#i like how things are unfolding... very interesting

[cinematicreid]

play from here

the one where reader and Spencer talk comfort strategies.

wc 884

tags + the rundown: bau!reader, gn!reader, soft!spencer, fluff!, but like fluff with intimacy yk, they love each other but will never say it, the usual!

a/n: back in my fic writing bag and it feels sooo good. hope you like it, say hi to me, you’re all so cool!

~

By the time there’s a knock at the door, it’s been approximately fifteen hours since your head started pounding.

The case wasn’t budging, and that one missing piece that the whole team could feel gnawing at their guts was causing nothing but frustration and burnout. Hotch had sent everyone back to the hotel knowing not one of you would be able to rest. He also knew that at this point, it was better for you to stare at the blank, beige ceilings of your rooms instead of pictures of victims, at least for a few hours.

You lower the volume of the t.v., stepping over sprawled files and documents (blank, beige ceilings were overrated) as you make your way across the room. Spencer is talking before you can open the door all the way:

“It’s not making sense, the unsub’s geographical profile practically defies the theory of comfort zones. Did you read that article I sent you on traffic patterns…?”

He’s been taking in the state of your room during his ramble. It’s not the floor littered with photographs and papers that causes him to lose his train of thought. He knew you’d be in the thralls of the case just as much as he was.

“Are you watching Finding Nemo?”

You stare at him blankly, your sleep-deprived brain working overtime to process his question.

“Well…” you begin, his confused expression slowly turning into one of amusement. It’s that shit-eating grin of his that causes you to stumble on your words. “I — I’m not, like, actively watching it!”

Your pathetic display of defensiveness causes a laugh to surface in Spencer’s throat as he sidesteps into your room.

Now, in any other context, after nearly three days of grim, dark work, the sound of Spencer laughing would have been welcomed. Especially when you were the cause of such a beautiful sound. But your head has been pounding for fifteen hours, making his amusement utterly irritating.

“This isn’t even cable!” he continues, tugging at the HDMI cord connected from your personal laptop to the hotel television.

“It helps me focus!” you protest, closing your door and crossing your arms over your chest.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You focus better with Pixar?”

“Don’t judge me. Some people use white noise or rain sounds. I use clownfish and Ellen DeGeneres.”

He chuckles again, walking toward you and gently unfolding your arms before settling on the edge of the bed. He’s careful not to disturb the array of files you’ve fanned out.

“One of these days you’re gonna knock on my door and I won’t let you in” you admonish jokingly, nudging his leg with your foot.

“How else would we team-bond at 2 in the morning?” he feigns shock.

“You making fun of my comfort movie is so not team-bonding.” You sit next to him, letting the low hum of dialogue fill the room as he regards you with something that feels dangerously close to fondness. It’s all-consuming and you love it.

“You know, there’s a study from 2012 that showed people who rewatch childhood movies when they’re stressed experience measurable increases in emotional regulation. The predictability of the narrative and the activation of autobiographical memory—”

“Are you saying Finding Nemo can count as my therapy for the week?” you scoot up the bed in favor of laying down. He picks at a frayed piece of fabric on your sweatpants, laughing sweetly.

“I’m saying it makes sense. We all have things that help us cut through the noise.”

“What are yours?”

He sighs, laying down next to you and, suddenly, the beige, blank ceiling becomes very interesting.

“Dr. Who. Writing to my mother. Knowing I can walk two and a half feet across the hall and the door will always open, no matter what hotel we’re at.”

You turn your head to look at him, something settling in your core that you can’t quite name but that feels warm and intimate. It curls around your ribs, tender and soft. You nod in mutual assurance but Spencer’s eyes are already closed.

You’re like that for a while, quiet, side-by-side, files and documents (finally) forgotten. His hand brushes yours once, gently. You don’t move away until morning.

~

The case had broken in the early hours of the dawn, thanks to Hotch who had never gone back to the hotel (hypocrite). Exhaustion settled in quickly after. You’re the last to board the jet, coffee in hand, expecting to collapse into a window and dissociate for the flight home until you see Spencer waiting. Something in his eyes—hope? bashfulness?—wakes you up more than any amount of caffeine could.

His laptop is already open, the movie paused where you had left off the night before. Two sets of headphones coiled beside it, waiting.

“You fell asleep before my favorite part,” he teases, making room for you and unwinding the headphones. You tuck yourself in next to him and poke his shoulder.

“Now you’re a Finding Nemo fan?”

“You have no idea. Finding Dory, too. The whole lost fish franchise.”

It’s your turn to laugh, barely more than a strong exhalation, but it’s real. The kind of laugh only someone like Spencer could pull from you after a 48-hour manhunt.

For the first time in days, you feel quiet inside.

[grison-in-space]

yeah, we agree completely there: it's all just tools you use to make a story. (in general, I think we're just loudly autistically agreeing with each other.) which, let's bring us aaaaaaaalllll the way back to stories designed as "comfort reads," you can use a lot of the same tools to build stories with wildly different tones. sure, you can tell the story of the prince royal for the thousandth time, or you can tell the story of the littlest stable groom--who has a story with less cliche to litter the path, which can be a pro and a con. Different tools to build a story with, right? Either of them can be a nice story that makes you feel good or a harsh story that makes you sob or a boring story that is so packed with didactic lessons that your teeth itch with it.

dash-saving cut is go

I do think that your use of "my hands aren't any cleaner" illuminates something about the way these conversations unfold because of the assumptions that people make about fiction they enjoy needing to reflect some kind of moral purity.

oh, quite possibly. I was half-writing for you there and half for some invisibly defensive imagined scrupulosity sufferer, in case that needed defusing, and I absolutely believe it influenced both my language and the framework I was coming in with. But yeah, absolutely. A lot of the writing I have seen by these folks has a strong feeling of fear of their own stories, actually: fear of being corrupted by enjoying the wrong thing too much. What a wretchedly sad Puritan approach to storytelling.

also love Terry Pratchett books, and he is a really great example of how there are a lot of things that he has considered deeply and thoughtfully and that just serves to highlight the things that he does not consider in some of his books.

I wanted to invoke Pratchett because he is such a widely beloved figure, first, and because a dictator who rules by fear is such a widely reviled political system to be stuck living under. (Can't imagine why that one occurred to me to think of as an example.)

But UHHUH, yes, this is so him! Or there's Nanny Ogg, who is very clearly and directly written as a serial abuser of her daughters and daughters-in-law, which is never discussed again or interrogated in the context of her general character. You have Interesting Times, which is so uncritically racist that it's one long unrelenting stereotype, for example. He makes all kinds of horrible mistakes in terms of the moral paradigms he sets up. So it's easy to see it as just one more instance of a probably-unintended pattern when he writes his main character city with a dictator who literally rules by fear of tortorus disappearings, and whose power base initially comes explicitly from luring crime into the sunlight and then threatening it with the murder of its children.

I am just saying, Pterry.

But I don't actually think that Vetinari's position as a dictator rather than a more outwardly legitimate power base is anything like an accident or something Pratchett didn't think about in his writing. I think it is a deliberate choice: The man didn't think there was any justification for seizing power, so as a younger man, he couldn't think of any way for a broadly civic minded person to seek power without being literally dictatorial--grabbing power without legitimacy, whatever we agree legitimacy looks like. Pratchett was always very skeptical of the wisdom of crowds, and he's frequently rather skeptical about democracy itself... and I think a lot of that is his basic belief that power is not anything anyone is entitled to take, but someone has to do it anyway in order to keep society running. I think it's really telling that as he ages and writes in his groomed Patrician-heir, Moist von Lipvig, he makes von Lipvig a con man who is himself being tricked into accepting the position of making a city work. The idea of being tricked into power is something that really undergirds the Vimes books and

I dunno, I think Pratchett was wrong about that. I think it's possible for people to really just enjoy taking leadership roles and trying to build a useful endeavor for the common good, and that it's not inherently suspicious for someone to ask for the consent of the governed in order to do that. For all that it's also a book set even more strongly within the constraints of monarchy and nobility, Tamora Pierce's Protector of the Small quadrology is really the best depiction of that I've ever seen in fiction, which is one reason it's another piece of my comfort food. (So's Terry. I don't know if the people fretting about critiques of their comfort reading know that those of us who do this shit for fun hone our teeth on our own favorites, either.) It's nice to see a part of myself, especially one that I never get to see framed as a woman, reflected back at me that way: a desire to take control, but a willingness to wait until it is actually one's job to command and then pass power back. Well exercised power is hard to balance!

....I'm rambling here, myself. The point is that these kinds of literary-philosophical discussions of stories is fun, too. I don't write stories much at all myself, but I have friends who do, and I liked literary criticism fine when I was in high school. So I partake in amateur literary criticism and chew on all my favorite toys as an adult, too. We don't all decide that the things we learned in school were really secretly worthless. Some of us learn how to play in new and exciting ways instead.

I mean

I admit to being a small-r republican but I'm not sure you can make a bloodline supremacist system which is also a pressure cooker of duty and ritual (like, there's a reason 'royally fucked up' is a saying) and a game in which everyone is both player and pieces (often simultaneously) and in which everyone is also playing a separate yet related game with the lives and wellbeing of less powerful people - like, I'm not sure you can make it unproblematic.

Like, if you make this system fine with queerness? Somehow? I mean, that's technically better than the alternative, but it's also like being in a lake of sewage with a rubber ring, yanno?

yes. correct

[mymarifae]

i am so intrigued by this idea that the data fluctuations triggered each time amphoreus resets can affect and influence real people, too. and that's the entire reason why screwllum had to give stelle the chronocognitive anchor. without it, she would risk losing herself and become further embedded in amphoreus's code

it really changes the game here. because now we have to seriously ask ourselves, is everyone on amphoreus honestly just a simulation? a mere bundle of code? cyrene's dialogue in the remembrance space certainly suggests otherwise

(it also appears to suggest that outsiders are actively LURED into amphoreus. which begs another question: by what?)

now i seriously doubt that lygus would miss even one outsider wandering into amphoreus, but it's interesting to go through his data logs and see just how many variables he straight up loses. he has no clue where march 7th or dan heng are, but even more interestingly he has no idea where cyrene is. as far as we know, she's a genuine product of the simulation and he can't keep track of her? well damn i'm starting to think he has much less control over this thing than he wants us to believe

how many times has someone been (again i cannot put enough emphasis onto this particular word choice) lured into amphoreus, and while lygus jots down a note of their entry, another reset or two or three or Forty inevitably rolls around and he just... loses them. the data fluctuations hit, they're changed, they're buried deeper into the mess of amphoreus, and soon enough it seems like they just belong there. a naturally-occurring new product of the simulation as the scepter continues to learn and grow and adjust. after a certain point, how would you be able to tell the difference, truly?

or if you COULD, would it even be worth documenting a million cycles later...? they may as well be just another bundle of code, after all. they can't leave - they're too deeply ensnared now. and the chances of the average person being able to regain their consciousness and find who they used to be, dismantling the truth of amphoreus enough to start truly breaking shit, amidst the MILLIONSSSSS of constant resets... quite slim, honestly!

(because remember that pathstriders are not anything particularly special. in this universe, it's a very average thing to be. like really it just means you are a person with strong convictions and maybe a little fantasy powers now)

i'm just not fully buying into the idea we'll bid goodbye to all the chrysos heirs once the amphoreus simulation (probably) shuts down and that'll be that. the majority of them are certainly simulations, but there has to be a little something more going on here. unless the writers have immediately forgotten what cyrene said, or she was making shit up (???), or she was literally only referring to dan heng and stelle (unlikely, because they intruded on amphoreus in an entirely different manner than march did)

but even if this line of thought ends up not going anywhere we'll still get to see exactly what happens if you're in amphoreus during a reset and you don't have a chronocognitive anchor handy. with dan heng and march. and that will be fun (i'm scared)

[thatneoncrisis]

really i think relying on a multibillion dollar gaming company and streaming platform to be able to effectively produce anti-establishment art with any sort of internal consistency or resolve is one of those "losing to a dog in poker" situations. you walked into that one. it just so happens that i also think everything in the show unrelated to that was mid as hell too

[shencomix]

How to Be The Dominant Male in Any Situation

Let's say you walk into a party.

You are wet and pathetic. Not only are you a worm, but even among worms you are the runt of the litter.

There's a way to fix that. Even you can be the alpha male in every situation you're in. Here's how:

Alpha Male Rule 1: Stand Tall or Very Short

In some things in nature, like rats and giraffes, the biggest creature in is leader.

However, in other things in nature, like the mafia, which has large goons but a small boss, the smallest creature is the leader.

You need to lean into whichever option is closest to you. If you are almost short, try wearing a big suit like a mob boss would wear to also make yourself wider like a mob boss. If are you almost tall, like I am, trying wearing these bad boys:

Now, I know what you're thinking: "High heels?? But isn't that for women???" Women have been hiding them from us men because they are afraid of how powerful we would be with them. But, why do women alone get to augment so much about themselves?? Look at all the eyeliner and mascara they need to even begin to mimic the power and seductiveness of our male eyelashes:

So, let's take a look at how we're doing now having applied just this one piece of advice:

It's a whole new situation. Let's move onto rule 2:

Alpha Male Rule 2: Always Get What You Want But Never Ask For It

I notice the man next to me has cookies. I would like one. Not only that, but there's also a woman next to me, watching. Asking another man for a cookie is extremely un-alpha behavior, so here's how you go about this situation:

1) Point out that someone else has something that you want

2) Cry until they give it to you

If everything has gone according the plan, you now have a cookie, and the woman is thinking something like this:

Let's move onto the last rule.

Alpha Male Rule 3: Always Up the Ante

Whatever you want to do or say, do or say it at least 3 times as hard as a regular person. When your coffee is $3, you should give $9 to show how wealthy you are. When you say "I'll be back in 5 minutes" you should actually be back in 15 minutes -- but really, you should say "I'll be back in 15 minutes" and be back in 45 minutes.

You should also start every task at step 3 rather than step 1. So, a normal (read: beta) guy might tell a girl "I think you're pretty" and then later ask "will you be my girlfriend?' But you should just say this:

99% of women will say yes, but if she needs further convincing, it can be helpful to offer her a small present, like a trinket or snack.

Congratulations. You have now learned how to be the most dominant male in any situation. Here are a few more tips for the road:

Claim to be descended from an ancient king or emperor. You can make a map or your lineage and fold it up to carry it in your pocket, so that you may unfold it whenever it needs to be presented.

If a woman takes a genuine interest in you, do the full body blush animation rising from bottom to top like you're a cup filling up, then run away, leaving behind a small cloud and a few speed lines. The idea that woman can actually like you is a lie perpetuated by Big Women.

If you want to further increase your height, try wearing bunny ears.

[rosemaryhoney27]

Sweet war

The Justice League was no stranger to summoning powerful entities, but as the glowing green portal ripped through the air in the Watchtower, there was an unspoken tension among them. They had expected a dark and ominous figure. Instead, a teenager with stark white hair, glowing green eyes, and regal black-and-green robes with a shimmering, ethereal crown atop his head floated before them.

Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, had arrived.

The moment he set foot—or rather, floated—on the Watchtower’s floor, he held out a gloved hand, his expression neutral but expectant.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” he said. “I assume you called me for something important. Where’s my offering?”

John Constantine, ever the opportunist, smirked and stepped forward. With an exaggerated flourish, he reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette before dramatically crushing it between his fingers. Then, placing a hand over his chest, he said, “How ‘bout my soul, mate?”

Danny turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly before his lips curled in distaste. “Ew. No one wants your broken, old soul, Constantine.”

The League collectively inhaled sharply. Superman coughed to cover a chuckle. Batman’s lips twitched ever so slightly. Zatanna stifled a snicker behind her gloved hand. Constantine, looking slightly offended, scoffed and took a drag of a new cigarette. “Well, can’t blame a bloke for tryin’.”

Wonder Woman, arms crossed, took a step forward. “Then tell us, Ghost King, what is it that you desire?”

Danny crossed his arms, looking at them all appraisingly. Then, with a small smirk, he said, “Honestly? I just want some good homemade sweets. Best you can find.”

Silence stretched between them as the request sank in. Then—

“I know just the thing,” Superman said immediately, a fond smile spreading across his face as he thought of Ma Kent’s famous homemade pies.

Batman hummed. “Alfred’s cookies.” His tone was decisive, as if it were an undeniable fact that they were superior.

Superman’s gaze sharpened. “You think your butler’s cookies can top my mom’s pies?”

Batman turned his head just enough to meet Superman’s challenge. “Yes.”

Danny, watching this unfold, raised a brow. “Wait—”

Flash grinned and clapped his hands together. “Oh-ho! This just got interesting.”

Wonder Woman smirked. “A contest of sweets, then?”

And just like that, the battle lines were drawn.

Superman wasted no time contacting his mother, explaining the situation with excitement in his voice. Meanwhile, Batman sent an encrypted message to Alfred, who replied with a simple: Understood. Commencing preparations.

Danny, who had just wanted some cookies or pie, now found himself at the center of an intergalactic baking war.

“Uh,” he started, watching as Superman and Batman prepared to bring their respective champions into the fray. “…This isn’t what I expected, but I’m not complaining.”

Constantine clapped him on the back. “Buckle up, kid. You just started the Bake-Off of the Century.”

And so, the great Bake War between Ma Kent and Alfred Pennyworth commenced, all for the favor of one very amused Ghost King.

Two days later, the Watchtower kitchen was in utter chaos.

