#how to use article forge

[nanaluvssevi]

MEN AND MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

University Professor Sevika x Fem reader. ₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Hi! this is the main story of this au. You can find the masterlist here! This story would continue, in the form of drabbles, short stories and headcanons.

I worked really hard in this so I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did writing it!!.

Kind of slow burn, but not really, they just take their time. No yearning or doubting

TW: Suggestive talk, talking about nudity, cursing, a little bit of angst, not too much tho, family issues, drug addiction, consumption of alcohol and weed, shotgunning, suggestive talk again, nudity, making out, they have sex. Fingering and Cunnilingus !reader receiving. Groping. Humping.

Also feet?? LOL. nothing sexual or suggestive but just fyi.

WC: 15.2K

Professor!Sevika, who could teach about every subject but wouldn't she just be so good at social studies and political science?.

Professor!Sevika, who was known for her sassy tone and remarks to make the lectures manageables but also for her impressive knowledge about what she teached.

Professor!Sevika, who didn’t tolerate any type of disrespect in her class, and when someone dared to disrespect her she would be the roughest and meanest professor in the whole building.

Professor!Sevika, who noticed you on the first day of the new semester, she didn’t know why at the moment but you just stood out from the rest.

Professor!Sevika, who despite her relatively young age for a professor she had forged a great and known career path. She had started teaching as soon as she could, and you could notice that in her expertise. Someone who had collected degrees like they were easy to get, expanding her knowledge every time she could. Knowledge and expertise you could notice only by looking at the way she moved around the lecture hall, how her low, deep and raspy voice for too many cigarettes captured the attention of every person who put a foot in her class. With the days you started noticing that special glimpse of pride that made her grey eyes sparkle when she got elbow deep on the class topic of that day.

Professor!Sevika, who doesn’t talk much about her but more about what she knows. Who is excited to help the moment she sees your name as the remittent of an email asking for papers or articles to read about the matter she talked about in that day's class.

Professor!Sevika, who always dressed similarly, a button up in darker colors, sometimes in a deep red or an eggplant color when she got tired of the most neutral ones, that usually got tighter around her bust and arms, with the first two buttons always loose and the sleeves usually rolled to mid forearm letting you see part of her tattooed right arm and the black color of her prosthetic left arm. Her eyes are always half covered with her glasses that rested in that beautiful nose. You never saw her haircut change; it was always in that sharp cut that went from short in the nape of her neck, leaving a beautiful undercut behind, to longer closer to her cheeks. Her slacks were always black or dark gray. Combat boots were her staple and even if she owned different pairs the dark purple shoelaces were present in each of them.

Professor!Sevika, who always was capable of keeping you hooked at her words, at the side smirk that covered her plump and dark colored lips while talking. How could you not put all of your attention to what she was talking about? There was an inexplicable energy that she radiated that made you want to wrap yourself around her and listen to her talk about anything for hours without an obvious end.

Professor!Sevika, who got used to paying attention to you, you intrigued her to an enigmatic level. Firstly, you weren’t close in age to the rest of her students. It wasn’t hard for her to notice your experience when reading your work, watching the way you took notes, and the attention to detail in every essay you sent. It made sense that you excelled in her course.

Secondly you weren’t hard to miss, at least in her eyes, without fail you were 5 minutes earlier than the rest, with the same coffee cup every time, consistently dressing in just a style that screamed ‘you’.

And lastly because of the amount of attention you put on everything she says, sevika was used to capture everyone's attention but yours just felt… different.

₊⟡.

Professor!Sevika, who was the strictest professor you had encountered in university. It wasn’t hard to imagine how hard she could be as an outsider, after all what she wanted was the best for her students, she wanted to make them excel, she was not going to permit unfit people to pass her course.

For the same reason professor!Sevika normally wasn’t kind to the idea of befriending or being close to her students. A self imposed rule of just keeping all of her relationship with students strictly professional. She knew people would tend to get close to her with the idea that being friendly would make them gain something from her, a few points here and there, or any type of advantage… She would just laugh inside at seeing the poor job some students did at the end of a semester to try and get anything she was noble enough to give them (she wasn’t noble at all, at least not with those who didn’t put in the work. After all her heart wasn’t made of stone as you could imagine, she would help the people she knew did their part during the school year.)

But… there could always be an exception, right?

₊⟡.

Professor!Sevika, who didn’t want to be surprised when you approached her before class started, but she was anyway. You were earlier than ever before, your hands occupied and your voice sounded as soft as always with a hint of something she couldn’t decipher in that moment. She never had the chance to hear you talking only to her, she was accostumbrated to listening to you talk with your classmates or when you always so cleverly answered a question in class, but directly and only to her? never had the chance to hear more than a few words, until today. Maybe what has been stopping you was her gaze, that gaze that seemed to be the only one that could make your knees tremble, and it wasn’t because you weren’t confident, you were, but it was sevika after all. The only times you directed your voice to her and her only was just as you entered her sacred place of teaching, a small cordial greeting when you entered the class and a soft nod accompanied by a “goodbye” after classes ended. A small paper bag was gripped by your perfectly manicured nails and a drink carrier that sported two cups that rested in your open hand when you entered the hall this late afternoon.

She didn’t know how you got stuck with this class schedule that was normally the least desired one, after all… who wanted to take a lecture on a friday at 4pm?, but today she was pleased with it. This class normally has the least amount of students so it tends to be more relaxed, although at the same time this is the one where the tiredness that she accumulated during the week usually gets to her.

A surprised look appeared on her face when she saw you, with a small rise of her eyebrow. She was willing to be the one who started a conversation, until you got ahead of her.

“Good afternoon, professor” The words left your lips slenderly while a soft and shy smile appeared on your lips. This might be the first time she heard your voice clearly with no other sound to interfere, now that she had heard it loud and clear she found it enticing, a sudden spark of curiosity arose in her. Only a greeting wasn’t good enough, she wanted to hear you talk more.

“Good afternoon,” your name left her lips like it was covered by slick honey. “you are earlier today” Her usual smirk now plastered on her lips. Her thin metal frame glasses were lower on her gorgeous nose than usual, letting her eyes peek from the top of them. A soft blush appeared on your cheeks, she said ‘earlier’ which only could mean she had noticed that you were here before your usual time.

“Oh! Well… I was on my usual coffee run, it’s been a rough week for all so i thought it would be kind to bring one for you. I hope this isn’t an overstep.” She didn’t know where you kept all of these words before, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. This sudden rush of confidence from your side and the detail of thinking of her made a smile appear on her lips, suddenly her tooth gap was on display only for you to see.

“It isn’t an overstep, don’t sweat about it. And thank you for this, I was almost on my way to grab a cup from those vending machines.” A short chuckle left your lips. Sevika was never used to kindness, at the end of the day her background wasn’t colourful. Everything she had made of herself was thanks to her effort, unthinkable hours spent on working and studying at the same time, sleeping when and where she could, having to endure men thinking and telling her she would always be ‘a no one’. She was used to always thinking the worst, especially coming from students, and although this time it felt different the little voice in her head told her to not let her guard down. While her mind was quickly filled with information you occupied yourself taking the cup from the holder with only one free hand. She thought about what could have driven you to do this; you didn’t need extra points on your assignments, your work was basically perfect, you weren’t failing for the same reason, so then why?.

“But those suck!” You quickly interrupted her train of thought. She blinked slowly, focusing on you. “I didn’t know what you would like so I chose just a latte, I also asked for sugar and sweetener in case you preferred that”. You said as you put everything you just mentioned in front of her.

“They indeed suck. And I don't really mind the way the coffee is made. Coffee, it's coffee after all.” Confused was how she was feeling, she couldn’t really understand it, again why?. Before she could stop herself she asked “Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did” a soft laugh escaped your lips. Ah! now you’re toying with her, her own smile grew a little bit more making her gaze look gentler. “but yes, of course”

“Why?” Now you were the one surprised.

“Why?” This time you were the one asking the question.

“Yes, why?” A look of confusion appeared on your face.

“The coffee?” A small nod came from her side, a hot tingling sensation took over you, you could feel it on your naked shoulders and the back of your neck. You could feel it in your face too, probably a soft blush appeared on these areas as you stumbled with your words, she still made you nervous after all. You were grateful that you weren’t that young anymore, if you were still in your early twenties your hands would sweat and your whole body would start to tremble. After a soft sigh left you, you answered. “I don’t think there is just a specific ‘why’, you are probably my favorite professor and your lectures always leave me with this sensation of wanting to know more. I thought making a move to be closer would be great, after all I am really interested in what you teach and would love to have someone to talk about all of this and who is better for that than an academic that teaches about it.”

Her gaze softened the more you talked, her left mechanical hand held the cardboard cup close to her mouth to take a sip. After she was confident that you were done talking it was her turn. After she cleared her throat she talked in her characteristic deep voice. “That’s fine by me, after all I'm the one who reads what you write. You are different from the rest of the people in this course, I can notice your actual interest in everything I teach.”

She had also noticed your slim fingers taking notes, and the smile that appeared on your face when you where learning something new, she also notice the furrow on your brows when you were focused, and the way you bit the corner of your lips at the same time, but she wasn’t going to tell you that, it was dangerous, at least for now. What was that about a rule?.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

It never felt easier for sevika to get comfortable with someone, after a few minutes talking the hour of the actual class was about to start. You went to your usual seat, third row and in the exact center of the room, in her eyes you were glowing like a beautiful firefly in the middle of a forest of faces that blended in one dark mass. Before the class started she directed a smile just for you.

You have classes with her two times a week, Fridays and Wednesdays. A weekend and two days separating the times she would be able to see your face. Days that for some reason never felt longer to Sevika, you have grown like a vine around her thoughts.

She wasn’t dumb in the slightest, she started noticing how she felt about you on a sunday morning while her usual coffee started pouring in a cup, she was preparing her big girl to go on a run. Jaan, her blue merle australian shepherd, her little baby, the only animal that saw her softest side. When the black coffee was ready the smell brought her back to last Friday, to that softest smile and the smallest portion of shyness that had escaped from your lips while you talked. She noticed the smile that adorned her face in the reflection of the microwave door. After just a shrug of her shoulders and a sip of the piping hot cup she went with her day. She wasn’t a child anymore and neither were you, so, why would it be a problem to have a little crush?.

Yeah… it wasn’t just a little crush. Every single time she smelled a coffee she was transported to that day, every single time remembering something different about that few minutes you talked… and about the duration of the lecture and how you looked while listening to her talk… and at that disgustingly sweet smirk that you gifted her before waving goodbye. And it was going to begin being a problem if she didn’t do anything about it.

Sevika was never someone to wait for things to happen, if she needed to take the initiative she would do it, and this time it would not be different. When Wednesday rolled around you appeared in the class ten minutes before it started. A white top with a square neckline that did a really bad job at covering your chest while a black flowy skirt that would be touching the ground if you weren’t using platform shoes covered your legs. While you walked closer to her, a small slit made its presence, the slit going up the right side of your leg until mid thigh, the sight of your soft skin made her swallow hard. Before she could keep on detailing every part of you she heard your voice snapping her back to reality. “Good morning professor!” Oh she was one hundred percent going to lose her mind if you kept smiling like that.

“Good morni-” she got interrupted when a soft combination of chuckles erupted from your throat, one of her eyebrows went up with curiosity while she saw how you covered your mouth to try to stop them from coming up. “Something happened?” Genuinely preoccupation started seeping from her. You started shaking your head ‘no’ while signaling her chest.

“You… Your overshirt, you put it inside out.” The blood drained from her face quicker than ever before. She looked at her arms, noticing that the seams were showing up.

Trying to feel less awkward now was her time to chuckle, her left hand going to the right cuff to start pulling from it. She started talking while completing the work of taking the overshirt off so she could put it on correctly. “At least it was the overshirt and not the actual shirt. I don’t think it would be a good idea to undress in front of someone before a first date” Your eyes were fixed on the flex of the muscles on her right arm that looked like if she forced them a little more the shirt would rip in half while trying really hard to focus on the words that leave her lips.

“Well, you are still undressing in front of me before a first date, sadly not completely.” you crossed your arms under your chest making your breast more pronounced, her eyes this time stopped there for less than a second, but you noticed, your smirk growing every passing second.

“We should change that, don’t you think?” She copied your actions, both can play the same game, she thought. Your throat felt dry for a moment, with your eyes fixating on her biceps. Oh how good would her arms both flesh and metal feel around your waist, and her tall and broad figure towering you from behind. FOCUS!

After a few seconds you talked. “Are you inviting me to a date professor?” with a faked severe expression you looked at her. Your eyes attempting to send daggers to the stormy ones that were looking at you.

“I was talking about undressing completely actually, but a date sounds like a better first step.” Laughter erupted from both of you at the same time, she watched in awe as you tilted back giving space to your lungs to breathe so you wouldn’t choke. In her eyes you looked ethereal, like a nymph. With your hair cascading behind you and hands resting on your stomach for a little bit. She noticed in that second again that she was too deep, she was into you and it felt good to think about it. After you relaxed yourself your eyes sparkling with the wetness of tears that formed from the force of your laughing and a big smile covering your face you talked.

“I'm free for the rest of the day after this class and on the weekends, professor.”

“Today works perfectly, and please, call me Sevika.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

The weeks went by quickly, every wednesday like clock work after class you two walked together to some place close to campus to eat something, sometimes it was your favorite café when she made you know that her favorite type of coffee was just plain black coffee. Every so often you eat at that pizza place that looked like just a door from the outside but once inside you felt in another country where you talked about the love you had for any type of bread. Sometimes one of the two made something to share and went to a nearby park to eat sitting on a bench under a gazebo observing the people walking while conversations just flew by.

You talked a lot, not only in person. You had also interchanged numbers, normally talking by messages but sometimes a call would happen in the middle of the week, the days passing without her voice felt like a torture for you. Even if you enjoyed her voice in a cell phone you would always prefer those conversations face to face more. You learned more things about her in those, like that time you noticed she was only a softie, even if she didn’t accept she was, you saw it in her eyes while she showed you pictures next to Jaan, also when she also explained her name ‘soul’ and ‘life’ were the most usual connotations for it, but it was also ‘darling’. She explained to you how her grandparents came from india and that she felt the necessity of connecting to her roots, also told you about her favorite food, which to no one surprise was a indian dish her mother made when she was a child ‘Rogan josh’ she grew up with the one that wasn’t spicy but now that aspect was the one she enjoyed the most today apart from the tender lamb meat.

You also made a habit of getting half an hour earlier to class every Friday with her favorite coffee, an unsweetened black coffee, and your usual, a deep long macchiato, and an assortment of different types of pastries each week. You two made a bet, she told you that you couldn’t guess her favorite dessert after you said she was a basic woman for sticking to just plain coffee, until this moment you have failed; donuts, cupcakes, typical desserts, brownies, cookies, croissants, cakes, lemon pie, pound cake, tiramisu, every each of them was just not it. The bet was that she was going to buy for you whatever you asked (under a price limit of course), and you were a woman on a mission.

One day you saw at the bakery a beautiful bunch of just cream puffs covered with a dark chocolate, you only picked those that day, your bank account could not support you paying for 5 different desserts each friday. When you made it to the classroom with a smile on your face she was focusing on organizing something that looked like sheets of paper.

“Are those last week's tests?” You said dropping the bag softly in front of her while walking to peek from behind her.

“FUCK!” She did a small jump on her seat for the surprise before reincorporating looking at you. “why are you so silent when you enter, you scared me to death”

“Uhhh professor I don’t think it’s very professional for you to curse in the classroom.” That was probably the best trait from you in her eyes. You weren’t scared to play with her. In your eyes she wasn’t this strict monster that noticed every detail and graded accordingly, she was just another pair.

“Oh shush, yes they are, you got a 98%. What did you bring this time?” She said opening the bag while she received the cup you were handing to her.

“It’s a surprise, something basic for a basic woman.” You watched from your seat a few feet away from her as she rolled her eyes taking the red box from the paper bag, opening without much care put into it. Her eyes that before denoted false annoyance were known bright while a grin grew on her face.

“What was that thing you wanted?” Now you were on your feet with your arms raised above your head with a smile that shined proudly.

“We can discuss that lately, Sevi.” You receive an eyebrow raised while she takes a bite of one of the pastries and offers one to you.

“Sevi?” she asked, her forehead relaxing and her face looking softest as ever.

“It’s that alright?” a delicate pink covered your cheeks while taking the pastry to your mouth.

“Yes, it is… smarty pants.” Laughter arises from her while watching your face contorn on exasperation.

“Oh my god, you have to be kidding me.”

“I am indeed kidding you. What should I call you then?”

“I don’t know, you have full autonomy, just anything that isn’t smarty pants.” Another bite was made to the sweet dessert that was picked between your fingers, a little of the crem from the inside smearing in the corner of your lips. The world seems to stop when you feel her calloused hand grip your chin softly when her thumb cleaned up said cream carefully. Your cheeks tinted red watching how she took the finger to her plump lips, liking it clean.

“I think I like sugar, is it fine… sugar?” She tested it on her tongue with a grin as watching you crumble a little bit, for surprise, for confusion, for excitement, for appreciation, for shyness.

“It is fine.” When your smile accompanied hers everything felt right. She didn’t need to know you were going to scream on your pillow when you made it to your apartment and run in circles in the living room. You were just keeping your calm right now. You were going to act like the look in her eyes didn’t affect you in the slightest, like you didn’t feel your knees trembling when you heard the nickname with her gruff voice that you had grown accustomed to listening to on a daily basis. Like your heart isn't beating with all of its force in your chest. Like you weren’t falling in love with her each passing second you spent next to her.

“And just so you know, the same with black coffee, they may look simple but to perfect them you need to master the recipe.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

One day talking on a voice call you let slip that you wanted to start moving more, just to help your muscles take a little shape. She almost instantly asked if you wanted to accompany her and Jaan on their sunday runs, in an act of foolishment from your side you accepted.

So that’s why you are here, in the slight heat that spring brought. Dressed with some running shorts, the comfiest shoes you could find and a fitted long sleeve shirt with a zipper that runs in the middle of it. Sevika was helping you stretch correctly while Jaan waited expectantly watching every movement her momma did.

“Just because you’re new here we are going to go slower, but Jaan gets anxious and would want to run at some point. So we are going to stay close to the park so I can let her roam free when she gets bored of us.” She stretched her back lifting both of her arms over her head leaving in sight a little of the skin on her waist with a patch of dark hair that went from her navel down and disappeared on the inside of her shorts.

“Does she run much?” You tied your hair carefully to not let your ponytail neither too tight nor too loose.

“You are going to see yourself, don’t worry.” She took the strap attached to the collar of her dog before signaling with her head to start walking.

₊⟡.⋆

She was trying to kill you, you didn’t have any doubt of it. First she looked extremely hot in this moment: sweating with her back damp from said fluids, the muscles on her legs looking like she was an ancient Greek statue by how sculpted they looked.

And secondly and probably worst: acting like this was just light work while you struggled to keep her pace.

“THIS ISN’T SLOW, YOU LIED.” You barely screamed at her while you stopped in your tracks flexing your lower body and putting your hands on your knees trying to catch those breaths that you felt like were escaping away from you every second you runned next to her. The first twenty minutes weren’t hard, it was enjoyable until she started incrementing the pace and you started to fall behind.

A few seconds passed between your stop and a comforting hand roaming up and down on your back and a softly cooing that accompanied it. “You should have told me to go slower, sugar. Sorry, I didn’t notice you were struggling.” You straightened yourself letting her hand rest on the small of your back, a smile plastered on your lips for the feeling of warmth on your body.

Although you have grown closer day by day it was hard to get her to touch you, at least in more intimate areas. And your insides were screaming for her touch. To be able to sense the feeling of her hands on your body. The feeling of skin on skin. To be able to take her hand in yours, to observe the scars in her human one and the details on her prosthetic.

Neither of you have brought up the talk about your evident flourishing relationship, you two knew you weren’t just friends but felt scared to bring the subject even though it was obvious that you both wanted the same.

“I’m okay now. I also didn't want to make Jaan stop, she looked happy.” After you said her name you started looking for the dog watching her run across the field in front of you with her mouth open and her tongue sticking out. Carefully and without thinking about it you leaned into Sevika’s touch, making her hand move slowly to your hips sitting there comfortably, no one said anything about it. You two just stayed there and enjoyed the feeling of just staying close for a little while.

“I brought some fruit and snacks, should we go look for them?.” Your voice came out dovelike while your eyes went to focus on her face this time, a small ‘hmm’ left her lips while her eyes stayed focused on the dog.

“Yeah, but let’s just…” Her grey eyes, light like the smoke coming from an ongoing fire and glowing like a pair of diamonds, went to meet yours in an instant with her velvety and husky voice she continued. “stay a little longer.”

“Let’s go, we can walk like this, and I also brought a picnic blanket.” a small chuck left your lips when immediately after you were done talking her eyes narrowed, her characteristic smirk coming to her lips followed by a strong and loud whistle that made Jaan come back to you two in a few seconds.

“Did you say something about a Picnic blanket?”

“I did, indeed.”

₊⟡.⋆

The food was already eaten, the dog laid with her back on the grass while Sevika herself rested her head on your bare thighs, one of your hands tangled in her short hair while the other worked as a support for your weight. You three rested under the shadow of a big maple tree enjoying the chirping of the birds, the gasp of the wind, but most importantly the closeness. The calm went interrupted when Sevika's phone started ringing, a confused look appeared on her face while taking the device from her crossbody bag, a smile appearing on her lips immediately, one different from whatever smile you have seen from her before. She picked up the call quickly.

“Hi sweetie” your hand stopped moving instantly after hearing the nickname. Why is she referring to this someone with such a lovely name? Did she have a girlfriend she forgot to mention?, you didn’t even ask if you remember correctly, after all who would be flirting and going on biweekly dates if they were in a relationship, you at least wouldn’t. “Could you pass the phone? Thank you.” Was there more than one person on the other side? A crawling feeling went up on your spine, the trickling sensation making you stiffen up. “Hi. No, I’m not home right now… Yes, Jaan it’s with me… Who else?” Her eyes went to your face, you can’t imagine what was your expression right now. You surely were trying really hard to appear normal, to don’t show on your face the sensation of pressure that grew on your neck and the weight that had found place inside your chest that was making it so fucking hard to breathe.

Your hand slowly withdrew from her hair without looking at her face trying to focus on something you could see, hear or smell. You wanted to escape, to go running but as far from her as you could, you wanted to scream and cry in the loneliness of your own space without some of the most beautiful eyes you ever seen watching you. But the space you created didn’t last much longer, she changed her phone to her left hand while her right went to catch yours to keep it in between her fingers squeezing softly as a way of reassurance. “I’m with a… friend, yes Jinx a friend. No she isn’t going to steal from us don’t worry. Yes, she is pretty. No… maybe, I can’t answer that right now. Yes, tell Isha I will be there in a couple of hours. Buy some pizza if you want, save me a few slices.”

Confused was short to describe how you were feeling right now. Your mind felt hazy, you didn’t notice in the moment the call had ended or the gruff she left out while sitting normally.

“Sugar?.” You heard her voice and your eyes flew directly to her face, your hand still trapped in hers.

Before talking you cleared your throat. “Can I ask who it was?.” A nod came from her side at the same time she reincorporated. A specific expression crossed her face, it was easily recognizable it was the one she made while preparing to start lecturing. She was organizing her way to dive in the conversation.

“Will you listen and not interrupt?” You let out a doubting nod while still focusing on her. “Alright, it’s a long story, before everything, I’m sorry for not telling you before” Oh that’s it, you are breaking up before even being something. Like she could read your mind she kept on talking. “I’m not in a relationship. I will not be flirting with someone if I was taken. Loyalty it’s the bare minimum for me.” She took a break passing one of her hands through her hair. “I was the godmother of this kid, Jinx, when her father died I was the only person available to take care of her. Her older sister was… not available at that moment. I took care of her from when she was 11 until today. She is 21 now. She is not living with me anymore, at least not full time.” Her eyes focused on the look of your hands between hers.

“When she was 16 I was going back to the apartment when a little child started following me. I was completely alone on the street, no one around us. She had the softest smile of all the world, and the cutest gap tooth you could imagine. With all the heaviness of my heart I took her to a police station. Isha is her name, and she was an orphan. They tried to take her away, but I don't trust those assholes and I also couldn’t leave her with them and let her go into an orphanage. Jinx's sister it’s called Vi, it took a long time for me to grow kind to her. Her girlfriend was a student of Social Work and she was also at Law School at the time. She also comes from this big rich family. After a few calls I was taking her as a foster child. I was already able to take on foster kids, for all of what happened with Jinx.”

She took a break to look at you, she was expecting you to go up and run away with a quick ‘Sorry, I can’t make this.’, after all you were still younger than her and probably would probably prefer to be with someone who didn’t already have two children. She wasn’t expecting you to have the most understanding eyes and a comforting smile plastered on your face, no pity, just pure sympathy and understandment. So she continued. “She was almost four years old at the moment, no one knows how or why she was on the streets alone that day, but I'm glad I was the one that she decided to follow. She is now nine, she doesn’t like to talk much, she has selective mutism, only talks when she is really happy and when you answer a call, she finds joy when you say ‘Hi’ to her on the phone.”

You don’t know at what moment your whole body relaxed and both of your hands were on hers admiring her profusely with a grin on your face. You also don’t know what possessed you in that second to say what you said. “Can I kiss you?.” The pure shock on Sevika’s face lasted less than a second before both of her hands were on the side of your face pulling you in a kiss. It was all you could wish from a first kiss with her, the movement of her plump lips on yours made you gasped, your hands resting on her thighs while you rearranged your position to till yourself closer to her, the softness of her touch made you feel hazy, the warm of her lips and the daintiness of her touch make you feel like you could crumble at any second on her hands. Your brain went quiet the second her lips touched yours all preoccupation you had before had already dissipated in the air. The soft scent that was so her covering all of your senses, woody tones that mixed wonderfully with a rich jasmine and a little touch of what you read as pomegranate. After what felt like just measly seconds but probably were a few minutes you two let go of each other, one of her hands lingered on your face while the other stayed put on your waist, and yours remained on her shoulders, you didn’t even remember how they made it there. Soft giggles escaped both of your lips almost in unison.

“You are so beautiful.” Her thumb brushed your cheek with care while you closed your eyes and tilted your head to feel her closer.

“I can say the same thing about you.” humming came from her side before her lips left a chaste kiss on your forehead. “I don’t think today it’s the moment because it’s a lot of information to explain, but I understand you. My two younger sisters are like my own children. I think all of this just makes me fall even deeper for you.

“Are you falling for me? It isn’t so professional of me to let a student fall for me, sweetheart.” Your eyes opened again with an inquiring look on your face, meeting a mischievous smile on her face that made you roll your eyes.

“You exasperate me, you know that?.”

“Oh I know, but now I also know you are falling for me while I already fell for you.” An affectionate grin came from you this time while you closed the distance between the two of you once again.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You were officially dating now. It came up naturally during lunch together at her house, the conversation went so easy that you almost got undressed in front of her of how hot she sounded. There isn’t a label yet, but everything has worked beautifully.

Although you were dating your actual professor in class she would still treat you like what you were in that second: her student. She still graded you like each one of her students, your tests weren’t easier just because you two spent hours making out on your couch, or because you have spent a few nights just sleeping over at her place. In class you answered the question as always, and did your research how you would before dating her. And it felt nice, it felt nice to have someone you could count on, someone to kiss, to spend time with, but also to care for someone that was such a good teacher, to see her do what she loved and appreciate every constructive critic to your work, because being with her felt like she was making you a better person.

And she felt the same. She felt safe around you, she started to understand herself more being by your side. She understood she was able to give love and to receive it, she was able to be given kindness, and softness. She learned that she could talk about her little family, and that it shouldn’t be a turn off or a reason to stop caring about her. She would say that with you it went the other way around, you were interested in how good Jinx did in her last project in Art School, or how Isha was doing in her first year at elementary, if Jaan paw had healed correctly or when her next vet appointment was. But she also had a great student, someone who was always willing to learn more and to investigate even more of what she taught you. Someone to talk to for hours about this new perspective, or someone to consult when she didn’t know how to get a point across. You too were making her a better person.

Today you were at our usual Friday lecture, you two shared some sweets before class and you were still sipping in your coffee when all of your attention was on her. She was given away the last arrangements and fixes to be made on next week's paper, when she got to your seat she talked.

“Here is yours, I just put the grade on it. There aren't any arrangements to be made. You still can make changes and send it my way before the deadline and I would grade those accordingly.” You took the paper gracefully with a smile on your face. Before you could answer her a grumble was heard from a few seats back, an inquiring look was painted on her face, her usual eyebrow raised, her sharp eyes looking at the person where this sound came from.

“I’m sorry, is there anything any of you want to complain about how I manage MY class?.” Her arms crossed in her chest when her face transformed in that robust expression that could make the legs of every person in this room crumble. Yours didn’t crumble, they just got a little wet.

“We all know you two are fucking, of course she is going to get a 100% in everything.” An audible gasp came from your mouth and apparently from everyone else in the class. You were starting to stand up when she signaled with her hand that she was the one who was going to talk. ‘Hot’ you thought while sitting back down again, rage either way sipping through your pores.

“First of all, whatever goes between her and I in our private lives it’s none of your business.” She was never known as someone with a big patience and even less if it was directed to a man. The steps got louder by the second until she was standing in front of him. “Secondly, I don’t let whatever happens in my private life numb my thoughts and my knowledge, and for that same reason it doesn’t change the way I grade.” Her human hand now was in front of his face with her index and middle finger extended to be pointing at his chest. “But you know what does? disrespect. So I hope you know that you fucked your way out of this course, if you want to pass it you would have to give 200% extra of what your pairs are doing. And that I would be the strictest I have ever been in my more than 15 years of career, so you better toughen up little boy.” The furrow of her brows accentuating the harshness of her eyes. You were pretty sure that if looks could kill you he would be 10 feet under the soil. “Now get out of here for today your class it’s over, and I hope that you ask for forgiveness from your colleague before you step foot inside of my class again.” The guy who probably was less than 25 now looked like a child, trembling and pure fear plastered on his face. He also appeared to have lost every single drop of blood from his face, looking as pale as a ghost. He stumbled while taking his stuff and almost fell running outside of the room.

