#whatever these two have got going on is utterly fascinating

[ratatatastic]

"thank you so much! lets hear it for my d-partner, gus forsling! woo!" *goose chants* "ekky you gotta get your cone" "WOO!" "classic classic"

how much chaos can you instil into a single 45 second clip

the hug and the way ekky slides his hands across his shoulderblades and followsthrough until his upper arm like he needs to soak in every single second of contact or that he shakes his shoulders and decides no i need more let me grab his wrist i NEED TO GRAB HIS WRIST i need to feel all full points of contact

also lol at goose trying to keep his modesty by adjusting the swedish flag to cover his nips oh honey we've seen it all already

ekky seemingly wanting to get one more extra pat in but forsy is already moving away so it just kinda dies midway through (sumn sumn million regrets sumn) ladies and gentlemen we've walked into a drama with the awkward boy next door whos the second male lead and more endearing than the actual main lead

and like an adonis himself the flag barely clings onto one shoulder and becomes more akin to a tunic wrap not unlike the exomis yeah

also ekky too enraptured in his publicly loving forsy activities and clapping that forsy has to point out to him to get his cone before it presumably becomes a tripping hazard before goldie does lmaoooo

he said okay alright shows OVER back to regularly scheduled programming thats enough school of harlotry for him thank you very much

Panthers Championship Parade | 6.30.24 (x)

[chuunai]

I had an idea for the 100 followers thingy- so like the babies thing but you’re a single mother (maybe teen mom?) and dazai (pm) falls in love with you and your baby :} ps- I LOVE YOU TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SUGAR 💗‼️‼️‼️

I’m trying I swear TvT

✧˚ · . you’re a virgin and I’m just a meth head - pm! dazai osamu

the new hire at the port mafia interests him. the baby, too.

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff with a sprinkle of angst, mentions of teen pregnancy, reader and PM! dazai are seventeen, SFW, mentions of a former abusive relationship, mentions of suicide (it’s fucking dazai), happy ending.

Assistants were something he never cared for much.

They came and go, either requesting to work for a different department in the Port Mafia after witnessing his peculiarities or dying. He hadn’t ever formed any bonds with them. Hell, he hardly knew their names. Dazai preferred to give them childish nicknames such as ‘four-eyes’ for the ones with glasses or ‘baldy’ for the ones who had barely began balding.

No use in actually getting to know them.

All they were good for anyway was organizing his work and making a schedule of meetings and pointless missions he’d hardly follow. And what could they do? Nothing.

Once, he had attempted to get Ango to apply for the job during an outing at Bar Lupin, but that four-eyes declined. So did Oda. Geez, his friends lacked faith in him. Dazai wasn’t that bad of a boss. His subordinates didn’t die that often compared to the others.

Then again, his most recent assistant had died via overdosing. Straight from the Port Mafia’s warehouses, too. Dying of his own stupidity because karma struck him down. The high may have been sending him to the clouds, but he got too close to the sun just as Icarus did and burned—or in this case, vomited—to death. Fun.

A replacement would be needed, yes, but that would involve looking through so many applications and that was boring compared to strangling himself or pulling Chuuya’s hair when the redhead was speaking with Kouyou.

He’d pick irritating the slug over paperwork any day. At least one was fun.

So he just had Mori pick one out. As long as they wouldn’t be a nuisance and knew their place, he didn’t care who it was. Boy, girl, whatever. All ages welcomed. Dazai preferred younger though. The old farts were annoying and so utterly dumb! So when a subordinate gave him a file for his new assistant, he didn’t think anything of it. He always got those for record keeping.

Although this particular individual piqued his interest as his eyes gazed over the information attached.

The age was young—seventeen, same as him. A girl. According to the report, you were previously stationed as a secretary for some lower ranking member. And you’d just joined, too. Only a few blissful months ago. Just barely a baby in the crime world. All dewy-eyed and truly unknowing of the dark underbelly of Yokohama.

Most interesting, though, and the thing that struck his curiosity was the fact that a small sticky note was attached to the last page.

‘Single mother of eight month old girl’

There weren’t many parents in the Mafia, much less teenage ones. Nobody had time to have a baby with the lack of safety. But you did. Someone desperate enough to provide for their child to the point where they joined an illegal organization without even being an adult yet. That took will and selflessness. Something he lacked.

And without having even met you yet, Dazai found himself fascinated by you.

Murmuring your name to himself, he found himself a bit startled at how smooth it rolled off his tongue. He liked it, too. Your name was nice to say.

Tossing the file onto his desk carelessly, Dazai tapped his fingers on the desk, mind wandering once more. If you had a child then you’d probably work your best to support them. You’d be competent enough for him.

Apparently competent enough to the point where you felt like you could handle bringing the baby to the Mafia HQ.

“I don’t remember hiring two assistants.”

Dazai’s voice came out as slightly amused and startled. There you were, standing in-front of his desk while occasionally shushing your…daughter? It looked like a girl, anyway.

“Sorry- her sitter wasn’t available and I-“

His eyes stared at your reddening cheeks—embarrassment and shame, he could tell—as you spoke again.

“I don’t really have anyone to watch her. I’m so sorry, sir.”

Sir? You called him sir? That made him wave his hand a bit dismissively. The only people who called him ‘sir’ were the random grunts and gunmen that served under him. Or people who were scared shitless of him.

“Dazai. Not sir.”

Sitting up languidly, his uncovered eye focused on the baby. Curls of dark hair fell over her forehead while her tiny hands grabbed at your shirt and hair. Funny, he thought.

“And the baby can stay.”

She reminded him of some of the orphans Oda took care of. Especially Sakura. Maybe they had the same name, too. Unlikely, though. She didn’t look like a Sakura, really.

Picking up a pen, he pointed it at you, a small smile on her face.

“Speaking of, may I know her mother’s name?”

He knew it already. But it felt more right if he convinced himself you told him.

“Oh! Yes, uhm, I’m (L/N) (Y/N). And her name,” Tapping your baby’s forehead, she released a small coo, giggling slightly. “is (L/N) Yukirou.”

“Winter baby, huh. I’ll guess, December 16th?”

This was so much fun for him so far. Maybe Yukirou really could be his second assistant. As a joke, of course.

Nodding, you began to ramble on about the baby as he relaxed back in his chair, spinning around and making funny faces at Yukirou. The small child giggled and outreached her fingers to him, probably infatuated by his bandages and messy hair. He didn’t touch her, though. No need to let such a good small thing interact with a person like him.

And so minutes went by. Technically, he should’ve been doling out tasks and trying to kill himself again—he had heard of a technique where one could inject apple juice into their neck and die, but he wasn’t sure it’d work—but it slipped out of his grasp. Maybe it was the fact you two were so close in age. The fact that in another universe you could’ve been classmates fueled this moment. Dazai didn’t really know people his age other than Chuuya, but Chuuya was Chuuya. You were new.

New to everything in this line of business. The killing, the release of morals. Then again, you were just an assistant. You’d never directly be involved with that. Just helping him out with whatever was needed.

Dazai thought that was a smart choice, whether or not you intended for it to be. As an assistant, you’d be safe from the gunfire and outermost threats. More likely to live and protect your daughter.

So caring in a line of work where lives were dispensable.

He wondered how you got there. Not to the Port Mafia—the file told him. But how you took on such a frowned upon job to solely provide for your child. Was the father a deadbeat? Or actually dead? His father was the same. Dead five years into Dazai’s life.

His mother tried her best, but she died too and he slipped onto Mori’s grasp. Hopefully your baby wouldn’t end up in the same situation.

The peaceful moment was interrupted by one of his men who dropped off a load of documents, side-eyeing you before leaving.

Dazai wished you hadn’t turned the conversation back to work.

“Sir, sorry- Dazai-san, would you like me to organize the papers..?”

Why did he forget that you were just an assistant of his? The medication must be making his mind woozy again.

“By date and incident, yep. Also, if you see any that mentioned a Chuuya, please throw them out. Or burn them. Preferably the burning part.”

His office was always to be kept rid of that ginger.

“On it.”

And so he doodled a noose on the wood of his desk while you slowly put the papers away. It soon became clear to him that Yukirou was making the job a tad difficult by trying to grab at the papers.

A slight idea of letting her crawl loose in Mori’s office and destroying it entered his mind, but it quickly left.

“Y’know, if she’s being a devil, I can play with her for a bit. I swear I’ll be good!”

The words left him before he could really process them. Next thing he knew he was wearing the baby carrier with tiny fingers pulling at his shirt. Instructions poured from your lips as he nodded and patted the baby’s back.

“I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of that. You? Kill him? Never going to happen. Unless it were a double suicide, but you probably wouldn’t say yes.

And he replied when the slight fear in your eyes registered after remembering that he was your boss in the Mafia.

“If course, cutie. I give you permission to kill me if theoretically anything goes wrong.”

Dazai made sure to sneak a peek at your reddening cheeks before leaving his office with the baby strapped to his chest and tugging at his bandages like a little snake.

That’s how it all started. A boy and a girl who happened to have a baby.

He’d never regret how months went by as you two became closer and closer. Joking around, complaining about work, all the stuff friends did. Hell, Dazai even watched Yukirou sometimes.

Thank god Chuuya wasn’t there to see him watching children’s cartoons on your couch with a baby in his lap and a stuffed animal in the other.

Or how he insisted on covering some of your rent when you were struggling. Yukirou needs a home, after all. He sees himself in her a bit. And he didn’t want her to turn out like him. If he couldn’t change his own life for the better, he’d change hers.

And yours.

Much better than that dickhead that fathered Yukirou. You told Dazai about it one night when he stayed over after babysitting once more. Yukirou was napping in her nursery, and you two were sitting on the couch just talking.

Talking turned into sharing details of your lives, and he came up. Your old flame who ditched you. Breaking a promise that he’d be there for the baby and you. Dazai was silent all throughout it. Quiet when you spoke of the emotional abuse and stress that you had, quiet when you began crying over the fact you never got to graduate high school.

He was just there, daring to awkwardly rub your back as you vented. He wondered if you had talked about it before. Probably not.

Dazai felt like he too needed to share a story of his childhood too in exchange for yours. So he told you about the poor neighborhood he grew up in and the horrors he saw daily.

Did it lessen the impact of your venting? Most likely, but in his opinion, he was trying to show you that he trusted you now too. He assumed it worked when you fell asleep on his shoulder. He took care of Yukirou when she woke crying an hour later. He would’ve been a much better father than that bastard.

It didn’t help either that Yukirou began to see him as her daddy. He was there when she turned a year old, gifting her all sorts of things. Scolding her when she nibbled on his hands. Doing nearly everything a dad would.

Even when she managed to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’ for the first time, it was when all three of you were in the room together. In her tiny mind, it was her family. Her mama and Dazai—her papa. Oda congratulated him for becoming a father when you came along one day with him to Bar Lupin.

It didn’t live up to Chuuya’s reaction when he first heard one of his guys call Dazai a doting father. The shortstack had gone up to him asking if he really was Yukirou’s dad—rumors went around at HQ quickly—and Dazai had to sadly reply that he wasn’t. Sometimes he wished he was. Months of time with you led to nights in bed where he dreamed of a universe that he was really the dad. That Yukirou had his brown eyes instead of her dad’s blue ones.

It wasn’t fair.

Nor were his growing feelings.

Dazai was smart. A genius thinker and planner. So of course he noticed how his heart began to rapidly beat around you. The sweating of his usually cold hands.

He’d had crushes in the past, sure. But it didn’t equate to this. Such a strong connection only made it worse. Was it wrong his Google history lately was filled with questions about confessing to and dating a single mom?

Did you even like him back?

That question couldn’t be answered by anyone but you. It scared him. You probably didn’t. Not as more than a brother, anyway. His suicidal ideation and tendencies scared off any woman who wanted more than sex. But he probably wouldn’t be living long anyway. So he’d have to shoot his shot eventually.

Which he did after another five months of consideration and thought. Dazai committed this act by simply asking you to sort out some notes for him. A total of eight. Each one had a single word on it. If you correctly put them together, it spelled:

‘I like you. Do you like me back?’

Much to his relief and shock, you did. You did, and he had hugged you so tightly. Tightening their bond, too.

So he became your boyfriend. And he wore the title of ‘dad’ to Yukirou gladly. The little girl saw him as her papa, and he couldn’t deny it. Even if it wasn’t biologically, she was his. And yours.

Dazai’s life used to be mundane and slow, yet with his new…family, he felt genuine happiness for once. A reason to live.

That was the greatest gift he could receive of all.

Regular Tags: @twst-om-lover, @xxcandlelightxx, @sinfulthoughtsposts.

Tags for everyone who interacted with this post (it’s over 100): @walking-simp, @hypocritic-trash-baby, @heartsfourdazai, @cheriiyaya, @depressed-monarch, @nyxt0t, @baby-tini, @h0nk3rs, @internet-angell, @cupidszvlvr, @owosamu, @my-dear-melancholy, @dazaibae, @nekomafumafufan18-blog, @cvsmois, @lizsano, @nanamiinto, @inojuuy, @reomarys, @mayanakahara, @briiscoolig, @maislovebot, @syona-sachyo, @xieqq2, @angelof-darkness, @moriiko, @fuckthisfuckingshit, @daushu, @wrynue, @amnda-ft-fyodor, @rain-alucard, @hanayoshiii, @moemoekunn, @thatwasa, @miiiloo, @probablyzombiedinosaurs, @mauviese, @chips-and-vinegar, @https-dazai, @rragudoru, @leyla3x0, @cheetozai, @jillyfsh, @rylerboi, @linaaeatsfamilies, @zorizoras, @onlinewhisper14, @komicoral, @anim3-simps, @theoddsinner, @caayye, @scaramow, @such-a-silly-little-gy, @bunnybs-stuff, @psychiclovecollective, @sleepy-yumi516, @fromjas, @suzurans-world, @mrstengenuzui, @mitislm, @tealover111, @edgarallanpoeswifey, @baby-tini, @yaz4luvv, @deliciouscandysalad, @isrealityevenreal, @briefcreationcandy, @astr3eaa, @underscoredaniii, @nolongerhooman, @notalooo, @ratinawetsocksweater, @tomiroro,

Rest in comments I’m crying now also if your tag is white it’s because you didn’t pop up when I was doing the @‘s

[biceratops7]

So about Buddy Holly…

Guys my heart is gonna burst 😭, so I was watching the trailer and pausing it every two seconds to catch every detail (you know, having a normal one), when I got a bit fixated on the music.

I had the idea to sing along to the parts of the score that were recognizably the melody to “Everyday” in order. (So the tune would play the equivalent of the first verse, then some vocalizing would happen, then the tune again but this time it’d be the second verse, so in and so forth.)

And you won’t believe what verse is playing over that scene where Aziraphale flashes back to the candlelight dinner, it’s a real shocker /s:

“Everyday, it's a-gettin' faster

Everyone said, "Go up and ask her"

Love like yours will surely come my way

A-hey, a-hey, hey”

…So uh… putting aside the fact that the implications are very adorable (encouraging Aziraphale to just have a nice time with Crowley and don’t overthink it), it also sure sounds familiar.

MARK MY WORDS, something Happened at that damn dinner. He worked up the courage to invite Crowley inside for what was an obvious date, then Crowley probably, you know, acted accordingly, and Aziraphale got overwhelmed. Like babe no offense but I feel like you went to fast for yourself, lmao.

So now let’s pay close attention to the actual part containing sung lyrics, with the only discernible lines being:

“everyday, it’s a gettin’ closer,

Going faster than a roller coaster,

Love like yours will surely come my way”

So interestingly “love like yours” plays specifically when the trailer reaches its climax, flashing image after image to tell us to expect some element of chaos and urgency in the events to come. This is maybe a reach but it’s gotten me even more convinced that the romance(s?) aren’t gonna simply be a very important B plot but directly effecting whatever strangeness/ danger is occurring in the main mystery.

…Look I’m really gunning for an “oops, we broke the universe with gay pining” angle, lol. First of all that would just be funny. Second of all, I think it would be utterly fascinating to explore any number of implications Aziraphale and Crowley’s whole thing has for the natural order of things. Or even the possibility that the “Great Plan” was about reconciliation instead of war, but perhaps more on that in a later post.

[anxresi]

They're absolutely right...

...It's the writers that deserve the lion's share of the backlash, for poor, innocent, boring-as-hell Zoe is merely a tool of the oppressor, aka Mr Astruc. What's being oppressed, you may well ask? Well, interesting storylines, proper continuity, two-dimensional personalities... I could go on. Everything that makes a show compulsive and rewarding viewing that Miraculous Ladybug conspicuously and utterly lacks in every department due to his increasingly destructive machinations, basically.

This pink-streaked plot device masquerading as a serious character can (along with another equally pointless individual called 'Soquerline' who was so unmemorable I almost forgot she was ever a thing) exists for one reason and one reason only: to diminish Chloe's relevance and role in the show to the sum of precisely nothing. Well after S5, job done I guess guys. Well done. Well done indeed. (Although apparently not... they're bringing Miss Bourgeois back for more torture in the London 'special'. Guess Tommy Boy just can't keep away from his favorite punching bag, can he?)

The irony is though, having such a super-sweet but dull-as-ditchwater Mary Sue to replace a well-established and multi-layered person such as Chloe actually sends out a seriously awful message. Why? Because if I was a bad kid and saw S1-3 Chloe, I'd think 'what a fascinating redemption arc, I can inspired by that and do better.' But after seeing S4-5 Chloe and what an arguable downgrade as a replacement the incredibly tedious Zoe is, I'd be more like 'well, obviously there's no point in trying to be good, because you'll probably turn into a psychopath overnight with no explanation in the middle of your genuine efforts to improve. And if what the show is presenting to me as the ideal for a teenage girl to be is the waste-of-blank-space that Zoe clearly is... then a life of deliquency sounds more tempting with every passing minute! Now, where did I put my spray can?'

The most shameless aspect to this whole argument though, is by those trying to paint the hapless Zoe as some kind of lesbian icon. Pardon? She got a plot-mandated crush on Marinette in one episode and somehow that makes her insipid and needless presence an asset for the gay community? Somehow a few people have got it into their heads if you 'dare' to make someone non-straight in cartoons these days you deserve a big pat on the back for that 'risk' alone. WRONG. They should also be fleshed-out, complex, necessary characters whose sexuality isn't just define them or deflect from deserved criticism as to what the hell they are doing there if they turn up in the middle of proceedings with no prior explanation. See: The Owl House for how it's done.