Flash had somehow been appointed the official taste tester and was already on his fifth plate, buzzing with sugar-induced energy. Green Lantern had made a bet on Alfred and was wearing an apron that said Kiss the Cook, despite not actually doing any cooking.

Martian Manhunter was curiously sniffing a pecan pie, while Wonder Woman was critiquing Superman’s rolling technique. "Kal, you are treating that dough as if you were forging a sword. Relax. Let it breathe."

Batman, meanwhile, had an array of meticulously measured ingredients lined up in front of him. Alfred had given him explicit instructions, and Batman followed them with the precision of a man planning a high-stakes infiltration.

Danny was sprawled across a floating chair conjured from his own ectoplasmic energy, munching on a cookie from an early batch. “You guys do realize I could just declare both the winners, right?”

Superman shot him a look. “That’s not how this works.”

Batman nodded gravely. “There must be a victor.”

Danny snickered. "You guys are way too into this."

Constantine lit a cigarette and leaned against the counter, watching the madness unfold. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Alfred and Ma Kent, meanwhile, were exchanging polite but intense glances, silently acknowledging each other as true culinary warriors.

The Ghost King had spoken. The battle for baked good supremacy would rage on.

[cloudwisp]

✮ sylus x wife!reader

contents: fluff, suggestive. arranged marriage au. hints of slow burn. you like playing hard to get and he loves calling you his wife. 1.4k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ I had to deposit my messy thoughts somewhere and this headcanon post was the result.

part two here. ꒱

⭒ Arranged marriage with Sylus where he prefers to call it a “strategic partnership” as a means of appearances to flaunt that he has it all—an empire, riches, strength, influence and now a darling wife who waits for him at home. You’re not so much as a random choice, Sylus had been watching you from afar for a while and in exchange for his protection in the N109 zone he strikes a deal with you to play a simple role. You have every reason to be wary of him and know to keep your wits about yourself, but even you acknowledge that your chances are better with him. Though, if you asked him how he was so certain you’d agree to his proposal he’d admit that he wasn’t but he knew you’d consider it if he had an advantage over you.

⭒ He sets his terms and conditions—you reside in his humble abode, wedding ring always worn on your finger, and attend events with him as a pretty accessory on his arm to contribute to his image. But he’ll never admit that he actually enjoys your company at business functions that often feel dull to him. You are more than welcome to spend your days as you please so long you don’t cause him trouble, and that also means you have his black card privileges to spoil yourself rotten. Of course, he accommodates most requests you may have like sleeping in separate rooms if that’s what you wish (and redecorating because his furnishing decisions are quite bleak).

⭒ Luke and Kieran can sense that their boss feels something for you despite his nonchalance toward this little arrangement. It starts off small, it always does—Sylus takes note of your morning and night routine, your picky eating habits and has the chef make adjustments to your preference, how he sees you out in the gardens and come back with spring tulips to brighten the space and the next week he already replaced the slowly withering flowers with fresh ones. The twins whisper among themselves that he’s often less annoyed and irritated when you’re around, and their boss wouldn’t go through the trouble of being considerate unless he cares for you. It’s almost exciting for them both to witness a budding romance unfold before their very eyes and they do offer a helping hand here and there to keep things interesting.

⭒ Sylus thinks it’s adorable how you keep trying to resist him and that’s precisely the reason he loves seeking you out just to watch your resolve crumble under his touch. He finds you in the kitchen preparing a snack and cages you from behind with his hands planted on either side of you against the counter. “Hey kitten, I thought I’d find you in here.” You feel his hot breath down your neck as he pushes your hair aside just enough to lay a soft kiss on your shoulder. He chuckles when you comment that he’s being awfully touchy with you, and he purposely moves closer so that his chest is pressing against your back. “Perhaps I just can’t keep my hands to myself where you’re involved. Besides, you’re my wife now. I think I have the right to touch you whenever I like.”

⭒ You remind him that you’re his wife in title only, but that doesn’t discourage his flirtation and teasing as he allows you to nudge past him. He follows you into the common area and takes a seat on the couch, spreading his legs wide and taking up a lot of space. His gaze is settled on you as he pats his thigh and his lips curl into a smirk. “Come here, wife.” You naturally scoff meanwhile you place the plate of seasonal fruits on the side table and situate yourself closest to the armrest, taking a bite into a juicy red strawberry as you ignore his piercing stare.

⭒ For someone who always gets what he wants, Sylus isn’t used to being defied like this. And had it been anyone else his patience would wear dangerously thin, but he supposes that you’re a special exception because he seems to enjoy the chase and claiming its reward. With one small gesture, he drags you across the couch by a gravitational pull and you squeal when the swirling red easily turn and maneuver you so you’re forced to straddle him and your hands prop on his shoulders for support. “There, much better. Comfy? This is the best seat in the house.” His gaze locks with yours, and he thinks you huffing and frowning at him is simply cute. He firmly grabs your wrist with the bitten strawberry in your hand and lifts it to his mouth for a sweet taste.

⭒ “No fair… using your Evol against me like this.” You grumble under your breath as you gently trail your thumb from his chin to the corner of his mouth where the strawberry juices began to spill. Then an impulsive thought takes over and you pinch his cheek between your fingers, creating a sticky mess on his face. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself. That’s for treating me like a sack of potatoes.” He chuckles once more, his hand falling on your hip and he gives you a light squeeze. “Oh, I do have every intention of fully enjoying my wife tonight.” And by that, he means taking you out for a joyride on his motorbike and feeling your arms wrapped around him tightly as the engine roars through the streets under the night sky and sinking moon. Sylus would never engage in any intimate acts you weren’t ready for, but he loves seeing you fluster at his suggestive remarks.

⭒ As the weeks cross over into months, you never imagined that you’d be spending so much time with Sylus outside of your agreed terms. He’s everywhere in every waking moment of your life even when he’s not there physically. You’re learning new things about him each day and you (begrudgingly) like being around him—even when he can sometimes be a playful bully toward you. When he’s gone for long stretches of time to deal with negotiations and other important matters in the N109 zone, you can feel your heart yearning for him but you’d never say that you miss him out loud when you think he's still toying with you. But with the way he cares for you like you’re both in a real and genuine relationship, it’s hard to know his true intentions and keep your feelings buried deep inside your chest for long.

⭒ You accidentally confirm that Sylus does harbor romantic feelings for you when you carelessly bring up your replacement in a lighthearted joke. You’ve never seen his face falter so quickly at your words as he averts his gaze for a moment to collect himself—a hint of vulnerability in his crimson hues. “I wouldn’t have found a new wife.” He shakes his head and tells you, his voice a little rougher than before. You don’t know what to say, but you manage a soft “No?” that reaches his ears. “No. I wouldn’t have been able to replace you, kitten. You’re it for me. The only one. No one could fill the void you’d leave behind.”

⭒ You and Sylus have kissed before, but this is the first time you’re initiating it. As you brush your lips against his, there’s a softness you never noticed. His hand slips around the small of your back and he pulls you close against him, returning your kiss with the same tenderness as though savoring the taste of you. You lean back after a moment, your palm meeting his cheek in a sweet embrace. “You know, I'm still getting used to the idea that I’ve fallen for you.” You can see him returning back to normal when he offers you a cocky smirk. “And yet here you are. In my arms, with your lips on mine. I think you’re not being entirely honest, my beautiful wife.” Sylus has waited a long time to hear those words from you but you don’t need to know that right now.

[lucidfairies]

take a hit [e.w]

pairing: inexperienced!reader x dealer!ellie

synopsis: for the first time, you're interested in sharing a joint with Ellie, and she doesn't let the moment get passed up

warnings: intox, cnc, weed/smoking, head [r!receiving], fingering [r!receiving], strap [r!receiving], pet names (mama, baby, good girl, slut, pretty), unrealistic squirting, ellie uses reader to get off, lots of use of the word force and lots of ellie's thoughts that include force

wc: 2.5k

a/n: short n sweet! long time no see 💘 (ps this is kind of shitty until the last thousand words where it actually gets good lmao 😭)

“ellie?” you yelled from the bedroom, plopping down on the bed with a huff. she entered the room, leaning against the door frame and smiling. “do you have any weed on you? I think I might want to try some.” ellie was taken aback by the question. you were never one for smoking or drinking, let alone somewhere outside of a party environment, or for leisure.

you guys had been together for a while, but smoking together was something that ellie never thought she’d see. you made it very clear from the beginning that you would not be partaking in ellie’s ‘business’, as you called it. she hardly considered it that; ten or so customers did not make a business, just a side hustle.

“yeah I have weed baby,” you watched as she walked over towards the closet and pulled out a shoe box, cleanly organized with wrap paper, weed, grinders, and other things that you didn’t know or couldn’t name. she sat down across from you on the bed, pulling out her supplies and setting it up. “do you want me to roll it or do you know how?” she asked, but the paper was already in her hands.

“you do it,” you changed positions so that you were straddling the bed, shirt falling between your legs to cover your underwear. she was looking.

“I’m gonna put in a little more than I normally do to make it feel good, okay mama?” you nodded eagerly, her plan unbeknownst to you. she made it seem like that; like she just did it to make you feel good, but in reality, she overfilled it so that halfway through the joint you wouldn’t be able to see straight.

she got up, turning the bedroom lights down low to create a pretty ambiance. you slipped the joint between your lips, waiting for her to come over and light it for you, which she did. she had you sit in her lap, pulling the joint from between your lips between every hit, just so that you would know you were a princess.

after a few hits, the room was already beginning to spin. “els why aren’t you hitting it?” you asked, pouting as you tried to push her hand towards her face with little luck. she took a short hit to make you happy and keep you relaxed before forcing it between your lips again. she made you hit it over and over again until you were sure you were in outer space.

that’s when her plan unfolded. suddenly, her hands were running up the sides of your thighs and her hot mouth found your neck. you whined lazily, her touch feeling so much better than it usually did. “ellie what are you doing?” you slurred, not coherent enough to fight back as she grabbed your hips and forced you down onto her lap. an immediate gush of wetness filled your panties when your clit brushed over her bulge. “ellie,” you slurred again, whining into her neck as your hips rolled down again.

“shhh, it’s okay baby. you wanna be a good girl and hit this again for me?” she held the joint up to your lips once again, and like the good girl you were, you took it between your lips and sucked. “that’s it, that’s my good princess, isn’t it?” she cooed. she took the joint from you and sat it in the ashtray, flipping you so that you were under her. “god, you’re just so pretty, aren’t you? can’t keep my hands off you. you did this to yourself, baby, such a slut without pants on, huh?” you whimpered as her hand came up under your shirt and harshly pulled your nipple.

something about this felt wrong, but it also felt so right. you loved the way she took over and decided what was going to happen, you loved the way your body felt and reacted to her in your cloudy headspace.

you whined as her fingers ran gently over your cunt through your shorts. you were so wet and your clit was pumping so hard, you had to have her in you. Your hips jolted and ground down on her thigh and fingers, making her chuckle. “now we want it, don’t we? that’s all it took, baby, you just needed a few hits to let me take control.” you nodded your head frantically as she pulled your shirt over your head.

her mouth danced down your neck with sweet bites until she made her way to your tits. she took one in her mouth and the other in her hand, hitting just the spot to make you writh under her. she gave both just the attention they needed, leaving marks along the way, before continuing down your stomach, stopping at your pubic bone.

“before I fuck you, you’re gonna take another hit of the joint. how’s that sound, pretty?” the joint was still burning a little, almost out, but it was enough to take a hit, a long hit, because ellie held it to your lips and kept it there until she saw fit. once she decided you were ready, she tossed it back in the ashtray and immediately attached her lips to your clit.

you were so spacey and sleepy but it felt so good. nothing like what you were used to. every perfect flick of her tongue was like touching heaven. she rotated between flicking her tongue up and down, side to side, going in circles, and sucking, and she practically had you coming in seconds.

she didn’t care that you lousily came once within the first minute, she continued and traced your entrance with the tip of her finger, sending electric shocks through your system. the pads of her fingers were rough from her guitar, and you could feel the callouses as she teased you.

finally, she pushed her first finger in, wasting no time in crooking it up to the perfect spot. when she had you stretched out enough, she added another, and even another. the weed was relaxing you so much that you hadn’t even noticed the slight burn from the third finger, because you had never taken it before now.

“oh ellie,” you moaned, hands gripping the sheets as your head spun. “ellie I’m gonna cum.” you slurred as the pressure in your pelvis grew and bolts of pleasure started shooting throughout your body. her free hand moved from your hip to your tit, pinching your nipple once again.

you came for the second time, back arching and desperate for her to never stop.

“ellie I’m tired,” you pouted as she came up from between your legs and kissed you. you tasted yourself from her lips as her tongue grazed yours, she sucked gently and you moaned.

she pulled away, cooing at you. "if only we were done," she said as she stood to walk away, venturing into the closet to get, what she called, her 'strap box'. she thought it was funny to call it that.

she clipped her harness onto her hips and attached her favorite strap; it was forest green in color, nearing eight inches in length. she knew you couldn't always take it all, that's what made it fun for her. especially having you this way, where your head was in the clouds and your body was much more lenient to the things she wanted to do to it.

"flip over, ass up," ellie said, and you complied as she climbed onto the bed behind you. she pressed down on your lower back, deepening your arch. it was slightly uncomfortable, but the way she was looking at your pussy like a hungry dog made you forget the uncomfortability.

ellie never cared much for cleaning you up in between rounds, so when she ran the tip of her strap through your folds and down to your clit, your cum smeared all over your pussy. she almost came in her boxers at the sight of it.

rather roughly, ellie jerked her hips forward, pushing the first three inches in you. it didn't hurt like you anticipated, your body and mind were too lax for anything to hurt much. "today," ellie groaned softly as you took another couple inches. "you're going to take the whole thing. how's that sound?"

you didn't get a chance to answer before she was forcing another inch in you, only one to go before her hips pressed against your ass. your hands gripped the sheets, pressure gathering from the length in your abdomen.

ellie knew it would hurt if she put the last inch in, but she craved it. she couldn't resist the idea of you stretched out wide for her thick, cum soaked strap. she needed it.

she reached over you, wrapping her slender fingers over your mouth and pulling you up as she forced the last inch in you. you whined in pain, protests coming from your covered mouth, but she was too lost to listen. your head rested on her shoulder now, and she used this to reach around and trace your clit while she fucked into you.

she was going fast, slamming her hips into you as hard as she could. the harder the slam, the better it felt against her clit. since you had came twice already, she was focused on herself; meaning that she went as hard and as fast as she needed to to get herself off.

with a final harsh jerk, she coated her boxers and soaked through the inside of the harness. she released your mouth and clit and roughly pushed you forward, unrelenting as you neared your third orgasm of the night.

she grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled it with every thrust, and just like that, the pressure from your stomach and bladder were releasing, and you were coming and squirting all over her.

she pulled out and flipped you onto your back, harshly slapping your clit. "such a fucking mess," she said slowly, with a slap between every word. tears streaked your cheeks from her brutal overstimulation and pain, and ellie lived for her. she wondered how many more times she could slap your sensitive spot between your legs before you begged her to stop, but she figured she would save that for next time.

once you were cleaned up and cared for, she left to acquire more weed. there was no way in hell she wasn't doing this with you again.

tags: @bvnfetti @kl1q @kaykeryyy @katemartinis @r3wbeef

[ghostgirl101]

I just wanna say that I am SO excited for the part 2 to your Paul Destiny fic. I have so many questions and Im excited to see if they get answered. Like if Paul is pledging his love to the reader then is the romance plot with Chani still relevant? Is the reader still the princess here? Very interesting

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅱ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.7K || Fluff ||

A/N: Honestly, I didn't think this would blow up so much- 1k+ likes??! Thank you all, it's sick 🙃 in answer to your questions, I didn't really specify if the reader (you) are part of a Great House or the Emperor's daughter, or maybe someone else, that's kind of up to your imagination. And yeah, sorry Chani fans, I kind of kicked her to the curb lmao; This is all about you, and so enjoy the second and final part of this destiny trope before I work on some relationship headcanons for Paul and Feyd-Rautha... Requests are open for Dune 2, so don't be shy 📩

You can't escape fate.

It's as real as the Spice that threads through the grains of sand blanketing Arrakis in heavy, warm golden waves. It twists and turns in the air, in the tides of change, something beyond understanding roping together reality and its lives to bond, whether in love or hate.

At least, with the newly ascended young Emperor, you know which side you're on. Since the day of his declaration and claiming of you as his Empress, you've never once left his sight, unknowingly or not. The boy is almost ridiculously close and observant, as if testing the depths of the events unfolding around him, testing to see whether you'll try to run from them, from him. But you can't run from fate, either.

"You aren't resting."

Paul's soft, low voice slices through the silence of the dusk, the only words you hear before you feel his warm, firm arms slipping under your arms and around your middle, pulling you into his front in a smooth, protective motion. His chocolate brown locks tickle your neck and cheek as he gazes up at you from your shoulder; wandering, curious eyes study yours knowingly, his natural hues tainted blue with the Spice.

"What troubles you?"

You hesitate in your response, unsure of the right thing to say. There's no point in lying, not to him, to a boy who could easily use the power of his Voice to make you tell him everything and anything with just a few words. He's done it to the Bene Gesserit, to those who speak out of turn and challenge him cluelessly, but never to you. And something tells you that he never will.

"I'm sorry," is how you answer instead, in a small whisper, trying to read his expression before his reaction.

But all Paul does is give you one of his soft, amused smirks, a brow raising slightly, unconvinced.

"Don't apologise to anyone for anything," he murmurs, his fingers drifting to lock with yours, his hand hot and strong in yours. "We are to be wed, you and I, soon. So what troubles you?"

