#I’m the smallest person on staff

[thelittleangryitalian]

Just trying to write my one shot and instead I have to crawl under my blood mobile to find where an oil leak came from. Then we had to take a whole generator panel off to check the oil levels. Found the leak and put a bowl under it lol

[nolita-fairytale]

try a little tenderness | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader one shot

summary: on the anniversary of mikey's death, you help carmy find a way to grieve. (set in the make my heart surrender universe, but can be read as a standalone piece)

warnings: swearing, grief, mild angst, mentions of death & suicide, second person pov, no use of y/n

wc: 2.3k

a/n: i wrote this as a way to process my own grief over the loss of a close friend to suicide. i fell so deeply in love with 'the bear' because i saw myself in so many of these characters: how they responded to losing mikey, the nature of the loss, and the ways they fought their grief. i see so much of myself in carmy in the show and this ended up being really cathartic to write, even though it's been three years now. anyways, heavy shit ahead so don't feel obligated to read but thank you if you do.

(banner made by @allthefandomstogether)

Grief is a funny thing. 

For Carmy, most days it’s something easy to ignore – like an old friend that he’s managed to cut out of his day to day. He’s stopped calling, stopped picking up the phone, eliminated any and all thought about this thing that feels so foreign yet, so familiar at the same time. 

But now he has you – and he’s never been able to bullshit you for shit. Some days, he feels like you see right through him. He knows he’s been irritable, short, impatient at the restaurant (and sometimes at home too). It’s something you handle better than he expected – better than he thinks he deserves. 

“Honey, can we take a pause from this conversation? I just don’t think either of us are in the right headspace,” you’d asked him the other day when he’d tried to pick a fight with you. Completely caught off guard, Carmy had stared at you blankly in response, as if you’d suggested you both run naked down the street.

“If you wanna fight, we can fight. I just… don’t think this is what you’re upset about,” you’d explained, before slipping into the bedroom with the book you were halfway through. 

And today, after he’d tried to pick another fight with you, you’d stopped him again, like a tornado hitting an immovable wall. 

“Carmy, I’m not going to fight you about the dishes,” you’d sighed, shooting him a sympathetic look. “I’m gonna take a walk and pick some things up at the store for dinner. Is that still something you’d like to do?”

How could he forget when he’d been making his brother’s family recipe earlier that day, setting the braciole-filled dutch oven in the fridge to be put into the oven for later? But he almost has – another symptom of how checked out he’s been all week. 

He’s not used to this. He’s used to his siblings – his mom – picking fights over the smallest things that usually escalated into a screaming match. And while you were willing to fight over things that felt worthy to go to bat for, always quick to call him out when he’s being a dick, you don’t engage in his smaller, more frivolous attempts at starting something over the smallest, nitpicky things. 

It’s a whole new pattern for him, and he’ll admit, it’s harder than you make it look. 

Earlier in the week, he knew he’d been in a trash mood. Then he looked at the calendar and saw what date was coming:

2/22/23. 

Oh. 

No wonder he’s been such an ass. 

And now wonder you’ve been such a saint.  

“Oh, um…” he stammers, as he realizes his memory has failed him again. “Uh… yeah, we can still do that.”

He’d forgotten you’d made plans for dinner in preparation for today, and truthfully, he’d been so absent-minded all week that he’s forgotten – forgotten about the plan, forgotten about what day it was, forgotten that that day was now today. Thankfully, you’d had the sense to make sure he was off that day, coordinating with the staff of The Bear to make it happen. While you knew everyone would be grieving today, you weren’t interested in a repeat of last year when the both of you were still in New York.

Sydney, the real hero of this story, had moved mountains to get everyone’s schedules nailed down for this week – knowing it’d be a hard week for everyone that knew and loved Mikey. 

“No, we do not need a repeat of last year,” Sydney had agreed, as you’d explained to her the shit show that was Carmy going into work that night, one year ago. “Don’t worry. I’ll run the kitchen. Tap as many newer staff as I can to work too.”

With the recent press about The Bear (not to mention Sydney’s official James Beard finalist status) there’d been a huge increase in applicants lately. You couldn’t thank Syd enough. 

“Okay. I love you, Carm. I’ll be back in a bit,” you reassure, before grabbing his keys and your coat.

“Yeah,” he mutters quietly, as he watches you go. 

*

After lighting up a few in the apartment, he lays down on the couch, turning on something mind-numbing to not pay attention to on the TV. He’s not sure when or how long it takes him to drift off to sleep, but one minute he’s blinking his eyes closed, and the next he can hear the sounds of pots and pans clamoring around the kitchen. 

He feels guilty: guilty for being an ass, guilty for trying to start something, guilty about what Mikey did.

You’ve told him time and time again: “I don’t think it’s fair to yourself to carry this much blame, Bear.” While normally, he’d love the way his familial nickname sounded coming from you, he’d winced at the mention – just because today, it hits a little too close to home. 

He knows it’s not fair to himself – or to you – but it’s something he’s just not ready to let go of yet. 

He can smell the braciole he’d prepared earlier that day; you’ve already put it in the oven, letting it braise slowly like it was meant to be. He recalled the conversation you both had had about this a few weeks ago. 

“Let’s make a meal he’d like,” you’d proposed, wanting to be a supportive 

“The braciole. Or maybe his spaghetti,” he’d suggested, so matter-of-factly that you could tell he was trying to mask his emotions.

“Maybe both?” you’d countered him. 

“Yeah,” he‘d agreed, quick to put himself out of the discomfort the conversation was causing him. 

“How do you feel about maybe asking some of the others to stop by, Only if they want. Only if you’re up for it,” you’d continued, cautiously. 

“Can I let you know?” he’d asked. 

“Sure,” you’d agreed, even though you knew he wouldn’t be bringing it up again. 

As Carmy sits up from the couch, his mind drifting back to the present, he sees you posted up in front of his little apartment’s stove top, working on his brother’s spaghetti sauce. Pangs of guilt fill his chest, and he feels like absolute garbage for being a dick earlier. He can’t picture doing anything else tonight and he’s glad you had the foresight to do this. Carmy rubs the sleep out of his eyes, watching you move around the kitchen. You’ve got a window open just in case that tricky little smoke alarm goes off while you’re steeping the garlic in olive oil. 

You’re busy trying to maneuver the largest saute pan Carmy owns over the burner for maximum heat exposure when he approaches. The sun’s already set, and the heat from the kitchen leaves a fog on the windows right near the stove, as you shake the saute pan by its handle. 

“Hey,” Carmy says, his voice rough with sleep. 

“Hey,” you reply, a soft smile on your lips as you turn to him. “Sleep alright?”

His unruly curls seem exceptionally messy this evening, and you can smell the remnants of the cigarettes he smoked while you were out. You hate how sexy you still find the nasty habit, even though you’ve tried your best to get him to cut back, citing lung cancer as a top reason. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re eager to taste the cigarettes on his lips, wiping your hands on your jeans because, unlike Carmy, you could care less to wear an apron at home. Framing his face with both of your hands, you place a gentle kiss on his lips, breathing him in as he kisses you back. 

“Sorry I was an ass earlier,” Carmy says, in between kisses. 

“Thanks. You’re kind of allowed to be an ass today though,” you say back. 

He can’t believe you’re letting him off the hook this easily. 

“And what about tomorrow?” he asks, taking a more playful approach this time. 

“No, definitely not. Cut off. Ass privileges? Revoked,” you’re quick to banter back, earning a dry laugh from your boyfriend. 

As you return to your post in front of the stove, Carmy slaps your butt playfully from your earlier comment, eliciting a giggle from you as he does it. He watches you work, adding salt to the tomato, onion, and butter you’re reducing in the saute pan, while the saucepan-filled olive oil/garlic/basil mixture comes up to a simmer. 

“I know you’ve always said that Mikey’s pasta was over-sauced and under seasoned… but it sounds like he just needed a little extra salt and a few little tweaks here and there,” you continue, tasting the tomato sauce. 

He’s not ready to taste the sauce just yet, even though he’d suggested you make the spaghetti in the first place. He watches as you use a spoon to check for salt levels, tasting the sauce first. You throw your head back as the salty tomato mixture hits your tongue. Carmy watches you carefully as you remove the sprig of basil with a pair of tongs, tossing it into a deli container for the trash later. Placing the deli container on the counter next to the rest of things you need to dispose of, his eyes linger on the 28 oz San Marzanos. 

Because the small ones taste better…. 

You busy yourself with straining the oil, setting it aside to add to the sauce towards the end of the process. Carmy checks his phone briefly, seeing a few texts from Richie, Syd, and Tina – all just checking in. 

“Silly question, I know. But how are you doing?” you ask him, having found a good stopping point. 

Carmy thinks about it for a second. He’s not sure how he wants to answer – how he’s supposed to answer this question. 

“I’m… I don’t know,” he managed to get out. 

You nod in acceptance, before replying with an empathetic, “That makes sense.”

“It doesn’t feel real, I guess?” he admits, taking his time as the words fall out of his mouth. 

“I can only imagine, Carm,” you sympathize. “Wanna help me out?”

“Yeah,” he replies, a half smile on his face. 

You’re so kind, so understanding, so empathetic, and he can’t picture spending this day with anyone but you. He thinks back to last year – when he got the news. It was the worst day of his life and regardless of that fact, you’d been there: caring enough to show up, to fight with him, to make sure he ate something. And then that night… the night you crossed the line, slept together even though both of you knew it was a bad idea, that there was no way you could start something real. 

He’s not sure how you got from there to here, but he thanks his lucky stars for whatever good deed he’s done in a past life that’s led to it. 

“Thank you for this,” he says intentionally, making sure you hear him as he continues with, in reference to earlier, “... and I love you too.”

You don’t expect anything from him, and he’s grateful, because he’s not sure he has anything to give. Not today. 

You give him the softest smile, something that makes him want to melt right there and then when you reply with:

“You don’t need to thank me.”

You step aside, making space for Carmy as you give him a task to do to help with dinner. You made the executive decision not to scale Michael’s recipes down, making them as written – family style. If anything, you hope to bring some of the leftovers, sharing his food in honor of his life. You wish you could’ve met Mikey, and since you didn’t get to, making his food feels like the best way to get to know the man Carmy loved and admired so much. 

You queue up a good playlist, working in perfect harmony with Carmy till dinner is ready to eat. Between the braciole and the spaghetti, you know you’ll have more than enough leftovers to feed the two of you for the next week. You let Carmy plate – something he’s truly exceptional at – watching him as he creates a perfect twirl of spaghetti before tearing a few pieces of basil for garnish. As you bring the spaghetti to Carmy’s small dining table that is only meant to seat two, he plates up the braciole on one plate for the both of you to share. You set the table, enjoying the sounds of the playlist you’ve set for the night, before sitting down to eat. 

Carmy takes his first bite of the spaghetti, knowing that it’s not going to be an easy thing for him. You watch closely as he tastes the sauce, his eyes closing and face turning a darker shade redder. 

You wait a beat, letting him settle in before asking:

“What do you think?” 

He nods his head, “It’s fire.” You can see that he’s holding back tears, not ready to lose all control just yet. “It’s actually better… than Mikey’s”

You eat your dinner quietly. It’s the good kind of quiet but the air feels heavy. Carmy may not always have the words for what he’s feeling, but he doesn’t need to right now. You try the braciole together, sharing one plate as he tells you about how Mikey refused to use raisins, even though that’s how they grew up eating the beef dish. You listen, letting him travel down memory lane, only as far as he’d like tog. 

Halfway through dinner, Carmy says something that surprises you:

“We’ve got more than enough leftovers to feed a large family of… twenty,” he states plainly. His blue eyes water as he continues with an ask. “You uh… maybe wanna pack this up and take it to the restaurant tonight?”

“Yeah, Bear. I think everyone would love that," you agree, the smallest smile on your lips. "Would you... wanna tell me a little about him? On our walk there?"

Carmy nods, "Sure. Yeah, I-. I think I can do that."

*

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos @blue-weekends @rexorangecouny @ridingthehotmessexpress @the-nursery@strawberryalicia @astronautelilanded @veryplatoniccircunstances @fonteyn @hlkwrites @not-two-shrimp

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Even Deeper Waters | Yandere Merman (Part 2)

“Alright boys let’s get our old cruiser moving!” 

“Aye Aye!” 

The muffled sounds of yelling men rang through your ears along with various pounding of boots sending vibrations along the surface you lied against. You felt yourself moving. Swaying like a baby in a swing, you almost succumbed to sleep’s seductive pull at your eye-lids. Trying to settle once more you found yourself nuzzling against something firm…and….cold. It was then that a painful stab of pain climbed up your spine that had you snapping up to nurse the boney system. Only to bring another flash of pain as you smashed your head against a similar surface. You blinked your eyes with vengeance, desperately trying to make out your assailant only to just barely register the badly lit environment. 

A small eye-sized window let the smallest beam of natural light illuminate the steely quarters you were kept in. Showing the metal bunk beds hanging along, its very close together walls spread apart just wide enough for a knobless door. Metallic and unlabeled all you could make out was a panel, a dip in the surface of an otherwise blank door. 

Squinting your eye with great difficulty you eyed the contrasting textures of blue rapidly moving, told apart by the splotches of fluffy white wisps and flying birds.

“The…ocean?” 

You cringed at the hoarseness of your voice, rubbing at your throat as you collected your thoughts. The memories of Vain and the fear pumping your heart, had you stilling in disbelief. 

Was it real? 

That he killed all the staff of the Aquatic center? That he feasted on humans in general? And that he had full intentions of bringing you to wherever he was from? 

It couldn’t have been a dream. The pinpointed pain in your arm said so. Recalling the spine that sneakily shot out from under his skin to inject you with something. A shiver ran up your back, making you rub at sore spot with defeat. 

What now?

The sound of multiple metal clicks from behind the door had you sitting up straight. Wondering if it’d be Vain to release you or some old-fashioned pirate; at this point either was expected. When the door swung open it revealed a grimy man scanning the small room before landing on you. With a sniff he waved to someone beyond, an exhausted look on his face.

“Come on then your cargo is awake.” 

His accented voice called to the mysterious person who seemed to make a face as the round-bellied man stayed perched in the door way. With a groan the man moved revealing an uncannily familiar face. 

“My darling! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“Va-”

“Shhh I know your throat hurts just give me a second.” 