And that's all Zoe being gay is... an irrelevant trait Mr Astruc can point to cynically and say ' you're a bigot for disliking her whatever your reasons are, so I'm not listening to you' instead of engaging with the actual argument which is SHE IS NOT AND WAS NEVER NEEDED IN THE SHOW. Everything you required to make Chloe the brilliant character she could've been was RIGHT THERE in the script but you CHOSE to rub it all out and scrawl some hastily scribbled doodle with no personality other than being 'very nice' in her place. A tragedy. The worst case of self-vandalism I've ever seen. No wonder Jeremy Zag wants to start from scratch with his rebooted movies. More power to him, IMHO.

Needless to say, nearly all the above in the quoted post about her father loving her (we haven't met him yet, it's DEFINITELY not Andre Bourgeois, his name ends in 'Lee' for a start) her supposed growth (the only 'growth' she's had is when she turned into that giant golden Chloe after being akumatized) her alleged pansexuality (all in the desperate mind of the OP) her 'abusive' family (I think you'll find Chloe had it FAR WORSE over the course of the show in that regard, so why not idolise her?) is complete bunkum. and to be frank I couldn't compose a much delusional post if I tried. Sometimes I wonder: what planet are some people on to reach such implausible conclusions? I don't understand it, I'll never understand it and quite frankly I feel quite sorry for the arbiters of such risibly deluded takes.

Last but not least though, we have...

Now this I ALSO agree with 1000%. And I know just the place to 'flush' her... ;)

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So, now that the DLC is out, I was wondering if I could request a part two to the pokepasta trainer reader? Like them and their team meeting Carmine, Kieran, and Perrin?

Oooo yeah!! I'm guessing you meant this post (being part 1). I'm honestly impressed by the notes ghshghsh but I'm glad ya'll love the pokepasta!reader <333

Gonna format these as hcs if that's okay

.........

Carmine

She's seen tourists bring in weird Pokémon, but you brought the scariest ones she's ever seen in her life.

She sends out her Poochyena to do battle, thinking she can intimidate you....and she SCREAMS when your Freakachu comes out to play.

It's loud enough for all to hear and for the caretaker to arrive and prematurely end the fight.

Well, at least she finally got off your back before things could get too heated.

Kieran was shocked though bc his sister was usually so brave.

During your time in Kitakami, she's just going to,,,,stare at your Pokémon team, especially when you introduce her to Purin and Disabled (she definitely thinks they're some weird gray regional variants and nothing more)

She's extremely confused as to why you named your Wigglytuff after a status move.

And Missingno.....is something she can't even begin to wrap her brain around, but she buys the story of it being from a really old Kantonian myth. That's something she can 100% believe.

After meeting Ogerpon and learning she's been misunderstood all along, Carmine slowly realizes she may have treated your Pokémon the same way.

They've been through some horrible things, and she was quick to judge them, so she apologizes for that.

Although Freakachu's smiles still creep her out..she's friendlier towards Purin and Disabled (not that she'll ever admit this, ofc).

Kieran

Like Carmine, he's gonna be pretty spooked by how your Pokémon team looks, at first.

But considering he never thought the Ogre was scary. he's nowhere near as judgmental.

During your walks together and at dinner, you explained where your 'mons came from--or at least the short and least terrifying versions of those tales so you didn't freak him out too much..

He's just fascinated that you've gone out of your way to help them despite their reputations as "monsters".

He hopes to one day have a strong bond like that with his team, or Ogerpon.

Tbh he found it really sweet when you purchased a Pikachu mask for Freakachu to wear so he could visit the festival of masks without scaring anybody.

Missingno was, understandably, the most bizarre Pokémon Kieran has ever seen, but once you explained how it's an old Kantonian myth...he's like "wowzers..that's so cool!!"

He genuinely believes you and him have a lot in common: being outcasts and adoring Pokémon most people were afraid of.

So it's even more heartbreaking for him when Ogerpon ultimately chooses to go with you instead of him.

Despite your team being utterly terrifying, she felt more comfortable being by their side...and it doesn't make sense to him at all.

It just doesn't seem fair.

He envies how your Missingno can pretty much give you whatever items you wanted--and an infinite number of them, too.

You warned him that it's not something you messed around with (plus, it corrupted an old friend of yours long ago), but he didn't care about any of that.

He wanted to know how to harness that power.

Maybe when he becomes even stronger, he'll challenge you again...

And the winner got to keep Missingno.

Perrin

She thought the Bloodmoon Beast was a terrifying and ominous force to be reckoned with, especially in the photograph she obtained.

But what you had on your team was nothing short of both amazing...and downright horrifying.

She assumes Freakachu, Purin, and Disabled are some Pikachu, Jigglypuff, and Wigglytuff variants she's never heard about or have gone extinct.

Maybe like Bloodmoon Ursaluna, they were from a distant land or some time period.

So she keeps an open mind and convinces them to do some cool poses (despite her Hisuian Growlithe always hiding behind her, tail tucked between its legs, and being certain that Purin's stare is gonna haunt her dreams now).

The only one she's heard of before was Missingno, having once believed it to be a myth from Kanto...and now she can see that it's real! And it's in your possession!

She wants a photo of it. Not for any sort of recognition or accolade, but as proof in the books that it's legit.

Unfortunately, while she can see it glitching, changing forms, spawning items for you, etc. right before her very eyes...it never shows up on camera.

Every photo she attempts to take gets corrupted or lost in the developing process.

You politely have to ask Perrin to stop before she breaks her camera.

She is, however, free to photograph your other Pokémon as they are in their natural state (aka acting like their normal counterparts and not creatures that really should've been dead long ago).

[the-phantom-author]

Hasan "The Dad Who Stepped Up" Piker | Milf!gf

Hasan meeting single mom at a cafe or restaurant, when she accidentally run into him and spills her drink on his shirt. She tried to cleans his shirt with a bunch of napkins while her other arm is occupied by holding her 6-7 month old daughter, who finds Hasan udderly fascinating.

Hasan meets milf!gf at a restaurant. She's out for the night with some friends, her baby girl with her because the babysitter could do that night.

They meet when she literally walks into Hasan, she just didn't see him. She's occupied with walking around the tables and chairs, while trying to pay attention to the babbling of her baby girl.

When she does crash into him, she accidentally spills her drink on Hasan's shirt. Queue her panicking while trying to clean his shirt. While she's doing that, the baby that's in her arm is just staring at Hasan, utterly fascinated.

Hasan is trying to calm you down and assure you that you have nothing about you spilling your drink on his shirt, but is also completely distracted by the baby trying to grap at whatever she can that he's wearing.

Literally just:

(Hasan->) 👁️👄👁️ 👁️👄👁️ (<-you)

👁️👅👁️ (<-baby)

While you telling him that you would do anything to make up for this, and he without hesitation goes "can I get your number"

It's a very small and simple first date. Y'all went out for a walk and got some lunch.

This was always his plan for the first date, however what wasn't planned was the two extra bodies. She had messaged him that morning, her babysitter had to cancel, and didn't have anyone else to watch your daughter that afternoon. However Hasan insisted that it was fine and that she could join, he even made jokes about bringing his daughter with him.

As much as milf's!gf's daughter is obsessed with Hasan, she loves just holding his fingers and grabbing his over shirts, Kaya is also super in love with you. Always wanting to walk next to you and wanting you to pet her.

As much as her daughter is obsessed with Hasan, she loves just holding his fingers and grabbing his over shirts, Kaya is also super in love with Milf!gf. Always wanting to walk next to her and wanting her to pet her.

When he goes to grap y'all lunch he sees something funny that she don't, and he can't wait to tell her. That's the first time he refers to Milf!gf, her daughter, and Kaya as "his girls" even if it's not out loud and he's just thinking it.

He starts calling y'all "his girls" a lot. "My girls are out on a walk rn" "I'm taking the day off and spending it with my girls" ect ect.

He's not Milf!gf's first choice of people to leave her baby with at first. But he gets quicky, most of the time it's because he's very insistent on you getting rest or just having you time, and while you do that for an hour or two he spends that time at your place watching the kid.

As much as Milf!gf is nervous to meet Hasan's family, they love her immediately. Especially his mom, she sees how serious Hasan is about Milf!gf and her daughter, and she can help but think about how grown he's becoming.

He is definitely getting milf!gf stuff for the nursery. It's not that she doesn't already have things, but sometimes he sees something online and can't help himself. He does want to turn one of his guest rooms into a small nursery/bedroom for the kid, but he's going to wait on that one untill you bring it up.

He's so thrown off when the kid calls him dad the first time, milf!gf is just like "you've been super involved in her life since she was six months old, of course she views you as her dad. Unless you don't want that?" He does, he was just not expecting it.

[tayfabe75]

Did Taylor and Matty meet on Myspace? (And other early coincidences!)

Early on in their careers, Taylor and Matty both utilized Myspace as a way to promote their music. Taylor, specifically, would message with other teenagers on Myspace:

"I'd post my songs on my MySpace and, yes, MySpace, and would message with other teenagers like me who loved country music, but just didn't have anyone singing from their perspective."

Matty, too, described himself as "King of Myspace" when he was fifteen. But he brought it up more recently on the Ion Pack Podcast, even mentioning his age as seventeen at the time. And here's a retro clip of Taylor talking about how she wasn't some corporate entity on Myspace, if you messaged her account, you were talking to her! She also filled out her profile in her own words.

She has some things in her profile that might've caught Matty's eye, a fellow teenage country fan and fan of American music specifically, that might've emboldened him to message her:

"I love people who like my music. I love people who are nice to me. I like people who are excitable. I think it's endearing when people cry when they're happy. I'm pretty excitable too. Guys don't ask me out because they know I'll write songs about them. But I'm also the girl who still believes prince charming exists somewhere out there -- fully equipped with great hair and an immature sense of humor. I'm fascinated by black and white pictures. I like people who can be sarcastic and laugh about tense situations. I'm a fan of fans."

Say whatever you will about Matty, but that man is a genuine fan of Taylor's music. When he became a fan is open for discussion, but let's just pretend, for fun, that he found her via Myspace early on in her career.

Now, here is the old Myspace page for The 1975 back when they were known as 'Drive Like I Do' in 2008. Note the James Taylor in the list of Influences! (as well as the Jamie Squire in the top 8! How sweet, I'm sobbing!)

Taylor was a bit of a firecracker on Myspace (and not just there, there's a whole conspiracy theory she used to troll 4Chan!). A few of her comments were screenshotted and you can find them around the internet. Here are some. The one from October 31st, 2005 about a queer fellow ("I'm sorry that I'm kinda queer, it's not as weird as it appears") with a Sex van ("take your shoes off in the back of my van") really caught my eye, anyway…

"Listen my queer fellow. I thinketh we shall hangeth out sometime soon, eh? yes, I do believe I am growing fond of this idea. drive over in your sex van and come pick me up, farewell knave."

Notice the spelling here, too. Thinketh? Hangeth? Knave? Feels a little bit Shakespearean, at least for say, a fifteen-going-on-sixteen-year-old girl (as we would later discover, Love Story and Robbers were both inspired by Romeo and Juliet, both written around the same time so far as I know, but it's hard to find exact dates!)

Matty, by the way, used to refer to himself as the "Prince of the Tyne". He's also got some old Drive Like I Do lyrics from 'We Are the Streetfighters' that are suspicious to me: "Well in four thousand miles we'll meet you" (The nearest airport to Macclesfield is in Manchester, and the distance between Manchester and Nashville? Roughly 4000 miles)

Two months later on December 21st, 2005, just after turning 16, Taylor says she's in England.

Did they meet? Who knows! But there's enough weirdness there to make me wonder. Speaking of weirdness… we're going to go on a side tangent about Fearless, but that's part of the puzzle, so bear with me���

I don't know about anyone else, but when I saw Matty's Fearless Love Gaze™, I was rocked to my core! Men do not look at women like that, but especially not brand-new flings. They're too concerned with trying to look cool and unaffected. For most men (stereotypically), romance and love are "dumb" and "stupid" and perceived as a "woman thing" that men can't be bothered with. But not Matty. Matty was utterly transfixed by her. Something about that touch of mischief in the lip bite when she says the bit about "absentmindedly making me want you", the way he just barely mouths along to the words at the end of the clip, well… sirens started going off for me. So, I followed my intuition and started researching all of this.

Now, Taylor wrote the song 'Fearless' sometime in 2006. The hidden message liner note for Fearless? "I loved you before I met you". Taylor describes 'Fearless' as a song she wrote about a perfect first date she hadn't had yet, about something she didn't have but dreamt of. She debuted it for the first time on April 6th, 2007 in Reading, PA (if you don't already know it, that's two days before Matty's 18th birthday). At this show, she debuted 'Sparks Fly' (yes, in 2007! Original lyrics were brown eyes rather than green eyes, by the way) and 'Tied Together With A Smile'. She also played a cover of John Waite's song 'Missing You' which seems to be about a long-distance relationship: "And it's my heart that's breakin' down this long distance line tonight"

Speaking of Matty's birthday, the release of Fearless TV happened to coincide with Matty's birthday! She dropped a sneak peek of Fearless on his birthday in 2021, and the album would release one day later on the ninth (perhaps because albums release on Fridays and that's as close as she could get?)

Taylor describes the Fearless album as her diary from when she was seventeen (misplaced my source on that quote, d'oh!) That said, 'Love Story' interests me as well. There are some interesting facts about Love Story:

Hidden message: Someday, I'll find this. Taylor wrote this song in a very short amount of time after her parents had told her that she couldn't be with the person she wanted to be with. And in her own words:

"'Love Story' is actually about a guy that I almost dated. But when I introduced him to my family and my friends, they all said they didn't like him. All of them! For the first time, I could relate to that Romeo-and-Juliet situation where the only people who wanted them to be together were them. That's the most romantic song I've written, and it's not even about a person I really dated."

Taylor's UK television debut (like first time ever performing on TV in the UK) was on Loose Women (Matty's mother's show). Now, Denise was not there during this period as a host, but she had been before that and would be afterward, so maybe there's some significance? Maybe not. But if Taylor and Matty knew each other, he would definitely get to be in the audience to see her if he wanted to. The song she chose to perform was 'Love Story'.

Now, 'Robbers' is also based on Romeo and Juliet (and also written circa 2007), and Matty describes that here in a fan video from 2015. We'd see Romeo and Juliet imagery pop up again in 2014, both in Taylor's video for Blank Space (where she's on a balcony looking down at her lover) and in November where she stood up on a balcony at Matty's show as he serenaded her with Fallingforyou (visual comparisons here)

Blank Space, too, might reference Fallingforyou. There's a scene where she rides bikes with her lover inside her enormous house, perhaps reminiscent of Matty's lyric: "All we need's my bike and your enormous house":

Matty even dresses a bit like the lover from 'Love Story' music video at the 2017 BRITs:

When you fall down the Myspace rabbit hole, you start noticing other strange similarities in their lyrics - like Matty referring to a "girl on the screen" in 'If You're Too Shy', which perhaps parallels Taylor's "guy on the screen" in 'Karma'. In 'The 1' (another song that lyrically parallels 'Robbers'), Taylor imagines "the 1 that got away" meeting a woman on the internet and taking her home, which might be another reference to Matty, perhaps lyrically paralleling The 1975's 'Playing On My Mind'. This theory, of course, makes the entire album 'A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships' suspect, especially given that 'Be My Mistake' is a song Matty wrote "about Nashville", the striking similarities between 'Sincerity is Scary' and 'Me!', a song called 'Mine' that references the year 2009, and the inclusion of a Drive Like I Do track Matty wrote when he was just fifteen years old, '102' (the same age he was when he was "King of Myspace"). Considering 'Love Story' was written for someone who Taylor's parents disapproved of, it makes this lyric all the more striking:

"I hope this song will remind you I'm not half as bad as what you've been told."

Lastly, if Matty is the confirmed 'Cardigan' muse and if 'Willow' is the continuation of 'Cardigan' (based on where the music video begins), the scene where she gazes into the water at her lover could perhaps represent a visual metaphor for looking through a screen, no?

Back to the NYU commencement speech! I recommend listening to the FULL clip. She talks about: feeling lonely, chatting with other teenage country fans on Myspace, and then segues into her motivation behind protecting her private life:

"Having the world treat my love life like a spectator sport in which I lose every single game was not a great way to date in my teens and twenties, but it taught me to protect my private life fiercely."

All of this seems correlated to me (also why it's hard for me to reconcile this whole football charade! But for me, it's easier to believe Taylor here about privacy being important to her, and not assume that some boyfriend kept her locked away in a dungeon against her will or something)

Now, to tie this all into a very nice bow, here's a quote where Taylor talks about how she uses easter eggs:

"Easter eggs can be left on clothing or jewelry. This is one of my favorite ways to do this, because you wear something that foreshadows something else, and people don't usually find out this one immediately, but they know you're probably sending a message. They'll figure it out in time."

What shirt was she wearing during her pap walk with Matty? Think of the "He lets her Bejeweled" meme… She had on an NYU sweatshirt.

Now, could be just a giant coincidence, trust me, I know, I get it. However… maybe she's really hinting about an old Myspace pal that she has protected fiercely. I mean, she did seem to use that speech to easter egg/foreshadow YOYOK & Labyrinth lyrics…

Speaking of 'Bejeweled'… On July 15th, 2023 Taylor flubbed the lyrics: "Sapphire tears on Myspace", and then she giggled. Freudian slip, perhaps? But this is the woman who assures us that "nothing is accidental"... and in a song that mentions a "Top 5", no less! (reminiscent of a Top 8, perhaps?)

Maybe James and Betty were involved in a "teenage love triangle" for a reason, and maybe TTPD references "teenage petulance" for that same reason… or maybe it's nothing but a bunch of eerie coincidences! Who knows! In the meantime, I'll keep on clownin'! 🤡

[spaceorphan18]

The Lady Whistledown Papers : 1x08 After The Rain (Part 3)

Welcome back, Gentle Readers, to The Lady Whistledown Papers, where I’m taking an in-depth look at Penelope Featherington and Colin Bridgerton’s character arcs and romance within the show Bridgerton!

