#certain things to be true and have done so for years. much like the library of alexandria

[kendallroygf]

rewatching always sunny for like the 14th time in my life and my god i need dee reynolds so bad

[momolady]

Sleeping Beauty: Author's April #4

(This was intended to be the sequel to my Huntress in the Castle story. It would have been about them rescuing Nadine and solving the curse on the castle once and for all.)

One:

My brothers had thought life in the royal palace would be boring. They were used to doing what they wished, going wherever they pleased. In the palace they had certain restrictions, but outside they were given free run. Even among the knights, which is where they spent most of their time. They trained with the knights, challenging them to playful bouts.

Beyond the palace walls they mingled among the common people easily, after all that was who we were. They went to the sea, fishing and running about the docks. They traded amongst the shops and cobblers. And even within the palace their individual interests were met.

D’Arcy had become the royal physicians assistant, and was often found with the Queen’s apothecary. Craig took to the horse houses and the animals of the palace. The queen kept quite the menagerie in the garden. Finn was often either at sea or with the knights. Or causing trouble. But that was normal Finn. Peadar was the same as well, often keeping to himself, watching the others with a kindly eye. He would place himself in the gardens or in the kitchen where he could watch the comings and goings with ease. And the kitchen did feel more like home.

The only one who couldn’t seem to find his place was Niall. I tried to keep him company as much as I could, but he knew my place now was beside Vered, at the forefront of the royal family. And sure, he found pastimes to occupy him, but unlike the others, his nook in the new life hadn’t been chipped out yet.

“I’m sure once the castle in the forest is done, it’ll be easier.” Vered explained to him one evening. I was glad the two had gotten to know one another. And they were both similar in the regards that they both weren’t fitting in well.

“I do miss the village.” Niall sighed.

Vered smiled. “Why don’t we plan a hunting trip. Just us men.”

Niall laughed. “And leave Fianna alone? She would probably wreck something.”

Vered nodded. “That might be true. But she knows more than anyone that you need it.”

Niall sighed, shaking his head. “This is all I ever wanted for my family. Never wanting for anything. Never having to risk our necks for our next meal. But, I still feel so uncomfortable. Like I’m missing something.”

Vered nodded. “You haven’t found your fate yet.”

“What? Like my Gran’s stories?” Niall scoffed.

Vered laughed at him. “They worked out for your sister. Fantastically so.” He leaned against the railing of the veranda. “Didn’t Granny tell you boys any stories?”

“Some.” Niall answered with a shrug. “But we were boys, we didn’t listen. Fianna was the only one who paid her any mind, let alone believe her.”

Vered smirked. “Well, I bet you’ll listen now.”

“My Gran told me I’d slay a dragon.” Niall scoffed. “There are not such things. No such creatures.”

Vered slapped his palms to his chest. “And I was a horrible beast.”

Niall hesitated, doubting himself for just a moment.

Vered laughed then. “So what is to say you aren’t going to slay a dragon? You saw with your own eyes what is inside me. You saw your sister die and yet she lives.” His eyes narrowed on Niall. “I dare you to listen to Granny now. We’ll see what fate has for you, dragons and all.”

Niall felt shaken to his core. If she had been right about me all these years, imagine what else she was correct about. If Niall had remembered correctly and he was to slay a dragon…well good lord! That meant he was to slay a dragon.

It took Niall some time to actually go see Granny. He went to several others before actually going to see her. It wasn’t like Niall to get the straight answer right away. First, he came to see me and Peadar, since we were both in the library together.

“When Granny told you stories about Vered-”

I shook my head. “She never told me about Vered. She never told me about anything, except that there was an evil in the forest meant for me.”

Niall cocked a brow at me.

“It isn’t her place to reveal the future.” I said. “I wasn’t supposed to know what was going to happen to me.”

“You worried about what you didn’t listen to?” Peadar asked.

Niall scoffed. “And you actually listened to her stories?”

“I listened because she’s Granny. Believe it?” Peadar shrugged. “Up until I saw Vered I didn’t believe what she told me. Now, I’m starting to.”

Niall flaps his arms out, exasperated. “Oy, yeah? And what did she tell you?” He asked huffishly.

Peadar and I exchanged looks, he had been telling me some of the tales Granny had told him since we had gotten to the royal palace. We both smiled, laughing to ourselves.

“Granny told me to pay very close attention to women’s shoes.”

Niall’s mouth hung open. “And you are just going to believe her?”

I laughed, covering my mouth to keep from laughing to loud.

Peadar put his hand on the top of my head. “She told Fianna there was an evil meant for her. If all I have to do is study women’s fashion then so be it.” He chuckled.

“Do you even remember what Granny told you?” I asked.

Niall looked away, arms crossed tightly against his chest, bottom lip protruding farther out than usual.

“Oh come on!” Peadar scoffed.

Niall sighed, letting his arms slip back to his sides. “She told me…she told me I’d slay a dragon.”

Peader nudged me. “Well…excuse me and my shoes then.”

I furrowed my brow. “You should be talking to Granny, Niall.”

Niall sighed, rubbing his chin and looking out the window. “Yeah.” He sighed, turning on his heel and leaving us.

Peadar looked at me. “He’s avoiding it.” He explained. “I don’t think he wants to admit that he was wrong.”

I pursed my lips. “He won’t be able to avoid it for long.”

Niall found the twins and D’Arcy in the kitchen, eating fruit the serving girls sliced for them with giddy joy.

“I don’t remember what Gran told me.” Finn shrugged, biting into an apple.

D’Arcy rubbed his chin in thought. “I remember her saying something like…I will be surrounded by beautiful women.”

Finn and Craig busted out laughing.

“You can’t be serious?” Niall scoffed. “She told Peadar to keep an eye on women’s shoes!”

Craig cleared his throat. “Well, Gran always tells me to stay away from wolves. But I just thought that was common knowledge.”

Finn coughed and slapped his hands together. “I remember now! I remember!” He coughed again, almost choking on apple in his excitement. “Gran told me to listen to cats!”

Niall threw up his arms in frustration. “Shoes? Women? Wolves and cats? Is this woman really being serious?”

The three exchanged looks. “She was right about Fianna.” D’Arcy said. “Sure, her tales sound exaggerated, but I believe she’s right.”

“What’d Gran tell you?” Finn asked.

Niall sighed. “That I would have to slay a dragon.”

“Ooh!” Finn giggled. “Wanna trade for my cat?”

“Just go talk to Gran.” Craig sighed. “Get the straight answer from the source. Don’t keep trying to avoid it. Might turn out the dragon is a metaphor for something.”

“And my women are a metaphor for what then?” D’Arcy laughed.

“Madness?” Finn chuckled, winking at a serving girl as she walked by.

“Just go talk to Gran,” D’Arcy scoffed. “What? You afraid that she’s right? Don’t wanna hear what’s good for ya?”

Niall picked up an orange wedge. “How is hearing that I may get eaten by a dragon good for me?” He laughed, placing the orange wedge between his lips.

“It’s belly could be full of gold.” Finn retorted. “I’m sure if the thing is big enough, and it swallows ya whole-”

“Oh really, Finn.” Craig scoffed.

Niall sighed, rolling his eyes. “Guess there is no avoiding it.” He shrugged then and pursed his lips. “Gotta go talk to Gran.”

Granny was all but eager to finally talk to Niall. Most of the boys had come to her, just to double check if the stories she had been feeding them were true.

“I’m glad you finally came to me, Niall.” She said, tucking into the chair before him. “I was beginning to get afraid you would leave without being prepared.”

“Leave?” Niall asked.

Granny nodded. “Oh yes, Fianna and Vered are going to ask you to accompany them to view on the progress of the palace soon.”

Niall shook his head. “I haven’t heard of this.”

Granny’s hand whipped out, slapping his hand. “Of course not! They don’t even know yet. But a letter will arrive soon, and then you’ll go.”

“Go to what?” Niall gasped. “You always told Fianna she had an evil meant for her.” He brought his palms to his chest. “What is meant for me? You told me when I was young I would slay a dragon!”

Granny nodded knowingly, stroking her long braid. “Ah yes. I was excited with you. You being the eldest and having such an amazing journey ahead of you. I let too much slip there.”

Niall laughed. “You’re serious!” He exclaimed. “An actual dragon?”

Granny shook her head, clicking her tongue. “I shouldn’t say anything else on the matter.” She sighed. “But, since you know that bit already,” she reached out, gently holding Niall’s hand. “You are so important to this family Niall. You have always had to be the strongest. But sometimes, showing what makes you vulnerable is nothing to frown at. It is often in our darkest times, when we have nothing at all, that we show our true strength.”

Niall thought about me then. Remembering the night I had fought Vered. It hadn’t been my strength, or my blade that had defeated the monster. No. Niall could remember standing there seeing my bow before the beast, he thought he would never see me again, his last vision of me being that of my bloody death. Instead, he saw something remarkable, he saw me save us all.

Granny leaned closer to Niall, holding his face between her palms. “No matter how you fight it, you will need someone to take care of you sometimes.”

Niall nodded slowly. “But…what does that have to do with-” He stopped himself and laughed. “Thank you Granny.”

She smiled. “Good boy.

Niall leaned back in his chair, looking over into the fireplace. He and Granny sat in a peaceful quiet for a moment. Granny drank her tea and finished darning one of Finn’s socks. It was when she pulled out my veil that Niall began to feel eager about his fate.

“How come Peadar only has to worry about shoes?” Niall asked, a broad smile on his face.

Granny smiled up at him. “Oh believe me, you’re going to think dragons look pretty good when you see what your brothers have to deal with.” She laughed.

Niall reached out, holding onto the end of the sheer silk of my veil. Granny was working hard, making her fingers ache, to get the beading just right. The Queen had given her special beads made of this crystal with a mother of pearl like shimmer to them.

“When I was a young girl, I never would of dreamed of this.” Granny sighed. “I had never even seen a castle in my lifetime. And here I am, living in one.”

“You never foresaw this?” Niall asked.

Granny shook her head. “I don’t like poking around into my own future.” She plucked a bead from the tin. “Oh no. Too many problems come with that.” She clicked her tongue. “I did use it to make some money, back when I was young and when your grandfather passed.”

Niall knew Granny had always wanted to go back to being a fortune teller when his mother and father both died. But Niall wanted Granny to be comfortable, he wanted to earn the family’s bread. Granny had paid her way many a time, she deserved a respite.

“I haven’t gone very far in my life,” Granny continued. “But I have seen things that would make your eyes pop clear out of your head!” She said with a proud bob of her head.

“If looking into the future is so bad, Gran, how come you did it for us?” Niall asked, leaning towards her.

Granny smiled gently, knowingly. “Because you want to protect those you love. I wanted to make sure you brats turned out happy, safe. I’d do anything for you.”

Niall reached out, holding Granny’s hand for a moment, then released her to continue her beading work.

That night, Niall woke up from a sound sleep. The world was pitch black, save for the sliver of light coming through his curtains. For the split second his eyes were open, he saw something move, something faint. He closed his eyes again and then opened them wide in a flash, realizing what he had seen was a person.

He sat up with a jolt in bed, there was something pulling open the crutains. A pale, white hand stretching into the moonlight and smoothing their hand across the cold glass. Niall was stunned, he was frozen in place. What was this specter he was seeing.

The figure turned, face illuminated my the moonlight. She watched Niall with a curiosity, a small sigh escaped her and she sat on the windowsill, looking out over the castle.

“Excuse me.” Niall said.

The girl jumped, turning and looking at him with wide eyed fright. “Puh-pardon?” She gasped, her long auburn hair cascading off her shoulder.

“What are you doing in my room?” Niall scoffed.

The girl looked from side to side, wide blue windows of disbelief. She looked back at Niall, brow pursed. “You can see me?”

“As plan as day!” Niall snapped as he rose from bed.

“That…that can’t be.” She scoffed, standing herself. “Wait, aren’t you Fianna’s brother?”

“Do not change the subject.” Niall scoffed. “Who are you and what are doing in-” The woman’s hand went through Niall like a cold breeze. There was no substance to her, just shadow.

The woman watched, Niall slack jawed and stumbling back to his bed.

“You held me once.” The woman said. “You were the first man to ever hold me besides my father or brother.”

All Niall could do was stare up at her. A ghost!

“I’m Nadine.” The woman answered, folding her hands against her skirt.

“But…but they said you died.” Niall whispered.

Nadine shrugged. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not.” She shook her head. “I can’t figure it out. I don’t even know why I’m still here. You’re the first one who has even been aware of me.” She sat down on the windowsill again pulling her knees up to her chest.

Niall shook his head. “How long have you been here?”

Nadine shook her head. “I could not say. A day. A year. Forever? I have completely lost my sense of time or reasoning. One moment, I was dying. The next I am…wandering.” She turned her head, looking out.

Niall stood up, walking to the window and looking over Nadine. Her long, dark auburn hair, splayed out in a million soft waves down her back. Her skin, white and fragile as porcelain. But she had the strong, regal features that Vered did. There was no use arguing that they were related. They even had the same haunting, blue eyes.

Nadine looked up at him. “Or perhaps you are dreaming.” She retorted. “Perhaps this is all just a trick of your mind. Maybe your mind recreated me to help ease your ill-ease in the palace.”

Niall shook his head, breathless. “That must be it.”

Nadine laughed. “Oh wouldn’t that be a wonderful solution for us all.” She looked away from the window, folding her fingers under her sharp chin. “I haven’t talked to anyone besides my brother in so long.” She chuckled softly. “I barely talked to Fianna I admit. I was terrified of her.”

Niall chuckled at this. All his life, all he could remember doing was talking to me. From the moment I was born I was his.

“She talked about you a lot.” Nadine replied. “I didn’t realize one could love their family so much.”

“But you stayed with Vered all that time.”

Nadine shook her head slowly, almost not moving. “I had to. What I would of given to run away, to leave him behind and…and all alone.” Tears began to dribble down Nadine’s cheeks. “And then…then he changed, and that scared me more.”

Niall sat back in the window, opposite Nadine. “Siblings tend to do that. Like…I can remember when Finn was little. He was scared of his own shadow.” He laughed. “I see him now and wonder where that frightened little creature went.”

Nadine nodded softly. “And what about Fianna?”

Niall sighed, thinking about me as a little girl again. “She used to cling to me. She wouldn’t let me out of her sight, and when I did she just hollered.”

Nadine cracked a smile through her tears.

“And then one day…” Niall became distant for a moment. “One day I realized she didn’t need me. And that was when I began clinging to her.”

“And now?” Nadine’s voice a barely audible whisper.

Niall stared beyond sight, he looked inside, all around himself. “And now…it’s my turn to face my fate like she did. I can’t cling to my family anymore.”

Nadine was wiping at her face then and Niall held his hand out to her, presenting her with a handkerchief. “Don’t cry, please.”

Nadine took it gingerly from his fingers. “It has been a while since a man has offered his hand to me.” She murmured, looking at the handkerchief as if it were made of gold and jewels. “Thank you, Niall.”

“Niall.”

He bolted upright in bed, nearly half scaring me to death.

He looked at me in disbelief. The world around him was bright with morning light now, not midnight blue. “Fianna?”

I nod. “I came to get you, you slept clear through breakfast.”

“I did?” He gasped breathlessly.

“Yes.” I furrowed my brow at him, studying him closely. “Are you alright?”

He shakes his head. “I had the strangest of dreams.” His eyes wander back to the window where Nadine had been sitting. He could see her perfectly. How could that have been a dream?

“What was the dream?” I asked.

“I’m not sure.” He lied. “There was a girl, and she was alone…I think she wanted a friend.”

I tilted my head onto my shoulder, watching Niall’s somewhat lost expression. I brushed the hair away from his forehead. “Are you sure you slept?” I slipped the pad of my finger across the dark circles under his eyes. “You look like you haven’t slept at all.” My hand falls back to my side. “Why don’t I bring you a small bite to eat and then you just try to get some rest?”

He shakes his head at me and begins to stand. “I promised to take the twins out to the sea today. They wanted to go fishing again.”

“They go fishing at least four times a week these days!” I easily shove Niall back into bed. Almost too easily. It scared me for a moment.

Niall chuckled. “You’ve gotten stronger.”

“I don’t like that, Niall. Stay in bed.” I commanded. “I’ll get D’Arcy or Vered to take the twins fishing. I’ll go myself if I have to. But I really do think you should stay in bed.”

Niall stood again. “I just need to get something to eat is all. Go on. I’ll be down in a few minuets.”

I didn’t like it, but I silently conceded and left his room. I went and found Vered, hoping his company could somehow ease my mind. I found him in the library, having taken his lunch and scurried off there were he felt more comfortable. He sat before the fire, a roll in one hand and a book in the other.

I slipped my arm around his waist and curled into him. He was reading another book filled with the language I couldn’t read.

“Something is wrong.” He said to me, setting down the book.

I shrug. “I’m sure it isn’t anything. It’s Niall.”

Vered lifts my hand and kisses the cup of my palm. He stalls for a moment and I hear him sniff.

“What?” I scoff at him.

He looks down at me confused and bewildered. “You smell like my sister.”

“Nadine?”

Vered smells my palm again. “It’s faint, but I can tell it is there. I could not mistake that scent.”

I turn and hold my palm to my nose. Of course, only Vered and his beastly senses could detect something so faint. “That can’t be possible. She vanished in the garden.”

Vered’s eyes were distant, hazy. “Yes but…where could that scent have come from?”

“I only touched Niall.” I say. “He held Nadine in the castle when we came to look for you. But that was ages ago.”

Vered shook his head. “I have not smelled it on him since either. It’s baffling me.”

Two:

She was there again, as if waiting on him to return from wherever he had gone. They didn’t speak at first, just acknowledged each other’s presence. The library was such a great, grand place, with so much to occupy yourself with. And Nadine seemed absorbed in a massive, old tome. She had it sat on the floor before her, the pages and her skin aglow in the light of the fireplace.

Niall sat up on the sofa, feeling pretty assured he had fallen asleep there while talking to me and Vered.

“Do you like poetry?” Nadine asked suddenly. She looked up at him and curled her legs under herself.

Niall shook his head slowly, still comprehending these strange encounters. “My mother used to read it to me when I was a child.” He looked down, seeing the ornate pages of the book spread open before Nadine. “But I’m afraid I haven’t encountered anymore since.”

“Your mother.” Nadine murmured softly. “Fianna didn’t speak much of her.”

I shook my head. “She died when Fianna was just a baby.” I put my forearms against my knees, leaning over. “All Fianna has known is Granny and us.”

“And how did that happen?” Nadine asked.

Niall chuckled. “And how did you happen?”

Nadine smiled softly, unsurely. “An accident.”

My brother nodded, fiddling his thumbs. “My father was an accident.” He said with a gentle nod. “He got gored by a wild boar.”

Nadine averted her eyes. “Oh…”

“I think that’s why D’Arcy took such an interest in medicine…because the doctor of our village couldn’t really do anything.” Niall’s dark eyes took the chance to scan over Nadine, her pale skin, fragile looking hands. The sharp outline of her face was what stuck out most to him. Her thin, pointed nose. Her small but shapely mouth. She reminded him of brambles and thorns. Thin and delicate, but he knew if he moved at her without caution, he would bleed.

“Fianna hadn’t even been born yet.” Niall then chuckled. “Actually, Fianna hadn’t even begun to show in mother yet. We only had Granny’s word to go on we had a sister coming.”

Nadine looked back up at Niall. “How old were you then?”

“Old enough, but still not old enough to take care of a family of six, soon to be seven.” Niall answered lowly. “We had to rely on Granny back then.”

“Her fortunes.” Nadine beamed.

Niall nodded. “Yes, her fortune telling.” He studied Nadine’s smile, so faint and sweet, and even baring the same color as the berries that grew just at the edge of the forest he loved so much. “Did Fianna talk that much about us?”

“Vered liked it when she did.” Nadine answered with a slight nod. “He liked the smile it brought to her face.”

Niall nodded slightly, leaning towards her. “You said Fianna scared you.”

Nadine sighed, a shy smile appearing on her face. “I just knew she was meant for Vered,” she murmured. “What else could of brought her to the castle? From the moment she forced herself inside, I knew. She was, is, so strong.”

“But…” Niall tried to pick his words carefully, “why afraid?”

Nadine’s smile vanished and she stared blankly into the fireplace. She smoothed her palm out, pressing into the spine of the book that was open in her lap. “I realized…that no one would come for me.” She avoided his suddenly sympathetic stare and shook her head. “That was my curse.”

“Then what am I?”

She shook her head again. “Who knows?” She laughed. “I still can’t figure out what I am.”

Niall reached out tentatively, placing his hand over hers. Nadine jerked, then shivered. She looked down at his hand, up his arm, and then into Niall’s eyes. “You scare me, too.”

Niall laughed softly. “Why?”

Nadine tried to avoid his gaze, but she couldn’t force herself to look away from him. She trembled under his hand. “Because I won’t be able to stay with you.” Her voice the flicker of a dying flame. “I can’t keep you.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “Nadine?”