He shuffled some things in his hands: a thermos, a container, and a rag. Too bewildered to process anything you watch him, almost frantically, put the other items down to open the thermos. You reached for it only for him to move over them to hold your chin as he made you drink. His quick movements bypassed your own, leaving you to flounder and focus on guzzling the drink down. 

“That’s it baby! Good job.”

You hated the way he said that, looking up at him with a glare. He continued to smile down at you, eyes squinted in a sadistic fashion. Wordlessly you both seem to make the connection of the roles reversed; one of you giddy at the thought and the other disgusted. 

You finished the drink, unable to actually pull away as he moved his hold from your chin to your head. Forced to drink so fast you barely registered what it was you were drinking, only able to lick your lips in an attempt to recall the flavor. Opening your mouth to question him you were stopped by him shoving food into your mouth. Similarly he hand fed you the finger friendly food gleefully swatting your fighting hands and letting his finger dance around your lips. 

With a full belly you sat back, finally registering the non-human humming in satisfaction. He looked different. His face was softer. Plump around the cheeks and hair much longer than before. It meant he had eaten well and could avoid being directly recognized. Convenient for man eating merman.+

“What is–”

“Are ya done?! I’m getting tired of your lovey-dovey crap!” 

The  man had crossed his arms and puffed his chest as if Vain was already protesting. Vain wasn’t even looking at him when his pleased smile dropped and his eyes narrowed in a deadly glare. 

“Right, right. Sorry to hold you Captain, you have a whole ship to command.”

Before following the grumbling human he flashed you a smile; a smile that showed a minor resemblance to pinchers he used to threatened you with before.

“Rest easy (Y/n) we’ll be home soon.”

At the sound of the metal door slamming and locking you were once again encapsulated in near darkness. Forced to succumb to the tiredness only food brings, you settled into the uncomfy frame, dwelling on those words before drifting off. 

‘Home, huh?’

____________________________________________________________

Something must have been in that food. 

Or maybe it was the drink he was so insistent that you finish. It might’ve been unintentional, to have a meal that had your whole body aching while having you fade in an out from a restless sleep. Plagued with nightmares of your time with the captive-mermaid Vain and your imagination’s retelling of your coworker’s end. Only this time, you couldn’t sit up and clutched your pillow in the comfort of your room. No you were in a cold, uncomfortable cell, unable to even hold yourself to rock yourself back to sleep. The only comfort you had was the apparent rocking of the ship.

The strange swaying of a boat on ocean waves could be equated to the comfort of a rocking babe or by the drunken driving of car in wild winds. Teetering between soothing and anxiety-inducing you didn’t fight your eyelids shutting in the darkness of the cell. Like a weighted ball and chain your consciousness began to slip, dipping deeper into the realm of sleep despite the outlying factors. The rocking. The muffled shouts. The roaring waves. 

It didn’t stop you from falling asleep once more.

________________________________________________

When you awoke again the aching in your limbs had subsided and you were able to sit up. Still feeling a haze of tiredness you hazingly collected the remnants of your spotted memory. Sluggishly you stood, leaning on the bunked beds to the small space of wall. You looked out the eyeglass, taking in the cloudless blue sky against the dark moving waters of the ocean. Blinking away from the myriad of blue you turned around, straightening up when you registered the crack in the door.

“V-vain?”

You couldn’t imagine this was done on purpose by the grody Captain who snarked about ‘not messing with the cargo.’ No doubt a strict but crooked sailor that was keen on getting paid, he reminded you of the executives at your job. Who would sooner put their life on the line then sully the ‘integrity’ of their objectives. Which fanned the festering nervousness in the deepness of your gut. 

With hesitation you stepped out only now registering the creaking wood against your bare feet. Leaning against the walls of the ship’s hull, scanning for any signs of life, you focused on the light coming from a swinging door. Finding no one it only urged you further to the light. Climbing the stairwell you couldn’t help but squint at the sudden exposure to the sun. Holding your hand up to shield your eyes as you scanned for some sign of life. Dropping your hand as you enjoyed the salty sea breeze, letting your eyes close as you relished in the sun’s heat.

“Ah I’m glad to see you up, I honestly didn’t expect you’ll be able to move.”

You turned swiftly fully aware of that inspid voice only to step back at his appearance.

He was a foot taller, his hair longer, and his skin had a tint of blue. His teeth were much sharper, making for a smile that was more intimidating then anything. 

“...You ate again didn’t you?”

He chuckled holding a finger to his chin, “Was it that obvious?”

He hopped a little, making you flinch. He laughed again stepping closer to you and you stepped back, bumping into the railing of the sailboat. Finned arms caged you in purposefully squeezing himself against your person, giving you a ghastly whiff of his breath. 

“How have you been feeling? Ready to go home?”

“H-home?”

“My home…our home silly-darling!” 

“Is that–”, you looked over your shoulder at the waving water.

A deep trill or something reverberated from his chest, feeling it within your own. Moving closer to you, you turned from him leaning as close as you could to the railing, unintentionally urging the Mer-man to tighten his hold around you. He put his head on your shoulder looking at your eyes as you glared at the sea. 

“It is.”

“But I can’t breathe underwater, you'll kill me…Is that what you wanted?”

He took a deep inhale against your skin, leaving you no room to pull away as he peppered your neck with kisses.

“Of course not, you’re ready enough.”

“W-what?!”

Before you could say anymore he easily wrapped his hands around your waist launching you into the water. Naturally you flailed in an attempt to tread but you weren’t aware of how hard it was to do that. Reaching out to the smiling Vain it wasn’t long before you fell under the water’s surface. Expecting to feel water feel your lungs you didn’t fight closing your eyes as you lost sight of the sun’s rays reaching through the water.

‘Hold on?’

You weren’t dead. You could breath. You could see. 

You attempted to move around but your legs and arms weren’t much help. Especially not in comparison to Vain who dived in with tails and dorsal fins swimming towards you with ease.

“Come on, (Y/n). You didn’t think I’d let you die like that easily, did you? You’re mine darling and I said we were going home…didn’t I?”

[gizkalord]

Enjoying the hints that Cassian cares a lot more than he actually lets on—both in terms of personal relationships and about the cause. His FIRST establishing character scene was him searching for his long-lost sister. He kept his staff/blowpipe from Kenari all the way to adulthood. His alias (Clem) is his adoptive father’s name who died by the empire’s hands. He participated in the Mimban uprising. He still steals from the empire, trying to irritate them even through the smallest ways.

There are all these signs that he’s feeling more than he wants other people to realize, but like Luthen suggests, he doesn’t have a channel to direct his anger and discontent into. He’s losing hope and doesn’t believe that greater change can happen. He cares, but he doesn’t know how to act on it in a way that feels meaningful to him, and so he pretends he doesn’t care because that’s how he copes with it. But it still ends up coming through in these small things—inconsistencies in a mask of apathy he puts on for the world.

I’m sure we’ll see how he finds that channel for his feelings throughout this show through the Rebel Alliance. Potentially, this can also play nicely into why he spared Galen in R1, because Cassian was never a cold or unfeeling person—he’s someone who cares about personal relationships, who cares about hope and freedom; that aspect has simply been curbed by circumstance for him.

[obxone]

Vigilante Shit (Chapter Seven)

Edited-ish. ~2.1k words

Tag list: @fishingirl12 @gillybear17 @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gills-lounge @emmafitzzz @redfieldfx @baby19sthings

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“What about this one?” You step out of your bathroom, pulling your hair over your shoulder, and you spin once. The skirt flares out slightly before settling back around your legs.

“It is perfect.”

“You said that about the last one,” you mutter with a frown while pushing your hand down the skirt of the sundress. “Mav, I want to look great for your parents. I really want them to like me!”

“And they will.”

You roll your eyes before reaching for your sandals. “It will have to do. I should’ve asked Sarah or Kie to borrow something.”

He is sneakily quiet before his arms snake around your waist to pull you back against his chest once your shoes are on. “You look beautiful. But there is something else I need to ask you before we go...”

“And that is?” You ask, tipping your head back to look up at him.

He leans down, his lips brushing your lips. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

Your mouth drops open, and he grins, enjoying the shock he has triggered in you. “Wow.” You cling to his hand that is pressing against your abdomen. He smiles, his lips finding your cheek after. “Yes, Mav, I would love to be your girlfriend.”

He grins, spinning you to face him. He kisses you quickly.

“Now, take me to meet the parents,” you giggle against his lips at how ridiculous it is to be meeting his parents after only being official for a few seconds.

He agrees, and you lead him out of the house and to the car. He opens the door, helping you in before jogging around to his side. The drive is quiet, a low-volume song filling the car as he squeezes your hand in your lap. Your breath hitches in your throat when he turns onto a paved driveway. Many cars line the drive, and all are luxury cars screaming that it is a full-on kook party.

“Relax, they’ll love you.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Do you not remember what I told you at The Wreck?”

“I do, but I don’t believe it.”

You huff. “You’ll see… Boyfriend.”

He grins, liking the label, while he gets out and jogs around to help you from the car. You cling to his hand, the warmth of his arm pressed to your side while he leads you through the house. You try not to gawk at the grandeur of it or the glimpses of hired party staff scurrying around. They are likely all from your side of the island, The Cut. The feeling of being out of place begins to set in, especially when you catch sight of Mav's mother.

“Mom!” He calls when you both step onto the back deck. “We’re here!”

“Mav, honey!” A platinum blonde woman rushes forward with a mixed drink in her perfectly manicured hand. She is gorgeous and perfect down to the smallest detail. “Your father just asked about you!"

“I’ll go say hi then,” he smiles before gesturing to you. “Meet y/n. The girl I’ve been telling you about.”

“The stunningly beautiful and lovely girlfriend, yes,” she beams before she hugs you tightly for a moment. “I’m Blair.”

You blush, looking at him in slight surprise that she already knows when he had only asked you moments before. He leans down and pecks your lips before disappearing without a word. The mischievous glint in his eye tells you that you are the newest person to learn about the title.

“Let’s get you some lemonade and mingle!” Blair hooks her arm through yours. “I will dish all the housewife drama for you.”

You laugh and go with her, hoping to stay in her good graces despite your track record with other parents.

The party grows over the next hour, and you stay beside Blair while Mav mingles with his father’s business partners. You do not miss the seersucker, Polo, and Calvin Klein outfit choices that are shared amongst them all. All replicas of the host, who is on his second Old Fashion since your arrival.

“You have a plethora of admirers,” Blair murmurs as she comes to a stop beside you. Her cocktail glass is still full despite all her mingling, and that bright smile is still painted on her face.

You blush, looking for a Mav in the crowd. “My son is one of them. And I am proud he has found someone who looks at him the same way.”

You smile, cheeks warming again.

“But then I see the way Rafe Cameron is looking at you, and I’m concerned…” She turns to you, and that perfect smile falters for a millisecond. “I'm told you grew up here. So, that means you know the Cameron boy?”

You falter, your gaze finding Rafe in the crowd of guests. Those haunted dark blue eyes are staring back at you, sending an uneasy fire down your spine. He had been watching you for a while now.

“I used to. A long time ago.”

The moment is interrupted before she can elaborate on how dangerous the darkness in him is as Mav's arms snake around you, and you lean back against him, grateful for the reprieve.

“Hey, Beautiful! Having fun?”

“She’s learning all the dirty Figure 8 secrets,” his mom teases. “Of course, she is having fun with me.”

“Reese, Ben, and Kelce are here. They are asking for you.”

"Me?"

He grins. "Yeah... my girlfriend."

You blush but give him a nod, nervous about interacting with them. Especially if Rafe and Topper are both here. Reese and Ben are more tied to Mav, but Kelce is in thick with Topper and Rafe from what you have heard and seen. You know Rafe is here, but you are not sure about Topper yet.

“Fine, fine,” Blair relents and grins at you before Mav leads you back onto the perfectly manicured grass and to the group you are already familiar with.

“There she is!” Reese grins, giving you a side hug before gesturing to a pretty brunette close by. “Y/n meet Natalie, my girlfriend.”

“Hi!” She grins at you before giving you a warm hug. “Nice to finally meet the girl that has Mav and Reese gossiping nonstop.” Before Mav or Reese can protest her words, she continues. “Oh! And this is Ben.”

"They've met Nat," Reese speaks up quickly.

You smile brightly, bumping fists with Ben after he raises his closed hand for you. "Yes, hi again, Ben.”

“Hey.” He grins. "And you met Kelce at the clubhouse too, right?"

"Correct."

"Hey," he lifts his glass tumbler in greeting, and you smile at him before glancing over your shoulder when his attention shifts in that direction, a frown on his face where a smile had been seconds ago.

You spy Rafe heading towards your group, and your grip on Mav’s hand tightens. He turns to see what you see. You do not catch the frown on his face at the sight of one of your least favorite people getting closer. 

You want to throw something at Rafe. A chair. A wine glass. Anything to make him disappear and not be here. Especially under the watchful gaze of Mav's parents.

"Rafe, glad you could make it." Mav's voice is strained as he greets him. You are missing something. And you become keenly aware of it when Reese and Natalie move closer to Mav and you.

"My pleasure," Rafe grins over the rim of his glass. "Especially with getting to see Kildare's finest ladies all dolled up."

His eyes cut to you, and no one misses it. It is painfully obvious, and you swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in your throat. Normally, you would have blushed and spit a witty remark at him, but Blair's words bounce around in your head.

The cool press of Natalie's fingers on the inside of your arm snags your attention. And you exhale a breath you do not realize you have been holding. "Y/n, please come with me to freshen up. I need a girl's opinion on my lipstick choice."

"Of course," you murmur and peck Mav's cheek, glancing briefly at Reese and Kelce in a silent plea to keep Rafe in check before following her inside.

She is quiet until you get to the bathroom with a shut and locked door. You stay silent even then as you watch her fish out a Dior lipstick while explaining she already has her color and applies it to her lips.

"Rafe said something, didn't he?" Your voice cuts through the dreadful feeling that is cloaking the confined space.

She glances at you in the mirror before frowning. "Yeah."

"When?"

"Two nights ago, at a poker night." She caps the lipstick and tosses it back into her bag before lifting herself onto the counter. "Reese said Mav didn't say much, but he knew Rafe had hit a spot."

"Mav did not say anything when I saw him today... or Reese."

She shrugs. "Maybe that is because Mav knows that you are his girlfriend and Rafe isn't an issue."

You frown, looking down at your hands. "You all think I'm a terrible person, huh?"