After he was out she talked. “Everyone can go home, today class is over. You all will get an email with today's topic and content to visit it on the time we would have been in here. To those who didn’t get their paper, you will receive the corrections between today and saturday in another mail, and the amount of time it takes for these corrections to get to you will be added to the deadline so it is fair for all. Hope you all have a great day and a great weekend.” In a matter of minutes every person in the class picked their stuff up and started getting out of the class, except you.

When the only people occupying the space were you two she walked to where you were still sitting. “Everything okay? Did whatever that asshole said affect you?. Promise to Janna I wanted to slap his face so fu-.” Before she could keep talking you took her face in your hands closing the distance between your lips. Her prosthetic arm immediately grabbed your waist while her human one went to the nape of your neck, grasping into you like you were trying to escape from her. The kissing part was nothing too new for the two of you. What was new was the force that you both were applying to it, the feeling of her hand gripping you with possessiveness, and the constant fight of your tongues for dominance. A small moan quickly got away from you, getting trapped inside of her mouth. Her teeth bit your lower lip when you separated from her.

“Fuck you looked so hot talking to him like that. Wanted to kiss you since you told me to sit down.” A chuckle escaped her when your confession touched the air, she leaned in to leave a quick kiss on your lips once again.

“Did I now? good to know you like when I get angry.” You started picking your stuff up when she started walking to her desk. She continued talking while stuffing the paper sheets on her usual folder. “Wanted to go eat with you after this, but now thanks to that son of a bitch I have extra work to do.”

You were in front of her with your bag on your shoulder. “We can go eat dinner and drink something in the night. It’s friday after all and my hot professor that it’s supposedly fucking me so hard and giving me a 100% in each of my assignments without of me putting any effort on them already left me free for this weekend.” A strong laugh came out from her and now you were being sad that what he said wasn’t real, you still were putting your energy and knowledge in your assignments and she still wasn’t fucking you.

“Well your hot professor did leave you free of anything to do, so she would accept this proposition happily. I know a place. Can I pick you up? I think nine it’s a good hour.”

“Yes you can, and it’s perfect. I have to go to the library now, so, see you in a few hours?.”

“Oh you will see me sweetheart.” A chasté kiss was left on your lips while her hand traveled to the small of your back to start walking out of the room.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Night has come, after you left the library you ran home, and started getting ready. A bubble bath was the first step, while lounging in the bathtub you took the time to see your body. You propped your leg on the lip of the tub. You appreciated the feeling of your skin, checking the scars of years behind, of little falls and accidents of a younger you. You watched the hairs sticking down, will it be ok if you shave them? You didn’t think Sev would care much about that, it would make you feel more confident though, so you did. You went to your arms next, they felt a little dry so a little scrubbing was made and a soothing butter came after. Your hair was washed after you stepped up, a deep conditioning applied on it as you went out of the shower. Your skin was moisturized with a body butter that smelled like strawberries.

Standing on your feet you looked at your toes, they maybe would look pretty painted. While letting your hair air dry after rinsing the conditioner off you started painting your nails, hands and toes, all in black. After they wew dry and your hair done in a simple hairstyle that puts your hair up in a relaxed look with two delicate curls framing your face, you start looking for clothes. Your closet wasn’t huge, and there wasn’t so much information of where you were going, picking your cellphone up you texted her, receiving an immediate answer.

₊⟡.⋆

You 19:58

Are we going to a fancy place?

Sevi 💌 19:58

Sort of.

But no need to dress too formally, doll.

There was a small break after her last message with the bubble with three dots started blinking.

Sevi 💌 20:00

One of your usual skirts should be good enough ;).

You 20:00

OK. Thank uuu.

<3

Sevi 💌 20:00

See you in an hour. xx

₊⟡.⋆

A small blush covers your cheeks, a skirt will be it then. You picked a black one, a little bit higher than middle thigh length, with a few pleats. For the top a deep red blouse with long sleeves and a deep neckline that exposes your cleavage beautifully. Although it was still the start of spring the nights were still chilly, when you went to pick a leather jacket you stopped in your tracks imagining the chance of her just giving you hers, she was always running hot after all. For shoes, black knee high boots with a few inches of platform, paired with some cream high socks under them.

You looked at the clock after you were done dressing, less than thirty minutes on the clock for her to show up. You took a seat on your desk taking everything out of your makeup bag, it has to be something simple. A dark brownish red went on your lower eyelid curving up in the corner to create the appearance of an eyeliner, blush on the higher parts of your cheeks, mascara coating your long eyelashes, and a dark cherry lipstick went on your lips. You packed the last item on your shoulder bag next to your keys, phone and your wallet.

When you were walking to apply on perfume your cellphone ringed with the special tone you have picked for her. You quickly applied your favorite perfume before answering your phone. “I’m closing the door right noooow.” You extended the last vocal while doing said action after hanging up. You took the elevator down, walking at a quicker pace to find her.

When you saw her you could hear a soft curse in the silence of the night, you felt her eyes ogling after your appearance while you walked towards her. When you come to a stop in front of her a grin emerges on her lips.

“Hi beautiful.” her right hand went to yours taking it to her lips leaving a soft kiss. The sensation of it lingering on your skin. You took the chance to get a good look at her. It wasn’t uncommon to see her in formal clothes, and you have grown to watch her in more casual outfits. Today she was wearing dark washed jeans and a deep red shirt styled the same as always, two buttons open and sleeves rolled up. Her usual combat boots are also on her feet. ‘We are matching.’ you thought to yourself. Her brown leather jacket that she took out when she saw you walking without your own was now being offered to you.

“Hi handsome. Thank you.” You said while she helped you out said jacket on.

“You look amazing today.”

“Well I followed the advice of someone who always has good styling choices.”

“Is that right?.” A slight chuckle left you while she walked you to the passenger seat of her car, she opened the door, let you slip in, and then quickly returned to her side.

“It is, she said she loooved how I looked in skirts.” Now was her time to chuckle, she helped you to put your seatbelt on and put hers after.

“Hey, I didn’t say that.”

“Oh!, you don’t love how I look on skirts?” She started the car and began to drive to the restaurant.

“I also didn’t say that. Because that would be a lie, and I hate lying.” A soft laugh erupted from you as you dedicated the time on the road to watch her. You would never get tired of doing that, of using your time to observe her, at the little furrow of her brows, at the look of both of her hands gripping on the steering wheel, just at her.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You two made it to the restaurant fairly quickly, it wasn’t that long of a ride. It felt expensive but cozy at the same time. You were sitting next to each other, both decided to take a booth that gave the chance to stay right by the other. The menus came and went easily, in the end she decided for both because you haven’t any idea of what could taste good, two different plates with the idea of sharing. You asked for a mojito and she asked for just water.

It wasn’t long when you were a few mojitos deep, the food already eaten and probably the best slice of cheesecake you have ever tried was already half eaten. You were tipsy, it wasn't hard to miss, a smile that seemed to never want to leave your lips, glittering eyes thanks to the alcohol. Your right hand on her shoulder while you were leaning into her, exposing without noticing everything under your shirt. She looked at you with an expression that if you didn’t know better would have thought was one making fun of you. Her hand rested comfortably on one of your thighs, the roughness of it making contact with the soft plump skin of your leg.

“Mmmm, you haven’t drank anything, that’s unfair.” a pout formed in your lips while your slightly teary eyes softened making you look like a poor puppy.

“Mmm, you are right, but I'm the one driving, sugar.” You stopped for a second thinking about what she said giggling after realizing the point she made.

“But that’s unfair!! I want to see you drunk!.” She took a quick look at her wrist looking at the hour, it was close to eleven, time had as always flown around you.

“We can go to my place. I have drinks there if you really want to see me drunk.” You clapped happily while drinking the rest of your third mojito and raising your hand looking for the server.

“I would love that. I think you are a sappy drunk, and I have never seen you being sappy!!.” She already knew for this first instant that you transformed into a bubbly creature when tipsy. If you asked her she would probably say you were either a horny or a screaming drunk.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

Back in the car you were singing to the songs that blasted the speakers, she has let you put your phone on the aux. You said this was like a free concert and she wouldn’t think otherwise.

“Sugar.” a humming sound came from your side asking her to continue. “Do you mind the use of recreational weed?.” You shake your head ‘no’ while sitting even more incorrectly than before, fully facing her.

“It’s only allowed if you share.” An approving smile appeared on her face as she started to park her car outside of the house she lived in.

“That’s ok by me, let’s go, we are here.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You love her home, everything screams ‘her’, the leather and dark wood furniture, the faint smell of tobacco and incense, the toys of Jaan are always in the same corner of the house. The dog slept in her own house in the backyard, being able to go in and out whenever she liked. But at the same time it was full of things that reminded you of her children. Pens, pencils, paint over a tray in the island of her kitchen. Toys and children's books on a big bookshelf reserved for them. Pictures of a smaller Jinx and Isha graduation pics of High School and Kindergarten. Drawings put against her fridge and a big painting that occupied almost a full wall. Said children sleep at the house at least three times a week, sometimes the full week. Jinx had her own apartment closer to university and to Isha school for when they wanted more alone time. After all Isha also felt Jinx as her own mom, and also her best friend, they were inseparable. Sometimes they would crash at Vi’s apartment when they felt like they needed to bother someone who wasn’t Sevika. Her voice took you back to reality.

“Ok, we have bourbon, wine, rum, and some beer. What does the princess want?” She asked while she prepared her own glass with bourbon and ice.

“If you have coke then a rum and coke. If not just straight rum.” She laughed slightly at your words while preparing the first option. You have already taken a seat on her couch sitting with bent knees making sure your shoes didn’t touch any furniture. You are still dressed in her jacket hiding your nose behind the garment to soak all of the smell.

She took the place next to you offering your glass, in the kitchen she had already drunk half of her glass and refilled it to be in a similar condition than yours. “Aren’t your shoes bothering you?” She said with genuine interest while letting her glass on the coffee table. You nodded at her question. With a few slaps on her thighs she signaled to extend your legs to her so she can help you, something you of course did. With extreme delicacy she takes them off slowly and lets them next to the couch.

“Do you want to smoke right now?.” She asked going to the small tin box that rested on the table opening it to take a pre roll from there. After you nodded again you got closer to her, leaving your glass on the table exchanging it with hers to take it close to her lips. She took a long sip from it before you put it on when it rested before. Her hand went to your lips placing the blunt between them, with a quick movement of her fingers she lightened up letting you take the first puff.

The cigar went back and forward in her lips and yours, on and off, the taste of it felt amazing mixed with the liquor and the kisses exchanged in between. At a point in the middle you ended up sitting straddling her legs. When the pre roll was close to and end Sevika’s hand went up to your chin taking a good grip of it that made your lips part. Smoking a big part of what rested slowly she let the smoke that came from her mouth curl its way inside of yours. A low moan came from you while your eyes instinctively closed.

“Mmh you shouldn’t do that doll.” Her free hand rested on your hips making sure you didn’t move. “We are both intoxicated, we can make out all of what you want but nothing else, yes?.” A pout formed in your lips before nodding, starting a kiss quickly after.

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

What you think was about two hours or more passed easily, in between kisses, a few refills to her glass and a few normal cigarettes. You still were on top of her, your hands interlocking in the back of her head, your face resting on the crook of her neck leaving a trail of soft and wet kisses from the sharp line of her jaw to where the shirt interrupted your path. Her human hand rested on your thigh, her fingers about half way up your skirt, leaving designs of soft circles. Her head tilted to the side leaving you enough space to be comfortable.

In a few seconds you stiffened up while you took your time to appreciate the smells that mixed in the air, the most notorious one being the one of the cigarettes she had lightened up. A soft laugh found its way out of your throat. Laugh that quickly turned into broken sobs. The second sevika noticed she put off the cylinder to take a grip on your face.

Her velvety voice was lower than ever. “Everything alright sweetheart?.” Humming came as an answer while her inquiry continued .

“It’s just, the smell reminded me of home, of my grandma. She used to smoke like a fucking chimney, I told her it was goin to kill her one day, and it did.” Her hands went up to clean your tears. You let her for a few seconds until you went forward rubbing your face on her, her skin, her shirt, her face trying to get that smell all over you. If you were a cat you would be purring right now. Light kisses were left on the top of your head while she pulled you into an embrace.

“Are you ready to talk about it?.” After a few minutes you took a deep breath nodding.

“Well, you know that I'm not the common age that someone ‘should’ have in the 3rd year of a career. I entered university at 18, I had an important scholarship that covered almost all of my expenses. I had to break myself apart studying to maintain it, but it was all worth it. I always enjoyed learning. Who would have thought I would end up with an actual professor that I spend hours talking about what I learn, right?.” A humorless chuckle left your lips.

“There were five children in my home. I’m the middle one, two younger sisters and two older brothers. When I entered my second year everything was going right, or at least that’s what I thought. My two older brothers already lived on the other side of the country, they didn’t have the same luck as me to be able to study.” Your hands traced senseless patterns on her skin. “My dad died when my younger sister was 2, so I was around 12. Mom always grieved his dead, for what I can remember they were deeply in love.” You left a soft sigh before continuing. “She was on antidepressants the biggest part of my teen years. I grew up seeing her as this emotionless person, so different from the one I remembered from my childhood. The antidepressants worked until they just didn’t have such a strong effect to numb all of her feelings anymore, and she decided to take on something stronger.”

“I don’t know specifically what she was in but I know that she started when I left for that semester, and when I was in the middle of it, she was already wrecked. I remember it was finals week, my grandma called telling me she was gone out and hadn't come back. My mom left my two poor babies alone for at least two days before she could go check on them, 9 and 13 years old, feeding themselves on whatever scraps of food there were in the fridge, without notifying any of us.” Your hands had transformed into fists that gripped the cloth of her shirt. She didn’t appear to mind. “I had to leave as soon as I could. Lost my scholarship for skipping a final. When I arrived home I noticed she wouldn’t come back. The only thing she left apart from wrecked stuff in her room was her wedding ring, with a note where she didn’t even ask for forgiveness.” Tears were streaming down your face at this point.

Sevika tried comforting you slowly, cooing and cleaning your tears as best as she could. After a deep breath you continued. “We moved into my grandmother’s house because we couldn’t afford rent anymore. She didn’t only leave us but also the mess she created. I started working in everything I could while also being a mom for my sisters. My brothers helped when they could, they had their own families now. Grandma was old so she only could just do much, cooking, maybe washing some clothes, everything else was dropped on my shoulder the moment she stepped out. I did my best, I promise I did. Went to every recital of their school, helped with their homework and projects, went to football games, all while maintaining two jobs at the same time. I didn’t sleep much, or eat much, well, I didn’t live much. I didn't have time for it. Got really sick at some point but I didn’t stop, I was the only thing they had, I had to be there for them.” You took a break downing whatever was left on the two glasses before continuing.

“When I was 22 she died, found dead somewhere. I didn’t investigate much more. I-” your voice cracked mid sentence, the furrow in your brows was deep and your eyes lost in the background without focusing on anything, doing your best to not cry. “I didn’t go to the funeral, or the burial. Didn’t let any tears spill in her name, I couldn’t give it to her. She didn’t deserve them.” Her hand cupped your face slowly, when your eyes catched hers you felt clarity coming from the cloudiness on them causing the dam to break. “And I hate her, and what she did. But at the same time I cared so much, so deeply. Spent nights without sleeping thinking if she was ok. I didn’t go looking for her, I abandoned her, like she did with us. It could even be my fault that she is dead.” Breaking sobs left your lips while her comforting arms wrapped around you in the most warm way possible. You don’t remember the last time you felt so cared for, where someone cuddled you instead of you to them.

“Nothing of what happened to her it’s your fault darling. You can keep thinking it is, maybe you couldn’t even change anything if you did reach out, but we will never know. You are safe now, and so are your babies. You are the strongest person I know, I don’t think a lot of us could have survived like you did.” Your head rested in the crock of her neck while her hand moved soothingly on your back.

“I miss her sometimes, like a little kid. I never cared to admit it because I was so busy hating her. I miss the way she laughed, and her smell. I still haven’t been able to find her perfume. I miss the way she looked at dad. And how she was before everything happened. But I still have troubles thanks to everything, I have this crippling feeling on my body always that I feel something for someone, like I was 19 again and would be left alone in this big world. I don’t know if I forgive her, but maybe accepting that I do care for what she was will make me feel better.” An understanding sound came from Sevika while she made you look at her.

“It’s probably the best first step, baby.” A smile formed in your lips when you noticed the freeing sensation that stood in your chest. Then a loud yawn made its presence. A soft chuckle came from her side. “We should go to bed.”

“Mmmhm. Can I ask you to do something for me?” You crossed your arms behind her neck while her strong hands went under your legs keeping you raised while she started walking to her room.

“Maybe.”

“Can you be the one to change my clothes?. I think that if I stand on my feet I will fall to the ground.” A laugh came from her while she nodded.

“Yes I can do that for you, sugar.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

You were already on her bed sitting with your legs on the border of the mattress. “I didn’t think the first time I would be undressing you was to dress you again.” A drunk giggle came from you.

“What a waste hmm?.” You put your arms above your head while both of her hands got busy lifting your blouse up. Revealing a lacy black bra that cupped your tits perfectly. A side smirk came to her lips while she took the time to pass her fingers over the border of the clothing item, you felt the sensation of her cold metal hand and the roughness and heat of her human one.

“Hello to you two.” maybe it was the alcohol but you felt bubbly letting her appreciate and care for your body. Your hands went to the mattress slightly behind you so you can extend back letting her eyes roam over you. “Foot up darling.” Softly she took your socks giving a short massage to your feet followed by a little kiss, she did the same on the other one. “Hmm, how should I take your skirt off darling.” She asked more to herself while her fingers fumble with the zipper, slowly letting it go. “Rise your hips baby.” You followed her order without saying a word . The cloth left your legs leaving you only in the matching set you have put in case something else happened. And although it wasn’t what you expected you were still enjoying it. She took a step back to be able to observe every detail of your body. The softness on your skin, the stretch marks that cover your hips and part of your tummy. The freckles on your chest, and whatever birthmark she could pick up. “You are so pretty.” She came closer to leave a kiss on your lips before busying with her own clothes.

“Wait! Can... Can I help you?.” A grin made its presence while you rearranged in the bed, flexing your knees to be sitting on top of your calves. When she agreed your nails went to her shirt, un-bottoming it with care. When it was open you left a small gasp out, your hand touching her abdomen after asking for permission silently and being answered with a nod. Slowly your slender fingers went up, passing over her bust to her shoulders where you helped the shirt for it to roll down her arms, taking the chance of letting your hands linger in both of her biceps. Her left arm was the one with a prosthetic. She still haven’t told you much how it happened, apart of that it was a chemical burn that went to deep fucking the nerves and muscle of her forearm. The prosthetic initiated in the middle of her arm, being articulated on her elbow.

Your hands went to her belt, opening it giving you access to her jeans. You easily let it open letting it fall to her feet hearing the clanking it did when touching the wood floor, you haven’t noticed she didn’t have shoes or socks on. Your eyes went up all the way from her legs to her eyes, watching a little bit sober than before how big she was and the towering she did to your figure. Her body was now only covered by her underwear, a pair of short boxers and a gym bra. “You don’t sleep with a bra if I remember correctly.” The same way as before you asked for permission and she granted it to you. Your hand slipped to the lower elastic of the item. Your finger going under it feeling the lower margin of her boobs enjoying the sensation. In a few seconds the item was discarded on the floor next to the rest of her clothes. Your mouth was slightly open as you drank in her figure, noticing the two bars that went through her nipples, you could feel your mouth watering. “You are so beautiful Sev.”. You felt a soft kiss in the center of her chest and one over each one of her nipples, laughing when you saw them erecting.

“You are a menace.” She laughed cupping your jaw before walking to her closet to take some stuff so you can both sleep comfortably. You stare at her ass all the time her back was turned to you. She came back with a t-shirt for you and a few makeup wipes that she used to clean your face.

“Maybe. You know I sleep without underwear so you still have work to do.” A raise of her eyebrows followed by her characteristic smirk occurred while she got closer to you after throwing away the wipes.

“It’s my pleasure to do so.” Her human hand went to your back easily opening your bra in mere seconds, letting it flop out of your chest exposing it to her eyes to see. She also couldn’t keep her hands to herself and cupped both of them with the smile of a child looking at a candy shop. “Fuck you are going to make me go crazy.” You giggled while putting the t-shirt over your head.

“You still have to take my panties off.” An acknowledgment sound came from here while she help you stand up, her hands starting it’s way down in your bust taking in the shape of your waist and hips while slipping under the cloth to grab the elastic of the underwear sliding it off your legs letting them fall to the floor with the obvious shiny spot in the middle of them.

“Time to sleep, my girl.” The possessive tone of her voice made you smile while you climbed into bed again. She following you quickly after.

“Good night Sev.” Your hands rested under the side of your face.

One of her hands took place around your waist. Her chest making contact with your back and her nose buried in your hair. “Good night Doll.”

₊⟡.⋆☕ ᝰ.ᐟ

The place was extremely silent, no shower running, no clacking in the kitchen, not even footsteps were heard. You stood up walking to the bathroom, Sevika had never left you alone in her home before, so it felt strange to be habiting her space but without her presence there. She wasn’t in the bathroom as you expected for the lack of signals, you took your time to do the usual stuff you did in the morning, including a shower. After leaving that room dressed in one of her clean t-shirts and nothing else you went to the kitchen passing through the living room, still not signal of her presence anywhere in the house. If you were in your home you are sure you would start to panic at this point, but you weren’t so you tried your best to make your heartbeat go back to normal. The girls weren’t coming today for what she had told you yesterday.

You took the chance of being in her kitchen to drink a few glasses of water to help with the dehydration that the alcohol had left in your body. You were thankful for never having to live with headaches after a night out, and today wouldn’t change that. You tried to recall where your phone was, probably dead so it wouldn’t be helpful. You remembered what she said yesterday in class about sending the mails. You took a look at the electric clock that marked that it was in fact saturday. That’s it, she is in her office.

You stretched your back while walking slowly to her work place. You have been inside just two times. The first time you only stayed in the door calling for her to go eat. And the second one you helped her to organize it after she couldn’t find one specific document. When you got there you use your fist to knock two times. A ‘come here’ was heard so you did as you were told.

You opened the door slowly entering the room. It was only lightened by her desk lamp and whatever entered from her semi opened blinds. Both of these lights made her look effortlessly gorgeous, even as she was dressed in just some pants and a grey tank top and only accessorized by the cigarette that rested in between her teeths. Your eyes focused on her face. Her glasses were on and her fingers tapped relatively slowly on her keyboard. Next to her computer there were two small piles of paper sheets, one that looked like it only had a few pages clipped together while the other one was much bigger and taller.

“Working early, I see.” You walked slowly to where she was sitting standing next to her while looking at the screen.

“I’m going to make that asshole fail the class, I assure you.” Her right hand went to her face rubbing with disdain over her skin. A humming came from your lips as your hands went to her shoulders massaging them slowly. A sound of enjoyment came from her lips while she moved in the chair separating herself from the desk. “I had to leave my gorgeous girlfriend alone in bed at 8 in the morning just to do this shit because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”

A soft blush climbed your cheeks while you walked to accommodate yourself in between her legs taking the cigarette from her lips putting it off on her ashtray. “Am I your girlfriend?, since when?.”

Her hands went to your hips pulling you closer to her. Her face finding a place in between your breasts. “Since this exact moment, if you accept obviously.”

Her chin was now the only thing touching your chest while her bright and full of emotion eyes were fixated on yours “You can’t look at me like that and expect me to deny that offer.” A soft chuckle came from her as her hands bringed you to sit on her lap. “The only thing I am going to say it’s that I’m still naked under this and bothered from last night.” A knowing smirk appeared on her face as her flesh hand went up one of your legs to the back of your thigh up to the plump of your ass confirming the information. Where she groped strongly while the ashy color of her irises disappeared under the expansion of her pupil.

“Then we should celebrate the start of our relationship. Don’t you think, dear?.” Your hands went to the nape of her neck, going upwards to feel the softness of her short hair tangling your finger in the longer strands.

“Hmm. I don’t know…” A mischievous giggle came from you as you pulled her hair while shortening the distance between you two. You talked softly on top of her lips making them brush against each other. “Show me how you would do it, baby. Show me how you would celebrate it.”

Before you could react her bold lips took contact with yours, the bitter taste of smoke and black coffee mixing with the bright and clean of the toothpaste. Her free hand flew to your hips accommodating you on her lap, making you straddle her. Same hand that followed rapidly the movements of the robotic one going to your free asscheek squeezing the plumpness of the skin. A soft moan escaped your lips giving her enough space for her tongue to slip in. Without thinking much apart from the feeling of her lips and the growing warm sensation in between your legs you fixed yourself on her lap, getting as close to her as humanly possible. A low groan came from her when she put pressure on your skin making you slightly grind against her.

“Sevi… mmghm.” Carefully she broke the kiss leaving you room to talk, taking the chance to appreciate your looks, the dampness of your hair, your dazed eyes, the redness of your cheeks and the pink that colored your lips for the action a few seconds ago. “Please.”

“Please what, sugar.” You heard the smirk on her lips before you saw it going into another feverish kiss that lasted the same or more than the first one.

“I need you, I need you so much, please.” You talked over her lips before kissing her again. With an insane amount of care and show of strength she stood up with you in her arms, acting like you weighed nothing. Without breaking the kiss she walked into her room. You didn't notice that you were there until your back touched the fluffiness of the bedding.

“Fuck you look so pretty begging, my love.” Her human hand went to your face caressing your skin, making its way to your chin and then your bottom lip. As an instinct you opened your mouth slightly. She took the chance you were giving her, in a few seconds your lips were around the digit, your tongue flat against the surface for her to rub on, before you circled it over the tip. Eyes dizzy on hers succumbing to the slightest pressure of her dominance. Your cheeks were hollowed sucking at the length, a string of saliva started coming from the corner of your mouth dripping to your chin. “Look at you, so eager to please. Fucking drooling for only taking my finger.” A needy moan came from you while your eyes rolled back in your head.

You couldn’t focus on anything, your head was empty. Only occupied by the feeling of her thumb inside your mouth, the filthy sounds that it made when she moved it in and out of your mouth and the growl in her voice when she talked. Your legs were now open giving her a semi covered view of your sex, already covered in slick, not like it was hard around her, just looking at her could make you go wet. After a few seconds she took her finger out of your mouth leaving you empty, as an instinct you tried to take it again when she gripped your chin to make you look at her. “Tell me what you need, doll.”

“You.” Her smirk intensified while her robotic had busied herself by slowly taking your t-shirt off.

“You should be more specific.” A pout formed in your face while you lifted your arms for the clothing to fly to the floor of the room. Her hands started rubbing your shoulders going slowly down your chest until making it to your boobs. “So perfect.” She murmured to herself.

“I just need you, I need to be yours in any way you want me, I want you to do with me everything you pleased. Sevi, please.” The neediness in your voice was palpable and it made her brain short circuit. Her mouth went to your neck attacking it. Her humid tongue danced over your pressure points and her teeth slowly took the chance to bite. Her lips apart for the kissing was being used to suck on the skin to mark what now was hers.

“You are going to look so beautiful, full of bruises and hickeys. I need you so bad.” Her voice was so deep it sounded more like a constant growling, one that made all of your skin tingle. She made its way to your bust taking the chance to appreciate them before indulging in taking one of them in her mouth, lapping her tongue over your erect nipple and putting the smallest amount of pressure with her teeth, making your breath get caught in your throat coming up as a shaky whine. With a loud ‘pop’ she let it free going to the other side to do the exact same thing. “I don’t understand why I waited so much to make you mine. What a dumb fucker.”

Her words made you chuckle. Your head went back slightly as another moan made its way to fill the room. “Baby, please.” A gruff came from her as you went to lay on your back.

“Stop being so eager.”

“But sevi.” Your legs rub together without thinking about it, seeking a release for your neediness. A disapproving sound was heard before the noise of a slap was made when her hand touched your legs, making your whole body shake opening your legs once again.

“If you keep squirming I would not give you what you need, sugar.” Pouting lips and puppy eyes looked with her darkened ones. “Fuck you look so sexy acting like a begging pup.” Your mouth opens slightly to let a shaky breathe out. “You like that huh?, being called out for what you really are?. My needy baby.” Her hands went to your legs, opening them completely, giving herself a full view of yourself. You were covered in a glistening slick that made your dark curls look delicious in her eyes. “Mmhmm. That’s what I’m talking about. I should fuck you in front of a mirror so you can see how wet and needy you are for me.” You threw your head back once again while your hand gripped the bedsheets.

Even when lust was swallowing all of her facial features you could notice all the love behind it. Before you could beg again she gave you mercy, touching you where you most needed her, an immediate high pitch moan was heard as her long and thick fingers rubbed your slits. Going from your entrance to your bundle of nerves, taking with them all the slick they could possibly carry. Same fingers left you quickly to go to her mouth, when this time it was her that moaned. In that moment you were sure you could come only from hearing her moan. “You are like a drug.” Before you could say anything you were startled, her mouth went to your sex and suddenly you were floating.

