#this scene brings joy to my heart it’s so funny

[possibilistfanfiction]

ive been in complete brainrot mode about your arcane prompts and the way you write the dynamics between cait vi and jinx. like ive just been thinking about potential scenes in this au so if its okay im just going to list down some suggestions for prompts if that’s okay?

- vi gets brought into the hospital because she spent too long in a burning building trying to rescue as many people as she could (because that’s just the kind of person she is). cait and her argue over how sometimes vi needs to put her own safety first while she treats her wounds.

(I’d actually love to read any prompts where cait just simply cares for vi emotionally/physically cause vi’s backstory too makes me froth…) i just want to put her in my pocket and keep her safe :(

- jinx/vander/vi go to the kiramman’s for that dinner party and jinx/cassandra get along super well cause they collaborate on their embarrassing childhood stories about vi and cait. a joint slay

- a cassandra pov chapter as she notices how serious cait is about vi and the little moments between them and what she thinks about vi.

- maybe a cait focused chapter about how much of an empath she is and how exhausting it is to feel so deeply and try so hard to make everything better for everyone.

Thank you so much for writing this au!

You understand these characters so well and i feel for them so much when i read your work. Your writing carries so much heart and bleeds love practically :’)

it’s been all I’ve been thinking about lately and it brightens up my day immensely when i get a notification that you’ve updated! :)

[is there anything so undoing as a daughter! anyway i tried to work most of these in in some way; cassandra pov for u :) ao3 if u want. (also cait is trans bc since this is my au there's no transphobia & i love her)]

//

caitlyn informs you that she's a girl three days before her tenth birthday. she cries, but she's calm, and tobias is first to take her into his arms and tell her that it's good, that it's lovely, that you'll both do everything you can to see her, to make sure she's seen the way she wants to be, the way she is. you hug her too, so tight, because it's one thing to have a son, to instruct, always, how to be thoughtful, and kind, and use all the privilege your last name carries to do good in the world.

your child is thoughtful, and kind, and determined — in spades — with the set of your brow and the blue of your eyes. you do love your child, without reservation.

caitlyn's lip trembles and you brush back her hair that you'll teach her how to take care of when it starts to grow long; she sniffles and you kiss her forehead. she will grow tall and elegant; you and tobias help her choose her great-grandmother's name and then change all of her records accordingly; you take her shopping for new clothes she picks excitedly, and a few years later she beams when she tries on a pretty, simple lace bra; you ask tobias to explain the medications she needs and help her, when she's small, to keep track of them, until she can do it herself; you hold her hand in recovery after each surgery, where she cries in relief and you wipe her tears with a gentle smile. each new stage of belonging brings with it an ease in her breath that you cherish. she grows to be fierce and funny and brave, and still always gentle.

you love her, and you see her — always, she has been yours; she had grown inside your body and you had held her first, the greatest pride and joy of your life.

but it's something you had never been able to prepare yourself for, in any circumstance: a daughter. she undoes you every day.

//

you first hear the name vi — a nickname, of all things, used formally — one sunny, cold afternoon during a late lunch after caitlyn had come over to shoot skeet, a rare day she'd finished work early.

she tells you about her weekend, how she'd climbed and it was sunny and brilliant and she felt strong.

'with jayce?' you ask.

she nods. 'we met some people we ended up climbing with, too,' she says, which is new. 'they were both really good, and very safe. vi,' she tells you, and her voice goes a little reverent, soft around the edges. 'and her sister,' she tacks on, almost an afterthought but not unkind, just not her focus. she clears her throat, a blush spreading across her cheeks, different from the flush that you're accustomed to when you shoot in the cold together. 'anyway,' she says, and you fight a smile behind a sip of tea, 'what did you and dad think of the opera?'

you laugh, but you're relieved too: no one will ever be good enough for her — not only because of the name she carries, one you had carried all your life too, but because she's a force no one can harm, as long as you have any say.

you don't ask more questions after this vi; you tell her about the opera, and then you shoot some more, one more round. she doesn't miss.

//

when caitlyn was born, you held her tight. all day long, people had been in and out to meet her, and she had been so calm. it's not what you or tobias had wanted, but she was the heir to the kiramman name and so her fortune was already set, far before you had cried in joy at the positive pregnancy test on the bathroom counter, tobias laughing delightedly, and far before she came into this world, with grey eyes that will turn electric blue and strong, tiny hands, clenched perpetually. she was so small and so new, and you handed her off to the nurse in the waning hours of the evening so you could sleep through the night.

not even two hours later, though, as the pain was really started to set in and tobias was dosing off in the chair next to you, the nurse had apologetically brought her back, bundled and screaming, her face splotched with red from crying.

'she won't stop,' the nurse said. 'we've tried everything, but she's keeping the other babies up. i'm sorry.'

you shook your head and took her back into your arms while she wailed as much as her little lungs would allow. you wondered about her, everything, because she was a person and there was so much to learn. you unbuttoned your gown and held her to your bare skin; she stopped crying, just like that. she latched onto your breast, easily, and ate a little, and then fell asleep, little sighs filling the room. tobias looks on in a very exhausted awe; you brought your lips to the crown of her head, the soft tuft of dark hair there that smelled so good, beyond anything you could have ever imaged: yours. she didn't fuss when he placed her in the bassinet a few minutes later; she slept all night, wanting just to be near you.

//

you're in your car, your driver regrettably apologizing as you get stuck in a typical rush hour traffic jam on the freeway, when caitlyn calls, a few weeks later.

'are you stuck in this traffic too?' you guess after she asks what you're doing, if you're free.

she groans. 'i was hoping to get home early, have time to decompress and shower before...'

she trails off, a pause you decide to let rest. she's always needed to tell you things in her own time.

'i have a date tonight,' she confesses, and you can hear the giddiness, the nervousness, through the phone.

you hum. 'oh?'

'yeah,' she says, and you stop yourself from chiding her about the informal word. 'i — she's amazing, mom. i just want it to go well.'

'well, you're a kiramman,' you remind her, the reminder thinly veiled under a tinge of encouragement in your tone. 'i'm sure you'll be quite impressive.'

she sighs; you know it's not the reassurance she wanted, but your family doesn't always have that luxury. she doesn't tell you anything else — instead you talk about the upcoming council vote on your latest bill, and how her meeting at work about funding cancer treatments went — and, of course, you don't ask.

//

tobias, always softer than you, especially with your daughter, asks after this vi on sunday. you meet caitlyn for brunch at your usual monthly spot, your mimosas already poured and cortados prepared as you sit down at your table.

'next month, just bring vi,' tobias says when he notices caitlyn's fire department sweatshirt underneath her peacoat. it's not too nice a restaurant for her jeans, boots, and a crew neck, but you are not normal patrons. he laughs when he says it, not disapproving in the slightest, a smirk on his face when you understand the implication: caitlyn had come from vi's home this morning, rather than her own apartment.

'it's serious, then?' you ask, and you try not to feel slighted that tobias seems to know far more about caitlyn's feelings, and vi's existence, than you: it's your own doing.

caitlyn fiddles with the corner of her napkin. 'yes,' she decides on, her smile small and tender, her shoulders soft. 'i'd like if you met her. i... well, i hope she'll be around for a long time.'

you suppose it was bound to happen: caitlyn is beautiful and smart and driven, talented and successful and, most importantly, good.

'we should meet her, then,' you decide.

//

caitlyn was in her first year of college the first time she brought home a girlfriend. you're sure she'd had girlfriends over before, a few of her friends throughout the years of secondary school giggling too much to just be interested in hanging out, as they say, but you hadn't prodded and she hadn't said. you'd always left that up to tobias, who still called her sprout and spent afternoons on long walks with her and the dogs, a daughter somehow easier to handle for him.

during winter holiday, even though university is just an hour away from your home, she brought home a girlfriend for winter holiday. this girl's family lived far away, and, for most, it's expensive to travel that distance, and so, ever generous, caitlyn invited her. you had agreed, if only because it was proper and you didn't want a fight before she even arrived.

the girl, for the most part, was uninteresting, if polite. caitlyn was enamored, but you trusted it would fade. she had been distinctly sad when she arrived home for summer break, informing you — tobias already knew, although he didn't have much of a clue about caitlyn's grades or extracurricular involvement — one day hunting that she and this girlfriend had broken things off. she'd not given you any real reason, just that it didn't work out, but you'd seen her frowning at the kiramman coat of arms engraved into a bullet. she'd loaded her gun, though, her favorite hunting rifle, when she spotted a hare, and shot perfectly without pause.

//

'and what is vi short for?' you ask, doing your best to not stare at the face tattoo caitlyn's very serious girlfriend has of her own nickname.

'oh, uh,' she responds, looks at cait and then rubs the back of her neck.

her hair is messy and asymmetrical, and the t-shirt she's wearing is quite nice, tucked into similarly nice slacks, and her belt matches the loafers you're absolutely sure are caitlyn's because you yourself had bought them for her for her last birthday — but there are more tattoos over the backs of her arms, disappearing under her shirt and emerging again on her neck. you do your best not to judge — and you don't judge people, especially your constituents — but vi is not just a person in your life. caitlyn, allegedly according to tobias, is in love with her, only a few months in.

'violet,' caitlyn says, squeezing her hand not-very-discreetly under the table, a degree of reverence in her voice that has tobias looking your way with his brows raised. 'but she prefers vi.'

you might think that vi is certainly not good enough in any way for your daughter, but you also won't force a name down someone's throat: you didn't do it with your own child, and you would never do it now. 'vi, then.'

she nods, thankful, and looks to caitlyn's hands to figure out which fork to use when your salads are delivered. unfortunately, for just a moment, it's endearing, and when caitlyn smiles, proudly, later on while vi talks about her work as a firefighter, detailing one of her latest calls where she was able to carry two children out of a burning apartment as it collapsed, nonchalant and humble about the whole thing, you see a sliver of what caitlyn does: someone brave, heroic, steadfast in her selflessness — a partner. vi eats four of the small desserts when they get placed on an elegant tray in the middle of the table; caitlyn just laughs.

//

when caitlyn turned twelve, she tried to run away. tobias, as you both frantically looked for her, hours before her party, had insisted it wasn't about her everyday life: her peers at school had been accepting and kind this year, even if she wasn't always good at making friends, and her teachers spoke highly of her performance and participation in classes; her puberty blockers had, so far, worked wonderfully, without any averse side effects.

it wasn't hard to find her, mostly because there are few places caitlyn loved more than the stables on your property; she was less interested in the horses than she was spending time with your hunting dogs. they had loved her for years, because she was always sneaking them bits of chicken from the kitchens, and also because she loved them: dogs can tell those sorts of things, you're sure.

you had found her, curled up in the hay loft, her eyes red rimmed from crying, snuggled up between the dogs, sniffling a little in her sleep. her party, an annual affair, was slated to begin in a few hours. but still, tobias had turned to you and led you out of the stables by the hand. caitlyn's presents, all kinds of gadgets she'd been interested in, and new books and toys, as well as a beautiful gown for the event, were abandoned in her room. 'just let her have a few more minutes,' he'd said, glancing back at her. you are in charge of so much, responsible for so many: caitlyn's childhood, while full of the pressures of her name and status, has been, in all the ways you deem most important, full — there are those who, certainly, have it much worse.

but still, you'd agreed, if only because she'd cried herself asleep.

//

vi is, among other things, a gifted rock climber and boxer, a very devoted older sister, a terrible shot — when caitlyn tries to teach her skeet, they end up laughing more than hitting any targets, which no amount of eye rolling on your part seems to dampen — and, you will admit, a loving girlfriend who seems, genuinely, to understand some part of your daughter that you never quite have.

it's caitlyn's birthday, and she will always have your last name, which means there is a party, all chandeliers and champagne, every year in the great room at your home in celebration of her birth. vi shows up on time, with jayce and viktor and mel, looking almost comfortable in a space like this, laughing at a joke mel says and elbowing jayce in the arm, holding viktor's drink while he situates his cane. she's handsome, in a suit you're sure caitlyn had helped her pick and get tailored: her broad shoulders fill out the jacket and her shirt underneath is unbuttoned just enough to look fashionable and not sloppy.

caitlyn is, every year, beautiful, and competent, and kisses vi quickly — still soft, still heavy with promises — before she says hello to her friends and then greets you and tobias with kisses to the cheek and then, less formally, hugs. the gown she wears this year is the same dark as her hair, hugs her hips, and is just on this side of elegant, and you know she'd worn it for one person, and one person only: vi's eyes never seem, truly, to stray from her, no matter how many rounds of boring conversation caitlyn has to wade through.

eventually, when the party is in full swing, you head back to the kitchens to check on the dessert course. you turn the corner and see caitlyn and vi sitting on the counter, in the corner of the kitchen, your head chef ignoring them fully other than a small smile directed in caitlyn's direction when she moans around a bite of grilled cheese, her favorite since she was small. vi takes a bite of her own sandwich, and then says, 'holy shit, cait, you weren't lying,' and caitlyn laughs, relaxed from the champagne she's had, sure, but also different from every other year you've celebrated her coming into the world.

caitlyn ducks her head when vi moves closer, so they're touching all along one side, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder. the chef delivers a cupcake with a smile, one single candle in it, and then winks.

'happy birthday, baby,' vi says, takes out a lighter from her suit jacket, and lights the candle. caitlyn blows it out, looking younger than you remember in a long time.

//

vi's father immediately reminds you of her: his muscles fill out his dress shirt, and he's brash, laughing heartily with tobias, but a little shy at the same time, when he doesn't know whether or not it's appropriate to eat with his hands.

'it's a burger and fries,' vi's little sister says, rolling her eyes and digging into her own lunch — at a normal cafe near the water and their climbing gym, which caitlyn had insisted upon for this meeting — with no hesitation. she's... interesting, with a messy blue buzzcut and a denim jacket with neon spray paint all over it, shaky hands and big, bright eyes — she looks like vi but younger, softer, a different kind of weary: her own entity entirely. you've heard of her from caitlyn, sure, how she's fun and funny and requires a level of care that vi will always hold sacred, and also from jayce, from has spoken so highly of her studies, how creative and smart she is, how she has, in his words, the genuine potential to change the world. tobias asks after her arm; a few weeks ago she had needed some stitches, and she proudly pulls back the cuff of her jacket and shows him the neat scar. 'excellent work, dr. kiramman the original.'

it gets a laugh out of you, which both caitlyn and vi look a little surprised by, but jinx only grins.

'wanna hear about the time vi was trying to do a flip and her sweatpants ripped right off? she was ten.'

vi groans while vander lets out a hearty chuckle. 'do tell,' you encourage.

it's, perhaps, one of the easiest meals you've shared with caitlyn and vi, if only because they're so mutually mortified at the trading of embarrassing childhood stories between their families like the most precious currency.

'i have to say,' you decide as you're picking up the bill, and then point your last fry at jinx, 'i like her.'

she gives a triumphant ha! to both caitlyn and vi, and then shoots a finger gun in your direction, grinning.

//

caitlyn calls tobias, crying, in the middle of the night. he puts the phone on speaker, because you'd woken too, and because your heart had skipped a beat the moment he answered and you heard caitlyn's sniffle. she tells you that vi was in a building when it collapsed, that they were able to get her out but it took too long, and she's hurt, and unconscious, and just getting to the ER now. she tells you that she's picking up vi's younger sister on her way there, and she asks tobias to come in and she asks you to bring clothes and food tomorrow morning, once they know more of what's happening and how vi is doing.

you don't go back to sleep that night; you wait for any updates from tobias and schedule send emails for the morning, just to have something to do. vi might not be your favorite pick for your daughter, but she's been wholly devoted to caitlyn for two years now, and you know they're planning to put an offer in on a house soon — not subtle in her commitment, despite her best efforts.

eventually, tobias calls to tell you that vi has made it through surgery and, although they'd had to remove her spleen and stop some difficult bleeding in her liver, and despite some broken ribs and a sprained shoulder, she should be just fine. you won't admit it to anyone, but you cry a few tears of relief when you hang up; more than anything, vi makes caitlyn safe and happy, and caitlyn takes great joy in being able to offer the same in return, and you would never want that to be taken from either of them.

//

they have a fight, not soon after, only about a month. caitlyn calls you, furious, even though you're in the middle of preparing one of the most important referendums of the year; she's your daughter, so you answer.

'she's being ridiculous,' she grits into the phone. you give her a moment to gather herself, and then she continues, less aggravated, 'i know it's because she isn't good at letting people help her, and she's worked on it in therapy, i know because we've gone together too.'

you hum gently.