"Please," she snorts. "The guys don't care as long as they don't embarrass their families. And you are no embrassement. Not in the slightest."

"And you?" You lift your chin to look at her.

She shrugs. "I was Ben's girlfriend last fall. I have no room to think or say anything." She can tell that you do not buy it and huffs before smoothing her hand over her dress. "Mav really likes you, and I can tell you feel the same about him. Screw Rafe Cameron. And screw your past."

You smile, then exhale. "Thank you for suggesting an escape. Rafe likes to be a prick and will bait anyone to get a response."

She grins and hops down before patting your hip. "It's what friends are for. Now, let's go find my parents. My mom is dying to meet the girl that took Mav off the market."

You blush but follow her out of the bathroom and back outside.

After the party is over and Blair and Benedict have gone upstairs for the night, you find yourself curled up against Mav’s side. The lush grass is a welcome feeling after standing and mingling for so long.

“Everyone liked you today,” Mav murmurs, his lips moving against the crown of your head.

“I liked them.”

You want to talk about Rafe and ask what he said at poker night, but you are not sure if he wants to touch the topic or if you should even let him know you are aware of it.

“Nat really likes you.”

You smile, dragging your hand over his forearm, tracing a faintly visible vein. “Yeah… we have a spa day in the works.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

You tip your head back to look up at him. “What’s on your mind, Boyfriend?”

He laughs and falls back into the grass, pulling you with him. The sun had set thirty or so minutes ago. Stars twinkle down at you, and you snuggle into his warmth, enjoying the moment.

“You dated Rafe.”

It is not a question, and you do not intend to respond like it is.

“When I was 15.”

The silence extends out, and you want to look at him to see what he is feeling or thinking, but you are too scared to let yourself do it.

“What happened?”

“I realized I was being used, and that I would never fit in with his lifestyle, so I broke up with him.”

He is quiet, his fingertip skating over your shoulder. “And you started dating that guy from the beach?”

“I did.”

He is quiet for a moment again before he shifts, his body practically covering yours as he hovers over you. “They hurt you, didn’t they?”

You nod, unable to answer him because of the emotions sticking in your throat. Tears sting your eyes as they threaten to escape at the raw feeling that is surfacing from his words.

“Just like your dad.”

You nod again before you exhale and look away as a tear slips down the side of your face and into your hair. Mav is silent after that, staring at you as all your scars are put on display for him. The realization that he noticed every little thing since meeting you sinks in because he chose to pursue you despite it all.

His touch is gentle when he eventually grips your chin between his thumb and index finger to guide you to look at him. “You deserve so much better.” He leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. “I promise to do better than they did.”

(Chapter Eight)

[pillowfriendly]

15 lines of dialogue

Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

tagged by @ferrocyan yayayay yippyyy ^^ tagging @smallest-turtle and viewers like you

(coming back to the top to say i definitely did more than just the spoken lines because i misunderstood the prompt. my official stance on this is: whatever. eat my shorts)

---

The man scrambled back further, waving his spoon. “Are you going to rob me?”

“Um.” She conducted a brief inventory of his few belongings and glanced at the single scraggly chocobo. “No?”

---

“My mothers mostly told me forest stories, so I don’t know much about the ocean. But it seems… big… there?” She winced. Jude frowned at her.

“Too much water,” she added, desperate. This was a conversation. She was making conversation.

---

“Does it always have to be so hard?” She spoke to Fray, but would have liked to pose the question to several gods, too.

---

He backpedaled, holding his arm close. The saber lay at his feet, yet he didn’t reach for it. He wasn’t even trying. Why did that make it worse? “Do you even want to live at all?” Fray said. Kethry said.

---

“Yeah, we’ll go out. Unless you can trace the aetheric signature of defensive constructs. Or whatever that last scholar was talking about.”

“Kweh.”

“Me neither.”

---

She threw up her hands. “What for? If there’s something that needs killed again, I’ll get it out of your way. Happy?” She shook grit from her log and stood. “If I can’t do anything else, I’d like to do my job without busybodies.”

---

He thumbed his chin. “Still, the fact that she changed plumage, I assume after she reached full maturity, might make her something of a scientific anomaly.”

Kethry’s ears flattened. “An anomaly? That’s so! So!” she sputtered. “That’s so rude! She’s a good bird!”

“I’m not saying she’s not,” he said, in a tone somewhere between confusion and amusement. His eyes landed on a fin stuck to Phoebe’s beak. “Perhaps it was induced by dietary changes?”

“She’s just blue! Don’t be mean!” Kethry struggled to scramble into the saddle and maintain disapproving eye contact at the same time.

---

“There’s something like this up in Coerthas too. They say it came down when the moon fell. Saw an Echo of it happening first time I came here.” She waved his question away before he could ask. “I get these… past visions, sometimes. Side effect of the Echo. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, this whole thing formed ’cause of the impact.” She narrowed her eyes and tossed him the arrows. “But don’t stand there thinking about what it all means. That’s on your own time.”

---

This arrow flew true, but a twirl of her staff knocked it out of the air. “No, she just has Limsa. For now.”

“Has Limsa.” He drew several arrows to fire in succession. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

She turned to avoid the first shot. “It’s hers.” Ducked under the second. “She can use it.” Sent the next skittering and sparking along the crystal. “Get people to do things.” Startled him by leaping over the fourth with a dragoon’s high jump, and aimed for the fifth on the return. It zipped under her—she swung for it and missed, landing with a thud on the field. “She takes a cut for organizing trade. Makes the fleet sail here or there. But if she messes it up, or pulls too much…” She opened her hands and dropped the staff, then kicked it back up to herself. “Someone will take it from her. And if that can happen, she’s not really in charge of it, see? It’s a tool she can use while she’s got it. Or something.”

---

“Mmbwuh,” said Kethry.

---

“It doesn’t…” She scrunched up her face, then made a waving motion. “When Alphinaud and Y’shtola cast spells, you can feel their aether move when they weave it, and it goes like, fwoosh. But when I try to shape mine into a sigil, or anything like that, it’s like pulling on an anchor rode. Doesn’t move.”

---

“I just. When I lived here. We were hunting, the kids. I mean, we were kids, not that we were hunting any. It was the first time I was supposed to lead. And we ran into one of those, a boar, they grow too big here, and we should have ran, but I tried to take it down anyway, and—” She shook her head, to try and shake out the memory, too. “It got my cousin. Tore her right open.”

---

Still, he’d been whiny about it. “Since when have you gotten so demanding?” he panted.

“Since I decided we were friends.”

His ears flicked. “Oh? And when was that?”

She folded her hands over his head and rested her own on top of them while she considered. “Right now? A while ago? I dunno. I'm hungry, though.”

---

She shook her head, flicking water about as she did so. “The only reason not to help people is if you can't. And you should be sure that you really can’t, not just that it might be hard. Anyway, I know the Echo doesn’t work like that, probably. That's why it's stupid.”

---

Kethry laughed. “You kidding? Of course we can.” She leaned out to look up the incline, then rolled an eye over her shoulder at him. Her grin had too many teeth. “Monsters this big rely on having more power than you, and that's usually enough. It can try to hit us, sure. But it can't fight.”

[ariesbilly]

Au where the hargrove-mayfields move to Hawkins and the first person billy befriends is robin

And billys lamenting that he needs a job but it’s fall so the pools closed and the local mechanic isn’t hiring and he’s not having much luck anywhere else either, until robin offers up that the local country club is looking for a new waiter and billys like “no country club is gonna hire me” and robins like “we just gotta clean you up real nice and if that doesn’t work just drop some names to get you in” and billys like “whose name am I supposed to drop…”

And that’s when robin suggests using the harringtons for clout. “There’s Paul, and Elaine and their son Steve who’s super obnoxious but all the girls seem to think he’s cute. If you’re into that sort of thing” a wink and a nudge in billys direction

And billys like alright fine let’s go with that. So he gets dressed up all nice, ties his hair back, puts in his best face for this interview, and the lady is STILL a raging bitch but like in a passive aggressive way until billys finally like “before you continue with the thinly veiled insults and bitchy attitude, do you actually need a waiter or can I leave?” And the lady’s like “the positions been filled, goodbye”

And as billy gets up to leave he remembers robins advice and goes “such a shame I’m gonna have to go back to the harringtons and complain about the terrible staff in this place…”

And the lady immediately perks up like “you know the harringtons?” And billys like “yeah duh. How else do you think I learned about this position?”

So he ends up getting hired. Cut to his first day of work he’s running all over the place taking rich assholes orders, wondering if the money is really worth his sanity and dignity at this point.

And there’s this one table where this preppy pastel polo wearing brunet is sitting by his lonesome. And as billy passes by the guy chirps up like “I ordered a sweet tea and club sandwich half an hour ago” and billys like oh shit that’s right and immediately goes to get him drink at least. And as he’s pouring this guy starts going on about how billy looks overwhelmed and he must be stressed out, and it’s like he’s trying to sympathize but also it just comes across incredibly douchey and it’s pissing billy off. And the guys acting like he knows billy. All “I’ve seen your type a thousand times before. Let me guess- wrong side of the tracks right? Maybe trailer park? Dads in jail, mom took up a drug habit? Forced to raise yourself?” And billys two seconds away from saying fuck this job and decking the guy right then and there until he laughs and goes “I’m sorry. That’s the kind of shit my dad says all the time to help. I was just testing it out to see what it felt like. He’s the kind of guy to make waiters want to spit in their food.”

And billy just clenches his jaw real tight and says “I’ll go check on your order” and the guys laughing like “you would do it wouldn’t you? Spit in my food?”

And billys trying to walk away before he causes a scene but the guys following him, starts giving some woe is me story about having a rich daddy and how hard it is to be in that environment all the time surrounding by trust fund babies and whatnot and billys like “let me play you the worlds smallest violin 🙄” and the guy is just eating him up like…smarmy smile on his face, thinks billy is sooo entertaining, thinks he’s actually making himself look good in this conversation, totally full of himself, not a clue in the world

So anyway billys about to throttle this guy until he finds out it’s Steve harrington. And normally this would mean n thing to him except Steve’s kind of the only reason billy got this job even if he doesn’t know that, which makes it even worse, so billys changing his attitude real quick. Putting on a fake smile, suddenly going pleasant. Makes sure Steve has the best dining experience and leaves zero complaints.

Steve becomes a regular after that. Always making sure to sit in billys section, always there to rile him up. And billys so so close to snapping every day like the amount of self restraint he has is truly incredible

Until one night while on his shift it’s not just steve there. His parents are dining with him too. And billy sees firsthand how Steve goes from cocky smug bastard to sinking in his chair, head down, looking utterly miserable. Even catches a bit of a fight between steve and his dad while they were off in what was assumed to be a private corner. Billy overhears how Steve’s dad just rips into him, destroying any semblance of self confidence. And billy…begrudgingly feels bad for the guy after that.

And maybe after billys shift he finds steve still hanging around…and he offers up a smoke. And they start lamenting about shitty dads. And maybe Steve apologizes for being such a dick. And billys like “yeah okay. But you do that shit again I will actually kick your ass”

And Steve’s like “wow you accepted that apology real easy” and billy shrugs and says “I’ve been fucking with your food this whole time so we’ll call it even”

And Steve’s appalled and disgusted and billys laughing but it forms a weird truce between them lmao

And the of course ya know flirting kissing fucking falling in love you know how it goes

[i-will-change-this-someday]

Is Jon tall or short?

I think he’s short. (I’ll explain why under the cut)

This is to Jon; I think it’d be kinda weird to describe oneself like that if you’re shorter than the person you’re talking to. (I know this might just be about weight, but to me it seems more like it’s all dimensions, including height)

Granted this is from a weird eldritch being, that, I think, can be rather large. So perhaps not concrete evidence.

Again, this a threat, so might just be hyperbole.

Another threat(?), might just be belittling. Edit: Nikola also calls him “little Archivist” in episode 97.

Once again, another threat, so might still be an exaggeration.

You guessed it, another threat, but I feel it at least safe to say Jon’s smaller than the cop.

While it’s not, perhaps, the best evidence; I at least think it’s enough to say Jon’s not particularly tall, perhaps average height at best?

There’s also the fact Jon could barely carry a pipe around, (a pipe Elias could, apparently, bludgeon a man’s head in with). Jon also looks pathetic enough that Basira can’t even fathom him being able to murder someone.

(To be clear, I’m not saying Jon isn’t tall, just giving my reasons for why I think he’s short. Headcanon him whatever height you’d like)

His only concrete description is that he looks like he hasn’t slept in a week.

Just for kicks, here’s my personal headcanons on the archives staff’s (and Elias[and Georgie]) height and/or build.

Jon: Tiny. To me, he is the smallest wet cat of a man, 5’4” (162.5 cm) at most. No meat on his bones, just a little guy.

Martin: Like he says, not the smallest guy, I imagine he’s a heavy guy, very huggable. I know there’s the common headcanon that he’s exactly 6’(183 cm), but to me, he’s got 6’2” (189 cm) energy. (Am I the only one that took “not the smallest” to mean absolutely jacked at first, just a total beefcake)

Tim: Average. Average height, average build. Probably 5’9” (175 cm) decently muscular, (from those kayaking trips)

Sasha: canonically tall. Sasha’s tall, I’d say 6’1 (185 cm) I kinda imagine her to be curvy(?, I don’t know if that’s the right way to put it) you know those people who have, like some good arm fat? (I’m sorry, that’s probably the worst way to describe it, but I don’t know how else to explain it) Really soft, kind looking type of person.

Elias: Elias is an odd one, ‘cause depending on the day I might think he’s kinda big, like 5’11” (180 cm) and somewhat muscular (less so than Tim), ‘cause he did bash a man’s head in. But on other days, I might go with the common twink version of Elias, I’m thinking 5’6” (167 cm), so still taller than Jon, but shorter than most guys. (He was also described as a “weird little freak” by Daisy, but that was, once again, a threat, so might just be intimidation)

Melanie: Canonically skinny. Honestly, a lot like Jon, I imagine her to not have much meat on her bones,(although, probably more muscle on her than Jon) she’s all sharp angles. While I do like the idea she’s the exact same height as Jon, I think she’s either one inch taller or shorter, either way she’s intolerable about it.

Georgie: I don’t really have any specific height for Georgie, but I’d probably say somewhere around 5’5” - 5’7” (165 - 170 cm). Like Martin, she gives off very huggable vibes, kinda like that one person you know that’s really nice and soft looking, but can also just verbally destroy someone.