“Oh my fucki-, fuck sev.” Your hand went to her hair in a second while your back arched trying to get even closer to her face. You were a mess immediately, moans coming from you like you were singing while she ate you like a starved woman. “Baby. Oh mmhgm. fuckfuckfuck.” Your lips were open completely letting everything that came from your throat touch the air. Her wet and warm muscles move with such an experience over yourself that you felt jealous of the people that could and had gotten this before you. Her lips went around your clitoris, taking it inside of her mouth, sucking at it with strength. You haven’t even noticed the cord that laid tight in your lower abdomen before it snapped, releasing yourself in her mouth.

“So delicious baby. That’s it, give it all to me.” She talked while continuing with the back and forward with her tongue.

“You should know it’s bad education to talk with your mouth full.” A laugh was heard muffled for your own skin that covered her mouth. You haven’t completely ridden your orgasm when you felt the coil tightening again. “Fuck baby just like that.” Her two point fingers went to your entrance, introducing themselves easily for the abundance of wetness that your orgasm had left behind. They started pumping and curling inside of you getting to that specific point with the ease only someone like her could have found it. Your fingers tightened her grip while the combination of her mouth and digits took you to your limit once again. “I’m gonna cum baby.” You said so quickly that she probably could only understand the ‘cum’ part.

You put your body weight in your elbows just so you can see her better. Your legs still trembling and she without even trying to stop, not like you were even going to ask. You saw the movements of her hips grinding against what she could find. You readjusted yourself so she could have access to the first part of your leg, thanking the added pressure she moaned with her mouth still stuffed with your cunt. Her moans were enough to keep you going for more as she added a new finger inside of you. “Cum for me Sev, please. You treat me so right. Fuck if only you could look at yourself right n- Aaahgg.” You couldn’t complete what you were saying before a whine interrupted you when you came once again.

You heard the noises of pleasure that escaped her and also the panting. You felt the eagerness of her hips before a growling moan surged with her as she made you sit up to take your face in her hands kissing you. You tasted yourself in her lips as you felt her own slick covering part of your skin as she came for rubbing on you.

₊⟡.⋆

You two laughed softly going limp on the bed trying to recover your senses to start breathing normally again. She rested on top of your chest with your hands in her back, a thin layer of sweat covered your body and probably hers too.

“Who would have thought that the severe professor Sevika would have such a filthy mouth in bed, huh?” A gruff came from her as she made herself look firm.

“Are you trying to mess with me? After you came three times? Only thanks to my mouth and fingers in less than what? 10 minutes?.” A blush covered your face as you laughed loudly.

“I am. And I have no shame in admitting that my girlfriend made me cum so hard and so good more than once in less than ten minutes.” Now it was her time to laugh as she sprinkled kisses on your skin. “You should be proud of it, some people date men that doesn’t made them cum in a fucking lifetime.”

“Oh I’m proud baby. How couldn’t I when you looked so good screaming my name.”

“Shut it.” A fist of giggles left both of you as you took her face in your hands kissing her freely. “I hope you know that now I would want to have sex on every surface and moment possible.”

“Well, I hope you know that I would be happy to please every desire you have.” Her human hand was resting in the plump of your ass.

“Sevi…”

“What happened baby?.” Your eyes locked on her reflecting all of the emotions of the last few months vibrated through your body. Your hands intertwining in the back of her neck.

“I love you.” A smile that showed her beautiful tooth gap made her eyes look softer. After leaving a short kiss on your lips she talked over them.

“I love you more, sugar.”

Please do not repost my work.

I hope you all enjoyed this, my dms are requests are open in case you want to drop something about this au <333.

[geeky-nightphilosopher]

Things I wholeheartedly believe about the Wayne Kids and why I believe them:

1. The Wayne kids at gala's naturally migrate to Lois and Clark first, even before Gotham reporters. No, it's not because Clark is/was the first person outside of the family that Bruce truly trusts - it's because even though Lois and Clark do everything to get to the bottom of the story, the truth to the story, they are nice and not looking for money or gossip. And the kids can be themselves.

2. (I made this before, but I want to repeat it.) Handwriting. Each kid knows how to forge every single person they knows handwriting. (All of them.) It's their superpower. It makes Bruce crazy and it's easy to prank people... and helpful sometimes.

3. Despite their turbulent relationship with Bruce, they are loyal to Bruce and Alfred. And each other. Not only is it because they are family, but because when it comes down to it, Bruce and Alfred have always been on their side.

4. Jason owns several bookstores. Some book stores are like libraries where they can check books out, some you have to spend actual money at to read them. It doends on what side of town you live in. It's too help youth get back into reading.

5. Tim, Jason, and Damian play D&D together. I don't actually have a reason for this, but I believe it. Sometimes, they rope Jon, Kon, Roy, Wally, and several others to play. Not Dick though. Dick- somehow - always cheats.

6. Dick and Duke's favorite chickflick movies are; She's The Man and the Devil Wears Parada. Steph's favorite is Legally Blonde 1&2. Cass likes Miss Congeniality. Jason's and Tim's favorite is any Hallmark Movie. And Damian thinks they're all insufferable.

7. Damian goes to the park to feed ducks and secretly has a duck army. He also feeds stray cats.

8. Selena loves all the kids. But Dick will always be her favorite because he helped soften Bruce and help give him some humanity and light back.

9. Duke once stopped a school shooter. As Duke, not Signal. I don't have a reason for this. He just did. I feel it in my blood.

10. Jason and Cass sometimes keep an eye on Gotham Academy, where Duke and Damian are. They'll watch from roof tops. Jason will say it's because he's looking for drug dealers, but secretly, ever since the school shooter scared, he's been worried about his brothers. Cass does it because she saw one of the teachers at a Gala once, and the teacher made her feel uncomfortable.

11. (Another post I made, but still.) The only people allowed to make fun of Dick and Damian's accents are those those who are in the family and are close friends of the family. Anyone outside that group gets pummeled or worse. One time, a minor Leaguer made a joke about Nightwing's accent, and it took Batman and Superman to get Jason off the them.

12. Anytime an article comes out ranking the Wayne boys' hottest list- Steph always doodles on their picture and Snaps them with things like; "Ew, since when did you have a stache?," or "Lol, you look like Clark."

13. Cass will join one of her brother's teams occasionally. And when she does, the only ones that interact with her outside her brother's are the ones closest to them. Tim's team of Young Justice hides when she comes.

14. Steph, Duke, Damian, and Jason are the athletes in the family. Cass, Dick, and Tim don't care much, but will play despite being athletic themselves.

15. Bruce has a swimming pool and hot tub. Can he ever use it? No.

16. Selena and Talia have fought against each other. Somehow, they are evenly matched.

17. Diana, Harley, Lois, Dinah, Ivy, and Selena will have girl days. Sometimes, they'll allow Steph, Barbra, and Cass with them. The boys are jealous.

18. As an April Fools joke, one year, Wally and Barbra convinced Dick they were dating. It put him in shock for three days.

19. Jason won't admit it, but Tim and Dick are evenly matched on favorite brothers. Duke's favorite is Jason, Damian's favorite is Dick. Dick loves them all equally and Tim's favorite is Duke.

20. Alfred has multiple scrapbooks for each of his grandkids and son.

[bardic-tales]

In the Quiet After Midnight, a FF VII xReader Fic

Summary: After a nightmare leaves you shaken, Sephiroth anchors you back to the present with quiet words, steady warmth, and a tenderness the world would never believe of him.

Pairing: Sephiroth x Reader (Genderless, 2nd person POV)

Other Characters: None

Possible Trigger Warnings: This story contains references to anxiety, fear, night terrors, and emotional trauma, as well as themes of vulnerability, past isolation, and healing through comfort. While nothing explicit is described, emotional sensitivity and panic response are core elements of the scene.

Author’s Note: This fic was written as the result of a poll I posted earlier this month: “Sephiroth comforting someone after a nightmare” won, and this one came pouring out of me. I’ve also included one of my personal headcanons here: that Sephiroth sleeps in the nude, but he wears a robe in the bedroom otherwise. I read it in a magazine article forever ago and it permanently rewired my brain, which is why every piece I write with Seph sleeping, he is nude. Hope this gives anyone a soft place to land who needs it.

You wake with a soundless gasp.

There is no scream. Your throat is clenched tight, but your lungs are already burning, as though you’ve surfaced from the bottom of the ocean. You don't remember the details of the dream, only impressions: glass shattering underfoot, voices echoing through walls, the air too hot and too thick to breathe. The dark swallows everything, even your own hands. You’re sure you reached for someone. Something. But nothing was there.

Except . . .

Arms.

You are in his arms.

Warmth envelops you. You’re cradled against something solid and still. A forearm is draped protectively across your chest. His fingers are resting lightly against your sternum, grounding you.

Sephiroth.

The world snaps back into focus with a sharp breath. Your senses re-calibrate to the present. The nightmare scatters like smoke in sunlight, but it leaves a bitter trace in your mouth: fear, shame, and the trembling that hasn't stopped.

He hasn't moved. Not even a breath different than before. But you know he's awake.

"You're shaking," he says quietly behind you. His voice is smooth and low, sort of like the way marble might sound if it could speak.

You swallow hard. His voice shouldn’t be this gentle. Sephiroth was built for war. Forged in fire. Sculpted in expectation. He’s a SOLDIER, a living weapon, and yet, this bed has become a refuge and he is just a man.

And you?

You are just a dream-wrecked shadow in his arms.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You press your palms to your chest and try to slow the thud of your heart. It’s humiliating to feel like this. Exposed. Fragile. Small.

His hand shifts slightly, fingers spreading to cover more of your sternum: a subtle pressure but, more like, an anchor.

“You are safe,” Sephiroth says.

Those three words crack something in you. A dam somewhere behind your ribs. He says it with certainty, like it’s a command he can enforce. Maybe it is.

You squeeze your eyes shut. "I don’t feel safe," you whisper.

A pause. Not silence. There is always a kind of silence that wraps around Sephiroth, even when he speaks, but this is thoughtful. A quiet full of him listening.

“I see,” he murmurs. “Then I will not leave you.”

You don’t understand how he does that. How he makes promises without drama or ceremony, but with so much weight they feel like oaths. Sephiroth doesn’t speak casually. Everything he says carries the precision of a man who was never allowed to be wrong. But here in this dim-lit bedroom in Midgar, he speaks like he’s allowed to be gentle, to be himself.

You turn toward him slowly, feeling the sheets pull against your limbs, the warmth of his body like a shield against the cold air. The room smells faintly of the rose and vanilla shampoo he uses mingled with the clean cotton of his sheets. It should be nothing, but in this moment, it is everything.

He's lying on his side, propped slightly on one elbow now. His silver hair spills like liquid mercury over his shoulder and across the pillow. The bare skin of his chest gleams in the moonlight. His cyan eyes, those haunting, inhuman irises that have never frightened you, regard you steadily. Cat-like. Luminous. But not cruel. Never cruel to you.

“Would you like to speak of it?” he asks.

You shake your head, curling in slightly as if the gesture itself is shameful. "It doesn’t make sense. I just-I panicked. It felt like being alone again.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He never does. He lets silence have a place in your grief.

“I’m tired of being afraid,” you finally manage. “I hate waking up like this. I hate feeling like I’m still back there. Like something’s always watching me.”

Your voice cracks at the end. And you hate that too.

But Sephiroth only moves closer. His arm once again slides around your back, guiding your forehead gently against his chest. His skin is warm, and the rhythm of his heart is like a lullaby hammered out by gods who once knew kindness.

“You are no longer in the place where those things happened,” he says. His breath is soft against your temple. “And you are not alone. Not anymore.”

The words shouldn’t be a revelation, but they are. They sink deeper than comfort. They redefine the night.

You feel his fingers ghost through your hair, smoothing it gently back from your face. He has always been meticulous like that, even in moments like this. He touches you as if touch itself is a language, one he had to learn slowly. Sephiroth was not made for softness, but he chooses it. For you.

You glance up at him, and speak. Your voice is barely audible. “Do you ever have nightmares?”

His expression doesn’t change, but you feel something shift beneath the surface of him. “Yes,” he says. “Not often. But they return when I am uncertain of myself.”

You frown. “You? Uncertain?”

A ghost of a smile touches the edge of his mouth: not a smirk, not amusement. Something quieter. “I am not a god,” he says. “Though many would like to think otherwise.”

You look at him for a long moment. The moonlight dances across the planes of his face, and you’re struck again by how beautiful he is. Not just aesthetically, though that’s undeniable. There’s a discipline to him. Its an elegance beneath the muscle and precision. His beauty is an architecture, as if he was carefully built and painfully upheld.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” you whisper.

He draws in a slow breath, and you know that meant something to him. You’re not sure what, not fully, but he holds you a little tighter.

“I am learning that,” he says. “With you.”

He exhales again, and the blanket slips a little lower on his shoulder, revealing the sculpted shape of his collarbone and his pecs. You press a palm gently there. Your fingers splay over his heart.

“I’m trying too,” you say.

His eyes soften, but not with pity, with something quieter. Pride, maybe. Or admiration. It unnerves you a little to be seen like this by someone who has stared into the heart of war and walked out without blinking.

But Sephiroth doesn’t flinch when you’re vulnerable. He listens.

You bury your face in his chest again. “Don’t let go,” you whisper.

“I won’t.”

You lie there for a long time. The storm inside you calms, minute by minute, heartbeat by heartbeat. You can feel his fingers in your hair again, stroking the strands with quiet intention. It’s not possessive or demanding. It’s a promise.

Eventually, your breathing slows. The nightmare fades into a pale memory. But sleep doesn’t return just yet.

“Can I ask something?” you murmur.

“You may.”

“What do you see,” you ask, “when you look at me like this?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Not because he doesn’t know, but because he wants to say it right. He always wants to say things right.

“I see someone who fights every day without needing a sword,” he says. “And wins.”

Your throat tightens again, but this time, it’s not fear. It’s the ache of being known.

You press closer, letting the warmth of his body pull you in, as you let his breath anchor yours.

Outside, the lights of Midgar burn: distant, cold, and always watching. In here, however, you are wrapped in his arms, under the quiet bright gaze of a man the world calls untouchable. You are held.

And nothing dares to touch you.

[novaursa]

A Flame All Her Own (dragons after dark)

- Summary: You and Daemon are accused of indecent exposure after your recent escapades in Flea Bottom.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen (with hints of Viserys I Targaryen with both of them in the past)

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: faithful

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

The council chamber was quiet, an unusual peace resting over the small council—until Otto Hightower cleared his throat with a pointed cough. Viserys looked up from a map of the Crownlands, brow furrowed, as Otto shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable but also eager to get something off his chest.

“Your Grace,” Otto began, clasping his hands together with a rigidness that suggested this was no ordinary report. “There is… a matter of some delicacy that I feel must be brought to your attention.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, already sensing that this was not likely to be a straightforward discussion. “Yes, Otto?”

Otto leaned forward, glancing briefly at Daemon, who sat with his feet propped up on the table, looking very much like a prince whose mind was miles away, perhaps dreaming of dragon flights and not the least bit concerned about his present company.

“It concerns your brother,” Otto continued, his tone clipped, “and your sister.”

Daemon’s eyes flicked up, a faint smirk on his lips as he lazily removed his boots from the council table, folding his arms in a way that suggested he was ready to enjoy whatever fuss Otto was about to create. “Is that so?” Daemon’s voice dripped with feigned surprise. “Do enlighten us, Otto.”

Otto’s lips thinned, but he forged on, determined. “It appears that last night, certain… rumors have circulated throughout Flea Bottom.”

Viserys sighed, looking weary already. “Rumors?”

“Yes, rumors,” Otto repeated, each syllable laden with his disapproval. “About the prince and princess being… sighted in public, in a rather compromising state.”

At this, Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned forward as if savoring every word that left Otto’s mouth. “Oh, do go on. I’m curious about these rumors myself.”

Otto’s jaw clenched, clearly reluctant to continue but, being the Hand of the King, he did not have the luxury of discretion. “It is said that Prince Daemon and Princess Y/N were spotted… in various states of indecent exposure, as it were, during an excursion into Flea Bottom.”

Viserys paled. “Indecent exposure?”

“Precisely,” Otto said, barely concealing the satisfaction in his voice as he relayed the details. “Some claim they were… engaged in, ah… revelries. Others describe certain articles of clothing as being notably absent.”

A cough choked out of Viserys’s mouth as he looked at Daemon, who sat there entirely unfazed, his expression one of mild interest at best.

“Daemon,” Viserys said, voice exasperated. “What is he talking about?”

Daemon shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps they mistook us for someone else.”

Otto’s glare could have melted stone. “There were reports of a silver-haired woman and a silver-haired man seen, quite publicly, by no fewer than twenty merchants, three blacksmiths, and one poor tavern keeper who claims he had to close shop early due to the commotion.”

“Commotion?” Daemon chuckled. “I do believe we’re innocent in that regard. We were simply… taking in the night air. Can we help it if Flea Bottom is easily scandalized?”

Viserys buried his face in his hands, letting out a long, tired sigh. “Daemon, please tell me you didn’t…”

Daemon leaned forward, grinning. “We were enjoying a harmless stroll through the city, brother. Perhaps my sister stumbled. I may have… caught her in my arms.” He shrugged. “The streets are narrow, after all.”

“And how do you explain the… lack of clothing, then?” Otto’s voice was practically a hiss.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, looking delightfully unbothered. “The night was warm. Flea Bottom is hardly known for its air quality; perhaps we were a bit overheated.”

Viserys looked torn between exasperation and amusement, glancing between Otto, who was nearly purple with indignation, and Daemon, who was enjoying himself far too much.

“I’ll speak with her later,” Viserys mumbled. “Though it seems she’s blissfully unaware of this entire meeting.”

“Indeed,” Otto added, clearly affronted. “Your sister, Prince Daemon, is currently asleep, untroubled by the scandal she has brought upon the crown.”

Daemon smirked, tilting his head as he glanced out the window, towards where he knew you were soundly sleeping in his chambers, blissfully unaware of the ruckus you had apparently caused.

“You see, Otto,” Daemon said, voice rich with mischief, “some of us have our priorities straight.”

Otto looked as if he might explode on the spot, his glare enough to scorch even dragon scales. “Your Grace,” he said to Viserys, voice shaking with frustration, “I would suggest that the Prince and Princess conduct their… excursions with more decorum in the future.”

Daemon merely chuckled, clearly unbothered, as he rose from his seat, giving Otto a mocking bow before leaning over the table to clap Viserys on the shoulder. “Come now, brother. Life’s too short to worry about such trifles.”

One by one, the members of the small council shuffled out of the room, each with varying degrees of disapproval and exasperation. Otto departed first, his nose lifted as if the very thought of Daemon and Flea Bottom scandal was beneath him. Tyland Lannister muttered something about “Targaryen passions,” while Mellos whispered a prayer for “royal restraint.” Corlys chuckled under his breath, likely remembering his own youthful exploits, and Beesbury, well, he mumbled something entirely incoherent as he tottered out.

Finally, Viserys and Daemon were alone in the chamber, and the air grew notably less stiff. Viserys let out a sigh, shaking his head as he turned to face his younger brother, who stood grinning like a cat with feathers in its mouth.

“Daemon,” Viserys began, tone weary but still tinged with brotherly affection. “You know I have to address this. Flea Bottom isn’t some playground for you and Y/N to make spectacles of yourselves. We’re not children anymore.”

Daemon cocked an eyebrow, folding his arms as he watched his brother with that perpetual glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean, brother. We were simply… enjoying the night air.”

“Oh, of course,” Viserys replied, dryly. “And shedding half your clothes in the process?”

“Clothes are but an inconvenience in certain settings,” Daemon countered, smirking. “It’s not my fault that Flea Bottom took notice of a little, ah, fresh air between siblings.”

Viserys pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing a laugh that threatened to break through his serious expression. “Look, Daemon. I won’t tolerate this again. If you and Y/N want to explore the city, I don’t care. But could you please… refrain from causing a scene?”

Daemon tilted his head, lips curling as he feigned shock. “You make it sound as though we’re entirely to blame. Perhaps Flea Bottom’s citizens simply haven’t the sophistication to understand royal comportment.”

“Royal comportment?” Viserys nearly snorted, giving his brother a look. “Is that what you call it?”

“A very dignified stroll, as I said,” Daemon replied smoothly, though the grin on his face betrayed his amusement.

Viserys sighed, straightening himself as he tried to assume a more serious expression. “Well, I’ll speak to her as well. Once she wakes. Hopefully, one of us can impress upon her the importance of… discretion.”

Daemon chuckled, the sound a low, warm rumble that seemed to fill the room. “You’ll talk to her, will you?” His eyes sparkled with the memory of mischief. “And what will you tell her, I wonder? That the king disapproves of his siblings enjoying themselves? You’ve gotten awfully proper since you took that throne, brother.”

Viserys raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I wouldn’t call it proper. Perhaps just… restrained.”

“Restrained,” Daemon repeated, savoring the word as if it were a bitter taste. “And you think restraint suits you, do you?”

“Yes,” Viserys replied, though he didn’t sound quite convinced. He shook his head, a small chuckle escaping. “Not everyone can run about the city causing scandals, Daemon. Some of us have responsibilities.”

Daemon rolled his eyes, leaning back casually. “You used to enjoy our company,” he said, his tone almost wistful. “Remember? Back when you weren’t restrained or… boring.”

“Boring?” Viserys shot him a look, though his mouth twitched with a reluctant smile. “I am not boring.”

“Oh, but you are,” Daemon continued, grinning. “It’s been ages since we’ve all been together like that. The old Viserys would have been right there with us, laughing, celebrating, not sitting on his stuffy throne, worrying about what Otto Hightower thinks.”

Viserys opened his mouth to retort, but he hesitated, glancing away as if the memory of those carefree days was tugging at him. “Things… change, Daemon,” he said finally. “I am king now. I have to be responsible.”

Daemon snorted. “King. Yes, yes, I know. But the crown doesn’t mean you have to be miserable, chained to your duties like some prisoner.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice as he looked Viserys in the eye. “You’re Targaryen. We’re dragons, not gray little men sitting in musty chambers. What happened to the brother who would drink and laugh until dawn?”

“Daemon…” Viserys began, voice a touch softer. The memories seemed to hang between them, filling the silence in a way that was almost tangible.

“What’s the harm in a little fun, brother?” Daemon pressed, leaning back with a smirk. “Perhaps you’d remember that if you joined us again sometime.”

Viserys shook his head, his mouth quirking into a small, defeated smile. “I suppose I can’t change you, can I?”

Daemon chuckled, clapping Viserys on the shoulder. “Not a chance.”

Viserys sighed, smiling faintly as he looked at his brother, who stood there looking exactly like the reckless, loyal sibling he’d always known. “Fine. I’ll let this go. This time. After I talk with Y/N. But for the love of the Seven, Daemon, please, try to stay out of trouble.”

Daemon laughed, turning towards the door, his hand resting on the handle as he threw one last cheeky grin over his shoulder. “Oh, come now, Viserys. You know I’d be a poor Targaryen if I promised that.”

And with that, he sauntered out, leaving Viserys alone in the chamber, still shaking his head with a rueful smile, knowing that whatever mischief his brother might conjure next, there was no stopping it.

Daemon slipped quietly into the low lit chamber he shared with you, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. You were still sound asleep, sprawled across the bed in a tangle of silken sheets, one arm thrown over your head, hair splayed across the pillow like a midnight wave. It would have been easy for him to leave you in peace, but since when did Daemon Targaryen ever do the easy thing?

With a barely contained smirk, he approached the bed, slipping off his boots and cloak with the practiced stealth of a dragon sneaking into a nest. He slid into bed beside you, and without ceremony, he reached out and gently tugged a lock of your hair.

“Wake up, my scandalous princess,” he murmured, amusement thick in his voice.

You stirred, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but otherwise remained blissfully unaware of his presence. Daemon raised an eyebrow, feigning offense as he leaned over you, his face only inches from yours.

“Sleeping through your king’s summons, are you?” he whispered, lips twitching with a grin. “I’d thought even the Seven couldn’t wake you after last night’s ‘adventures.’”

You shifted, brow furrowing, before mumbling something incoherent and burying your face into the pillow. Daemon rolled his eyes, his grin widening as he reached out, fingers finding that ticklish spot just beneath your ribs.

With a startled gasp, you shot up, glaring at him with a mix of irritation and groggy confusion. “Daemon!”

He lay back, arms crossed behind his head, looking up at you with an entirely too-pleased grin. “Good morning to you too, darling.”

You blinked, still caught between sleep and waking, before the events of the previous night began to creep back into your memory. A flush crept to your cheeks as you recalled the, well… enthusiastic moments you’d shared in Flea Bottom.

“Daemon,” you muttered, pulling the sheets up to your chin. “You didn’t have to wake me like that.”

“Oh, but I did,” he replied smoothly, his voice dripping with humor. “You should have seen Otto’s face when he spoke of our little escapade. I swear he looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.”

You snorted despite yourself, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “I can only imagine.”

“Oh, but you don’t have to,” he replied, his grin widening. “Viserys has promised to speak to you personally about it.”

Your eyes widened. “Viserys? He knows?”

Daemon laughed, reaching out to tug the sheets away from your grip. “Of course, he knows. You’ve made quite an impression on Flea Bottom, love. They’re calling us the ‘Silver Specters.’” He paused, leaning closer with a wicked glint in his eye. “I think we’ve scandalized the city.”

You groaned, collapsing back onto the pillow. “Why did you have to drag me into your schemes?”

“My schemes?” Daemon looked wounded, a hand pressed to his chest in mock hurt. “Oh, dear sister, if I recall, you were the one suggesting we slip away from the Red Keep for a bit of fun.”

You opened one eye, giving him a skeptical look. “Fun, yes. Not… public indecency.”

Daemon chuckled, shifting closer to you, his hand resting casually on your hip. “Come now, admit it,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “You enjoyed every moment. Don’t tell me you weren’t thrilled by the danger.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the flutter of his words settle warmly in your chest. “Maybe a little.”

He laughed again, his hand trailing along your back as he murmured, “That’s what I thought.”

You sighed, glancing toward the chamber door. “What do we do now? If Viserys is actually going to talk to me—”

“Let him talk,” Daemon interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “He’s forgotten how to have fun. You, my dear sister, are the only thing keeping this court interesting.”

“Oh, really?” You quirked a brow, giving him a knowing look. “And I suppose you had nothing to do with our ‘adventure’ last night?”

He grinned, unabashed. “Not a thing. I’m simply an innocent bystander swept along by your rebellious spirit.”

You rolled over, pinning him with a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “You’re an utter rogue, Daemon Targaryen.”

He chuckled, reaching out to pull you close. “And you love me for it.”

With a laugh, you let him draw you into his arms, the warmth of his embrace and the humor of the situation filling the room like a fire on a cold morning. Whatever lectures Viserys might have planned for you, they could wait. In that moment, it was just you, Daemon, and the quiet mischief that bound you together.

Later that day, you found yourself summoned to Viserys’s solar, a request you knew could only mean one thing: the dreaded talk. You walked in with feigned innocence, a small, polite smile playing on your lips, though you could already spot Daemon lounging near the hearth with an air of smug satisfaction.

Viserys stood by his desk, hands clasped behind his back as he gave you a look that was equal parts exasperated brother and disappointed king. It might have been intimidating, had Daemon not been sitting just a few paces behind him, barely suppressing a smirk.

“Y/N,” Viserys began, his tone solemn. “We need to talk about… last night.”

“Oh?” You blinked, wide-eyed, adopting a tone as innocent as you could muster. “Did something happen last night, Your Grace?”

Daemon let out a soft snicker, and Viserys shot him a look before turning back to you, fighting to maintain his composure. “Don’t play coy with me. You know very well what I mean. The Flea Bottom… incident.”

“Ah,” you murmured, trying to look suitably contrite but struggling to keep a straight face. “The, um, ‘Silver Specters,’ was it?”

Viserys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes. That. Do you understand the kind of scandal this has brought upon the crown?”

“Oh, come now, Viserys,” Daemon drawled from his spot by the fire, voice dripping with amusement. “It’s hardly the first scandal we’ve been part of.”

Viserys turned to shoot Daemon another glare, before turning back to you, struggling to resume his kingly seriousness. “Y/N, this sort of behavior… it’s unbecoming. You are royalty, and your actions reflect upon the Targaryen name.”

You tilted your head, an innocent glimmer in your eyes as you answered, “Oh, I seem to remember a time when all three of us did this sort of thing regularly. On Dragonstone, remember?”

Daemon’s smirk widened, clearly entertained, while Viserys looked as if you’d just struck him speechless. A faint blush crept up his neck, and he coughed, suddenly at a loss for words.

“I… well, that was…” he stammered, momentarily thrown off balance. “That was… a long time ago.”

“Oh, it wasn’t that long ago,” Daemon chimed in, the gleam in his eye betraying his enjoyment. “I remember it well. Especially that one summer—”

“Daemon!” Viserys cut him off, clearly trying to maintain some sense of decorum but failing miserably as memories of youthful indiscretions seemed to flash behind his eyes. “That’s… not the point.”

You couldn’t resist pressing further, stepping closer to him with an innocent smile. “Why, brother, you didn’t seem to mind then. In fact,” you paused, voice dropping to a more mischievous tone, “if memory serves, you were rather… enthusiastic about our nightly adventures.”

Viserys’s face flushed a deeper shade of red, and he glanced away, clearly flustered as he grappled with his authority and memories he’d rather keep buried. “Yes, well… I… that was different.”

“Oh?” Daemon smirked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, looking between the two of you with open amusement. “I’d love to hear how it was different, brother.”

Viserys opened his mouth to respond, but words failed him. His gaze shifted from you to Daemon, caught somewhere between indignation and something else entirely, something softer and unspoken. His shoulders slumped a little as he let out a resigned sigh, his kingly facade crumbling.

“Perhaps… I’ve become a bit too serious,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself.