"It's not you," you tell him as earnestly as you can, his eyes capturing yours and holding them as you blink up at him. "I'm just... nervous."

"Nervous?" Paul repeats gently, his hands squeezing yours for a moment, his face an inch away from yours. "What have you to be nervous about?" He grins slightly, not attempting to hide his teasing amusement. "A wedding?"

You can't help but smile at his tone, savouring the unguarded moments of the new, young Emperor, his boyish traits lingering beneath the newfound power and promises passed down to him.

You were nervous, because you weren't so familiar with destiny and its quirks, and yet, Paul Atreides seemed to be its master. Nervous, because although there was a strange pull between you and him, a deeper part of you somehow knowing him, at an instinctive ease with him, you had never met him before these past few days, and now, you were going to be joined together for time indefinite by marriage. Nervous, because he didn't just want you to rule with him, but alongside him, as a partner, a second part of him. His second half who's with him in soul, not just spirit, physically, not just mentally. And he's relishing in it.

"I've never had one before," you shake your head with a light smile, "I don't know what to expect. Or what's expected of me."

Paul hums to himself at your reply, pausing for a while as he thinks over his words.

"It isn't just a wedding," he tells you quietly, "it's so much more. This... this a beginning. A new dawn."

"Beginning?" You echo in bemusement, looking up at him in wonder. "Of what?"

"Of a new era," Paul says thoughtfully, his hands moving from yours to run over and down your sides, tracing over your figure absentmindedly, a gesture that makes you hold your breath for a beat as you watch him, "the first of many. You are more than a mere future. You're the future. My future. And the future of my people."

The sincerity and conviction in his voice makes you stare back at him in slight awe, taken by his certainty of what he's seen in the deepest stretches of his mind, the flickering images of you, adorned in all your natural beauty and grace that he could find nothing short of perfect. You were a fantasy and a hope materialised. Someone he'd wished and dreamed for so much, that you came true, just as you should have.

"Anything that happens to you," Paul continues, looking you straight in the eye as he speaks, "happens to me. You have always been mine, and I was yours before then. Absolutely and completely."

And his words make a home in your head, everything he says so poetic and beautifully surreal, but so honest and unwaveringly confident. He didn't need to practise what he said before he whispered the sweet words in your ear, in a voice only you could catch, in the long, warm nights on Arrakis. There was no need for practice. He had been made for this, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

You let yourself relax slightly in his grips, giving him an earnest smile. "That sounds nice."

Paul smiles back at you, a bright, sweet smile that makes him seem so soft and normal, almost forgetting for a moment of his utter strength and glory over the planets, his dangerous darkness that he occasionally allowed to rule over his actions at the tensest of times, until those who stood up against him retreated in bewilderment and fascination and fear.

"It does," he agrees, his gaze dropping to look out at the dunes beyond you, "you can't imagine..."

You couldn't. But every part of you wanted to. And those parts won.

"Won't you tell me?"

Paul's attention shifts back to you after you speak, before you can stop yourself.

"Would it be kind to tell you?" He asks aloud, speaking half to himself as his eyes go to search yours again, studying every inch of you, almost unsettlingly intently.

"Do you dream?" Paul questions you softly, and you dither before shaking your head.

"Not like you do," you answer steadily.

"Like I do. Seeing your face amidst the streaks of sunbeams and every kind of ethereal power that could create wonders, planets, worlds. Waking up, and you're not here, though it felt so real," he goes on, his voice laced with longing, as if it pained him to remember the feeling. "Realer than I've ever felt anything before. Every sense in me was awakened, because with destiny, I saw hope. And I did not know that hope could be so.... beautifully... angelic."

Paul draws closer and closer with each word, pulled by invisible strings to rest his forehead against yours, closing his eyes for a long moment to breathe, breathe you in. The sight of it is almost dizzyingly hypnotic, staring at the little scattered freckles over his fair, lightly tanned skin, cheeks flushed golden. He moves his face to rub his cheek against yours, seeking out affection in an irresistible rare, vulnerable move. Your hand reaches up to brush your fingers against it, and he takes it in his immediately, pressing his lips against your fingertips as he speaks.

"I need you," Paul insists, his voice firm and pressing again as he stares at you with a spark of desperation. "I need only you. More than you can comprehend. By my side, always, where you belong."

"I'm right here," you reply a little giddily, looking away from his eyes slightly bashfully from the intensity and unbridled longing of his gaze. "I suppose I'm just not used to this."

"To what?" Paul questions, his fingers tilting your chin up softly to force your eyes back up to his, his face a little closer than before. "To being an Empress?"

Before you can respond, he's pushed himself closer over you, his warm, damp lips sliding and pressing against yours and parting to encourage you to deepen his affections. It sends hot shockwaves rushing straight through your blood, as Paul crouches over you, all patience and purpose forgotten in the moment where it's just the two of you in the calm, lingering desert night.

You fit together perfectly, too perfectly for his words to be untrue, and his head tilts keenly where your fingers skim his neck, his lips parting from yours as they tangle in his hair with a short gasp. He loses none of his confidence and persistence, his azure blue eyes a shade darker as he watches you with an open trace of adoration.

"A queen?"

"Paul," you start shakily, as he smirks at you fondly, his head ducking to trace his tongue briefly up the skin of your neck, with a faint chuckle.

"To being desired?"

You glare at him weakly, hanging onto his hands tight to find some sense of grounding. "You're just playing with me."

"I intend to do so much more than that," Paul grins at you, kissing your cheek before burying his face against your shoulder. "And so should you. Test the depths of our connection. Push it to its limits. Push me. Please."

You find yourself speechless again at his way with words, simple and truthful, but full of passion and unthought romance, a sensation he's been craving since the first shadows of your being in his hazy dreams and visions.

"Give into your destiny, sweet girl," he croons to you in a whisper, his lips brushing against yours and pressing down against your skin needily, hungrily. It takes almost inhumane strength not to crumble and shiver under his touch and desire radiating off him and his dark glare, the wanting over years of dreams and prophecies building up to its peak. "Give into me."

"I think I will," you whisper back in awe and giddiness, your arms having to hold tightly around his neck to stay upright. "I think I want to."

"That's good," he praises you with a soft smile, as his voice lowers. "And besides," Paul mutters in your ear, nuzzling against your cheek breathlessly, with that subtle, teasing look in his eyes, "I plan on taking you as mine well before the wedding."

══════════════⊹⊱≼ fin ≽⊰⊹══════════════

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @minaxcarter @milaeth @ennycutie @weird0o0 @aoi-targaryen @jindongdongie

[chaninfused]

EVER READ SOMETHING SO SDHFGJSKDGFBSDJKFSDF

Worn-Out Soles [1] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 10.1k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

When the soft rap of your lady in waiting sounds at the door, you barely look up before calling her in. Out of the corner of your eye, Chaeyoung curtsies in the doorway. “Your Highness.”

You continue scribbling at the papers strewn around your desk. “Yes?”

“The royal cobbler has arrived.”

The pen in your hand stops midair.

Slowly, slowly, so as to keep the smile twitching on your lips from taking up your entire face, you raise your head to see Chaeyoung standing in the doorway. “Have my sisters been informed?”

Her eyes glint with mischief and the knowledge that you haven’t managed to fool her at all. “Of course.”

“Well.” You stand up, placing the pen carefully down. Steadfastly ignoring Chaeyoung’s grin, you step around the desk. “I suppose we will all just have to go and meet him, then.”

. . . . .

Yuna’s sharp squeal hits Chan’s ears even before he steps foot into the pavilion, which is all the warning he needs before five princesses accost him at the entrance, bouncing on their toes. “Chan!”

“Hello, Your Highnesses,” he laughs, maneuvering his heavy box around them. “What makes you so excited today?”

“Did you bring our shoes?” Ryujin asks eagerly. 

Chan frowns, but not before letting them see the glint in his eye. “Was I supposed to bring shoes, now?”

Amidst the chorus of whines from the youngest and giggles from the older girls, one voice joins the fray. “Well, my sisters would be dearly disappointed if you hadn’t.”

Chan’s heart skips a beat in his chest as he turns around to meet your smile. You stand in the pavilion’s entrance from where he just came, the flower-wreathed arch framing your image perfectly under the sun shining bright in the sky. 

A sharp elbow jabs him from behind. “Say something,” Jisung hisses. “You’re staring.”

Chan can feel his ears going red. “Would you be disappointed too, Your Highness?” he asks, making a mental note to flick his apprentice’s forehead later. 

“I believe I would.” You step forward with that warm smile still on your face, and for not the first time in his life, Chan wonders what good he must have done in a past life to deserve standing in your presence like this, a sunflower forever basking under the light of your grin. “You know we all look forward to your shoes, Chan.”

Chaeyoung, your lady in waiting, mutters something under her breath. Chan doesn’t quite hear it, but from the giggles of your sisters and the glare you flash at her, it can’t have been anything good. 

Chan’s ears must be flaming by now. Putting down the box, he musters his most natural smile. “Well, good thing I won’t have to disappoint any of you,” he says, undoing the latch. “Come closer, Your Highnesses—I hope you are pleased with these.”

Oohs and aahs and squeals of excitement slowly begin to fill the pavilion as Chan and his apprentices begin to hand out the shoes. It’s with no small pride that he takes in the cries of delight from each of the princesses—with each pair made of the finest quality material, hand stitched and sewed with sparkling thread in intricate designs, there is a reason Chan trusts very few people to help with his handiwork. He grins as the five young princesses begin to spin around the pavilion, joyous grace evident in every one of their movements…

You step forward shyly, and Chan snaps back to earth. “Anything for me?” you ask. 

“Are you kidding?” Jisung snorts before Chan has the chance to respond. “He spent days on yours!”

“By all the stars—I spend days on all of them,” Chan hisses, praying his hair covers his ears. 

“You don’t usually spend two entire weeks trying to get each design right, though.”

Chan stares at his second freckled apprentice, who only stares back with an innocent expression. Jisung he can understand being a pain in the neck, but Felix?

Your shy laugh sounds like bells. “Am I that demanding a customer?”

“Oh—oh, stars, no.” Chan swallows hard, ducking into the box for the last pair of shoes. “I just—” he holds out the box and tries not to react when your fingers brush his as you take it, eyes focused intently on his face—“I just wanted to make them… right.”

Right? Right? Seriously, that was the only word you could come up with?

You start to untie the box, completely oblivious to Chan’s inner imminent mental breakdown. Slowly, too slowly, you lift the shoes from their cushioned spot inside, Chaeyoung taking the box from your hands. For a moment, you don’t react. 

Chan starts to lose it. 

You don’t like them. You hate them. The design isn’t what you wanted, there are flaws in the fabric, something is terribly wrong with the shoes despite all the time he spent on them—he’s messed it up this time like he always feared, seriouslymessed up—

Your eyes meet his once more, sparkling brighter than the sun and the stars. “I—Chan.” You step forward, holding the shoes to your heart. “Chan, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.”

Chan’s knees nearly give out right then and there. Thank all the stars.

“You’re—I—” You look down at the shoes and back at him, as though you’ve lost your own words. Chan’s heart soars with the shine in your expression. “You do this every time,” you say, almost laughing. “Words can’t describe how much talent you possess, how hard you must have worked for this. These are truly…a work of art.”

He swallows down the overwhelming smile itching to reveal itself on his face, forces it into something smaller, more manageable, and infinitely less manic than it would have been. “I’m glad you like them, Your Highness.”

“Chan! Chan!” Ryujin and Chaeryeong come running up, Yeji following behind with a half annoyed, half apologetic glance that she flashes at you. Chan watches as you turn to them, smiling first at Yeji with something in your eyes that immediately wipes the worry and annoyance from your sister’s face, then at the younger girls clamoring for your attention. “Play us music, please! Like you did before!”

You shoot an apologetic look at him. “Girls, don’t demand things from Chan,” you admonish before turning back. “You don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. It would be my honor.” He smiles at the young princesses. “Give me a moment to tune, yes?”

The two of them cheer before skipping away, Yeji corralling them towards the center of the pavilion. You look at him, expression soft. “You really don’t have to, you know.”

“I know,” Chan says, pulling out his small flute. “But I enjoy it, and I have some time before my next appointment.” You still don’t look convinced, so he speaks again. “Truly, Your Highness. Your sisters are adorable. I like playing my flute, and I like watching you all dance. It’s a pleasure.”

Finally, you relent. “All right then, Chan. Although—” You stop for a moment, then seem to set your jaw with determination. “May I ask, will you be at the festival?”

Chan blinks. The Moonlight Festival, only the most important festival of the year, the festival that sees the most foreign royalty and dignitaries traveling to your kingdom to partake in the celebrations? “…Yes, I suppose I will.”

“Right.” Your lips curl in light embarrassment. “I…if you happen to be by the palace that night…” 

Behind you, Chaeyoung looks extremely amused. So do Jisung and Felix. 

That does not bode well for either Chan or you. 

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…” You swallow hard, but your eyes don’t stray from his even as your younger sisters run up to try and drag your attention away. “Only if you can, since I’m sure you’ll be quite in demand, please save a dance for me.”

Ryujin and Chaeryeong pull you off, then, eagerly shouting for you to put on your shoes and spin with them in a dance. And as Chan watches you laugh with them, beginning to whirl across the pavilion with graceful steps as light as air, joy spilling from your fingertips into the flowers and grasses and leaves…

All he can think of is his answer, which is of course. 

. . . . .

“…Your Highness?”

You jerk up with a start. Immediately you tear your eyes from the magnificent pair of shoes sitting by your doorway, but it's too late. When you turn your head, Chaeyoung’s face is staring right into yours.

“Stars, Chaeyoung!” You jump again. “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that, Your Highness.” She pulls back, one eyebrow raised in an arch. “You’ve been zoned out for the past five minutes.”

It’s the shoes. It’s the damn shoes. You groan, letting your face fall into your hands. Why must Chan’s handiwork distract you so much? Can’t he make them a little less ogle-worthy, less intricate and delicate and graceful and just—a type of beautiful that words can’t describe—

“Are you sure it’s just the shoes you like?” Chaeyoung asks, the other eyebrow rising to join the first. You don’t even need to lift your face to see the smirk on her lips, you can hear it just fine. “Or perhaps the cobbler who made them?”

“Stop it,” you mutter, dragging yourself up once more. You can’t resist the urge to let your gaze wander over the shoes again, though, imagining the care and devotion that must have gone into every stitch, every design. It almost pains you to think about dancing in them, dirtying the silk and ruining Chan’s handiwork as you wear them out. 

Chan. You just manage to catch yourself before you sigh. His face dances before you in your memories, his bashful smile, his dark hair that always seems to be ruffled by the wind, his sweet eyes crinkling as he laughs. He’s lovely—beautiful—and you can’t fight the heat crawling up your cheeks whenever his strong, calloused fingers brush yours every time he hands you his latest masterpiece. 

He’s beautiful, to be sure. Handsome in the most attractive way to you. But far more attractive is the love he brings to everything and everyone he touches, as though every person he meets couldn’t help but fall in love with his soft kindness, his quiet joy, his gentle earnestness that comes with everything he does. You see it in every delicate golden stitch on the white satin slippers he made you for the upcoming festival. You see it in every seam he sews on all of the other slippers he’s made for your sisters. You feel it in every scant touch you share, see it in his eyes whenever you manage to meet his gaze. 

Stars above, all you can think of is the dance you might share with him on the final night of the festival. If you see him, and if he sees you. 

With a sigh, you finally look back at your lady in waiting, apologies already on your lips. “I’m sorry, Chaeyoung. I must seem a mess.”

“You kind of do.” Chaeyoung’s blunt tone lifts the corners of your lips. “But it’s the festival. The preparations always drive everyone mad. And combined with your little star-crossed romance—” she easily dodges the swipe of your hand, giggling all the way—“I’m sure you’re very overwhelmed.”

The word stop finds its way onto your tongue once more, but you don’t let it fall because it would be useless. And besides, Chaeyoung’s right—you are overwhelmed. You love the Moonlight Festival, really you do, but being one of those in charge of organizing the largest event of the kingdom every year makes you want to scream to the heavens sometimes. 

Maybe you should try that. It sounds like it would relieve some stress.

“Well.” You look down at the piece of paper you were scribbling on before Chan’s craft distracted you (as well as thoughts of his dark hair and smiling eyes as he handed you the shoes). “At least the guest list is finalized. I think.”

“Oh?” Chaeyoung cocks her head. “Who’s coming?”

“An assortment of foreign royals—Joshua and his entourage will be here, thank the stars—and some of the ambassadors whom we sent overseas will return for the occasion.” You flip through a few more sheets. “Of course we also had to account for all the nobility who will be staying at or near the palace during the week.”

“Are Jun and Jeongyeon coming back?”

A real smile spreads across your face at the mention of two of your best friends. “Yes, they are,” you say. “With Minghao and Sana.”

Chaeyoung grins. “It will be wonderful to see them.”

“Surely it will.” You heave yourself up from behind the desk, clutching the sheaf of papers in hand. “Come with me to drop these off with my father?”

. . .

The king’s quarters are in the wing completely opposite from yours and your sisters’. You have no actual idea why this is the case, but you like to joke deprecatingly to Chaeyoung (when no one else is around) that it’s because he has no intention of seeing any of you more than he must. Which is a fair assumption, in your opinion. He doesn’t even show up to dinner these days, just takes his meal with his advisors or foreign dignitaries alone. Unless he decides he also needs you. 