For previous issues, follow tag : The Lady Whistledown Papers

The Hastings Ball

It's time for Simon and Daphne's ball. You know what I noticed? Every single woman who is there is wearing some shade of blue. Was there a memo about that? And why couldn't they get that memo to the Featheringtons, who really stand out. Also - we get the return of my true favorite ship of this show -- Phillipa and Albion! :D

And, I would be remiss if I didn't mention - Penelope walks down the stairs with a little bit of a spring in her step, their family is back. But, it's a little like Portia who has a whole lotta FU energy towards the women who are like, wait, why are you here again? Oh you were personally invited by the duchess?? Oh, okay.

Colin (with Benedict - I'm amused that these two are always together when their plot lines don't need them) strolls in fashionably late (or whatever). And what's the first thing he does? Oh, right, looks for Penelope.

These two really define the whole -- and their eyes met across the crowded room -- trope. They're always so drawn together.

The body language in the next beat is really interesting though. Pen has this butterflies in the stomach moment -- as if it's too much that he's looking at her, so she has to look down. And yet, Colin's got determination in his eyes. Oh yes, there's my person, I need to talk to her immediately.

Everything is awkward for a moment. While Penelope did show up at the Bridgerton's drawing room the other day, her time was probably most spent with Eloise. Meaning the the two of them probably haven't been able to have a proper conversation since the ridiculous Bridgerton/Featherington dinner in episode 6 (which feels like eons ago at this point).

He asks if she's enjoying her evening, to which she stumbles and claims she's been so busy dancing... and he's so confused. He hasn't seen her. Subtly implying that he has been looking for her, or would have totally noticed if she had been on the dancefloor. Penelope trying to play it cool and utterly failing is always so good. (This season isn't the rom-com Season 3 will be, but the building blocks of it are here.)

Colin spits out what he's been meaning to say -- that he owes her an apology because he recognizes that she was only trying to help him when it came to the Marina situation. And he almost has this look of humiliation when he says that he was being foolish -- reiterating the phrase that Anthony had called him.

And Penelope takes in a breath, almost as if in disbelief that someone is apologizing to her. But not only apologizing to her but recognizing that she was trying to help him. It's deeply meaningful to her.

But then when he gets into the self-deprecation, she pulls him out of it. She pulls him out of it with a thought that she believes with her full heart, and we get a moment of Penelope being open and vulnerable and honest in a way that she isn't usually.

You were not a fool. You merely believed yourself in love. One should never apologize for that. One finds oneself in such an incredible position and, well, one should declare it; assuredly, fervently, loudly.

This is such a beautiful thing to say -- and it's Penelope really building her confidence, reading his reactions, and feeling like maybe this is her moment. Maybe she should be open (to him) about how she feels. Because she feels so grounded in her love for him. It's the most real and positive thing in her life. And she wants to -- she recognizes that he is a romantic, like her, and maybe, just maybe, he won't turn her down.

His face is fascinating -- the non-verbal thought process going on is fantastic. He's taken aback by her statement at first. Here -- everyone else was calling him ridiculous for having such strong feelings for Marina and Penelope is the only one who not only doesn't think he was an idiot for his actions, but feels the way he does about it -- that love and romance are a special and valuable thing, and it's okay to go all in if that's how you feel about it.

But then, at the end, there's this look of admiration from him to her. Like, he's really hearing her, and her words, and just adores for saying it. Her words are grounding for him, too.

And that's why these two work well together. They're mutually uplifting of each other, supportive of each other, and won't let the other slide into their own insecurities. They both see each other in the way they want to be seen. In the way that no one else is really looking. And this is Season 1! This is the foundation for the relationship they're going to have moving forward.

Oh and then the misdirect... And I kind of love this heightened moment.

Penelope, for a moment, is secure with herself. She's secure in her feelings, and proud - proud of him, proud of her love for him, and for a moment, she feels like she can safely tell him her deepest secret. And he says (because oh this running joke starts here...) that he has something to tell her, too. And for a second, she thinks he might feel the same way! And then... he says he's leaving.

And... I need to take a second and talk about the scoring of the moment. It's perfect. The music has been swelling up and down during the scene, building the tension until that very second when you think he may just say he cares for her back and.... he says he's leaving. And the music stops. Just... hits the moment with silence. And it's so wonderfully done. Whoever did the sound mixing for this moment - A+ all the awards brilliant.

And Penelope just deflates. It's good, really, that she didn't say how she feels. He isn't in that mindset at the moment, and still has some Marina issues to work out. And, at this point, I think he still thinks of her as another sister -- like Eloise. They're friends, but in a familial way -- and it's really Season 2 (and him leaving) that's going to grow the friendship to something more, so now isn't the best time.

But he's so excited to tell her. Because she is the one who inspired him. We did see one moment where she reminds him how much he talks about travel, and we can only assume that isn't the only moment where that happened. Surely, during the whole courting Marina thing, Penelope probably brought it up a lot. Well, that kind of bites her in the butt.

And, we're coming back to Colin and traveling. And, again, I do think - for genuine reasons of wanting to see the world, he does have an adventurous spirit. But I also think he travels for two major reasons -- wanting to figure his shit out (he is always searching for something -- and you dolt, she standing right in front of you) and he's always trying to escape something (and in this case it's the whole Marina thing, and his lingering feelings about it).

Him leaving, though, is somewhat devastating for Penelope. She can't even revel in the fact she's had such a positive impact on him. He's leaving and he won't be there to help her through the misery of her life and there's the very real possibility that once he's gone, he won't be coming back. And this is too much. She can barely pull herself together.

And then he asks her what she wanted to say -- but the moment has passed, and she has receded back into herself. There will be no love declarations today, thank you.

He then, so casually, so routinely, asks her to dance. And I like that it's not out of obligation, or pity (or anything else from the book :P) -- it's out of a genuine desire of wanting to spend more time with her. Because he does value you her, quite a lot.

And... we're going to get a reoccurring theme -- one where Penelope runs off upset and Colin is utterly confused not only by her feelings, but by his own. Why is she upset? Why is she running away? I really wanted to dance with you Pen. What did I do? Why am I sad she doesn't want to spend more time with me - I like her. Oh, Colin, you poor, confused puppy.

And then Penelope runs from one heartache straight into another. Eloise is so excited about her Lady Whistledown hunt -- but Penelope is still on the verge of tears. I give Eloise a tad bit of credit for noticing Pen is upset. (The girl sure does wear her emotions on her sleeve.) But Penelope doesn't want to deal with that either -- and is like - have fun telling the Queen about Whistledown before scurrying out of there completely.

I have to note, however, that after this is when Eloise learns that there's a plot to unmask Whistledown, and because she was barred from talking to the Queen, Eloise takes it upon herself to warn LW about the plot.

We don't see Penelope in this scene, but she's in the carriage -- having run away, and having seen what she needed to for that ball, was ready with a new issue (which is funny - because she does miss the whole dancing in the rain thing). But just as the Queen's men are about to obtain her, Eloise shouts a warning, and the carriage is driven off, and Penelope's identity remains secret another day.

And, funny probably, but the whole - who is Lady Whistledown subplot is actually my favorite in Season 1. There's mystery and intrigue to it -- and it was easily the thing I was most fascinated by the first time I watched the show. (Sorry Daphne and Simon, you're just not my cup of tea.)

This is the only (somewhat) clear shot of Colin during the whole rain dance sequence. Near the Queen. That makes a ton of sense. Because of course, lol.

And, that's we're were going to end it for now! One more chunk of Season 1 to go! Whoo!

[untitled5071]

Hi! here’s a oneshot request. I would love a fic of them going out on a cute date! They unfortunately didn’t get to do that in the movie and it makes me sad, they deserve a cute date 🩵🪡⚡️

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

Sneaking into drive-in movies was almost laughably easy. 

Lisa snuck ahead to try to scope out the scene, delighted to find that there were very few cars to block their view, and even fewer people to spot them on the little hill just to the left of the field the screen was in. Cult films were hardly the kind that drew the Brookside crowd in, which is exactly what Lisa was banking on. With a self-satisfied smile, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted back into the woods where her undead boyfriend was waiting. 

She found him exactly where she left him, a picnic basket dangling from one hand and a folded blanket clasped in the other. He was wearing one of her dad’s sweaters; it hung slightly large on his thin frame, but the black and purple really brought out the dark circles around his eyes, and his regular pants. When she came into view, his sunken eyes locked onto her and his pale lips spread in a sickeningly fond smile, one that only widened when she took both of his hands and pulled him towards the spot they would be watching the movie from, spreading her eyes wide and presenting the site of their date with all the bravado a ringmaster would a circus. 

“Here we are! The best date sight in all of Brookside for people who can’t be seen in public because of their growing criminal record!”

The still-nameless creature surveyed the area approvingly, dropping his burdens at the spots Lisa pointed to. Together, they unfurled the large crocheted afghan that Lisa’s mother had made and placed it over the fallen leaves and slightly damp grass, Lisa bending down to smooth it out while the creature lugged over the picnic basket and laid it on top. The two of them crawled on top of the afghan and settled in the middle, sides pressed together while Lisa started to pull things out of the basket and the creature watched fondly. 

She laid out two cans of Pepsi Free, some Doritos, popcorn, some various Hostess snack cakes, peach rings, licorice, Milk Duds and any other slightly appealing movie food she could have possibly grabbed from the convenience store downtown. Along with them, she produced some napkins, a small portable radio, and a set of travel pillows. She spread the items out accordingly; the snacks and napkins in front of them within easy reach, the pillows behind them The radio she laid between them at their feet, and she fiddled with the dial until she landed on the station that was tuned into the movie while her lover started at the dancing cartoon food on the giant screen, entranced by the wonders of the future. 

“I always felt like they were trying to trap you, ya know? Cute singing popcorn and soda, telling everyone to go to one specific place in a dark field, seems like they’re either about to murder you or brainwash you into buying way more food than you could ever comfortably eat in the span of two-ish hours and then you;re stuck lugging it all home or throwing away enough popcorn to feed a small family.”

As he always did when she got going, the creature sat back and listened to her go, watching her lips moving a million miles a minute with a lovestruck grin on his, utterly lost in the speed and passion with which she spoke about things he hardly understood. It didn’t matter though; he would listen to her talk about whatever for as long as she wanted. 

Eventually, the few meager previews rolled past and eventually ended, and the main feature began. Lisa opened a can of Pepsi Free with a small crack and tore the bag of peach rings unevenly down the side, sliding a few onto her fingers as the creature opened his arm to her, and she snuggled into his side, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest (she was still so fascinated by the fact that he was breathing, regardless of how much air he actually required) as the Geffen Company logo faded out and the dramatic narrator began his spiel. 

The living and not-really-entirely living couple rested their heads against each other as the story of a meek flower shop worker and his unfortunate entanglement with a killer plant began to unfold, Lisa’s thoughts spilling out of her mouth as soon as they landed in her brain and the creature nodding along, expertly dividing his attention between his girlfriend and the film.

 He was a bit startled by the movie’s iconic puppet, gesturing frantically at the screen and then the woods around them, but Lisa just gently grabbed his hands to calm him before explaining that no, giant plants like that don’t exist, it was just a puppet, and then a five minute long rant about the benefits of practical effects versus the relatively new marvel of computer animation. He listened fondly, rubbing a hand up and down her arm and rubbing small circles into her flesh. 

When the main character’s conscience started to catch up with him and he went to confront his horticultural demons, Lisa shivered, and the creature noticed the goosebumps that had suddenly appeared on her skin. He tilted his head her way and grunted inquisitively, miming a shiver when she locked eyes with him. 

“Yeah, I’m a little chilly. It’s my fault for not watching the forecast for tonight, but I can’t manage to make it past the evening news report before I get too bummed out, you know? Especially since most of the local reports nowadays are about the ‘disappearances’ around town and I’m trying not to give myself away, right? I guess tulle was also a bad choice of sleeves but you have to admit this top looks amazing on me, right?”

The creature chuckled silently, nodding in agreement at her assessment of her outfit before holding up a finger, telling her to wait before leaning back, arranging the pillows behind them to his liking before laying down, beckoning Lisa with his stitched-on hand. She complied immediately, snuggling into his side while his arms wrapped around her, the movie almost entirely forgotten in front of them. 

They laid like that, Lisa’s head buried in her boyfriend’s neck while he played tenderly with her curls as the songs continued to play, and as a romantic ballad started up, Lisa shifted to lay her head on the creature’s chest, his hold adjusting accordingly so she never left the protective circle of his arms. She sighed, and at his answering warble, she tilted her head so she was looking up at him with wonderstruck eyes. 

“How can you be so warm?” 

Her undead lover looked at her adoringly before reaching over and booping her on the nose, making her scrunch it teasingly. 

“Me?”

The creature nodded, and Lisa exhaled softly, eyes soft and dreamy. Carefully, the creature leaned his head forward and gave her a gentle peck on the forehead, making her smile widen. When he went for the next one, she leaned up herself and met him in the middle, their lips connecting once, twice, three times as the movie’s soundtrack swelled behind them. They stayed that way, locked in each other's arms as the credits rolled and the headlights of the cars below flicked to life and departed. As the screen was turned off for the night, they laid together on their blanket and watched the stars, silent but content in their chosen company. 

They would have to do this again tomorrow night. 

[pastanest]

if you’re wondering why I’m having to repost this, or why you were perhaps previously following me but no longer are, please refer to this post. I was able to retrieve this thanks to @iamburdened - thanks so much!! ♡

Daryl Dixon x she/her!reader

spoilers: set in season 3, references to previous locations

Soft Spot For Ya

Rounding the corner to the only available cell in the block, you throw your bag onto the top bunk.

“Oh, I am totally taking the top bunk, you can kiss my sugar coated ass!” You cheer, looking over your shoulder at Daryl as you climb up the ladder to the second bunk. Your best friend chuckles and shakes his head, dumping his bag on the second bunk.

“Back in a room with you again, as if the end o’ the world couldnt get any worse!” Daryl teases as he sits down on the bunk beneath you.

Gasping, you lean over your bunk to smack him in the head with a pillow.

“Hey, dont be an ass! I am your absolute favourite roommate!”

Daryl rolls his eyes. “Sure ya are.”

You lie back on your bunk with your arms behind your head, smiling up at the ceiling. “If you actually disliked me, Im sure you would’ve kicked me out of your tent, or off of your part of the farm - all this evidence is against you mister, you sure you wanna take this case to court?”

Daryl sighs in defeat. “Alright alright, I get it, I got a soft spot for ya.”

This was a statement that Daryl realised to be true the day he met you. Back at the quarry, while Daryl was out on a hunt, he found you wandering the woods all on your own. You had no weapons and barely any food or water in your bag. When he asked you how you’d made it that far, you smiled bigger than he’d seen anyone smile since the world changed, and you said “Just kept running!”

He led you back to the camp, and as soon as the two of you cleared the trees, Shane dropped whatever was in his hands and marched over, shaking his head.

“Naw, we dont jus’ let anyone stay here.”

Naturally, you had an immediate disliking to Shane, considering he barely glanced at you, let alone introduced himself. Your smile fell from your face, and you stayed quiet, not out of fear, but just to observe the situation for a little longer to figure out the dynamic of this group.

Daryl’s gestures to you. “I’ll take full responsibility for ‘er. She was out there completely by herself, she aint got nobody, ya shouldnt turn her away man.”

You smiled kindly at Daryl to thank him in a way that wouldnt disturb the conversation, and he nodded back at you in reply. Shane’s next words tore your smile from your face yet again.

“Oh, and I ‘spose her life’s been saved by some piece of shit redneck?” He seethed, taking a step closer to Daryl. It fascinated you that nobody else in the group tried to prevent this. Clearly Shane’s reign of aggression had everyone under submission, except for Daryl, and then, you.

You frowned, bravely standing slightly in front of Daryl. “Hey! Dont talk to him like that!”

Shane shook his head at you, laughing without humour. “Oh, naw, see you dont get to speak to me, you aint one of us!”

You throw your arms in the air, making big gestures as you let him have a piece of your mind. “I dont give a flying fuck if you consider me as part of your group, the fact is I’ve been here two whole minutes and in that time all you’ve done is act like an ass, and judging by the faces of everyone ‘round here, you make a habit of that, and that’s not okay! The world going to shit doesnt give you the right to think you own it, asshat. And if you could refrain from insulting Daryl - who has a name, in case all the hot air in your head made you forget - I’ll refrain from breaking your goddamn nose.”

The quarry fell silent, Daryl’s eyes had been locked on you from the moment you stepped out in front of him, and he was utterly hypnotised by you. Nobody had ever defended him like that.

Very slowly, Dale started to clap for you, then T-Dog and Glenn joined in.

Lori, Carol, Andrea and Any couldnt help smiling and laughing, a mixture of shock and of ‘serves him right’.

Shane was scowling at you. Dale raised his hand.

“I, for one, would like to vouch for this girl’s permanent residence!” He offered, throwing you a kind smile, which you gladly returned. “Who’s with me?” Dale called, and within a few seconds, everyone else in the group had an arm in the air.

Daryl walked to stand beside you, lifting his arm in the air to cast his vote before swinging it around your shoulders.

“Looks like yer outnumbered, go cry about it.” Daryl said to Shane childishly, making everyone laugh as he walked you back to his tent.

Ever since, the two of you have been inseparable. When Rick found the group, he actually assumed that you and Daryl had been dating since before the apocalypse, he was truly shocked to find out that you’d only known each other a couple of months, and you werent dating. You kept your word with Shane, and ended up breaking his nose on the farm after he made the mistake of insulting Daryl again. Considering how protective you got of Daryl, you were intending to break more than Shane’s nose, but you were pulled off him by none other Daryl Dixon himself, who took you away to calm you down and bandage your knuckles, while Rick calmed down Shane. Thankfully, it wasnt long before Shane was dead, and with him went the usual cause for your anger.

Now, things between you and Daryl are complicated in a way that is complicated to everyone except the two of you.

“Hey, Daryl?” You call down to him from your bunk after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Yeah?” Daryl replies, curious as to what random thought has popped into your head all of a sudden.

“You think now we’ve got a more solid place to stay, you’re gonna take me out to dinner?” You ask him, and Daryl is silent, waiting for something that he cant put words to. After a few lengthy seconds, you burst out laughing.