Daemon chuckled, stepping forward to clasp a hand on his shoulder. “You see, Viserys? That crown’s made you dreadfully dull.”

“Maybe it has,” Viserys said, glancing between the two of you, a small, reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “But one of us has to be the responsible one.”

“Oh, but I don’t think you’ve forgotten everything,” you said softly, your gaze meeting his, a flicker of shared memory passing between you. “You were always our leader back then. Wherever you went, we’d follow.”

Viserys swallowed, his cheeks still faintly pink as he looked at you, then at Daemon, as though some long-buried part of himself was surfacing. “I suppose,” he murmured, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “There were good times.”

Daemon grinned, moving to stand beside you as he gave Viserys a sly look. “Then perhaps it’s time we brought a little of that back.”

Viserys shook his head, though his smile had fully broken through. “I don’t know if I should be encouraging the two of you…”

“Oh, you should,” you replied, a spark of mischief lighting in your eyes as you leaned closer to him. “We’ve missed you, you know. It’s been too long since all three of us… indulged.”

For a moment, Viserys’s gaze softened, the weight of the crown forgotten as he looked at you and Daemon, the memories of simpler times gleaming in his eyes. He glanced away, chuckling softly.

“Well,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing, “as long as you two promise not to cause a scandal quite so… public next time.”

“Who, us?” Daemon feigned innocence, draping an arm around your shoulders. “We would never dream of it.”

Viserys’s laughter filled the room, and for a brief, perfect moment, it was as if the three of you were back on Dragonstone, young, free, and utterly unburdened by the crown’s weight.

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter two Hiori discovers Miss Journalist might be a loyal fan of his — and learns the hard way that stalking someone on Winstagram can quickly get complicated. blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains slow slow slow burn, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader angst, fluff, very hiori yo centric piece, reader is big hiori fangirl i guess masterlist

A few days later, Hiori noticed Bastard München’s group chat buzzing on his way to training. In just a couple of days, your article he had stumbled upon gained traction, spreading quickly among fans and media circles.

To his surprise, the team’s marketing team seized the opportunity to reshape the narrative to their advantage. They shared the article on the team’s official social media account, tagging you, with the caption: “Big W, thanks @/yn_offthepage for the awesome feature! We appreciate the support and dedication from all fans as we push forward this season. Don’t count us out yet!”

The reaction was immediate and electric. Fans who had been hesitant—some even critical—now rallied behind the team. Comments flooded in, sparking a renewed sense of hope for the Kaiser-less Bastard München. It was as if your article had breathed life back into a disheartened fanbase, bringing a spark of energy and support that the team badly needed.

By mid-day, another notification caught Hiori’s attention—a link to an old podcast clip that had resurfaced from an episode a few weeks prior to the start of the season. He opened it, surprised to see that you had been a featured guest in Anri Teieri and Ego Jinpachi’s Japanese Football Association podcast show.

The video began with the three of you sitting around a cluttered table with JFA signage and merch. Anri wore her usual JFA-branded polo shirt, and Ego wore a dark dress shirt paired with his signature bolo tie. 

You, however, were dressed more casually this time—casual but sporty. You donned a simple oversized tracksuit jacket and pants, with your messy bun adding an almost charming touch to your appearance. Your cheeks were lightly dusted with blush, and somehow looked radiant under the studio’s lights.

The podcast attracted attention quickly, and for good reason. The topic of discussion? The top three teams to watch that season. When Anri posed the question to you, Hiori hadn’t been prepared for your bold and quick response: Bastard München. The choice raised an eyebrow from Ego, who clearly hadn’t been expecting it.

In the next few seconds, you defended your choice with a blend of sharp analysis and an unexpected warmth. 

“Bastard München may have their flaws,” you explained, “but this season is about more than just winning. They’re rebuilding, and that means everyone now has a chance to shape the team’s dynamics in a way we haven’t seen before. It’s exciting because of how the team chooses to play things out this season can make or break them.”

As Hiori watched the clip, he couldn’t suppress a slight smile. The way you spoke about Bastard München struck a chord.

Your words weren’t just empty praise. They held conviction, a belief in their potential that was oddly reassuring. It reminded him of why he played, of the love for the game that had gotten buried under expectations and pressure.

“Think of it this way,” you continued, “just like in the Blue Lock project, players are forged through fire and brimstone, transforming into better versions of themselves. But this time, it’s not just individuals. It’s a whole team, shaping their destiny together. Aside from snide fan remarks, the only limiting factor to their potential growth is themselves, with the season a ticking time bomb hovering over their heads. This is where real egoists evolve.”

Not many sports personalities, especially journalists, would have taken the risk of showing open support for a team with uncertain prospects.

She a Noel Noa fan? he wondered.

Regardless, he hadn’t expected to feel that weight behind your statement, but something about it felt... right. 

At practice later that day, the clip had gone fully viral. So viral that the team’s sly marketing team couldn’t resist showing it to the squad. And like clockwork, during their break, Coach Noa and the marketing manager flagged down the sweaty athletes and gathered them in the locker room to watch the podcast clip.

The team crowded around the big TV, and as they watched, Hiori felt the atmosphere shift. The weight of their previous defeats seemed to lift. Your public support for Bastard München—the way you called them the team to watch out for this season—was like kindling to their dying embers. 

Even without looking at each other, they can feel that there’s a newfound determination settling within them. Even Greisner’s grumpy self got visibly pumped, his potty mouth running nonstop, but in a good way.

Watching his teammates respond to the clip reaffirmed what he’d felt earlier. But it was Hiori who felt the impact the most. Your conviction, your words, as if everything was directed to him.

This wasn’t just about the praise; it was about being seen, understood, in a way he hadn’t known they needed. Your words had done more than lift him; they’d awakened the fire within the entire team, making them feel, for the first time in a while, like they were exactly where they were meant to be.

But what surprised Hiori was the next clip that Coach Noa played.

The clip showed Anri bringing out an exaggeratedly large whiteboard titled “Ego’s Top Player Watch List”.

It showed a list of the top ten players to watch this season, paired with a comically drawn cartoon face of a player beside their name. It listed high-profile names and football stars everyone was expecting to see. The usual suspects—Julian Loki, Michael Kaiser, Shidou Ryuusei, the Itoshi Brothers—were all there.

But you interrupted Ego’s explanation mid-sentence.

“Not to be rude, but this looks like a ‘super fan’s’ wet dream.”

The team erupted in laughter. Hiori could hear Anri snort in the background, trying to cover it up with a cough after getting a stink eye from Ego himself.

Even Coach Noa couldn’t help himself, letting out a low chuckle at that unfiltered comment about his former brother-in-arms.

The camera panned to Ego, whose face was now a mix of curiosity and provocation. Through gritted teeth, he said, emphasizing every syllable of every word, “Is that so? What makes you say that, Y/N-chan?"

Realizing how rude that sounded, you bowed profusely, the tips of your ears red from the embarrassment. “I’m sorry! That came out wrong!”

“What I mean is, these are the players that football fanboys usually rattle off,” you said, catching yourself a bit too late. You just called Ego a fanboy. You winced but pressed on.

“These are the stereotypical names everyone expects to hear. But there are so many others who are just as impactful in their own way. Players like Nanase Nijiro, Niko Ikki, Agi, Miroku Darai, Alexis Ness …”, and for a second, you visibly, faltered, hesitating.

But you continued with a smile, “... and Hiori Yo, to name a few.”

“Oooh, that’s some hot take you’ve got there, Y/N-chan.” Anri laughed. “Also, two players from Bastard München?”

“So I’m guessing your favorite player is from the German club then?” Ego pried as he erased names on the board to replace them with Alexis Ness, Agi, and Hiori Yo’s names.

“Is it that obvious?” You chuckled. “Actually, let me show you.”

The team’s eyes were glued to the screen as you started unzipping your tracksuit jacket and revealed a Bastard München black jersey with the big bold gold number on the front.

Jersey number 23.

Hiori Yo’s jersey number.

His jersey.

“Ooooh!” The team erupted in laughter and teasing as they eyed Hiori, who was clearly stunned by the sudden reveal.

And it didn’t stop there.

“He’s a strategist both on and off the field. A true genius." You leaned forward, eyes bright with conviction.

“Everyone’s always focused on the strikers, but for me, midfielders steal the show. Playmaking is the heart of football; without midfielders to anchor the team, you’d just have chaos and confusion. Don’t get me wrong, I love the excitement that forwards like Julian Loki bring. But midfielders like Hiori Yo have their own kind of charm, a different thrill.” 

Your voice softened, your gaze momentarily distant, as if lost in thought. “There’s something mesmerizing about the way they read the game, anticipating moves before anyone else sees them. They make football more dynamic, more unpredictable. What’s not to like, right?”

You paused, catching your breath, and glanced around, realizing you rambled on. Anri and Ego exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by your enthusiasm. Hiori watched as you tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks flushed as if you'd suddenly remembered you weren't alone.

It was clear you’d been watching him closely, noticing the subtleties of his play that often went unnoticed. And for a moment, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride.

As the clip ended, the locker room broke out in playful whistles, the whole Bastard München jeering at Hiori. Grins and knowing looks flew his way, as they egged him on this surprising development.

“Look at you, Hiori,” Ndiaye teased, nudging him. “Got yourself a fangirl.”

Hiori felt his cheeks grow warm as he tried to hide a small smile. But something stirred within him. Was it validation? Recognition? He couldn’t quite tell.  

“Who wouldn’t like Hiori? He’s, like, the ultra-sadist.” Isagi laughed as he elbowed Hiori on the side.

“Ah, shaddap, that was ages ago,” Hiori laughed, shoving him back. “But this ultra-sadist ain’t passin’ to ya if ya play like crap next match!”

“Damn, so cruel, so mean, Hiori.” Kunigami said.

“Guess it’s just my charm, eh?” Hiori grinned as he gracefully dodged a playful jab from a pouty, jealous Igarashi.

“Lucky! I’d kill for a fan in the press, so unfair.” Raichi groaned, casting a jealous look at Hiori.

Theo Sachs draped his arm around Raichi and said, “I doubt Miss Y/N would even write about you, even if you’re the master striker. You gotta be smart, not a smartass.”

“Plus, if we’re judging the team, you’d probably come in just above Igarashi at the bottom.” Yukimiya chimed in, laughing. “Even Gagamaru’s got a better shot at landing a cute fan.” Gagamaru simply huffed in smug satisfaction.

A loud clap broke their chaos as they heard Coach Noa clear his throat. “Alright, that’s enough. This is good publicity, yes, but remember, this puts all eyes on us for the next few matches. So don’t slack off. We’ve got a chance to prove them wrong, and I expect every one of you to play like it.”

The team erupted in shouts and cheers, clearly energized by the encouragement in the video. It might not have seemed like much, but having someone voice their confidence in Bastard Munchen out there for everyone to see lifted their spirits and boosted morale in a way they hadn’t expected. 

Football players are so single-minded, Hiori chuckled to himself.

The team dispersed as Coach Noa dismissed them with a wave, nodding with certainty at Hiori before heading to the field. The rest of the team scattered, eager to enjoy the rest of their break before afternoon training resumed.

He watched them go, but his mind lingered on the clip and on you.

Hiori felt a strange warmth unfurl in his chest. You weren't focused on the typical names, the usual flashy strikers; you spoke about the heart of the game, the grind, the transformation.

And when you mentioned the midfielders—the players who built the game from the ground up, who connected every move and controlled the chaos on the field—it felt like you were talking directly to him.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had seen that side of his role, had recognized the way he approached the game. He felt seen—not for his skill or his stats, but for the way he played, for the choices he made on the field.

This wasn’t validation from his parents or praise from a coach. This was different. It was like a piece of himself he’d almost forgotten was gently being uncovered again. And in that moment, Hiori realized he wasn’t just another player on the field. He was Hiori Yo, a player with his own way of seeing the game—and you understood it.

Hiori replayed the clip, slipping on his earphones as he sank onto an empty bench under the shade. He let the image of you in his jersey burn into the back of his mind. And that smile.

This feels damn good, huh?

It was strange. Most people dismissed his approach to the game as too quiet, too calculated. But you understood it, and that understanding warmed him from the inside out, like a light he didn’t want to fade.

Without a thought, he checked your Winstagram account he had bookmarked. He scrolled down further before stopping as he spotted the picture he had been looking for. He clicked on it, and it showed him a carousel of images from that podcast episode. He did linger a little longer on a candid photo of you in his jersey.

He tried to zoom in, double tapping the image. “Ah, shit.” he muttered, as a heart-shaped “like” notification popped up instead.

In a panic, his fingers moved before he could even think about it. His heart raced as he tapped it continuously, unliking it, then tapped it again, liking it once more.

He froze, realizing that what he had done probably made things worse.

“Well… no goin’ back now, huh?” With a soft chuckle, he hit the follow button before stashing his phone in his bag and jogging back to the field, a smile playing on his lips.

While in the middle of researching a story, you were drenched in sweat as your phone blew up with notifications. The JFA podcast going viral definitely wasn’t on your to-do list today. While the clip's popularity was undoubtedly a career boost for a budding sports journalist like you, the attention was overwhelming.

Many praised you for your insightful take on the team and Hiori, but others labeled you an overzealous fan, clinging to idealistic views. As you scrolled through the messages and comments, a creeping anxiety settled in. 

Was your conviction really misplaced? Maybe you should’ve just mentioned PXG, like the other “normal” fans.

Instead, you had blurted out your admiration for Bastard Munchen—and, to make it worse, wore the jersey of your favorite player on camera.

What was I thinking, showing that off in a recorded video? So stupid.

As you scrolled further, a few off-the-rails comments caught your eye: 

When she talked about Hiori, she gloooowed.

Hiori Yo's biggest fangirl confirmed?

Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and something else, something unexpected. You quickly swiped past the post, your heart pounding. Was it really that obvious? The beating in your chest wouldn't go away.

Your moment of procrastination was interrupted by a series of Winstagram notifications popping up on your screen.

hioyi_yo23 liked a post. hioyi_yo23 liked a post. hioyi_yo23 started following you.

“Shit. Shit, shit shit shit shit. What now?!” You choked on your iced latte and scrambled to open the notification.

You couldn’t tell if the universe was playing some twisted prank on you. Because when you saw what photo Hiori Yo—Bastard Munchen’s midfielder, jersey number 23, THE HIORI YO HIMSELF—had liked, it felt like the entire world had just shifted on its axis.

It was your photo, wearing his jersey. He saw. He watched the clip. And he knew your Winstagram account.

Wait—did he like it and un-like it?

You quickly opened his profile, you fingers trembling. His account was a stark contrast to yours. There was barely anything personal—just a handful of Bastard Munchen-related posts, a few photos of teammates and friends, and some glimpses of his personal life, like the computer games he played or events he attended.

Everything was cryptic, like the man himself, showing only fragments of his life.

“Well, here goes nothing,” you muttered, butterflies exploding in her stomach as you tapped the follow button.

You stared at the screen for a moment, holding you breath. A smile tugged at your lips as you read it again: hiori_yo23 follows you.

author's notes: after so many revisions, it's finally done! i rewrote this chapter and it turned out longer than i expected. but i wanted to show both hiori and reader felt, their internal thoughts and feelings. a friend (who hasn't read or seen blue lock) has been helping me with proofreading. i was pretty happy because he said, he's liking hiori's character and how the slow burn is unfolding. anyway, i hope you guys enjoyed it! lemme know what you guys think!

[justwinginglife]

The Best Of My Life

You accidentally just had the best sleep of your entire life. And so did Hoshina. 

You honestly hadn’t even heard him enter the library.

Everyone on base had been doing their best to uncover No. 9’s schemes, you and the Vice Captain especially, and that meant late nights poring over news articles, historical reports, eyewitness testimony, scientific studies, all to figure out what 9 was capable of.

All you figured out was what you were capable of, and it was not this. If you had to spend one more night reacquainting yourself with these same four walls, you’d asphyxiate from the claustrophobia. You swore every time you entered this room, it got smaller and smaller. Eventually, the exhaustion enveloped your body, and you were encumbered by the sheer weight of this sudden enervation. Unable to will your limbs into submission, to command them to make the long journey back to your room, you passed out in the library. 

When the smell of cologne and coffee finally stirred you from your slumber, you were shocked to find the Vice Captain resting on your shoulder. And it seemed, from the position you were in, you’d slept on his head. You’d never even said more than “Goodmorning” and “Goodnight” to him before, and now, you were using him as your own personal pillow. The sudden, unexpected intimacy made you want to bolt. But he was sleeping so soundly, you couldn't help but find it so precious how much comfort and ease something as simple as your shoulder could bring him. He was sleeping as though you weren’t in wartime. As though you weren’t practically strangers to each other, your only bond forged through spilled blood on a battlefield. 

Right now, you felt the way one did when they suddenly found the space in their lap occupied by a cat or a dog- you just couldn’t move. It wasn’t right. Never mind that you might have to pee, you made a vow to yourself right then and there that you wouldn’t leave this spot, not until the Vice Captain had woken up of his own accord. You wouldn’t ruin the only moment of peace he might have for a while. 

So you stayed put, you stayed still, so still one would think you were dead. Your muscles started to ache from maintaining the same position for so long and, even worse than that, you were incredibly bored. But it was worth it. You found his breathing a soothing sound, you found his scent was quickly becoming more addicting. You found out he occasionally talked in his sleep, and that revelation also brought with it the discovery that you loved to hear him talk. Especially when his voice was dipped in drowsiness. You’d never heard him talk to you this much, ever. You thought to yourself, if you made it out of this alive, if it wasn’t automatically social suicide once he woke up and discovered the shame that had transpired, you would make a point to talk to him more. You would be his friend.

You absolutely would NOT be his friend. This became very clear to you when he suddenly shifted and snuggled closer to you, his hand brushing up against your thigh as he sighed in his sleep. As his breath caressed your skin, you hoped and prayed that he’d remain unconscious long enough for you to get your emotions under control, or at least just your face under control. You were unsure how you were going to explain away the shade of crimson seeping into your cheeks.

But it seemed you had no luck to spare today because he began to stir from his sleep. You cursed the gods. 

As he blinked the library back into his view, rubbing his eyes languidly, you thought to yourself that even the way he woke up was cute. And when he finally pulled away from you, stretching and yawning, you pondered how his absence from your shoulder felt even heavier than his head. You wondered if you could coax him back to sleep, convince him he was still laden with exhaustion. You’d never taken up much more than a minute of his time in the past, and now your ambition was suddenly desiring every second of his time. You wondered if holding your breath would freeze time, if closing your eyes again, relaxing against him, would compel him to stay here, to stay yours. Just for a moment. You could go back to being strangers in the morning. 

And then he spoke. “Was it just me… or was that the best nap ever?” 

You immediately took back your thoughts. After tonight, you’d never be satisfied just being strangers ever again. “Not just you. I feel amazing.”

He took a moment to properly examine you. It was though he was trying to figure out what exactly it was about you that made him so completely at ease. It was slightly unnerving the way his eyes roamed over you but you didn't dare look away, in case you blinked and he disappeared into some dream. He finally spoke, "You know, it's funny, I feel completely rested and ready to take on the day even though we only napped,” He checked his watch, “For about two to three hours.” 

You blinked. Had it only been that long? It felt like an eternity. You’d known nothing about him before tonight, and now you felt like you were privy to his most intimate self. 

He paused, appearing to take his next words into heavy consideration before proposing them. “Imagine…” His voice dropped to a low, hushed tone, “Imagine how good we’d sleep for a whole night.”

You swallowed, cheeks returning to their earlier rosy color. Was he proposing what he thought you were?

“Just think about it. Everyone’s been on high alert lately. Stress is high. Tension is high. Shit could hit the fan at any moment. We’re never promised a moment’s rest, let alone peaceful rest. And I’ve never slept so well in my entire life than I did when I was sleeping with you.”

You tilted your head as you processed this information, trying your best to avoid feeling honored for such high praise when you knew he was simply stating data rather than complimenting the way in which your presence set him at ease. It was an interesting suggestion, and if you were honest with yourself, you were intrigued by it. 

“So, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, you want us to sleep together?”

He nodded, a cheeky grin curving across his face. “I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. It’ll be purely platonic. In fact, it doesn’t even have to be platonic, just business.”

You wanted to tell him that even if it wasn’t platonic, you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. And you certainly didn’t want to be just business. But, like an idiot, you held your hand out to him to shake on it like you were closing a contract rather than exploring a new level of intimacy together. Intimacy that no one else was allowed but you. You thanked the gods. 

He smirked and shook your hand. “Sounds like a deal to me. Shall we get started then? Because we’ve got a couple more hours until sun-up and I could use an extra boost.” He hoisted you to your feet and led the way to his bedroom, his hand still grasping yours as he navigated the halls. You wondered if he’d meant to continue holding your hand but you weren’t about to bring attention to it, the absence of his head from your shoulder was more than enough, you didn’t need to deprive yourself of his hand as well. 

As you neared your destination, you suddenly became all too aware of the tingling sensation that was slowly spreading through your body. Electricity soared through your veins as the anticipation consumed you. You imagined nestling into his bed. Inhaling the scent of detergent on his sheets. Feeling the divots in the mattress where he frequently positioned himself. You had unlocked the gateway to a whole new world, and yet still, it wasn’t enough for you. You wanted his universe. You wanted to know what he ate for breakfast, what kind of toothpaste he used, if he slept in just his underwear (you hoped he did), if he preferred boxers or briefs, if he was a morning person or a night owl, if he had any guilty pleasures, if he had a sweet tooth, you wanted to know every little thing about him. Every insignificant detail had suddenly been made significant in your eyes. 

He opened the door to his room and you entered his world. For such a rambunctious man, his room was surprisingly clean and orderly. He had shelves neatly lined with all manner of books, it seemed he wasn’t picky on the genre. He had swords on display, and you thought that was very like him. It probably served as both decor and legitimate weaponry, knowing him. His space was cozy, felt lived in, felt comfortable, but was also organized to the point that everything in view seemed to serve some sort of use, like he wouldn’t dare clutter his room with unnecessary baggage. He was an officer, his life wasn’t guaranteed, he had no time to waste on hoarding trinkets. 

It made you want to spoil him rotten. Made you want to fill up his drawers, his shelves, any empty space within sight, with gifts, with evidence of your interest in him. It honestly shocked you how quickly your interest in him had grown, from the moment it blossomed in the library to the moment you’d crossed the threshold into his room, into his life. You’d never go back, not now that you had a taste of him. 

Even the few moments he'd taken to slip into the bathroom and get changed into comfier clothes was enough to get you aching for his presence. But your sulking quickly subsided when he reemerged to toss you one of his shirts and a pair of his shorts to sleep in. He was a gentleman, he didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, especially when he was the one who had concocted this crazy idea of sleeping together. 

You quickly put his clothes on, not realizing you had been so eager to try them on that you forgot to make the trip to the bathroom and had changed in front of him. Once he realized what you were doing, he turned around to give you some privacy, but not before you saw the look on his face. It started out shocked, had a brief moment of bashfulness, before finally slipping into amusement. He chuckled and shook his head as he waited for you to finish.

“Some business partner you are, stripping in front of me so soon.” He teased.

You flushed but you retorted back, “And weren’t you the one just enjoying the show a minute ago?”

He shrugged and crawled under the covers, leaving you without a verbal response, but the smirk on his face answered plenty. 

You knew this was the part where you joined him in the bed but you hesitated.

He gestured for you to come over, so you did. 

But you positioned yourself as far away from him as you could. You weren’t sure where all your nerve from earlier went. You’d wanted to be closer to him, but now were somehow afraid to touch him. As if touching him might cement whatever feelings you were starting to have for him. As if you might not ever get up from his bed again, you might not want to. 

He laughed. “You can strip for me, but you can’t cuddle me? I seem to recall the deal was us sleeping together and I don’t think you huddling on the edge of the bed counts.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you as close as he physically could before snuggling against you. “God, you’re so comfy.”

You froze in his embrace. What now? What the fuck were you supposed to do now? This was the part where you went to sleep but every part of you was wide awake. Every part of you was enjoying the feeling of every part of him pressed up against you. You wondered how much you were allowed to savor this. Should you be feeling guilty for just how good this felt?

Fuck it.

You sank into his arms, allowing yourself to melt into his touch.

He sighed as you relaxed against him. “Good girl. Let’s have the best night of our lives, yeah?” 

And then he conked out.

You rolled your eyes. How the fuck were you supposed to go to bed when he said shit like that to you?

But eventually, after adjusting to his warmth, after getting drunk on his scent, you drifted off into a blissful slumber right along with him.

And he was right. It was the best night of your life.

And again and again, you continued to have the best night of your life every single night that you slept with him. On the days that you weren’t able to sneak into his room, on the days when even a small nap was out of reach, it was painfully obvious to you both how miserable you felt without the other nearby. And that craving, that desperate need for the other, it eventually made itself known in the daytime too. Soshiro -he’d made you start calling him by his first name because it didn’t feel right for someone who he’d seen in her underwear and who’d seen him in his underwear (turns out he did usually sleep in just his underwear, and you’d learned that once he’d gotten more comfortable with you) to be calling him by his last name- was startled to find that even on his most well-rested days, he still sought out your presence. At first, he thought maybe he wasn’t as rested as he’d assumed, maybe his body craved another nap, but eventually he realized he just craved your voice, need your laugh to get him through the day. And you needed him just as badly. 

You loved the way he’d read you passages from his favorite books as you snuggled in his arms and soaked in the sound of his voice. You loved the way he hoisted you up on his back and carried your dead weight back to his room when training had properly kicked your ass. You loved the way he had learned how to braid hair, just because he liked fidgeting with your hair and wanted to make himself useful while he was fidgeting. You loved every moment you stole from him in passing, every secret he whispered, claiming it was for your ears only, every act of intimacy shared between you. You loved it all. You loved him.

He loved you too. It was evident in the way that he ironed your clothes for you because he knew you hated wrinkles, even going so far as to wake up early to do it if he knew you had a meeting first thing in the morning (and he made a point of knowing your schedule everyday.) It was evident in the way that he'd started suggesting romance movies as a way to wind down at the end of a long day, because he knew they were your favorite but he also knew you were too ashamed to keep begging him to watch them with you. It was evident in the way that he made you tea every morning because he knew you weren’t a big fan of coffee. He’d even switched to drinking tea himself, though he was an avid coffee drinker before he met you, because he didn’t think you’d kiss him if he tasted like coffee. But you’d kiss him even if he tasted like sour milk. You’d do anything to kiss him and just keep kissing him.

The first time you kissed him was completely by accident. He’d been nudging your nose with his, trying to ease you into waking up. You’d jolted forward and woke to find your lips mashed into his. When he recovered from the shock, and you’d started to pull away, clearly embarrassed, he did the only thing he could think of to ease your embarrassment. He pulled you in for another kiss. And another. Until you couldn’t stop kissing each other, until you couldn’t keep your hands off one another. 

Every night with him was the best night of your life, this you knew, but every day with him quickly became the best day of your life as well. He became the best thing you’d ever had, the best thing you’d ever have. The best love you could ever or would ever know.

And it all started because of a nap.

[whowrotethenote]

Warnings // Angst // Profanity // Themes surrounding childhood trauma, murder, sexual abuse, genocide and crime

Word count // 12k

Disclaimer // The Tribal Killer Masterlist // Chapter Two // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Main Masterlist //Join My Taglist

The human brain is only really a map. 

It’ll tell you where you started, where you’ve been, how far you’ve gone, and most importantly—where you’ll end up. A person’s final destination—success, prison, death, disease. All of it. It’s all in the mapping of your brain. A story already forged from conception. Two more developed mappings, coming together to produce yours, in hopes that your map induces a better destination than theirs. 

Trauma—it’s the roadblocks and shark infested waters that force a person to take a different route than initially planned. Rearranging and realigning the lines in the map—the brain. Sometimes if you’re lucky, the reroute is just another path to the same destination, instead of taking you on a path you were never meant to go, or end up turning you around completely. 

A lot of us are not lucky. 

A small percentage have wielded their own luck. Defying the roads already ridged in their brains, passed down through generations before them, and constructing paths of their own will. Ones never seen in their lineage before. And the smallest percentage? They’re the ones responsible for keeping those obstacles and roadblocks up. Ensuring them and theirs are the only ones en voyage to success. 

Juno always wondered about her own mapping. What roadblocks had been passed down from her parents. Her mother—a modest woman who never left the house in anything other than heels, who offered her dreams in exchange for being a wife and raising two girls. Her father—a tranquil man who lived his life with one foot in the sunlight and the other hidden in a world he kept his family shielded from, until his ambitions nearly swallowed them whole. She was supposed to be equal parts contentment and hubristic. Only, she wasn’t. Juno was her father’s child. Taking on and swallowing so much she nearly throws it all back up.

That’s another unforeseen and unfortunate nuance about the mapping. Sometimes it’s a complete replica of the map that came before it. 

The click of Juno’s heels paired with whatever show the security guard was indulging in at his station, were the only things that reeled her back to consciousness when she fell too deep into that pit of torment in her brain. The news and the D.A.’s office had only thrown a mere right hook just two weeks ago. Now, they were in full swing. She was beaten black and blue, at the same time every morning like clockwork. Another story, another article, another reason for her to doubt her latest life altering decision. 

She paced the same anxious, yet severely slow five steps. Then she’d stop, spin in place, and repeat the same five steps until she was back where she started. Pointed heel meeting the linoleum floor in a steady rhythm. Arms knotted in front over her chest. Tight as a corset. Spine straight. Head down with her loose ironed curls blocking her peripheral, as she got lost in the mapping of her own brain.