'she's still hurt; her ribs haven't fully healed and she just got her stitches out two weeks ago, and she still gets headaches all the time, and yet today i got home to her building shelves. with a drill and everything! and normally, like, that would be hot —' caitlyn pauses, seemingly carried away for a moment; you don't laugh, just to spare her, but you have to fight it. 'we don't need more shelves right now. i just need her to...'

when she doesn't say anything, seemingly stuck, you suggest, 'let you take care of her?'

she sighs, on the verge of tears. 'then we had an argument. but, yes, all i want to do is take care of her. she had — she had so many unkind, awful things done to her; i saw her films and scans, and — mom.'

'oh, sweetheart,' you say, accepting, understanding, for the first time, the depth of their love: the grief, the pain, the boredom and difficulty and miracle of it all. 'she's stubborn only because it can be scary, to let someone love you so completely. i know how it feels, with your father.'

she sniffles. 'i do, love her like that.'

'you'll show her. she'll let you. just talk to her.'

'do you promise?'

she sounds so young, so small; you've wrapped her up in your arms and promised things much more difficult than reconciliation between the two of them. 'yes, my dear. i promise.'

//

time moves: they have a housewarming and, although you think their brownstone is smaller than necessary, it is beautiful. jinx shows you her basement proudly, and introduces you to her boyfriend? best friend? partner? — you're not quite sure, and her rambling and his adoring laughter at it, hadn't provided any real clarification. you help set out the small finger foods they'd ordered from their favorite lebanese restaurant, and you meet so many of their collective friends. it's a happy day, with a lot of wine, and everyone is in socked feet, and caitlyn wraps her arm around vi's waist and kisses the side of her head during a quiet moment in the hall, just the two of them in their home.

they adopt a dog, a big black and white boy who they're both immediately in love with and who falls asleep with his blocky, soft head on your lap when you sit down one evening with them over the holidays to watch a movie. caitlyn adores him, sends you and tobias pictures of him on their trail runs often; they take him on climbing trips and he enjoys sleeping in the sun.

//

when caitlyn is fourteen, you sat down with her and pressed your grandfather's wedding band into her palm. 'this was, when you were small, supposed to be yours, one day.' it was thick and gold and decidedly more masculine than she'd ever want, but it was gorgeous all the same, with your family's coat of arms inscribed on the inside.

she looked a little troubled by it, sorting out her feelings: what things belong, and what things are just off. you and tobias had never asked for her to explain, only if she wanted to; she told you, years ago, who she was, and you had always believed her.

'i can hold onto it for you,' you told her, 'just in case there's ever anything you end up wanting to do with it. there's no pressure, sweetheart. just know that it's yours.'

she had let out a big breath, relaxed her shoulders from her ears. 'okay,' she told you. 'thanks, mom.'

//

vi and jinx are out of town, on some kind of trip with jinx's partner, and caitlyn hadn't been able to take enough time off of work to go with them. she's over at the house now, moping about, clearly missing the people who have now become her family too, but it's dramatic enough that it's funny.

you're not sure, it's a gamble, but you call her up to your closet. she slumps down on the bench, in running shorts and one of vi's fire department captain — a recent promotion that you think caitlyn had been more excited about than vi herself — sweatshirts; she props one knee up and rests her chin on it, then looks at you expectantly, confused but interested.

'i'm not sure if you remember,' you say, and find it easily in the back of one of your jewelry cases, 'but i thought now might be a good time to give this to you.'

her eyes get big, the same blue as yours, when you put the ring in her hand. you're certain they've both been thinking of it: marriage, everything at the heart of such a union. their love, certainly, is big enough.

'i'm not sure what size violet's ring finger is, but it should be easy to resize, if we need.'

'oh.'

'but —' you rush to say — 'if you had a ring already picked out for her, one she might like better, we can just put this away again.'

she looks away from the ring and up at you, and then she's standing, years of grace and strength, the surest, best shot you know, and hugging you. she's taller, and the crook of her sweatshirt smells very distinctly like vi's cologne and caitlyn's perfume, all at once. 'thank you,' she whispers, teary.

you have so much you could say to deflect, about the horrors of wedding planning or whether or not vi is going to take the kiramman name, but caitlyn is your daughter, and you hold her to you like she's still small, still yours.

//

you straightened the straps of the dress caitlyn had picked out, the first she's ever tried on. she took a deep breath and then raised her eyes to look in the mirror. her hair was still short, although it was growing fast, much to her relief, and her features were delicate already on their own.

caitlyn turned to hug you tight around your waist, bursting into tears. you fought them yourself, instead rubbing gentle circles along her back while she got it all out. eventually, you dried her tears and turned her around to look in the mirror again. 'you are so beautiful, my girl,' you told her, and shushed when she started crying again. 'stand with your back straight,' you instructed, 'and your chest proud. the kiramman women have always been a force, and you will be too.'

she nodded, seriously, and straightened her thin shoulders. even though her lip trembled, a smile made its way through.

//

it's an ordinary day, another lunch, sunny and bright, when they tell you.

'a girl?' you ask, just to make sure you've heard them correctly.

'well, for now, at least,' vi says, sending a wink caitlyn's way, who rolls her eyes and then laughs.

they tell you more details of the adoption that's happening sooner than you can fully wrap your head around; you and tobias the second in the family to know, just after jinx, who had only found out this morning. she was, apparently, immediately thrilled, and tobias echoes the sentiment.

'to the kiramman women who have come before,' you say, after you've hugged both of them tight and ordered a bottle of champagne, 'and to those who will lead us forward, even further.'

caitlyn rolls her eyes and the seriousness, but they're suspiciously wet, and vi wholeheartedly clinks her glass with yours.

later, vi goes to get the car and tobias is settling the bill while you and caitlyn wait outside in the sun. 'prepare for her to be your undoing,' you tell her, serious but with a mirth you can't contain.

caitlyn raises a brow. 'i haven't been that bad.'

you shrug.

'mom.'

you laugh, pat her cheek.

she smiles, so bright. you weren't sure, when she was young, if this would ever be in the cards for her, but her life is beautiful and big, a world any child would be lucky to be loved in.

you hug her again, because you can. 'you are going to be a wonderful mother.'

she's taller than you, much stronger, but she'll always be small; you hold her still. she'll always be yours.

[goldiipond]

man i know he's the tallest pre-timeskip but i always forget how fucking tall don is

[ghostfacd]

SHE WAS LIKE A SHOT OF EPRESSO

pairing. tom blyth x actress!fem!reader (mentions of other actors x fem!reader platonically)

summary. in which you are the epitome of sunshine and radiance within your co stars OR all the times your co stars have talked interviewers’ ears off about you

installment of this au | read for context!

Time 1: Tom Blyth

“How’s Y/N as a cast mate?”

That question shouldn’t make Tom Blyth smile that wide — but he does — because he’s so utterly and unconditionally inlove with you.

“Oh gosh, I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Tom begins. “As her boyfriend, I think I’m being pretty biased when I say this, but Y/N Avocot as a cast mate has honestly been the best experience of my life. There has not been a day where she doesn’t make me laugh so hard that my ribs start hurting, and there hasn’t been a day where she hasn’t made me smile.” He pauses for a moment, pondering the next words to say.

“Y/N’s just that type of person, you know? She’s like the warm sunlight that engulfs you every morning you open your curtains, she’s like that newly brewed coffee that helps hydrate and bring you back to life. She’s everything.” And he says this in such a loving manner that the interviewer practically awes, the cameraman zooming the camera to show Tom’s dilated pupil.

“Your pupils are dilated!” The interviewer mentions, laughing as she points towards his eyes.

“Oxytocin is a warm hormone that’s released when you talk about someone you love,” Tom shrugs. “All my friends say my pupils dilate when I’m near Y/N, that’s just the effect she has on people.”

“Well there it is folks! Tom Blyth is truly inlove with Y/N Avocot!”

Time 2: Sean Kaufman and Lola Tung

It was an interview discussing the new season of The Summer I Turned Pretty, and it consisted of Sean and Lola who’s schedules were the only ones that were open that day.

“Guys! We’re so happy to have you today,” the interviewer starts.

“Why thank you,” Lola smiles brightly into the camera, smoothing out her dress.

“So obviously, this season is very important to the plot, it contains so much new exciting storylines including Sean’s character, Steven Conklin, and Y/N’s character, Ella!”

“Yes,” Sean laughs, his eyes crinkling. “It was very fun filming the scenes with Y/N, she’s like that little rush of happiness that you just wanna keep inside a jar.”

“Actually!” Lola speaks up, crossing one leg over the other as she leans forward to the interviewer. “Now that Sean’s mentioning it, Y/N really is a rush of happiness. God, everyday on set, I always think ‘I’m gonna probably have to say my lines over a thousand times and be tired by the time I’m done’ but Y/N comes right in, and she’s always making funny faces behind the director which just fills my heart with joy and it’s those little moments that make acting really worth it you know? Like even though I’m dying re filming the same scene over and over again — I know that Y/N’s always going to cheer me up by the end of it.”

“Wow,” the interviewer laughs. “I haven’t even asked you guys about Y/N yet but she seems to be very loved by the crew.”

“Oh yeah,” Sean nods. “Everyone filming loves her. I mean, how could you not?”

And the interviewer thinks the same question, because after interviewing Tom Blyth, she really believes that you really cannot not love Y/N Avocot.

Time 3: Timothee Chalamet

“Timo!” The interviewer greets Timothee excitedly, moving the chair so he could sit.

“Jacob! My favorite interviewer,” and maybe Timothee’s lying, because he’s seen about a million interviewers by now, but it makes Jacob smile, not so much hating his job anymore.

“Your new movie, Miracles in Love, can you tell me more about that?”

“Yes,” Timothee takes a deep breath. “It’s about a boy and girl in their early twenties figuring out what they wanna be in life. My character, Louie Marcel, falls inlove with my co star — Y/N’s character — Maeve Jones after they bump into each other at the bar and talk about how depressing their lives are. It’s pretty funny, y’know. How easy it was to film with Y/N, in fact, it came all naturally.” Timothee pauses, a small smile playing on his lips.

“When you say naturally, what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Oh you know Jacob,” Timothee grins. “It’s easy to fall inlove with Y/N Avocot. She’s a remarkable actress, and everything that I filmed with her feels so real that it feels like I’m really Louie and I’m really falling inlove with a girl named Maeve at the local bar near my university.”

“Oh wow,” Jacob, the interviewer, can’t help but gush at Timothee’s endearing statement. “You must be very good friends.”

“Us? Of course!” He laughs as if it was one of the funniest statements on earth. “I’m really good friends with her boyfriend too, Tom. They’re honestly the sweetest couple, don’t know if I’m inlove with him or her. Maybe both,” he jokes.

bellyapologist oh to be yn avocot and be so loved by her cast mates that they’re smiling each time they talk about her

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user1 literally like how do you not cry when you’re being called a literal rush of happiness

user2 lola and sean being so excited to talk about her even though the interviewer didn’t start the interview yet 😭

user3 shows that yn is rly a good person

timotheesgf YN AVOCOT LET ME BE YOU PLEASEEEE LOOK AT HOW TIMOTHEE TALKS ABT HER GOD LIFE IS NOT FAIR

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user4 “it’s easy to fall inlove with yn avocot” FUCKKKKK

user5 “everything I filmed with her feels so real” oh tom and kylie are punching the air rn

user9 she must’ve saved a planet in her past life cause..

user10 same energy as “she was like a shot of espresso” 😭😭😭😔😔😔

[meo-eiru]

Breaking my lurker status (forgive my english I don't speak the devils tongue/j)

1.-I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO SO SO MUCH PLSSS-- you write so good and you draw even better it's so fun to see a notification pop up bc it also means I can see the silly people that also like your characters just as much as I do! I find it so cute to see all the different ways people live this characters I love it💥💥

2.- I beg of thee, to spare a crumb if One Eyed monster once again (when you have time bc remember to rest, eat and drink aguita💥), I've been OBSESSED with that one since I saw your first post about him, I just find him so endearing!

Like imagine scene! He is just so head over heels over by us but be doesn't have the courage to come talk to us, but oh! What's this? We are going out of our way to talk to him? HE MUST BE DREAMING! And we are just gushing over how cute he looks with his hair covering his face bc it makes him look so tiny and sweet that we can't help but reach to touch his face and in his daze we move just a little bit of his hair and he only notices that we have seen his full face when he can see more clearer (bc having so much hair in front of your only eye must never tough) and he just PANICS-- like just completely and utterly scared that he takes off running already crying and thinking that we will never wanna see him again and that we are disgusted by him, he only stops in an alley far away to catch his breath.

But in his break down he fails to notice how we ran after him, yelling for him to stop, following him to the alley and seeing in a front row seat how he is just completely broken saying between sobs how we'll hate him now.

But we never had hated him to begin with, we found him cute at the start so we got close to him, and when we saw that big doe-eye it was like staring at the most beautiful star in the sky, we would never hate him after all.

He doesn't hear our steps towards him, he only reacts when he feels our hand lightly touch the top of his hair, his head snapping up to see who it was, his heart almost jumping out of his chest when he sees it's us, both with joy and sorrow, I mean, we are probably there to mock him right? To tell him how ugly his one eye is and to tell him we never wanna see him again, after all,

¿If not for that why else would the one person he loves more than everything be there before him after seeing his one eye?

When he only manages to babble a weak - why? Here? You...Huh...? -

But we don't say anything, we just kneel down and hug him, holding him close, letting him cry in our shoulder, with one of our hand rubbing comforting circles on his back and the other petting his hair, waiting for his cries to stop.

When they do all we say is a simple couple of words, almost got loud enough but just for him to hear, leaving his once broken heart renewed and beating so fast he feels he might have a heart attack.

- You are even more beautiful than I could ever imagine... -

Something so little to anyone else, but something so big for him that he doesn't think his fragile heart could take anything else.

But he doesn't need anything else, he only needs this,

He only needs you

(I propose the name Jade for him, ¿why?, bc when I first saw him I related him with one of my favorite gemstones💥)

-Yummy-

Oh my god this healed my soul, improved my grades, my eyes and skin are shining, world peace is happening, global warming ended and there’s no longer world hunger.

It just means so much to him, he’s so different from everyone else, he’s a monster. There’s no way you could love a creature like him who can’t even talk to you directly without exploding from nerves. He’s not handsome, he’s not charismatic, he’s not funny, he’s just a stalker who’s too pathetic to breath the same air as you.

Only thing bringing a bit of solace to him is the fantasies he has about you. Holding hands, going on dates, watching movies and cuddling, you saying you love him even if he’s a monster… Yes fantasies, such a thing can only happen in his fantasies.

So what’s happening right now? Is he dreaming? You’re so warm he can’t think straight. You think he’s beautiful? This can’t be real surely he misheard you. He can’t talk from the tears rolling down his eye. Please forgive him for getting your shoulder wet. He’s so just so, so happy right now. All he can do is hug you back and sob as he prays this is not just a dream.

