#her reflection overlapping with his...

[abyssalpriest]

8/12/23

Commentary on a place in Lev's mindapace.

There's a particular valley. Do you remember the first time you ever stood in front of a plane? It's one thing to see them in the sky, tiny, whimsical, but your first holiday where you stand in front of one of them, after the long journey out to it, where it hums and breathes and it becomes not just a fun idea but a grounded machine, huge, present, looming, real, its wings dwarfing all your imagined preconceptions with their heavy, outstretched reality? This valley stretches like that. Holds like that. Great mountains stand like a distant jury of gods, moss browns all over, rich rocks, wind-worn yet fertile, pregnant with bitter cold.

The flat valley fills the gap like the courtroom silence.

Running down the middle of this flat valley is a thin stream, no raging river; it's a whisper compared to the chatter of a busy street. I've always wondered why it was so thin. He often meets me beside it, in fact I don't think I've been anywhere else in these mountains and valley... Cloud-grey rocks smooth and slate-like - flat - interspersed with other shades of mundanity. Tiniest little hardy grasses, or something, small specks of life burning with the Name of his lover.

It's so cold, but it isn't. It feels like how the ocean feels to him, when I've possessed his body and found that the depths of cold and the heights of heat mean little more than suggestions to him. It feels like the sky.

There, that mountain, looking out to a direction that means nothing to you, the reader, that mountain on the left. That's the one, in my head at least, that I see that sacred vision: He lies over it propped up by swords piercing through his back, pieta-esque if he were Jesus and the mountain Mary and yet not, because they don't touch except where his legs drape within her, the tense friction of metal holds him above her so that they could not touch. The handles are decorated with some sort of red tassels, or something, ceremonial...

It's always been in the back of my mind though, the lingering question of why, in this expansive valley, wider than any valley I've ever seen, this stream is so thin and shallow. Maybe up to my ankle, maybe almost as wide as I am tall... Why? Glacially cold, air-clear, thread-like. A creaking mountain of ice haunts this place, a mountain of ice and restraint; I say that, I see Lev strung up by the hands vividly but in little detail beyond abstract Bacon-esque suggestions of a solemn, physically taut and twisted form... It isn't tragic, nor is it in any way painful, though. It is like mellification or self-immolation: beautiful, sustained, preserved, meditative-blissful, it is like ice, isn't it. To be the piercingly cold Day sky and its entourage of cloud-bodies - the rain picks up heaviness outside my physical window as I type - to slowly melt and drip with such self-restraint... His connection to her is the devotion of a monk to his monastery, his people, and his God.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hey, I have DpxDc God Au prompt for you: Dani is the goddess of untraditional families, traveling, clones, and lost (emotionally and locationwise, not deathwise) children. She becomes a patron to many people (mostly kids and teenagers) struggling in the hero community and otherwise and comes to help them in times of emotional turmoil. Kon is one of her followers/friends, the speedsters pray to her for multiple reasons, and Billy and her sometimes hang out. Danny is the god of protection, space, revival, and neglected and lost children (emotionally and those who died before they reached adulthood). He also ends up becoming a patron for many heroes and abused kids. He helps Jason out when he dies young and gets revived. (Bruce prays to Danny for Jason when he dies to beg Danny to help Jason find peace in the afterlife if there is one). Danny also befriends Tim when he’s all alone in Drake Manor and keeps him company when he can and helps him survive. Dan on the other hand is the god of apocalyptic futures (and alternate and future evil selves), repentance and redemption, aggression, and devastation (emotional and deathwise). He doesn’t want most of his domains to be so dark, but it’s weird how much overlap there is between the same people praying to him along with Danny and Danielle. (SO many heroes have apocalyptic future/evil selves and have done terrible things. Example: Tim: Evil future gun batman and Jason: Aggression and Repentance/Redemption. They would definitely pray to Dan just in case). They’re all pretty respected gods who have been known for ages, worshiped, who actually help not just their followers but those who need their help that fall in their domains. The mythology got a bit weird throughout history, but the Dan(y/i)s were generally thought to be benevolent sibling/triplet gods. Jazz didn’t have enough power to ascend to goddesshood, but she was a patron spirit of psychology and mental health, and low-key a patron of people with eldest daughter syndrome (Looking at you, Dick). Then of course there’s Vlad. Mostly creeps want to pray to Vlad. He’s thought of as more of a predatory demon than a god, he has never been known as benevolent. He embodies most if not all of the seven deadly sins and his domains and immorality reflect that. He is the god of theft, power, greed, lust, cheating, obsession, ego, twisted family, immorality, corruption, envy, and vengeance. He has more domains than the Dan(i/y)s either because he was depicted so negatively from all of his schemes that people just gave him all the dark domains, or because he stole several artifacts and found some loopholes to get more power for himself. The Dan(ny/i)s stand together as one to protect the world from Vlad’s immorality, however there are some moments where Vlad helps starving children steal food or things they need to live, helps people to steal medicine they can’t afford to bring to a sick loved one. He gives self esteem and confidence to those who pray for it that struggle with self worth or mental illness. So yes, he is a more morally bankrupt god, but he has his good moments. Anyways, please write more of this prompt in whatever way you see fit. It could be stuff from the batfamily’s and/or halfas perspective as the years go by and they interact with the gods or something like that as vigilantes and as civilians, or you can write scenes out with the hero community or batfam discussing the little pantheon or whatever, or go into further detail with my examples, have conflict between the Dan(i/y)s and Vlad, change things up, or anything you want. Thank you!

Wonder Woman watches as Nightwing very claps his hands, bows his head, and mutters under his breath. The language is one she is not fluent with but has started to learn over the years in her time of man.

Esperanto.

She can pick out a few words. Enough to know that Nightwing is sending a prayer and hopes of a "Older Sibling" patron saint. He wants her to keep a eye over his younger siblings and to offer him "inner- peace".

Diana is aware that all of Bruce's children, minus Dick, are out on extremely dangerous missions. Dick had been benched due to an injury he sustained in the last confrontation. He was sent to the watch tower were a team of trusted surgeons had operated on his leg.

He would be fine in time but it would be a long wait before he would be ready to go out to the feild.

Understanding that he needed guidance from his gods, she waited paintently for him to finish, taking a few steps away from the doorway of his recovery room so as not to overhear any further prayers. A conversation between gods and man should remain private.

As she leaned on the wall outside, she wondered—not for the first time—who the Bats prayed to. Athena and Aphrodite would always have her loyalty, but she acknowledged that there were gods outside of her own.

She met some of them.

And while she had never seen the Bats or anyone else from Gotham's gods, she knew they were worshiped and believed as much as her sisters loved on Themyscira. It would be rude to ask about them, when she would never offer the gods of Gotham any offerings, so she refraimed but she wondered.

Oh she wondered.

She had witnessed Bruce pray to one of them, usually after a complex case involving children. He never mentions the god by name, but much like Nightwing, he clasps his hands, bows his head, and mutters that rhythmic language. Once, he even saw him place a star carved from one of the stones of his historical home by the window of the watch tower.

He had engraved all his children's hero names into it and allowed the moon to power it with protection.

Jason prayed as well, but not as profoundly as his family. He was Catholic growing up, and his mother often refused to have him pray to another god despite everyone else in Gotham doing so. He only did so as Red Hood because, according to Jason, that was the only time he needed Dan or Vlad.

Diana wondered if those were gods or people in his gang. Jason did not say their names with the same reverence as she did her gods.

Tim, on the other hand, took his Gotham-based region very seriously and had an entire timesheet of proper prayers. He did not pray every day nor did he stop what he was doing in order to do so, but he made it very clear that he would not be availbe three times a week for religious purposes.

Short of an emergency, those three hours every week were dedicated to his rituals for all of Gotham's gods. Diana knows that Steph, Barbara, Cass and Bruce would join only one of those three hours for their own god prefernce.

Despite that however, they were not very religious and often she wondered if the Bats were more atheists. Maybe meeting the gods and fighting some of them had the people of Gotham numb to the faith.

Or Gotham had the practices for such a long time that it became a background, much like tax season. Diana had noticed that despite the prayers and the dedication, the Bats treated their gods much like suppursitations to do before a big game.

It was a odd system to her, but once again, the "Gotham's Stars and Shadows" were not her gods. She did not have enough information to make any sort of statement about them.

Maybe they preferred to be treated as superstitions? Or maybe they liked to be close to their followers to the point they saw them the same way they did decorating their bedrooms? - A form of self-expression but not true faith.

A cold breeze blew by her, shocking Diana into a combat formation. There shouldn't be any wind up here. They are in space.

A whispered laugh echos down the hall, and for a brief moment she senses a god. Falling to her knee just in case, she stares towards the laughter watching a quick outling of a woman with flaming hair and a young girl in a black pony tale laugh and skip.

In their hands are carved stares, glowing green.

They vanish just as quickly as they appeared, but she knows who they were without having to call out to them.

"Diana?" Dick says from the doorway, pushing his wheelchair. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. I am." She smoothly slide up to her feet smiling at him in what she hopes is comforting. "Have you finished speaking to yoyr gods."

"Yeah I hope they protect my siblings and help find Kon."