Was Juno just headed down a distinguished, yet similar path as she’s seen her father? And his father’s father? An ambition-greedy monster? That’s what the middle-aged newscaster, with hair straight as a board and sharp-edged lip liner—Cynthia Moore, had described her as just two hours before on the local news. Telling tales of how Juno only acquired Roman’s case to shimmy her way into the spotlight and gain traction for her own budding career. How the nineteen young women whose lives were robbed from them were just a mere stepping stone—an opportunity for Juno Accardi to advance in the criminal and political adjacent world. 

If only Cynthia was in the darkness of Juno’s high-rise, as she sat under a single lamp—papers and folders decorating her living room—obsessing over the case. If only she could see their faces the way June did anytime she closed her eyes and expected darkness. If only Cynthia stayed deeper in the night and watched over Juno as she lay in bed, tears traveling down the corner of her eyes until they reached her pillow—thinking about how scared her friend must’ve been looking back into the soulless eyes of her killer, as the thought registered that she was seconds from taking her last breath. Who she thought of right before she slipped away. What she wanted to tell Juno that morning on the phone before they hung up to start their days, if she knew that day would’ve been her last. The world hadn’t caught on that Juno was connected to one of the victims and she didn’t care. She knew they would judge her even if her own mother had been one of the nineteen victims. 

And if only Cynthia stood in the hallway with Juno now, inside the cold and sterile holding facility that she had found herself back and forth to for weeks now, awaiting the verdict of one of her trusted friends to evaluate the mind of the man they labeled a monster.

The clinking of the heavy steel door sounded and broke Juno’s repetitive stride. Her hands dropped down to her sides as it swung open to bring forth the officer that’s usually on duty when she comes to see Roman. He steps aside to reveal James Anurak. The quiet and almost timid foreigner from her Calculus I class from freshman year at Howard. He sat in the corner of the classroom, head down and hoodie on, seemingly not paying attention—but he heard everything the professor was saying. Tan skin blending in with that of the rest of the African American students who dominated Howard’s campus. Juno hated numbers. How she even passed the bench test to skip algebra and get into calculus was still a shadow on the wall. But reality kicked in and came raining down on her after two failed tests, prompting her to reach a hand out to the quiet boy from Thailand who finished his tests a half hour before everyone else, and always with nothing less than a ninety percent. 

That’s how they met. All four years he held her hand through every math class she was forced to take to graduate. She represented the School of Sociology and Criminology, while he was housed in the School of Psychology to go on and open his own private practice, helping people of color navigate through their mappings that seemed to be a little more intricate than others’. He even planted a ring on Juno’s old college roommate’s finger a year after they completed undergrad. And of course their six year old beauty queen calls Juno God Mommy.

“Well?” Juno was on him before the door could shut for the officer to lock it behind them. She was desperate for him to shed any type of light on the mystery that was Roman. 

James removed his glasses and blew out breath from his mouth. He used a hand on Juno’s back to guide her away from where they stood just inches from the officer on duty and the one distracted at his station. Ears were everywhere. And she explained to him on numerous different occasions that exclusivity is the key to every case. 

“Since I started my practice, I’ve had some interesting ass days,” he started. He turned his head to glance back at door from which he came. “But none like this, Ju.” 

Her knees nearly buckled as she shifted the weight from one foot to the other. “I just need to know if he did it—could he have done it? And please don’t put any sugar on it.” 

She chews intensely on her bottom lip as there’s a pause. 

“He has the aggression and mindset of a killer, but I’m not a hundred percent convinced. Unless he has multiple personality disorder, a serial killer is a far stretch.” 

She didn’t know what she expected to hear from him. A clear “he’s a monster,” or “he wouldn’t hurt a fly,” was ideal. But it seems James has gotten caught up in that maze that is Roman too. Her frustration boiled like water on a stove. Wheels turning. What was it with this nigga? She thought to herself. He was the most complicated puzzle to piece together. He presented a bigger challenge than the case itself, almost.

“He’s displayed a significant amount of empathy and what looks like love,” he continued. “Feelings that a psychopath’s or even a narcissist’s brain blocks them from feeling. When I brought up the first victim, Elise White, it was almost like he was in mourning.” His squints as he relives the interaction, even more confused now that it was over than when he was actually in there mentally sparring with him. “Grieving. Like it pained him to even talk about her too much.”

Juno began to pace again while halfway listening, face pinched. Her mind rewound to just a few weeks ago when she initially interviewed him. She brought up Elise and watched him grow uncomfortable with almost a solemn demeanor. It was clearly a sore spot. One she intended to poke later on until irritation woke the bear. 

“Okay,” Juno spoke lowly. More to herself than to him. “What about the most important part? How did he grow up?”

“Small family. Just him, his parents, and his brother. They weren’t poor, but they weren’t rich either. The dad had them bouncing around a lot until he settled on a stable job on the reservation. But that didn’t happen until he was in high school.”

“No stability.” Juno drew the answer on the board causing James to nod with a frown that he almost regretted. “They bounced around a lot, but where was he born?” James shrugged. 

“Says his parents never talked about it. He just assumed they were still on that moving place to place gig when his mother gave birth to him.”

“Well, it's gotta be on his birth certificate.”

“There isn’t one.”

Like something is holding both of them in place, they’re stuck. Eyes trained on one another, seemingly thinking the same thoughts that don’t even need to be translated to words. Talk about a mystery.

“We got a kid from s small family—whose birth was clearly not orthodox. Bouncing from place to place. The man doesn’t even know where he’s from.” Juno paused, taking James’ silence as agreement. “So how does he end up in Isabella?”

“His father. A…” James opens the folder he’s had glued to his side. A notepad stuffed in between loose papers, housing all his notes from the session. “A Sika? He was offered a job on the reservation by the Sheriff.”

“He did tell me that. That his father worked on the reservation when he was in high school.” Juno’s mind nearly wandered to outer space, imagining all the possible reasons as to why and how a family so small would have to keep moving about and so suddenly find security. How Roman’s entire childhood is an enigma to everyone—even himself.

“Another thing about Isabella,” James spoke like a hand lended out to a lost Juno inside of her own head. “Something about that time period—his senior year in particular.” James paused, wanting to select his words carefully. “There was a shift.”

“I’m not following.”

“He said he remembers high school because it was one of the best times of his life. He was one of the best on the field. Recruiters used to come from all over just to see him play. Even as a sophomore. His dad working with the Sheriff. Dating a cheerleader. Said he damn near felt untouchable.”

“And?” Juno’s eyebrow raised at his abrupt end to the story. 

His hands go in circles as he searches for the words. “That’s it. He kinda blanked out in there. I asked him how’d he go from a potential D1 recruit to not even making it to community college.” James shrugged. “He had nothing for me. Said life happened. Believe me—I tried to get it out of him. All I could pull was that his parents had started getting into it. Like a lot. Heated arguments. Lasting all hours of the night.” Juno couldn’t stop the depiction of a much younger but much more vulnerable Roman. She saw him exactly as he is. Just less muscles, no tattoos, and less hair. In his room, lying on the bed in the dark as the screaming match ensued and escalated with every minute that passed by. The foulest names being called. A boom of some sort, causing him to jump and nearly jolt out of bed, wondering if maybe he or his brother should interfere. 

“It’s like a switch flipped,” James continued. “They were happy and then they weren’t.”

“Well, what the hell were they arguing about?”

“Sounds like he dissociated. Wouldn’t be able to recount exactly what sparked the arguments. He just knows they started right in the middle of his senior year. His brother was older than him. I’m sure you know already that he’s not with us anymore.” Juno nodded crossing her arms again, trying not to get caught up in what that must feel like for him. His brother and father dead. His first girlfriend. The girl he last dated murdered. He’s surrounded by death. Isolated, barely by choice. “He would’ve been the perfect person to follow up with.”

James removed the notepad from the folder and handed her the remainder. “I’m gonna draft my notes up for you and email it, but what’s in there is stuff I caught that I thought was most important.” 

Briskly, she opened up the folder and flipped through the loose paper with his unusually neat handwriting etched onto them. Catching words like loner, avoidant, detached in her brief skim.

“His family packed it up and left the reservation just a week after he graduated. Why?” Juno pressed. 

“His father worked as sort of a bounty hunter for the Sheriff’s department. Catching mostly small fish. There wasn’t and still isn’t a lot of real crime in Isabella. Well—” A smile dances on his mouth. “—until now, of course.”

Juno tried her best to keep a straight line from her mouth—failing miserably as her friend’s tasteless half-joke settled. They grew older since they’ve met, but their relationship was sealed in a time capsule from their younger years. Sharing laughs about things that other people would scold them for. Sneaking weed in the campus library. All the things they missed as fully grown adults now. 

“Either way, he mostly brought in petty thieves. Loiters. Prostitutes. Weed dealers. He reported in directly to the Sheriff. I wrote the name and his information down. It’s all in the file.” He pointed. “A Sheriff Nez?” He recalled.

She poked her bottom lip out. “Must be retired now. Never heard of him. We spoke to the current Sheriff on numerous occasions regarding the murders already.”

“Well, this Sheriff Nez is definitely worth tracking down. According to Roman, Nez and his father were very close. Like even outside of work. To the point where he referred to him as Uncle Nez.”

Juno’s brows furrowed. For a man that had such deep roots at Isabella, she couldn’t make sense of why Sika would take his family and leave after running loose, looking for stability for almost all of Roman’s life, until high school. Nothing was making sense. Bringing James in only brought more pieces of the puzzle near. Still, nothing was fitting. 

“They’d have family dinners with Nez and his wife. Fishing trips. Nez came to all of his games. All types of stuff. It’s like one day he was always there until he wasn’t. Next thing Roman knows, his father is waking him and his brother up in the middle of the night to pack because they’re leaving and moving back to the city.”

“And now his father is dead.” Juno’s mood deflated once again. Every time she filled herself with possibles, another nuance to this case would come and burst her bubble. Dead ends all around her. 

“Exactly. Which is why you really need to find that Sheriff. He’s your best bet at figuring out why they left and what happened after.” James nodded to the closed steel door. “That or his mother. And he didn’t really have too much to say about her in there.” She blew out the biggest breath possible, gripping the folder in her hands. “Has he been inappropriate with you?” 

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

It was embedded in James to pick up body language and her exasperation hadn’t been missed from the moment he arrived. He wished he could solve all her problems, even though the brunt of them she chose willingly.

“Sometimes the things people choose not to share are the most important parts of them. They’d rather keep that for themselves. Don’t take it too personal.”

“And I wish I could grant him that. Everybody gets that. The opportunity to hide. But if he continues to hide, death is the reward.” A bomb had dropped and left a darkness in its wake. “Thank you, anyway. Really. I know this was last minute. And he’s a tough nut.”

“That he is.” James smirked. “But come on now. Family calls, I answer.”

They performed a smooth transition of switching places after embracing in a much needed hug. “You’ll tell Nina and my god-daughter I love them?”

James began small steps to leave. “I think they’d much rather hear that from you.” His thick brows rose.

Juno pursed her lips and waved the folder in her hand. “Look around. If I’m not here, I’m running around tryna get this shit together. No one is making this easy for me. If I could come around more, believe me, I would.” 

“I believe you,” he assured before turning his back. 

Juno made the necessary steps back toward the door that closed Roman off from the rest of the building. She had seen and been in the room with him alone several times now. Somehow that same feeling from the first time still rocked her to the core. 

“Oh and Ju?” She heard James baritone voice call out. 

“Yeah?”

He jogged back to her. “Lots of hyper-sexuality I heard in there. Very sexually driven person.” There’s a pause. Juno’s eyes are glued to his as she tries to hear what he hasn’t said yet. “We both know what that’s usually a result of.” There it was. As if she needed another reason to feel empathy for this overgrown, muscles on top of muscles, mystifying man. “Obviously, he wouldn’t share anything with me. Maybe he will with you?”

Juno almost laughed. “What makes you think he’ll open up to me about that kind of stuff?”

“When I brought you up, he sort of relaxed. He was at ease,” James revealed. Putting Juno at a shocking ease of her own with this information. She didn’t have any words, so she settled for nodding to let him know she understood. Putting everything he shared from the passing conversation into a folder inside of her mind to pull out later when the time was right. 

She had sat in on a few psych evaluations before. They could be exhausting. A complete stranger, picking through and dissecting the darkest pits of your brain. Walking the uncharted paths of your map. Hitting the same stops you have. Poking and prodding the parts of you, you’d rather keep hidden and forgotten. She’s sure Roman had enough for the time being. Another day, she told herself.  

Juno almost immediately regretted everything that had happened in the last two hours. She walked in the dark room and he hadn’t even looked her way. She was the center of his universe every other time she stepped inside of this place. The highlight of his routine and isolated days. Not today. The Roman she had came to somewhat know was too busy walking the paths in his head that he thought he’d closed off. 

She got as close to the cage as she could without alerting the guards she knew were observing from a screen. His back, big and defined, even through the orange material of the jumper, leaning into the corner closest to her. Fingers unlocking and interlocking in front of him as he focused on the dirty floor beneath his feet. His discomposure heavy in the silence.

“Full of surprises, aren’t you?” 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. The reality of what she’d done hitting her all at once. “I should have told you.” He smiled to himself while scratching through his beard. “I made you swear not to lie to me and I haven’t been the most truthful.”

“That’s one way to put it.” He finally picked his head up. His shiny locks pulled back in a bun today as she got a clear view of the side of his chiseled face. 

“Look, we’re not getting off to the best start—”

“Yeah, no shit.”

His cold demeanor wasn’t something she was used to. Usually unnecessarily inappropriate and painfully secretive. That was all out the window today. He was an open book. Every emotion firing through his words. She was receiving the Roman that everyone else had gotten since his arraignment. Frustrated and liable to attack like a wild animal captured in a cage.

“I am trying to help you.”

“You wanna help me? You don’t send a motherfucker in here that I don’t know. I don’t need you picking around—fucking with my head,” he snapped. “I just need you to get me the fuck out of here. Okay?”

Those brown orbs stood wide and unwavering on the other side of the bars. Juno squinted. As stubborn and combative as she had the urge to be to counter his aggression, it was all understood. She had crossed a line. They barely knew each other and even though she had vowed to help, it seemed she did more hurting. 

“I am sorry.” She repeated her earlier sentiment. More base in her voice than what was needed for an apology that was actually sincere. “I already knew you’d never agree if I just asked outright,” she explained. 

The room was still as ever now. Suffocated with tension. Roman was the first to break it.

“So what did the doctor have to tell you, that we didn’t already know? Mm?” He pushed off the bars standing to his full intimidating height. She took a step back regardless of the cage restricting him. “That I’m fucked up in the head? That I’m not wired right?” 

He was trying his damn hardest to deter her from doing that of which he desperately needed—which was help. It couldn’t have been more evident that he wasn’t used to help. He was a stranger to genuine kindness. Naomi was probably the first person he had came in contact with since he was a teenager, who was a good person at her core. He didn’t know what it meant for people to stay. He was pushing, but Juno didn’t budge. 

“Whatever you’re trying to do. It won’t work. I come here every other day and all you have for me are half answers and jokes. Like your and my life aren’t on the chopping block.” He shook his head using a thumb to scratch just above his eyebrow, unable to keep still. “I can’t get shit out of you. So I called for help. I told you already. I’m not just doing this for you. And just in case it wasn’t already clear before—” Juno lost herself and stepped dangerously close to the bars. If Roman had the will to, he could’ve reach one big arm out and easily snatched her in his grip. “Naomi was my friend!” Nose flaring and jaw clenched, she finally said out-loud what he’d already knew. If the way she couldn’t sit still or the way her head bowed every time he uttered her name didn’t give it away—the single picture of them graduating law school together on Naomi’s dresser did. He had been in Naomi’s house multiple times—in the sanctity of her room. He had seen Juno before she ever saw him. Already took note of her beauty and even heard a story of their friendship directly from Naomi’s mouth. It didn’t hit him exactly where he recognized Juno’s heart-shaped face and doe eyes from, until days after he first saw her. “The bitch-fit? You can keep it,” she spat. “I get it! Okay? I already apologized. That’s it. But I needed help. And I got it the only way I could think of. You’re scared? You don’t wanna be locked up like some animal anymore? The possibility of the needle keeping you up at night? Well, guess what? I’m scared too! There it is! I am scared too! A man’s life is in my hands and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing!” She stretched her arms. “You don’t see me bitching and complaining. We don’t have time for that. Trial starts in a month. It’s crunch time. I need your cooperation. I show up for you everyday. I need you to trust me—trust that I can do this. And even if you don’t, you can pretend. What else do you have to lose?!”

Her chest rose and fell. If she wasn’t so rich in complexion, her skin would be bloodshot red. Frustrated wasn’t a sufficient enough word. In her eyes, he was an ungrateful and undeserving. She had fell from grace on his behalf and he had the nerve to criticize her methods. Everyone already saw her as incompetent. Him arguing the same point hit a nerve. 

He stood there, staring down at her over the bridge of his nose—unmoved on the outside, but completely thrown on the inside. He tried to calm his heartbeat, as he felt the blood rushing down south. Something about a woman putting her foot down. He usually preferred them weaker. Helpless. Less than. But there was something about Juno. If she didn’t have his respect before, she had earned it in that moment. The vulnerability had his frozen heart in her fist. 

The clanking of the door opening doesn’t even startle either of them. “Ma’am! Six feet at all times, please!”

She didn’t move right away. Staring up at him, she held his gaze seconds longer. His dark eyes shifted up briefly, finding the guard by the door—hand rested on his weapon, before focusing his attention back to Juno. A small gasp erupted from her at the warmness of his large and firm hand, subtly reaching out between the bars, to nudge her away. 

“We’re good man. Relax,” he assured him in a raspy calmness. 

The guard slowly backed away while the staring match was still in full swing between the two people in the middle of the room. The slamming of the door echoing.

“So, what’s next?” He questioned, waving the white flag. 

“I need to talk to people you grew up with.” Before the sentence even left her mouth all the way, he had sucked his teeth and began pacing the perimeter of the cage. “Roman, it’s the only way. You need character witnesses. There’s people out there that think you are a devil. Think you’re capable of murder and rape. If you're not, we need them to see that—hear that from people who actually know you. My word isn’t good enough.” She watched his movements and almost felt bad. “I know your father and brother are deceased, but what about your mom?”

He placed a hand on his hip, stopping in place. “I haven’t spoken to or seen my mother since my dad died,” he admitted. “I don’t even know where she lives. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

Juno shut her eyes tight and exhaled. Another dead end. “There’s nobody else? No cousins? No exes? Aunts? Uncles? Friends? Anybody that could sit up on a stand and make you sound as normal as possible?”

He played with the long hair emitting from his chin while he thought about it. “My old teammates.”

“From high school?”

“Yeah. But even after that we were cool. I spent some time down in Florida with them. In my early twenties. Then we all came back to Detroit together. This was a little before my brother died. They’re twins. Joshua and Jonathan Fatu.” He stared at her and she stared back. His brows rose and it finally kicked in. She scrambled to open the folder James had given her. A pen clipped on the edge that she used to scribble the names he just gave her. “Last I heard from them, they had moved back to Isabella,” he informed. She took down the address he gave her. 

“This was really helpful. I’m going down to there today. I’m gonna look for them, okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. 

She closed the folder and tucked it under her arm tight. Both of them pondering over one another. The stench from their earlier scuffle still lingering about. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow. Hopefully, I’ll have an answer about them moving you to a better facility.” He nodded again. Rubbing his knuckles. Not knowing what else to say except—

“I’m sorry.” His baritone voice finally admitted. “For the bitch-fit.” He got his wish when she half smiled. All the tension sucked out the room by a straw slowly but surely. 

“It’s already forgotten,” she told him. 

While Juno was drawing out her game plan, so was the opposition. 

As much as the DA’s office had been buzzing the past few weeks—gossip and half stories about what must’ve happened to make Juno split—it was abnormally vacant of any noise today. Phones rung and receptionists answered them, whispered briefly in rushed tones, itching to hang up. Just to continue their pursuit of trying to hear at least one word being spilled from the conference room.

The saddest light poured in over the room from the floor to ceiling window. Rain sliding down at lightning speed, obstructing the view of the city. The black-wood conference table stretched to take up most of the space. Every seat filled. No coffee on the table like usual. No one’s laptop, pens or paper for notes. No need. They all knew this meeting wouldn’t even make it past the five minute mark. It was more of a public service announcement, if anything. When Blanch sent out the invite for everyone’s calendars, the term meeting was generous.

Paralegals, interns, clerks ADAs—all sat with silent stares bouncing from eye to eye. Everyone’s day haulted to congregate and come to a consensus of who would take Juno’s place as lead prosecutor, even though the verdict lay in the hands of one man really.

Blanch bit into the knuckle of his hand, as his elbow rested on the arm of his seat at the head of the table. He took advantage of the chair’s ability to swivel in place as he shifted from left to right a few times. His mind spinning in the same motion as it had been all month. His decision was already made. From the moment in the hall at the holding facility when she uttered the words, “I quit.”

He had to think fast. Mapped out the entire trial and how it would go that very second. All the characters placed strategically by him. This is what it meant to sit at the head for him. To be the Attorney General. He called the shots. He made all the most important plays. He pulled the strings. In his head he was a god. Things went as he desired. And who would be silly enough to question him?

“It has to be Leah,” his voice cut the air. Brown eyes shifting to his most trusted—Leah Williams, as she was seated next to him as always. Long legs crossed at the knee under a pencil skirt that never seemed to wrinkle no matter which way she sat. She was stiff and unmoved, not even returning his brief gaze. She already knew. They hadn’t spoken about it prior. She just knew. She had worked alongside Blanch too long to not anticipate his moves. “Nothing else makes sense,” he finished. 

He scanned the faces seated at the table and the few along the wall that were without a seat. One in particular he missed because they had bowed to conceal the laugh they could barely contain. 

Only Leah’s eyes shifted to the left like the most put together mechanical puppet, as she heard the snicker just two seats down. “Something funny, Baldwin?”

He ran a large hand down his face, the smile gone, but the smirk still sitting on it. “Nothing. Just the fact that this could’ve been an email. Seeing as we all already knew, anyway.” The room, so still and quiet, the white noise of the air vent could be heard clearly. “I mean is anybody shocked?” He scoffed and waved his hand around the room. Nothing.

He didn’t know what he was thinking. He already knew like everyone else the moment the meeting invite ran through the office. Still—still somehow he had allowed a tendril of hope to slip into his mind that maybe Blanch would switch it up. Reroute his game plan. Trip Juno up in someway when she walked into the judge’s chambers, expecting him and Leah, just to find her former peer and colleague instead. 

Myles had been there a year before Juno. Learning things she hadn’t. Seeing and hearing techniques she hadn’t. He thought he was up next. Then out of thin air, strolls in an attorney—a state referral. A woman, black and disadvantaged like him—so he thought. Until he got close to her and learned just where she came from and all the mistakes she had made before landing in the DA’s office. Then a quick google search of her last name, and it couldn’t have been more clear to him that Juno hadn’t earned her spot. It was given to her. Classic tale of it’s not what you know—it’s who you know. 

Strategically placed on Leah’s hip—learning her ways, walking her walk and emulating her talk. Myles felt slighted. He couldn’t do anything about it. That feeling lived and paid rent in his head since the day he learned of who Juno Accardi really was and just the world she came from. The notion of being coined the angry black guy, had him swallowing those feelings. He kept his head down and just did as he was told, thinking it was enough. 

And unfortunately for him, he had already came to like the girl. They were friends. And loyalty was everything to Myles Baldwin. Which is why Juno leaving and switching sides had affected him way more than anyone else, with the exception of Leah. He didn’t know which way to turn. Didn’t know who to cling to. Then he remembered who signed his paychecks. He remembered all the tuition spent and the years in school. All the passive aggressiveness, and subtly offensive remarks from the other side that he took on the chin. Working ten times harder just to be considered. He remembered it all, and his loyalty settled on the DA’s office. No love lost to his friend and former colleague. She had already chosen her side, anyway. And now so had he.

He thought his whisper of information about Juno being friends with the last victim was enough. Finally, he thought. Finally, he had what he needed and he was about to capture the opportunity that was stolen from him generations before he ever even crossed Juno’s path. Boy, was he so wrong. 

“I taught her everything she knows. I know exactly how she’s gonna play this. We don’t have the luxury of time and this isn’t the case to experiment with.” Leah spoke to the room, but Myles knew the message was mostly for him. She looked down, messing with the perfectly almond-shaped French manicure on her fingers. “I’d love to have you as second chair.” She had earned herself another chuckle from him. This one less concealed than the first. 

“Second chair,” he repeated like the insult it was. A fucking consolation prize for another opportunity he earned, being passed on to someone else. He rested the tips of his fingers over his mouth, moving side to side in the office chair, as their silent duel suspended the entire room. Even Blanch was a silent spectator. “This just all makes me wonder what the real goal is here,” Myles spoke again. He was at his wits end. A madman that had walked every oath possible and kept getting stopped in his tracks. So much had happened since Juno made her fierce declaration and now even in her absence, he was still an afterthought. “The conviction of the monster responsible for killing nineteen innocent women—or just taking down Ju?” His boldness had everyone shifting in their seats. Moving weight from one foot to the other on the wall. “That just seems like the turn this is all taking.”

“Don’t get all holier than thou on us now. It’s not a good look on you,” Leah told him with a scrunched nose and smile plastered on her beautiful face. Her eyes daring him to push any further. She had been in the room when he passed Juno’s secret to Blanch. 

Blanch smiled to himself  before parking two forearms on the table. “Myles,” he commanded not just his attention but the room’s. “If you can’t handle what’s going on here because your sudden empathy for your friend is clouding your judgment,” Blanch suggested. Full and dark brows raised. “Then you should say so now. As Leah already offered, I would love to see you in the courtroom as second chair. But it’s also not too late to just put you on a different assignment.” All eyes fell on Myles. It was his turn to either hit back or surrender. Time was running out. “As you can see, we’ve already been cleaning house.”

They held one another’s gaze intently. Myles had too much and still not enough power in his hands as of lately, it seemed. Always caught between moral correctness and advancement—loyalty to his people or loyalty to his inner-self. And he hated that the two sides of the scale never called for balance. It always had to be one or the other. 

He found himself at that crossroads, yet again. Since his college years, he had found himself wearing a mask of some sort. Imposter syndrome maybe. Either from feeling as if he had things in his possession that he knew no one else in his lineage ever had the privilege to experience—or that he simply deserved more, but settled because he was just grateful to have. He didn’t know which mask—which man to be today. 

Thunder shook the earth as did his heartbeat, as it thrummed in his own ears when he came to a consensus.

That same thunder had struck as Juno placed a six-inch heel boot onto the street from inside her Honda. She jolted and stopped for a second. The rain already beating all over the black suede material of her shoe. She hated thunderstorms since she was a child. But duty had her stepping out in the middle of one, to go see the man who used to comfort and shelter her from them. 

The vast umbrella sprang open with the click of a button, concealing her entire body from the rain so she could fully emerge. Walking carefully on the wet sidewalk to the glass door of the storefront she had seen more than enough times in her life. The bell above it rang nostalgically as the familiar smell of roasted garlic and some type of meat attacked her senses. Closing then shaking the excess water over the entry mat she stood on—her last lame in a fancy cursive etched in the middle of it—she looked to her Uncle Joey, only three years on her, who was always behind the bar despite him having no experience in bartending. 

The thick nearly black hairs of his eyebrows rose and his eyes shifted behind her. She followed his path to find the man she came for. The two men who were seated at the table with him, already rising up. She returned their cold stares as they walked by her without so much as a hello. 

One man left sitting, paused his thousand dollar priced chess game. He rested until his back met the chair. Fingers interlocked in his lap. He had his regular on. Steam pressed designer dress pants with the crisp creases in them. Designer dress shoes. Cashmere sweater that went without a logo and still probably costed the same as her Diesel boots hidden under the flare of her dress pants. Some would argue she got her expensive taste and style from him. But the only people who argued that point were the ones who had never met her mother. Then they’d know, that they were both students to the same master. 

“The glasses are there for a reason.”

His squinting had crows feet forming on the corner of his siren-like eyes that captured the attention of women all over. Young, old, black, white, yellow, red, or indifferent. It didn’t matter. He was a looker across all cultures. The streaks of silver in his goatee and slick black curls, only pulling in those eyes that much more. He was the kind of man you couldn’t help but to stare at in public. One glance and your head snapped his way again just to make sure you were seeing perfection as it was presenting itself. And by the time you realized you were in the Widow’s web, it was most likely too late. Danger.

Juno had been surrounded by equally dangerous and alluring beauties all her life. Roman was just more of the same.

His dimple showcased itself like the flash of a diamond in the sun, when he smirked. He pulled the glasses that hung around his neck up on his face. 

“Beautiful,” he revered. One would think he was looking at the moon, his glasses serving as his telescope. “Blurry or clear.” She didn’t react. Thoroughly used to his adulation. Pumping her head with compliments before she could even fully comprehend the words he uttered. “Ju.”

“Papa.”

“I tried to tell you, Ju. There’s no place for a woman in your line of work. Not my daughter. It’s not safe. Cutthroat. Shark eating small fish and even other sharks.” He shrugged moving his white Knight to knock down a black Rook. “Why couldn’t you just settle down like your sister, huh? Or—or be a chef like your Aunt Jenny? Or marry that nice kid from law school?” He waved a hand in the air above his head. “What was the guy’s name? Lance—Lionel?”

“Leo.”

He snapped. “Yeah, Leo! He was a nice guy. He had his shit together. He was going places. He would’ve taken good care of you, you know?” He wagged a long finger toward her.

“Do I look like somebody’s trophy wife to you?” Juno’s face screwed up in annoyance. 

“Is that all you think of your sister and your mother?” She felt like they’ve had this same conversation at least twenty times before. Pressing his lips together, fine lines danced between his brows. The cause of them due to Juno’s recent life choices, combined with the concentration of the game at hand. “The only reason I got you that damn job is because I thought you’d be working with the good guys.”