She stood suddenly, the book slipped from her lap and bursting into dust. “I’m sorry. I can’t…” She then took off running, becoming a wind. A wind that blew out the fire, leaving Niall in shadows.

“Nadine!” Niall sat up shouting.

“Who?”

Niall turned, seeing D’Arcy sitting by himself at a table, books open before him. He turned, looking at the fireplace roaring, at the floor where the book had turned to dust, it was clean.

“Have a bad dream?” D’Arcy asked, shutting the book before him.

Niall ran his fingers through his hair. “No…” He stood up. “I need to see Vered.” He said as he began walking out of the library.

“He and Fianna are in the garden!” D’Arcy called after him.

Before Niall had even reached the garden Vered began to twitch. He turned his nose up to the wind and inhaled deeply.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He looked ahead, eyes wide, but brows cocked suspiciously. “I smell her again.”

My mouth hung open slightly. “You mean, Nadine?”

He turned abruptly, twisting around me and bracing himself towards the door as Niall came running out.

“Niall?” Vered and I echo each other.

[obsessedwithstarwars]

Short Nocturn in Gotham prompt

I have an idea, and no brain space for it so here ya go. If anyone makes a story off this, please tag me!

This is a dp x dc crossover. And Anger Management because I’m obsessed with Jazz x Jason.

Jazz lives in Gotham, and works as a psychologist for Arkham. Things are going as normal as can be expected for Gotham and an Amity Parker. She’s only dealt with a few muggings and kept her head down because she’s Liminal! and doesn’t want to get the attention of a certain group of vigilantes.

What if Nocturn came to Gotham? (I don’t remember much of the episode so hopefully this tracks)

I would personally start it out trying to trick the reader. (Sorry, It’s fun!) A cute chapter or 2, where Jazz and Jason are together. So normal. Super accepting of each other. With so much fluff it hurts. But slowly, as the story goes on, more and more things seem off. Like déjà vu, like she’s done this before?? (Kind of similar to the vibe of that one Doctor Who episode where Donna Noble gets saved to the Library database. I can’t remember if it’s a 2 part episode? I think it’s called Silence in the Library??? I don’t know, and I’m not looking it up. If you see River Song’s first episode with David Tennant’s Doctor then you’ve got the right one. I think.) Jazz just slowly sees inconsistencies, and brushes them off at first. Hey, she deserves a chance to be happy, okay?! But as time goes on, there are just too many to ignore. She has a nagging feeling something’s not right and briefly wonders if it’s a ghost. But the only one that makes sense is Nocturn and he can’t be in Gotham right? Right??!

When she discovers Jason’s Red Hood, the revelation almost shocks her awake (total mistake on Nocturn’s part. He thought the vigilante thing would keep her asleep or deepen her sleep since it’s kinda normal for her with her brother). She does some quick thinking as she feels herself waking up, and yep, it’s definitely Nocturn, and decides she needs help stopping him. Makes a plan. Not a great one, but hey, it was last second. Literally.

Meanwhile Jason POV shows he’s struggling with believing it too. Thinks she’s too good to be true. (I don’t know anything about the DC universe. I’m going off of the fic Friendly Neighborhood Vigilante by @gilbirda Go check it out, it’s amazing!) And when she discovers he’s Red Hood, she does something ghostly (prolly eyes or strong stuff) and he’s like holy crap she’s a meta, and before he’s had a chance to process anything she says something like “Come find me when you wake up.” (gives me Edge of Tomorrow: Live. Die. Repeat. vibes which just feels fitting here) and shoots him in the chest right before shooting herself (non lethal bullets cause what if you can die in your dream?) and that shocks him awake.

She wakes up at her desk in Arkham to find out that all of Gotham is asleep. Thankfully this includes the villains. (But not for long!)

Does she call Danny or try to deal with it herself?

Is Danny the Ghost King?

Does Jason actually go or does Jazz have to find him?

She’s definitely questioning whether what she had with Jason was real. He does the same with her. Personally, I would keep Batman asleep for a lot of it but that’s because I know nothing about him aside from Wayne Family Adventures (which I’ve been told doesn’t count), the classic old show I watch when I’m sick, and a few episodes from Batman: The Brave and The Bold. Also Young Justice, but that was years ago. Before season 3.

If they have nightmares:

Would Jason’s nightmare be the Joker killing him?

Maybe Jazz’s nightmare is about Dan trying to kill her? Or coming back?

And that’s all I got. Maybe I’ll try to write something eventually, but right now my heart is heavy and my brain is fog. So if you have any ideas, go for it and tag me! I would love to know how you would change/finish it!

[mickeyeyesarts]

My attempt to fix Wish's plot

Things I would do to make Wish a better movie :D

Disclaimer: This is because I have too much free time on my hands and this seemed like a fun thing to do. This is all in good fun :).

Make Magnifico a normal citizen as opposed to King

Magnifico's song suggests he's unhappy with the respect he gets which doesn't really translate the evilness as much, it's more delusional(?) because he's the king and is treated like a celebrity, what respect is he not getting? Unless 7 kids questioning is enough to send him into a spiral but let's be honest he isn't very well written.

Now if we make him a common man who's only known for granting wishes, it paints a different picture. Why is he just a common man if he can grant almost any wish? This could be because of how the kingdom views him(the real villains in this version).

treating him nicely doesn't suit their ego because he's not royalty, he's a commoner who has magic powers

eliminating him after the reputation he's built for himself is too detrimental politically, as the citizens are too distracted to notice how bad the queen and all are.

This attitude makes the people kind of thankless towards him, especially since he only grants people their wishes once in 18 years (meaning 1 person can wish every 18 years and Magnifico will grant them after negotiating so as to keep it from going overboard). He's a resentful man who hates the situation he's caught up in.

No one ever asked Magnifico what his wish is, and when asked, he doesn't have an answer because he's never thought about it. His tragic past made him this person who wants to help people, but he got caught up so far along and his true meaning has been left so far behind he's hateful.

Asha should have a "selfish" wish

I feel if Asha had a normal optimistic wish, it would make her character more relatable, but also make her seem overly idealistic, which can be seen as obstacle for her to overcome over the course of the movie, and how rather than trying to wish the impossible, sometimes its better to let it go.

Her wish is to bring her dead father back to life.

Why i think is open to interpretation, but in a land where nearly any wish can be granted, her having an impossible wish seems like a good plot point.

The Plot

Asha turns 18 and can finally make her wish. She wishes for her dead father to come back to life. Magnifico is annoyed and tries to explain that this wish can't be granted and tells her to get lost.

Asha begs and pleads to him a lot and this is where Magnifico reaches his breaking point. He's fed up of the entire kingdom treating him like a slave who's only job is to grant people their wishes, so he decides to take his revenge.

Magnifico tells Asha that the only way to bring a dead person back to life is by a using a certain spell (a lie) from a book located in the royal library.

Determined, Asha manages to trick the guards into entering the castle, pretending to be a maid, and she tries to steal the book but gets caught red handed by the queen.

Pressured, Asha tells the queen everything, and the queen tells her that the book she's trying to steal is fake, and the real book is on the other side of the country. Asha gets the location of the book and the queen tells Asha to bring the book and Magnifico back when she's done with her wish. The queen is evil but Asha tries to believe that isn't the case.

She shares her findings with Magnifico and together embark on a journey to get the book.

The purpose of this trip it to make some bonding between Asha and Magnifico, where Asha finds out how much Magnifico is mistreated in the kingdom, how he learnt magic to protect his family, all of whom had passed, leaving 1 or 2 younger siblings. Asha also learns that Magnifico actually can grant wishes without the 18 year gap, its just a lie to shut people up.

Magnifico learns about the impact Asha's father has had on her and her family members, and understand why Asha wants them back, but fails when he tris to talk her out of her wish, explaining how its important to let some things go.

Anyway they complete their journey, find a spooky book full of black magic, and magnifico uses the spell book to make her a device that can bring back one dead person, although magnifico is skeptical about all this. He tells her to do that on the night of a full moon just to be on the safe side.

Side by side, Magnifico creates a powerful wand for himself, which he plans to use to lay waste on the kingdom. But after he acquires the wand, he tells Asha to take her family away from the kingdom on the night they reach back the kingdom, because Magnifico doesn't want Asha to die in the crossfire.

But as that happens, Asha and Magnifico are surrounded by the royal army, being asked to surrender the resurrection device, the book, and Magnifico. The queen's plan is to kill Magnifico and absorb his wish granting power using the book so she can rule the kingdom with an iron fist.

The queen manages to get the book and the resurrection device and offers Asha the resurrection device in exchange for Magnifico, a trade which Asha complies to after much hesitation. Magnifico feels betrayed and doesn't say a word as he's being taken away, but the queen doesn't hold her end of the deal, and refuses to give the resurrection device. The queen leaves with Magnifico and threatens Asha to not speak about the incident else she will use magic to wipe out her friends and family.

Asha cries as the sun sets, disappointed in herself that she gave up Magnifico, something she shouldn't have done even if she had gotten the resurrection device. Asha sees a wishing star and decides it is time to right her wrongs, and save Magnifico. Asha also notices the wand that Magnifico had made was left here, and the queen didn't notice it. Asha messes with the wand and decides its time to fight.

Fighting happens yay

In the end the queen ends up absorbing Magnifico's wish granting powers, and is about to kill Asha when she pulls an Aladdin on her and uses that to deliver the final blow as she perishes away. Asha rushes to Magnifico's dying body and apologizes to him as he dies without saying a word. The entire kingdom sees this scene. Asha feels sad that Magnifico lost his life, especially since this journey had made them so much closer together, she saw Magnifico as a family member, and couldn't bear with her loss.

Her mother points out the full moon among the settling dust and Asha knows that she has to do the resurrection right now, before she loses her chance. She activates the device and is transported to a heaven like place, clear skies, a floor of reflective water, but no one else is there. After looking around she finds her dad.

Asha rushes to her father and gives him a hug and they look at each other while crying. Asha points out how she got to him with Magnifico's help and the resurrection device, but can't bring herself to bring her father back to life. She can't say anymore words, they just refuse to come out. Her father breaks the silence and says he knows, but it is not him who has to go back, and shows her the way to Magnifico.

Asha and her father make their way to Magnifico, who is weeping on the floor. Asha calls out to Magnifico, but he's distancing himself from both of them, not out of anger but out of fear. Magnifico realized that Asha has come back for him but refuses to go back. Asha tells Magnifico that he didn't deserve to lose his life like this, and that she's sorry for giving up on him, and she doesn't want to lose him.

Magnifico is touched, but points out that he's lost all of his magic. Even if he goes back, people will refuse to acknowledge him, especially since he can't do the one thing that people come to him for. And Asha doesn't know what to say. She gently holds his hands, and tells him everything will be ok, because she will make sure that Magnifico can live happily, and doesn't have to go back to the painful days from before.

Trusting Asha, he goes back with her to the real world, where he wakes up and is hugged by Asha. Magnifico looks around and sees the looks of people's faces, all of whom know that Magnifico has lost his magic, but everyone comes o Magnifico's aid and apologises to him.

We fast forward a bit, the royal family was driven out of power, living as normal citizens now and people start to look into changing their political system. Magnifico starts a Bakery, which was his wish all along, and Asha works with him. Asha learns to work towards her own wishes. The end

That was a lot, if anyone read the whole thing please share your thoughts with me. Byeeee

[emblemxeno]

Legend of Korra First Watch: Book 4 & Overall Series Thoughts

Full thoughts under the cut!

-----Book 4 I feel did a fine-ass job with the emotional impact of Book 3's ending. "Korra Alone" is a stellar and heartwrenching episode, and incredibly done to showcase how Korra's trauma is continually affecting her ability to not only be a fighter and the Avatar, but also as a person. She's hesitant, afraid, and unsure of any decision she makes, but she comes out of it stronger as wise, compassionate, while still headstrong and a force to be reckoned with.

-----While most of main the cast personally don't hold a candle to ATLA's main cast (sans Tenzin of course 💞), Korra I learned to like more than Aang. I think her journey has been a treat to watch, despite the less likeable parts of the show. Now, Aang's emotional journey of maturity and remaining true to himself is still baller, but Korra's journey of self-discovery, coming to terms with her identity, her powers and their responsibility, and learning to accept past mistakes and pain rather than run away from them, touches places in my soul that Aang's didn't quite reach. It's mostly personal preference, and I don't have a stake in which one was "objectively" done better than the other. Lord knows there's enough infighting between the shows' fandoms; even as someone who's not really a part of it has been unfortunately witness to endless social media wars, and I don't really care to join in that.

-----The Beifong family is such a joy to watch when on screen, and it's messy in all of the right ways. Even when Lin and Toph patch things up, it's still not perfect, and it shouldn't be. Now, IMO, the trope that a sequel series should feature the previous cast's kids is pretty cliched, but since it's done, it should be done well; in the Beifong family's case, I think it was raw and real and didn't pull punches. Toph as a mother was never gonna be good, considering how her family treated her. I think the further aspects of that is one of the few examples of generational trauma being done in a show, not even just an animated show (though that could be an indicator that I need to expand my media library to include more things that I might be resistant to). Toph being too isolated made her be too lax with Lin and Su, and that led to Lin being less willing to bend her ways and Su repeating her grandparents' mistakes by being to sheltering.

Opal was a great standout character for the first half of the Book! I liked her as it was in her appearances in Book 3, but damn she shot up the list fast. I like that despite being an airbender who's learned the teachings of the culture, she's no nonsense and wants to stop problems as they come rather than waiting. She's an earth kingdom citizen and a Beifong still, after all.

------Oh boy. Kuvira, Kuvira, Kuvira... okay I'm not against the idea of a character like her being included; lord knows, I fucking had to deal with so much shit the past 4.5 years because of a certain red emperor in a certain video game series, and they have undeniable similarities.

But why oh why is Kuvira the one that gets the sympathy treatment??? I don't give a damn that she was orphaned and that no one wanted her, she was a crazy nationalist who locked dissenters in concentration camps and was terrorizing the entire populace of the Earth Kingdom.

And for some reason she was treated the exact opposite of the previous Books' villains, where Amon, Zaheer, even fucking Unalaq had good points to make but were invalidated cuz they were too crazy or too evil or hypocrite frauds. Kuvira's never treated as if she's had good points, but she's awarded compassion at the end cuz... she's a hotblooded stubborn person like Korra? Absolute nonsense. How dare you write Korra to say those things to Kuvira at the end. I wish this series had one more Book with a villain that's not a nationalist that Korra can extend her compassionate side to, cuz this being the showcasing of such is so uncomfortable to me. I know that the comics exist, but I don't have interest in reading those nor the ATLA ones. Maybe someday, but not now.

Back to ranting about this season's writing of fascism: the writers tried to give some leeway by having Wu step down and dismantle the monarchy to establish democratic states, which... wow could you make it anymore obvious that you see western concepts of democracy and capitalism as superior things that everyone should take inspiration from. And, whatever, my own leftist beliefs and hangups aside, there's plenty to value in democracy despite not being anywhere near a perfect system of government. But for as much as monarchy isn't great, you don't need to kneecap monarchy as a result of the actions of a fucking fascist/nationalist. No form of government is as bad or worse than nationalist fascism. None. Nada. Zilch. They never have a point, they don't deserve sympathy, they're evil people who take away personhood, control people through fear, oppress minorities, and eliminate "less desirable" cultures.

And while this isn't as much of a crime as the messy fascism allegories... Varrick getting redemption? Really? I know it's still a show for kids/teens primarily, and you can't punish your comic relief, but still. He's an opportunist war profiteer, who was still a prisoner, mind you! Though it's to be expected of the era this show was created, where people thought the ultra rich "inventors" were cool nerds with attainable wealth, but growing up and seeing how utterly gross it is for people like Bezos and Elon to even be walking the earth, Varrick never gets a laugh out of me whatsoever.

But it's fine, it's a mid 2010's show and funny capitalist is funny, ha ha /s

-----Goodness me, does no one have anything to consistently do it seems. It's the Korra, Beifong, and Bolin show featuring the air kids. Which, okay, I like all those characters, but regulating Mako to a bodyguard of an... honestly annoying character? Did they have faith in this guy at all? Asami got off better cuz of her reconciling with her dad (redeeming another capitalist inventor who's also discriminatory and tried to supplant a government which put his daughter in danger, yeah okay) and her connection with Korra, but still it feels like she's often reduced to an emotional crutch. Which okay, yes, Korra's the main character, but I was getting genuinely worried that Asami wasn't gonna get resolution at the end.

-----Korrasami yaaaaaay!!!! Love queer people, I wish they were real /s

But seriously, though, I like them together. I imagine for a Nickelodeon show that higher-ups were not willing to give any room for their relationship, and that's why it kind of comes out of nowhere at the end. I'm too gay for my own good, so the subtle hints here and there during last season and this one certainly weren't lost on me. In terms of being a queer relationship in pre-gay marriage legalization U.S.? Fine enough.

-----Previous character cameos! They're there! Uh, I like seeing Toph! And Zaheer, while only a small appearance, it was a genius move for him to be an unorthodox mentor/guide for Korra to get past her block. Aside from those two, I can't say I cared enough about most other characters come back besides saying "oh yeah it's that guy!". Meh, maybe I just don't get it.

The clip show was nice! Again, it definitely shows that the executives/higher ups were not being nice to the creatives behind the show at all, but I'm glad they did what they could. Nothing could really top Ember Island Players, but I'm sure they could've done their own version had they been given time.

-----Overall, to me Book 4 really shows the entire series' strengths and weaknesses. I think it's strong when dealing with philosophy, character development and themes, character growth and consequence, aesthetics, and action packed fight scenes. And I think it's weak when trying to balance too many characters at once, lore expansion and backstory, and pretty much every attempt at political allegory.

That last point, specifically, I need to say some things: I'm not politically mature in the slightest. I'm a philosophical and critical thinking type of mind, and beyond my leftist beliefs, lots of political jargon and analysis of systems flies over my head or is often explained in too much of an exhausting way for me to pay attention. I can discourse on an individual basis, not really on a systemic one. I did just criticize the writing of fascism in this season, but trust, I didn't come up with that from reading extensive theory, it just came from my base level knowledge and my Deep Inner Feelings™️.

I watched that "Politics of Legend of Korra" series on youtube, and it was kind of difficult for me to understand beyond "the writers wrote themselves into a corner by the bad guys having too many good points and they can only straw man themselves out with the few episodes they have left." As an adult in a tumultuous society, I'm probably gonna take responsibility going forward to educate myself on these things more, just so I know wtf is going on besides the surface level stuff I'm already aware of.

-----But yeah, back to Korra. Good when characterizing and deep thinking, messy when worldbuilding and politicking. Book 3 is probably my favorite of all the seasons, and... Book 4 for now is sharing a spot with Book 1. Can't put the former one higher since despite the amount it did right, the compassion for the fascist is so utterly bonkers to me, it gave me metaphorical hives. Book 2 is on the bottom of the list for me, just... so many westernizations of eastern concepts and tries too much while sacrificing what the show is good at.

As a whole, I liked the show lots! Pretty much fell into the brackets of my pre-viewing expectations: higher highs than ATLA, but the lows are too low for me to ignore. ATLA isolated is stronger as a whole than TLOK is, IMO. However, I just wanna see it as a continuation of this world rather than just a show with a similar moniker, if only so I don't unwittingly throw my proverbial hat in the ring of this fandom's discourse.

Thanks for keeping up with my first watch of this series if you did! Stan Tenzin! He's my husband now! 💞💞💞

[percywinchester27]

The new Mrs. Winchester (9)

Word count: 4.8K

Pairing: Sam X Reader AU

Chapter warnings: PTSD, mentions of abuse, fluff

Series Summary: After spending over two years in captivity, and enduring assault, torture, and degradation of every kind, Y/N is finally sold off to the highest bidder. But when the deal is masked as a hushed marriage to a wealthy and powerful man, Y/N knows it means a few more nights of brutal torment ending in certain death. After all, why else would a man like him, want someone like her, except to fulfill desires so depraved that they would require owning a person. However, the Winchester mansion has mysteries of its own, woven in lies, betrayal, and death. Smack in the middle of it, she finds both hope and a home, in the person she least expected to find it with. But when it comes down to it, will she be able to save the thing that matters the most?

A/N: Thank you so much for the love and support over the past week. You guys are rockstars!

Beta: My darling, @deanssweetheart23 love ya!

The new Mrs. Winchester masterlist

“The room’s looking beautiful!” Abby clapped her hands. “It used to be so dark and gloomy, but now I can imagine you sitting at that desk with your computer and coming up with wonderful ideas for the rest of the house.”

“You really think so?”

Abby frowned at your apprehension. “Really, Miss, you need to give yourself more credit. I love what you’ve done with the walls.”

Would he love it, too?