She thinks of the laughing ladies "I assume they will."

An hour later, Kon is recovered, and Tim miraculously escapes death due to strong wind and a conveniently thrown traveling map into his attacker's face. Diana witness the superman clone add a stone form Kent Farm to the one by Batman's in the watchtower.

It has the words Red Robin carved within a heart. She smiles.

[anakirui]

hot take ??

the only reason people say that "mafuyu and tsukasa have nothing in common" when presented with mafukasa parallels is because they equate mafuyu and tsukasa being similar to "tsukasa has depression" because the fandom equates mafuyu's personality to being depressed and nothing else.

it doesn't help that people (primarily younger people in the fandom) who DO believe in mafukasa parallels end up making the mistake of portraying tsukasa as depressed because as of right now he is not (although it's possible he was in past because of his Very Unclear Middle School Backstory but that's irrelevant)

anyways, mafuyu and tsukasa are narrative foils because their core personalities are built off of the concept of wanting to make the people around them— especially their families— happy.

they both developed personalities at a young age based on someone they looked up to. for tsukasa, it was seiichi amami's performance that inspired him to be a star— a hero that could cheer anyone up. for mafuyu, it was her mother taking care of her that inspired her to be a nurse— and you can see the similarities from there.

for mafuyu, her identity would first come into conflict when her mother expressed her want for mafuyu to be a doctor— suddenly, "everyone's" happiness didn't match what she wanted to do, leaving her in a state of disorder and eventual depression.

for tsukasa, his identity was something he nearly forgot in its entirety at the start of the main story— becoming arrogant and fully absorbed in a hero persona, forgetting the kind person he truly is. furthermore, his current character arc seems to be foreshadowing that what "being a star" to him is going to be called into question— maybe it is something more than just being the main character that saves everyone.

their insecurities are incredibly similar.

in mafuyu's first mixed, mafuyu feels insecure towards ichika because unlike ichika, she feels as if her lyrics have no genuine meaning to be expressed to other people— despite them being her very real feelings. this is brought up again in her second mixed as well.

in tsukasa's third focus event, something similar happens. when watching seiichi's performance, he thinks that his acting is "real" and feels inferior towards him, which is ironic because tsukasa has been method acting this whole time. when tsukasa is acting out rio or bartlett or really anyone at this point in the story, it's not just those characters— it's a reflection of his traumas.

just like mafuyu, tsukasa undermines his passions he's poured his feelings into because someone else's work is more genuine in his eyes.

now, then, foils have many similarities and parallels (and i could honestly list a lot more), but how i define them is that they usually have some kind of major branching difference that MAKES them foils.

for mafuyu and tsukasa it's pretty straightforward.

mafuyu's people pleasing behavior comes from external expectations and pressures— her mother's demands.

tsukasa's people pleasing behavior comes internally, from himself— if he can't meet his own standards, if he can't be the perfect big brother or the perfect star, then he is nothing.

and even then, there's some overlap.

tsukasa's behavior was indirectly encouraged by his mother praising him for being a "good big brother" over the phone instead of asking him if he was okay while home alone.

mafuyu's terrified to be herself around other people because she doesn't want to worry or bother them— she doesn't want to be a burden— and projects her mother's expectations onto them, not realizing that they would prefer the real mafuyu if they knew the truth.

and the concept of mafukasa being foils is most perfectly and blatantly portrayed in these two cards.

mafuyu, the marionette, sitting limp on the floor— puppeteered by her mother's demands and donning a mask to hide her true self.

tsukasa, the jester, standing above everything else— puppeteering silenced plushies— his feelings. he's not being completely honest with himself, and he doesn't even realize it.

mafuyu has cut her strings and ripped her mask in half. she has acknowledged her true feelings and expressed them to her mother, even if she had to run away in the end.

tsukasa has not yet cut his.

[caitlinsclark]

FEELIN 22 caitlin clark caitlin clark x singer!reader | summary: caitlin's celebrity crush is discussed during jada's live. based on this request. ✰ part of my 500 follower celebration! word count: 2.2k masterlist and tag list

It was an innocent question, one that was offered by a viewer of Jada’s live. Kate, Gabbie, Caitlin, and Jada were in the weight room, separated at their chosen machines. 

“Who is one celebrity you’d like to see come to one of our games?” Jada read aloud to the group, tapping her lips in thought.

Caitlin was all too eager to scream your name from out of frame, hopping over with an excited smile as she pulled out her phone. Upon turning the screen toward the camera, viewers could see she already had your song playing in her AirPods. But that wasn’t enough as she disconnected the bluetooth on her phone and played the song out of her speakers.

“I was enchanted to meet you,” Caitlin danced around, running circles in the room with a newfound energy, “Please don’t be in love with someone else, please don’t have somebody waiting on you!” Her voice cracked with the volume of her singing voice.

“Yeah,” Caitlin breathed out with a huge smile after, her dimples making an appearance, “She’s been my favorite.” 

The girls had shielded their faces from the camera, trying their best to hide the knowing glances they shared. Caitlin basically skipped back off the camera, returning to her machine as she continued to hum the beat of your song. 

“So that’s Caitlin’s, if you couldn’t tell,” Jada laughed, scrolling through the comments who all were freaking out about Caitlin’s enthusiasm. There was a huge overlap between your fan bases, unknown to both of you, but it was there.

TikTok was your best friend and Caitlin’s worst as it flooded with the edited clip of her singing your song. The basketball player was doubtful you’d see something like that. But with the amount of both your and her fans spam tagging you, she wasn’t too sure after all.

And luckily it ended up on the top of your FYP, reposted by ESPN themselves which was even funnier. You watched in content as the brunette strained her vocal cords to show the love for your music. You couldn’t see your reflection as you watched, but knew the dumb smile on your face said far too much.

With all the instigation energy you possessed in your soul, you decided to actively tease not only your fans but Caitlin too. Upon seeing that there was an Iowa game currently streaming, you turned on the TV and leaned back to get comfortable on the hotel bed. After a few beats, you pulled out your phone to take a sly picture and posted it to your story. If Caitlin’s jersey number was front and centered, that was simply an accident of timing. 

Though it wasn’t an accident when you joined Jada’s live the next time you were free, giggling evilly when you saw that Caitlin was indeed there too in the room with her.

Jada’s eyes widened at the comments that seemed to speed up three times faster at the presence of your username, “Who’s here?” She furrowed her eyebrows, only to gasp when you sent a ‘hi’ in the chat.

‘JOIN’ ‘LET HER ON THE LIVE’ ‘INVITE HER AS A GUEST’ the comments flooded and Jada made quick work of doing just that, wordless at the fact that you had stumbled onto her stream.

“It’s for you,” Jada tossed the phone to Caitlin immediately and stood back, hitting her other friends to get their attention. Caitlin made a face as she looked at the screen, only seeing a buffering icon when she angled it to face her.

Until your smiling face replaced it and she almost squeaked in shock. Caitlin rubbed her eyes, feeling like this was some dream she was about to wake up from.

“Are you like,” She moved the camera far away before bringing it closer to analyze the picture, “real?”

“No, I was the baby brought by the stork like your parents told you about,” You nodded, pursing your lips as she broke out into a tiny smile, progress from the nervousness clear on her face.

“Makes sense, you’re too flawless anyway.” The compliment rolled off her tongue naturally. 

You remembered what it was like to have a celebrity crush, and she was showing practically every sign under the sun as she blushed under your gaze when you hadn’t spoke up right away.

“So I heard I could make dreams come true by coming to one of your games?” You twirled a piece of your hair around your finger slowly, giving her a thoughtful look.

“Many,” Caitlin nodded shamelessly, her dimpled smile accompanying it, “Even more if you did it in a ’22’ jersey.” Her shy demeanor seemed to weather away in your presence, ignoring her friends cackling in the background.

It was the start to a long talking stage, one that the two of you kept away from the public. Your fans had eventually died down on the hype of your overlapping circles, falling to the back of their minds when there had been no new content. With Caitlin working hard in training and you working hard on your tour, you hadn’t had any chances to meet up.

So the second that she had a few days off in her schedule, you were the first person she called. 

“Not to be too forward or anything, but I may have a few days in between shows.” And the way mesmerizing way you bit your lip in anticipation, as if she’d say no, had her saying yes even faster.

You two had spent the entire week together, tucked away and blissfully out of prying eyes. Caitlin had made the choice to rent a place a little ways out of the city you’d be performing in and you didn’t even hesitate to say yes to staying with her.

You’d baked cookies while she sat gleefully on the counter, more interested in watching you than learning how to bake. She’d pulled you onto her lap while watching basketball, convincing you that you needed to be able to hear her better to understand what was going on.

The pair of you were passing back and forth a basketball out on the asphalt underneath the hoop the owners had installed. Caitlin passed it to you, shifting her feet quickly to guard you as you made moves toward the net.

“Oh!” You screamed, dribbling past her with an impressive speed that she tried to match, “Oh! Oh!” You chanted dramatically as you shot the ball after faking her out. It didn’t quite make it in, which had you staring in disappointment as it bounced off the rim. It wasn’t able to make it far before Caitlin grabbed it mid air and pushed it back into the hoop, cheering for you this time. You laughed at her, playfully hitting away her hands as she tried to tickle the frown off your face.

