as your sweat-slick skin slides against each other.

When Ronal’s lips brush against your forehead above the edge of your breathing mask, you shudder hard. Her thumb strokes over your nipple, purring in delight when it firms up under the pad of her finger. When her other hand trails down and dips into your panties, you let out a very quiet whine as her long fingers rub experimentally along the slickness that’s begun to collect in your cunt.

“Oh, needy thing.” You can hear the biting smile in Ronal’s voice even if you can’t see it, your face pressed flat into her chest. “You’re just as bad as our Tonowari, aren’t you?”

“Please.” You gasp, clutching at her shoulders. Her breasts are firm beneath your face, nowhere near as soft as human tits, and you press eagerly against her as she touches you. “Ronal, please-”

“Shh, shh.” She coos, her sharp teeth ghosting over your temple as she grins. “Come here.”

You trust your two big Na’vi to make you feel good in whatever way they can, so you eagerly allow Ronal to maneuver you into whatever position she wants. You’re not fully expecting her hands to land on the softest part of your thighs and to lift it, allowing the thickness of Tonowari’s cock to slide between your legs.

The rumbly purr that tears its way out of Tonowari’s chest when Ronal sets your leg back down vibrates right into you, and you gasp softly when Tonowari’s hips jolt right up against your ass. 

“Press your little legs together.” Ronal whispers to you, squeezing at your tit. “Oh, that’s it. See how much he enjoys your softness?”

The moan Tonowari lets out sounds like a soft snore as he presses rigid cock into the tight space between your thighs. Everything is so slick and hot as he rolls his hips into you, his cockhead poking out from between your legs as he ruts into your thighs. 

“Fuck, he’s a heavy sleeper.” You choke out, your breathing stuttering a little.

Ronal laughs, soft and breathy, and leans back to watch the view. She looks very appreciative, grinning wryly as she watches her husband’s cock working between your legs. You know she enjoys how small you are, and she especially enjoys being able to take charge during interactions like this, maneuvering you like a damn doll exactly as she wants.

“Yes,” She agrees, her voice impossibly fond. “He is, isn’t he?”

After a moment or two, Tonowari grunts softly from behind you, and you feel his large paw of a hand landing on your hip. In front of you, Ronal’s eyes flick over your head and she grins at the sight of her mate behind you.

“Oh,” Tonowari rumbles, and his hips give a rough hump into yours. “Oh, my loves-”

His voice is all gravelly from sleep, and he whines deep in the back of his throat as he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into him, your back all plastered against his front.

“Look who’s awake.” Ronal coos, her lips all peeled back off her teeth in a cool, condescending grin. “You have worked our little demon up something terrible. Look at her.”

You have no idea if Tonowari is looking at you or not, because Ronal has pushed herself up on her elbows and is pushing insistently at Tonowari’s shoulder. He chuckles, all throaty and deep as he allows his wife to arrange the three of you. Ronal forces him to roll over onto his back, ensuring that you roll with him.

You’re all laid out on your own back across his chest, breathing heavily as his hips twitch against you. His cock is leaking, smearing wet precome all over the inside of your thighs. You moan quietly, moving yourself against his cock in an attempt to grind your clit on him.

“Ronal,” You whine, turning your head towards her. “I want to-”

She just hums, clearly not listening, and drops her head so that she can press a biting kiss to the swell of your left tit. In the same moment Tonowari fucks up in between your thighs in earnest, leaving you gasping like an idiot.

With a quiet swear, one of Tonowari’s hands reaches up to grab at the tit that Ronal isn’t currently sucking kisses on, and he kneads at it like a damn cat. His mouth is open, pressed to your skin, and you can feel his hot breath condense as he pants against your neck. Cautiously, you squeeze the inner muscles of your thighs tight together and Tonowari cries out, holds you harder.

Ronal sucks one last bruising kiss into the tender skin just under your nipple, clearly delighting in the way you shudder under her attention, before pulling back. It seems like she just wants a chance to look again, because her beautiful eyes trail over your body. Her gaze lingers on your breasts, currently being pushed up by the bra that she’s pushed under your tits, then lower still to where her husband’s cock is jutting out from between the soft plush flesh of your thighs.

It seems like looking isn’t enough for Ronal anymore, because she shoves herself up quickly, the swift movement causing the hammock to rock precariously. She hardly even seems to notice, too busy swinging her leg over one of Tonowari’s thighs.

“And you tease me for being needy, beloved.” Tonowari says, though his voice sounds strained with arousal as his wife settles herself over the tense muscle of his thigh.

“Hush.” Ronal says, though not ungently. “You caused this. Let me take my relief, hm?”

She’s facing you, so you get a truly wonderful view as she begins to grind her cunt against Tonowari’s flexing thigh. You moan softly, watching with widened eyes even as Tonowari takes a hold of your hips and continues to thrust between your thighs.

Ronal smiles, sharp and pretty, as she watches you watching her. Maybe it’s because she’s aware of your stare, but her movements begin to turn a bit coquettish – all sly flicks of her hips and an undulating spine as her head tosses back. It feels as though she’s putting on a little show just for you, and you drink it in eagerly.

“Oh,” You sigh, tilting your head back into Tonowari’s throat before reaching back and winding your fingers into his soft, oiled curls as he moans inarticulately against your neck.

Ronal laughs, as though the sight of you and Tonowari so desperate and wanting is just impossibly amusing. She tilts her head with a tiny smile as she watches Tonowari’s rigid cock appear and disappear between your thighs like it’s something adorable, before reaching out and allowing her fingers to trail over the swollen purple head.

“Ronal,” He grunts, his fingers clenching tight around your hips as he stills. “You must not- you will make me come-”

“Is that not what you wanted?” She asks, her eyes widening in a challenge as she looks down at him. “Is that not why you were grinding so shamelessly into our tawtute? You even woke her up.”

Tonowari whines shamelessly, before his head drops back against the hammock. As if he can’t help himself, he rocks his hips – the movement drags the length of his cock between your legs and grinds the head of his cock into Ronal’s palm. 

She smirks, as though he’s just done exactly what she expected, before she looks towards you. “See how desperate he is, vrrtep?”

“Yes,” You choke out, trying not to sound too pathetic as you writhe against Tonowari’s dick, squeezing your thighs and making him snarl. “I see.”

“Demon,” He growls, his voice coming out in a bass register and making you quake at the sound. “You are so soft-”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” You breathe, fire curling in your groin as you buck your hips.

“Ronal,” Tonowari warns, his voice coming out all gritty and rough. “If you don’t stop-”

It doesn’t seem as though Ronal is listening; she’s palming at the head of his swollen, leaking cock insistently, clearly taking immense pleasure from watching the way his hips jerk. He must be terribly sensitive, because he ducks his face into your throat and whimpers softly as he grabs at your tits with both hands, using his grip there to pull your back tight against his chest.

“What do you think, small thing?” Ronal asks, looking to you with her usual sharp smile. “Should we let him come?”

You’re all caught up in admiring the way the skin around her eyes crinkles when she smiles, the way her breasts are heaving as she breathes. She looks so eager, her eyes all bright and hungry as she waits for your answer, and you find yourself sharing her excitement; she is in charge right now, but it feels as though she’s sharing some of that power with you.

Beneath you, Tonowari lets out some kind of soft, garbled sound that sounds like a plea, though it’s muffled in the sweaty skin of your neck. His hips are still moving restlessly, fucking in between your thighs and up into Ronal’s waiting palm. Ronal was right – he is greedy.

“Yes,” You breathe, arching your back and pushing your chest into the rough calluses of his hands. “Yes, I want him to come.”

“She’s so kind, ‘Wari,” Ronal coos, her smile turning wicked as she rotates her wrist, her palm dragging all over the sensitive head of his cock. “Isn’t she?”

“Mmm,” Tonowari’s lips drag over your throat, and he uses his grip to pull you up higher on his chest, man-handling you into a better position for him to fuck your thighs. “Such a sweet thing, we’re so lucky.”

As he’s working his cock in and out between your soft thighs, Ronal strokes the head of his erection relentlessly, even as Tonowari begins to let out quiet gasps. It sounds as though he’s beginning to grow oversensitive, but he can’t stop humping his hips – he’s just so hungry, so desperate. 

You grunt softly yourself, grinding eagerly on his cock and leaving slick trails along his length. The quiet little sounds he’s making are so arousing, your brain going all fuzzy and stupid – the marui is already so hot, but now you feel as though you’re burning up.

When he shivers beneath you, you know he’s about to break apart. Your thighs flex around his cock, and he lets out a sharp growl as he bucks up in between the softness of your legs. Your skin is dewy from the heat of the marui and Tonowari’s persistently leaking cock, which makes the slide easy. Everytime he fucks up in between your legs, the friction drags deliciously along the length of your cunt and nudges at your clit – it feels good, but it’s nowhere near enough. 

You wriggle in an attempt to get more friction against you, touching just right, and Ronal grins as she rides Tonowari’s thigh. She looks so sly, and even blows you a kiss as she works her cunt against her husband’s leg. Beneath the two of you, Tonowari is grunting and jerking his hips up as though the two of you are completely overwhelming him. 

“Tonowari,” You gasp, reaching back to tangle your fingers into the roots of his hair and tugging. “Please, please-”

Your begging seems to affect him more than you’d expect, because he lets out a strangled sort of sound in your sweaty neck. Ronal’s lips curve up as she watches, her sharp teeth poking out as she bites at her lower lip.

“She is asking so sweetly.” Ronal purrs, her chest rumbling as she leans forward on Tonowari’s thigh for a better look at his face. “Go on, ‘Wari. Give it to her.”

Tonowari does as she says; he grabs at your hips with his big hands and uses his grip there to physically jerk your body up and down as he fucks up into your thighs. He’s using you like a goddamn doll, and all you can do is reach behind you and hold onto his hair for balance. It’s clear he’s not going to last long, because you can feel his teeth bared against your shoulder as he grunts.

After only another moment, Tonowari makes an impossibly deep growling noise, primal and possessive and so fucking hot, and then his cock twitches like it’s got a mind of its own. You can feel the moment that he hurtles completely over the edge. He shoves his cock as deep as he can get between your thighs and then he’s crying out as he begins to empty himself all over the soft sensitive skin of your legs. 

He keeps rocking into the channel of your thighs, a thick load of come spurting all over you. It leaves you feeling absolutely filthy, and you gasp desperately as Ronal leans forward to watch him with a mean little smile. Her eyes are sharp, and she watches every movement and whimper as his hips keep slapping into your ass with every thrust. Your thighs clench around him eagerly, relishing the pressure against you and earning a throaty snarl from Tonowari.

But then, horrifyingly, he begins to still; it seems like your squishy thighs and Ronal’s unrelenting caresses to his cock is leading to some oversensitivity. He grunts a little, his hips twitching away from Ronal’s hand and back into the safe cradle of your thighs.

“No, fuck! Keep going,” You plead, tilting your head back into the crook of his neck in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his face. “Please-”

Ronal laughs, so quiet and breathy that it’s an easy thing to miss. It always seems to go to her head a little when you get desperate like this, and even more so when Tonowari gets all overstimulated and limp.

When you try to keep grinding yourself along his length, so damn desperate for any kind of friction against your clit now that Tonowari has got you so damn worked up, he lets out an overwhelmed sort of grunt and grabs at your hips to keep you still.

Ronal clicks her tongue, before reaching out and taking a hold of your wrist. Her fingers are large enough that they wrap all the way around, but she’s gentle as she tugs you up off of Tonowari’s chest and into her arms.

“He’s all worn out,” She whispers into your ear as though she’s sharing a secret. “Men, hm?”

Her hand dips down, into the damp cotton of your panties. Your franticness begins to bleed away into pure eagerness – there’s two of them, after all, and you know you’ll be taken care of. Ronal leans over your shoulder and presses a nipping kiss to your neck, her textured tongue laving over the skin there.

As you gasp and push yourself into Ronal’s hands, Tonowari lets out a soft grunt. It seems as though he’s taking a moment to recover himself, but he’s still trying to sit up as he peers over at the two of you, trying to get a good look at the way Ronal is playing with you.

Ronal catches him looking, and grins.

“Take a deep breath, my love.” She coos, adjusting you in her arms so that you’re all splayed out in her lap, giving Tonowari a much better view of her hand moving in your panties. “You have two women to please, and we are not tired yet.”

Tonowari lets out a playful groan, before pushing himself up in earnest. Ronal has issued him a challenge, and he’s not going to rest until his two mates are fully satisfied. He’s the one that had woken the two of you up, after all.

[wandagcre]

if ure comfy can u do a one shot or imagine of dom reader and intersex sam ; reader jerks sam off over her own abs (sams) and then licks it off

messy | sam carpenter 🔞

(Sub!Sam Carpenter x Dom! AFAB! Reader)

The party was set on the backyard but you decide to have your own with Sam.

WARNING: sam has a penis, dom afab reader, handjob, cum licking, tease of edging, ball stimulation +18 / men & minors dni. Words: 1.3k Note: first sub!sam entry yayy <3

Sam was an eye candy with her swimsuit bra and her dark shorts. You couldn't stop staring at her when she came out in this attire and you can't help but make an advance; applying the sunscreen on her exposed body and relishing how she got tense with your touch. Of course, you wouldn't have done it without being handsy – wanting her hard enough later on.

While everyone either had their stomach full of the various meals they just munched on or was starting to get drunk, you and Sam kept it light. She caught up with you after the sunscreen moment, how you keep on brushing your back to her front, any sort of skin against her. It didn't help that you looked ravishing to your own swimsuit attire that Sam's cock embarrassingly twitched upon first seeing you.

Now Sam's dealing with a problem that she can no longer hide. She held you by the wrist and whisked you away to the kitchen so she can confront you away from the spectating eyes and ears.

"What're you doing?" she questioned you.

You feign an innocent look. "I was about to grab a drink–"

"No, you're teasing me this whole day! And now it's starting to hurt."

"Okay." You laid your hand on her chest, finally taking pity on Sam. "Buckle up, baby."

"Are you–shit, (y/n) we could get caught!"

You ignore her whisper-yelling. Having sam trapped to the counter with your arms surrounded to either of her side - one of your hands already on a mission, snaked its way to cup Sam's length roughly through her shorts.

"If we get caught, it's going to be because of you, so tone it down." You sternly remind her, slowly resuming to your motions. Sam felt her knees grow weak and sharply inhaled, finding a small relief at your stroking. "What would you like to do first? Want my lips around your needy cock?"

Sam nodded deliberately, gauging of what your desired answer would be. She's afraid of exploding without your permission and your words weren't helping her case by the slightest.

It gave her an image of you trying to take all of her until your mouth was stuffed of her cock and served as a warming place. Your saliva lubricating her and maybe heightening the sensation with your teeth grazing at what your mouth can reach, up to the bottom of her protruding cock head.

She had a growing bulge by now, worse than an hour ago. But here you were, with a devious smile, having a field day with riling her up.

"You're not using your words. Maybe we'll do it later, if you're good." You tease her further, making Sam clench her fists on the side. "Maybe you won't even cum at all."

You kept rubbing her outline of her cock, feeling how it was pulsating and growing – wanting to be freed from its confinement. She was still wet from swimming earlier but that doesn't stop you. Your hands descend, still not underneath, instead you seized her balls and fondled them. The pair was becoming heavy upon your harsh touch, Sam grew hot and a particularly loud whine escaped her lips.

"What did I tell you?"

Sam squeaked and was getting harder by the second and your strokes were becoming firmer and aggressive, she was hooked and wrapped around your mercy.

"No, no, no." Sam weakly protests, head shaking in disagreement.

You raise an eyebrow. Was Sam close to acting bratty? It was rare that she does so. "No what?"

Your fingertips were getting heavily involved, determine to somewhat cup her girth and with the soft texture of Sam's shorts – it was gentle and a perfect contrast to your movements, providing a hell of a pleasure on her end.

It was like you're determined to make her blow without fully stroking her naked length. However, Sam was familiar with your tactics, she knew better that this was a test.

She arched her head back, releasing puffs of breath and tries not to make loud noises.

Gruffly, she clarified, "M-hmm 'kay, anything... what f-fits for me best, I'll t-take it!" Sam uttered with conviction that it inevitably brought a smile on your lips – you're so proud of her.

You coo her, almost caving in. "Shh. It's alright. We'll get there."

Sam looked to be in excruciating pain. A pleasurable one, but it doesn't stop her from the silent cries. She's intensely throbbing and aching for you and your teasing ways. She's hungry for you approval and you're hungry for her to lose her cool.

Admittedly, you also had enough. It was hard to pretend unaffected with Sam's wet look when she jumped on the pool, how drops of water that flowed delicately on her toned muscles only made her even more attractive to your eyes.

Without warning, you immediately freed her from its restraints, pulling the shorts down and reached for her cock – both of you trying to stifle a moan at the welcomed contact. Fucking finally, Sam thought. Warm and naked. This was definitely heaven for her.

Sam's cock sprung hard and was angry red. It didn't take long for her cock to fully become erect, given your relentless strokes – from the base and her shaft. Each pump of your hand was firm and rough, you really tried to cover the entire girth.

But Sam? She was really massive. The veins were becoming prominent as well, proving the thirst it was craving for. Her precum was oozing at the tip and with you meeting the head with a brush of your thumb per pump on her length, it was getting harder for sam to conceal her moans of appreciation.

You almost wanted Sam to ram you with her cock. It was undeniably a mouthwatering sight.

"(y/n)- oh god," Sam was getting sensitive. Her mouth parted and head now hung on your shoulder for support.

"Now be quiet, baby. I'm going to stop if you're loud."

Sam's eyebrows contorted, you see her fighting through it. She takes it upon her, hand covering her own mouth to muffle the erotic sounds brewing in the kitchen.

You feel her cock pulsate harder. It made you squirm, wetness surely ruining your own in panties and it motivated you to stroke better and faster than ever. You didn't hesitate to get on your knees now, wanting to get a better feel and angle of it. The tightening of your fist around her shaft, paired with twisting, made Sam quiver and roll her eyes.

"You can cum for me, Sammy."

It did the trick because soon enough, Sam had her jaw clenched, huffing beside you and with her twitching cock you settle some distance for her to release her load on her sculpted abdomen. Not only her cock veins were bulging, but along the expanse of her neck as well, all from the pressure steaming off her.

"Goodness... gonna c-cum now!"

Sam took her sweet time with catching her breath. Meanwhile, her cock continued twitching and she groaned as you milked all of her cum, directing the release to her stomach. It was a palpable sight; her glorious form softening as she succumbs to your whims.

"Fucking hell..." Sam muttered as the ropes of her release seemed to drag longer.

With her viscous thick spurts of cum vivid against her beautiful tanned skin, your motor senses were already on its way with tongue stuck out and laid flat to sweep away every drop of her load. Sam whimpered with your sight, tickled at the warm wet contact that her brown eyes barely evident as they dilated with lust. She's bittersweet on your tastebuds - one of your favorite flavors - and eagerly lapped as your tongue traced on her abdomen, going through the bumps and scars that heightened your carnal urge to do more.

With the last thread of will within you, you got up on your feet and affectionately pat Sam's cheek repeatedly.

"More treats later, pretty girl. Come on or else they'll start looking for us now."

The awestruck look on her face didn't leave. Sam happily followed you on your way back to your friends, completely satisfied, tailing behind you with hands entwined.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[gayciate]

Cool Color Kids + Pokemon Parter HC's

Oughgghhh mashing more fixations together like dolls...

Isabela Madrigal

✨ Shiny Serperior | Nature: Adamant | Hidden Ability: Contrary

+ Graceful and sleek, Serperior is a classic 'mon with a regal air of beauty around it + Boasting a rare shiny variant I think would suit how propped up and admired Isabela is in the community + I see one possibly loaded down with a more passive, appealing set like Sweet Scent and Synthesis pre What Else Can I Do and branching into more offensive and experimental moves like Frenzy Plant and Leaf Storm after! + A little bit snooty, it tends to turn up its nose and glare at people who approach its trainer. I think it may intimidate away some unwanted attention, much to Isabela's relief + I can also see her with a Roserade or Petilil that eventually evolves into a Hisuian Lilligant! She seems like she may enjoy raising a variety of grass-types and I like to think she probably has a little nursery greenhouse area for them!!! + I think she'd also end up liking Cacturne (part dark) and Carnivine (not what would be considered "beautiful")

Luisa Madrigal

Mudsdale | Nature: Gentle | Ability: Stamina

+ A sturdy old gal, Mudsdale seemed almost too easy for Luisa - it's just so perfect for evolving from the donkey pokemon Mudbray and having the ability Stamina + I feel like Luisa would do very well to have such a strong and reliable buddy with her! It's both useful and calm-tempered, good to help her work and good to just relax with after a hard day's work

"It spits a mud that provides resistance to both wind and rain, so the walls of old houses were often coated with it." "Mudsdale has so much stamina that it could carry over 10 tons across the Galar region without rest or sleep." + I mean just look at those dex entries man...

+ Luisa feels like she'd connect with an overworked old horse and take it in, maybe even become softer on herself sometimes seeing that even this actual beast of burden needs rest and gentle care to thrive + I don't see her training a lot of pokemon, but I do see her devoting a ton of time to each one she does. She may specialize a bit with Ground, Rock, and Fighting but don't see her being all that picky with types! + I just want to draw a big giant Mudsdale sleeping soundly with Luisa leaning on its side taking a nap really

Mirabel Madrigal

Cosmog | Nature: Hardy | Ability: Unaware

+ Unusual and not fully understood, it's a pokemon with a lot of potential that may initially be clocked as having little power or use + I can definitely see Mirabel having a soft spot for pokemon that are deemed powerless or otherwise underestimated and taking in any weird ones cast aside + I don't see her having any hard type bias and raising pokemon as day-to-day companions more than anything else + Cosmog is also a naturally curious and explorative little fella who can teleport around and keep up with Mirabel's energy - I definitely see the two of them getting into all sorts of hijinks everywhere + The unaware ability actually just ignores the opponent's stat boosts and attacks directly through them - something that maybe parallels how Mirabel pushes through everything stacked against her? Maybe more of a stretch, I just think that Mirabel running around with a little cosmog in her bag is extremely cute + Can also absolutely 100% see Mirabel having an Eevee - absolute classic and certified perfect for anyone with an arc where they're trying to see/find themself

[littleladymab]

Gen-uary Jubilee - Week 2: Coworkers

Here we go, more knights!

Written for @genuaryjubilee as a part of @ficwip's server events!

Week 2 - Coworkers Characters: Siobhan Caldwell & Gael Ingram (our Morgause and Mordred) Project: Knight Lite Words: 671

And as always, a shout-out to @bottlingsound 😎

+++

Siobhan sits out on the patio, needing the moment of silence from all of the other diners in the restaurant. Her mind is a thousand miles away as she gazes out over the valley, the rapidly cooling paper cup of cheap tea clutched in her hands. It’s still unreasonably warm for this late in September, but that’s the sort of weather she’s come to expect. Her cardigan is in the office still, didn’t need it as she walked across the campus to the restaurant. 