The question had come unbidden to your mind several times in the past week that it had taken the crew to restore Mary Winchester’s study. Would he love it? While going through all the junk and packed-up boxes in the room, you had come across pictures of Mary and John from a young age. They looked nothing like the elegant portrait in the gallery where he wore a suit and she was dressed in a gown. In the photographs, they were both clad in jeans and shirts, smiling at the camera, a young couple who deserved a full, happy life by all means. In others, Mary was blushing at the camera, clearly, the picture was clicked by her husband who must've loved her very much. They made a handsome couple.

You had decided to get a couple of them framed, and now they rested on the polished oakwood desk, side by side. Would he like them?

You couldn’t wait to know the answer to that question. You couldn’t wait for him to return.

Sam had replied to your good night text that night and faithfully wished you each day since, but nothing beyond that. You were hard-pressed to guess what made him so very careful with you. Everything he did or said in your regard was calculated and measured. And you were desperate to see what lay underneath that carefulness, what he really was like when he wasn’t second-guessing his every move, every word.

Closing the door on the newly furnished study, you walked into the corridor intending to sneak into the library when a flurry of activity downstairs alerted you. 

“Mr. Winchester, your coat, Sir?” You heard one of the servants address politely, followed by a soft reply.

You found yourself sprinting along the corridor and down the stairs, feeling that odd tingle in your stomach at the thought of seeing his face.

Sam was halfway through shrugging out of his coat when you appeared at the top of the stair. His hair fell over his brow out of his usually neat part and his eyes looked heavy, but when he saw you, his lips broke into a true smile of pleasure. Surprised, you noted that yours stretched in an identical grin, as well. 

“Welcome home,” you said lightly, flitting down the rest of the steps slowly. 

“Home,” he balanced the word on his tongue and then smiled as if he liked how it sounded.

“I have to show you something!”

Sam took in your excited tone and the way you were bouncing on the balls of your feet and raised an amused eyebrow. “Sure, lead the way.”

In your excitement, you grabbed him by the hand and led him up the stairs, straight into the restored study. Only when you let go and felt remiss at the touch did you realise what you had just done. With some trepidation you turned to look at Sam’s face, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were quietly taking in the room before him, slowly, bit by bit, from the gleaming mantel piece to the plastered mouldings and cornices. At long last, his gaze settled on the pictures on the table. Sam walked towards it as if his body worked separately from his mind. You noted the spark of surprise when he registered who was in the frames.

A frisson of fear rushed through you. What had you been thinking? Sam had been courteous and kind, but he still hadn’t given you a right to intervene in his past, in his personal life. And you had still taken the liberty of framing the pictures of his dead parents and adorning them on a desk. How could you have crossed such a border?

“Sam, I–”

He lifted the larger frame, the one with his mother, and kissed the top.

“Did you know this was her study?” He said softly, in his velvet voice. “I’ve been told that she loved the view of the lake from up here.”

All of a sudden he looked really tired, bone-crushingly exhausted. You, of course, already knew that the study had belonged to Mary Winchester, but didn’t interrupt Sam as put the frame down.

“I love her, I suppose. Always have. As much as it’s possible to love someone you’ve never met,” he said, facing you at last. “You’ve restored her room beautifully.”

“R-Really?”

“Yeah!” He smiled. “It’s elegant and warm. You’ll love working from here.”

“Actually,” you hesitated. “I’d much rather just work from my room… or the library.”

“Why?”

“Because this room belongs to Mrs. Winchester and I don’t want to–”

“Y/N,” interrupted Sam, frowning like you were missing the obvious. “You are Mrs. Winchester.”

A shot of warmth spread through your limbs. “You know what I mean. I’d like to keep it pristine in your mother’s memory.” You smirked at him. “Unless you’re squirmy about sharing your favourite room with me.”

Sam returned your smirk. “You’re messy. There’s only so many times I can clean up after you.”

So, he did have a sarcastic shithead bone in his body, perfectly capable of bitchy comebacks. It made you grin wider.

“Come,” you said. “I’ll have Martha set the table for you. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Would anyone ever not?” Sam stretched out his limbs, yawning. “I’ll go grab a shower and meet you there.”

When Sam came down twenty minutes later, he smelled of body wash, wet hair slicked back and dripping water into the neckline of the sweater he wore. The sweater itself stretched perfectly over his taut shoulders and chest, hugging his strong arms, ending in rolled-up sleeves at his elbow. Hopefully, your ogling hadn’t been too obvious.

Martha presented a complicated pasta dish with relish. “If you don’t love this, you can take me out back and blow off my head.”

“Whoa whoa, easy there, Martha!” But all too soon, Sam had abandoned placating Martha and started scarfing down the hot food, burning his tongue in the process, but still downing more of it. It was like watching a kid have his favourite food. You had to remind yourself to pay attention to your own plate.

“There’s this party tomorrow at a business associate’s house,” said Sam, clearing the plate. “Are you up for it?”

He was giving you a choice. You needed to get used to it. 

Eyeing the glass in front, you asked. “What would it entail?”

“Awkward small talk, followed by more awkward small talk, maybe?” He paused to wiggle his eyebrows. “Hey, at least we’re not hosting it. So we can sit back, gossip in the corner, and get drunk.”

“You had me at awkward small talk.” He’d had you long before that.

Sam yawned again. He really looked dead on his feet. When he got up from the chair, he stumbled.

“Careful,” you warned, almost out of your seat. 

He steadied himself on the chair, veins of his hand standing out starkly, lighter than the rest of his hand where the skin stretched. You realised too late that you had been staring at the long fingers. 

He made his way around the table and placed his hand on your shoulder, exactly where he had placed it before on the only two occasions he had touched you. “Good night,” he smiled through the tiredness, tightening his grip only for a second before he released it. You watched him make his way up the stairs, trying to gain some control over the overwhelming urge to run after him, grab his hand then pull him back to you. Would his chest feel just as solid under your face as it looked if you hugged him? You wanted to hug him. To comfort him? To draw comfort from him, you didn’t know. But this physical degree of separation that he so strictly adhered to ached in a strange way.

That night, sleep came easily. All you had to do was imagine Sam’s steady breathing on the other side of the wall and you could calm your heart, reign in that warmth that refused to leave your stomach in his presence. 

Abby chattered like her usual self the next day, till she realised that you weren’t actually listening. The workers drew up the plans for the next rooms on your list of restoration. Sam had suggested the gallery because it was the most visited, but you added the dining room and all the closed bedrooms on the second floor.  On a whim, just before closing the discussion, you added one other room to the list. The first bedroom on the third floor. Sam’s bedroom.

Once, the tasks had been assigned for the day and you had sealed the first set of drawings, the sun was already hanging low on the horizon.

“Miss?” Abby knocked on the door. “I believe you had a dinner to attend tonight?”

A knot of nervousness formed inside you. “Y-Yeah.”

“Do you want me to pick something out for you?”

Her voice lacked the usual cheerfulness, which made you observe her face. She looked… sombre.

“Sure. What do you recommend?”

Abby cheered up a bit as she ran through the pros and cons of the last of the evening dresses you had left. You could guess the reason behind her grave mood, but didn’t want to prod it in case it backfired. As it is, you were preoccupied today.

“Maybe I should wear one of the other two again,” you said. “That last one is too revealing.” You didn’t know what to do with the body-hugging red number. The plunging neckline both back and front made it too risqué to wear to any place but a red carpet event. 

“You have to re-wear something, wear this one.” Abby thrust a midnight blue garment in your arm. “I’m not sure if Mr. Winchester would appreciate that. It reflects badly on his status.”

If you knew anything about Sam by this point, you knew he couldn’t care less about a repeat. But he might care about this dress.

Holding it up, you mumbled, “The strap snapped off last time.”

“Oh, yeah, I sewed it up,” said Abby, diving into the bottom bunk to pull out your heels. “Did it happen when you were taking it off?”

“Hmm.” The memory of Sam’s death grip on the back of your dress was still too fresh in your mind. Unbidden, also came the image from the papers, him looking down at you, worried. You knew now that it had been a real concern. He’d protected you from utter humiliation that night and then never brought it up again.

Making a split-second decision, you nodded at Abby. “Yeah, that one should do fine.”

Abby left you to change, muttering about her bread in the oven. It took you all of five minutes to put the dress on and pull up the straps. Pirouetting in front of the mirror, you twisted your torso from one side to the other. This dress really did flatter your body, accentuating your curves the right way. The back ends of the dress hung open in a slit from the base of your neck all the way to the hip, splayed open waiting to be laced in. Before putting it on, you threaded the lace through the holes, but Abby needed to come tighten the corseted top and tie the bow up your back. Just as you piled up your hair up experimenting with a knot on the top of your head, a knock sounded on the door. 

“Come on in!” You hollered from the bedroom vestibule, “The door’s open.” Abby had been quick on her trip from the kitchen, but you didn’t mind… obviously.

“Glad you’re back so soon,” you said, fluffing your hair further up, right over the crown, not looking behind you at the sound of footsteps. “Just lace the back up for me?”

Silence followed your words, Abby’s hands didn’t grab the lace.

“Hurry up! I’m getting late.”

The splayed back of the top started to go back up, and you felt his hot breath on your neck before you saw his reflection in the mirror at front. In the reflection, Sam’s eyes were intent on the task at hand as he carefully caught both ends of the lace and pulled them slowly, lacing the back perfectly and all you could think of was how close he stood and how despite the closeness, his fingers never touched your skin.

And God, you were terrified that he could see the goose bumps on your skin, that this close, he could hear the frantic beating of your heart and how your breath came and went in bursts. Feeling blood rush to your face, you closed your eyes, and yet the image of his tall frame standing right behind you refused to leave your mind, all too aware of how much was visible to him.

“I- I thought it was Abby.”

“Oh…” The grip loosened and the fabric started falling apart.

“No, that’s okay,” you said hurriedly. “Just tie it up at the top. It won’t snap this time, it’s all sewed up.”

Sam said nothing, but you felt the fabric hug your chest again. Though, in his haste this time, he tugged the lace ends hard, making you jerk when the corset tightened, and just for a second, you felt his shivering fingers touch the base of your neck where it met your shoulders. Every nerve ending in your body ignited at the same time.

“All done,” he said lightly, stepping back. How could he not know the devastating power he held over you?

Yet, Sam’s cheeks were flushed, and when he drew in a deep breath, all you could concentrate on was the closeness of his chest. There was something very graceful about the curl of his soft brown hair… you wanted to ask him why he kept it long. In fact, for someone so tall and well-built, Sam himself was graceful, in his movements, his stature, and then in his parts… the long fingers, the jawline… everything.

“Am– Am I late?” You stuttered, dropping your hand from over your hair, leading your hair to cascade over your shoulders.

Sam gulped before replying, “No. I actually wanted to see you before… before we left.” He stepped forward and pulled out a small, flat box from his pocket. Your heart very nearly caught in your throat. “I have something for you.”

He opened the box slowly and offered you a look within. Inside, resting against a cushioned surface lay a delicate, beaded chain, locked into a circle with a catch… but, it was too small to be a necklace… unless it was a choker or maybe…

“A bracelet?” You peered at the excellent craftsmanship and the four charms dangling from the cardinal ends.

Sam smiled. “Think again?”

Bemused, you shook your head, gently lifting the piece of jewellery to inspect one of the charms. You gasped. “Is this?”

“Miniature of Sophia Hagia. The likeness is uncanny,” said Sam. “It’s an anklet.”

“My goodness…” The stunning workmanship even detailed out the minarets. “Did you know that the dome is supported by four more side domes and the kind of compound architecture hasn’t been replicated since,” you whispered, lost in the feel of the tiny dips of the charm. The anklet wasn’t gold or platinum, but the solid metal looked durable and strong.

Examining the other three charms, you blinked in wonder.

“I happened to see it in the gallery of an antique jewellery store in Chicago last week. The jeweller told me what three of those miniatures are,” said Sam. “But he didn’t have a clue about the fourth.”

One by one, you went through the charms.

“You mentioned the other day how the Byzantine and Saracenic styles fascinated you,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Sophia Hagia grabbed my attention first.”

Swallowing hard, and avoiding Sam’s eyes, you picked the next one, peering very closely. The twin towers rising on either side gave it away, “Santiago de Compostela Archcathedral Basilica,” you whispered. 

“Spain?”

“Galicia, to be specific,” you murmured. “I’ve always wanted to visit…”

“I know the next one,” he grinned. 

You knew exactly which he was referring to, and that he was still going to get it wrong.

“Greece,” said Sam. “But it’s not the Parthenon because the number of pillars doesn’t match. It’s the temple of Zeus.”

Your smile must be smug. “Wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not even in the same part of Greece,” you winked. “The elevation is a little similar, but this one is way more important than our resident fuckboy.”

Sam snickered, a sound in contrast with his usually put-together elegance. And you died a little more inside at that boyish side of him. Bringing some semblance to your wild thoughts you told him, “It’s the temple of Athena Nike. Oldest ionic temple in the world, arguably the most prayed to on the Acropolis in times of emergency.”

He had a slightly awed expression on his face that made you look anywhere but at him. So, you peered at the last charm, a thin, square plate with etchings on it. Narrowing your eyes, you ran your fingers over the rectangular indentations. “I don’t know what it is.”

“Neither did the shop owner,” offered Sam. But it irked you that you didn’t have the answer. The other three monuments were famous, but laymen wouldn’t be able to spot them all. It would take a keen eye and knowledge. You would figure it out though, even if it took all the Encyclopedias in the world.

Sam ran his hand through his hair. “I thought you might find it interesting. But I don’t know if it’s something you would want to wear…”

Abandoning the box, you walked upto the bed and placed your foot firmly on the mattress and then clasped the catch around your ankle… it hung there elegantly. “It’s beautiful,” you told him, “Thank you.”

His answering smile was dazzling.

“I’ll let you finish then,” he said, bowing out. “Knock on my door when you’re ready. I’ll wait for you there.”

“Sam–”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to leave,” you said. “You can wait in the sitting room, I won’t be long.”

He dipped his head once and then left you to your privacy, drawing the curtains of the bedroom vestibule. You sat down on the bed with a plop, feeling the weight of the almost weightless anklet somewhere in your chest.

He’d just made getting through the night so much more difficult than it already was going to be. But when he was around, everything became so easy, talking to him, laughing with him. Everything.

Knocking the thoughts out of your head, you got to your feet and hurriedly piled up your hair once more. Fifteen minutes later when you walked into the sitting room, you found Sam reading from your copy of Mary Shelley’s poems.

Almost absently, he glanced up at the sound of your footsteps and his eyes widened, in a way that left you feeling the same way again as if you’d swallowed a big gulp of whiskey.

“Shall we?” You wiggled an eyebrow, offering your arm.

To your surprise, Sam took your hand, fingers curling around yours. “Please.”

*****

The party was being held outside the town limits in another big house, though it had nothing on the Winchester Mansion. The thirty-minute-long drive gave you a few things to ponder and observe. Sam drove well, patiently, and the rock music crooning in a low voice almost seemed to be a blend in the background, a part of the ride itself. Sam had always been gentlemanly, opening car doors for you, checking your seatbelt just in case and you fully expected him to ask you what station you preferred, but the cassette case (a surprise that his fancy car even had one) started on a Metallica album of its own. Sam didn’t hum along or anything, but the music seemed to be part of his set-up somehow. It calmed him and you didn’t start any conversation in the car, choosing to enjoy the quiet of his company.

Once outside the doors of the mansion, he took your hand once more. 

“There’ll be stupid questions,” he said. “You don’t have to answer any of them. It’s nobody’s business and you shouldn’t have to lie. Leave it up to me.” With that, he led you inside.

By now, more than a few faces were familiar and a few names too. You found yourself smiling easily now when a voice greeted you here and there. Sam spotted the host of the party and the two of you made your way to him and his wife. The man, an elderly sort, grinned at Sam boisterously and the woman welcomed you with a warm smile.

“Mr. and Mrs. Carlton,” said Sam, “You must remember my wife, Y/N.”

“Of course,” the woman smiled. You are a very lucky man, Sam. She’s lovelier than the first snow of Aspen. Isn’t that where you met her?”

Sam nodded, it didn’t miss your notice that Sam was reluctant to elaborate. He’d had no qualms about fabricating a detailed story on the night of your reception, but now, he wouldn’t say a word.

“Why don’t you tell me about it?” She prodded, glancing at her husband once.

You could feel the hesitation coming off Sam in the way his body tensed against you.

“I was there on a college trip,” you began and Sam’s body tensed further, but you continued. “My friends and I had decided to go skiing on one of the slopes. I’d never done it before but didn’t want to admit it to my friend. She warned me several times that it’s hard and I should be careful. I didn’t listen to her; swerved the wrong way and got lost, and just when I thought I’d never find my way back up from the very bottom of the pit–” you looked at Sam– “He found me.”

There it was again, that odd, shattered look in his eyes just for a split second before he pulled it together.

Mrs. Carlton clapped her hands in delight. “Would you look at that, Reggy? It’s like a romcom come to life.”

Except it really wasn’t. Your story was a horror story. This life with Sam was only an illusion, the sweetest of cons. You just didn’t want to break his heart by telling him the full truth of your life. He’d done so much to free you, if you told him now that you weren’t ever going to be free, it might just haunt him.

“We won’t take any more of your time,” said Sam, first to Mrs. Carlton, then to her husband. “This is a wonderful party.”

“You’re always too charming, Sam,” she laughed in a pristine way that you could never. “But the ladies can back off now, I suppose. The drinks are over there. Ask the bartender for the special. I’m sure our lovely Mrs. Winchester will enjoy it.”

Sam led you away then, to the bar counter. 

“You want something to drink?” He asked almost absently, preoccupied with his own thoughts.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” He nodded and waved to the bartender, declining the drink he was being offered.

Everyone in the room seemed to know everyone, how to laugh and how to talk and here you were standing next to Sam, not awkward, but also not knowing what to say. You didn’t know how to behave at an upscale, high-society party, any more than you knew how to be married. 

The lights dimmed and as if on cue, people started moving towards the centre of the floor, wine glasses in their hands and smiles on their lips. Fingers wandered over sequined dresses and velvet lapels as the music thrummed in the air. Somehow the people on the floor knew how to move their bodies without bumping into each other, how to lead, and how to follow. Watching the hands of men slide down over the bodies of women suddenly had you feeling sick. You had been asked to dance like this once, without clothes in an icy room till you couldn’t feel your toes, and then forced down on your knees.

“Uhh, do you want to?”

Sam’s words broke your horrifying train of thought.

“What?”

“I asked if you wanted to… you know…” he jerked his head in the direction of the dance floor. “Fair warning, I’m not very good at it.”

Glad that he wasn’t paying attention to your face, you pulled your expression together, torn between the desire to be close to him, but unsure of whether you could handle being held.

“Y/N?”

“Yes,” you said before you could change your mind. “Let’s go.”

He studied your face, but you gave him no opportunity to see past the careful façade you put there.

The dance required you to lock your hands behind Sam’s neck and for him to hold on to your waist. Apparently, that hadn’t occurred to Sam until you were in the middle of the dance floor. While both your hands hung limply by your side, he looked appalled at having put you in such a situation in the first place.

You took a deep breath, shoving away the vestiges of that nightmare of an experience away from your thoughts, and concentrating on the now, on the man standing before you. Slowly, you reached out to place your hands on his shoulders, pressing your fingers in reassurance, in permission. Sam deflated slightly, and with similar deliberation let his hands find your waist. 

You moved first, mimicking the dance steps of the couples around you. Simple enough. And for all of Sam’s claims, he wasn’t bad at it. 

“When was the last time you did this?” You asked him.

“A couple of months ago,” he answered. “Some party similar to this. It’s a polite thing to dance with the host… or his wife and other women of your acquaintance.”

“Ah, I see what Mrs. Carlton meant about the ladies backing off now.”

Sam pursed his lips, smiling shyly.

Oh, it was too adorable and you couldn’t help but tease him a little more. “No one here that you want to dance with?”

Sam gave you that look again as if you were missing the obvious.

“Y/N, I’m already dancing with her.”

And you were all too aware of how close you stood, bodies nearly touching but not quite. The electricity there zinged enough to hurt. Could he feel it, too?

And you were exhausted now– of denying yourself this small thing, of his exasperating carefulness. Sliding both hands from his shoulders over his chest, you let them encircle his waist and closed that maddening distance between. While it was still acceptable, you laid your head over his chest.

At first, Sam stiffened. For a couple of beats of his heart, you didn’t know if he would push you away, but then, his hands too travelled upwards, over the laced corset, skimming over the skin that peeked from the trapezoidal gaps. His fingers did not hesitate, did not falter when they reached the bow of the top. But unlike last time, they didn’t grip the fabric, just remained there firmly.

He started moving again, out of sync with the fast song and you moved with him, in small circles. You closed your eyes, savouring the feeling of simply being held, without expectations of any kind, without fear. Sam wouldn’t understand, he couldn’t understand what he was doing for you in that minute. 

One song, then two and he still made no move to separate, gave no intimation that he wanted to change anything about the moments. You opened your eyes to see that the couples around you had switched places, switched to more organic dancing, and here you were still wrapped in Sam’s arms. The weight of his chin resting over your head, tethering you to reality.