[sweetkpopmusings]

seventeen as dreamwalkers <3

a/n: i started this after "last night" dropped because i was thoroughly obsessed with the concept. since i went to the last show of their tour, i needed to escape into thoughts of them, lest i wallow in my post-concert depression </3 please enjoy these sweet moments that i hope you share with them in your dreams tonight :,-) pics not mine~

content: dreamwalker!seventeen, supernatural au | wc: 2.3k | warnings: none really! | pairing: seventeen x gn!reader | requests: open

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

seungcheol♡‧₊˚

inside jokes with your best friend, a refreshing breeze on a hot day, pure relaxation

the first time you saw seungcheol, you were charmed by his boy-next-door looks and grounded energy. seungcheol didn’t start with a special plan for your dreams. he wanted, more than anything, to get to know you. in his mind, the better he knew you, the better he could comfort you, bring you joy, and make your dreams a safe space overall. it turned out, however, that the best way to spend your dreams was simply bonding with seungcheol. he was surprised at first when you wanted to know more about him. seunghceol often forgot that he could be the center of attention, but, after meeting you, he was reminded of his worth. it wasn’t long until he happily shared the parts of himself no one else had seen, cherishing every part of you he got to hold through each night. one night, after a particularly vulnerable conversation, he sighed contentedly and admitted, “i hope i get to spend every night like this, with you, for the rest of my life.”

jeonghan♡‧₊˚

someone tucking your hair behind your ear, freshly cut fruit, cherry blossoms 

jeonghan’s sweetness was the most refreshing thing you had ever dreamt of. after he grew more comfortable with you, his mischievous side crept out, but, in the beginning, he was the definition of charming. even after he started joking around and fondly teasing you, there was a tenderness underneath every word and action. jeonghan wanted to be gentle with you. he valued the trust you gave him, and he was well aware of the responsibility that came with visiting your dreams. therefore, regardless of the silly activities he conjured up for the night,  jeonghan always asked you how you were doing. he loved celebrating the highs with you and holding you through the lows. jeonghan, it seemed, thought nothing was sweeter than sharing time and space with you. once, he made you promise that you’d never dream about anyone else, smiling with his pinky outstretched to you and his heart on his sleeve.

joshua♡‧₊˚

a happy ending, finding the perfect song when you need it most, the smell of flowers blooming

from the moment you met joshua in your dreams, you knew he was a romantic. you didn’t have to assume; he told you immediately. joshua thought that, if you two were interacting in such a romantic space, then he, as the resident gentleman, should take the lead in curating your dreams. every night, you two recreated movie scenes. at first, it was classic romances. after a while, he asked you about your most beloved characters and ships, wanting you to experience the love you admired on the screen. it was funny, cheesy, heartwarming, and so very sweet to act like this with joshua. at the end of every performance, he would give you a huge round of applause and claim that you both were award-winning actors. though he was too shy to tell you this, joshua’s favorite scenes to recreate were the ones in which he got to say, “i love you.” 

junhui♡‧₊˚

your favorite plushie, fully belly laughs, hearing “i miss you” from someone you love

you were caught off guard when you encountered an unbelievably statuesque man in your dreams. you were even more surprised when the first thing he asked was, “do you want to play hide and seek?” junhui understood the importance of dreams being a reprieve from the stresses of the real world. that’s why he designed different playgrounds for you to enjoy. every night you met, you would laugh through the night, racing down slides, watching jun jump off the swings, or, of course, playing hide and seek. he always had the biggest smile when he played with you. while he knew he was there to make your dreams wonderful, he never shied away from saying that every moment he spent with you was a dream come true. usually, after saying that, he’d giggle relentlessly and dare you to chase him around the playground. you complied every time, still unable to believe how free and invincible jun made you feel.

soonyoung♡‧₊˚

sunlight reflecting off clear water, freshly picked berries, a voice sweetly calling your name

soonyoung found you during one of your lowest nights. or, rather, he looked for you, sensing your pain and wanting nothing more than to ease your burden. with every smile, with every gesture, with every word spoken, he made you feel light as a feather, regardless of how heavy the world was. soonyoung buzzed with excitement as soon as you met, and it was contagious during each visit. soonyoung told you stories. he asked you a million questions, wanting to know your habits, likes, dreams–really everything about you–but he always reminded you that you could tell him “no.” you rarely felt the need to, though. soonyoung was the softest person you ever knew, and the comfort corner he created in your dreams was where you found complete authenticity and peace. the second you confessed this to him, he practically squealed from the elation of it all. soonyoung thanked you over and over, admitting that bonding with you is one of the greatest gifts he has ever received.

wonwoo♡‧₊˚

sunlight breaking through the curtains, a compliment you’ve always wanted to hear, a dash of cinnamon

wonwoo believed that dreams were a source of relief, a reprieve from whatever turbulence waking life may offer. when he met you, he saw the tension in your shoulders and that broke his heart–how could someone like you be carrying so much weight even while you slept? at that first encounter, wonwoo led you to a bench swing beneath a beautiful tree, sitting beside you and breathing peacefully. he let you know that, no matter what, he would offer you quiet time to be yourself. when you suggested you two have a picnic, he happily agreed, ensuring your favorite items were available and that the weather was just right. his most cherished time with you was when you rested your bodies on a soft sofa, and you watched him as he read you his favorite stories. he wasn’t sure what the look in your eye meant. before he asked, you answered, “everywhere with you feels like home. when i look at you, i see my home.” the blush that covered his skin let you know that wonwoo saw his home when he looked at you too.

jihoon♡‧₊˚

the echo of piano keys, familiar footsteps, a promise to return that’s fulfilled

the first time you saw jihoon in a dream, you awoke with only the feeling of serenity and a brief but vivid memory of his angelic face. even as his visits became more frequent, you were always left with little more than a glimpse of him. jihoon felt just out of reach and entirely a part of you at the same time. one morning, by some stroke of luck, you remembered asking him in the dream, “why can’t i ever remember you properly?” he smiled sweetly, amused by your desire to engrave him in your mind. he admitted, “all i wanted to be was a safe place for you to rest. i never thought you’d want anything more than that.” when you told him you wished to carry memories of him in your waking life, he promised that you’d remember him each morning when you opened your eyes, just as you had recognized him every night when you closed them. jihoon kept his promise, leaving you with such clear memories that the feeling of safety he created for you every night enveloped you throughout your days too.

seokmin♡‧₊˚

the first day of spring, secrets shared in a pillow fort, laughing until you can’t breathe

you were the first person seokmin ever visited in their dreams, so he had no idea what he should do. in a panic, he told you he could sing before he even told you his name. as soon as you heard his angelic voice, you knew there was no going back. seokmin was thrilled. he kept a running list of your favorite songs, learning them as quickly as he could. seokmin also sang songs that reminded him of you, filling your nights with the sweetest serenades. nothing made seokmin feel more special than the sparkle in your eyes and the look on your face when you listened to him sing. he truly felt that he would be content if you were the only person he ever sang for. you were his perfect audience, which he told you many, many times. once, when you asked how he sang so well, he casually replied, “i’ve been practicing all my life because music is one of the most important things to me.” as he watched you applaud for him, he wanted to add, i never knew that singing would lead me to the most important person in my life, but i’m glad i worked so hard for you.

mingyu♡‧₊˚

the glow of a fireplace in a dark room, bedsheets hung in the yard to dry, a smile meant for only you

mingyu made your dreams a home. he knew that he could take you anywhere, explore the whole world with you if he wanted, but truly he just wanted to spend time with you. mingyu loved seeing you comfortable. he was enraptured by you, and he loved nothing more than creating a life with you. together you two spent time making meals, rearranging furniture, playing games, having deep conversations, or sipping tea and enjoying each other’s company. to some, it may have sounded strange, but mingyu insisted that you two plan a future together. you resisted at first, unsure how planning a future with the man who was only in your dreams would be helpful. then, because mingyu is adorably persistent, you played along, not really believing it was more than fantasy. after some time, however, you got the same feeling in your heart that mingyu had all along: we were meant to meet each other. it started here, but it’s only a matter of time before we find each other after the sunrise. 

minghao♡‧₊˚

whispered confessions, your beloved’s fingers brushing against yours, the pink clouds at dawn

dreams of minghao should be considered the eighth wonder of the world. every time he appears, he recreates beautiful places he has traveled to before, so you can experience them too. he cherishes nothing more than walking beside you, either in silent contemplation or excited conversation, through all the locales that left a lasting impression on his mind. minghao cannot fathom spending his time in any other way. you, after all, have left quite the impression on his heart. he will do anything to find you again and again, just to witness the glimmer in your eyes when he shares something beautiful with you. what’s most engraved in his brain is the moment you stood beside him and admitted, “every special place i’ve been to, i have been there with you.” minghao spends every night trying to find the right way to express how your dreams have become the most special place he’s ever experienced.

seungkwan♡‧₊˚

the moon’s reflection in still water, kind conversations on city streets, the smile of someone who knows you well

seungkwan thought it was magical, how he could find you every night. to him, you were the dream. he never wanted to show off or to make anything so spectacular that you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the shared energy between you two. as such, he loved nothing more than to create a star-filled night sky for you. you’d tell him your favorite things, and he’d rearrange the stars to your liking. as clichéd as it was, seungkwan adored watching you stargaze. he marveled at your beauty every time your dreams brought you together. one night, when your eyes sparkled while observing a constellation of your favorite flower, seungkwan murmured, “ah, you are so beautiful, my sky.” his ears turned bright red, but the sweet smile on your face meant he had no regrets about his confession. 

hansol♡‧₊˚

finding the perfect idea, someone who understands you completely, the warmth of your favorite place

you laughed the first time you met hansol because, rather than a grand entrance, he casually walked up to you and asked, “so…what do you want to do?” this relaxed energy permeated every night you spent with hansol. eventually, you two developed a habit of trying out different crafts together, mostly because you could laugh when you failed and fawn over each other’s successes. hansol created a place for you to experiment and express yourself, and he did it so naturally you felt he had been by your side your entire life. when you confessed this to him, he confessed that he felt the same way. hansol even had a theory that you two had been meeting in dreams your whole lives, despite only remembering the times you met as adults. at first, you thought it was just another of his silly conspiracies. you changed your mind, though, when you woke up to see the origami he made the previous night next to your bed. your connection with hansol transcended dreams, and this paper figure of your favorite animal proved that.

chan♡‧₊˚

childhood belief, a long-awaited victory, hearing “i’m proud of you” from someone you admire

you’ll never forget the first time you saw chan in a dream. he was bright, bubbly, and all around ready for a good time. he wanted to show you how far you could push the limits of reality in your subconscious, and he did so by trying out different superpowers with you. there were no villains to fight–unless you wanted them–but there were plenty of ways to transform with superhuman abilities. chan ran through all the classics with you: invisibility, teleporation, flying, etc. then, he would laugh hysterically while you two tried to invent new superpowers. anything from changing coffee flavors by snapping your fingers or being able to breathe underwater, chan wanted to try it with you. he convinced you that all it took to save the world was a smile, which is something he gave you every time you looked at him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[multimilfs]

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (7/?)

Chapter 7 - Stone's Embrace

Summary: Traveling into the Eastern Pass brings old friends and with them, new fears.

AO3

Words: 11.8k

A/N: This chapter was the hardest for me to get written, but it is hands down my favorite so far. It also contains my favorite scene I've ever written for this story.

I have a LOT more to say but I threw it into the end-note on AO3! So if you'd like to read that, you'll find it all there. Enjoy :)

Tag List: @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused @white--lillies @h-doodles @vii-v @anxiousgoldengirl @shinkomiii @danvers97

Warning(s): Blood, Mild body-horror, Self-harming behavior, Knives

Previous Chapters

“How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me?”  L. Cohen 

Stones warmed by the sun wait, but for what is undivined. The citadel paths are absent of any traffic save for the movements of one witch. As she wanders the length of the eastern wall, she closes her eyes, savoring the light and heat sinking into her skin. 

Her feet traverse the distance, the divots and grooves in the path like silent beacons guiding her forward. Then, she feels it—the missing stone, the one that tries her right ankle.

Beside a window-like gap in the wall, she opens her eyes.

No crowds fill the streets of The Cradle today. Below, there are a few stragglers—wanderers, like her—but they don’t tarry long, not when there is warmth to be found indoors. All is quiet.

The only bit of noise is visual; the proud, gray castle on the horizon, standing with its tattered banner still just hanging on. Most have fallen by now, the once-blue fabric collected and dropped on the citadel steps to be burned. Yet the last still remains clinging to the lowermost spire.

“Maiden Calderu.”

It is not the title that prompts her flinch—though it will always sting—but the voice, belonging to one such witch that Lilia had prayed to never again see. Yet, Chaos has a funny sense of humor.

She turns, ever the picture of poise, “Mother Elara.”

The witch has not changed a day. Still with her wide, sharp jaw and gray eyes, mouth pinched in a scowl so fierce Lilia’s not sure she has ever smiled. Her navy robes, near black even in the sun, cast a sickly look over her skin.

She could have been identical to her sister, had she possessed even half of her grace.

“Fair meeting. I did not expect any to linger today.”

The words are even, monotone.

“Fair meeting. There is work that requires my eye, I’m afraid.” Lilia says.

A mean upturn of her lips, “Greater than the joy of Light’s day, Maiden Calderu?”

Lilia cannot help it, but she sticks out her chin, unwilling to stoop an inch. She folds her hands behind herself to hide the flares of yellow.

“I work so others may know peace on such days.”

“Ever the nimble servant of the people.”

“Such is my duty.”

“Duty.” Elara chuckles.

The weight of the castle looms at Lilia’s back, casting an impossible shadow. Elara eyes her like she can see how it stains Lilia’s soul.

A shift in stance sees the light catching on the pendant around Elara’s neck; that damning silver sword. Sighting it alone turns her stomach. Its weight has always pressed against her neck, but now she feels how it threatens to pierce through the heart of her.

That would no doubt please Elara to see.

“Might I be of any service to you?” Lilia offers.

Any trace of amusement is wiped from the witch’s face. Her eyes are hard as stone—harder.

“No. You’ve done enough.”

Lilia does not tremble, but it is a near thing, “Good day, then, Mother Elara.”

“Good day, Maiden Calderu.”

Retracing her steps away from the spot and back to the citadel center, she holds her shoulders taught, head high. Yet she deflates the second she reaches the winding staircase taking her down. Once safely inside her lonely office, she slumps against the door.

There’s an ache in her chest she can never fully forget. A deep, gnawing wound that won’t heal. Her legs tremble.

A beating of wings and the click of talons on stone draw her from the feeling. Tight, greying curls are pushed back and away from her face. She pales.

“No.”

Yet Aquila flutters into the room regardless. She settles on the edge of Lilia’s desk, leg baring her letter held out. Lilia flinches. She pushes off from the door, but doesn’t approach the desk, choosing to walk around it.

“Beat it.”

No movement beyond the tilt of the raven’s head. Then, a warble.

Lilia’s hands are fists at her side, “Tell her I could not be found. Tell her anything. There are some things time cannot erase.”

The response that earns her is scolding. Aquila shakes her leg until the ribbon unravels, the letter sliding over the desk to rest atop the papers there.

Lilia stares, eyes missing nothing. Magic clings to the letter and she tilts her head; Agatha’s magic, yet unlike what she remembers.

Aquila ruffles her wings, impatient.

Throwing her hands up, a muttered complaint is issued to the Divine Mother. She searches for anything to offer the raven that will satisfy and send her on her way.

She comes to an abrupt stop, eyes closing. Aquila waits. Lilia’s hand snaps toward a drawer she’s sure hasn’t been touched in ages. It opens to reveal no small amount of dust and old parchment, among it all a large beetle scuttling for cover—the second Aquila sights it, she pounces. The exoskeleton cracks in her beak.

As the raven enjoys the fruits of her nagging, Lilia is frozen, stuck and staring at the hand that moved. The old wisp of magic that’s eluded her for centuries is… real, tangible. She grasped it as if it had always been so clear.

She shakes her head. Curls bob around her face, the movement grounding, yet her mind still wanders. Light help her, she cannot be considering this.

Eyes follow every movement.

Lilia shoves down the wayward desires of her past and schools her features, “I will not see her.”

Aquila bows her head. A beat, a flash, and she is gone.

--

“We await your order on when to march, Your Majesty.”

For all the snarking and teasing she does, Agatha does pay attention. Her gaze is sharp. So when your eyes glaze over at Captain Thena’s words, she notices; just as she had noticed you could barely stomach part of breakfast, and the sallow pallor of your skin.

“On the hour.” Agatha answers in your stead.

She senses the flare of suspicion in the Captain’s mind. True to her training, she only nods and bows, walking off to relay the order.

You sigh and relax back into your seat.

“I’ve been told I’m excellent in bed,” Agatha drawls, eyes alight with mischief, “but rendering a woman speechless even days later is new. I’m flattered.”

She braces for the snap of your eyes to hers, that delicious fury that she can taste in the air. She welcomes the twist of your beautiful face into something like a sneer.

Will you rattle off some small insult for her to twist, or level her with your wit, forcing her onto the back foot? Her magic itches in her skin at the anticipation.

When your eyes snap to her’s, her magic crows with delight. But your emotion is muted. You look at her as if looking through.

You wave a hand, “Is there anywhere you don’t find flattery?”

Agatha’s magic quails at the lack of fight.

“Of course not. I possess the advantage of being superior in all aspects of life, I’ve grown used to it.”

No change. No challenge. Something like fear grips her heart.

She reaches out with her magic, skimming your mind. It’s the same makeup of indecipherable color and shape that she’s unable to grasp. Though, it’s muted. Pulses of what should be emotion bring only waves of numbness.

If anger isn’t working, she has to pivot. The usual choice would be to prod your never-ending well of grief, but it seems that something already has. That leaves… care.

Agatha slips into the role. It’s a relief to find that it’s easier this time around.

“Dear,” she waits until you look at her, “talk to me.”