But the bubble of silence she’s grown used to over her time here has been ruptured, and she’s trying to figure out if she should blame Atlas or Alonso for it all when— 

“Siobhan?” Gael says her name like they’ve had to repeat it at least twice, and she snaps back to attention as her eyes focus in on their work ID. 

An image of Gael, younger, more miserable, glares back at her before she lifts her eyes to meet his properly. “Oh,” she says, and tries not to sound like she was just so completely lost in her own mind that she didn’t notice their approach. “I thought you were still at the Villa until the end of the month.” 

Gael frowns, as if she’s avoiding the topic at hand — and, well, maybe she is. “I’m perfectly capable of doing research here as I am at the Villa.” 

“Of course,” she concedes. 

There is an awkward silence before Gael gestures to the free seat at her table and asks, “May I?” 

“Oh,” she says again, and then, because she’s nothing if not eloquent, “Of course.” 

A small twitch of a smile pulls at the corner of Gael’s lips as he sits down. “You’re not avoiding me, I hope.” 

Siobhan’s brow twitches as she gives him a considering look. “I would have thought, if anything, you would have avoided me. And I was content to give you that space if you needed it.” 

Gael fusses with their work lanyard, and then his wristwatch. It’s a new one, fancy. Christ, did he have another fight with Logan, and this was a makeup gift? She presses her lips into a thin line and tries to tell herself that she felt this way when they were still only just coworkers, not existing under the knowledge that they are Morgause and Mordred. 

Now, though, every little critique she has she doesn’t want to be misconstrued as her being a mother hen. 

 Finally, Gael places his hands down on the table, palms flat against the cool metal. The day may be warm, but the shade is nice, and the tables are always freezing despite the weather. “Did you know? 

She hesitates, then asks, “About you?” 

They nod. 

“Not specifics,” Siobhan admits. “I had my suspicions of course, but—” 

“That I am Mordred was a surprise.” 

She doesn’t want to say that, deep down she had known. Of course she had known, Morgause could see through the illusion of Gael Ingram down to the heart of her son. 

But that would raise more questions than it would provide comfort, so instead she nods. Morgause is trying something new, this time around, and it’s a gentle honesty instead of her usual cutting variety. 

They do still have to work together, after all. Even if their paths rarely cross she would hate to have to cancel their tea dates when they are both at the Getty, sitting on the patio overlooking the LA valley and marveling at the expanse of time and space that brought them to this moment. 

“I am glad that it’s you,” she says softly. 

That Gael, a sweet and honest person she has grown fond of as a coworker, would be one of the knights. That Mordred, her son before any other title that would try and claim him, would be one to come back. 

Gael nods once, seemingly uncertain. But then his expression settles and he nods again. “Thank you for telling me,” they say, and she smiles in relief. 

[arwenkenobi48]

Wish Upon A Star: Plot Breakdown (Wish Rewrite Project)

It starts out practically the same as the original, except Asha is telling the origin story of Rosas to Valentino, who is her familiar, as she’s already Magnifico’s apprentice. (Asha has the rare ability to talk to animals.)

Welcome To Rosas is sung from the citizens’ POV and is generally very upbeat, with them all singing the praises of Magnifico and Amaya. It becomes a little sad towards the end, as Asha gets her own verse about how she feels like her magical powers make her an outcast and even though she has the privilege of being Magnifico’s successor, she still longs to fit in with everyone else.

Magnifico is introduced, rushing about and getting everything ready for the ceremony, with a number of well-meaning but clumsy servants providing a little comic relief.

When Amaya is introduced, along with her pet Sphinx cat (haven’t thought of a name for him yet), she’s shown to be a vain and jealous woman, envious of all the positive attention her husband receives from the kingdom. She always pretends to be innocent whenever Magnifico or Asha is around, although Valentino can sense something off about her, frequently getting into scuffles with the cat. (Haven’t figured out what sort of animal familiar Magnifico will have yet.)

Asha is incredibly excited, as this is the first time she’ll be partaking in the wish-granting ceremony. Magnifico also lets her see the wishes for the very first time, reminding her that she’ll soon be responsible for all of them.

Much like in the original, Asha and Magnifico argue about their different viewpoints on granting all of the wishes vs only granting some of them.

Asha, in an act of defiance, decides to grant a wish that Magnifico didn’t approve of at the ceremony and it predictably ends in disaster. Asha feels deeply ashamed of what she’s done and the fact that she let down her mentor and her future kingdom.

She runs away in the middle of the night, with Valentino by her side. Singing This Wish, Asha looks up at the stars, recalling the days when she was younger, when Magnifico used to tell her all sorts of wonderful stories about them and the ancient magic they hold. She basically prays for guidance, for someone to understand her and to help make amends.

In a blaze of light, a star descends from the sky. The people of Rosas are amazed and excited. Magnifico, on the other hand, is terrified of the blinding light, as it triggers a flashback to when his home was destroyed. Even in such a vulnerable state, he still worries about Asha.

Asha finds herself face to face with a handsome young man with bright eyes and glowing golden hair. They’re both fascinated by one another and when Asha asks him who he is, he explains that he’s a star. Both Asha and Star are, well, starstruck, even more so when Asha finds out that Star can understand Valentino. She thought she was the only one and as they travel through the forest, Asha feels comforted, knowing that she’s not alone.

Meanwhile, Queen Amaya is secretly delighting in all the chaos that’s been happening. She sees this as the perfect opportunity to steal the limelight from both Magnifico and Asha. She conspires to essentially poison Magnifico against his apprentice, wanting all his attention to be on her and nobody else, even though it’s already been established that Magnifico loves her deeply and hasn’t been neglecting her at all.

Amaya’s evil monologue is interrupted by Magnifico, who confides in her about how worried he is and how he feels like he’s losing control of the situation. “I can’t find an answer in any of my books!” “Well, there is one you haven’t tried…yet.” Amaya refers to the grimoire. Magnifico is horrified at the prospect of using it, but Amaya just laughs it off as a joke, pretending that she’d never consider using it. Magnifico decides to take his best knights with him to the forest to find out what’s going on and bring Asha home.

Meanwhile, in the forest. Asha and Star are learning more about one another, with Star being incredibly curious about the human world in the same way that Ariel is in The Little Mermaid. When Asha speaks so highly of Rosas, Star wants to travel to the kingdom and see it for himself, but Asha sadly explains how she messed things up at the ceremony and how she feels like she can’t go back. Star comforts her and assures her that everyone makes mistakes and the important thing is that she learned from it. They dance around the forest and sing At All Costs. Their magic combines and spreads throughout the forest, making everything beautifully vibrant and colourful and giving humans and animals the ability to understand each other.

Magnifico and his knights come across the beams of magic and are initially frightened, with Magnifico trying not to panic, but the talking animals assure him that they won’t hurt him. They can tell he’s got a lot weighing on his mind and sing I’m A Star to cheer him up. Magnifico calms down and feels safe, realising that he doesn’t need to be afraid of something he doesn’t understand.

Meanwhile, back at Rosas, trouble is stirring. Queen Amaya, after going through her villainous plan with her cat and Dahlia (who has been her long-suffering maid for most of the story) in the form of This Is The Thanks I Get?, has decided to address the people and is using the dark magic from her grimoire to corrupt the citizens, turning them against Magnifico and Asha.

Admittedly I got a bit stuck here, but essentially Magnifico is forced to return to Rosas, only to find the people up in arms and determined to dethrone him. He turns to Amaya for help and she lies to him, telling him that Asha was the cause of the anarchy, that the people never loved or trusted him. When he asks her if she does, the evil queen simply laughs in his face, breaking his heart. Magnifico tries to stand his ground, but Amaya targets all of his insecurities, including the fact that he never had his wish granted (his wish for a child). Magnifico falls into despair and Amaya has him possessed by the grimoire.

Asha, Star and Valentino return to Rosas, determined to set things right, only to be greeted with a sight of ruin and despair. Dahlia, who has managed to sneak away from Amaya, hides the trio in a secret room, where she explains what’s happening and they all resolve to save Magnifico and the citizens from Amaya, while singing Knowing What I Know Now.

Dahlia briefly mentions that the evil spell Magnifico’s trapped in can only be broken by true love. At first, all seems to be lost, but then Asha realises something; it doesn’t have to be romantics love that breaks the spell. It can be familial love, too. She basically has an epiphany, realising that not only is Magnifico the father she always needed, but that she’s also basically his daughter. In other words, his wish was granted without him even realising it. This revelation gives her and her companions a new burst of courage.

Star uses his shapeshifting abilities to confuse/distract the castle guards as the heroes try to locate Magnifico and Amaya. They are unfortunately captured and taken to the tower, where the final battle takes place.

The possessed Magnifico attacks Asha, who fends him off with Star’s help and tries to get through to him. Amaya traps Star inside the mirror-topped magic staff. Just when all seems to be lost, Asha sings a reprise of This Wish, as she explains to Magnifico that his wish was granted. Amaya’s arrogance crumbles as she sees the spell weakening. Magnifico breaks free from Amaya’s control, Star is released from the mirror and Amaya is pulled into it, vanishing forever.

The people of Rosas are freed and everyone rejoices. Magnifico and Asha reconcile, admitting they were wrong and accepting that they’ve both still got a lot to learn from one another. Asha and Star embrace, while Magnifico has a proud dad moment.

At the very end, Star is asked what he could possibly wish for and he replies that he wishes to be human. He’d rather spend a finite life with Asha than be immortal and alone. Magnifico grants Star’s wish, then passes the mantle of Wish Granter to Asha. Star and Asha kiss and Magnifico concludes the narration that opened the film, saying: “And we all lived happily, ever after.”

[vestalround]

[ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 ] ― sender feeds receiver something sweet

Lysithea's always been used to new mages showing up to the different lectures, in or out of house. It's a pattern at this point - some new kid comes in, thinking they've got it all figured out, and then leaves eventually.

A bitter cycle, so Lysithea never really thinks about who she's classed with.

Except this new girl.

OH MY GODDESS SHE'S LIKE A BUNDLE OF TWIGS.

Lysithea herself was on the frailer side herself, as were most mages, but... goodness! Lysithea had to do something! It wouldn't be good form to be the second mage here to drop dead early!

So, with a little quick slight of hand... Lysithea lays a small truffle onto her desk. Not one of the ornate ones. Not an overdone one. Not even one of the opened ones (should she have opened it? Does she even have the strength to get the chocolatey goodness from it?)

All Lysithea can do is watch as she comes back to her desk. Hopefully she doesn't think she poisoned it or anything like that...

the five senses | still accepting!

She only needs a temporary step outside the classroom. They were on temporary break, although she only ended up pacing from a nearby tree and back into class. There was nothing more that Rinea had to see, or wanted to see.

Though when she returns to the room and glides back to her front-row seat, there’s something seated atop the desk. It’s encased in some sort of wrapping…a present? For her? Who could see worth in gifting an unfamiliar person, let alone without any source of the giver? Perhaps they chose the wrong desk…then again, Rinea is now curious.

It takes more seconds than she’d like to admit to undo the wrapping. Once freed, the object reveals itself to be a light brown confectionary. Now Rinea has to tilt her head in confusion. These chocolates…were they not rare back in her home country? Are they common enough to be given as simple treasures here? And what could the purpose of it all b-

One sniffs, then two. There aren’t any rules for a mid-class snack, are there? The professor is still out for the next few moments…

Rinea bites a part of the tiny chocolate with delicacy. Some chews, and then she decides to go for another small bite. Some chews, and…alright, it should be little enough that this won’t be so rambunctious.

Once the food is little more than half its initial size, she pops the rest into her mouth. It melts easily, providing a refined yet sweet taste. Rinea pulls out a handkerchief, making sure that no stray chocolate is near her smile-filled mouth.

…is it just her, or did she overhear a sigh of relief from over her shoulder?

[altitudeofalcatraz]

I would love to hear about your iterator ocs!

Alright!! Once again, gonna try keeping it as simple as possible, nothing too detailed! (Copying RI and WOTM from the post before this, using this as some sort of master list i assume)

There is art in this as well!! Might have been too much but I like being extra about my ocs

Haphazardly Throwing Needles HTN is the third eldest iterator of the local group. Back when the ancients were still around, they always had a distaste for them, thinking they were making too much of a fuss over the cycles. If they were really good enough to transcend, then they should be able to do it themselves without the help of supercomputers. They always were bitter towards the ancients, refusing to help them as much as they could, which sparked a multitude of arguments. When the mass extinction happened, HTN felt immense relief, as the ancients only ever caused negative effects on them. 

Even before the extinction, HTN didn’t bother much with trying to solve ‘The Great Problem’, preferring to research the local flora and fauna instead. With the ancients gone, they could focus even more time into this. When they first found out about the rot, they grew curious about its creation and upbringing, and in a careless experiment, purposefully tried to grow the rot in their systems. It ended up working, and unlike many iterators, HTN was quite content with it. Over time, they modified the rot and helped it grow, creating an almost mutualism relationship with it. The rot would feast on the fauna around the superstructure, and in turn protect and surprisingly keep HTN in good conditions, causing them to be one of the most resilient structures of the local group. There is little life in the superstructure besides the rot, due to the constant feeding and absorption. The Machine does visit HTN, and is almost always met with rudeness and bitterness. This comes from a place of care, though, as HTN is concerned about Machine’s reckless travelling around something dangerous like the rot, as they still don’t have full control of it around the superstructure.

Sight Through Blindness STB is the eldest of the local group, and is treated with the most respect. During the time of ancients, she was rarely chatted with, left to focus by herself. STB was built by the ancients with no overseers nor sight, as they believed being able to see the outside world would only distract from work, and that being confined to herself would make her work diligently and quickly. She had been reinforced over the course of the cycles, making her more resilient to outside forces. STB did not mind the lack of outside stimulation, doing as she was ordered and working tirelessly to help with whatever was needed.

After the loss of the ancients, STB finally opened up, establishing connections with the local group more often, now helping them with problems instead of the ancients. She still works on trying to solve the great problem, even if she herself doubts it ever working, since that was what she was made to do. She is very thoughtful and patient, taking time to listen and help the iterators with whatever they are troubled with. This makes her a very popular go-to for the group when they are stressed or overworked. Surprise visits from The Machine are always exciting for her, as they are the only thing to have ever entered her chamber for more than just maintenance. She is very gentle with them, and makes sure to always prep Machine for their next journey.

Deafening Silence DS is the fourth eldest of the local group. The relationship with the ancients living on top of him was very straightforward : he provided them with their needs of living, and they provided him with the same. There was never any conversation between them, a very silent relationship. All he did was work, never communicating with anything, including other iterators. Some wonder why he was even given access to communications, with the lack of activity from him.

After the mass extinction, DS almost immediately stopped working on the great problem. He had no purpose to do it anymore. In his eyes, it was worthless, only doing it because the ancients were around to watch him. For many cycles now, DS has essentially been doing nothing. The only thing he worked on after the extinction was finding a way to hack into the chatlogs and gain access to private chats between iterators. All he does nowadays is sit at the bottom of his chamber, acting lifeless, watching chatlogs of the local group without ever responding. The group is aware of this behaviour, and have tried countless times to contact him, never getting any replies. Some have sent overseers to his chamber in the past, but he almost instantly deactivates them, causing most to give up on that route. The Machine has never directly interacted with DS, as he has found ways to block Machine out, such as clogging pipes and tunnels to deny access.

Denial Of Normality

DON is the second eldest iterator of the local group. When she was first built, she wasn’t instantly put to work, given a bit of time to study and get used to the world around her before fully indulging herself in various problems and tasks. Due to this, she grew very intrigued in the surrounding fauna early on, taking any free time she could to play around and research it. Ever since her creation, she’s always been the most prideful and egotistical out of the local group. Constantly she separates herself from her puppet when speaking, having to remind anyone that talks to her that she is in fact, more than any simple creature can understand, and her puppet is just there so they can comprehend her. Her pride does not mean she doesn’t have kindness, as she is very active within the local group, and is welcoming to help out when needed.

After the extinction, DON ditched any work the ancients wanted and focused on studying and creating genetically modified creatures from the fauna nearby. It was messy at first, but she got the hang of it, creating many experiments from whatever her heart desired. Most of the life around her superstructure is said modified beings, very little creatures from beforehand exist, as they have been killed by the newcomers or have fled to new land. Overtime, her experiments have gotten more drastic, creating some things that shouldn’t be possible by normal standards. At some point, she began to practice modifying already alive creatures, starting by experimenting on her puppet and overseers. She was the creator of The Machine, originally making it for VSH and WOTM since they had no experience in genetic modification. She gets visited by them sometimes, often engaging in training and playing with them to keep up on their skills. 

Violent Sky Hues

VSH is the fourth youngest of the local group, made shortly before WOTM. they were made unusually high up in the sky, far above the clouds and other superstructures. This caused the group of ancients living on top of them to be isolationist towards other groups of ancients, communicating only with those on the structure. VSH was frequently talked to and communicated with, the ancients treating them as simply another member of the civilization, making them very fond of the ancients. Despite them originally being built with the great problem in mind, when they were actually finished the ancients instead simply gave them the task to provide for them and keep them company.

When the mass extinction happened VSH was saddened, but their sadness turned into curiosity, beginning to start a hobby of collecting, reading, and archiving pearls left behind by the now gone civilization. They could not easily gain these pearls, so with the help of WOTM they convinced DON to make The Machine for them, as a way to transport pearls from structure to structure. VSH considers themselves Machine’s “dad”, getting visited by them the most due to the frequent pearl shipments. VSH gets very violent if something tries to remove the pearls from their chamber, resorting to instantly killing the thing that attempted it. Besides that, they are very lighthearted, and talkative, constantly in some sort of chat with WOTM.

Harmless Abandonment

HA is the youngest iterator of the local group. When the ancients were still around, they had begun building HA, only to abruptly stop due to reasons unbeknownst to the local group. They had most of the necessary equipment to run, minus communications, but suffered from constant malfunctions, buildup, and breakdowns. They were also never equipped with overseers, causing them to be unaware of the outside world. For a long time, they were not powered on, laying dormant in the background.

When the ancients disappeared, the local group took it upon themselves to try and power on HA. Using The Machine as their carrier and messenger, they slowly transferred materials from their own cans to HA, in an attempt to build as much as they could with the slugcat, and get him running again. The main contributors were VSH, WOTM, DON, and STB. RI wanted to help, but the group fought against it as he was unstable already and could pose liabilities if transferring stuff from him to HA. After countless cycles of work, they had finally gotten a response from the unfinished iterator, using Machine to retrieve messages from him. After his initial awakening, Machine has been sent a multitude of times to continue helping to repair and fix whatever they could. During these adventures, they would bring outside items they found to HA, who often used them to decorate his puppet. Since HA does not have access to communications, VSH and WOTM both have a couple overseers near him at all times to talk and check up on him, which he appreciates. Occasionally the other iterators also send over overseers to have a chat, but those overseers don’t usually stay for long. Since their main communication is through overseers, HA rarely interacts with STB, as they have to communicate either through another iterator or Machine.

Requisite Betrayal

RB is the second youngest of the local group. When built by their iterators, they were specifically designed around the kill code taboo, both subconsciously and consciously doing whatever they can to keep their superstructure in perfect conditions. They were meant to exist for eternity, the ultimate guide and solution to the great problem. The ancients did constant work and repairs on them, keeping them constantly up to date and working 100% functionally. They were built in such a way that they could survive even with minimal water, by running on something similar to a ‘battery saver’. They were rarely treated as a living thing, ancients too focused on making sure they were physically intact to care about their mentality.

Even after the extinction RB continues to run in excellent conditions, facility having modified creatures within to do minimal repairs wherever they can access, keeping them ahead of the other iterators. They are very blunt and logical, not understanding jokes or casual chatting and preferring to have discussions about work and other scientific things. A while after The Machine was created, RB had made his own purposed organism, The Rogue. It’s purpose was much like the creatures inside of their structure, keeping RB in as perfect condition as possible. They were occasionally sent on missions to other, older structures of decaying iterators to ‘borrow’ (steal) things such as neuron flies and rarefaction cells to use as replacements in case any of RB’s parts were damaged and unable to be repaired. The Machine occasionally visits RB, but when The Rogue is around they usually don’t stay for long.

Reckless Infatuation

RI is basically a middle child in terms of iterator ages, directly in the middle of eldest and youngest. During creation, he was very haphazardly put together, as the ancients building him weren't very fond of the work they were doing, and so "gave up" during the process. This caused a lot of mechanical failures to happen, most notably the seemingly random miniature explosions that happened around his superstructure, especially frequent inside the chamber where his puppet was. Due to these unpredictable and sometimes dangerous explosions, he was deemed unfit to live on, and so he never really had ancients near him during their existence. The only ancients that he ever came into contact with are those sent to try and fix his failures when they occurred, and even then that was sparse. This sparked some form of clinginess in him, as he was very social and constantly sought attention. Anytime the ancients would come into his chamber he would try and prevent them from leaving in any way he could, causing strain on him and his puppet. The last visit he ever had with an ancient ended up with him getting ripped off of the arm that connects him to the wall (cords/umbilical still intact.)

He currently still has access to communications, and constantly pesters any iterator in the local group when they care to listen to him. It's mostly STB, VSH, and WOTM that he talks to, as they are the most open to the constant chatter. RI loves The Machine, labelling it as one of his best friends, becoming ecstatic whenever he sees them. The Machine, on the other hand, isn't too keen on visiting him, as he has a habit of trying to cling onto and prevent them from leaving, which never feels good.

Whispering Of The Many

WOTM is the third youngest iterator of her local group, made shortly after Violent Sky Hues (VSH). The ancients that built and lived on her were lively, very. . . "Dramatic", in her words. They'd always have some drama, some argument, some issue going on, and WOTM was all ears to listen in and learn about the situation. Many would come to her for problem-solving, second opinions, or even just to rant and ramble. Over time she basically became the iterator equivalent of a gossip girl. It was a common occurrence for her to talk about the latest argument or problem to the local iterators, and sometimes other iterators entirely. Not only did she listen in on all of this, but anything interesting that she overheard was likely to be written into data pearls, for safekeeping (she thought it was fun to record all of this and look back at it, since there was never a dull moment in her civilization and she wanted to keep memories of it.)

After the mass extinction of the ancients, she entered an almost depressed-like state for some cycles, she was unused to the sudden silence of the world around her. With the help of the local iterators, she quickly left this state, and now spends most of her time chatting with the local group or helping VSH archive pearls. She treats herself as The Machine's "mom" of sorts, despite not creating them, and takes great pride in her relationship with them.

[inkedinfantasy]

a springtime ffxiv swap gift for @floweramongstthecold featuring her OCs Hachiko and Ilar!

Spring was in full bloom in Gridania, and Hachiko had rarely seen anything so lovely. It was to her great disappointment that for the moment, she was stuck inside.

Menphina’s temple was just coming out of its busiest season, and it was past due for a bit of spring cleaning. She and the other priestesses had been hard at work all morning, clearing away old offerings, taking inventory of the temple’s supplies, and giving the place a good floor-to-ceiling scrub. Every so often, one of them would be called away to attend to a visitor coming to seek advice or pay their respects, and Hachiko felt a twinge of envy each time. Even if it was in service of making the temple brighter and tidier after the flood of devotees they’d welcomed over the past few moons, cleaning was exhausting work. She much preferred her spiritual duties.