“Sh- shouldn’t you be dancing with other people?” You whispered, eyes filling up at the thought of ending the dance. But it had to end at some point. Everything good eventually did. “Husbands aren’t supposed to dance with just their wives at events like these.”

Sam’s arms tightened ever so lightly around you, and you had to close your eyes once more to feel his warmth, soak it in. His chest rumbled as he said, “Well, this one does.”

*****************************

A/N 2: I don’t know when I’ll be able to post the next chapter. Hopefully sooner rather than later, but it’s quite long and I think worth the wait. 

In the meantime, do send good vibes my way. I feel lost and could use them.

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[crypticroyals]

Ok. This might sound controversial but I need to get this out there.

Some people (not a lot and definitely not everyone) are saying it's cultural appropriation to use their or native American folklores for things outside of the native's context.

Alright I guess Greek and Norse and Japanese mythology can't ever be used again anymore guys. Remove all the fiction we have ever made. Library of Alexandria style.

Like, yes, I get the concept of not bastardizing a folk myth in the sense of like, "oh here's a w*ndigo, they're a hero!" when the creature is an embodiment of evil and represents all the negative things racist people ever associated with native Americans. Yeah I get that, but that shouldn't mean someone can't take the story and use it in their own in the right context.

That's what native America groups have done in so many different tribes. There is like 5+ different versions of the myth that are all native culture (all are Algonquian in close region iirc but still they have different things) so why can't I keep the main features that all cultures explain, use it in the same context but the lore is changed slightly to fit the story I'm representing it in?

THAT IS WHAT FOLKLORE IS

Don't get me wrong, if someone took a creature/being from folklore and made it something completely different and than tried to use the name of it, that isn't the same myth anymore and should be given a different name, not the one they tried to say was their new depiction. But that still shouldn't mean I can't use a myth. The main reason Im upset about this is because you have a small amount of people saying it's bad and shouldn't be done even if used accurately even tho pretty much every other culture does.

Norse mythology? Look at Marvel with it's Odin, Thor, Hel and Loki. Greek mythology? That existed years ago and a few modern day pagan Greeks use it outside context and allow others to use it because it's ancient stories full of culture heritage. Same with Roman mythology which is basically Greek mythology but changed for a new context and many use that. Hell we have planets named after them!

I'm not saying "take a myth and make it something no longer that myth but claim it is" because that would be super rude as it ruins what the myth ment and stood for. But things change constantly. No two versions of a myth are exactly the same. Who's to say I can't represent it in my own way? I love learning about cultures and all sorts of myths and tales and cuisines and traditions. But if people can represent Zues or a Kirin and no one bats an eye than why do some people get mad when someone uses a native spirit of greed and winter hm? I know some people of native groups prefer to not speak certain terms as they see it as taboo. The W*nd*go for example. But some do. So why can't I represent cultures in a fantasy setting? Sure the myths aren't real life and consist from cultures all over with different contexts, but if we can't use windigos why can we use fairies and elves and gnomes? Is it because those are white myths? If so that seems very rude. But I'm not sure that's what it is because we have Asian myths and Greek myths in which are used. So I suppose it's because how people back than treated Africa and the Americas. That and how some "modern" takes resemble nothing of the cultures' actually things. Like in Africa Voodoo is now some "heebe jeebies murder witchcraft" and in Algonquian cultures the windigos are now for some reason weird deer minotaurs???? Like, why are they deer now? That's a new thing now, give it a new name please.

Anyways, I do not wish for people to believe this is some angry rant about how people should be allowed to steal and bastardize cultures. Because that isn't true. That's also something wrong people really shouldn't do. But what I guess I mean by all this, is that cultures spread and change over times everywhere and so many connect and change and show heritage and history. We should love each other and other's cultures no matter differences. In the end, we're all human. We shouldn't be fighting someone who wants to make a story about some sorcerers and rogues trying to hunt down a monstrous thing of evil that has been torturing a scared town that represents native cultures. We should be fighting the people who try to make a movie about a myth for the thrill factors that completely change the myth till nothing of the old tale remains and dare to call it the same.

I'm pretty sure this won't get a lot of representation besides hate from the few I spoke about but I felt the need to at least get this off my chest and I apologize if this offends anyone no matter how.

Hopefully one day humanity can get along better than it does. 🤞💕🤝

[thehiccupingbanana]

Keys to my Heart

PAIRING/FANDOM: Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring GENRE: fluff WORD COUNT: 2,112 WARNINGS: none SUMMARY: "Maybe you can move in with Charlie? You basically live there anyways, and for some reason pay your share of the rent here. Not that we are complaining.” Christian joked. “I don’t live with Charlie. We haven’t been together long enough to live together.” Nick said. “I don’t think that is true.” Sai interjected. or Nick's flatmates decided that they were not going to renew their rent for the next year, so Nick asked Charlie for help finding a flat. Charlie was under the impression that Nick was already slowly moving in with him. ADDITIONAL TAGS: Established Nicholas "Nick" Nelson/Charles "Charlie" Spring, Alternate Universe - College/University, sappy boys, no beta / editor [READ ON AO3]

It’s been four years since Charlie sat next to Nick in their form room back in secondary. It’s been three years and eleven months since Nick and Charlie have been best friends.

It’s been 2 years 6 months 13 days 20 hours and 58 minutes since their friend group decided to skip the last party fresher’s week; the plan to have a film night like when they were in secondary school. Since Nick and Charlie both got a little too drunk and said yes to a game of truth or dare. Since someone dared Charlie to kiss Nick, and Nick was pretty certain Charlie was going to kiss his cheek. Since Nick decided he didn’t want Charlie to kiss his cheek and moved at the last moment for their lips to meet. Since Nick and Charlie kissed for the first time for an unknown amount of time, only breaking apart when Darcy yelled “Get it son!”. Since they fell asleep together that night and decided to be boyfriends the following morning.

Not that Nick has been counting or anything.

Present day Nick is aware he is undeniably down bad for his best friend and boyfriend. He is also aware that he still can’t keep his hands off his boyfriend, so he understands that Charlie wanted a distraction free evening to get a project done for a class. Nick thought about just going to the library for a few hours but he was feeling a little bad that he has only seen his flat mates during rugby practice or matches for the last few months; so, he decides to go to his flat for the night. 

“I’m back.” Nick yelled into the flat he shared with a couple of his mates from the rugby team. The three guys that didn’t “banter” at him because he is bisexual, but because of how much of a sap he is about his boyfriend, Charlie.

“Hey, what happened?” Christian asked, from his spot on the sofa next to Sai.

Nick drops his backpack with some clothes in it for tomorrow at the bottom of the stairs. “Nothing’s happened, Charlie just has a project due in a couple of days, and he wants to get it done. He said that if I’m around he gets "too distracted".” Nick answered, making air quotes for emphasis.

Christian and Sai laughed at Nick’s use of quotation marks.

“Well, one of you has to be the sensible one I guess.” Sai said, once he settled down.

“I know.” Nick pouted, plopping down on the recliner next to the sofa.

“Well, it’s good to see you, we’re glad you’re here, even if it is just for one night.” Sai smiled softly.

“I’m not gone that much, and I see you at rugby 4 times a week.”

“But you’re not here, at home. Which is okay, and something we wanted to talk to you about.” Christian replied.

“Graduation is coming up in a couple months, and we talked to Otis about some things, and neither one of us are planning on staying here in Leeds afterwards.” Sai stated.

“Oh.” Nick sighed.

“We know you are going to stay here for your PGCE, but maybe you can move in with Charlie? You basically live there anyways, and for some reason pay your share of the rent here. Not that we are complaining.” Christian joked.

“I don’t live with Charlie. We haven’t been together long enough to live together.” Nick said.

“I don’t think that is true.” Sai interjected, “People move in with their partners at all different times, some don’t even live with their partners if they are married. There’s no rule book on that.”

“Also, you and Charlie have been best mates since secondary school, people can live with their friends.”  Christian added. “But we’re not saying you have to move in with Charlie. There are some guys on the team getting a flat share next year that I’m sure they wouldn’t mind for you to join in on the rent pool.”

“Yeah. I’ll look around too, since I don’t have to be so close to campus next year, I’ll see what options I have.” Nick replied.

After having some take away pizza with the guys, Nick goes to his room to start looking at some flat options.

Upon stepping into his room throwing his overnight bag on his bed, he remembers that his good pillow is still at Charlie’s flat. That’s fine, I’ll be over again tomorrow.

Nick pulls out his laptop and looks on Rightmove and starts looking at flats closest to Charlie’s flat and flats that are just close to the University; both with the idea of making it easier for Charlie if he was to come over. Finding a potential flat easily.

1 Bed | 1 Bath | Recently Upgraded | Nearby University of Leeds

Nick looked at the map and could confirm it was indeed very close to the University, but on the other side than Charlie’s flat, and the price was on the higher end of his price range. Nick decided to look through the photos on the posing anyways seeing that the bedroom barley fit a double bed in it. Maybe. Nick thought as he scrolled on to the next listing.   

1 Bed | 1.5 Bath | Paved Front Garden

Nick looked at another listing that was fairly close to Charlie’s flat, but further away to the University. It was much more affordable but the photos showed a very small kitchen. To Nick, the kitchen is the only thing that has to be perfect, everything else doesn’t really matter that much. However, not having a place to live trumps a small kitchen so the flat also gets a maybe.

He decides he may not find anything better until closer to the summer when people are moving out, so he closes his laptop and texts Charlie a “good luck on your project <3” text, and watches YouTube on his phone until he falls asleep.

~●~

“Charlie, can you help me find a new place to live?” Nick asked, laying down with his head on Charlie’s lap. Charlie lounging on his bed, one hand playing with Nick’s hair, the other holding the book he was reading.

“What?” Charlie questioned, shoving an old receipt he’d been using as a bookmark in the book and putting it on the nightstand.

“Well, the guys said that they aren’t going to stay in Leeds for another year after graduation, so I’ll need to find a new place to live.” Nick responded. “I found a couple of different options that might work, but I want your opinion as well.”

“If it’s where you want to live, then it should be your choice.” Charlie replied.

“But I don’t want you to hate it and you never come over.” Nick started, “Like one is expensive and the bedroom is barely big enough for a bed. Another is close by so you can come over whenever you want, but the kitchen is so small, you couldn't even bake brownies from a box in there and have room.”

“Sweetheart, get up for a moment.” Charlie bent his knees slightly to prompt Nick to move, both guys shifting so they were sitting and facing each other.

“Or I was also thinking that I can go down to the leasing office here and see if there are any vacancies available, so then we can live in the same building.”

“Nick-”

“Or if you don’t want that then that’s okay! The small flat is cute, and if you don’t want to come over, that’s fine! I can still come here.” Nick interrupted, already going into a spiral.

“Wait.”

“Or not, it’s okay. I can look on my own, you don’t have t-”

“Hey.” Charlie interrupted, putting his hands on either side of Nick’s face. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know.” Nick sighed, “I guess I’m a little stressed out about finding a place that works for you.”

“Works for me?” Charlie asked, furrowing an eyebrow.

“Yeah, close enough to campus so if you want to stay the night, you’re not late to classes or study groups. Or close by so you can be with your friends. But not like I’m saying you have to spend the night with me-”

“Darling.” Charlie gently interrupted Nick’s spiral again, “You have another place to live that isn’t with the rugby guys.”

“Char, I don’t want to go back to live with my mom, I want to stay here with you.” Nick pleaded.

“Nick, I’m not talking about living with your mom.” Charlie smiled, moving his hands over Nick’s hands. “Why don’t you live here? With me?”

“But what about Tao?” Nick asked.

“Tao already told me he’s been thinking about moving into a flat with Elle.”

“You don’t think it’s too soon? Won’t your mom be really upset with you?” Nick whispered.

“My mom’s been upset with me half my life Nick, you moving in with me is not going to change her feelings of me.” Charlie half-joked. “Plus, we’ve been best friends for four years, and by next school year it’ll be 2 years since we started dating...”

“But-”

“It’s not like you don’t already practically live here…”

“I don’t live here.”

“You might as well just be paying rent to the wrong bill, love.”

“That’s what the guys said. I do stay here with you a lot, but I don’t think I live here. Plus isn’t your room kind of small for two people? It definitely felt bigger when you moved in.”

“All of your stuff is here Nick; half this room is your stuff. This room has slowly become our room. Even this quilt is yours.” Charlie said, picking up the corner of the quilt closest to him for emphasis.

“Your quilt was too heavy; I was overheating every night.”

“Yes, Nick, that's what I was saying. Every night.” Charlie jokingly poked. “I’m not complaining though, I love my personal human radiator.”

“I knew you just loved me for my body.” Nick fake pouted.

“Yes, duh. Amongst other things.” Charlie chuckled. “But that’s why you have your cooling pillow on your side of the bed. Where the night stand has your reading glasses, and your half empty glass of water. Half my dresser is full of your clothes, half the closet is your clothes.”

“Is that what you’re calling the row of my stolen hoodies.” Nick poked Charlie’s side lightly.

“You needed clothes for when you stayed here, also they’re our hoodies Nicholas. We have joint custody.” Charlie joked, grabbing Nick's finger and not letting go.

“Okay so maybe I live in your room.” Nick acquiesced.

“You have all your soaps in the shower, and half the bathroom sink counter is covered with your stuff. Hell, you even have a cabinet in the kitchen full of your baking stuff.” Charlie started, “And it’s okay, I like it. I want you to feel at home here.”

“You are my home.”

“There’s you being sappy again.”

“You were sappy first!”

“Shut up, I am never sappy.”

“You are, and I think it’s because you love me.” Nick joked, pushing Charlie onto his back with Nick hovering over him.

“No, I don’t.” Charlie shook his head.

“You don’t mean that.” Nick mock gasped, tickling Charlie.

“Nick!” Charlie gasped between laughs. “Stop!”

“Are you going to take it back?” Nick asked, stopping just long enough to get an answer out of Charlie. Charlie used that moment to flip them back over, grabbing Nick’s wrists and pinning them above his head, to keep Nick from tickling him again.

“I do. I was going to say it’s because I really love you, but I’m not sure any more.” Charlie pouted.

“Well, I really love you so I hope you really love me.” Nick smiled.

“You are. Such. A. Sap. Nicholas. Nelson.” Charlie said, punctuating with a poke to Nick’s side.

“I’m your sap, Charles Spring.” Nick said, slightly dazed with the feeling of Charlie’s weight on him.

“Ugh.” Charlie rolled his eyes, before leaning down and kissing Nick.

He kept his hand pinning down Nick’s wrists in place and kissed Nick until he heard a small noise in Nick’s throat.

Charlie pulled back from the kiss gently, laughing softly when he heard Nick groan “Why’d you stop?”

“Nick, if you want to, I would love for you to officially live with me.” Charlie prompted.

“Uhm- YES. Char, obviously. As long as you want to.”

“I just said I want you to!” Charlie laughed, shifting downwards to continue kissing Nick.

