#''who's going to notice that it's braided incorrectly?''

[brachiosaurus-on]

... I have literally never thought of the exact positioning of a Padawan braid before just now. XD But I suddenly am sorely tempted to sketch one in front of the ear because I think it looks nice. And it can still be tucked behind it like regular hair! Compromise?

Ahahaha you come and offer me this compromise not knowing that two days ago I wrote over 1k words describing in detail the process of braiding the padawan braid and designed a padawan comb specifically for the braid and that I spend my showers contemplating the incredible practicality of having the braid drawn from a line above the ear and snugly rooted in place by pulling in the strands slowly like a dutch braid, building to where it hangs from the end of that line at the top back of the ear (not the base of the neck) and is eventually tied off with windings the first of which is approximately one centimeter below the ear lobe.

I will allow such sacrilege but I advise that when your Jedi starts spinning in the wrong direction that braid will not remain tucked behind the ear.

[cowboyfromh3ll]

gonna keep the shy reader hcs party going and kindly request how arthur, john, and charles (and any other characters you might have added) would tease her once they’ve been together for a little while. who likes flustering her the most and who would get away with it the longest before she realizes he’s doing it on purpose 👀 as for the smutty part, what’s their favorite ways to rile her up before taking pity and giving her what she wants (i imagine some would be nicer than others lol)

Shy!Reader HC Ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith (Smut)

Y'all love your shy reader hcs

Warnings: smut

Arthur Morgan

I feel like Arthur wouldn't be too big of a tease but when he is, they're very non consequential things

You fell off your horse? You were hunting together and missed the shot by a lot? You hurt yourself trying to do something daring on a job? He'd be like omg come over here lemme fix it for you baby

His goal is never to make you feel less than or somehow incompetent with his teasing

But oh you got syrup all over your face and hands? You buttoned your shirt incorrectly? You snort when you laugh? He's gonna keep going until you're blushing and giggling at him to stop

Even if there's nothing wrong with your outfit he'll go over to you and find SOMETHING to fix

Will spend an unnecessary amount of time fixing your collar or scarf

It'd probably be pretty easy to tell what he's trying to do, not very slick

Would compliment you to try and make you blush but he just ends up making himself blush

If you're insecure over something he'll make sure to compliment that aspect of you over and over again

Flirts with the idea of marriage and kids one day and that'll have you SWOONING

Sometimes he'll rub your belly when you talk about it and it'll make you CRUMBLE

NSFW

Oh he's gonna be such a big tease, and he'll do it perfectly

Does it in a way that can be passed off as accidentally and goes unnoticed by anyone else but you

Rubs his crotch on you while making his way past behind you

Subtly brushes your thigh or ass with his hand

Kisses up your neck until you're all hot and bothered and pulls away before saying he's gotta do something

If y'all are sitting around a table in a group setting he'll have you on his lap so you can feel him harden. Keeps playing poker like nothing

If you're sitting next to him he'll place his hand on your inner thigh but never moving it close enough to where you want it

His favorite way to rile you up is to touch you all over during make outs then never going past that

Takes pity on you when he sees you get genuinely frustrated, thinks it's hilarious though

Charles Smith

He's so subtle with it that you wouldn't even catch it until a few seconds later

You gotta think about it before you truly get it

You could complain about how hot it is and he'll recommend you take off your clothes

Oh you say your backs hurting? Charles recommended course of action is visiting him at his tent tonight so he can fix it wink wink

You'll actually show up and he'll actually be surprised you haven't gotten it yet

Will give you a massage nonetheless

Would take you a while to pick up on it and that's the beauty of it to Charles

Would do things without the intention of making you blush but if he notices something does he'll keep at it

You like it when he plays with your hair? Then he'll braid it and put flowers in it and rave about how beautiful it is

Hands you flowers and tells you it reminded him of you

Makes you little trinkets and objects and says the most flowery things about how he tried to make it a fraction of how beautiful you are

NSFW

Like his aforementioned forms of teasing, he'll do just that

In fact, in times where you do catch on, he'll pretend like he never meant it that way and you're the one who's trying to get something going

Will give you THAT LOOK when you're together in public and you BOTH know you won't be able to do anything for hours

During make outs he'll rub your inner thighs or ass or sides but never touching you where you need it.

His hands are very light, his touches never heavy handed

He'd give in real easy to you. Just pout or give him puppy eyes and he'll give in

Even being bold enough to tell him what you want will have him in a trance

He's a giver so he can never deny you for too long for his own satisfaction

John Marston

Oh my God his teasing definitely goes too far

I don't mean that in a cute way I mean he probably ends up hurting your feelings because he does not know when to stop

Sucks at flirting

Your shy nature just makes it more awkward

But once you get used to his failed attempts at being coquettish you'll be able to recognize when he's trying to flirt

Is probably super obvious when he's trying and when he's successful he'll actually make you blush

His successful attempts are probably unintentional. Says something he won't think will land but is surprised when it works

Excuses himself for a moment and celebrates a few feet away before turning like normal

He has like a time to cool down on successful flirting. Only successful once every three days or something like that

Tries to compliment you but it comes out awkwardly and stiff

If you say something back slightly flirty he's gonna blank and not know how to continue from there

As soon as he approaches you and says "uhh.. hey" you already know what he's trying to do

Opposite of Arthur so he WILL tease you for falling off your horse

Awkwardly hugs you and pats your shoulder if you cry while apologizing profusely

NSFW

Can't rile you up for too long without exciting himself

Keeps his arm on your lower back and dips his fingers inside your waist band

Type to pull on your overalls (if you wear em) and lets them snap back into you

Will come up behind you and rub his stubble into your neck before whispering filthy things into your ear

Likes it when you put up a little playful resistence

If y'all are sitting down somewhere together he'll put his hand on your ankle before running it up under your skirt

Ends up giving in mostly because HE can't take it anymore and is too excited

[caffeinetheif]

I absolutely NEED you to write a head cannon about the demon bros meeting a black reader with long box braids I wanna know how they'd react or how'd they style them😭

Please and thank you also friendly reminder to take some time off for your mental health and know that your doing an AWESOME job, I'm proud of you!<3

Thank you so much for putting your faith in me to write this request <3. As a white woman, I want to make sure that I'm correctly depicting the styles, so I've been doing some research. I had a lot of fun just looking at different ways people style their box braids!

ALSO If I word anything incorrectly or make mistakes, please tell me so I can fix it!

The Brothers' Reaction to a Black MC with Box Braids Black GN!MC No content warnings for this one!

Lucifer

When you first meet Lucifer, he would definitely be curious about your braids. He wouldn't make a big deal out of it and honestly may just see it as another human custom that's not as prevailent in the Devildom.

As your relationship with him develops, he may show favoritism towards the classic long box braids. The way the braids sway with your every step has him mesmerized.

I think he would complement every style you wear your braids in, but he is a man who loves his classics after all.

Mammon

Mams would be more vocal about his curiousity. He bombards you with questions like: "How long do they take?" "Do you braid them yourself?" (If the answer is no, that you pay someone to braid your hair for you, 9 times out of 10 he's going to ask how much it costs.)

I think he'd be all over a mixed color box braid, especially if you have yellows and golds mixed in! He's totally not biased towards those colors, what are you talking about? Another style I think he would like is yarn braids, once again in yellows and golds.

Leviathan

He would also be very quiet at first. Not because he doesn't like them, but because he's socially awkward and doesn't want to come off as insensitive. He does some research and then comes to you with questions. Please be patient with him, he's anxious.

I think he'd like it if you style your hair in jumbo box braids and lay your edges too. The laid edges remind him of waves (which complement his roll as Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy, but he won't tell you that).

Take him to an appointment to get your hair done or let him join you if you do it yourself. He will be eager to help in any way (if you want him to), but he gets distracted by the techniques used to braid your hair.

Satan

He would be interested in the history of the different braids, even if they aren't styles you usually wear. Like Lucifer, he would enjoy seeing how your hair moves with you as you walk. He won't admit to staring though.

As for his favorite style of box braids, I think he'd show favoritism towards box braids with curly or wavy ends.

He would be one of the most observent if you try something different. Different edge laying product? He will mention it. Go see a new braider? Somehow he is able to differentiate between them.

Asmodeus

Asmo is obsessed with your braids. He wants to know everything including techniques, history, different styles, and other braid styles too. He insists he sits in and watches your hair get braided.

He would love the knotless braids with beads. He would practically beg to pick out beads for your hair (expect there to be multiple beads with different heart styles). If you aren't into beaded styles, I think he would also like if you style your hair in a half up bun or half up space buns!

At some point in your relationship he will drop hints that he wants to learn how to braid. He will be ecstatic if you teach him.

Beelzebub

He just doesn't really notice at first? I wouldn't say he doesn't care, he cares because your hair style is what makes you unique in his eyes. He just sees it as another human characteristic.

Out of the different styles, I think he would prefer the large box braid style. He thinks it frames your face very well.

I can't see him being very involved with your hair if that makes sense. He's chill, "you do you and I'll love you regardless" kind of vibes

Belphegor

Much like his twin, he doesn't really focus on it. However, I think the further your relationship grows with him the more he'll take notice of your different hair styles.

He finds the bohemian box braid style the most visually appealing. He loves the variety that is exentuated in the style. I think he'd also love if you accessorize with hair scarves or bandanas (bonus points if its his color).

I think he'd compliment on each different style you try, but that one will be at the top of the list if you ask him what style you should do next.

[forbidding-souda]

Deaf S/O with characters I headcanon knowing ASL

ASL specifically, though ASL and sign language go interchangeably with this headcanon, this post specifies things to ASL.

And this S/O is deaf AND signs ASL, doesn’t specify anything else otherwise I’d be specific about it :)

(gender neutral S/O ofc ofc)

-Mod Souda

Rantaro Amami

Something he noticed about you quickly is how loud you were.

You two moved in together, and it was never something he would have predicted.

You’ll go to get food at midnight and slam the cupboard close, scaring him awake.

You always eat at midnight too, it’s unusual to him.

He will wake up with you absent in the bed and be like oh no.

He’s a very calm, quiet person.

He will never tell you about your volume, though, in fear he’ll embarrass you.

When you first met, after learning you were deaf, he definitely watched a lot of videos on deaf culture.

He also developed a crush on Nyle DiMarco.

I mean what.

If you ask he doesn’t know who that is.

He’s very educated on the manor, and often corrects people when they refer to you incorrectly.

But the way he signs is very textbook-y.

He signs 16 like ten-six, which bothers you.

Does NOT keep up with sign language slang.

You signed see you later to him and it blew his mind.

You tried to show him the sign for emoji and he went ???

The sign name you give him is ‘beautiful’, and then it ends with an R.

Kirumi Toujou

You often have to ask her to repeat herself to get the message of her words across, since she hardly uses facial expressions.

She learned ASL for a job once and forget a lot of it.

You enjoy teaching her, definitely.

Because teaching her means she’ll sign like you.

One time she signed Sunday a different way than you and you went ???

“Where did you learn that.”

“... signing saavy.”

“Nice.”

The best part about her is that she is actually good at the grammar structure.

It’s actually quite surprising that you don’t have to simplify your sentences.

Going shopping is fun with her, too.

That’s where she specializes; in food.

She can name almost everything in the food aisle.

Can easily understand your excited rambling but can’t seem to sign fast herself.

Slow and delicate, it’s cute.

Worst part for her is how loud you have the TV.

She likes doing laundry in silence, but that’s hard when she can hear the conversations of characters all the way from the living room.

She asks you to turn it down.

“Sorry.”

You don’t.

She is always working hard as the SHSL Maid, so you hardly get to see her.

But whenever she returns she always brings you a small gift.

Sometimes foreign coins or keychains.

Her sign name is ‘business’ with a T, because you met her while she was working and she was very focused!

Peko Pekoyama

Hid the fact that she knew ASL from you.

It was because she’s bad at it.

You assure her that to the Deaf community, it’s the effort that matters.

She has met a lot of deaf people because of you and gets scared to sign to them.

She even blushes in embarrassment.

But if you ask for help in public than she’ll be happy to assist.

That’s rare, though, since you almost always find a way to communicate with hearing people who don’t sign.

Something she enjoys is the stillness of your house.

The Kuzuryuu household always has some type of noise going on.

Yours is almost always quiet.

She isn’t afraid to sign to you when you’re home alone.

You like teaching her signs like “wow.”

Seeing her sign them in a neutral face is funny to you.

“Facial expressions matter to my language, Peko!”

She gets flustered when you correct her.

Her sign name is a motion that signifies her braids, with a P handshape.

You always love playing with her hair.

She thinks it’s annoying.

“I want another name sign.”

“No.”

She’ll crawl into bed next to you and then feel you messing with her hair.

She huffs, “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I know.”

Sonia Nevermind

Different types of sign language was always her favorite thing to learn.

She loves Deaf culture and always tries to involve herself in it.

Meeting you made her even more excited once she learned you were deaf.

You thought it was really weird until she explained that she studied the culture.

You were impressed, especially since she had never talked to one in person before.

She even started signing slang and it blew your mind.

You gave her a sign name the first day you met her, and she almost passed out in joy.

Princess with an S, and she thought it was awesome, even though it was basic.

She told all of her classmates she got a sign name.

When a bunch of Ultimates came up to you asking for a sign name you went ???

Well now you have to bring her to a Deaf convention.

When she attends ballroom dances, she always brings you along so you can meet people of her culture as well.

She keeps you by her side, holding your hand the entire time and explaining what is happening and why.

She secretly wants to be an interpreter.

Dating her is really fun, of course, because she really wants to learn.

Makes a law that says interpreters are a necessity in her countries broadcasts.

Whenever she travels, she always sends you selfies with the ILY sign.

It’s her favorite.

She never stops thinking about you.

She works hard to make laws to the Deaf community in her country feels welcome.

Gundham Tanaka

Originally learned sign language to teach to his pets.

Never knew he would have to use it to talk to someone.

Until Sonia introduced you to him and he busted out in ASL

Sonia and you going ?? OH UH HI YEs

Signs as dramatic as you think he would.

Sign name is literally devil.

Asked specifically for that sign name.

When you both cuddle he’ll smother his face against you - often your chest or your neck - and mutter how much he loves you.

If you still have some of your hearing you’ll be like “I swear to god if you don’t stop using your voice.”

If you’re stone deaf you’ll just roll your eyes and enjoy the vibrations against your skin.

Gundham would also definitely hum against you.

His voice is deep and it rumbles so yes.

You can also talk to a lot of his animals, since they understand sign language.

It’s awesome being able to communicate with animals.

You like taking baths with him, too.

He likes talking a lot so it would be easier to talk to him.

If he ever needs help with the big cats, he’ll call you, because their scary roars don’t bother you.

The fact that they have claws does though.

Whenever he gets anxious he talks behind his scarf, which drives you crazy.

“Sign, damnit, or I will literally kill you!”

Mikan Tsumiki

Has helped a lot of deaf students.

But barely knows any words outside of the medical field.

Gets emberassed whenever you correct her on something she signs wrong.

Signs mostly PSE, but you help her switch into ASL.

She’s a big hugger, always holding you close and having you cradle her.

You gave her the sign name “shaky princess.”

“P-Princes???”

She takes awhile to get used to how blunt ASL is.

Stutters a lot still, even in ASL.

Whenever you sign to her while she has something in her hand she’ll start freaking out and crying about not being able to respond.

Until one day you sign to her with one hand and she’s like ??? you can do that?

Showers with you a lot.

Her brain doesn’t process signing in the shower, though.

So it’s mostly just the two of you standing together.

She definitely prefers sign language over talking.

Sometimes she finds herself signing while talking, too.

Shinguuji Korekiyo

100% you cannot convince me this man doesn’t know ASL.

He is obsessed with culture, so he’s definitely very knowledgable in Deaf culture and history as well.

Though understanding his signs is very hard because of his mask.

Sometimes he’ll take off his hat so you can easily see the upper half of his face.

(Okay but can we talk about if deaf S/O is a girl how he wouldn’t kill her because Miyadera doesn’t know sign language so they wouldn’t be friends)

An amazing signer, though, since he talks to a lot of Deaf people.

I mean you almost can’t tell he’s hearing.

It’s just the facial expressions and body movement.

Boy is stiff.

Makes you uncomfortable when he signs things like chubby face and skinny.

He just... stands there with his blank eyes.

He scares you all the time, too.

Like he’ll just walk up behind you and touch you.

Not even a shoulder nudge either he’ll just grab you and hug you.

You let out a noise of surprise each time.

If you’re nonverbal, that’s probably why he does it.

You really wanted his sign name to be something like mystery man.

Discussed it with your deaf friends.

Settled on anthropology just because of the hat he wears.

Really wanted it to be less obvious though.

You like to have tea with him.

Because everytime he changes into his eating mask, you are like-

“Why don’t you have a signing mask?”

“The point of the mask is to hide my mouth.”

Kiibo

Doesn’t remember learning ASL

Just??? Knew it.

When he saw you signing to your friend he knew what you were saying without realizing.

Hands move in language hello???

You had to explain to him that you are deaf and it’s how you communicate.

He thinks it’s incredible how you have your own language.

He’s also grateful that he knows it so he could learn more about what being Deaf is.

If you’re verbal than one day you’ll speak while signing and he’ll ???

YOU CAN TALK????

“Yes Kiibo I can talk.”

You show him stereotypical Deaf movies.

He’s happy you’re deaf because that means he can sing around you.

You clap every time he does.

Likes watching anime with you because the CC comes naturally.

Even though he obvi knows Japanese.

Definitely owns clothes from Deaf conventions.

Isn’t scared to sign to people at all, by the way.

And doesn’t mind living in a household with a deaf person, the slamming of cabinets and doors doesn’t bother him.

Very happy to be apart of Deaf culture.

He’s very prideful in being a robot so of course that’s his sign name.

Kaito Momota

Chaotic.

Knows ASL because he took classes one time.

When he learns you’re deaf he will force you to watch every movie he watched in his ASL class.

Will try to sneak up on you.

But he stomps when he walks so it doesn’t always work.

Though, just to bother you, when he walks by he’ll pull your hair.

Replaced shoulder nudges with pulling your hair.

When you sign a word he doesn’t know he’ll pretend to understand.

You can tell when he doesn’t.

He is very prideful in his signing abilities.

He’s just happy to be able to communicate you.

Shhh don’t tell S/O but he loves them very much and tries his best.

He literally started taking ASL classes again just to catch up on new signs.

Didn’t tell you, of course.

Begs you to make his sign name astronaut.

You thought about it.

Egotistical with K’s :)

He’s like akdkskfkekffk NO

He’s says something like “Oh yeah well your sign name is UGLY!!”

“Stay mad stay mad.”

He tries to white knight situations in like restaurants.

“You’re not my interpreter.”

“Yeah but they don’t know ASL.”

“Neither does the rest of the world but I’ve made it so far.”

He literally like gets nervous about you going places alone.

What if they can’t communicate???

“Kaito.”

“What.”

“Shut up.”

He always brags to you because he’s quadlingual though.

You learn curse words in Russian to sticky note to the bathroom mirror.

His signing is cute though.

For someone like Kaito.

[jackalgirl]

Stubbornness

Me, yesterday: Today, I am going to get all caught up with my correspondence.  And I’m going to experiment with the sewing machine so I can finish the Hellvet Bag.  And I might even fell down some of the hems of the linen tunic I actually sewed, with only a single drop of blood to appease the demon sewing machine, and which actually fits the Next Generation (the tunic, not the sewing machine).  But first, I will knit the one part of Nikki Van De Car’s “Maile Sweater” that is actually hellaciously difficult for me, so that it is out of the way.

Me:  There!  Done with the sweater part and ready to move on!  Why do I feel exhausted?

Me, looking at the clock, seeing that it is eight-thirty in the evening, and having accomplished absolutely nothing else: Time for bed!

TL;DR: there’s an error in the pattern plus I made some mistakes, and it took me all day to figure it out, because dammit I’m not going to let a pattern beat me like that.

I have placed the fix to the pattern, followed by the full story*, under the cut, if you like gory knitting stories.

* I’ve Suffered For My Art and Now You Will, Too...but only if you wanna.  Because I absolutely hate the “shaggy dog” style of recipe or crafting instruction, where you have to endure a story before you get to the actual instruction.  So I put the correction first.

First, the pattern: https://beacon.by/nikki-van-de-car/maile - it is free and adorable and is one of my two go-to patterns when I’m making jackets for friends’ freshly-sprouted or soon-to-be-sprouting sprogs. 

In the Yoke section, the first part should read:

K yoke to 8 sts before marker, ssk, pm, k6, remove m.  K7 from the 1st sleeve, pm, k2tog. K to 3 sts before end of sleeve, ssk, pm, k to end of sleeve.  K1 stitch from back, k2tog, k to 3 sts before marker, ssk, k1, remove m, k1 st from second sleeve, pm, k2tog, k to 9 sts before end of sleeve, ssk, pm, k to end of sleeve.  K6 sts from left front, pm, k2tog, k to end.

The bolded part is what’s different from Nikki’s original pattern. 

When you are done with this row, you should have 203 stitches on your needles, separated into seven (7) sections:

The middle section (”center back”): 59 stitches. 

The two sections on either side of this (”shoulders”): 36 stitches each. 

Continuing outwards, the next two sections (”lace sections”): 13 stitches each. 

Finally, the last two sections (”jacket fronts”): 23 stitches each.

The pattern’s error is that is has you place the fourth marker two stitches too early, and you end up with 57 stitches in the center back and 38 stitches in the second shoulder section.

Note: from this point onward, you will be decreasing by 8 stitches in every odd-numbered row.  You will repeat lace pattern #2 a total of three times, losing 120 total stitches overall.  This means when you finish the lace pattern’s row 9 for the third time, you’ll have 83 stitches on your needle (8, 13, 6, and 29 sts in the jacket front, lace, shoulder, and center back sections respectively).

The pattern tells you to stop when you have 83 stitches, but go ahead and knit a “wrong-side” button hole row, so that your jacket ends up with four (4) button holes.  Then continue on as per the pattern until you are done.

The pattern doesn’t tell you you have to seam up the sleeves on the undersides, but you do.  Take care to close up the hole in the armpit that is a consequence of inserting all those sleeve stitches between two adjacent jacket stitches.

Oh, look!  A shaggy dog!  (Abandon all hope, etc.)

The original pattern has you knit the sleeves in the flat (from the cuffs upward).  Then, after you’ve knitted up the bottom part of the jacket, this first part of the Yoke section has you knit the sleeves directly into the jacket: after having knitted up the bottom part of the jacket, you knit some stitches, then knit across the first sleeves’ stitches (with some decreases thrown in), then return to the jacket stitches (so you’ve just inserted all those sleeve stitches between two adjacent stitches of the jacket, which is tough), knit across the back, add the second sleeve in the same manner, then the rest of the jacket. 

You’re adding stitch markers along the way -- those sections are to allow you both to knit a section of lace on either side of the jacket’s front, but also to shape the jacket around the shoulders and neck.  So the sections -- and the markers -- are really really important. 

But the pattern does not have any indication of how many stitches should end up in each section.  Nor does it give you an overall stitch count when you are done with that row.  You finish the first part of the jacket with 119 stitches, and then you do this (IMO) technically difficult** step of knitting the sleeves directly into the jacket, with some decreases thrown in for good measure, and end up with...???

** I make it more difficult, of course, by not knitting the sleeves in the flat, so I am attaching tubes (much tension -- many strain) to the jacket instead of relatively flexible flat pieces.  More on that later, if you have not given up on me by then.

I feel like this is one of those patterns by a very accomplished and exceptionally skilled knitter, who is perhaps not taking into account that lesser knitters (like myself) are bound to make mistakes, and for me (ymmv), having stitch counts are really important for keeping track of whether or not I’ve made a mistake.  The lack of stitch counts isn’t a big deal, as long as you don’t make any mistakes.  And this also assumes that the pattern doesn’t contain any mistakes in the first place.

The two previous times I’ve knitted this jacket, not knowing about that error in the pattern and not having a stitch count to compare, I ended up with a not-symmetrical number of stitches in the shoulders of the jacket after attaching the sleeves.  I had chalked it up to a) making mistakes, as I do, and b) always getting excited to continue The Next Part and forgetting to double-check before I do so.  I in each of my previous two jackets, I ended up hiding a decrease in the second shoulder section and forging onward.

This time was no different and, naturally, I only noticed this until about five rows after, because I didn’t remember to double-check until then.  Also, I’d made some mistakes, because the shaping -- although absolutely lovely when it’s done -- is arranged in such a way as to form a pattern that is not sticky for the way my brain is wired to see patterns.  But this time, I remembered that this had happened the previous two times.  Though I was willing to admit that I’d made mistakes again, I began to suspect that there was a problem with the pattern itself.  And I was going to figure it out, by George!

I ended up breaking out the iPad and doing some drawing/counting illustrations in order to figure out what you’re supposed to have after that row of attaching the sleeves.  That’s what helped me recognize the error in the pattern, and why I was ending up with unequal shoulders (in addition to my mistakes).

Rather than frog all the way back to the sleeve attachment (I did not want to go through that again), I simply frogged that little bit of the jacket between the back and the incorrectly-numbered shoulder back to the row where I attached the sleeves, and (I used double-pointed needles for this) knitted the dropped stitches back up with everything shifted over so that the dividing line ended up where it needed to be.  I did the same thing to the other parts where I’d made mistakes (by forgetting to decrease where I was supposed to).   That finally got me to the correct stitch count for the row I was on, with the correct number of stitches in each section. 