The guards part ways upon your entrance into the west wing, bowing respectfully as you pass. You give them a brief nod before stopping in front of your father’s door, knocking twice on the wood. 

“Who is it?”

“Y/N.”

“Come in.”

Any trace of your previous smiles falls away as you step into the cold room. Your father hardly looks up from his desk even as you approach. “What is it?”

“I have the finalized guest list, as well as the other preparation details you asked for today.” You place the papers in front of him. “That is all. Please let me know if there are any issues.”

All you get is a hum in response. 

Only years of having dealt with this behavior keep you from doing much more than press your lips into a thin, thin line. “I will be off, then.”

You’re opening the door when he speaks again. “Y/N.”

There’s enough time to exchange one bemused glance with Chaeyoung before you turn around. “Yes, Father?”

He’s actually looking at you this time. In his eyes swims some sort of emotion—if you didn’t know better you’d say it was something like regret or worry, but why would he feel anything like that?—as he scrutinizes your face. His throat bobs as though he swallowed something. As though he has something he wants to say, but can’t. Or won’t. 

“Father?”

All the emotion falls off his face as soon as the word hits the air. “Don’t forget that you will take dinner with me tonight,” he says, eyes dropping back to the papers on his desk. “The convoy from Ourania will have arrived by then.”

You frown. Since when have you ever forgotten an appointment and needed him to remind you? There was no reason for him to have said that, none at all. In fact, you almost feel offended, but then you look at him again.

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow. 

Maybe he did really have something to say, but decided against it at the last minute. 

Whatever. You shake off the lingering discomfort. If what he wanted to say was truly important, he would have spoken. Your king may be an absent father, but he doesn’t generally shirk his duties. “Yes, Father,” you say, then shut the door behind you. 

. . . . .

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s moping, Lix.” 

“Well, he should stop.”

“I am not moping,” Chan says loudly as he dumps scraps of leather into a pile in the far back of the shop.

A beat of silence follows. Then Jisung snorts. “That’s exactly what someone who’s moping would say.”

“Or, it could be that I’m not moping, and you’re misunderstanding things completely.” Chan turns to his two apprentices, both staring owl-eyed at him and his probably very red ears. “Did neither of you hear me ask if one of you could go out and get something for us to start dinner?”

Jisung’s shit-eating grin turns sheepish. “I forgot.”

Chan tries to hide an exasperated smile with a sigh. “It’s fine, just go now.”

Without missing a beat, Jisung grabs Felix, and with a shouted farewell, the two of them go crashing out the door. 

Chan returns to cleaning the mess in his workshop, putting away tools, tossing leather scraps into the scrap bag as they emerge from corners he didn’t even know existed. He is not moping. If anything, he’s—daydreaming. Of something. Moping implies that he is upset. He is anything but. 

“If we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

He snorts a little. As if the answer would be anything but yes. Which you probably know, because over the years he’s learned that despite his attempts to hide his affections he is still extremely obvious. And if Jisung and Felix are to be believed—which, unfortunately, they often are, because even if they’re loud and obnoxious and love to tease him at any point in time, they’re very observant and usually right—

You hold a similar affection for him, too. 

The knowledge doesn’t do much, though. Because for all Chan loves you and prays that his love is returned, it wouldn’t matter if it was. In fact, it might even be for the worse. You are a princess and he is but a cobbler, a commoner without magic, which means he could never be yours. If this were one-sided, at least you might still have a chance at happiness elsewhere. But if you truly do love him back…

Chan swallows down a wave of guilt. It’s not his fault, he knows logically. He doesn’t control your feelings any more than he controls his. But in moments like this, he wishes more than anything that things could be different. That he might have magic, that he might have been born a noble, that he might have even the tiniest of chances with you. 

Hm. Maybe he is moping. Chan sighs. He should stop. He should focus on something better—namely the fact that he might finally have the chance to dance with you in just a couple of weeks. A smile begins to lift his lips at the thought as he exits the workroom to wait for his apprentices to return.

As if on cue, the door opens with a loud bang. Two pairs of feet tramp indoors, and then there’s the sound of something thumping onto the table. 

It’s suspiciously quiet. Especially for his loudmouth apprentices.

Someone shushes the other. Probably Jisung hushing Felix. Silence ensues. 

“…Is he still moping?”

“Obviously, Lix.”

Chan sighs. 

. . . . .

The week before the festival brings with it flowers, paintings, gifts from envoys from countries near and far, foreign royalty settling into the palace with their entourage or sending ambassadors if, for some terrible reason, they can’t make it this year. Two days before the full moon, you’re pretty sure you haven’t sat down in over twelve hours—you ate your lunch standing in a corner of the kitchen, and only because Yeji dragged you there under threat of knocking you out for several hours so you could take a break. 

Beloved sister, even if not by blood. Also a royal (literally) pain in your behind sometimes. But a needed one.

The palace bustles with controlled chaos, servants in your country’s colors and those of so many foreign lands mingling in the halls as they scurry from room to room carrying linens and luggage and trays of food. They’ve nearly crashed into you more than once, but who can fault them for trying to do their job? It’s all you’re trying to do, too. 

(“Chaeyoung, tell me something that will get me through this,” you ask on the third day of this mess, head in your hands as you squat on the floor.

“Well, Your Highness, on the final night of the festival I believe your beloved cobbler may save you a dance.”

She dodges the swipe of your hand with a cackle, but despite what you would have your lady in waiting believe, her words do lift the burden on your heart and make it a little easier to smile.)

Finally, the week before the full moon arrives. You stand with your father in the throne room, looking out into a sea of seated royalty all gazing back, solemn excitement dancing in their eyes.

This is what you’ve been waiting for. What you’ve been planning this festival for—the celebration of the full moon, yes, but also the hum of excitement in this room, what your very country is so known for. Pride swells in your chest and you stand taller on the dais, smoothing the folds of your ceremonial robes—glowing white, accented with curves of darkness for the still not quite full moon. As each day passes, the darkness will fade from your clothes until you and most of the other festivalgoers are clothed only in white, to honor the moon and the night.

Your father finishes his little speech to a smattering of applause through the room. He turns to you and nods curtly. 

Dipping your head in reply, you step to the center of the stage, bowing to the audience. “As my father, king of our land and holder of our magic, just said, I first welcome you to our kingdom once more.” Another polite round of applause. Smiling, you begin to relax, letting your mouth move in the words of welcome you’ve practiced so many times that you could say them in your sleep. 

That is, until the throne room door opens with an ominous creak, cutting you off mid-sentence. 

Confusion rustles through the crowd as people turn their heads to see who dared interrupt such a time-honored tradition. You yourself let your words fade from your lips, eyes narrowing towards the door in time to catch a glimpse of bright, fiery red.

The emblem takes you a moment to place at first. It looks familiar but not in the same way of so many other royal insignias, in the way that you’ve seen it emblazoned on the clothing and jewelry of real, breathing, living people. You have only ever seen this emblem, fire curling around a spiked rose dripping blood, in textbooks. Because this emblem belongs to a kingdom only ever described to you as having risen from the depths of hell itself. Born of death and flames and blood, nothing the pure magic of your land would ever dare to touch—

“His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” 

Your butler bows low, but even from here you can see that he’s trembling. Your eyebrows furrow further—you have questions, many of which will no doubt be directed at him later when this is over and you have a chance to try and figure out just what in the world is happening—but then—

The king himself steps through the doors, flanked by an armored entourage.

Red and black drape his body, gold hung in chains around his shoulders and chest. A crown of blackest metal rests on his forehead, studded with glowing rubies and amethysts, and a matching necklace hangs around his neck. He’s handsome—ridiculously handsome, as though he were carved from stone by the finest sculptors the land of Apollon had to offer—but the haughty curve of his lips sends walls thrusting up around your heart, hardening your mind to his beauty. 

He stalks up through the center aisle, coming to a stop level with the first row of seats. His boots click together on the hard floor, a sound that echoes through the now-silent hall. 

One dangerously curved eyebrow raises, and a vision comes to you of a curved blade sparkling under the moon, arcing down in a silver flash before it buries itself in someone’s flesh. 

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” That haughty smile plays cruelly on his lips, sending a shudder up your spine. “I trust you know why I am here.”

Your eyes turn to your father. Outwardly, he doesn’t look as though anything has gone amiss. His fingers, however, clench the arms of his throne with such force they’ve turned almost as pale as the marble itself. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“No? Then perhaps I must jog your memory.” The smile disappears, revealing eyes cold as ice despite the fire burning within them. Those sitting the nearest to the king flinch. You gulp, despite yourself. “I believe I was promised an invitation to your famed festival.”

Your father’s jaw twitches. 

“Imagine my surprise as these past months came and went, with not a word from Your Majesty’s hand.” The prince’s theatrical sigh echoes throughout the room. “I thought it only fair, then, that I come to receive an explanation of this misunderstanding.” He tilts his head, revealing a jawline as sharp as the imaginary blade still curving in your mind. “One does know, of course, that a promise made to a Kereseian will never be broken.”

You look straight at your father, the king, who sits wordless on his throne. Why isn’t he saying anything? 

Are these claims true? you demand through your eyes. Why did you make the promise? Why didn’t you honor it?

What in the world is going on?

Silence stretches in the throne room, echoing off the stone walls and floors. With every second that passes, your fingers clench more tightly in your skirts, itching to say something, anything to rectify this mess even as your heart pounds in fear, but words won’t come to your lips because your mind is still spinning as it tries to understand the prince’s words and the implications they have on your family—

Your father’s voice cuts through the silence. “I am well aware of this.”

Your own eyes widen in shock as gasps fill the room, but he continues. “There must have been a mistake when the invitations were sent.”

The second dangerous eyebrow rises, fire burning sinister in dark eyes. “A mistake.”

For a moment, you really think that fire might come to life and burn this entire room to the ground. 

Your father’s eyes don’t waver. “Yes.”

Everyone’s eyes are riveted on the two men, one high on the throne, one standing tall below. Neither of them looks like they will give in anytime soon. 

Which means you might all be dead in a matter of minutes, if what you’ve read of Kereseia is true.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Your heart nearly pounds out of your chest as the eyes of the hall come to rest on you, including those of your father and the bloodred king. Surprisingly, your voice doesn’t shake. “Allow me to clarify one thing. It is true, then, that the king had been promised a place in our celebration, and that therefore he should be allowed to participate in our festivities tomorrow.”

The entire hall seems to hold its breath as they await your father’s reply. You’re not sure whether you want him to say yes or no.

“Yes.”

Gods and stars above. 

You swallow hard amidst the gasps and whispers, turning back to the king. “Then I must apologize, Your Majesty,” you say as steadily as your thudding heart will allow—anger or fear, which is it? Perhaps some of both. “I was in charge of the festival’s guest list and many of its preparations, and yet I was never made aware of this…promise. I can only suppose that as your family has not…graced ours with your presence in many years, the knowledge of this promise was perhaps misplaced or miscommunicated. For that, I do apologize, and take full responsibility.”

The Kereseian king holds your gaze for one, two, three long seconds. You swallow hard, refusing to look away, but you can feel yourself trembling all over. 

Then that deadly, knife-blade smile begins to curve his lips once more, and you have the sudden feeling that you have just made a very, very grave mistake. 

“…No,” he finally says slowly, eyes traveling over every inch of your face. “No, you would not have been made aware.” 

Even though there is still a healthy distance between you two, the oil in his voice, the deadly beauty of his face, the lascivious sweep of his gaze makes you want to take a step back. As though instead of just looking at you with his own eyes, he’d…licked you, or something, instead. 

And beyond that—what does he mean? That you wouldn’t have been made aware? Of course you didn’t realize he was coming—your kingdom has never invited his, as far as you know—and your father never said anything, but his words imply that someone knew and should have told you but that he knew they never would—

A bobbing throat. A surreptitious swallow. 

You picture your father behind his desk, that moment of strange emotion you saw in the thin press of his lips to each other. Something he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue, perhaps. But something he never did. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at your father. His king’s crown stands high and haughty on his head, his hands placed on the golden armrests of his throne, but the skin of his face has drawn tight around his skull, fingers gripping his seat with undue force. You recall the readiness with which he gave his assent to the prince’s demands, the slightest shake in his voice that only a few of you could have heard. As though he knew the prince’s words had been spoken true. 

What deal did he make with the kingdom of hell that could have resulted in this?

“Accommodations for you and your entourage will be prepared as soon as possible, Your Majesty.” You try for a smile. “Until then, please feel free to partake in the evening’s activities. I’m sure you will find something to make your journey worthwhile.”

The prince’s handsome smile curls white, sharp. Like a curved dagger’s blade held up to the light, right before it plunges into your eye. 

“Yes.” He seems to lean in closer, that knife-blade grin never once faltering from his lips. “I’m sure that I will.”

. . . . .

Year after year, the Moonlight Festival has never failed to bring joy to Chan’s life. When he was young and his parents were alive, they always took him to the night markets, bought him all the sweets their money could spare, and danced with him in the crowded streets, their three giggles echoing off the laughs of everyone else around them. The royal family has never spared expense on these annual celebrations, meant to honor the entity from which Terpsichore, the kingdom’s patron deity, draws her power. All of the most famous dancers in the kingdom swear up and down that they dance better under the full moon, and as Chan laughs and spins from one person to another, joining hands with a woman and her husband before whirling off to yet another joyous stranger, he agrees. The nearly-full moon above glows pale and bright in the dark night sky, lending energy to all those who celebrate on the earth below. 

Yet this year, the celebrations are dampened. By no fault of the royal family, of course—even if Chan didn’t know you were the one behind almost all of the planning for this festival, he could say beyond a doubt that this year’s festivities were fantastic, maybe even more dramatic than last year’s. But whispers permeate the dancing, rumors of a kingdom long cut off that has come to Terpsichani for the first time in decades, maybe even centuries. 

Kereseia. 

Chan doesn’t like to speak ill of anyone, but his parents told him tales of the Kereseians as a child to scare him into behaving. All children are told the same stories, of fire curling around thorny roses and a kingdom eager to kill.

And now they aren’t just stories. The kingdom is actually here, in Chan’s homeland of Terpsichani, allegedly by invitation of the current king. 

They haven’t made an appearance in his area, not yet at least. Chan doesn’t expect that they will. He more or less expects them to be like some of the haughtier royalty from other kingdoms, rarely straying from the immediate vicinity of the palace—and for that he is thankful. He’s not sure he wants to come face to face with any member of that entourage.  

Though anxiety twists his stomach every time he thinks of you near them, being forced to entertain them throughout this weeklong stay. 

It’s not as though he could do much about it, though. He’s just a cobbler in love with a princess, and no matter how he may fancy himself an acquaintance of your family, a friend if he’s being generous, his shoemaking privileges extend about as far as conversation with you. Which is privilege enough. He won’t be greedy. But thinking about you in that palace, being forced to speak with the Kereseian king himself…

Maybe the Kereseians are nicer than he gives them credit for. Chan doesn’t know. But though he hopes that’s true, something tells him that it's probably not. 

Whispers still seem to permeate the excitement of the crowds as Chan fights his way to the palace on the final night of the celebrations, though nothing can fully mute his eagerness when he finally muscles his way as close as he can get to the stage. An enclosed area meant for nobility and visiting royalty blocks his full view of the stage, but no matter. The moon will be full tonight, shining from above to illuminate the loveliest spectacle of the entire festival—the Terpsichorean dance. 

Named for the goddess of dance, Terpsichore herself, it is the ultimate homage to the moon. Chan knows the dance itself varies by region, but all serve the same purpose and bring the same honor. And of course, in the capital city itself, who would perform the dance but the daughters of the royal family themselves?

Chan just manages to keep himself from blushing. He watched you dance last year and the two years before wearing white and gold slippers he’d crafted himself, and it had only made him fall even more in love with you. Perhaps it’s shallow, but Chan finds it hard to believe anyone in the crowd could feel anything else if they���d seen you spinning about so gracefully in your white robes edged with gold, a dancing ray of the moon herself. 

More and more people crowd in as the sun sets further, until the front of the palace is packed with spectators and the sun only just peeks over the horizon. For all the teasing he had to endure from his apprentices when he left early, Chan feels endlessly grateful that he was able to secure a spot near the stage. 

Familiar melodies begin to filter in from the musicians around the stage. The crowd begins to settle, eager whispers turning into cheers as the introduction begins for your piece. By the time the musicians have finished, the crowd is cheering and the sun has finally set, the full, pale moon beginning to hover in the sky. 

The music pauses. Changes. Everyone falls silent and Chan finds himself holding his breath as he waits for what he knows will come next—

Your lovely figure draped head to toe in white silk edged in gold that just catches the moonlight, a ray of the moon sent specially to bless the kingdom now. 

Chan’s breath lodges in his throat. His chest aches. You’re always lovely, always so lovely, but as you begin to dance, he wonders if the word lovely even begins to capture the mystery, the beauty of your existence. No, not a single word could. But that is what his kingdom’s art is for—dance. A way to express what words cannot. 

Just as your performance does now. 

It’s no ordinary dance, the way you flit through the air. No. Throughout the kingdom there are those blessed by the goddess herself with magical abilities that come with dancing talent—painting memories through the air through a well-placed movement, calling on rain or sun to bathe the earth. Chan himself has no magic though he loves to dance, but his mother was blessed with the ability to recreate memories through her movement. 

But those of the noble and royal lines may be blessed with a different ability, one that marks their special honor by the goddess Terpischore herself. They can weave emotion as they dance.

Just as you do now. 