~●~

It’s only 2 months and 5 days until Nick gets to officially live together with his boyfriend, not that Nick is counting or anything.  

~~~

title by the lovely @sleepywriter00 who always helps me with titles because i suck at it <3

if i missed any cw/tws, please let me know!

[houseaeducan]

quick lil trev siblings scene below the cut. super early game in lyra's worldstate

Lyra is only up for a few minutes before Lysander arrives in her room, a satchel of some kind in one hand and two mugs of ale in the other. 

“Did I wake you?” he asks, not waiting for a response before settling himself into the room’s only chair. “I come bearing breakfast.” 

Lyra sits up in bed, smoothing her hair self-consciously before settling on the edge of the bed. She still isn’t sure how to talk to her brother, and the impromptu nature of this visit is doing her no favors. Wordlessly, she accepts the food as Lysander hands it to her, some bread and cheese, some preserved fruit, and one of the mugs, which she considers before tasting. 

“Courtesy of Flissa,” Lysander says. “She told me to say she’s glad you’re doing better by the way.”

She wonders if Lysander is sleeping with Flissa. She has only met her briefly, but she likes her enough that she considers warning her off – she doubts her brother would do his duty by a barmaid should something happen. She tries the ale again, grimacing at the bitter taste. 

Lysander frowns, then looks delighted. “Is this your first time?” he asks. 

“Hardly,” Lyra replies, which is close enough to true. She had had a glass or two of wine at plenty of dinners with the senior enchanters, especially in the days leading to the Conclave. And she had a few sips of ale back in her apprentice days, supplied by one of the girls in her dormitory, a fiery redhead who was sleeping with one of the templars. He would sneak in all sorts of contraband for her from the outside, and all the other girls would jealously pour over treats and fine jewelry and books that had no place in the Circle’s library. 

Lyra had thought it was a bad idea at the time, and her distaste for rulebreaking was validated a few months later when the affair ended badly and the girl was quickly transferred away to the Kirkwall Circle. 

She had almost certainly been killed in the Annulment, she realizes. It’s a grim thought to have about someone she hasn’t spoken to in years.

She takes another gulp of the ale, trying her hardest to mask her distaste, and sets the mug down primly. 

“When will you be heading back?” she asks. Back to where, she isn’t certain. Her understanding from Mother and Father’s letters is that Lysander has spent the past decade or so living at the whims of different wealthy, noble friends, staying at their estates until his host finally tires of weeks or months of her brother’s revelries and he moves on to the next. 

There were vocations between that, some meaningless role in the Ostwick militia, sporadic semesters at the University of Orlais studying Maker knew what, each of which her parents grew less and less hopeful about each time. 

The matter of Lysander’s eventual inheritance has been an unspoken conflict for as long as Lyra can remember, and as much as her parents seem to have finally given up the prospect of him growing into a worthy heir for House Trevelyan, no plans to instate one of her cousins instead seem to have been made. Her mother only acknowledged it once in Lyra’s memory, in one of her rare permitted visits to the Circle. Lysander had done something – skipped out on an opportunity her parents had arranged for him or disgraced himself in some manner that required their parents' intervention – and as she complained about it, Lyra’s mother had taken Lyra by the hand and said, “If only you hadn’t been a mage. If only we could have had you instead.” 

She stopped herself immediately after, looking a bit ashamed. “This is all a part of Andraste’s plan, of course,” she corrected. “I only wish She’d show me what it is.”

Lysander shrugs at her question. “Who knows,” he says. “I thought I might stay around for a bit, keep an eye on my dear sister. Interesting things are happening here.”

Not interesting to men like her brother. Haven’s encampment is made of rough cabins and tents and a single tavern. Most of the women here are Chantry sisters. But Lyra doesn’t believe in his brotherly affection either. “A bit late to start keeping an eye on me now.” 

“Better late than never,” he replies affably. “I have news, by the by. Letters from our esteemed parents.” He produces two envelopes from the satchel. Lyra understands now. Staying here, keeping an eye on her, evaluating the risk and reward of House Trevelyan’s role in the fledgling Inquisition, is doubtlessly his latest assignment from their parents, the same way attending the Conclave was in the first place, before he slept drunkenly past it. She has no doubt this will turn out just as poorly. She gives it a fortnight before he leaves for more exciting company. 

She fingers over the letters, one from Mother, one from Father, before putting them in her bedside drawer. She’ll read them later, in private. 

Lysander watches this with surprisingly apt attention before he snatches up a piece of Lyra’s breakfast and takes a bite. 

“Did you know we had family at the Conclave?” he asks. “Present company aside, obviously. You remember Mother’s cousin and those two horrible twins of his, the templars? Did you know them?”

Lyra shakes her head. “They wouldn’t have stationed a templar at a Circle where they had family,” she says. What if a mage became possessed? A moment of sentimental hesitation could be the difference between life and death. 

She does remember the twins, though. The two girls – named Hippolyta and Hester or something equally horrible and alliterative – were younger daughters of a more minor branch of the family. Other families as far back in the line of succession as her aunt and uncle might have seized the chance to arrange strategic marriages, but Uncle Leontes, more pious than even Mother, was more interested in earning the Chantry’s approval, so the girls had been sent to be trained as templars as soon as they could walk. 

Lyra had only met them once, at their older sister’s wedding. She was freshly Harrowed at only 18, and her parents had seized upon her new status as a full Enchanter to request she be allowed a reprieve from the Circle to demonstrate her magic at the wedding. It was the kind of assignment usually granted as a reward for more senior Enchanters, but Lyra’s sterling reputation and two well-timed donations – one to the Circle library, one to the templar armory – had earned her approval for the excursion. 

If anything, it had been a chance for Mother and Father to play at another life for the three of them – Lyra had truly attended not as a representative of the Circle, but as the only daughter of Lady and Lord Trevelyan, clad in fine dresses rather than stiff Enchanter’s robes, introducing herself to family members that in another world she might have had full lives with, and even allowing herself dances with third and fourth sons of guests from the groom’s side.  

The twins both wore the crimson regalia of off-duty templars, a notable step down from some of the evening’s finery. They had the same tan skin and grey-blue eyes as the rest of Lyra’s family, but both borrowed twin shocks of dark blonde curls from their mother. The girls were clearly identical, both with flat cheekbones and pointed noses, but the resemblance stopped beneath their chins. One of them was big – not much taller than Lyra and no taller than her sister, but simply big – stocky and muscular in a way that was impressive even among templars. She had smiled at Lyra when they were briefly introduced, muttering a greeting that she didn’t quite make out. The other was smaller, with an archer’s broad arms and willowy legs. She had looked Lyra up and down with a practiced, incisive ease. Lyra wasn’t sure what to do, so she had curtsied and was taken aback when the other girl responded with a small, stiff bow. 

“Enchanter,” her cousin said finally. 

“Ser,” Lyra had replied, and spent the rest of the night trying to ignore the templar’s continued gaze. 

“Well,” Lysander says. “They’re dead.” He shrugs, and for once, Lyra isn’t sure she believes in his flippancy. That could have been him, after all, if he had been a bit less lazy and a bit less of a drunk. 

Lyra had hardly seen Lysander that night – the only time they had been together since she had been taken to the Circle nearly a decade earlier. He hadn’t been at her parent’s estate when she arrived. “Out with his friends,” her mother had said with a roll of her eyes – a euphemism for more colorful complaints of her son that she would make later that night, once she had had a bit to drink. 

At the wedding, their only interaction had been when Lysander, already tipsy, had grabbed her arm and pulled her to the middle of a conversation she hadn’t been a part of. “– and this,” he had said, “is my dear sister, already graduated in the Ostwick Circle.”

“Harrowed,” Lyra had corrected. 

“Indeed. And young for it too. How old are mages usually when they hallow? 20? 21? I couldn’t lace my own breeches at 18.” She didn’t know how he had known that. The inner workings of the Circle were little known on the outside, and while she had told all of this to her mother and father in their letters, she and Lysander had never written. 

Whoever he was speaking to had laughed, and with that, her part in the conversation was over. She didn’t see him for the rest of the night, he having no doubt faded into some back room to gamble with other guests or flirt with the servants or partake in some other debauchery Lyra had no knowledge of. 

But Lyra rarely thought of that night. In her mind, her brother was still the nineteen-year-old watching her from the other side of the hall when the templars came, still the boy with the too-easy smile who had turned his gaze when she looked to him. The man from the wedding and this drunken fool sitting before her were still strangers. 

Lyra sighs. “Well,” she says. “Maker rest their souls.” 

“Weightier words from the Herald of Andraste.” 

Lyra nods. She doesn’t want to talk about this, not with Lysander. 

For once, her brother is quiet, his gaze lingering on her, waiting for her to speak. With a shock, she recognizes something sincere in it – he is waiting for her to tell him if she is or isn’t. If she says she is, he might even believe her. 

She feels embarrassed, not excited and certain like she had when she had first heard the title. “The Maker has a path for us all,” she says vaguely. “I’m just trying to follow mine the best I can.” 

He relaxes a bit, taking another sip of his ale. “Hear, hear,” he says. “In another life, you might have had a great career as a Chantry sister.” 

She smiles – she’ll take it as a compliment, even if he means it as a jab. “So I’m told.”

[69dias]

fresh linen [jjk, 5/?]

a/n: i am so Fawking sorry this is so late. however. it is 3 am and i will be promptly passing out.

w/c: 3.5k

warnings: fresh linen special; daddy issues. namjoon. fl!namjoon is a warning in itself i fear. poor oc. taehyung is kinda mean ngl!

jungkook’s been, to his own surprise, introspective ever since you’ve agreed to meet with him. it's been a few days at this point, and he’s spent them mulling over the why and the whens of your relationship; more specifically, the end of it. he’s come to a number of conclusions, but thinks back to seeing you at the campus library just two days prior and decides that it's because he didn’t care about who you were.

it’s not like he’s attempting to acquit himself of the genuine reasons the two of you might’ve broken up, it’s just another one that he’s adding to the collection he’s garnered with time. while you know of the broken shards of his family still lodged in his skin from years ago, know about his father and his mother and exactly how each one of them fucked him up; you know about his childhood best friends and his first girlfriends and the first drink he ever had and the way he feels about certain baseball teams but he doesn’t know these things about you. in fact, he knows surprisingly little, and though he remembers how your skin felt under his skin, remembers your friends, your basic likes and dislikes, remembers the smell of fresh linen and strawberries… he doesn’t remember much about you.

to cut a long story short, you were with another guy. kim namjoon, whom jungkook saw with varying frequency both during and after your relationship. he was a TA at the pre-law department, was in the last year of law school, about 6 feet tall and had dimples for fucks sake. the possessiveness had struck him quicker than he’d care to admit and fuck, had it been tough to bite his tongue and walk away to the academic papers section after seeing you with him:

you’d been laughing, your quiet giggles resounding through the walls of his empty brain that only ever seemed to blank when you were around, and he’d been muttering something at an impressive speed, one so rapid that jungkook couldn’t exactly decipher his words which pissed him the fuck off, but he’d initially not noticed the man because you’d been in his vicinity. alas, you hadn’t noticed him, and jungkook wonders if that was for the better, but he also wonders how that might have played out. would you have told him namjoon was your new man? would you have ditched the TA to grab a bite with him and talked things out? it killed him to not have answers to the what-ifs, but he reckoned he’d be worse off if the former was true, if namjoon really was the new guy in the picture.

so, like any other deeply insecure ex-boyfriend who had major commitment issues, he’d done a little search of his own; ‘search’ loosely translating to asking taehyung, who happened to be tremendously invested in everyone’s personal lives:

“tae, do you happen to know about this guy namjoon?”

“yeah, why? 

why. 

taehyung probably hadn’t meant anything by it, but it still sent jungkook reeling just a bit, having to physically take a step back and assess the actual reason he was so curious. could it have been to reassess why your relationship had gone wrong? sure. but he wasn't sure where the interaction between you and namjoon fit into that puzzle, and decided that the why had more to do with this fit of unjustified jealousy that sept under his veins whenever he thought of how happy you looked with that man.

key word being ‘unjustified’. meaning he couldn’t voice it out loud, and taehyung had been staring pointedly at him by that point so he pulled a classic jeon jungkook move: denial.

“nothing. just saw him with __ the other day and it made me think, yknow?”

taehyung had laughed in his face following the lackluster explanation, and jungkook figured that if anyone could read right through him, it would be taehyung, so no further attempts to acquit himself of the jealousy he quite frankly had no rights to be feeling were made. that is, until taehyung had spoken again.

“oh man. they’ve been friends since high school, jungkook. if you’re jealous, you should know that even if she’s totally in the place to get with someone else, he’s not gonna be the one she’d choose.”

“what the fuck, i’m not jealo-“

“c’mon man, save it. not jealous? you made no attempt to learn about her old friends in the time you were together but now you wanna prod? and you’re not jealous?”

the questions thrown at jungkook’s face had given him multiple counts of whiplash, and before he could’ve even opened his mouth to try and answer, or better yet, before he could even think of his answers, taehyung had continued.

“I’ve been trying to avoid asking you, because clearly you’re not ready for it, but fuck, man. you broke up with her over text and are suddenly curious about this new guy that she’s with yet you don’t even know that they’re childhood friends? grow up, jungkook.”

tough love hadn’t ever worked on jungkook, if his father was any indication of such, but his best friend’s sudden aggression towards him threw him for a bit of a loop. the two had hardly discussed the breakup, and taehyung had done little but discourage him from drinking so much, but it seemed like the older had been keeping this in for a while, and this entire namjoon thing had been a catalyst. 

still, jungkook hadn’t been too hung up on the harshness of the exchange, partly because all he could think about was you and how pretty your laugh had sounded, and how he couldn’t get it out of his head even days later; and partly because taehyung had been correct about one thing, being his surprisingly accurate analysis of yours and jungkook’s relationship. it had stung a bit, sure, but the older’s words didn’t compare even remotely to the onslaught of self-deprecation he’d been putting himself through for the last week.

and if taehyung had been right about that, it only meant that he’d been right in saying that namjoon wasn’t your ‘new man’, or so to say. that he was nothing but a good old friend, that he’d been nothing but a shoulder for you to cry on, if that. and with the renewed knowledge that you weren’t on a date at that library, just a few days after you��d agreed to speak to jungkook in person, he realized that maybe, just maybe, you would be okay to give him a second chance.

////

namjoon doesn’t have a lot in common with jungkook. 

he’s nearly completed law school, likes to tour museums in the rare inklings of free time he gets, strays away from parties whenever they don’t give him the opportunity to network, has an innate passion for bonsai trees and his hobbies stray far away to jungkook’s, enjoying cycling up to intimate spots overlooking the city’s skyline rather than driving around and getting high. he’s not reckless, he doesn’t turn to the bottle when things get tough, he went to therapy to unlearn the harm his own father had done, and he’s pretty sure jungkook and him wouldn’t get along even if they were paid to do it.

there is, however, a common denominator with the two men.

because namjoon is in love with you, too. and he remembers, just like jungkook does, the day he’d fallen in love.

it had been a spring day 4 years ago when you’d just started college. you were wearing a white skirt that barely covered you well enough to brave the lasting effects of winter, and the breeze has blown your hair into your face and you’d looked so uncertain until you caught his eye from across the grounds. it’d been like the sepia of namjoon’s world had brightened with your smile, and everything around you in that moment had turned monochromatic because the color of your eyes had put all else to shame and had left namjoon dizzy in disbelief, and a little confusion as to why his heart had suddenly picked up speed upon seeing you smile, 

and though namjoon tries his level best to convince himself that he’s nothing like jungkook, both of their responses to realizing they were horrifically in love with you had been nearly uncanny, in that they were deathly afraid to let you get wind of it. both for different reasons, sure; namjoon, so he wouldn’t lose the closest friend he knew, and jungkook, so he wouldn’t show you the slightest of vulnerability, but the bottom line was that the two men loved in silence.

and while jungkook loved cruelly, namjoon loved like an onlooker — an injured man who used to play football watching the premier league, a retired pianist whose fingers lost their lithe, a dancer who stopped dancing — an onlooker, one who’d planted a seed that couldn’t bloom amidst a dream that wouldn’t come true, an onlooker who saw you run into the cruel lover’s arms and swore that the death of the opportunity to love you in full bloom would be more painful than his actual death. 

namjoon didn't say a word, no.

but with every relationship that works, even yours and jungkook’s that lasted for six measly months, there’s someone in the back tearing their heart out for it to work.

and what jungkook didn’t know, was that namjoon always picked up his pieces. when he left you stranded, namjoon would be the one picking you up. he’d been the one who surprised you at midnight on your birthday so jungkook’s presence, or lack thereof, wouldn’t be too hollow of a hole. he’d been the one who’d tell you that jungkook ‘seemed like he was falling in love’ so you wouldn’t beat yourself up too hard for getting there first.

if you were achilles and jungkook had the arrow ready to hit you, he’d been the hand that covered your ankle so you would be unscathed even if his own skin tethered and tore and ached so badly he didn't think enough time would heal it.

but namjoon still, foolishly didn't say a word.

perhaps he might have saved you from heartbreak if he’d told you how jungkook treated you was horrible. perhaps he shouldn’t have been the one putting the rose-colored glasses over your eyes as an excuse to feel your skin on his, as an excuse to be the one you’d come running to. and perhaps that makes him worse than jungkook, who hurt you because he didn't know he welded that arrow in his hands. perhaps that makes him worse than jungkook because he saw that arrow jungkook welded and let him strike over and over and did nothing to get you out of here because he got to have the satisfaction of holding onto your ankle and saving you. and perhaps that makes him worse than jungkook because he knows what he’s doing and continues to do it shamelessly. 

so he didn’t say anything. 

he convinced himself that it was because it wouldn’t be the right time, not to mention how he’d be an absolute asshole for asking someone out the second they’d been dumped; over text, at that. but namjoon is self-aware, and it’s not like the thought hadn’t been lingering in the back of his mind — he spent the past 4 years lying to get himself out of relationships and spending mornings quietly sneaking out of his one-night-stand’s rooms after burying his head into their shoulders to stop from moaning out your name. he’d spent the six months of your relationship with jungkook bracing himself for what could possibly come out of it; for the possibility of you two actually becoming a worthwhile couple, the possibility of marriage and moving in together and crushing the shards of his heart into smaller pieces that left him hopeless in ever repairing them.

namjoon had, however, learned from the season 8 Thanksgivings episode of Friends that the average optimum time to ask someone out after their break-up was 4 months, and he’d learned from law school that you could only interrogate the bereaved for the murder of their family member after 4 months; citing it the ‘golden period of time’, soon enough to have the loss settle within the tresses of their heart, and soon enough that the vulnerability would slowly be ebbing away so as to not consume you, but not so close as to be insensitive.

and god, was namjoon good at waiting it out. he’d spent 4 years, waiting, and again, he’d spent the last 4 months after the two of you had broken up trying his best not to be too happy because you had been crushed. trying to console you without segueing into how he could treat you better, without asking you to come to him. he’d spent the last 4 months with agonizing nights when you’d fall asleep in his arms and he had to repeat the mantra of she doesn’t love you like she loves him, she’s just in pain, she doesn’t love you, she doesn’t love you; she doesn’t love you like you love her. 

but in the trenches of his stomach, he knew he wasn't doing all of this because he wanted you to be okay; love is said to be blind but namjoon has always been smart, and even if it hurts his morals to admit it, he knows that he’s only let himself play the role of being your comforter, being your savior, is because there would be no other way to get you to be his. 

and almost sinisterly, like a prisoner awaiting his release, he’d been counting down to four months, counting down to the day he could pull his hand away from your ankle and run away with you, not fully knowing what he’d answer to you if you asked why he let jungkook weld that arrow so many times. 

////

namjoon had told you he loved you after jungkook saw you at that library.

namjoon had told you he loved you only 2 days after you told jungkook you’d be open to talking to him in person.

in fact, that would mean that namjoon had told you he loved you 2 days after jungkook told you he loved you, and even if you weren’t so sure that the latter had meant it, you wouldn’t have said yes to namjoon, and it’s not for a lack of wanting to —

he’d told you in a gorgeous way, if you had to compare it to jungkook’s drunken stupor; had you laughing at him as he showed you books at the library that he’d bought under the ruse of them being ‘learning materials’, had you a bit drunk figuratively on the words he’d left in the margins, and then literally on the champagne he’d poured into plastic cups before he’d eventually broken the news to you at sunset:

“if there’s someone I never want to lose, it’s you. and I lose everything, which is something you know about me. and speaking of, there’s a lot of things that you know about me, and that I know about you. I know that this may come as a surprise, but it's been a long time coming and I’ve loved you ever since your freshman year and I don’t think I can exactly stop loving you now. and you don’t have to start either; if we’re reading the same book, and I just happen to be a couple of chapters ahead, i'm okay with waiting. I’ll always wait. I’ve waited four years.”

but regardless of the beauty in his words and in the way the last of the sun marked his own golden skin, it felt impossible for you to speak. again, not because you didn't want to, but because all the things he said settled within the cracks of your heart that finally seemed to be on its way to healing and you realized that the man you’d been turning to to heal it had been the one letting you run back to the person who would break it just so you’d be caught in a loop where he’d be the good guy. 

and fuck you for not realizing it sooner because it made so much sense but all you ever wanted was someone to cry to. someone to cry to because you loved someone who didn’t seem to love, someone to cry to because he kept hurting you — and to know that namjoon, the smartest man you’ve ever known, the only person you’d ask what do I do in pure anguish that wrecked you down to your very fingertips and left you a shell of the woman you used to be, had told you to go back to the man who did that to you, just so you’d come back to him in that same anguish again.