This was much more difficult than I’m making it sound, and figuring it out took me all day (and made me cranky, for which I profusely apologized to the Better Half who, to give him credit, demonstrated the “Better” part of that moniker, for which I am very grateful).

Aunt Lorenza’s Modifications - or - Oh look! Another shaggy dog!  (if you’re still with me, blessings be upon you)

As mentioned, I didn’t knit the sleeves in the flat.  I knitted them using the magic loop method, on a circular needle, two-at-a-time.  I did cut the yarn (Nikki recommends you not do this) after they were done, but left a decently long tail (3-4 inches, or 7-10 cm) to take care of the underarm hole.

If you want to do the sleeves this way, you will need extra equipment: five (5) US x double-pointed knitting needles, and an additional set of US x circular needles with a decently long cable (the longer, the better, but no fewer than 24″/61 cm).

Note: I say “x” because what size needle you use depends on your yarn and what size you’re shooting for.  I used fingering-weight yarn and US 4 (3.5mm) needles, but you might end up using something else.  Just make sure they’re all the same size.

First, knit the sleeves, using the magic loop method for circular knitting.  I modified the pattern by casting on using the Chinese Waitress cast-on for the sleeves, so that the cuff would be extra stretchy.

When you are done: transfer the first sleeve to DPNs as so:

from the start of the sleeve’s round, 11 sts on the first needle, 12 sts each on the second and third needles, 11 sts on the fourth needle. 

Note: This is going to help split up the strain on the tube as you’re knitting it into the jacket.  It’ll be easier on your hands, your needles, and also the fabric.

Leave the second sleeve on your original needles and set aside.

Take up your second set of cable needles and knit the jacket.  I used the crochet cast-on so that I would have a braided edge, taking the extra step of deliberately twisting the stitches so that it would be a twisted braid.  I also added a stitch to either side (I cast on 133 sts vice 133) and slipped the first stitch of each row purlwise, knitting it on the return, so that the edges would also have a twisted braid.

In the Yoke section, when you get to the first sleeve (on its DPNs), use the fifth DPN to knit the sleeves’ stitches off of the first DPN, when then becomes your right-hand needle.  Continue in this manner, knitting around the sleeve stitches, as per the pattern.

When you reach the end of the sleeve, pick up the next jacket stitch with your original (circular) needle.  This part takes patience, because all these needles want to be in the way of each other and the yarn, and of course the DPNs want to slide out of the loops.  So go slow for this part.

Follow the pattern until you have gotten 10 or so stitches across the back -- or until it feels relatively secure to you.

You’re now going to need to get the sleeve stitches onto your cable needle (pulling up a loop in the middle of the sleeve so that it lays flat) and free up the DPNs for the next sleeve.  As soon as you get two DPNs free, stop and get the second sleeve off of the other end of the holding cable (half of the sts on one needle, half on the other).  When all of the DPNs are free, set up the second sleeve as you did the first.

Continue with the yoke, adding the second sleeve as the pattern directs.  Leave these DPNs in the second sleeve stitches after you have finished attaching the sleeve so that they can take up the strain.

When you are done with this row and the sleeves are on, knit your wrong-side return -- the DPNs will help you manage the strain on the fabric when you reach the sleeves.  Eventually, as you keep adding rows, you’ll get far enough past the sleeves that you’ll be able to remove the DPNs and the extra cable needle.  And then you can just knit as the pattern is written and you should be fine.

Enjoy!

[limitless-imagination]

Horizon in Mom Mode with the Legends part 1

[Face it, whether the other Legends want it or not, there’s a mom in their midst! And boy, I did not expect some of these to get so heart-wrenching! - cheesy]

Bangalore: Horizon is a great listener, and whenever Anita needs an ear, she knows she can turn to Mary. Although they are only one year apart in age, Anita finds comfort with Mary’s natural maternal instinct. Anita hasn’t seen her family in a very long time, and misses the feeling she gets when surrounded by them. Anita gets the warm fuzzies when she can talk comfortably. She may be a battle-hardened soldier, but even this sergeant needs a break from holding in so much every now and then. The two of them are also in the same boat. They lost someone they loved very much, and will do anything to get back to them. Anita with her brother, Jackson, and Mary with her son, Newton.

Bloodhound: Their interest in technology got them to ask about Horizon’s gravity lifts and drone. Whenever they are both out of the games, you can catch them teaching each other what they’re best at. Horizon will go over the specs of N.E.W.T., and Bloodhound will explain the hunt. Horizon doesn’t really get it, but she appreciates the explanations nonetheless. Think of it like this; a kid shows you their drawing and although it doesn’t make sense, you still love it because they poured their heart into it!

Caustic: Caustic doesn’t require a mother figure, and finds it troublesome whenever Horizon gets into Mom Mode™ around him, considering he is nearly a decade older than her. Horizon likes having another science-y person around. She can spew all her techno babble, and at least Caustic won’t have to ask her to translate it to regular words. Horizon tends to see things and people in a positive light. So while Caustic won’t admit it, he’s glad to have someone who is at least neutral with him at this point, after the mole incident (see ‘The Broken Ghost’ quest if you’re interested about this canon plot point in Apex Legends).

Crypto: after departing from the orphanage and Mystik (the caretaker of Mila and himself), he’s still not used to being a part of something. He’s used to be apart from something. Crypto certainly misses the days when things were simpler... Horizon’s bubbly and daring personality reminds him a lot of Wattson, and their broken friendship. Horizon is someone he feels comfortable opening up to slightly. Sometimes they work together in comfortable silence, other times they delve deeply into drone technology. Crypto is still a reclused and closed off person, and even with a slightly damaged reputation with the Legends’ circle, he’s glad to have another person to talk to.

Gibraltar: Most people incorrectly assume Gibraltar is a father- he’s very good with children. But it’s all thanks to his fun and outgoing personality. Unlike some of the other Legends, Gibraltar has a good relationship with his parents, and it’s thanks to them that he grew up to become this respectable and just man. That’s why, after hearing Horizon’s predicament, he tries to help her out whenever he can. Whether it be a drink, a talk, or just talking about the trials of adulthood. Gibraltar is one of the only Legends who doesn’t get an automatic dose of mom mode™. Just two adults surfing through life together, hanging out.

Lifeline: Some days (not that Ajay wants to admit it), she misses the time when she was a kid. Honestly, who doesn’t? She remembers the time when she had no idea her parents were profiting off of the war, when she was spoiled by them, by their gifts, and their love. Now that she’s older, and their relationship is a pale shadow in comparison, Ajay finds that, while her life is better with clarity, she still misses those days when she was happily unaware. Octane stops by to check up on her sometimes, but really, what Ajay wants is her parents, not her brother. Horizon’s intuition is pretty strong, and she can sense when Ajay needs a familial pick-me-up. Horizon will invite the young lady out to hang out, and do things together. It’s a win-win. Mary gets to do things she missed out on with her son, and Ajay gets a day where she can just be a kid again. But this time, it’s with someone who actually cares.

Loba: Loba doesn’t like people parenting her around, or telling her what to do. She’s gotten around well on her own all these years. But something in her heart aches when Horizon gets all soft with her. Despite the hardship she went through, Loba can be an open book when it comes to her emotions. Horizon will notice this, and once comfortable, perhaps after a season or two, Loba may seek out Horizon to just sit and chat. Sometimes, while Loba sits and sulks about her unchangeable past, or about having to help her mortal enemy, Horizon will be sitting behind her, braiding Loba’s hair. Loba’s mom used to do it for her too. At first, Mary was not good at it. She’d had short hair for a decade now, and had zero practice. But it gives her a peace of mind for a little while, trying all these hairstyles, while throwing out little comments here and there, to Loba.

[evendeadlmthehero]

The Sun and The Moon

(Kylo Ren x Reader)

Episode II: The Timeline of Romeo and Juliet Part Two

Summary: “You were one of the 12 Padawans that Luke Skywalker taught. There, you met the love of your life. Your first best friend, your first lover and your first Boyfriend; Ben Solo. Everything was perfect. That is, until the Jedi Temple was burned by Ben himself. 5 years pass since you last saw him and he isn’t the same man you used to know. The Moon preferred darkness and in that darkness, Kylo Ren was born.”

Warnings: swearing, masturbation and mental illness.

The Sun and The Moon Masterlist

Ultimate Masterlist

13 Years Old

“How do you win everytime?” Ben exclaimed as you won yet another game of Dejarik. You smirked at him, shrugging innocently.

You had your hair braided up into a bun, two single strands from either side of your hair released. One of the single strand was braided to symbolise that you were but a Padawan.

“A magician never reveals their secret,” you replied back, laughing at him. Both you and Ben were in your Jedi clothing. He had finished sparring with Almec and you with Leirra.

“You are definitely cheating,” Ben joked, leaning back on his seat with his arms behind his neck. “You’re using the force on me, right? You’re reading my mind? Trying to plot my next move?”

“You know I wouldn’t read your mind without your consent,” you replied back, chucking a pillow at his face. However, his reflexes were quick and he caught it with one hand.

“How about you read my mind now,” he spoke, leaning foward to look you in the eyes whilst placing the pillow down. “Tell me Y/N, what am I thinking right now?”

You leaned forward as well, looking at his face. You concentrated on his eyes, trying to extract what was going on in his mind. It was hard to read Ben’s mind when he knew you were reading it. When he was carefree and not paying attention, sometimes his thoughts were loud.

The anxiety, depression and isolated feeling that Ben always carried with him, you felt it all. And although you felt bad for intruding his thoughts, it wasn’t your fault. Ben had yet to learn how to conceal it. You could read minds, however for some reason with Ben, it came more at ease. It felt like you were both one mind.

You were the only one out of the Padawans who could read minds, only because you did not know Ben could do it. He still hasn’t said anything about the night he read your mind.

However, you were the only one who truly knew how to move objects with your mind. More specifically, elements. The Force was the balance. The balance of life is Water vs Fire and Earth vs Air. You learnt how to control those elements.

“I cannot live without you,” you heard Ben’s thoughts. You looked down at your lap, blushing. Ben smiled at you, staring intently at your face. He knew what you read from his mind, yet he wanted to hear those words leave your lips.

“So, what did you read?” Ben spoke, a little smirk on his face as you continued to blush, unable to look at him in the face. “C’mon Angel, tell me.”

You were about to speak until you felt an unfamiliar sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You let out a yelp, and Ben too hissed, grabbing his lower abdomen. You then felt something wet near your womenly parts. You got up from the seat, seeing a red bloody stain on the couch.

“Oh my god!” Ben yelled, rushing towards you as he grabbed you in his arms. He then looked at the blood on the couch, his eyes widening. “We- we have to get you to the medic!”

The blood on the couch, the excruciating pain in your stomach and Ben’s panic was enough for you to see dark spots appearing before you went limp in Ben’s arms, now unconscious.

“Y/N?” He called out, seeing your eyes closed. He felt tears well in his eyes before he carried you bridal style. He then ran out of your hut, rushing towards the medic bay. “C’mon Y/N, you’re fine. You- you can’t leave me, you can’t. You’re all I have.”

Ben continued to run in desperation, tears profusely rushing down his face. When he saw the familiar white, little hut, he barged in. “I need a medic! It’s an emergency!”

Two medics, the only medics in the island, quickly rushed into where Ben was holding you. They were both of the Caasami species, wearing a purple velvet robe. R2-D2 then came in whizzing, holding a stretcher before placing it near Ben.

“R2, go inform Master Luke!” The doctor spoke before the droid whizzed away. Ben gently laid you down on the stretcher, before the Caasami rolled you down into the medic room. Ben was following them around like a lost puppy.

As the Doctors placed you into the bed, Ben felt the sharp pain again, the same region that you had pain. Ben was confused, as he wasn’t bleeding like you were. The Doctors noticed he was in pain and nodded over to the chair next to them. “Take a seat over there, young Padawan.”

Ben shook his head, ignoring the sharp pains in his stomach. “No, no, no, you have to make sure she’s okay! You have to find out what’s wrong with her, not me! She’s- she’s all I have!”

The Doctors slightly recoiled at Ben’s harshness before they begun to examine you. The felt your temperature, checked your breathing and heart rate yet everything seemed normal. They then saw the blood that stained your pants and looked at each other.

“Wha- what’s wrong?” Ben asked, his breathing uneven as he watched the Doctors stare at each other. The Doctors then started to laugh hysterically, making Ben see red. He then took out his lightsaber, aiming at the two doctors who fell back in fright. “Do I look like I’m fucking laughing? Fix her or else I will have both your fucking heads on a pike!”

“Benjamin Solo put down that lightsaber right this instant!” Ben heard Luke’s voice below as he stood with his own lightsaber. Ben looked at Luke, his nose flaring as his grip tightened on his weapon.

“No! Not until those mongrels tell me why the fuck Y/N is bleeding from her genitals and having stomach cramps!” Ben voice bellowed. Luke stared at him before looking at the Doctors. He then fell into a hysteric fit, a booming laugh ringing across the room.

Ben looked at Luke in outrage, his heart pumping quickly. Here you were, the only person in the galaxy that cared about him, who gave him a purpose and took away all his anxieties, dying as Master ridiculed him.

Master Luke then calmed down, wiping the tear that left his eyes. “Young Padawan, I need to explain to you the life of being a women and their once a month experience.”

•

“So-so she was on her- what was the word again Master?” Ben spoke, whilst his hand was holding tightly around yours. You had woken up an hour ago but due to fatigue, you took a nap in the medic room.

“Period my son,” Master Luke answered for him.

“Perry-ad,” Ben pronounced incorrectly but Luke did not want to correct him. He didn’t need to and he didn’t want to cause him embarrassment. “And you say she will get pains and cravings?”

“Yes, she will.”

“Who gave her this? Has she been poisoned? I swear to you Master Luke, I will find out who has given her this atrocious disease and I will strike them down and-“

“It’s not a disease Ben, it’s natural, it’s part of life for a young woman her age,” Luke explained. Ben tilted his head towards the side in confusion. “Women go through this once a month. They bleed as a result of not being pregnant. However without it, Y/N cannot have children. Without her period, Y/N won’t have kids.”

Ben looked at you, imagining you with kids. In particular his kids. The thought had his heart fluttering and a smile forming on his face. He would be a great father, better than his, Ben had thought. He would be there for his child, not sending them out alone to a temple.

“Then I will try to satisfy her cravings and subdue her pain,” Ben had promised, nodding to himself as he saw your angelic face still sleeping. He then looked confused again, facing Luke. “I still have one question Master. Why did I also feel the same pain as Y/N?”

Luke’s face formed to one of confusion, before realisation and then anger. Pure anger. And rage. He got up from his position, towering Ben. “Tell me you didn’t, Ben.”

“That I didn’t what?” Ben asked, now afraid. Luke scoffed, shaking his head at him. He then let out a bitter laugh, looking at your sleeping figure.

“Out of all the people you could’ve formed a Jedi Bond with, a Jedi Soulmate with,” Luke spoke, clenching his fists in anger. “It just had to be Y/N.”

•

14 Years Old

Ben walked around the the temple, trying to search for you. You had both agreed to meet each other at the roof but you weren’t there so he had figured you were inside instead.

“Weird,” Ben muttered to himself when he realised you weren’t there either. He then decided to go to your hut instead. “Maybe she’s running late.”

Ben never needed to knock when he went to your hut, you guys were close enough that he didn’t need to. So he walked straight inside your hut without a care in the world.

“Oh my god!” You yelled, as you saw Ben walk inside unannounced. Ben’s eyes widened as he it dawned to him you were naked. Your whole torso and breasts were on full show as your hands tried to cover your pubic region.

Ben felt a weird feeling he had never experienced before. He felt his member twitch in his pants before growing painfully strong. Ben didn’t know what was happening to himself, before quickly bolting out of your hut.

He ran towards his hut, feeling the hardness of his cock restraining against his pants. He then barged into his hut and thankfully his roommate was nowhere in site. He then ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

He was breathing heavily as he took of his pants and underwear. He watched in horror as his member sprang up and hit his lower abdomen. He then gulped, not knowing what to do.

His hand went carefully down to his member, trying to see what was wrong. As his fingers touched the tip, he let out a little hiss of pleasure. Red tinted his cheeks as he felt good.

He decided to try it again, this time holding his cock around his right hand. He then started moving his hand up and down, slowly before picking up the speed.

Ben started letting out little gasps of moans, feeling an unfamiliar pressure deep within him. This felt so good, Ben had thought.

He then pictured you naked, oh god you naked. That had made Ben let out a louder moan, pretending it was your hand doing the work.

“Y-Y/N,” Ben moaned out, moving his hand faster around his cock, precum oozing out of the tip. He then pictured you licking, kissing and swallowing it. He envisioned you sitting on top of him, riding his cock.

Soon enough, the thoughts got so filthy, Ben felt pressure release from his hips and cum spurt out from his cock.

He was a panting mess, sweat in his forehead. He looked at the chaos he had created on the floor and let out a sigh, thickly swallowing.

He then heard footsteps from outside before it came closer and soon enough outside the door. A knock was then heard from the bathroom door.

“Ben it’s me Y/N. I hope I didn’t scare you,” he heard your quiet voice. “I just got back to the hut late from practice with Leirra and I was quickly getting changed. If it’s not too late, we can still go to the roof top? If it’s fine with you?”

“It’s fine,” Ben called out, hoping his voice doesn’t sound too weird.

‘It was really fine,’ Ben had thought, grabbing tissues from near the sink as he begun cleaning the mess he had created.

•

16 Years Old

“Y/N hurry up, we’re going to be late for Daario’s 18th birthday,” Ben yelled out as he stood in the middle of your hut. It was a simple hut; a sofa in the middle with a carpet and a couple of books. Then there was two rooms, one for the bathroom and the other for the toilet. About only 10 people can fit into the living room, so the hut was pretty cramped. “Not that I wanna go, I hate the guy and pretty much everyone here. Except you. You’re alright sometimes-“

“Just wait a secound!”

“That’s what you said two hours ago!” He yelled back, before chuckling to himself. He then looked at himself in the mirror. He had a beige shirt, with the first four buttons open to reveal the beggining of his well defined chest. His hair was ruffled, his classic look. He also had black dress pants on with combat boots.

“Master Skywalker left to visit some resistant officers and will be back tomorrow, which means you don’t have to be the only person who doesn’t drink booze tonight,” Ben spoke, fixing his hair through the mirror. He did not hear you walk into the room. “Although I don’t want you to drink because it means I have to take care of you and-“

Ben stopped speaking when he saw your reflection from the mirror, his breath stuck within his throat. You wore a sheer, silk, tight-in-the-right-places red dress that touched the floor. It was off the shoulder and showed off cleavage and your collar region. Around your waist was a golden belt and you had golden bracelets lining your upper arm to match.

Your hair was done in a half-up half-down style, with the half-up being done in a complex braid. Your wore a deep red lipstick, one that had Ben’s thoughts in a filthy mess. “So, how do I look?”

Ben was speechless. He didn’t know what to say and he couldn’t form coherent sentences. To Ben, you were always a walking Goddess. He did not know why you someone like you had hung around with someone like him. You had him wrapped around your fingers. But right now? He wanted to pin you down and show you how he would’ve kissed you all those years ago if you waited a bit longer.

“You- you look-“ Ben stopped, his mouth still open. You blushed, looking down at your shoes. “Wow.”

Ben kept looking over your figure. It’s obvious that since you hit puberty, your body had matured. You had more curves and swells then Ben remembered.

“Uh- how about we head to the party now?” You suggested, your voice stuck in your throat. Ben quickly nodded, pulling down his shirt slightly to receive some air.

‘This is going to be a long night’, Ben had thought.

•

Music was filling the evening as every Padawan was dancing around the fire. The drums and laugher had filled Ben’s eardrums, as everyone was enjoying the 18th birthday of Daario, the second last person to turn 18 out of all of you, with you still being 16.

Ben watched as you danced around with Leirra; your sparring partner. You two had grown close since Master Luke had paired the both of you. She wasn’t as close as you and Ben, not by a long shot, but she was the one you went to for womenly advice.

You loved to dance, to have fun. Ben however was the opposite. He sat down, drinking down a non-alcoholic beverage whilst watching you. He didn’t want to be drunk so that he would be able to watch over you in case something unexpected happened.

He watched as you twirled around and laughed, your hair being blown by the wind. And Ben wasn’t the only watching. He watched as Almec too was watching you with a smile on his face.

It wasn’t a secret to Ben that Almec had a crush on you. Maybe a secret to you because you were blind to attention, but no secret to Ben. Ben hated Almec, always competed with him. He also found himself letting out his anger on him everytime the two had trained together.

Almec was truly in love with you, and Ben couldn’t blame him. He too had fallen hopelessly in love with you. But that didn’t stop Ben from being jealous everytime he tried to speak to you.

Ben and Almec were complete opposite. Ben had pale skin, raven-black hair and eyes whereas Almec was tanner with lighter eyes and hair. He was the perfect man. And maybe that’s why it made it harder for Ben. Because he was such a outgoing, loved man whereas he was quiet, with everyone being scared of him.

Ever since the bird incident, no one had tried to befriend him. Everyone was already scared of him. Everyone but you.

Ben felt a gaze on him, turning around to see Daario. Daario smirked before getting up, walking towards Ben’s direction. Ben let out a sigh, wanting to be left alone.

“Here we fucking go,” Ben muttered to himself before Daario walked over, taking a seat next to the Solo boy. Daario then looked over at you, watching you dancing.

“Beautiful isn’t she? Not a lot of girls here to compare her too but we all know she’s the most beautiful we’ll ever see in our lives. Tried to get with her last summer. But if there’s one thing I learnt,” Daario begun, watching as Almec tapped your shoulder before asking you to dance with him. You nodded with a blush, making Ben clench his fists. “Is that she looks past who she looks past.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Ben shot him an annoyed look, taking a sip of his drink. Daario looked at him, handing him the beer he had. Ben looked at it before shaking his head. He picked up the drink and chugged it all down.

“It means that once she gives you a label, that’s it, you don’t have a chance,” he begun, his eyes watching you and Almec dance. He whispered something in your ear, making you giggle. Daario let out a chuckle at that. “She sees you as a brother, a best friend. She won’t fuck you.”

“Excuse me?” Ben slammed down the drink, now looking at Daario who still had an arrogant smirk on his face. “What the fuck did you just say.”

“That she won’t fuck you.”

“You better show some fucking respect for her before I knock your teeth out,” Ben warned, getting up from his seat. Daario kept sitting down, crossing his arms.

“Hey what’s wrong,” Almec had asked you when he saw you slow down your dancing. You shook your head, grabbing your chest as you felt anger, hatred.

“Ben,” you had whispered, looking over to see him. He was meters far away from you. You saw him yelling at Daario, but you couldn’t hear what he was saying. But you felt it. You felt the wrath, pain and jealousy. But the feeling you felt the most? Loneliness.

“I’m just saying man,” Daario continued, not phased by Ben’s towering figure over him. “She likes Almec. All your doing is getting in the way. And for what? She doesn’t want to fuck you, plain and simple. I mean, look at her right now? She’s basically pushing herself against him, trying to show off her fucking tits. She’s giving him blowjob eyes-“

Ben drew his fist back, punching Daario straight in the nose, a crack deafening sound following afterwards. The party went quiet as everyone watched on. Daario got up, ready to retaliate but Daario was never good with combat training. He ranked sixth out of everyone.

Ben grabbed him by the collar, lifted him up before slamming him against the floor. You let out a gasp, wanting to run over to him but you were held back by Almec. “Don’t. Ben’s too dangerous. Erratic. You’ll get yourself hurt.”

You looked at Almec, shaking your head at him, hurt by his choice of words. You then pulled away from him before running over towards Ben.

Ben kept hitting him in the face, blood pouring down Daario’s nose and staining his fists. He felt all the resentment, the betrayal and bitterness of his life come out.

‘Yes my Protigee, let it out,’ he heard a voice speak to him. Ben felt the voice encourage him as he continued to hit him. ‘Let all the anger and fear out on him. He’s worthless, a disgrace to the force.’

You watched in horror as Daario’s face was beyond comprehension, a hand covering your mouth. This isn’t Ben, this isn’t the Ben you know. “Ben stop! Please- just stop!”

‘End him,’ the voice encouraged him, drowning out your own. Ben felt adrenaline fill his veins as he lifted his arm up, using the force to pick Daario up from the floor. Daario begun coughing, unable to breath. All the Padawans were shocked as Ben was using the force to potentially kill someone.

Your blood ran cold as you saw the emotionless fire of his eyes. You watched as Daario gripped his neck, trying to desperately to allow oxygen to enter his lungs. Desperately clawing at his neck to have this all end now. You called out to Ben again with more urgency. But he didn’t listen to you. ‘Do it! End him now!’

“Ben stop you’re scaring me,” you spoke, making Ben freeze. Your breath was shaking, your heart beating a million miles per hour. You were scared out of your mind. For the first time in years, you finally found out what Master Luke, Almec and Leirra have been warning you about all these years. And yet, that still didn’t stop you. It only fuelled your passion to help him more. “Y-you’re scaring me Ben.”