She pulled you in tight, wrapping her arms so protectively around your neck that you had no choice but to melt into her. Your head laid comfortably against the muscle of her arm.

She brushed her thumb against your back soothingly, completely enamored with the way your popstar persona seemed to subside in her presence.

It warmed her heart to know that despite being two major public figures, you kept the most humane parts residing here, in the privacy of her basketball court under the night stars with your arms around one another.

She had been love drunk enough to follow you to the next stop, something that didn’t take too much convincing after the coldness of her bed without you in it awoke her brutally.

In a simple week, the warmth of your presence managed to make everything else seem cold in the middle of summer. That’s how Caitlin wound up in the tent, singing proudly and loudly all of your songs right back to you. A drink in her hand that had barely been touched with how into the show she was.

It was the last song of the night, so you naturally had to end it with a bang. You’d been sneakily planning this for the last week.

Caitlin had exited the tent, lingering in between the stage and barricades so she could be closer to you. She waved to a few fans who called out her name but blocked them out the second you started talking again.

“So I decided to pull a song out of the archives,” You adjusted the mic, standing up and adjusting the pleated skirt fluttering around your thighs. “I’m just feeling 22.” You shrugged playfully, basking in the screams that the crowd let out at the double entendre, but they didn’t realize the half of it.

The familiar beat of ’22’ started up and you stood with your hands behind your back innocently, letting the cheers erupt and reactions settle in before beginning to sing.

You adjusted the hat on your head, twirling around as you sang, “I don’t know about you.”

You nudged one of your backup dancers dramatically, playing up the next line and you fed off of the roars the crowd let out.

Caitlin’s head tilted back in a laugh, covering her mouth to hide the huge grin forming as she looked adoringly in your direction.

She watched in awe as you pranced around the stage, brushing her hand and squeezing tightly when you passed by.

Her phone hadn’t left the grip of her hand as she recorded you in your element, beaming as she sang the words right back to you. She was almost as breathless as you on stage just from watching.

“I hope you guys don’t mind me bringing out a special guest?” You screamed breathlessly into the mic, the instrumentals took over during the bridge as you took a break from prancing around the stage.

Caitlin’s eyes widened and her jaw went slack from her spot within the safety of the gated off area. The crowd next to her screamed bloody murder, pointing excitedly at her as you approached where she stood sheepishly.

But with the electricity of the crowd’s screams and your smile right at her, she had no choice but to grab your hand and let you lead her up onto the stage.

The entire scene felt cinematic as you intertwined your fingers and leaned into Caitlin’s side, letting the screams and cheers soak in. Her grin was infectious as she let herself get sucked into the glow of your skin and sparkly outfit.

Your hand didn’t leave hers as you put the microphone back up to your mouth, pulling her alongside you down the strip of the stage. “It feels like one of those nights!” The crowd sang along with you, cheering louder as Caitlin twirled you around once you reached the end of the of the stage. The smile could be heard in your voice as she pulled you back into her with a lovesick smile. “I gotta have you,” You finished with a large exhale, breathless by not only the song but the exhilaration of sharing this moment with her.

You turned around at the end of the stairs, facing Caitlin with a devious look on your face. She rose her eyebrows as you lifted the hat off your own head and plopped it on hers, refusing to look away from her eyes despite the bright lights and distracting screams.

Confetti fell around you both, prompting joyous laughter from not only you and Caitlin, but your backup dancers as you all pranced off the stage.

She placed the hat back on your head, sliding her hands through your hair to rest on your neck. You didn’t need any persuasion when you practically pounced on her, letting the energy of the screams around you fuel you to pull her down to your level and connect your lips. 

She eagerly pulled you in closer, taking a few stumbled steps back and protectively leading you back into the tent, refusing to let you go yet. You couldn’t get enough of one another, though it became hard to keep up through the large smiles both of you were sporting.

“Is it weird if I hang this up on my wall?” She asked as she twirled the hat around in her palms. Fan first, girlfriend second, you were reminded.

You laughed, stumbling a little in your heels in a moment of adoration and Caitlin took advantage of it by sliding her arm around your waist. You welcomed the hold, laying your hand on hers and resting your head on her arm to look up at her.

You mulled the idea over in your head, playfully scrunching up your features in thought, “Not weird if I can get a signed jersey for mine.”

“Deal.” She scoffed like she’d won the lottery in that trade, you had to stop your cheeks from warming at the amount of support she’d shown you.

She gasped, a level of enthusiasm that jarred you a bit in the opposing serene environment, “Can I ride one of the bikes out next time?” In reference to the bikes your backup dancers rode during the show.

And you simply grinned at her excitement, taking note of the promise of next time. But you made sure to remind her of what had led you two to talking in the first place, “You still owe me a seat at one of your games. I gotta see your stage now.”

TAGLIST! @lovermcres @glorioushamsterqueen @miedmead @blueagle45 @pbloverr @cavillary @elizabethkitley @1-800-fantasy @into-f0lkl0re @mysticchildsuit @sapphicmermaid

[munsonluhvr]

Tattoo artist!Eddie x body piercer! Reader who have a shit ton of sexual tension ✨ I’ve been on a tattoo artist!Eddie pick lately ahah

TATTOOED ON MY HEART

a/n: omg wait is tattoo artist!Eddie actually a thing?? how am I just learning about this???? time to go down a rabbit hole LOL. hope u enjoy; hopefully this isn't *too* much smut then u were expecting...

contents: tattoo artist!eddie munson x body piercer!reader. with the arrival of a new tattoo artist, eddie munson, at your tattoo and piercing studio, it's clear that the two of you have intense chemistry.

If it wasn’t for the new tattoo artist, Eddie Munson, who sits off to your right on one of the tattoo tables, you probably wouldn’t have had to move the piercing dot which shows where you’ll piece the skin so many times. His gaze has a way of making you feel unnerved. 

“What if it hurts?” Robin, your freckled friend who sits underneath your touch on one of the tables, whines. Robin frequently comes in to the studio to get something new pierced, shamelessly taking full advantage of the discount you give to your friend. 

You blow out between your lips, frustration brewing inside you. You never have had to move the piercing location multiple times; you normally get it right on the first try. This isn’t the first time you’ve pierced Robin, let alone pierced anyone, it’s what you do for a career for god’s sake. The only thing that’s changed is Eddie’s presence, showing itself as the cause for your mess ups.  You hold the fine tipped marker in one hand, staring at Robin’s earlobe. “It won’t hurt, Robin, but if you keep wiggling and I end up stabbing your neck with the needle then that will definitely hurt.” 

Off to the side, Eddie laughs while shaking his head. “That’s one way to reassure your client.” 

You roll your eyes, not needing his advice on how to pierce someone, a task he knows nothing about as a tattoo artist - your crafts are completely different with very little overlap. 

“He’s right, that wasn’t very reassuring.” Robin mumbles, looking down at her hands that rest in her lap. With her thumb, she chips away at her already chipping blue nail polish. 

You toss a look at Eddie, a scowl brewing on your face. Though, the harsh look softens when your eyes connect with his, his big, brown eyes looking back at you. He raises his hands in defense, “I’m just saying.” 

 “Don’t you have some scary biker dude to go tattoo or something?” You retort playfully. 

Eddie shrugs, a smirk on his face, making no attempt to leave. “Sure, a whole bunch of ‘em, but it’s awfully entertaining to watch you pierce.” He folds his hands in his lap, leaning back in his seat, his eyes trained on you. 

Your stomach does a flip, your skin becoming flushed. You turn your attention back to Robin’s ear. You take a deep breath, steadying your hand to replace the dot on Robin’s earlobe. At last, you place the tip of the marker in a place that you feel satisfied with. You allow Robin to look at the new location, which she approves with a single nod. Taking the sterilized supplies, you line the piercing needle up with Robin's skin. "Take a deep breath and exhale on the count of 3."

Robin inhales, then exhales and after you count down, you take the opportunity to pierce the her skin with your needle. She tenses, hissing like a cat, then she relaxes. "How does it look?" she asks, glancing up at you.

You smile softly, stepping back to look. "Like I did an amazing job." Robin laughs, and lifts the mirror up to her face to get a look herself. You're too busy watching your friend admire your handy work, and she's too busy looking at herself, to notice that Eddie has approached you from behind, peering over your shoulder to get a look too.

"Amazing job, indeed." Eddie mumbles next to your ear. You jump slightly, an intense wave of heat creeping over your body. You clear your throat, side-stepping away from Eddie. You positively hate the way he makes you feel.

Robin glances up from her reflection, looking between you and Eddie. Her eyes meet yours and she raises her eyebrows, a questionable look on her face. You knew what she was thinking though: who is this guy?

After a minute, Eddie slinks off to another part of the studio, leaving you and Robin alone.

"Okay, are we going to talk about the obvious tension between you and that guy, or are we just going to ignore it?" Robin asks, cocking her head at you.

"His name is Eddie, and I'd rather not."