Basira: Average height, on the heavier(?, not sure that’s the right word for it) side. It’s implied that she and Martin are not as skinny as Melanie, so I think Basira’s pretty muscular, but it’s like in a weight lifter kind of way. I feel like she’s probably 5’8” (173 cm).

Daisy: strong. If anyone is absolutely ripped in The Magnus Archives, (other than Jared Hopworth) it’s Daisy. However, I don’t think she’s that tall, probably same height as Tim at 5’9” (175 cm).

[vigilantebarbie]

i keep my jealousy close chapter one

chapter two

It all started with finding out that there was a vigilante in Evergreen, appropriately named Vigilante. It scared the shit out of you knowing that there was some murderous person out there who seemed to be killing anyone who broke even the smallest law.

Some jaywalker had been found cut to ribbons one morning, and another day someone the traffic cameras had picked up speeding through a red light was found shot in their car. You didn't realize how bad it was until you went into the Italian restaurant, Fennel something, next to your laundromat to break a $20 when you overheard the staff gossiping about the latest death. Some bank manager who was on trial for embezzlement was found dead in his home, along with his partners in crime. "It was another Vigilante job, apparently. The security cameras were cut before the murder." The hostess squeaked out, sounding almost panicked when she said that, almost like she was guilty of the crime herself. She looked barely older than sixteen, so there was no way in hell she could even commit that sort of crime. Not if she was working at a restaurant for her first job.

"Maybe the bank guy killed someone, Madison. Personally, I'm glad Vigilante got rid of him so now we're all safe." Your head whipped around to find out exactly who had said that & your eyes settled on who appeared to be a busser, based on the half-full dish tub in his hands, standing there and looking directly at the hostess, Madison, with what looked to you like anger and disbelief. Vigilante had a fanboy, who knew? "The less scummy people the better if you ask me" Fanboy chimed in before Madison could get another word in "But what if I accidentally run a red light like that guy last week? I'm only seventeen, Adrian!" This was going to get interesting fast. Sitting down silently to watch the two argue for a few minutes before clearing your throat to finally get your change so you could do your laundry.

Both of them jumped at the sound of your voice, Madison hastily apologizing for making you wait. "It's okay, promise" You assured her with a genuine smile "I was just wondering if you could break this $20, the change machine at the laundromat only takes fives and ones." You were semi-new to Evergreen, you needed a fresh start after ending a long-term relationship that hadn't made you happy since the beginning. Leaving that loser behind was the best thing you had ever done for your mental health. But now you had to make new friends and create new experiences. Thankfully you were a writer and could work just about anywhere since you always got to work from home.

"Sure thing!" Madison chirped, counting out loud as she counted the change a little slowly, but who could blame her? Numbers suck. You couldn't help looking around as you waited, noticing the fanboy busser, Adrian as you recalled hearing Madison call him. You definitely admired the guy for being able to work semi-peacefully with a teenager. You'd never really liked teenagers, even when you were one. He had to be around your age, roughly late twenties.

Trying to not stare when he heaved the full bus tub up with ease, you turned your attention back to Madison, fairly certain that Adrian had seen you looking at him. “I appreciate it. Hopefully, I won’t be back to break a bill again & actually remember to get what bills I need for laundry. Or save for a washer & dryer so I don’t have to go to the laundromat anymore.” You rambled. Now you had to actually leave before they started to judge you for not being able to shut up. "Anyhoo, see you guys around" Raising your fingers in a salute, you turned and left, hearing Madison mumble "Old people are so weird" on your way out the door. Shoving the change in your pocket while you went back to the car to get your laundry and headed into the laundromat with your airpod knock offs connected, portable charger ready to go, you put on a podcast to listen to while you passed the time between loads being switched over, thinking about the weirdo from the restaurant. Why had he defended Vigilante so eagerly? And why had you been so impressed by the way he lifted that full bus tub onto his shoulder? You couldn't get that image out of your mind for some reason and it was driving you insane. So much so, that your Fitbit picked up your heart rate increase while you were sitting there, listening to two strangers talk about American Girl dolls or whatever.

Little did you realize that Vigilante fanboy, Adrian, had noticed you too, and had heard everything you told Madison about the laundromat. After his shift ended, he made his way to his car, conveniently parked close to yours without him even realizing it. He could see everything through the big window, watch everything you were doing. That was creepy. But he couldn't bring himself to look away while you sat on top of the laundry counter, singing along to some song he couldn't hear, swinging your legs and aggressively pointing your finger like you were at some punk show and not doing errands.

This wouldn't be the last time he'd see you, he decided. It couldn't be. Not when you were so intriguing.

[dear-mrs-otome]

Pace non trovo - IkePri (Silvio)

Fandom: Ikemen Prince

Pairing: Silvio Ricci/MC (Emma)

Warnings: None - not even spoilers really, just speculation

Summary: Silvio sets out to discover what it takes to buy Emma…but the true cost isn’t something either of them expects. (6.7k YES YOU READ THAT RIGHT WHY BRAIN words of snark and fluff, SFW)

Author’s Note: Frankly I’m just tired of looking at this. It’s long and I’ll never be happy with it but I want it out there before Cybird undermines all my ideas. And the gratuitous Italian is all my own headcanon.

Pace non trovo, et non ò da far guerra;

e temo, et spero; et ardo, et son un ghiaccio

(I find no peace, and all my war is done.

I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice)

- Francesco Petrarca

 “What price?”

The words are aimed down a set of glistening silver tines at her, fork brandished over the breakfast plate like a saber. A pair of deep blue eyes pierce her from the other end, and she pauses a moment to sip at her tea, collecting her thoughts before replying calmly. “What price what, Prince Silvio?”

“Your price. How much to buy you.”

She nearly aspirates her swallow as it abruptly reverses course, tannin burning her nose as she chokes it back down and clears her throat. “Forgive the impertinence in stating as much, Your Highness…” It takes more effort than she’d like to admit not to put any additional emphasis on his title. “But you seem to be laboring under some misconception. I am not for…sale.”

This was, by far, the strangest breakfast conversation she had had in a long string of strange breakfasts, since coming to this castle.

Silvio scoffs with derision after finishing his bite of soufflé. “Everything and everyone can be bought, donna.” Setting his fork aside he dabs at his lips with a crisp linen napkin, before leaning forward and shooting her a crooked grin - teeth bared in a way that reminded her of the fact that dogs were only generations removed from wolves. And could be equally as ravenous. “It’s merely a matter of finding their price. That one thing they just can’t refuse.”

She lets the smallest bit of her ire slip, tugging the corners of her mouth down and her eyebrows up into twin arcs of disbelief. “And supposing, for one ridiculous moment, I did have such a price? You believe I’d just tell you it?”

On a languid shrug, Silvio slouches back into his chair, gaze fixed on her contemplatively as he toys idly with the pendant around his neck. Looking every last inch the disgustingly rich, disgustingly arrogant tyrant she knew him to be. “You wouldn’t be worth it if you did. But figuring it out is half the fun.”

Nothing, not faking her existence as Belle or the harrowing waltz she had to dance day in and day out to keep herself safe in this viper’s nest of a court, had ever filled her with the same sort of gut-wrenching dread as that last sentence did.

The gifts began shortly thereafter.

At first they are easy enough to dismiss - or as easy as a room where every flat surface has been covered in vases of cut hothouse flowers could be, at least. Some so exotic she’d only seen their like in the beautiful illustrations of botany books that came through the shop, puzzling over the foreign syllables of their names as she traced their strange petals with wondering fingers.

“Have them gathered up and sent to the hospital and orphanage,” she suggests to Rio, who looks every bit as unamused as she feels. “At least they can brighten someone’s day.”

“That won’t be enough to stop him.” Rio proclaims this with the air of someone who knows as much from personal experience, and that is enough to give her pause. “This is only an opening feint.”

“It won’t encourage him either,” she finally concedes on a shrug.

The flowers are followed by chocolates, which look decadent, but she passes them along to the castle staff as a show of appreciation for their hard work. The elaborate cake that comes next goes the same way. The cake is followed by the silk dress that was reminiscent of a waterfall, a glorious froth of blue silk. After the dress comes the figurine of a single rose, bewitchingly carved of carnelian and gilded, nestled in a vase of porcelain so fine the light shone through it like paper.

“I told you, Your Highness. I can’t be bought. Least of all for trinkets.” She reminds Silvio of this after she knocks on his door that evening to return the rose (however reluctantly), having learned over the past weeks that he would not accept them if a servant brought it back.

He leans insouciantly against the doorframe, takes the gleaming flower from her hands and offers her a smug tilt of the lips in return. “Every item you refuse tells me something too. You’ll run out of secrets soon enough, coniglietta. And places to hide.”

“I will have to continue to respectfully disagree.” She breathes slowly through the perpetual finger-twitching urge to slap the smug expression from his regretfully handsome face and spark a diplomatic crisis.

~~~~~~~~

The jewelry, though, he delivers himself.

She is in the library some days later, poring over a stack of study materials earmarked by Sariel. Night had fallen whilst she was unawares, only realizing how dark it has grown when the servants pad silently in to light the candles and lamps around her. She likes the library at night, when the curtains can be twitched back to reveal the velveted drapery of darkness outside. When the endless, echoing castle grows just a little bit smaller. A little bit less of a reminder that she doesn’t belong here.

She’s lost in a treatise on ocean shipping lanes when her concentration is broken by the clatter of a door being thrown open, followed by a familiar jangle, and she braces herself for the oncoming storm.

Silvio strolls up like a thunderhead of furred cape and spiced cologne, plucks the tome from her hands and holds it up before him, letting it dangle from his fingers the way one might a dead rat. He turns it just enough to read the title embossed on the spine, before scoffing audibly. “I could tell you far more about maritime trade than you’d find written in that. Probably more than this entire library contains.”

“How very kind of you to offer, but I believe I’ll pass.” She rescues the book from him before he can drop it, sets it carefully aside and narrows her eyes peevishly up at him towering over her. “What is it you need…Your Highness?”

He draws a brocade bag from where it had been tucked into a breast pocket and loosens the drawstring that had cinched it shut tight, tipping the pouch over his palm and shaking it until a waterfall of gems pours out. When he holds them up between his hands can she see it for the necklace it is, strands upon strands of sapphire knotted with pearls, luminous in the wan lamplight. It looks like a queen’s ransom. Moves like a poem.

She doesn't mean to gasp. But intention does nothing to stop his eyes from sharpening when she does regardless, and his smile edges as fierce as the baying of a hound on the trail. “You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she admits, because she tries to abide by honesty as the best policy, and it would be a crime to insult something so lovely with banality.

“You should see it on.”

Before she can react he’s taken her by the shoulders, steered her over towards where the night has made a mirror of the windowpanes and she can see herself, mouth slacked with surprise, reflected back in perfect details. His hands, the second - no, third? fourth? - part of him she allows herself to admire, have the necklace around her neck between blinks. The barest brush of his fingers against the nape of her neck a warm contrast to the cool metal that nuzzles along her collarbone and breasts.

And for an instant, the library falls away. She stares enchanted into a mirror where she sees a queen looking back - Amphitrite among the waves, perhaps. Consort of the ocean, with a froth of seafoam and tides adorning her throat. Or the mermaid of her beloved stories, trading her freedom for legs, her voice for her heart.

Her life for her love.

While it lasts, it is a gossamer, glorious moment. But she blinks it away, because she knows better than most that happily-ever-after was the way few fairy tales ended.

Her fingers scrabble under the weight of her hair, seeking the clasp. “Take it off, take it off.” Her heart wrenching too tightly to care that it seeps into her voice, stringing it too high. Only when Silvio’s hands grasp hers to still them, surprisingly gentle, does she feel the sting of where she’s scratched herself.

He doesn’t say a word as he removes the jewelry - but for an instant, his gaze flickers up to meet hers in their reflection, a mirage shimmer of blue, and she wonders if she’s only hoping for the remorse she thinks she finds there.

Whatever it was, it lasts only a moment before it’s swept away by frustration. “Scores of women would kill to have this.”

“Then give it to one of them,” she tells him, turning about to face his anger head on. Dismay over her own heartache, over letting him get even infinitesimally under her skin, loosening her tongue. “Not me. You can put all the peacock feathers you want on a jackdaw, and it’ll never change the fact that it’s a dull. Ordinary. Jackdaw.”

She hurls the last word at him as if it is his fault that she were born without the gravitas of a surname to tie her down, to make something more of her than flotsam in this world.

He studies her for long moments, no sound between them save her own heavy breaths, as thunderclouds gather in his eyes. Something ghosting across his face, come and gone before she can read it. “At least a jackdaw can fly. Show me the peacock that easily can.”

She doesn’t trust herself with a reply not to expose anymore of her truths than she already has, and he makes no move to stop her when she pushes her way past him.

~~~~~~~~

"He's been asking about you."

It's Sariel, not Rio this time, who enlightens her as to this one morning over the tower of books he stacks up on her desk.

She doesn’t bother looking up from her page, or ask who he’s speaking of. “Tell me something I don't know.”

The desk shifts slightly as Sariel comes to lean a hip against it beside her, his arms folded and she can feel the weight of his stare on the top of her head. Knows by now it would be bruised with castigation. “Not sniffing around about your identity, exactly. He paid a maid to tell him the books you’ve read. The chef to spill on your favorite dishes. The gardener to say which flowers you linger at longest in the garden.” Sariel pauses, and it’s a jagged silence, one that might bleed her if she moves wrong. “Just what did you say to him?”

The clap of slamming her book shut is satisfying, but not enough to ease her frustration. Carefully, she arranges her hands atop the closed cover and takes a long, grounding breath before looking up at the man beside her. “I said ‘no’ to him. And I don’t think he’s taking it well.” She shakes her head over Sariel’s molasses chuckle, exasperated. “What is wrong with him? He could just ask me these things, if he really wanted to know.”

“And would you tell him?”

She lets his challenge slide past, unanswered because she can’t. “He thinks he can buy me. Thinks that if he throws enough money at me, I’ll love him.”

The silence is back again, only this time it’s not cutting. It’s expectant, like the breath held while watching a child toddle its first unsteady steps.

“Why would he ever imagine that would work?” she finally asks to break it - not because she expects an answer but because she can no longer stand it.

Sariel heaves a soft sigh. “What do you give someone, when you fall in love?”