Ben let out a small huff, before starting to breath heavily as he looked at Daario’s bloody face. The man was groaning, unable to breath. Ben felt your hand against his shoulder, making him put his hand down and drop Daario in the floor. Daario let out a wheeze, before gasping for air. “I- I don’t know what-“

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what happened,” Ben shook his head. He felt the eyes of all the Padawans on him who haven’t spoken since the fight broke out. “I don’t- I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay Ben,” you whispered to him, your hand sliding down to grab his. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”

Ben nodded, feeling you pull him. He let you guide him to wherever it is you were taking him. He didn’t know what had happen, all he wanted to do was give Daario a single punch. But something, someone, in his head had pushed him to go further. To murder him.

And the scariest thing was, Ben was so close to doing it. If it wasn’t for you, he would have gone with it.

•

It was quiet between you and Ben as you were silently cleaning his fists. There were cuts and bruises, as well as blood that you knew wasn’t his.

You used the force to draw out water from thin air before breathing onto it, creating ice that you moved towards his bruises. Ben watched you in awe at your uniqueness. But he wanted you to speak to him, to talk. He wanted to explain himself, why he did it. But the truth is, he didn’t know why he did it. He just knows that there’s a darkness within him and he’s scared.

“Y/N-“

“Stop,” you voice cracked, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to escape your eyes. “I don’t- I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But we have to,” Ben replied back, watching as you tried to distract yourself with cleaning his wounds, continuing to draw out water to turn into ice for his wounds.

“You scared me today Ben,” your voice trembled as you chucked away the tissue. He felt a sharp pang in his chest.

“That’s the last thing I want to do,” Ben whispered. You looked away from him, staring at the wall as you felt a tear escape your eye.

“Since the day you found the dead bird, I- I have been protecting you, defending you,” you spoke, biting the inside of your cheek. “Every time someone spoke horrible things about you, every time someone warned me to stay away, I defended you. Because I care about you Ben. From day one, you were the only one.”

“And you’re the only one I care about,” Ben replied back, his eyes welling up with tears. But they didn’t fall. He didn’t let them.

“But you proved to them why I should stay away from you,” you sniffed, wiping your eyes. “So tell me Ben, why shouldn’t I stay away from you?”

“I can’t tell you why, but I can tell you the truth,” Ben spoke, getting up from his seat. “I have a darkness within me. I know you know that. I didn’t want to kill Daario, but a voice within me was encouraging me, tempting me. And I thought I- I was going to do it. But- but as soon as I heard your voice, I stopped. You bring out the light in me. You don’t need me. I don’t add value to you. But you do to me. So I’m begging you Y/N, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me like everyone else did.”

“How long has this voice been in your head?” You asked him. Ben looked down, a look of shame washing his eyes. You grabbed his jaw, making him look at you. “How long Benjamin?”

“Since I was four,” he admitted, a single tear escaping his eye. “That’s why my parents sent me here. They- they saw me-“

Ben stopped, shaking his head as he was too afraid to speak, afraid that he might scare you away. “Saw you what Ben?”

“I- I heard a voice. It told me to-“ Ben let out a small huff, trying to stop himself from crying. He grabbed his hand, rubbing circles. This had calmed him down the slightest. “It told me to kill my father.”

“Did you do it?” You asked him. Ben looked up, shaking his head at you. “Doing something and thinking something are two different things. You’re not a bad person. You’re just fighting the light versus the dark. And no one can blame you. Your grandfather went through the same thing. But Ben if you ever feel the darkness again, please come talk to me. Whether it is the middle of the night, early morning or even when I’m dead. I want you to try to speak to me. Promise?”

You rested your forehead on his. Ben closed his eyes, trying to savour this moment. “I promise.”

You closed your eyes too, trying to feel the moment. Your hand went to his cheek, brushing against it softly. You then opened your eyes. “Look at me Ben.”

Ben opened his eyes to see you already staring back. He felt himself in the trance, your eyes captivating. His heart was hammering against his chest and he could feel yours too. “I love you Benjamin Solo.”

You didn’t give him time to respond as he felt your lips against him. Ben was taken back, but this time he was determined to respond. He lifted his hand, grazing your jaw. He felt the softness of your lips against his.

His tongue traced the bottom of your lip before entering. His hands went lower before it stopped right above your bum, pulling you closer towards him. He felt your chest rub against him, making him kiss you even harder.

After a couple of minutes, you both pulled back, gasping for air. Ben studied your face for any regret but found none. He smiled, feeling absolutely blissful. This was his first actual kiss, and boy did he enjoy it. He looked at you with such an adoration and intensity that your whole face went red. He always made you feel like he worshipped you.

“And I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.”

Taglist (CLOSED)

@lafy-taffy @ah-callie @eridanuswave @janilovecookies @penny4yrthoughts @hello-juuliana @lullaboid @artsyzartsi @ieatboyss @thescarletknight2014 @oh-mymendes @marrypuffsstuff @simonsbluee @i-have-arrived-bitch @lizziekins @treestarrrrrrrr @petalduck @forksoffortune @morningdangerheart @laubluered @killtherandomness @rintheemolion @channna @ashleymarieriffle @oopsiedoopsie23 @cynthianokamaria @spn-obsession @bugga-bee @idontliveanymorekay @theboyxwholived @bookgirlunicorn @princess-yuna @ren-ni @pokengirl2 @jonerys-was-canon @i-am-lokii-of-asgard @wecouldbreakthedistance @bellsclarkee @mell-bell @benflyingsolo @iwritefanficnotprophecies @freaky-dcaky @steve-thotgers @saucysuazo @gothicgirl100 @sincerelymaria @broadway-runaway @writtenbypics @autobotgirl15-blog @holacherrycola

[forgedroyalseal]

A moment of Doubt

Alyss was glad that Will had suggested this trip to Castle Araluen. She loved seeing her husband and Horace together. They seemed so much younger, more like they were young apprentices again rather than the newly married men they truly were. And despite their rocky start, Alyss and Cassandra had grown into close friends. While their husbands sparred and ran about, the two women caught up with each other, Alyss filling Cassandra in on how Halt and Pauline were doing, and Cassandra confining in Alyss, reveling her concerns about her fathers health.

On the third morning however, Alyss woke up to an empty bed. Typically that wasn’t abnormal, Will often woke early to practice his archery, but he had told her that he intended to give his body a chance to relax while they were way. Alyss got herself ready and went down to the breakfast room, assuming Will would just meet her, Horace, and Cassandra for breakfast. Perhaps he is checking in on Tug, she thought to herself. However, when she arrived to the intimate breakfast room, she was surprised to see Horace alone at the table.

“Good morning Alyss,” He said, rising from his chair and pulling one out for her.

“Oh you don’t need to stand Horace, it’s only me.” She smiled, taking a seat in the offered chair.

“Force of habit I’m afraid, there’s lots of rules and expectations that come with being married to the princess.” Horace looks over at the door Alyss had just come through.

“Has Will finally decide to accept the fact that he’s off duty and sleep in?” He laughs.

“No actually. He was up and out of the room before I was even awake. I figured he would meet us down here.”

Horace cocks his head to the side, “Mm, Cassie was also gone early this morning. Perhaps they have run into each other, you know how they can be once they start talking.”

Alyss laughed lightly, “It’s true, and neither are very attentive to the time if they don’t need to be.”

Horace and Alyss enjoyed their breakfast, reminiscing about their youthful days back in the ward. Halfway through breakfast they were interrupted by the heavy walnut doors being flung open, reveling a slightly disheveled Will and Cassandra.

“I am so sorry we are late, that’s dreadfully rude.” Cassandra said, somewhat out of breath, as she sits next to Horace. Her hair is in a loose braid that looks like she had hastily pulled together in an attempt to look more put together.

Will kiss Alyss on the check and she noticed that his shirt was buttoned incorrectly halfway up, and his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles underneath them.

“You were up early this morning.” Horace commented to his wife. Her eyes darted over to Will and he gave the smallest shake of his head, Alyss wouldn’t have even seen it if she wasn’t staring at him so intently.

“Yes, well, I wanted to take an early walk to watch the sunrise.” Cassandra replied, before busying herself with her breakfast that a servant had placed in front of her. When the same servant went to place a plate of food in front of Will, he waved them away.

“No thank you. I am all set.” He also decline the coffee that was offered to him, opting instead to sip at his water.

“Are you feeling alright Will?” Alyss asked him.

“I am fine.” Will’s voice was soft, and his eyes didn’t quiet meet Alyss’s. Glancing between her husband and Cassandra, Alyss felt something she had never felt before in regards to Will. Doubt. Will has never given her a reason to question his loyalty to her before. That’s not to say that there haven’t been girls who have seemed to forget that he is a married man now, it’s just that Will never notices them. Or at the very least, he pretends to not notice. And because of that, Alyss is surprised when the thought of something going on between Will and Cassandra flashes across her mind.

Alyss shakes herself mentally. She’s getting ahead of herself. There is absolutely no evidence that Will and Cassandra had even been together this morning. They could’ve simply arrived for breakfast at the same time. And even if they were together, Alyss has no reason to think anything indecent happened. But the she looks at Will’s face again and she knows, she just knows, that he is hiding something from her.

Breakfast is finished in silence and the rest of the day is spent in awkward conversation, everyone trying to busy themselves with something, anything, to avoid the uncomfortable tension that thick in the air. Alyss can tell by the way Horace keeps looking between his wife and Will that he too feels that they are hiding something. Dinner was a quiet affair, and Alyss and Will’s bedroom was even quieter while they got ready for bed. Alyss could feel the tension in Will’s muscles when she laid next to him. She placed a hand between his shoulder blades, but quickly pulled it away when he flinched at the gentle touch. She sighed. Maybe everything will be better in the morning.

Alyss woke up to a cold bed in a dark room. It was the middle of the night, and Will was gone. She got up and slipped on her dressing gown and slippers. She knew that roaming around the castle in her dressing gown and night dress was definitely not proper behavior for a courier, but she just had to try to find her husband. Not knowing where to start, she simply started wandering down various hallways. A right here. A left there. Up that staircase. The dark halls of the castle had her on edge and when she felt a hand tap her shoulder and she nearly shouted.

She spun around and saw Horace, also wearing a dressing robe over his dark blue pajamas.

“What are you doing?” They said in unison. He sighed and leaned his back against the stone wall.

“I’m looking for Cassie. She wasn’t in bed when I woke up.”

“Neither was Will.” There was a beat of silence. Then another.

“Am I crazy to be worried Alyss?” He whispered.

“Yes. And so am I. We have not reason to be suspicious of something going on. It’s completely unreasonable.”

“Then why are we doing this?”

Alyss looked at him. “Because if something is happening between them, which I am sure it isn’t, then we need to know.” Horace nods, then pushes himself off the wall. He leads he down a hallway, then stops at a door the is cracked open.

He looks over to her and she nods once. He lightly pushed the door open, reveling Will and Cassandra on the floor of a library in front of a roaring fire. Will is clearly asleep, his head resting in Cassandra’s lap as she runs her fingers through his hair. She looks up at Horace and Alyss standing in the doorway and she presses a finger to her lips, then maneuvers Will’s head out of her lap and onto a pillow that she pulls off a nearby chair. She stands and leave the room. Alyss and Horace trail behind her as she walks a few paces away from the open door.

“I can only image what you are thinking right now.”She says, her voice soft.

“What is going on?” Horace sounds like he’s not sure if he’s not sure if he is angry or sad. Alyss feels the same way.

“It’s not what you think.” Cassandra bits her lip, looking for the right words.

“It better not be. Because what we are thinking is pretty bad.” Horace growls. Looks like he decided on angry.

“It’s not that. I promise it really isn’t. But it’s also not my place to tell you.”

“Well we deserve to know the truth.” Alyss says.

“Yes you do.” A voice says behind them.

They all turn and see Will standing down the hall from them in front of the library. Horace moves towards him.

“What is going on Will?” Despite Horace’s loud voice and unspoken accusation, Will doesn’t look worried, just tired. So incredibly tired.

“Let’s go in to the library and talk about this.” They all follow him in and he drops down onto a chair. Everyone else follows suit.

“First of all. There is nothing going on between Cassandra and I. I wish I could be angry that you could even think that, but considering the circumstances, I can’t necessarily blame you.”

“Fine, you say nothing is going on between you, but you are hiding something from us.” Alyss said.

Will stares into the fireplace for a moment. “When Cassandra and I were in Skandia, bad things happened to us. Really bad things. Things that still haunt us to this day. We left Skandia, but we weren’t able to leave behind the mental and physical scars that were left. Sometimes when we are together, those scars seem to surface even more. The past two nights I have had horrible nightmares.” Will is still staring into the fire and his voice trails off.

Cassandra picks the story up for him. “I found him the other night walking around the halls, shaking so badly. I brought him into here to warm up and we talked about what he dreamed about. The same thing happen tonight.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Will?” Alyss asked.

“Because you shouldn’t worry about it Alyss. And-“ He cuts himself off, stands, and start pacing in front of the fire.

“And what?” She presses.

“And you wouldn’t understand. You can’t. You weren’t there.”

“You need to tell me when you are struggling Will. I’m your wife, it’s my job to try to understand. I know that I wasn’t there, and that I can’t relate like Cassandra can, but you need to let me try.” Alyss got up and wrapped her arms around Will.

“Let’s go to bed Will.” She said, the conversation wasn’t over, but she knew that Will needed rest. He nodded and followed her out of the room, glancing back to give Cassandra and Horace a small smile.

“We should talk too.” Horace said to his wife.

“Yes, we should. But let’s wait until the morning.”

Horace kissed her forehead and nodded. It could definitely wait until morning.

[nagdabbit]

🥺👉👈 pwease? 🥺🥺

okay okay, but like, be gentle? it's just bones right now, and a really good ending, if i say so myself, but, like... bones. it's bones with rules, because i like them. and it's about four dumbasses playing dnd, so obviously i gotta.