Hachiko sighed, settling stiffly back on her heels as she sat up, dropping the cloth she’d been using to scrub at several stubborn scuffs marring the surface of one of the temple’s small, low altars back into the bucket at her side. She took a moment to stretch, the heels of her hands digging into her sore back. Her gaze turned wistfully to the open window, sunshine sparkling and a soft breeze ruffling her hair away from her face. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and drinking it in. She opened them again as she heard footsteps approaching from the corridor just outside the room.

Another priestess with a broom under one arm and a bucket in each hand did a double take as she walked by the open doorway and spotted her. “Hachi, there you are. We’ve got a visitor here asking for you. They’re waiting out in the garden.”

Hachiko sighed in relief. “Miracles do exist.” She heard the other priestess laugh as she continued down the hall.

Sore as she was, she hauled herself to her feet with renewed vigor. She could practically feel the sun on her skin already as she stowed away her cleaning supplies and took a brief moment to make herself presentable before she stepped outside.

The temple’s garden was an oasis, green and lush with oldroses blooming brightly in the sunshine, the moon daisies in plots along the garden wall awaiting the evening to properly open up. Thick, verdant branches swayed slightly in the breeze, providing the perfect amount of shade.

“Terribly sorry for any delay, as I’m sure you can tell we’re in the middle of tidying—” She stopped in the doorway as she saw the familiar visitor waiting for her on a bench at the edge of the garden. “Ilar! You didn’t tell me you were coming. What brings you to the temple today?”

Ilar grinned. “Well, you see, I’m in dire need of counsel. I’ve was hoping to give a certain priestess the opportunity to enjoy a lovely day, and I thought that showing up to give her a break from spring cleaning might be a good start. What do you say?”

Hachiko flushed, bringing her hand up to hide a grin. “I’d say that sounds wonderful.” She sank down onto the bench next to Ilar with a small sigh.

“What’s the damage so far?” he asked sympathetically.

“A lot of mopping. No one’s really had time to tend to the floors lately. Altars needing to be properly cleaned. The kitchen’s low on almost everything, so planning out a shopping trip and getting into talks with the botanists’ guild will be next,” she listed off. “The usual sort of thing.”

“Sounds like it’s already been a long day.”

“It’s not so bad when we’re not doing it all at once like this. We just have so little time once the First Umbral Moon comes around, regular cleaning just tends to fall by the wayside.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the garden wall. “And then we’re rewarded with a very exhausting few days.”

Ilar took her hand, gently pulling her to her feet. She couldn’t suppress a slight hiss as the motion pulled at sore muscles. Ilar tutted in response as he led them into the shade. “Now, we can’t have that. At least take a moment to rest before you’re needed back in the temple.” With that, he flopped down onto his back in the shade of the tree, smiling up at her and extending a hand out in invitation.

She certainly wasn’t about to argue. Sinking to the grass far more gingerly, she stretched out on her stomach, pillowing her head on her arms as best she could while minding her horns as she peered over at Ilar. He’d turned over to face her, head propped up on one arm and still smiling. Her eyes drifted shut as a gentle hand ran down her back, his thumb massaging small, soothing circles into her sore muscles with just the right amount of pressure. She hummed appreciatively as more tension left her body, melting further into the grass.

She had no idea how long they lay there, half dozing by the time she heard the garden door open and the high priestess’s voice calling out. “Ah, Hachi. You’ve been out here a while, and I’d come to see if you needed any assistance, but…” Her smile turned wry as Hachiko sat up guiltily where she’d been spread out in the grass.

“Priestess Johfi, I—”

“Now, now, no need for that,” Johfi cut her off before she could apologize. “It truly is a lovely day. It would be a shame to miss it all. I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind a bit of an early out either. The temple will still be there to clean tomorrow, after all.”

“I…if you’re sure.”

“Go have your fun. I’ll let the other girls know they’re free to spend the day as they wish.” She headed back into the temple, the garden door clicking shut behind her.

“Well then,” Ilar said, getting to his feet with renewed enthusiasm. “Seems you’ve been cleared to enjoy the rest of your day. Shall we?” He extended a hand to help her to her feet once more, the sunlight behind him haloing him in a golden glow.

Hachiko grinned and took his hand.

[clyrnin10yearslater]

Sleep

"Before he knew what he was thinking, he scooped her sleeping form into his arms and promptly thought he might die all over again when she made a small sound, her head falling against his shoulder. Her heart continued its steady beat. He could feel it thrumming throughout his own body. Once she was in his arms he had no idea what he ought to do with her."

Myrnin had always struggled with finding a balance in his focus. As a boy he had received his fair share of beatings, too distracted by the stars to see wolves picking off the sheep. It hardly got better the older he got. So focused on the task at hand he often failed to recognize his own needs before hunger or exhaustion overwhelmed him. Or his attention would be drawn so rapidly from one idea to the next that nothing would get done properly. 

But worst of all was how often he neglected to notice things about those he cared for. Certainly, he had caught on that Claire was staying in the lab far later into the night than was typical, but it wasn’t until she smacked his hand away from her most recent project that he realized she no longer wore her engagement ring. His attempt to broach the subject made the smile drop from her sweet face so fast he hadn’t dared to mention it again in the following weeks. Judging by the fact that all pigmentation had returned to the band of skin around her finger he probably ought to have noticed far earlier than he did. 

If his focus hadn’t been so dominated by his own wasted shame for having missed something that obviously distressed the poor girl, then perhaps he would’ve noticed when her heartbeat began to slow and her tinkering came to a stop. 

They were working in a calm peaceful sort of silence, or at least as close to as one could get with a human. And yet only when the quiet became true silence, interrupted only by Claire’s soft shallow breaths and steady heartbeat did he risk looking at her and ruining the moment. 

When he saw her there, her head tucked against her arms, parchment, and opened books scattered across the table he thought his unbeating heart may burst. He had only ever seen the girl sleep a handful of times before and never once had she looked as though she were truly at peace. 

“Claire?” he called tentatively across the laboratory, making his way toward her. Could that position be comfortable for her? The way her neck lay crooked to keep her head in her arms, and the pen making indentations in her face made him think otherwise. Excuses. He knew. He knew he just wanted to be closer to her, in the rare opportunity when he could allow himself to be without fear of being deemed too close by her. He just wanted to be near her. Close, close, close. He wanted to hold her close.

He felt it, somewhere deep inside him, that sick, horrible, delightful urge to take advantage of the opportunity the girl provided for him, trusting him too much. Perhaps she wasn’t as smart smart smart as everyone gave her credit for after all, nobody with a modicum of intelligence would trust a monster let alone enough to find themselves asleep in the monster's lair,  any chance of defense or escape lost that vulnerable state. No, not so smart smart smart at all.  His fangs snapped down, the sweet, so sweet, scent of her overwhelming his senses as he continued his approach. 

And then he stopped, all at once realizing his intentions. He couldn’t help the flicker of relief that coursed through him. She really did make him better. There was just something about her that made him need to be better. If only she had come along long ago. Perhaps he never would have become a monster at all. He shook his head. That was hardly fair to her. What pressure to put on a single human, to fix generations of madness, centuries of his own insanity. 

Recently he’d let himself tell her a story of his childhood, his father in particular. (For someone who frequently protested her dislike of history, Claire was very curious.) His arm still tingled where her touch had lingered several moments longer than usual, her gaze filled with more sympathy than he, or his father, deserved. Her mouth had opened, in that way that had become so familiar to him, when she hesitated on what to say next. 

He’d been caught off guard by a strong rush of desire to kiss her. Kiss her before she could speak and rekindle any emotion he’d long since blocked off in regards to his childhood. Kiss her because her lips were warm and ever so inviting. Kiss her because he hadn’t done it right the first time. Kiss her because dear god he loved her. 

Coward and fool that he was, he’d rushed abruptly away from her, making some excuse that mere days later he couldn’t recall, all the while seething with self-hatred. For hours after she’d gone he wondered at what might have been. Not the kiss of course. He knew how that would have gone. Even though she avoided going home with increasing desperation he knew her decreased love for that boy would still never translate into love for him. He had never been quite so lucky. Had he kissed her then she would have rejected him. He could handle being her friend, boss even, so long as he never had to face such an intimate rejection from her. 

No, instead he wondered what might have been if she’d been there when he was but a boy. If they’d grown together. She would have saved him, of that he was certain. And in those moments, when she held more power over him than she ever knew, he was fairly certain she could have saved them all. His father, his wicked mother, even his sisters whose names flickered in out of memory like flames in the wind. Claire could have saved them all from themselves. How indescribably cruel of him to believe her capable of the impossible. 

Before he knew what he was thinking, he scooped her sleeping form into his arms and promptly thought he might die all over again when she made a small sound, her head falling against his shoulder. Her heart continued its steady beat. He could feel it thrumming throughout his own body. Once she was in his arms he had no idea what he ought to do with her. 

He could carry her back to her home, but he wasn’t certain how good an idea that would be. Myrnin knew that boy had always been… distrusting of their relationship, even when he himself believed his feelings towards her were merely professional. He didn’t know what was going on between the two, but the last thing he wanted was Claire blaming him for making it worse. 

For a moment he considered waking her, or at least putting her back where she’d been and letting her sleep without disturbance. But she was so warm and the stool she’d fallen asleep upon so cold and perhaps it was pure selfishness but he couldn’t fathom abandoning her to that. He held her tighter as her breath swirled against his cheek, wishing he could just hold her forever. But she’d be upset with him if she woke in his arms. He’d hurt her enough that she wouldn’t trust that his intentions were purely innocent. The silvery glint of the scars upon her neck served as a good reminder of the pain he caused when allowed to get too close. 

He didn’t use his bedroom very frequently. Even as a human, he’d preferred to stay awake, avoiding the darkness that came with the closing of his eyes. Nonetheless, the door swung open with nary a sound. Her scent, overpowering in the main areas of the lab as it was, still lingered in this space, though it had been years since she’d occupied it and he’d attempted to wash the smell of her out several times. 

He could not bring her home. He could not allow her to sleep in the cold discomfort of the lab. And he certainly could not hold her. But he could lay her here, in the bed he had used no more than twice since she’d last used it, hoping that it would be familiar enough for her to remain unfrightened upon waking. 

“Myrnin?” Claire’s voice called, groggy and thick with sleep. He moved to step back, having just finished tucking her under the threadbare covers — he ought to invest in better blankets, in case she ever needed to rest there again — but she caught his fingers before he could get away. 

“Hush now,” he murmured, stroking her hair out of her face with his free hand. “Go back to sleep, fy annwyl.” He didn’t know how awake she truly was, but when her grip on his hand tightened, tugging him gently toward the small bed, he wasn’t strong enough to pull away. And when she spoke, voice soft but insistent, he could do nothing less than oblige her request to stay. 

With Claire held safely in his arms, Myrnin found that for the first time in all the centuries that he’d been alive, the oppressive darkness of sleep brought no terrors to wake him.

[jerek]

Half-answer to a QOTD bot question, posted here to conserve space in the relevant discord

(cw: I don't even know where to start. I'm explaining what's going on between Midha and Wrathion. Remember what Dave Kosak said about black dragons.)

Currently, Midha's found family includes Zafirria and Wrathion. Once, it included Anduin and Wrathion. For the purposes of this post, I'll be excluding Zafirria and regarding Anduin as a supporting character.

At the start, when it was only Midha and Wrathion, Midha was a maladjusted preteen girl. Not understanding what she was doing, she (and in some part Wrathion) created a sort of double-sided parental affection:

Midha as the 'mother' to Wrathion because of her age, her willingness to listen, and her ability to carry out his plans.

Wrathion as the 'father' to Midha because of his emotional sway, his seeming authority in Ravenholdt, and his ability to provide gold and shelter.

This morphed in Pandaria to something more like a brother/sister relationship.

Here, Midha adapted more to Wrathion's perception of her as the 'little sister.' If she had any questions about his plans, she asked them privately. She tagged along, part of a package deal with the Black Prince, and she was debatably kept closer emotionally than his guards were physically. By this point, someone like Kairoz could start to spot what developed in Cataclysm: Wrathion was using Midha as a comfort object.

Then Wrathion disappeared, and Midha vanished in his absence. This might have been a warning sign for future developments, if anyone else were privy to their dynamic. Not even Anduin was aware: he might have thought of Midha as Wrathion's favorite champion, but probably not his first.

Moving on to BfA. Crucially, BfA Midha doesn't meet Wrathion any earlier than the player would. In fact, she meets him later.

In MoP, the invitation to meet that Wrathion sends Midha is different, and other 'cutscenes' are added onto her legendary questline.

In Cataclysm, Wrathion knows her by her presence beside his eggshell in the Vermillion Redoubt.

By contrast, Wrathion and Midha's dynamic in BfA is comparatively restrained:

Wrathion finds Midha having joined a raid into Nya'lotha, and having struck the final blow against his false copy. By this point, the Sha (possibly from exposure to Sha-touched items?) has taken over her. This is the first point at which Wrathion calls her family: speaking to her as he would "any sister in the grip of the black flight's madness."

Midha's restraint shows in not trying to contact Wrathion earlier. She even consults Yu'lon, asking what it is about her that makes her feel as though she'll ruin him by her presence: to which Yu'lon confronts her inner 'monster,' her loneliness, and eventually reassures: "There is no monster here. Only your heart."

Wrathion's restraint shows when, despite his doubt in himself, he allows her to leave after killing N'zoth. In fact, he brings her to Stormwind Keep, and takes quiet relief in Anduin inviting her to stay while he finds a way to cleanse her of the Sha for good. (This ends up not working.)

Before we move on to Dragonflight, let's also mention some other people in Midha's life. Chronologically speaking, Midha's romantic interests are as follows:

Shannox: Midha had a stint in Hyjal during Cataclysm. She started first 'noticing boys' around this time-- or, as the case may be, noticing men. We see here the exclusivity of Midha's love: Midha responds to her strange new feelings by systematically poisoning the all-male flamewakers which make up the rest of the hierarchy, trying to force Shannox to the top by default (in much the same way as she went after the remaining black dragons.)

Her kill count was over two dozen. Shannox was intrigued, but nevertheless did not take kindly when he finally met her.

This was the nail in the coffin for Midha prematurely neglecting her innocence and abandoning her role as 'child.'

Anduin: They were acquaintances in Pandaria who rarely spoke more than two sentences to each other. Midha held a passing fascination with him, as any common girl might with the crown prince of Stormwind. There was a rumor that his inner Light caused plants to bloom where he remained for long enough, like a red dragon.

Vyneia: Even Wrathion knew about Vyneia, though he didn't notice any romantic chemistry until they'd already split. They were fellow champions of his, thick as thieves. Vyneia had an advantage over Wrathion in being a girl Midha's own age, even if, being that Vyneia was a blood elf, they were on opposite sides of the faction war.

Eventually, something happened between them. Only the two of them know exactly what it was, but afterward, Vyneia was presumed deceased-- until she resurfaced as a void elf, having joined the Alliance.

Kairoz: Anduin was the only one who knew. He envied her for it. He saw Kairoz dab at her scrapes after a bout against a Celestial, reverse wounds, and speak to her like a peer. Like a woman to his man. He saw him teach her to dance. Nobody ever treated Anduin like that.

But that, too, would pass.

Anduin:

Deep down, Anduin had always viewed himself as the moral object: perpetually acted upon, unable to meaningfully impact the world on his own. He had a feeling about Midha, falling in with rogues, no fixed home beyond Wrathion's side.

That feeling utterly failed to stop him. And Midha liked to come to his room when she couldn't sleep: she must have known he couldn't either.

He had one week of stolen touch, stolen dreams, a future he was sure he'd wrest out of Wrathion's hands. Anduin was older, after all, and Wrathion really had no idea what he was getting into.

In any case, she was Anduin's champion now. Maybe Wrathion would come back for her wedding. Maybe Wrathion would envy Midha like he did. Maybe Wrathion would settle down, too.

A week later, when his trajectory faltered and his heart had finally started to slow down, he went out to Lion's Rest.

He asked his father for guidance, and heard the wingbeats of the Mawsworn.

...Now we arrive at Dragonflight.

There are two factors which shift the dynamic in Dragonflight: first of all, Wrathion has a family. The days of being asked whether Midha's a black dragon too are largely over: the other black dragons are right there at the Citadel.

Second of all, Anduin is gone. Wrathion's lost the devil he knows, and replaced him with a dozen devils he doesn't.

In Dragonflight, the relationship between Wrathion and Midha can best be described as overt.

Baskilian pulls Midha aside to warn her about Wrathion, and Wrathion responds by inviting her out on a canoe trip. He asks about Anduin, and when Midha explains in the politest, vaguest terms possible, he breaks aloud: "What he's done to you, he's done to me."

"I could still look through your eyes if I wished to, champion."

"All the care you should have for yourself is mine."

"Our two comprise the only one on Azeroth."

"If it must be someone, then let it be you!"

It's only one night. He holds Midha for so long she nods off against his chest. In the morning, they've washed ashore near the Ruby Life Pools.

Of course, he isn't the only black dragon anymore. And even if he were, his isn't the only flight. And even if it were... there's still Stormwind.

After another long excursion, Midha returns to the Citadel and apologizes. "There's the Mother Oathstone, and Stormwind, too."

He's not sure if what he does next is premeditated.

In what Wrathion calls a 'fit of the dual soul,' he breaks into an outraged laugh-- and then grabs Midha and forcibly kisses her.

"Tell them. Tell whoever would do the same to you: that I've fully lost my mind. That I've laid claim to you, and I will not allow so much as a word to spread against it.

Some will be revolted, yes! But they will revile me, and count you as a casualty."

When he comes to, he goes to bathe in lava.

He does it again, of course. Midha doesn't know how to stop him, or if she even should. There are broodmothers smaller than Wrathion: drakes are always enlisted where dragons are scarce. And she suspects it's nothing but jealousy: pure, white-knuckled loneliness, and maybe it's the fault of the knuckle-white Sha that seems to ruin everything she doesn't leave behind.

He kisses her so often that Sabellian catches him, and scolds him: "You flout nature like a hand-reared pigeon after its master."

And Wrathion responds: "She is my sister, Sabellian."

"How fortunate," Wrathion says, "that you may never understand. To be a son of one's daughter. A creation of one's creation."

Wrathion's prayer: It will have to be someone. Let it be her.

Midha's prayers have stopped.

Of course, there will always be more to complicate the dynamic. But that's for when I talk about Zafirria and Anduin.

[beginning-to-be-happy]

On my first weekend by myself, I woke up at 7 with a headache, took some medicine then slept until 10. 🥰

I still don't feel great, but I'm at least functional. My new light bulb for my microwave finally came (I keep it on all day and night because it provides a small amount of illumination to my kitchen) so I installed it.

I've set out two blocks of cream cheese to make a strawberry cheesecake that I'll take to mom and dad's tomorrow for Easter dinner. I'm also making fresh green beans with onions and bacon. I have a large package of chicken thighs thawing in the fridge to make chicken salad which I hope will freeze okay. I have fresh dill, grapes, celery and the other ingredients ready.

My appointment to get my forearm tattoo is at 2 today, so I need to shower before then.

When I get home I plan to take a stack of London broils from the chest freezer to my ex's sister's house so he can make jerky. I let him have the food dehydrator because jerky is his thing. As I was leaving the grocery store yesterday afternoon, his sister, her boyfriend and her two adult children were going in and waved at me, then invited me to her daughter's house for a house warming party that night. I had to decline since I had a mother son event at my son's school last night. They all made it clear that I'm welcome to come visit any time I want. It was so sweet I started to tear up when I got to the car. I'm already dreading the loneliness of living alone even though I do like alone time.

They either extended the invitation because they genuinely like me, or because my ex told his sister he's concerned that my depression will spiral out of control while I live alone and I may commit suicide. Either way, it's nice of them to try to include me. I don't have any friends, and my family is always wrapped up in the major health issues of my father and sister, and my mom gets injured a lot. I sort of get left behind, but this has always been the family dynamic. Other than my divorce, I'm never the squeaky wheel; I'm the helper who doesn't cause problems.

To be fair: my ex assured me that he no longer felt like killing himself, so I don't need to worry that he will since I broke up with him and kicked him out, I said that's a relief. He said he is more worried about me, and I honestly said I'll "probably" be fine. I didn't want to worry him, but we've come too far together for me to lie to him. I'm about 90% sure I'll be okay, but I've rarely lived alone, and when I do, things can get dark.

I do have the kids half the time, and it's about to be growing season, so I'll be okay at least until things start to die in the fall. Full disclosure: had I not had kids, I probably wouldn't still be here. They have been the one thing that's stayed my hand multiple times.

I should probably try to make friends 🙄 fuck

[electrasev5nwrites]

Ninja Daily: Vapors 97

The light of day didn't make Konoha feel much safer, even as the streets began to teem with early risers. Aiko hurried home, avoiding stares as best as she could, and found her apartment provided little sense of relief. Normally, after a night spent crusted in someone else's blood, she would have scrubbed her flesh clean for at least half an hour. This time, she felt distinctly uneasy standing naked in her own shower… which definitely did have hot water.

Did that mean Tobi had arranged that encounter from the start? He'd engineered events so that he could corner her weaponless and alone after she'd gone ba- had he watched her bathe?

Aiko shivered, feeling distinctly ill, and turned the water off before she'd even gotten all the shampoo out of her hair.

She didn't stay in her apartment longer than it took to pull on a sweater and secure a thigh holster over her standard issue pants.

It had been foolish to be comfortable enough in her home village to go without weapons… though, they wouldn't have done her any good in that encounter, so that wasn't what she was really upset about. Aiko chewed on her lower lip and just walked up and down the busiest streets as she tried to get her thoughts in order.

It didn't take a genius to recognize that she was feeling vulnerable. And that she had a good reason for that feeling, unfortunately. Tobi had played her for a fool. He had watched her for kami knows how long without her noticing. He had batted her around like she had absolutely no chance against him, and then he'd gone and proved that he could back that check up by… by…

She had no idea what he'd done, actually.

'But I know I didn't like it.'

Aiko wrapped her arms around her waist and gave a distracted smile to a woman who offered her a sample of some sort of fresh smelling bread without actually remembering to demur.

'I probably should have told Tsunade that he'd done something to my Hiraishin,' Aiko thought guiltily. But what would she have even said? She didn't understand what had happened herself. It had almost seemed like he had taken her to another dimensional space or something. It hadn't been anything like her experience with inter-dimensional interaction, but she surely hadn't been in Konoha.

If that was what he had done, how long had she been there? Her own perception had been confused, to say the least.

'That's a stupid question.' Aiko belatedly realized that she'd left the apartment in her house slippers. She took a moment to frown down at them, but at least they were just plain sandals. 'I should be more concerned with how he did that. Was it necessary to touch me? It'd be nice to know I could prevent that from ever happening again by not letting him touch me. If I knew what he was using that allowed him to travel that way, I might be able to form a hypothesis. The obvious answer is that since this is Tobi, it was somehow related to his Sharingan.'