Robin groans softly, shaking her head. "It's obvious that he finds you attractive, y/n. And you aren't so slick with hiding your feelings either."

You frown. "What are you talking about? I don't like him, I barely know him. He's just the new tattoo artist for the studio."

Robin waves her hand in your direction. "Regardless, he's into you, since you can't tell that on your own." You roll your eyes, beginning to clean up your space. "Sure."

After Robin leaves the studio, quite pleased with her new piercing, you begin to close the shop. Eddie, who is finishing up a tattoo with one of his clients, still accompanies you in the studio. As another 30 minutes passes by, you sit in the back room, a magazine in your hand, as you wait for Eddie to finish. In the distance you hear the cash register beep, and the door bell jingle shortly after, signaling that Eddie's client is gone. Seconds later, Eddie enters through the back room's doorway.

The thing about Eddie is that he's gorgeous; tall, dark and handsome. The second the owner's of the studio introduced you to the new tattoo artist, you were smitten, though you were determined to not let Eddie catch on to that. Eddie, however, was a little more bold, in pretty much everything that he does. He's charismatic with the other piercers and tattoo artists that work alongside you both in the studio, and awfully friendly with his clients. His personality, coupled with his good looks, intimidated you and you find yourself sometimes shutting down in his presence.

"How'd the tattoo come out?" you ask nonchalantly, not looking up from your magazine. Your heart thumps against your chest, and you tell yourself to play it cool.

Eddie opens the fridge that's placed in the far left corner of the backroom, grabbing a glass bottle of coco-cola, and moves to sit across from you at the table. "Pretty good. He seemed happy with it which is all I can ask for as a tattoo artist." You hum, but say nothing else, simply flipping to the next page of your fashion magazine.

Silence takes over the break room and you find your mind wandering to what Robin said earlier: did Eddie really find you attractive? Curiosity takes over you, and you decide to test your friends theory. You bend your upper body forward over the table, leaning on your elbow, your chest on full view.

Eddie swallows, his eyes immediately diverting to your exposed chest. Similarly to you, Eddie found you attractive the second he met you, though when he attempts to flirt with you, he's met with sarcastic, playful banter. Nonetheless, he's committed to get to know you. He even believes you may like him too.

Eddie clears his throat. "Was that your friend you pierced today? You seemed to know each other more than just clients."

You nod. "We are very close friends. She appreciates the discount I give her so she comes to me for all her piercings." You glance up at Eddie through your eyelashes and are met with his gaze.

Eddie only nods, your eye-contact entrancing him. After a second, you look away, closing your magazine. "Well, I suppose we should close the studio. People tend to try and come in for a tattoo or piercing at the last minute if we don't make it look like we're closed."

You stand up, turning towards the sink that's in the break room as well, cleaning up some of the dishes and trash that has accumulated over the day and was left behind by the other employees of the studio.

Eddie, who's eyes are now trained on your backside, has the urge to test if his assumptions about you liking him are true. He's wanted to make a move on you for the longest time, so what's stopping him now?

Eddie stands up, moving around the table to stand beside you at the counter. Without asking, he jumps in to help, drying the dishes that you put on the rack to dry. There wasn't much cleaning to do to begin with, so with Eddie's help, the work is done quickly.

You angle your body towards Eddie. "Thanks for the help."

Eddie nods, a small smile on his face. "No problem." There's only a few inches between you and Eddie, and you can smell his cologne radiating off of him.

Without giving much thought, Eddie reaches out, his fingers working to brush strands of your hair away from the frame of your face, and tucking them behind your ear. "You're really pretty, you know that, right?"

You bite down on your bottom lip, your eyes diverting away from his gaze. In your lower abdomen, lust and attraction fills you fully, your heart beginning to thump against your chest again. "Thank you," you mutter.

Placing his finger up to your chin, he lifts your face and gaze to meet his. Instinctively, he brushes his thumb against your bottom lip. You have no idea why, but as if he asked you to, you open your mouth, letting Eddie's thumb be engulfed by the wetness of your tongue and softness of your lips. His eyes widen, and he steps closer to you, closing the small gap that existed between you.

Time stops, allowing you to live only in Eddie's presence. He places his thumb on the thickness of your tongue, and you move your head back and then forward, letting his finger slide in and out with ease. Eddie's mind is filled with dirty thoughts about you on your knees, or legs spread wide open, your eyes locked on his.

You part your lips, letting Eddie's thumb slip out. He's quick to find another point of contact with you, cupping your face with his large hands, bringing your lips onto his. You sigh softly, the tension beginning to slip away. It's then that you realize how badly you've wanted this, how many times you pictured this very scenario while Eddie tattoos one of his clients in the booth next to yours.

Eddie's lets one of his hands wander down to between your legs and under your skirt, his fingertips grazing your cunt lightly over your panties. He wants so badly to just take you right there, against the backroom's sink or across the tabletop. But he refrains, wanting to take his time with you.

You sigh against his lips, your head leaning back in pleasure and anticipation. Eddie takes the opportunity to kiss the length of your neck, his teeth nipping at your skin lightly. You grasp on to his bicep, steadying yourself; his touch making you feel light-headed. Is this what you've been missing out on the entire time?

With his nimble fingers, Eddie moves your panties to the side revealing your slick pussy. His stomach twists at the feeling, realizing your wet because of him. Without a second thought, Eddie plunges his fingers into you and you part your legs further, letting him gain access easily. You shudder against his touch, the feeling of his fingers exploring you is euphoric.

You become breathless quickly, Eddie's rhythm working against your core making you sweaty and your knees wobble. Your moans become more frequent and louder, and you hope no potential customers enter the shop. "Fuck, that feels so good," is all you're able to say.

Your hips move back and forth against Eddie's touch, begging for more and more. Pleasure courses through your torso, your thighs beginning to tremble around Eddie's hand.

"I always thought that you may like me," Eddie mumbles, his lips dipping down to your collarbone. "I guess I was right." He curls his fingers in just the right way, stroking your most sensitive spot. Your mouth parts, and you reach behind you to grip the edge of the sink to keep your balance.

You screw your eyes shut, your breath becoming more rapid. Without you being aware, Eddie kneels in front of you, replacing his fingers with his mouth. Once you feel his lips and tongue on you, your hand darts down to his hair, your fingers intertwining with his hair.

Eddie's stomach twists; he wishes this this moment could go on forever. Eddie laps against you, each stroke of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge. His tongue swirls, against your clit, a burning intensity growing in your lower abdomen. You whine, gripping the edge of the counter harder.

Eddie's hands travel up, holding your waist. One of your hands creeps down to your waist, your hand placing on top of his. You peer down at the same time that Eddie peers up, bringing your eye-contact together. His brown, puppy like eyes look up at you, sparkling against the dim lighting in the backroom.

Eddie pulls back away from you, his grip tightening around your waist. "Come for me," he says, moving back onto you.

Almost immediately, you finish, shuddering against Eddie's touch. You sigh heavily, the feeling of the pressure escaping your lower abdomen, bringing you relief. Eddie hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, pulling them up your legs as he stands up. Eddie, who is quite pleased with himself, wonders what his next move should be. He desperately wants to keep going, his cock still wondering what it would feel like to be buried in you, but he wants the tension between you and him to continue to grow. He wants nothing more than to make you wait, to pine for him until you need to crawl towards him, a burning desire to fill yourself with his cock.

You, however, are ready to go, your hands reaching towards the buckle on Eddie's jeans. Just as you begin to fumble with his belt, he grasps your hands in his.

You frown, wondering why he's stopped you. Doesn't he want you to touch him too? "I-I want to do you now," you say, your voice coming out low.

Eddie shakes his head, a daring look on his face. "Not now, not yet." His words leave you bewildered, wanting to ask a hundred questions. What does he mean, 'not yet'?

He steps forward, placing a light kiss on your cheek. You blink, wondering what is happening. "To be continued." He mutters, then slips out of the break room leaving you alone in the studio.

If there wasn't tension before, there's definitely tension now.

[nihilityuniverse]

𝟎𝐭𝐡 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐱 𝐅𝐄𝐌! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ 𝗦𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗖𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 ᴏꜰ ᴛᴇʏᴠᴀᴛ 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗙𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗕𝗼𝘀𝘀.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Story inspired by Acheron's Lore, Power, and Personality...

ENG is not my First language

I do not own Genshin Impact or any of the pictures used.

Do NOT Repost

Story is also available on Wattpad: Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 0 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 5

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭'𝐬 𝐒𝐤𝐲

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You drift into sleep, and the chaos begins. Memories swirl around you, fragmented and hazy, flashing too quickly for you to grasp. 

Voices echo, overlapping and fading before you can understand them.

"...May the present life shine like gold."

"Further Killing is meaningless."

"...But their death must mean something."

"Death is not the end of life... We will redefine humanity itself."

"...But we all know this world is beyond saving."

"... Despite that, we must become heroes."

You try to focus, but the images shift and blur. Faces you should recognize merge into each other. You hear different voices, yet you are unable to concentrate while the flashing images cross your mind.

A memory flickers: a pink-haired elf in a white dress. This time it's a bit clearer.