The crowd gasps, sighs, cries as one as you whirl across the stage, painting sorrow, joy, hope—all emotions Terpsichore felt through her journey to godhood, to patronage of this kingdom, to her ultimate tie to the moon. For all Chan watches, almost refusing to blink for fear of missing a single moment, he knows he could never hope to describe the sight before him, for words could never capture the beauty of your movement. 

The song ends. You flutter your way to the front of the stage amidst cheers and shouts for an encore, and you bow once, twice, five more times before the crowd quiets enough for you to disappear behind the stage, leaving everyone to disperse under the rising moon.

Chan allows himself to be swept away with the crowd, filtering into the streets as musicians take up their instruments and begin filling the roads with cheer. He tries to stay by the palace, though, remembering your request.

“I know the chances are not large, but if we see each other…please save a dance for me.”

Ordinarily, he would never presume to take a dance from your hand. But you requested. 

And never would he even think of saying no. 

The minutes tick past, though, the moon rising steadily in the sky, bathing the streets in cool, lovely light. Chan laughs, dances, even catches a glimpse of his apprentices as they spin through the crowds shouting things he can’t hear, but though he keeps a hopeful eye out, not once does he see you until—

Someone taps his shoulder, and he spins around to see a very familiar face. 

“Your—” Just in time, he sees the finger you have on your lips and cuts himself off before revealing your location to everyone in his vicinity. 

“Sorry,” you say, smiling sheepishly. “I snuck away, I don’t want to be found out so quickly.”

You’ve changed out of the filmy white robes you danced in. You still wear white, just like the rest of the crowd, but your clothes are certainly sturdier and more serviceable than your dance garments were. Even then, though, your beauty still shines beneath the moon, and Chan has to remind himself to breathe. 

“You were beautiful,” he says, all in a rush. Then he blushes. “I mean—you’re always beautiful.” His blush deepens as you giggle behind a hand. “But your performance…it was beyond words.”

“Thank you, Chan,” you reply sincerely, eyes shining. “I’m glad you were there to see it.”

“How did you feel about it?” he asks. “Were you happy?”

You nod immediately. “I think it was probably the best I’ve ever danced in my life,” you laugh, pulling him clear of someone whirling past. “I was nervous, for certain. But I love this piece, and I’ve practiced it so much. I’m very happy with how I did.”

Chan’s heart seems to burst under the brightness of your smile. “I’m incredibly happy you feel that way, Your Highness.”

“Well, I must thank you for it, too.” You hike up your skirts slightly, waggling a very familiar pair of slippers at him—white satin embroidered with gold accents, every stitch done by his own fingers. “Your shoes are incredibly comfortable, Chan. And so beautiful. I say this all the time, but I almost feel bad dancing in them, they’re such works of art.”

“Well, that is what they are made for.” Your smile gives Chan the courage to continue. “And I will always be happy to make you more, whenever you’ve worn a pair out.”

You look truly moved, your smile growing softer, shyer under the pale light of the moon. Chan himself can feel the redness of his cheeks creeping up his ears. You reach out and take his hands. “Thank you, Chan. I hope this does not come across as…too much, but you are very precious to me.” Your voice takes on a serious note that wasn’t there before, but your eyes shine brighter. “Not just your shoes. You are a wonderful person, and I am happy to have known you, even for the brief duration of our lives.”

Chan’s heart thuds in his chest, his ears echoing with your words. “You—you are very precious to me too, Your Highness,” he gets out, voice trembling. “I will forever be endlessly grateful that we have met.”

For a moment, you only stand, staring into each other’s eyes. Chan forces himself to breathe, to take in the moment—he will never be as close to you again as he is now. 

“I do recall asking that you save me a dance,” you finally say, eyes sparkling. Chan’s heart leaps as you continue. “Do you have the time to indulge me, just this once?”

“Of course,” he breathes, squeezing your hand lightly. “Your Highness.”

He doesn’t say the words that ached to come after, though.

For you—I have all the time in the world. 

. . . . .

In the end, you’re not sure how long you dance with Chan. It started as one dance, but even when the crowd separated the two of you, sending you off to other partners as the crowd laughed and cheered and spun, you always came back together, over and over again, like…

Like it was meant to be. 

A sudden ache races through your heart, and in response, you hold Chan tighter. Not enough to hurt, hopefully not enough for him to even notice. Because as right as this feels, as right as you know this is, so many others would tell you in a heartbeat that this is not your place—would even go so far as to physically pull the two of you apart, if they could. 

You love Chan. Have known it for a long time, actually, ever since the day you watched him place Yuna’s first pair of slippers on her feet with the softest smile on his face and every confusing feeling you’d been trying to figure out hit you with the force of a thousand suns. It’s been years since then and the love you have for him has never lessened, only grown. 

And, you’re almost sure, it wouldn’t be a stretch to believe that Chan loves you too. 

Which makes it all the worse. Because if this was one-sided, at least you could comfort yourself with the cold knowledge that you’d be the only one suffering in this love that no one would accept. But if Chan loves you too, then what is this, this something-but-nothing that the two of you have now? Something that won’t just hurt you, but will also hurt him. The best thing you could do would be to end things cleanly on your end, and pray Chan will move on. 

Only you can’t. Selfishness, you suppose. The knowledge of how it feels to have Chan’s arms wrapped around you like this only makes it harder—safe, warm, peaceful, even in this chaos of dancers under the full moon. Even this simple frame for partner dancing, closer than you’ve ever dreamed but still leaving some distance that closes every so often as he pulls you out of reach of another laughing couple, is enough to make you feel lightheaded. You’re in too deep. You couldn’t try to drag yourself out of this if you tried. 

This is the closest you’ve ever been to Chan, wrapped in each other’s arms as you spin about the roads in front of the palace, cheeks warm with sweat and laughter. Perhaps only your oldest sisters and Chaeyoung know how much courage it took for you to ask him for a dance, how nervous you were for this one little tryst to work out—but it was worth it. Because this is likely the closest you’ll ever be. The closest you’ll ever allow yourself to be. 

You’ll never tell him how you feel, after all. Even if you know, and he knows, and everyone knows. Because even though it’s meant to be, it isn’t. And that hurts. 

Chan seems to be oblivious to your thoughts as the music begins winding to a close, which you’re forever grateful for as you smile at him. His dark curls stick to his forehead with sweat. His eyes shine almost brighter than the moon itself. 

Dancing stars, you love him. You love this gentle man who holds you with so much care, who looks at you like you hung the full moon in the sky. You love him so much. 

“Your Highness?” 

You blink at Chan, whose expression has turned worried. Damn. You let yourself slip. “Are you tired?” he asks, already guiding you to the edge of the fray, away from the brunt of the music and noise. “I’m sorry, I lost track of time. You must need to return soon.”

“No, I—it’s all right.” You try to cheer up, but reviving your fallen smile proves harder than you thought it would. Fumbling for an excuse that isn’t I was thinking about our hopeless love story and made myself upset, you say, “It’s…a lot of things. With the festival.”

Chan’s eyes narrow slightly. “Was it…”

Your heart drops in your chest, and suddenly all the previous lightheartedness of the night has gone, replaced by a curtain of dread. “Kereseia,” you finish quietly. 

A short silence punctuates the air between you two. In the whirl of your performance, the final day of celebration, and the ecstasy of dancing in Chan’s arms for the first time in your life, you’d forgotten about the problems that sprouted in your life, fully formed, just a week ago. 

The hand holding yours tightens its grip. You welcome the added pressure, squeezing harder as you try to ground yourself against the anxiety beginning to seep back into your chest. “So it’s true,” Chan says lowly, his eyes turning dark. “They’re here.”

You nod slightly. It’s not surprising that he’s heard something already. Rumors spread quickly, and it would only take one whisper about a kingdom as notorious as Kereseia to spark a wildfire. Really, you wish that was it. That it was just a strange delegation from a kingdom never before seen, come to demand that you include them in your celebrations once more. 

But the king. He…

“Your Highness!” 

Your eyes snap open. You hadn’t realized you even closed them. Chan is gripping your arms now, almost like he’s holding you upright, and you realize you must have been falling, and he caught you. 

“I’m sorry,” you manage, trying to breathe. After the first gasp, breath comes more easily. “I just—this week has been—I love the festival, and I love planning it, but—”

Against your will, unwanted memories of the past week come flashing into your mind. The first time you spoke with the Kereseian king, when he interrupted the opening ceremony for nobility with his grand entrance. Those many times—too many to be coincidence—when you ran into him in the hallways and he begged so graciously for a moment of your time, only for you to feel dirty all over after he spoke to you, his eyes wandering over your figure all the while. When you were trying to speak with your sister and he suddenly appeared, somehow snatched you away, and by the time you realized he was holding your wrist it already felt like snakes had been wiggling up your arm. 

“He’s terrible,” you whisper. 

Chan sucks in a breath and immediately you regret speaking. “Who?” he asks, voice quiet. Dangerous, maybe. “The Kereseian king?”

Well, there’s no denying it now. Even if you tried, he would know, anyway. “Yes,” you reply miserably.

Chan’s eyes, worried and concerned, despite their hardness. Nothing like the sickly sweet, oily looks the Kereseian king had for you every time you spoke. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.” Yet. You pray Chan didn’t hear the word you left out, though something tells you he did. “It’s just—the circumstances surrounding their visit. My father won’t tell me anything.” Not for lack of trying, too. You stormed into his office the minute you had time, seething with embarrassment at having to take responsibility for the whole mess of “missing” the invites for the Kereseian delegation, and beyond his trite apology for not telling you earlier, you couldn’t get a word out of him beyond it will be cleared up soon and don’t anger them.

You’ve seen him four times since then. Each time, though you tried, he wouldn’t tell you a thing. 

“It’s nothing, Chan,” you say again, as though repeating it will make it true. You attempt a smile. “Really. The festival will soon be over, and this Kereseian business will…go away.” Hopefully. Chan doesn’t look convinced, so you curve your lips wider even though you know this smile is far from reaching your eyes. You try for a joke. “At least, it won’t be my problem to deal with. It��ll be my father’s.”

Chan looks at you closely, and in that moment, you want nothing more than to sink into his arms and cry and tell him everything. Instead, though, you bolster that smile, and though by the end you’re sure Chan hasn’t been convinced of anything, he doesn’t continue to pry. “All right,” he says, worry still on his face, but the concern melting into a small smile instead. “But in any case, it’s late. Maybe—”

“Maybe, Your Highness, it’s time for you to return.”

. . .

For a moment, you think that this is just a bad dream. That you’ll pinch yourself and wake up, and when you do you’ll be back in bed. Safe. Away from the voice. 

But you slowly turn around, coming face to face with the Kereseian king himself. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“Your Highness.” He tilts his head in what looks like an attempt at respect, the little smirk that makes your skin crawl never leaving his handsome face. “Your family is looking for you.”

“Your Majesty.” You take a small step in front of Chan, who seems to be frozen to the spot, and give  a slight curtsy. “My sisters knew where I was. Did they send you?”

There’s no way they did.

“Not exactly.” His smile widens. “I heard your father ask where you were, and volunteered my services to find you.”

Behind you, Chan shifts. You raise a foot beneath your skirts and step slightly on his toes. He’s smart. He’ll understand that that means please don’t get involved. 

“Who’s this?” The king peers past you and you actually feel your throat close up. Not Chan, not Chan, not Chan! “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“I don’t believe we have either,” Chan replies, voice polite but cold. You’ve heard that tone before. It usually comes out when one of the more aloof nobles doesn’t plan to give him the time of day or the proper respect due to a human being. “Your Majesty…?”

For all the situation, Chan’s blatantly fake confusion almost makes you want to laugh. “Chan, allow me to introduce His Majesty, the king of Kereseia.” You realize then that you don’t know the king’s name and that almost makes you laugh for real, especially as Chan dips into a stiff bow that looks anything but natural. “Your Majesty, my good friend, Chan.”

“Your good friend,” the king repeats, slowly, like he’s testing out those words on his tongue. You can almost feel Chan stiffen next to you, and you pray you won’t have to step on his foot again to keep him from trying to interject. “Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, Chan. I do have a duty to escort Her Highness back to her family, however, so I fear we must part.”

“Do not worry,” you reply quickly, as smoothly as you can before Chan can retort. “I was going to return soon, anyway. Please, Chan, have fun at the festival.” Your smile turns real, if only for a moment, as you meet his gaze. “It’s the final night. You should enjoy it.”

Chan’s eyes flicker to the side, where you know the Kereseian king stands. “So should you.”

“And I did, thanks to you.” You take his hand, squeeze it for a minute—far longer than you should, with the king’s gaze boring into your shoulder, but you ignore it until you have to let Chan go. “I will be all right,” you add in a whisper that hopefully only he can hear. “Really.”

He doesn’t look happy. His lips press together almost into a line, his eyes dark and serious like you’ve never seen before. But he must sense it when you want this to end, so he only nods, curves his lips slightly, and bows. “In that case, have a good night, Your Highness.” When he rises, his smile is wider. “I had a wonderful time.” With that, Chan disappears into the crowd, leaving you with a man you don’t trust at all. 

Without another word, you turn back towards the palace and begin walking. If it’s a little quicker than your usual pace, you try not to let that on.

Unfortunately, the king keeps up. “I didn’t know that princesses of Terpsichani were allowed dalliances outside of nobility.”

You laugh a little, trying not to let the edge in your voice sound. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, you’ve only been here a week. There is a lot of you don’t know about us.” Annoyance creeps into your tone, despite your efforts to keep it out. “And Chan isn’t a dalliance.”

“Well, he seems quite taken with you.”

Anger fizzles in your chest, threatening to spill into your words. “We’re friends,” is all you say.

“Good, then.”

Frowning, you turn toward him. “Good?”

“I wanted to ask you something.” The king’s eyes seem to glow under the moonlight, pulsing pools of shadow. You almost fear drowning in them. “Do you know why I have come here, to your kingdom?”

Nothing about this feels right. “I was under the impression it was for the Moonlight Festival, Your Majesty.” You turn to continue on to the palace, but his cold hand catches your wrist. Pulls you back. 

“So your father really told you nothing,” he murmurs, almost as though to himself. Before you can digest that, though, he continues. “It was for the festival, Your Highness. Partially. But that was not the promise your father gave me, you know.” His lips curve and you can only think of the cruel blade of a knife, silver under the moonlight before it sinks into your flesh. “He promised me you.”

He promised me you. 

“…What?”

“He promised your mother, first.” The king laughs as though you aren’t reeling, about to fall if not for his wrist still grasping yours. “And to my father, not to me. But the poor woman was so sickly after your birth, and ill. My father wouldn’t want a weak woman to bear his own child.” He peers into your eyes and you can do nothing to pull away. “This my father said, and so yours bargained a second time. One of his daughters for my father’s son.” White teeth glint as he grins. “Me.”

Disgust roils in your stomach and gives you the courage to speak. “But why?” you cry out. “Why would my father make such a bargain in the first place?”

“Don’t you know how much trouble your father and mother had, conceiving you?” He smirks. “I suppose, at some point, your father had to take matters into his own hands. And my own father wasn’t going to say no to a princess with magic as strong as yours.”

Your throat feels like it’s closing up. In a horrible way, it makes sense—you know your mother had trouble with your birth and had always wanted more children even after you were born, which is why she adopted your sisters before she died—but this can’t be true. It can’t be. “I don’t believe you,” you snap, ripping your arm out of his. “I don’t believe you!”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me.” Suddenly he has both of your wrists clamped between his fingers, his skin seeping cold into yours. “I will have you, a darling queen to dance with me and entertain my court day and night, and you will have my child. And with your blood, that child will be able to walk in the sun, as so many of us Kereseians cannot.” 

Vaguely, you realize you’ve never seen one of the Kereseian delegation under daylight—always in a room with no windows during the day, or milling about at night. You didn’t know they couldn’t walk in the sunlight. 

You’re learning so much tonight, and none of it is good. 

“So we can do this one of two ways.” His face is so close to yours, so handsome but so cold and so repulsive when his breath hits your skin. “You can come willingly, and we will announce our engagement tonight to your father. It will be wonderful news to crown the final night of the Moonlight Festival, will it not? Our marriage two weeks from now on the new moon, as befits Kereseian royalty.”

A shaky breath leaves your lips. Engagement. As if—as if you would ever—

“Over my dead body,” you snap. 

The king isn’t even fazed. “I thought you might say that,” he says with flippant ease, though if you didn’t know better you’d think you heard a ripple of a snarl in his tone. “But think wisely, Your Highness. Your father signed a contract with our kingdom of hell. We did not coerce him. He came to us. We delivered on our end, and now he must deliver on his.” He laughs. “Will you try to resist fate?”

Despair claws its way into your heart, ripping open your throat as you try to think. Try to speak. Your head is spinning and everything is wrong—your father, who you trusted, your mother, who is dead—

Against your will you wish you had never told Chan to leave. That he was still here with you. That you could draw from his strength in this moment where you feel so powerless. But he shouldn’t be caught in this, though. You’d never want him injured. Never want him hurt. 

Not in the way you’re sure the Kereseian king could manage.

His memory lends you courage, though. Fate. This is no fate—it will not be your fate. You will not go willingly into the kingdom of hell, and you will not sign your life quietly away to this monster who dares claim you so.

“Over. My. Dead. Body.”

The king’s eyes darken. “Very well, then,” he says, and just for a second his grip loosens. You try to snatch the moment to break free but then it tightens and you gasp against the pain as he brings you even closer. “I should make this clear now, though, Your Highness.”