That conclusion made more sense than assuming he had other kekkai genkai, right? She'd never even heard of a learned technique that would do anything like what he had played with, so it must be rare for a reason. A bloodline was generally the best explanation for abilities that were supposedly impossible or implausible.

Of course, to the best of her knowledge, the Sharingan did nothing so fanciful. But it made more sense to think of what she knew rather than to speculate that he must possess another kekkai genkai. However spectacular it seemed, sometimes the simplest explanation was best.

Granted, there was no rule saying that whatever he had done could only be attributed to a bloodline ability. But because it had been nothing like her experience with…

Well, that was stupid, Aiko realized with a sigh. There was no logical cause to assume that all fuinjutsu-based space time interaction was similar. Still, she had no reason to believe Tobi had any experience with sealing, so she was going to hold onto the Sharingan as her best clue.

And if Madara was wearing Obito's body, his Sharingan should be the same as the one that Kakashi had. That presented some intriguing possibilities for investigation and testing, if he would indulge her curiosity. If he already knew what she was talking about, that would be a good sign…

'Well, I can hardly up and ask him directly, can I?' She could have hit herself, if that wouldn't be redundant with her already bad mood. 'I'm not supposed to know that Tobi is really Obito's body, or even where Kakashi got his eye. It would be more than a bit suspicious. Maybe I could pretend I saw some marvelous similarity that made me think Tobi was really an Uchiha, but that's a large stretch.'

No matter. There had to be some way to direct a conversation to such a point. If Kakashi were feeling indulgent at all, he would volunteer the information. Especially if he knew what a ninny she was being.

Almost instantly, Aiko felt even worse. She wasn't supposed to be scared of anything. The idea of sharing her weakness was intolerable, and the prospect of using it as collateral to weasel help out of someone she respected was even worse.

She'd still do it, of course. Her pride was less important than her life.

'That's a good long-term plan, but it doesn't do me any good while he's out of the village.' Distractedly, Aiko ducked out of the path of some enthusiastic genin doing a morning run. 'It can't be a coincidence that all my new seals are gone, and the old ones are left.'

The thought didn't seem quite right. After a moment, she realized why. The seal in Kumo was one of her newest ones. What that had in common with the ones that Kakashi and Yamato carried was that it had been painted with sealing ink and her blood.

The vast majority of her seals had been made solely with a little bit of chakra and affixed to whatever she touched. Did… did that make them less stable than the more labor intensive kind?

When realization struck, Aiko nearly stopped in the middle of the street. Minato's notebooks had implied that the connection Hiraishin seals maintained through a constant feed off their user meant that they wouldn't be available for anyone else to use after the user died. She had thought that meant they would all be destroyed—that the seals themselves would unravel. But maybe, just maybe, a seal that had been well made enough would merely deactivate, in a way, since it wasn't feeding off its user's chakra.

In practice, it was the same thing, since a deactivated seal was nearly untraceable and the dead didn't come back to life to use their seals again. But in the odd circumstance that the chakra source that had left could be returned, it certainly made a difference. It was the difference between disconnecting a tv and dropping it off the balcony when you were done with it. The tv that had been disconnected would fizzle with static and search out the old connection once it was turned back on. The one dropped off the balcony was just gone. While the first device was off, it wasn't really present in a more significant way than the ruined device, but there was still the potential for re-use.

A seal wasn't an electrical device, of course, and disconnecting from her seal meant that the connection to the seal had been turned off from her end, not on the seal. She had obviously left Konoha for another plane of existence, but if it had been hers, she would have been able to feel her seals from there. Coming back had been uncomfortable and weakening, but the real shocking pain of loss had occurred in those moments when she was totally cut off.

Tobi had taken her to a dimension that wasn't hers.

'I think Tobi just disproved the theory that there's only one inter-dimensional space,' Aiko thought numbly.

If the space Tobi had taken her to had been the same one she used as a midpoint between herself and seals, then nothing should have happened to her seals. The space-time fold was what allowed her to step to seals miles away—the space she slipped into was equidistant to any of her seals. But her seals had either failed completely or temporarily deactivated while she was in Tobi's personal dimension, just as they would if she had been dead.

It was the first bit of good news she'd had all day. She wasn't completely crippled. If she improved her regular seals, she could retain those even if Tobi dragged her through a private dimension again. Granted, she wouldn't be able to escape from his dimension, but for all she knew he hadn't spent any more time there than she spent in hers. Maybe he couldn't just leave her there. She could only hope, and make sure that she didn't let him know exactly what had happened, if he didn't know already.

'Of course, I probably shouldn't count on improving my ephemeral seals to counter Tobi. For now, I'll count on the ones that I know work.'

Which meant she needed to make more seals and distribute them as soon as possible to restore something of her continental map.

That was easier said than done, when Tsunade didn't plan to send her out on missions any time soon, as far as she knew. Tsunade had pointed out that there was a very good possibility that if Tobi really had approached her on his own initiative instead of for Akatsuki, he might have been trying to do her a favor in his own twisted way. Aiko hadn't appreciated that theory much, especially since it implied that he had been jarred into action because of her last mission. If Tsunade was right, her retrieval of Utakata might have been the last straw that made Akatsuki want her out of the way. That would most generally be interpreted as 'dead', of course, but Tobi seemed to have come to another conclusion.

'Making Tobi my hero,' Aiko thought with more than a hint of bitter irony. That idea wasn't really much more comforting than that he'd been acting on Akatsuki's initiative. Either way, he had proved he could get at her. Did it really matter if it was for Akatsuki's benefit or his own, if the end result was the same? He'd have to get either violent or creative if he really intended to keep her from snatching back any jinchuuriki Akatsuki got their paws on.

And Tsunade's theory also meant that he might be provoked into trying again if she interfered in their attempts to collect jinchuuriki again. That made keeping her in the village an obvious way to mitigate the possibility that he would bother her again.

Aiko didn't put much stock into that idea. He had promised he would be back. Unless something changed, she hadn't seen the last of him. For all she knew he hadn't left Konoha.

She veered into the next open shop door she passed, and spent an inordinate amount of time staring blankly at the wares before she realized she had ducked into an equipment supplier.

'No one ever had too many kunai. Since I'm here, I may as well stock up.'

Besides, the proprietor was beginning to look irritated by her browsing.

It might not be a bad idea to start taking a page out of Minato's book by passing out kunai with her seal painted on them to comrades. He had used them cooperatively by having his subordinates throw dozens and hundreds of them at once and fluttering between them before they could hit the ground. That wasn't exactly her style, but it wouldn't hurt as an addition to her arsenal.

That led to another idea—even if she wasn't particularly invested in having her seals used as weapons that way, there was still merit to asking her comrades for help distributing them. She couldn't leave the village? Fine. Others were. She was sure that if she asked, at least some of the people she knew would be willing to drop a rock with Hiraishin painted on it in whatever country they traveled to for their missions. At this point, it was more important to have a map again than it was to protect against others getting her seals. She could always blow the damn things up in a pinch, if someone put their grubby little paws on something that didn't belong to them.

Didn't have to be rocks, of course. But it would be less conspicuous than kunai, and no one would know to look for them. Actually… maybe Minato had been onto something by using distinctive kunai for his Hiraishin? They weren't just blades: they were a method of making his handiwork instantly recognizable and sowing fear. Intimidation could win half the battle.

She didn't want to use the three-pronged blades that Minato had made famous. That would be too obvious, even as an attempt to coast off his fearsome reputation. Changing the shape of the blade would negatively impact her ability to wield it. So what else could she do to make her kunai completely distinctive?

"Ah, shop-keep-san?" Aiko ducked into a quick bow and then indicated the rather standard kunai she had been looking at. "What would it cost to have the handles lacquered on some of these?"

He seemed to think she was joking. After a few minutes of assuring him, he seemed to change to hoping that she was joking, but he took her bank information gamely and made one last attempt to persuade her into making his job easier by picking a color that he would have readily in stock.

She turned him down, but paid him extra to rush on getting the paint from his supplier. Yes, she was absolutely certain that she wanted orange.

No one in their right mind other than Naruto would think to get such a thing without a good cause. If she wanted distinctive weaponry, she was going to have to go off the beaten track for sensible equipment in good taste.

It took near superhuman effort to force herself to go pick Fukiko up from the Academy and take her out to practice. If Tobi was still hanging around, he might recognize her as an Uchiha. That risk made her want to stay as far away as possible from her student. But on the other hand, for all she knew he was half a country away by now. She couldn't let fear keep her from doing her job without something more solid to go on other than that she was scared.

'Besides, if I don't work with her, she'll never get strong enough to take care of herself.' Aiko somehow gritted her jaw and kept a smile plastered on her face. There was no point in letting Fukiko know something was wrong. She'd be a pretty poor Jounin if she couldn't hide her nervousness from a pre-genin.

"Aiko."

Fukiko stopped the clumsy sequence of hand signs she had been demonstrating to blink up at the man standing beside her teacher. Aiko merely raised an eyebrow and turned her head slightly. That was enough to send the girl flushing.

Only once Fukiko had gone back to pretending to be so absorbed in her practice that she didn't notice the adults talking, did Aiko turn to acknowledge Sai.

"Long time no see."

Almost twenty-four hours, which wasn't really that long. But seeing him wasn't everything. It had been so long since they'd really talked that she strangely felt distanced.

"Not really." His eyes slid away from hers almost dismissively, and he gave Fukiko a curious look. "I saw you last night."

Aiko twitched. "Ah," she replied rather unhelpfully.

It didn't take a genius to realize that he meant he'd been assigned to Tsunade's personal guard last night and had been creeping about while she had debriefed, or seen her in passing under the anonymity of an ANBU mask. Without the seal she'd planted on his back or his sword, she might not know Sai was about unless she was paying close attention. It was amazing just how reliant she had been on her seal sense, and she hadn't even realized until most of them were gone.

Either way, she probably hadn't been at her best when he'd seen her.

"May we talk?"

'Am I going to get scolded again for not caring enough about ROOT?' she thought but didn't say. Rather ungracefully, she nodded. "Alright. Fukiko-chan, pack up. We're going to walk you home." As the brunette hurriedly slipped on a backpack and fell in line, Aiko blandly narrated. "The gentleman escorting us is one of my teammates, Sai."

'And why did I say teammate instead of boyfriend? He is my boyfriend, right? I mean, we've never used those terms. What does that mean? Is that part of what's so weird with us? We never set any boundaries?'

Fukiko's "It's very nice to meet you, Sai-san," was almost inaudible, in part because she was looking at the ground when she said it.

Still, Sai replied gamely enough. But he seemed to consider that enough contribution to friendly conversation. Aiko ignored him and instead prodded the pre-genin into conversation by asking her about her academic classes until she had turned the child over to her aunt.

"So…" she began awkwardly, flexing the foot she wasn't putting her weight on and clasping her hands behind her back. "What did you want to talk about?"

He considered her for a second, and then began walking. After a moment, she jolted into movement behind him and caught up to walk at his side. "Is there cause for concern?"

It took a moment to parse that. "You mean, about what happened last night?" Her stomach roiled, and she thoughtlessly put a hand over it. At the dark-eyed glance the movement garnered, she purposefully didn't pull her hand back. That would look as if she was unable to control herself emotionally, even more so than the display of weakness in the first place. "Probably," Aiko admitted honestly. "He made a point of saying that he would be back."

"Is there nothing you can do?" Sai's lips pressed down ever so slightly, and he crossed the road to get away from the crowds.

"Not that I can think of." Aiko suppressed a sigh. "Can't hide or run. I'll just have to see what happens and be as prepared as possible." She lowered her voice, and grumped, "I can't keep ROOT out of my fucking apartment, so I hardly expect I can keep Akatsuki out."

And wasn't that galling?

Granted, after a point, traps and seals could only go so far to assure security. If they were infallible, no one would use shinobi guards. The problem was of course that the types of people who could threaten her (and therefore she wanted to be safe from) were the ones who were experienced and clever enough that her home security wasn't an insurmountable obstacle.

"Would you like me to stay with you?"

She had to stop for a moment and attempt to gauge his seriousness. It was a hell of an offer. On one hand, it might work to keep Tobi away. He had indicated that he wanted to come back when she was alone by saying he didn't want to have any more ANBU interfere. But would that really work long-term? If he saw that she wasn't going to be alone, his options would be to give up or to make himself known anyways.

Aiko might have taken his offer in an instant if she really thought it would put Tobi off. But why would it? If she gambled on that and was wrong… well, it wouldn't be that hard for a man who could spy on them unseen to forcibly ensure she was alone. She didn't want Sai to get hurt for such a stupid reason.

What good would it really do to hide behind Sai like a scared child? He couldn't keep her safe from Madara. Even the two of them together weren't a sure thing against an opponent of that caliber, especially when the encounter would be pre-determined by their opponent's whim. If they were the one attacking from shadows, it would be different. But the whole set up was that Tobi was lurking whenever and wherever he pleased…

No, it would be a significant risk to Sai with very little possibility of doing anything other than making her feel safer.

The offer did lift her mood, though. Aiko gave him a real smile, and moved to bump her shoulder against his arm. "I'll have to turn you down. But thank you, Sai." She laced her fingers behind her head and looked up, spotting a cloud that looked like a rabbit. Granted, most clouds looked like rabbits to her.

"Are you sure there is nothing that can be done?" He gave her a disapproving frown. "If you will not let me stay with you, there must be some way to ensure your safety, or at least to be sure someone will know if something is wrong within a reasonable time period."

That... was a good point, actually. One of her first fears when she'd seen Tobi in that park had been that he would whisk her away and that no one would know what had happened to her.

"I'll meet you for tea everyday or tell you why I can't?" Aiko suggested warmly.

The faint hint of approval in his eyes was enough to tell her she hadn't been too presumptuous with his time.

"Thank you," she said quietly, leaning over to wrap her arm around his torso and pressed a closed kiss against his neck. "You're the smart one, I suppose. What would I do without you?"

Sai gave her the oddest look. "I suspect you would be fine," he said after a moment. His right arm gave her the briefest of squeezes before he withdrew. "If you will excuse me, I need to report."

"Have a good night!" she called, holding an arm up to protect her eyes from the leaves his departure stirred.

'Huh. Was I imagining things there, or was he a little distant?' Aiko caught a single pine-green leaf between her thumb and forefinger and idly examined the way light moved across the waxy surface. 'I must have been imagining things,' she decided. 'He would tell me if something was wrong, right?'

Almost immediately, she felt a flutter of unease. He probably wouldn't. It wasn't like she talked to him about her problems. Not that her problems were that important, she rejected. She was overreacting. It was irrational to see Shou's face when she closed her eyes at night. She was just having a hard time forgetting the way it had been the moment trust turned to horror. That would fade. It had to. It was just a phase. And Aoto wouldn't have blamed her, would he? It wasn't her fault. It wasn't. ANBU died in the line of duty all the time. She probably would too. She only hoped that when that happened, she might be doing some good.

She managed to forget that bleak line of thought when she went home to find a vase sitting outside her apartment. She had no idea what the flowers were or what they meant, but since there was one red flower and one white flower, it was probably something simple and profound.

Pity that it was almost certainly from Tobi. Tremblingly, she picked the small piece of paper out from under the vase and read the single kanji on it. It was an apology. Aiko almost ripped it in half as a reflexive rejection of the sentiment, but stopped herself long enough to scoop the crumpled piece of paper sitting at the bottom of her kitchen garbage and compare the two.

'I'm almost certain these were written by the same person.'

She stared glumly at the apology and the note she had thought was from a landlord, as if hoping that the broad, slightly tilted handwriting would change on one of them. What were the odds that her landlord had sent her flowers?

Not good, she surmised. A little vindictively, she fed the flowers to her garbage disposal.

'He's still in Konoha.' Aiko sat the vase on her kitchen table, sat down, and buried her face in her palms. 'He didn't leave. For all I know he's watching me right now. Hope he wasn't too attached to those plants.'

She half-wished that she'd asked Sai to walk her home, but that would help nothing but her nerves. Still, she couldn't help but feel that there had to be some way to benefit from assistance in this. There was almost no one that she would trust to help keep her safe from Tobi, but wouldn't she be much better off if he could at least be stopped from surprising her?

That led to two different trails of thought. She happened to be acquainted with a lovely, fluffy canine with a nose twice as good at Kakashi's, who might be able to verify whether or not anyone was lurking about. The other idea that occurred was that it would be greatly helpful to have some sort of intelligence about whatever it was that Tobi had done to her.

'And I know several individuals who wouldn't ask me questions if I brought strange inquiries to them,' Aiko mused. She agreed with Sai that it would be wrong to put ROOT through more hell than they had already been through, but would a research project really strain those boundaries? She did have that convenient list of identities that Tsunade had squirreled out of Danzo's home… Aiko was under too much scrutiny to be caught snooping old records about the Uchiha (her most likely bet as to the source of Tobi's strange kickassery), not least because if Tobi saw, he might react violently to the hint that she knew more than she should. But a third party could accomplish that with no difficulties.

For the first time, she was the creepy bastard showing up at someone else's apartment after twilight. In her defense, Akahiso Yarou happened to live in her apartment complex. Aiko had the sinking suspicion that she knew how at least one of her ROOT compatriots had been so familiar with her home security, and the familiarity of his body build only furthered that assumption. While Mitsuo waited boredly in the entry way, she took the liberty of actually painting a Hiraishin seal on his arm.

Well, it felt like a liberty, even though she asked for permission. Aiko didn't get the feeling that the hollow-cheeked brunet had considered he could tell her no. But adding to her vastly depleted sealing network was too important to pass up, especially since she might want to be able to track him down later to see what he had found. He seemed a bit scandalized that she gave him names of a few other ROOT members and orders to figure out how to contact them, but didn't protest. ANBU level shinobi were more likely to be able to leave the country at the moment and really spread her seals. She could return the next day and hand over however many she managed to get painted during the day for him to pass on.

Mitsuo ponderously rose to his feet to follow, tail wagging ever so slightly as she passed out of Akahiso's doorway and trotted down the stairs to her own apartment. At least he hadn't smelled anyone lurking about. That might have just sent her into a fit of paranoia about whether or not Tobi was capable of hiding from Mitsuo's senses, except he'd picked out a stale scent on Tobi's notes that he identified as 'faintly cat-ish'.

Made sense. Is Uchiha.

So she was grateful for that confirmation of her memories, even if they did spell out bad news. The fact that Mitsuo wasn't familiar with Obito's original scent limited her ability to use Mitsuo's comment as evidence on its own, however. Whatever the hell Madara had done to that body had probably changed his scent, even if puberty and two decades away from the Uchiha complex hadn't.

Aiko was flagging at that point—she hadn't slept yesterday and the last streaks of sunlight were fading away. Having Mitsuo there (and then Hōseki, after a moment's contemplation) made her feel a bit better, but her sleep was still uneasy and frequently interrupted.

"This isn't going to work," she mumbled the third time she woke up sweating, staring irritably at her ceiling. It was a stupid ceiling. She had never noticed before, but she hated that ceiling.

Neither dog followed when she trailed out to her kitchen. Hōseki did trot in by the time the smell of bacon became evident. Aiko tossed a strip to the little dog—and then flushed at the glare she received for treating her friend like an animal.

"Sorry," she apologized sheepishly, before setting out two plates for the dogs and carting the rest off for herself on top of her scrambled eggs. Aiko couldn't help but notice that Hōseki hadn't been too proud to eat the meat off the floor, however.

She didn't want to stay at her apartment. At least not at night, while she was so vulnerable. But going to anyone else's home would unnecessarily endanger them, and anyways she didn't like to impose.

Aiko heaved a rather theatrical sigh that puffed her chest out to ridiculous proportions before sulkily pushing half of her food away uneaten. Mitsuo immediately stuck his face in her bowl and started making snarfling sounds. "This is going to be stupidly expensive," she moaned, cupping his cheeks and dragging his face up to make eye contact. A bit of egg dropped from Mitsuo's mildly surprised mug and plopped to the floor, and he blinked big sad brown eyes up at her. Hōseki clacked over to snap up the lost food.

"What's expensive?" she asked after she swallowed, not sounding as if she was particularly interested. She hadn't liked anything Aiko spent money on, except for fancy shampoos. Pakkun had probably corrupted her, or else she was in a competition to see who could get more spoiled by their respective partners.

"Renting a second apartment under a fake name," Aiko said blankly, already tabulating exactly what strain that would put on her finances. Sure, she had stupid amounts of money sitting around from her books, but she hated to dig into that. On the other hand that account was already under a fake name, and she couldn't put a price on her peace of mind.

The two dogs exchanged a look, and then Mitsuo seemed to shrug. He immediately went back to lapping up breakfast. Hōseki seemed to roll her eyes, backing up so that her little rear was in the air and laying her chin on her paws. "You have strange problems, boss."

She didn't bother arguing with the dog. Aiko mostly agreed, but didn't say anything. Instead, she killed time until sunrise by painting seals, on her apartment and on odds and ends like kunai.

'Do I owe Kakashi a thank-you for teaching me Kage bunshin?' Aiko wondered idly as a clone left with the two dogs to meet Ino for a pre-arranged spar.

Water clones were about as sturdy as the shadow clones, but they couldn't be stuffed into her actual clothes nearly as easily so that they would leave her real scent. Nor could they be maintained after she stopped consciously paying attention to them. Kage bunshin, on the other hand, could take orders and last until the chakra ran out or the construction was disrupted. That would take a while, and Ino would think it was just a prank when Aiko dissolved on the off chance that the clone let her get in a good physical blow. Hopefully that wouldn't happen, though, because it would be weird to just have her shorts sitting in the middle of a training field.

If he was actually watching, Tobi didn't have to believe that the clone was her all day. That just had to happen long enough for her to slip out under henge and head to the market district for a few essentials for a new apartment. Two hours later, a purple-haired woman in a lacey, conservative, and unspeakably voluminous white dress that Aiko wouldn't normally be caught dead in had withdrawn a completely horrifying amount of money from the bank Ino had set her account in.

She had spent a while thinking about the optimal location she would rent. Her initial thought had been that she should set herself up as far away as possible from her apartment to distance herself from Tobi. And then she had considered the fact that such an action was completely predictable. So she rented a tiny open flat in the building next door, where she could keep an eye on things. Metaphorically speaking of course, since the room was on the opposite side of the building, without a line of sight to her real apartment. If Tobi had any sense at all and knew what she had done, he would go to her windows and see which apartments had a view of hers and investigate those. That would be what she would do.

Aiko whiled away the time waiting for the building manager to file paperwork by internally debating whether her mind was too convoluted or just right. She ended up deciding that depending on whether or not Tobi was a similarly paranoid bastard.

It cost a sob story about an abusive ex boyfriend and an extra 25% of her rent to convince her elderly landlady to backdate the paperwork to indicate that Aiko had applied for the room two weeks prior and file it as such. She didn't want to find out that only one apartment in Konoha had been rented out the day after Tobi had sauntered into town. If he was half as sneaky as he seemed, he'd be able to piece that together.

She spent the time left until her clone failed painting her new apartment. Not in the conventional way, of course. Aiko had immediately pulled the full curtains she'd bought out of her satchel so that no one could see in and then covered the place in Hiraishin seals. If Tobi did track her here, she'd want to have a lot of mobility.