anyway, here's a lil bit. not quite the beginning, i guess? i dunno, i've forgotten how to do writing on the internet. be gentle.

~~~

D&D was weird.

It involved a lot of sitting around, trying to stay focused as Heather narrated at them. A lot of trying to be clever, trying to be smart. A lot of trying not to fuck up entirely.

The biggest problem with it all was that, sitting directly next to his highschool--and current--bully, it was damn hard not to feel like he was breathing wrong. Hell, Billy had shown up and rolled his eyes at Steve's presence, so he was clearly existing incorrectly, too.

"Alright, you've made your way from the college library to the very outskirts of the city," Heather said, eyes scanning her notes, while her arms made wide, sweeping gestures. "Almost an hour on horseback through the busy, winding streets. There are no street signs directing, but you see a path breaking away from the main road, and disappearing into the trees. The path is dense and quiet and dark."

"Is it weirdly quiet?" Steve asked, then shrank a little as Billy whipped his head around to glare at him.

But Heather just looked a little proud. "Yes! The sounds of the city have disappeared, but it's that same oppressive quiet that you rode through on your way to the city. Musty and still and quiet."

"Do I notice the same thing?" Robin asked.

"Go ahead and roll…" Heather tilted her head back and forth as she thought about it, "Gimme a nature check real quick."

Robin eagerly rolled her die, and then groaned. "That's a seven."

Heather chuckled. "You don't notice shit," she joked, but her smile was teasing. He liked that about her, the way she could ease tension and soften failure. She was easygoing and kind, just about the only person he'd trust his best friend to. "No, you don't notice anything out of the ordinary. The wood has grown so dead, and quiet so steadily that you haven't even noticed it happening."

Robin made a face, and scribbled that down. "I don't like that one bit," she muttered.

"As you make your way through, you come to a small clearing, and in the middle of it stands an ancient temple," Heather said, hands still weaving the story out in front of her laptop screen. "It's small and crumbling, but the thick vines and moss-covered roots that cover the intricately carved stonework looks like the only thing holding it upright. This is the home of Ash, the cleric. And, Billy, why don't you introduce yourself."

At his shoulder, Billy straightened up a little. "A tall tiefling steps out of the door as you ride up." Steve very carefully didn't laugh at Billy making his character tall. "He is a mottled grey-brown color, almost like tree bark, and his dark hair is pushed back away from his face. He has horns pushing out of his forehead that curl back over his head. He's wearing old, but sturdy leather armor, decorated with oak leaves, the symbol of Silvanus. He's carrying his wooden maul, and he looks very angry."

"Great, who does he see riding up?" Heather asked, turning her attention back to him and Robin. "Althea?"

She nodded, eagerly. "On the first horse, you see the elf that you've been dealing with. She's got her hair braided back, and she's wearing the dark robes of the college, with the crest on the front. You don't see any weapons on her, but she has several books strapped behind her."

Heather smiled, sweetly, and Steve had to wonder just how often they'd get distracted flirting in the middle of a game. But then Heather looked at him, expectantly, "Ront?"

Right, fuck. He shoulda probably thought ahead while he had the chance. "Uh, following behind her, you see a large half-orc, about seven feet tall. He's wearing just simple clothes, no armor of any kind. He has a carved, wooden amulet of a hawk, hanging around his neck, and a battleaxe strapped to his back."

"Perfect!" Heather clapped her hands together, excitedly. "And our party has gathered! Althea and Ront, you arrive in the clearing surrounding the temple of Silvanus. It is late afternoon, the forest around you beginning to cool as evening draws closer. Ash steps out to greet you, and--"

"And walks forward toward them, very annoyed, like he's been waiting. And he says, ah, she finally leaves her tower to visit the peasants," Billy greeted in a gentle accent, almost Irish, maybe. He gave Robin a mean grin.

"Shut up, I finally have something helpful," she snapped, going for haughty and posh. "The village of Oakville--"

"Oak Pointe," Steve corrected.

"--was wiped out," she finished, unperturbed. "Only one villager survived."

"And how is he useful?" Billy asked, and Steve got the feeling he wasn't exactly in character.

"First, he's the only living person who has seen how these monsters operate," she reasoned, just as annoyed.

Billy turned his sharp gaze toward Steve, and it cut just as deep as his words. "And why are you so important to all this?" he asked, in a mocking tone. "Why not run for the lawmen in their castle? Why go to the librarian?"

"My entire village is gone," he said, slowly. "Everyone I have ever known, just gone. My family, my friends, everyone. If I can stop this from happening to others, I'm going to. Guards with swords didn't do a damn thing to help when this all started, they won't help now."

Billy--Ash, whatever--gave him a long look. Not impressed, definitely not, but maybe surprised. "Then why didn't you come sooner?"

"I had to be sure they really were dead, and that I wasn't sick. It spreads so fast, I needed to wait it out," he reasoned. "Someone brought that death to my home. I wasn't going to risk bringing it here."

Billy studied him for another long moment, expression a little more searching than judgemental. But finally he nodded. Maybe not acceptance, yet, but close. "And you, why are you finally here?" he asked and rolled his gaze toward Robin. “I have been sending my concerns for months, and you and your books have ignored me at every turn. So why are you finally here? We could have made so much more headway if you hadn't waited for a witness.”

“Because I might have finally found a clue," she said, triumphantly, expression a little more fiery than she'd worn the week before. "And I'm gonna open up the book to the weird pictures and things that I've been working on."

"What is this?"

"A book I'm trying to translate," she said, jamming her finger against the page as if she had an ancient book in her lap. "I have yet to get very far into it, but it speaks of a temple, deep in the Rootwood," Robin said. "And monsters like the ones we've been hearing stories of. And then I wanna explain the--well, everything that you gave me, so here," she added and handed over her notes. "I'm gonna explain all of that."

"And once she's explained it all, I wanna see if anything she's said fills in any gaps in what I've already learned," Billy said, absently, as he scanned the notes and scribbled notes into his book. "Or, like, if I can piece anything new together from all this."

"Great, whenever you're done reading, roll a history check," she said, and turned back to Robin. "Are you telling him everything?"

Robin smirked, "Of course not! I don't trust him, so I'm only giving him what I've gathered from the book, not the scrolls I've been using to translate it." As Billy glared at her, she held up another set of notes as proof.

Heather had been good about that, helping them figure out what their characters would know about the world that she'd created for them. Gave them pages of more and text for them to use. Steve had his own print out and the notes he'd taken as Robin had explained everything she'd learned, and he pulled it out to follow along. Or, rather, he intended to. Heather beat him to the punch.

"While they begin to compare notes, what's Ront doing?" she asked, easily.

He blinked, felt his cheeks go hot. "Uh, Ront is just looking around the temple."

"Meandering?"

He shrugged a little, "Exploring."

"Poking things?" Heather suggested, innocently.

He saw Billy pull a face, and walked himself back a little. "Only stuff that doesn't look breakable."

Heather narrowed her eyes, lips quirking up in amusement. "Roll a--hm, roll an investigation check for me, please."

"No," Billy said, firmly.

She gave him a wicked look, "Yes."

And Ront's intelligence score had a pretty little negative one above it. Which meant he was pretty dumb. Which meant Heather wanted to cause a little trouble. Meant she was going to let him have fun in order to terrorize Billy a little bit. Get a smidge of revenge for all the shit he's spewed the week before. Which, honestly, Steve could really get behind.

So he hoped, and he prayed--just a little--and threw the die into the little tray in front of him. The math wasn't too hard, thankfully, despite the distracting groan from Billy and snickers from Robin. It was a perfect roll, really. Better than anything he could have hoped for.

But, fuck, it was so hard to keep from breaking, to keep from laughing loud enough to wake the neighbors, that his eyes threatened to water. At his side, Billy had already slouched back against the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Calmly, he folded his hands in his lap, and gave Heather a serene smile. "Zero."

[poptod]

Aren’t We Monumental? (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His reality is splitting at the seams - you’re in his dreams, a comfort as he loses his grip on what makes him happy.

Prompt: Fishing

Notes: I’m all for historical accuracy so I’ve decided that from now on, in my Ahk fics that take place in Ancient Egypt, the reader is going to have dark skin. I myself have incredibly pale skin and I have no problem reading about it so @ any pale people reading these, you shouldn’t either. Also, your name is Meryt! It means beloved :) The songs in this are written by me, because I didn’t want a recognizable modern song and I’m not sure how to write ancient egyptian song lyrics. Gender neutral again. Warnings: Ahk is PRETTY depressed in here and develops some major symptoms of anxiety. 

Word Count: 12.4k AO3 Link: Aren't We Monumental?

In the distance he sees the unapproachable, casting a net to the water. Every dream he’s had as of recent is plagued by you, far away and unreachable. With every step closer he grows further away, till tonight he sees the futility of his actions, and sits on cold ground, staring at your blurry form. For the first time you turn to him, watching over every breath he takes. With a wave, he finds himself beside you, staring up at you. You’re distinct, clear against a backwash of a dark, unseeable background. Aimlessly you stare forward, pulling the net from the water and back into your hands; it drips freezing water onto his hands.

“There’s a love in simplicity that cannot be achieved in any gluttony,” you say, still staring ahead at nothing. Casting the net back into the water you drop down, sitting cross legged next to him on the wooden dock.

“What?” He asks, his brow furrowed. Now that he’s met you, the first thing you say makes absolutely no sense. He tries to not let it irritate him.

“Work with your hands, good fellow,” you tell him, and for the rest of his dream you don’t say another word. Silence encompasses the both of you, only broken by your net dragging back up to shore. Again, no fish, but there is a rock inside that looks rather beautiful. There isn’t anything particularly special about it, no swirls of color, no skeletal shape inside, but it’s very smooth, and very dark - in his hands it shines in dim moonlight, the shadow of his reflection staring back at him.

“Can I keep this?” He asks, holding the rock up to the moon and admiring the odd shape of it. You don’t reply, you don’t even move, so he, perhaps incorrectly, assumes it’s alright and holds the stone tight in his grip.

His awakening late in the morning is slow, rays of sunlight prodding him gently to consciousness. As always his servants dress him, and as he stares dully ahead they push a crown atop his head. In the mirror he spots it, the gold catching his eye.

“I haven’t seen this before. What is it?” He asks his servants, taking the crown off his head to examine it. A braid of gold encircles its entirety, a cobra with fangs unsheathed sits at the front. It’s well made, he notes, though he’s not quite sure as to its purpose.

“It’s a gift from your father,” Naguib, his personal servant, tells him, head bowed politely as always. Ahkmen sniffs, setting the crown back on his head - it doesn’t look bad, he decides, and for another moment he admires himself in the mirror. Yellow isn’t his favorite color, but status is enshrouded in gold, and status is of the utmost importance to his father. Thus, the only cloth he wears has gold sewn into it, and gold is somehow assigned to him. Blue is Kahmuh’s color, which is unfortunate - he favors blue over gold, while Kahmuh envies the amount of gold Ahkmen is constantly surrounded with.

His day continues as it usually does; there’s the daily fight at breakfast as Kahmuh inevitably has another outbreak about how much he hates Ahkmen. This time, it’s about the gifted crown, and how he doesn’t get a crown. His father just rolls his eyes, shakes his head with a sigh, and ignores his eldest son, while their mother attempts feebly to calm him down. Kahmuh storms out of the room, and the rest of the morning is spent in silence. In Merenkahre’s meetings Ahkmen stands by his side, opposite of Shepseheret like a mirror image. They’re a perfect family without Kahmuh, who watches the court from the shadows of the archways leading into halls.

By afternoon Ahkmen is back in his room, his head hanging off the bed, staring listlessly up at the ceiling and trying to remember what exactly happened in his dream. As important as it was to him, he always has trouble with his memory, an unfortunate genetic trait. Caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Naguib enter his room, tapping his shoulder.

“Um, my prince?”

He perks up, staring upside down at his servant, who is carrying a basket in his arms, his shoulders tight with nervousness.

“Yes?”

“You told me to tell you when I was going into the city again… you didn’t tell me why, though,” Naguib says quietly, unsure of every word. With a deep breath Ahkmen gathers himself, standing up and brushing out the folds in his clothes.

“Will I draw much attention like this?” He asks him, opening his arms for observation of his outfit.

“Quite a bit of attention,” Naguib tells him honestly. Nodding, he changes quickly into something more inconspicuous - a simple skirt and necklace.

Distantly he recalls asking Naguib to tell him, and though the exact reason escapes him he assumes it was for fun. He and everyone close to him knows he doesn’t get out much, and certainly not without being noticed and paraded as a prince. He loathes the attention, always self-effacing and hesitant to think of himself as above anybody else, even though it’s what he’s been told all his life. But Naguib knows the streets well, helps him not to be noticed, taking him through lesser known paths filled with fewer people than the main markets.

“What are we looking for anyway?” He asks as Naguib grips his wrist and pulls him into an alley as a large group of nobles pass by.

“The physician’s assistant is off on some adventure, so I’ve been filling in for them. Adom needs herbs of some sort… I don’t remember the name, only what they look like,” Naguib explains, glancing around the new street the two of them find themselves on. Ahkmen hums his acknowledgement, trailing after Naguib when he leaves suddenly into the rush of the crowd.

Amongst a mass of people he sees a variety of things he’d consider odd - though, when mentioning these things to Naguib later, he doesn’t react the same way. Apparently carrying live fish in a water basket isn’t strange, and neither is snakes in pockets. There is one thing he hesitates to mention, back in the safety of his room; something he is convinced didn’t really happen, but the memory is so clear that he’s at war with himself.

In the end he doesn’t tell Naguib what he saw. Instead he lets it haunt his memory, the image of a black jackal baring its’ teeth lucid like nothing else he’s seen. It jumped at him, or at least he thought it jumped at him, as by the time it should’ve landed on him the mirage dissipated. Luckily, in the crowded market no one noticed one man flinching away from nothing.

By evening time his parents are berating Kahmuh for reckless behavior again. According to them, he wandered out into the desert, but according to Kahmuh, he was hunting for a specific animal. Though, considering he can’t seem to name the animal, Ahkmen doesn’t particularly believe his story. As he does during most dinners, he eats in silence, blocking out the arguing and yelling. Quietly as he possibly can he slips away, tucking his chair back underneath the table and heading off to what he hopes is a good nights’ sleep.

When he opens his eyes to his dreams his hand is heavy. Looking down, he finds the rock, and in sudden clarity he remembered what had happened - now, he’s lying down in a hut, a fire burning beside him. The cot he’s laying in is soft, softer than it should be, and out the open door he sees you’re on the dock again. Slowly he moves to his feet, leaving the rock behind on the bed as his eyes never leave you. The echo of his feet against the wood is loud, making you turn and smile when you see him approaching.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say, fixing his messy, sleepy hair with your free hand. The other hand holds the line connecting the net back to land.

“How long?” He asks, unsure of why he’s asking it.

“I’m still waiting,” you tell him, softer and regretfully forlorn - with half lidded eyes you stare back out to the wide river. The other side, which last night he saw so easily is so far away all he sees in the distance is fog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his conscious self still confused, but something inside him speaks without his permission. You just nod, a gentle, homesick smile growing slow on your face.

As conversation quiets you pull your net back, finding nothing in it. Sniffing, you reel the rest of it in and with a mighty throw, it’s back in the water.

“I…” he starts, thinking back to the jackal he saw in the market, wondering if you’d have anything to say on the subject. “I saw something today. Something I’m not sure I should’ve seen.”

You respond with silence, no nod or any acknowledgement that you heard him, but nonetheless he continues - you’re dangerously easy to talk to, he notes.

“I was in the marketplace with my servant, and when we reached this crowded area… I turned, and there was a jackal, a black jackal staring at me. He was growling, ready to lunge at me, but when he did.. he disappeared.”

“What comes from nothing becomes nothing itself,” you finally respond, the words useless to him. Exasperated he sighs, wondering why he thought it was a good idea to tell you in the first place. “Don’t worry on what can’t hurt you. Anything that can cause worry can bring peace… if you can fix it, there’s no need to worry, and if you can’t fix it, find solace in your helplessness.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, the exclamation coming out involuntarily. He stares at you, his brow knitted together as he tries to figure you out - unlike anything he’s seen before, and so painfully familiar, like a cosmos he’s admired for too long. “What if it happens again?”

“If it frightens you, tell someone who may help you, good fellow,” you say, and with a short glance to the water and back to you, you’re gone.

“Where did -“ he starts, but realizes before he’s through that it’s fruitless to call for you. He doesn’t know your name, or anything you might respond to, and you seem like the type of person who wouldn’t reply anyway. Disappointed, he wanders back into the hut, slipping away into nonsensical dreams that he can’t care to remember.

Your words calm his thoughts, but only temporarily - by morning he’s forgotten exactly what you said to him, only recalling you told him not to worry. With a sigh he curses himself and his horrid memory, going about his day in a thought-heavy wander that brings his health to question.

It isn’t for another three days that something odd happens to him again, though this particular version of odd is different from the jackal. In the palace, there’s an absurdly long corridor that leads to the water gardens - it’s empty, barren of torch or painting, and it’s an unsettling sight one must go through to see the beauty of the outdoors. Ahkmen has asked his father three times to put something in the hall, but there’s always been something more important, and thus nothing has ever happened to the absurdly long corridor. When he turns down it, he sees the end as usual, a small rushlight set on the single shelf at the end. But, as he walks nearer, a fog rushes in from the corner - a sick scent fills his head, and the world turns dizzy. The smog draws closer and closer, growing thicker till he can’t see. He can’t feel his heartbeat, can barely feel anything, but the shaking of his fingers is a telltale sign of his anxiety returning to him. Swallowing thick and shutting his eyes he crouches, trying to find a wall to ground himself against but he can barely see the floor he stands upon.

No one finds him. No wise words are imparted upon him, and anxiously he waits for night to receive any answer. You’re the only person - can he call you that? a person? - that he’s trusted thus far; no one else knows of the visions he has. The smog, the jackal, it’s something he’s heard of before, though accounts vary on what exactly it is. He can’t remember what exactly they’re called, or what they may mean, and he doesn’t bother to search for answers before talking to you. He goes to bed early that evening, and finds himself sitting on the edge of a very familiar dock.

This time, you’ve already caught a fish - out of the side of his eye he spots you, tending a small fire, a fish impaled and roasting slowly over the heat. Stumbling to his feet he makes his way to you, his steps slowing as he nears.

“It’s happened again,” he says, desperate for any answer you could give. Anything nonsensical, even - he hasn’t heard you speak in a long while, it feels. Yet you give him nothing, carefully watching your catch cook. With a half-groan he kneels on the ground, watching the fish with you, and wondering if he copies you, you’ll finally talk to him. “Fog, this time,” he continues. “I felt like I was suffocating, and I hated it. I mean, obviously I hated it. I don’t know why I said that.”

Still nothing.

“I also had an orgy with seventeen people,” he says, a shocking lie to get you to respond, but still you say nothing.

For a good while he just watches, irritated at your silence and coming up with ways to get you to talk. When the fish is done and safely set on a plate too fancy for your home, you finally turn to him, staring him direct in the eye. Digging into your pocket you pull out the rock, and vaguely he remembers the beauty he’d admired so indefatigably only four evenings ago.

“You forgot this,” you say, almost stern, but still more caring than what fits the relationship you have with him. Extending your hand to him, you wait for him to close the gap, which he hesitantly does - his hand hangs open, palm upwards and below yours. Your grip loosens and the rock falls too heavy into his hand. He almost loses his grip, watching with a quick panic as his hand drops with the weight of the rock.

“That’s… heavy,” he says, the words instant and he regrets saying it the moment you look up. With one short glare that almost says as if I didn’t know, you turn back to the cooked fish.

“I used to dream of you. Since then I have never known peace,” you tell him, doing nothing but confusing him further. Heaving a tired sigh he sits on the ground, watching the flames of your fire reach lower and lower, till they dim to glowing embers.

When he closes his eyes he expects to wake to his bedroom, but he doesn’t - the cloth of the bed is a dark red, darker than blood, the bed floating lazily down a slow-running stream. He evens his breath, takes a look at his surroundings, glancing twice at the empty space beside him. By the third time he looks you’re lying there, not sleeping, not quite alive and not yet dead, horribly pale and still.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, setting a hand on your shoulder. Your touch freezes his fingers, spreading up his arm till he grows as pale as you, like a white paint coating every inch of his skin. Somehow he manages to not panic, simply lying down next to your unmoving body, waiting for something to happen. Wishing for you to speak again. In the entirety of the dream you haven’t said a single thing that could help him, only words that add to a story he can’t understand. He turns his head to you, your eyes open and dripping a steady flow of tears. A shiver runs through him; the sight is unsettling in a way he wishes he couldn’t know.

By the next morn he’s up earlier than usual. Dreams bring him no solace, so he turns to books and whatever knowledge they may store. He knows he’s heard of his condition before, these images that feel so real, so real he can’t know they aren’t until they’ve disappeared. Ta’i, the bookkeeper, leads him down rows of scrolls and clay tablets till they reach the medical section, where Ta’i leaves him. He can’t trust anyone with what’s been happening to him, not when he’s got the status he has - if it slips out to the general populace that their prince is unwell, it welcomes invaders and those who would dare to usurp power from the rightful family.

Most scripts don’t mention his condition, thus leading to a search that spans much longer than he originally intended. Without the help of Ta’i telling him exactly where specific books are, he’s left to what little knowledge he has of the organization of the library. It isn’t until afternoon that he finds anything that even mentions it, and it isn’t till evening comes that he finds any actual information on it.

Some scholars say visions are prophetic, and a gift - others say it’s a curse, that Gods vowed their hate upon the victim. Others say it’s magic. All he can feel is hunger, and he remembers, dusting off older parchments that he hasn’t eaten all day. Leaving the papers open upon the desk he leaves, wandering down crowded halls to the kitchen, barren of people.

When he emerges, date bowl in hand, the halls are empty save for Naguib, carrying a massive basket of lotus flowers. Curious, he stops him, asking what the flowers are for - when Naguib answers, nothing comes out but silence, and he continues on down the hall towards the physician’s room. A little shaken from the encounter, though not deterred, Ahkmen resumes his research, and comes up with little comfort besides the fact that he’s not the only one.

During dinner his parents coddle him, asking where he was all day - apparently he missed the unveiling of some sort of garden temple, and his mother tells him he’ll have to go see how beautiful it is at some point. He registers the words, knows what they mean, but it doesn’t process in his head; he’s far too lost in the information he’s read.

He resumes his search after dinner, and as night grows long he falls asleep at the desk - Ta’i doesn’t have the heart to wake him and kick him out, so they leave him there, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape.

Back on the dock, he opens his eyes to see you wading in the deep waters of the nile. He almost stops you, anxious that you’ll drift away in the current, but you seem perfectly fine - calm, even. More welcoming than ever before you smile at him, waving in a friendly-stranger sort of way.

“Still looking for answers?” You ask, your voice raised to be heard across the distance. He laughs, though he doesn’t know why, and sits on the edge of the wooden dock, his feet dipping into the warm water.

“I’m still at a loss for answers, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies, watching you drag fish traps out of the nile.

“Perhaps you’re asking the wrong questions,” you say, huffing with the effort you give. Hair falls in front of your face despite the fact that it’s brushed back, and you tuck the stray strands behind your ear. At the simple motion he feels his heart quicken, careful to observe the way you smile, and the way you express your exhaustion. In all the time he’s known of you, you’ve only ever caught one fish, and it wasn’t exactly a very big one. Watching you set the traps up, he wonders how you get by, the fact that you’re a dream escaping his mind - all that’s left is the fact that you’re standing before him, moonlight reflecting off the sheen of sweat on your dark skin. And in that moment, he finds you’re very beautiful, and he wonders how he never noticed before.

There isn’t anything grand about your stature, the way you carry yourself, or the way you dress and look - your words are are the only unearthly thing about you, but still he finds himself staring at you.

“What do you think I should do?” He asks you when you begin wading to shore. You don’t answer till you reach the sand.

“Look at the causes. Not the symptoms,” you tell him with a soft smile, patting his shoulder with a wet hand. “Know you are loved. Wake up.”

“What?” He says, furrowing his brow. Wake up?

“Wake up,” you say again, and he wakes with startling clarity - his father has a hand on his shoulder and is shaking him awake.

“My son, what are you doing here? It’s so late,” his father says, quiet and worried.

“Oh, uh… fell asleep. Sorry,” Ahkmen mumbles, his eyelids still heavy with exhaustion.

“No need for apologies. Get yourself to bed,” he instructs him, patting his shoulder once more. Without another word he drags himself to his room, forgetting about the open scrolls on the desk, and falls asleep on top of the blankets of his bed.

He doesn’t dream, not of anything, and not of you.

Come morning time he hears voices outside his door, whispering their woes in hushed voices, ones he barely recognizes. Blearily he comes to his feet, padding over to the door to open it - on the other side stand his parents, who halt their speech at his appearance.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Ahkmen, we’ve been… discussing something. Father found you last night amongst a lot of our medical scrolls, and we’re worried you’ve been hiding a condition or illness from us,” his mother says, pinching her lip with her fingers as she speaks. A wave of anxiousness shocks his body, his shoulders and hands tensing. His fingers shake as he tries to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says, a half truth. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

“You could at least tell us what’s wrong, your symptoms. Adom might be able to help you,” his father says, his arms crossed as his weight switches from foot to foot.

“I’ve - can we talk about this later?” He only asks to gather a semblance of a good excuse for not telling them, and the fact that he just woke up. “Breakfast maybe?”

“Alright. We’ll see you there,” his mother murmurs, kissing his forehead, and leaving with his father when he closes the door. Heaving a sigh he groans, clutching his head and rubbing his temples as he tries to reckon with the fact that his little issue isn’t a secret anymore. Muttering excuses to himself, he doesn’t notice Naguib enter, carrying his usual day clothing.

He doesn’t say anything, only directing Ahkmen to the right positions to set the clothes round his body. Ahkmen hardly pays attention, doesn’t look at himself in the mirror - the last time he looked, he didn’t have much skin on his body, and a fear seizes his heart whenever he catches his reflection in any object. When he’s done, Naguib bows and leaves the room, and Ahkmen makes his slow way to breakfast. There’s still no excuse, at least no valid one in his arsenal of excuses that would explain his reluctance to talk about his condition. As he sits at the table, he decides the truth is the only thing left to say.

His parents, sitting next to each other, stare expectantly at him, while Kahmuh at the far end of the table is glaring at him as per usual. He hates to show weakness in front of his brother, and can feel that hatred physical halting his speech, but he tries to get words out.

“I’ve been seeing things,” he finally gets out, a weak explanation that doesn’t clarify anything.

“Like… with your eyes?” His father asks, promptly hit by his mother. No one says anything more, so he tries his best to continue.

“Little things, sometimes. Like I’ll see a light in the corner of my eye, but when I turn it’s not there. But sometimes it’s…” he eyes Kahmuh, who is watching him intensely, “bigger things. The other day I saw a spider crawl up my arm, but when i went to get it off it wasn’t there anymore.”

“When did these visions start?” His mother asks, always the first to comfort and pretend as though nothing’s wrong with him.

“A good while ago. I was in… the garden,” he lies, “and I saw a jackal.”

His mother and father share a look of concern, and don’t reply - breakfast continues as normal, just much quieter. By the end they direct him to Adom’s study, following him to make sure he really goes, which is fair enough - the thick atmosphere of the room is sickening to him, let alone the stench.