You hold her in your arms, blood pouring out of her chest. Her eyes are sad, yet filled with an unspoken warmth. She caresses your cheek, her touch gentle despite her pain. She says something, her lips moving slowly, but the words are lost to you. Then the scene shifts abruptly, the memory distorting.

You find yourself facing a long blue-haired man with piercing blue eyes. He looks at you with intensity, his expression serious. "Y/N, promise me you never forget...-" The memory distorts again, the edges blurring, "...love you."

The images speed up, a kaleidoscope of moments you can't hold on to. They slip through your fingers like sand, leaving only the faintest impressions.

You jolted awake, sitting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. Your hand clutched your rapidly beating heart as you gasped for breath. An overwhelming sadness gripped you, manifesting in uncontrollable tears streaming down your face. You let the tears fall freely, unable to stem the tide of emotion.

Confusion clouded your thoughts as fragments of your memories resurfaced, each piece as elusive as mist. You climbed out of bed and paced the room, trying to shake the disorienting sensation. You halted in front of the mirror, compelled to confront your reflection.

Staring back at you were eyes that seemed hollow, devoid of any spark of life, like a puppet's vacant gaze. Your cheeks glistened with the remnants of dried tears, evidence of your inexplicable sorrow.

As you blinked, your reflection shifted.

The reflection showed you with white hair and golden horns. One horn was half-shattered, the broken end dissolving into a sparkling golden mist.

You reached out to touch the mirror, your fingers trembling as they met the cold glass. The reflection stared back with a haunting emptiness that mirrored the void you felt within.

"My MANTIS form? Is this an illusion?" you whispered, barely audible, to yourself.

In the mirror, your reflection stood differently. It wore a white kimono, stained with blood and dirt, its eyes glowing a piercing gold. The reflection seemed more alive than ever, staring back at you with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Find me,"

The reflection's voice echoed, soft yet commanding, as it leaned closer to the glass.

"Your end... my origin."

Suddenly, the mirror's surface cracked, spiderwebbing outward from where your reflection's hand had pressed against the glass. Startled, you stepped back, eyes wide with disbelief. The reflection flickered and then returned to your current self, leaving only the shattered fragments of glass to catch and distort your image.

You stared at the broken mirror, your face reflected back in jagged pieces, each shard a fragment of a whole that felt lost to you. The encounter left you shaken, the echo of the reflection's voice lingering in your mind.

You draped your coat over your nightgown, pulling it tightly around yourself, and stepped out into the cold night.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Your heels clicked rhythmically against the cobblestone streets, resonating through the stillness of the night. The air was crisp and biting, carrying the faint scent of the sea.

The moon cast a pale glow over the empty streets, its silver light the only illumination as the city slumbered. You wandered aimlessly, unable to shake the unsettling dream that had stirred your memories.

As you rounded a corner, lost in thought, you nearly collided with someone.

"Sorry!..." A blonde traveler exclaimed, trailing off as his eyes met yours. His expression shifted from apology to shock, and he instinctively took a step back.

You sighed, crossing your arms to ward off the chill. "I'm not going to eat you," you said with a hint of sarcasm. "Couldn't sleep either?"

Aether looked alarmed but quickly relaxed, sensing no threat from you. "I had a nightmare..." he admitted, leaving out the detail that the nightmare involved you.

"A nightmare, hm?" you mused, walking past him and stopping at his side. "The more that weighs on your mind, the more your fears turn into dreamscapes."

Aether glanced at you but remained silent. There was something about you that felt familiar, a sense that beneath your icy exterior lay untold stories. Perhaps, he thought, you had a complex history with Zhongli.

"And you?" he ventured.

You didn't answer directly. Instead, you offered, "Walk with me. Let's forget our problems for a while." You began to walk, your pace slow and deliberate.

Aether hesitated for a moment before falling into step beside you. The two of you strolled through the quiet streets of Liyue Harbor, the silence around you amplifying the noise in your minds. The city's usual bustle was absent, replaced by a serene, almost eerie stillness.

"What a quiet night..." you murmured, your voice soft in the tranquil air. "They say the quieter things are around you, the louder they are in your head. It's true, isn't it?"

You didn't look back at Aether, but you could feel his presence beside you, a silent companion in this nocturnal journey. He nodded in agreement, the sound barely audible.

You halted at the edge of the harbor, where the cold sea breeze caressed your face, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant, rhythmic murmur of waves.

You clutched your coat tighter around your body, the thin nightgown beneath providing little warmth. The soft rustling of the ocean's surface reminded you of him, a memory as elusive as the shifting tides.

The traveler, Aether, watched you quietly. The moonlight reflecting off the water cast a gentle glow on your face, accentuating your mysterious allure.

To him, you were an enigma. His only encounter with you had been during that tense moment with Zhongli, where you had seemed intimidating. Yet now, in this peaceful setting, you appeared more contemplative and perhaps even kind. He realized he knew almost nothing about you, not even your name.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice curious but respectful.

You turned to meet his gaze, but before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted the moment.

"Oh? Out for a midnight stroll, are we?"

Childe's voice cut through the night, dripping with suspicion. He approached, eyes narrowed at you.

"Up to no good, perhaps?" His tone was accusatory, a familiar annoyance that you felt in your bones.

You barely knew him, only having seen him briefly at the funeral, yet he seemed to harbor a baseless animosity towards you.

"We're just walking," you replied coolly, meeting his gaze with a calm, unyielding stare. "Neither of us could sleep. There's no need for your baseless accusations."

Aether turned to Childe, sensing the tension. "Childe? What are you doing here?"

Childe's expression shifted slightly as he acknowledged Aether. "Ah, the famous traveler," he remarked, his voice tinged with a mock cheerfulness. "I see you've found your way to her." He glanced back at you with a passive-aggressive look, a mix of irritation and something unreadable.

Aether glanced at you, seeking an explanation, then back at Childe, expecting answers.

"She hasn't told you?" Childe raised an eyebrow, a sly smile playing on his lips. "She's quite infamous among us, actually," he began, his tone laced with amusement.

"Us... Are you one of the Harbingers?" Aether's eyes widened, his body tensing.

The quiet harbor was momentarily disrupted by the rippling tension between you and Childe.

You crossed your arms, your gaze steely. "Childe," your voice was sharp, cutting through the crisp night air like a blade. "Her Royal Majesty sent a personal letter apologizing for your... behavior. I strongly advise you to keep your mouth shut."

Childe's smile widened, a spark of excitement dancing in his eyes. "Or what? You wanna to fight?" He stepped closer, eager for confrontation.

Aether glanced nervously between you and Childe, feeling the intensity of the moment.

Then, in an instant, a Hydro dagger materialized in Childe's hand. With a wild laugh, he lunged at you, his speed blurring as he closed the distance.

The blade aimed for your throat with lethal precision, but before it could touch you, your hand shot up, clamping around his wrist with an iron grip.

In the blink of an eye, you delivered a flurry of punches to his face, each strike landing with brutal efficiency. The world seemed to slow down as you pounded him with lightning-fast blows.

As he reeled from the onslaught, you released his wrist, spinning gracefully before delivering a powerful kick to his abdomen. The impact sent Childe flying, crashing through the air and landing hard against a row of trash cans with a thunderous clatter.

The entire sequence happened in a mere heartbeat. The force of your actions left Aether stunned, the air thick with the intensity of the moment.

He stood in stunned disbelief. One moment, Childe had lunged at you, and in the next, he was sprawled across a pile of trash cans, thoroughly beaten. Had it all happened in the blink of an eye? He turned his gaze to you, realizing with a shiver that you were capable of much more than he had imagined.

"Don't worry, he won't bother us anymore," you said calmly, turning towards Aether, completely composed.

"I doubt he will ever..." Aether muttered, noticing your unruffled demeanor. It was as if the scuffle hadn't even phased you; you weren't even out of breath.

"About your question from before," you continued, meeting his eyes, "I am part of the Fatui and one of the Harbingers. My code-name is Innamorati."

Strangely, Aether didn't feel the usual wariness that came with meeting a Harbinger. Instead, there was a peculiar sense of ease, a feeling that it was better to be on your good side.

"Innamorati... I've never heard that code name before," Aether said, curiosity piqued. "And what about your actual name?"

You sighed, crossing your arms. "You might forget it, so you can call me whatever you like. But my real name is Y/N."

Aether blinked, taken aback. "It's... a beautiful name." He blurted out, then blushed slightly. "I mean... you have the same name as the unknown lady in the story."

You tilted your head, puzzled. "Unknown lady? What story are you talking about?"

Aether suddenly realized his slip. The tale he referred to only mentioned Morax and his two lovers, Guizhong and an unnamed woman, without ever revealing her identity.

"Uh... it's a story about Morax, the Geo Archon, and his two lovers, Guizhong and... um, Y/N, the unknown lady. It also involves Osial being jealous," he explained quickly.

At the mention of Osial, your eyes widened as a memory surfaced, a fragment of a dream featuring a blue-haired man with striking blue eyes. You turned towards the ocean, a sad expression clouding your features.

"Are you alright?" Aether asked, concern evident in his voice.

"It's nothing. I just... have a bad memory. The name Osial... I knew him well... or used to," you murmured. "But I'd rather not talk about it right now."