An opening, a lifeline. She doesn’t really want to hear a woe-is-me monologue, but if that’s what she has to endure to fix whatever this is then fine. Never let it be said she is incapable of doing the hard work.

Something shifts—a flicker, really. It’s enough to soothe her.

“I’m going to die.” You say, hollow.

She raises a brow, “Everyone dies eventually.”

You shake your head.

“After these fourteen days, She’s going to kill me.”

The words settle over Agatha like something comfortable; too comfortable, like an inescapable truth, and it chafes. It awakens something primal. She feels like an animal being backed into a corner.

She wracks her brain for the proper, wifely thing to say. Empty words displaying affection should do the trick—if she can pinpoint the right ones. Not without going through me would be the closest to the truth of the matter. I won’t allow it would also be truthful, even appeal to whatever skittish part of you is seeking reassurance of safety.

Instead, what comes out is;

“No one gets to kill you but me.”

Agatha’s statement cracks like a whip. Upon impact, she freezes. You’re going to fall to pieces in her hands and then she’s going to have more of a mess to deal with.

You freeze. Your eyes snap back to Agatha, full of fire.

Oh, good girl.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play coy, dear, it doesn’t suit you.”

“Coy?” You echo, lip curling deliciously, “We’ll see how coy I am when I bury a knife in your chest.”

“Promise?”

The first thing you can close your fist around, you grab, and aim. Agatha sidesteps the too-wide swing. Her magic purrs in her veins. God, you’re glowing with rage; it’s almost enough to make her eyes roll back in her head.

A dagger is eased from beneath your pillow and stops her up short. That hadn’t been there when she checked.

You advance on her in a few quick steps. Agatha’s eyes don’t leave the dagger, which is why she misses the kick until it lands against her knee, straightening her leg with a crack that reverberates and unsettles her footing. She snaps her fingers before she can fall and feels the weightlessness of travel.

Smugness of being poised for the kill settles in her as she reforms at your back. But it withers when your smoldering eyes are already there, locked on hers, with the tip of your dagger at her throat.

She should really stop underestimating you.

“Impressive,” her voice comes out more husky than she intends, “but you can’t kill me.”

“Not yet.”

“Not ever. Unless, you meet me at my level.”

Agatha leans into the tip of your dagger until she feels the warmth of her own blood. A small moan escapes.

She waits for realization to strike. Your eyes are so bright this close, thoughts passing behind them, searching her own. Agatha grins. You’re so close. Your brows furrow.

Come on.

Your eyes widen. She blinks, and the expression is gone; the knowing gone with it. You’re just as wary and confused as you’ve always been.

“I’m afraid I like being above you too much.”

The dagger is hidden in your skirts as you pull away and move to exit the tent, though not before snapping at her to pack everything away so you can leave on time. Agatha watches you go without a word.

Her purple rears its head. It itches inside her, begging to be free and aimed at your retreating back, to poke and prod until it brings forth and consumes what she knows you’re hiding. Just one little fight couldn’t hurt… could it? 

Agatha muzzles it.

She snarls and packs up the royal tent with a wave of her blackened hands as her mind works. Something is plaguing you enough to make you numb, near-negligent; a dangerous thing to be in these circumstances. And negligence is one thing Agatha can’t allow. Not when it comes to you.

--

The barrier ripples. The surface twists.

James grabs Darcy’s arm, pulling her back, though they already stand a fair distance away. The ravens shriek in their cage. He lunges forward and grabs that, too.

There is an odd, distorted cracking as the barrier ripples again, and a figure pushes through. Feminine in form. Short, though not disarmingly so.

Her face almost looks like Agatha’s, but it’s off. Wrong. There is a gaping, raw wound in the center of her throat. The features of her face are warped—stretched, pulled, as if trying to melt off.

She tilts her head and grins with a mouth full of too-white teeth. Her voice is raspy and distorted, changing volume rapidly as her vocal chords strain and snap.

“I need you to relay a message for me.”

--

The Eastern Pass is a long, winding path cut directly through the center of the mountains. And it is the coldest place you’ve ever known.

As far as the eye can fathom brings nothing but the same gray rock. In the warmer hours, there’s the shine of water running down the walls, but it has gradually hardened over the day as sunlight fades; the warmth fading with it.

Past the base of Nethys’ Peak there is said to be a large cut-out from the Pass, large and with space enough to hold nearly your entire host. If you push through in the night you should make it halfway to sunrise. Yet there is already a distinct bite to the wind in the fading hours of daylight—what damage will it do in the dark?

A flash of purple above your head draws your eye upward. In a cloud of black smoke, a raven appears. They play and twist in the wind before arcing down to Agatha at your side.

She intercepts the raven on her shoulder without flinching, “And?”

There’s a lengthy stream of song and sound. Agatha nods along like she understands every bit, face neutral.

“Well, we expected as much. Where?”

A low, hesitant reply.

Agatha laughs. It’s not her usual wild cackle, but something muted; bitter. You take in the angry set of her jaw with wary interest.

“Of course.” She says, resigned, “Well done.”

The raven cuddles into the offered hand. Agatha’s expression melts into one so tender you have to look away; the reminder that she does possess a heart twists unpleasantly in your chest.

How is it that she can be unapologetically wicked, yet still trick pure-hearted creatures into loving her?

Weight unsettles your balance, causing one shoulder to droop. Dark eyes look back from said shoulder. You know in an instant who the raven is and a small bolt of joy cracks through the numbness.

“Hello, Aquila.”

Aquila trills. She nuzzles the side of your face with her head, all soft feathers and warmth. Your Grandfather had been fond of dogs in your youth, bringing his around on his rare visits; they would show affection similarly. How lovely it’d be if humans also relied on action, rather than the emptiness of words.

Your shoulders straighten as you adjust to her presence. She continues to nuzzle at you, occasionally stopping to pick through pieces of your hair.

She pulls out one of your silver clips with a practiced yank. The piece of hair it’d been holding back falls forward into your eyes.

“Aquila.” Agatha scolds.

The raven only preens, prize held in her beak.

“You can have this one.” You say, meeting her eyes, pointedly ignoring Agatha, “The rest are mine.”

A tilt of her head. Then, she bows, as if nodding. You scratch at the soft plumage of her skull and carefully avoid knocking the clip from her hold.

“You shouldn’t encourage her.”

“Oh, so rewarding poor behavior is frowned upon, is it?”

Agatha’s eyes narrow, “Something you’d like to say, dear?”

“It’d fall on deaf ears if I did, I’m sure.”

Aquila’s head swivels between the two of you.

“Pot, kettle.”

You bark out a humorless laugh, “You love to hear yourself talk. It’s only natural I’d block you out after a time, dear.”

“Is it my fault I’m the only one worth listening to?” She snarls.

“Most fools think themselves philosophers in one form or another.”

“And you think yourself a God.”

“I do not—”

“Oh yes you do—”

The bickering is stopped as you both jolt in your saddles, coming to an abrupt stop. Aquila lets out a little noise of surprise and readjusts her footing.

Captain Thena has brought your host to a halt.

You twist to see the front line, but can’t see beyond the heads of those in front. The lines of your host are locked tight. 

Between those before you, the barest hint of Thena’s white-blonde hair finds its way to your eyes. Her head is turned, relaying something to the Knight on her left, before someone shifts and blocks you again. You go so far as to stand in the saddle but find yourself glued to it. Blinking, you spy the tell-tale wisps of black and violet curling around you.

With Aquila on your right shoulder, you have to turn your entire body to glare at Agatha, but she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are focused straight ahead.

“Aquila.” Her voice is sharp, commanding, “Bring me answers.”

Your right shoulder is much lighter as she takes off and aims for the front line. Faint though she may be, you can see her circling. You don’t have time for this.

Being stuck in the saddle may keep you from leaving it, but it doesn’t stop your mount from going anywhere.

“Are you incapable of doing anything yourself?” You throw at Agatha. Digging your heels into your mount’s sides, you call, “Let me through!”

A ripple goes through the interlocked forces. Like a wave, they part, allowing you to pass at a trot to where Thena leads. You’re intercepted by a Knight a few paces from the very front; the same you’d seen your Captain speak to.

It takes a moment before recognition dawns on you. She’s different than when you last saw her—no longer covered in a layer of soot, hair grown back in.

“Sir Maria, why have we stopped?”

The Knight glances behind you for a brief moment before focusing back on you, sitting taught in the saddle. Her armor gleams in the dying light of the day.

“The Captain is handling a complication, Your Majesty.”

“What kind of complication?”

“There are riders in the path. Captain Thena is attempting to speak with them, Your Majesty.”

“Attempting?”

“Their common is poor, it is taking some time.”

You nod, accepting and putting the information away when you see it; the Knight fidgets in the saddle. Suspicion takes root.

“What aren’t you telling me, Sir?”

She looks over your shoulder again. You don’t have to turn to know Agatha is coming up behind you, you feel it; the way her presence sucks out the air.

Agatha comes to reside on your right once again, face fixed in a scowl. Aquila no longer circles the skies, nor is she anywhere on Agatha’s person.

“Spit it out.” She demands.

Every rider around you shifts in their saddles.

“They’re demanding to speak with you, Your Majesty. They won’t speak with the Captain.”

“They’ve asked for me by name?” Your brows shoot up.

“Not quite.”

You resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose—only just. When did speaking plainly become so difficult?

“You’re trying my patience, Maria.”

The Knight has the decency to look chastised. Her eyes dart behind you and widen for a second before they return to you. You file the action away for later.

“They won’t speak to her because she isn’t the true commander. Without speaking to you, they won’t allow us to pass.”

That brings you pause. True as it may be that you’re the genuine source of power among the host, you’re unsure how anyone else would know. Your journey here wasn’t planned. There has been no word sent ahead of your impending arrival; a misstep on your part, but helpful from a tactical standpoint.

Daylight is fading and fast. Annoying as it may be, you need to handle this yourself, lest you lose anymore time.

“Let me pass, Sir.”

She looks to Agatha, as if searching for permission. Your lip curls. In your lap, you white-knuckle the reins.

You are not a child to be minded.

“It was not a request.” You strain to keep your voice civil.

At your side, Agatha nods. Maria steps back and out of your way. You offer your own terse nod, moving to the front. Those standing at the front line aren’t so open with their shifting at Agatha’s arrival but you can taste the unease.

Beyond the Captain, three riders stand in the Pass.

Sitting high on bone-white horses without saddles, they sit side-by-side in perfect rank. Pigment clings to different parts of their mounts, illustrating pictures you can’t quite grasp. Long, grey manes trail over the shoulder of each horse, of which the ends have been dyed green.

The riders themselves are tall and wide. Long, dark hair is tied above their heads in intricate styles, showing off the rich furs draped across each set of shoulders. Each wears a similar marking of paint; a stark yellow line horizontal across the bottom lip, with a vertical counterpart traveling from the cupids bow down the neck and out of view.

One on the right, whose additional paint boasts powerful blue lines and grey dots, leans over to the man in the center. The language you hear is familiar. You startle.

You’ve never met them, but you’ve heard enough of the Netueht to feel as if you have.

Russet-colored skin glowing with life and strong noses make them more enchanting than any story could tell. You find yourself compelled to stare at the proud image they make. But you’re keenly aware of the chill biting at your ears.

Long has it been since you’ve spoken their tongue, but you pull on your hours of study to call out as you step forward, “I am Queen of Lucia, daughter of Nethys and Daris. How might I be of service?”

Every head on your side of the path turns to regard you. Some wear shock, others interest. Even the Captain blinks before remembering herself. You pay them all no mind.

The man in the middle steps forward. He is by far the most painted; bearing a proud swatch of green on his forehead and filling in his bottom lip. A collection of blue dots align with the edges of the green on his forehead. But the most striking is the blue over one eye.

If he is impressed by your knowledge, he does not show it, “Chieftain Aly’Liwen bids you welcome, daughter of Nethys. What is your purpose in The Pass?”

His speaking is far smoother than your own. The syllables rumble forth from his throat as a deep, simmering note that swings up and back again. You could listen to him speak for ages.

“Passage. We’ve come from the West to return to Greymont.”

A swift incline from all three as they accept the information.

“We were not informed of your coming.”

“This was not our original path. I beg your pardon and that of your Chieftain.”

The two others murmur to the leader, swift and low enough that you cannot follow. His expression does not change as they speak.

“Should you and your people respect The Pass, we will trouble you no further. We bid you safe passage.”

His tone brims with finality. The three turn to return the way they came and something grips you—knowledge from lessons hammered in by your Mother, courtesy so be remembered, but above all the feeling of rightness in their presence. They alone have soothed the simmering anxiety that has chased you since the barrier.

That cannot be a coincidence.

You call at their retreating backs, “Should Chieftain Aly’Liwen have room, it would be my honor to fill the table.”

They turn. The leader does not show any visible surprise, but one of the others does, if only for a moment.

The Netueht do not observe Queens and Kings; to them, all but a few are sons and daughters of the grand scheme; and all children know hunger. Breaking bread, providing, assuaging that hunger—there is no greater act of respect.

A common man could have allowed them to leave, but for a leader—a Mother of the people—to do so would have been a slight. And while said slight would not have been punished, it also would not have been forgotten.

“Are you friend or foe, daughter of Nethys?”

You can’t help your grin, “Do foes often name themselves so easily?”

Then you see it; a crack, the beginnings of a smile on the man’s face.

“Only the foolish ones.”

A laugh leaves you, swallowed up and carried across the space on a cold wind. Despite it, you feel warmed.

“I am a friend.”

“Then you and your closest may follow. Friends are always welcome at the table.”

You turn to Captain Thena, whose gaze flickers between you and the Netueht with interest. Her expression is not quite wary, but on the brink of it.

“Captain, you’re to take the host and continue through the Pass. Half-way to sunrise you’ll reach a settlement large enough for all of you to rest.”

“Your Majesty—”

You hold up a hand, “Agatha, myself, and the Guard will remain to break bread with the Netueht. Continue on and make camp near the village at the base of the mountains. We will follow a day behind.”

Thena opens her mouth to speak, but pauses.

The world has frozen.

Behind you, Agatha snaps, “Are you out of your mind?”

You turn your destrier around to face her, “I think you’ll find I’m perfectly in control of my mind. Now put the world back, I wasn’t done.”

“You have less than fourteen days to see your kingdom protected and you’re running off with the locals.”

“The Netueht are an ally hard won.”

“You need witches to beat a witch.” Agatha explains like one would to a child, “The Netueht are not an ally that you can afford to waste time on.”

“They have to know something. They’ve been around since the First Men.”

“So have cockroaches.”

“You can commune with them while I speak with the Netueht, then. I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing your family.” You respond, voice sickly sweet.

“Cute.” She rolls her eyes, “We’re continuing with the host.”

You can’t. There is something in these mountains, something connected to the Netueht that you need; you know it as intimately as you know breathing.

“There is something here, I can feel it.” You say in a tone just shy of begging.

“What does it feel like?”

“Like… like standing outside a library and knowing the answer you seek is inside.”

Agatha’s mouth twitches into her signature smirk. Her head tilts as she thinks, eyes roaming, fingers tapping idly at the horn of her saddle.

“I don’t trust them.”

“You don’t trust anyone.” You reply immediately, “But will you follow them?”

“No, but I will follow you.”

You blink, “You mean it?”

“Don’t get soft on me. Whether I like it or not, I’m your magically-bound shadow.”

“Fitting since you’re always in the way.”

Agatha waves off the comment, “We’ll delay no longer than a day. That’s all we can afford.”

“Alright.” You nod.

“Should we seal the deal with a kiss?”

Rolling your eyes, you offer a look the comment deserves. She laughs. You turn to face the Captain. Then, with a snap of her fingers and a wisp of violet, time resumes.

In however long you and Agatha existed outside of time, you’ve been distracted enough to forget you’re mid-conversation with Captain Thena.

“I do not think that would benefit, Your Majesty.”

You blink, fighting to recall what exactly the conversation had been and where it’d been going. Agatha snickers behind you. You want to throw something at her.

“It was not a suggestion, Captain. You’re to continue on as instructed.”

The Captain looks past you and you know she’s looking to Agatha for confirmation. This is the second person within the hour to do so. You fight to keep your face neutral.

“As you wish, Your Majesty. I bid you safe passage.”

“And you, Captain.”

The wind whips your cheeks as you advance, following a few paces behind the leading Netueht. Agatha settles into the space at your side comfortably while your Guard follows at your back.

The Netueht are swift riders. The Pass is a winding, singular road blurring around you in the fading light until it isn’t—until a second, slimmer carving through the rock appears, and they race inside without fear. It is only wide enough to ride two-wide, but the Netueht traverse it single-file, and you mimic them.