“Now the government is the good guys? You’re funny, Papa.”

Juno observed as he made three moves in a matter of seconds. One for the black side, then white, and black again—earning another white Bishop. She used to think he was crazy when she was younger. Like maybe he was playing with an imaginary friend or something. Then, when she got some years on her, she deemed it just relaxing for him. 

Her father, to this day, lived a very estranged life. The gray area. Never black or white. No line drawn between what’s morally correct or what’s corrupt. The only constant being to do what’s best for his family. A man like that could drive hisself into insanity.

Nevertheless, it seemed like a practice he developed to unwind. He’d come home, always after the sun went down and in an expensive suit. Ate what her mother cooked them hours prior, then he’d retreat to his office, where he spent most of his time when he was at home. At some point or another, pulling out that chessboard. Even when her uncles were around, the only other person controlling the board was him.

“You are your greatest competition, Ju,” he’d tell her. 

Now at twenty-eight, she understood, or at least she thought she did. Self-reflection. The practice of exercising one’s weakest and strongest points, without any external interference. A cheat code to examining and anticipating the opposition’s weaknesses and strengths. Once you know yourself, you know others. It was the same way for her in the court room. Mock trials and whatnot, to make sure her shit was solid.

“And Roman is the good guy,” she continued knowing in her heart that wasn’t a hundred percent true. “He’s innocent. I’m telling you, he didn’t do it.”

“Good guy? With four felonies and three years under his belt?” He raised a brow peaking over his glasses.

“You did not.” She shook her head upon hearing him recite his record. Some of which was redacted and taken off public record since the state brought him into holding. But Lenny Accardi always had his ways. If the front door was closed he went through the back. He just wished Juno hadn’t picked up those same habits.

“Oh, I did,” he confirmed. “You thought I wasn’t gonna read up on the guy about to ruin my daughter’s life?” Juno’s tongue rested on the inside of her cheek. Studying the man next to her who was studying the board. He knew her before she knew herself, but every now again he presented himself as a stranger to her. There were just things about him she preferred, like he did, not to know. 

“Are you a good guy, Papa?”

Juno had adverted her attention from the board for only fifty good seconds, before the clinking of a piece being knocked off sounded. He knocked the black Queen off. Leaving the black King completely vulnerable, back against the wall. Checkmate.

“Depends on who you ask, bellissima.”

His answer sat at the table with them even minutes after the fact as she let him set the board back up. She couldn’t help but case the space around them. They were the only ones sitting. Two people she didn’t recognize at the bar lengths away. It was empty, like it usually is this time of the day during the week. When she used to stand only as high as the table came, this place seemed so much grander. She remembered always thinking it was night time when she was in here due to the low-level lighting, just to walk with a tiny hand clutching her mother’s to meet the sun at the glass entrance.

The heavy clicking of her uncle’s dress shoes echoed louder, the closer he got to their table. A romantic smell blended of spices and fresh cheese coming with him. He came into view with a plate nearly the same size as him with steam following its every move. Placing the hot dish in front of Lenny and sliding it with his bare hand looked painful, but Juno knew better. 

“Ma said call her back immediately. She called ten times in the last hour, man.” He stood by his side. Hands resting on his hips waiting for the okay from his big brother. 

Lenny picked up his fork and wasted not a second stabbing his plate, after his rushed prayer. “I see the news has reached your Nonna.” He blew out a breath from his mouth, not even able to fully appreciate the rich taste of the spaghetti carbonara. He knew his mother only called for one of two things—when she needed something or when she saw or heard something she didn’t like. 

“What do you have to say for yourself? Mm?” He peered over at his youngest daughter. “For the mess you’ve made?”

Juno had nothing for him. There was nothing more she could say. She’d rather just show. Him and anyone else who planted doubt. He’d never agree unless he saw the win with his own eyes. Words would never be enough for a man like him. 

He resumed the assault on his plate and that’s when Joey’s eyes captured Juno’s.

“I see delusions are hereditary.”

“Get the fuck out my face,” she dismissed him. 

His stone cold demeanor finally cracked as he smiled down at his niece. Only three years in difference, they grew up more like siblings. Other than James, Joey was the closest thing she had to a brother.

Lenny held his fork out and pointed it at her slightly. “Watch your mouth, okay?”

“Yeah, watch your mouth.”

“And you shut the fuck up.” Lenny wasted no time balancing the playing field looking up at him for just a second before focusing back on his daughter. “I know you didn’t come all this way just to get your ass chewed.” He waited for her to reveal her intentions for the unannounced visit. Juno never came to this side of the city regardless of it being the very stomping grounds of her childhood. 

“I need a favor.”

“Favors are things to be returned. You don’t ask me for favors.”

“Fine. I just need something.” He made a gesture with his hand while chewing, urging her to continue. “Are you still cool with the Sheriff who runs The Main?”

Captain Melissa Blight was a no nonsense black woman who ran a tight ship. Her ship being The Main Oakland County Jail. She didn’t even answer calls from people she didn’t know. Juno had no choice but to go over her, to the Sheriff’s office to ensure Roman’s move. 

Juno is no idiot. At her big age she figured out rather quickly the world her father navigated through. If evading capital murder charges during her last two years in high school wasn’t proof enough, the way he immediately got her a job at the DA’s office with as many fuck ups as she had under her belt, was proof enough. He was somebody. Somebody to be respected and more importantly somebody to fear if ever told the word, no.

“And what’s wrong with the place he’s in?”

“Papa, they have him locked in a cage like some animal.”

“If he killed those women, he is an animal.”

“Well, let the jury decide that. He’s innocent until proven guilty.”

Lenny wiped the excess sauce from around his mouth before pursing his lips and studying his daughter. “And you think a man accused of murder and rape is better off in a public jail?” 

“I know you remember what it was like. They had you caged up for a long time before they treated you like a person.”

“I had protection.”

“That’s where the other thing I need comes in.”

He shook his head immediately. “I don’t know about all of that, Ju. I put the word in and this man comes out to be guilty? That’s a whole other world of problems you and I don’t want. You understand?”

“Fine. Let’s just work on moving him. Please?”

He nods, exhaling. “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

“Going through a lot of trouble for a man behind bars. That your new type or something?” Juno picked at her nails in an at attempt to ignore her uncle. “I’d hope so. Then, I can finally get Ma to stop calling you gay. She hasn’t seen you with a man in years.”

“Fuck you, Joe.”

“Hey! Your mouth,” Lenny reminded her. “Too pretty for that fucking pouty mouth of yours.”

“I could say the same about you.” Juno fired back and raised a brow.

“Are you hungry?” Lenny asked.

“I already ate,” she lied. Her chair screeched as she pushed it away from the table to stand. 

“Leaving already? You can’t just sit with your father?”

“I have shit—things to do.” His stony facial expression corrected her before his mouth could. “Call me as soon as that’s done, please.” 

Lenny released yet another heavy breath, watching her retreat out the glass door she came in from. His youngest was going to drive him into an early grave. He fought tooth and nail, to keep his three girls away from this life and Juno had went and covered herself in it. 

He just wanted the best. But her best and his best looked different.

He imagined Juno with a flock of kids by now, married to the man she brought home several times that she met in law school. And if somehow she couldn’t shake the bug for studying crime, maybe she’d be a legal assistant, a law clerk or work as a receptionists to a big time lawyer. A quiet and safe life. Completely opposite of how he grew up. That’s all he ever wanted. For his daughters to move through life with ease unlike he had.

When the doctors delivered the news twice over that he was having a girl, he knew then that even after all he’d done in this life, he was somehow still heard by God. That meant they’d eventually grow up and discard of his last name that was synonymous with things you shield your daughters from. They’d marry into a nice family and be relieved of such burdens. Jamila, his oldest, got it. But Juno was a tough nut to crack. Always had been.

“You really gonna call the Sheriff?” His brother’s voice broke his daze. 

“Yeah, man.” He pushed his half empty plate aside to make room for his chessboard again. 

Joey scoffed. “You let that girl get away with murder. That’s why she moves the way she does.”

“When Melissa pops any day now, and you look your daughter in the eyes for the first time—then and only then will you understand. As much as I’d prefer her locked away somewhere, I can’t look a little me in the eyes and deny her freedom. I didn’t have a choice.” And that he didn’t. Lenny was one of many men in a long line of Italians burdened by duty and unfortunately organized crime in the states and specifically Detroit. If only he could’ve, he would’ve been somebody else. “She does.”

Juno traveled the accentuated curvy road to the Isabella Reservation. Reeking of the western world’s government. All black professional attire. Black car with tinted windows blocking her from outside view. Looking for answers. 

The sun was still too shy to come out from under the clouds after the storm. The rain had stopped. The minute she opened her car door she could smell that smell—the one the grass emitted after precipitation had mingled with it. Her mother used to always tell her that rain meant blessings. She used her last wish on a star that hadn’t emerged yet, to wish that her mother knew what she was talking about. Juno had ran out of luck and she starved for God’s blessing in place of it. 

The ride in had buried Juno in deeper emotions than she arrived in. It was disgusting really. Watching the change of scenery from Flint, an area neglected by Michigan as a whole and to no surprise, occupied with citizens looking like her—to yet another area that had been disregarded by the masses. The history of this land and so many others in this country. Previous owners of the free space, making fruition of it, just to end up with scraps, as those with bad intentions for the same land pushed them out and planted their three-colored flag. Land of the free—home of the brave. 

But these people hadn’t changed. They still made something out of nothing as they had centuries ago. A small nation that had built, within the one that didn’t give a damn about them. 

Juno checked the address she got from Roman for the umpteenth time before closing the door to her car. It was almost impossible to invade the mud. The reservation had miles of land that went on forever. Symptoms of being pushed to the outskirts, she figured.

On the ride down she almost thought Roman was bullshitting her again. It was nothing but land and dirt. She had passed a clump of houses, a clinic, a few stores, more land, gas station, more land, another stretch of homes, the sheriffs department she had been to before, schools, and you guessed it—more land. The further she got, she thought she had exhausted all the properties. Then, right at the second she almost reversed the car to turn around and leave, she saw it in the distance. A row of housing right before a subservient and unmoving lake. 

She squinted while peaking around the side of the house. The numbers on the mailbox were too faded to make sense of and she couldn’t track any other numbering to be sure that the house she walked up on was the one. It was a one story unit painted a sad blue that could be mistaken for grey. Raking boards matched the deeper shade of grey on the  trim of the windows. The property looked like a soul hadn’t occupied it for months. The wooden steps groaned under the weight of her foot like no one had stepped on them before. Lifeless. No music, no chatter, no hum of a TV, laughter, yelling—nothing to be heard from the inside. She had peeped a few cars parked disunited in the back, making it seem as if they could belong to any of the other five houses grouped in this area.  

Before she could talk herself out of it, she just squared her shoulders, raised a fist to prepare to knock, when she damn near jumped out of her skin at the sound of a powerful yet tranquil voice.

“No point in doing that,” someone spoke. 

The source of the voice came from her right side. Snapping her heard that way, she didn’t see anyone until she heard the creek of the chair the culprit rose from. Rose being a generous term, considering the woman was maybe only a foot taller than the chair she arose from. She came forward on her wrap around porch to be seen in full, until she met the side closest to Juno. 

All Juno could think was how beautiful she was. How she moved with grace even if it was just an inch. Her silky black hair with streaks of silver was split down the middle and two braids cascaded down to her hips. She had a strong jaw with the softest eyes. Her age would’ve been a mystery if her greying locks and the fine lines in the corner of her eyes didn’t tell on her. She wore neutral colors. A tan long-sleeved sweater with brown pants. But in her ears were feathers with colors so lively it was as if she plucked them straight from a peacock just minutes before Juno’s arrival. The hand cupping the mug had symbols trailing along each finger left from fading henna. 

“I’m sorry?”

“I said, no point in doing that. Knocking.” Juno looked back to the door of the house and then back at the lady. “No one’s home. And no one’s been home for over a year now.”

“The twins left?” Juno questioned. The older lady nodded and planted two forearms on her wooden deck. “For good? I see cars in the back.”

“We use the backyard as a lot. No driveways. No sidewalk to park on the road for at least a half mile. But I’m sure you know that.” Her eyes landed on Juno’s Honda Accord parked in the wet ground that would serve as the lady’s front yard if the land had been designed modernly. 

“Did they say where they went?” The steps creaked unnecessarily loud when Juno made her pursuit down them to get closer to the mysterious woman. She crossed the limited space that separated the houses, but could only get so close seeing as the woman didn’t make a move to come off her porch. 

“Nope.” The lady didn’t offer any more than she needed. She had already done her casing from the moment Juno had stepped from her vehicle. It couldn’t have been more obvious that she worked for the government in some way. They come to the reservation, more than the residents of Isabella had liked, the past few months since the Tribal Killer tied himself to the land by killing women from the area. The lady deemed her a cop, until she proved so unaware of her surroundings that she didn’t even see the old woman sipping tea on her porch just a house away. “What business you got with the twins?” She pushed. 

“Well um—I’m Juno.” She held a manicured hand out. The lady regarded it for a few seconds until Juno offered her most disarming smile and she couldn’t help but to reach down and shake it.  

“Wilma.” She took a sip from the mug before speaking again. “You’re that young lady from the news. The one representing Sika’s boy.”

She nodded once. “I am. He sent me for the twins. I was hoping they could help the jury see that he’s innocent. Or at the very least shed some light to who Roman really is.” Juno’s voice traveled as she took her environment in with a quick swivel of her head until she landed back on the woman. “But you seem pretty familiar with him. Did you know Roman?”

Wilma revealed two perfect rows of teeth for the first time and more fine lines surrounding her mouth as she let out a soft chuckle. “Did I know him? He grew up in that house right there.” She twisted her body and pointed to a residence just two doors down. A house the same size as every single one in the area. White with grey accents and a wrap around porch just as Wilma had. 

“Really?”

“Really.” Silence stretched as Wilma considered going further down memory lane and Juno allowed her the space to. She didn’t want to poke too much as she could sense the lady’s stiffness, as was. “Even spent some nights in my living room right on that couch.” Juno’s brows hiked up. 

“Was he in trouble or something?”

A smile danced on her mouth before she showed the rest of her cards. “He was dating my daughter.”

Juno’s mouth opened then shut. “Y-you’re uh—you’re Elise White’s mother?”

“That’s right.”

Juno hadn’t been so involved in the case from the start of it. She wasn’t here when Detective Wheatley and Leah came to inform Wilma that her daughter was unfortunately one out of four other women who had been stabbed to death after being sexually abused. 

She focused on her boots for a moment then came back to the conversation. Here she was defending and aiding the man that everyone deemed responsible for her daughter’s death. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she expressed gently. 

Wilma ignored her condolences. She had accepted her daughter’s passing months ago and refused to enter that dark space again. Mothers weren’t meant to bury their young. It was supposed to be the other way around. “His father wasn’t too fond of my Elise. Called her a distraction. He had more pressing matters to keep an eye on, if you ask me.”

“Pressing matters? Like arguing with his wife every other night?”

Juno had earned herself another chuckle from Wilma. “Someone’s been doing their job.”

“He hasn’t made it easy. Believe me.” She bit her lip.

“I can’t tell you what all the fuss was about. Sika didn’t venture out into the community unless he had a job to do or his son had a game. The most I ever even heard his voice was when it was shouting in those walls.” She nodded behind her. “Very introverted life. The whole family really. Came and went like thieves in the night.”

“Did they ever say why they were leaving Isabella?”

“Nope. They were here in the day and gone by nighttime.”

“I see. Did Sika’s boss know he was leaving?”

“Nez? I don’t see why not. They were too close for him not to.”

“How close?”

“If Sika pissed, it was coming out of Nez’s mouth.”

“So he wasn’t surprised then. When Sika took his family and left?”

Wilma shrugged. “Just carried on like nothing happened.”

Sheriff Nez was the man that held the key. Juno itched just to get one word from him. “Does he still live here? Sheriff Nez?”

“I haven’t seen Nez in years. Maybe a decade.” 

Juno’s shoulders sank a little. Every time she got a step closer to the finish line, it was pushed back.

“And what about his wife? Roman’s mother?” From all that James fed her earlier that day, Juno could barely recall anything about the woman that gave him his very life. It was strange to her, considering Roman’s life looked to be centered around women. Usually men like that felt very strongly about their mother. They either loved her or hated her. Roman seemed indifferent. Like, she didn’t even exist. Sure they hadn’t spoken since his father passed, but what of the years before that?

“What about her? She was married to him. They had two sons. The end.” Juno gave her a look without words.“Fine—she was a very quiet woman. Just like the rest of the family. Kept her head down. Didn’t come out much. She didn’t work. I don’t have anything for you on that front. Cops have already been by looking for things that aren’t here anymore.”

Juno’s head throbbed. Nothing. That’s what this visit paid her. Absolutely nothing. She didn’t have any new information that she didn’t already learn this morning. Other than the minute detail of Nez not being affected by Sika taking his family and leaving in the dead of the night, as if he expected it. As if he called for it.

She felt like everyone involved had been toying with her like a yoyo. Even Wilma, who would offer something and then snatch it back fiercely. 

“That Sika is something else. Still causing mischief nobody can make sense of and sweeping it under the rug, I see.”

“His father is dead,” Juno informs with lines formed between tinted brows. Of course the lady knew this already. She was born and raised on the very land in which they stood. She was there before them. She was there when they were hauling bags and boxes up the steps to the house and moving in. Both times. 

Even with the knowledge that Wilma knew much more than Juno could ever fathom, she still felt the need to say Sika’s fate out-loud. She spoke of him as if he was still living two doors down.

“Believe me.” She halted to sip whatever her mug was full of. It sounded refreshing whatever it was. Like it was giving her the boost she needed to finish her thought out loud. “He lives on through his sons.”

It was something about the way she uttered the word sons. It was the fact that one of them was planted in the same cemetery as his deceased father, which should have only left Roman. The way the word lingered between them like smoke as they stood on opposite sides of the wet grass. Wilma up high and Juno down below. It was as if there was an entire story peering over the curtain of that one simple word. 

It had Juno thinking about just how much of his father’s mind had Roman inherited. What things he learned from him. What traits had been passed along. What paths had they both ventured down.

Before she could even fire a follow up question, her phone vibrated violently in her pocket. Brandon, was the name sprawled on the screen when she halfway pulled it out before the declining the call.

“I’m sure you have a card or something. If the twins wander back this way ever, I’ll shoot you a call.” Although short and not so sweet, the conversation she pulled out of Wilma had Juno uninterested in the twins. “And before you even ask, the answer is no.” 

Juno hid her smile behind tight lips now. Wilma was sharp. “The twins aren’t here. They haven’t been here for a while, so you say. He doesn’t know where his mother is. That leaves you. Why would you not want to come and testify on his behalf?” Wilma sighed and tapped the mug with her thumb. “You knew him since he was a teenager,” she continued. 

Juno’s eyes were trained on the lady’s small face. So hard that she noticed the very moment her lips twitched like she wanted to say something, right up until the second where she chose not to instead. 

“I’m sorry Ms. Juno, but I can’t do that.” 

They held each other’s stare for a while longer. Wilma unwavering while Juno hoped for a change of heart that she didn’t get. In the end she just reached into her black trench and offered her old business card to Wilma. She had scribbled over the number she possessed while working at the DA’s office and replaced it with her personal cell.

“You’ll tell him Mrs. White said hello?”

“Sure,” Juno replied. She stepped carefully through the mud en route back to her car. Thunder rumbling as if the sky was warning anyone below that it would pour again. Head low and eyes to the ground, Juno couldn’t wait to get out of there and head home. She had some rough days lately, but this one was at the top of the list. 

“Ms. Juno!” She turned back with her hand rested on the door handle. “You didn’t even ask me if I think he killed my daughter.”

Juno frowned and then her shoulders rose and fell. “I don’t think you’d give me a straight answer. I don’t know what it is with everyone lately, but I haven’t heard a straightforward yes or no answer in a very long time.”

“Try me,” Wilma pushed. Juno poked a hip out while releasing a breath. 

“Well? Do you think he killed Elise?”

A smile tugged on both corners of Wilma’s mouth. Simultaneously, as if she had summoned it herself, droplets came pattering down on everything it could touch. Juno didn’t even bother rushing inside the car. No need to cover her silky hair that had been curled in the morning, nor the makeup she painted on her face. It was just one of those days. 

She didn’t move an inch actually. She just let it pour. Like it was purifying her. Blessings, she thought. She had embraced that which she asked for. Eyes trained on the cryptic woman she had met and somehow knew she’d see and speak to again soon. Wilma’s face mirrored every feature that stared back at Juno for months as she flipped through pages and pages and always ended up back on Elise’s high school graduation picture. The minute she said it, she saw it. 

“Doesn’t matter what I think.” Her almond eyes, deep and ageless, looked beyond where she was protected on her porch from the sky’s tears. “The rain god must know something we don’t.”

She retreated back inside. The wind from the rain pushing the screen door back and forth to hit the frame obnoxiously seconds after. Leaving Juno with another pile of pieces to this puzzle that she didn’t think she could force together. 

A/N // took a little hiatus, but didn't want to come back empty handed🌚 this is a long one compared to the others, i know. very important chapter. i thought i could tell the story in 10 parts or less, but it's looking more like 15-20.

a lot of characters being introduced. i'm trying to give them all back story and incorporate something unique to separate them so we don't get lost lol.

i'm not entirely back. still busy getting ready for my vacation and studying for a new certification to get promoted at work. another update for this story or Biggest Fan, most likely won't come until the end of June/early July. i'll try to answer asks/interact as much as possible in the meantime.

and i'm starting to realize i probably should've separated the tag lists by series. it's starting to confuse me lol. if you were supposed to be tagged or want to be tagged for this series, pls say so in the comments. i might just redo the taglist forum, idk.

as always, if you read up until this point or even just a portion, i am forever grateful🫶🏽

what do you think of all the characters so far? who is your favorite? least fav? is Juno in over her head? what do you think about Juno's relationship with her father, Lenny? any thoughts on his occupation? will it help or hurt the case? any thoughts about Myles and his love/hate relationship with Juno? do you agree with his perception that Juno is privileged? why or why not?

୨⎯ 🌹 taglist 🌹 ⎯୧ // @raya-hunter01 @trippinsorrows @minsingular @luvrsluxe @vynaissance

@fame-ass-ers @annfg8 @cyberdejos2 @cutttteeee @rose-bliss

@skyesthebomb @li-da-savage @fearlesschimera @fairy-cores-world @brwnsugababe

@reginawhorge01 @ilovejeyusoooo @keyera-jackson @baybehkay @alexis2686

@destroyslonelyblog @izzythenaive @scarlettnoir @jaded-human @juicypinksblog

@magnificentbouquetmusic @partypoison00 @sheswritingg @nameless-jamie @tribalchief2112

@mjonthetrack @emotionalhottiee @trentybenty @transparentphantomface @reginawhorge01

@chrissyxcx @godblessmeitssumma @thekittysmeow @kelbrave @dopematicdiamondz

@bxrbie1

[nanaluvsyappping]

you’re the one , you’re all i ever wanted…

Hiii! So this is my first time ever writing (at least with a conscious and functioning mind of an adult and not of an early teen). I started this blog a little back and was never in my plans to create but hey! here we are. This is about a headcanon I have had for sevika since I first read about her. This is in any way my experience lol, all of my uni professors are closer to retirement than being a hot forty something beautiful and handsome woman (like sevi here y’know). Also this in any way trying to sexualize the wonderful work that teachers and professors do it’s just a silly way of what I think a modern!sevika would be. I imagine her being this mastermind and excellent professor so you just fall for her for her marvelous brain (who wouldn’t).

Also english it’s NAWT my first language so if there is a grammar error or if anything has a weird name that’s why.

Reader is going to be written and referred to as a fem presenting person. There would not be that many body descriptions apart from hands :33. She is also supposed to be past 25 years old, you can imagine her age how you want.

CW: nothing :D (for now)

W.C: almost 2k.

University professor!Sevika + fem!reader

University professor!Sevika, who had really long lectures but lectures that were also so interesting that you didn’t want the hour to end.

University professor!Sevika, who was known for her sassy tone and remarks to make the lectures manageables but also for her impressive knowledge about what she teached.

University professor!Sevika, who noticed you on the first day of the new semester, she didn’t know why at the moment but you just stood out from the rest.

University professor!Sevika, who despite her relatively young age for a professor she had forged a great and known career. She had started teaching as soon as she could, and you could notice that in her expertise. Looking at the way she moved around the lecture hall, how her low, deep, raspy voice for too many cigarettes captured the attention of almost every person who put a foot in her class. Noticing that special glimpse of pride that made her grey eyes sparkle when she got elbow deep on the class topic of that day.

University professor!Sevika, who doesn’t talk much about her but more about what she knows. Who is excited to help the moment she sees your name as the remittent of an email asking for papers or articles to read about the matter she talked about in that day's class.

University professor!Sevika, who always dressed similarly, a button up in darker colors, sometimes in a deep red or an eggplant color when she got tired of the most neutral ones, that usually got tighter around her bust and arms, with the first two buttons always loose and the sleeves usually rolled to mid forearm letting you see part of her tattooed right arm and the black color of her prosthetic left arm. Her eyes are always half covered with her seeing glasses that rested in that beautiful nose. You never saw her haircut change; it was always in that sharp cut that went from short in the nape of her neck, leaving a beautiful undercut behind, to longer closer to her cheeks. Her slacks were always black or dark gray. Combat boots were her staple and even if she owned different pairs purple shoelaces were present in each of them.

University professor!Sevika, who always was capable of keeping you hooked at her words, at the side smirk that covered her plump and dark colored lips while talking. How could you not put all of your attention to what she was talking about? There was an inexplicable energy that she radiated that made you want to wrap yourself around her and listen to her talk about anything for hours without an obvious end.

University professor!Sevika, who got used to paying attention to you, you intrigued her to an enigmatic level. Firstly, you weren’t close in age to the rest of her students. It wasn’t hard for her to notice your experience when reading your work, watching the way you took notes, and the attention to detail in every essay you sent. It made sense that you excelled in her course.

Secondly you weren’t hard to miss, at least in her eyes, without fail you were 5 minutes earlier than the rest, with the same coffee cup every time, consistently dressing in just a style that screamed ‘you’.

And lastly because of the amount of attention you put on everything she says, sevika was used to capture everyone's attention but yours just felt… different.

University professor!Sevika, who was the strictest professor you had encountered in university. It wasn’t hard to imagine how hard she could be as an outsider, after all what she wanted was the best for her students, she wanted to make them excel, she was not going to permit unfit people to pass her course.

For the same reason university professor!Sevika normally wasn’t kind to the idea of befriending or being close to her students. A self imposed rule of just keeping all of her relationship with students strictly professional. She knew people would tend to get close to her with the idea that being friendly would make them gain a few extra points in their assignments… She would just laugh inside at seeing the poor job some students did at the end of a semester to try and get anything she was noble enough to give them (she wasn’t noble at all, at least not with those who didn’t put in the work. After all her heart wasn’t made of stone as you could imagine, she would help the people she knew did their part during the school year).

But… there could always be an exception, right?

University professor!Sevika, who didn’t want to act surprised when you approached her before class started, but she did. You were earlier than ever before, your hands occupied and your voice sounded as soft as always with a hint of something she couldn’t decipher in that moment. She never had the chance to hear you talking only to her, she was accostumbrated to listening to you talk with your classmates or when you always so cleverly answered a question in class, but directly and only to her? never had the chance to hear more than one word until today. Maybe what has been stopping you was her gaze, that gaze that seemed to be the only one that could make your knees tremble, and it wasn’t because you weren’t confident, you were, but it was sevika after all. The only times you directed your voice to her and her only was just as you entered her sacred place of teaching, a small cordial greeting when you entered the class and a soft nod accompanied by a “goodbye” after classes ended, until today. A small paper bag was gripped by your perfectly manicured nails and a drink carrier that sported two cups that rested in your open hand when you entered the hall this late afternoon.

She didn’t know how you got stuck with this class schedule that was normally the least desired one, after all… who wanted to take a lecture on a friday at 4pm?, but today she was pleased with it. This class normally had the least amount of students so it tends to be more relaxed, although at the same time this is the one where the tiredness that she accumulated during the week usually gets to her.

A surprised look appeared on her face when she saw you, with a small rise of her eyebrow. She was willing to be the one who started a conversation, until you got ahead of her.

“Good afternoon, professor” The words left your lips softly while a soft and shy smile appeared on your lips. This might be the first time she heard your voice clearly with no other sound to interfere, now that she had heard it loud and clear she found it enticing, a sudden spark of curiosity arose in her, just a greeting wasn’t enough. She wanted to hear you talk more and more after each word.

“Good afternoon,” your name left her lips like it was covered by thick honey. “you are earlier today” Her usual smirk now plastered on her lips, her thin metal frame glasses were lower on her gorgeous nose than usual. A soft blush appeared on your cheeks. She said ‘earlier’ which only could mean she had noticed that you were here before your usual time.

“Oh! Well… I was on my usual coffee run, it’s been a rough week for all so i thought it would be kind to bring one for you. I hope this isn’t an overstep.” She didn’t know where you kept all of these words before, but she wasn’t going to complain about it. This sudden rush of confidence from your side and the detail of thinking of her made a smile appear on her lips, suddenly a small bit of her tooth gap was on display only for you to see.

“It isn’t an overstep, don’t sweat about it. And thank you for this, I was almost on my way to grab a cup from those vending machines.” A short chuckle left your lips. Sevika was never used to kindness, at the end of the day her background wasn’t colourful. Everything she had made of herself was thanks to her effort, unthinkable hours spent on working and studying at the same time, sleeping when and where she could, having to endure men thinking and telling her she would always be ‘a no one’. She was used to always thinking the worst, especially coming from students, and although this time it felt different the little voice in her head told her to not let her guard down. While her mind was quickly filled with information you occupied yourself taking the cup from the holder with only one free hand. She thought about what could have driven you to do this; you didn’t need extra points on your assignments, your work was basically perfect, you weren’t failing for the same reason, so then why?.