The influx of memories that hit her at that moment informed her that the clone had managed to make it through practice with Ino, but that Hōseki had bit it to end the chakra construct because it was time for Aiko to feed the dogs or they were going to go home. She snorted in amusement, but dropped the henge and siphoned chakra out of the seals on her gloves that quieted her chakra signature. Aiko took one last look around her new abode before she left via Hiraishin (she could hardly be tracked there if she never walked to the safehouse). It was quiet and decidedly unwelcoming. The floors were clean, but that was about the best thing that could be said about it.

'A safehouse isn't Barbie's dream mansion,' Aiko chided herself, turning on her heels away from the view even as she pulled herself back to her real apartment where the dogs were waiting. 'It doesn't have to be comfortable. It just has to do the job of giving me someplace Tobi won't look for me.'

Assuming he still wanted to get her alone, she was safer during the day than she was at night. Still, she didn't linger in her apartment. Mitsuo woofed happily when she nearly bolted for the door, and the trip downstairs inadvertently turned into a three-way run.

Hoseki won, so they scowled at her even as the three trekked to the market district. Unfortunately, she hadn't had time to buy food before Kotetsu found her. Aiko gave him a mournful stare, and tried not to stare too obviously at his meticulously groomed chin…beard… thing. He had to use a ruler to get it to look like that.

"Are you sure you can't tell Tsunade-sama that you didn't find me until after I'd had lunch?" she wheedled, employing puppy eyes to their best effect.

They were ineffective, though he did crack a smile. "I'm sure," he dryly retorted. "Why would I want to take a fall for you?"

She batted her eyes. "Because I'm adorable?" Aiko asked innocently.

Kotetsu rolled his eyes. "Not a chance," he replied flatly. "You can't trick me, short stuff. I've worked with Genma before. You're ten years too early to try to flirt your way out of having to report."

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Mildly bewildered by the reference to someone she didn't really know, she dismissed her hounds so they could go home to eat. There was no point in everyone being uncomfortable. Then she followed the Chuunin errand boy to Tsunade's office.

Apparently, Tsunade had wanted her to repeat her report to Konoha's spymaster. It was a bit tiresome, but Aiko understood the need. No matter how diligent Tsunade was, there was always the risk that a clue would be lost when a second person paraphrased a critical report. This was, she was available for questions.

For the first time, someone thought to ask what she had been able to see of the exposed eye through Tobi's mask to add something to their incredibly sparse physical description, which made her realize that she hadn't seen anything. Well, she had known that the eye was shadowed, but she hadn't thought about whether that was a consequence of the lighting and the way the mask blocked light or a genjutsu. Jiraiya seemed certain it was a genjutsu, and who was she to argue?

Now that she really considered it, it did seem positively bizarre that she hadn't been able to catch even a glint of red. Sharingan eyes were highly reflective, and would have caught the light at one point.

'On the other hand, Tobi would probably want to hide when he had that activated,' she thought self depreciatingly. She'd had other things on her mind, but still. She'd been staring at him so intently that she really should have wondered why all she saw was a black hole in his mask.

"I don't suppose you have anything else to add?" Jiraiya sighed.

Aiko bit her lip consideringly, and shrugged. Maybe he'd be able to make more sense of this, or point her in the right direction. Her mind was already racing ahead, trying to find a way to phrase what had happened without inserting her biases, so that Jiraiya could give an assessment that wasn't influenced by hers. "Did dad ever have a problem with his seals in a fight?" When all the man did was raise an eyebrow, she added, "Tobi did something really weird when he grabbed me."

A hard look shuttered over her godfather's eyes, and she wondered if it might have been a good idea to gloss over that part. Too late now.

Hurriedly, she continued, "It was- He took me…" Aiko frowned, and decided to just spit out her theory, since she couldn't think of a way to describe what had happened without tainting Jiraiya's impression. "It wasn't like using Hiraishin to slip between at all, but I think that's what it was." At his horror, she waved her hands. "Not Hiraishin!" she clarified, before dropping her hands and wringing her fingers together. "Another in-between space. A fourth dimension- or fifth, as it were," she added with dry humor. "It seemed like we were there much longer than I ever am in Hiraishin, so I could be wrong about it looking altogether different. But it was bizarre." She stopped to lick her lips, struggling for a way to describe what she'd seen. "I can't put it into words," Aiko settled lamely. "But anyway. When I was there, I couldn't feel my seals at all. And when we came back to Konoha, almost all of them were gone."

Tsunade went white.

"None of the ones on kage," Aiko reassured. "And I still have Naruto and Shinji tagged. The other jinchuuriki…" she made a face. "Might be a good idea to line them up and slap some paint on them, if they're willing. Probably won't be," she admitted honestly. "I don't think Fuu ever realized I'd tagged her. And Utakata probably won't want to see me again."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Tsunade snapped, looking more confused than actually angry.

"I was pretty disoriented," Aiko pointed out dryly. "I was in shock, and I'd just lost a sense. Not exactly my best moment. And you didn't give me much chance to offer information. You asked me the questions that were relevant to trying to catch Tobi, and then you sent me out, if you will recall."

Plus, she'd been feeling very vulnerable and not interested in sharing her weakness. Jiraiya looked at her in a way that implied he knew what she wasn't saying. He heaved a sigh and turned his chin up instead of confronting her, and put his hands on his hips. "Well," he mused, voice rumbling even lower than usual. "That is distressing. No, Minato never experienced anything like that. Why did you assume- oh, I see," he half-mumbled to himself. "It had to be a fifth dimension, counting yours as fourth, otherwise you would have been able to just Hiraishin out. Do you have any idea why he brought you back to Konoha?"

That had honestly never occurred to her. "Maybe he can't use it as a means of travel?" Aiko weakly suggested. "He seemed surprised that it hurt me. Maybe he just came back before he'd done whatever he intended to do." What the hell else would he use it for?

Jiraiya frowned. "Maybe, but I wouldn't count on it."

Tsunade had been looking a little lost, but at this point she scowled, having latching on to the last point. "I suppose that explains why we never caught him," she added grumpily.

The toad sannin just hummed in agreement, clearly not paying his old teammate much attention.

Naruto's eyes were all but closed, but he still noted a sense of warmth and presence approaching. He glanced over at the source as it knelt at his side. "I suppose you just happened to come help refill water?"

Sasuke gave him a withering glance before pulling the pack full of bottles off his back and beginning to pile them up. "Have you already checked the water composition?"

"I'm working on it," he replied shortly. It was necessary every single time they refilled water, despite being a massive pain in the ass. Once Karin had managed to stop twitching the first day they had arrived, she'd explained that the overwhelming chakra permeating the atmosphere suspiciously just inside the border indicated their opponent had control over the rain. That meant he had control over the water supply. So they had to be cautious.

'Not like Kakashi would have let us slack on securing the safety of the ration supply anyway.' Naruto had frankly been surprised to see that the older man could live up to his intimidating reputation when the time came. He had never been so stern and serious before. At least, not that Naruto had seen. Captain Yamato didn't seem surprised at all, so maybe he would have encountered this side of his old sensei if he had remained the man's student longer.

It reminded him a bit of Aiko's freaky personality change into sternness on their mission to hunt Mukade, actually. Terse and bossy and not doing a great job of hiding that they were hyper-alert and probably scared that something was going to happen to their subordin-

"Don't think so hard, you'll get a headache."

Naruto gave Sasuke a glare for that half-hearted gibe, but he couldn't really get behind the banter. The distracted and unhappy expression on the Uchiha's face indicated that he wasn't feeling it either.

It was the first time they'd had a chance to talk in anything resembling privacy since their early wakeup. Their superiors were distracted, not half-witted. If Yamato noticed them whispering a few hours after a report from home came, he would shut them down.

'If the pervert were here, I bet he'd be on our side.' Naruto rather violently shoved the next bottle under the water, half-wishing Jiraiya hadn't left with the toads' aid that morning. Jiraiya was technically the highest ranking person who had been out on the border, but he'd been there in an unofficial capacity. If he had been asked, he might have been willing to go against orders to go into Ame. The pervert had never cared much for orders. He was sort of awesome. Who else would go to work on their own initiative?

'Come to think of it, the pervert's been really serious too,' Naruto mused. 'You'd think that he would enjoy this more, since he was doing it of his own volition.'

His teammate's voice brought him back to the real world. "They'll know as soon as we cross the border." Sasuke's expression was blank.

"Yeah," Naruto acknowledged with a scowl. There had to be some way around that. "Do you think the rain technique is sensitive enough to monitor things like summons? I know that Aiko's isn't."

"If it isn't, we could send one of your toads in and reverse summon to his position," Sasuke suggested, dropping water purifier pills into the bottles one by one and then fastening them shut. There wasn't really a question that they intended to go fight Akatsuki. If they didn't have that delusional jackass with the water to worry about, Ame would have already been routed. The four-country alliance had sent a lot of firepower.

Naruto bit his lower lip and kicked out his heels, lying back on his elbows. "It takes a relatively big, powerful toad to do that," he admitted. "Gamakichi is getting pretty strong… but then it seems less likely that he'll be able to slip in unnoticed."

Sasuke grunted in acknowledgement, leaning back a little himself. "We might need Karin," he mused. "Do you think she'll be amenable? It would be preferable to ensure that no one is going to herd us into a trap."

"Yeah," Naruto said, with a little more confidence than he felt. "She's getting sick of waiting here too. I bet she's anxious to do something. Besides,-"

"I can hardly leave you idiots to get yourselves killed alone," Karin dryly finished, giving them a dirty look as both boys spun around to see her. She heaved a sigh and pulled her heavy hair off her neck, making a face at the damp. "How did I know you were planning something stupid?" she asked conversationally, before snapping her fingers. "Oh wait! Could it be the significant glances you were exchanging all day? The way you not so subtly arranged to be alone? Or was it just that you're predictable?"

"To be fair, those same clues could have been used to derive any number of possibilities," Sasuke bantered, giving her that sideways half-smile that always sent a shiver up Naruto's spine and made him think of the moment before Baa-chan said something really off-putting.

"Like what, you two were running off for a romantic tryst?" Karin asked bluntly, folding her legs in front of her and using one hand as a brace. The other hand fidgeted with her glasses, revealing that she wasn't as unaffected as she was portraying. Naruto was transfixed. He was missing something. He knew he was, but he didn't know what it was.

"Why, are you jealous?" Sasuke asked smoothly, giving a languid stretch that did something funny to the graceful muscles of his neck. "You've caught us. We came out here, to this soggy paradise, to fu-"

"Bastard!" Naruto shrieked, leaping at him to cover his mouth and make him stop saying such weird things. Sasuke had been ready for that, however, and he found himself pinned on his stomach with his wrists caught in Sasuke's hand. Naruto was oddly relieved, even as he went through the obligatory wiggling and whining when his teammate unceremoniously sat on his back. Wrestling was familiar and safe.

There was an odd sound that might have been a giggle, if Karin weren't more likely to cackle. She cleared her throat, and Naruto heard her advise mock-seriously, "I think you're going to have to try a different position, but I'm not here to judge. Either way… What do you two have to say about this situation?"

"I think we're going to have to wait until Jiraiya returns," Naruto admitted grumpily, clawing at the ground and getting mud encrusted up to his second knuckles. "He's probably the only one who can fight with our mysterious kami." The way he pronounced the last word was rather close to the way Sasuke's persistently disgruntled great-aunt might say things like 'unicorn', 'fiscal responsibility,' and 'dog feces'.

Feeling charitable, Sasuke only gave Naruto a little kick in the ribs as he got up and began gathering the equipment to return to camp. "How long can that be?" he asked philosophically. "Jiraiya might be needed in the village, but that's probably for one very specific thing, and then he'll be out here again. Tsunade-sama has a hard time keeping him where he's supposed to be when he's not invested. Since he wants to be here, it's only a matter of time."

"Are we just going to hope that everyone capitulates, or should we start feeling out who else is restless enough to make our own plan?" Karin asked with a sigh, giving a stretch that cracked her back four times. "If we can figure out a way to communicate long distance, we could actually take advantage of our superior numbers."

Naruto gave a theatrical scoff and jumped up to his feet, snatching half of Sasuke's burden away and beginning to stride back to camp. "Tactics, Karin?" he tossed over his shoulder. "Don't you realize that's the refuge of people who can't just hit their problems in the face?"

"Oh no," she droned. "Do I ever feel embarrassed."

"Well, if it makes you feel better," Naruto mock-assured her. "I guess we can try it. But I reserve the right to fall back on using superior force and yelling a lot."

"As if anyone could stop you," Sasuke sighed, sharing a mildly piteous look with Karin behind Naruto's back.

The blond gave him a hurt expression, big blue eyes quavering. "Hey, are you calling me stupid?"

"If the geta fit…"

Author's note

For those who wondered what flowers Aiko fed to the drain…

Anemone- sincerity

Poppy- comfort

Which was a nice apology gesture. Tobi is a nice guy. Definitely a very good boy. It might have worked better if Aiko was a different kind of girl.

Omake: If Ino had disrupted Aiko's clone

The ugly sound of teeth grinding was all she could hear for several seconds while Ino tried to calm her breathing and her temper.

It didn't work. "Aiko, you irresponsible troglodyte!" she shrieked, outright stomping her foot. "Come back here and fight me!"

No one emerged from the treeline to apologize for snubbing her by not even showing up to their planned spar or to claim that the joke had been in poor taste. Balefully, she directed her glare to the shorts and tanktop lying crumpled on the ground where the clone had been when she'd gotten a rather vicious kick in. Ino could see just a hint of a turquoise strap peeking out from under the tanktop. First of all, who went to the trouble of putting a bunshin in real clothes? Secondly, what kind of damn lunatic would be thorough enough to make it wear underwear?

Aiko, apparently. That was who. Ino hmmpfed and tossed her hair over her shoulder, wavering for just a second as to whether there was any point to engaging in a good stomp off if no one was here to see it. After a moment's contemplation, she decided that she was dramatic for her personal edification and not to play to an audience, so she whipped around and walked away with a straight back and high chin.

[fractured-shield]

scene 1 (Leithe and Idhren, fifth chronologically)

“Because—and that’s another thing, I know she agreed, but you can’t convince me that anyone with that strong of ties to Lauthein’s merchant class would agree with that genuinely, it’s not like she’d—“ Leithe cut herself short and let her hands fall back to her lap. She’d been gesturing rather dramatically with them as she spoke—again.

“Are you alright? Did that hurt?”

“No,” she said, with something just short of a laugh, and pulled her shawl closer around her. “Sorry, I don’t mean to—you offered to help, and I can’t seem to let you. I’m not doing it on purpose.”

He did laugh, then, because he couldn’t imagine it being something to apologize for. “I don’t mind.”

Leithe offered her hand to him again—the hand that, just moments ago she’d pulled away, as the point she was trying to make required rather dramatic gestures to impress upon her audience of one her ever-present passion. He took it in his own, as carefully as if it was the finest ornament of glass. Her hands were so small in his own, but they were strong and calloused and warm just the same.

“Anyways, and Mornym agreed, and I don’t know if I should take it at face value and let her deal with whatever stupid gossip she causes from backing out—because she will back out, I’m sure—or if I should just pretend she never said anything. That’s probably an awful idea, but it’d be so satisfying, I fucking wish I could ignore her.”

Leithe paused again for a moment. “You can tell me if you want me to shut up, you know.”

Idhren would let her keep talking forever if she wanted.

“What? What’s that look for?”

He hadn’t realized he was looking at her any particular sort of way. The low light from the fireplace cast dancing shadows across her features, flickering over the fine chains of gold that hung from her ears and swung as she spoke.

“Would you rather I look away, when you’re speaking?” He teased, running his thumb over her knuckles, over the little scar that traced across them.

She’d complained that her hands ached from writing and from woodworking, and as he’d already been settled in with his book and with a hot water bottle on his knee, it was no trouble. He would’ve done it no matter how much trouble it had been. His book had laid untouched for the better part of an hour.

“That wouldn’t be any better,” she laughed. Her legs were folded beneath her in such a way that she leaned against him, and her arm was hooked around his, not that it’d stilled its movement very well. “I rather like it, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Well, otherwise I can’t look at you, either, and that’s hardly fair.”

A comfortable silence fell between them for a few moments. Idhren turned Leithe’s hand over in his own, hoping that his efforts could provide some small measure of relief for her.

“So, you were saying about Mornym…?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Leithe jumped at the reminder to continue. “I mean, do you really think—”

Idhren brought Leithe’s hand up to kiss the back of it, slowly, pressing her knuckles to his lips.

“—gods, honestly,” she let her head fall against his shoulder, her complaint almost lost in her sigh. “Oh, you smug bastard. What the fuck was I talking about—I don’t even care.”

He laughed softly and continued his work like he’d done nothing at all. He didn’t even have to look to know how furiously she was blushing. It was a tactic he employed only rarely, but it was no less effective than the time he’d done it first.

“If you wanted me to stop talking you could’ve just said so.”

“I didn’t say that. Feel free to continue, once you’ve recovered.”

“Fuck off,” she gave a rather undignified snort. “…Just a minute.”

When she’d adequately recovered a few moments later, she poked him in the arm. “Tezphel’s fucking horizons, you thought I’d forget, didn’t you!”

Again she tugged her hand free of his own. She was as striking as ever, her features sharpened by playful annoyance.

“…What?” He thought to ask, after a moment.

“You said you’d sleep hours ago, and you’ve just let me talk this whole damn time, hoping I’ve forgotten, haven’t you?”

In his defense, it wasn’t so much that he’d meant to stay awake, after agreeing otherwise. He’d gotten just as distracted as she had.

“How are your hands?” he asked instead. “Do they hurt any less?”

“Yes, love, thank you for your help. Now,” she got to her feet, with far less effort and more energy than he would expect of himself, despite of the late hour, and took both his hands in her own, “I’m going to get you to bed, and then hold you down if I have to. Leave your book here, I’ll just bore you to sleep with more complaints about Arthain’s ridiculous court.”

Idhren couldn’t imagine falling asleep, if it meant missing a single word she said, but he let Leithe pull him to his feet just the same.

[luellalux]

Te Amo Por Siempre - January to April 2014

Masterlist | AO3

January 2014

South Coast Plaza, Costa Mesa, California 

Weeks after promising Pedro she would talk to her dad, Carissa still hadn’t found the right words—or the courage—to do it. It wasn’t avoidance. It was something else entirely: the unfamiliarity of having to stand her ground about matters of the heart. For years, she’d kept her emotions tucked neatly away, seldom offering her parents even a glimpse of her inner world. That armour had always served her well. Until now.

As work brought her back to Orange County—this time without Pedro—Carissa saw an opening. She sought out her mother for guidance, something she had rarely done, and only when it came to winning her father’s approval on important decisions. But this wasn’t about business or academics. This was about Pedro. And somehow, that made it harder to ask for help.

The conversation began casually enough during one of Emmy’s favorite pastimes: shopping. They moved from store to store, Emmy strolling through luxury boutiques with the ease of someone who knew the terrain well. Carissa trailed behind her, hands tucked into her coat pockets, carrying only shopping bags full of things her mother insisted on despite the fact that Carissa really didn’t need any of it. She waited until they were between stores—when the hum of people’s chatter provided a buffer—and then mentioned what her father had said during their Christmas visit.

“He really said that to you?” Emmy stopped mid-stride, her expression sharp with disbelief.

Carissa shrugged half-heartedly, still deflated by her father’s words. “He said he expected better of me. Like choosing Pedro was some kind of lapse in judgment. Then he just walked out like it was the final word on the matter.”

Emmy let out a breath, shaking her head as she adjusted her purse. “That man,” she muttered, the frustration in her tone unmistakable. “I should remind him of Colossians 3:21 about not discouraging your child..” She clicked her tongue. “Don’t get me wrong, I know why he said it. I have the same concerns when it comes to Pedro.”

“You do?”

Emmy eyed Carissa warily before answering. “Yes.”

Carissa wanted to hear to say it, to make sure they were all on the same page. “What concerns?”

Emmy glanced at her, gauging her reaction. She didn’t answer immediately but resumed walking toward a restaurant she liked. “Let’s get some lunch first.”

Once they were seated and their food served, Carissa’s mother switched from English to Tagalog so as not to be overheard and, in the same token, signalling that the conversation had taken a serious turn.

“When you moved to New York, I was so relieved to see you building a life outside of books and your code,” Emmy started. “You finally made friends even if they were from a completely different world from you. They’re good people and through them you started to enjoy the things you’d always been too busy for. I’ll always be grateful that they scooped you up into their group.”

It was true. Her mother in particular had teased her a handful of times about her choice in friends, especially after meeting them on many occasions during her parents’ visits to New York. She recalled the undisguised sense of relief her mother showed when Carissa had begun talking about the group that adopted her into their fold, even if her parents found her artsy-fartsy friends odd, far too expressive, or plain bewildering at times.

“Pedro was the one you seemed to like the most,” Emmy continued with a knowing look. “You never wanted to talk about him outside of the fact that he was your friend but we could tell, even then, that he was special to you. We thought maybe he was sort of protective figure to you, trying to set you up with others and all.”

Carissa could sense her mother was leading to something she did not want to name directly and waited for her to continue.

“Then when you told us you two were dating, we worried that he had been playing the long game with you. After all those years of being your friend, was this his plan all along?”

“You think Pedro’s been scheming this whole time?”

“Anak, you have to understand how it looked to us,” Emmy replied evenly, meeting her daughter’s gaze. “But he’s older, more experienced. And you—this is your first relationship.”

Carissa held her mother’s eyes, her face impassive. “I’m not naive, mama. I know when someone’s being genuine and when they’re not.”

“Once the heart gets involved, all bets are off,” Emmy said without heat or warning. It was a statement brought from life’s experiences, wisdom honed by time. 

Carissa couldn’t simply brush that aside, especially not when she asked specifically for this conversation. Not when the whole Lena thing happened last summer behind her back. Thank God she had never been one to deeply confide in her parents so they didn’t know about all that. Her mother would insist that she had a point and her father… he’d never let her hear the end of it.

“Do you trust him?” Emmy asked, cutting through her thoughts.

Carissa didn’t hesitate. “I do. And my trust isn’t misplaced in Pedro.” 

Her mother surveyed her in that maternal way that could make any child squirm. Her gaze carried discernment of the kind that felt more protective than judgemental. It was the same her mother set upon her whenever she was weighing the moment and how it could impact Carissa’s future. 

Finally Emmy spoke. “Okay, if you trust him then I will help you with your father.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Just leave your father to me. All you need to do is let Pedro know to clear a couple evenings whenever he’s working in LA so he can come down to the house for dinner.”

Carissa’s eyebrows flew up in surprise. “You really think that’s going to change anything?”

“Have I ever failed you, anak?” Emmy asked teasingly, as if daring her daughter to doubt her. “Alam mo hindi kita pababayaan.”

For as long as she could remember, her mother had always backed her when it came to her father, when she knew Carissa was dead set on something that made him uneasy (surfing, for example). She should have known her mother would come to her rescue at a moment like this. 

When Emmy called her the following week, her tone was light, almost amused. “Well, I talked to him and made it clear that he is to keep his opinions about you and Pedro to himself.”