Agatha grumbles something behind you.

Were one to travel any slower through this new path, a normal individual might find themselves struck by the fear of the rock walls closing in; but you’re not normal, and you find yourself struck by said fear even as you ride fast enough to rival the wind.

All it would take is one misstep to send you careening into one of the walls, one step to deepen an unseen crack until it splinters and brings a mountain of rock down on you. You white-knuckle the reins in your grip.

If you make a mistake, even a small one, it could lead to an end, and you can’t die here—you don’t want to die here. Would anyone find you beneath the rock? Would anyone know if you were beneath it, clawing for freedom, desperate—

A path wider than The Pass is where the Netueht guide, and you feel the panic in your chest loosen.

Arched openings line the new passage. The walls are shorter, boasting tufts of grasses and plants atop them, the roots curling down on either side. Color clings to the walls in pictures you can’t decipher as you race by.

Cutting off the path ahead is a wall of stone.

Like traversing a long hallway, you gradually come to a stop at the end. You’re surrounded on three sides; and on each side, an identical arched doorway cut into the stone.

All three Netueht slide from their mounts and land on sure feet. The leader turns to you.

“We will return for you.”

He vanishes through the doorway ahead. His companions split, one going right, the other going left. Only their mounts remain as evidence of their presence.

With the heavy hoofbeats on stone silenced, quiet descends over your party. There’s little wind to be found in this tucked-away corner. It’s nice, even if the air does still possess a bite.

Agatha and her mount shift, restless, eyes darting across the landscape, “I don’t like this.”

“We’re not in any danger.”

“Dreykov, Belova, Romanov.” Agatha barks, ignoring you, barely turning to regard them lest she put her back to any of the doorways, “Moving Her Majesty to safety is to be your only priority.”

You don’t have to turn to know they all nod.

“That’s not necessary.��

“Your new friends tell you that?”

“We’re safer here than we were in The Pass.”

Agatha scowls, clearly skeptical. But something like joy has settled over your shoulders. There’s a tug in your abdomen as you run your fingers over the rock wall, not unlike what you felt in the river. For a moment you swear the stone hums beneath your touch.

Can you hear it, like you could the river? Does it, too, have a voice?

The Netueht leader steps from the same doorway he vanished through. Warmth dances in his eyes like that of the torch in his hand, “Come.”

He remains on foot, leading his mount by the bridle through the doorway. You’re the first to step down from the saddle and mimic his actions. The members of your Guard follow suit.

Agatha remains in the saddle.

You roll your eyes, “I hope you hit your head.”

“Though a kiss is capable of fixing many things, I don’t think that will extend to brain damage. You’re welcome to try.” She teases.

“With the brain damage you already possess, I’m of the hope that something will be knocked back into place.”

“What more could you desire from my personality, darling?”

“We don’t have nearly enough time for that.”

She presses a hand to her chest in faux-hurt. A grin pulls at the edges of her mouth. You shake your head at her antics.

Through the arch reveals a tunnel of stone.

You cannot see ahead; the tunnel winds, snake-like through the mountain. Your guide is sure of every step. He walks with a swiftness that he has to rein in every now and again, as if remembering that he’s leading guests.

The air is still. No movement can make it past the initial curves of the path, and it feels stifling. You grip the bridle of your horse in a shaking hand. Even as the path widens and grows taller you cannot raise your eyes from the floor.

It’s as if the stone is compressing, moving in toward you on all sides. Your breath comes in short bursts that you try fruitlessly to even out. They can’t see your weakness, any of them—they can’t see you fall to pieces over something so trivial.

They can’t see. Please, you beg, though unsure of who you’re begging, don’t let them see.

If it all comes crashing down there is no escape, no way out. You’ll be extinguished beneath the weight—

You dig your nails into your palm until you draw blood. It releases some of the tension in your chest, opening your lungs as breathlessness abates.

Darkness settles on your left side and your eyes dart to find the source. Agatha has settled into step at your side, her destrier walking to the left of her. They’re a striking pair. Agatha, all blue eyes and fair skin but with an aura of darkness clinging to her; her mount, deep black across every inch, as if he has siphoned the darkness licking at her fingertips.

Weight settles back on your chest. You focus on the ground before your feet, nails digging in deeper, but it doesn’t offer the same release as before.

You’re safe, you tell yourself. The Netueht walk these paths often and they’ve remained standing.

But what if this is the time—

You focus on Agatha again, blurting, “Have you named him?”

“Who?”

“Your horse.”

She frowns, “Is that a requirement of riding one?”

Her brows are pinched. She looks between you and her mount.

“Of course not. But he’s going to be with you for a long time, it seems silly to call him ‘horse.’”

Silly and disrespectful, though you keep the second thought firmly to yourself.

A long stretch of silence settles between you. Agatha regards her four-legged companion with the calculated gaze you’ve come to expect. Gently, she scratches at the side of his face with her free hand, pleased when he leans into the contact.

“Inanis.”

The purr of her voice sends a shiver down your spine. You ignore the warmth in your cheeks.

“What does it mean?”

Agatha grins, “Inanis was the horse Darkness rode into battle, a void given shape.”

You don’t have time to unpack that. You’re not even sure what it means. She mentioned Darkness during your time near the river, didn’t she? The reverence in her voice feels similar.

“He does look void-like.” You settle on.

A sidelong glance, “And yours?”

“Oh, I didn’t name her. She was my Mother’s.”

You run a fond hand down her face. She huffs against your palm, leaning into the contact. Her nose presses, searching, just like she did when you were a child, but you hold no treats in hand.

“I see.”

Something in her voice makes you stiffen.

“Do you?” You ask, defensive.

“Your Father’s throne. Your Mother’s horse. Their legacy. Is anything in Lucia yours?”

You balk. You have your home, the love of your people, your friends. You’ve earned it all on your own merit.

Right?

You recognize the lies as soon as you think them.

All the time you’ve spent nitpicking Agatha about her own lack, when in reality, you’re no better; at least the power she wields is her own, rather than that which you borrow under your title. Cold settles into your bones.

“What is her name?”

You blink, drawn from the maw of emptiness threatening to consume you. Agatha watches you expectantly.

“Pardon?”

“The horse, what is her name?”

“Sundrop.”

You run your hand over her nose again, admiring the buttery yellow of her color, though its flecked with patches of gray.

Agatha’s lips twitch.

Noise, bouncing off the tunnel walls and to your ears, beckons both of you to look forward. You round a final corner to find there is no tunnel left.

You’re led into a grand, cavernous space. Before you sits an expansive rock ledge teeming with people. Beyond that, two winding stone staircases lead down and out of sight. Walls curve around you in a great circle and boast countless doorways; though unlike those outside, they’re decorated—personal.

Curling overhead is an impressive overhang of rock that draws every sound into an echo. Amongst the cacophony of people you hear water and birdsong—life hidden away in this great cave.

Children race past, screaming with joy, not sparing you a glance. Some of the older Netueht regard the group of you with curiosity. None of them appear surprised to have company.

“These are our visitors?” A smooth, feminine voice asks.

Your eye is drawn to a tall woman with a diamond-shaped jaw and an elegant hooked nose. Long, dark hair flows around her, inlaid with tiny braids. The ends of her braids are dappled with green.

She examines you with keen chocolate eyes. Her lips are downturned at the edges.

“She certainly looks like a Queen.” She adds, seeming unimpressed.

You’re surprised, only just able to hide your grin.

“Pleased to meet your expectations.” You say.

Her eyes widen a fraction, darting to the man who led you. His shoulders shake with silent laughter. Cheeks flushed with a bit of pink, she hits him on the shoulder, hard, but he doesn’t seem phased.

“You could have told me they spoke our tongue!”

“And miss you making a fool of yourself?”

“Awful man!”

A third voice cuts in, “What an example you set, Mallinali.”

Coming up behind her is a tall, lithe man. He bears no paint besides that they all seem to share; the yellow marks across the mouth. His hair lays behind him in an undisturbed curtain, displaying the same hooked nose, but a sharper jaw.

It is not the set of said jaw that gives away who he is, nor the way he holds himself—but his eyes, kind yet ever-so detached; a look you’ve seen gazing back from the mirror often.

“I hope my sister has not offended you.” He says.

“Not at all.” You smile.

Holding out your arm palm up, you offer your name. He clasps your wrist, your arms rotating in unison, both of your hands feeling the pulse of the other through your veins before releasing.

“Pleased to welcome you. I am Aly’Liwen.” His gaze flickers over your shoulder, “And the sharp beauty at your back?”

“My wife, Agatha. And our Guards Yelena, Natalia, and Antonia. We are at your disposal.”

His gaze settles back on you, amusement lingering at the edges of his mouth, “Waman said you were formal, but I didn’t expect the old formalities.”

“Much of the new hasn’t reached our people in some time. If you’d like me to observe different courtesies, I would be pleased to do so.”

“I didn’t expect it, but it is not unpleasant. I haven’t heard them since my Mother was Chieftain.”

“She is likely the reason I know them.”

Aly’Liwen is thoughtful, before nodding, “She would have taught them to your Mother.”

“Yes. Aly’Ajei was held very dear to my Mother’s heart.”

Something softens in his eyes at that. The detached look lessens. You notice Mallinali perk up at the mention of their Mother’s name where moments before she’d been hissing at the other man—Waman.

Waman does not watch you, though—he watches Aly’Liwen with a knowing gaze and something else; a careful fondness. Ah.

They make a striking pair.

A small smile comes to your mouth. When you look back to Aly’Liwen, an unexpected fondness lingers in the way he regards you.

“You are Little Sun.”

The name slams into you like a battering ram, but you nod. You try to hide the flinch that has Agatha’s hand pressing to your lower back.

“I am.”

His face splits into the most wonderful smile. Were you not otherwise inclined, you could find yourself falling at the mere sight of it, and the deep sound of his laugh.

“My Mother used to read the letters to me. You were more of a handful than my sister.”

“This I must hear.” Waman grins.

You flush, “Oh Gods.”

“I was not that difficult.” Mallinali defends, “Even if I was, I’m far better now.”

“Barely.”

“Waman, on my Mother I will see you silenced.”

“He is Hawk, Malli, his tongue is spoken for.” Aly’Liwen pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, “But forgive our manners, you and yours must be tired. There is time to rest before we eat.”

The additional doorways along the walls, as it turns out, are rooms. Chambers. Your Guard are led to one just to the right of the one you and Agatha are offered. Agatha inclines her head politely before strutting inside as if she owns it.

Even the thought of entering the chamber makes you tremble. Despite how tired you may be, you’ll handle that problem later.

“Would you mind terribly if I shadowed you?”

Aly’Liwen looks surprised, but shakes his head, “Of course not. I want to know the full story behind the worm sandwiches you served to Lady Valentina.”

You groan. He laughs, the sound echoing beautifully in the cavern.

An arm is held out and you accept it with a smile. Belova falls into step behind you.

“Waman expressed my intent to hunt for your people?” You ask.

“It’s why you were allowed here.” He leads you across the main space and toward the downward-sloping staircases you noted earlier, “We will have to wait out the darkness. Tonight, you and yours are at our hospitality, and at first light we will be at yours.”

Nearing the edge, the scene below draws a gasp. At the bottom of the stone staircases sits the true mouth of the cave, teeming with life on all sides; flowers and herbs and even trees. The Netueht have cut all the way through the mountain to the forest on the other side.

Inside the cave mouth, the life is more uniform—cultivated in rows and warmed by the few careful fires some of the Netueht sit around.

Birds linger on rock ledges clinging to the ceiling. Most are nestled down in their nests, silent. A few are trilling their final song of the evening. They’re common birds, sparrows and crows and larks… except one; a large, solitary hawk.

He notices you just as you notice him. He blinks, his head tilting.

Aly’Liwen guides you toward the staircase and down. You focus on every step, careful not to stumble, but find yourself distracted by the warmth of his arm in your own.

Upon reaching the bottom step, the space rumbles, and you tense. Panic flares. You were right, this place is unstable, its going to collapse inward and what will come of you then—

Two massive stone wheels are rolled from the edges of the cave, pushed by a few men each. They roll until they meet and close off the cave mouth from the forest lying just outside. The rumbling ceases.

You offer Aly’Liwen a questioning glance.

“The predators in these mountains would ravage us in the night.”

“There are many?” You ask, racking your brain for what wildlife they have.

“Bears and large cats and wolves. Not overwhelming to us, but we do not tempt them.”

“Greymont only has wolves.”

“Direwolves, so I hear.”

You’re not sure how valuable a distinction it is, but nod.

“They’re more scarce than they once were, but yes.”

He shivers, “I cannot imagine sharing a home with direwolves.”

“You have bears!” You say, unable to help your laugh.

“Bears are more reasonable and easier fought.” He defends.

Waman appears, a sly grin on his lips as he passes, “For you, maybe, but only because I’m the one doing the fighting.”

The noise the Chieftain lets out can only be described as indignant. It comes out in a squawk that has you covering your smile to preserve politeness. Waman only throws a smug look over his shoulder as he moves along.

“Do not listen to a word he says.”

You’re guided to the small fires in this space, introduced to all the people lingering and working. Aly’Liwen is a courteous host. What startles you is that he doesn’t introduce you by name, but as Daughter of Nethys. Hearing her name said so casually is blow and balm both.

Something of her lingers here; perhaps it is the fondness she had for these people, maybe it is the ease with which you find yourself falling into joy with them like you once did with her.

Each person greets you with the same clasping of hands. You don’t know the last time you’ve been touched by so many. It’s overwhelming.

Awareness prods your senses. You’re being watched.

You glance around in a quiet moment and spot it; the only solitary bird besides the hawk is a raven. Aquila.

--

The Netueht gather on the upper rock ledge, surrounding a great fire on benches. You hand a stack of woven bowls off to Isi—Mallinali’s daughter—who darts off to pass them out.

Mallinali comes from the fire carrying roasted meats. She sets them on the table where you’ve come to stand, arranging them to the side of all the roasted roots and greens.

“You’ll never be rid of her now.” She comments.

“Who would ever want to be?”

The corner of her mouth turns up in a sly smile, “You may not feel that way after she’s had sweetleaf.”

You shake your head. Isi, while precocious, is a delight. She’s eager and sweet and has no shortage of interests; many of which she has regaled you with details of.

Like moths to a flame, Waman appears over Mallinali’s shoulder with Quidel, her husband. Both make sly attempts for pieces of the meat near her hands while she’s focused on you. She doesn’t bat an eyelash as she slaps the hands viciously.

Quidel says nothing, seeming unfazed. Waman cradles his hand dramatically.

The latter exaggerates, “You’ve broken it.”

She shakes her head and turns to regard them, arms crossed over her chest. You stifle a laugh.

“Would serve you right.”

“Is this anyway to treat your Hawk?”

“No, but it is how I treat my brother’s bonded.”

“No mercy for your family. You see how we are treated, Little Sun?”

The nickname seems to have been well known to most you’ve come into contact with; and they’ve taken to using it like your true name. You’ve become used to it enough that you don’t flinch, but it does still hurt to hear.

“The consequences of your own actions.” You shrug.

“Another ally lost to Mallinali. I’m beginning to wonder if I should change sides.” Quidel muses, face unchanging from its stoic look.

Mallinali pats his cheek, “If you know what is best for you.”

A tug on your skirts draws your attention from the interaction. Isi has returned and is holding out her arms with a grin.

“More bowls, please!”

“Coming right up, your greatness.” You tease.

She giggles, showing off a great big grin. The offered bowls are near-snatched from your hands as she bounds away again.

When you look away from where Isi has gone, you see her.

Agatha has appeared on the other side of the fire, closest to the chambers you were given. She’s changed out of the ornate dress she traveled in to one that is more understated. It softens her edges.

Romanov stands at her back, taking in the scene. Agatha’s eyes are searching, darting over the faces of those in the space. When they land on you, they do not stray. The dress hasn’t softened the electric blue of her eyes.

She weaves through benches and bodies to come stand before you.

“You have kept busy.”

You blush as you remember the state of your appearance.

Somewhere in the midst of pulling roots for dinner, you shed your outer jacket, haphazardly rolling up your dress sleeves. Dirt still lingers under your nails despite scrubbing at your hands. You unpinned your hair, too, opting to tie it up with a braid of sweet grass someone had offered. A far cry from your usual look.

“Many hands make light work.” You offer.

Agatha smirks, “That’s not the only thing they do.”