“But those suck!” You quickly interrupted her train of thought. “I didn’t know what you would like so I chose just a latte, I also asked for sugar and sweetener in case you preferred that”. You said as you put everything you just mentioned in front of her.

“They indeed suck. And I don't really mind the way the coffee is made. Coffee, it's coffee after all.” Confused was how she was feeling, she couldn’t really understand it, again why?. Before she could stop herself she asked “Can I ask you a question?”.

“You already did” a soft laugh escaped your lips “but yes, of course” Ah! now you’re toying with her, her own smile grew a little bit more making her eyes look softer.

“Why?” Now you were the one surprised.

“Why?” This time you were the one asking the question.

“Yes, why?” A look of confusion appeared on your face.

“The coffee?” A small nod came from her side, a hot tingling sensation took over you, you could feel it on your naked shoulders and the back of your neck. You could feel it in your face too, probably a soft blush appeared on these areas as you stumbled with your words, she still made you nervous after all. You were grateful that you weren’t that young anymore, if you still were in your early twenties your knees would falter and your hands would sweat and tremble. After a soft sigh left you, you answered. “I don’t think there is just a specific ‘why’, you are probably my favorite professor and your lectures always leave me with this sensation of wanting to know more. I thought making a move to be closer would be great, after all I am really interested in what you teach and would love to have someone to talk about all of this and who is better for that than an academic that teaches about it.”

Her gaze softened the more you talked, her left mechanical hand held the cardboard cup close to her mouth to take a sip. After she was confident that you were done talking it was her turn. After she cleared her throat she talked in her characteristic deep voice. “That’s fine by me, after all I'm the one who reads what you write. You are different from the rest of the people in this course, I can notice your actual interest in everything I teach.” She also noticed your slender fingers taking notes, and the smile that appeared on your face when you where learning something new, she also notice the furrow on your brows when you were focused, and the way you bit the corner of your lips at the same time, but she wasn’t going to tell you that, it was dangerous, at least for now. Wait… what was that about a rule?.

[thedwarrowscholar]

Hello, Scholar! I'm not very familiar with dwarven customs, something I'm trying to fix, and I find myself needing some guidance. I've looked through your articles and asks already but I haven't found this topic answered yet (my bad if you already talked about it!). I was wondering if there are any particular custom dwarves follow when they have children. Do they celebrate the birth like humans do? Is there any rite they follow? Thanks for you hard work!

Well met!

Thank you for your kind words, and for taking the time to delve deeper into Dwarven culture — a journey well worth undertaking, if I may say so.

And worry not — the mountain holds many hidden halls, and even I sometimes lose track of what’s buried where. This question, while touched on here and there, deserves a dedicated response. So let’s set our lanterns to the wall and explore it together.

👶 Birth Among the Dwarves To understand Dwarven birth customs, one must first appreciate just how rare and treasured Dwarven children truly are.

As noted in earlier writings, only about a third of Dwarves are female, and even fewer of those choose to marry or have children. It is not uncommon for entire generations to pass with only a handful of births (hence the decline in Dwarven numbers by the end of the Third Age). When a child is born, it is seen as a monumental blessing — a gift from Mahal (Aulë) himself, and a cause for deep reverence and guarded joy.

🔒 Private, Not Public Unlike the boisterous and public birth celebrations of Men, Dwarven customs tend toward privacy and solemnity. A child’s birth is not shouted from the mountaintops — rather, it is whispered through the stone. The family, close kin, and members of their House or Hall may gather in quiet observance, but even then, such gatherings are likely modest, reverent, and very much closed to outsiders.

Dwarves do not take life lightly, and the birth of a new Dwarrow is treated with a sense of sacred duty.

🛠️ Rituals and Rites While Tolkien didn’t describe specific Dwarven birth rituals, we can make educated assumptions based on the two major cultural inspirations behind Dwarves: Hebrew tradition and Old Norse custom.

From the Hebrew side, one might imagine something akin to:

A naming rite, possibly held on the seventh day after birth

A blessing spoken over the child, invoking Mahal’s protection and wisdom

The presentation of the inner-name, known only to the parents and the child's name guardians — a name never spoken aloud beyond these very closest of kin.

From the Old Norse side, we might envision:

The child being presented to the ancestral forge

The forging or gifting of a symbolic item: a small pendant, a rune-stone, or even the first tool to be used in training

Possibly a ritual touch of stone, linking the child to the enduring strength of the earth

Dwarvish child (with beard, naturally) being presented to the ancestral forge

🧱 The Role of Clan and Hall While the birth remains a private family affair, the clan and hall often take a formal interest, particularly if the child is of noble blood, or if the population of the hold is modest. In such cases, the elders may offer formal recognition, or record the birth in the family scrolls — the genealogical ledgers kept within each Hold. Note as well that females were often omitted from ledgers (unless they gave birth to Lords, Kings or Princes) - Dís being a prime example of the only female noted in Dwarvish genealogical information given to us by Tolkien. Reason for this is not a form of discrimination toward female Dwarves, but rather the added secrecy and protection of females. They were so valued that even their names would be hidden (both in spoken and written form).

🍼 Gender and Names As with other aspects of Dwarven life, discretion reigns supreme. The child’s gender is not usually discussed beyond kin, and their inner-name is kept secret. Only the outer-name is eventually revealed — sometimes not until years later — especially if the child will be trained in another Hold or away from their clan.

Names are not chosen lightly. Often they are inherited, or carefully crafted using ancestral root sounds to honour forebears. (For instance, Óin and Glóin being the sons of Gróin, is a deliberate echo of ancestry, not mere coincidence.)

🧡 In Summary:

Births are rare and deeply cherished among the Dwarves

Celebrations are private, solemn, and reverent — not public festivals

Inspired by Hebrew and Norse traditions, rites may involve blessings, naming ceremonies, symbolic objects, and ancestral rituals

The inner-name is sacred and rarely spoken

Clan records may preserve the birth, though much remains unspoken to outsiders

So yes — Dwarves do celebrate births, though perhaps not as Men do. In their own quiet, stone-bound way, they honour the miracle of new life with all the weight and reverence their culture demands. And to them, that is enough.

Ever at your service, The Dwarrow Scholar

[slavghoul]

Interview from Sweden Rock Magazine 10/2023

Hi, hi. There is an interview with Tobias in SRM’s newest issue, but it’s in the subscribers only section, so I thought I’d translate/share since I guess not many people will be able to get their hands on it. It is about Prequelle and it’s part of SRM’s „200 best Swedish hard rock albums of all time” series. Prequelle placed #68. The other albums may have scored higher, but for now we don’t know the whole list. Either way, enjoy. Very insightful. 

„Do you think that "Prequelle" is Ghost's worst album?” Now that’s an unusual opening question. Especially when the interview is about an album that Sweden Rock Magazine's writers and qualified Swedish hard rock musicians (including Tobias Forge) have voted as one of the 200 best Swedish hard rock albums of all time. The question wasn’t planned, but comes spontaneously, as a reaction to the first thing Tobias Forge says when we sit down on opposite sofas in the record company office. I'm here for a two-part interview, partly about the EP "Phantomime" (published in #6 2023), partly about "Prequelle". Neither record companies, artists, voters, nor even our writers who conduct interviews for this series of articles have any idea what placement an album has received. Interviews are often done well in advance and we simply don't want placements to leak and become public long before publication.

No Ghost album has ever been on the list before. The idea is actually to end the day with the "Prequelle" talk, but when Tobias Forge suddenly starts with a funny little comment that this album is probably the one that those who have voted think is Ghost's worst or least popular album, I just have to take the opportunity to ask the question: Do you think that "Prequelle" is Ghost's worst album?

No, absolutely not, he says and laughs. If I'm going to be completely pragmatic, I'd say: "How many songs do we actually play from that record?" There are songs that work damn well live and sit where they should. So it's a pretty strong album.

But is this what you are basing it on? "Prequelle" was released after Ghost had become really big so it can't be compared to "Opus Eponymous" and "Infestissumam" which you don't play many songs from. I mean, no matter what kind of record you had released when "Prequelle" came out, you would still have played many songs from it and they would have worked precisely because Ghost's songs nowadays are moulded more to the arena format.

I don't know how to answer that, it's difficult. If the album had been different, it would have been. If I'm going to talk somehow both artistically and practically, I know that for every record we have become exponentially bigger. "Prequelle" was definitely no exception, but it also took us a big step forward and upwards and we became bigger and broader. To the extent that when we introduce old songs in the live set, you notice that there are elements on albums one and two that make some songs more difficult to play. Not technically, we can play the songs, but they don't work in quite the same way as the later songs, which means that there is a slight favouritism.

I asked the original question about whether you think it's Ghost's worst album only because you directly said that this means it's the least popular one.

I'm just so full of myself I assumed all the other albums are also in the top 200, which may actually be incorrect. This might be the best album and the others aren't even there, haha.

It wasn't long after "Prequelle" was released that you were self-critical of the album in interviews, saying that it was too ballad-heavy and a bit too soft. I haven't noticed that before, you being so self-critical shortly after the release.

Yes, but I still feel that way. If, as an artist, I am only going to look at the work with the criticism that one can feel towards one's own work, I think that if things had been different or if I had more time, I might have wished that I had managed to get maybe two more hard songs. Maybe one more hard song would have fit on the album and another harder song might have phased out one of the ballads. Now five years after the album came out, I know that the two ballads ("Pro Memoria" and "Life Eternal"), which I may not think are bad, are one too many. But I know that many of the people who like the band like both of them, so it's kind of a useless argument.

Who sets the length of an album? Have you set a limit, that it can't be longer than this and have no more songs than that?

No, but it must fit on an LP disc and there is a physical limit. I think the absolute pain threshold is 46 minutes and that's 23 minutes on each side. Now maybe Mikkey Dee (co-owner of Spinroad Vinyl Factory) will raise his hand here: "But I can make it longer!" And it's maybe 48 minutes, I don't know, but I do know that when a disc starts getting so full that you start getting close to the sticker, it starts to sound bad. Especially nowadays, because recordings today are so very maximalist in scope. It's one thing if you record 60s music with drums, a guitar and bass where the sound is cleaner and finer or if you play acoustic stuff with just vocals. Bob Dylan records could have eight songs on each side and it worked all the way through. But this kind of fairly compact music doesn't work well. Not only am I a militant vinyl advocate, I think we should respect the fact that most artists don't manage to create more than 45 minutes of good music on a regular basis. A lot of famous double records are not that good. I don't think the Rolling Stones "Exile On Main St" is very good. It might as well have been on one disc. And if I'm actually going to turn it into something completely mundane, I'd say that I think it's irresponsible to sit and make records with twelve songs if it results in the record being 63 minutes long and you automatically have to make a double record. It's pretty wasteful.

When you said that it's irresponsible, I thought you were going to say that it's irresponsible to print a double vinyl because of the environmental destruction that it entails.

Of course, if we're going to be completely straightforward and not do anything that harms nature, we shouldn't even release any records, so I say this with reservation. But with that in mind and for the sake of art, I think more people should embrace the actual given format that has been the most prevalent in rock history. There is a reason why a film is usually one hour and 30 minutes. You can’t take any more. There's a certain dramaturgical structure and there’s a certain comfort in it. Then the CDs came along they screwed that up, and suddenly there weren't two sides anymore but it started one way and ended another. Now that the CD is no longer important and we've gone back to vinyl, creators should follow suit and start embracing the physical rules.

Are there songs that have been rounded off just because you thought „I have to round off here, because if I continue, it won't fit on the vinyl disc"?

We actually had that problem on the last album. „Watcher In The Sky” ended the A-side and the outro is much longer on the CD and digitally. Two minutes longer I think. Much, much, much longer. It's long, noisy and has all these dives. It's a very chaotic soundscape. You get the feeling that it goes on and on, and on the vinyl it's just the beginning of an outro and then it drops almost immediately. I think that was a huge mistake.

So the overall sound quality was more important than vinyl buyers getting everything? Because you could have pressed the vinyl and it would have fit, but you would have had to compromise the sound quality.

Yes, exactly. You can get the song to just keep going until the vinyl simply runs out. Then it just starts spinning in the middle, depending on what kind of record player you have. But the problem then, if you want to anticipate events at a creative stage, is that people today buy and listen to vinyl records and are sensitive. It's quite common for people to complain that the record is broken. I don't just mean our records, but people complain a lot about the presses. If you make ten songs, it's therefore stupid to have a too thick soundscape towards the end of song number five and song number ten. If you want to be really good and old school, that's where you put a piano ballad because it's an easier sound to handle so far into the record. This is what I think about when I make records. But clearly sometimes I miscalculate.

This must cut right through the record collector Tobias Forge's whole body and soul, that "Watcher In The Sky” is shortened by two minutes on the vinyl of all versions.

Well... I don't toss and turn and wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it anymore. But when it happened, I was livid. Luckily it was just an outro. It would have been worse if it had continued with some kind of narrative into the next song. Now I can't remember in my head how long "Prequelle" is, but if I'd had to go back in time and just re-construct it, the re-construction wouldn't have had much to do with the existing material, I would have just wanted to add a scene. And it's not a scene that's missing, it's just for the sake of balance. It became asymmetrical in a way that bothers me a bit.

You've talked about this before, but it was before "Prequelle" that you really started to talk a lot about how you were thinking about what kind of new songs might suit the live show. Can you get stuck in that mindset, thinking more about what songs are needed live right now rather than creating an album that will last 30 years?

Hmm... (long pause)... The reason I'm sitting here thinking is because I'm trying to come up with examples of other bands that I think might have gone through something similar. I’m looking for examples to the answer I'm about to formulate and that is that: yes, I think there comes a point in the career when most bands make a record because they simply feel they need to… Because what we're talking about is that when you go from playing in small smoky clubs in front of an already inveterate audience that already understands the perhaps a little more chewy expression, that experience can change if you start playing in front of a larger and especially a different type of audience. When a different type of audience comes and you play in a different format, you discover that this song doesn't work very well, it doesn't sound very good and it's difficult to get the sound right. Then there's usually a record or two or three during your career when this transition happens where you start filling in with songs that work better live. Look at Piece of mind", "Powerslave" and "Somewhere in time". There's a reason why Iron Maiden didn't play a lot of the first two albums there and then, because it was easier to play the new songs. You get to that point somewhere in your career and it's very difficult to say when it is - there's no given rule and there are artists who continue to release relevant records and have an amazing ability to release new records and just play the whole new record. Well, now Iron Maiden does that and tests their audience a little bit in that way, but then they will always compensate by doing like a "best of" set the following year so everything is forgiven. Now we're in the middle of the "Impera" period here and have a very strong set, but I'm starting to feel that now that I'm about to start writing a new album, it feels like it's not really on my agenda to write three more albums that will change the live setlist ten years ahead. I think we already have the blueprint for what is Ghost's setlist, especially if you include the entire catalogue. After a while, each new record you make becomes a little less important. It's really hard to know when that point comes, but the truth is that new records don't matter in the same way. Slayer didn't have to release "Divine Intervention”. They definitely didn't have to release "Diabolus In Musica". I didn't care about it and I just wanted to hear the old stuff. If they had just come up and played "Reign In Blood" I would have been soooo happy. And that's the way it is with most bands. Nobody would be sad if the Rolling Stones came up and didn't play anything from "Emotional Rescue". And that's just the way it is. In the future, I can see a scenario where there is probably a basis to possibly build up an alternative setlist. There are so many songs that we do not play and that I have nothing against - I love them too! But it would almost be easier to build up a completely alternative setlist and run a show with only the odd songs. There are so many songs now. There's no reason not to build on that. But when I want to make a new record, it's irresponsible for me not to consider that there might have to be some songs that are a bit more direct. But it doesn't hurt me if we have more songs that we don't play live. I don't know if this answers your question...

I would actually like to ask exactly the same question again, because I wonder if you yourself feel that you get stuck during the making of the record. You said that you would have liked to include another hard song because "Prequelle" doesn't have the balance that you would have liked to have in retrospect.

Exactly, but the explanation for that has more to do with my mental capacity there and then. I simply couldn't cope. I felt that I had probably maxed out… It was probably about as much as I could do that year. That's the simple explanation. To get another song that would have fit and that would have fulfilled this requirement that I now in retrospect would have wished I had, it would have required something that I did not have there and then. The only thing that could have made it easier is if I had more time. It is difficult to reason about it, you see.

I was in the studio for a few days during the recording and it's one of the few times in all these years that I've done interviews where someone has started crying during an interview. It was quite obvious that everything that had happened with the split of the band affected you.

Yes. Of course. It did.

Is "Prequelle" a difficult album to listen to for you? Can you sit and listen to it all the way through? 

Well, at the moment I have to do that from time to time, and listen to all the records, because we're just about to start rehearsing again and then I sometimes have to go back and just listen to the record to go: "Fuck, is that really how I sing?" Especially when we start rehearsing, I can be a bit like: "Damn, who changed this bit?” Then I usually sit down and it hits me: "Oh, it's me who has changed my song!" You simply do that over the years, you start singing it in a slightly different way. So sometimes I have to go back and listen, but it’s more practical. I don't think it's fun to listen them. I do it until they are finished. I listen over and over and over again and really try to listen with all the imaginary ears and all the imaginary perspectives you can have. "How would I have listened to this if I had heard it from this perspective?" Just to get as "objective" a perspective as I can until I'm satisfied, but then it's like „No, I don't want to hear this anymore". But I have to say that I think "Prequelle" is a very tolerable disc despite everything that interfered with the process. Therapeutically, it works quite well considering that we are still playing at least half of the album. For every artist there are songs that you want to play, and there are songs that you don’t want to play because they feel too personal. I don't feel that way about this one, it's more like: "Ah hell, they're part of the setlist and people like it and it sounds good. So that's what we're doing."

On a personal level, was Tom Dalgety the perfect producer for you, the way you were feeling at the time? Tom feels like the kindest, sweetest producer you can meet. He wasn't the kind of producer who pushed you very much, it was more of a nice atmosphere between you.

Yes, really, and it would have been different if Klas Åhlund, who is more confrontational, had been in the room. Now Klas and I are great mates, so it would certainly have been very therapeutic also, but it would have been a different process. If an artist comes in who is in such bad shape that they can't make a record, or a band where the main songwriter has just left them, then a Bob Ezrin goes in and says: "If you don't make the record, I'll make the record myself.” And he goes and makes Kiss "Destroyer" or Alice Cooper records. I'm not saying they didn't make them, just that you hear that Bob Ezrin made "Beth". It's a type of producer that's very different from a lot of other producers who maybe act a little bit more like buddies and cheerleaders and make the atmosphere good. Bob Ezrin doesn't care so much about the atmosphere in the room. Klas is somewhere in between, I would say. Given the condition I was in during "Prequelle", the result could probably have been different if Klas had come in. Ironically, there was actually talk of him doing it, but he didn't have the time and we'll never know how it would have turned out. I only know that it would have been different, but right there and then Tom was fantastic. I know that a lot of bands like to work with him because he is technically brilliant. He's really good at those typical sounds that people like: cool drums, guitar, bass, tone and clarity. He is also very "happy go lucky", a nice guy who sits and jokes all the time. Even if he has a bad day, it doesn't affect anyone else, which is convenient.

Let me compare it to when a writer contacts me after an interview and says "that was such a nice interview". For me, "nice" is not something positive in such a work situation and the result is often better when there is a little friction.

Mmm, and that is more Klas. There is more friction and more confrontation. And I was much better equipped for that at "Meliora" and later at "Impera". I felt better and was simply stronger. There wasn't the same survival instinct as on "Prequelle". If I think back, not about how the album turned out and how I have to live with it, but if I think back to the situation I was in, I was very anxious all the time. Even though I'm happy with the result, I wouldn't want to go through the recording again, even though Tom was great. Because it's hard to work when you're under attack. I realised that now when I made "Impera", when it was no longer like that. You are much more comfortable, it doesn't feel the same, you are more mature, you make better decisions, you are more controlled or dare to be uncontrolled. When things are this serious, you can end up in a freeze mode. Maybe that's also why there wasn't another song. The song that I miss doesn't exist because I simply squeezed out everything I had. If I had been in a different emotional state, I might have been more comfortable working out something at the last second from bits and pieces. But I felt that I really just wanted to get it done, deliver it, get back out on tour and start over again.

When you described being more mature during "Impera" you sounded like a 70-year-old, kind of like all the Aerosmith-like bands that have been fighting all their lives and now that they're in their 70s they say "we're soooo mature,” haha.

I think with all artists, especially when they're required to work in a group, there are many recordings that have been a collision with a wall because you're expected to function in a context all the time, whatever and whenever. But you do change and from one year to a few years down the line there can be a huge difference in a person's drive, hunger and priorities in life. Whether you have the same band structure as I do or whether you play in Metallica, people come in one state and they may end up in another, because you have different priorities at different times. It's unfortunately against the whole rock myth. I think that's the biggest problem for bands and businesses, that you always have this idea that if you just get to a certain stage - not just monetarily or career-wise, but you get to a certain stage of fun - then we've reached the status quo. But that is never the case! Never! There’s always something. Even in the best moments when everything is working, the band is awesome, everyone is working well, the crew is awesome, everyone is laughing, it's just a party all the time mentally, you have the world's best tour manager, everything is flowing and the tickets are selling, there will always be someone who doesn't like it and then has to break away and want to do their thing because it's no longer fun. It's usually somewhere in the lead-up to a stage where it's interesting and then once you've achieved it, it all becomes a bit boring. Just like in a relationship some people may eventually think, "well, that's a bit boring, I have to go out and do something else".

Since I was in the studio when you were laying down guitars on "Witch Image", my heart beats a little extra for that song and I thought it would be a great live song, but you've barely played it (at the time of writing it's Ghost's forty-fourth most played song live).

We did it during the "Prequelle" tour, or "A Pale Tour Named Death" as it was called. Then we did quite a few "an evening with" concerts, for better or worse. The advantage was that if you were a big fan of the band we actually played a lot of songs and actually a lot of the first albums, like "Idolatrine" - or "Witch Image". We did a set, a break and then a whole other set. That was a bit of a taste of what I was talking about earlier: doing a slightly larger set and then a slightly smaller one. You just shouldn't do it on the same night because it gets a bit stale. We played for two hours and 30 minutes or something and that wasn’t a good idea, haha. At least we did "Witch Image", but it has fallen behind a bit and it doesn't mean that we will never play it again, just that we don't do it right now. What I've been happy about is that there has been a feeling for the records that we've made recently, "Prequelle" and "Impera", that people still want to hear the new stuff. We haven't gotten to that stage that I talked about earlier when it doesn't matter anymore. Then it's very fun to try to find a new way to perform the songs, not technically, but suddenly a song like "Witch Image" might fulfill a very nice purpose between a completely new song and another song.

Let me speculate: in 30 years, I think "Rats" will be considered the great hard rock song, "Dance Macabre" the great hit and "Life Eternal" the great ballad. What do you think? Will this in the future be seen as the three big songs of the album?

Yes, that makes sense, I think. I understand that an instrumental song automatically ends up in the wake of a "best of" collection, in the sense that you do one in 30 years. I realise it's not a hit but the instrumental "Miasma" is a big part of our live show. It's strong and feels like such a keeper. Now we don't play "Life Eternal" very often actually, but it was very well received. For some reason people like to get married to it, I don’t know why, hehe. It's nice but it's also a bit like U2’s „I still haven't found what I'm looking for" and you don't use that one at a wedding. But people like it and I guess interpret it differently to me. It’s also a song that I don't think is fun to play live.

And why not?

Because I find it hard to play ballads. Physically, they don't feel the same as rock songs. I miss the "dunka dunka". Now everyone who plays music today knows what I mean - sorry, readers who don't play music - and it's that there's a small problem with having in-ear monitors. This means that you have to reach a certain frequency of beats in order to feel the music, unlike when you played at clubs with only a guitar amp behind you. You felt every single note you made and it just went through your body. Nowadays, I think it's sometimes hard when you play slow songs, because you have to trust that it sounds good, whereas when you play a rock song, you feel that it sounds good.

Does it also apply to "He Is” which is such a huge ballad, not least live?

Well, just the intro and then it gets going quite quickly and suddenly becomes a hard and rather fast-paced song. The classic ballad concept has always been that you play so-called edge beats to make it sound soft, while "He Is” is actually a rather hard-played song considering that it is a ballad. Once the drums come in – boom, boom – it's got AC/DC bite to it. It has a rock feel to it that "Life Eternal" doesn't really have. As I said, I don't think that "Life Eternal" is a lot of fun to perform, but that doesn't mean that it isn't quite good to listen to. It’s just that when I play "Dance Macabre" or "Mummy Dust" I feel that I can express myself physically more in line with what the text says and what it means.

[thesleeptokenarchive]

Social Media Update: January 6 2022

The first post for the collective in 2022 to their socials was about their first cover of a magazine, Metal Hammer issue 357, that went on sale this day.

Behold, an expression of Worship from the @MetalHammer publication. Consume - http://bit.ly/buyhammer

[X]

Additional photos from the article, by Andy Ford.

Words by RICH HOBSON. Article can be found here: [Link]

Sleep Token are a Mystery

Anonymous members, no interviews and sold-out shows: Vessel et al have become a modern metal phenomenon. We followed them on tour to try and find out more.

The view from 2022

As Vessel doesn’t talk, we predict the next 12 months on his behalf

What are his New Year’s resolutions?

To ensure a Sleep shrine in every home in the UK, perfect for accepting His offerings. Also for Vessel to kill fewer people using his telekinetic abilities (see: the video for Alkaline) and to use them for something more constructive instead, like whale conservation.

Sleep Token vocalist Vessel stands in front of 1,500 people at Birmingham’s 02 Institute, and the room falls silent. All eyes are fixed on the masked and cloaked singer for a sign – any sign – that might betray some message or hidden meaning behind the band’s mystique.

What’s going to be the biggest thing in metal in 2022?

“We love you!” cries a young woman. Finally, the spell is broken, and the crowd erupt into cheers that Vessel politely acknowledges with a slight nod. Then he moves, and the church-like quietude falls again. Leaning towards the mic, for the briefest of moments it seems Vessel’s five years of almost total silence will end, with Birmingham about to receive gospel from one of metal’s most enigmatic forces. Instead, he clenches his hands together in a sign of gratitude, saying everything by saying absolutely nothing – and everyone loses their minds.

Sleep Token will engage in a holy war with Ghost, ultimately triumphing and ending the line of Papas. Satan will convert to Sleep worship, rendering the whole ‘satanism’ thing redundant. Deicide will become door-todoor missionaries, converting people to the Sleep cause. Black metal musicians will end up switching to country, singing about the good ol’ days when you could burn churches and burn inverted crucifixes into your head.

We’re at the second night of Sleep Token’s eight-date UK tour, and since emerging in 2016, they’ve maintained an iron grip on their anonymity: they obscure their faces, they don’t talk onstage, and they have only ever done one interview – with this very magazine in 2017. The closest comparison is Ghost, but even they had ‘Nameless Ghouls’ who acted as regular spokespeople until Tobias Forge eventually broke cover, a decade into the band. It’s all very impressive – but who the hell are they?

What event or issue will define the world in 2022?

Here’s what we know: in that 2017 interview, Vessel told us that their music is all in service to ‘Sleep’, a mysterious deity whose roots stretch back centuries.

Sleep Token will make history by hosting the first livestream to be beamed directly into your dreams. A bit like with U2 and Apple, the whole thing will cause a massive fuss but ultimately blow over. Mastodon will try to do the same and end up falling through space/ time like a live-action replication of Crack The Skye.

“How we got here is as irrelevant as who we are – what matters is the music and the message,” they said. “We are here to serve Sleep and project His message.” And… that’s about it. Cheers for the insight, pal.

Despite – or perhaps because of – their secrecy, Sleep Token are fast becoming a cult sensation. While the lore is centred around Vessel, Sleep Token describe themselves as a collective, suggesting a collaborative effort between seasoned musicians, all feeding into the art. That may go some way to describe their fluid approach to genre, pulling elements of everything from tech metal and alternative to pop and R&B – part of a new breed of heavy bands who aren’t afraid to embrace multiple genres, as well as nontraditional ways of working.

In 2019, they drip-fed a series of singles that eventually became their debut album, Sundowning, rather than going ahead with a straightforward release. Even though they couldn’t tour during the pandemic, last September’s This Place Will Become Your Tomb charted at No. 39 in the UK, and this current run will conclude at London’s 2,000-capacity Shepherd’s Bush Empire. It’s no small feat.

“Sleep Token are an expression of where metal is in the 2020s,” says Ihsahn, co-founder of black metal legends Emperor and pioneering avant garde solo artist, who’s on the same label as the collective. “From the first time I heard them, I was completely intrigued – the way they mix modern metal elements with very dark moods, but also very clear, modern R&B-style production values.”

Sleep Token are by no means the first anonymous collective in metal, but their symbol-emblazoned masks, dark body paint, and use of everything from Nordic runes to Hindu symbology in their artwork have piqued the curiosity of metal fans and fellow musicians.

“It’s similar to what we had with the black metal scene, with the masks and mystery that helps to raise it all,” Ihsahn explains. “Emperor wouldn’t be where they were without that theatricality, because we needed to do something to distance ourselves from the spotty teenagers we were!

“It creates a clear distance and space between the art and the artist,” he continues. “I’ve always appreciated artists who created that distance – going back, you can watch all these interviews with David Bowie but it never feels like you knew him. The art he created was an offering and you just had to try to understand it.”