Aether, both surprised and curious about you, realized it was time to part ways as the night was nearing its end. "If you'd like to hear more about the story, we can meet up tomorrow. And..., good night," he said, a shy smile accompanied by a faint blush on his cheeks.

You were momentarily taken aback, your expression softening. "Thank you."

Then, with a thoughtful pause, you looked him in the eye. "Before you go, may I make a request?" Your tone was serious.

"It may seem strange, perhaps even rude, but I must ask..."

"...Have we met somewhere before?"

The question hung in the air, and Aether's eyes widened in surprise.

After a moment's thought, Aether responded, "Perhaps we have."

A small, knowing chuckle escaped your lips. "My memories often fail me..." you murmured. Stepping closer, you leaned in to whisper in his ear, your breath warm against his skin, "Return safely whence you came... Because a particular Yaksha is following us." You glanced around subtly. "If you feel unsafe, you can follow me."

Aether's eyes widened further, immediately thinking of Xiao. "I'm okay, I know this Yaksha," he whispered back, attempting to reassure you. You gave a slight nod, acknowledging his words.

With a final exchange of goodbyes, you turned and headed back to the hotel Pantalone had reserved entirely for your stay. As you walked away, you remained vigilant, aware of the green-haired Yaksha's presence in the shadows, watching your every move.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Reblog if you like this story

[danlous]

"Armand is Alice and Daniel's wife/s and kids aren't real" has become a popular fan theory (even Luke Brandon Field said he liked it!) but i'd be surprised if it was right. I think it's definitely possible that Devil's Minion will be adapted in the show (though probably not exactly like in the books), but i personally think this whole imaginary family thing would be a poor way to handle the storyline for a variety of reasons. I think a twist like that would probably come across convoluted and (as Daniel might say) like something from a telenovela.

We see children's toys in Daniel's house and he's public figure who many people know with an autobiography and everything. Creating decades worth of false memories for Daniel and somehow also maintaining that imaginary life story for decades wouldn't be enough, Armand or whoever did it would also realistically have to have an absurd level of control over the physical world, public records and many other people's minds to sustain an illusion like that. I also frankly think it would be difficult to avoid having some sexist and biphobic undertones to the idea that Daniel's relationships with women were unreal and meaningless and only his relationship with a man matters.

However, the most important reason why i think Daniel's wives and children should be real is that they make him a richer, more nuanced character and are actually central to understanding him and his motives. He has lived a full and complex life that has been influenced and to some extent defined by his encounters with vampires, but those vampires still weren't his whole life. I think it's more interesting to see Daniel's human life and his relationship with Armand and Louis as something connected and overlapping that both affect each other. We actually learn quite a lot about Daniel from what he says about his partners and children.

This scene - as well as how Alice in general is discussed - reminded many people of how Daniel in the books talks about Armand, such as this famous passage:

Parallels between Daniel's relationships with Alice and Armand in the books are obvious but i think they're just that, parallels. Both the sweet little scene where Daniel is talking about Alice's eyebrows and the book scene where he's talking about loving Armand not despite but because he's a monster reflect in different ways who Daniel is as a person; he feels drawn to unconventional and strange and sees beauty where others might not. He ended up in this situation with vampires too because he wanted to interview people who're rejected by the society.

If Daniel already had some sort of relationship with Armand in the past it makes sense that it would be associated with Alice in his mind. There may be an overlap between the timelines of those relationships. A memory of Armand rises when Daniel is reminded of Alice rejecting his marriage proposal, in the books Armand rejected his wish to be turn him into a vampire, which would've been something akin to marriage. I think Alice being real is much more compelling for Armand's character too, with Armand expressing surprising understanding and sympathy toward Daniel's wife rather than just speaking about his own experience through an imaginary woman.

Completely putting aside Devil's Minion and is it a thing in the show or not, i think Daniel's family is particularly important to Louis' and Daniel's relationship. Something that hasn't technically been explicitly said but to me seems obvious is that Louis and Daniel strongly relate to each other as fathers. Many scenes where we see Louis and Daniel show vulnerability in front of each other have something to do with their partners and children. In 1.02 as one of the earliest examples of this Louis replicates the dessert Daniel had with Alice, trying to connect with him and his humanity through it, Daniel shares personal memory and they eat together in companionable silence.

I would argue that Claudia, her memory, and Louis' relationship with her is the heart of the story in these first two seasons. Claudia entering the story in 1.04 marks the shift in the interview and Daniel's approach; he becomes both more combative and more emotionally invested. He has a strong reaction to reading Claudia's diaries, and it's not difficult for any parent to guess that he's also imagining her own daughters in similar circumstances to Claudia.

I think this conversation at the end of the episode (alongside Louis' speech to Daniel in San Francisco and them remembering it in 2.05) is the most important scene between Louis and Daniel. They share the understanding what it feels like to have children and love them so much you don't even have words for it, but still fail them. It's not a coincidence that in the original interview in San Francisco what leads to Louis attacking Daniel is Louis telling the story of Claudia leaving alone and Louis going back to Lestat, and Daniel acting dismissively and clearly not understanding why this is so painful memory to Louis. Daniel was young, stupid and high - and he didn't have children yet. Daniel now wouldn't act like that when hearing this story, and he doesn't in 1.06 when hearing it again. And notably when Louis says that he would now agree to turn Daniel, Daniel says he doesn't want it anymore and specifically mentions his daughters as one of the reasons. Having to watch your children die before you is the most horrifying thing in the world. It's something Louis had to go through and Daniel wishes he never has to, even if vampirism still intrigues him.

Daniel realizes quickly that it all comes down to Louis' feelings of guilt and shame about failing Claudia and his inability to protect her, because he has similar feelings about his own daughters. Louis' story unravels in s1 finale because Daniel recognizes that Louis' more palatable narrative around what happened with Claudia isn't fully true. Daniel carefully read through Claudia's diaries and tried to learn to understand her, and he positions himself as someone who's trying to defend her integrity and reveal the injustice that was done to her. This is again about Daniel's own children as much as it's about Claudia. He knows that he's a bad father, his daughters don't talk to him anymore and it's implied that he neglected them when focusing on other things that interested him more. When Daniel defends Claudia he's on some level trying to rectify his own mistakes and when he calls Louis out he's also voicing his own self-loathing.

Eric Bogosian remarked that the scene in 2.01 where Louis cries and thanks for Daniel for helping him to remember that Claudia could dream is another shift in their dynamic. Daniel looks at Louis with genuine concern, and after that he tones down his usual sarcasm and jabs significantly. Daniel, again, can sympathize with how important this is for Louis. There's a new sincerity and empathy in their interactions. Sometimes the audience forgets that this story is ultimately about Claudia, but Daniel hasn't forgotten it since he first realized it. They're trying to understand together what happened to Louis' child and everything that led to it. I think if Daniel wasn't a father he would've acted differently, and Louis wouldn't have trusted him in the same way either and been able to share his and Claudia's story. I think this shared sorrow, love and guilt they feel as fathers is one of the most crucial parts of their connection.

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Epilogue

Summary: Joel had always been the one. Rating: 18+ Explicit Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: None! Enjoy whatever comes! A/N: So, here we are at last. The final goodbye to one of my favorite pairings :') It is so bittersweet to end their story, but I am so thankful you all have supported it and loved it along the way! Tommy & Beth's story will be coming soon, so I hope you guys stick around for it! All my love, xoxo <3

Masterlist | Ko-fi

“Sarah!” You called from downstairs. “We need to leave soon so we aren’t late!”

“Coming!” She shouted back.

You could hear her footsteps shuffling across the loft, no doubt in a rush trying to find her backpack. It was the first day of school, and you were the brand new eighth-grade teacher—totally not because you wanted to keep teaching Sarah before high school. 

The three of you had spent the summer in a whirlwind, between camping trips and helping Joel work on a business plan for his own job. You even took a small trip to Boston to see your family; you needed to get the closure you deserved finally. But you couldn’t think about that trip now; you needed Sarah to hurry up.

“Joel,” you grumbled. “Can you please get her down here?”

Joel was leaning against the kitchen counter, his coffee mug half-full and lifted to his lips. He rolled his eyes at you, his lips curling into a soft smile. 

“I got it, baby. Go get your ass in the car, and I’ll make sure she has everythin’ together.”

You gave him a quick peck on the lips before slinging your bag over your shoulder. A large hand closed over your bicep, and Joel yanked you back into his broad frame. 

“No y’don’t. Give me a real kiss,” he chuckled.

He pressed a hand into your lower back, holding you firm to his chest as he bent down to kiss you. You deepened the kiss, your tongue overlapping his with a soft whimper off your lips. Joel swallowed every noise and pressed you against his lips for as long as he could.

“Grossssss,” Sarah groaned, startling you both.

You jumped back from Joel’s embrace, staring at Sarah with an embarrassed smile. 

“Can you guys not do that? At least wait for the wedding.”

Joel barked a laugh, kissing your cheek with wet lips before pushing you out of the kitchen. 

“I can kiss my future wife all I want, sweetheart,” he protested. 

Future wife. 