You roll your eyes, swatting at her lightly.

“Behave.”

“I always behave. Just not for you.”

Ignoring the comment and the infuriating amusement paired with it, you hold some of the bowls between you, “Make yourself useful.”

She purrs, looking you up and down, “Where do you want me, darling?”

Despite doing everything you can to keep it from happening, you feel the hot flush in your face.

“Go.” You grit out.

Agatha throws her head back in a laugh. She wanders off to hand out the bowls, a rare mercy, and you relax against the table. You hate the things she is capable of doing to you.

The purr in her voice has gone straight between your thighs. The rasp, the barely-restrained desire hidden under the teasing… it feels all too similar to a few nights past, when she’d taunted you to your breaking point. Now that you’ve gotten a taste, your body aches for it, but you can’t have it; the moment in the river had been a one-time indulgence you won’t risk again.

You’re drawn from your thoughts by more meat, fresh from the fire. Waman and Quidel have since given up on their crusade for taste-tests, leaving you behind with Aly’Liwen and Mallinali. The three of you make quick work of any lingering preparations.

Silence descends over the three of you as you work. It’s so unlike the stifling silences in Greymont, where it brings the feeling of a million eyes. This silence is freeing, comfortable. You find yourself lost in the work until the two push you to go sit.

You spy the familiar, unruly head of hair around the fire. She’s chosen a bench that is back away from the flames; not quite secluded, but not front and center, either. None of the Guard linger near her.

Agatha watches the room as she watches everything else; with intense, unwavering focus. It allows you to slide in next to her almost unnoticed.

“Where are the Guard?” You ask without thinking.

“I don’t need them, dear.” She drawls, then her demeanor takes on something more pointed, teasing, “After all, someone was rather adamant that we were in no danger.”

Your opinion on that hasn’t changed; you feel safe here, but powerful as Agatha may be, you don’t like the thought of anyone being without extra protection.

“The Guard is here for a reason.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about little old me?”

“I like having the extra layer of defense between my hands and your neck. It helps to curb the urges.”

Agatha leans closer to you, voice dropping to a heated murmur, “Tell me more about these urges of yours.”

You’ve pivoted in the past, made threats, attacked her, even. Anything other than acknowledging her more risque taunts. Now you want to see her surprised. You lean closer, mind conjuring all the filthy things you could whisper to catch her off guard, when movement catches your eye.

Aly’Liwen has come around with a grin, bowl in hand, “For all your assistance, you forgot one for yourself.”

You blush and back out of Agatha’s space. With a grateful nod, you accept the offering. He wanders away.

The charged feeling has dropped, leaving you uncomfortable with her proximity. But you don’t move out of her space, unwilling to give even a hint that you’re backing down. Her interest lingers in the air, in the way she regards you from the corner of her vision.

Whether it is the emotion of the moment or the still-present draft, you shiver.

Agatha sighs, long-suffering, and snaps. A flash of violet brings a weight that settles over your shoulders. You sit up straighter, looking down at yourself; Agatha has summoned a warm fur and draped it over you.

A gasp sounds from your right.

Isi stands steps away, cradling a food-laden bowl. Her eyes are wide, mouth dropped open, looking between you and Agatha. You bristle and stand to do damage control. She drops her food onto the bench and turns, running off.

But it isn’t fear that colors her voice, it’s delight, “She’s magic! She’s magic!”

A gaggle of children follow behind Isi as she comes racing back. They surround Agatha—and you by extension—staring up at her in awe. Only Isi is brave enough to venture into her personal space and grab her hands, jostling them for emphasis.

“Make magic!”

You laugh, hiding it behind your hand. You sit forward to translate when she poises her hands before her. A crackling beam of power extends between her palms, held like rope. Little sparks fly from the display before she pulls it back.

Netueht rolls from her tongue like honey from the comb, “What is the magic word?”

That earns her half a dozen voices crying out ‘please!’ and her smirk deepens. You’re staring at her in astonishment.

Her hands twist and the rope of magic unravels into a hundred bolts of lightning, dancing and lashing. When they sneak from between her palms they erupt into puffs of smoke. Said smoke curls at the faces of the children, making them erupt into giggles.

Agatha’s just as smug as ever, but the set of her posture is softer; she’s taut with awareness, holding her power steady, yet she grins as she leans forward to acknowledge every child who shows interest.

The children have opted to make Isi their spokeswoman, whispering questions for her to ask. Agatha answers every one as if she were holding court in Greymont. For some of the more complicated questions, she’ll conjure items or images with magic.

The rest of the Netueht watch. A few crowd around, displaying the same interest as their children.

She is totally in her element with an audience. And when she turns and catches your eye in the midst of it all, she winks.

Something in you stops. You’re seized by an emotion you can’t name. You need to move—anything to work out this feeling in your veins making it hard to breathe.

You go to offer her a smile and find you’ve been smiling.

Rising gracefully, you pick Isi up and plop her in your seat. She squeals with delight.

“Keep her out of trouble for me.” You whisper conspiratorially.

Isi glances at Agatha briefly and says with utter seriousness, “I will.”

It takes longer than you expect to weave through the gathered crowd, and it feels even longer before you reach the table laden with food. You feel you can breathe the second you reach it.

What was that?

You’re not alone at the table; Quidel standing near, focused on you. His expression is just as stony as always but his eyes hold an interest.

“Not fond of crowds, Little Sun?”

Understanding dawns. The odd feeling in your chest, the need to move—it was fear. You’d felt the Netueht pressing in like stone walls and your body had registered what your brain couldn’t; too distracted you were by Agatha’s display.

“Not especially.” You say.

“Your bonded handles them well for the both of you.”

“Yes, she does.”

A glance finds her still entertaining the group, lips moving to explain something you can’t hear to one of the children. Your eyes fall on the empty bowl in her lap.

Has she eaten?

She had breakfast with you, but you were too caught in your own mind to notice her behavior. She touched nothing on the journey here. And when you wandered with Aly’Liwen she likely took the time to rest.

You load your own with double the food. You eye the roseberries with desire, but ultimately avoid them; Agatha’s face always twists at their flavor.

Every step back toward her makes that feeling inside you grow. You can veer off course and leave her to handle herself, she hasn’t noticed you yet; but the idea of how ravenous she must be drives you forward. Is it not your place to assuage the hunger of those here?

Agatha catches your eye. Concern softens her features and you quickly school your own.

Mallinali clears away the crowd of onlookers and admirers. Your place on the bench is once again wide open as you slide next to her, careful to maintain a healthy distance. You set the bowl between you. 

Agatha hesitates, then begins to pick at it. You avoid her eyes. 

--

You groan, “I was a child.”

“That only makes it all the more damning, darling.” Agatha grins, “Children are the truest form of being.”

“Oh, please. And what were you like as a child, then?”

“A delight, naturally.”

“Delightful terror is probably closer to the truth.” You muse.

“Says you, young overlord. You know what they say about casting stones, dear.”

Aly’Liwen and his people are natural storytellers; and there is no better excuse for storytelling than to entertain visitors. Over the course of the evening you’d even been prompted to share a few of your own. A mistake, it seems—at least in relation to Agatha.

Your bickering with the witch has brought you to your chamber door. Agatha waltzes right in, utterly unafraid. You stop in the opening.

Amusement is quashed beneath the weight settling on your chest. Drawing breath feels impossible. Your hands come to clutch the arch of the doorway. If you can just take one step inside, you’ll be fine. The fear will fall away.

You put one foot through the door and can’t move any further. The step has made it worse. Oh Gods.

The opening inside is snake-like to protect from any wind, but it only makes it worse. You can’t assess the room from here. Though it’s a positive that Agatha can’t see you fall apart.

Briefly you consider not entering at all and finding a place within the cavern to sleep; but you’re not a commoner. Finding a way to enter the chamber is inevitable.

You pull one hand from the doorway and sink your nails into your flesh, hoping for the sweet reprieve the pain can bring. Nothing. The fear doesn’t ebb—if anything, it grows worse. Gods, you just need to step into the chamber.

You have no choice.

“H-Harkness.” You call into the chamber, cursing the break in your voice.

Shuffling, feet on stone. The wild, dark mane of her hair comes around the curve, blue eyes curious. The sight of her is a comfort.

She raises a brow.

“I…I can’t…” You whisper.

You don’t know how to put it into words—the lack of breath, the impossible weight on your chest, how you tremble like a child. Every fear in your mind is alive and whispering terrible things in your ear. You don’t know how to tell her that you can’t silence them.

Your eyes are glassy, casting a blurry haze, but you still see the cruel smile that forms. It feels like a twisting knife in your chest.

Agatha coos, mocking, “Something wrong, dear?”

The knife pierces deeper. You can’t do this. This isn’t a fight you can rise to—you can’t even breathe.

You flinch back. One of your hands leaves the doorway as you prepare to retreat, to find anywhere to bide your time until the morning, logic be damned.

Humor drops from Agatha’s expression. Worry stains her proud features and she crosses the distance in a blink. She comes to stand before you, hands held between your persons.

You hardly see them through your blurred vision.

“Give me your hands.” Agatha orders.

The order drums up annoyance. It’s comforting—the heat of your defiance, low as the temperature may be.

If only you had more of it, perhaps you wouldn’t need her.

Finger by clenched finger, you peel your grip from the doorway. They ache from the force at which you held on. Blood rushes back to the appendages, but you still feel cold.

You’re forced to take a step forward to grab her hands. They’re warm and dry. You’d flush at the sweat on your palms if you weren’t otherwise distracted.

Her blackened hands grasp your own tight.

She takes several steps back into the pathway until you’re forced to take more to follow. It’s a slow, terrifying dance. One step for you, several for Agatha, and so on. You stare at your joined hands.

In your periphery, you can see the walls on either side, and you can see exactly when they widen into what is the dedicated chamber.

You’re rooted to the spot.

There is a great woven rug over the floor, tapestries and painted scenes covering the walls, a modest bed in the center of the room. It’s beautiful, but the walls are too close, the ceiling is too low—

Agatha has stepped away far enough that continuing to clutch her makes you lean forward at an odd angle. You need to move forward, but you can’t. You won’t.

You can’t stay in this room.

She leverages your uneven footing and yanks, hard. You stumble a few steps forward and feel a shriek clawing up your throat. It’d escape—if you could catch enough air to make it so.

You only manage to whimper.

She pauses, then steps close. Too close. You can’t push her back; the overwhelm of having all of her so near blocks out the vision of the room—the too small room with all the shadows with all the weight—

One hand is extracted from your own. You cry out, clawing at it, trying to catch it with your own. She can’t let you go. She can’t.

The words leave you without your consent, “Agatha, please.”

Her hand settles in the center of your chest, over where your heart beats. Agatha’s gaze traces your features; over the pleading look for safety, for her to fix this one thing you can’t face. Carefully, she pulls her other hand from yours, and instinctively you latch onto fistfuls of her dress, desperate to anchor yourself.

“Close your eyes.” Her breath is warm over your skin.

You’re helpless to do anything but obey.

It helps when your eyes fall closed; you can’t see the shadows crawling over every corner of the room. All you feel is the heat of Agatha so close, the firm press of her hand over your heart.

Then, frisson. A bolt of electricity.

“Feel her.” Agatha says.

Her voice echoes, carrying a depth just like it did in the center of the river.

And then, you do.

Your senses expand outward. The gentle hum you felt through the stone is alive and real, something closer to a steady breath. You feel the tug of every root clinging to the stone, the reverberations of every step taken upon it. Despite so much weight and movement there is no yield. No give. She does not budge even an inch.

“She won’t hurt you.”

Caught up her instruction, in the feel of the mountain coursing through you, the whispering fears in your mind go silent. You’re safe.

Tension melts from your limbs. You slump forward, a shaking breath escaping. Your front is pressed fully against Agatha’s. The warmth exuding from her helps calm the shaking in your limbs. You’re grounded by the pressure of her. It’s nice to be held.

A hesitant hand comes to hold your waist. Two of her fingers trace careful patterns.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

Agatha hums.

“This isn’t what I expected from you.” She admits.

“It’s my place to keep you on your toes, isn’t it?” You laugh, a bit of bitterness creeping in.

You shouldn’t be showing her this weakness. Of all the people to see you at your lowest, she should be the very last. This weakness shouldn’t exist, let alone have seized you enough to override your faculties.

His words echo in your mind; a Queen never loses control.

The weight of the dagger under your skirts is a promise; control is just within reach. You release a fistful of Agatha’s dress and reach for it.

You press the tip of the blade into her side.

Her hand releases your waist and two fingers crook under your chin. You meet her eyes, defiant.

“You’re getting predictable.” Agatha murmurs.

You smile, but you don’t feel any joy. You need to regain what you’ve lost.

You need control.

“If I’m predictable, why let me so close?” You whisper.

Agatha leans in, barely a breath between the two of you, “Because it’s your place, angel.”

The dagger is extracted from your hold faster than you can blink. She doesn’t turn it on you. Rather, with a grand flourish, she sinks to one knee, and pushes up your skirts.

You watch, frozen. Her flesh is warm against your own. The length of the blade is cold where she slides it back into your garter.

She chuckles low. As she stands in a fluid motion, she winks. One of her hands pats your thigh.

“Sleep well, darling.”

Your prior fear feels miles away, now. As you tuck in for the evening you burn with the lingering feeling of her flesh on your own.

--

The slant of light tells you you’re dreaming. You sit beneath a tree, back pressed against it. Above you the branches sway in the wind. Yet, the sunlight doesn’t change; unmoved despite the jostled branches.

You hold a book in your hands and a heavy weight in your lap. The weight is familiar—comforting, even, like you’ve always carried it with you.

“Mother?” The weight asks, voice high and youthful.

The book is lowered to reveal wild hair and blue eyes one could drown in. Her face is serene, but she’s aware; eyes a whirlpool of thought. You smooth a hand over her cheek.

Since when do I have a child?

“Yes, my beloved?” You murmur.

“Where are my sisters?”

She leans into your touch like a starved animal, even as she delivers the question. For some reason it feels like a blow to the chest.

Sisters? No, there is only her… my baby. My only baby. Right?

“You don’t have sisters.”

“Yes, I do. You’ve just forgotten. You always forget.” She sits up, “Remember. You have to.”

“My beloved, there are no sisters to remember.”

The words settle something incorrect in your chest. You claw at it absentmindedly.

“Yes there are! She’ll help you find them again.”

Your thumb had been stroking little circles on her cheek. It freezes. Tilting your head, you regard her closely.

“Who?”

Her weight vanishes. She’s gone from beneath your hand, round youthful cheeks and all. The slant of light dims, the shadows lengthen, and the sky is painted from golden to crimson. Beneath you the earth is charred, dead—just like…

“Turning the water against me was clever.”

You turn and stop. She stands a few feet away, hands folded in front of herself, waiting. The skin of her face is as if someone grabbed and pulled. No bone is revealed in the wake of it, but void; endless nothingness.

The light, golden and sweet, drips from the branches overhead like rain. It sizzles upon meeting the blackened earth.

Her voice… like pulling a thread too thin, an auditory example of pure anticipation and fear. It bobs up and down but always too tight. The sound is almost impossible to bear.

“It wasn’t my idea.” You say.

She looks as if she means to smile, but the melting flesh on her features doesn’t move to accommodate the action.

“But it was your intent.” She says, slowly advancing on you. You resist the urge to back away, “Do you think Agatha could do this?”

You see it, then. The carnage wrought upon her throat. A gaping wound through, the edges black and festering. Snapped chords hang limp through the opening, but a few remain; you watch them tighten as she speaks, itching with the knowledge that it could snap before your eyes.

Gripping your middle, you feel light-headed. You’re going to be sick.

“How are you even here?” You ask, eyes averted to the ground.

Agatha had told you that your mind was guarded after everything at the barrier; she’d handled it herself, meticulously weaving magic and latin around you. And you had felt Her fall away from your mind. You know you had.

“We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I—woven of the same thread. Agatha cannot fathom us so she cannot keep us apart.”

“We are nothing alike.”

She shakes her head, sighs. The sound is strangely human; out of place coming from the horror of this witch.

“I don’t want to be your villain.”

You feel a pull to believe her. You shove it down.

“You have an odd way of showing it.”

“I’ve been kind, haven’t I? Haven’t I been merciful? I didn’t touch your people when you came to me. I offered you a way to free yourself and your kingdom.” She surges forward, hands outstretched as if to grab your own and make you see. She stops when you flinch back, “I even tried to give you what you wanted.”