It isn’t for another several weeks that Adom really comes to a conclusion as to what’s really wrong with Ahkmen. During that time, he doesn’t see you quite as much in his dreams; you’ve wandered past that, into another apparition that wanders the palace in silence. The urge to chase after you grows stronger with each day, and with each incorrect prognosis his vision of you becomes clearer. You don’t talk to him in this real-life form, you hardly even interact with the world, but you’re there, leaning over his shoulder and listening to Adom. The night before Adom’s final diagnoses he finally has his first coherent dream in weeks.

“I’ve seen the roots, and seen the skies,” you sing when he opens his eyes to the roof of your hut, the sight a familiar comfort. Sitting up, he sees you tending the fire - you toss in a couple of twigs, continuing to sing. “But I’ll see you again, my love…”

“What.. what are you singing?” He mumbles, deep and warm in a way he doesn’t expect. The melody isn’t anything he’s familiar with, nor is it similar to anything he’s heard before. You keep humming till you turn to him, a knowing smile on your face as you stand. Sauntering over to him, he lets his legs hang off the cot, and you kneel before him, one hand on each knee.

“I haven’t forgotten you, you know,” you say, your smile growing into a giddy grin. As usual when it comes to you, he’s left with many questions, but you stay knelt before him, unlike your usual ‘speak-and-leave’ method. “I kept your rock.”

“My what? Oh, oh. Right,” he mumbles, remembering the smooth pebble from long ago. “You didn’t need to. It’s not that important.”

“You thought it was important once. Eventually, anything that was once important will become so again.”

“I thought I was important, once. I’m still not important,” he says, and the words don’t weigh heavy in his heart. He’s already fully convinced himself that it’s the truth, but you tut, reaching for his hand and tracing veins it with your fingers.

“Perhaps now you think you’re unimportant…” your eyes dart across every feature his face has, every imperfection and mark, every impeccability. “But the feeling will come and go, just like every other feeling. One day you will know you’re special.”

“… special?”

“Incredibly. Have you met anyone that looks like you? A person who walks with your stride, or smiles in the way you do? I’ve never known a soul who thinks the way you do. Not one.”

“You aren’t real, though,” he says, for once remembering he’s only dreaming.

“How do you know?”

“You’re just in my head, like those damned visions I have,” he says with a biting hatred, his throat tightening along with his hand, fingers curling to dig his nails into his palm.

“Have you met every person on earth? There’s no proving I don’t exist somewhere. But… for now, breathe,” you murmur, reaching up to rest your hand against his cheek. He sniffs, and you wipe away the single tear the escapes him, smiling softly in a way he wishes you wouldn’t. The care evident in your eyes isn’t something he’s equipped to handle, a love he hardly ever gets is unbearably strong in your hold. His parents’ coddling can hardly count as love, and outside the palace he hasn’t got any friends - and to be fair, he hasn’t really got any friends in the palace, either. The closest he has is Naguib, but he can’t exactly count him.

Only then does it hit him how incredibly distressing his life is. He doesn’t have a single outlet for stress except for dreams he can barely remember, and the constant arguing between his parents and his brother has to have some sort of toll on him, even minor, though at this point it’s safe to say the effect is major. The only real happiness he finds is in sleep, either in the nonexistence of his consciousness or your presence, which is comforting even though it really shouldn’t be. When he finally sees out his own eyes again, you’re still kneeling before him, gazing into his soul and knowing what he’s thinking. With a sigh, he melts into your touch for the first time, letting you hold him.

“Oh, my dear. How long you have yearned for a warmth you’ve never known,” you say, smiling sadly at him.

+

His parents stand beside him, one at each shoulder as they collectively listen to Adom’s deductions and explanations. The study isn’t quite as smoke-filled in the afternoon sun, and the smell is down to a tolerable level, not that he wants to tolerate it. Adom prattles on for a good while, discussing the different symptoms Ahkmen is experiencing, and is astoundingly correct on most accounts, before moving onto the many conclusions he came to, before the final one, which is more conceivable than previous ones. At least, conceivable for Ahkmen - prophecies of the future didn’t seem quite right, but stress-induced hallucinations sounds much more plausible.

“What could be stressing him out?” His mother asks, worried if not scared.

“A number of things. He’s a prince, for one. But Ahkmen could tell you more about it himself than I can,” Adom tells them, and all eyes fall to Ahkmen, who is starting to wish he hadn’t attended this meeting.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, barely hearable but the message gets across. Neither of his parents are satisfied with that answer.

“Well we can’t just let it be, you said these visions are disturbing, so you want them to end, right?”

“Of course I do,” he retorts at his mother, “I don’t want to talk about what’s stressing me out, is all.”

“Ahkmen, if it’s a girl, we’re fine with that. We aren’t going to punish you for anything,” his father says, but it only works to irk him further.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps, his fists clenching tightly as he storms out of the room. They watch him leave, hesitant to follow after, for which he’s grateful, though the emotion is blurred by his anger. First he thinks to go to his room, before quickly remembering that that’d be the first place they’d look to find him, so instead he heads towards the kitchens. The people there are kind, quiet, and tend to avoid talking to him, which is exactly what he needs.

As expected, he finds the kitchens mostly empty save for a few servants, dutifully preparing for his family’s next meal. Pulling aside the head chef, he instructs her to tell no one of his whereabouts, and doesn’t wait to see if she agrees or not - instead, he goes direct for the wine cellar, where it’s dark enough he doesn’t have to think about anything too hard. Without thought for anything except that he doesn’t want to fully exist anymore, he grabs a pitcher, filling it with wine before chugging it. He’s never drunk this much at once, and a sick feeling swells in his heart that makes him nearly choke on the drink. His world is crashing in on itself and he feels no need to keep experiencing whatever life has to offer - but perhaps it’s all his fault.

Tucked away in the dark corners of the wine cell, tears burning their way down his cheeks, he wonders if maybe it’s all his fault. Maybe he should open up to his parents, and get a grasp on his life, make some real connections, but when the thought occurs to him an anxious shiver runs down his spine.

I’m not ready, he repeats to himself in his head, over and over until he drinks himself into a blackout.

+

“My dear, good fellow,” you murmur, running your fingers down his cheek. Blearily he opens his eyes, seeing a sky holding so many stars it might as well be daytime, though the earth he lies on is dark.

“What…” he rasps out, slowly coming into his senses as his consciousness slips fully into his dream.

“Panic attacks take a heavy toll on the soul, especially one as gentle as yours,” you say with a doleful smile.

“Panic attack?” He repeats, trying to sit up, but you hush him and tell him to lie back down.

“Don’t think on it, don’t worry, we’re taking you somewhere you’ll be happy,” you tell him, your voice strange and not fully yours.

“What? Where - don’t take me anywhere,” he begs, gripping tight at your shirt, his voice cracking with the force of his speech.

“Shh, don’t worry,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

With a sigh he realizes reality is seeping into his dreams again, and there’s little to do about it. The last time he tried to force himself to wake up, he had a dream about waking up, which led to an even worse dream. So he lets you stroke his hair, comfort him with your touch while knowing all the while that it’s most likely his mother.

They’re probably taking me somewhere where I can be someone elses’ problem, he thinks to himself bitterly, finding it harder and harder to just lie there. Still, he manages it, trying to enjoy ‘your’ affections to pass the time.

I wish I wasn’t alive.

+

“Ahkmen, we’re here,” his mother says in her usual, soothing voice, though it does little for his anxiety as of late. He opens his eyes to white sails tied to a mast, the smell of salt thick in the humid air, and he safely assumes he’s near the ocean. His mother hangs over him, his head in her lap as she runs her fingers comfortingly through his hair.

“Where are we?” He asks, his voice hoarse. When she halts for a reply he slowly sits himself up, looking around at the land brightly lit by a blazing sun overhead. Squinting, he realizes he’s still in the Aur, surrounded by palm and date trees - a relieved sigh leaves him at the idea that he hasn’t really left home. The nile still flows, and he can still live beside it. He glances at the other side of the nile, the sight making his breath catch in his throat, his heart beating too fast against his chest.

He knows this place. The riverside hut is too familiar, the bonfire circle to the left of it something he’s known for a long while, and with wide eyes he watches his father speaking to someone he can’t see. They’re standing half inside the hut and half outside, but his father is much bigger than they are, so the little he does catch of them isn’t helpful. Fingers shaking, he tries to get a different angle, anything to try and confirm his creeping suspicion. Turning back to his mother, he gestures his confusion, attempting to get an answer out of her, any answer.

“Your father thought it’d be a good idea for you to get away from whatever is stressing you out. I suppose it is a little presumptuous, to assume being a prince is the thing stressing you so terribly -“ he’s astounded their guess was correct - “but I think time away will be good for you either way.”

With a nod from his father, his mother helps him to his feet and leads him off the boat, and down the wooden deck he’s known but only now felt - an impending dread fills up his head and heart as he grows closer to the entrance of the little hut, thickening his blood and slowing his thoughts. At long last his father steps to the side to make room for him and his mother, and he sees you - smiling politely at him, your hand outstretched to shake his.

Gingerly he clasps his hand in yours, the short touch electrifying his nerves, but he manages to keep himself under control as his father introduces you to him.

“This is Meryt,” he says with a smile, “and you’ll be staying with them until you think you’re well enough to come back home.”

I don’t think I’ll ever want to come back home, he thinks to himself distantly, feeling out of place in his own body. How, exactly, a real person becomes a character in his dreams, complete with the right house and job escapes him - all he can see is the gold pattern of the sun shining through the thin canopy and onto your skin. Your eyes glitter a brilliant color, staring into his soul without a care in the world. As his father continues talking, muted into the background, he wonders if you already know how important you are to him.

It’s a few hours before his parents leave, sailing up the nile in the royal barge, leaving him with you. Behind the little house, the sun is beginning to set, and you pull a net out from a box on the dock, pulling it to the edge and throwing it out into the water. Looking up at him, you pat the wood beside you, and he sits carefully down beside you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ahkmen,” you say with a pleasant smile, your head drifting from side to side gently to music you hear in your head. “As your father said, my name is Meryt. My friends call me Merry.”

“Merry?” He asks, surprising himself with how quiet he speaks.

“Yeah, you can call me that if you’d like,” you say, and when a silence spans between you, you start humming. He sits beside you for a good long while, wondering how to bring any subject up - his dreams, the reason he’s here, the fact that he’s probably a damper on your daily routine. Before he can think of anything to say, you tie the net line to the dock, and head inside. He almost follows you, but you remerge a second later with two cups. Handing one to him, you sip from the other, sitting back down next to him, your legs dangling off the edge.

“So, um,” he stares down at the gold liquid in his cup, “what is it you do here?”

“Various things,” you answer vaguely, giggling when you see his confusion. “I fancy myself a fisher, though I’m not very good at it. It was really more my fathers’ thing. I’m a brewer, sort of.”

Glancing at you, and back down at his cup, he takes a sip - it’s beer, which he usually doesn’t have, but it’s certainly sweeter and kinder to taste than the brews he’s had in the past. When he looks back up you’re watching him, gauging his reaction, so he smiles, thanking you for the drink.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s what I sell in town, but the beer itself I buy from Umut, who’s the actual brewer. I just add some special ingredients, but other than this, I don’t get around much. Most everything I need can be supplied by what I already have.”

“Probably why I’m here,” he mutters to himself, the simplistic lifestyle a clear reason as to why his parents would bring him here of all places.

“I heard you’ve been having visions,” you say, quiet and sincere. He looks away, a blush crawling to his cheeks as he scowls. “I have a friend that used to have those. Though, I don’t think they were as bad as yours are… is it alright to talk to you about this?”

He nods, slow and shy, but a definite yes.

“She used to see these lights, like stars but close by… this mage from the East said they were fairies. Your parents didn’t tell me much, but I don’t think yours are like hers, are they?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them close.

“Mm. You can talk about it, if you’d like, or we can do something to get to know each other a little better,” you suggest easily, and it almost annoys him how kind and down-to-earth you are. You’re nothing like his dream, at least not thus far, but he doesn’t know what he expected anyway - you aren’t a dream, you aren’t solely his, at least not anymore. He retracts the thought a second later, but for a single moment he wishes you were entirely his own, a secret safe from a world he’s started to fear.

“Do you have any advice?” He asks weakly, flinching when he hears his voice crack.

“Advice…?” You think for a moment, staring out into the nile before looking back at him. “There’s… there’s no way to tell if you’re doing the right thing, or if the path you’re on is the one for you - but there’s comfort in the inevitable, and in the unchangeable, just as there is love in the ever-changing.”

“Oh,” he gets out in a whisper, staring at you as you watch the water ripple with the breeze. The way you smile strikes an uncommon warmth in his heart, welcoming and anxious all at once - in this moment, watching your lips turn up at the sight of turtles at the shore, more than anything he wants to be close to you in a way he knows he can’t. People have boundaries, he warns himself, though the ache to know the softness of your hair and the blush of your cheek against his fingertips is more enduring than anything, and for a fleeting moment he thinks maybe it’d help him. Maybe you could help him. But when he breaks from the trance, he’s far too terrified of poisoning your innocence with his brokenness to do anything of the sort. Instead he watches you, the dying light of the sun casting shadows across your skin, dipping around the creases your smile makes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m not very good at giving advice.”

“No, no… it’s good. I think it’s good,” he mumbles, his nails digging into the wood of the dock.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

For dinner you make an assortment of fruits and vegetables, and though it’s not exactly the cuisine he’s used to it isn’t bad. Sitting at the fireside, the hut sheltering you from the wind growing stronger as night grows, the two of you eat in silence. Afterwards, you share another cup of beer, and you tell him a little bit more about your life and what you do.

“You know quite a bit about me now,” you say after sharing the basic information about yourself. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m - I’m not very interesting, I’m afraid,” he blurts out, almost choking on his drink when you ask.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“… what?”

“Your favorite color,” you repeat. His mouth hangs open, confused as his eyes dart from side to side.

“Uhh… blue,” he answers slowly.

“There you go, that’s something interesting,” you say with a brilliant smile. For the first time in months he laughs, shaking his head.

“That counts as interesting?”

“Of course it does. Everyone has interesting things about them. There’s a story in everyone… why’s blue your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, um… I just like it, I guess,” he mumbles, thinking just how I like you as the words come out.

“It’s a nice color,” you say with a kindly smile.

“So does my favorite color tell you anything about me?” He asks, taking another swallow from his cup.

“Just what type of things to get you. Now if I see something blue that I think you might like, you’ll like it even more.”

“That’s…” he wants to say dumb, because it’s really such a childish gesture, but what instead comes out is, “… really nice of you, actually.”

“Well, you deserve kindness.”

He begs to differ, but instead of pursuing that, he changes the subject.

“How do you know my father? I’m sure he didn’t just drop me off here without knowing you,” he asks, and in a few aspects he’d be right.

“My father knew yours when they were young. Unfortunately, my father was a very solitary man, never told much about himself… I think the only person he ever opened up to was maybe my mother.”

“That explains why your home is sort of in the middle of nowhere.”

“Do you believe in soul bonds?” You ask out of nowhere, taking him by surprise. Furrowing his brow, he shifts uncomfortably.

“Um… I - I don’t know what that is,” he tells you honestly, setting his cup down and fidgeting with his fingers, staring into the low flames of the fire.

“People who are meant to meet, connected beyond status and distance,” you try to explain, and he understands for the most part.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, thinking of how he dreamt of you, wondering for a moment as his eyes flicker to you if he’ll dream of you again tonight.

“Fair enough answer,” you say. “I just thought you might, because when you looked at me, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I did?” He says, his voice tight.

“A little - are you alright?” A concerned look grows quick on your face as you shift to be on your knees, scooting closer to him, looking over his face.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He says, but his voice is still cracking and far too high. I’ve forgotten how terrible a liar I am, he thinks as your hand brushes against his. Swallowing thick, he tries to ignore your attention, staring into the fire.

“Ahkmen, if you’re seeing something you can tell me. I won’t think any differently of you, I’m here to help you after all,” you say with a weak chuckle, clearly too worried to fully comfort him.

“It’s - can I tell you later?” He gets out in a rush, unable to catch his breath long enough to speak a full sentence. You back away, sitting back down on the floor as you watch him, curious and concerned.

“Of course. Take your time,” you tell him, gently patting his hand curled into a tight fist. You take his cup and plate and your own, cleaning and putting them away. By the time you get back, he still can’t breathe right, his chest strained and heavy with anxious weight.

When you sit next to him, you place your fingers on the side of his face, turning him to look at you. His eyes flit across each of your features, clear as day without the muddling of his dream-state, and he nearly cries at the care in your half smile.

“Breathe with me,” you murmur, taking his hand in your own and pressing it upon your chest. Slowly he feels you, your heat, and the even movement of your breath. He tries desperately to match, watching with a frightened intensity as his fingers shake against you. Every second moves embarrassingly slow as he notices every detail of you, watching every move you make, but he’s in your bed before he knows it.

“Wait, where are you going to sleep?” He asks, already drowsy from his panic as he holds your wrist.

“I have a blanket,” you tell him, and for hm, the answer is hardly satisfactory.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he mumbles, barely able to keep awake.

“Go to sleep,” you say, kneeling before him and petting his hair. With an undignified hum, wishing you’d just take your own bed, he falls into sleep.

The following couple of days he tries to distance himself from you, and though it’s clear you don’t understand why, he thinks his reasoning is obvious. When you cast your line out to fish, you ask for him to sit next to you, but he often refuses - he doesn’t want to be a hindrance to your life. When you prepare food, he eats as little as he can - he knows you’re not exactly rich, and food can be hard to come by, even if it is a plentiful summer. Still you push him to eat more, saying the portion you give is what you can afford, often noting his noisy stomach.

“I don’t -“ he tries to get out how he feels, attempts feebly to tell you what he means, but the words clog his throat till he can’t speak anymore.

“You’re not a bother. Your basic needs physically cannot be a burden, not on me. Not on anyone. Certainly not on yourself,” you tell him, pulling his hands away from hiding his face. “Hey,” you murmur. “I know you’re hungry. Eat.”

Staring into your worried eyes he relents, sighing as you smile, pushing a plate into his lap.

By the fifth day you’re fully comfortable with him - the same can’t be said for him. He’s still a nervous wreck in your presence, complete with sweaty palms and weak knees, and a variety of reasons for this go through his head. It could be that he simply doesn’t know you very well, or it could be that you’re still in his dreams, kissing and touching him where he’s rarely ever touched, or it could be that you’re more strikingly handsome than any foreign princess. Eccentric and classic, you’re a succor he’s desperately needed for so long a time.

The more comfortable you grow with him, the more you begin to act like you do in his dreams. Quiet, thoughtful, and never one for direct answers; it gets to the point where the only way he can tell the difference is that in his dreams you touch him incessantly. In real life you always ask, uncertain of his wishes and hesitant to comfort.

“Looks like there might be a storm,” you say, gathering up the net from the water to put away.

“What?” He asks, pulled out of the memories of his dreams, looking up at you. As usual, you’re to the left of him, though this time you’re standing as he sits, his feet just barely touching the warm water below the dock. Your clothes are beginning to soak with the net gathered in your arms, sticking tight to your skin.

“The wind comes from the north, which,” you point to the gathering clouds, “is where the clouds are coming from. I’ve been expecting it for a while now.”

“Really? You didn’t say anything,” he says, hurrying to his feet to help you.

“Wasn’t sure until now. Either way, I’ve been stocking up food, so if it’s bad, we’ll be okay,” you say with a charmingly positive smile. He doesn’t understand your unending optimism, and doubts he ever will, but he most definitely appreciates it.

After helping you pull the rest of the traps out of the water, the wind growing steadily harsher, he follows you inside and shuts the door. By the time he turns around you’re already working on starting a fire, sparking your flint against the wood. All around the outer walls the wind begins to howl, growing louder as rain begins to fall down. Once the fire is fully started, the rain pelts down on the roof, a far too loud white noise, but luckily quiet enough that he can still hear you talk.

“Did I tell you my mother built this home?” You say, sighing when you finally relax into your makeshift seat on the floor, a bundle of pillows and blankets set out in front of the stone hearth. “Except for the fireplace. That was my father.”

“It’s well made,” he says, unsure of what response is appropriate. Often, you’ll talk without any meaning, not expecting a word from him though appreciative when he does add his input.

“Yes…” you breathe out, glancing up at the ceiling, then back down at the fire. “Well made. Like you.”

“… Like me?”

“You were made with love in mind. We’re all creatures of hopeless regard and admiration, dedication and loyalty,” you say, poking him right where his heart sits.

“Not everyone,” he points out, remembering court stories of rape and abuse.

“The Gods have a story in mind for every one of us. In the heavens each of us are crafted from nothing… isn’t that beautiful?”

“One time you said what comes from nothing becomes nothing,” he says, growing quieter as he remembers that’s something you said in his dreams. But you just go with it, your mouth parted slightly as you try to think of answer, shifting in your seat.

“That’s true. But until then, we exist as love incarnate,” you murmur, smiling soft and hesitant at him in a way that far too often makes his heart stop. “Don’t forget our world came from nothing. Ptah came from nothing.”

Technically, you weren’t wrong, but it didn’t settle well in his stomach anyway - you’re pure, wonderfully positive and endlessly loving. He feels like he’s nothing, he knows he’s nothing, his life can’t mean anything, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you. He must’ve had a look about him, because you scoot closer, tracing the soft skin of your fingers down from his temple to his jawline, and at the motion he lets out a shaky sigh and closes his eyes.

“Every king and kingdom, every emperor that claimed to live forever came from nothing. We are all equal. Your father has as much power as a peasant - if they switched positions, no one would know the difference.”

“That’s treasonous talk, you know. I could have you stoned,” he jokes weakly.

“You could,” you say as though it doesn’t matter. It does, it matters a great deal to him - you should feel fear at the thought of your death, but you’re at peace with death just as much as he’s at discord with living.

“Merry, you can’t… you can’t just agree with me,” he gets out in a whisper, squinting as though it’ll help him understand you.

“But you’re not wrong,” you point out, and he grumbles, irritated.

“No, but aren’t you afraid of death?”

“A little. Fear is natural. I don’t wish myself to be in pain, but… death is just the next step and it’s necessary. It’s something we all go through in the end. Fortunately we have a little leeway on how we die,” you say with a curt smile, patting his knee.

“To be honest,” he says, interrupting you from almost standing, “I’m not sure if I believe in Gods anyway. Even if they did exist, I don’t think my father would be one.”

“I think of Gods more as magic. The beauty in the world,” you say, nodding your head distantly before meeting his eye again.

“Well, yes, there are little bits of magic in our world, but… nothing absolute. I’ve never seen any god, nor any trick to warrant belief… but.. I want to believe. Have you ever seen magic? Actual, true magic?”

“I saw you.”

He scoffs, almost rolling his eyes as he looks away from you. It’s such a corny answer he can’t decide if you’re joking or not, but by the way you scoot closer, it’s safe to assume you’re being completely serious.

“Hey,” you say softly, resting your hand against his cheek to push him to look at you. “Look at me. If you think about it, you’re phenomenal. Gods can number many, and the stars are innumerable but there’s only one of you. Ahkmen, galaxies are more commonplace than you! A unique being, capable of complex thought - isn’t that wonderful? Aren’t you monumental?”

Stunned into silence he can’t respond, his mouth barely parted as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Smiling soft and sweet, so commonplace he’s almost used to the sincerity, you stand.

He watches you pull ingredients from your various cabinets, throwing them together in a mix and placing it inside the fireplace. As you pull down a loaf of bread to slice, he intervenes without word, cutting for you. In your appreciation you peck his cheek quickly - you’re not tall enough to reach his temple, but the affection still leaves him blushing bright red nonetheless.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you tell him, still smiling brightly - he can’t find it in himself to respond, but he tries to smile without meeting your eye. Instead he concentrates on the bread, trying to pick out the smell or think of the ingredients as you handle your own task behind him.

As he finishes, pulling the honey down from the cabinet, he hears music, and he halts - he hasn’t heard music since being in the palace. You usually don’t sing, at least not in front of him, and he doesn’t play any instruments. Turning around, honey pot still in hand, he sees you standing with your eyes closed, swaying back and forth to the music you play on the lute. You don’t notice him staring as you start to sing, melodic and breathtaking; he nearly drops the pot.

“… and in the dust, you are saccharine sweet to the endless you seek… You spoke to me, whispered in my ear, ‘lets live forever!’ But we chase the lust of living for creations’ dissever…”

He swallows thick as you continue.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he rasps out, throat dry by the time you finish.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. But I’m good enough for children, and for birds,” you tell him, setting the lute down behind a chest.

“… birds?”

“That’s usually who I sing to,” you tell him, taking the pot from his hands and drizzling it over the bread, taking a pinch of your spice mixture to sprinkle over it.

“Did you write that song?” He asks quietly, frozen in place.

“Yes, actually… it’s a hobby of mine.”

“I.. I never learned any instruments,” he says, kneeling in front of the fire.

“I’m self taught, but I could help you start if you’d like,” you say, sitting beside him and handing his plate to him, a row of small slices on one side as you pour the vegetables from the fire on the other side.

“No, I, um… I like hearing you,” he mumbles, pinching his skin as his anxiety spikes up at his own sincerity.

“Thank you,” you giggle, ruffling his hair.

The rain creates a nice ambience, he decides, the muted pattering on the roof working in tandem with the crackling the fire. Like a melody he can’t decipher, completed by your presence beside him, comforting and nerve-racking all at once - sparing a glance at you, you’re still off in your own world. He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you sing again but has no idea how to bring it up again, so he decides he’ll settle for just hearing you talk.

“How does the chimney stop the rain from coming in?”

“Hm? Oh, the chimney has a hat,” you tell him, quickly returning to your meal.

Damn, he thinks at the short conversation that could barely qualify as a conversation. The rest of dinner he tries to think of another topic, of anything to get you to talk, but before he can think of anything you’re cleaning up the dishes and he’s tending the fire to continue burning as the two of you sleep. When you finish with your task, you sit beside him again, a little closer than usual, and you breathe a little harsher than normal - absently he wonders the cause.

“Ready to sleep yet?” You ask, watching him for any reaction. He doesn’t turn to you.

“Can you play another song?” He asks weakly, still not facing you.

“Of course,” you say with a smile, patting his shoulder as you stand to fetch the lute.

I’ve known you from a distance, longed for the sweetest shame,

But it’s been far too long since I’ve felt the embrace of someone dear to me,

so cling to me, the sweet ambition, cradled in innocence’s swath -

Though I may know you for a century, I’d give myself for a minute more.

The dearest touch of what is known -

I beg to gently press my kiss to your chest,

to hold your tender heart as my own.

You’re much closer to him as you sing, knelt beside him as you strum. He almost wants to sing along, but it’s finished much faster than your last song, and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Do you have these written down somewhere?”

“Not everyone can write, Ahkmen,” you say with a soft laugh, once more putting the lute away, hidden from sight. He nods as he remembers where he is, and who he’s talking to - perhaps I’m still too used to palace life, he thinks, and not for the first time that day.

With a small yawn, you undress, and as usual Ahkmen does a full turn to avoid staring at you. Once you’re dressed in night clothes, you make yourself comfortable on the cot, wrapping the thick blanket over your shoulders and pulling your knees to your chest.