Daryl scoffs and pushes himself up to stand away from his bunk. “An’ ya call me an ass!”

You roll over onto your stomach you’re laughing so hard, while Daryl shakes his head and searches through his bag. He’s about to walk out of the cell, but you stop him.

“Hey! Where’d ya think you’re going?” You question.

“Anywhere away from you!” Daryl retorts sassily, turning around to look at you from the cell doorway.

You laugh, using your hand to beckon him back over, and he rolls his eyes but strolls back over to you. Daryl stands at your bunk, and you grab the back of his head to pull him close to you, kissing his forehead from your place on the top bunk.

Beaming at Daryl, you let go of him, and he scoffs, blushing and shaking his head.

“Love yooouuuu!” You call as he shuffles out of the cell.

“Yeah, whatever!” Daryl yells back, and you fall back onto your bed in fits of laughter again.

Nobody else could understand what it was between you and Daryl, but they didnt need to. You didnt need to put a name to it, a name makes it too simple, there’s no word to describe the adoration you two have for each other. The world has moved past the need for simplistic relationship titles. All that matters is that you are each other’s best friends, and each other’s sources of comfort, strength, and love. Even if nobody else understood your relationship, they couldnt deny that those things were true in everything you did for each other.

[pampushky]

Foot of the Gallows

trafalgar d. water law/reader - chapter 3 - 5.3k

ao3 link | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter

3.) numbing nettle

numbing nettle: a common herb that often can be found even in the most urban settings, growing up through the cracks and gaps in cobblestone. Stepping on even the smallest nettle will cause the skin and muscle around the pricked area to go numb for around an hour. However, when dried, it becomes essentially useless, losing any medical use besides causing a slight tingle to an injured area when ingested.

Things are awkward in the little sitting room that your shop has become. You sip on your tea, still staring down cooly at Bepo, who has finally stopped making the high-pitched whine after Ikkaku kicked him in the side. She looks rather underwhelmed by the current state of the shop and her friends. You just raise an eyebrow at her, when she leans beside you on the counter. You’re…. Not quite friends, but Ikkaku knows what Law had said and done to you, and had personally apologized not on his behalf, but as someone who worked with him and considered him a good friend. According to her, Law had always been touchy whenever you came up in conversation, which fascinated you, considering all that had happened.

It had created an even ground for the two of you, to talk and do business on, even managing to exchange pleasantries besides the sale of your products. Talking quietly over tea about your frustrations, offering alternative treatments for injuries and whatever ailed Law’s patients, or ranting about the guards trying to bribe you into selling poisons for execution. 

Perhaps you are friends.

Currently? The poor woman seems more frustrated that Penguin and Shachi are trying to kill the pothos plant that is tugging at their hair, while Law is sitting quietly on the first step that leads upstairs. 

“Maybe there’s a reason you both had lifetime bans,” Ikkaku watches as Shachi falls backward against a shelf, and sends a tiny vial of some pre-prepared tea to the ground, shattering upon impact. You look utterly devastated, even if it’s a small thing to break. But she’s seen the effort and practice that goes into even the smallest thing here. You were rather anal about the doses of whatever pre-prepared medicines you sold, and at least one hour of work went into the simplest of combinations, just to make sure you got it perfect. 

“...sorry,” Shachi has the decency to look a bit apologetic after he mumbles. You flick your right hand, with your pointer and ring finger extended, and then point your hand down. Gertrude goes still, and you massage your temples. Penguin only continues to grumble, arms folded and looking down at the floor, while you quietly fetch the little broom and dustpan by the door. 

“That was worth a silver piece,” You mumble, as you look down at the broken vial and loose petals and leaves strewn about with glass shards interlaced within it, “Roughly eight hours of preparation, meant to provide the consumer about… six hours of pain relief. For chronic pain, mostly.”

“So?” Penguin snaps, “He didn’t mean to break it—- you’re at fault, letting that demon plant whale on us—”

“Don’t, talk about Gertrude that way.”

“I’ll talk however I please while you let that thing hurt my husband!” Penguin jumps to his feet and takes a step towards you. You take a step backward, and even with your control over your loyal plant, Gertrude shakes violently in their pot, the vines wrapped around the top of the cabinets tightening against the wood. 

“You have done nothing but insult me since you so rudely pushed yourself into my home and shop,” You’re so, incredibly, tired, gazing at Penguin and Shachi in disbelief, “Forgive me, for having a plant that seeks to defend me, from people that could be seen as a threat!” 

Law holds up one of his hands before Penguin can say something to incite even more anger. But the last part of your sentence breaks him a little bit. You… had trained that plant to protect you? It certainly hadn’t been there the last time he had been there, a month after his return. Had Gertrude been created all because you were afraid of him? That you had felt so threatened by the fact that Law had come into your shop that you not only felt the need to have a powerful boundary spell put in place to keep him away but a plant to guard you, in case he had somehow made it past that. Had he truly hurt you that much, all those years ago, enough for you to fear him?

It’s a stupid question, Law knows he has. All of the words that had been spoken to you in the past hour caused you to recoil from him nearly instantly. 

The turmoil rattling about inside his mind isn’t audible, though, and you know nothing of what is happening within his mind, as you look at your former friend, and you feel a horror settle in your gut as he lowers his hand, looking from yourself to Penguin. There’s a fury in his eyes that only you recognize, and it sends a shiver down your spine, the last time you had seen that, he had spewed hate and cruelty at you, leaving you in the pouring rain, and curled in a puddle of mud as you tried to reckon with what had just happened, and the sudden heel turn of your childhood friend. 

I hope that you find nothing but disaster in your path. I hate you and have always hated you. 

The memory of Law’s words ache in your heart. The rage in his eyes. The scowl that creases his face is the same as the one from all those years ago, and you take a step backward with a shuddering breath spilling from your lips. It makes you want to curl into a ball in that same puddle of mud all over again, and it must show, because you feel Ikkaku grab onto your shoulder and squeeze. 

The stares of the other townsfolk as you walked back to your family home. Their pitying gazes from when he had returned to the city the year prior. The whispers of rumors. It haunts you still.

“Law,” The woman hisses, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. The look of fury disappears just as quickly as it had appeared. You just dig your hands into your palms and try to steady the rapidity of your heartbeat. You want to throw up. 

“Apologize,” Law’s voice is rough. Penguin looks smug for just a second, until Law fixes him with a cold, deeply unhappy stare, and keeps it there. “...you are allowed to be angry, but just as Shachi is your husband…. I will not allow you to taunt and insult my wife, regardless of who she may be or the circumstances of how we got married.” 

“Law,” Penguin looks abashed. “You’ve got to be joking—”

“Apologize, Penguin.” There is no room for argument, looking at his friend with such a deep, and utterly furious look that even you’re slightly taken aback, gone still where you stand. The other man utters out a weak apology, looking at you in shock. Shachi and Bepo are silent, though there is a quiet anger in the former’s eyes, the emotion fading the moment he catches your gaze. He doesn’t make eye contact with you for the rest of his visit, and suddenly, in your own home, your own shop, the well-worn wooden floors and brick walls are unfamiliar and unwelcoming. Law has invaded the last space you thought would be possible to make unsafe for you. Nausea makes your head spin, and without any other word, you push yourself past Law on the first step, even when he tries to grab onto your cloak to keep you there.

“Law!” Your voice is so joyful when you see him, despite the rain. You have your hair tied up, and it shimmers, even when it’s soaked through. You flourish, in the forest, surrounded by your element. The earth, the air, and the water make your skin glow, imbuing you with energy and vitality. Your eyes are bright, even as you crash into him with an audible splash, showing not only how soaked his cloak is, but just how long you’d spent outside that day. You’re splattered with mud. 

And he laughs, letting you slam into him, knowing that this could be the last time he really gets to see you so happy, grinning at him as you tell him all about the herbs and flowers and roots you’re gathering and learning about. You’ve always looked so ethereal, smiling at Law and Law alone, as he selfishly buries these memories deep into his heart, to keep them safe and to help him reason why he is about to do what he has to do. 

Because he can’t have someone hurt you. Not because of him. 

Not to have you spend years and years in an ultimately useless cause to try and save his life when he would be dead before he was thirty when the only option he has to survive is through the man who had killed his adoptive father.

He can’t have Donquixote Doflamingo hold you above him as he had with Corazon. The very idea that that monster of a man would be able to get his hands on you makes him feel sick, and Law feels his face wrinkle as he thinks about it. 

But you notice the stress in his brow because of course you do. You know him better than he knows himself, joined at his hip for the entire fifteen years of your life. He’s slept in the same bed as you before puberty, and still, often finds himself on the couch in the living room late at night in your family home, the two of you whispering conspiratorially so as to not wake your parents. Your hands touch his face, and you look a bit confused when he brushes them off and turns away from you. 

“Law?”

It spirals quickly from there. With you trying to pry out what little details you can from him, refusing to leave him alone until you’re threatening to pull him back to your house for hot chocolate until he talks. The threat then turns to a promise, as you tug on his shoulder. And Law doesn’t think. He’s been protesting this entire time, slowly getting angrier and angrier with you because why do you have to care so much about him? 

You still keep trying, even after he says something cruel, targeting the baby fat still on your cheek. Law snaps.

He doesn’t know what gets him to push you. Nor what makes him say such cruel words, words he would never mean in a million years. 

But he pushes you, hands on your chest, and towers over you full of anger and sorrow. He’s trying to save you from a lifetime of torment, watching him slowly die. To save you from being used as a toy at the amusement of a psychopathic man who already wants to play god with Law’s life. 

That’s why he pushes you, so much harder than he intended to, watching as you tumble into the mud, looking up at him in surprise. There’s mud in your hair, and the vitality in your eyes has faded. Law has rebuked all your attempts to check on him until you recoil from the very sight of him, terrified. 

“ I hope that you find nothing but disaster in your path! I hate you and have always hated you!”

You let out a choked, heartbroken sob. But he doesn’t stop— he has to make sure that this gets set in, to save you. 

“You are nothing to me. You annoy me, you slow me down— everything you do is worthless.” 

You wish you could shove the mud into your ears so you don’t have to listen to him anymore. His words don’t stop. It’s as if he is taking out all his anger on you, making you feel every single ounce of pain he’s ever felt. You sob. You beg for him to stop, promise you’ll leave him alone forever if he does, and nearly thirty minutes later, he does. 

He kneels down to look you in the eyes one final time, and his heart breaks when he sees you flinch at the sight of him. 

It’s for the better. 

It’s for her. 

It’s all for her.

“We were never friends. I never loved you.”

Law doesn’t stick around after he says that.

 The ship that will take him to his new home, where he will train tirelessly and start the painful healing process, will leave tomorrow. He’s already packed. And even when he hears you let out a heartbroken sob, Law doesn’t look back, even when he starts to cry about a hundred yards away from where you are still curled in a puddle of mud, the only clear skin on your face is the ones your tears have made down your face as you lay lifeless on the ground, wishing it would swallow you up. 

Shachi and Penguin leave soon after, with Bepo following cautiously. Ikkaku just stares at Law, arms crossed. You’re still somewhere upstairs, and he flinches every time he thinks he hears what sounds like retching, or a sob. He can’t tell, but Law knows he’s hurt you in trying to defend you yet again. Ikkaku, after growing sick of the silence, walked up the stairs to check on you. He can hear the shuffling steps going to where he knows your bedroom is. 

He only knows this because of the childhood he spent here, and the hours the two of you figuring out where exactly everything laid out when compared to the downstairs of the shop, being able to tell based on where you were jumping up and down, and how it made the jars of the countless shelves along the wall shake and clink together. 

She’s still in her old room, Law thinks blankly. He doesn’t know why he just assumed you moved into the master bedroom. He can hear the door open, and the footsteps of Ikkaku above him. They stop right above his head, probably next to you. The sobs and retching eventually quiet, and he can hear the quiet murmurs of conversation through the ceiling before more footsteps start again, and another door opens and closes. 

He walks cautiously up the stairs, holding the railing tightly. His knuckles turn white as he climbs upwards, hating that with every step, he can hear you start to sob again, and the wet sound of sick hitting the side of a bucket.

Law wonders if he ever should have returned to the continent and stumbles his way to the guest room, passing out on the bed without another thought. 

You awaken feeling disgusting around 8 o'clock in the afternoon. There’s a crust around the edge of your mouth from how you’d been getting sick into a bucket, and on the floor of your childhood bedroom turned office. You let out a groan, wondering how badly it smells, and if you’ll have to scrub on your knees to clean it out, which is exactly what you need as you restock on everything sold from the week, and get ready to open the shop on a busy Monday. 

No doubt there’ll be more than the usual regulars, looking to see the woman who saved the so-called “Surgeon of Death” at the last possible second. It makes you chuckle, but you stop, recalling the terror you’d felt not even eight hours before. The glare in Law’s eyes, and how his friends had yelled at you, intruding on a place sacred not only to you but your family. Ikkaku had been kind, at least, managing to get you into your actual bedroom and setting you up with a bucket to get sick into. 

You look at yourself in the mirror when you manage to stumble into the connecting bathroom, frowning at what you see. Pale crust around your lips, a few spots of acne that had popped up overnight, and slightly greasy hair because you hadn’t showered since Friday, too caught up in the news and planning of how to save Law to really take care of yourself. And for what purpose? You’d not gotten a single thank you. You’d been verbally abused and felt threatened the moment you’d stepped foot into your own home. How entitled that Shachi and Penguin had acted, wanting to force their way into your home. 

So, you thank the modern advancements made by the plumbing-focused artificers, and take a much-needed hot shower, scrubbing at your skin until it burns a bit. You force yourself to wash your hair, even doing a hair mask to hopefully make up for the fact that it’s been in a tight bun for the past two days. You look at yourself in the mirror, wince at how exhausted you look, and then get dressed. This was your life, and you had to get through it, regardless of if Law was going to act like a prick about it, or not. 

To your utter shock, as you step out of the bedroom, you hear the sound of someone cooking in the kitchen, and audibly hissing at Gertrude, who does not seem very fond of them. Or, him, you realize, when Law lets out a rather pained yelp, most likely due to your loyal little pothos plant.

“I’m trying to be quiet!” Law snaps, and you hear the sound of a slap against skin and another hiss. “You’re making this harder— I haven’t eaten in three days, cut me some slack for my shitty cooking!”

“They didn’t feed you?” You mumble, revealing yourself as you emerge from the hall. Law stands shirtless in the kitchen, with two of Gertrude’s vines wrapped around his left wrist, while his right hand holds protectively to a bowl of rice porridge. He’s… not bad looking. Granted, he still looks like shit, as he had spent two months in a prison cell, and he’s certainly lost a lot of definition on his muscles because of that, but it doesn’t hide that he’s buff. You then screech, realizing that he’s standing shirtless in your kitchen. “Where the fuck is the tunic I gave you?!”

“You didn’t give me a tunic!” Law attempts to hide himself with the bowl of porridge even when it hardly covers a single pec and lets out another yelp when Gertrude manages to dip one of their leaves in the food. Trying to tip the bowl out of his hands. “No– Stop that, you little shit–”

“Gertrude— let him eat, it’s fine,” You turn so that your back is to the kitchen, which is then followed by an angry rustle of leaves, which you sigh at, “Gertrude, please? ” 

“It… they stopped,” Law mumbles, watching as the plant releases the grip on his wrist, and seems to slink up to the top of the cabinets, sulking. “... thanks.”

You nod and continue to keep your back to him. “... I’m getting you a shirt.”

“Am I truly that bad looking?”

“You’re not having your tits out in the kitchen.” You hiss and turn to look at him. Law just has a spoon of the porridge in his mouth, the bowl still held to his chest. “Go get a shirt on.” 

“They’re not tits, ” Law looks absolutely aghast that you’ve insulted him in such a way. “This is pure muscle, I’ll have you know, I worked hard for this—”

“Did you also work hard for those tattoos and the splotches?” You narrow your eyes, and take a few steps closer, frowning as you look at his torso. “You did not have those when you were seventeen,”

“Doesn’t matter how I got them,” Law finds himself breathless when your fingers brush over the dapple and tattoo on his abs, leading down to the faint trail of hair that leads below the top of his pants, getting thicker and coarser as it goes further. He doesn’t want to address how or why his body has changed so much in the past nine years. “Where’s the shirt?”

“I’ll get it,” you draw your hand away, and Law misses your touch, even though he knows he doesn’t deserve it after all he’s put you through. 

The tunic you bring him is soft, a simple gray piece of clothing that doesn’t hurt the wounds on his skin. You even bring him a pair of trousers, telling him to put them on, as you don’t want any mud and blood tracked around the house. You look at the clothing he hands you with disgust, dropping them in the hamper in your room, scowling. 

“... we’ll get some new clothes made for you, tomorrow. I’ll close the shop for the week, until this,” you gesture to him, your hands moving up and down from his feet to his head, “... gets fixed.”

“You just gestured to all of me.”

“That’s the idea,” you sigh, and rub your cheeks, groaning. “I don’t even know why I thought the shop would open tomorrow, especially with how many people will be making their way over to see you,” you walk over to the window, and peek out of the window, groaning again when you see the small crowd of people that have been walking around the shop, the lanterns turned on as it turns dark outside. Despite everything, Law feels a bit of satisfaction. Be it the few threads that connect you still, and the fact that he had thoroughly enjoyed annoying you when you’d been friends, it appears that he still enjoys it now, letting out a small laugh at your frustration. “This isn’t funny,” you hiss at him and squeeze his nose angrily, “Captain Kizaru will be here to verify this all, you numpty— oh, and when my uncle gets word —”

A solid, angry knock at the door interrupts you, and you go pale mid-sentence. You’d ended up dropping your sending stone in a basin of water before anyone had even gotten the chance to call you. It’d been the first thing you’d done when you had escaped upstairs after dressing Law’s wounds. A preemptive action to stop the damn thing from cracking due to overheating. It’d sat in that basin now for twelve whole hours, and you’d not checked on it once, honestly forgetting it existed. Looking at the basin now, you could see that the water was boiling and that it had boiled off over two-thirds of the water. The stone was glowing a nearly white blue, and shook in the basin, with continuous calls coming in. 

“Oh, fuck,” Law muttered, looking down at the basin with you, and then looking down the stairs when the knocking started again, along with a very loud shout of your full legal name, quickly followed by Law’s. 