Your prize under the deal you could have made; freedom from Agatha. Despite you spitting in the face of her deal, she’d gone ahead and given it to you anyway—or attempted to.

Something in you is pulled toward her beyond logic and reason. A part of you—the part you share—wants to believe her. It begs you to just trust.

You stare at the golden-stained spots on the charred ground.

“Why?”

Why do any of it? Why appear now? Why does she want Agatha gone?

“I loved something. Someone.” The grief staining her is palpable, overriding the tension created by her vocal horror, “I…I want him back.”

Love of the romantic sort is not a privilege you’ve ever known. Still, you feel the lack she experiences. It threatens to drown you. How has she been carrying this so long?

“Why not tell me this to start?”

She sighs again. Her eyes close, like she herself is fighting to stay above the grief washing over her. When she opens them, she’s steady again.

“Please… please, will you help me?” She whispers.

One of her hands reaches out, palm up. The edges of her hands match the earth. Her eyes, empty and dark as they may be, hold a pleading glint.

You reach back.

[happilyfeatherafter]

Happilyfeatherafter’s ficrec Fridays

Good friday y'all. Welcome back to a new fortnight of fics that I’ve read and loved recently. I took my first holiday of the year and IMMEDIATELY caught a cold that knocked me out for the week but at least it meant I got reading done. Save me, destiel, save me.

If you want to find more you can see my previous rec lists here!

29 March 2024

virga(e) by @shineforthee (art by @neversleepuntilfive) has gone straight to the top of the favourite fics ever pile, oh my god you guys, please read it immediately and admire the art that inspired it as part of @deancasreversebang. This fic is a thing of beauty from start to finish. In one version of the story of Dean and Cas, we find Castiel perpetually waiting in the desert, when a 26 year old Dean stumbles upon him drawn to the location mid-hunt. They must learn to trust each other, to figure out what's causing the push and pull that bonds them. The poetry of this fic, run through with this yearning devastating emotion on their journey together, coupled with the incredibly evocatively descriptions and research into the setting, come together to make the most gorgeous picture, the desert a place that seems desolate but is teeming with life. Much like the slowburn romance that flourishes between them. It also links back to post-canon in a way that is seeded so carefully and cleverly, and made my heart explode. It's funny, romantic, devastating, emotional, moving....I can't do justice to this fic with such a short snapshot, please read it for yourselves and come yell at me about it. It's so beautiful. shineforthee also has a great 9x06 fanfic gap one shot and an ongoing wip now too and I can't wait to read that! (Somehow need any more convincing? Check out @bloodydeanwinchester's Virga(e) liveblog).

It's all very complex by artichokeflower okay that was all very serious, so let's turn to a short and sweet smut fic that had me giggling gleefully throughout. 'After walking in on Dean's private time, Cas decides to do a little research and experimentation of his own and gets magically trapped in a book about sexual fantasies. And if that means Dean has to go in after him, well what are buddies for, right?' The thing that is just GOLDEN about this fic aside from the hot smut is the dry sense of humour, borderline French Mistake parody level porn and dialogue between Dean and especially Cas which just gets them so well...the cowboy scenes in particular. Glorious: “I’m sorry, Dean. That’s the end of the erotic violence. Are you hurt?” “Is there going to be any sex in your sexy fantasies?” Dean wheezed. “Not that the whole shoot out wasn’t fun. I just wasn’t expecting as much plot is all.” He coughed. That had probably sounded too eager.

Just Being and Just Having by Englandwouldfall I have recced before but is now complete!! This the post-canon fic series delves so incredibly beautifully into Dean and Cas’ history of miscommunication and gives them the chance to truly talk things out, finding themselves falling more deeply in love as they do so and understand their own mistakes but also what makes them work so well together when they’re no longer under Chuck’s thumb. Each chapter feels like therapy and a brain and heart massage! It sticks the landing so well and I just love these boys so much.

Something Happening Somewhen by allthismusic (@folkbloodbaths, art by @eggchef) aaaahhh time travel young Dean brought to the future to meet older Dean and Cas fic trope my beloved. A @deancaspinefest fic, Allthismusic is a fan of the trope too and this fic is a gorgeous tribute to it and the fics that came before. Cas saves 24yo Dean from an accident and brings him to the future when he witnesses what his life will be. Will Cas have to remove his memories to stop a paradox? Sweet and heartfelt, a joy to read.

Books, Pies, and Roommates by @seidenapfel (art by @kitshay) is a @deancaspinefest two-person love hexagon, with some excellently farcical misdirection. Cas moves in to the spare room of Dean's house, but he doesn't meet him, he meets Sam, as Dean is busy working. Cas is professor but helps his cousin out as a barista and his favourite customer is Deano. Dean's intrigued by the barista but he's not his online penpal and best friend Angel. Lines blur, connections are made, and hearts are gonna get broken...or are they?

Tag list under the cut, let me know if you'd like to be added! Please reblog <3

@dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you

[zeondraws]

Fellas, year is almost overrrr and it feels kinda surreal what I went through to reach this point.

I may feel nauseous rn but...! Today was a good day, my friends family and other relatives of her came today. I showed them my budgie too, he may be getting blind but people were able to hold him on their hands.

I haven't felt such joy in a while, I don't know how to put it. I remember the first years when I stayed at my friend's place around Christmas or so. It was fun but I was still dealing with other stuff that stressed me out. Especially last december was extremely stressful for me.. I mentioned it in another post? I think?

I unpacked some presents I got today. There was one special present in it, where I still can't believe of owning it.

!!! SWTD themed Christmas Jumper! Like?? Wow!! Still bewildered that one got sent to me, I mean this game is so much fun and I'm so darn obsessed analysing every detail of it whenever I can.

I literally played through it again on my PlayStation, I usually don't play such games multiple times but this one? It just hit me the moment I saw a Let's play of it. The first one I saw was from IGP, I really enjoyed him playing it, even tho Rennick JUMPSCARED me the first time I saw that scene.

First few times playing this game I got nightmares from Gibbo or my heart was racing while I ran away from Rennick. I don't know why, Gibbo's sentences haunted me so much. The pain in his voice was unbearable. (Same with O'Conner)

Trots still gives me the creeps, like he just has that aura on him. However, jumping over Trots is also very funny. And Muir's level I can now play in my sleep. I think 1/3 of my hours shown on steam is just me messing with Muir. It's currently at 154 hours played.

And Roper... my beloved *shakes my fists* poor wee man. He did nothing wrooonggggg. Sobs loudly. Foaming at the mouth and hoping there is more lore of him in the artbook. The wait will soon be over. I'm so excited.

But... I just wanna say thank you again to the devs and publishers for this awesome game. It very much helped me be able to get through the day for months. Considering it came out when I was still in a bad work environment, constantly getting bullied. I kept rewatching Playthroughs to stay calm.

I think I related to Caz a lot too, even if everything was basically falling apart around him, he kept going. Ofc he sadly couldn't get a happy ending in the end. But I just try to remember to keep going. Even if I needed to endure my old job for a bit longer, until my new job started.

It bring me so much joy being able to learn more about the gaming industry and the programs used to make such games. And ofc datamining the game and looking at every little detail. May it be the smallest thing such as a file called "CazYeet" or finding an entire unused level that was scrapped. Or even Muir's hit by prop sounds! My eyes WIDENED when I heard them.

I sometimes check artstation on multiple occasions, just to see if something new popped up. And whenever it does, I do a little mental happy dance.

(Petition to make an april fools update where the hit by prop sounds are enabled/JOKE)

Maybe one day I can finally switch over to the entertainment industry, but I need to teach myself so much first. I still wanna go to art school so badlyyyyy. I can already see I won't feel ready enough until I'm 30 or so. Although I'm going to be 23 in 2 days- I still have to practice so many skillsets ajshajsjaksnaksnksks *explodes* but I shall avoid spiralling in my thoughts.

I think I appreciate games so much more now, I still want to try out a bunch of them. But I firstly have to work on some swtd related projects. I'm definitely planning on making a big analysis video next year, which sounds terrifying, I need to practice talking in recordings first. ;a; But I can't forget to visit events too, I need to try out so much stuff;;;;

Okay before I ramble on endlessly... Just, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

@thechineseroom-brighton @wearesecretmode

I hope it's okay if I tag, I know I talk like a river at times, but since I'm a very emotional human being I usually like sharing my thoughts.

I wish the the fandom and devs a Merry Christmas and a great start to the New Year. May everyone heal from past wounds and form new positive memories.

Have this drawing of my OC Kirsten holding bird Roper in his arms.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: loving you brings only heartaches

It's been 62 years since Aziraphale and Crowley’s disagreement in St James’ Park, and the world has entered a new era of flapper girls and arbitrary Prohibitions. After attempting to finally get in contact with the angel again, Crowley finds out Aziraphale has been accused of murdering Mr Howard, owner of the Harmony Emporium a few doors down...in her very own bookshop. It’s up to Aziraphale and Crowley to solve this mystery, or else they might be next.

Length: 11,613 Words AO3 Rating: Teen and Up Best for/Keywords: Safe in Public, Pick-me-up, Comedy, Mystery, Ineffable Wives Major Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by gravitron

*Minor Spoilers* I simply adore everything about this story! It's the Roaring 20's and Crowley has just happened upon a grisly scene at A.Z. Fell & Co.'s bookshop! Who killed the Record Shop owner? Why is Aziraphale covered in blood? And what happens when Crowley decides to wear white?? The game is on!

What I wouldn't give to see this as a show minisode. I can totally picture how it would’ve played out on screen, and exactly it would have been acted. It nails the zany vibes of the 1941 flashback, and I could hear Aziraphale’s voice delivering every single line. The characterization was absolutely perfect in my eyes.

And making it wives! My heart can’t handle it. I loved their disguises, and the (AMAZING) included illustrations set the tone perfectly. It gave me such a fun dose of nostalgia for Nancy Drew books! The mystery was a blast, and seeing them run around town, interviewing witnesses, and chasing down bad guys? Pure joy. I would absolutely read an entire series of these two solving mysteries together.

It’s funny, it’s heartwarming, and it’s so perfectly in character. Do yourself a favor and check it out—it’s the perfect little pick-me-up that’ll leave you so warm and joyful. I promise!

Read it here, fic by gravitron

[newluvrs]

Halloween movies w/ Riize ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎   currently listening to: OBLIVION - GRIMES bb note: Happy halloween everyone! I cried my fawking eyes out last night bc this month was ass, but here's to a much better November. n e wayz, here r some movies that I think suit the boys based off their personalities

Shotaro ... Kairo (2001) dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa This film is Japanese Techno-horror. A slower film but one that suits him a lot, it is also a film with one of my personal scariest scenes I have ever seen! He's the type of person to like trying to get people to jump, and because of the tension in this movie it serves as the perfect backdrop for one of his schemes lol. Personally I also just want to hear his interpretation of the ending! He seems like he would like the ominous vibe and open interpretation of the events. He would def want to chat about it after and he might even still be thinking about it days later.

Eunseok ... Incantation (2022) dir. Kevin Ko This film is Taiwanese folk horror/found footage. Arguably the scariest movie on this list, I truly believe eunseok is the only one that can handle it lol. He's said in the past that he likes horror, and I noticed that he wants there to be a plot beyond it just being cheap scares and this movie has one! I saw this movie once and can never watch it again but I love to recommend it to people, it's scary and somber at the same time and I think he would enjoy it. He doesn't seem like the type to talk during movies so he can fully take in what's happening so this feels like a really good movie to enjoy with him. He's also pretty brave which you definitely need when watching this film....

Sungchan ... The Conjuring (2013) dir. James Wan This film is American supernatural horror. I don't really know why but sungchan screams the conjuring to me.. like I feel like even though he's a scaredy cat he would genuinely enjoy it? He seems like he does fine with horror films (ex. the Christmas we riize ep.) and he seems to get really invested in them. I think he had even mentioned in that episode that one of the films they watched had a setting that reminded him of the conjuring. I can picture him wanting to watch all of the movies in the conjuring universe and begging to watch them with you after finishing the first one.

Wonbin ... Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum (2018) dir. Jung Bum-Shik This film is South Korean supernatural horror/found footage. While doing my research I noticed that wonbin is the type to completely deny that he is scared during a movie even though he is very clearly hiding his face lol. Because of that I personally would really want to have him watch this film, because it's kind of amusing to watch him pretend to not be scared. I think it would be funny to spook him during one of the jumpscares during this film.. only if ur feeling a little evil >:]

Seunghan ... House (1977) dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi This film is Japanese psychedelic comedy horror. Not your typical horror movie at all, this film is full of bright colors and silliness! An easy watch for my non-horror movie lovers, and even though Seunghan isn't really easily scared (ex. horrorland we riize ep.) I feel like he would enjoy something light-hearted over serious horror. He seems like the type to want to talk through it, and even though I am strictly against talking during movies, this one is a good one to do so during just bc of how absurd it is! Would definitely give you both a good giggle and bring some joy while still keeping up w/ the halloween theme.

Sohee ... Ringu (1998) dir. Hideo Nakata This film is Japanese supernatural psychological horror. Sohee is another who isn't particularly bothered by horror and seems pretty invested in the plot! He's the type of person to look for more in a horror film and to want to be scared, and because of that I am going with this very classic film. He seems like he likes some of the classic horror codes and there's nothing more classic than this film (i.e. pale girl, long black hair, supernatural circumstances). Also seems like the type to want to talk about it after.. though I will say after you watch the film he might want to sleep with a light on.

Anton ... Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005) dir. Nick Park, Steve Box This film is Comedy/Parody horror. Let's be so serious after that we riize episode, I am NOT giving Anton a horror film unless you want him to cling to you for dear life & scream in ur ear. Because of this he gets what I think is still a classic halloween film, but a sillier one! Very nostalgic too, I feel like he would appreciate this more than an actual scary movie. He might even want to have it on in the background while doing some classic halloween activities like baking silly treats or carving pumpkins.... just for the love of god do not make this man watch an actual horror film.

[charlesslut16]

-Mommy is kissing Santa!-

summary : you sons see you kissing santa clause...

PAIRING : yuki tsunoda x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you have a great day!

december masterlist ; masterlist   

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ You woke up to the faint jingling of bells and the muffled rustling of wrapping paper downstairs. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you tiptoed down the stairs, curiosity piqued.

The sight that greeted you left you momentarily stunned—a scene straight out of a holiday fairy tale. Like something that was copied out of a book and put in real life.

There, in the softly illuminated glow of the Christmas tree, stood Yuki Tsunoda, your husband, adorned in a Santa Claus suit that seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he carefully placed beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree. The white beard he wore added an endearing touch to his mischievous smile.

"Yuki, my heart?" you whispered, unable to contain your surprise and amusement. The sight in front of you was amusing, but not so that you had to laugh hard.

He turned around with a gleeful chuckle. Seeing you was a highlight in his eyes, but seeing you while you see him in this Santa Claus outfit was a highlight he would never forget.

"Surprise, my dear! Thought I'd bring a little extra magic to our Christmas morning."

You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of your Formula 1 racing driver husband turned into the embodiment of Santa Claus. "You certainly pulled it off! But how did you manage this?"

"It's a secret," he winked, his laughter infectious.

As Yuki finishes arranging the presents, he stands back, surveying his handiwork with a satisfied grin. The clock ticks closer to dawn, and the house is wrapped in serene silence, save for the crackling fire in the hearth.

Before you can stop yourself, you step closer to Yuki, feeling a rush of gratitude and love. You lean in and plant a tender kiss on his cheek, grateful for his effort to make this Christmas extra special.

But as the warmth of the moment enveloped you, the unexpected happened. Your youngest child, wide-eyed and full of wonder, appeared at the top of the stairs. His eyes fixated on the scene before him.

"Mommy's kissing Santa! Stop Santa, my mommy is married to my daddy, and they are in love! Let her go, or I will get my daddy!" he blurted out in sheer disbelief, his voice echoing through the quiet house.

Yuki's eyes widened in surprise, trying to stifle a laugh as he looked at you, both of you caught in a moment you never intended to share. But it was at least funny.

You kneeled down, trying to ease his confusion, screaming and crying.

"Sweetheart, that's—"

Before you could finish, your eldest child, drawn by the commotion, rushed downstairs and joined his brother.

"Santa's here!"

Your attempts to explain were interrupted by their excitement about Santa, the confusion and sadness completely vanished, their innocent joy at the thought of Santa being in their home.

With a quick exchange of looks, you and Yuki shared a silent understanding. You glanced at him with a playful smirk, and he nodded in agreement. He always agreed.