“I can’t imagine dad taking that well,” Carissa murmured into the phone. 

“Nevermind how he took it,” Emmy said breezily, waving the thought away. “Now, send me some dates when you and Pedro can come for dinner or something and I will make sure your dad behaves himself.”

Carissa assured her mother that she would confirm the dates with Pedro. As they talked she felt the needle move, even just a little, in the right direction. True she hadn’t talked to her father directly about Pedro, but that was the thing about Froy Bautista, in order to get through to him, you had to send the right messenger.

Translations:

alam mo hindi kita pababayaan - you know I won’t let you down 

-----

Park Slope, Brooklyn, New York

If their relationship existed in a vacuum, Pedro might have said it unfolded like a play—each act leading naturally to the next. Even with the demands of their respective careers and the travel that it came with, they found a cadence that suited them.

But relationships didn’t live in isolation. Pedro was on the rise, that much was certain. He was booked solid for until at least early July with filming The Mentalist and Bloodsucking Bastards , auditions, and his upcoming rehearsals for Much Ado About Nothing as Don John. With that came press obligations which meant more exposure which in turn meant they were becoming increasingly more aware of how careful they needed to be about protecting their relationship from the public eye.

Then there was Carissa’s dad. Luckily they had Emmy’s well-timed intercession on their side. Though it didn’t mean that they were insulated from the pressure of Froy’s disapproval that seemed to exist as an unwelcome guest among them. A guest they were hoping to see off once he had gotten to know Pedro a little more over the next few weeks. Still, for now it persisted, maybe that was why they had thrown themselves so fully into finding a home together—a bright, tangible step forward in their life together.

The townhouse on Prospect Avenue met all their criteria. It wasn’t extravagant or flashy, but it was exactly what they needed. Close enough to Carissa’s apartment to feel familiar, and just far enough from Pedro’s in Red Hook to mark a fresh start. Their real estate agent, bound by an airtight NDA, had handed over the keys for their walk-through with the air of someone used to clients who required discretion.

On the third floor, Pedro leaned against the doorframe, watching Carissa pace the room that would become his office-slash-rehearsal space. She spread the blueprints on the floor (the staging furniture was gone now) and was jotting notes for their contractor.

“...And we’ll have them install soundproofing in here,” she said, gesturing around the room with her pen. “That way, you can rehearse without disrupting my calls.”

Pedro let the tape measure in his hand retract with a sharp snap. “You think I’m that loud?”

Carissa didn’t look up as she gave her deadpan answer. “You project. Years of theatre will do that to a person.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she had a point. “Fair enough,” he muttered, pocketing the tape measure to take a few more pictures on his phone.

They moved through the rest of the house in tandem. Carissa marking up the blueprint while Pedro handled measurements and photos. The layout felt ideal: the second floor housed their bedroom and Carissa’s open-concept office, while the third floor provided a dedicated space for his rehearsal needs and a guest room. The ground floor held the kitchen and living room, and the basement would serve as a laundry area, some storage and what could become a den space.

When they finished and they stepped outside, their agent bid them goodbye before disappearing into the street. Pedro and Carissa remained just outside the gate of the property, their breath visible in the brisk air as they both looked up at the townhouse.

“It’s hard to believe this one’s going to be ours by the time you get back from Angel’s wedding in March,” Pedro said, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets.

Carissa turned her attention to the second-floor windows. “Right? Just a few weeks ago, it was one of half a dozen places on a list.”

The short walk back to Carissa’s apartment was filled with practical details about contractors, schedules, and who would handle what once they started moving in. On the way, they stopped on 7th Avenue to pick up pho and spring rolls from the Vietnamese place they liked, which was next door to a restaurant unit that never had a business last longer than a year.

“Told you that place has bad feng shui,” Carissa said as they walked past with their take out dinner, nodding to the sign that said the burger joint that previously operated there was closed for business. Beneath it was another sign that indicated that the unit was up for lease again.

Pedro chuckled. “Bad feng shui or maybe the landlord just sucks.”

“Probably both,” Carissa replied as they continued toward her apartment, her hand tucked into his.

It was in pedestrian moments like this that Pedro felt the most at home with Carissa. It was an echo of the ease they built over years of friendship, coloured by their affection, with the undercurrent of excitement for their future that made all the pressure, the noise, the bullshit seem insignificant.

-----

February 2014

Newport Beach, California

True to her word, Emmy was able to bring the dinner to fruition and Pedro, though he was filming The Mentalist and going to auditions in LA, was able to carve out time one evening. And the man came prepared. Flowers for Emmy, Porto’s cheese rolls for dessert, and his most unflappable charm in tow.

The evening passed smoothly, with Emmy and Carissa steering the conversation around the dinner table. Froy, though reserved as ever, kept his disapproval carefully tucked away under his wife’s watchful gaze. Pedro, for his part, was relaxed and attentive, answering Froy’s pointed questions about his career and asking thoughtful questions of his own.

After dinner, Froy excused himself to the backyard for a cigarette. Pedro hesitated for a moment before deciding to follow.

“Mind if I join you?” Pedro asked as he stepped onto the patio, the cool ocean air rolling in with the waves.

Froy glanced back, a pack of Marlboro Lights in hand, before nodding. “Sure.” He gestured at Pedro to join him at the railing that looked out toward the Pacific.

Pedro approached, fishing a yellow pack of American Spirits from his jacket. He lit one and took a slow drag, its earthy, unadulterated smoke cutting through the crisp air. In truth, he rarely smoked anymore—not since it went out of style in the early 2000s—but he noticed Froy’s habit over Christmas. If this was the setting for conversation, Pedro wasn’t above leaning into it. They stood in silence for a moment, their smoke curling into the evening sky, before Pedro made his move.

“Carissa mentioned you and Emmy lived on Oahu before you moved to Orange County, before she was born. What brought you and Emmy there from the Philippines?”

Did Pedro already know much of the story he was asking about? Yes. Was Pedro using this to his advantage to get Froy to talk about himself? Certainly. 

Froy exhaled, his eyes trained on the coast. “Marcos,” he answered.

Pedro turned slightly toward him. “Ferdinand Marcos?” he asked, referring to the former president and dictator of the Philippines.

“Yeah,” Froy tapped his cigarette over the ashtray. “My siblings and I grew up in Manila. After our parents died, we were getting by okay, but then one of our brothers and our only sister…” he waved a hand vaguely. “They were ‘disappeared’ for speaking out against Marcos. One morning they went out for groceries and never came home.” 

Pedro stayed quiet, letting Froy continue.

“We knew it wasn’t safe for us to stay so my brothers and I decided to try for asylum in America. We ended up in Oahu and we had to start over there. While I finished high school, my older brothers worked all sorts of jobs to make ends meet and keep us together. For a long time, we only had each other, and God of course.”

“Must have been tough, being so young when you had to do that,” Pedro said, watching Froy carefully.

Froy nodded in agreement before continuing. “Emmy’s family came over from Cebu a little while later. We went to the same high school, the same church. That’s how we found each other.”

“Religion seems like it’s been a big part of your lives,” Pedro observed.

“God has seen us through everything,” Froy said simply. “He brought Emmy and I together, blessed us with Carissa. And when Carissa is far from us, it’s God we entrust her to. Sometimes, faith in God is the only comfort you have as a parent.” Froy took another drag then asked, “And what about you and your family?”

“Religion… wasn’t central to my upbringing, to be honest,” Pedro admitted. “So far as dictators go, my parents walked a very similar path to yours and Emmy’s. In the seventies, in Chile, they were a young couple studying and trying to raise a family when Pinochet came into power. Then one of my mom’s cousins got them mixed up in giving aid to the resistance which meant my parents had to get out of Chile. They ended up getting political asylum and settling in San Antonio then Orange County.” 

“How old were you when all this happened?”

“I was only a baby so I can’t say I had any first hand experience under a dictatorship. But it definitely shaped how I was raised, how much I value all the opportunities my parents were able to give me growing up. Especially my mom,” Pedro flicked the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray. “I took her last name professionally to honour her, for everything she made possible for me.”

“For first generation American kids, honouring the sacrifices of your parents is thoughtful. My daughter…” He trailed off briefly, taking another drag. “She’s never failed in that. Not even when she was much younger. I could not have asked God for a more respectful and obedient child. She is our greatest blessing and always will be.” 

Froy’s words were light, reflecting the pride of a father on its face. Beneath it, however, was the expectation that Carissa was still, and would always be, that deferent daughter he raised, obedient to his will in all the ways that mattered to him. It was woven into the fabric of their relationship as father and daughter, into the way Froy spoke about her. And suddenly, Pedro understood more clearly why Carissa hadn’t pushed back at her father after Christmas.

To Froy, Carissa wasn’t an adult making her own decisions. She was still a child who still deferred to him, whose choices were measured against his expectations. That dynamic—deeply ingrained and carefully upheld—wasn’t something Carissa could challenge easily.

They smoked in silence after that, stubbing out their cigarettes when Jimmy came out to shepherd them back into the house.

The dinners that followed generally came and went in the same vein. As the weeks went by, Froy found little ways to poke at Pedro in that subtle, knife-between-the-ribs sort of way that made everyone around the table uncomfortable. And yet, Pedro came, week after week, bolstered by Carissa’s encouragement and Emmy’s quick remarks that checked Froy where he sat. Some nights Froy was in fine form while on others he was subdued, clearly having just gotten a talking to that stuck, courtesy of Emmy. Pedro tried to view it in terms of ‘you win some, you lose some’ but he had a feeling, in the very corner of his mind, that he was losing more than he was winning when it came to Froy.

-----

March 2014

Shangri-La, Boracay, Philippines

Carissa understood, logically, that Pedro’s packed schedule kept him in LA while she traveled to Boracay for Angel and Camille’s wedding. Initially, she was disappointed to attend the wedding stag (Pedro had been most kindly invited). Still, she made the best of the situation, taking in the sights with her cousins and reconnecting with the rest of the Bautista clan as they arrived to the island in droves. 

The blissful escape took a sudden, jarring turn when celebrity gossip columns dredged up Pedro’s supposed romance with Lena. No doubt a crafty PR agent had stoked the flames, timing it perfectly to reignite public interest. From People to the Daily Mail , the story was everywhere, replete with quotes from “close sources” and sultry behind-the-scenes footage of Pedro and Lena from their Hunger Magazine photoshoot.

Completely unaware of the storm brewing online, Carissa was enjoying breakfast with JR and Jericho when her mother stormed into the restaurant.

“ Carissa! ” Emmy hissed sharply as soon as she reached their table. Her tone was enough to shoot a spike of fear through all three of them.

Carissa turned, startled. “What–?”

“Come. Now,” Emmy ordered, her face stern. Without waiting for an explanation, she grabbed Carissa’s arm and hauled her to her feet with the kind of strength only mothers seem to possess.

“Wh-what..?” Carissa stammered as she stumbled after her mother.

Jericho froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Girl, what did you do?”

“Probably forgot to add a zero to the wedding gift check. And now tita Emmy’s mad ‘cause it makes her look stingy,” JR suggested with a grin.

Carissa shot JR a glare over her shoulder, but Emmy didn’t even pause. Her sandals clacked purposefully against the tiled floor as she marched Carissa out of the restaurant.

The trek to Carissa’s suite was brisk and filled with Emmy muttering under her breath in a mix of English and Tagalog. By the time they arrived, Emmy slid the door shut with dramatic finality. She turned to face her daughter, brandishing her tablet like it was evidence in a courtroom.

“Have you seen this?” she demanded.

Carissa blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“This!” Emmy thrust the tablet into her hands, her face etched with hurt and indignation.

Carissa’s heart dropped as she looked at the screen. It was one of those articles about Pedro and Lena. “Oh, mama…” she sighed, lowering the tablet. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“What it looks like,” Emmy said, her voice rising as her accent thickened with every word, “is that Pedro is cheating on you!” Her hand pressed against her chest as if steadying herself. “Why would he do this? After all the work we’re doing to get your dad to ease up on him? Bakit ? You know your dad is already preparing to say ‘I told you so’ in ways you’ve never heard before.”

Carissa winced. Emmy’s anger wasn’t just about the article—it was about her fear that Pedro would hurt her.

“Mama, please listen,” Carissa said placatingly as she set the tablet down. “It’s not real. I promise. This is just a PR stunt.”

“A PR stunt? ” Emmy repeated, her disbelief nearly vibrating in her voice. “ Anong PR stunt? Ha? More like PR stupid! ”

Carissa suppressed a grin at her mother’s phrasing. “I promise you, this is just a thing he has to make look real. Pedro’s team thought this would make him more marketable. And Lena—she was going through a messy divorce. This was their way of deflecting attention from that. That’s all it is.”

Emmy’s eyes narrowed, her sharp gaze cutting through Carissa like a laser. “Swear on Jimmy,” she demanded.

“You want me to swear on Jimmy? Your favourite child? ” Carissa asked, incredulous.

Emmy crossed her arms. “Swear on Jimmy, and I will believe you.”

Carissa sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Fine. I swear on Jimmy none of this is true. Pedro isn’t cheating on me.”

At her oath, Emmy relaxed visibly, but her next words carried warning. “If the sitter calls me later telling me something bad’s happened to Jimmy, you and Pedro are going to kneel on uncooked rice as punishment.” She clutched the tablet to her chest, trying to calm herself further. “I have to get back to Marisol and Dolly, get this all straightened out. And I’ll talk to your father,” she muttered.

“You heard about this from them?” Carissa groaned. Just her luck, the most nosy of her aunts would be the ones to fish this out of the internet. 

“Yes, but I will handle it,” Emmy assured her, waving a placating hand. “You know they won’t say anything to anyone else. They were just worried so they brought it to me. Now I can tell them the truth. They’re probably going to be more intrigued about how PR works in Hollywood and will hassle Pedro about it the next time they see him.”

“Dad’s gonna be a nightmare…” Carissa trailed off, rubbing her arm where her mother had grabbed her. Emmy’s sharp eyes darted to the spot, guilt flashing across her face.

“Ay, sorry, anak,” Emmy cooed as she took Carissa’s arm in her hands, rubbing it gently. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just got so upset for you. And don’t worry, I’ll handle your father too.”

Carissa pouted playfully at her. “It hurt more when you didn’t deny that Jimmy’s your favourite.”

Emmy clicked her tongue, not even a little abashed. “I won’t apologize for that. Jimmy doesn’t live in New York full-time, unlike you.”

Of course Carissa let Pedro know they dodged a bullet the next time she was able to get him on FaceTime. And though she assured him that they were in the clear thanks to her mother’s quick action, Pedro still felt wary now that he had more PR obligations coming up for the upcoming season of Game of Thrones which meant more opportunities for exposure of the type he was already growing tired of.

“That thing with Lena keeps coming back to bite me in the ass,” Pedro mumbled, his tone coloured with irritation. 

She wasn’t sure if he meant just the PR stunt or that and the old flirtation that made the whole situation that much more awkward. In any case, there was no point in pressing him for what he meant. Looking at him on the screen, his worn expression from filming and that lonely, homesick set of his eyes made her wish that she had picked a better time to mention this. But their calls were so sporadic at the moment it was the best she could do. 

“The important part is that my mom handled it,” Carissa reiterated soothingly, hoping it would assuage his frustration. “I don’t know exactly what she said or did –mom magic I suppose. My dad and my aunts didn’t say anything after she talked to me.”

That bit about her dad not saying anything was a tiny fib. He had confronted her about it, not believing the PR angle for one moment and had gotten well into his point that Pedro was making a fool of her before Emmy swooped in and put him in his place. 

“If she says it’s just a PR thing, then it is,” Emmy insisted. 

“Mahal, he’s an actor! If he’s acting for the press then he’s probably acting with Carissa too. And she’s too blinded by her feelings to know it,” Froy shot back. 

“Oh, don’t you ‘mahal’ me and talk about our daughter like that in front of me, like I raised her to be a fool for a man,” Emmy warned, her temper catching fire at the blatant criticism of Carissa. “She knows him and his world better than we do. So we will trust her.” She gestured for Carissa, who was watching the argument in silent trepidation, to head for the door of the suite. “Now you fix your attitude by the time we get back from the spa.” 

There was no ‘or else’, no condition, just a hard expectation that welcomed no further pushback from Froy. 

But Pedro didn’t need to know all of that. All that mattered was that her dad did fix his attitude and had said nothing more on the matter. The net result was the same and it seemed to cheer Pedro up a fraction. 

“I’m bringing her a field of flowers next time I see your mom. She’s saving our shit a lot lately.”

“Honestly, I think she likes feeling needed again. I’ve never really talked to her about stuff like this before,” Carissa mused. “When I told them we were dating last year, I just mentioned it in passing—I didn’t want to make it a big deal or get into the details, you know? It felt… a little weird at the time. But ever since I asked for her help with my dad, she’s really leaned into it.

She had been reflecting on it for weeks now. Her mother had seemed invigorated at being confided in—especially when Carissa had always been so self contained since childhood. She suspected her mother had been waiting for this moment, to feel essential again. To discuss ‘girl things’ and delve into that intangible realm of mother-daughter closeness. It hadn’t escaped her notice, either, how her mother’s eyes—so much like her own—seemed to glow with genuine excitement for her whenever they talked about Pedro. 

“I’m not mad about it,” Pedro said with a soft laugh, his face dimpling. “I’ll take all the allies I can get when it comes to your dad.”

They talked for a while longer until Queenie and Twinkie hammered at the door of her suite, hollering at her to come get ready for the wedding with them.

“I better go, I think Queenie and Twinks are gonna break down my door if I don’t get moving,” Carissa sighed.

“Alright, tell everyone I said hi and congrats again to Angel and Camille.”

They said their goodbyes and as soon as Carissa opened the door to her suite, she was swept away by her cousins for hair and makeup. The room she was taken to buzzed with energy—the aunties fussing over the daring necklines and high slits of their dresses, her cousins chattering excitedly. Even in the midst of all the noise and excitement, she felt the well-worn blues of missing Pedro. She thought she was hiding it well enough until her mother squeezed her hand at the ceremony and gave her an encouraging smile. In that maternal warmth, without a single word, Carissa knew that her mother saw and understood what she was feeling even if she didn’t verbalize it.

Translations:

bakit - why

anong - what

mahal - love, term of endearment; sometimes phrased as ‘mahal ko’ meaning my love

-----

Brooklyn, New York

By the end of March, not only were Pedro and Carissa finally under the same roof, but their townhouse was slowly looking more like home. Late one night, as they tackled the organisation of the bookshelves in the living room, their respective book collections quickly became a point of playful contention. Pedro’s overflowed with dog-eared plays, scripts, and well-loved novels in English and Spanish, while Carissa’s selection veered into the academic—coding, mathematical theory, and a surprising amount of surfing related books. 

Pedro wanted to organize them by color for aesthetic purposes while Carrisa, utterly bewildered by the idea, pragmatically insisted on organizing them by author's last name. Then he pointed out something so obvious, she was stunned she hadn’t thought of it first. 

“Interesting strategy– going by last name. But... have you noticed, querida,” he said with a grin, “that you’re kinda short? You can’t even reach the top shelves. So good luck seeing any of the books you want up there without me or a ladder.” 

Carissa blinked. She opened her mouth as if to protest, closed it, and then a sheepish smile crept across her features. “Oh, right.” 

Pedro puffed up triumphantly and began lining up his books and paperback plays by color as he spoke. “So the lower shelves are yours. I get the top.” 

They continued organising their respective shelves and soon, Carissa was helping Pedro with the last few of his books, including a battered copy of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing . “You know, I’ve only ever seen the movie that Kenneth Branaugh did of this play,” she muttered, thumbing through the pages. 

“Yeah, that movie’s great, but you should read it though. It’s different, funnier. Here—” He reached for another paperback— Shakespeare’s Sonnets — and handed it to her as well. “Homework, for while I’m at rehearsals.” 

Carissa grinned as she took the second book from him. “Ooh, I love homework.” There was an excitement in her voice, reminding him of that moment years ago when she told him that she found actors to be an ‘interesting study.’ And these days, Pedro was her favorite subject. She looked down at the books and then back at him, her eyes alight with curiosity. 

“I should read one of yours, for an even exchange?” he asked as he took in the titles. “How about Statistical Learning Theory ?” he suggested playfully.

Carissa waved off the suggestion. “Don’t bother. The authors are too prescriptive. You’d hate it.”

Pedro raised an eyebrow. “Okay, professor, what do you recommend?”

She hummed in momentary thought. “ Let My People Go Surfing . The guy who created the brand Patagonia wrote it,” she suggested finally.

He plucked it from the bookshelf, intrigued, then followed Carissa upstairs.

In the tranquility of their bedroom on the second floor, The glow from Carissa’s book lamp illuminated the curves of her face and the outline of her braid as it trailed over one shoulder. She sat folded into herself, one of Pedro’s old NYU shirts loose around her, her knees tucked close as she read.

Pedro reclined against the headboard, his glasses perched on his nose, the faint rustle of pages under his fingers the only sound in the room. He held Let My People Go Surfing open in his lap, his thumb idly tracing the edge of the page as his eyes moved slowly across the text. Beside him, Carissa seemed lost in her world, but the lift of her brow told him she wasn’t entirely unreachable.

The space between them felt alive. Though neither spoke, there was a pulse to the moment, a rhythm that tied them together without words. Carissa leaned her head slightly to the side, her expression narrowing considered a line of dialogue. Pedro watched her, not so much studying as absorbing, the way she seemed to glow from within, bathed in the warmth of her own concentration.

She looked up briefly, her gaze flickering toward him. The delicate features of her face were a mixture of thoughtfulness and awareness that made his heart sigh ‘ there you are ’. She didn’t say anything, just let her eyes linger on him for a beat longer before returning to her reading. Pedro let out a low exhale, sinking deeper into the mattress.

After a while, Carissa clicked off her book lamp and set the play aside. She stretched, the movement languid, her limbs folding back into the bed as she slid beneath the blanket. Pedro closed his book, placing it gently on the nightstand before removing his glasses. He turned toward her as they mumbled sleepy goodnights to each other, catching the way her lashes fluttered shut as she nestled into her pillow.

Without thinking, his arm draped over her, drawing her into him. Her hand found its way to his chest, resting there like it had always belonged. He brushed his lips against her hairline, the scent of her—that blood orange perfume with those watery floral notes—pulling him closer.

Her breathing slowed and the room grew still, save for the rise and fall of her body against his. Pedro stared at the ceiling for a moment, the weight of the day melting away, relishing the infinite sweetness of finally being together in their home.

-----

April 2014

Brooklyn, New York

Spring brought no change to Froy’s behaviour toward Pedro. In the weeks since finding out about Pedro’s press, he had leveled up his digs at Pedro even as Emmy openly reprimanded him and Carissa also began intervening as the moments unfolded around the table. 

Pedro, to his credit, adopted his best poker face when these occasions arose, but in the moments when it was just him and Carissa, he wasn’t shy about how Froy made him feel. 

“ Baby, your dad is gonna say something really shitty one of these days and I can't promise that I'll just continue to let it slide,” Pedro said as he placed some pasta into their cart at the grocery store. 

Carissa removed the pasta and put it back on the shelf it came from. “Your trainer said no more pasta.”