“ —IF YOU ARE NOT DOWN HERE WITHIN THE NEXT THREE SECONDS I WILL BLOW THIS GODS DAMNED DOOR OFF ITS HINGES— ” 

You don’t even hesitate and sprint down the stairs, nearly falling, and having Law catch you by your collar at the bottom of the stairs, while Gertrude flings open the door for your uncle. The overpowering smell of sulfur is the first thing that hits you, along with burnt grass that you would guess was once your well-tended front lawn. Former Vice-commander of the guard, now reinstated as the City Commander, is your uncle Sakazuki, his form half that of melted stone. His face is set into a thick scowl, arms crossed, and there’s a burnt mark on your door. 

Captain Kizaru stands joyfully beside him, giving you a little wave while your uncle literally cools himself off so he can enter the house. 

“You have five seconds before I ring that bastard’s neck, ” Your uncle looks directly at Law, who swallows thickly from his spot on the stairs. Kizaru just steps into the little shop and starts to look at the teas he normally buys. “You’re lucky I didn’t kill him the moment he was thrown in jail, I’ve been waiting to get my hands on him, after that stunt he pulled with you— ”

“It’s great to see you too, Uncle Saka,” you slide in front of his gaze to block Law from view, and your uncle’s glare is nearly identical to yours. Law can see clearly that there are some universal family traits that transcend generations. “Uhm, can we not, threaten my husband—”

“Oh, he is not your husband yet, and won’t be if I can help it—”

“I disagree with that statement!”

“You’re a child! You’re hardly even old enough to be married! I was nearly thirty when I married that dumbass!” Sakazuki screeches, and slams his fist onto the counter, making the jars and bowls on it rattle. Kizaru groans at being called a dumbass. You stand stubbornly in front of him. Arms crossed. The no-nonsense look is the same as his sister’s, almost standing to the millimeter in the same spot she had when they’d argue as children in this very shop. 

“I’m twenty-two! I can make my own decisions!” You shout back, and Law feels like he is trapped in a situation he’d really rather not be in. To be completely honest, he’d thought that your uncle had retired by now. 

Law feels Sakazuki fix him with a steely gaze again, and he slowly puts his hands up, not wanting to incite any more anger towards him, only to have your uncle launch himself at him, getting an impressive amount of air time with his hands outstretched to wrap around Law’s throat. It takes ten seconds to get the two separated, at which time, Law has managed to cause some of the older man’s arm to shrivel to a near-mummified state. 

Now that’s what sends the room into utter chaos. You start screaming, your uncle is looking at his arm in shock, and in an instant, Kizaru has a blade of light held to Law’s throat, eyes wild.

“Fix that, or so help me, the Goddess of the sun won’t be able to recognize you as you go to be reborn,” Kizaru’s voice is deadly calm, and with a small roll of his wrist, Law touches his fingers to the shriveled arm, and it’s healed. 

The darkness fades and soaks into Law’s hands, staining the tips of his fingers black, and you suddenly realize what all of Law’s tattoos might be made of. Kizaru lets go, and the knife is gone. Your uncle is silent, and you look between the three men, trying to steady your breathing before you kick at Law’s leg to get him to bow to your uncles.

“I am so sorry about him— but please, please trust me,” You stand over Law, trembling.

“Why shouldn’t I kill him right this second?” Sakazuki sits on the floor, slowly, watching you. His anger is gone, replaced by some form of fearful concern. No one had been able to injure him in such a way, nor so quickly, and then heal it as though it were a minor scratch. 

“Because killing him would set this gods forsaken world back centuries,” You don’t budge an inch, even as your other uncle steps forward and looks down at you with an even tone. 

“Even with what he did to you?” 

The memories of that day make you want to shrivel up and die. The way he had looked at you earlier in the day, the same as how he had looked at you then replayed in your mind on an endless loop. The constant confusion that was being around him. 

“.... I won’t be remembered by the history books. But he will. And I don’t want to deprive this world of someone who can help improve it. Not after everything else that’s gone to shit in the last year.”

Your uncles look at each other. Sakazuki pulls you to the side, quietly assuring you that that wasn’t true—  that you could find happiness in a marriage that wouldn’t be enforced until Law or yourself died. It’s oddly tender and uncharacteristic of the man that many citizens thought that the commander of the guard was. But you shake your head, repeat the law you have memorized since Bepo brought it to you, and look at Law with empty eyes as Kizaru announces the rules of the marriage. Asking for your reasoning behind it, and sighing when both he and Sakazuki are forced to agree that you are correct.

Killing Law for using a type of magic used widely in every other continent, but was banned here, due to how little it was understood would be an injustice, and could set back the medical community in the empire by centuries. Kizaru pulls out a simple strip of cloth, as tall as he is when fully unrolled, and has both yourself and Law hold out your hands. 

Carefully, the cloth is wrapped around your hands as they are placed together. 

“Do you, by the laws of the gallows, do so solemnly swear to be your partner’s keeper, to guide him from the wrong to the right, and to live the rest of his or your own days together, only by his side, under the witness of the gods above and below?”

“I do.” You sound tired when you speak. There are bags under your eyes. You’re wearing a long-sleeved tunic that has a hole worn into one of the elbows. This is not what you’d imagined your wedding would be like as a child. Kizaru looks devastated on your behalf when you sigh deeply and turn to Law.

“Do you, by the laws of the gallows, do so solemnly swear to stay loyal to your partner, to follow in her steps, and to learn what is wrong and right, seeking only to better this world, and to live the rest of her or your own days together, only by her side, under the witness of the gods above and below?”

“I do,” Law whispers, and feels something course through his arms that are joined to yours by the cloth. It burns, and he sees tears start to fall down your face as the pain grows greater, and greater, almost enough that he wishes his hands would fall off until it stops. Kizaru pulls the cloth away, while Sakazuki comforts you, whispering apologies and promises into your hair while he hugs you tightly. 

Burned onto your ring fingers are swirling, moving tattoos. Law’s is a pale silver, and yours is dark gold. They shift and move like smoke, sometimes forming solid lines, but never moving outside of the first knuckle of the ring finger on his and your left hand. 

When Sakazuki grabs Law by the collar and growls out threats of death and pain should Law make any more mistakes with you, or do anything to make you feel as worthless as you had on that day nine years ago, he just nods, and watches them leave. Lets you go up the stairs first without so much as a “Good night,��� to him. 

Because Law had made a vow when you refused to look him in the eyes during the handfasting that somehow, he would give you the life that you deserve. Even if you never love him the way he so desperately loves you, he will make it up to you what he had done all those years ago. That will be no easy feat, and he knows this. But he does have the rest of his days to try, and to whatever Gods that have insisted the Law keep living rather than letting him die like so many others around him, he is eternally grateful for once.

He swears this on his life, on the complex, runic spells that are his tattoos, on the lunar magic that had saved him, and on the simple fact that hidden over his heart, is your name, spelled out in Lunar runes, and also, the sole thing that had been keeping him alive and healthy for the past nine years. 

[onthewaytosomewhere]

Espresso Martini for whatever rwrb ship strikes your fancy!

ok so i got a lot of espresso martini requests i just so happens i have one that will fit with this and not the other 2 so here we go

@duchessdepolignaca03 requested

---- so what we have here is firstprince but alex and philip meeting up

Alex is uncertain about this whole meeting, but he knows that Phillip has been trying, and Henry and Bea are both hopeful for some semblance of the relationship they used to have. So, here he is, about to enter the pub Philip picked out. He takes a deep breath, puts on his best not-quite-press smile, and walks through the door. He looks around the room and sees Philip sitting at a table at the back of the room. Alex walks towards him and watches as Philip turns his phone off and slips it to the side of the table.

He stops at the edge of the table, and Philip smiles up at him, “Alex, thanks for coming,” he gestures to the bench across from him. Alex sits down, and Philip slides the espresso martini across to him; it’s still cold, so it was recently ordered. Alex raises his eyebrow, and Philip shrugs, “Henry wouldn’t shut up for months about your love for coffee, so I figured this was a safe bet. The barkeep definitely laughed at me for ordering it, so please tell me you’ll drink it.”

Alex looks down at the drink in front of him, “Yeah, sure, I like a good espresso martini. Hopefully, y’all know how to make them here.”

“I’ve never had a bad drink here.”

The silence between them is awkward. Alex knows he should say something; he knows that Philip is owed an explanation, but he’s unsure how to start. He’s saved from having to say anything when Philip speaks.

“Alex … I suppose I would have ordered the espresso martini anyway; I remember your fascination with coffee without Henry having to bring it up every time I was at breakfast with him. Does he know?”

“That I’m here right now? That once upon a time, I considered you a friend? Yes, he also knows that, although he’s not sure how that could be. I guess I got lucky. I knew you when your Gran was just starting to get her claws so deep into you.”

“I’m sure it also helped that you met me after you met Henry at the Olympics, and what did you call him a pompous dick or something like that? So, of course, you expected me to be horrible, so it wasn’t a high bar to be better than you expected.” Philip raises his eyebrow in the same way that Alex thought was utterly annoying the first time they met, at some party after his mother won the election. He still finds it annoying, but it’s almost funny how it’s the least irritating thing about the man Philip became.

“Yeah, your brother definitely helped you out in that regard. Although maybe I just have a weakness for Fox men, your father was undeniably hot, and both you and Henry have some features in common with him. Although, I guess it’s probably good I didn’t have my bi-awakening with you. Martha would be even more unhappy with me.” Alex chuckles as he takes a drink of the martini at the appalled look on Philip’s face.

“Yeah, though, to be fair, she was trying to tell me there was something between the two of you back then. I didn’t want to hear it. I guess I assumed that even if we weren’t necessarily as close as we had been for a while there, you would have told me. Although it is pretty par for the course for you not to have known it yourself.” Philip shakes his head as if he can’t believe it and Alex takes another drink to avoid laughing. “Do I want to even know how you figured it out?”

“Well, you remember how Henry and Pez came to our New Year’s Eve party?” Philip nods, and Alex continues, “Well, Henry kissed me, and I found myself kissing him back. And then he ran back here and wouldn’t talk to me.”

“Wait, wasn’t he your guest at that dinner with the Prime Minister not long after that?” Philip looks as if he’s attempting to figure something out but is unsure if he really wants the answer.

Alex smirks and says, “Yes, he was,” with every bit of filthy implication he can pack into the three words.

“Ugh. I do not need to know what you are implying right now.”

Alex laughs and sees some heads turn their way out of the corner of his eye. “Well, I’m sure you were taught, with all your fancy education, not to ask questions you don’t want the answer to.”

“Well, I guess it does prove that I could have never been your bi-awakening, no matter how much you think I share any amount of looks with him or my father. I forgot you had a thing for Dad’s Bond movies; how does Henry take that?”

Alex chuckles, remembering the first time he had brought up how hot Arthur Fox was to Henry. “Well, better now than he used to. We actually watch them sometimes, which I think helps him feel a little bit closer; sometimes, I can get him to tell me stories about some of the ones he was on set for at some point during filming.”

They continue talking, and before Alex knows it, he’s on his third martini. It feels almost like he’s there with the Philip he knew a few years ago. He knows it will take a while, but he’s willing to help the Fox siblings work their stuff out; he knows Henry really wants it.

They’re leaving the bar, and before Philip turns to head toward his car, Alex says, “He loves you, ya know.” At Philip’s confused look, he says, “Henry, he loves you, so maybe figure your shit out so he can have his brother.” He turns and heads toward the car, waiting for him before Philip can answer, anxious to return to Henry.

[pomefioredove]

Hi, I love your writing, especially the way you portray pomefiore fam <3

I'd like to request a match up(no ortho, jack, sebek and floyd)

I'm INTP. I appear as a quiet, introverted and distant person, but after some time passes and I make sure that there's no threat for me I can open up and become a pretty sweet and friendly guy. The closer I'm to someone the more chaotic and clingy I can become. I'm very observant and always remember all the details about people around me and when I'm friends with someone I can even remember their texts up to every word. I love to use that knowledge to make my friends happy by doing something that they would like. I tend to be obsessive of my closest people and I want people to be passionate about me as well.

I'm interested in manga, anime, true crime, cults and esoteric things. I just love it when it's dark and dramatic and hurts me. My hobbies are drawing, gaming and studying languages, so far I know 4 including my mother tongue and I want to learn even more. Sometimes I like to write little stories. And I have a dream of making my own game.

I have schizoaffective disorder so my lifestyle is rather chaotic, I can sleep my days-off or pull an all night and day drawing or gaming spree. I often forget about home chores, but my house is never a mess. I often forget about myself and can spend days not showering or brushing teeth, but I can never forget about my loved ones so I'd rather spoil and look out for them than myself. I'm currently trying to get into healthy lifestyle but I'm struggling with motivation for it, I kind of wish there was someone working out with me.

Hope this wasn't too long. Thank you! <3

I match you with 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐮𝐬 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐚

The First Impression:

Malleus isn't one to judge based off of first impressions; in fact, he probably won't think anything of your distant and reserved nature (he doesn't see anything wrong with it, either. Would be baffled by people considering introversion a bad thing!)

Why He Fell:

He is... pleasantly surprised by how much you remember. Not that Malleus is particularly forgettable, it's just that... well, he has very little experience with friendship, and people taking an interest in his likes and dislikes and personal details as a friend rather than as subject or guard or what have you...

You've certainly got his attention. Just remembering the difference between a gargoyle and a grotesque is enough to impress him, really.

Please talk to him for hours and hours about dark, dramatic things, too. Whereas some would be off-put by the macabre, he's completely unfazed by your interest in the odd and obscure, and he's always eager to converse. As long as he gets to go on his own tangents, of course. He's also fascinated with your desire to make a video game, being bad with technology himself, he finds it utterly impressive.

The Relationship:

It's surprisingly sweet and innocent for two people so grim. Has a big "high school sweethearts" vibe, especially with how passionate you are about each other.

Nothing fazes this man. He's perfectly happy to accompany you in exercise, or give you gentle reminders, or help encourage you with whatever you may need as soon as he's aware you're struggling. He's rather open-minded and definitely willing to try new things. But he also doesn't mind if you have periods where you don't feel your best, or lack the motivation to be doing everything. Malleus is not one to run at the first sign of trouble, and he'll stick with you through anything.

He truly does adore you. Your thoughtfulness, your devotion, your eye for detail, even your interests are just so loveable to him. He cherishes your affinity for your loved ones, while giving you back the same energy. it balances itself out quite nicely.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 14 Pt. 2

We're in the home stretch... last stream of consciousness post! The story ends with these last four chapters...

Oh. Ok. Immediately hitting me with this on the first page. "What's there left to see?" "Let's see the world together." "I wanted to see tomorrow with him." Just another way of showing us that Vash is not driven to survive this fight anymore.

!!! The lights again! He heard Meryl!!! AGHHHHH

I'm actually a little unsure of who is saying the "hey, come on, Vash the Stampede" lines. I'm assuming he's saying this to himself. I don't think anyone else makes sense.

The ambiguity of this situation is so fascinating, and it all comes from the way we almost never see the Plants' true perspectives. We know, at least, that they talk amongst themselves. Before the battle began, the ones who were not fused were concerned and worried over the outcome, and what the right decision is. Knives claims here that they were all united in their hatred of humans over the abuse they suffered, but we also see these dreams that Knives sees also of a mix of human cruelty and kindness - the same thing they transfer to the humans when the feathers start falling. They also all know and seem to like Vash - honestly, I'm of the mind that the Plants feel somewhat neutral about humans overall, and are primarily concerned with not hurting their own kind - which includes both Knives and Vash. Unfortunately, they have very little control or free will in this situation. There are two possibilities for the emotions of the fused entity here:

Knives, having walled himself from truly fusing so he can still direct it and maintain his sense of self, is simply feeling his own hatred, intensified by the power boost from the rest of the Plants - and Vash's interference is something he feels due to having a stronger connection with him specifically.

The Plants, having a less defined sense of self in general, feel whatever the dominant consciousness feels - so all the fused Plants really do feel hatred for humanity. When Vash connects though, they feel his grief and sorrow, as he is the one with the stronger Gate.

I think the second option makes more sense - and this kind of makes this whole situation even more tragic for the Plants... it makes it even harder to glean what they actually want. (Though the situation could be drastically improved if they were recognized as conscious entities - that at least would be a start.)

I like that we still, even in the final act, see Vash allowed to be a bit afraid and hesitant - he definitely knows this is going to be overwhelming and probably going to hurt a lot. With him being as exhausted and prepared to die as he is, he could've just been written as utterly indifferent to the pain but no, even with all that, he's still got a bit of a preservation instinct. It's very real actually.

"I felt that! Where are you?!" "Don't touch me!" <- ...brothers...

Oh it's actually breaking apart... but um. What happens to the Plants...? :(

"I beg of you... once again... grant me that ticket." 😭

MERYL YOU ARE THE STRONGEST PERSON IN THIS MANGA I LOVE YOU FOREVER

YES!

Also this means they're all going to see Vash too, doesn't it?

WAIT. HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE PLANTS. They call him Red Brother? That is so cute... And they are convinced to give love and peace a try because Vash knows and loves both of them... humans and Plants...

(I actually am now thinking, because of the feather we saw on Vash before, that he wasn't talking to himself but that was in fact the Plants urging him to get up... I wasn't aware they could use speech or just images/emotions, so I wasn't sure.)

:') (I was so scared for them guys. But this is interesting - can progress be made so they don't have to live in the lightbulbs? That would be a good step towards instating more autonomy for them.)

AAAAAAAAAAA :''')

"But I will not yield. Our past and our future will not allow it." <-Sunk cost fallacy again. I wonder just how much of the conflict in this series are the characters feeling unable to change simply because they've "come this far". Might be interesting to go back and look on a re-read.

Knives... :(

"I was the one who broke away." 🫠

That's what she told him??? aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

IN COMES CHRONICA WITH A STEEL CHAIR

Vash saved him!!!

Oh. The wings... they each only have one... because they shouldn't have been separate like that...

Help girl I am. On the floor. Crying.

"Oh and welcome to No Man's Land." Livio you are so funny

WHAT WAS THE REASON. I AM ALREADY CRYING STOOOOP

Love the return of Vash's old wanted poster. Lol.