“I made this bed big enough for three people,” you tell him, and when he looks it doesn’t really seem it. Then again, his bed is about the size of your entire house, so he assumes his doubt has to do with his status once again. He wonders why you bring it up, but you take his hand, pull him to his feet and sit him down next to you on the cot. With drooping eyes you lean against him, yawning again. “We can sleep together tonight.”

He freezes, nearly choking on his own spit.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be cold,” you mumble, not bothering to elaborate as you lie down, your head on the pillow and the blanket fully wrapped around your own body. Still finding it hard to breathe, all he can do is watch you, your little hums of comfortable pleasure pulling him deeper into his consternation. Slowly, his eyes never leaving you, he leans down till his head is beside yours, staring at your tired face.

“You… want me to sleep… with you..?”

“Mhm,” you hum, surprising him - he’d asked the question, yes, but he thought you were already asleep. Without opening your eyes, you pull another blanket out from a nearby basket, handing it to him with very little grace.

“Why?” He asks, but at that point you’re asleep, your breathing even and slow. To calm himself he tries to match his breathing to yours, watching your lips just barely part in your sleep.

“You need to do something about me, you know,” you say as he wakes in his dreams, the sky above clear and blazoned with an eternity of stars. You’re sitting cross legged on the soft grass near the waters’ edge, his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Love is an unsure thing, naturally it cannot be hindered or birthed… it’s a choice as much as it is unavoidable. Though you have loved me for so long, choosing to keep loving me… you say nothing,” you murmur, and when he meets your eye they’re sparkling with tears barely there. He sighs, knowing you’re right.

“I’ve really only known you for five days though,” he says, and though he’s right you shake your head.

“A soul may know another from the beginning of time and past the end of it. Sometimes these souls meet each other in the physical realm, but memories are fickle - don’t take our chance meeting for granted. Tell me of your dreams, I’d love to hear it, even if you don’t think I do. I care so deeply for you,” you say with such honesty he can’t help but believe, the ache of your heart reaching through your words and into his mind - maybe you do care for him.

When he wakes in the morning, the feeling is gone with the storm; you’re lying on top of him, hair tussled with sleep as your breath tickles the bare skin of his chest. For a moment he cherishes, you stay asleep as he brushes his fingers against your face, working his way up to your hair that he combs till it’s untangled, though it takes a good long while.

He doesn’t say anything about his dreams, about his infatuation for the entirety of the day as he helps you clean up the mess the storm left in its’ wake. In fact he doesn’t even bother to think of it for months until it’s staring him in the face, too clear that even the blind would see and the deaf would hear - in the middle of the village market he feels as though every person in a hundred mile radius would know all his doubts and fears were proven wrong. He’s known you for months know, stayed with you what seems like forever, but you still surprise him.

It was very simple, really; a gesture anyone could give. People had done it to him before, always looking to gain his favor or coerce his opinion, in fact most people had gone a level above. But you’re different, he’s convinced you’re special in a way no one can never be.

In the middle of the bustling trade market, he’d lost sight of you for a moment - you left him on a bench with a pastry you’d bought a few minutes earlier, telling him you’d be back soon. Trying his best to believe you he sits quietly, watching people flit past in their busy lives and keeping a lookout for you. Eventually you return, bag in hand and a smile on your face as you sit beside him.

“I got something for you,” you say, handing the bag to him.

Eyeing you nervously, he looks down into the bag. There’s paper in the way, blocking the gift from view, so he looks back up at you.

“What is it?” He asks slowly.

“Check for yourself,” you reply, your smile growing as you tear off a piece of the pastry to eat.

Once more he looks to you, then removes the paper. Underneath is a blue scarf - the edges are lined with gold fabric and down the center are sewn white flowers. Holding it in his hands he feels its’ softness, nearly as soft as his own royal robes, and he wonders, astounded, how you managed to afford it.

“How… how did you get this…?” He asks in a quiet, confounded voice, his brow furrowed as he examines each stitch and its material.

“Over there. Traders from Persia, I know them well. I know you don’t really have much to your name right now, so I asked them to keep an eye out for something that you might like… something blue,” you murmur, your smile fading slightly as you get quieter. For a moment you allow him to admire it, answering any question he has with answers that leave him adoring you even further.

“You asked them to get this? How long ago?”

“The trek to Persia and back is long, but not too long, fortunately. I asked them the day after you told me your favorite color.”

“That long ago?”

“Something like that, yes,” you say with a giggle, leaning closer to inspect the scarf with him. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, caught up and enraptured in your smile. Your eyes drift over the material, delicate and detailed, humming to yourself when you find nothing wrong. “Um, yeah. It’s pretty. Can I - can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning back to see him fully.

“I think I’m in love with you,” is what blurts out of his mouth, and while he originally planned to go for a much less direct approach, you’re still blushing dark red.

“Oh, um…”

When you don’t answer immediately he can already feel the stinging of his eyes, anticipating tears before they form. I shouldn’t’ve said anything, he thinks to himself, repeating the phrase over and over again as he’s shocked into paralysis. Staring at you, waiting for your reply, he can’t move, can’t run away as he desperately wants to.

“No one’s… no one’s ever said that to me before,” you mumble, half embarrassed and half surprised.

“Seriously?” He asks, finding his own surprise in your statement. “I thought you would’ve heard it quite a bit.”

“Well I don’t know that many people to start off with, so…” you trail off, finding your words again a moment later. “Ahk, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to love me.”

His heart could’ve stopped beating and he wouldn’t have noticed - all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the numbness of his arms, and his thoughts repeating that he shouldn’t’ve said anything.

“I do adore you, more than anything I’ve known, but my place is here. Your place is with your family. Sometimes love isn’t enough,” you say, your voice cracking with the tears you’re trying to hide.

“I’d stay with you forever if it meant you’d love me,” he replies, dropping the bag to the ground to take your hands, holding them in his lap against the silk of the scarf.

“You can’t give up everything for one person. It’s not healthy and -“

“Meryt, we are fated to be together -“ you try to interrupt him - “just listen to me… please?”

Slowly, you nod.

“I dreamt of you. Long before I knew you, before I even thought I needed help, I dreamt of you nearly every night. You’d tell me these wonderful things, you’d hold me close and whisper to me, and I don’t know how it’s possible but I’ve known your love for so long I think I would surely waste away without it,” he pleads with you, searching glassy eyes for your gaze.

“That’s why you looked the way you did, when we first met, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Will you let me stay with you?” He asks soon after, desperate for an answer.

“I… your father will look for you, he loves you very dearly,” you say, your fingers trilling soft pressure into his palm.

“Then we’ll run away, join those Persian traders,” he says, smiling wide when you giggle at the idea.

“They aren’t Persian, they just go there to trade,” you say, still laughing as a tear runs down your cheek.

“Is that a yes then?” He asks, holding you closer than before, still searching for any sign of an answer.

“… yes.”

+

The traders welcome you happily, mostly thanks to your previous connections to them - they know you’d never steal or cheat them, and by extension they trust Ahkmen. As grueling as the travel is, the people you meet always spark your interest. More often than not a simple hello turns to a long, drawn-out conversation about birthplaces and life stories, to the point where Ahkmen usually has to drag you away, still smiling to himself the entire time.

Though you kiss him often, and did it far before the prospect of a romantic relationship was ever a thought, you don’t really kiss him until you’re sitting in a desert oasis, far away from the nile that used to comfort him so deeply. You and Ahkmen have the habit of staying up the latest, watching the stars swarm the sky, sometimes shooting across the darkness as your campfire dies out.

“My mother says she makes a wish when she sees a shooting star,” Ahkmen murmurs, not breaking his stare into the endless sky. You hum, nodding distantly as you silently make your own wish.

After a moment, he asks, “what did you wish for?”

“I’m not telling you,” you say, laughing. “That’s bad luck.”

Caught up in the golden swirl of his eyes, you lean in, eyes half lidded as you come close enough to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. When he leans in the rest of the way, he feels the softness of your lips for the first time - endearing and forever his.

I like that, he thinks to himself, melting further into your touch as you move to be closer to him. Your chest against his you trace your fingers down his face, temple to jawline, before cupping his chin and pulling him in deeper. 

Forever his.

+

End Notes: hope y’all enjoyed Ahk’s trip to Ye Olde Mental Hospital. I gave it an AU ending because it was the only way to make everyone happy and I’m tired of the sadness. We all deserve love.

[adasttrawrites]

The Boombox - a Dramione one-shot

https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751569

Hi! I’ve been part of the Dramione fandom since I was 13 but I’ve never written anything - this is my first attempt, ten years later. Let me know how I did!

This little one-shot is set in an AU, one year after the Second Wizarding War, where the surviving teenagers are given the option of coming back for an eighth year to complete their studies. The war criminals have been Obliviated (and are under strict observation) and all those found guilty of minor crimes have had mandatory therapy and thorough rehabilitation. 

Eighth-year students have been given a seperate common room and dormitories to allow them privacy from the rest of the school. 

xx Tina

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.

It was 5 o’clock in the evening and the common room was half-filled. Several eighth-years were on their shifts to monitor their old house common rooms and patrol the hallways, Harry Potter and Ron  Weasley included.

Hermione Granger was sitting in an armchair. She was sitting incorrectly, Draco Malfoy observed from his seat on the sofa. Her back was resting against one arm and her legs were swung over the other. She was engrossed in a book, but when Seamus Finnigan set down a large contraption on the coffee table, both she and Draco snapped their heads in his direction.

“Oh my Gods, is that —?” Hermione stood up, walking over to Seamus.

“A boombox!” He looked at it proudly. “My da bought it for me! It’s charmed to work without electricity.”

Draco didn’t know what a boombox was, nor electricity, nor why Hermione Granger was so excited about the strange contraption.

“Do you have any cassettes to play?” She pushed a button and static fizzled out of the the box.

Seamus rifled through his trouser pocket and produced what Draco assumed was a cassette. By this time, everyone had gathered around. Draco watched as Hermione fiddled with the box and suddenly, music poured out of the machine. She jumped to her feet in joy.

“I love this song!”

“What is it?” Neville Longbottom asked. He was curious, having never seen a boombox, either.

“It’s a Muggle music player.” Seamus explained. “This is a Muggle song. It’s by one of the best Muggle bands in the world.”

“It’s the best band in the entire world, Seamus.” Hermione corrected, getting up from her crouched position. She addressed her fellow classmates. “It’s called ‘All My Loving’ and it’s by The Beatles.”

“Beetles?” Blaise Zabini gave Draco a funny look. The handful of students in the room who knew the song had gotten to their feet and started dancing with each other. The Slytherin students didn’t, obviously. Draco watched as Hermione grabbed Neville by the hands and pulled him over to a clear space to dance. Luna Lovegood was standing by the fireplace, wiggling her arms in the air, a distant look on her face. Draco had to admit that the song wasn’t terrible, and he found himself almost smiling when Neville dipped Hermione over his knee. Her face was pink and her curls touched the floor.

“Draco?” Pansy Parkinson tapped his shoulder. “Won’t you dance with me?” She looked nervous, but he knew she was trying to be amicable. She was making an attempt to be involved, like all the Slytherin students in their year. She had even let Ginny Weasley braid her hair the evening before.

“Uh,” Draco glanced back to the scene in front of him before tearing his eyes away to look at Pansy. He didn’t want to look like an idiot, but his rehabilitation officer told him to make a better effort in socialising. “Sure.”

They awkwardly tried to figure out how to dance to the Muggle song and were making little progress when someone touched Draco’s elbow. He turned, embarrassment flushing his face, to see Neville and Hermione smiling at him.

“Do you want us to show you?”

He could see Pansy swallowing her pride. She let go of Draco and took Neville’s hand. Draco was left with Hermione standing in front of him, looking at him expectantly. Just as he steeled himself to place a hand on her waist, the song changed. It was slower. He looked at the boombox, panicked. Hermione put one timid hand on his shoulder and the other into his free hand, forcing him to look at her.

“This one is called “Can’t Fight This Feeling”, she murmured, starting to move her feet. He followed her directions and tried very hard not to pay attention to her fuzzy cat socks or the lyrics of the song. Suddenly she twirled as the chorus began, and before long, he realised that he was leading. They were dancing.

He was dancing with Hermione Granger in front of everyone, to a love song.

“You’re doing great!” A voice broke his reverie and he looked at his dance partner, who shockingly seemed to be enjoying herself. For the first time since they met as first-years, he smiled at her sincerely. A laugh to his left made him look over to see Neville and Pansy dancing like they were the best of friends. It was odd. Oil and water mixing should have been more chaotic, but for whatever reason, coming back to Hogwarts to finish their studies was effortless. Maybe it was the fact that all the captured Death Eaters had been Obliviated, his father included. Maybe it was the desperation to cling to some normality after the previous year. Maybe it was people on both sides realising that enough of their loved ones had died. Whatever it was, Neville and Pansy were laughing and dancing in each others’ arms. As were Blaise and Ginny Weasley. As were he and Granger. He noticed that she was close enough for him to smell her shampoo. It was fruity. The music changed again.

Many times I tried to tell you

Many times I cried alone.

“Granger,” he spoke softly, barely audible over the sound of the music. Her eyes were glazed over, her gaze fixed on a button on his shirt. She looked up. He looked at the smattering of gold flecks in her brown eyes.

Always I'm surprised how well you cut my feelings to the bone

Don't want to leave you really.

“What is it?”

We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder

We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under.

“Thank you.”

She smiled up at him, and he wondered why he spent so many years trying to make her cry.

“For what?”

Maybe it's a sign of weakness when I don't know what to say

Maybe I just wouldn't know what to do with my strength anyway.

“For teaching me how to dance.”

She just smiled again, and let go of his hand to place it on his shoulder. Automatically, he dropped his hand to her waist and suddenly, they were closer than before. Now he could actually feel the warmth coming off her body and he wondered how someone so full of life and light could bear to be so near to someone like him, someone so cold.

We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder

We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under

Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better

We belong, we belong, we belong together.

His face must have conveyed the questions running through his head because she lifted a soft hand to his face, her palm against his jaw.

“Don’t think so hard, Draco.” His name tumbled out of her mouth so casually. Like they were friends. He shot a nervous glance at Pansy, who was plastered to Neville, swaying against him like she was drunk. Actually, she did look drunk. Drunk with happiness. Blaise had picked up Ginny and was spinning around. Luna had convinced Seamus to dance with her. Everyone was dancing. It dawned on Draco that they were all drunk on happiness. This was the first time they had done something carefree in months, maybe years. It was certainly the first time in a long time for him.

We can't begin to know it, how much we really care

I hear your voice inside me, I see your face everywhere.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for what I did.” The words were out before he could think. He gently clutched her arm. The raised lettering made him shudder and he focused on her with an intensity that made her blush.

“You didn’t do this.”

Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better

We belong, we belong, we belong together.

“Then I’m sorry for what I didn’t do.”

For standing by.

For not being brave.

For not saving her from Bellatrix.

For being a coward.

“You know,” she pulled his neck down and whispered into his ear, “I forgave you long ago. It’s over now. We’re fine, you and me.”

He reared back slightly, stunned. How could she? How could she forgive so easily? How could she let go of the pain and suffering that his side had caused her? Was it so easy for her? Was she so good?

“I don’t deserve it.”

His shoulders were tense and he knew she could feel it. Her hand found its way to his cheek, again, and he revelled in how the warmth could make his whole body feel warm. She continued to speak softly.

“Everyone is trying to move on, Draco. So many people died for us to be here today.” She lookee down at the carpet and he knew the dead were still haunting her. She looked up at him, again. “If I hadn’t forgiven you, they would have died in vain, and we would still be fighting. I don’t want to fight anymore, do you?”

He shook his head. He wondered if she had always been this wise. A know-it-all, yes, but wise? Perhaps he wasted so much of his effort on being cruel that he never stopped to think of how valid she was. A witch, more deserving of the title than most, and a good person with a heart of gold, he knew that to be true with no doubt in his mind.

“Thank you.” He absentmindedly tugged one of her curls and watched it bounce back to sit on her collarbone. “Thank you for everything. I don’t deserve it.”

She shrugged. “Thank you.”

“What do you me— why are you thanking me?”

“For letting me teach you how to dance.” She winked at him.

He offered her another smile and, suddenly unsure why his heart was beating so hard, dipped her as the song finished. She stood back up and laughed. It was a lovely sound, one he had never heard before. They weren’t dancing any more, just standing far too close to each other, still holding hands. Over her shoulder, he saw Weasley and Potter enter the room. Potter looked confused, the Weasel looked horrified. Before either of them could cause a scene, Draco bent down to brush his lips against Hermione’s knuckles and smiled, gratefully.

“Another time. Your friends are waiting for you. Goodnight, Hermione.”

Before she could say anything, he was walking away towards the male dormitory. She stood there, amazed at how warm he was, and how cold she felt without him holding her.

“Hermione, what the fuck were you doing?!”

- written by Tina (@whyboyfriendwhenicecream) 

[dreadhaus-literature]

{Collection} A Haunted Haus : Day Two & Three

That is a mask...right?

Day Three, Start.

The past 48 hours haven’t exactly been “business as usual” for the Stone Spider Family.

Atamu hadn’t figured life would be all sunshine and roses every day since the Merger almost three years ago, but the Patriarch hadn’t ever anticipated anything quite like this. His displeasure in the recent, strange goings-on under his roof was clear on his dark, weathered face as he sat with his massive arms folded across his broad barrel of a chest. His long dreads were secured back in a thick braid that reached his waist, an impressive feat for a man over eight feet tall--it was a task he’d asked His little to perform, something Monica was quite skilled at by this point and had done so without hesitation. Atamu wanted his hair out of his face so he wouldn’t have to think about it or push at the long, thick twists of soft hair as the day’s events continued on around him. And while he normally reveled in the time Monica spent playing in his dreads, enjoying the way her small fingers felt beneath the lovingly secured strands, today it had been more for business than pleasure. There were events going on at the Haus that required the old Chieftain’s full attention and he didn’t want to miss a single detail.

Helen’s office was currently holding several select, key members of the immediate Family--the Reaver herself was behind her desk, with Thomas standing in front of it. Atamu was seated in a high-backed chair facing the desk, with Monica safely in his lap--she wasn’t allowed down, much less out of the Patriarch’s sight.

Not after what had happened yesterday.

And while normally Monica might chafe under strict restraints on being told what to do...after what happened she wasn’t too keen on being out of Atamu’s embrace at all, much less where he couldn’t see her.

Luvon Dreadful was the newest addition to the room, the Alpha standing beside his Father and lifemate. The werewolf had his arms folded much like his Father, his large, heavily muscled body blocking Monica from the door and providing a second wall of protection for the young vampire. If Atamu hadn’t been overprotective enough to keep Monica at his side, Luvon would have done it. The overprotective Alpha did not play around when it came to Monica’s safety and well-being and anyone who looked at him now would only notice his tightly locked square jaw and the way his orange eyes glowed almost ferally. There was a dormant volcano of rage smoldering dangerously close to Luvon’s surface. All he needed was a target to unleash it on--but that was part of the problem. No one was quite sure what happened yesterday, and that was the cause of the current meeting.

“Would you like some tea, sweetheart?” Thomas straightened up from leaning against Helen’s desk, his gentlemanly smile aimed at Monica. “I would be happy to make you some, or perhaps a snack?”

“You need to be here for the recording, Thomas, you cannot be off making her tea. That’s why we have staff,” Helen’s sharp tone was back in full force, sounding like a whip of censure, though Thomas was used to her by now and didn’t react as if scolded. His smile didn’t even falter.

“I’d happily do it if she’d like me to.”

Helen didn’t doubt that for a split second.

“That’s okay, Thom.” Monica offered the Detective a small but genuine smile, showing she meant the gratitude.

“How about a blanket?”

Monica shook her head, leaning a little closer to Atamu, who reacted immediately by tightening his arm around her. “Poppy’s really warm!”

“Oh, of course he is,” Thomas’s smile deepened, before he tried again. “Perhaps a stuffed animal?”

“Thomas for god’s sake would you stop fussing over her? She’s fine.” Helen gave the man a look of heavy disapproval, and this time he had to sense to clear his throat and fold his hands against his trim middle, his earth-toned vest-coat a perfect compliment to the paleness of his skin and hair.

“Right, of course, so sorry.” His apology sounded even more sincere in his British accent. “I’m afraid I’m a little...out of sorts.”

“Why?” Luvon bit out gruffly. “Nothing happened to you.”

Monica looked up at Luvon in surprise at the line that might have been misinterpreted as hostility, but Thomas either was so used to Helen’s way of speaking he didn’t rise to the challenge...or he was simply too non-confrontational and understood Luvon was reacting as a lifemate should. Thomas simply answered honestly, as he was one of the more emotional members of the Family and was unafraid to show it.. His chin lifted, with the truth lightening his blue eyes and his accented tenor.

“Something could have happened to Monica. I’m as upset as you are about that.”

Luvon didn’t speak, unsurprisingly, but his defensive posture relaxed. It was an acceptable answer by the Alpha’s standards.

Monica reached up for Luvon’s hand and he met her halfway, lacing his fingers through hers with a grip like iron. In a movement that brought both of her men together, she turned her smile back to Thomas, one that he readily returned, pleased that she seemed to understand how deeply he cared for her. Feeling emboldened by her smile, Thomas moved to press a kiss to her forehead, and a little of the tension seeped out of the office.

“Are we all ready to review the recording?” Helen glanced first at Monica, then Atamu, then lastly at Luvon as Thomas returned to leaning against her desk.

It wasn’t an easy question to answer; Monica didn’t necessarily want to relive yesterday’s experience, Atamu didn’t want to put her through it again, and Luvon was still grappling with a lifemate’s raging need to protect his mate and being unable to do so. But all three knew there would be no moving forward without reviewing what happened, and when Luvon squeezed her hand reassuringly and Atamu’s lips found her temple, Monica felt strong enough to nod from her safe place between them.

“Yes! Let’s do it,” Monica nodded, and was rewarded by one of Helen’s rare, proud smiles. Monica seemed to be the only one to ever receive them, though that wouldn’t surprise a single member of the Haus to learn.

“Rollback the recording, JARVIS.”

Day Two, Recording Start

It was a fair assumption on Wade Wilson’s part (for once in his insane life) that Usopp had never been to a Halloween store, before. And that was why it was his duty, as Usopp’s newest bestest friend in the whole wide world, to take the sniper captain shopping for more costumes than there are days in a calendar year!

It was also a fair assumption that Wade Wilson often lost the rights to his Family credit card for doing things like buying 500+ Halloween costumes.

“Is this...how we’re supposed to celebrate?” Usopp asked, watching Staff member after Staff member bring in armfuls of shopping bags. The Staff had tried to arrange the bags in some semblance of order but Wade had quickly upended the entire system, because as soon as a servant set a bag down he was rifling through it like a kid on his birthday, flinging costumes over his shoulder with wild abandon. “All these costumes?”

“One for every day of the year!” Wade cheered incorrectly, arms lifted over his head.

Usopp was left staring and wondering how Wade had managed to pull a long blond wig on over his masked face in the split second it took him to straighten up.

The recreation room of the Haus (one of many, actually) was quickly covered in fabrics and masks, novelty weapons and other assortment of accessories for the many, many costumes that lay strewn about. It was no coincidence that the majority of the costumes were couples’ costumes, or “Bestie Suits” as Wade kept referring to them to Usopp in the store. There was no denying the Merc with the ever-running Mouth was thrilled to have a friendship with Usopp and true to his clingy nature, wanted to do everything with his new friend. In his twisted, often incorrect mind, somehow he was going to figure out a way to do a couple’s costume with Monica, Usopp, Peter Parker, Dick Grayson, Nathan Summers, Logan Howlett, Bruce Wayne, Bruce Banner (just to piss Hulk off) and Oliver Queen (to piss off Clint Barton because the hawk-eyed assassin ate his leftovers). He didn’t know how he was going to do this, just that he was, and like everything in Wade’s life, somehow this would work out.

Or it wouldn’t.

He didn’t know.

“Soooo...” Usopp watched with his hands on his waist as Wade upended another bag onto the floor. “How do we decide what to dress up as?”

“Well~” Wade’s strangely pitched voice was all aflutter with excitement. “Tomorrow is one of the costume parties being held this month and I’m pretty sure there’s no contest because we’re all supposed to love one another and just have fun, but if I insult enough people’s costumes by saying ours is better then we can get one started and win!”

Usopp didn’t think that sounded right but was quickly learning arguing with Wade was a dangerous game--because you either got sucked into an argument that lasted six hours because Wade liked to talk, or he’d kiss you to shut you up. Usopp was still deciding which of those was the lesser of two evils.

“So we just need to dress up as something really fuckin’ kick-ass so we can win!”

Usopp’s brow pulled together in the center. “...Win the contest that isn’t happening?”

“Oh it’s happening, good buddy.” Wade straightened up, holding up an incredibly stereotypical pirate captain costume, complete with a hat emblazened with a cheap skull and bones across the front. “Would Luffy be mad at me if you were captain for a day?”

“At you?” Usopp asked, confusion clear on his tanned face. He was still learning everything circled back to Wade eventually...even if it shouldn’t.

“Yeah! I mean, he can be mad at you but I’m a sensitive boy. I have all these emotions. Feelings. Mostly in my junk but that’s where they come from.”

Usopp’s face was blank and Wade didn’t even miss a beat.

“See because my thought is, if you’re the pirate captain, then I can be the parrot...sitting on your shoulder for the whole night. And I can just say really raunchy things and no one can be mad at us because I’m just a bird, the fuck do I know?”

That cracked Usopp’s resolve, imagining Wade in a giant bird suit. He was tempted to say yes just for that.

“Oooo!” Wade’s squeal indicated his wandering eye had caught something else and he tossed the first costume to the side, picking up two costumes to hold up side by side, peering around them to grin at Usopp. “How about Peanut Butter and Jelly!”

Given the years he’s now lived at the Haus, Usopp recognized the food items and the oversized jar costumes Wade was holding up were definitely...something. The hands were connected, sewn together actually, so whoever was wearing the costume would have to hold hands the entire night.

“That’s...uh, if you want!” Usopp was too kind to shoot Wade down, which was partially why they’d been gone the entire afternoon and also why they’d run up a bill with more zeros than Usopp wanted to remember. It more resembled a bounty than a price to be paid.

Wade dropped the costumes before making a heart with his hands and sending it in Usopp’s direction. “This is why you’re one of my besties. You just get it, Usopp.”

“Get what?”

“Everything.” Wade stated, dramatic and somewhat breathlessly. “You get everything.”

If Usopp thought shopping with Wade was an ordeal, that turned out to be only half-truth--now that they were home, they had the monumental task of sorting through the haul to find what they wanted to wear.

“Gorilla and his really big banana?”

A pause before Usopp ventured, “that sounds kinda...lewd.”

“Oh! So Franky would do it.”

Usopp didn’t know if Wade wanted Franky to be the gorilla or the banana and he wasn’t going to ask.

“Okay so we’re not getting anywhere and since you won’t let me take your pants off--”

“You never told me why you needed to take my pants off?!”

“I need a reason to take your pants off?” Wade asked, blinking beneath his lifted mask. Usopp could easily read the confusion in the scarred half of Wade’s face he could clearly see.

“I’m starting to see why Nami hits Brook so much.”

“I thought Nami was going to hit me once but it turned out Sanji kicked me in my face before she could, which was just as good.” Wade quipped, but his attention was on one of his many pouches on his belt that he was rifling through.

“Why did Sanji kick you?”

“I think it’s because I was saying something about Monica sitting on my face--”

“HAHA WOW, YES, MHM, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR IN YOUR SUIT?!”

Wade paused in his search, slowly looking up at Usopp’s panicked expression. His visible grin was nothing short of wicked.