and even if jungkook wasn't aware of how he was acting, even if jungkook wasn’t really aware that he loved you, you knew that he was sorry. and that he was willing to try again and you could bet your life on him changing because jungkook may have acted cruelly, that he wasn't a cruel man. but namjoon was truly the smartest man you knew, and you refused to believe that he wasn't aware of what he was doing. every time he told you, ‘it seems like he’s falling in love with you too’, ‘he probably just forgot, he’s not a bad guy’, ‘he’ll come around eventually’ — every fucking time, he knew that he was lying straight through his teeth. and you refused to believe that he didn’t feel at least a bit satisfied at getting to play the hero he so desperately wanted you to see him as. 

and it’s a pity that you realized that the worst people are those who get blinded by love in such a beautiful moment. it’s a pity that he didn’t save you from yourself when you were barreling down the path towards being so hopelessly in love with jungkook. it’s a pity that he kept pushing you towards jungkook, in fact, so many times that he ended up falling for you, too. 

but what really fucking hurts you, is that jungkook didn’t know about the damage he caused until he finally lost you, but namjoon knew, and kept throwing timbre to the fire as if he’d get you to run from the heat into his arms. 

which is why you don’t say a goddamn thing and look into his eyes and wonder why they’re so beautiful and why you throw your own self to the wolves so consistently and why, why, why. you wonder why it hurts this bad when you didn’t ever love him, you wonder why it hurts this bad when he’s just told you he loves you and you should just shut up and take it and tell him that you love him too even if you don’t. you wonder, and you wonder, and as the sun sets and he doesn't say a word, you finally get an answer: namjoon never loved you. he loved being needed, loved being wanted and being the person you’d run to like a damsel in distress and even if he crosses hell and back to convince himself that his feelings were real, he’d only truly loved you momentarily. time heals pain and time erases love, especially when you hold it in your heart silently and it’s a wonder that he convinced himself that you were the one for him when he can’t even convince himself to ask you why you’re so silent.

that’s not to say that it was all fake, no. you don’t doubt that freshman you had stolen his heart, but even then, it’d been in a moment where he’d saved you — a moment wherein you’d recognized him in a crowd full of strangers and he was your hero because his presence ensured your safety. and no, you don’t doubt he’d been lying to himself for 4 years and holding out for no reason at all but if he really loved you like he said he did, he wouldn’t have waited until he could ensure a yes from you — he wouldn’t have waited until he made sure you knew he would always, always be the one to save you. 

and fuck, do you miss jungkook right now.

////

[sneak peek]

jungkook feels like a puzzle abandoned by a young child who has finally come home to put the last piece in place.

you feel like it’s all been worth it. and there have been times where it hasn’t seemed like this yearning would come to fruition but if coming home feels like this, you’d go through it a billion. times more

[nehswritesstuffs]

except I walked out on you when your hair was starlight

I’ve been thinking about this potential theory for a long while now (I mean, like, since last year) and I can’t help but think that it’s one of the wilder things that might come even slightly true because it just aligns perfectly with what we currently know about the Monkey Dads just being very distant fathers who end up pulling the same shit.

9122 words; pure crackfic unless proven otherwise; has anyone else thought of this bc pls where are you I want to talk to you if you have; this is very much not my usual fare when it comes to relationship and family dynamics so don’t expect, like, actual parenting; I very much expect this to be considered null and void within five chapters of canon (very specifically 1084 lol) so pls humor me okay; is it canon compliant? We’ll find out; general warning for timeskips and me just making shit up

except I walked out on you when your hair was starlight; All Dragon wants to do is bring about a more just world by exposing the World Government for what it really is. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to deal with a child’s bounty poster that looks disturbingly like his ex. [9122 words; alternate interpretation as to why the Buster Call at Ohara was the last straw]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“You shouldn’t be here,” Clover said. Dragon shrugged casually at that.

“You’ve never been upset to see me before,” he reasoned. The young man casually leaned on the desk, giving the scholar a smirk. “I’m here to see Olvia. She around?”

“Even if she was, why would I let you see her?” Clover huffed. “Last time you were here you nearly got bodily fluid on priceless tomes of knowledge.”

“I am not the first person to have gotten lucky in this tree, and you’re just jealous it was never you,” the young man smirked. A certain platinum blonde then caught his eye and Dragon made his way around the desk and over to her side, done with pleasantries. “Old Man Clover’s bullying me.”

“Now why would he need to do that?” she wondered idly.

Oh, she knew.

“He’s jealous,” he offered.

“Professor Clover is one of the most renown archaeologists in the entire world; what would you have that he could be jealous of?”

A functioning libido, but they weren’t going to go there with other people nearby.

“Maybe,” she smirked, “I’ll have to study this condition of yours. Make sure it’s not… lethal.”

“Read my mind; pick you up at seven?”

“Seven-thirty—there’s a meeting I can’t skip again.”

“Fair.” He leaned down and pressed a light kiss against her cheek, a giggle getting out of her before walking away. “Seven-thirty!”

“Oh, and Dragon?”

He turned around, only to see the library in flames.

“Run.”

Gasping for air, Dragon sat upright in his bed, his body slick with sweat. He shakily looked around the room in the darkness—Baltigo, not Ohara.

Besides, Ohara burned ten years ago.

After turning off his alarm—it was fuck-all ‘o clock—Dragon decided it was good a time as any to get a head start on his work for the day. A full day of work would make him sleep solidly, and solid sleep meant no dreams, and no dreams meant no ghosts. He put his feet on the floor and shivered—there was nothing that could be done about the chill that seeped into the base, no matter what they did to prevent it.

The base was usually quiet around this time, thankfully, allowing Dragon to slip down the corridors relatively unnoticed. There was always the skeleton crew that kept an eye on things at night, but even they knew better than to bother their commander with anything more than a polite nod unless it was a real emergency. He was able to get to the showers and stood under the spray for a whole ten minutes before actually doing anything.

Did he feel guilty? Of course he did, but Ohara wasn’t coming back, even if its knowledge was all saved.

Then again, that’s why they were there, he reminded himself as he scrubbed his face. Ohara had been the last straw and now someone was fighting back. He’d told Vegapunk those years ago that it was because of Clover… because of the severe loss of knowledge and human life… but really… how many wars over the course of history had been waged for a woman?

Fuck.

In the end, an ex was just an ex, weren’t they? They both moved on. He had moved on.

So why was it getting to him?

Clothes, a shave, some coffee; before long, Dragon was sitting down at his desk, the dawn twilight not yet creeping across the sky. He looked at the pile of papers that had been placed in a very important pile since he’d last been in his office and grimaced—something told him he would have given the top spot to that organizational freak Bart had he known there was this much fucking paperwork involved with running a revolution. Taking the top one off the pile, he slowly started to clear out the backlog that admittedly had been growing for a few days at this point. Getting lost in work was usually fairly easy for him, and yet, he couldn’t help thinking about the real reason why he founded this seas-forsaken venture…

“They said you didn’t eat breakfast!”

Dragon snapped out of his daze as a tray was placed on his desk, culprit tilting his head in curiosity. Fuck the kid could move quieter than a cat.

“Oh, thank you, Sabo,” he said, blinking heavily. The kid’s bandages had recently been taken off and he could see the fresh burn scars, pink and shiny and raw; it pissed him off every time he saw it, and not because he hated the kid. It was almost impossible to hate someone who brought him coffee and a sandwich at… ah, shit, the sun was well past being up. “Iva hunting me yet?”

“Nah; they said they were gonna let you relax today,” the boy replied. He looked at the pile of papers that barely had a dent in it and frowned. “That’s a lot of bounty posters.”

“Yeah—I haven’t seen a lot of them either, which is really saying something,” Dragon frowned.

“Why’s that?”

“These are reissues; every so often, the World Government will reissue bounty posters of those whom they consider dangerous, even if they haven’t heard of them in a while.” He took the top one off the stack and handed it to the boy. “That one’s been circulating since I was younger than you.”

“Humming Brook… he’d be an old man by now, wouldn’t he?”

“He would.” He watched the kid’s expression—he was sharp for being only ten years old. “Does this… help at all…?”

“Not really,” Sabo admitted, handing back the poster. “I still can’t really remember that much from before.”

“It’ll come in time,” Dragon said, unsure if he was lying to the boy. The kid stood there awkwardly; neither of them knew what to do with him. If only dumping him with his dad wouldn’t mean putting him within arm’s reach of the Marines… “Say, go through these and rank them by potential for recruitment. Let me know what you think.” He took a chunk of the bounty posters and handed them to Sabo. “Just… rank them.”

“Yes, sir!” Sabo left the room and Dragon instantly felt exhausted. He hated to think what it would have been like had he been able to take his son along like planned… it was tiresome just thinking about it.

Maybe if he just closed his eyes for a little bit… yeah. That would be good.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was ironic how if someone would ask Dragon what his dreams were, he could easily say any number of things. Toppling the World Government? True peace? An unveiling of all the dirty laundry that was the Void Century’s secrets? A society designed to lift up and support everyone and not the select few? Having the ability to tell his father off to his face? He had a veritable list ready and waiting.

Except, sometimes, dreams weren’t goals and ambitions. They were places one’s brain went when they were at their most vulnerable, gripping them at their core and forcing someone to relive the impossible time and time again.

What truly were Dragon’s dreams?

He didn’t like to think about it.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“What are you thinking about?”

Dragon looked over at Olvia and saw her face remained calm in thought as she stared up at the night sky. All he could think about was how gorgeous she looked in the starlight, the galaxies reflected in her eyes as they laid on the deck of his boat.

“There’s an expedition that Clover wants me to co-chair.” Ah. “It would be about a year.”

“Don’t say you’re breaking up with me, because you know I’ll just follow you.”

“Actually, I petitioned the professor to let you come along.”

“You did?! And…?!” He waited for a response. “Olvia…? What did Old Man Clover say…?”

She finally turned her head and looked at him, her expression sharp and steady as ever. “Wake up.”

“…that was rude of him.”

“No, sir, wake up.”

For the second time that day, Dragon shuddered awake, this time being jostled by Sabo. The boy jumped back as he flung himself forward towards his desk, the present world grabbing hold of him in a vice grip. Dragon quickly caught his breath and rubbed his face with both hands—fuck, this was getting bad. He looked at Sabo and saw that the kid’s eyes were wide and confused.

“I… uh… sorry…” he squeaked.

“No, no; it’s alright,” Dragon replied. He tried to shake the sleep from his body, only making it more of a shiver instead. “Does someone need me?”

“No, sir. I have what you asked of me.” The boy held aloft the stack of bounty posters and their prior conversation came flooding back to the man. That’s right—the bounty re-issues from around the time he was too busy founding an army to pay attention to who was up next for his father’s bosses’ chopping block. “I triple-checked; there’s only three good ones out of the entire lot.”

“Are there now?”

“Yeah—most of the people this stack are either really old or already spoken-for in a pirate organization.” Sabo put most of the stack on the desk face-down, holding back three papers.

“How do you know that?”

“I cross-referenced everything with our database; some of the duds are officers in the Big Mom Pirates, or with someone called Doflamingo in the North; I doubt they’d change alliances too swiftly based on their established levels of loyalty.”

“Keep this up kid and you might be gunning for Iva’s spot,” Dragon frowned. He took a sip of his coffee—ice cold—and watched the boy’s face brighten.

“Oh, I don’t want to be the G Army Commander,” Sabo beamed. “I want to be the Chief of Staff!”

Dragon was neither awake nor drunk enough for this. “…and what does that entail?”

“Doing important things for you!”

“Sabo… you won’t even officially be a member until you’re sixteen,” he chided. “Just… show me the candidates.”

“Okay!” The kid put the first page down. “This one is called Karasu. He’s from the North and got his bounty by beating up Marines that were bullying some civilians. I think he’d be a good match.” Dragon nodded with a grunt; okay. “This one is Waters Lila. She’s Southern and is known for breaking up slaver ships en route to Sabaody. If we get her, we’d likely get her whole crew as well—forty-strong at last estimate, many former slaves themselves.” He then hesitated, staring at the last poster.

“Yes…?” Yeah… definitely not drunk enough.

“I don’t know about her, but I think it’s a good chance if we can find her,” Sabo nodded.

Dragon raised an eyebrow. “If we can find her?”

“She was younger than me when she got her bounty, so I don’t know if she still looks the same.”

“Younger than you…? Those were the ten-year re-releases.”

“Well, she apparently wants to destroy the world according to the rumors, so there is that. I would too if I sank six ships to survive a Buster Call.”

“She what…?”

“Yeah,” Sabo exclaimed, placing the poster down. “Apparently she’s from the West Blue, from this island of people who were…” Dragon stared at the photo on the page in horror, Sabo’s voice fading into nothing.

WANTED – DEMON CHILD NICO ROBIN – DEAD OR ALIVE

80 MILLION BERRI

APPROACH WITH EXTREME CAUTION

Before him was the image of a small child, just a little older than his son was if he remembered correctly. His brow furrowed as he studied her face—there was no way she was anything other than Olvia’s blood. Her brother’s daughter, perhaps? It made him nauseous to think someone this small was listed for so much, so young.

“Sabo…?”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old would she be now? If she walked in through the door?”

“Eighteen!” the boy chirped. “I really think that she’s the best bet out of the lot—she has a pedigree.”

“I’m going to pretend you did not use that word,” he grimaced. Yeah, the kid was former nobility alright whether he hated it or not.

“Oh… well… her mom was pretty famous too! I found her bounty in the archives.” He took the top poster off the upside-down stack and held it out, making Dragon want to vomit.

Olvia.

It wasn’t her niece.

Oh, fuck, no…

Olvia’s daughter.

The only survivor of Ohara was Nico Olvia’s daughter.

A daughter who had her face, yet his coloring.

Seas almighty.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“What the hell is your problem?!” he hissed at her. She had been sitting at her desk in the ship, a lantern illuminating the papers that were scattered everywhere. The rest of the expedition party had either long-since retired for the evening, or were on the shore around the bonfire—it was just them.

“I’m only doing my job. You knew that’s what this entire trip was about.” She hadn’t even looked away from the book and that seemed to just depress him more.

“Those have been here for hundreds of years; they’ll still be there in the morning.”

“I need to get this done before we ship out—there’s only two more days.”

“Two more days here, a week there, some hours elsewhere; it doesn’t end! It’s been three years of this!”

She put down her pen at that, closing her eyes to steel herself. “You knew what this was before we left Ohara.”

“I didn’t leave Ohara thinking I’d be ignored… that I’d go to bed alone most nights… that on the rare nights we are together, you’re too distracted to even fake it.” She stood, furious. “Oh, hey, an emotion—nice to see them again.”

“How dare you…”

“I think it’s the other way around, Olvia—we should have called it off while you were out on this stupid thing…”

“I thought you were behind what we were doing!”

“…when it didn’t mean I was being ignored by the woman I love!” He hunched his shoulders as he held hers, looking into her eyes. They were so fierce… so determined then that he had nearly lost himself in them. “I’m here now, Olvia. I…” He swallowed. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, playing second-fiddle to whispers and rocks.”

“We’re almost done. Just a few months and…”

“No.” His voice was quiet then—defeated, even—as realization settled on him. “We’re done.”

Tears ran down both their faces as he kissed her one final time.

When she went to bed that night, she went alone.

He was gone.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

All Ivankov knew was that Dragon was having a crisis.

He’d have those every once in a while in private, threatening to crack under the pressure of leadership. It was generally nothing, where he’d just do frantic laps of his office while attempting to talk himself out of whatever corner his assorted demons had shoved him into. If they were being particularly honest with themselves, it would have been a more troubling thing had Dragon not had a crisis now and then, given the sheer amount of pressure and obstacles that came from raising a revolution. All they, or Kuma, or both, had to do was simply stay with him until he calmed down and things would eventually be better again.

It had been nearly a whole day—he was not getting better.

“This is awful,” the man muttered for the fifty-second time that day. Ivankov poured themselves some tea from the service and raised a perfectly-manicured eyebrow.

“Are you havingk problems zat my Hormones vould fix?”

“No… just… fuck!” Dragon stopped his pacing long enough to take a swing at thin air before grabbing at his hair again. “I can’t believe I did that—fuck—how could I have done that?!”

Ivankov sipped their tea.

“Fucking hell, Iva! I’m having a mental breakdown here!”

“I can see,” they replied flatly. “You’re ze one vho seems to be very mum on details.” Dragon stopped moving and stared at his friend and comrade, nearly at his breaking point.

“You can’t tell anyone.”

“You know I keep your secrets.”

“No, Iva… this isn’t a normal secret. This is a something that, should you ‘learn’ about it in the future, you need to pretend that this conversation never, ever happened.”

“Vhat is so drastick that I need to play ze fool?”

“I think… I think I have a daughter,” he said, his tongue feeling thick as he spoke. “I think I walked out on my daughter.”

“You don’t have a daughter.”

“…but I walked out on this woman nineteen years ago.” Dragon took the bounty posters from his desk and showed it to Ivankov, who took put down their tea before taking the papers. “That child—her child—is now eighteen.”

“Her fazer could have been a rebound and ve vould not blame zis Olvia one bit.”

“Iva, I walked because she was too busy with those damned Poneglyphs to give me the time of day—any time we did…” Dragon exhaled heavily. “She was always too out of it to concentrate on us, so I left. I can almost guarantee there was no rebound.”

“Zis is vhy you people are exhaustingk,” Ivankov sighed. “How did you know eachozer?”

“She… was from Ohara… was one of Old Man Clover’s top researchers…”

“…and so, vhen you vent to investigate Clover’s knowledge assets—drawn in by the pursuit of zingks your fazer kept you from—you fell in love viz a girl instead…? How cliché, candy.” They put the papers down on the low table and went back to their tea. “You know for a fact she is yours?”

“I had Sabo research a stack of re-issued bounties—if her registry information’s correct, she was born six months after I last saw her mother. Olvia was distant, but she didn’t sleep around.” He rubbed the back of his neck and groaned. “Fuck…”

“Vhat does her registry information say about her fazer?”

“Dead.” They had to hand it to themselves—Ivankov didn’t think that finally getting information about Dragon’s past meant that he was going to spill it all… or if he was spilling this now, it was titillating to think of what else the man might have been hiding. “She made it look like she got married, never changed her name, and quickly became a widow. I’m sure that’s why… she has her family name instead of mine.”

“I’d imagine it’d be rough on a child, carrying a name zey had no connection to,” Ivankov shrugged. “Besides, if she had your name, that fazer of yours vould have kidnapped her longk ago.”

“Bad enough what he does have,” Dragon grumbled. Ivankov waited for an explanation and never got one—it was folly to think they were getting any more out of their friend than this very specific and embarrassing tidbit. They watched as he stopped moving, instead putting his hands on his waist. “So… what do we do…?”

“Not vhat ve do… but vhat you do.” They regarded him carefully. “You alvays know vhat to do. Vill you admit to everyone zat zis is revenge for a former lover? Zat zis child is more zan ze last of her kind? Or vill you do somezingk else? Somezingk interestingk?”

“Olvia wasn’t my lover, Iva—I would have married her if I could.”

“Zat is not here nor zere. Now: vhat vill you do?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“What will you do?”

It was a simple enough question—the royal brat and his footman were due back in the sandpit soon, so he didn’t blame her for wondering. It was just him and Olvia in his room, the pair having snuck up there while Clover was regaling the students with drunkenly-told tales of his adventures. They were sharing a bottle of cheap wine at the table by his window—no other activities until they heard their heavy-sleepers of charges snoring the next room over.

“Not sure,” he shrugged. He looked out the window at the night sky, knowing that soon the view would change. “This place… it fits, you know?”

“For technically being here as a bodyguard, you sure are quite the pacifist,” she replied. Olvia took a sip of her drink and let out a low huff. “It’s honestly more interesting with you here.”

“Then maybe… I can come back…?”

“…to do what?” He turned his gaze to her and saw that her expression was now completely deadpan. “You’re smart, yes, but you’re no scholar. The Professor does not take too kindly to lightweights.”

“Is that what he refers to people who’ve had sex as?” he asked. She nearly choked on her drink. “I just want to be with you.”

“I know.” She saw a flicker of something cross his face, with it leaving as quickly as it came. “What…?”

“If I could just stay here, I would. Let the kids find their own way back home. It’s peaceful here… serene… like nothing bad will happen here.”

“Oh, it shall eventually,” she shrugged. “Things always happen.”

“Not like…” he paused, “not like what I’m used to with my father. There’s a certain unease in the air in a lot of places he’s sent me to, and none of it shows up here. Yeah, there’s people being petty and bad storms and the occasional drought of traders, but it’s not…” he sighed, “this place is calming, Olvia. There’s no real hostility.”

“Then maybe it would do you some good to return here,” she agreed. “Though I have to warn you: I get buried in my work when I’m not tutoring.”

“I think I can handle that; that might be when you’re the most gorgeous.”

“You don’t need to flatter me—you know what we’re doing later.”

“Doesn’t hurt to have a little extra insurance on the matter,” he winked. She giggled and leaned over, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “How much time do we have again?”

“Not enough.”

“Hmm… I think it’s enough.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It’s easy to leave someone when you realize that you can’t stand one another. Sure, actually doing it might not be easy, but once you’re gone, the effort to purge them from your life is cathartic in its own way. It’s a refusal to give them power, as they never should have had any to begin with.

Conversely, it’s difficult to leave someone you’re still in love with, mostly because it is that much of a challenge to forget. It’s still wanting them there, despite their deep, deep flaws, and yet remembering the pain of why that is simply not possible. It hurts and claws at the heart, burning and stabbing until there is nothing that doesn’t make you think of them.

What’s worse yet is when you’re both still in love, and yet they don’t stop you.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Revolutionary Army Dispatch

Official Memo from the Desk of Founder and Supreme Commander Monkey D. Dragon

The following Legacy Bounty Individuals (LBI) are to be actively recruited into the ranks. Any contact with such Legacy Bounty Individuals needs to be reported to the appropriate level of hierarchy.

-_-_-

Karasu

Age at Bounty: 25

Current Age: 35

Origin: North Blue

Current Location: North Blue (confirmed)

Devil Fruit: unknown type – appears corvid-centric – proceed with caution until confirmation

Crimes: contempt of law; resisting arrest; repeated destruction of Marine bases; torture of varying Marine officers; coordinating largest mass-release of inmates in the North Blue in 200 years

-_-_-

Waters Lila

Age at Bounty: 47

Current Age: 57

Origin: South Blue

Current Location: Grand Line, Paradise (confirmed)

Devil Fruit: none known

Crimes: grand theft; destruction of slaver ships; being impossible to arrest; harboring runaway slaves; cussing out Celestial Dragons; repeated escape from Celestial Dragon “owners”

-_-_-

Nico Robin

Age at Bounty: 8

Current Age: 18

Origin: West Blue

Current Location: unknown; potentially West Blue or Grand Line

Devil Fruit: Paramecia – can replicate limbs elsewhere

Crimes: only surviving member of the Archaeological Scholarly Association of Ohara; can read Poneglyphs; evading arrest; varying smaller crimes related to survival