Hair down Vash with dark hair :)

Knives... I find it so interesting again that Knives immediately tries to barter Vash as necessary to these people so that he'll save him. But the doctor was actually convinced by the sight of Vash's injuries and the desperation in Knives' voice. It's so minor but it's still such good characterization and further proof that the ideal of kindness is present in ordinary people.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The symbolism of him creating an apple tree as a gesture of what is both thanks and trust... but Knives, ffs, why would you just disappear on your brother without telling him. UGH. He used the last of his power, didn't he. Healed Vash's injury as much as he could then created the tree. Is he dead, or did he just lose corporeality or something? I'm honestly not sure. Either way, Vash lost his brother too after they just got each other back.

Begging him to start singing his murder song again

It was at this moment he knew. He fucked up.

Aww! They are going to be such a good team now that Vash is going to hopefully stop running off. DUDE.

HJHSBJHCBZJHVSBJV WHAT

I did not get the song I was expecting, but the fact that these two apparently play a song about Vash to signal the start of their broadcast is so funny. What is happening.

OMG Sheryl and Lina!!! Badwick and his family! Brilliant Dynamites Neon!

LIVIO!!! And the kids and Miss Melanie... at Wolfwood's grave... (Livio I love your new look.)

:')

"The same song of humanity still sang."

What a beautiful end to this story... thank you everyone in the book club (and to Rev for organizing it!); I had so much fun with this. I can't wait to go through the tag some more and go back through everyone's posts again - I fell behind a few times so I want to do a re-read of everyone's analyses and thoughts. I'll have a few more posts probably, but for now... thanks for what was a really fun experience everyone! I think this manga's story and characters will stay with me a long while.

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday- 5/3

The poll decreed I must pull out something ridiculously self-indulgent I wrote for myself, so here you go!

Astarion x Tav if they'd met before he was a vampire spawn, and she had an oopsie baby after he disappeared.

Post-canon, trying to build a home in a ruined Drow city in the Underdark while dealing with two separate families- mortal and vampire.

This is NOT kidfic (all children involved are full adults, lol), but rather them reconnecting after she was bullied by their daughter to help kill Cazador so her father could finally be free.

10kish words, SFW. (lmk if u think i should put this on AO3)

Much like the rest of their unnamed city, deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Astarion’s study slash meeting hall was half-ruined, empty, and lacking in livable touches.

He hated it.

Still, they were ostensibly safe, and at least for the moment he had some company to complain at.

“And then– you’ll never believe this– Octavia said that it was Rydell who had insulted the Drow ambassador, and worse still, Dalyria defended her.  Everyone knows it was Octavia.  She’s not subtle!  It’ll be a wonder if they ever speak to us again.”

“The amount of drama a bunch of vampire spawn can get up to is rather impressive,”  Lilithera said, voice just a tiny bit distracted.  It usually was.  She spent far too much time working, something he’d have to talk to Zynatheri about.  “Did it cause problems with the negotiations?”

“No,” Astarion sighed, grateful that wasn’t a problem, at least.  “Luckily the myconids standing guard kept things civil.  It was a spot of brilliance suggesting a bit of– what did you call it?”

“Mmmmmmh, symbiosis?”

“Yes, that.  Darling, what in the Hells are you doing that has you so distracted?”

“Sorry, father,” she said, chagrined, voice echoing out of the scrying orb awkwardly as she moved away from her half of the enchanted relic she'd installed for him.  “I’ve been buried in that stack of books you had mother bring me– the cyphered necromancer’s journals you unearthed in the grand crypt?  I don’t know if there’s going to be anything helpful in them, but they’re still fascinating to translate.”

Anything but that.  Ugh.  It was his fault for feeding the wizard’s curiosity, he supposed.  “Your mother would kill me if you turned to necromancy, love.  Especially Drow necromancy.  You need to get out more. Get some sun.”

Lilithera laughed, an edge of sarcasm sharpening it.  “The irony of being told that by my undead father is not lost on me.  I’m trying to help you get out more.  I was invited to a Liar’s Night party, though.  I haven’t been to Waterdeep in an age, I was considering it.  Mother said she’d look after the twins.”

Waterdeep?

Oh no.  “Who invited you, exactly?”

“Archmage Dek–”

“Absolutely not!  Gale?!  Stay the Hells away from that man!”

Zynatheri was going to murder him.  Quite honestly he would let her, rather than being subjected to the idea of being Gale’s father in law.  Oh gods, just thinking those words made him want to vomit.  No, no, absolutely not.

Whatever was going on between Lily and Gale, as her parents they had a duty to utterly sabotage it.

“Father, he’s a colleague!  You and mum are utterly unreasonable.  I’m a hundred and ninety three years old, a widow, and a mother of four, need I remind you.”

“Mmh,” he muttered with an annoyed purse of his lips, trying to think up an actual, valid argument.  She was always so reasonable and logical, it could be frustrating at times.  She certainly hadn’t gotten that from him or Zynatheri. 

“What is your problem with Gale, anyways?”

“He’s my friend, darling, it feels…wrong.  Plus his romantic history is absolutely horrifying, let me tell you.  Who would want that for their daughter?”

Who would want the possibility of having Dekarios grandchildren?

Disgusting.

“I don’t think the man that got my mother pregnant and then disappeared has any right to judge me.  Speaking of, is mum there yet?  She should be arriving soon, shouldn’t she?”

“Who knows with that woman.  She’s worse than a stray cat,”  Astarion dismissed, despite wondering as much himself.  He was still feeling irritated over their argument last time she’d come by, and the fact that she’d gone and disappeared after it– he didn’t particularly mind disagreeing with her, but she always ran away afterward.  It was getting frustrating.  “How the Hells do you keep her from running off?”

“Oh, I stopped trying years ago.  Are you saying…you don’t want her running off?”  there was a sly, cunning little note to Lilithera’s voice.  That she had gotten from him.  Devious brat.

“I’m saying she showed up in my life, saved said life, dropped an entire family in my lap, and then went prancing off into the sunset.  Now she only reappears to do incredibly helpful things, and then briefly infuriate me before disappearing!  It’s very confusing.”

“Imagine having her for a mother.  Have you tried thinking up a reason for her to stay?  A task you might need her help with?  She might be fickle but she always keeps her word, you know.  Or are you too busy pouting and refusing to actually be the one to blink first?”

He rose from his seat, tossing aside the endless piles of reports.  The warming bottle Gale had enchanted for him was only half-full, but that was the state of things right now.  Food was in very short supply, especially with how the idiots kept losing their self-control and stealing from the rothe herd.  And actual thinking food?  

Nothing more than a daydream.

Still, at least he was eating in a more…civilized manner these days.

Pouring blood from bottle into glass, he raised his voice.  “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around in that pretty little head of yours until you’ve convinced yourself we’re pining after one another.  She’s a maddening, smug, evil little wretch and just because she confuses me doesn’t mean I’m desperate to learn all her secrets.”

“You’d never know if she were pining after you, anyways.”

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at the scrying orb, raising his eyebrows.  “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Father, she knows what you’ve been through.  Mother would never make the first move, she’s far too respectful for that; she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.  She told me as much last time I badgered her about you.”

“You really are a meddlesome little pest, aren’t you, darling?”

There was laughter in her voice.  “It’s a family trait.  When I was a child, before she discovered what had happened to you, I hated you.  I was happy you were gone.  Now that I know you and understand…well, you’re probably the only person I know of that could put up with her.  And vice versa.”

“Stop meddling, love.  You’re too pretty to fret over such things, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“You’re only saying that because everyone says I look like you.  I should go, I’m having dinner with Portia.”

“Tell the girl I say hello.”

“You’re going to have to get used to the word ‘grandfather’ sooner or later.”

Astarion grimaced, glancing out the window.  “No thank you.”

“Ilethra’s getting married.  You might be a great-grandfather before you know it.”

He scowled out at the fungus-lit cavern beyond, spite and annoyance simmering.  How dare she make him feel old like that?  “You’re no longer my favorite.  Why did you have to marry a human?  At least if your children were elven we’d have more time.”

“If you want another full elven child, I suggest you make one yourself.  Ta, father.  I love you.”

By the time the words sank in past his surprise, the spell had long since been banished, the scrying orb dark.  Still, he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at it as an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth rose within him.  She said it so easily, and so earnestly.  

He had someone who loved him.

Of course he put his best foot forward with her most of the time, but Lilithera wasn’t a child.  She was a fully grown woman, and an intelligent and discerning one at that.  He hadn’t tricked her into saying it.

She really, truly meant it.

He wondered if she still would if she knew everything he’d done.

Still, there was no point dwelling on it.  Not when he was neck-deep in shit without a shovel in sight.  Why he’d thought two centuries of in-fighting and petty conflict could be banished all at once, he didn’t know, but when they weren’t demanding he provide all the answers, his siblings spent all of their time arguing.

They’d lost a good thousand of their people already to death and decampment, which he couldn’t say he felt too badly about.  Less mouths to feed, at least.  But the others were panicking, worried about the ill-will those that left could be garnering.  As much as he hated to agree, they might be right.

Petras was trying to convince him to hire assassins to hunt them down.

As if they had the money for that.

Hells, they’d barely stopped traveling, and half of them were sleeping the days away in holes in the ground.  Hardly a safe situation.  That was why allying with the myconids had been a spot of brilliance.  Still a tenuous alliance, but they were working on it.  The Sovereign trusted Zynatheri at least; which would be more useful if the damnable woman would stay.  Now, if only they could forge an alliance with the nearby Drow, instead of having to fear they’d be turned on at a moment’s notice…

He really needed someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t a vampire themselves.

Just to clear his mind, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it took a full fortnight for the cat to come back.

“Poppy!  Lysander!”

Why were all her bloody family members so tall?!

Zyn’s fault, entirely.  If she wanted a child, she should have found another drow, but no– no, she’d gone and had a daughter with a high elf.  And then, even worse, her daughter had gone and had children with an even taller human!  It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was.  She was tempted to polymorph herself just to keep up, but after they’d gotten into a scrabble with cloakers earlier, Zyn was feeling a bit low on spellpower.

The twins, of course, were in fine spirits, galumphing along like colts.

“Come on, little mum!” Poppy called back, standing at the top of a narrow cliffside path.  It needed widening.  Some masonry, supports, and a retaining wall, at least.

She knew Astarion had other priorities, but having a good route to the city would be important.  Sadly, she knew as much about road-building as she knew about city planning.  Nil.

“I need you two to hold back!  We can’t enter the city without an escort, you know this!”

The pair paused at the cusp of the hill, but their backs were to Zyn.  She took the incline herself with ill grace, very, very ready to be off of her feet.  She despised the Underdark.  Zyn couldn’t believe in the past year she’d been down here almost a dozen times.  The things one did for family.

Lilithera kept thinking up reasons she needed Zyn to come down.

The girl couldn’t be more obviously trying to herd her parents into a relationship if they tried.

Zynatheri felt…pleasantly surprised by Astarion.  Over the years she’d had nothing at all to do with him after locating him.  And what Lilithera had told her from her scrying wasn’t enough to make any judgments about what he was going through, not enough to know his attitude about his unlife.  When he’d been kidnapped, Lilithera had immediately begged her to find him and protect him, and she’d done her best.

But her expectations of a man who had been tortured and a vampire for two hundred years were very, very low.

So to find him more like the young man she barely remembered than expected was a shock.  Oh, he was more confident now, much more traumatized, and far more worldly and mature, but there was still something of that ambitious, fussy, self-absorbed spoiled brat she’d liked so much in him.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten more bitter and nasty over the years, herself.

Life did that even if you weren’t being abused by a vampire.

Zyn finally reached the top of the hill, ignoring the worried look and gracefully extended hand Lysander offered down her.  He was a sweet boy, but spent far too much time worrying.  It made her feel old.

“Darling, I’m barely even three hundred,” she told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation.  “Before long, you’re going to be older than me!”

“That isn’t how it works, little mum,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes.

The twins couldn’t be more different and yet oddly alike– they both were the most curiously sensitive and caring children she’d ever met, but with a morbid streak a mile wide.  But while Lysander turned it inward, with dreamy eyes and a worrying penchant for poetry, Poppy turned it outward, with a ferocity of purpose and a helping hand that preferred to hold an axe.  And yet, there had never been two siblings as close-knit as they were.

When Lysander had asked to meet their grandfather, it hadn’t even been a question that Poppy would come along.

Besides, she needed more combat experience.

Together they stood on that precipice, attention naturally drawn to the ruin below them.  An ancient drow city, where her mother’s own people had been driven out generations ago in a conflict with the Houses of Menzoberranzan.  It looked…better than she recalled from last time, some signs of repairs beginning.  Clumsy repairs, mind, but between the vampires’ awkward attempts at masonry and the myconids’ aid in the form of natural fungal structures, it was beginning to look livable.

The multicolored mushrooms glowing against the surface of the ancient, slick black, spiky architecture was a surprisingly pleasant contrast.

“This was once called Arzullnioth.  It’s where your great-grandmother’s family lived long before the Spellplague.  The Houses of Arzullnioth attacked Menzoberranzan.  It did not go well,”  Zynatheri commented, starting to lead the way down the slope.  “Llolth chose Menzoberranzan, but your great-grandmother’s House was spared her wrath because they sacrificed every first-born daughter to her in a desperate placation.  They killed and killed until Lolth bid them stop, with only a single heir left– your great-great grandmother Kiivashti.  Thus, they were allowed to flee the city with what remained of House Tzahane.  My mother told me of it when I was a girl.” “That’s vicious,”  Poppy said disapprovingly, short raven curls bouncing as she shook her head.

“It’s very beautifully sad,” Lysander agreed, amber-and-earth eyes gazing over the cityscape with misty wonder, as if viewing its past.  “Did grandfather find their bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know, pet,”  Zynatheri said, too well-used to fatalistic minds to be bothered by it.  “We can look.  Perhaps they’ve found some clues that would point us to where great-grandmother’s family put their dead.”

“Honestly, little mum, I can see why you don’t like your family,” Poppy said with distaste.  “Killing all your own children; how evil.”

They walked together down the uneven slope of stone, the remnants of an ancient roadway more visible now.  The gate and wall that had closed out the great cavern of Arzullnioth were crumbled, damaged, but it seemed there were sentry myconids patiently standing in the gap where the city’s entrance had been.  Proper guards.  It was good to see.

The Sovereign Vorm had been busy at work budding, it seemed.

“Flower, we are walking into a city full of vampires, so try not to be too enthusiastic about calling things evil?”

“There’s a difference.  I’m not a child any more, I understand,”  Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes.  “The person who is evil is the one who turned them all.  And he’s dead.”

“Righteousness has done just as much wrong, if not more, than those they claim are evil,” Lysander agreed, softly sad.

Zyn fought the urge to scoff at youthful philosophy.  It was fine.  It was a luxury they had which meant they’d been raised safely and well, she had to remind herself, which was exactly what she’d sacrificed so much for.  So that they didn’t end up like her.

The idea softened her momentary exasperation, warming it.

“Ah, I did such a good job raising you,” Zyn self-congratulated, ignoring the pair rolling their eyes at each other behind her.

“Mum had something to do with that, little mum.”

“Well, hells, I raised her, too!”

As they approached the gate, it became clear that the city was still very quiet, only the fungal folk wandering the broken streets.  Shit.  She’d meant to arrive well after nightfall, but it seemed they were still a bit early.  While they took a pause just outside at the shrine of Beshaba Zyn had built, they all did their perfunctory offerings, and then she bid them wait.

“We shouldn’t go in until your grandfather sends someone to fetch us,” Zyn said apologetically.  “Stay right here, I’ll go speak to the guards.”

While she dealt with communicating the fact that she needed Astarion to fetch them, Zyn watched the city streets.  She could see a few shadowy figures out now, which meant it was probably just past nightfall.  Yes, better not to parade the children through the streets in front of a bunch of barely-awake, hungry vampires– that was a recipe for disaster.  

After she got her point across and managed to extricate herself– communicating with myconids was simple for her as a bard, but also addictively enjoyable– Zyn returned to the twins to wait.  And wait.  And…wait.

She was starting to get genuinely annoyed by the time Astarion arrived, and had paced back to the gate to wait, crossing her arms over her chest.  Coming down the hill, disheveled and still in the process of fastening his belt, Astarion looked about as annoyed as she felt.  When he noticed her and frowned, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You know where I live!” he snapped at her as he approached.

“I do,” she agreed, lifting her hands as he bore down on her.  “Come here.  Your hair is a mess.”

“Yes, well, I was still in my dressing gown,” he fussed, but obediently leaned down so she could fix his hair for him.  “Why didn’t you just come u–”

“Hello, grandfather!”  Poppy called cheerfully, the twins crunching up to join them.

Astarion straightened abruptly, pulling out of her reach.  He tugged down the front of his embroidered jacket, staring at the approaching pair for a moment before turning an accusing gaze on her.  She gave a small shrug.  Astarion sighed, heavily.

“Don’t take it out on them,” she hissed.

“I know,” Astarion snapped back.  Much to her relief, his mask slipped into place.  “You must be Poppy and Lysander.  I apologize, I hadn’t been told you were coming!  Imagine that!”  The last two words snapped with pointed accusation.

“Can we not fight in front of them, either?”

He gave her a dour look, and then sighed and stepped past her to greet the children.  She kept her peace all the way to the half-ruined palace he had claimed, which amusingly she had realized from the designs of the stonework had once belonged to her mother’s family.  Not that she’d mentioned it.  In fact, Zyn didn’t think she’d ever brought up House Tzahane’s history here to him– it hadn’t seemed relevant.

Having grown up on the surface, she had about as much connection to this place as a pig did to a plate of ham.

Whatever they would make of this place would be their own.

At any rate, Poppy chattered the entire way, so that filled the silence quite nicely.  

As she’d been suspecting, their bright, noisy presence drew a lot of attention as they traveled the shattered streets, something Astarion also seemed extremely aware of.  The twins were relaxed, but they were both on high alert.  Naturally Lysander was drawn to mooning about every even slightly interesting feature, but Zyn kept her hand close and gave him a bit of a tug every time he started to wander or pause to peek in ruined courtyards or fallen buildings.  

He was a bit too much like his deceased mother at times– head forever in the clouds.