"Boys, that wasn't Santa. That was..." You paused, looking at Yuki, who's now trying his best to hold back his laughter. "That was Daddy, playing a special role for Christmas."

Their cute puzzled expressions slowly gave way to understanding, and then to amusement as they realized the playful charade. That Daddy was the Santa Claus.

"Daddy was Santa Claus?" the eldest asked, eyes wide with newfound understanding.

Yuki bowed dramatically, still in his Santa suit.

"Ho ho ho! That's right, boys. But remember, the magic of Christmas is not just about presents, it's about the love and joy we share."

The boys giggled, delighted by the revelation and the unexpected turn of events. They rushed over to Yuki, enveloping him in a hug, laughter filling the room.

You joined in, feeling immensely grateful for this beautiful, unplanned moment of family togetherness. As you looked at Yuki, his eyes sparkling with merriment, you knew that this Christmas will be etched in your memories as one of the most magical ones yet.

[amykiriwosdefenselawyer]

Chapter 325 thoughts (Spoilers!)

First off, Baal deserves every minute of stress from Shura. :D

This panel is interesting because Return to Origins is supposed to be a "permanent wicked phase" and Baal is already RtO. Then again, I don't feel like that description should be taken at full face value, because it's not like our RtO gang are constantly stressed out or pissed off and going on rampages, they're just evil with bad morals.

So I guess it's an evil demonic equivalent of someone like being diagnosed with depression or a personality disorder or something and it affects all facets of their life and personality, but of course they'll have times where it's triggered worse, like depressive/manic episodes or panic attacks etc.

After all, wicked phases make a demon lose all sense of inhibition and self-preservation, and Baal needs to be strategic and tactical, so he can't have that

Nice detail with Kiriwo's eyes being RtO though!

Plus the fact he really doesn't discriminate with who he likes seeing in pain 😭

Next up. Poro-chan. Poro is genderfluid because I said so, and based advice.

Next, ATORI I MISSED YOUR GRIN SO MUCH ahhhhhhhh also nice shirt and tank top (I wanna see him without the former and just the latter (time to draw that then))

Ocho is back! I used to hate him and then grow indifferent towards him but he's funny in my book now

Also what the hell is that height difference? Atori is 192cm and Kiriwo is 162cm but that does NOT look like a ruler's difference but then again this is the Netherworld and logic doesn't exist probably

I wanna climb Atori like a tree

Oh they are so silly I will cry of joy they are such lovable fools I was screaming at this scene for minutes straight and also Poro is based again

I forgot Ocho was part of that Number 2 cult, thank you Nishi

This brings me immense fucking joy to my dead ass heart 😭😭😭😭💖💖💖🥺🥺🥺🥺 Look at them, the three musketeers who dirty Baal's floor

Also did Atori retract his tail? Huh, nice

It's funny how it was fanon that Ocho and Kiriwo hated each other from the post-Harvest Festival scene but yeah turns out Kiriwo was just being a little possessive and they're all so silly

I wanna be friends with them now aaaahh maybe we'll see the other Six Fingers maybe they'll have silly little evil villain sleepover parties or something

Baal needs more mental breakdowns over Shura. He deserves it

Very good chapter, I am fed

[oakswhoalista]

okay here are my thoughts on series 12 of red dwarf (as someone who is watching this series for the first time - i grew up watching red dwarf so know it like the back of my hand; it’s so nice to have a series i’ve never seen before) there will be spoilers so if you haven’t seen this series, keep scrolling :)

Cured-

I really enjoyed this. I wasn’t sure when they mentioned Hitler being in the episode because I always worry about this, but the actual episode was very funny and it was great to see the Cat have a bit more to do- I did feel he was underused in series 10 and 11 so it was nice to have him be part of the opening and ending. Strong series opener 7/10

Siliconia -

oh my god. this was brilliant. this is the episode i have most been looking forward too! i couldn’t wait to see the whole gang as mechs and it didn’t disappoint. i loved that Rimmer was the first to fully convert, as it made sense for him to no longer want to have the burden of making something of himself (also it gives them ample opportunity to use Chris Barrie’s talents as a voice actor as well). Again it was nice that Kryten was the forefront of this episode, which i’m hoping means Rimmer will get his own episode (i love this boy so any focal episodes on him is my fave) 9/10

TimeWave -

this episode was alright, definitely some strong moments and the concept was fun. I knew Rimmer would have a major part to play as he is his own and everyone else’s biggest critic and so that was a bit obvious going in (which is not a criticism). I think Lister has been a bit underused so far so I’m hoping he’ll have a bit more as we go into the latter half of the series. I loved Planet Rimmer and the lengths Rimmer was going to protect it and even Lister at the end said “What about Planet Rimmer?” so he does care😇 Yeah it was a fine episode 5/10

Mechocracy -

I had no idea what to expect going into this episode and I loved it. The opening scene with Kryten manipulating Rimmer was amazing, I love watching Chris Barrie’s facial expressions, they are just phenomenal. The plot itself was fine, it made sense eventually to get the dispensing machines back involved as they had been a big part of series 10 and 11. I loved seeing Rimmer and Cat team up, even if it only lasted the one episode- they work so well together because they are so similar yet so different. the highlight of the whole episode of course had to be the return of Talkie Toaster - I LOVE HIM 8/10

M-Corp -

Oh stop this episode made me so happy and so sad at the same time. I loved loved loved the ending, getting Lister back as he was in the first ever episode made me SO EMO 😭 the little song always brings me so much joy and the fact he reverted to following Rimmer round is incredible; leave me be whilst I revel in this. I thought Helen George was great in this episode and actually loved the storyline as well. My heart broke when Lister was practically on his own and he really cemented how lost he would be without the other 3. Craig Charles was excellent in this, he knows and loves Lister better than all of us 8.5/10

Skipper -

Oh stop this right now. An episode all about Rimmer quantum skipping the universe to find a better one? you mean, MY KIND OF EPISODE?!?! (for those who are still unsure, yes Rimmer is my favourite character). This was the best episode, and not just because of my bias, but because it bought back all of the memories! The original crew, Captain Holister, HOLLY!!! How could I not love an episode where all of the things I love and miss from the first ever series, are back in my life. It was amazing to see the old bunk room, the old grey walls (military or ocean?) and to see that in every universe, Rimmer would ask what Lister was like. I nearly cried when he said he wanted to go quantum skipping as I was afraid he wouldn’t return to the ‘boys from the dwarf’ but obviously i shouldn’t have panicked. Yeah this episode had everything for me, 10/10

And there we go, that’s my review of series 12. Only the Promised Land to go and then I am officially caught up (which makes me sad bc no new episodes to watch but also makes me happy bc I can rewatch everything again). I’ll likely put my thoughts down about the Promised Land when I watch it but I think that series 12 has been my favourite series since it came back on Dave (excluding Back to Earth bc that series holds a special place in my heart).

[howlingday]

Why I love One Piece

An essay made at the request of @superbkryptoniteavenue

One Piece is an anime about pirates at first glance. I first found the series when I was in the third grade. When I started watching the anime, I couldn't get enough of it. Years later, I'm still watching it, and I'm finding new things to love about it. Okay, the first paragraph is filled out, now let's get to some One Piece. Now come aboard and bring along all your hopes and dreams.

When I first found One Piece, it was a manga sitting in my school library. Nowadays, I usually start a new series from either the first episode or the first volume. However, One Piece was different in that I started from Volume 3, when Luffy, our main protagonist, meets his future navigator, Nami. The volume also introduced the first major threat Luffy and his crew faced off against; The Buggy Pirates. However, the one scene that I love more than any other in this manga was something that showed me how different Luffy was from the other pirates.

Before getting into that, let me give you a basic run-down of One Piece, and I mean VERY basic, because getting any deeper can be as troublesome as diving for treasure. First, the setting of One Piece is a world that is best described as one big ocean with islands dotting here and there. The world is in what's referred to as The Great Pirate Era, starting from when Gold Roger, the most famous pirate, was executed and with his dying words, declared that he left a treasure to be found, sparking the era. Whoever finds this treasure becomes the King of the Pirates, which is the end goal of our main protagonist, Monkey D. Luffy, who is a rubberman with the powers of rubber, which he gained after eating the Gum-Gum Fruit, a Devil Fruit.

I'll save you the long list from there, but it all makes sense as you go along. Anyways, the part that made me understand what kind of pirate Luffy is happened in the first volume I read, where there's a dog guarding a pet store for his dead master. A pirate with a giant lion attacks it and burns it to the ground. Luffy hunts down the pirate, easily overpowers the lion, then knocks out the pirate. He then comes back to the dog, handing him what's left of the pet store; a box of dog food. It's for this reason, among others, that Luffy is my favorite protagonist.

If I could find more One Piece, I wanted to get it. Bear in mind, this was back in the day when anime was only on the internet if you were lucky enough to find it. Especially if you were living outside of Japan and the USA. So when I found the anime, I hopped into as much as I could. I remember finding a website of just One Piece, and I binge-watched it for about a week. Ever since, it's been one binge-watch after the other.

East Blue, Baroque Works, Skypeia, Enies Lobby, Thriller Bark, Saobody Archipelago- I'd seen them all and I loved everything each one of them brought! Thus far, the best arc is Enies Lobby, since I felt like everyone was fighting as hard as they could and has probably some of the best, most tear-jerking moments in the entire series. Not to say the other arcs don't have their moments, but this was the one that cemented One Piece in my heart. Heck, I'll sometimes go back and rewatch the scenes because they're so good!

I find it funny, actually, how a series about such a simple character has developed into this huge world with its own intrigues and deeper lore. And it can all be pretty much summed up as, "And then Luffy happened." There's a secret shadow plot involving the World Government; there's a pirate running around stealing other people's powers; there's a talking skeleton, a giant dragon, and a living cartoon character as a god! It's all so awesome!

So, why do I love One Piece? Well... I love it because it's fun! I love it because it brings up interesting questions! I love it because it makes me laugh with joy, clench my fists in rage, and wipe my eyes for... reasons. I won't say it's perfect because it does have its flaws, but that won't stop me from enjoying Luffy and his crew making these short pit-stops that devolve into colossal battles that reshape the islands, if not the entire ocean itself!

So... Yeah. That's why I love One Piece.

[nightowl374art]

Hey,

-So I'm very excited to write this 'cause I've been meaning to do it for a while now. So yah here I go...

-I just love your art so so much! Like fr bro you give me so much joy with your fanarts. I haven't felt this attached to an artist and certain art style in a while but you bring it all back with what you're doing and I'm so extremely grateful. So y'know... Thank you deeply from the bottom of my heart.

-I love every piece you've made so far but I gotta say ... That one with the remake of the amazing Spider-Man 2 graduation was just out of this world. Andrew's spiderman is my favorite of the live action trio and I love that one part so much! But I gotta say... Take this as an idea lol... So there's one more part of that movie I deeply love. It's the part where Peter makes the "I love you" on a bridge and then takes Gwen and they make it up to each other... Can't help but see miles and Gwen do that as well. Like in the end of beyond like them getting together or like maybe Miles proposing like that IDK! Take my idea 💡!

-Ok so that's my fav fanart but I'm absolutely in love with their beautiful family! Their kids look so beautiful and them being together is something I treasure a lot! I love how you made the kids different then the comics and also the way you made Miles and Gwen! They look so good! I love Gwen's side braids and Miles haircut it's like... I don't see him doing it BUT I freaking love the spider detail in the side! I even told my friend that if I had my hair like Gwen someday I would add that detail! It looks so good! So perfect like chef's kiss! Also the first art I saw of their kids was that one with Peter B calling Miles and Gwen for having kids and them all just being like:

Max and Charlotte: who the hell is this dude?

Miles and Gwen: What the actual f-

Miles (dad): Idk who the hell you are but please don't touch my kids...

-I also love miles 42 and Gwen 42 art... It looks so cute and she looks hot as hell btw. I also find it very funny when they are having a double date with miles 1610 and Gwen 65. They look adorable ... So different but very refreshing I really like it!

-Look like I mentioned I'm beyond have and grateful that you're making art like this... It's not just the art or the art style but the impact it made me! You're very talented and special! I can't wait for more beautiful art from you. I hope you're getting all the support you deserve and that you're doing well! Never stop smiling and have a nice day/night!

-Hope you get to read this soon and sorry for being so long! But this is just a fraction of what I was meaning to tell you so yah....

-Thank you for everything and for your time! Bye❤️🌻🫂🕸️

I am always amazed when people say these kind of things to me. It means everything to me to know I can bring even just a little bit of joy to someone through my passion, so I would like to say thank you to you 💕.

Agreed. Andrew is my favorite version of Peter, the vibe of his movies really speak to me. I love the scene you’ve mentioned, but it breaks my heart because of Gwen’s fate. However I would love to do that for Miles and Gwen. Right now I’ve got a lot of pieces in progress, so don’t expect it right away, but if I find a chance to do it I will ✨

I really enjoyed drawing their kiddos and had every intention of drawing them differently from the comics. I wanted to do my own interpretation of their kids since the spiderverse style if different from the comics. I actually based Gwen’s braids on some of her concept art, I loved that look (it’s viking-ish which I dig) so I wanted to do something with it.

Though Miles and Gwen 42 are not exactly canon, I still love the idea of them and so I’m glad you have enjoyed what I have made.

Just so you know, I’m very moved by what you said and all your heartfelt thoughts about my art. It’s lovely to hear what you think and how it has given you joy. It’s all I could’ve asked for as an artist so I hope you know how grateful I am 🩷

[tortured-gaylor]

from the journal of ava: but daddy i love him notes

according to swifties, this is a little mermaid reference: she gave up her voice to be with the man she loved

idk i haven't seen the little mermaid since i was 5, i'll take their word for it

i just learned these people only raise you to cage you

links back to who's afraid of little old me?: "you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me"

growing up famous, she was never able/allowed to just be or do what she wanted. this is also made clear in the miss americana documentary. seems like scott especially tried to keep her quiet and caged

she has used cage imagery often throughout her career in music videos and visuals (look what you made me do music video, the shadows in the visuals during the midnights set at the eras tour, the speak now ornament, the glass cage in the willow music video,...)

the spotify library installation also had a cage, but the birds were free on another shelf

sarahs and hannahs in their sunday best, clutching their pearls sighing "what a mess" i just learned these people try and save you cause they hate you

this seems to allude to religious people being homophobic. they try and "fix" you by praying for you

she's the odd one out, doesn't fit in with the norm (the sarahs and hannahs)

they slammed the door on my whole world, the one thing i wanted

again with the controlling

is the muse the whole world? is it simply freedom? or is it something else entirely?

now i'm running with my dress unbuttoned, screamin' "but daddy i love him"

like the love story music video

song themes are similar to love story as well with the disapproving father

i'm having his baby... no i'm not but you should see your faces

GAGGED

you should have indeed seen my face

dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid

idk what to tell you

it's queer

her parent (likely her dad) planned her whole life out for her and she fulfilled this "destiny", even if that life doesn't suit her

tendrils tucked into a woven braid

links back to seven: "your braids like a pattern"

the saboteurs protested too much

homophobes

lord knows the words we never heard, just screeching tires and true love

links back to getaway car

this could mean words of acceptance, likely from the church(goers) again

i'll tell you somethin' 'bout my good name it's mine alone to disgrace

she's done being sheltered and ready to make her own decisions, decide who she is all by herself

god save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me sanctimoniously performing soliloquies i'll never see, thinking it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me and counteract the chemistry and undo the destiny you ain't gotta pray for me me and my wild boy and all this wild joy if all you want is gray for me, then it's just white noise and it's just my choice

this is her saying people have no business being all up in her relationships. they seem to think they have the moral upper hand and get to decide what's best for her, even if they don't know her or her partner at all

she pulls an uno reverse on them by asking god to save them, just like they did for her

this could mean she's gonna love who she loves, despite what the world wants/expects from her

this calls back to the people "saving" her cause they hate her (so homophobes again)

this is a reach but did they try to strip her of her pride colours and she finally decided to ignore these very loud voices?

scandal does funny things to pride but brings lovers closer

✨ shared trauma ✨

for real though, scandal could be her being outed by whatever tabloid

forced her deeper in the closet, but closer to the (also closeted?) muse

we came back when the heat died down

the scandal forced them to keep a low profile for a bit but they came back (stronger than a '90s trend?)

went to my parents and they came around

reminds me of That™ miss americana scene

also reminds me of how the dad in love story eventually came around

time, doesn't it give some perspective?

there's something in this line but i'm not sure what