“No more pasta after eleven p.m.,” he corrected, putting it back in the cart. 

She shrugged back at him, “Fine, but don’t beg me to gua sha the puffiness from your face in the morning when you’re rushing to an interview.” Carissa steered them into another aisle then came back to the matter at hand. “My dad is just being like all dads, poking at you until he feels like he knows you well enough,” she assured him. 

But they both knew Froy’s latest comments about a proper education were designed to bait Pedro who had a BFA which Froy did not consider an actual degree. Carissa, in a rare moment of outright sarcasm, retorted, “I take it you want me to go back to MIT and get my degree. Really, dad, I thought you were over me dropping out— it was like seven years ago.”

“If your dad was being like all dads I’d get it, I’d play along,” Pedro said patiently. “But this isn’t that. Your dad actually hates me and he’s not even bothering with hiding it anymore.”

That was true and Carissa could tell that Pedro was tired of it. He was busier than ever and despite that he carved out time with her and her parents no matter how unpleasant Froy was becoming. But a man could only take so much and Pedro was nearing the end of his tether with her father,

So instead of going home for Easter, as what they had planned, Pedro and Carissa opted out of that family affair. This reignited her father’s religious argument about Pedro which culminated in a text that did not mince words. 

He is taking you away from your faith. Isn’t it bad enough that he isn’t a Catholic or religious, but now he’s influencing you to forget God?

She longed to tell her father the truth—that she’d been going through the motions for years, that her faith had quietly faded long before Pedro. Instead, she replied curtly, blaming an emergency at the Jackson shelter for their absence. She didn’t bother reading his response. Whether her father believed that or not was on him. 

-----

New Orleans, Louisiana 

The buzz of saws and the rhythmic pounding of hammers filled the humid air as Carissa stepped out onto Magnolia Street. She tucked her hard hat under her arm and pressed her phone against her ear, trying to catch her father’s words over the construction noise. She almost wished she hadn’t.

“Did you know he was going to play a—a bisexual?” Froy asked, his tone flustered, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say the word without choking on it. Ah, he had finally gotten around to seeing the first episode of the new season of Game of Thrones .

Carissa closed her eyes, her eyebrows furrowing together. This was the last thing she needed right now. She was up to her neck in deadlines to get the shelter ready to open the following month. “Yeah, what about it?”

“What about—” Froy sputtered, his anger and accent rising in equal measure. “Carissa, do not play stupid with me. You know exactly what I mean.”

“I’m not playing stupid,” she said, her voice flat with exhaustion. “I don’t understand why you’re calling me. To what? To complain about the show? If you have such a problem with it, call HBO.”

“Anak, no need to be rude to your father,” came Emmy’s chiding voice. It was clear to Carissa now that she must be on speakerphone. Not that it bothered her.  At least it saved her having to relay it to her mother later on. 

“I’m not trying to be rude,” Carissa said, devoid of the usual effort she made to temper her tone. “I’m trying to understand why dad is calling me to talk to me about a TV show I don’t have any influence over.”

“I’ll tell you exactly why!” her father shouted, his temper flaring freely now. “It’s clear that are there no limits when it comes to what this man is willing to do– even playing a disgusting character–”

Carissa cut him off. “Let’s make this easy since you won’t say it outright, dad. You don’t like the LGBT+ community and you use your religious beliefs to condemn them when you’re really just prejudiced,” she snapped. “You don’t like Pedro for me and you find ways to make sure we know it no matter how much mama tells you to quit it. You have undermined my choice to be with him at every turn. I think that about sums up the reasons for this call.”

“Who do you think you are, speaking to me like this?” her father spat out, indignation in every syllable.

She didn’t hesitate to respond. “I’m your daughter,” she said, her tone sharper than she had ever used with him before. “I’m the one who makes sure every single one of your needs is taken care of, without you ever having to ask. Who hasn’t given you any legitimate reason to be ashamed of who you raised. That’s who I am.

“All I’ve ever wanted is for you to respect my choices. You don’t have to like them. You don’t even have to agree with them. But you will respect my choices and the person I love. So I don’t want to hear another word against Pedro.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Not once had she ever reminded her parents that she was the reason they lived such a plush life these last few years and had always been able to hold their head high as parents. She never imagined she would ever talk to her father like this. But he had goaded her past endurance. Between this, her exhaustion with her work and the fact that she just wanted to finish up here and get back home to Pedro, she was at the razor’s edge of her patience.

Emmy’s voice, strained and hesitant, finally broke through. “Maybe we should just take a moment to calm down.”

“Yeah, I have to get back to work anyway,” Carissa said, trying to even her breathing, remembering anyone could hear her if they walked by. “I’ll call you later, mama.” Without waiting for a response, she ended the call and slid her phone into her pocket.

Adjusting her hard hat as she stepped back inside, Carissa fought to check her emotions as they tossed against each other in her chest. Her father was constantly looking for ways to poke at Pedro, to discredit and undermine him. And she was well and truly over it. 

He was so relentlessly stubborn in his campaign against Pedro that Carissa didn’t know how much longer they could take it. It was also the reason she had yet to tell her parents that she and Pedro had bought a place together. If her father knew that, he’d likely pop a blood vessel while shouting how Pedro was leading her into a life of sin. She didn’t want him to have more ammunition for the religious part of his arguments.

As she wrapped up for the day, her rideshare pulling her away from Magnolia street and back to her hotel in the Garden District, Carissa knew she had to keep today’s conflict with her father to herself for now. Pedro had enough on his plate with rehearsals for Much Ado About Nothing and the press tour for Game of Thrones which was really kicking into high gear now. And he had just heard back from Netflix that he lost out on the role for Narcos . She didn’t want to add what he was already dealing with. 

-----

Brooklyn, New York

The kitchen smelled faintly of fresh produce and herbs as Pedro and Carissa put away their groceries. They relished the routine domesticity of it. Partaking in this normalcy soothed the underlying tension that had built up as Froy and Emmy’s visit to New York loomed closer. 

Burned out after every interaction with Froy, Pedro had flatly refused to join them for dinner when her parents stopped in the city on their way to their wedding anniversary trip to Europe. Carissa, ever persistent, wouldn’t let it go.

“So…” she began. “Have you given any more thought to dinner with my parents next week?”

Pedro froze for just a second before letting out a deep, tired sigh. He didn’t look at her right away, just leaned against the counter, bracing himself. “Querida,” he started, exasperation bleeding into his expression. “We already talked about this. And you know how I feel about it.”

“I do,” she said gently, her fingers brushing over the counter. “But we already skipped out on Easter and it’s their anniversary—”

“Is your parents’ anniversary going to make your dad hate me any less than any other occasion?” he interrupted sharply

Carissa stopped, her hand dropping to her side. She didn’t have a response, not one that would satisfy him, anyway. She looked down for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and then said quietly, “Belfast.”

Pedro frowned, caught off guard. “What?”

“Belfast,” she repeated, this time meeting his eyes.

For a moment, he looked at her like she just blurted out nonsense. Then, realization dawned. The promise he made on her last morning in that city. His expression shifted, and he let out a bitter, incredulous laugh. “This is what you’re using it on?”

“Yeah,” she said simply.

He shook his head, pushing away from the counter. “Baby, I made that promise for you. For something you’d want. Time together, a weekend away at that bed and breakfast you’ve been obsessing over. Something meaningful. Not—” He gestured vaguely. “Not this.”

“This is meaningful,” Carissa insisted. “To me.”

“Your dad’s approval means that much to you?” Pedro shot back, frustration bubbling to the surface. “That you’d put me in the position to sit there while he makes it clear that he hates my ass over and over again?”

“You promised.” She said it carefully, knowing how those two simple words together would make him feel like he was going back on his word. That was Carissa, intentional and economic in her words, the impact unmissable.

Pedro looked torn, running a hand through his hair. “I know I did, querida. And I don’t break my promises, okay? But this—this isn’t what I meant it for and you know that.” He hesitated. “I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with your dad, even for one night. Not with the show opening in a couple weeks and the promo work I’m still doing for Game of Thrones . I just don’t have it in me to be his target practice when I’m booked like crazy right now..”

Carissa’s shoulders sagged slightly. She took a step back, her expression carefully guarded. “I understand,” she said quietly and moved to the sliding door to the back yard.

“C’mon, babe, don’t be like that,” Pedro called after her, his tone softening.

“I’m not being like anything,” she replied, as she slid the door open to let herself out. “I’m just… disappointed.”

Pedro watched her go out through the yard to the garden wordlessly. He stayed in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, guilt swirling low in his stomach as Carissa closed the sliding door behind her.

For the next few days, the energy in their home felt off-kilter. Carissa, an early riser, was usually up by 5:30 a.m., working quietly or off to a cycling or yoga class. He would often wake to the soft clatter of her typing on her laptop in the next room or hear her toeing off her sneakers at the front door followed by the sound of her gym bag hitting the floor.

Now? She was gone and her side of the bed cold by the time he opened his eyes. The first morning, he didn’t think much of it. Maybe she had an early meeting, maybe she wanted to get ahead of her schedule. But the second morning? The third? When he mentioned her early morning, she mumbled something about the shelter being short-staffed due to a cold going around. But Pedro knew she was avoiding him.

It wasn’t just her absence. It was how she moved around him when she was home. She slipped past him without the brush of her hand on his arm. She kept to the farthest edge of the couch, her posture distant, her words minimal. Carissa wasn’t angry. Pedro knew how to handle anger, the fiery clash of raised voices and sharp retorts. But Carissa didn’t fight like that. She got quiet, pulling back in a way that felt icy, calculated.

And God, did that shit hurt.

He tried to convince himself that he’d done the right thing—self-preservation, really. He couldn’t endure another dinner with Froy, couldn’t bear the man’s suffocating judgment pressing down on him all evening. But no amount of rationalization could take the edge off the gnawing feeling that he’d let her down.

When he couldn’t take it anymore, he came home from rehearsal early, hoping to catch her before she disappeared into another room. When she stepped through the door that evening, her bag slung over her shoulder, Pedro was already waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Hey, querida,” he greeted, almost hopeful.

“Hi,” she replied, not meeting his eyes as she set her bag down.

Pedro’s jaw tightened. “Can we talk?”

“I’m covered in baby spit-up, Pedro,” she said flatly, pulling a carton of mango juice from the fridge. She poured herself a glass with mechanical movements, each one screaming of her effort to keep control. “I just want to take a shower.”

“Carissa,” he pressed, stepping toward her. “Please. Just—talk to me. 

She only gave him a bland look as she took a sip from her glass. A silent refusal to engage. 

“Can you stop shutting me out because I don’t want to see your parents tomorrow night?” Pedro bit out, frustration bleeding into his tone. 

“Then how should I be acting?” She fixed him with a look that felt that she was studying him, taking in every shift in his stance and expression. Her tone was infuriatingly neutral, but Pedro could feel the undertone of judgment.

Pedro threw his hands up, his carefully threaded patience for her over the last few days giving way to frustration. “I don’t know! Maybe not like I’m not some selfish asshole for protecting myself against your dad? For setting a goddamn boundary?”

“Don’t curse at me,” she said, her tone firm, her gaze unflinching.

“I’m not–”

“—And don’t raise your voice at me,” she added, her voice still maddeningly steady. 

Pedro had to actually bite his tongue at that, trying to cool his nerves to keep the moment from escalating further. “You know I can’t be civil through another dinner while your dad takes shots at me again. So why does it feel like you’re punishing me for it?”

“Maybe I am, Pedro,” she admitted, her eyes flashing. “Because you made a promise and now it suddenly has fine print when I ask you to honour it.” 

“Fucking hell,” he hissed, dragging his hands down his face. 

“I said don’t curse at me,” she snapped.

“I am allowed to be frustrated!” Pedro exploded, his arms flinging wide. “Especially when you can’t seem to understand that the only reason I’m not going is “cause your dad–”

“I know .”

“Then why the fuck are we going around in circles?”

“What do you want from me?” she asked as her voice rose a fraction. “To pretend like it’s fine when you don’t show up when I need you?”

“Do you want me to pretend it’s fine for your dad to openly hate me?” Pedro rebutted fiercely. “To make me feel like shit everytime I’m in the same room as him? Because that fucking hurts!”

Her gaze softened, just barely, but her voice remained steady. “I am not going to have this conversation if you keep yelling and cursing at me,” she said, brushing past him.

“Carissa!” Pedro called after her, his voice loud enough to echo through the kitchen. When she didn’t turn back or respond, he slammed his palm down on the counter, cursing under his breath. 

Halfway up the stairs, she flinched at the sounds, halting briefly. Then she straightened and continued up to their room. Pedro stayed rooted in the kitchen, his breath coming fast, his heart pounding as the silence of the townhouse. 

The night of the dinner came, and Pedro retreated to his space on the third floor of their townhouse as soon as he returned from rehearsals. He heard the faint sound of running water as Carissa got ready in their bedroom below, the occasional shuffle of hangers as she chose her outfit. He lit a cigarette, leaning out the window to let the smoke drift into the evening air.

For a while, he stared out at their small back garden, dimly lit by the solar lamps Carissa had planted. Their home had come together over the last month since they moved in– mostly because of that touch that only Carissa could bring, that extra bit of thought and care that gave their home a soul of its own. 

He exhaled a long stream of smoke, his chest tight. He shouldn’t be hiding up here. He knew that. But the thought of sitting across from Froy and his unrelenting scrutiny, felt like an insurmountable ask after months of being met with the same attitude. The creak of the stairs pulled him from his thoughts.

He stood frozen, cigarette halfway to his lips, as he listened to her careful descent followed by the quiet shuffling as she pulled on a pair of heels from the closet by the front door. There was a pause, the kind that stretched and whispered with unsaid things. Did she hesitate? Look back?

The sound of the lock clicking into place brought both relief and guilt in equal measure. He thought about checking the security cameras she installed herself—he hated using that app, always forgetting his password—but more than that, he didn’t want to see what he might find. He didn’t want to know if she looked like how he felt: like he let her down.

He stubbed out his cigarette and fanned the air half-heartedly. She’d have another reason to be annoyed with him if he got too much smoke in the house, especially since he claimed he only took up smoking again in an effort to get along with her dad.

He tried, hadn’t he? Froy was just immovable in his belief that he wasn’t good enough for Carissa. Not to mention, he didn’t bother hiding how he felt, not recently.

But did you try hard enough?

The question came sharp, unbidden, as Pedro closed the window and flopped onto the couch with a groan. If he had, then maybe he wouldn’t be hiding up here with his guilt until Carissa left. That unwelcome thought sat on Pedro’s chest like a boulder. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping the pressure there would alleviate the regret he was feeling. No such luck. He knew what he had to do, even as his gut warned him not to. He had to make good on his promise.

-----

Eleven Madison Park, Flatiron District, New York

Carissa arrived at the restaurant after picking up her parents in a car service from the Ritz Carlton– where they preferred to stay whenever they were in the city.  A five star hotel and dinner at a Michelin starred restaurant to kick off their anniversary celebrations were par for the course in how Carissa spared no expense when it came to her parents.

“I’m sorry Pedro couldn’t make it,” her mother said as they were led to the private dining room. 

“He’s working really hard,” Carissa said with an apologetic smile. “But he hopes you guys have a great time tonight and on your vacation.” 

“You planned it all, anak, I know we’ll enjoy it,” Emmy said confidently.

The chef entered to explain the tasting menu, his enthusiasm filling the room as he described each course in vivid detail. Froy listened with polite interest, nodding occasionally, while Emmy asked a few thoughtful questions. But Carissa’s focus kept drifting.

Her gaze landed to the empty chair beside her, where her purse now sat. She hated how conspicuous it looked, how obvious Pedro’s absence was. She folded her hands in her lap, clasping them tightly together as the air around her seemed to grow heavier. She could feel her father watching her, his silent judgment seeping into every unspoken moment.

The sound of the door opening made her look up sharply, her breath catching.

Pedro stood in the doorway, his tie perfectly knotted and his suit impeccably tailored, though there was a faint flush in his cheeks and his hair was still slightly damp at the edges. He had rushed—she could see it in the way he adjusted his cuffs as if to compose himself—but there he was, his most charming smile in place as his eyes scanned the room and landed on her.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice warm, apologetic but unhurried. “Rehearsals ran later than I expected.”

Carissa rose from her seat without thinking, her chest tightening with an emotion she could only describe as pure, unfiltered relief. Her heart felt like it might give out from the sheer weight of gratitude and love swelling within her.

Pedro crossed the room with steady strides, leaning in to kiss her cheek. The press of his lips against her skin sent a surge of warmth through her, but what undid her completely was the calm steadiness in his eyes when he pulled back.

“Froy,” he said, extending a hand to her father.

Froy blinked, clearly surprised, but stood to shake Pedro’s hand after a pause. His expression was guarded, unreadable, though the tension between them was palpable.

“Pedro!” Emmy exclaimed, her smile widening as she rose to greet him. She embraced him warmly. “What a wonderful surprise!”

“I couldn’t miss the start of such an important celebration,” Pedro replied with that disarming ease of his, releasing Emmy and turning to the empty chair beside Carissa.

As he sat down, his hand brushed over hers beneath the table—lightly, almost imperceptibly, but the simple touch sent her pulse skittering. Her fingers curled around his briefly, squeezing once, a wordless acknowledgment. Pedro glanced back at her, the smallest tilt of his head letting her know he saw her, felt her. The connection between them in that moment was electric, pulling taut and then releasing in a way that made her throat feel too narrow for air. She blinked rapidly, willing herself not to cry, but her heart was bursting.

She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed this. The days of tension, of wondering if she’d asked too much, all melted away in the span of a heartbeat. Pedro had come through for her—because of course he had.

From there dinner went well– surprisingly so. Pedro felt himself beginning to relax, the tension in his shoulders easing as the evening unfolded. Emmy was her usual gracious self, filling the conversation with stories about Carissa’s childhood and asking polite questions about Pedro’s upcoming play as the courses were served. To everyone’s surprise, Froy had a completely different tune compared to the last few months. It seemed that Carissa finally got through to him about Pedro.

“So, anak,” Froy began as dessert was served. “Is your New Orleans shelter going to open on schedule?”

Carissa glanced up, pleased by the safe topic he chose. “Yeah, we shouldn’t have any more roadblocks,” she said, her voice warm. “We just have the final inspections and then we’re good to open.”

“Good, good. Every time you open a new shelter, your mother and I are reminded of how much you are helping vulnerable people. And it gives us such joy to know that we raised you to be this way,” Froy leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping across the table. “Your mother and I may be celebrating our wedding anniversary, but you, Carissa—you are our greatest accomplishment.”

Pedro glanced at Carissa and saw how affected she was by Froy’s words. It wasn’t that her parents were sparing when it came to praise; they were fair about it, ensuring she remained humble, kept her feet on the ground. Yet the openly loving way Froy spoke to her was clearly new, cherished by Carissa.

Emmy nodded in agreement, reaching over to squeeze Carissa’s hand. “We’re so proud of you,” she added affectionately.

“Thank you,” Carissa murmured. She looked up at Pedro, whose expression also bore similar pride. For one shining moment, it felt like this evening would be different from the rest.

“Of course, being a parent isn’t always easy. It takes sacrifice. Commitment. Setting the right example,” Froy said in a reflective tone. Then he turned his attention to Pedro and a prickle of unease rippled through the table. “I imagine your father understands that, Pedro. Remind me, what made your parents decide to return to Chile?”

The question seemed innocent enough but Pedro knew, from enough conversations with Froy over meals, that it wasn’t what it seemed. For a beat, a muscle in his jaw ticked before he carefully answered, “My parents always wanted to go home to Chile. So when they were pardoned, they took the opportunity.”

“Pardoned,” Froy echoed, his tone mild. Then his attention slid to Carissa, his eyes gleaming with a calculated sharpness though he continued to speak to Pedro. “So it had nothing to do with those allegations about tax fraud? Or perhaps that egg switching scandal at the fertility clinic he worked at?”

Carissa froze, her brows knitted together in confusion. “What are you talking about?” she breathed, fearing the next words to come.

Pedro’s grip on his fork tightened, the metal groaning faintly under the pressure. “That’s enough,” he said, the steel in his voice unmistakable.

Froy’s lip curled, a faint approximation of a grin, as he tilted his head toward Carissa.“Ah, so you didn’t know,” he said softly. “He didn’t tell you, did he? About the families, the women who trusted his father to act ethically. Why would he, when your most fulfilling work has been all about protecting women, standing by them when they need it most while his father recklessly played God with the lives of people who were just as vulnerable.”

Carissa’s pulse thundered in her ears as she turned to Pedro. Her brows knit together, her breath uneven, her gaze searching his face. The questions were all there, unspoken but searing: Is this true? Why didn’t you tell me? Pedro’s eyes met hers briefly, but they carried a weight she couldn’t decipher. Then he looked away, his jaw locking into place as if holding back words that would shatter the room.

“Perhaps,” Froy continued, shifting his gaze coldly back to Pedro, “that’s why your mother took her own life. The taint to his reputation and to hers by association—how could anyone bear it?” 

The words detonated, a firestorm scorching through the room. Emmy gasped audibly, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. Carissa inhaled sharply, as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the space. Her chest heaved once, then froze as she struggled to process the magnitude of what had just been said.

Pedro, however, was already moving. The scrape of his chair against the floor was loud and jarring, the sound reverberating off the walls of the private dining room. He rose to his full height, his shoulders tense, his movements abrupt but controlled. His hand hovered over the back of the chair, his knuckles pale from the force he exerted to keep himself from launching himself at Froy.

“Fuck you, Froy,” Pedro spat, his voice breaking slightly on the last syllable. His fury was raw, visceral, almost feral in its intensity. He didn’t wait for a reply, didn’t look at anyone else as he turned and strode toward the door. The door slammed shut behind him, the sharp crack echoing in the sudden silence.

Carissa remained seated, her body frozen in place. Her fingers pressed hard against the edge of the table, the pressure leaving faint imprints on her skin. Slowly, her head turned toward her father, disbelief mingling with fury on her face.

“Why would you say those things to him?” she demanded, her voice breaking under the strain.

Froy’s expression was unyielding, as though carved from stone. “Because they’re true,” he replied, his tone devoid of any remorse. “I hired a private investigator to look into his family and that is what they found.”

“You shouldn’t have brought it up like this,” Emmy interjected angrily. “Why tonight of all nights?”

Carissa’s head snapped toward her mother, her heart sinking as the pieces clicked into place. “You knew?” she asked, her voice quiet under the compounding weight of her parents’ betrayal. “You knew what dad was doing? And you pretended like you were on my side this whole time?”

Emmy shook her head quickly, her hands raising in a gesture of defense. “No, that’s not—”

Carissa cut her off, her voice shaking with emotion. “Neither of you wanted to give him a chance, did you? No matter how hard he’s been trying, no matter how much he loves me—you will never accept him for me, will you?”

“Anak,” Emmy started, her voice pleading, but Froy interrupted.

“I made myself clear about him months ago,” he reminded her. “It’s you who thought you could change my mind.”