As they approached the House, she looked it over with a critical eye.  The towers were missing their old statuary and spires, but it looked like he’d managed to get one of the roofs repaired, finally.  The gardens that spread before the building were neat and tidy but mostly empty, nothing but dirt, rocks, and old paths, with just enough fungal and bulbfruit foliage to feed the pair of rothes stabled there, tied to the remnants of an old shattered obsidian statue of the Spider Queen.

“Well, this is grim,” Poppy remarked.

“Gardening is a bit low on my list of priorities right now,” Astarion replied, sounding fairly annoyed.  “But I agree.  Aesthetically displeasing.  A state of affairs I’ve had to grow accustomed to.  It’s irritating.”

“Why empty it out, then?”

“Half the plants here were aggressive.  They kept trying to kill people.  I much prefer plants I can use to kill other people.  I was unaware kelpies were such an issue here in the Underdark, we’ve had a full half-dozen run ins with the damned things.”

“I’ve never met a kelpie.  I’ve heard they’re very beautiful,” Lysander mused softly.

“You would die,” his sister retorted sharply.  “Please don’t go looking for them.”

“Drowning seems like a peaceful way to die.  Don’t you think?”

“No, love, it involves a lot of choking and thrashing and loosening of the bowels,”  Zynatheri said tolerantly, unphased.  “The right poison or a beheading will do you much better.”

“Beheading is classic,”  Astarion agreed.  “But what about you, dear?”

“I’m going to go out fighting.  I’ll spit blood in their eye as they run me through,”  Poppy said with delighted relish.  

“How vicious,” Astarion laughed.

She knew he was irritated they’d come, but Zynatheri was grateful to discover that he respected her requests to keep things like that private.  Whether it was because they were virtual strangers to him or not, it was still appreciated.  After Ilethra and Portia had gotten to meet him, she hadn’t seen real reason to refuse the twins that wouldn’t have been infantilizing on her part.  Just because they were the babies of the family didn’t make them children.

And she couldn’t say yes to Poppy and no to Lysander just because he had a more, mmh…passive personality.

But Hells, she was going to have to keep an eye on him.  If they weren’t careful, he’d wander into the middle of town in an open-fronted shirt, reading poetry and looking wistfully melancholic.  Then they’d have to explain to Lilithera how they’d gotten her youngest killed.

Or worse, they’d end up with a vampire-in-law.

Silly, lovely boy.

“Let’s try to stay at the House, loves, shall we?”  Zynatheri suggested as they wandered into the vaulted front hall, the massive funguswood doors she’d painstakingly magicked back to life cracked open enough for them all to file in.

“No exploring?”  Poppy asked, obviously disappointed.

“There’s plenty of exploring to do here,”  Astarion said, in tacit agreement with Zyn, which relieved her.  “I haven’t been in half the rooms of this place.  And on that note, we’re a bit low on furniture, so you may have to break out those bedrolls again.  I haven’t the supplies to be a good host.”

“I brought some furniture, and we’re fully provisioned,” Zyn assured him, and smiled at his questioning look.  “Lily found me a portable hole.  I thought it was high time I brought you some things to make this place a bit more livable, now that it’s survivable.”  And because she knew he’d be annoyed and she wanted to sweeten his temper so he didn’t take it out on the children.

Astarion shot her a look of wide-eyed gratitude that made her laugh.

“You suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” she teased him.

“Even a single rug sounds like bliss right about now.  The floors are always cold despite how warm it is here.”

“Little mum said you like to read, so I brought you books,” Lysander said, attention fixed somewhere among the buttresses.  He tripped slightly, staggered, and then straightened up with Poppy’s hand on his elbow, looming over all three of them.  “When you have time later, grandfather, Poppy and I were hoping we could speak with you.”

“My docket’s rather full for most of the night– at dinner later, perhaps?”

“Dinner?  Dinner’s already passed,”  Poppy said with a laugh.

“When you’re a visitor, you have to follow local customs.  We’ll follow his schedule.  You heard grandfather, he has a lot to do.”  Zyn turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow.  “Should I put them in the room you gave me last time?”

“Thank you,” he said simply, already stepping away.  “I’ll leave you to it?”

As she’d much rather he processed their arrival away from the twins, Zynatheri left it at that and they parted ways.

It was always such a struggle to keep your damage from infecting those around you.  And Astarion?  He had a great many scars both literal and figurative.  Well, if he got too snippy with them, she could always threaten his life again.

There was always time for murder.

...

Astarion cradled his head in his hand, slumped deep into his chair.

“There is no need to waste energy on a farce of a court when immediate suppression is necessary to our survival,” Aurelia said firmly, with a hint of hurt and frustration in her voice.  “We lost another of our brethren today, and–”

Violet sighed in deep ennui, eyes rolling up and to the side as she splayed forward.  Resting her pale cheek on her palm, she stared at their tiefling sibling.  Her voice dripped with sing-song disdain. “Stop pretending to care.  You just want power.  You’re afraid giving Astarion judicial power means you can’t be Queen Aurelia.  Give it up. Nobody wants you to be in charge, you overbearing, weepy cow.”

“Why are we worrying about a few dead rothes when there’s runaway spawn out there, muddying our name everywhere we go?  We need to strike them down!  This is about our long-term survival!” Petras snapped, slamming his hands on the table.

Astarion sighed again, well aware Yousen and Dalyria were staring at him expectantly.  Of course when Petras said something, he was expected to respond.  “And what do you expect us to do in the short term, I wonder?” he asked, head rolling to the side as his hand dropped with an exasperated flourish.  “Do tell, brother.  Where does the money come from to fund your little hunting escapades?  Will we starve while you play?  Or are you just trying to get permission to go lurk in the nearest city?  Hmm?  Do a little clandestine hunting yourself?”

Predictable as always, Petras’ expression immediately stiffened.  Idiot.  Gods, at least he was still stupid; imagine if he’d actually become intelligent in the wake of freedom.

This all would be even more complicated.

They didn’t have the time for complicated right now, there were some corners that needed cutting.

“There’s no need to overthink it.  It’s only a judicial court, and we’re immortal!  We either execute people, flog them, or fine them within an inch of their lives.  What good will imprisonment do?”  Astarion declared, leaning back in his seat to scan across his siblings once more.

Dalyria gave him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it.

“He has a point,” Yousen said sardonically.

“We may not have time for building a code of laws just yet, but we cannot start executing people in the street!”  Dalyria protested, tearing her gaze away from Astarion.  “If people are afraid they will flee, and the damage already done will worsen.  What we need to do is focus on a cu–”

“Cure?  What, while we starve to death?  The idiots are killing our source of food.  They may as well die,” Petras said, giving Dal a look of frustration.  When she turned away from him, lifting her chin, he raised his voice sharply.  “Don’t ignore me because you don’t like my point!”

“Waaah,” Violet said snidely, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“What an intelligent rebuttal.”

“Rebuttal?  What a long word.  Have you learnt to read at last, Petras?”

“Leon?”  Aurelia interrupted from the head of the table before things grew any more fraught.

“Do as you like,” their silent sibling said, staring at a polished black stone mural behind Aurelia’s head.  Leon’s voice was affectedly bored.  “What do they call those spider-drow, Astarion?”

“Driders,” he replied, cautious about the change in topic.  

“I found a skeleton of one below my House,” Leon said, voice musing.  “Within tunnels surrounding a whole…temple of Lolth.  Have we any knowledge regarding Lolth’s opinion on vampires?”

“Necromancy is common in Drow society,” Astarion temporized, trying to search his memory.  Did he know that?  Had he asked Zynatheri?  No, he didn’t think he had, beyond using their dead.  “Ritual sacrifice is her favorite activity, I doubt she draws the line at vampires.  Just try not to desecrate the temple?”

Being the opportunist he was, Yousen slithered into the conversation then.  “Lucky for us you’ve acquired a pet Drow, then.  You can ask it.”

“Jealousy is ugly, brother,” Astarion retorted dismissively, waving a hand.  Considering how she had chosen to arrive this time, he knew the information would have reached his siblings.  He also knew Yousen was ensuring that everyone else was certain to know.  Stirring the pot.  

Conniving little gnome.

“You should share food with the whole family.”

Fine.  He wanted to push?  Astarion was more than happy to push right back.  “Speaking of pets, brother dear, have you told Violet yet that you were the one who killed the kruthik hatchling she was keeping?”

Yousen went silent immediately, but the silence didn’t last long.

Within moments the table had descended into threats, verbal attacks, and accusations as two centuries of bile spilled over once more.  Normally Astarion would have been among them, goading, but being in control for the moment, he only felt a detached sense of amusement.  They were so easy to manipulate.

Granted, this wasn’t progress, but at least they weren’t irritating him any longer.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

As the others attacked one another, Astarion and Leaon observed one another across the table in silence.  Their alliance was, and remained tenuous, but Astarion understood his youngest ‘brother’ more now than he had before.  What he had done– what he was still doing for his daughter– was completely comprehensible now in a way none of the others could understand.

It also, unfortunately, settled some of his rage and vitriol towards Zynatheri for never rescuing him.

Although he didn’t feel it, that urge to protect a child, he did at least understand it now.  It wasn’t fair that his grudge was being ruined with this new comprehension, but oh well.  She didn’t need to know he wasn’t angry any more.  

If she did, she might feel less guilty, and then she wouldn’t be so quick to placate him.

Eventually, when he made no attempt, Aurelia bullied and tearfully manipulated everyone back into line.  They made a few pressing decisions, though the greater one of ‘justice’ remained undecided apart from temporarily being shoved onto Astarion’s plate.  Dalyria was the odd one out, determined to give grace and understanding for some reason.  He assumed she wanted to pick a fight with Aurelia.

And Astarion also knew she was already experimenting on some of the spawn assigned to her House.  Another tidbit to keep in his back pocket.  One never knew when it might come in handy to toss out at a necessary moment– no matter how lenient he was towards the three of them, he was also more cautious around his sisters.

Yousen was wholly untrustworthy, Petras was stupid and petulant, and Leon, well…he was only here at all due to bribery and threats.

Things wound down a bit more tense than before, as they always did, and everyone parted ways to go back to secretly trying to manipulate one another.  Part of him had hoped being free would mean things would get better, but that seemed impossible unless they went their separate ways.  Their scars were all twisted together, making them parts of a whole in an unwholesome and unpleasantly familial fashion.  They had been forced to be family, but that was over, and somehow they still were.

Even Leon, though he denied it.

And right now, they needed each other.

He waited until they were all gone before leaving the table himself, knowing none of them would be stupid enough to go skulking through his House right now.  Later, when he wasn’t expecting it would be more likely.  He did note that Yousen hadn’t mentioned the children, which made him think that he hadn’t known they were Astarion’s mortal relations.

None of the children looked enough like Lilithera to be easily identifiable as his blood, thankfully.

Finally he rose to leave, ignoring the papers and reports.  Not now.  Now he wanted to relax, as being around family could be exhausting.

“Astarion.”

Hands clutched abruptly at his sleeve as he left the ancient dining room they’d been using as a meeting chamber.  Astarion paused with a start, exhausted mind already ready to snap until he looked into Violet’s worried eyes, her lips pulled down into a deep frown.  Annoyed, he still tempered his frustration.  Not listening to her would just send her into a fit.

“Yes, Vi?”

“Before the meeting over the judicial court, I overheard Petras telling Dalyria that Aurelia wanted them to vote against you.”

Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of the simple attempt at manipulation.  “While I appreciate you telling me, dear, you do know that for this to work, sometimes we will vote against each other?  Otherwise, what’s the point in making a council at all?  I would just name myself tyrant if that weren’t the case.”  As much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes, but they’re plotting.”

He tapped the end of her nose affectionately, and she clutched him closer, fingers creeping into the crook of his arm, possessive and spidery.  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

She smiled at him with an innocence that almost hid the wicked edge, ducking her chin, scarlet eyes averting.  “I thought you would want to know.  I’ve been working very hard on my House.  Will you come see it tonight?”

For a moment he nearly, habitually said yes, and then remembered the hapless relatives gamboling around in his House with fearless abandon.  Also, Zynatheri was waiting for him.  With a smile, he peeled her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a small pat as he released her.

“Tomorrow.  I have things to do, still.”

“You mean you’re going to spend time with your mortal.”  All affectation and smiles left her face; she didn’t even bother to look hurt or pained.  Just cold, and nasty.  “I don’t like her.”

“She is the only reason we’re safe down here,” he rejected her simply, taking her arm with a pointed air and all but dragging her to the exit.  The last person he wanted to be here right now was Violet.  

Once he ensured all of his siblings were gone, he turned away and headed deeper into the House, away from any errant spawn.

Every step echoed.

That echo was constant, a reminder of how empty this place was.  When Astarion had sent them to the Underdark and promised to follow, he’d been anticipating a crude camp, a constant struggle, carving a life out of dangerous caverns.  He’d even been considering leading them to Grymforge in the hopes of making it livable, but…

To have found this half-shattered, ancient Drow city was beyond all of his expectations, and it was Lilithera and Zynatheri who had made it possible.

But gods was it empty.

Then again, empty was better than how it had been when they’d moved in; stuffed full of monsters, traps, and other dangerous things.

He didn’t blame Zynatheri for preferring to be in his room– it was the only one decorated.  Again, thanks to her and her daughter.  He should dig something out of the artifacts they’d found to send back to Lily in thanks.  Something that wasn’t necromantic.  This time.

“Grandfather!”

The word still roused a twinge of unease, and not just because it made him feel old.  Because it made him feel dead.  It was the same reason he’d rejected Lilithera’s offer to find what remained of his mortal family– that all was so ancient and forgotten he would rather leave it that way.  For now.  But his own discomfort, well, it hardly mattered to the children.

And Zynatheri had made it rather clear she would murder him if he in any way upset them.

They bore down on him, golden-eyed, energetic Poppy and wistful, distracted Lysander.  A continuation of his life, like lively mushrooms sprouting from a dead log.  All of them made him feel the strangest sense of rejection and yearning, wanting what they were to him but not wanting to admit what he’d lost.  He did try to keep it from them, at least.

His relations were twisted enough without inflicting it on these bright, curiously innocent creatures his mortal life had made.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve never been in a Drow Great House before!  Sometimes I forget that we’re quarter drow, it’s not like people see that.  They just call you a half-elf and be done with it,” Poppy chattered, beaming at him until her eyes crinkled like Lilithera’s.

“It’s beautiful and lonely,” Lysander opined, untidy hair falling back from his eyes as he gazed upwards. "The walls are full of ghosts, and the floors hold memories of blood."

Poppy grinned with a hint of feral excitement. “We were just going to go find little mum, to see if she wanted to go exploring! Maybe we'll find an ooze.”

Astarion knew by now that there was nothing she wanted less.  Lazy woman.  “Your grandmother is resting.  Under orders.  I would appreciate it if you two would head downstairs and survey the second level for me.  Take an inventory of what remains.  But if there’s danger more than a trap or a few undead, you have to promise to come fetch us at once.”

“We promise,” Poppy agreed earnestly, cheeks dimpling in an irrepressible smile.  

“Go on, then.  My rooms are just there,” he pointed down the left-hand hallway.  “You’ll be able to see the firelight.  You have…food and things?  Water?  Potions?”

“We are provisioned for the journey,”  Poppy said, curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously.

He was about to let them go, until a thought struck him, uncomfortable and worried.  No.  They weren’t truly safe here, were they?  Not even in his demesne.  It chilled him to think about what Violet would do if she had them in her hands.  “If you…see anyone at all.  Any strangers.  Please come right back.”

“Little mum told us not to trust anyone but you,” Lysander reassured him, those dreamy copper eyes suddenly, and surprisingly intent.  “We won’t succumb to the lure of darkness.”

“He means we won’t talk to strangers,”  Poppy said, with a hint of exasperation.  Grabbing her twin by his upper arm, she started dragging him off.  “Honestly!  They act like we aren’t grown,” she complained as she pulled him towards the grand staircase in the main hall.

“They have seen centuries; us, mere decades.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to be so overbearing about it,” Poppy complained.

“I’m still standing right here!”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder, pulling down the skin under her eye with her free hand, making a horrible face.

Reflexively he made a face back at her, and her expression shifted into an impish smile.  

Bemused, he watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention.  A soft, ethereal voice, languidly singing a wordless song.  A siren in the shadows.  It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.  

A lone figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him.  It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner.  The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame and an empty basin was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor.  Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios.  A painting of his family on the mantle.  Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it.  A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant.  Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown.  The curve of one soft calf peeked out, her foot pointed off the cushion in a graceful, sinuous line.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life.  Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but humanity– if that’s what you wanted to call it– wanted her here like this.  A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

“Are you drunk, little fox?” he asked, amusement spilling over the words.

She startled, knees curling up to her chest, hands clutching the front of his dressing gown closed– as if he hadn’t seen the unbound, ripe curves of her bared chest already.  Accusing moonstone eyes turned on him.  “You bid me relax, brought me brandy, and I have drunk.  I cannot un-drink, or un-drunk.”

“But you can draw me a bath, it seems.”

“I heard you talking to the twins and heated it up, so it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing there would be a sliver of light in the hallway.  Feeling a sudden buoyancy in his mood, he paused while passing by the daybed, leaning over the curving back.  She peered up at him, nose wrinkling irritably as he swiped a finger down her cheek, the skin velvety and warm under his fingertip.

Mockingly, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting them.  “Hmmh.”

“I washed,” she said, tartly.

“So you did,” he agreed, smirking to himself.

“There’s a wooden box of bath essences on the table,” she murmured, eyes slitting closed like a contented cat when his hand briefly rested on her head in passing.

The reaction was so soft, so natural, that his mind couldn’t help but dwell on what a more affectionate caress might do.  He might as well admit it.  Astarion was fascinated by the little minx.  Attracted to her.  He might be a little more uneasy about that if her two centuries of devotion felt in any way attached to some adoration or sexual desire, but they didn’t.

She’d looked for him for their daughter, not out of love or infatuation.  He knew what those looked like.  In her eyes he saw neither, just a friendly affection that had been slowly growing with each meeting, much like his for her.  But even her disheveled state of sexually charming disarray right now was just relaxation and her feeling comfortable, not any active attempt at seduction.

She was simply a seductive person.

Why was she still here?

Was it really just for the children?

His thumb caught the catch on the richly-scented wooden box settled on a small side table carved with sinuously twisted designs– a decorative table.  Such a small, pointless luxury, but one he had now.  The box was filled with small glass bottles, and he smelled them each until one struck him.  Earthy, woody, relaxed and warm.  