She frowns at the rhetorical question before answering easily. “My love. My heart. Myself.”

There’s a smile hovering about one corner of Sariel’s lips, but she can’t decide if they’re canted with amusement or melancholy. “A ready answer. Because you’re certain of their value.”

She picks his words up and turns them about, peering through them from all angles as if they were a kaleidoscope. But the stark shapes they form both sadden and unnerve her, and she tucks them safely away - to be examined some other time.

~~~~~~~~

She almost preferred the jewelry.

The gems and the pretty lie they offered had been strong, the compulsion to accept them almost overriding her better sense for a moment, but it had been just that - a momentary temptation.

This. This though?

She flipped gently through the pages one more time, as if to commit the scent of its delicate pages and the gentle script flowing across its pages to memory. An authentic first edition of her favorite collection of stories that had been left on her desk, adorned in a simple red ribbon to mark it as a gift. Something she never dreamed she’d so much as see, let alone hold. Let alone read. Let alone be offered the chance to possess. 

The writing box, inlaid with mother of pearl and meticulously carved yet still surprisingly practical, had been another gift difficult to return. The tray of pastries from her favorite shop, still flaky and steaming and tasting of many happy days gone by. The beautifully enameled music box that played the same childhood tune she often hummed to herself in the library

The single rosebud in a slim crystal vase delivered with her breakfast, exquisitely perfect. So freshly cut that the morning dew still clung to its blushing petals just on the cusp of unfurling, the exact shade of coral she knew would open to reveal how they brightened to yellow within, like dawn breaking in a blossom. They grew on the south trellis, and she had spent hours on her strolls admiring their sunny cheer and thinking how lovely the sight of them greeting her each morning would be.

She’s on her fourth read-through when she hears the musical tinkle that precludes her door flying open, although she’s not surprised by now. More evenings than not saw Silvio finding some excuse to come by her room after dinner had wound down, for one reason or another. He’d find the flimsiest of pretexts. 

A part of her, when she was feeling generous, wondered if he was doing her the favor of making her daily rejection easier.

There‘s a bottle in his hand, half filled with some tawny wine, and she suspects from the faint color that rides his high cheekbones that the other half of it is already in his belly by now. “Drink with me, donna,” he orders, lifting the matched set of delicate stemware in his other hand imperiously.

She’d learned over the past weeks it was simpler to just say yes, or at the least not offer any protest, and get this all over with sooner.

He takes her silence for the grudging assent it is, and throws himself onto the settee beside her. His ridiculously long legs consuming the space as he props his boots on the low table and twitches his cape back behind his shoulders, pouring a measure of port in each glass before handing her one.

She takes a polite sip, rolling the heavy sweetness on her tongue to savor before swallowing. If she has to suffer through his company, at least it means being treated to good liquor, she supposes. 

They lapse into a silence that, while perhaps not comfortable, isn’t uncomfortable either. It’s familiar, at least. He’s in one of his moods, she can tell, the ones that have him frowning at the far wall, lost in thoughts he doesn’t deem fit to share. Or at least not with her.

She wonders if there’s anyone he does. 

She suspects there isn’t.

It’s a surprise even to herself when she speaks first, bothered for some unknown reason by the quiet. “You’ve gotten better at this.” She lifts the book in her hand slightly for emphasis. “I’m still not accepting it. But higher marks for effort.”

He blinks back to himself and offers her a cocky grin that she pretends not to notice seems a bit taut around the edges. “You haven’t seen anything resembling effort yet.”

Scoffing softly, she opens the book back to where her bookmark lay tucked between pages, ready to dive back in when -

“Which story is your favorite?”

“You’re asking me? Whyever for, when you could simply pay the maid to tell you?” she tosses back dryly and he has the grace enough to glance guiltily away, however briefly. That tiny gesture though buys enough goodwill for her to answer. “This one.”

He leans in to peer at the title she traces on the table of contents, and his next question, posed without pretense, startles her. “Why?”

“Why?” She echoes him blankly…and then dithers. Weighing the pros and cons of giving him the gift of such knowledge for free, of letting him prize open any wider that tiny crack he’d inflicted on her careful wall. Marred it with a bejeweled hammer of glittering tide and brine.

Even she’s not sure what prompts her to speak, in the end. “It’s the story of a mermaid that falls in love with a human prince after she saves him from a shipwreck, and all the things she gives up to try and be with him.” Pausing, she arrows a sidelong glance his way. “It’s a story about how we can’t control other people or how they feel about us. The only thing in this life we can really control is ourselves.”

He looses a small sound of disbelief, and she braces herself for the sting of whatever crack of derision is sure to follow, feeling the faintest heat of embarrassment kiss her cheeks at having perhaps handed him the whip.

But it never comes.

“And does she?” he asks.

“Does she what?”

He throws her an exasperated look. “Does she end up with the prince?”

A smile toys with the edges of her lips, and she can’t quite resist tweaking the tiger’s whiskers. “You’ll just have to read it and find out, won’t you?”

She expects him to scoff something dismissive about a waste of time, about having better things to do. Instead, she’s taken utterly aback when he sets his drink aside and shifts sideways on the settee, feet propped on the arm of it, crossed nonchalantly at the ankle, and his head pillowed on her thigh. “Read it to me then.”

It takes a long moment for his demand to even register, and so astonished is she when it does that she reflexively obeys. Reading aloud the first sentences of a story she knows so well she could practically recite them from memory, their cadence and rhythm as familiar as old friends.

By page six, the intense blue of his eyes has been shuttered away behind drifting lids. By page ten, the tense set of his neck has softened against her leg. By twenty-three, his chest rises and falls in a steady, slow rhythm and it finally sinks in. 

The first prince of Benitoite is asleep on her lap, lax as a newborn babe.

She finishes the story and rolls right into the next. She should close her book, she should push him off her and order him to go sleep in his own room if he’s that exhausted…and yet she finds herself reluctant to do so. Stealing glances instead, between pages, down at the absurdly handsome lines of his face. Softened now in repose, looking almost boyish when at peace. A far cry from the tyrant of norm.

The whitecap shock of his hair has spilled down to cover one eye as his head lolls sideways a little, and unthinkingly she brushes it back. Wholly unprepared for how soft and sleek the strands are as they slip through her fingers. What she imagines a bolt of silk brought from some far flung shore would feel like, the likes of which she’d only ever seen with her face pressed to the glass of some luxurious shop before arriving here at the castle.

When he doesn’t even so much as flinch she lets her curiosity get the better of her, trailing her touch through the odd dark thatch that stands out so starkly from the rest. She half expects it to feel coarser, or maybe thinner somehow, but it feels exactly the same as the rest, lapping along her skin like warm water. Like summer’s sultry waves, inviting indolence.

She loses track of how long she’s doing this, lost in fascination and story abandoned, when he stirs slightly. A line creasing into existence between his brows and she freezes, trying to eke out breath past the pounding knot of her heart in her throat at the thought of being caught, because he would never. Ever. Let her live this down. 

But he doesn’t wake - just turns his head to nuzzle into her touch, the warmth of his soft contended sigh caressing her palm like the ghost of a kiss.

Haunting her long after she’s wriggled herself free and made her escape to the library, book rebound in ribbon and left carefully arranged on his slumbering chest.

~~~~~~~~

It’s two days later when he corners her in an empty corridor.

“You left me there. I woke up and - “ He cuts off, but from the faintly petulant note souring his voice, she can fill in the rest of that sentence with his accusation. ‘You were gone’.

“You invited yourself in, I figured you could see yourself out,” she replies.

“You returned the book. I thought you liked it.” There’s frustration furrowing his brows now, the dogged aggravation of a child endlessly trying and failing to hammer a square peg through a round hole. 

“I did. But I’ve already told you. I don’t want your money. I want -” She snatches the tail end of that sentence and holds firm, lest it slip free and ruin her like the proverbial tiger. 

But he seizes on it all the same, a courser catching the scent, and leans in. Avarice sparking a blue flame in his eyes that burns her just to look at it.” What? You want what? Name it and it’s yours. Anything. Anything at all.” There’s a wild edge to his words, rendering them half breathless snarl.

She shakes her head. “You don’t understand. You could never understand. What I want…you can’t buy it, you can’t steal it, can’t beg or barter for it. It’s worth nothing and yet it’s priceless.” 

Misery makes her sick to her stomach, sitting like a swallowed draught of sweet poison, because it’s in this awful moment that she realizes finally.

She wants him to understand.

Thus has she become undine, and every wobbly step in this sudden unfamiliar land is treading atop the edge of a knife. An agony unlike any she’s ever known.

“You don’t even know me.” She throws those words up like a feeble shield, putting a hand out to keep him at bay, as if he hadn’t already made gleeful rubble of her defenses with this strange siege they’ve been locked in. Her heart and her mind a cacophony that almost drowns out the tight hiss of his breath as she makes contact with the warm wedge of skin left bare by the cut of his shirt, her fingers tangled between the weave of chains about his neck. 

Any force she’d been about to put into the attempt withers entirely when she chances to glance up, baffled by the way he’s gone impossibly still - only to find a flush riding high on those sculpted cheekbones, spreading like an overturned well of red ink.

She can't say how long they're both locked like that, the moment stretching gossamer thin, her every heartbeat another strand plaited into this snare holding them in place. Until he wrests back control of the situation by surging forward, into her touch.

She can feel the hard swell of his chest flex beneath her fingers as he braces an arm against the wall behind her, the fall of his cape half caging her in. Making an entire world of two alone. The shift of his position causing her hand to slip even further into the gape of his shirt, muscles of fresh-forged iron pressed hard against her palm, the anvil pound of his heartbeat behind them emblazoning a brand she’ll never forget.

She knows he’s doing it intentionally.

Her mouth goes bone dry at the sensation, dread and a searing curl of awareness battling for supremacy in the pit of her stomach as he brings his lips to her ear, so close they traipse along the curve of it as he speaks. His voice a dark bedeviled purr, a rumble of sound that glides down every last nerve in her body to gather right between the legs most wickedly. “I know all of your secrets…shopgirl. Save the one that matters to me most.”

It’s the cold slap of fear that has her leaping from the sprung jaws of that trap, left trying to catch her unsteady breath as she backpedals another desperate handful of paces.

“You’re running again, coniglietta,” he calls after her.

The words nip mockingly at her heels as she turns tail and abandons him to that hallway, but she ignores them. Just like she ignores the thundercrack behind her of his fist striking the wall, as she races away like the coward they both now know she is.

~~~~~~~~

One thought seems to crash through all others again and again, incessant as waves chewing away at the shore. Shopgirl. Shopgirl. Shopgirl. Stopping her mid-bite of breakfast, waking her from her dreams.

He knows. Some way, somehow, he’s found her out. The one thing she was never supposed to let happen.

The thought of what he might do with the knowledge gnaws at her, a bone in the jaws of some great beast. Will he hold it over her head, blackmail her into compliance? Demand concessions of her, a piece at a time, until she’s given herself away entirely? She’s left in a breathless sort of agony, her heart leaping into her throat at the faint rattle of a teacart wheeled down the hallways, the chime of the chatelain’s keys as she shoos the maids off on their morning duties. Hunted and haunted.

She backs off the edge a little when the days roll on without sight of him…until even that becomes a new source of worry. Unsure of what to make of the disruption of their strange little dance, tripped up by the unfamiliar rest in this waltz. Left in this lurch, it’s almost a relief of sorts when she hears the faint ringing outside her door one evening.

Only for all her fears to come roaring back again when the sound that follows is a knock.  A knock. “Donna. Open up.”

The doorknob is cool against her clammy palm as she turns it, keeping a tight grip on it to hide the way her hands tremble when Silvio comes into view on the other side. Clutching just as tightly to affrontery as a mask when she raises her chin to fix him with a hard look. “It’s late. What do you want?”

He sighs, rakes a fierce hand through his hair, and her fingers twitch with the memory of how soft it had felt between them. “I won’t stay. I only came to give you this.”

It’s a small oblong box that he thrusts unceremoniously in her direction, his eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder, and she takes it half on reflex. Still rolling on it when she opens it and finds a necklace nestled within.

For a moment her stomach drops, fearing a repeat of the last time he’d tried to ply her with jewelry, but its freefall is halted as she takes a closer look. It’s no gaudy spill of gems this time, hardly a one to be found, in fact - only a simple chain twisted in a clever design, with a single pendant hung on it. A ring with four points, small gems polished and winking cheerfully from each, anchored by one in the center. No two the same shade or sheen.

Like a compass rose, some absent corner of her mind notes, as she holds it up to stare at it blankly.

It’s surprisingly understated for someone like Silvio, yet exquisitely crafted. And it hurts her heart more than a little to return it to its place, close the lid, and offer it back to him. “You know I can’t -”

His hand lifts, as if to push it towards her again, before falling away into a fist at his side only a fraction through the motion.

“You can’t return it. Not this one.” His gaze remains locked on the long box in her grip, as if he can see straight through the velvet to the gems cradled carefully back inside. His expression guarded in a way that catches her attention more than any bluster or thunder ever would - because for all his countless faults Silvio could always be counted on to be unabashedly Silvio. “Shove it in a drawer and forget about it, throw it away, sell it if you want. It’ll fetch a pretty penny. But it’s yours to do with as you will now. My last gift.” 

There is an unnerving openness to his eyes when he finally shifts them to meet hers. What she imagines a cloudless day at sea would be like, in which you can no longer tell where the horizon ends and the ocean begins and you are left adrift in a sphere of blue. Only a sliver of timber and a smear of pitch between you and drowning in that expanse. “I can’t take it back. It’s no longer mine, and it won’t ever be again.”

Beyond baffled, she watches the unfamiliar sight of his receding back as he abruptly turns and walks away. Leaving her holding the box, her tongue…and countless unanswered questions.

~~~~~~

A week goes by without a glimpse of Silvio. And then another.

Fourteen days of blessed, uninterrupted time in the library. In the halls. In her room each evening, without anyone crashing through the door like a summer squall. It sounded downright heavenly.

So then how did she explain this ennui?

There’s a listlessness to her routine now, a sameness. As if a great hand had come along and pressed the peaks and valleys of her days flat. She should be studying right now, attending to her duties as Belle. Instead she sits and stares unseeing out the window, lost in thought. Precarious towers of books and papers strewn across the workspace before her, but she ignores them in favor of toying with the pendant around her neck absently.