HIGH PRIORITY – report directly to Supreme Commander if contact is made – capable of becoming the Light of the Revolution

-_-_-

May we stay strong in the face of our uncertain times.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Ten years.

It took ten years before Dragon heard any more solid news of Nico Robin. He had to hand it to her—she was a difficult woman to catch. Most of what he’d heard were whispers. A few people even saw her, but no one was able to get in a conversation long enough to convince her to join their ranks.

She was still alive, however. No matter what, Olvia’s daughter was still alive, and some days it was all he could do to be proud.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I have to say, sir, you sure do know how to pick them.”

Dragon was laying down on a camping cot, the tent he was currently occupying in the far-reaching backwaters of the East, the backdrop of a civilian uprising in the distance. Sabo and Belo Betty had insisted on helming this charge, which left him sulking back at camp with a cold compress over his eyes as he fought off an impending headache in the command tent.

“What do you mean, Ahiru?” He heard the young woman’s mechanical arm click and whir as it handled papers at the table.

“One of your High Priority LBIs just had war declared on the Government for her.”

“You know Sabo has been making over half that list for years now.”

“She’s been on the list for a long while,” she replied.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Nico Robin.”

Dragon sat up immediately, the compress falling to the ground. “What…? Who declared war for her?”

“The crew she’s with now,” the young woman said. She held out the newspaper as her boss stood and crossed the room. “A rookie crew from these waters, it seems.”

A small gasp left Dragon without him even realizing it: the Straw Hat Pirates.

Robin found Luffy.

His children found one another.

“…sir…?” He looked at her and saw the concern on her face. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just…” Ahiru gave a nod, avoiding eye contact. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” Good—he did always appreciate her discretion.

He looked back at the newspaper in his hand and allowed himself a breath of relief. After everything, his children were still finding their family—finding each other—despite his own failings.

Maybe… maybe this was how things were supposed to go.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The kids he was supposed to be babysitting were off with the old man on the first of many “field trips” to the bar when he first made his move. She was in his room going over their academic progress when he allowed his hand to reach across the table and rest atop hers. One of her eyebrows arched, curious.

“Bold,” she noted with a smirk, “but is it bold enough?”

In retrospect, it had been a miracle in of itself that they had gotten themselves put back together in time for her skunk-drunk boss to bring back his equally-drunk charges. The trio were so drunk, they found, that they completely ignored the fact they still smelled of sex and her blouse was on inside-out.

What they didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt them, right? Besides, all it took was twenty minutes and they smelled like the kids’ vomit instead.

None of this was going into the report.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

There were times where Emporio Ivankov, Ruler of Kamabakka Queendom, Founder of the Revolutionary Army, Establishing Force behind New Kama Land, really did not enjoy dealing with their varying colleagues. Out of them all, the best—also the worst—was Monkey D. Dragon. He wasn’t even all that easy on the eyes, and yet his drama was nothing they wanted to ever touch.

Except, it kept finding them.

“You. Office. Now.”

They didn’t even break stride as they entered headquarters for the first time in years, simply walking by Dragon as he was discussing something with Lindbergh and Hack. Inazuma seamlessly inserted herself into the situation instead, allowing Dragon to grouchily follow Ivankov to their office looking extremely cowed. Newer recruits could only gawk—so this was the power of the legendary Okama Commander?

“Any ozer spawn you have running around I should know about?!” Ivankov hissed. Fuck… the door was barely closed…

“Iva…”

“Don’t you Iva me,” they scolded. “I should not learn you have a son because I am savingk his life in Impel Down! Vhat is viz you?!”

“Thank you, by the way,” Dragon said. “You did an excellent job keeping Luffy alive.”

“You tell me to not pry into your past, and yet your past keeps poppingk up in ze oddest places. Vhy are you like zis?!”

“We all agreed to bring as little of our baggage into this job as possible,” he claimed.

“Havingk people ve care about is not baggage!” they argued. “Sharingk stories about our lives is not baggage!”

“If anyone knew about my family, that’d put a target on their backs they might not want!”

“Even from your friends and comrades?!”

“Yes, Iva! Everyone!”

“Tch… no vonder you vere never told about the girl…”

“Iva!”

“Zese are your secrets, Dragon! First, you have a daughter from an old flame, now zis boy one of my candies finds in Impel Down is your son?! Vhat more is zere?!”

“You know I can’t tell you that!”

“Then vhat can you tell me?!”

“That as the figurehead of this entire operation, I can’t be seen as having any potential weaknesses! I come in with nothing so I can leave nothing behind! There is nothing to complicate things! A venture was never compromised because they kidnapped my son and held him at ransom! By him remaining far away, we all were safe.”

Ivankov huffed, their scowl pointed and accusatory. “I believe in zis, and I believe in you, so you better not make me regret anyzingk from here on out. Ve cannot afford to be fightingk.”

“I’m trying, Iva,” Dragon assured. “You know that’s all any of us can do.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Sir…? The Tequila Wolf contingent has returned.”

Dragon glanced up from his coffee to see the fresh recruit standing there in the doorway of his office, absolutely quaking in his boots. It was almost adorable how the newbies were so easily categorized into either Hilariously Overzealous or Scared Shitless, with this one solidly in the latter category.

“Usually the leaders of such an expedition report to me themselves that they’re back,” Dragon noted. “Why did they send you?”

“There’s a bit of a commotion, sir,” the recruit admitted. “They were able to find a High Priority LBI while freeing the slaves.”

“Now who would that be?”

“Uh… Nico Robin of the Straw Hat Pirates, sir.”

Dragon’s stomach found his throat as he paused, taking the information in. After vanishing into nothingness on Sabaody, she was now there, in Baltigo. Ten long years and she was finally there, in the same building as him; it was terrifying to think of.

“Send her up once she’s been given the orientation,” he requested, keeping his stoic mask. “High Priorities always need a briefing from me personally as to discuss what they might bring to our cause.” It was the truth and the recruit saluted before leaving.

The wait was honestly one of the worst stretches of time in his life. Dragon wasn’t entirely certain whether was pacing for a few minutes or a few hours, but eventually there was a knock at the door and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He breathed deeply and collected himself.

“Come in.”

Olvia’s ghost walked in, almost as though no time had passed at all.

“Please close the door; I’d prefer this conversation to be private.”

“Since you asked nicely,” she nodded. Robin gently shut the door and took a few steps into the room, unsure if she should sit or remain standing like Dragon. “I hear you often debrief new additions and allies yourself. It’s commendable to be so active in the base of your organization.”

“I cannot do it on my own,” he claimed. She watched him as he walked over to the window, using it as an excuse to not look at her directly. “Does this mean you are going to join my ranks?”

“Consider me a loan of sorts,” she chuckled. “I have some time to burn while waiting to reunite with my crew and I might as well do something worth while in the meantime.” He could see her reflection in the glass; it was scary how much she looked like her mother. “Your son is something of a tricky individual to follow; it’s just a matter of chance that I’m keeping my alliances in the family.”

Oh, how little she knew despite how well she was informed.

“Has… anyone ever told you why we founded the Revolutionary Army?”

“…to rise up against the tyranny of the World Government,” she replied. He was silent. “Then again, something tells me that there’s more to it than that. There always is.” She watched him, pensive. “What was the final straw that drove you? A scuffle with the Marine Hero?”

“He barely cares about what he does on a daily basis, let alone care what I do enough to get into that big of a fight… no.” He did not turn around, instead preferring to look out the window. “It was Ohara.”

It was slight, but he heard her inhale slightly.

“What was your connection to Ohara?” Robin asked, her voice wavering slightly.

“I spent a lot of time there when I was younger than you are now,” he admitted. He sighed, then opened his mouth to talk again, only for Robin to grab his arm and turn him around to face her, eyes wild in shock.

“Did you know my mother?!”

“I… I fell in love with your mother.”

She let go of his arm and took a step back. “…oh. That must have been difficult.”

“It was,” he agreed. “Olvia was a wonderful woman. Sharp-witted, dedicated, kind, insurmountably intelligent…” He smiled to himself, letting his gaze slip out of focus towards a bit of wall. “She had hair like starlight and eyes that would reflect the galaxies.”

“Did she ever…?” Her question trailed off, unsure if she wanted to give life to the words herself.

“Your mother’s true love was knowledge, and by extension, her research. She had no room for me, so I left.”

She scoffed at that, almost relieved. “What do you have to be sorry about? It happened a long time ago.”

“Summer 1493, if you want to be precise about it.”

The only sound was the steady ticking of the clock on the mantle. Dragon focused his eyes again and looked at Robin, seeing the careful, calculating face he’d last seen over twenty-five years ago. She eventually nodded—everything fit.

“You didn’t know, did you?”

“I didn’t, though I don’t know how much good I would have been had I known and stayed.”

“You would have been there.”

“You’ve met my father—do you think I would have let him raise Luffy if I didn’t think it was the better choice?”

“That is true…” She looked him in the eyes, as though she was trying to see where the crack in the lie was. “What brought you to Ohara in the first place?”

“Initially? Babysitting. When all was said and done, it pissed off my father that I was in love, so I went back.”

“Then it is not just him that Luffy gets his defiance streak from,” she noted.

“I’m the one running a Revolution and you thought he got that from my father?”

“Merely an observation.” She smiled lightly at him, an expression so her mother that it nearly made him hug her. “Now, I think we have some negotiating involving the terms of my stay?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Babysitting was a drag.

According to Aunt Tsuru, his dad owed the Queen of Alabasta a favor or eight and now it was Dragon’s turn to fulfill a request, as it involved the prince and his footman and not the old broad herself.

“We’re almost there!” the fifteen-year-old prince beamed. He turned towards his servant with a wide grin across his face. “Can you imagine?! That tree is thousands of years old! It doesn’t even have the Alabastian climate to help preserve it! Something that old! Still alive!”

“It truly is something, milord,” the young servant agreed. Igaram…? Yeah, Igaram and Prince Cobra. They were almost the exact same age and yet the difference between them was vast. Even though the princeling wasn’t an asshole about it, there was still that chasm Dragon knew was there… even if it was the footman that kept it there.

“Go pack up your shit,” Dragon said. “We’re going to be living on the island while we’re here, so you can’t leave shit onboard where it can be stolen.”

“Gotcha!” Cobra dashed below deck of the small clinker-built cog, Igaram close behind him insisting on doing it for him. Dragon rolled his eyes—this was honestly the last thing he wanted to be doing, but his father was… persuasive.

With his fists. The Hero of the Marines beat his son in a fistfight. Fuck.

It took another half an hour to get into the harbor at Ohara. It was a lively town, with the Tree of Knowledge dominating the landscape. Since he was contracted to be the teens’ bodyguard, Dragon went with Prince Cobra and Igaram as they went to the massive library that was carved into the tree itself, the entire building a living testament to knowledge.

“Ah, there you are.” Dragon saw a middle-aged man approach them as they entered the trunk. “Prince Cobra, I presume?”

“Yes; you must be Professor Clover?”

“That I am!” Dragon fought back rolling his eyes—everyone here was a nerd. “Queen Ouraeus told me you are almost as thirsty for knowledge as myself.”

“Indeed,” Cobra confirmed. “I have to be knowledgeable to become a great king one day, and Mother said you were one of the cleverest and learned men she’s ever met. It will be an honor to learn under you.”

“In that regard, I have to apologize,” Clover said. “Most of your tutoring will be conducted by one of my top pupils, who shall report to me on your progress. I’ve already written your mother and she has given her permission.”

“It must be difficult running this place,” Igaram noted, still staring at the interworkings of the library as they milled about.

“It is, unfortunately,” Clover sighed. “My apologies; you must be young Mister Igaram, which makes you…”

“Dragon—their babysitter.”

“Bodyguard,” the prince corrected. “He comes highly recommended from several high-ranking Marines as trustworthy.”

“Do you now…?”

“The Marine’s my old man, who can fuck off for all I care.” There was something about this Clover man that made him seem guarded… something wasn’t entirely legit. “I think he’s hoping his wayward son straightens himself out on this mission or some shit like that.”

“Then I’m sure we’ll get on splendidly,” Clover nodded. He then waved someone over, who gathered her books from the desk and approached them. “This is the one who is going to teach you lads.”

“Oh… I can’t…!” Igaram panicked. “I’m just here so His Highness…!”

“Nonsense—the Queen requested both of you be tutored,” Clover insisted. “This is Olvia-san. She is one of the most brilliant minds on this island and a native of Ohara. I leave your education in her care.”

Dragon swallowed hard—the young woman who walked up to them was one of the most gorgeous people he’d ever seen. Her brown eyes were the color of warm, lacquered wood and her platinum-blonde hair almost seemed to shimmer against her sun-bronzed skin.

“It is a pleasure to welcome the Alabastian delegation to our humble halls,” she said sweetly. Clover noticed that all three newcomers seemed overcome by her presence, which gave him an idea.

“How about if I take our newest young scholars on a tour of the library?” he offered. “Olvia, you can discuss the accommodations with their bodyguard. We can do the initial assessment after lunch.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” she agreed. Clover took the two teens with him and went off into the library, while Dragon stood awkwardly next to Olvia. “Would you like to see where you and your prince shall be staying?”

“He’s not my prince,” Dragon blurted out. “I mean… uh… my dad owes his mom some favors. It’s… complicated.”

“That must be awkward.”

“A little, but…” he shrugged, “you know.”

She gave a slight chuckle at that, the corner of her mouth tugging up in a smile. “Let me show you to the dorms.”

He nodded—what else could he do?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was difficult having Robin around, all things considered. Although she fit in amongst the other Revolutionaries with wonderful ease, there was still the fact that Dragon could not look at her without feeling a pang of regret. He hated the feeling, but did not avoid her. It was difficult, yet he knew that bringing her into the organization after such a long effort only to ignore her would be suspicious… too suspicious for him to counter. He instead kept on, as though the woman was not the mirror image of his long-lost love. Hers was not the face he waged this war over, nor was it the one that would lob the final volley.

Their venture had grown much larger than Olvia’s memory, and yet to have her daughter in their midst? However temporary? It was priceless.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The rest of the day went by in a whirl. Cobra and Igaram were going to share a room during their yearlong academic retreat, with Dragon getting an adjoining one to himself. He followed along as Olvia showed him around the tree’s internal chambers—where she would be tutoring the teens to where the kitchens were—and it was extremely difficult to keep his mind on her words and not drift off into a daydream.

Seas, she was pretty.

“It looks like Professor Clover is only partway done with his tour,” she noted as they stopped on a staircase. They could see the academic with the teens as they scoured some shelves, looking for a specific book. “They’re good kids, it seems.”

“Yeah, they are as good as fifteen-year-olds are going to be, anyhow,” he shrugged. “It’s still going to be a pain in the ass.”

“So your contract is to stay here for the duration of their tutoring?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to bring them back to Alabasta myself, so I can’t just ditch them here and be done with it. That’s not going to be fun.”

“Well,” Olvia chuckled, “if you ever need anything, let me know. I’m sure I can help out.”

He hesitated before deciding to fuck it.

“Actually, I’d, erm, like to get to know you better, please. Outside of the kids.”

“…and why’s that?”

“…because one day, someone is going to ask me who that woman is teaching my charges, and I’d like to be able to say more than the pretty one with the books.”

She smiled knowingly. “Nico Olvia; nice to meet you.”

“Monkey D. Dragon; the pleasure is mine.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Her name is Nico Robin, sire.”

“Nico…? That is a name from the past, indeed.” Cobra frowned as he looked at the photograph of the woman who was reportedly conducting business on the behalf of Baroque Works. It was late at night after everyone else was in bed as he sat up in his chambers, one of the few times he could truly talk freely with his captain of the guard. “She looks enough like her, if my memory serves me right.”

“I’m surprised I remember anything about that trip at all,” Igaram groused. “Even the smell of beer is ruined.”

Cobra chuckled at that; few things made him laugh these days, and much of it involved the past. Seas… that had been before he had even met Titi…

“Possibly,” Igaram continued, “if we appeal to her on the shared admiration of her mother, we might be able to get her to cooperate.”

“No,” the king said firmly. “If she goes by her mother’s family name, then she is likely a sensitive subject. We cannot let it be suggested that we ever knew her.” He placed the photo down on his writing desk and exhaled heavily. “That was thirty years ago… and where were we when she was thrown to the wolves as a child?”

“Burying your lady mother and readying for your marriage, not to mention the chaos that a monarch change involves.”

“…which is why I wish to slowly abdicate, to give Vivi a better transition than what I had… if we even make it that long.”

“It is a fine goal, sire,” Igaram agreed. He watched his monarch—his life-long friend—stare into the middle distance, clearly wrapped up in thought. “Is there anything else you require tonight, milord?”

“No, thank you. You may go now, Igaram.”

“As you wish, milord.” He bowed deeply. “For the good of Alabasta.”

Igaram quietly left the king’s chambers, finding that the young princess was waiting for him out in the corridor. She was such a haunting image of the late queen that it was terrifying…

…but this was a child, even if some would mistake her for being grown.

“Is she the same one that you remember?” she asked, voice quiet. He shook his head.

“Even if she was, we would have no basis on which to build a parley. We are to function as though the name is a coincidence.”

Vivi nodded slowly, considering her options. “Then I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to infiltrate Baroque Works.”

“…but Princess…”

“I can’t sit by and do nothing, Igaram. That’s not what a monarch is supposed to do. I’m here to serve the people, right? That’s not always about fancy trips to the Levely and hosting other nobles.”

“You are correct way too often for my blood pressure’s liking, milady,” he sighed, accepting their fates. “When do you wish to leave?”

“Tonight.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Dragon-san…?” He glanced over from the map and saw Cobra standing there, the kid only growing into something more awkward by the day. “How did you know you were in love with Nico-sensei?”

“I just kind of did,” he grunted. They were a full day out from Ohara, sailing back towards the entrance to the Grand Line. “Why? Someone there catch your fancy?”

“No… it’s just…” the teen worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’ve been taught plenty this past year, but watching you and Nico-sensei reminded me that I still don’t know what it will be like when I love someone. I imagine it’s… difficult.”

“It is,” Dragon admitted, “but sometimes it just finds you. At first it’s a like—or maybe they’re just smoking hot—and eventually you just find yourself realizing that the world isn’t quite the same without them in it.”

“…but that’s how I feel about my friends… my mother… my people…”

“Love comes in a lot of versions, kid,” Dragon shrugged. “You’re pretty observant to be a noble and understand that you should love your people—something tells me you won’t have a problem figuring out the romantic part when it comes.”

“You sure…?”

“Yeah.” He then jerked his head towards the rigging. “Get your asses up there and secure the topsail; we’re going through a real windy area soon.”

At least as the kids were up in the rigging, he’d have some quiet.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Are you sure that going back is what you wish?” Dragon asked. Robin was chuckling softly as Koala sobbed in her arms, not wanting the other woman to leave. “You could do a lot of good here…”

“I will do a lot of good anywhere I go,” she claimed… and rightfully so. “My place is with Luffy. He’s my captain and we’re not done yet.”

“Just don’t tell him that I’m still around; I’d rather do that myself,” Sabo chuckled.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“So the kids… they’re doing well…?”

Olvia shrugged as she tied Cobra’s hair back as the teen slept—last thing they wanted was for the kid to wake up and get drunken vomit in his hair. She wasn’t entirely sure that getting a sovereign prince blackout-wasted-drunk every weekend was setting a good example, but Professor Clover was not one to be argued with when several pints were on the table.

“Well enough,” she replied. She glanced over at Dragon, who was peeling an ale-soaked jacket off Igaram, and shrugged. He would know if he had the ability to sit in place while the teens were at their studies, yet school hours were often when he went wandering around Ohara, taking in the local sights. “Unless there’s a sudden breakthrough, I think there’s one thing that they won’t be able to do, but it won’t be horrible in the long-run.”

“So not something Her Highness requested?”

“Oh, she requested it, but it’s notoriously difficult. People of all ages attempt to learn and some never get it, no matter how long they try.”

“What’s that? Some sort of arcane science?”

“Reading.”

He paused, watching her as she finished putting Cobra to bed. “You’re talking about a prince and his nursemaid’s son—they’ve long been able to read.”

“Do you promise?” she asked.

“Promise what…?”

“Do you promise?” Olvia went to his side and held out her hand. Dragon looked at it, then up into her eyes, before placing his hand in hers.

“I promise,” he replied. “Better yet: I trust you.”

With a nod, Olvia helped Dragon finish with Igaram before taking his hand again and leading him out into the corridor. They went through the labyrinthine maze of staircases until they reached one that had no light down it, only darkness.

“The fragile manuscript storage room?” he wondered. She shook her head before taking the handrail and carefully stepping down into the dark.

“You know how we here in Ohara strive to uncover the secrets of the world through our research,” she explained, not waiting for him to follow. He did, which made her smile in the dark. “If your father came here and asked what sort of research we were doing, we could honestly tell him that much of it involves ruins and old tomes, surviving fragments from over the centuries. It is different from Vegapunk’s research, yet it is no different in our dedication or the danger that follows.”

“Vegapunk is being courted by the Government,” he reminded her.

“True, yet this… this is something we’re been hiding for much, much longer, and the knowledge from which we glean from this will benefit everyone, from us to Vegapunk to the young prince and everyone who wishes for the truth.”

“Olvia, what are you…?” He felt her stop in front of him and heard a heavy latch open.

“Welcome, Dragon, to the Poneglyph Chamber.”

The light from inside the room was bright as Olvia opened the door and ushered Dragon in. Once his eyes adjusted, he gasped at the sight of the giant stone in front of him, scholars all around as they went about their duties. Some stared at them as they made their way across the room, but most remained unfazed.

“You… you are teaching them to read this…?”

“Attempting; there is one in Alabasta, a rubbing of which Queen Ouraeus provided us in her youth. The secret history lies in these markings, and if we are to understand the Void Century, then we must first understand these Poneglyphs.”

“…but he’s not getting it.”

“No; I would be impressed if he ever did, if we’re being honest. His language skills lie where he’s able to understand the practical applications. Although this limits him to things such as Alabastian and Celestial and sailors’ creoles, it means that academic languages are unfortunately beyond his grasp.” She watched as he placed his hand on the Poneglyph, taking it all in. “There is nothing else in the world like it, is there?”