Not a scent made to hide anything, just to be enjoyed.

He plucked the oil out of the box, and headed for the heated water.  “What do you expect me to wear?”

“I’ll go dress,” she muttered drowsily.

“If the dressing gown is damp I don’t want it.”

He heard a huff, but no verbal response.

The vial poured into the water filled the air with an inviting, rich scent, beckoning him to relax.  After today, it wasn’t a lure he could resist.  Shrugging his clothing to the floor, he stepped into the deep tub, pleased to find the water scalded his skin, warm to the point of discomfort.  Perfect.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it.

Seconds flowed by, languid, as he let the heat sink into his bones.  It felt good.  Rejuvenating.  The room would normally be empty, but he could hear the small sounds of someone else moving around in his space, filling it with a strange warmth.  Her footsteps, breaths, the soft hum.

“Sing me a song, little nightingale,” he murmured, lungs filled with heady steam.

Instantly, but distantly, she lifted her voice in song, a softly lilting little folk tune that was as gentle as it was morbid. Like so many folk songs.  Her sweet voice sank into him, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even known were tense.  

After so many nights alone in the darkness, working, having her here was a balm to wounds he hadn’t even known were causing him pain.

Her voice wandered closer as she completed the song, some little tune about a woman dying on her wedding day.  She tossed his dressing gown over the top of the curtain, followed by a loose pair of pants.  Nothing else.  He gave a rather pointed ‘ahem’.

“What?”

“Generally undergarments are worn under trousers.”

“Get your own underwear,” she scoffed, making him laugh.  Her voice softened minutely.  “Don’t worry about your dirty things, Lysander needs to practice his cantrips, I’ll have him clean them.”

“I was under the impression that he was learning wizardry, not bardic arts.”  Astarion scooped up the sponge, finally feeling relaxed enough to bother with scrubbing.

“Lily tried, but he just doesn’t have the mind for it.  Not stupidity, just focus.  He doesn’t like it, so his mind wanders– music is easier for him.”

“Too much of a dreamer.”

“Hmmh,” she agreed softly.  “We should let him dream.”

“I suppose it is a luxury we can afford him,” Astarion said, trying to ignore the weight of that statement and the bitterness it brought up.  “So what do you think of the twins’ grand plan to reconnect people with their families?”

Zynatheri sighed, the sound trailing off into silence.  Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and soft sloshing of the water filled the air, until she finally blew out a breath between her lips.  “I think it has a lot of potential to do good, but also a lot of potential to summon an army of Lathander’s followers intent on wiping you all out.  I still think isolation and discreet alliances are your wisest courses until you are stronger.  I think that they are…thinking the best of people.  I think that they are thinking ‘our grandfather is a vampire, and we don’t care.  Why would anyone else?’”

She was absolutely correct.  There was no way they could survive a crusade, and any followers of Lathander would slay them on principle.  They were vulnerable, and would be for some years as they started slowly creeping past survival into thriving and growing.  And they needed those years.  Their weakness was a lack that only time and hard work could cure.

No skills, no martial talents, no magic even beyond Leon’s.

Which was why Astarion didn’t feel the least bit badly about blackmailing him into staying.

“I’ll speak to them.  Perhaps you and I could think of another outlet for their…youthful enthusiasm.”

“Do you even have the mental fortitude for more problem-solving?” she teased.

He gave an exhausted sigh that made her laugh, slumping back in the bathtub until his head rested on its edge.  Astarion closed his eyes.  It was a valid question, and the answer was no– but they both knew that.

“I’d like to help, but my knowledge is more broad than deep– I don’t know a lot about logistics.  But if it would help, I’d be happy to make a donation.  The twins will want to stay for a while, so I’ll have time to recover.”

Was she–

Shock spurred his tongue, water sloshing dangerously as he sat up straight.  “Are you offering me blood?”

“It’s the easiest way to help you, isn’t it?  I do like things that are easy.”

“I’ve never had someone offer it to me before.”  At least not out of altruism.  Thinking of that alchemist from Moonrise just made him disgusted, however, so he moved on quickly from thinking about that.  And in his current situation… “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Should we wait until I’m sober?”

As much as he wanted it now, in a desperately hungry way– that uplifting warmth that washed away the eternal fog, that invigorating breath of life… “We should wait until dusk.  It’s nearly morning.  I’d hate to waste even a drop.”

“It’s funny how you can tell,” she said, and cracked a soft yawn.  “In the morn– er, dusk, then.”

The water was starting to cool, and with it his desire to be in it any longer.  It was a shame, though.  When she wasn’t here, the best he could do would be a cauldron heated over the fire, which wasn’t enough to lounge in, just enough to get clean.  But what real impetus could he give her to stay?  How could he make her stay and take care of him the way he wanted, the way she owed him for the two hundred years she’d done nothing.

It wasn’t at all true, but it felt true– which was enough for him.

It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t say it.

Regardless, Zynatheri wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t provide for her or offer her comfort that she wasn’t the one giving to him.  Asking her to stay would be asking her to struggle.  And for what?  So he could enjoy her company and the comforts that came with it?

Well…why not?

It wasn’t as if there would be any harm in asking, right?

If she wasn’t willing to stay and indulge him, then she’d simply say no and that would be the end of it.  She wouldn’t hold a grudge.  Right?  Of course that was right, why was he even second-guessing it?

When he finished dressing, she'd pulled herself up to sit on the daybed, leaving space for him. She'd thrown on her loose linen traveling shirt and trousers, bare feet tucked under her, head resting on her arm. He didn't ever think he'd seen her with a fully upright posture.

Always lounging like a cat.

The temptation was near-impossible to resist, and by now he knew she'd allow it.

Astarion was proven correct when dropping onto the seat next to her and slumping to the side only had her shifting her posture, legs dropping to the floor, back settling into the embrace of the fainting couch's arm. Willingly, he let her shift him from her shoulder to her lap, head falling onto the soft pillow of her thighs.

Gods, the damnable woman was comfortable.

“You’re so tired,” she said fretfully, running her fingers slowly through his damp hair as he adjusted himself.  “You need to relax more.”

“Two centuries of…spite, rivalry, competition, and puppeteering by our M– by Cazador has made it difficult between the seven of us.  They listen to me, of course, but the constant bickering…ugh. Exhausting.”

“Do I make things more difficult for you, because I keep coming by?  Would you prefer that I stay a–”  She stalled as he cracked open an eye and placed a single finger on her lips.  Bemused, she pursed them.

“Yes, I would,” he said.

“Then I’ll go,” she said, posture stiffening, an amusingly annoyed expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?”  Despite knowing exactly why he’d irritated her, Astarion pulled a confused expression.   A little game. Except...much to his surprise, he was the only one playing it.

Usually she was quick, but he’d forgotten– Zynatheri was drunk.

While her face went through a long journey of utter bemusement, he watched from his very comfortable position, highly amused watching her alcohol-sodden brain trying to function.  When she turned a glare down on him, he smirked.  The silly creature pouted.

“You’re taking advantage of my muddled head,” she whined, flicking his forehead.  

He swatted her away, knuckles smacking into the back of her hand, stinging.

“Owwwwh,” she whined pathetically.  “What are you doing?  You told me to go away, so I’m going away.”

“You didn’t say go away,” he replied, discreetly shaking his own hand.

“Yes, I did, I asked if you wanted me to go away and you said yes.”

“No, you asked if I wanted you to stay…” he finished by placing a finger on her lips again.

Her pretty moonstone eyes went rounder than usual, lips pursing under his finger out of shock and not affection.  Still amusing.  Cheeks flushing an unfairly charming shade of purple, she stared down at him.  His smirk grew into a wide, amused smile of delight.

Was she actually–

“You’re blushing!”

“No!  I don’t blush!” she protested, reaching up and clutching her cheeks.  “I’m flushed from drinking!”

“I’ve been lying here wondering if somehow all my charms have gone stale,” he teased her, laughing when she gave a faint ‘hmph’ and turned her face away, nose in the air.  He let his expression turn cajoling, amused by her pouty little act.  He saw the little peeks she gave him, wanting to know his reaction.  Softening his voice, he tried to lure her out with a low croon.  “Come now, little fox. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She shot him a scornful, aloof look, her big silver eyes turning distant.  “Are we?  Well, friends shouldn’t be indebted to each other, should they?  I’ve been raising your non-vampiric spawn for two hundred years, that adds up!”

Offended, but too comfortable to move, he folded his arms over his chest, steepling his index fingers together.  “Really?  You’re extorting me?  I wonder what Lilithera would say if I told her that you said that.”

Immediately she puffed her cheeks, looking mortally, but hilariously offended.  Any attempts at dignity flew right out the window.  “Don’t you dare!  You bully!”

“I’m the bully?!  You just threatened me!”

“You were teasing me,” she replied, a little whine to her voice.

What a frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable creature she was.

“You’re impossible to be angry at.  It’s annoying,” he informed her, amused by her smile of triumph.  And then she went back to stroking his hair, which soothed away any thoughts of continuing the play-fighting.  His eyes closed, the rhythmic, affectionate touch soothing and gentle.  

His words gained no response, but he had no desire to break the peaceful, calm silence.  The fire crackled, her touch wound through his hair, strands curling around her fingers, tugging lightly when she freed herself.  It was hypnotic.

She smelled like brandy and night-blooming flowers, a rich, sultry perfume, and her lap was warm and soft as he lounged bonelessly against her.  Her embrace was possibly just a little better than the bath.  And all of this with the oddest lack of seduction or sexual intent– just intoxicatingly guileless affection.  It made him think of Lilithera’s words, about how she would ‘never make the first move’.  If she hadn’t by now…

Zynatheri’s velvety voice was soft.  “Did you mean that?”

He knew instantly what she was referring to; a shared thought.  “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s no reason for you to stay even if I had meant it.”

Zynatheri gave another of those soft ‘hmm’s, voice a low murmur of sound.  “Do you think the pleasure of your company isn’t a reason?”

“Well, naturally, dear, but usually the company is a means to an end, not the end goal,” he said flippantly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“Not for me,” Zynatheri replied, voice slow and casual.  “I’m a very simple creature at heart, Astarion.  I do what I enjoy.  I enjoy your company.”

 He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice any longer, the odd uncomfortable anger he’d been feeling all evening when all he wanted was to relax.  His voice sharpened, body restless.  “There’s nothing down here, don’t you understand that?  No fine food, wine, society, no safe audience for your pretty songs but me.  It’s dark, cold, and empty.  Dangerous.  Every luxury I could possibly give you is something you’ve given to me.”

The comfort was unwanted now, meaningless in the face of his internal strife.  Astarion rose to his feet abruptly, pacing across the floor with frustration in every stride. He glanced at her, but it only made him feel badly, the rejected hand still in the air, her patient stare.  Why was she doing this?  Why did she keep wandering into his life only to leave?

It drove him absolutely mad.

Her voice was frustratingly calm.  “I feel like even if I said those don’t matter, you’d still feel otherwise.  Why is that?”

All of the frustration and annoyance he hadn't felt towards his siblings seemed to have turned on her, rising with the tone of his voice as Astarion whipped around to stare down at her.  “Because my mind keeps telling me all I would have to do is seduce you to keep you by my side, and I don’t want to do that any longer!  But without that…what?  What? What do I have to give you?!”

She watched him from the daybed still, cheek lowering to pillow on her arm, silver eyes turned up towards him.  There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face.  Infuriating wretch.

“What are you smirking at?!”

“Have you forgotten how to court someone without sex?” she asked, voice teasing him.

It was so unexpected that his anger lost its momentum immediately.  She– “Court– who said anything about courtship?”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking?  You want me to stay.  You want me to sing for you and coddle and spoil and flatter you– take care of you.  So…figure out how to make me want to stay, then.  And no, I don’t want to sleep with you either.  To make me be a part of degrading you in a way you’re finally free of just as an attempt to placate me…I’d never forgive myself.”

“Just– ugh.  Just because it isn’t about sex doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be romantic…but it is,” she replied, fingers splaying against her cheek.  “I’m not going to pretend it’s not.  You’ve shown me what you have to offer me, told me why it’s not good enough, but I disagree.  I like what we have for what it is.”

“Yes, but that won’t get you to stay,” he insisted awkwardly.

“It might.”

Finally he had to avert his gaze, unease overtaking anger.  His emotions were confusing, shame and discomfort and disbelief that she was saying it at all.  But she was.  “You mean that, don’t you.”

“Just think about it.”  

He shouldn’t resent something as simple as her standing up, but he did.  Astarion knew she was leaving.  The last thing he’d wanted was to stew in his own mind like this, but it seemed his mind didn’t care.

“I’m going to go find the twins,” she said, confirming it.  “I think if you contacted our daughter, she’d be more than happy to help you.  But if you need somewhere to start…”  She grimaced, heaving her hair forward over her shoulder.  “You could learn to braid.  Rest well.  I’ll see you first thing in the evening, hmm?”

“I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for being honest,” he admitted, despite knowing it wasn’t true.

“I can see why it might feel that way.  But we’ve been dancing around in this gray area for a while, so it’s probably time to figure things out.  You were right to say something.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this all on my shoulders,” he pointed out, wishing she’d give him some damned indication of how she felt about it all.

She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled impishly.  “How much have I been doing for you lately?  Tsk.  The nerve of you.” 

“Well, how do I know you’re not this sweet to everyone?”  He gave her an aggrieved pout, crossing his arms.  “Maybe I’m not special.”

“You are.”

“And how many beautiful former lovers have you said that to over the years, I wonder.”

She smiled faintly.  “Ask Lilithera.  Sweet dreams.”

Well, it seemed she was determined to go.  As much as he wanted to shout at her, leaving things on a bad note would make their next meeting unpleasant instead of restful.  Right now, those crumbs of rest were all that was keeping him sane. 

And he wasn't going to lie and claim he didn't desperately want the blood she was offering.

“Sweet dreams, little nightingale.”

Zynatheri’s good mood was unabated, glancing over her shoulder with a wink at him on her way to the door.  “You sound so sulky,” she teased.

“Begone,” he ordered her irritably, throwing himself down on the daybed she’d abandoned.

Despite the fact that this room was no longer empty, her laughter still echoed long after she’d left.

[sith-shenanigans]

An Exchange of Burdens (Pt. 1)

A Fallen London ficlet, in which Amias makes an arrangement. Heart’s Desire spoilers below the cut.

Divider may be found here.

It’s evening in false-summer, the gaslights burning low outside, on the day you first die.

It’s difficult not to be nervous. You considered having a drink, but the thought made you nauseous. The settee in your apartment feels too soft, too springy, to the point that it’s awkward to sit on the edge. Your fingers tap out a rhythm on one of the armrests—a half-remembered beat from an opera that seared through your mind even as you conducted it. It comes to you in moments of tension, now, when you’re about to fling yourself into the unknown. Even the echo has a sort of power, rattling around in your brain.

You’ve gotten on, since you got here, with the more inhuman of London’s denizens. Devils are fascinating, charming; even the one across from you, in her utterly un-charming way. They wear humanity like clothing—as impeccable as their suits and gowns, but still just a cover, and you don’t carry on conversations with somebody’s fashionable non-Polythremic hat. They delight in things humans wouldn’t, often in ways that humans would hate to have turned on them. Animosity is sometimes a game, as much as affection.

Rubbery Men are difficult to understand, even now, but you’ve tried valiantly to cross the gulfs of language and mindset to make connections. Clay Men are at once very simple and very complex; they sometimes strike you as the overlap between person and action, infused with purpose from the moment of birth. Or, if not, left Unfinished in the dark.

The less said about the Masters—whatever they are, under those robes—and whatever you think about them, the better. You know they’re trapped here. You know that they can get drunk on music, and that they’re captivatingly ungainly when they dance. You suspect they have more than a human number of limbs.

That aria, its soaring immolation, is the closest you have been to being something else. You find yourself remembering it in moments where you’re small or afraid.

Virginia’s animosity is no game at all, except in the ways that it is; poison-sweet, or just poisonous. She’s been knocked out for now, but the Marvellous doesn’t stop. If she kills you for good, she makes two more enemies: Pages and the Manager, incensed that they’ll be unable to go on with the next rounds. She knows she can’t afford that. You know some part of her is tempted, just to prove that you aren’t so clever after all.

But you—you’re not really worth what a Master will do when it’s denied. You know that, too. It’s exhilarating. The song thrums in your skull. This unnecessary risk; this total certainty.

You smile. “Pleasure to see you again,” you say. Soft, calm, in control. You are not on the verge of vibrating out of your skin. “I’d offer you a snifter of brandy”—muscaria, of course—“but I’d hate for you to think I was putting off the moment.” You would love to put off the moment. You could hang in nauseating freefall forever. You’re also a bit concerned she would force you to drink it, which would be a perfectly decent way to die if it didn’t smell precisely and entirely vile. Go to the place you’ve been avoiding, yes, but you’d rather not go there humiliated and reeking like a field of fermented, poisonous mushrooms.

On the table between you is an array of implements, set out on black cloth. They glint or gleam as appropriate; the vial of poison has been guaranteed non-permanently-fatal. It’s laced with something that should make pain easy to forget. All the blades have been sharpened to fine edges—no rusty, blunted gutter-blades for you, after all the time you’ve spent trying to get away from them. You probably take a few too many shortcuts through back alleys in Spite, but that’s no reason to disrespect your own efforts.

Perhaps Virginia would have preferred something more painful. She smiles too, half-lidding her vicious hot-brass eyes, and folds the cloth back over the tableau. “Thank you, my dear,” she says, “but I shan’t be needing those.” She stands, stepping around the table in nearly the same dangerous motion, and you have half a breath to contemplate what she’s about to do before she’s on you.

At your feet, a tigress drowses. A criminal, caught consorting with Fingerkings. With every favor you scraped together during the Coilheart Games, you managed to convince the Court of the Wakeful Eye to let you carry out her sentence—which you already have, when you forced in the poison that slows her breath. Now you fist your fingers into her fur as Virginia’s press into your throat. Your pulse is a glass drum. In a moment, you fancy, it will turn to light.

Her grip tightens. Instinctively, you try to draw in a breath. You can’t. Something—some survival instinct—is screaming. Virginia is still smiling.

You can’t help but struggle. But she holds you down and sends you off.

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