Wearing it isn’t accepting it, she tells herself. She’s merely resigned to believing the truth of Silvio’s words, and it seems a shame to let something as lovely languish in a drawer somewhere. It was hardly the necklace’s fault she took issue with its gifter.

Sariel’s voice breaks her reverie. “I see your mind is on your new gift, and not here where it should be.”

Guiltily she lets the chain slip from her grasp and sits up straighter. “It’s not a gift,” she tells him, kneejerk. “It’s…it’s a…loan.”

Sariel’s snort shreds her tissue paper reply. “Too bad it can’t lend you some focus.” He rounds the table and narrows his eyes as he looks down at the pendant nestled in the hollow of her collarbone. “May I?”

Mystified, she nods, and reaches up to undo the clasp, passing the delicate piece over. It gleams like a spill of moonlight across dark water against the leather of his gloves as he adjusts his glasses and peers at it closely. Long enough that she begins to almost worry. “Is there some problem?”

“No, no…” That’s what his reply is, but when Sariel glances up at her there’s a tension plucking at his tone. “This was a gift from Prince Silvio?” She nods, and Sariel makes a small sound low in his throat. “Why didn’t you return this one too?”

“I tried.” She shrugs helplessly. “He wouldn’t let me. Said it was mine to do whatever I wanted with, he couldn’t take it back.”

He studies it another moment, before turning his attention back to her. “Have you ever heard of acrostic jewelry?” At the shake of her head he goes on. “It was all the fashion some time ago. Hidden messages spelled out in gemstone by using the first letter of each. I wonder…”

When he trails off thoughtfully, she snatches up a scrap of paper and quill. 

“This one is an emerald, clearly.” Sariel brushes a finger against the central gem, first of the five, its verdancy the richness of sunshine filtered through pines. “There’s lapis, opal, ruby, and…this one I’m not as familiar with but it’s very distinctive. See that luminous stripe to it?”

She nods, because she’s already well familiar with the lustrous band that bisects its startling green, pale as spring’s tenderest new growth. Had stared at it in fascination as she shifted it and the stripe seemed to move with her every new angle. 

He snaps his fingers and a servant is suddenly there, in that uncannily prescient manner of the servants Sariel always seems to surround himself with, a heavy tome in hand. She can see from the embossed title that it has something to do with gems and minerals, and she waits with anticipation while he opens it and thumbs through the pages.

Only to jump when he snaps it emphatically shut only moments later, nodding sagely. “I thought so. Cat’s eye.”

E. L. O. R. C. She writes them all down dutifully, and then frowns at the resulting gibberish. “Are you certain?”

“There’s no telling in what order you’re meant to read the compass, I suppose. North, South, East, West? Clockwise? Does the center stone come first or last?” He holds up a finger, as if something had just occurred to him. “It’s a bit of a reach, but lapis is also sometimes called ultramarine…fitting for a seafaring prince, I suppose.”

She adds U? to her page, and sighs.

Sariel only offers her an adder’s sly grin. “Oh, and lest I forget.” He turns and selects a volume from a nearby shelf, before setting it on the desk beside her. “That might come in handy. Good luck.”

The sound of the door closing behind him as he leaves barely registers with her, as she reads the title in dismay.

A dictionary of the language of Benitoite.

It takes her the better half of a very large pot of tea to puzzle it out, the evening light slowly slipping away one tannic sip at a time as she works, amber squares of light from the window sliding across the desk and plucking warmth from the necklace back around her neck once more. The possibility of it being a foreign term throws a monkey wrench into her entire thought process, slowing her down.

Until finally she sets her quill aside and looks at the last arrangement of letters still uncrossed out, the entry open on the dictionary page nearest.

The chair clatters to the floor as she shoots to her feet, but she pays it no mind. Her pulse churning too hard to focus on anything other than those five letters as they chase themselves about in her head, an endless circle just as they march on the pendant. Shaking in the scoop of her collarbone with every thunderous beat of her pulse.

She hikes up her skirt and runs, abandoning book and pen and ink, heedless of the late hour - out the door, down the halls, from one wing to the next. The gilded ornamentation and statued niches naught but a glittering blur as she goes, blind to their opulence and to the servants that step out of her way. Watching with both bemusement and alarm as she flies past and ever onwards.

Her lungs are burning, her chest heaving with every breath when she finally scrambles to a halt in front of one particular room, half crashing into the carved and gilded panels in an ungainly tangle before she manages to grab the doorframe and keep herself upright. Too breathless for words to call out as she pounds on the lacquered grain.

“Che cazzo…” Silvio’s bitten out curse is muffled and distant, but she can hear the rumble of him storming towards the door, before it’s thrown open unceremoniously, a dark scowl on his face. “You don’t have to break it down. What do you -”

He never finishes the sentence. Only stares at her mutely, mouth open and eyes wide, dark circles smudged beneath them that didn’t exist weeks ago. 

“Do you…” Words high and reedy as she struggles for air, she gulps in a breath and tries again. “Do you mean it?”

He leans back slightly, a sudden wary tension breaking the perfect square of his shoulders. “Mean what?” His gaze, though, flickers down to alight ever so briefly on the necklace resting around her neck. Speaking truths she knows his tongue may never.

And she decides she’s done with giving him the chance not to.

It’s not elegant. It’s nothing like her stories at all when she throws herself at him hard enough to send them both stumbling a few steps, arms around his neck to pull him closer to her level when he finally finds his footing and steadies them both with his hands on her waist - near enough to catch the intoxicatingly spiced scent of his cologne, near enough that the wide blue of his eyes and the coral of his blush fill her vision before she lifts herself up onto her toes and presses her lips to his.

She wasn't sure what she had expected, least of all when the moments where he stands stock-still drag on for seemingly ages, but it’s not what she gets. Not a plunder, or a demand, a war or a siege - what she gets is a kiss that’s gentle but meticulous in the best of ways. His mouth sweeping a soft caress, testing the give of her own. As if he was memorizing every tiny detail, lingering on each moment.

She’s lost in it so utterly that it’s a shock when he pulls away, and she has to stop herself from chasing after him. Greedy for more already, her hands clutching at the weave of his shirt plaintively, the tiny ember that’s been slumbering inside of her since their interlude in the hallway fanned to a full blaze by the taste of his breath on her tongue. “Silvio…”

If she had an ounce of shame left it died a swift, ignoble death at the way he bends his head to  lick a hot line up the length of her throat. 

“Yes, I meant it.” He growls the words more than speaks them into the hollow beneath her ear, and she can feel them tremble her very bones. Feel them seep into the marrow and become a part of her. “I told you, I would give you anything. Although…it was already yours all along, whether you knew it or not.”

Reaching up she twists her fingers into his hair and hauls his gaze back to meet hers, triumph and giddiness galloping reckless through her veins. “I love you, you stupid man, I lo-” 

He presses a finger over her lips, silencing her. Hunger yawning, yearning in the stare he pins her with, so vast and great she wonders if it would ever be satisfied. “Be sure. Be very sure…because I never let go of what is mine.”

She catches his finger between his teeth and nips at it defiantly. “I am sure. And you did let go of something that belongs to you, once.”

He rumbles a laugh, replacing his finger with his thumb and drawing it gently along the curve of her mouth. A gesture so reverent that it nearly breaks her heart, as if she truly were something priceless. “Once. Just once,” he agrees, using that same thumb to part her lips so that the rest of his thought is murmured into her mouth. Prelude to a kiss that burns away anything resembling doubt. “But you’re more than worth it, tesoro.”

Pressed tightly together as they are, there’s no telling where one heartbeat begins and another ends, or whose belongs to whom. Her pendant remains caught between them, silent witness to the union...steadfast in its unending litany spelled out in gems far less precious than the sum of its whole. The price of her.

Cuore.

Heart.

[kudouusagi]

Hasegawa Langa (Skaters backstage)

Hasegawa Langa S Name: Snow Sign: Aquarius Birthday: February 8th Height 178cm (5'10) Weight: 64kg (141lbs) Blood type: AB

A second year high school student. He's a returnee from Canada to his mother's hometown of Okinawa, Japan. He’s kind of spacey but he can also be really stubborn. When his father died he distanced himself from snowboarding, but when he met Reki he started to learn the fun of skating.

I see. Skating... is fun!

A Former Snowboarder He snowboarded with his father since he was 2. He can use that experience to show off a distinctive skating style. His high jumps and his ability to gain air are just like snowboarding. They started to call him Snow at “S” before he even know it.

He goes straight for his interests He doesn’t show interest in many things, but he’s interested in what’s in Reki’s bentou, and from the way his eyes shone at the beach, he just goes straight for his interests. In BEEFs we see him get immersed in the tingling excitement of skating and so it can be dangerous too.

A Big Eater For lunch he had a big bag with a large bread and a liter of milk, and at the burger shop he eats a pile of burgers, so contrary to his appearance, he’s a big eater. Even at the ramen shop, if you look closely on the counter in front of him there’s multiple empty bowls that he’d finished piled up.

Director Utsumi Comment When we decided he’d be a former snowboarder, we decided his hair color and his personality not long after. Since he was designed as a set with Reki the balance was important, since Reki is a rough and tumble type, Langa is the pretty boy. I think he was probably the most difficult for the art staff to draw. If you’re off even by a little bit he doesn’t look like Langa, and so he gained the top ranking for the character with the  most revisions in the series (lol). Since he’s half Canadian, his bone structure is a bit thicker. Because he's a former athlete he's got quite a bit of muscle, so actually while he looks thin, he's tightly packed so he's heavy! It’s all thanks to the way that Chiba-san designed him and I’m so grateful! The other characters have more flashy clothing, so actually his simple clothing makes him stand out.

Character Designer Chiba Michinori Comment He’s the most delicate to draw because the smallest movement of hair changes his whole feel completely. That’s why at the beginning I would present my rough draft first and then clean it up but I remember getting told “something’s off”... Since his clothes are so simple there’s really no room for error and he really put my drawing skills to the test. While he just wears a simple shirt, you have to feel the quality of it and make it seem like it’s been ironed. If it looks wrinkled it’s out. By the way, director Utsumi said that “Langa can’t show skin” and so he wears long sleves. His eyes are blue with one highlight and and 1 layer of shadow, but in close ups Director Utsumi would add another color according to her own whims.

Colorist Gotou Yukari Comment His whole blue and while image being like snow was all Director Utsumi’s idea. I tried making his hair silver with a slight bluish tint but I had to think about how he would balance with Reki and so that’s how he ended up this color, and his skin Director Utsumi was really insistent on being surprisingly white. I was worried that when you glanced at him at him you’d think he looked sick, so I added a little bit of red in the shadows to make him look healthy. Since his eyes would be covered by his bangs I made them a turquoise blue so they would stand out between the gaps, and I really was focused on making his eyes pretty. Since Langa’s casual clothes are monotone, I had a hard time finding the right mix of white, blue grey, blue, navy blue and black every time. His “S” costume is also a simple a light grey shirt and a bright blue denim jean. The other character’s costumes are so unique and flashy so it was easy to differentiate them, and I think that his snow image is really emphasized against ADAM’s red color.

[shylyandlovely]

Here’s the next gen girls! Daughters of my oc’s and the turtles. I’m pretty proud of their designs and really grown to love them as characters🥰 anyway they are all the first born children of each other the turtles.

keep in mind, this is their designs in general, so they’d look different in some universes, like rottmnt.

first I’ll introduce in the lineup is 💜Angelica💜 (also known as Angie.)

First I want to say she is kinda inspired from the oc Augustine, by @Star_Sparkler. I absolutely love her oc, please go check out her work, she’s a really good artist. But anyway, I like to think Angie has become her own character enough, so I hope it doesn’t come off as a copy😅

-Anyway, first off is backstory:

Angelica is the oldest daughter of Donatello and Joy, and the oldest cousin of the Hamato’s. But how does an android and a mutant turtle have a child? Well Angie’s backstory is a little dark. You see the government had managed to get Donnie’s DNA and grow a mutant turtle in hopes of making mutant soldiers. Angie was the first successful experiment. But fortunately Joy and the turtles discover this when Angie was a baby, recusing her. Joy quickly got attached and so Donnie and her adopted the child.

So Angie is the only one on the team that’s full mutant, having three fingers while her cousins on the team has four fingers.

Now even though Angie is kinda a clone, she at the same time is not. Her DNA was a bit flawed so wasn’t an exact copy, and in order to finally make it a success, they had to alter it a little, kinda like they do with the dinosaurs in jurassic park. It’s why she’s a girl and looks different and even acts different.

Unfortunately this leads to Angie having some insecurities about her identity. She really doesn’t like thinking herself as a copy and even less about her origins and what she was made for. She tries to focus on what she has now.

-Next her role on her team, she’s surprisingly the leader!

Angelica was kinda chosen by her cousins because she was the oldest, and they were already following her lead. Not only that but much like Leonardo, she was the most mature and responsible of her team. Because of these similarities, Angie really looks up to her uncle Leo.

But even though she is a leader, she still has her father’s tech skills. She doesn’t consider herself as talented as her father thanks to her interests being more towards ninjitsu, but she is still the one considered the brains as well.

-siblings.

Angie has two younger siblings. A android sister, and a human adoptive brother.

-weapon.

a type of spear. Basically taking something similar to the bow staff, but adding a blade.

Next on the lineup, 💕Ren💕

-backstory and Team role, second in command.

Ren is the oldest daughter of Leonardo and Hana, and the second oldest cousin on the team.

So Ren and Angie are honestly best friends and have always had each other’s backs. Ren trusts Angie to lead, but Angie trusts Ren to look after everyone when she isn’t around. They really rely on each other and value each other’s advice. Not only that but Ren is also a great strategist and skilled fighter, probably the fastest out of all of them.

but deep down Ren does feel a little insecure. She feels a little like a disappointment since she didn’t become a great leader like her father. She really looks up to her father and has always wanted to grow to be just like him, but she quickly discovered she wasn’t like him. She was more emotional and impulsive, lacking restraint and was a little too carefree and laidback . Her personality is a little like Rise Leo, but like Rise Leo she has the potential to become a great leader someday.

-Siblings.

twin brother, younger brother, younger sister.

-Weapon.

she both wields a katana like her dad, and a tessen/war fan like her mother.

Next on the lineup, 💚Kimi💚

-Backstory and Team role, the protector.

Kimi is the oldest daughter of Michelangelo and Kit, and third oldest of the team.