“Dad’s bosses would have a field day with this,” Dragon marveled. He looked at Olvia, seeing that her face was concerned and distant. “That’s your true goal here, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“That’s wonderful,” he replied. “It’s never sat well with me that there’s so much we don’t know, and the fact you’re doing it here? Sticking it to Dad and his bosses and their bosses? It’s like a military brat’s dream come true.”

Olvia nodded at that, too choked up to respond properly. Something deep inside her said she was doing the right thing by showing him their biggest secret, and the sparkle in his eyes made her heart swell.

He was going to be the one to do it.

He was going to be the one to make all their research worth it.

All they needed to do now was wait.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a beautiful day as the Thousand Sunny sailed towards their next destination. With Fish-man Island the the Ryugyu Kingdom behind them, the crew’s spirits were high as they enjoyed their time together.

“Hey, Robin, do you want to play with us?” Luffy asked. She glanced up from her book and saw her captain standing rather close, with Usopp in the background attempting to ride on Chopper’s full-reindeer form as though his back was a furry surfboard. “It’s a lot of fun!”

“I’ll pass for now, but thank you,” she replied. Luffy didn’t go away, the teen instead tilting his head at her. “Yes…?”

“Something’s different about you,” he noted. “It’s not bad. Just… different.”

“We’re all different than how we were before,” she reminded him.

“I know.”

“…but there’s something else…?”

“Yeah.” Luffy went and threw his arms around Robin’s neck in a hug. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad too,” she replied, patting his back. “I think you might want to get back to the others—Usopp seems like he’s getting rather good at that.”

“Oh! Hey! Usopp! Let me have a go!” Luffy was sufficiently distracted enough to run off and tackle the sniper right off the doctor’s back, all three of the teens laughing.

‘Maybe, we both always had an idea as to the truth,’ she thought as she watched her youngest crewmates roughhouse. They ran around silly until Sanji came out of the kitchen with snacks and drinks, snatching their attention. ‘The little brother I always wanted was right here after all.’

[venalier]

SELF-EVIDENCE.

it becomes a lot easier if she imagines him as one of the knight trainees. they’re not far apart in age, as least as far as she can tell by looks alone, but honestly most of her ‘ students ’ usually weren’t, even back home. it’s still new to her — the idea of mentoring someone; in her mind, she still has so much to learn herself, but what nearly two decades raised in a deeprealm hadn’t shown her was just how small her bubble had been, and consequently, how little she was aware of the scope of her own talents. when father had praised her each time he would come visit, part of her had come to take it for granted; it hadn’t been until the war — maybe until after the war, when she’d returned with him to hoshido and begun getting used to something that must resemble regular day-to-day life for the people that’d been born and raised there, that she’d started to get a sense of just how myopic her world had truly been.

“lady caeldori,” he starts, not dissimilar to how the trainees did, too, “so, we are going to be in the same team for the upcoming hunt, so i thought, perhaps, we might, ah... talk strategy?”

the small study glows softly with a midmorning light; it doubles clearly as an adjacent library, rows of books enclosing the desk and oaken chairs where they’ve taken refuge from the rest of the palace commotion. there’s a calmness in blake’s demeanor that caeldori finds she appreciates, even as he voices concern: “we haven’t done very well the past few years...”

“don’t worry, blake,” she reassures, confidence carrying in the sureness of her voice and a certain light in her eye, “we’ll fix that this year. my father always said that failure, when it happens, is a hidden gift. if you always succeed, then you never know what you could be doing better, so you never improve. you never adapt. so all it takes is an opponent who’s a little bit stronger coming along, and they can defeat you easily. but when you fail, you have to step back and really think about what you’re doing. you get to understand what’s working well, and why. and what’s not working. it might sound like i’m just saying that, but it’s true. it’s how i managed to get to where i am.”

as she talks, she collects a nearby quill, inkpot, and a sheet of parchment before them, then offers him a smile. “so if we haven’t been doing any better each year, it’s because we’re not stopping to look at these things.”

a few initial marks on the page to get their thoughts outlined. “to start, could you remind me if there are others on our team this year? and what exactly happened the last few hunts that went wrong? try and be as specific as possible. breaking it down out loud like this is a good exercise for you too, even if i was there. explain it to me like you would to someone who doesn’t know anything about how any of it works.”

              ↪   @toateamvillainess

[onenakedfarmer]

F. KEITH WAHLE "Sonnet"

You realize, even as you start this that it won’t end up as a sonnet— and by “sonnet” I don’t mean just a poem in fourteen lines—or all right, fourteen lines, if you insist, and iambic pentameter, with a couplet at the end, but that’s not all it takes to make a sonnet; a real sonnet has a certain movement of ideas, a special way the argument reveals itself, with a shift in the point of view at the middle of the poem, or just past the middle, at the end of the eighth line. This goes for either the Italian or Elizabethan form. And at the library you can get those anthologies from the twenties and thirties of local poets, meaning amateurs, and they all seem to be writing sonnets, or what they thought were sonnets; sonnets on every imaginable subject: Abraham Lincoln, Dante, Italy, the months, the holidays, Lake Erie, death and the death of children, larks, cardinals, seashells, insomnia, Elizabeth Tudor, and Mary Stuart, everything. They even wrote sonnets about writing sonnets. I found one about why Shakespearean sonnets are better than Italian sonnets. But none of these sonnets are any good. The rhymes are all in the right place, but the people who wrote them had no idea what a sonnet can do or even what poetry can do. So the hell with those assholes. They’re all dead now anyway, or soon will be, thank goodness. In more recent times the term sonnet has been used very freely, and the form has become extremely loose. But some of the modern sonnets are very good, such as Robert Lowell’s sonnet on Harpo Marx or his sonnet on Ezra Pound. But one keeps getting back to the question of writing, how it is done, and whether it is fun. Certainly there are other things that are more fun—going to bed with attractive men or women, or eating Chinese food. One thinks of the T’ang Dynasty, the golden age of Chinese poetry— in three hundred years, some of the best poets ever in any language. Li Po is the best known in this country, though Tu Fu was probably a better poet, and Po Chu I was more versatile. But even after these three were dead, there were many great and beautiful poets; like Han Shan, the Cold Mountain hermit, and Li Ho, the demon poet; and we must not forget the great landscape poet, Wang Wei, who was contemporary with Li Po. Ezra Pound’s translations of Li Po are the most exciting in English, though perhaps not the most exacting from the sinologist’s point of view. Li Po was an habitual drunkard, and wrote in a style that was rather free, at least by the standards of ancient China. Tu Fu, on the other hand, wrote in a style called “regulated verse” (lü-shih), which is an eight-line form with even stricter rules than our sonnet, and died, according to the legend, from eating Chinese food, or rather, too much Chinese food. He was trapped in the mountains by a flash flood, and after starving for several days he overate at a banquet and died when the rice swelled up and ruptured his intestine. This story may not be true. Li Po and Tu Fu were great friends in their lifetimes, just as Pound and Yeats were great friends, and went to Chinese restaurants together, all of which leads one to ask oneself, “Will I ever be a truly great poet, or even the friend of a great poet?” Not likely. But to be a good poet may be quite within the reach of many people. It seems to require initially an ability to listen with trust to the little voices you have inside, the voices that tell you what to do, and how to write, like the one right now that’s saying, “This is no sonnet, you damn fool; it doesn’t even look like a sonnet.”

[mistwraiths]

4 stars

People had to wait a WHOLE YEAR for the next one. Wild.

So, overall, I did enjoy this book for the most part.

I both love Evangeline and want to bonk her on her empty head because girl is literally SO DUMB and gullible. She loves love. She wants a happy ever after. Like girl be serious please but maybe I'm just a cynical, jaded person. She is ENTIRELY too trusting and too forgiving, and it feels unfortunately that she's a little TOO passive in her story. Things are happening mostly TO her and she's reacting. She's really not doing a whole lot. Sorry, she's in a library for ten days I guess reading books.

The main things in this book are Apollo and her getting cursed, the stones, learning some information, and opening the Valory Arch. That's it. Stephanie, you say, that sounds like a lot! It's not though! Home girl literally finds the arch BY HAPPENSTANCE LOL. She's like oh I'm not going to open the arch!!! And then starts smearing her blood on the first fucking thing she finds and SURPRISE it's the arch. But it doesn't open without the stones. That's however the way the story kind of works though. She writes a whole damn letter telling herself not to trust Jacks and promptly forgets about it. She randomly comes across the stones by going "oh surely they will be at this party!" or shocker, the place they stay at has it.

For a girl getting HUNTED, there's surprisingly little of it. In fact, she spends the majority getting wounded. Apollo harms her. She gets harmed by Apollo getting harmed too. And then within less than 10-20 pages, Jacks is hurt too. I love a hurt/comfort moment but there's a lot in a short time. Also, I kind of got tired of Evangeline constantly being in pretty dresses. Like you're being HUNTED, maybe actual shoes? Some pants for better movement?

I was surprised by LaLa cursing Evangeline. But Jacks identity and Chaos' identity, and what was in Valor Arch, and the monster, I was able to guess. It all seemed kind of obvious.

Look, I love Jacks and I'm rooting for him and Evangeline. I love the idea of maybe growing into a true love or you can have multiple true loves, or a second chance, or other different possibilities of maybe you don't get your true love but you find a love that is true to you at a certain time and place. I'm much more eloquent on this subject when I'm not sick. But I don't think Stephanie Garber really delves anywhere into this deep enough or maybe she just doesn't have anything to say really about it. But I find it so fucking annoying about the Donatella part being his true love. Again, I could get behind true love rejecting him. But the fact that she DID get affected and then just didn't die just doesn't sit right with me. I don't think it was done well and it leaves me annoyed about it when it's brought up.

This book brings up a lot of things over and over that we already know about. Jacks and his true love, his fatal kiss, his being a Fate and not human is constantly stuffed down our throat. Other things constantly being repeated. Trust your readers in that we remember shit. Also Luc was so annoying in this book why is he even here still in this story?

I was going to be SO ANNOYED if Jacks really did go back to Donatella. But the fact that Evangeline DIED was hysterical and a shock. And then it continued on. Jacks used the stones. Apollo becoming a sudden villain was honestly so fucking out of left field??? It felt BIZARRE. Also, the ending left me with some questions. If the helm was likely put on to control him and they couldn't control him, why after all this time does Honora just take it off?? Why didn't he eat his family if he's so out of control?? Also, where did the power of memories come from from Apollo? I know there was a Valor with memories but like... is Apollo Arcadian or a Valor?

I'm interested to read the next but like what even. This is like the most frightening, controlling, near domestic violence type of thing. I'm curious to see how long it'll last and how she acts/how she feels/what happens next.

[benefits1986]

Psycho + Typo

Search is the ultimate truth teller.

The past weeks, I've been searching this thought fart universe and damn, so many things that is said, unsaid, done, and undone. Some things change. Other things are questionable at this age and time. But, let those past posts remind me of where I was in as I slug my way to where I want to be.

I got another really bad injury but tested out if I can walk in chunky heels. I concealed my heavy backpack inside my trusty luggage. The reason behind this seemingly endless accident? I was looking for my Harry Potter Book 1 movie poster and dad told me that he threw it because it's too frail. The 18-year old poster is my lifeline as it reminds me of the then days. Side Note: Accident happened when I reached the poster and missed a step. Mhie, ang taas kasi niya tapos my short hands and short legs are wonky pa. I landed on my right foot naman, but my right ring finger was cut. 'Yung cut na hindi malalim pero masakit talaga. I froze and hoped that nothing was broken, honestly. Side Note 2: Etong poster na 'to, love language ng tatay kong pakitong-kitong. Dahil 'di naman kami alta, nakiusap siya sa client nila na legit tagabenta ng CD and VCDs. Binilhan niya pa ako ng original na VCD ng Book 1. LOL. Tapos, sabi nung client, okay kahit need nila mag-explain since by the book, need surrender ng lahat ng materials sa kinauukulan. He got me 2. OPAK. Syempre, angas mode siya kasi sabi niya, kaka-Harry Potter ko raw kaya kung anu-anong ginagawa niya. Kaya rin sinama ko si Dad sa USJ kahit kinahirap ko talaga siya. HAHAHAHAHA. Seeing him immerse in my universe kahit wrong answers siya palagi sa topic na 'to. Kitang-kita kong nadama niyang I have arrived. CHZ. Proud na proud siya and super thanks siya sa akin for the first time in real life with bashing pa rin syempre.

Dad lambasted me again. And again saying: Basta Harry Potter talaga, nababaliw ka noh? LOL. He even told me that I could have called him to get the bloody poster kasi nga, 'di ko talaga siya abot even with a step ladder ng ganun kadali. He was weirded out because while he knew that I was hurt, smile pa rin ako. At least, I got my poster in a safe condition. Ano ba naman 'yung 18-year old poster na 'di na madaling hanapin ngayon, right?

I watch, listen and re-read Harry Potter when I'm sad, happy, feeling fucked up, feeling good, alone, with company, with all the fucks to give in the world, with zero fucks to give to the world. I remember watching re-runs so many times when mom, ina, Tito Taurus, V and C died, too. :p Ewan ko. Baliw nga kasi ako e.

I remember the days when I was stuck in high school with no fucks about whether I'd fit in or not. From an exclusive school, I was housed in a parochial school that meant ultimate culture shock. While I joined groups, I never felt at home. The teenage years felt weird and unpleasant. I like weird, but that feeling when everything is changing and I'm stuck is just too much, I guess. Certain groups welcomed me but I seem to be too bored or dissociated. I hopped from one group to another, but no luck, still. Even then, being on my own does not bother me, at all. However, I knew people around me think otherwise. Some groups reached out and I said that while appreciate their effort, I'm pretty much okay to hop from one group to another, depending on my mood or my headspace. I'm not exactly an outcast, I think. Of course, I've been bullied but I quickly learned how to fight back plus mother dragon stayed closest to me. I didn't like how she managed me, honestly. But, she knew that if I'm left unattended, I'd most likely morph into a thicccc-blooded bully myself who gets away with demerits and deception.

Fitting in one group does not make sense to me and that's my final answer, even up to now. This holds true. This stands firmly.

One time, our teacher was absent and the whole class was sent to the library. I browsed the new books and stumbled upon Harry Potter Book 1. Since I read slowly, I spent my break time reading this considerably thick book. I found a universe where I can indulge as the writing is so graphic. It's fantastic. I had a really good excuse to sit in a corner of my choice and devour this interesting world where wizards and witches are pretty much like me --a teenager trying to make sense of their new world. At first, no one read Harry Potter. LOL. Buti naman.

Weeks or months later, a few random people approached me and asked me why the hell am I spending my break time reading a blah book instead of mingling with my hood. I simply dismissed their questions, because I don't want this world to go mainstream. Feeling like a gatekeeper, I even hid the copies as I asked the librarian nicely that I'd like to finish Book 3. LOL. She smiled and told me that it's okay since no one is reading them anyway. At 13, I felt like I belong to a universe that's beyond my current space. It felt kind of rebellious since I really hated the whole idea of parochial school.

In between biology, chemistry and homeroom, I spent time learning that being weird is never a bad thing. The characters are way quirkier than me, so, let it be. Later still, Harry Potter craze officially landed in Manila. :P Back then, Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Baby Sitters Club, and the like are the top tier. So, I guess Harry Potter became the cool thing to a good number of people who are tired of the usual plot twists. I've been asked more times about Harry Potter and I was left with no choice but to overshare. :P Daming tanong e. 'Di ko masalag. Funny how I tried to have my own world but ended up gaining the opposite.

As prime examples, some "paparamdams" ng mga ilang XY involved drawings of Harry. 'Di super nice, pero points for the effort. LOL. Fuck. Why am I remembering these now? I can't believe it. Others naman would talk about the books and slide comments that only Potterheads would get. Others gifted me with merchs na basic since wala pa naman masyadong funds noon and access sa original merchs. May kasama pang: Puro ka kasi Harry Potter. Andito naman ako. LUL. As in nagiging argument pa kung bakit mas mahalagang matapos ang Harry Potter Book 4 before finals exam kesa magbigay ng atensyo sa mga paparamdams. :D

Looking back at these prime examples, I shake my head. Nakakatawa. Baliw nga talaga ako kay Harry Potter and sila naman na rin nag-adjust. In fairness. In all fairness. Plus points kayo diyan mga former XY paramdams. Puwede naman kasing derecho na lang e. 'Di ako mahirap kausap. Mahabang usapan lang na consistent and rektahang bullet points. LOL. LUH.

Me to myself: Bakit ba kasi sumikat 'to? E hooked na ako, so wala naman na akong maggawa. Also, mejj off 'yung mga "slide" comments kasi nag-notes pa ako sa bawat book, so, uhm. Tabi. You say you're a fan, noh? Let's test it out, then. :D

Kidding aside, this piece of art on its way to be a classic allowed me to appreciate the fact that I would never fit in and that it's okay. Totes fine. It's not a problem to be in a noisy and nosy place so as long as I believe that magic is real, here and now. I've grown up a whole lot but I'm still that kid inside tries to see the beauty in the mundane, the weirdos, the psychos and the typos.

I guess it's also because for the first time, I've actually came across a female writer whose female characters are not that stereotypical. Even then, I was utterly bothered that women writers seem to be but a few sessions. JK Rowling has been my "shero" as I discovered her backstory. Being the letter reader of the mga torture victims and makakaliwa, iba ang kagat ng creative na mundo ni HP and friends. The way she does subtext is so amazing and pangarap ko pa ring magkaroon ng Harry Potter classes sa Harvard kahit online lang and walang certificate or badge. :p Hanap nga ako this holiday break. When I'm in deep doubt and on the cusp, simula noon hanggang ngayon, I slay the repeat button netong first commencement address ni JK. Meron na palang update, so lagay na rin natin dito pero 'yung uncut and branded to the nines, because... alam na. :p

Siguro, dito rin nag-root 'yung delulu kong paganaps sa quest kong maging donut seeking world peace. Unapologetic, very flawed, curious, ultra feminine, agnostic, spiritual, subtext-driven, overactive imagination, overthinker, misfit, and writing it all out. Magiging kasing yaman na ba ako ni Queen Elizabeth II with so many causes supported? :p

I'm actually re-reading the books now. I started sa Book 1 pero skipped to the best part, Book 3. Torn ako between Book 3 and 4 to be honest, pero for me, pivotal kasi ang Book 3 and 'di masyadong mahaba so the slow reader me is happier. Mas mabilis naman na ako ngayon and sana magkaroon ng version nito na bionic reading 'yung takada ng typography in Adobe Garamond, point 12. CHOZ. Huy. Not sure sa point 12. Clunky na memory bank ko. Also, her being axed in the anniv special docu is a bummer. Cancel culture kasi about she revealing na Dumbledore is gay. Wala naman siyang sinabing out of line kasi for me, true gender equality is widening the biases. I do not patronize homophobia. In the same manner, let the straight people lead a straight life. Ganun lang talaga. My mug of butterbeer in Hogsmeade landian session might not be for everyone. And vice versa. Magpapasko na kasi, kaya 'yung overthinking ko, nasa point na ng dressing up Hogwarts ni Hagrid na may malaking pine tree papunta sa Great Hall.

As I curate my tiny house outside Manila, my first piece up the wall would be this poster. I really can't wait to see my flow in my own space before I proceed with dressing it up bit by bit. A minimalist x maximalist Harry Potter space. LOL. It's not gonna scream because I want the vibe na only Potterheads will get it. UGH. Hassle. 'Di siya madali pero I think through intention, I will get there, unti-unti. Plus Europa 2025 para sa lumpuhang Harry Potter Slay edition. <3

[shadowlineswriting]

Morgenstern

In 2011, a book came out that stunned the world of voracious readers--but you wouldn’t necessarily have known it. I don’t recall seeing The Night Circus, by Erin Morgenstern, really advertised at all. I remember seeing it occasionally in bookstores and libraries. Then I remember seeing it everywhere...but still, it wasn’t really discussed. 

The thing that shocked me most was that, if you found someone who’d read it, the reaction was immediate. They’d smile, get this dreamy look on their face, and just say, “Yes.” Ordinarily when you come across someone who adores a certain book they gush about it and tell you all the reasons you should check it out. Not The Night Circus fans. They’ll just smile with this look in their eye that comes from knowing something you don’t.

Obviously, I had to read it.

And then I understood, and I imagine I have the same smile on my face when people ask me about it. 

I don’t even know really how to explain this book. It’s true that it’s about a circus, but it’s also about magic. Still, that isn’t what makes the book so lovely. It’s the way Erin Morgenstern wrote it. Reading this book makes you want to sip apple cider and wear silk and look at the stars like you’ve never seen them before. The way she describes things and people, the imagination that went into creating this story, the way she evokes emotion purely by having a good vocabulary...this book is perfect. 

Once you know, you know. 

The literary world waited eagerly for Erin Morgenstern to write another novel after The Night Circus. They waited a year, then another. Then five. Then eight. 

When she published The Starless Sea in 2019, expectations were unbelievably high. I remember counting the days (literally) until the book came out. In fact, I remember telling my mom that waiting for this book’s release date was possibly the hardest thing I’d done that year, and she responded by pre-ordering it for me as a surprise so it would be ready for me after work that day. She’s good like that.

I confess, I was nervous about reading The Starless Sea. The early reviews were...well, they weren’t bad, but they weren’t necessarily fabulous. People described it as confusing and over the top. I would never let a review stand between me and a book by an author I love, though, and I was encouraged that one review described The Starless Sea as “a love letter to storytelling.” 

I’m really not sure I could put it any better. It’s true that this book is a slow burn. Nothing to move the plot forward actually happens until you’re nearly 20% of the way through (in fact, in that 20%, you aren’t even sure there is a plot), and you really don’t see how the pieces of the story come together until you only have 15% of the book left. This book requires patience.

At first, only my determination and belief that Erin was going to turn out another masterpiece kept me going. I did struggle with how many stories are contained within this one story, but I knew, I knew, that if I could reach the end it would be worth it. And it was. I finished the book and my first thought was, A book like that has never been written, and probably never will be again.

It is now 2023. Every year since 2011, I’ve wanted to reread The Night Circus and every year I’ve found a reason not to, because I wasn’t sure my memory of its perfection could be lived a second time. Every year since 2019 I’ve put off rereading The Starless Sea, as well, for mostly the same reason. 

However, we are on the Ms, and there are self-imposed rules to follow. I reread both books over the past couple of weeks and I am ecstatic to report that they are still flawless. I actually thought The Starless Sea was much better the second time, if possible, because I already knew how the stories wound up connected and that made them more enjoyable to read. 

I did learn that Erin Morgenstern books are really not meant to be read back-to-back. These are the types of books you have to live in for a while even after the back covers close, so my one mistake was reading them within a week of each other. Next time, I’ll know better and I’ll pace myself :)