Carissa’s anger burned hotter now, scorching away the sting of her father’s words. “Then let me make myself clear,” she said with deadly calm. “I will always take care of you and mama. But since you won’t respect or accept Pedro, then I don’t need to have a relationship with you.”

“Carissa—” Emmy reached out for her, tears streaming down her face, but Carissa stood abruptly, brushing her mother’s hand away.

Carissa shook her head, her breath catching in her throat. “Enjoy your trip,” she said hollowly then walked out of the private dining room and into the main restaurant. Her eyes cast around for Pedro as she hurried to the exit but even as she reached the street outside, he was nowhere to be seen. He was gone.

-----

Her calls and texts went unanswered. Carissa had no idea where Pedro was, if he was safe, what he was doing, so she did the only thing she could think of– she went home.

The townhouse was oppressive in its stillness, every shadow stretched long, every corner unnervingly still. Carissa stepped inside and hesitated, her hand lingering on the doorframe as if bracing herself for something that wasn’t there. Her keys landed on the entryway table with a hollow clink, the sound vanishing into the void of silence.

Pedro wasn’t home.

She lingered near the door, her fingers grazing the edge of her phone as if willing it to light up with a message, a call, anything. But the screen remained blank, its unbroken silence as damning as the knot coiling tighter in her stomach.

Sliding onto the edge of the couch, she folded her arms across her midsection, as though shielding herself from the torrent of thoughts battering her. The evening replayed in her head relentlessly. Her father’s voice echoed like a specter in her mind, dredging up accusations she hadn’t known existed. Tax fraud. Egg switching. His mother’s suicide. The implications too much to unpack, knowing that she didn’t have enough fact to go on.

Carissa pressed her fingertips to her temple, leaning forward as if to block out the onslaught of thoughts. He’d shared so much with her—the stories of growing up in San Antonio and Orange County, his mother’s unending support for his passions from competitive swimming to theatre, his father’s love of going to the movies. She could picture those moments vividly, the joy in Pedro’s eyes when he recounted them, the love woven into his voice. She could never imagine that the vivid memories Pedro regaled her with had a darker chapter.

Why hadn’t he told her?

Her hands dropped into her lap as she stared at the coffee table, her gaze unfocused. It wasn’t just confusion she felt—it was a deep, unrelenting ache. Pedro had trusted her with so much, but not this. Not the pieces that seemed too jagged to touch, the parts he carefully tucked away from view. Perhaps that was the point. Perhaps those parts of his life were too raw, too painful, even for him to look at, let alone share.

And her father– her own father – had unearthed it. Thrust it into the light so forcefully that everyone else at the table had recoiled while Pedro was blindsided by it all. She exhaled sharply, her hands gripping her knees. Her father’s cruelty was undeniable, but this wasn’t just about him. It was about her. She had insisted, not just on tonight but all the other dinners, believing her father would come around, that one more evening, one more attempt, would somehow be enough to break through his disapproval. But she was wrong and Pedro had been the one to pay for her miscalculation, her blind hope.

The thought crushed the air from her lungs. She blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as she fought back the prickling in her eyes. Pedro deserved better—better than her father, better than the situation she had forced him into. She pressed her hand to her stomach, the tension there twisting deeper.

Then there were the thoughts she could barely keep at bay, the questions, the doubts. She didn’t want to believe her father’s accusations, but the absence of answers from Pedro was its own kind of weight. What was true? What wasn’t? Why hadn’t Pedro trusted her with the truth, whatever it was?

Carissa curled her knees up to her chest on the couch, her arms wrapping around herself as if that could ward off the chill settling over her. The questions swirled endlessly in her mind as she waited and waited for Pedro to come home.

-----

The front door swung open and Pedro stepped inside, the faint scent of whiskey preceding him, mingling with the chill of the spring night that clung to his suit jacket. His footsteps were heavy, his movements deliberate yet unsteady—not from drunkenness, but from the kind of exhaustion only anger could bring. He paused in the doorway, exhaling sharply, as if to release the night behind him.

Carissa was on the couch, her small frame perched on the edge, her fingers clasped tightly together in her lap. She looked up, her face pale and drawn, her eyes wide and full of relief and dread.

“You’re home,” she said, the effort of keeping her voice steady evident.

Pedro didn’t answer right away. He closed the door behind him, the sound heavier than it should have been in the silence of the townhouse. He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the bannister of the stairs, his shoulders rolling with the effort. “Yeah,” he muttered, heading toward the kitchen without sparing her a glance.

The fridge door opened with a soft creak, and he grabbed a bottle of water, twisting the cap off with a sharp crack. He drank deeply, the cool liquid washing away the lingering taste of whiskey but doing nothing to dull the heat in his chest.

“Pedro,” Carissa said again, standing now, her voice carrying a thread of unease.

“What?” he snapped, setting the bottle down harder than he meant to. He turned to face her, his broad frame dominating the space.

Carissa took a hesitant step closer, her chin lifting to meet his gaze. “Can we talk?” she asked, her words barely audible.

Pedro let out a dry, humorless laugh, setting the bottle down with a thud. “Talk? About what, Carissa? About how I told you I didn’t want to go to that dinner? About how you didn’t listen?” He finally turned to face her, his dark eyes sharp.

“I didn’t know,” she said quickly, taking another step forward, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “After you left, my dad told me he hired an investigator. I didn’t know he’d go that far.”

Pedro moved toward her, his strides purposeful, his presence towering over her. She tilted her head back to hold his gaze, her small frame shrinking instinctively but refusing to retreat. The rage he felt toward Froy, now spilling out onto Carissa, should have alarmed him, given him pause. But it was rooted in his heart, in the tenderest of memories, the soft underbelly of his life’s experiences. And that root gave no quarter to anyone or anything, not even his love for Carissa. It had driven everything else out. 

“You didn’t know,” he repeated, his tone dripping with disbelief. His jaw tightened, the sharp lines of his face casting shadows under the dim kitchen light. “That’s your excuse?”

“It’s not an excuse,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m just trying to explain—”

“I don’t want your fucking explanations!” Pedro exploded, his voice filling the room. His hands flew up in a frustrated gesture, his whole body taut with restrained energy. “You pushed me into that fucking dinner, Carissa. You pushed and pushed, even when I told you I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I thought—”

“You thought wrong!” he roared, his arms slicing through the air as he cut her off.

The force of his words hung between them, and Carissa shrank back, her arms folding protectively across her chest. But she didn’t look away, her eyes searching his face for some trace of the man she knew—the man who loved her.

“I didn’t know he’d go that far,” she repeated, her voice pleading.

Pedro took another step closer, the anger in his eyes unrelenting. “Yeah, sure,” he spat, the words sharp and biting. “But you knew he hated me. You knew he’d use anything he could to tear me apart. And you still put me there.”

Her lip quivered, but she held her ground, even as her fingers dug into her sides. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she said, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions.

“Well, it did,” Pedro said, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, the intensity of his anger practically vibrating in the air between them. “And now you’re standing here, acting like I’m supposed to fucking comfort you? After everything your dad said?”

Her breath hitched, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. “Pedro, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think!” Pedro’s voice rose, the sharpness of it cutting through her words. He gestured wildly, his movements quick and jerky, as though he couldn’t contain the anger bubbling up inside him. “You didn’t think, Carissa, because you didn’t care. You just wanted me there. You wanted your dad to accept me, no matter how much it fucking cost me.”

“I do care,” she said, her voice cracking as she stepped closer. “Pedro, I care more than anything—”

“Then why didn’t you listen?” he demanded, his voice loud enough to make her flinch again. He towered over her now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Why couldn’t you just let it go? You saw what he was like, how he’s been, and you still pushed. You pushed me into that chair, Carissa. You handed him the knife, and you let him cut me to fucking pieces!”

Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her small frame seeming to fold in on itself under the weight of his words. “I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did!” Pedro roared, the heat in his voice matched only by the fire in his eyes. “You didn’t mean to, but you did. Just like you didn’t mean to make me feel like shit for saying no. You used that promise against me, Carissa. You used it, knowing I’d have to say yes, even when I didn’t want to. And look where it got us.”

The words landed like blows, and Carissa’s composure cracked. Her hand came up to her chest, as if trying to hold herself together, but the tears pooling in her eyes betrayed her.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Of course you didn’t,” Pedro said, stepping back suddenly, the loss of his proximity as sharp as his words. He dragged a hand through his hair, his expression twisting with frustration. “But you pushed. Just like your dad. And you didn’t care if I got hurt as long as you get what you wanted.”

Carissa froze, her entire body recoiling as if he had struck her. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but absorb the weight of his words.

Pedro exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping slightly as some of the fight drained out of him. He looked at her, his face a mask of anger and exhaustion. “I can’t do this,” he said finally, his voice hollow. “I need space.”

Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode past her, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. The sound of the guest room door shutting echoed through the stillness, leaving Carissa alone with the unbearable silence.

[moonyasnow]

Li Donia Fawq

—Prologue— [ Chapters list ]

White-Skinned Stranger in a Land of Gold

OC(S) : Artemisia OTHER CHARACTER(S) : Jamil

OC x TWST : Artemil 🐍x🦢

TYPE : Fic (~2.8k words)

Rushing to board the first ship she was allowed passage on before the chill of winter, looming in the air, froze the ports solid, a girl of high standing crossed the ocean.

She arrived in a foreign land covered in sand, glistening like gold under the harsh desert sun...

-Jamil-

In the easternmost section of the Zahab market, close to the docks and barely even in view of the shade provided by the inside of the markets, only newly arrived foreign merchants with no trade ties to the Asim family frequently conducted their business. It made many of the wares cheaper, to make up for the lack of validity no official stamp of approval would obviously garner. Or, not wanting to sacrifice profits, some merchants would go out of their way to sell rare goods. Or good they told people were rare, but were in all reality little but cheap knock-offs dressed up in pretty ribbons. Though in practice, for an untrained eye it was often hard to tell which was which.

"400 dinar!" The face of the merchant, dressed in a foreign-looking wool tunic, was twisted in a calculated business-smile. Jamil's eyes almost couldn't help but widen at the sum. Almost.

'400…' he repeated in disbelief, tempering a scowl before it could grace his face, which he instead formed into a careful expression of neutrality. Flipping through the tome in his hands he studied it further. There were little notes scrawled on the edges of a few of the pages. He allowed his brow to quirk. It was an old tome, the pages thin and brittle.

'The copy we had was much higher quality than this one. But, it will do. Thank the stars that at least Kalim isn't very particular when it comes to books.'

With the 'sorting' of the books at her stand; not by author nor topic, some of them even stacked with their spines facing away from the crowd, he thought her an utter imbecile of a merchant. A first-timer. And so, he didn't trust for one second that her wares weren't either fakes, stolen, or that she would have any real estimate of their value in the first place. In his scan, he felt a faint thrum of magic coming from a thin, empty notebook bound with a strange, almost furry leather.

"Quite a bold sum to ask for something that could barely be worth 200." He glanced up, an unimpressed expression on his face. "Books on Land of Dawning history are by no means rare enough to warrant such a price." 'Not since the trade deal five years ago.'

"Ah…" the merchant's sickly sweet, purposefully lilting voice would have disgusted him, had the act not been all-too-familiar.

'She's overdoing it.' he noted with detached calm.

"But you see, with the harsh winter up north, the water has frozen, making shipments less common." He scoffed for effect.

"And is that supposed to justify someone clearly having vandalized this copy?" He turned the book around to show the merchant. Stood amongst the dark brown leather-bound books and scrolls of her shop, her paling face was quite the contrast.

"Ah— I—"

'Got her.' He allowed himself the faintest of exhales in relief. "How could you possibly ask me to pay full price for this? I take back my earlier statement; this couldn't possibly be worth more than 70, at best 100 dinar in its current state."

"Ah, but you see, this copy happens to be handscribed! Quite a rarity amongst books from the Land of Dawning these days! It's still easily worth 300."

'So she knows that much...'

"So? You tried to sell it to me without informing me of its actual condition, yet I agree to buy it at a discounted price, and then you still try to overcharge me? You should consider yourself lucky I'm still considering buying it at all." Her smile twitched. Before she could speak he leaned closer and added: "You're clearly newly set up here. Word travels fast." The way her face dropped in recognition of defeat was immensely gratifying. He almost wanted to smile.

"…150." her business-smile had all but faded.

"115."

"135."

"120," he pointed to the notebook he'd noticed "and an extra 10 for that notebook."

"That old thing?" She scrunched her nose and deliberated. "…Fine. Deal." A smile smoothed over his features.

'Fool.' Was it far more difficult for a merchant such as her, not assured by the Al-Asims, to make a living? Sure. Didn't mean he cared. Business is business. He just knew the game better than her.

Out of the corner of his eye as he passed the payment to the merchant he saw a black shape situate itself in front of a nearby stall. "…cuse….any….sibility…of…Al-Asi…" His ears perked up.

"The Al-Asim estate?" Another merchant, sitting on the ground in front of his stall of fabrics answered.

"Yes. I have been informed it resides in this city. I have an errand there; might it be possible for you to recommend me a cartographer? I would like to purchase a map of the city." The merchant, clearly feeling bad for her, scratched the side of his head just beneath his taqiyah and said:

"I think asking someone for directions would be quicker than finding a cartographer, miss. Would be a waste of both time and money at this point."

"Is that so? I see… If that is the case, might I ask you for directions?"

'She sounds truly clueless.' He tuned himself out from the conversation as quickly as he'd tuned in. Errands done for the day, he packed his books into his bag and began to walk. 'And it's not my problem. I'm already shopping, which shouldn't be part of my job in the first place.'

-^-v-^-v-^- [ Zahab Market, outskirts ] -^-v-^-v-^-

'I don't have time to babysit some lost noblewoman.' He kept walking, looking ahead of him to see the dark cloak a few paces ahead. '…So what am I doing following her?!'

For some reason he couldn't place, something about letting her make her way to the estate on her own didn't sit right with him. It would have felt too much like letting a defenseless critter wander into a den of predators. Perhaps it was the instinct drilled into him after years of servitude which made him unable to look away.

"Ah!" A hand flew out of a dark alley to cover the scream which left her mouth, soon dragging her in, leaving in her prior place nothing but air.

'I knew it. I just knew it.' He couldn't help but sigh. It was almost comical how on-the-mark his prediction had been.

Still, pointedly ignoring the part of him that wanted to just get up and walk back to the estate, he crept closer...

"Hand over everything you've got on ya, miss, and we'll let you go without a scratch, alright?"

"Who are you?"

"A-a-ah~." one of the robbers spoke, and the noblewoman yelped. "That doesn't matter, does it? Just empty your pockets."

'They probably have some kind of weapon on them…a knife, I'd guess.'

"I… No. I apologize, but I cannot. I have not yet reached my destination, and I am relying on these funds to—" By that point, he'd crept close enough to see three people in the alley. A short figure holding a knife, one taller flexing their nonexistent muscle in some play at intimidation, and the cloaked figure he'd been following. The former two had backed the latter into a corner.

'She didn't even deny it. I was right; she must be a noble of some kind. Her attire certainly matches.' Though it had been closing in on dusk, the crushed shards of a nearby mirror, spread on the ground, caught what remained of the daylight.

'And is that…' upon closer inspection the thick black fabric of her cloak just barely caught the light, and when it did lighting up softly, almost like fur. His eyes widen by a millimeter. 'That's a velvet cloak. Of course she became a target; wearing a sign that read 'I'm rich, please rob me!' would have caught less attention! Idiot!'

He sighed. 'If she's rich and has business with the Al-Asims, chances are they're expecting her. God knows what would happen to me if they find out I saw her and did nothing.' He put a hand to his head and sighed, all-too-familiar annoyance creeping into his tired body. He then started in the cloaked figure's direction, fake smile already in place.

"Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you ran off to." His eyes ran over her; a black velvet cloak hiding pale skin and pale hair, a dark blue skirt of a fabric he took a moment longer to recognize as brocade, its hem now caked in dust. 'I don't even want to imagine how much of a chore that would be to clean…'

Yet he did. The mere thought gave him a headache.

His smile never faltered, and he took a step closer to her, sighing softly.

"I know being in a new place is exciting, but you really should have stuck closer to me. It's easy to get lost around these parts." He glanced pointedly at the unwelcome company.

"Pardon me? I am not—"

"Yes, I know you have a better sense of direction than that, but if even locals can lose their way, so can you." He pulled her closer, an arm around her, and turned them both to disengage the situation. Her shoulder tensed under his touch. He neared her ear and whispered "I'm trying to help you. Just play along." and kept his eyes on her until she nodded. 'She didn't even look at me to know I was watching her.'

"Now wait just a minute…"

He turned to the robbers. "Sorry, my lady here is in quite a hurry to get home to her hosts. And I assure you, my masters" the word, like always, felt like poison in his mouth. "would not be happy should she be late, or otherwise…roughed up."

"Huh? We s'posed to recognize you or something?"

He took hold of her wrist and began to lead her out of the alley.

"Hey! Get back here!"

'Shit.' "Run."

"I— pardon me?"

"Run."

And so, a hand around her wrist, he took off, darting through alleys, passing by hung laundry and lidded clay pots.

And eventually, they came to a stop in a small square, the carpets hung to air out around them he thought serving as good camouflage.

Nearly out of breath himself, he let go of her arm and took a second to steady himself against the wall and wipe the sweat from his forehead. Yet the sound next to him made it difficult to relax.

She took sharp, ragged breaths, coughing and hacking for air like a landed fish. At that rate it wouldn't take the thugs long to find them again.

"Breathe through your nose. Slowly." he didn't get a reply, but that her breathing began to gradually slow down was confirmation enough.

"My most ardent…apologies…" She was still leaning over, her hands firmly planted on knees that looked shaky enough to fall over at any second. "I…" she began to sway.

'Oh no.' Shooting forward, he narrowly caught her before she fell.

He took a mental step back to gauge the situation.

Because someone had messed up and gotten the copy of the Land of Dawning history book Kalim's tutor had assigned him to read utterly drenched in the fountain, he had no choice but to take the little free-time that day would afford him to go shopping.

Then he'd run into some sheltered ingénue

Been forced to save her from muggers

Quite literally ran himself ragged in some attempt to protect her, once he realized she might have business with his family's lieges.

For every added note his scowl deepened.

'Great. Today is…just great.' he threw her arm over his shoulder and began to carry her someplace to sit down. Taking a look at how pale her skin truly was, as he could see through a gap between her glove and sleeve which had most likely ridden up as they ran, he chose a shaded spot.

He noticed a thin, dark cloth over her eyes, which had slipped out of place and come very close to falling to the ground before he caught it.

Upon which she began to stir, groaning softly, before quickly scrambling up on her still shaky legs to get away from his touch, clutching a hand protectively to her chest. He allowed himself a small sigh as he stood up, grabbing hold of her arms to steady her, which only seemed to make her tense up more.

"Calm down. Don't struggle like that; you might pass out again."

"Pardon me?" she exclaimed, head shooting up to look him in the eye. In doing so, her hood fell down, revealing her face...

When her eyes caught his gaze, the sight of them struck him to the bone like a bolt of lightning.

Her skin and hair alike were so white they looked like milk, with pale pink eyes, pupils glowing a faint red. Her lashes and eyebrows were so pale you could barely see them, leading him to be drawn to her bright pink eyes, blown wide in surprise.

'Like rose quartz…'

Her tense limbs went slack. "Ah—"

She looked so different from anyone he'd met before. Even among the many foreign merchants his lieges often entertained, none of them had drawn him to want to gaze upon them in the way he did her.

'It's like she's made of moonlight...'

A bright pink color seeped into her cheeks, made even more apparent by the pallor of her skin, and she looked away.

'What am I doing?' He snapped out of his daze. He straightened himself up, forcing his face back to a neutral expression. "Can you stand now?" She nodded, and he let go of her arms.

She stood dumbstruck, gripping her hood to hide her face. "Oh… Oh…I lost consciousness… My apologies. It tends to…ah, daze me…"

Noticing he was still staring, and that she seemed to notice, sinking further into her hood with each passing second, he cleared his throat. Doing so caused her to loosen her hold of her hood and look up at him through transparent lashes, a curious expression adorning her face. It caused his heart to jump as if struck.

< Get over it. > from the back of his mind came forth a Viper snake to whisper in his left ear. Following its word as he always did, he smoothed himself back out.

"You were on your way to the Al-Asim manor, right?" Her eyes widened.

"That is correct, yes."

"May I ask why?"

"That is…" She hesitated. He watched as her eyebrows furrowed gently and lips parted. "The captain of the trading vessel the 'White Rose', Franzesca Cross, entrusted me with a letter explaing my reasons, and bade me not allow anyone but the head of House Asim to read it."

'The White Rose…' he recalled from one of Kalim's lessons on politics. It had been one of the vessels mentioned to have gotten approval to conduct direct trade with House Asim in the trade deal closed through the then-princess Cerise Silkmire with the now-Sultan of the Scalding Sands. 'Either she's telling the truth, or she's done her research...'

He regarded her— or more precisely her attire— once more, refusing to acknowledge the magnetic pull he felt to let his gaze linger. 'Unless she knew I was following her, she would have been making a giant target of herself for no reason.' Though against his better judgement he heard the words of his liege to 'Take it easy, Jamil!' echo through his head. ("Probably telling the truth...") he mumbled quietly, gaze caught in the air.

"What reason would I have to lie?" His gaze was on her instantly.

'How the— nevermind.' He put on a charming fake smile. "I'm simply being cautious. As a servant of House Asim, I couldn't let just anyone into their residence."

"Oh." she blinked cutely, looking like an owl of some sort.

< Stop that. >

"I suppose it would be ill-advised to do so with no prior appointment. As I understand it, the owner's permission must always be granted before one steps into a private dwelling."

He resisted the urge to arch a brow. "Yes."

"Then…" She drew her hand into her breast pocket and produced two letters. Both written on pieces of fine parchment, one bearing a red wax seal, the other simply tied with brown string, the latter of which she lifted toward him. "If you have some connection to House Asim, please read this."

His fingers closed around the parchment cautiously, slowly opening it away from his face, and making sure he could keep an eye on both the letter and on her.

The script the letter was written in was that of the Scalding Sands, messily scrawled as though in a hurry, penned by someone not quite comfortable enough with the script for it to be a language they'd known since childhood. Still, he managed to make out:

- This Lady is a very important person. It is of utmost importance she be guided to the manor of House Asim unharmed, or else any perpetrator risk their head -

A steel ball of dread dropped into his stomach, as big as the bullet he just dodged.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Remember when I gave you all that info on Artemisia's family 'randomly' yesterday? WELL I LIED IT WASN'T RANDOM AT ALL HAHAHAH I was trying to make you think of her >:)

So! This is something I've been working on for a WHILE now. Since May, to be exact!

The current plan is for this to be a long-fic, divided into multiple parts/chapters; I'm guessing around at most 17? Depends on if I decide to divide them all into individual chapters, or post 2-3 chapters in the same post, as I've been toying with the idea of

But thank you very much for reading the Prologue ^^ it means a lot to me!

Tag list: @another-random-paradise @thehollowwriter @faefum @cactus13-rolloflammesimp @beneathsakurashade

@nyx-of-night @theolivetree123 @babyghoul138 @skibidibabygirl