“Does Monica sit on your face, Usopp? I bet that nose is her favorite part--”

Shutting Wade Wilson up was a monumentally difficult feat to accomplish, something Usopp had learned recently, but had been told that food helps. Wade’ll still talk with his mouth full, but it might help distract him from his train of though--so Usopp started carrying around an extra stash of candy in his own pouches and pockets, aside from the stash Monica kept on him. Acting quickly, face red with the ideas Wade was putting in his head, Usopp plucked up a piece of candy and expertly tossed it into the Merc’s running mouth.

“S-So what are y-you looking for?” Usopp took control of the conversation in the split second Wade closed his mouth around the candy, nearly exhaling with relief when Wade’s multi-tracked mind switched lanes.

“My phone, I wanna text Monica.”

Trying to ignore the way his heart skipped at the mention of her name, especially so soon after the recent topic of conversation, Usopp cleared his throat.

“Why?”

“Oh, well she’s the smartest person I know--I mean Tony Stark likes to say he is, and he’s not the only one who says it either, but even he doesn’t argue when I say it’s Monica, so I think that’s the consensus.” Wade switched pouches for the fourth time. “Fucking thing’s gotta be here somewhere...anyway I wanna text Monica and have her come help us pick a costume!”

Usopp couldn’t argue with that, Monica was the smartest person he knew, too--well, she was a lot of things. Smartest, funniest, prettiest...even now, he was smiling wide enough to show teeth at the thought of Monica coming by, even if there wasn’t a reason for it. For as long as he’s known her (and he was very proud of the years!) he’s been head over heels in love with her and to feel it only grow as time passed wasn’t something he’d been prepared for. So much of his young life had been about action and adventure, a lot of the emotional journeys he’d taken had somewhat been overshadowed--but Monica brought them to the surface. He’s loved and lost--not always necessarily people, either--and that taught him that holding onto love so you don’t lose it is very, very important. Usopp was considered a lot of things by a lot of people, but the only opinion that really mattered to him was Monica’s. Yes, his captain and crew, but it was different when Monica talked to him, about him, told him things that no one else ever had before. Love becomes as necessary to one as air when they’ve had it for a while and now Usopp couldn’t imagine loving anyone more. It was a sentiment echoed by his entire crew and she became the central, uniting force behind the Straw Hats. Nothing and no one else would ever be more beloved or important to them.

Wade could definitely relate to his new bestie’s feelings; Monica was the love of his life and had been since the first moment he saw her. He’d fallen and fallen hard, not even bothering to get back up. He didn’t want to. She was smart, beautiful, funny as hell, sexy enough to make his suit uncomfortable 24-fucking-7, witty enough to put anyone to shame--she was a knock-out in every sense of the word. The Merc knew he wasn’t anything to look at and he knew Monica liked pretty things, pretty people; he didn’t know how he’d managed to slip under her radar but now that he was here, he wasn’t going to leave. Much like the fact that he couldn’t die, Wade couldn’t live with Monica. Plain and simple, end of story. That fierce love and his tendency to hyper-fixate made for one needy combination that Monica had to deal with--the fact that he was in near constant contact with her was one result but she was always so sweet to respond to his many, many text messages, to send him pictures when he asks for them, and to even pick up when he calls needing to hear her voice. Wade wasn’t dumb or oblivious enough to think he deserved her, he knew he didn’t but had decided, fuck the universe. He’d been dealt a real shit sandwich for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for years and years, so now that he had something good, someone who loved him and took care of him, why shouldn’t he get to have her?

Monica was never really ready for the love every member of the Haus had for her, but that didn’t stop her from being bombarded with it at any given hour of the day. The matching, exuberant expressions on Wade and Usopp’s faces should have scared her--just how much time had they been spending together?--but she could hardly find one single thing to focus on amidst the insanity she’d walked into. From what she could tell, Wade and Usopp had bought an entire costume outlet and then thrown every single costume onto the floor and were now standing in the aftermath, waiting for her.

“Monica~ Sweet angel girl. You came for us!”

Monica laughed at Wade’s loving coo, missing the way Usopp’s smile widened at the sound. “You make it sound like you got kidnapped. What is all this?”

“Costumes! Usopp and I went shopping.”

“Yeah you definitely went shopping,” Monica’s eyes lingered on a giant grape costume whose grapes were at least the size of human heads. “Are these for the whole Haus?”

“Noooo, the whole Haus can suck it.” Wade slung one heavily muscled arm around Usopp’s shoulders. “These are just for Usopp and me. But don’t worry!” Wade held out his other arm, giving his eyebrows an enticing wiggle in the hopes Monica would move beneath the hollow of his shoulder. “I bought you and me a whole room to go through later~”

“...A whole...room?” Monica couldn’t resist the offer for affection, slowly side-stepping costumes as best she could to move into Wade’s embrace.

“Yep! They’re mostly lingerie, mostly for you but I did buy myself a few things I thought you might like to see me in. My juicily scarred ass looks pretty good in lace, I’ve been told...by myself.”

Monica immediately turned to Usopp, avoiding that topic of conversation. “S-So, you and Wade are going to dress-up together?”

Usopp’s smile was boyish and loving as he nodded down at her. “We need your help, though! We don’t know which ones to wear for the party tomorrow.”

Wade was nuzzling into Monica’s hair, sniffing with keening little noises. “And since you’re so smart...and pretty...and smell like fucking heaven...”

Usopp gave Wade a look when Wade didn’t even bother finishing his sentence, far too wrapped up in being affectionate with Monica, who was grateful for her inability to blush at this particular moment.

“...We thought you’d be perfect to help.” Usopp finished for Wade, his smile returning full-force when Monica met his gaze.

“I’d love to help!” Monica nodded, smiling just because Usopp was. He looked so happy!

And so, the hunt for the perfect bestie costume began, re-energized by Monica’s presence. The trio sifted through the insane costume pile side by side by side; neither man moved too far away from her, wanting to be near and enjoy her presence. Wade’s openly affectionate ways were rubbing off on Usopp, who, on more than one occasion, was brave enough to give Monica’s hand a squeeze or even lean down to kiss her cheek or forehead, when he was so overcome with happiness at her participating that he couldn’t help himself! It felt good, doing this with her; it was good for both of them, Wade now so relaxed his mask was entirely off his face and Usopp feeling confident enough to express himself to the woman he loved.

The banter between the three was natural and flowed as if they’d always been, just like this.

“AAAA?!” Usopp reeled back with a surprised peal of laughter. “Wade! Take off that mask! ...That is a mask, right?”

Monica was nearly doubled over at the giant baby mask Wade had on, because it looked so ridiculous on his normal, man-sized body.

Wade did not help matters by beginning to talk and gesture with the mask still over his head, so his scratchy voice was coming from the baby’s pudgy face and gap-toothed cartoon smile. “I know it’s hard to tell when I have a mask on, okay, because my face looks like a melted candle in the shape of what I think Freddy Kruger’s balls probably look like--”

Usopp’s laughter was so loud it cut off Wade’s sentence and Monica all but threw herself on the Merc, because she couldn’t take his words coming out of that stupid looking mask!

Wade caught Monica effortlessly, strong arms like steel bands around her back as he took full advantage of the hug, and as soon as she pushed the mask off his face he was nuzzling against her soft skin, cooing and murmuring like one might imagine a baby would actually do.

“Mommy’s skin is so soft~”

“W-Wade you’re being silly,” Monica’s giggling turned shy, but she held onto him all the same. His words had come out like a self-deprecating joke but she knew the Merc and she knew his self-esteem was likely the worst in the Haus. So when Usopp laughed, and Monica took the mask off, it helped Wade feel a little better--because Usopp was paying him attention, and Monica wanted to see his face.

Time flies when you’re with the ones you love. Monica could hardly believe that an hour and a half had gone by and they hadn’t even made a dent in the pile of costumes the two had brought home. It left her a little concerned about how much time it would take to go through the room Wade had set up for the two of them...not to mention the tummy flip at the thought of what all would likely take place in said room supposedly filled with costumed lingerie for two. Smiling to herself, Monica picked up and then immediately tossed aside a naval sailor suit that Wade probably wanted to try and stuff Cora into. It was safer not to ask what his plans were for half of these things--

A prickle of unease had Monica’s attention snapping up, and her green eyes fell on...well she didn’t know if it was Wade or Usopp since the mask on the face made it impossible to tell. Her face broke into a smile, the unease chalked up to that feeling one gets when they’re being watched and it dissipated as quickly as it came. She hadn’t heard them approach, so it made sense she’d be a little startled. The mask itself didn’t exactly help; it was modeled after an old timey ventriloquist dummy, with the finely painted wooden features, including the slits down the side of the mouth where the dummy would “talk”. It’s eyes were brilliantly blue and inhumanly realistic looking, like doll’s eyes, and apparently came with a costume to match because the wearer was decked out in a full suit and tie. She must have been really involved in her searching to not notice Wade or Usopp pulling on a suit, but she had to commend the boys. A dummy and a ventriloquist was a pretty damn creepy costume combination--especially with the way this one looked. As she continued to stare at the mask, the mouth slowly opened but given it was a mask, couldn’t smile. They were just standing there with the mask mouth unsettlingly wide, as if frozen in a silent scream.

The prickle of unease returned.

Monica knew Wade and Usopp would never scare her on purpose, but she couldn’t make sense of what was happening, why they were just standing there. Were they expecting a different reaction? Maybe just wanting something more than her smile? ...It still wouldn’t make sense, Wade was never this quiet and to be honest now that she thought about it a bit more, Usopp would probably have to be coaxed into something this creepy, and she definitely would have heard Wade trying.

It was then that she saw Usopp pass by her peripheral, his spine bent as he traced a lengthy costume to it’s source.

That only left Wade--

“If I get my head stuck in a bag again I’m gonna be really pissed off.”

Wade was directly behind her, apparently head first in a bag.

So who...was in front of her...?

The mask’s eyes continued to bore into hers, it’s mouth open as if silently challenging her to scream, to say something, do something, but every instinct Monica had was fighting against that urge. She felt fear wrap around her silent heart like ice, and fight or flight was kicking in and fast--

And that was when it moved.

Slowly, the head inclined to one side, the arms of the suit coming up, up, then twisting, as if the elbow joints were being wrenched to the side. There were no hands coming out of the sleeves but there was definite sound like bone breaking as the arms twisted--which caught Usopp’s attention first, and he let out a bellow of surprise, all but leaping the distance between himself and Monica to push her behind him.

Some might consider Usopp a coward, but he never, ever hesitated when it came to Monica.

“What, is my ass hanging out agai--WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?!” Wade’s surprised bellow was accusatory, angry that someone was scaring his babygirl and bestie. His bulky body came into Monica’s line of sight but she caught the back of his suit, keeping him from fully approaching the mask--it had fallen still again, it’s face still staring straight at the group but it’s arms were still horribly twisted.

“W-Wade, don’t,” Monica managed, her instincts screaming at her not to let him get any closer. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know what they were looking at, dealing with, but she wasn’t going to let Wade get hurt--whether he would come back from it or not.

“Look, Dummy McDumbass, you better hope like hell you’re not anyone I know because you’re going to get spanked with the sharp end of my katana for scaring my wife and bestie like this,” Wade shot out, only held in place by Monica’s hand clutching the back of his suit. He was standing directly in front of her and she was grateful for that, but she couldn’t resist leaning around him just to keep an eye on their silent “companion”.

It just stared back at her with that same screaming expression.

Usopp kept Monica in his hold, just a little bit behind him, but when the mask didn’t speak, when one of their Family members didn’t yank the mask off with a laugh, he felt the first shivers of true fear race down his spine.

This wasn’t someone they knew and loved. This was something else.

Wade just got angrier, slipping his gun from his thigh holster. He didn’t like the way he could feel Monica’s fingers trembling. He didn’t like that at all.

“All right, even better. You’re a literal dumbass who broke into this Haus to die. Congrats.” Wade cocked his gun, sights perfectly positioned right at the forehead of the silent, staring mask. “Gonna say, I don’t know, fucking anything before I shut you up forever?”

The mask still didn’t speak, but it did move.

Slowly, just like with it’s arms...the head began to spin around. The trio watched as the doll’s head slowly, creaking as if made of wooden bone, turned toward the right and then kept turning. As the neck started to break, the eyes remained locked to the trio, and it wasn’t until it snapped that the mask and suit fell to the floor in an empty, crumpled heap.

There was no one there.

Monica turned away from the reality of what they’d just seen, burying her face against Usopp’s chest and was relieved when his arms closed around her, his own face buried in her hair.

“I-It’s okay, it’s okay,” Usopp comforted, his voice quiet but trying to be strong for Monica. “I’m here, W-Wade’s here, we’re okay.”

Angry and with nothing to do about it, Wade unloaded an entire clip down into the mask that had somehow fallen face up, those blue eyes staring at the trio until Wade shot them out.

But a full clip shot into the floor couldn’t erase the truth--there had never been anyone there, at all.

Day Two, Recording End.

The silence of the office was deafening.

Monica was resting her head against Atamu’s chest, absolutely dwarfed by the Patriarch and grateful for it; he was surrounding her, physically and emotionally, his strongly beating heart an anchor for her relieving the fear she’d felt in that room. A full day had passed since the incident but she still didn’t know how to feel about it except scared, but Atamu was doing his best to keep her from feeling that way. His large hand was rubbing her back, his other arm draped across her body and his bicep alone was wider than her middle; she felt safe here, knew that he wouldn’t ever let anything happen to her and she basked in that feeling, letting it wash over her to drown out the prickling uneasiness and fear. Luvon was still standing guard over her, his orange eyes hard enough to break glass, but that oppressive anger was a comfort to Monica, too. She knew her Big Brother would never let anything happen to her, either, and she knew that was why he was in here. As an Alpha and a Soldier, Luvon took a heavy hand in the security of the Haus. He trained the wolves that stalked and protected the grounds and he was one of the direct reports that any of the Staff came to with any security issues. He actively reviewed security footage from the Haus and all it’s properties, especially any that concerned Monica, and that was why he was front and center, now. He wanted to know what was being done to ensure this never happened to Monica again.

“You were so very brave, sweetheart,” Thomas finally broke the silence, his tone reflective of the sunshine title he’d carried for a long time--warm. He was offering Monica a soft, proud smile. “It wanted your fear, your screams, and you didn’t give in to it.”

Helen didn’t say anything, that wasn’t her way, but the gaze she affixed to Monica let the younger woman know she felt exactly the same way.

“Thank you,” Monica offered quietly, before laughing a little. “I-I was scared, though.”

“Anyone would be,” Atamu met her attempt to deflect the praise in stride. “But you were very brave, little one.”

As Monica turned to nuzzle closer to Atamu, Helen looked up at Luvon. “Have any of your security teams found anything? How about the wolves?”

Luvon slowly shook his head. “So far, nothing.”

It was not the answer anyone wanted to hear.

“And it isn’t a poltergeist or demonic entity?” Thomas had already asked this and truthfully, he’d know if it was. But he was nothing if not the ever hopeful optimist.

“No. I’ve been reading the Haus for the past three days and have not detected anything demonic or spiritual at all. It isn’t a ghost and it isn’t a demon.” Helen’s sharply accented voice was matter-of-fact. “What Monica and the others encountered was a smokescreen. Something else projected that at them, for the purpose of inciting terror, but that wasn’t truly it.”

There was quite a gaping hole left on the table of options when one removes a ghost or demonic entity and it was felt by all in the room.

Thomas’s blond brows knotted in thought. “What else could possibly be doing this?”

“I’m afraid it might be too early to tell.” Helen’s long fingers folded in her lap. “Some hauntings, possessions, disturbances, can take days, weeks, or even months before the source is identified. Vigilance is still our strongest defense.”

“And in the meantime?” Atamu asked, fingers massaging lightly against the roots of Monica’s hair.

“In the meantime I will continue to consult with the others knowledgeable in such matters here in the Haus, monitor incidents as they happen--we had other minor disturbances yesterday but Monica’s far out-weighed any others--and Luvon will keep me informed on anything the security teams find.”

Luvon nodded, once.

“And what about the Halloween celebrations?” Thomas turned to face Helen more fully from his perch at the edge of her desk. “The costume party tonight, should we cancel it?”

That was a fair question. Helen glanced at Monica, wondering if she even felt like celebrating--not to mention, an entire Haus with people in costume was like a breeding ground for whatever this thing was, to pull another stunt like it had with the dummy mask. But...wasn’t that letting it win? It may not be a demon, but it clearly enjoyed fear and manipulation through terror.

If the Family bows out, gives in to fear, whatever this thing is could win.

Before Helen could voice any of this, the office door swung wide open and something far more disturbing than any dummy mask came sauntering in.

“Look, Pops, I dressed up as you for the party tonight!”

It was Cavon Dreadful, dressed head to toe like his Patriarchal Father. He had on a dreaded wig full of ringing dread charms, one of Atamu’s outfits, but the true genius of Cavon’s costume? The tribal patterned apron that Atamu was known to wear; it was quite obviously too big even for the Alpha, the bottom of the apron nearly touching Cavon’s boots, but the Wolf looked absurdly pleased with himself, a wide grin on his face as he spun around in the doorway. The apron had it’s pockets full of spatulas and tongs, even one of Atamu’s cleavers and the utensils all clanked together noisily as the Alpha spun around.

Everyone was left staring, but Monica was the first to truly react, erupting in a fit of adorable little giggles that widened Cavon’s grin. Atamu was next to crack, his thunderous laughter something of a notorious sound throughout the Haus, now.

Luvon shook his head but couldn’t help his grin--but if anyone asked, it was solely because Monica found it so funny. “You look fucking ridiculous.”

“Fuck you, Fam, I make this look good,” Cavon leaned back, doing a shoulder shimmy.

Thomas had his hands over his face, shoulders shaking in silent laughter, and Helen had her eyes closed, just shaking her head.

“Unbelievable. To answer your question, Thomas, yes I believe we should cancel tonight’s event but solely because Cavon’s costume is so terrible.”

“Y’all a bunch’a haters. Gramps loved my costume.”

Luvon snorted. “Well of course he did.”

Cavon gestured. “And babygirl obviously loves it!”

“Of course she does, too, idiot. Gramps and babygirl both love Dad.” Luvon shot back.

“HATERS.” Cavon pointed at everyone except Monica before looking smug. “I’mma win the contest tonight.”

“Contest?” Helen arched a brow. “I was unaware there was a costume contest.”

“Yeah, Wilson sent out a mass text ‘bout there bein’ some sorta contest.”

Helen took a sip from her wine glass in lieu of replying, but Cavon picked up what she didn’t say.

“You still got his number blocked?”

“There’s a chain of communication that can reach me if Mr. Wilson truly needs my assistance for something.”

Monica found herself laughing. “Does he really text you?”

“Sweet girl, that man will talk to an empty room. He was sending me so many text messages, that i was not responding to by the way, that it was either block him or send him to a different dimension where he cannot harass anyone anymore.”

“I once got stuck listening to him for three hours uninterrupted because I was too polite to tell him I had work to do.” Thomas chimed in, staring far-off into the distance as if reliving the nightmare.

Cavon threw his head back, laughing. “Yeah, that fuckin’ sounds right comin’ from you.”

“Yeah, they’re in here, c’mon!”

Heads turned toward the voice from the hallway, and Helen was beginning to think she might need to move her office to another dimension to get any real work accomplished.

“Y’all, guess who dressed up as the Von Triplets for the costume party tonight!”

It was Jax and Lucca, side by side, both clearly dressed in Cavon and Luvon’s clothes. Jax was decked out in Cavon’s biker gear and Lucca was wearing Luvon’s camo, with Jax having shaved his blond hair into Cavon’s trademarked mowhawked ponytail and Lucca wearing bright orange contacts. The younger pups were surprisingly spitting images of their Alpha Big Brothers...but hilariously different at the same time; Jax had Cavon’s grin and Lucca had Luvon’s deadpanned, almost bored expression.

And it definitely incited a fresh round of laughter, leaving Cavon staring slack-jawed and Luvon actually looking impressed.

“Wait, wait,” Atamu managed, holding up one large hand. “Who one of you is Savon, then?”

Jax turned as if just noticing their third was missing, and he was scowling out of the room.

“C’mon man, you gotta come in too or it don’t work an’ we won’t win the costume contest tonight!”

Three seconds later and in came Tod, dressed up just like Savon--right down to the fake horns and tail and the long, styled black wig. The Omega looked a little more sheepish than his younger brothers and it became very obvious, very fast, that he’d been roped into this idea.

Fresh rounds of laughter shake the very room, and it was as if yesterday’s events hadn’t even happened. The fear and unease were gone, replaced by Family love and laughter, as the Haus was known to be bursting with.

Atamu turned his head down, catching Monica’s attention with a proud smile. “What do you think, little one, do you think Wade and Usopp will be making use of the Peanut Butter and Jelly costumes? Because if not, Poppy wants to wear it with you.”

Monica didn’t even care if they didn’t win the costume contest; all that mattered to her was that she was going to spend the whole night dressed up with her Daddy!

Day Three, End.

[hydrus]

Version 364

windows

zip

exe

os x

app

linux

tar.gz

source

tar.gz

I had a difficult week, but I got some nice work done. There is a new way to add complicated tag seaches, and repository processing is now a lot easier to work with.

complicated tag searching

Users in help->advanced mode will now see a new 'OR' button on their search pages' autocomplete dropdowns. Click this, and you will be able to paste a logically complicated pure-text query such as "( blue eyes and blonde hair ) or ( green eyes and red hair )", and it will automatically convert it to a tag query hydrus can understand! (It converts it to conjunctive normal form, or ANDs of ORs)

This code is thanks to user prkc, who wrote a really neat parser to do the conversion. The system even supports XOR! Complicated searches will produce similarly crazy hydrus search predicates--which may in some cases run a little slow--so give it a go and see how you like it. This is mostly a first prototype to see how it goes in the real world, and I am happy to revisit it based on feedback.

thoughts on current big tag work

I spent a bit of time thinking about tag management and inefficiencies this week, planning what I want to do in this big tag overhaul job. I also did some statistical analysis of the public tag repository to see how different tags are distributed.

not sure how well this will embed, I’ll post it in follow-up if it stays small

Of the nine million unique tags in the PTR, six million only apply to one file. These are mostly 'title:' tags and some misparsed garbage. These tags have long been a concern for me, and I feared they consumed a huge amount of space, but in truth (and of course, when you think about it), one-and-done tags are less than one percent of the actual file-tag mapping storage. They eat up a bunch of 'definition' space, but barely any 'content' space. About two thirds of total storage is taken up by good unnamespaced tags like 'hairband' or 'sitting' or 'twin braids'. Namespaced tags like 'series:' and 'character:' and newer sorts I have been tentatively approving siblings for, like 'clothing:', generally distribute a few percent each, perhaps 20 million each (out of a total 630 million or so). There are some non-descriptive tags I don't like much, like 'booru:' and 'filename:' tags, but there are no gigantic wastes of space in the PTR.

This is a pleasant surprise, but also its own problem: in the back of my mind, I had hoped I might be able to cut the PTR neatly in half by eliminating wasteful/useless tags, but it turns out the vast majority of tags, in terms of sheer storage, are good. I had considered adding a complicated serverside Tag List approved-tag filter as many boorus have, but I do not think it is worth the trouble at this time.

Therefore, I will focus my upcoming work on improving clientside control of what you see, where you see it, and how you see it. If you do not want to see 'booru:' tags, I want to make it easy to hide them. If you want all the new 'bodypart:' tags to display as unnamespaced, I want it to be one quick rule to set that. I want it to be simple to move a hundred million tags from one place to another, and to share them with other users.

The separate question of dealing with running the PTR and my current bandwidth throttle is a different problem that I have yet to plan out. I may add an IPFS plugin for the hydrus server, or server mirroring tech, or there may be another solution. I am a developer most of all, not a natural server administrator, so my dream scenario here is probably to freeze the current PTR and make its snapshot easy to modify and migrate about so users can run their own tag repositories and it is out of my hands. This would also neatly remove my single point of failure. My preference is to focus my time on improving how the servers work and improve administration functionality, but I am still thinking about it.

better repo processing

After thinking about tags and workflows, I decided to just go nuts and rework tag repository processing to no longer be a big application-blocking job! Somehow, it seems to work!

So, rather than making the 'dialog' popup that blocks the program, repo processing now works in a normal bottom-right popup. It streams work to the database in packets and no longer locks anything for long. You can still browse your files and do everything else in the program, with the only significant caveat being some operations like autocomplete tag results fetching may be a bit juddery. The program will no longer lock up for long periods while doing this work, and the cancel button will always be available.

As a result, the 'process now' button under services->review services is now available for all users, not just advanced ones, and loses its big warning. Please feel free to try it out.

The basic workflow and feedback is the same. It will still work through update files and report current rows/s. For this initial version, in most situations it will be slower than before, but in others it will actually be faster. As before, it runs best if left to work in idle/shutdown mode, where it will be greedier and work harder. I still recommend users leave it to work in normal maintenance cycles, but manual catch-up, if desired, is now much more pleasant and easily cancelled.

This is a first version of a big change. The pre-process disk cache run is no longer called, and work and break and transactions timings have been altered. Users on fast SSDs with good CPUs should not notice any big differences, but those who PTR-sync on HDDs may have trouble (or at least be better able to see the ~300 rows/s trouble they have been having all along). Please let me know how you get on and what sort of rows/s you see. Does it accelerate over time? Does it make your browsing or video rendering juddery? I will write a more intelligent throttle in the coming weeks that will speed this processing up when there is CPU available.

This is an important step forward on the tag work and my new unified global maintenance pipeline. I'd love to have the similarly chunky 'analyze' and 'vacuum' commands work a bit more like this as well.

I have been chasing an ui-lockup bug recently that may have been tied to long-running tag repository processing while the client was idle and/or minimised. If you got this (on restoring your client, you'd see black except perhaps a bit of a garbled screenshot in one corner), please let me know if this week happens to fix it.

the rest

The 'this video has an audio track, but it is silent' code from last week had a flaw (such files were detected as having audio) that slipped through testing. I have fixed this and extended the test to recognise more types of silent file. Thank you for submitting test files here. If you discover any more video files that detect as having audio--or not--incorrectly with this new code, please submit them.

Also, an odd issue where thumbnails of files that underwent a file metadata regeneration would not display archive/tag/rating updates until they were reloaded is now fixed. This bug had been in for a long time, but the rush of new files into the file maintenance system from last week exposed it.

I extended and improved some of the recent 'don't do work while page is not shown or gui is minimised' stuff this week. Duplicate processing pages should be more careful about when they fetch new duplicate counts (speeding up session load for users with several dupe processing pages), and the animation issue from last week that froze media viewers' videos while the main gui was minimised should all be fixed.

I also gave the autocomplete fast-typing logic another pass. Some users were reporting that typing 'blue eyes' might instead add 'blue ey' and similar. I cleaned up the 'should I broadcast the current typed text or the currently selected result?' test and I think I have it working better now. If you are a very fast typer, please continue to let me know how this works for you.

Query texts for some booru downloaders that contain '&', such as 'panty_&_stocking', should now be fixed!

The pixiv login script no longer works and has been removed from the defaults. They added some sort of captcha. If you wish to log in to pixiv with hydrus, please use the Client API and Hydrus Companion to copy your web browser's cookies to hydrus:

https://gitgud.io/prkc/hydrus-companion

Logging in this way seems to work well for many situations, and will be the go-to recommendation for any site that has a login system more complicated than hydrus can currently deal with. I believe the Deviant Art login system may have gone/be going that way as well, so if you have had DA trouble, give Hydrus Companion a go.

full list

repo processing makeover:

repository processing is now no longer a monolithic atomic database job! it now loads update files at a 'higher' level and streams packets of work to the database without occupying it continuously! hence, repository processing no longer creates a 'modal' popup that blocks the client--you can keep browsing while it works, and it won't hang up the client!

this new system runs on some different timings. in this first version, it will have lower rows/s in some situations and higher in others. please send me feedback if your processing is running significantly slower than before and I will tweak how this new routine decides to work and take breaks

multiple repos can now sync at once, ha ha

shutdown repository processing now states the name of the service being processed and x/y update process in the exit splash screen

the process that runs after repository processing that re-syncs all the open thumbnails' tags now works regardless of the number of thumbnails open and works asynchronously, streaming new tag managers in a way that will not block the main thread

'process now' button on review services is now available to all users and has a reworded warning text

the 1 hour limit on a repo processing job is now gone

pre-processing disk cache population is tentatively gone--let's see how it goes

the 10s db transaction time is raised to 30s. this speed some things up, including the new repo processing, but if a crash occurs, hydrus may now lose up to 30s of changes before the crash

.

the rest:

users in advanced mode now have a 'OR' button on their serch autocomplete input dropdown panels. this button opens a new panel that plugs into prkc's neat raw-text -> CNF parser, which allows you to enter raw-text searches such as '( blue eyes and blonde hair ) or ( green eyes and red hair )' into hydrus

fixed the silent audio track detection code, which was handling a data type incorrectly

improved the silent audio track detection code to handle another type of silence, thank you to the users who submitted examples--please send more false positives if you find them

fixed an issue where thumbnails that underwent a file metadata regeneration were not appearing to receive content updates (such as archive, or new tags/ratings) until a subsequent reload showed they had happened silently. this is a long-time bug, but the big whack of files added to the files maintenance system last week revealed it

the 'pause ui update cycles while main gui is minimised' change from last week now works on a per-frame basis. if the main gui is minimised, media viewers that are up will still run videos and so on, and vice versa

a few more ui events (e.g. statusbar & menubar updates) no longer occur while the client is minimised

duplicate processing pages will now only initialise and refresh their maintenance and dupe count numbers while they are the current page. this should speed up session load for heavy users and those with multiple duplicate pages open

gave the new autocomplete 'should broadcast the current text' tests another pass--it should be more reliable now broadcasting 'blue eyes' in the up-to-200ms window where the stub/full results for, say, 'blue ey' are still in

fixed an accidental logical error that meant 'character:'-style autocomplete queries could do a search and give some odd results, rather than just 'character:*anything*'. a similar check is added to the 'write' autocomplete

fixed an issue with autocomplete not clearing its list properly, defaulting back to the last cached results, when it wants to fetch system preds but cannot due to a busy db

fixed GET-argument gallery searches for search texts that include '&', '=', '/', or '?' (think 'panty_&_stocking_with_garterbelt')

removed the pixiv login script from the defaults--apparently they have added a captcha, so using Hydrus Companion with the Client API is now your best bet

the client's petition processing page will now prefer to fetch the same petition type as the last completed job, rather than always going for the top type with non-zero count

the client's petition processing page now has options to sort parent or sibling petitions by the left side or right--and it preserves check status!

the client's petition processing page now sorts tags by namespace first, then subtag

the client now starts, restarts, and stops port-hosted services using the same new technique as the server, increasing reliability and waiting more correctly for previous services to stop and so on

the client now explicitly commands its services to shut down on application close. a rare issue could sometimes leave the process alive because of a client api still hanging on to an old connection and having trouble with the shut-down db

the file maintenance manager will no longer spam to log during shutdown maintenance

sketched out first skeleton of the new unified global maintenance manager

improved some post-boot-error shutdown handling that was also doing tiny late errors on server 'stop' command

added endchan bunker links to contact pages and github readme

updated to ffmpeg 4.2 on windows

next week

Next week is a 'small jobs' week, and I have a ton to catch up on. I want to do some more Client API stuff and just hammer out a whole bunch of small things. I'll also tweak the new repository processing as needed and start work on better local tag management, maybe exploring how best to add multiple local tag services.

[carrotsofavonlea]

Anne of Hogwarts

Chapter 3: Anne loses house points

[AO3]

The Gryffindor common room was warm and had a fire burning. Immediately Anne felt at home. She had made friends already with the boy called Albus but other than him she knew no one else in her house.

Anne sat on her bed in her dorm and wrote to Marilla and Matthew about the train journey. She wrote how she's made some friends, told them she was a Gryffindor and how she can't wait to see them at Christmas.

Anne's first lesson was charms with the Hufflepuffs so she sat between Ruby and Albus. She saw Cole and persuaded him to sit next to Ruby.

They were learning a simple spell to light the end of the wand.

“Lumos.” Anne said, and her wand started to light up faintly.

“Nice work, Miss Shirley.” The professor said. “Ah, Mr Blythe, absolutely marvellous.”

Anne turned around sharply only to be met with the smug grin of one Gilbert Blythe. He had managed to get his wand to light up even brighter than Anne's and she tightened her grip on her wand.

“Oh Anne, isn't he smart?” Ruby whispered, blushing when Gilbert had looked at her.

“The smartest.” Anne rolled her eyes. She refused to look at him again, turning back to copy out on her slate the wand movement required for the spell.

“Anne? Anne!”

She could hear him calling her name and Ruby nudged her. “He's talking to you.”

“Let him. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction.” she raised her voice a little so he would hear her remark.

She felt him tap her shoulder with his wand, but again she would not turn around.

“Anne.”

That was it. Everyone else had instantly become Gilbert's friend. He was funny, smart and kind. Everyone wanted to be his friend. But not Anne. For some reason she just wouldn't look at him.

If she wouldn't look at him, he would make her. He looked down at where her bright red braid was just in front of him. He'd never seen anyone with such bright hair.

Years later Gilbert would admit that this was not his proudest moment, but in his 11 year old mind all he wanted was the girl with the fiery hair to look at him.

So, without thinking, he leaned forward and grabbed one of her long braids. He gave it a light pull and whispered, “hey carrots!”

But before he could register what was happening, she had stood up, shouting at him.

“You rude, horrid boy!” She grabbed his slate on his desk and raised it above her head. “I'm not talking to you!”

With a quick movement she had brought the slate down on his head.

Ruby shrieked, Cole laughed a little, but the rest of the class went silent. Gilbert looked up, holding a hand to his head. He looked a little dazed but other than that he was ok.

“Anne Shirley!” The professor shouted. “That's 50 house points from Gryffindor.”

“But-”

The Gryffindors in the class started to boo, except for Albus.

“Professor, it's my fault.” Gilbert stood up, he swayed a little before steadying himself by holding on to the desk. “I shouldn't have pulled her hair.”

“I expected more from you Mr Blythe.” The professor said sternly. “5 points from Hufflepuff.”

“Only 5!” Anne shouted, “you took 50 from me!”

“But if you recall Miss Shirley, you hit another pupil. Violence is not tolerated here at Hogwarts.”

She sat down, speechless. Gilbert Blythe would forever be a name of hatred in her heart. How dare he humiliate her, how dare he cost her house points. It was only the first day but Gryffindor had already lost hope for winning the house cup this year.

After class, Ruby still looked shaken up.

Cole raised an eyebrow. “Ruby why are you crying? She hit Gilbert not you.  And it's only 5 house points.”

Ruby sniffed, “Poor Gilbert.”

Anne was held back behind for a few minutes to be reprimanded. When she came out, Ruby, Cole and Albus were waiting for her.

“What happened?” Cole asked, ignoring Ruby's tears.

“I'm getting a howler sent home, whatever that means.”

Cole and Albus exchanged an uneasy glance.

“What is it?”

“A howler is a message that basically shouts at the recipient. Teachers like using it to scold.”

“Marilla is going to have a field day. My temper is indeed a curse, just like this horrid hair.” Anne buried her face in her hands and Cole lightly patted her back.

“It'll be ok.”

“How? I've lost so many house points. Albus,” she looked up at the small Gryffindor, “I can understand if you never want to be my friend after this.”

“Mistakes happen.” Albus smiled. “Besides, in a few days people will forget all about it.”

“I hope you're right.” Anne weakly smiled.

“Come on, we've got transfiguration next.” Albus grabbed Anne's wrist and pulled her away from the Hufflepuffs.

Anne walked into transfiguration with her heart feeling heavy, she couldn't look any of her fellow Gryffindors in the eye.

“Anne!”

She looked up, and saw Diana's smiling face waving enthusiastically to sit next to her. Anne immediately ran over and the two girls embraced.

“Diana I'm so glad to see you. You wouldn't believe the time I've had already.”

“I could tell by the looks the other Gryffindors were giving you.” Diana smiled sadly. “What happened?”

“Gilbert Blythe happened Diana.”

Diana sat up straight, eager to know everything. “Gilbert Blythe? The handsome boy from the train?”

“Ruby's just about gone over him.” Anne sighed, taking out her slate and wiping off the drawings from charms. “But I don't see why. He pulled on my hair and called me carrots.”

“Oh Anne, that's just boys being boys?”

“So? That doesn't excuse him. He hurt my feelings and I shan't ever forgive him.”

Diana took out her own slate, somehow it was perfectly clean, and the board was fresh. Anne's was second hand from Marilla and had a few scratches on it. Only then did she really notice the differences between them. Diana's robes were professionally made with a softer material. Anne's were made my Marilla, and they had a coarser material.

She supposed Diana would also soon tire of her when she realised how much better a friend she could do than the poor Gryffindor who kept losing house points, who had a “bad temper” and was a “freak” among her fellow Gryffindors.

“Oh Anne, are you really not going to forgive him?”

“I don't see how I could.”

“That's enough talking.” The professor shouted from the front. “Don't make me take house points.”

So far life at Hogwarts had not been as Anne had hoped. The night of the feast was simply wonderful, but when it actually came down to lessons, she might have been top of the class, but her behaviour caused her to lose house points. She wasn't trying to lose house points, but it seemed like the teachers were out to get her. Not to mention her other classmates began whispering about her.

It just wasn't what she had hoped for at all.

The other Gryffindors maybe didn't get along with Anne, but she had found herself true friends in Cole, Ruby, Diana and even Albus tagged along on some library trips.

Anne still refused to speak to Gilbert, but she was determined to be top of the class and beat him fair and square. Together they had charms, defense against the dark arts, and care of magical creatures. And Anne was determined she would prove she was just as smart as Gilbert.

But charms was where their rivalry was really evident. Both battled it out to master the spell first. One lesson, Gilbert recalled practising summoning a book from the other side of the class, but Anne had been stood behind him and barely missed his face with the book when she had summoned it. He started to wonder if that was a habit of hers.

“Mr Blythe,” the professor asked Gilbert to stand up. “Please demonstrate the levitation spell.”

Gilbert nodded, feeling Anne's eyes on him. She still hadn't said anything to him for the past few weeks.

“Wingardium levios ah .” He waved his wand, but the feather barely lifted.

Anne immediately raised her hand and Gilbert sat down as she took over.

“If I may,” she said and waved her wand. “Wingardium levi o sa.”

The feather lifted off the desk, floating as if pulled by an invisible string attached to the end of her wand.

“Very good, Miss Shirley. 10 points to Gryffindor.”

She looked over her shoulder at Gilbert, expecting him to be embarrassed or feel humiliated. But he was smiling at her, he looked...proud? Again with the mocking.

After class, Anne was packing up her things when Gilbert stood in front of her desk. Cole had dragged a reluctant Ruby out of the room before she could interrupt.

Anne refused to look up, but Gilbert bent down his head to meet her gaze. She had no choice but to look him in the eye.

“May I help you?”

“I just wanted to congratulate you. For class today.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “You beat me.”

Their rivalry was unspoken but both were fully aware of it.

“You pronounced it incorrectly, that's why.” She shrugged, acting indifferent.

“You're right. I should have pronounced it levi o sa instead of levios ah . Emphasis on the O and not the A.”

He gave her a genuine smile, and for the first time, Anne allowed herself to smile back. But quickly she reminded herself that Gilbert was not a friend.

“I have to go.” She quickly said, rushing out of the class, but Gilbert followed her.

He followed her all the way to the Great Hall.

“Anne? Can't we be friends?” He said but she turned sharply to him.

“No Gilbert. You hurt my feelings terribly that day, I can't ever forgive you.”

He stepped forward slowly, his robes were slightly disheveled from where he'd rushed to put it on to follow her. “I'm awful sorry I said those things about your hair. I only did it because... because I wanted to meet you so much. Please Anne. Can't we just be friends?”

She looked at him, but something in her just couldn't forgive him. Not yet.

She turned away from him and sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Albus, glancing over her shoulder once to see Gilbert slowly walking out of the Hall.

“Hey, Blythe!” Billy Andrews grabbed Gilbert by the hood of his robe to steady him. “How are you, bud?”

Billy Andrews was not his “bud”, but Gilbert tried to be friendly to all houses, even the Slytherins.

“Billy.” Gilbert nodded politely.

Billy had a few Slytherin friends crowded around him. Gilbert almost laughed at the idea that they were supposed to be intimidating.

“What's up with you and that mudblood?”

Gilbert froze, hating that word. “You mean Anne?”

Billy nodded, pointing a finger into Gilbert's chest. “Why were you walking with her?”

Gilbert didn't react to Billy’s attempt at provoking him. “None of your concern. And besides, who cares if she's a muggleborn ? A cute girl is a cute girl.” He smirked and stepped backwards from Billy.

Gilbert shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled as he made his way back to the Hufflepuff common room. He wasn't going to give up on Anne just yet.

[the-nomadic-nerd]

Mamamoo's problematic past

So a lot of people have opinions about Mamamoo and I would like to shed some light on the matter. Mamamoo have done incredibly ignorant things, you cannot deny that and any one who does is just lying to themselves. However, they are not bad people. So here are the things they have done with some of my thoughts on the matter.

Blackface

During a concert they did a performance of 24k magic by Bruno Mars. They dressed up as him and his squad and painted their faces brown to look more like him. This was fucked up. I excuse a lot when it comes to kpop but this was unacceptable. A few hours later they came out with an apology and proceeded to apologise another 2 times. They expressed how sorry they were and to me, it seemed sincere.

The n-word

Hwasa covered the acoustic version of Irreplaceable by Beyonce. In that version, is the n-word. She read the lyrics off Melon and for some reason they had that specific version. Now, I don't blame her for this. Firstly, she does not speak English. Now many will say that she should know how offensive that word is but South Korea has an entirely different culture and understanding of things. I blame Melon for this situation. Hwasa has expressed how much she looks up Beyonce so people can chill.

The bindi

In their Aze Gag music video, there is a scene where they are all wearing bindis. Now, the bindi is part of the Buddhist and Hindu religion and many thought that were culturally appropriating. Turns out, Solar is a Buddhist so she can celebrate her religion if she wants to. Many said that the music was also appropriation because it borrows from typically Indian sounds. If people are going to go there, I would like them to accuse BTS of the same thing as they borrowed from the Latin genre (Airplane part 2) and South African beats (Idol).

The clown outfit

Okay this is a weird one. Hwasa dressed up as a clown and the the wig she used was braids with beads at the end. Many thought that she was making fun of African culture by using it for her costume. However, in South Korea, apparently all clowns dress like this. Now I find this offensive. As a South African, this is an important part of our culture and yet in South Korea, it's treated as a joke. I personally don't blame Hwasa for this, I blame the culture she grew up in.

The white and black girls only thing

So, Hwasa and Solar posted a picture of themselves against a wall that said "pale girls only" on Solar's side and "tan girls only" on Hwasa's side. Now, many translated it incorrectly making it say "white girls only" and "black girls only". Hwasa has a tan skin tone and Solar have light skin. I took this as them saying they are proud of their complexions, which they should be.

Solar dressing up.as a homeless guy

For one of their skits, Solar dressed up as a homeless guy and made her skin appear more tan and dirty to show that she spends a lot of time outside. It was honestly just a lot of dirt on her face that made her look more brown but she was accused of blackface. I don't think this was blackface. She dressed up as a guy who lives on the street and used dirt to make herself look more believable.

Wheein saying she's black

Wheein was doing a V live and suddenly the power went out. She then said "It went black" but some thought she said "I am black". I'm not going to elaborate.

These are the incidents that I am aware of and I'm sorry if I missed any.

I only got into Mamamoo this year and I was disappointed when I found out a lot of these things. I personally chose to forgive them because they seemed sincere in their apologies and have not done anything since. However, if they do something problematic again, I am done. You can only be ignorant for a while and with all the information we have access to today, no one has a excuse. I didn't write this to prove how innocent they are because they are not. I did this, because I want people to fully understand the situation before making bold statements. I've noticed how other idols, especially male idols, receive forgiveness quite easily compared to the female idols and I think that that double standard should be stopped. But, if you don't want to forgive them, you don't have to.

[asaseya]

Princess of the Court :Chapter One

This isn't the first original story I've written but it will be the first one that I’ve posted. However, the only thing keeping this story from being a fanfic is the fact that its an original story...I’ll try to explain. I watch too much anime, and lately I’ve been on a slice of life/romance/sports anime kick. And that has bleed out to create this story. It’s been fun to write so hopefully It will be fun to read. Link to Chapter Two

AO3

Chapter one.

“Where are you going?” a teacher asked, tapping the shoulder of a wayward student.

Majida sighed loudly and then turned around. She glared at the teacher, only softening her gaze when she saw how it distressed him. She didn’t mean to be so snippy, it had just been a troubling morning.

The teacher looked smug as he straightened his tie. “I’m sorry. Can you understand me?” he asked slowly.

“Yes, I can understand.” she answered, resisting the urge to glare again. She couldn't glare at every person who assumed she didn’t speak Japanese or else she’d never smile. “I’m lining up,” She pointed the the girls in her class.

“That’s the girls line,” the teacher explained. “You belong in this one,” He gestured to the line of boy’s.

Majida opened her mouth then closed it. She choose Akahoshi high school partly because of its uniform. Not that the uniform from the all girls school down the way wasn't cute. If anything it was too cute, she wanted neat and smart, not cute. The girls uniform for Akahoshi High paired a grey blazer with a maroon and grey plaid skirt. The bow was a solid maroon, so was the tie that came with the boy’s uniform. The boy’s wore a grey blazer with maroon and grey plaid slacks. Guess which uniform she found herself in.

The manufacturers informed Majida via email that they assumed her form was incorrectly marked female. The height recorded was 178 cm and that was unheard of for a female high school freshman. Her weight didn’t help either, though in her defence she was practically all muscle. Yeah, its not common. She wanted to write back. So? At least call or email to check first! But arguing wouldn’t solve anything, besides, the manufacturers agreed to do a rush order free of charge. She’d have her new uniform by the end of this week. But for now she was stuck with this.

Majida tried to work around the problem. She arrived much earlier than the opening ceremony in a dress suit and styled her dark hair into a neat french braid. That dress suit was now in her locker. The principal insisted that she wear a uniform like everyone else.  It wasn’t, however, possible to take his “rules are rules” statement seriously when he giggled while saying it.

Majida sighed again. She had half  a mind to flash this teacher as proof but didn’t want more trouble. “Yes, yes, whatever you say,” she said as she trudged to the boy’s line.

“Only one yes! And take off those earrings!” He said, sounding bolder now that she was following his directions. He muttered under his breath about how Majida should cut her hair as well.

Majida ignored him. She had worn her favorite pair, studds shaped like red roses, in hopes that some good luck would come her way. Black studs occupied the other two holes he had in each ear. And what idiot asks a girl to cut her hair?... The type of idiot that confuses a girl for a boy just because she’s wearing the wrong uniform, she realized. She resisted the urge to look down her shirt to check that her boobs were still there.

Adding insult to injury she was second to the last person in the boy’s line for her class. The boy behind her looked completely bored. Or rather it was that he had the air of someone who felt all this was beneath him. His hands were tucked into his pockets and he slouched. His dark blond  hair flopped over his eyes. He could be handsome, Majida thought, very handsome if he didn’t look like he was about to fall asleep. That didn’t seem to matter to the girls nearby. He was already the subject of discussion.  The girls also seemed to notice her.

“You all suck at whispering,” Majida said to no one in particular, causing her year mates to immediately pretend that they were listening to the principal's speech.

Majida was used to catching other’s attention. Sometimes it was because of her height. Or how curly her hair was. Sometimes she would get trapped by well meaning folks who wanted to guess what she was, or where she was really from because her darker skin tone didn’t stereotypically match her facial features. But that was in the States. In Japan apparently people didn’t ask, they just stared when they thought she wasn’t looking. She hadn’t had enough experience living in Japan to know which form of rudeness she preferred yet.

Her home room teacher couldn’t pronounce her first name. She couldn’t blame him.She was told that her mother randomly picked it from one of those baby name websites. It was supposed to mean glorious in Arabic or whatever. Most thought it was made up. She low key agreed with them.

“Don’t worry about it.” she said with a smile.

Her homeroom teacher looked sheepish. He was a younger teacher with a pleasant disposition. A welcome change from the jerk of a teacher she met earlier. “I feel as if it would have been rude not to try. Can you pronounce it for me?”

“Ma-gee-da”

He looked at the roll again. “Ok got it . Mikami Majida-kun?”

“Uh...No chan is fine. Chan.”

The teacher tilted his head “Mikami-chan?” He squinted at her for a moment before his mouth formed a silent oh. “That explains some things. Mikami-chan it is then. And you’re from America originally, correct?”

Finally, she thought, A break through! She knew she didn’t look like a boy. Was everyone just seeing the uniform and going from there? “I was born there, yes,” she answered

“We are happy to have you here then,” the teacher said before moving on to the next name on the roll.

“Mikami-kun?” a girl asked shortly after the lunch bell rang. She was average height, making her much shorter than Majida. She kept her chin length dark brown hair back with a maroon headband. She blushed when Majida turned to her. “Sorry. I haven’t called a boy chan since elementary school.”

Majida sighed. She stood and took off her blazer. The blouse she wore underneath showed her figure more clearly. There was an audible gasp and suddenly everyone was looking at her. “You don’t have to use chan on a boy because I’m not a boy. They just sent me the wrong uniform.”

“I knew something was off,” a boy interjected.His loud voice carried over from the other side of the classroom. “Your voice was too light.”

Majida plopped back down and slumped in her chair. “You couldn’t tell by my face?” she pouted a bit, and the class laughed. It wasn’t exactly funny to her.

“Your face is wasted on a girl!” the girl who spoke first wailed. She covered her mouth with her hands immediately.

“Hina-chan! Aiming for the new guy already?” the loud boy called out again.

“Shut it Hayashi-kun,” Hina said sourly. Her disposition brightened as she turned her attention back to Majida. “But they really made you wear that Mikami-ku...chan?”

“The principal did” Majida explained. “He seems to think the situation is funny.”

Several students groaned.

“So the rumors are true,” said another girl who came to stand by Hina’s side. She was a bit taller than Hina with sharp eyes. Her long black hair was in a high ponytail. “We do have a crackpot for a principal.”

“Is this something I should have heard about about before enrolling here?” Majida asked.

The girl shrugged. “I guess we all have to get used to it.” She offered her hand to Majida. “You can call me Airi. No need to be all formal. And you’ve already meet Hina”

Majida shook her her hand. “Just call me Majida. Or Jida. I’m not really used to just being called by my last name.”

The other girls in class took their turn introducing themselves. Majida wasn’t confident that she’d remember all the names but it felt nice to get a warm welcome.

A boy puffed out his chest. “Well then. I guess it’s good you aren’t a boy. Now there is a bit less competition.”

Hayashi-kun scoffed. “You’re forgetting pretty boy over here.” He jerked his thumb to the tall boy that Majida stood in front of in the line up. Everyone looked over at the “pretty boy”. He didn’t seem to be bothered by the attention. His eyes flicked over to the class before returning to gaze out the window. The room became quiet again.

“Well then... now that this mix up is settled.” Majida said, breaking the ice. “I do look forward to attending classes with you all.”

“Yes!” Hina took a seat in the desk nearest to Majida. “And if you need help clearing up the whole boy-girl thing you can rely on me.”

Majida smirked a little. “I’m in your care then.” She pulled out her lunch box and began to unwrap it.

“Did you make that?” Hina asked. He had her lunch in her hands but seemed a lot more interested in what Majida had going on.

Airi gave Hina a little shove before pulling up a desk. “No you can’t have any of her lunch. What happened to that diet you were on?”

“Airi” Hina hissed.

Airi looked a bit smug as she reveled in Hina’s annoyance. “That does look good though.”

Majida lifted her lunch box to offer it to the girls. She’d made croquettes and a salad the night before.  Airi took a croquette and broke it in two in order to share with Hina. Hina didn’t hesitate to take her portion.

The girls ate for a while before Majida broke the silence once again. “So...I figure its best to do this now rather than wait for more rumours to start. Anyone have any questions?”

The two girls looked to each other.

“So...we can ask?” Hayashi- kun asked.

“As long as it’s reasonable sure.”

Another boy snorted. “Sounds like the perfect trap for you Hayashi.”

“You ask then Minami,” Hayashi said.

Majida smiled as she shrugged.

“Ok I’ll bite.” Minami started. “How come you can speak Japanese so well?”

“My dad’s Japanese,” Majida pulled out her phone and pulled up a family picture that was taken on their trip to Disney world last year. She held up her phone so that her classmates could see. Her dad stood on the left side. He was a bit taller than her back then but she had caught up to him quickly. Majida really liked pictures like this of him. Pictures where he smiled broadly and wasn’t standing stock straight. Where his hair wasn’t perfectly parted and slicked back. When he looked like more than some stuffy heir to an international company. His thin rimmed glasses were even replaced with neon colored sunglasses.  

Her mother looked as perfect as she always did. Her skin was darker than Majida’s and her hair was expertly strightend even in the summer heat and humidity. The only hint that she was on vacation was that she wore a sundress instead of the blouse and tailored pants she normally wore. She and Majida were the same height in this picture. Majida stood beside her mom leaning against her a little. She wore a pair of purple mickey mouse ears to match her purple romper. Her hair was long enough to reach her back. The humidity made it look frizzier than normal. Majdia was glad that she cropped her hair to shoulder length before moving abroad. It was such a pain when it was longer. Her little brother stood in the middle making a goofy face while wearing a pair of black mickey ears.  

“Is that your little brother?” a girl asked. “He’s adorable!”

“He’s ten, he’s not adorable at all,” Majida countered.

“Oh… yeah my little brother is ten,” another girl chimed in. “He’s a total terror.”

A boy whistled. “Your mom’s hot.”

A nearby girl swiped at the whistler.

“Ha! Got it!” Hayashi held up his phone with a triumphant grin. “That’s who she looks like, Gabrielle Union.”

The other students murmured as they agreed or disagreed.

“Well, my mom’s no actress,” Majida said as she began to type on her phone. “But she does perform.”She held up her phone again showing a picture of her mom from one of her ballet performances.

“Oh cool! She’s a pro.” a boy said as he pointed.”Do you dance too?”

“I do,” Majida answered. “But I prefer basketball.”

“Basketball?” the pretty boy spoke for the first time.

The class looked to him. Some showed their skepticism on their faces. He had been silent for so long they wondered if they were hearing things.

Majida narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”

“What position?” he asked.

“Point guard mostly, but I play shooting guard in a pinch” she answered. “ You?”

“Power forward.” He said as he turned fully to face her.

Majida’s eyebrows raised. “Really?” she looked him up and down. He certainly was tall but and could get taller but he didn’t look particularly powerful. “Not a small forward?”

The pretty boy bristled. “No,” he said sharply.

Majida raised her hands in surrender. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t-”

“What are you doing here?” the pretty boy interrupted her. “There’s no girls team at this school.”

“What!” Majida yelled in english. She shook her head then switched back to Japanese. “No I checked. They didn’t go all the way last year but there definitely is a team.”

The pretty boy shook his head. “They were disbanded after last season.”

Majida stood up abruptly, her chair squeaking with the force. She marched out of the room ignoring the calls from the other students. She didn’t care that the next class was about to start soon. She needed to know right now if there was team at this school or not.