You loved it when he said that. You loved it even more when he was pinning you to the bed and whispering it in your ear as he fucked you. Lazy strokes and sweet words… The thought alone had you clenching your thighs beneath your skirt. 

Joel didn’t waste a moment proposing after you moved in. He and Tommy had snuck away one Saturday to a jewelry store to find the perfect ring, and he proposed that night. The tiny diamond sat snug on your finger, the gold band reflecting the sunlight every time you admired it—which you did a lot.

You and Joel were still working through the mess created after your accident, but there was no question that you’d marry him. At least you knew he wouldn’t run from the wedding; the thought of it happening kept you up some nights. 

Both you and Sarah arrived at the school with only ten minutes to spare. She’d be in your final class for the day, so you parted ways and made your way to your new classroom. Joel had helped you set up your room over the last week, hanging the posters you couldn’t reach and remaining adamant about keeping you from any possible chance of falling. God forbid you hit your head again; it wasn’t something you liked to think of often. 

Walking into the classroom, you quickly set up your lesson plans and placed worksheets on each desk. The first week of school would be the easiest for you and the students. A slight tap on the door jolted you from rushing around, and you looked up to see Maria sheepishly standing in the doorway.

“Welcome back,” she said. 

Neither of you had spoken since the end of the year, and you still weren’t sure what to say. Joel had explained to you that Maria wasn’t entirely at fault for anything; she only meant to care for you and keep you company throughout the years between. At the start of last year, he mentioned that he considered going after you, which was why Maria was always so pushy about talking to Joel. And she had, in fact, been the mastermind behind ‘Happy Hour’ when Joel showed up. 

You couldn’t stay mad forever, even if sometimes you desperately wanted to. Anger was all you had known for months, and you worked hard to replace it and battle through it as the summer went on. But right now, you could put that aside and at least be cordial with Maria. 

“Thank you, Maria.” You gave her a tentative smile. 

“Can I come in? I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you before the day started, and I was hoping we could chat.”

You nodded, motioning to one of the desks. Maria entered the room and leaned against the edge of the desk, waiting for you to settle into your chair. You tried ignoring the emails that continued to chime on your computer, attempting to give her your full attention, which she deserved. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I had no intention of lying to you, but I only wanted to see you happy. After the accident, it was so hard for me to lose you in the way I did. Giving you a place to live after your breakup with Bennett and seeing you meet Joel… Then nothing. I cared for you like a daughter and wanted to continue being there for you.”

“I know you did,” you sighed. “It’s been hard having to adjust after regaining my memory, and it’s taking a lot out of me to try to work through it all. I hope you know I appreciate all the care you’ve shown me. Before the accident and after. I just needed time to process it all.”

“If you ever need anything, sweetie, you know I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

You reached your arms to hug her, and Maria took the opportunity without question. Her warm embrace was enough to bring you to tears; you did miss her—a lot. Pulling away, you lifted your hand a little to show off the sparkle on your ring finger. 

“Oh my gosh!” she squealed, grabbing your hand.

You laughed at her excitement and allowed her to admire the ring on your finger.

“The wedding is next month,” you told her. “Joel and I would love for you to come if you would like.”

“Are you kidding? Of course, I want to come!”

She pulled you in for another tight hug, muttering a litany of ‘thank you’s.’ Eventually, the school bell rang, she ran out of the room, and you settled back at your desk for the beginning of the day. 

Not even two minutes after the final bell rang, Sarah was barreling into your classroom with a big smile. You had just seen her in the third hour during her own class, but her excitement never failed to make your heart swell with happiness. 

“Ready to go home, kiddo?” You chuckled.

“So ready! I think Dad is cooking us dinner, and I’m starving.”

You ruffled her curls softly before tucking her under your arm and leaving the classroom. The person you were last year—before remembering everything—would have never allowed this to happen. Dating your student’s father was out of line and, quite frankly, not your forte, but this was an exception. A very necessary exception. 

As you pulled out of the parking lot, you heard your phone ringing in your purse. Sarah was quick to retrieve it, staring confused at the caller ID. 

“Who is it?” You asked, glancing away from the road.

“Aunt Beth.”

Shit.

Things hadn’t been great between you two since the trip back to Boston over the summer, but it was better. If you sat in silence long enough, the bitterness and anger returned in full force. Joel was your voice of reason, calming you down from the resurgence of emotions and always quickly reminding you of Beth's work to fix the relationship. You only hoped they weren’t empty promises and she would prove herself to be who she was before the accident.

“Here, let me see it,” you said, extending your hand.

Pressing answer, you held the phone to your ear and hoped Sarah didn’t see the trembling in your fingertips.

“Hello?” 

“Hey, sis,” Beth said. It was easy to hear the frustration in her greeting.

“Everything okay?” You asked. 

You came to a slow roll at the red light in front of you, relaxing your white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Sarah rubbed an assuring hand over your arm, and you turned to give her a sad smile. She was like her father, so receptive and aware of your emotions.

“Yeah, I think so. I don’t know, I just… Do you want me there? Are you sure?”

“At my wedding?” You questioned. “I already told you I wanted you there. I extended the invite to the entire family, including you.”

“I know, but being your bridesmaid feels wrong.”

A car horn blared behind you, and your eyes snapped up to see the green light staring down at you. You inhaled sharply and pressed the gas. 

“Joel and I already talked about it, and we both agree not having you there would be something I might regret one day. I want you and Stell both up there with me.”

“You’re sure?” She asked, her voice cracking.

“Yes, Beth. I’m sure. Now, are you flying out on the day of the reception or the day before? I just need to make sure your hotel room is booked and set up before you get here.”

“I’ll fly in the day before with Stell. I think Mom and Dad are coming the day after.”

“Okay, good. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of. Just please promise me you’ll be there.”

“I promise, sis,” she sighed.

You rounded the corner into the neighborhood and pulled up to the house. Joel’s truck was already parked in the driveway, his truck bed overflowing with work tools and wooden planks. You nodded at Sarah to head in while you finished the phone call—you needed a moment alone before going inside. 

“I just got home, Beth, so I’ve got to run. I’ll send you the information for the hotel and everything, okay?”

“Wait, before you go,” Beth hesitated. 

“Yeah?”

“I’m still really sorry,” she admitted. “About everything.”

You scrubbed a hand down your face, holding back a wave of tears that threatened to break your composure. Beth wasn’t one to show her emotions or speak them this freely. Her vulnerability was something you were still adjusting to, among everything else. 

“I know you are, sis,” you exhaled. 

“I’ll, um, I’ll let you go. I’ll talk to you soon.”

You didn’t get the chance to say goodbye before the phone line went dead.  Resting your head against the steering wheel, you let the tears run down your face. It was hard to control your emotions these days, and today was no different. Between seeing Maria and talking to Beth, you were exhausted. The wedding planning hadn’t been stressful until now, but knowing Beth was having second thoughts about even coming? The stress was starting to creep in.

A light tap on the window jolted you from your tearful silence. You turned your head to see Joel standing outside the door, his eyebrows furrowed with concern. Seeing him was the final nail in the coffin, and you lost it completely. He was quick to yank the door open and wrap his arms around your limp body. 

“Sarah told me Beth called,” he confessed. “I’m sorry, baby. I know this isn’t easy.”

You clung to his shirt, nestling your head into his neck. The work day still lingered on his skin, the smell of fresh wood and sweat flooding your senses. He smelled like home. 

“Am I making the wrong decision?” You choked out. 

Joel’s grip tightened around you, his sturdy frame grounding your emotions to cascade into. You fell victim to your cries, your tears dampening the cotton tee he wore. 

“You’re makin’ the mature decision, baby,” he stated. “It took a lot for you even to see them this summer, but the wedding will fly by, and this can all be put behind us.”

“I just don’t want to be let down again,” you cried. 

“No one's gonna let you down. I’ll make sure of it, ‘kay?”

You peeled yourself away from him, wiping away the tears that trailed down your cheeks. Joel’s brown eyes softened as he took in your fragile state, his lips turning down. Cradling your head in his hands, Joel brought your forehead to his lips for a comforting kiss.

“Hey, I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too,” you whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Y’know how I feel ‘bout you sayin’ that, baby,” Joel grinned.

The slight shift in the color of his eyes was warning enough to make your emotions skyrocket in a different way. You gave him a shy smile before pecking him on the lips and jumping out of the car. Joel quickly wound an arm around your front and hauled you back to him.

“You’re lucky we got dinner on the table,” he whispered in your ear. “Punishment’s gonna have to wait ‘til later.”

“Punishment?” You echoed.

“Mhmm,” he hummed, dragging his mouth over the shell of your ear.

You shivered at the touch, your body molding against his. Leave it to Joel to always turn your mood around; it’s what you loved about him. The worst days could be changed in minutes, and you weren’t afraid to be vulnerable with him. You also weren’t afraid to rile him up, too.

Shifting your body slightly, you brushed your ass against the crotch of his jeans, rewarding yourself with the hardening bulge of his cock. Joel groaned at the brief touch, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

“Oops, I’m sorry,” you giggled.

 You repeated the motion, Joel’s body tensing behind you.