Of course, with Vessel it’s even more difficult. Our attempt to get answers in 2017 was like grasping at mist: when we asked why they wished to remain anonymous, Vessel turned the conversation towards what he thought was truly important – the art itself. “Our identities are unimportant,” he said. “Music is marketed on who is or isn’t in a band; it’s pushed, prodded and moulded into something it isn’t. Vessel endeavours to keep the focus on His offerings.”

When asked what the future held, Vessel simply replied: “Nothing. Lasts. Forever.” Does that mean there’s a time limit on the band? What the fuck is going on?

It’s tinfoil hat time. Outside of live performances, Vessel has only appeared in music videos. His first onscreen appearance came as a shadowy, grasping figure in the 2016 video for Thread The Needle, before appearing maskless in the 2017 video for Calcutta – albeit with Slipknot/Before I Forget style editing that only showed his mouth, cheek and eye. He’s become more prominent in recent videos – even telekinetically taking out a room of hazmat-suited goons in the video to Alkaline – but still no obvious, overarching narrative has emerged.

Elsewhere, his mask has made its own separate appearances. In the video for Fields Of Elation it floated free in a body of water, and in Nazareth it appeared standing alone in the video’s final moments, before appearing in blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments in Jaws, where it’s worn by the video’s star.

Which raises the question: is Vessel the man behind the mask, or something the mask brings forth?

Sleep Token’s acolytes have been searching for clues. In a Discord server set up by Coventry-based fan Chris, they pore over the band’s lyrics, album artwork, music videos and merchandise in an attempt to decipher hidden meanings, like a metal take on The Da Vinci Code. “It was actually through Metal Hammer that I got into the band,”

Chris tells us. “Reading the interview with Vessel on the website, I wanted to find out more. I took to Reddit to see if there was a community for the band and at the time there wasn’t, so I decided to create it.”

Now numbering more than 900 members, the group have become adept at deciphering codes left by the band. They discovered that a string of numbers featured on a t-shirt design were coordinates for a ‘whale fall’ – an event where a whale’s carcass falls to the ocean floor and becomes a source of nourishment for an entire ecosystem. When This Place Will Become Your Tomb was released, Benjamin, one of the admins, even took on the semi-joking role of Keeper Of The Lore, maintaining and steering discussions for each new song.

“I loved the hidden identities and world-building the band was presenting,” he explains. “There was a whole experience outside of just the music. The new album features heavy imagery of a decomposing whale and the animals that would feed on it; a representation of life in death –a topic lyrically discussed by Vessel frequently – and eternal recurrence.”

The Discord continues to provide fascinating insights into what the band may – or may not – be exploring through their art. But without any form of ‘official’ statement on their theories, and with a potential fixed end point for Sleep Token, couldn’t the fanatics be setting themselves up for disappointment down the road?

“Nothing lasts forever – until then we Worship,” Chris says matter-of-factly.

Aside from discussions on mythology, the Discord has also become a social club that binds people together. “The Discord community is amazing,” says New York-based fan Veronica, aka BluKittie. “There are people from all over the world and we share the same love and passion for the band. We are always there for each other. Last year my father passed away and the members of the community helped me through that rough time, and still do. I am just happy to have found friends there.”

An hour before Birmingham’s 02 Institute opens, the queue is already snaking down the street as far as the eye can see.

At the band’s request, we’re not allowed backstage lest we see their faces, but we do speak to their support act, solo artist AA Williams. Like Sleep Token, she’s found an audience with metallers even though her music spans alternative, pop, soul and metal –a sound we’ve previously tagged as ‘death gospel��.

“I think we work pretty well together,” she says. “It’s great to see an artist who is able to explore both pop and really heavy music without the need to hold back or overcompensate on either element. The shifts in dynamics really come to life live, and their crowd utterly lap it up – it’s like going to church.”

Are there any difficulties that come from playing with such a secretive act? Has anyone tried to get her to reveal Sleep Token’s identity? “Well, it’s not like we’ve had to sign NDAs or anything,” she says. “At the same time, you do want to make sure you’re not impinging on their privacy, and respecting their choice to present their art in a particular way. If anyone asks who they are, I think I’ll make up a celebrity – it’s Robert De Niro. Next question – ha ha ha!”

Tonight AA commands rapt attention, but there’s no competing with the headliners. All chatter is silenced as the room plunges into darkness. Moments later, Vessel strides onto the stage alone to cheers of approval, his mask the only thing visible against now-muted lighting. He tinkles the ivories for Atlantic and the crowd are soon singing along to every word, even though the album has barely been out two months.

AA WILLIAMS

For 90 minutes, Sleep Token hold attention in a way that defies logic. How can a band that don’t speak be so damned expressive? Compared to the stagecraft of bombastic arena bands such as Iron Maiden or Sabaton, Sleep Token are low key, but Vessel radiates gravitas, his twisting and grasping movements bringing to mind the theatrics of interpretive dance, where each flick of the wrist could be conveying some hidden meaning. The fans are utterly enraptured, moshing and singing along with religious fervour, lending credence to the band’s social media descriptions of their shows as ‘rituals’.

As it was in Birmingham, so it is in Glasgow, Sheffield, Dublin and beyond. By the time the tour arrives at London’s sold-out Shepherd’s Bush Empire, it’s clear that, much like Ghost before them, Sleep Token are fast outpacing their status as a cult phenomenon, smaller academies no longer able to contain their rapidly growing fanbase.

If Birmingham was about reverence, London is outright revelry – an irrepressible crowd engaging in a bacchanalian frenzy that has little to do with the extortionate bar prices and everything to do with the explosive performance unfolding onstage. And then, a couple of lads start Cossack dancing in the middle of a circle pit. Sleep help us…

Not to be outdone, Sleep Token bring out their own dance troupe for Fall For Me. Not that they need any help capturing people’s attention: here, Sleep Token are preaching to the converted, a cult threatening to spill over into the mainstream.

No one knows what direction Sleep Token will go in next, and it’s not as if they’re about to tell us. But then, that’s how things have always been with the band – each release a mystery that fans can’t wait to unwrap. “When I heard the second album, there was no indication of where they were going, so in my mind it just had so many seeds of development,” Ihsahn says. “There’s more maturity and there’s clearly something they are building towards, though exactly what that is, is impossible to say…”

Perhaps the stock answer from Vessel, five years on, would still be “nothing lasts forever”. Will they push their sound even further? Will they start conducting interviews? Will they ever unmask? Right now, anything is possible – and that’s what makes Sleep Token so exciting.

[emmathefanficgal]

Defending the castle like a man...

I've just read this article : Defending the castle like a man: on belligerent medieval ladies.

One of my friend is practicing HEMA (historical european martial art) as well as forging. We speak often about it and I have many question, mostly because of my main character in my medieval romance. As in forging, strength is not all in fighting. Know how to do it and practicing is first and foremost (she is smaller and thinner than me. she can wield swords that I cannot lift).

She reads lots of things about medieval warfare and we have discussion about it, and more recently because of my main character in my medieval romance. She had send me this article. And while reading it, I thought about some of my mutuals and the quite recent discussion about Eowyn and Théoden. So this is for you : @torchwood-99 , @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras , @konartiste. @errruvande I thought about you as there is a good reference about Alfred's daughter.

Reading this, I thought about Théoden. Rohan seems to have a certain history of female fighters. Shieldmaiden is not a name coming out of nowhere. So... what led Rohan to, seemingly, forget about this role? When did it happen?

In this article, there are a lot of example of women who did fight in war and defend their territory. It seems there are more and more proof of that. Even more, it seems women were actually expected to know at least how to defend their castle and lands. "Do as their husband do". So they had to know how to fight or at least strategies and siege... And some knew how to use bows, crossbows and even swords. Still, they had been, most of the time, erased or played down.

It is not said if this erasing was all along or more recent, as it is noted that those women of war were common up until the 14th centuries. In any case, they existed, but in later ages, it was inconvenient for men to have their female kin show "men's virtue".

Did something equivalent happened in Rohan? Why would something like this would happen? I would be the first to say "Oh it's all Saruman/Grima's fault". But no. Theoden do not think of sending Eowyn to war. He does not even have the reflex to think about her as a leader for his people. if it had been Grima and/or Saruman, he would have think about it.

Could it be his gondorian upbringing? After all he grew up in Gondor, had a gondorian mother? Thengel did not seem to held his countries culture in high regard. So, could it be this? Or even before that?

In my glèomenn fanfic, Tirwald said it was legends and old story. Could it be even older? Something more recent, linked to another culture?

So... What do you think?

[alexanderwales]

Game Review: The Roottrees are Dead

When I played Obra Dinn shortly after it came out, I thought "man, that was great, they should make a hundred of these, this should be a whole genre", and on reflection, that would actually be a terrible idea, because what made it great was the storytelling, the attention to detail, and the loving care that went into it. As I've learned from the wave of games that take inspiration from Stardew Valley, there are some genres that I only like if they have a lot of attention to detail and artistry.

The Roottrees are Dead very clearly follows in the footsteps of Obra Dinn, and while it doesn't quite hit the same highs, I think it's a worthy successor that forges its own path and helps to establish what's possible within the space.

In The Roottrees are Dead you play as an investigator in the late 1990s (1998 for the original, 1999 for Roottreemania), looking into the Roottree family to uncover some of there secrets. You do this almost entirely through a simulacrum of the early internet, with a pre-Google web search, periodicals, and checking out books from the local library. Gameplay entails combing through these documents to see what there is to search, then making some deductions to put information up on the sprawling family tree. Just like in Obra Dinn, you get your guesses "confirmed" after you've locked in some number of correct entries, which helps to narrow down the search space.

It's a good game. I recommend it if you like research and puzzles and deduction.

I think mostly I want to talk about how it feels to play this game, and what I think makes it work in a way that's totally different from other detective/puzzle games.

First, and I think this is very important, you can search almost everything, and you are often rewarded for this. Every name, every company, every book, all of them can be searched in one way or another. Sometimes it's the web search, and if that turns up nothing, sometimes you can search the periodicals, except that you don't start out knowing the names of the periodicals. And when you do get the name of one, it opens things up, because you can go searching using this new resource.

Sometimes the information isn't quite right, so you have to think it through. Use someone's maiden name, or find out what a book was retitled to for its second publication, or figure out how the thing you're searching for would be referenced. This is all the kind of thing that I find really enjoyable, and more so than in real life, because the feedback is instant. Even if you hit a dead end, the game will usually have some text for you, and sometimes it'll tell you it's a dead end with a little story, ending with "unfortunately none of this seems relevant to the Roottree family".

What you're ultimately doing is creating this whole web of information, picking up names from articles you read and tracking them down, which gives you more articles and more names. You have some understanding of these people and their relationship to each other. You get to know the history in this very unconventional way. It's pretty unrealistic, but my suspension of disbelief was mostly fine.

Locking things in feels great, particularly because it means that you're removing a possibility from your list of names, making everything easier in the next go. This was something clearly borrowed from Obra Dinn, and I'm glad, because it works so well and feels so rewarding. New here are "optionals" that get confirmed whenever a lockin of the main family happens, and this is a great evolution of the concept.

There are two places where the game let me down a little bit, and both have to do with the pictures. The first issue is that I wanted the pictures to be of a higher quality. The web version had AI images, which were a little wonky, and got flak for it, so the images were (apparently) hand-drawn for the release on Steam when people were paying money for it. And they're still a little wonky, which is surely a budget issue, and maybe a little bit an art direction issue. I don't like criticizing thing for their lack of budget, but man, there were places where I felt it here.

The second issue with the pictures is that these tend to be the worst kinds of clues. People just do not talk about appearance and clothing in these ways, and it always feels clunky in the way that other clues (usually) don't. They're necessary, because this is part of the core gameplay, matching pictures to names, but it feels to me like the weakest part.

New to the Steam version is "Roottree Mania", which deals with a crisis of "extras" to add to the family tree, those who are products of affairs. It's basically the same in structure, and proof to me that this concept has legs: the focus is different, but you're engaging in the same gameplay. I would say that overall, I enjoyed Roottree Mania about as much as the main game, even if the scope was somewhat less focused.

And like before, I find myself thinking "they should make a million of these", but I know that this is only as good as it is because there's significant dedication and care put into it, and you can't just "copy" it and expect for it to be playable or good. You need those little moments when things snap into place, when something confusing reveals itself to be well-ordered. You need puzzles to work out, inconsistencies to uncover, information working together. And that's hard, and it's something I'm happy this game was able to do.

[mariacallous]

Climate denial may be on the decline, but a phenomenon at least as injurious to the cause of climate protection has blossomed beside it: doomism, or the belief that there’s no way to halt the Earth’s ascendant temperatures. Burgeoning ranks of doomers throw up their hands, crying that it’s too late, too hard, too costly to save humanity from near-future extinction.

There are numerous strands of doomism. The followers of ecologist Guy McPherson, for example, gravitate to wild conspiracy theories that claim humanity won’t last another decade. Many young people, understandably overwhelmed by negative climate headlines and TikTok videos, are convinced that all engagement is for naught. Even the Guardian, which boasts superlative climate coverage, sometimes publishes alarmist articles and headlines that exaggerate grim climate projections.

This gloom-and-doomism robs people of the agency and incentive to participate in a solution to the climate crisis. As a writer on climate and energy, I am convinced that we have everything we require to go carbon neutral by 2050: the science, the technology, the policy proposals, and the money, as well as an international agreement in which nearly 200 countries have pledged to contain the crisis. We don’t need a miracle or exorbitantly expensive nuclear energy to stave off the worst. The Gordian knot before us is figuring out how to use the resources we already have in order to make that happen.

One particularly insidious form of doomism is exhibited in Kohei Saito’s Slow Down: The Degrowth Manifesto, originally published in 2020 and translated from Japanese into English this year. In his unlikely international bestseller, Saito, a Marxist philosopher, puts forth the familiar thesis that economic growth and decarbonization are inherently at odds. He goes further, though, and speculates that the climate crisis can only be curbed in a classless, commons-based society. Capitalism, he writes, seeks to “use all the world’s resources and labor power, opening new markets and never passing up even the slightest chance to make more money.”

Capitalism’s record is indeed damning. The United States and Europe are responsible for the lion’s share of the world’s emissions since the onset of the Industrial Revolution, yet the global south suffers most egregiously from climate breakdown. Today, the richest tenth of the world’s population—living overwhelmingly in the global north and China—is responsible for half of global emissions. If the super-rich alone cut their footprints down to the size of the average European, global emissions would fall by a third, Saito writes.

Saito’s self-stated goals aren’t that distinct from mine: a more egalitarian, sustainable, and just society. One doesn’t have to be an orthodox Marxist to find the gaping disparities in global income grotesque or to see the restructuring of the economy as a way to address both climate breakdown and social injustice. But his central argument—that climate justice can’t happen within a market economy of any kind—is flawed. In fact, it serves next to no purpose because more-radical-than-thou theories remove it from the nuts-and-bolts debate about the way forward.

We already possess a host of mechanisms and policies that can redistribute the burdens of climate breakdown and forge a path to climate neutrality. They include carbon pricing, wealth and global transaction taxes, debt cancellation, climate reparations, and disaster risk reduction, among others. Economies regulated by these policies are a distant cry from neoliberal capitalism—and some, particularly in Europe, have already chalked up marked accomplishments in reducing emissions.

Saito himself acknowledges that between 2000 and 2013, Britain’s GDP increased by 27 percent while emissions fell by 9 percent and that Germany and Denmark also logged decoupling. He writes off this trend as exclusively the upshot of economic stagnation following the Lehman Brothers bankruptcy in 2008. However, U.K. emissions have continued to fall, plummeting from 959 million to 582 million metric tons of carbon dioxide equivalent between 2007 and 2020. The secret to Britain’s success, which Saito doesn’t mention, was the creation of a booming wind power sector and trailblazing carbon pricing system that forced coal-fired plants out of the market practically overnight. Nor does Saito consider that from 1990 to 2022, the European Union reduced its emissions by 31 percent while its economy grew by 66 percent.

Climate protection has to make strides where it can, when it can, and experts acknowledge that it’s hard to change consumption patterns—let alone entire economic systems—rapidly. Progress means scaling back the most harmful types of consumption and energy production. It is possible to do this in stages, but it needs to be implemented much faster than the current plodding pace.

This is why Not the End of the World: How We Can Be the First Generation to Build a Sustainable Planet by Hannah Ritchie, a data scientist at the University of Oxford, is infinitely more pertinent to the public discourse on climate than Saito’s esoteric work. Ritchie’s book is a noble attempt to illustrate that environmental protection to date boasts impressive feats that can be built on, even as the world faces what she concedes is an epic battle to contain greenhouse gases.

Ritchie underscores two environmental afflictions that humankind solved through a mixture of science, smart policy, and international cooperation: acid rain and ozone depletion. I’m old enough to remember the mid-1980s, when factories and power plants spewed out sulfurous and nitric emissions and acid rain blighted forests from the northeastern United States to Eastern Europe. Acidic precipitation in the Adirondacks, my stomping grounds at the time, decimated pine forests and mountain lakes, leaving ghostly swaths of dead timber. Then, scientists pinpointed the industries responsible, and policymakers designed a cap-and-trade system that put a price on their emissions, which forced industry into action; for example, power plants had to fit scrubbers on their flue stacks. The harmful pollutants dropped by 80 percent by the end of the decade, and forests grew back.

The campaign to reverse the thinning of the ozone layer also bore fruit. An international team of scientists deduced that man-made chlorofluorocarbons (CFC) in fridges, freezers, air conditioners, and aerosol cans were to blame. Despite fierce industry pushback, more than 40 countries came together in Montreal in 1987 to introduce a staggered ban on CFCs. Since then, more countries joined the Montreal Protocol, and CFCs are now largely a relic of the past. As Ritchie points out, this was the first international pact of any kind to win the participation of every nation in the world.

While these cases instill inspiration, Ritchie’s assessment of our current crisis is a little too pat and can veer into the Panglossian. The climate crisis is many sizes larger in scope than the scourges of the 1980s, and its antidote—to Saito’s credit—entails revamping society and economy on a global scale, though not with the absolutist end goal of degrowth communism.

Ritchie doesn’t quite acknowledge that a thoroughgoing restructuring is necessary. Although she does not invoke the term, she is an acolyte of “green growth.” She maintains that tweaks to the world’s current economic system can improve the living standards of the world’s poorest, maintain the global north’s level of comfort, and achieve global net zero by 2050. “Economic growth is not incompatible with reducing our environmental impact,” she writes. For her, the big question is whether the world can decouple growth and emissions in time to stave off the darkest scenarios.

Ritchie approaches today’s environmental disasters—air pollution, deforestation, carbon-intensive food production, biodiversity loss, ocean plastics, and overfishing—as problems solvable in ways similar to the crises of the 1980s. Like CFCs and acid rain, so too can major pollutants such as black carbon and carbon monoxide be reined in. Ritchie writes that the “solution to air pollution … follows just one basic principle: stop burning stuff.” As she points out, smart policy has already enhanced air quality in cities such as Beijing (Warsaw, too, as a recent visit convinced me), and renewable energy is now the cheapest form of power globally. What we have to do, she argues, is roll renewables out en masse.

The devil is in making it happen. Ritchie admits that environmental reforms must be accelerated many times over, but she doesn’t address how to achieve this or how to counter growing pushback against green policies. Just consider the mass demonstrations across Europe in recent months as farmers have revolted against the very measures for which Ritchie (correctly) advocates, such as cutting subsidies to diesel gas, requiring crop rotation, eliminating toxic pesticides, and phasing down meat production. Already, the farmers’ vehemence has led the EU to dilute important legislation on agriculture, deforestation, and biodiversity.

Ritchie’s admonishes us to walk more, take public transit, and eat less beef. Undertaken individually, this won’t change anything. But she acknowledges that sound policy is key—chiefly, economic incentives to steer markets and consumer behavior. Getting the right parties into office, she writes, should be voters’ priority.

Yet the parties fully behind Ritchie’s agenda tend to be the Green parties, which are largely in Northern Europe and usually garner little more than 10 percent of the vote. Throughout Europe, environmentalism is badmouthed by center-right and far-right politicos, many of whom lead or participate in governments, as in Finland, Hungary, Italy, the Netherlands, Serbia, Slovakia, and Sweden. And while she argues that all major economies must adopt carbon pricing like the EU’s cap-and-trade system, she doesn’t address how to get the United States, the world’s second-largest emitter, to introduce this nationwide or even expand its two carbon markets currently operating regionally—one encompassing 12 states on the East Coast, the other in California.

History shows that the best way to make progress in the battle to rescue our planet is to work with what we have and build on it. The EU has a record of exceeding and revising its emissions reduction targets. In the 1990s, the bloc had the modest goal of sinking greenhouse gases to 8 percent below 1990 levels by 2008-12; by 2012, it had slashed them by an estimated 18 percent. More recently, the 2021 European Climate Law adjusted the bloc’s target for reducing net greenhouse gas emissions from 40 percent to at least 55 percent by 2030, and the European Commission is considering setting the 2040 target to 90 percent below 1990 levels.

This process can’t be exclusively top down. By far the best way for everyday citizens to counter climate doomism is to become active beyond individual lifestyle choices—whether that’s by bettering neighborhood recycling programs, investing in clean tech equities, or becoming involved in innovative clean energy projects.

Take, for example, “community energy,” which Saito considers briefly and Ritchie misses entirely. In the 1980s, Northern Europeans started to cobble together do-it-yourself cooperatives, in which citizens pooled money to set up renewable energy generation facilities. Many of the now more than 9,000 collectives across the EU are relatively small—the idea is to stay local and decentralized—but larger co-ops illustrate that this kind of enterprise can function at scale. For example, Belgium’s Ecopower, which forgoes profit and reinvests in new energy efficiency and renewables projects, provides 65,000 members with zero-carbon energy at a reduced price.

Grassroots groups and municipalities are now investing in nonprofit clean energy generation in the United States, particularly in California and Minnesota. This takes many forms, including solar fields; small wind parks; electricity grids; and rooftop photovoltaic arrays bolted to schools, parking lots, and other public buildings. Just as important as co-ownership—in contrast to mega-companies’ domination of the fossil fuel market—is democratic decision-making. These start-ups, usually undertaken by ordinary citizens, pry the means of generation out of the hands of the big utilities, which only grudgingly alter their business models.

Around the world, the transition is in progress—and ideally, could involve all of us. The armchair prophets of doom should either join in or, at the least, sit on the sidelines quietly. The last thing we need is more people sowing desperation and angst. They play straight into the court of the fossil fuel industry.

[thydungeongal]

I can't find the thread where we were discussing it, but Vincent Baker recently wrote an interesting article revisiting GNS, and I wanted to share it with you and your followers.

https://lumpley.games/2025/04/07/revisiting-gns/

for me at least Im just done with rpg taxonomy in general lol. I dont think theres much value in it beyond saying "this game took inspiration from these specific games, but heres how its different".

This is a very good read and I think it also gets to the heart of some of the issues with GNS, both as it was first formulated and as many people understood it and ran with. Like, the Narrativism that Baker describes there is almost completely alien to any of the definitions people gave me when I recently informally asked people what the GNS terms meant to them, and the fact that the other two terms of GNS came from another theory explains why the three never quite clicked in order to form a coherent model.

But it's also a cool read because it explains that Vincent Baker's games (most of which I like) are Narrativist by the original Forge definition even though they're not Narrativist as people understand the term.

And yeah I kind of agree, prescriptive taxonomies like this are only useful if people can actually agree to what these terms mean, and they become even more dubious in their utility when people start using them to mean anything they want. Like, just as a reminder, the reason I was GNS posting at all recently was because someone called D&D a "Narrative" [sic] RPG and then someone else went and called it a "Gamist" RPG and that just pushed me over the edge. Anyway.

[another-lost-mc]

Omg a fellow F1 enjoyer here!! I absolutely love all your works, but I especially loved that one even more! 🥺 can I request for the dateables and side characters too pleaseee? 🫣

a/n: I'm glad you liked it! the demon bros were more like mc's little crew and it was such a cute idea. I think the others would still support mc in their own way too.

➤ when MC is a professional F1 driver | the dateables + mephisto

1.3k words | sfw | gn!reader | fluff & slice of life shenanigans

cw: developing relationships with the other characters (except for baby brother luke who is strictly platonic and mc's #1 fan).

related versions: the demon brothers

Diavolo

— He's thrilled that you're forging your own path in the Devildom and that the demon brothers are involved.

— He's impressed by your abilities but he still worries about your safety.

— Every morning when Barbatos brings him his morning paper, he scans the front page and sports sections for articles or photos about you or your latest race.

— He saves clippings of all your newspaper/magazine appearances and keeps them in a scrapbook.

— His original intention was to give it to you as a gift when you finished your year in the exchange program. He ends up making copies for everyone who wants one and keeps the original for himself.

— He has his own impressive vehicles. your excitement is palpable when he shows you the collection in his garage. When you go out together, he offers you the keys and hopes that you'll take the wheel. (He can't explain why he likes it so much.)

Barbatos

— He's a skilled driver himself even though he rarely needs to drive. Portals are so much simpler.

— The Devildom racing league tightens up its safety and security measures when you join. Barbatos personally oversees that their lax approach to rules and safety are amended. He argues that there's a fortune to be made for having the novelty of a human world driver on their track. He promises with fake smiles that their license and investments will suddenly be forfeit should anything happen to you due to their negligence.

— Barbatos doesn’t have a lot of free time to watch your races in person, but he follows your Devilgram account and watches the highlight reels that Asmo posts when he is done working for the day.

— He receives your fan club's newsletter. He's also purchased some merchandise as well, including a coffee mug he uses when he drinks tea privately in his chambers

— The Little D’s are some of your biggest fans too. Some of them make zoom-zoom noises as they race each other in the halls of the castle. (Little D Number 2 has tried to "borrow" Barbatos' fan merch, several times, but always gets caught.)

Simeon

— He's not sure why humans are so fascinated in sports or activities that look far too dangerous. He admires your passion and hates it at the same time.

— He’s a little nervous the first time you offer to take him out for a joy ride, but later he admits it was surprisingly enjoyable. (Anything with you is enjoyable, though.)

— He and Luke go to your races and both of them have a small collection of your fan merch.

— He’s very concerned about your safety. He knows humans are less durable than demons are and he watches from the stands with the pent-up energy of a bird about to take flight. If something happens, he's going to be out of his seat and flying to your side to help you.

— He secretly hopes you’ll retire from this career sooner rather than later because he’s terrified you’re going to get hurt (or worse) one day.

Luke

— He’s fascinated by the sport and how talented you are. He thinks it's a little scary how fast the race cars drive and he reminds you before each race that winning isn't important, as long as you're safe and having fun!

— He makes cupcakes and other yummy treats for you to celebrate your big wins. The cake and icing is dyed the same bright colours as your racing car.

— He loves it when you give him a chance to visit you behind the scenes at the track: exploring the pit, letting him sit in your car with your too-big helmet teetering awkwardly on his head.

— The others get a little jealous when you show Luke special attention, like when you wave to him in the crowd before a race or hug him when he runs up to you after.

— Luke likes sitting shotgun when you drive him and the others around town or for little day trips. Mammon even gives you permission to take him for drives in his own car sometimes. (Mammon lets Luke sit in the front seat with you if the three of you go somewhere together.)

— Luke talks about you constantly with his roommates in Purgatory Hall. He also mentions you a lot to Michael and even offered to send him some of your fan merch.

— (Michael grows more curious about you with each story or photo Luke shares with him, but he won't admit it to himself or anyone else.)

Solomon

— Solomon doesn't have an interest in most human sports, but when he meets you, his interest in the racing world is piqued.

— Whenever he wants to go out somewhere, he insists that not only should you go with him, but that you should drive, too.

— (There's something about your cool confidence and quiet joy behind the wheel that makes him feel things.)

— Your fan following in the human world is almost as impressive as your growing popularity in the Devildom. He goes on a little shopping spree, buying up the various official and fan-made merch that was sold during your rise to success.

— He keeps his favourite items for himself but lets the others have their pick. You think it's embarrassing how he even managed to find some of this junk (really, who has a pristine copy of an old racing calendar?). The demons and angels divide it all amongst themselves without too much arguing—at first. (You leave when someone suggests Rock, Paper, Scissors to settle some of the arguments over the most coveted items everyone wants for themselves.)

— Solomon rolls his eyes when Mammon claims loudly that this stuff is gonna sell for a fortune in the Devildom, but he knows the Greed demon has no intention of selling any of it. (Asmo confirms later that Mammon keeps everything he claimed, including the little collectible figures of your old racing car, on a shelf in his bedroom.)

Mephistopheles

— He's completely unimpressed with you when you first arrive, and he really doesn't understand what all the fuss is about. So what if you're human? You're completely ordinary and boring and unremarkable, so why should he care?

— The revelation about your human world profession, and your dramatic debut into the Devildom racing scene, changes his mind. Professionally, anyway.

— It's hard to refuse his next assignment when the prince himself takes such an interest in you. Mephisto is the RAD Newspaper Club representative tasked with covering your career and setting up interviews and photo-ops that the rest of the school are clamoring for.

— Mephisto really underestimates your popularity. He grits his teeth when Asmo cackles on the other end of the D.D.D. and informs him that he'll be added to the list of news outlets that want an interview with you.

— Seriously???

— (He refuses to be affected when you admit bashfully that interviews are something you'll never get used to, and that maybe if he's feeling generous, can he be kinder than some of the human world reporters used to be?)

— He gets special access, along with one of the Newspaper Club photographers, to the front row staging area so they can capture the best shots of you before, during, and after each race. He hates your bright smile when he grudgingly hands you a photo afterwards. Don't get the wrong idea, either: it's for his younger brother. Mephisto couldn't care less.

— (His brother is over the moon when Mephisto gives him the signed photo later. If he's smiling, it's only because his brother is happy!)