Despite being the smallest in her team, Kimi sees herself as a protector. She’s fierce when it comes to the protection of her family. Because of these similarities, she really looks up to her uncle Raph. She is the best at tracking thanks to her heightened senses she inherited from her mother. She is also the best at stealth, having slight shapeshifting abilities she also inherited from her mother. But unfortunately her abilities are weaker compared to her mother.

Kitsune genetics usually should be stronger, allowing the children to have fully inherited from the kitsune parent, despite what species the other parent might be.

But Michelangelo’s genetics also turned out to be strong thanks to his mutation, causing Kimi to come out more half kitsune and half mutant. Which is why she has some green skin.

So while her mother can fully transform herself, being able to fully turn into a fox, Kimi can only hide her ears and change the color of her skin, hair and eyes. It really frustrates Kimi and she keeps trying to improve her abilities in hopes she one day master it, but she secretly has doubts.

-Siblings.

She is part of triplets, there’s herself and her two brothers.

-Weapon.

chained Kunai.

Next on the lineup, ❤️Rose❤️

-Backstory.

Rose is the oldest daughter of Raphael and Grace, and the youngest on the team.

Out of everyone, Grace was the one who wanted to have children the most. And when she saw it was very much possible for Raph and herself to have children, she was at first hopeful. That was until she realized her own health was getting in the way. Her body wasn’t as strong as Hana or Kit. It broke her heart to realize she might never be able to do it. But she tried to accept it and looked into adoption at first. But fortunately one day it finally happened, she was pregnant with Rose.

Both Grace and Raph were very nervous, afraid something could happen and this could be the only chance they’d have at having their own child. Fortunately Rose was born safely.

Despite being the youngest amongst her team, she was the tallest and strongest. But despite her size and strength, she was the most gentle and timid. Because of this everyone is the most protective of her.

-Team role, the medic.

Despite being related to the most aggressive one of the turtles, Rose the least violent. She wasn’t the biggest fan of fighting. So instead of worrying about fighting, she worked on healing. She learned everything she could about medicine. But she will sometimes also act as the muscle of the team, lifting, throwing, restraining, she could do it.

-Siblings.

one younger adoptive sister, she is a arctic fox kitsune.

-Weapon.

I’ve been thinking two large/Fuma Shuriken. But I’m also considering bow and arrows.

Well that’s it! I’ve been considering a story for these girls and kinda how they truly become a team. Basically the girls get transported to the last ronin universe just as Michelangelo goes on his revenge quest, leading to him and the girls crossing paths. He then becomes kinda their sensei as they help fight against the foot and shredder, but also try to find a way home. Kinda inspired from the episode from the 2003 series, “same as it never was.”.

Anyway, if you have questions about these girls, please go ahead and ask!🐢💚💙❤️💜🧡💚

[teamdilf]

Break and skin for Ceci and Tully, I’m already bracing

break: What would cause your OC to break down completely? What do they look like when that happens? Has anyone ever seen them at their lowest?

Tullia - She broke down completely after Tarquin died, and it involved a lot of crying and screaming at Sparatus' home on the Citadel, where she was staying after evacuating off Palaven. For a time, she lost the will to live, and when Cerberus tried to take over the Citadel, she defended Sparatus' staff at the house, and was actually disappointed the house and panic room weren't breached, because she wanted to fight and she wanted to die on her feet.

This really scares her - she's always been a fighter and she's never, ever given up, but she perceives herself as being on the verge of giving up. She throws herself into charity work, calling and haranguing everyone she can think of for donations to help the turian refugees, but what really starts her on the road to healing is recognizing that she still wants a life with Adrien, even if she's furious with him for his role in their son's death, and rescuing Marcus and Nero on the Citadel.

Cecilia - Cecilia is a tougher one. I think her biggest breakdown comes in response to Castis' insistence that they'll find a treatment for her and that she'll respond to it. In her mind, his unending optimism was a naive coping strategy, and she needs for him to get in his head that she is going to die, and that there are things that need to be done while she still has the capacity to make her own decisions. That came in the form of a shouting match.

Now, had she lost one of her children, I think that would have been a very ugly breakdown indeed. Castis and Solana hide the fact that Garrus has left his job and gone off to who knows where specifically so that Cecilia won't worry - and so they don't have to tell her the news repeatedly and break her heart every single time. "He's busy with work" is how they protect a very ill Cecilia from the terrible worry they're feeling.

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

Tullia - The part of Tullia that she's most ashamed of is the way she told Adrien he wasn't so different from his father after all, after learning about Tarquin's death. For the most part, she's very comfortable with the person she is; she's confident and secure, but when she was at her very worst, weaponized Adrien's greatest fear and hurt him in a way few others ever could. She has to live with that, and for the rest of her life, tries to make sure he knows what a good dad he is, and that he's more than the worst mistake he ever made.

Cecilia - Cecilia has an anxiety disorder and is prone to panic attacks. After her diagnosis during her early days of basic training, I think she was probably pretty hard on herself, because it became clear that she would never live up to the "turian ideal". The thing is, her family, her friends, and her immediate superiors understood! She discovered an important part of herself - and the reason why she'd always felt so deeply scared from the time she was a young child. She has a medical condition, received an accommodation, and was discharged to serve the Hierarchy in another way - no big deal!

Still, she's not that ideal, and there were people who didn't understand. Castis taking the revelation so casually, despite being in the military himself at the time, was a real relief for her. She learns coping strategies over the years - she's neurotic about money so she handles the family's finances. She worries about Castis on the Citadel, so he makes every effort to text her goodnight every single night - and is very good at warning her if he would be unable to for some reason. I think she does need a bit of help to learn what accommodations she needs, and that it is fine to have different needs from the other people around her.

[k-sickies]

3k of what was just a small idea...

Or more like the story on how Yeosang found out that he can't handle a person being sick to their stomach anymore-

Warning: description of vomit

Vacation. Ah what a beautiful word. Especially after an amazing but stressful tour. 

For a few weeks Ateez are allowed to have free time, it was just three days off but to them it meant everything. Without a camera or staff. 

The members individually decided what to do. Some of them stayed home and used the time to relax. Then there are Yeosang and San. 

Those two decided to go on a trip to Jeju island. Just the two of them relaxing in the beautiful nature. But before flying to Jeju, they had to take the train for a few hours since they planned to make a short stop at Sans hometown and visit his parents.

-

“Yeosang~ we are running late! Usually you're not that slow with packing. What are you doing??” San whined, standing in the door frame of the olders room and watching him search for something in his wardrobe.

“I’m looking for what to wear for the last few days! I have my casual clothes but I don’t really have anything nice picked out.” Yeosang mumbled distractedly, a small pout on his lips. 

Anyone could tell that Yeosang was really excited for the trip as he usually wants the tip to break his head over what to wear that much.

San smiled softly and walked over to the older, lightly smacking his friend's butt. 

“Yeosangie you're really special.” He giggled as he looked through Yeosangs wardrobe. Picking a few clothes out of it and putting it neatly into the older one's suitcase. 

The good thing is that the younger one knows exactly what Yeosang likes to wear and how he could stress himself out over the smallest things.

Yeosang watched San in awe. His eyes were shining. He's really happy to have such a good friend.

“Ready, puppy?” San teased as he ruffled through the olders blonde coloured hair.

“I think so..” Yeosang trailed off, distracted by Sans actions. He quickly checked off his mental checklist before nodding as confirmation. “Yeah, I’m ready. Also, I’m not a puppy!”

“Yes you are!” San laughed as he quickly rushed out of the olders one's room. 

Knowing too well that Yeosang would get his revenge as soon as they’re in the car.

So San grabbed his own luggage and quickly walked over to the car, putting it in the trunk and seating himself on the backseat. 

Luckily they have one of those privacy screens between the back and front seat, so the manager wouldn’t bother them and they have their privacy. 

San could swear he forgot something, he checked his list but as soon as Yeosang entered the car, his thoughts stopped. Probably wasn’t anything important. 

He looked up at the older and put his most innocent smile on, blinking his eyes in hopes that Yeosang would be easy in his revenge.

Yeosang pouted a little at him. “At least I'm not a mountain.” He huffed playfully, crossing his arms. 

“You’re a mountain.” Yeosang repeated, holding back a giggle and trying to stay serious.

San acted offended and shocked. Putting his hand over his heart. “Wow Yeo. How can you get so personal?”

It stayed silent for a while until both of them broke into a laughing fit. Now it’s finally time to start their own little trip. And it will be a good one. At least that’s what they thought. 

Until 20 minutes into the drive San knew what he forgot. His medicine for motion sickness. It’s now sitting at home.. on the counter.. all alone.

How stupid could a person be? Forgetting their own medicine. 

San knew better than to forget that, he knew how horrible his motion sickness could get. For a moment he wanted to tell Yeosang and ask if they could turn around and get the pills. But he decided against it as he saw the sweet smile on the olders lips as he looked out of the window, clearly excited. San couldn’t destroy that peace. 

He smiled fondly as he watched the older. 

How can such a person be such an Angel? San thought. 

San sighed to himself. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad this time and he would make it through the whole car ride without getting violently sick. After all, he doesn't feel any kind of symptoms right now. Maybe luck would be on his side today.

On occasion, Yeosang turned to San to point out the interesting little things his eyes picked up on. Sometimes it would be a little field of flowers and other times it would be him pointing out nostalgic buildings. His favorite cafe, an arcade, the McDonald’s that Wopyoung got sick at one time.. it was funny how the littlest things had such a big meaning. 

“Sannie look!” Yeosang exclaimed, pointing out an animal shelter. “I wanna adopt them all.” He pouted. “Sannie can we get another dog?"

Slowly, San turned his gaze out of the window. Knowing that this may trigger his motion sickness. He looked over to the animal shelter. Smiling about the fact that Yeosang would like to help every creature in the world. San is no different. He would too. 

“I don’t think we can handle more than one dog, Yunho is enough.” He chuckled 

“But I’m sure we could ask at the shelter if we could walk some dogs for them in our free time?” 

San knew their free time was limited and there’s rarely a chance they would get to do that. But right now he doesn’t want to destroy the mood and just hopes he could please the older with that.

The younger tilted his head to look at the older one. Noticing his eyebags. He must be tired. No wonder. He didn’t sleep the whole night, too excited for the trip. But San also knew that Yeosang never sleeps in cars, always having a hard time to rest in them.

Yeosang noticed him looking up at him. The older tilted his head at him with curiosity. “What is it, Sannie?” He smiled. He knew San well, and he also knew that the face he was making was his “oh- that’s worrying” face. 

“Is there something on my face??” He pulled out his phone to look in the front camera, turning his head at all angles to make sure he looked okay.

San snorted. “Yes, your eye bags that make you look like a zombie. Didn’t you sleep?” 

He knew the answer but he still wanted to hear it.

“Give me a break, I was too excited!” Yeosang whined playfully at him. It was true. Sometimes when he was too excited or too nervous for something, it took him forever to fall asleep. Sometimes he even had to take medicine to help him sleep, but even then he’d often be awake until 4 am because his body still wouldn’t let him. At least it was out of excitement this time.

San hummed understanding. 

“So you want to try to sleep? You look exhausted.”

He knew the answer. Yeosang wouldn’t be able to. Not in the car, not like that. San did know a way it would work out, but he also knew how shy Yeosang could get. So he wanted him to admit that he really is feeling exhausted. That would be a tough one. Even though he could already see Yeosang yawning. 

“You know my shoulder is rather comfortable. That’s what Woo always says.” San giggled.

“Well.. I could try, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. You know it’s impossible for me to in a car.” Yeosang sighed. “I’ll be okay.”

San rolled his eyes. “Idiot.” 

Without saying anything else he wrapped his arm around the olders waist and pulled him close. So now Yeosangs head was resting on the youngers shoulder. San could feel that Yeosangs body stiffened under the sudden skin ship. 

His arm that was around the olders waist carefully took Yeosangs arm and started drawing circles on it. That’s what Wooyoung always did to San when he had trouble falling asleep after getting sick in the car. He knew that Yeosang would eventually relax. At least he hopes so. He doesn’t want the older to be all tired as soon as they arrive. He knew how devastating it would be for Yeosang to not enjoy every minute of their trip.

Sadly San could feel that Yeosang was still stiff under his touch and didn’t relax one single muscle. San knew why. The older is probably flustered by the situation. 

“It’s only awkward if you’re making it awkward.” San murmured. His voice was soft, sounding comforting.

Yeosangs eyes were widened with surprise, his cheeks red and his heart pounding. What was he supposed to do? He can't help but feel shy about every sudden skinship. Eventually, he found himself subconsciously relaxing under Sans touch, trying to fight the urge to close his eyes. Soon, a wave of sleepiness overwhelmed him and his eyes began fluttering close. His breathing began evening out. He was falling asleep.

“Liar” San grinned. 

He was proud of himself. Being able to let the older fall asleep in a car was something one could be proud of. Honestly he was surprised that it worked. Actually he thought it wouldn’t and he would just have a tired and moody Yeosang the whole car right. Luckily that wasn’t the case. 

Now it was his turn to stare out of the window and enjoy the view a bit. 

As Yeosang slept, the more relaxed he became. His arm landed onto the youngers lap and remained there for a bit before he shifted in his sleep. His arm snakes around his waist and he buried his face further into San. He’d never been able to sleep so peacefully during a car ride.

San smiled softly as he watched the slightly older sleeping so peacefully. He pulled him just a little closer and continued to look out of the window. 

Honestly he can feel his stomach acting up. There’s a slight discomfort sitting on the top of his stomach. A slight headache settling in. 

Maybe it would go away. At least that’s what he wished for. 

Around 40 minutes later San knew his wish wasn’t granted. The uncomfortable feeling morphed into a painful one. Nausea settled deep in his stomach. His hands shaking and the dizziness only getting worse with each movement of the car. He could feel all the bumps of the road. Rocking his stomach contents back and forth. San can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut. Sweat dripped down his brows. 

Yeosangs arm around his waist is no longer a nice presence. The pressure feels too harsh on his stomach. Only making the nausea more known. A burp interrupted him, tasting sour. San knew what was going on. He needs to wake Yeosang up. Quick. 

But after the fifth time he tried to shake the older awake to no avail, San gave up. That wasn’t his best idea. Letting Yeosang, the exhausted and tired Yeosang, sleep in the car while he forgot to take his damn medicine. But the older one looked so exhausted and tired. San couldn’t help himself. But this is a price he’s willing to pay for his friend. 