Flames whirl up from the ground. Heat flares at your skin. And then you’re falling, falling, falling into the earth and the blistering wind is tearing your body apart piece by piece and there’s a horrible noise in your ears that you have a terrible suspicion is your own scream—

Your feet slam into a hard floor. You nearly buckle where you stand, knees shaking, only held up by the painful grip the king still has on your hands. Everything around you is dark, lit up by strange, curling flames, and it is cold. So cold.

He smiles down at you now. Knife blades. Weapons to kill you as his mouth comes closer to whisper in your ear. 

“You don’t have a choice."

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

[astrologydray]

The Shady/Bitchy side of each moon sign

Moon in Aries ♈️:

Very much hot heads in the moment, then act like nothing happened five minutes later🙄

“Me first, feelings later” head ahh Their emotions take priority, and they can bulldoze others without realizing (or caring).

Even in casual situations, they have to win, and if they don’t, they get salty fast.

If they don’t like you (or even if they do), they’ll say the harshest truth with zero sugarcoating.

If they feel unappreciated or ignored, expect passive-aggressive mood swings disguised as independence🤣.

Moon in Taurus ♉️:

If you piss them off, they won’t yell—they’ll just pretend you don’t exist, maybe Forever to 😭.

Once they claim something (or someone), good luck getting them to share or let go. Possessive & Stubborn as Hell.

They won’t waste energy on just anything, but if it’s about proving a point? They’re on it😫.

If they don’t like you, expect side-eye about your outfit, job, or bank account very much shady Materialistically.

They might not say it out loud, but their face will definitely tell you what they think😐.

Moon in Gemini ♊️:

Cliched, but They’ll talk sh*t about you, then smile in your face like nothing happened. Very much two faced 🤷🏾‍♂️.

They can flip from “I love you” to “Who are you again?” with zero effort.

Their insults are fast, witty, and so clever that you won’t even process the shade until later.

They collect gossip like it’s currency and will use it to their advantage😫.

One minute, they’re your best friend; the next, they’re ghosting you for something more interesting. Inconsistent Energy .

Moon in Cancer ♋️:

They get way too invested in people’s lives and feel personally betrayed if you don’t do what they expect.

Will act innocent and shocked when called out, because they would never!🤣

They’ll cry, vent, or act like the victim, even when they were the problem.

They might forgive, but they’ll never forget (and they will bring it up again).

Expect moody silences, heavy sighs, and “I just think it’s funny how…” energy🥲.

Moon in Leo ♌️:

“Omg, I love how you don’t care what people think of your outfit!” Y’all give backhanded compliments.

If you don’t hype them up enough, they’ll subtly (or not-so-subtly) undermine you🫠.

They’ll act like they’re being humble, but the flex is always right there.

If they’re not the center of attention, they will find a way to redirect the spotlight.

Their emotional outbursts are theatrical, and you will be their audience.

Moon in Virgo ♍️:

They’ll find that one tiny flaw and make sure you never forget it.

“I’m just trying to help!” (while tearing you apart with unsolicited advice).

They act superior by staying “calm” while you look messy.

They’ll shade you while acting like they’re just “being practical.”

If they’ve done anything for you, expect to hear about it forever.

Moon in Libra ♎️:

Smiling in your face, but dragging you in private (or to their other friend group) like Gemini moons y’all be two faced 🤷🏾‍♂️.

Pretends to be neutral but definitely stirs the pot behind the scenes.

Charm is their weapon, and they know how to use it.

If you throw off their vibe, they’ll quietly fade out of your life without a word.

Will ruin you socially if you embarrass them in public😭.

Moon in Scorpio ♏️:

Forgiveness? Never heard of it. They will get their revenge.

They won’t argue—they’ll just stare at you with a look that kills your soul👁️👄👁️.

If you betray them, they’ll cut you off so coldly you’ll question if they ever cared.

Plays it cool, but behind the scenes, they always have the upper hand🤫.

They know your weak spots and will hit them where it hurts if you cross them.

Moon in Sagittarius ♐️:

They’ll say the most offensive thing and then act confused when you get mad.

Will debate you into exhaustion just to prove a point😵‍💫.

Will drop a chaotic take, watch the drama unfold, and then leave the chat.

If you’re too emotional, they’ll hit you with, “Ugh, can we not do this right now?”

Acts like they’re above petty drama but somehow always involved.

Moon in Capricorn ♑️:

If they’re mad at you, expect zero reaction. They’ll just act like you don’t exist.

Every insult is strategic and meant to hit exactly where it hurts🧠.

They will find a way to have the upper hand in any situation.

If they don’t respect you, they’ll make sure you feel it.

They won’t say it outright, but their face will definitely let you know you’re beneath them.

Moon in Aquarius ♒️:

They’ll hurt your feelings and then genuinely not understand why you’re upset.

“I’m just being objective” (as they completely invalidate your emotions).

They hate being told what to do and will do the opposite on purpose.

Will talk to you like you’re slow if you don’t see things their way😐.

If you confront them, expect a shrug and a “whatever” instead of an actual response.

Moon in Pisces ♓️:

Instead of confronting problems, they’ll just ghost and act wounded.

They rewrite reality to fit their feelings, even if it makes zero sense.

“I guess I just care too much” (while making you feel awful).

Acts forgiving, but months later will bring up how you ruined their life.

If confronted, they’ll cry or act confused until you end up apologizing.

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 6 - Lock In

Tim Drake takes pride in his detective skills. He is glad he can put his talents to good use, really he is. But this case he is currently assisting on is weird. Weird in a sense that things were unfolding rather quickly. 

At first it started as a few missing kids cases. Runaways going missing, and sometimes they unfortunately turn up dead. It wasn’t just runaways though, upon further investigation, it seems they weren’t the only targets. 

No, it was much more. Orphans, runaways, even those with families have been going missing and the numbers have quietly increased but not to the point where the public is concerned. The only reason it has gotten any attention is because shelters have documented teens getting scouted and then disappearing and no ransom call, ever.

It has been going on for months, the paperwork and reports being buried until only just recently has it been getting attention by James Gordon. Bruce being how he is, and what led him to become Batman, made it his mission to uncover the cases of missing teens.

What they found was very little but enough to narrow down that this is a group doing. And it’s not their first rodeo either. The most common link is the shelters where these runaways go, since Bruce has established some Wayne Foundations around town the cctv around there have significantly narrowed down possible leads.

And then they had a breakthrough, a familiar face kept appearing, but only recently, and thus narrowed down on the search. Just when they were getting somewhere, something unexpected happened.

Life threw a boon. Someone with information was caught. Sebastian. Not only was he caught, he was set up, someone had called and tipped information on Sebastian which led to his capture. Then, said man started spilling information, he talked real fast, shining light on this case that happened to be worse than they all thought. 

These kids were lured in for one thing. Trafficking. How they were lured varied, kidnap non-risk teens, bait goods such as drugs or money to the wrong crowd, the vulnerable ones, or straight up recruit those who were interested.

Recruit them for what? Illegal fighting rings is a start. Regardless if you were kidnapped, lured, or went willingly, you were trapped into a crime ring essentially with no escape. Your life was theirs. Some of these kids have lost their lives, and some haven’t been seen since.

Despite spilling, Sebastian hadn’t or wouldn’t disclose the locations of these rings, only that they’re new to Gotham but not in general. This was never good news. 

And yet they were catching more and more people who are directly linked to this case. Some runaways were discovered laying low, but these are just the ones that went willingly, the missing ones are still a now show if not found in a body bag. 

Till one of the runaways spoke of a fighting ring behind a bar. A well known bar to be exact.

He felt like this case was coming to an end. Now all that’s left are the missing kids. God after this, he wants to sleep for three whole days. 

“Got a breakthrough.” Barbara’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Which one?” Ah, how can Tim forget?

They’re actually working on two cases. The runaways and the newcomer of Gotham who has yet to be identified. The only thing they have to go off of is sketches and looks so farfetched that they haven’t been released to the public.

Only in Gotham as they say. No one says that.

“The kids.” She informed him. “Or more like a possible link.”

“Do tell, I need a break.” He joked. There was never a break for the geniuses.

“I wish, here, look at this.” Babs chuckled, “This man, Jacob,” cue the picture of the man in question popped up on the bat computer that both Babs and Tim are sharing. “I scanned his face for some time, and guess what?”

Tim can literally see. “What?” He played along. 

“Jacob isn’t his real name. Say hello to Eric Mosquera.” Barbara jazzed hands. “He’s the right hand man of a well known cartel in Spain. It took some time but he got work done, he looks better now than before.”

“Well now, having a foreign cartel was not in my bingo card for this case. Who do you think is his doctor? They made a miracle.” Tim sighed. “What are they doing here in Gotham? Can’t they stick to their own territory?”

“Oh you big baby, think of it like this. If we stop them here, then Spain is free from a murderous cartel group.”

“If only things would go that smoothly. They’ll just lay low for a bit before rearing their ugly mugs again.”

“Yea whatever, we got this in the bag. Go tell Bruce, I’m going to follow up on something else.”

“Are you talking about the new ghost vigilante?”

“You know it, no matter how many cctv there are in Gotham, they still somehow are barely seen.” And honestly, it’s getting on her nerves. “I’m pinpointing locations of arrests and possible sightings of our new meta outsider.”

Just then a message popped up on the computer, a message Tim sighed for the nth time. “Sorry to interrupt your brooding hour B, but I have something I think you want to know. Also you have a message from Commissioner Gordon.” Reading the message he frowns.

“On my way.” Bruce responded.

This information didn’t have to be in person, so he saw no reason for Bruce to come, no, actually now that they know about Jac-er, Eric, they can just go to the bar Eric owns. And would you look at that, it just so happens to be the bar that the mercenary happens to frequent. “No, I think it’s best you go with-”

“I am fully capable of handling it myself just fine. I don’t require father’s assistance.” a third voice snapped. “I’m here with Kent, we’re fine Drake.” And the line was turned off.

The attitude.

“Explain.” Batman demanded.

Tim held back a sigh “So you see, the mercenary actually seems to work for Jacob who is actually Eric Mosquera and is the right hand man of the Spanish cartel known as El Conquistador. What a lame name…” Tim mumbled the last part.

“Who’s in the area?” Besides Damian and Jon were left unsaid but Tim knew.

“Duke’s twenty minutes away looking for a lead on a runaway, but Jason’s in the area. Cass and Steph are in their civvies scoping out shelters and for any suspicious movement. Want me to suit up?”

“Negative. Let Jason handle it. I’m going to have a chat with Sebastian again. Meet me there in thirty.”

“Roger that B.” Welp, so much for a breakthrough. It’s a good thing he was already suited up beforehand. 

Just as Tim was about to click on Jason’s icon, Damian’s name flashes on the screen first. “Drake, look into the time of now and send it over to me.”

“Hey- wait-” Tim was caught off guard, with the order “What’s this about? I thought you didn’t ‘require assistance’ for this.” He teased, Barbara raised an eyebrow in amusement.

“I don’t.” Damian snapped and shut the comms off.

“What is going on…” Despite the odd request, Tim hacked into the cameras where Damian and Jon were located, Barbara side eyeing in interest. He still had time before meeting with Bruce, so he watched as a civilian threw themselves out of Jon and Damian’s path. “What the?” His words caught Barbara’s attention as she focused on what Tim was watching. Recognition flashed in her eyes but kept quiet before focusing on her assignment.

TIm was amused as he watched the stranger panic and apologize. ‘Cute.’ Unfortunately there was no audio, but he’s sure Damian recorded it. Looping the video back, Tim couldn’t take his eyes off this civilian. Not much was shown but he couldn’t help but be enchanted, dazed even. It seems Jon and Damian felt the same way. Was this ‘love at first sight’ for his baby brother?

Whatever, he made sure to save the video and push the stranger out of his mind for now. Time is short and he still needs to tell Jason his mission before he meets up with Bruce. Barbara kept her eyes on the video before returning to type on her laptop.

Tim calls Jason. “What?”

Everyone is so rude today. “We got a lead on the manager of the bar. I’m sending you the info before I leave. You suited?”

“Yea, let me see what you got.”

Tim watched all the information sent to Jason’s icon. “Alright then-”

Tim could only hear movement and Jason’s line went silent, then muffling. “What the?” Had something happened to Jason? But Tim clearly heard movement before the line went silent.

He called out again before hanging up and dialing once more, getting ready to become backup incase Jason needed it. “You still there?”

“Yea, I’m still here. I’m in the Narrows, following the lead.” Okay, seems like there was nothing Tim had to worry about.

“Good, while Damian follows the mercenary, you got the manager. I’m seeing some suspicious moments, it seems he’s leaving in a hurry. Turn on your commlink, Bruce is already moody as he is.”

“When isn’t he like that?” Tim can feel Jason roll his eyes. “Did something happen? Why’d you go silent?”

“Just helping a civilian. She was getting chased.”

Man today just keeps getting better (sarcasm). “She safe?”

“She’s fine, just left. Seems so but I’ll check up on this later, probably a stalker.”

“Alright then. I’m out to join Bruce. Stay safe.” Tim ended the call and headed out, making sure to inform Barbara.

“I heard, don’t worry.” Tim watched Barbara scan the database of a certain voice.

Before he left, he was curious, “Whatcha got over there?”

“Just some recordings, the tips my dad has gotten, wanted me to run a voice check but as you know, nothing pops up. I think whoever calls is using a voice changer. Clever bastard, why can’t they put this much effort in being the good guys.” 

“Well, if anyone can solve this, it’s our very own genius hacker. Good luck.” Tim headed out.

Barbara waved him away as she made herself comfortable in her wheelchair, she pulled out her phone and opened her messaging app.

-

“Fortunately, those calls get sent to me. They always start out the same.” Jim presses play on the saved recordings.

“Ricardo Rodrigez, age 32, thief and aggravated assault. Gotham Park, smoking and drinking.” Jim plays the next one. “Erick Gardfield, age 19, breaking and entering, car burglary. Grocery Market, South side of Gotham.” “Trent Dawrin, age 22, several DUIs, alcoholic. Partying at Gotham collage, North side.” “Andrew Thomas, age 43, domestic violence, stalking, several assaults, battery, gang related crimes. Crime Alley, in a white van, plate name…”

“This one was our breakthrough.” Jim plays the next recording.

“Sebastian Davis, age 38. Several counts of sexual assault, selling illegal substances to minors, stalking, and in possession of an illegal fire arm. Stripbar, East End.”

“That’s when I called you to interrogate him.” Batman confirms with a nod. “We received eight tips, and the other five are from our interrogation with you. All through a payphone, never the same location, and I believe they’re always near.”

Batman stays silent, head put to work. “Visual?”

“Never caught. Regardless, I have more information on the kidnappings. We thought it was just trafficking here in Gotham from a crime lord. Bruce, this is bigger than we thought and we’re stretched thin. Sebastian confessed to several hidden and underground fighting rings, kids get thrown in these and they fight and get sponsored, after that, they’re shipped off to be hunted for sport. Here’s everything we have so far. I know you can find out more.” He hands Batman a flashdrive. “These kids, a lot of them are nameless, we got nothing… I’ve got two sheets of papers with names and some with no pictures. It’s what I was able to pull from the system.”

Batman takes it. That’s right, once Sebastian was in custody, he spilled so much. All in exchange for protection, that coward. He was the reason that they even know about the mercenary deserter from Australia. Took two days to track him down, and where he frequents. 

And now, Damian is on his tail, today.

Batman nods, pocketing the usb in his utility belt. “Anything else?”

“So far, no. Nothing about the new vigilante, not even in the media has seen them.” Jim sighs a deep tired one For such a nosy group of people, he’s genuinely shocked they can’t get any pictures other than a blurry figure that’s hard to decipher even with new technology. “No connection to this either. Think you're scaring them off?”

His response was nothing but silence as Batman jumped off the building, disappearing in the shadows despite the daylight. Rescuing those kids, and shutting down these ‘underground’ fights takes priority.

Now that he knows these poor kids are going through hell in his city, he will stop at nothing to save them. Hell will come to those who get in his way. He won’t let them become like him.

Jim watched his trusted friend leave him alone on the rooftop of the GCPD Headquarters. Walking down the stairs, heading to his office, he sat down in his room in silence. He and others had worked overtime in order to solve this case. He couldn’t imagine just how long this was going on for. 

On top of his desk, was the folder of this case, a profile sat on top of the others, an uncaught criminal-mercenary. Christopher Connor was the name dropped days ago. A “bodyguard” of sorts as well as a military deserter. Government name unknown, just this fake alias was given. Hired by an unnamed person, and has been in Gotham for a little over a year. Tracking him was a bitch, but Batman and his wards were able to locate him. 

They still couldn’t find one of the hidden fighting rings, but he knows they’re close.  He can feel it, call it- a detective intuition. Sebastian Davis was tight lipped about that one, Jim knows he knows. All he did was drop names, no locations, no place of residency, not even which side of Gotham they are. Just names, ranks, and descriptions. And he’s giving this information out piece by piece. Not enough to complete a puzzle or to fit two together. Just sporadic random puzzle pieces. He’s buying time.

What Batman did get out of this piece of shit was where they would like to scout vulnerable teenagers, or runaways. The dirtiest part of Gotham (ie. The Narrows, Park Row, and Marina to name a few), or the desperate parts of Gotham, like the homeless shelters scattered throughout.

Jim wonders if there will come a time where Gotham would be free of crime. He would love to be alive to see it one day. He just needs hope.

Moving his sights to his computer, he checks his emails and anything of importance. After ten he noticed something. In the tab he sees a pop up. Clicking on it, the three simple words caused a pit to form in his stomach.

‘They know. Scatter’ 

“They know?” He repeated to himself. Was this message left for him? Was he the only one to receive this or was this intended for someone else? Surely not. Surely… It seems the police are onto something, and this sender is warning them to not get caught. How deplorable, corruption at its finest.

The pop up containing the three words vanished when he clicked on the tab, as if it was never there. He may not be tech savvy but he’s smart enough to know that (the tab closing on its own) is not normal.

It seems he is going to have to pay his daughter a visit. Placing his scattered notes inside the folder he placed them in his carrier and dialed his daughters number. Taking a few steps out his office and before he could press the green call button, his phone rings. An unknown number. 

He’s about to cancel the call when he felt his gut twist. Such a foreboding feeling, he swallowed his nervousness as anticipation builds up in his body, his thumb slides on his phone screen.

-

Somehow your mind was still intact as you made it back to the junkyard. Your spider sense had finally quieted down when you got a good distance away from Jason Todd, the Red Hood. How shitty is your fucking luck to run not only into Superman’s son and Jason Todd? 

Your mind is on thin ice. So close to collapse. To add to your fucking worries, you took off your sweatshirt, meaning you exposed your watch. Though, your saving grace is the distraction of your pursuer taking the attention away. But god you are losing it.

Changing into your suit, bringing along your bag containing your civilian clothes and crocs, you pulled out your phone, the one that you bought, and located the office Commissioner Gordon is a part of.

Were you nervous? Yes. For one, you’re going to be awfully close to the Batsignal, and second, you know for a fact that Jim Gordon snitched. ‘S why the birds are here in the Narrows, where only one of the wards patrolled.

Leaping off of the warehouse roof, you make sure to stick to tall buildings, using it as cover. It’s still daylight out here after all. 

Leaving the Narrows, and keeping an eye out for police cars, or any indication of a crime you could stop along the way- nothing. That’s good, means there are no distractions, but you know that most crimes occur indoors rather than outdoors. Those tend to be harder to discover and even harder to solve. The underground rings are a perfect example of that. Well lucky for Gotham, you’ll put a stop to it, for good.

Landing on the roof where bat signal is located at the junction of the area called Five Points on the lower east side of Gotham City, you were good at making sure you weren’t discovered but you can kiss your ghost status goodbye if you climb down the window in broad fucking daylight. Guess you could call him?

But he’s a senior (technically), and you’d feel bad making an old man like him climb the stairs just to see you for a few minutes. What if he isn’t here? Then that means you showed up for nothing, how embarrassing. Guess you’ll call his phone directly first, save yourself the embarrassment. 

Though you can always just place the information down and pray he is the only one who picked it up. It would totally suck if anyone other than Jim finds this. Your paranoia is honestly taking over your rational thoughts.

Pulling out your burner phone, you dialed the commissioner’s personal phone number.

What are the chances he would pick up an unknown number? He might not believe you… buuuuut, you have a trick up your sleeve should he not believe you. Two rings and a half later, you heard his tired voice.

“Who’s this?” Damn, no ‘Hello’?

“Commissioner Gordon,” You greeted, making sure your actual voice was not used. “It’s a pleasure.”

Jim recognized the voice on the line, you could tell. How? Simple, his tone of voice changed to serious. “It’s you. The one that leaves names and locations. Who are you?”

“Here’s my last tip.” Serious, no nonsense, stern, and not acknowledging his question. You can’t get distracted, especially since time is of the essence and if the bats are on this case, it will keep them occupied, you hope. “Jacob Jones, age 38. Manager of an illegal fighting ring behind a local bar in the Narrows. Suspected of recruiting wanted and up-and-coming criminals along with runaways. Risk of fleeing today. I’m sure you got my message earlier.”

Jim was rendered speechless, and his heart sank.“‘Risk of fleeing’?” Another terrible feeling appeared in his stomach.

“They know the bats are onto them, they’re scattering. You have less than twelve hours before they disappear for good.” You informed. “There’s no time to waste.”

Jim couldn’t help but ponder how things could go so wrong so quickly. “I’m on my way then.”

“I would have liked this to stay between us, but I’m sure you already informed Batman.” You sighed, body tense from all this stress. “Once this is done and over with, I will be out of your hair for good. Goodbye.”

“Wait!” Deciding to humor the commissioner, you stayed in the line, so he continued and repeated his earlier question. “Who are you?”

“I’m just your friendly neighbor- friend,” recalling the time when the police chief from your world asked this same question when you saved him, your chest throbbed. “Only passing by, I won’t stay long. ‘Sides, this is the bat’s territory. I’ll leave the files under the bat signal, make sure you’re the only one picking this up.” Then you ended the call.

This is better, yes, old age be damned. Avoid contact as much as possible, no more unnecessary risks, your mental health won’t be able to handle any more setbacks. This is good, now that this will take care of things, you can fully focus on going back home. You were never going to debut yourself as Spider-woman either way, so this is playing it safe. The less attention you draw to yourself as your alter ego, the better, it’s a miracle you have managed to escape the bat’s radar this far, and you really don’t want to jinx it. Hopefully you won’t ever have to come in contact with the infamous Batman himself. 

Leaving the files you were able to hear faint frantic footsteps in the distance, as if someone was running. Without hesitation you ran off the roof and swung away just in time as you heard the metal door to the roof open. 

“Wait!”

Swinging away you couldn’t help but sigh in relief. That was too close, and honestly, you think you’re pushing your luck way too much this time. Now you really have to lay low, even if they catch Jacob. You just can’t risk it anymore. Since you know the commissioner is on his way, it’s time for you to visit Jacob (again) but as your alter ego spider-woman.  

All ya gotta do is make sure he’s webbed up before he can disappear on the cops. Even if he talks about a person in a spider suit to the GCPD, there will be no video evidence to expose you. Just him and your webs. 

But you need to find the right timing. You can’t do it now, it’s still bright out. And waiting until dark will only increase his chance at escaping. So you need a plan. A really good, full proof plan.

Though what does stress you out is simply how much time you already spent here in this foreign world, far from home. You miss your phone, or better said, the contents in your phone to be exact.

Photos and videos, all of you and your loved ones. Stored into one device that is so far out of your reach. Since being stuck here, if you could wish for anything (besides going home) is for your damn phone. You’d really lose it if you lost the one device that has all your fond memories stored in one drive. If you lose that, it would definitely be the end for you.

“Stay in the game, babes, you can’t tweak out just yet.” Maybe giving yourself a pep talk when you're at your wits end isn’t a good idea solely because it isn’t helping you in the slightest. 

Swinging between enclosed apartment buildings in order to keep a semblance of being inconspicuous, you land in an alleyway near a random convenience store but close enough to have a clear eye view of the bar you had left earlier that day (as a civvie). Making yourself comfortable sitting on the fire escape stairs you observe.

Despite being early in the afternoon, and every gothamite was going about their day, the bar was surprisingly quiet. Very underwhelming if you say so yourself but you’d never dismiss your sixth sense when it comes to bad feelings. Something isn’t right.

“Where’s the bouncer?” With how crowded the streets are, their bar is fairly popular and always has customers (even on less busy nights), so there is always a bouncer. They have two bouncers, both work twelve hour shifts, and you know for damn fucking sure, the second one is m.i.a. 

It’s still day time and you were fucking sure you were not about to walk out with your suit on. That was suicide. Especially when the bat (aka Red Hood) and the country bumpkin (Jon) are out here working overtime. This fucking sucks. You feel that time is running out, should you really risk this? As spider-woman? Placing your bag down, you decided on your next move, but with precautions.

Your mind drifts off into a memory with the man who wanted to chain you to his side.

“What did you buy with your first winning kid?” Jacob’s eyes zoned in on your figure, watching you wrap your hands securely.

“How’d you know I went and spent it all?” Finishing the wrap, you looked up at him. “And I’m not a kid.”

“‘Spent it all’? You kids sure don’t know the concept of managing money.” He chuckled, his eyes locked on you. “How did it feel to make that much quickly?”

For some reason, you felt like he was testing you, everything you respond and everything he asks has meaning, and that your answers are being dissected. “Too good to be true, if I am being honest.”

Jacob chuckled, “Yea? You’re making plenty even while cutting your fights. Too easy for ya kid?”

Scoffing you fiddles with your fingers. “I’m getting by just fine, but it doesn’t mean I don’t struggle. I’m just passing the time. And I’m telling you, I’m not a kid, I’m already of drinking age.”

“Seriously? You look fifteen, maybe because you look scrawny with those baggy clothes. Regardless, you really impressed me that night.”

That night where you both met. You didn’t pay attention to it at first, but you know that this guy isn't what he appears to be. He acts differently towards you then with Christopher or the other no-names in this place. He’s charismatic, friendly, attentive if you pay attention, but why you? What’s his gain here? 

The people that come in and out of this bar are mostly adults, but there are some…not so normal attendees here as well. Both with not so good intentions, and those who seem to have almost lost it all. But the people here, they are willing participants- not forced- as far as you can see that is.

“Is that so? I was just letting off steam and defending myself.”

“Did you enjoy it?” His tone changed.

“Of course, who doesn’t like putting arrogant thugs in their place?”

“Yea? Is that why you humiliated Chris that day?”

Letting out a chuckle you rubbed the back of your neck. “Guilty. It was fun.”

“I noticed.” Jacob leaned back on the bench, his eyes never leaving your figure. “Are you bored?” Jacob watched you tilt your head in confusion. “To me it looks like you stopped trying after Chris. You’re distracted.”  

You stretched your arms for a moment. “Was it obvious?” You asked sheepishly.

Jacob’s turn to put out a chuckle. “Nah, not to most. But I noticed, and so did Chris.”

“Is that why he won’t stop glaring? I swear he has it out for me!” You slouched.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” His tone changed.

There we go. The small talk was getting really tiresome, was this the question he wanted to get to?

“The streets.” Regardless of what he meant with his questions, you did learn to fight on the streets. You didn’t really have a mentor to teach you, you learned it as you went, from hands-on to watching, you picked it up to survive. Meeting Miguel until much later did you refine your skills but you started alone.

“The streets huh.” Jacob pondered your response for a bit, causing you to straighten up and lean back on the bench. “Was it fun?”

Without hesitation, you nodded. “Tons. Never a dull moment. I grew up and learned.” Relaxing your posture, you gave him a smile. “I got my ass beat a bunch, but I learned real fast. And I paid them back tenfold.”

Jacob stood up and ruffled your hair. “Ya plan on fighting forever? Why not take it to the next level? I say you’re prepared. You’ll make good money. Even better than now.”

Moving his hand away you got up. “I don’t think it's for me. Besides, I am only passing by. I don’t have a reason to continue, just making enough to enjoy the little things in life.”

“Not your thing?” Jacob started walking, and you followed beside him. “ Leaving Gotham, where do you plan to go then?”

With slight hesitation you answered giving a melancholy look. “Home.”

“Home.” He repeated, “You far from home?” Jacob asked, looking ahead as you both came closer to the ring.

“Very far.” Cracking your knuckles you chuckled. “But I’ll get there soon. I’m just biding my time right now.”

“I see.” Jacob’s tone became lighter, his mood changed from serious to cocky, placing his hand on your shoulder. “Listen kid, this guy you're facing hasn’t lost a single fight in three years. He plays dirty and most of the money is against you. Your play?”

“I also don't play fair.” You crack your knuckles.

“Atta kid, play around for a bit, give the audience a good show.”

“I’m not a kid…”

You heard cheers for blood as you entered the ring.

Pushing the memories back, you strengthen your resolve.

Pulling your mask up and taking out your burner phone from the bag you began to dial the number you memorized since it was given to you by the owner of the number. Jacob’s number.

The ringing seemed to get louder as it went on until the third ring and a voice picked up. “Hey there Tink. To what do I owe your surprise call.” It seems he was expecting to hear from you despite you being there earlier.

“I’ve got questions.” Lifting your mask above your nose so that your voice is heard.

“I see you must’ve opened your gift.” You can practically envision the grin he has plastered on his face.

Gift? Is that what he’s disguising it as? “What’s the catch?”

You could hear him chuckle on the receiver. “Most people would ask ‘why?’ but not you. No, never you. You’re so different from what I expect. You don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I’m not ‘most people’.” Eyes narrowed, ignoring his tangent. “You said it was a gift, but I highly doubt that.”

“What’s got you all tense like that?” It was like he was mocking you. “No big bad Bat is coming for you, so you can relax.”

“I told you before, I’m from the streets, and in Gotham, nothing is given for free. I want nothing to do with the bats, just wanna go home.”

“You’re so paranoid.” Jacob ran his fingers through his hair, eyes narrowing. “Though, you aren’t wrong. Gotham isn’t a place where kindness is given for free. You see, my little ‘gift’ is an incentive of sorts.”

I fucking knew it. “Uh Huh. What sort of incentive?” You deadpanned. “What required you to make this for me?” You just wanted to confirm, that’s all. Put your mind at ease if that was possible with the stress and anxiety your situation has caused thus far. “I never asked for this. I never asked for anything.”

“You see, you told me you’re far from home,” A pit formed in your stomach. “And I had this made to… help you out. To get home.” This wasn’t even close to what you meant when you gave him that answer. The ugly feeling inside you kept growing, till it clogged your throat- like a bitter pill to swallow.

“That makes no sense! You gave me this for a reason.” You stress. Why? Was omitted from your response.

“Yes. I did. You see, I wanted to show you what I can do for you.” His answer didn’t satiate the ever growing turmoil of anxiety.

Why? What did I do to catch his attention?

Your silence let him continue. “You said you were just ‘passing the time’, figured I’d give you something to make traveling easier and passing time faster. You can use it to ‘go home’, or, if you can’t,” you body broke into cold sweat at his next words. “You can use it to come with me. I can give you a new home, and you can pass all the time you want.”

What? What bullshit is this??? You knew for a fact this man was not going to let you go easily or at all. If he catches you, he’d clip your wings. He seems like the type to do so. Bastard… This was to keep me in check.

“I already have a home.” Your teeth clenched. “I told you that. I am going home, just not yours.”

You could hear him chuckle, his tone arrogant, like he didn’t believe a word you’re saying. “Alright, I only wanted to express my gratitude for all the wins you got under my name. It’s a real shame. I want to take you to greater heights.”

After contemplation, and for the plot, you asked. “...Take me where?”

“Abroad, in Spain. That's where the big leagues are. And, your new home, should you choose to come.” with me was left unsaid.

“I appreciate the offer, I really do (not). But I just want to go home.” Deciding to end it there, you throw any and every useless feeling out in order to concentrate. “This isn’t for me.”

“It’s a shame.” He repeated, confusing you for a moment. “I really do like you kid, and I’m gonna miss your jabs. Alright then, you have fun.” It seems he gave in. “Enjoy yourself.”

A cold chill engulfed your body, it was like this wasn’t over for him “...Yea, I will, thank you. Good-bye.” Ending the call you sighed in frustration. You didn’t believe him for a second. You knew this man wasn’t going to let you go. And you wouldn’t let him get away either. 

Placing your mask back down and securing it in place, you steel your nerves. “Time to lock in.”

-

Duke felt his phone vibrate.

Upon opening up the messaging app, his body froze. There was a clip of a familiar civilian he had his eyes on, coming out of a bar, a very familiar bar. His chest clenched at the thought that she was involved. 

He had to get to the bottom of this, he needed to confirm this with his own eyes.

[Oracle: There’s more. She’s been in and out for the past few days. Think she’s involved?]

Duke clenched the hand that wasn’t holding the phone.

[Signal: We don’t know that. What else do you have? Name?]

[Oracle: Relax Romeo. Damian and Jon ran into her not too long ago. After that she went to a library, then no dice, but I’m still looking. She doesn’t appear in any other cameras. There barely is any surveillance out there in the Narrows.]

[Signal: Got it. Keep me updated, and thank you.]

[Oracle: (:]

Duke placed his phone away as he calmed his thoughts. His mind recalling the first time he met the civilian. When he was told by Barbara that she scanned your face for identification, there was nothing, zip, zich, zero, nothing. Not even a resemblance in this world of seven billion people. It’s like you were one of a kind, unique, and rare. He remembered staring at your bare face, the one without the black mask that covered your mouth and nose, he engraved the shape of your eyes, nose, lips, and face to memory. Something in him just wouldn’t let him forget, not that he wanted to either.

You were an enigma, like an anomaly per say. This obsession on finding you only grew as he watched the video of you getting escorted into a bar by a familiar suspect. Duke came up with a couple of conclusions for this turn of event.

Based on your actions, checking into a motel with no name(is suspicious in of itself), and the fact that you go to shelters as well, it's obvious you have no place to call home, nowhere to go, meaning you’re a runaway escaping someone/something.

Finding out that you’re associated with a (confirmed) suspect, puts him on edge. Did you join voluntarily, or did you have no choice. After all, you’re just trying to survive.

Well, it seems he’s going to find out soon enough. Because he’s looking for another civilian associated with that bar, and they just so happened to be spotted within his vicinity. He’s getting closer to the truth, he knows it, he just has to lock in.

Revving his bike, he locks in, and drives away. 

-

Bruce didn’t know where things went wrong. But then again, he should have expected things to never go smoothly, especially in his city, in Gotham. Despite the crime rates and the reputation it has, he still loves his city, and he wants to change it for the better. He doesn’t want anyone to suffer the way he did, to turn out as broken as he became. He wants the city to prosper for the better, and he’s doing everything he can for that goal. 