However, with a rather harsh bump the seatbelt and Yeosangs arm got pressed more into his stomach. Only now he knew how upset his stomach really is. He doesn’t even have the time to swallow down the sickness. Because suddenly he leaned forward with a gag and clear liquid rushed up his throat. Splashing directly onto Yeosangs lap, waking him up in the process. Normally San would immediately apologize, but he couldn’t react that fast. All he was able to do was fold himself around his stomach and let the rush of sickness come up his throat. He was coughing and tears started to stream down his eyes. The sickness burning his throat. He needs to get out of here but the manager is still driving, not noticing what is going on due to the blind screen. He hopes that Yeosang isn’t mad at him, after all getting thrown up on isn’t very pleasant.

Yeosang didn’t even really process the fact that he had a pile of puke on his lap, he weasnt really awake yet. As soon as he actually noticed what was going on he couldnt help but feel really uneasy. The warm liquid in his lap, the smell. He felt like throwing up himself. However he was quick to rub San back. He whimpered a little, anxiously. He didn’t know what to do. “I-It’s okay Sannie-“ the older attempted to help him.

Yeosang looked around for something, anything he could use as a trash can. He couldn’t find anything, so he just continued rubbing Sans back while trying his best to keep his own stomach in place.

San gasped between heaves. Trying to get words out. 

“S-stop the c-car..” he somehow managed to mumble between heaves. 

By now Sans hands were also soiled with sickness. But he couldn’t help but ignore that for the moment. He didn’t care. Not while feeling this sick.

Yeosang nodded and got the driver's attention to pull over. Once they did so, Yeosang carefully helped his friend out of the car. Along the way, he whispered what he had hoped to be words of comfort. He always did his best to make sure he was doing all he could to help. He’d feel useless just standing aside and being.. well, useless.

As soon as they got out of the car San hunched over, steadying himself with his hands on his knees. While Yeosang kept his distance. He couldn’t help but feel uneasy with the sight. Yeosang knew he had to help San but the situation was just too overwhelming. 

San was in absolute agony with another gag, clear liquid rushed up his throat, splashing on the street's asphalt. He gagged again, this time it was unproductive. Only spit hanging on his plump lips. There was nothing else in San as he was left in dry gags. Not being able to calm down. He tried to take a few deep breaths in and out. Until he finally looked at the puddle of puke in front of him. He cringes at the sight.

His hands were soiled, actually his pants and some parts of his shirt too. San just wiped off his hand on his pants, not caring since it’s already soiled. 

He guided one of his own hands under his shirt and placed it on his upset stomach. The nausea is still there, but slowly calming down. The solid ground he's standing on doesn’t make any movement. He’s still feeling dizzy though, but his mind no longer clouded. 

He spit on the ground one more time, trying to get the disgusting taste out of his mouth. 

Finally he looked up at Yeosang and saw his soiled pants. 

“Yeo..I'm so sorry.." he teared up. 

"I-I really didn’t mean to…. I wanted to wake you up…but I felt so sick and-“ he sighed, the redness on his cheeks is the only color that was left on the singer's face.

“Hey, hey..don't cry...” Yeosang began. Now feeling really guilty about not being able to help the younger.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it, okay? I- I need to get this pants off-” 

Yeosang couldn't help but rush out of the situation and get fresh pants out of his suitcase. He quickly changed himself, not caring that they're in public. Ad soon as he was in new pants the grabbed the hand sanitizer and cleaned his hands. 

"It's okay. It was just vom- no. It's water. Yes it was just water. Nothing else." Yeosang tried to calm himself.

Meanwhile San had cleaned himself up too with the help of the manager.

“I think I have some water.” the manager said.He went to check his bag. Thankfully he brought a water bottle. He unscrewed the cap and he helped San sip the water. “Slowly.” He reminded.

San nodded as he grabbed the bottle. Taking a few sips out of it. After that he took another sip to clean his mouth. At least some of the gross taste was out of his mouth now. He’s still feeling dizzy and weak though. 

San looked over to the car, frowning as he watched Yeosang. The manager knew better and gave some room for the two idols.

Yeosang walked up to San. Looking down and fumbling with his fingers.

“I’m sorry.. the car is all soiled now. Your pants too..” he bit his lips, trying not to tear up again.

“Ahh I should really clean that up now.”

San rubbed his neck in embarrassment. Only now really realizing what was really going on.

“No, no no!" Yeosang immediately rushed to San, teying his best to forget what happened. He wrapped an arm around San, gently rubbing up and down his arm. “We can take care of that later, you’re more important, okay? Someone will clean it up, you need to rest the best you can for now.” 

Yeosang offered a small smile, hoping that he was being comforting enough. He was often a bit awkward and didn’t really know what to say, but he hoped he helped, even if it was just a little. 

San sighed. “I’m still sorry...” 

Then he looked down to the olders fresh pants. 

“Aren't those mine?" San asked 

Yeosang looked down at the pants. Now that San mentioned it. Those definitely aren't Yeosangs pants. 

"Oh- I must have grabbed the wrong suitcase-."

San chuckled “You did."

“Maybe~” Yeosang giggled playfully. “Alright come on, you gotta rest.” He carefully helped San back into the cleaned car, having him lean against him the same way that the younger did for him earlier. He held him close, rubbing gentle circles on his back. 

“Try to rest now, okay?” Yeosang whispered. He hoped that he did somewhat okay with taking care of his friend. As he continued to hold him close, he could feel the younger's breathing begin to even out. He sighed in relief at that. “Get better soon, Sannie.”

Yeosang couldn't help but feel relief that San was sleeping now. He had to admit that the situation grossed him out a lot. Actually it made him feel sick himself but as the only comfort place for San right now, he had to be there for him. Even if it meant that he had to stay strong. However, he knows better now. Next time they're in a car he will make sure not to sleep on anyone's lap or even be near someone who might get sick. He never had a problem with vomit before but now he isn't so sure anymore…

[catesartworks]

I’m really curious as to what isekai you’ve read because I haven’t really encountered this maid abuse trope as much I mean usually the story makes the maid do some unforgivable shit then she gets beat or it’s usually the villainess that does the beating to show just how morally crooked they are just to glorify the proverbial angelic MC but I digress. the isekai I read are mainly Korean manhwas and they tend to make their mc’s morally righteous (honestly there is a serious problem with how they pit women against each other too and how there’s any lack of other well written women but that is a separate topic) So I got a bit confused at the beginning of your comic ( i’m still thoroughly enjoying it though)

Hey there! Thank you so much for reading Isekai Maid!

I actually saw this comment on my webtoon, but I will answer it here. I've read an unhealthy amount of Rofan/Otome Isekai, so I come across this trope a lot. Here is a list:

Warning, gonna about abuse and some light spoilers

Here is a compiled list of every maid slap I've come across (light spoilers):

Iris: lady and her smartphone - slaps her aunts maids instead of the aunt to teach her aunt a lesson. Only hits the aunt when she is already powerless.

Duchess 50 tea recipes - slaps her employee after coming from a hostile workplace. Talks about how she understands what it's like to be demeaned, only for her to slap and threaten her employees, and then brags about it later internally.

I’m deleting them from my life - slaps a maid for stealing from her instead of just firing her.

Author of my own destiny - slaps a maid twice for giving her dirty water. Throws water on her. We are meant to hate the maid because we know her thoughts. Uses intimidation, knows the maids behavior is due to wanting favor from the countess, who is higher in the social order in the house than the mc.

The lady needs a break - Sleeps in all day, asks for breakfast from staff when breakfast is already long over. Then she slaps maid over food that wasn't good enough. Her stepmother verbally abuses her and she doesn't even consider slapping her even though she is much worse than the maid. Rubia reminds me of customers who came in too late for breakfast, and accused me and coworkers of hiding food or personally withholding it from them. This one makes me especially angry. I see comments celebrating this abuse, and it makes me think that they would cheer for the customers who hurled verbal abuse at me because they were late for the breakfast menu.

Untouchable lady - throws water on maid to “show her her place”

The villainess wants a divorce - Slaps maids for bullying her. She is a princess by the way.

What it takes to be a Villainess- Main character abuses all her maids to see which one is the spy.

Everybody Loves the Villainess- protagonist whips and abuses her maids, she is determined by the reincarnated saint who inhabits her body to not be a bad person who only wanted love only because she doesn’t abuse her stepson. Her maids (except for the pet maid) are deathly afraid of her wrath.

I am the Real One--One of the few titles that actually shows that maid slapping only fosters a negative work environment. The main character tries to connect with others, and is friends with her maid, Rose. (SPOILERS) The only thing I didn't like was how they resolved the "evil maid" in the second timeline.

More thoughts below if you want to read:

The thing about the maid abuse trope is that, to me, it goes out of it's way to make a noble the victim of their own employees who they can fire at any time. It doesn't make any sense either. It takes a lot of leaps in logic to understand why someone, who really needs the money, is of a low social position, can be killed by nobles over the smallest things, would go out of their way to abuse their employer's children or the employer themselves (no matter if they are illegitimate) when the ramifications would be astronomical and life destroying.

It is a trope, I feel, that is mired in a deep disdain for people in the service industry, or in professions deemed "inferior." This is a worldwide problem to be honest, and I see it in the west a lot. It's easier to make the people who work in service jobs "ungrateful and lazy" rather than confronting awful behavior from customers who look down on them.

Whenever I see a maid character who is evil, their behavior usually echos the things that I heard from customers while I was working as a drive thru cashier:

"I'm going to hide the best food from the noble Main character because I'm evil! This noble who employs me can just eat slop hehehe"

Maid characters and their relationship with the protagonists are also a symptom of the unfair relationships that female characters have with each other in this genre. The MC must always be the one in charge. I've seen maids infantilized (Millionaire Divorcee) and become fangirls for the MC with no lives of their own. That or they are used baby machines for nobles and cast aside in backstories (Abandoned Empress, Behold the True Villainess, a ton of titles).

Main characters can be friends with maids, as long as they gush about how pretty she is, how smart and talented she is, and how they would sacrifice their very lives for her. Anything less than that, and they are suddenly horrible, untrustworthy, scheming, they "don't know their place,' they should be taught a lesson.

Power imbalances are glorified. What kind of pains me, is that a lot of these main characters come from the modern world and shouldn't be as tolerant of this abuse of power. The main character's family can abuse her all they want and she can use her words against them. she can make intricate plans to take them down, all without having to use physical violence. Her love interest can grab her, scream at her, isolate her, demean her, and she shrugs it off and gives them the benefit of the doubt.

But when it comes to people of lower status, all bets are off. The MC will use physical violence. She will use threats of violence, slap them, throw water on them. While I get that social dynamics play a part in why she won't do the same to the people who literally had the maids do to this, we often see reincarnated modern women engaging in maid slapping with no thought about the implications.

She is their employer, and many times the lady of the house. She can just fire them, remove their references. Why use physical violence unless she herself wants to hit someone who can't socially fight back? Slap the stepmother, slap the shitty dad. Punch up, not down.

[clarinet-sticks]

I have to rant. Pls bare with me or ignore me idc. TW: Miscarriage & shitty bosses (I tried to tag what I thought might need to be tagged, so sorry if I missed something.)

My boss SUCKED. She was the first person I called and told I was pregnant & how I’d be on closer watch with the OB due to my miscarriage earlier this year. She said that was totally fine and to just keep her in the loop.

Only a few days into the school year I started spotting, which is obviously scary since I experienced that before my loss. I got into the OB immediately and started being seen weekly for blood tests and ultrasounds. I tried to ask off ahead of time if I knew I had an appointment, but a few times I had to leave in the middle of the day and come back, which she was fine with.

One day I went in and had only taken the morning off. I was stuck in the office waiting for hours so I texted letting my boss know I wouldn’t be back. I brought her my doctors note which simply started I was seen at 10:45 (which is usually all the office gives you when you ask for a work note).

I was also put on restrictions so my baby and I would be safe at work. I was not allowed to lift 25 pounds or more. She came up to me in the hallway demanding I have paperwork proving that, otherwise she and the district wouldn’t recognize my restrictions and would make me work like normal. I called the office and asked for something to be sent in writing for work, and they complied, sending it to my hospital app. I screenshotted it and emailed it to my boss. I then went to her office to confirm she received it and she said “yep, that should be all I need, thanks!” Then she read the note and says “do we even have any kids that heavy?” YES??? The average 3-4 year old is at the smallest 35 pounds.

About a week goes by, then I wake up and get around for work. I go pee right before leaving and suddenly there’s a LOT more spotting. I’m panicked, I call my boss to let her know I won’t be in and I’ll be calling my OB when they open. She doesn’t answer, so I text her. She responds with “I will not be able to find a sub with 16 minute notice. We will be short handed.” Ok? I’m in crisis mode right now and you’re expecting me to feel bad that I had to contact you last minute?? THEN she sends another long ass message saying she needs a note proving I was seen, it could NOT be an email on my phone, and it had better say I wasn’t allowed to return to work that day… because she let it slide last time my note only stated the time of my appointment, but I should’ve returned to work if I was able.

I was seeing red. I was shaking I was so mad. I called my husband and told him what happened and he immediately said to quit. It was bullshit. She knows my situation. She knows I’m panicked over every little issue because I lost one before. But instead of being empathetic and understanding, she throws it in my face that the classroom will be down a teacher and scolds me for my notes not being adequate? Despite her literally saying they were fine before?

I just texted back “ok, then consider this my resignation. I don’t appreciate how I’m being talked to or how this situation has been handled.” To which she replied “ok thanks for letting me know” if she was SO worried about being short handed, I’d think she’d care a bit more that I left the position entirely! She clearly didn’t like me for whatever reason despite me doing everything she asked whenever she asked.

She also turned around and posted my job online within like an hour and had all the other staff share it. I have a feeling she told them all I’m this horrible person for quitting on the spot, but they don’t know what really happened.

I submitted my official resignation to the district before she could even text again saying “I think the district will need a written paper. An email is fine” AN EMAIL IS FINE NOW??? God I’m still seething but I’m so glad I left. Everyone else there was so kind and understanding of my situation, but my main boss wasn’t and I don’t need that extra stress right now.

The good news is, I got an ultrasound done today & my baby is still looking fine! And my now former coworkers still checked in on me and asked me to keep them updated. I hope that administrator retires the moment she can in a year or two and I can take my job back without worrying about being stabbed in the back during a stressful time.