And yet, an outsider vigilante has suddenly popped up in his city. A meta vigilante of all things. Bruce can’t help but feel exhausted. He doesn’t know their game, or why they are here, in his city. Are they here to cause trouble? Are they here to ruin the carefully monitored city he poured his blood, sweat, and vitality in, fighting to keep the peace in his beloved city? He won’t allow this stranger, this nobody to inflict harm, to infect, and to change Gotham. He’s going to chase this unwanted presence, this anomaly down, and get rid of it if it poses a hindrance. He can’t allow unchecked power to roam Gotham. It’s already fragile as it is, and he can’t afford any mistakes, and possible hiccups. 

But in order to do so, he needs to find out exactly who is in his city, after he rescues the children that are missing. His priority right now is the children, those poor helpless children, just like he once was. He can’t help but get anxious as days go by when another name is printed and posted throughout the city walls. But the pieces are coming together, slowly but surely. The outsider is running on borrowed time. And he’ll use any means at his disposal to uncover the rat roaming around.

Now, regarding the terrible news he was just told, he quickened his strides inside the police station. 

When he left Jim on the roof earlier, he was making his way towards where Sebastian was being held, only to receive a distress call from Jim informing him that the very same person they were going to meet, is dead.

“I don’t know how this happened!” Jim exclaimed, stress evident on his face, posture defeated. “I was told he hung himself, so I came quickly, he was already pronounce deceased by the time I got here.”

Bruce, or Batman, tightened his jaw in anger. Of course the criminal with crucial intel who was cowardly throwing bits and pieces of it in order to keep his life is killed. 

That’s right, killed not suicide. No, Sebastian was desperate to live, that’s why he took a plea deal, his protection in prison, in exchange for information. This was deliberate, intentional, too perfect for it to be a self exit. There are more rats here in his city than he anticipated. 

Batman locked in when he went to the monitor room (where Tim is currently at), where he can see all the surveillance footage, from who entered to who left, to who was on guard. The death looked fresh, around twenty minutes from when he entered. Jim followed while Tim clocked in the folder in Jim’s hand.

He noticed crease marks from a tight grip, probably from stress, Tim asks about it.

“Oh!” Jim quickly handed the folder to Tim, knowing Bruce would keep an ear out while he searched the cameras. “It was left under the bat signal, right after you left.” 

Bruce tensed but kept focused on the screens in front of him. 

“Do you think it's the same person?” Tim bit the bullet and asked as he flipped from page to page.

“Yes.” Jim sighed, his fatigue showing through his face and posture. “I only had two sheets with twelve names, three missing kids, four with pictures. Here is a list of seventeen missing teens and five runaways. Only two have been sighted roaming around. But they run at the approach of officers.”

Tim paused on page three, a blurry picture of a familiar looking face appeared. Walking out of a shelter in the Narrows. This slight movement caught Bruce’s attention.

“Someone familiar?” Bruce made sure to make a copy of the footage, but no dice. The cameras paused and looped for some time. Enough for a person, maybe more to slip in and out. The issue is, is it one person, or more? Was someone here messing with the cameras or was it a single mole who disrupted the surveillance as they walked in?

Tim nodded, eyes scanning every feature, “This one civilian looks familiar. No identification other than their stage name. ‘Nada’.” Despite the blurry picture, and the obvious black medical face mask, it was their eyes that caught his attention at first. The shape of their face was next, and that was all he could identify. No gender, they wore an oversized sweatshirt, but they appear pretty androgynous looking. 

Jim ran his hair with his hand. “I also got news for you Batman.”

Bruce placed his hard drive inside his utility belt, Tim snaps out of his trance and hands the papers towards him. Scanning each page his jaw tightens. These kids are out there somewhere, alone and afraid, but Bruce promises to find them. To bring them home. Batman promises to find them. 

“I got a notification earlier.” Jim pauses, recalling the suspicious warning and then the call. “And right after that, a call.”

Bruce’s eyes pierced Jim, focused. “They showed themselves?”

Tim’s eyes widened. This is confirmation! The meta was close! He has to give this information to Barbara pronto. Taking out his phone, his fingers tapping the screen vigorously. 

Jim shook his head. “When I handed you everything, I went into my office. The pop-up screen had a message, ‘They know. Scatter’ was written. When I clicked my screen, it vanished. Just as I was about to call my daughter, they called.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed at the information. “Blocked number?”

Jim nodded. “Private.”

Tim interjected, placing his phone away once he was done taking pictures. “What did they say?”

“They sent me that message, and then, just like the other times, reported Jacob Jones, the manager of a bar. “Risk of fleeing” they said.” Jim felt an immense stress and exhaustion overcome him. “Tonight. And that there is an illegal fighting ring behind the bar. In that folder, the last sheet is associates and criminals. When they told me the files were under the signal, I ran. I only got to see a blurry figure, they looked like they were flying- no that’s not it. Gliding? They were far, and their suit fading, as if camouflaging with its surroundings. I couldn’t see them that well. Sorry.”

Batman took in the information, but he was deadly quiet. His mind racing with thoughts and theories. “Tim.”

Tim straightens his posture. “Yea?”

“Go back and take this with you.” Bruce handed him the files, and the usb drive that he received from Jim earlier.

Tim pockets the drive and clutches onto the papers, knowing already what Bru-Batman wants from him. “I’ll drop it with Oracle and join the search.”

Bruce acknowledged with a nod and turned back to the cameras. “Jim.”

“I understand,” Jim replied. They were going to catch the mole. “I’m ready.”

Tim quickly left, things were getting serious. “Oracle, did you get that.”

“All of it. I’m searching the area, in case they landed nearby. Seems our ‘friend’ has the same interests as ours. For now.”

“I also got a list.”

“I saw, thanks, this will help tremendously.”

-

“What the fuck.” It seems that you can’t catch a break. 

Once you put on the mask, you stealthy made your way towards the bar, making sure you were out of sight and away from the ground. You thanked god you are able to camouflage yourself, making sneaking in so much easier. 

This was risky for you because despite the benefits, you also don’t always rely on it as often as you would like. The reason was simple, nothing major or out of this world really, it was simply the fact that when you lost everything, you were often then not out fighting/training, or tinkering with gadgets to keep you preoccupied. A coping mechanism if you will.

Thus resulting in negating your abilities that didn’t involve dodging and hitting.

Regardless, here you are, sneaking in a very suspiciously quiet bar (it seems to be empty), what happened to the customers? Why does the sign say closed? Just what happened after you left here hours ago?

Making a b-line towards Jacob’s office, it was clean, too clean and neat. A pit formed into your stomach. 

‘They packed up…’ Quickly making your way towards semi open draws and pulling out files, papers, looking around for any important documents, checking walls and desks for anything. Anything at all- until you came to the conclusion that there was nothing. Nothing at all.

‘No no no no! They couldn’t have gone away! No!’ Despite the chaos in your mind, you took a deep breath and calmed down.

You couldn’t afford to panic, you had to make sure you were thorough. Eyes finally landing on a closed laptop that was sitting neatly on a pristine desk you opened it to find a locked account. You scoffed. There were no paper trails in this office. But this computer might and can be a whole different story. ‘I’ll work my magic.’

Cracking your neck, you began the process of bypassing the password locked account. Keeping an ear out despite the lack of people in the bar, you still wanted to be safe, to make sure no one would get the drop on you. 

After a few attempts and three minutes go by, you unlock the account, finding it clean of anything. Of course, there is nothing on it, but that’s only if you aren’t looking. Messing with the settings and restoring the latest versions it was before it was cleaned out, you began to look at the contacts syncing with this laptop.

Pulling up the security cameras, to work your magic, come to find out they aren’t even recording, everything is wiped. That’s not a good sign at all.

Reading a few messages from betters during ring fights to stocks and merchandise, to voicemails to money laundering and much more, you scrolled down towards a specific group chat.

This chat was synced to Jacob’s phone, ‘Mercaderia’ was the name. “Lame.” you mumbled. 

Clicking on the group chat name, your body froze, eyes widened at the information in front of you.

Here on this group chat, with over one hundred members, were a list. Not just any list. No. This was a familiar list. A neat, organized, and detailed list.

Here contained pictures, and stats on teenagers, young adults, and fucking children. All with their name and abilities, and a price. Some even had remarks of their wins and losses.

Scrolling down, watching the faces and names being crossed out, dead, and some with specific training in the art of ‘entertainment’. You felt yourself become sick. The depravity of all this is sickening, how can people enjoy this?! You didn’t expect this!

This is human trafficking… 

Ding!

Your eyes caught a notification for the group chat.

Clicking on the notification of said group chat you didn’t think you could feel any worse.

Scrolling down on the ‘recommended’ list, a new popup showed, and it was your face, with no mask, and a start bidding price. The words next to your picture, ‘Street rat with skills in fighting, quick on her feet, and highly adaptable. No ties, alone. Needs to be trained. Retrieval pending.’

“They’re looking for me…” after the sudden realization, your spider-sense started to buzz inside your head as you heard trained, quiet footsteps, making their way in your direction.

Glancing at the display of cameras, the person standing behind the door was none other than the person you came in contact with earlier.

You are starting to feel like your presence here was nothing but a cruel joke to you.

As the door knob turned, and opened, you took a deep quiet breath and closed your eyes.

Prev; Next;

Sorry. I legit have no excuse for not writing. I just stopped.

It seems that the pieces are slowly coming together--THANK GOD I swear I almost gave up...

Anyways, I have a plot for this but not a complete one, so I will have to write where I want the story to go. I only have the ending of THIS arc but no clue how to get there-- oh well. I'll figure this out.

Smoll dose of Miguel next chap- whenever that is

Web Bound Secret Corner!

Spider-Woman's suit has a built in voice changer that she can turn use.

Spider-Woman's priority was just getting Jacob (and associates) arrested.

Spider-Woman's hobby was singing, hasn't sung since the incident with Peter.

Spider-Woman is terrified running into Batman.

Spider-Woman only has small tidbit knowledge of the DCU

[kidspawn]

I highly encourage skeptical people to read The Dreamer Trilogy.I know it isn't the same as The Raven Cycle (its a completely different age group, it's not YA it's a New Adult trilogy), it doesn't have the Gangsey, but some takes on characters are so off because people refuse to read TDT. This isn't a judgement but more a note that you're legitimately missing out.

This isn't specific or targeted, I'm genuinely just pointing out how criminally underrated this trilogy is. It's vital to understanding Ronan as a character. His story arc was incomplete in TRC, it needed the trilogy to flesh out. And TDT does a very good job of that. It adds so much depth to the Lynch family. It introduces Jordan and Hennesey, who are criminally underrated characters. Adam has such a beautiful arc - I've cried over his monologue in Greywaren, about feeling lost and incomplete, like a liar, a fraud, a failure. Declan is such a mess, somehow he was transformed into such an interesting and sympathetic individual- enough that it influences how you read him in the core series. Matthew (a character many would have considered one dimensional) has a fascinating crisis and watching that unfold? The lore and world building? The metaphors and handling of mental illness and identity and loneliness that strikes your core as you ascend to adulthood? (Everything regarding Hennessy's dreaming, the way it correlates to real like chronic illness, is so raw and visceral) And yes, if you're in it for pynch PLEASE it's crucial for understanding their relationship and how it unfolds. They are soulmates, they are so disgustingly in love and working through their own issues while still hanging on to one another. Codependent and deeply flawed individuals who truly, endless, worship and adore one another. (Tamquam... alter diem) And yeah, you're missing out on melodramatic ecoterrorist Ronan Lynch.

Just... give it a chance. I promise. It's different, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I read it in my few years of college and it hit very hard. I have such an odd attachment to The Dreamer Trilogy, and I wish more people would put their reservations aside and give it a chance.

[yingdu-lover]

this scene will have a special place in my heart REGARDLESS of what is about to unfold, even after the end of Link Click

Lu Guang's genuine happy smile slowly breaks as he looks at silly Cheng Xiaoshi.

it's not just a small smile we usually see

it's a smile that takes over the looming gloominess we have seen for the entire 3 seasons

this smile is DIFFERENT. The pleasant warm forest background along with the young green leaves falling on them, it is one of the most beautiful framings of shiguang I have ever seen. If the leaves were yellow/orange, it would have made me cry like a howling hyena because that signifies 'the autumn of life', death is not far away. But it's green and young! it symbolises young and pure love. The warmth of the forest really holds them like a blanket. This scene is vibrant with youthfulness and lively spirit, and the focus of the scene is THEM.

You know what is interesting, why is Yingdu so special? We had multiple opportunities in S1 and S2 to see Shiguang framed like this but they deliberately avoided it. for example take this scene,

the focus is on their hands, which is of course very symbolic and it just looks like Cheng Xiaoshi just asked,

"Would you like to be my life partner?"

- "yes"

but they didn't show their faces.

But I am not here just to talk about Shiguang. It's him

there is something in his expressions that pleasantly sends shivers to my heart.

He is genuinely happy to cross paths with them, probably in another life, he would not meet them as a spy. In another timeline, he would have enough agency upon his life to choose to befriend them of his own volition. Link Click is so agonisingly beautiful to portray the often ignored yet deep yearning of the human mind, the yearning to meet people who make you believe in 'found family', even if it's for a fleeting moment, you are grateful to be able to form human bondings, with people who feel to be 'your people'. You know when Beckett said that the fundamental condition of human existence is being enveloped by loneliness and that's why they are constantly in search of the 'others'...he was painfully truthful.

Whatever transpires (even if it's Xia Fei who actually kills Cheng Xiaoshi and wants to kill Lu Guang) this scene will not lose its value. On the contrary, the emotions will be more profound. In a world where destiny had not designed such a heinous survival game, we will be alive and happy together.

Another thing (apart from their friendship) he realises is that...how Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang are so deeply in love. (Listen, Ik the dialogues may add a whole different meaning altogether but I wanna write it cuz it makes me happy hmph!) He recognises it, and kind of wishes something of that in his own life too. I would not be surprised if he actually views shiguang as the model lovers he kind of pines for in his own life too ( probably with Vein-)

whatever, this scene is PRICELESS!

edit : this.

[nekoboydreams]

Hello!!!

I'm so happy that you can spare time to answer my questions, and I really, really love your game so much!!!!!! My love for it is just like how I’ll always be crazily in love with strawberry - flavored cupcakes, haha.

So, here's my question (or rather, a really interesting brain - idea, haha).

What if mc can’t tell pierrot and harlequin apart just by looking because of some defects (like red - green color blindness + not being able to accurately tell their clown costumes apart). But mc don’t want to reveal these defects, so mc keep it a secret and always call both pierrot and harlequin “sweetheart” (please forgive my little mischievous humor, haha, I just think it’ll be more dramatic).

And one day, when mc do this same trick again, mc accidentally say the words meant for pierrot to harlequin (the content of what mc say will make the other person realize there’s something odd about mc, but the other person doesn’t expose it right then). Meanwhile, pierrot, who’s secretly following behind, overhears it. So what will happen next?

Also, I’m really interested in how the plot would go if we swap the characters (swap pierrot and harlequin’s positions). I hope you can answer that for me too.

Finally, the important thing said three times: I love your game so much! I love your game so much! I love your game so much!

Looking forward to the next parts of the story, and I’ll always support you!!!!!!!!

P.S.: I used a translation app, hope there’s no misunderstanding in the expression that bothers you... ₍˄·͈༝༝·͈˄*₎◞

Thank you so much! It makes me really happy to see how excited you are! I’ve actually read some of your fanfics too and I had a great time with them!

It’s very likely Pierrot would notice MC switching the colors of things throughout the day he’d definitely start suspecting they’re getting things mixed up.

Harlequin would tease MC about the mix-up, of course. Pierrot, watching it all from afar, wouldn’t be able to stop himself from wanting to pull Harlequin away from them. And the moment he managed to get MC alone, he’d start asking subtle questions about what happened between them clearly worried.

I’ve actually tried to imagine what it would be like if Harlequin took Pierrot’s place, haha but honestly, I just can’t picture how the story would unfold from there!

Thank you so much for the support and kind words!

[le-poofe]

Finally~

I wanted to make a little something to say "Thank you for reading" to cap off WYS! Excuse me while I get mushy for a second-

Y’all are the reason this was able to get done. Your enthusiasm for updates and how the story unfolded really means so much to me. It was the little things that kept me motivated, even during the long hiatus. Seeing you guys pick up and point out little details sprinkled throughout the comic always made my day and gave me a sense of validation. Reactions to things like the surprise of Sans’ nightmare or Grillby’s comfort all made me super happy. And you guys gave the finale pages the sweetest reception I could ask for. l'm so grateful that you stuck around for the whole thing!

Overall, I’m very pleased with how this turned out! Interestingly, the main thing I’d want to change if given the chance is how I wrote Sans and Grillby themselves. Especially Sans’ dialogue. My characterization of them has changed quite a bit over the years (hard to tell bc I don’t draw them a lot atm). But that can’t really be helped. Just like the way that my art style changed over time. Hindsight does that stuff all the time. Nitpicking aside, I stand by the creative decisions made by 2019 Me

The funny part is that the original comic was 17 pages and I got them all done before hand so I wouldn't run into the issue of falling into a hiatus between pages!!! If y'all are interested in a bts post, I’ll try to dig up those og pages from my old computer. And maybe I'll show the even rougher epilogue draft I threw together for shits and giggles to see if I could get the page count to 69

Sansby has already been super special to me for a long time, finally getting this done and seeing the response strengthened that. I’ve had so many people find me through WYS over the years, it blows my mind. The messages from people who hold it dear really means the world! Without you guys this comic wouldn’t be what it is now. Thanks for Staying~