“Oh gosh,” you feigned distressed. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re gonna regret that, baby,” Joel growled. 

With a sharp smack on your ass, Joel urged you toward the front door—not before readjusting himself several times before entering the kitchen. 

Sarah had long gone to bed by the time you and Joel retired to your room. You took time showering and readying for bed while Joel sprawled against the sheets. Peeking around the corner, you caught a glimpse of his body, nearly naked, except for a pair of black boxers. It still didn’t feel real that you had found your way back to him, and it especially didn’t feel real that you’d be marrying him in less than a month. 

“I know you’re starin’ at me over there,” Joel chuckled.

You emerged from behind the door, a grin on your face. Joel propped himself against the headboard, his hands locked behind his head and his biceps flexing slightly. 

“Obviously,” you rolled your eyes. “I’m allowed to admire my handsome future husband.”

“Get your ass up here, baby.”

You happily obliged and jumped onto the bed, straddling his waist as you bent down to kiss him. Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he deepened the kiss, his hand carding through your hair to anchor you closer. 

“If I’m not mistaken,” he muttered between kisses. “Y’said somethin’ earlier that you shouldn’t have.”

You trailed your lips down his neck, humming softly with each press of your lips.

“I did?” You teased.

“Three times,” Joel groaned. 

His fingers laced tightly between the tendrils of your hair, pulling your head up until there was nowhere to look but into his dark eyes. The swell of his pupils had replaced the soft amber colors of his irises, a mischievous look flashing across his face. 

“This is what’s gonna happen, baby. You’re gonna slide that beautiful body up here and ride my tongue ‘til you cum three times.”

“Three?” You repeated, your eyes growing wide.

Joel huffed a laugh and hooked his arms under your thighs. You fell forward, your hands bracing onto the headboard. Joel lucked out with you already being bare under your t-shirt; it was easy work for him, especially when you were already drenched with arousal. A small swipe of his nose over your throbbing clit was enough to elicit a soft moan from your mouth. 

“Bite your lip and stay quiet for me, baby,” Joel mumbled. “Can’t wake up Sarah with all your noise.”

“Okay,” you exhaled.

Joel flattened his tongue against your entrance and licked a long, slow stripe through your wet folds. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip as he had instructed, you bit back a desperate whine that threatened to escape. You rolled your hips slightly, the pointed tip of his tongue dragging over your aching bud softly. The fire crept through your veins, catapulting you closer to the edge as Joel’s jaw worked relentlessly at your leaking entrance. 

“Joel,” you whispered, a faint whimper leaving your lips.

“Shh,” he hummed.

The low vibration of his hush radiated through your pulsating clit, forcing you to jerk away from his mouth. His calloused fingers dug further into the skin of your thighs, anchoring you down onto his face. His tongue worked faster at your clit, stroking it with tantalizing flicks of his tongue. Flames burst through your stomach with each move of his mouth, your thighs quaking in his grip. So close… you were so close. Joel felt it, too, and latched his mouth around the sensitive bud.

“Joel!” You cried, the orgasm barreling through your body. 

He didn’t let up, his tongue dipping into your entrance and lapping at the juices leaking from you. Your hand shot to the curls at the crown of his head, tugging him off of your sex, your body still twitching from the aftershocks of your climax. 

“That was only one, baby,” Joel muttered into the flesh of your inner thigh. 

He pressed wet kisses against your skin, working his way back to your center with small kitten licks over every inch of you. Your thighs clenched around his face, framing him perfectly between your legs. You glanced at him only to find his dark eyes staring at you. The air knocked out of your lungs, seeing him under you in such blissed-out beauty. Joel shifted his face up, revealing his arousal-coated mustache and wet plush lips. 

“Y’gonna give me two more?” He asked, his mouth curving into a grin. 

You nodded vigorously, guiding him back to your swollen bud. Joel rested his tongue over your center, nudging you silently with a slight tilt of his head. Dragging your hips forward, you lowered yourself onto his open mouth. Back and forth, you moved against his tongue, tremors wracking through your limbs with each pass. 

“Joel! I’m gonna—.” You choked on your words. 

With one hand grasped on the headboard and the other tangled in his sweat-soaked curls, you bore down and let your second orgasm surge through your body. Biting your lip did little to help the cry of pleasure that escaped your mouth. You lifted yourself from his face, attempting to unlatch yourself from his tight grip. 

“Nuh uh, baby,” Joel protested, his voice husky. “One more.”

“I can’t,” you whined.

You stumbled over his body, collapsing into the bed beside him. Joel rolled over you, his eyes sparkling with mischief and desire. The lower half of his face was coated in your arousal, his chin and beard glistening in the dim lights of the bedroom. You wound your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips. The sweet smell of your arousal hit your nose as his mouth collided with yours. Joel groaned against your lips, coaxing your mouth open wider. You tilted your head to give him better access, your tongues dancing in unison in a heated kiss. 

You felt Joel’s hand slide between your bodies, his body shifting slightly as he pushed down the boxers from his waist. The weight of his heavy cock rested on your thigh, and you hooked your leg higher to give him access to your dripping sex. 

“Got one more in you, baby?” Joel asked, his mouth roaming down your neck. 

“I think so,” you said, your voice shaky. 

Joel suctioned his lips to the hollow of your neck, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You gasped at the intrusion, your body adjusting to the girth of his cock as he split you open. Joel carded a hand through your hair and glued his eyes to yours as he thrusted into you slowly. Your bodies moved in a simple rhythm; when he drove into you, you careened back. Soft cries and heavy grunts, each of you flowing in perfect harmony. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” Joel whispered.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you panted.

Your eyes fluttered shut, the swell of release at your fingertips as Joel speared into you deeper with each cadence of his hips. You were overstimulated and covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but you wanted to come undone with him. You wanted to fall over the edge together; you wanted this moment to be something you shared. Lifting your mouth to his ear, you whined softly, garnering a low growl from his chest. 

“I love you.”

Three simple words. It was enough to send Joel over the edge, his body tensing above you as he drove into you one last time. Your sex clenched around his cock, milking him through his release. His cock dragged against the aching walls of your sex as he pulled out, his body resting heavily on top of yours. With his head pressed to your heaving chest, you ran your fingers through the dark curls resting at the base of his neck. 

“You tired?” You laughed softly, bending down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Joel argued.

“Get some sleep, handsome. I love you.”

“I love you so much, baby.”

He nuzzled further into your embrace, a soft yawn exhaling from his mouth. You smiled to yourself, reveling in the fact that this was your life. Here, at this moment, everything you had endured was worth it. It was worth it knowing someone inexplicably loved you. Someone who wasn’t going to leave, no matter how hard things may be. Joel fought tooth and nail to have you back, and you learned to forgive his faults. His patience and unwavering love were enough to battle any doubts that lingered in your mind.

He was yours, just as much as you were his. 

**

Outside your bridal suite, storm clouds swirled in the sky. You had watched the news channel praying for a sunny wedding day all week, but the Texas weather laughed at your pleas. The thunderstorm looming in the distance was only the tip of the iceberg in your ever-growing levels of anxiety.

“Sis, it’s gonna be okay,” Beth urged. 

Beth and Stella were the only ones in the room with you, and they both sat at the edge of the bed, watching you helplessly pace the floor. You itched to undo the tight bun your hair had been wrangled into, the pain of each bobby pin shooting another jolt of pain into the onset headache forming in your head. 

“What if he doesn’t show? What if Joel doesn’t want this? What if—?”

“Oh my God, stop!” 

It wasn’t Beth that cut off your rambling, but Stella. She wasn’t one to raise her voice often, but it was enough to halt your frantic thoughts. You threw yourself onto the chair in the corner of the room, letting out an exasperated sigh. Stella rose from the bed, carefully sidestepping the hem of her silk bridesmaid dress as she waltzed to where you sat. She lowered herself to her knees and stared up at you with pleading eyes. 

“Joel loves you, sis,” she stressed. “He’s not going to leave you. All of these pre-ceremony jitters will go away the second you walk down that aisle.”

“But—.”

She held up her hand in protest, shaking her head sternly. 

“No more of that. You are going to put on your dress and get ready.”

You glanced at your wedding dress hanging on the back of the door. The white fabric was a haunting reminder of the rain-soaked dress you had worn only years ago, dirtied by the mud and broken hopes left in Bennett’s wake. You chewed at your lip to stifle back a cry, your brain ready to disintegrate with all the pressure building inside your head. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, the admission frightening you. 

Beth groaned, leaving the bed to join Stella on the ground. You had spoken little since she came into town, sharing only a few shallow words in passing when necessary. But the seriousness in her eye ignited a new wave of fear; her words could slice you clean through if you let it. Saying your name softly, Beth clasped a hand around yours and inhaled a sharp breath. 

“You can do this, and you will. I know you’re scared, but Joel is waiting for you. He’s been waiting for you for years, and he’s not going anywhere. Trust me when I tell you no one in this world loves you more than he does, okay?”

A tear slipped down your cheek at Beth’s words. The way she spoke of Joel was night and day from how she spoke of Bennett. Her words regarding Bennett had been laced with venom strong enough to poison even your happiest memories—whatever those had been. They were fighting words, and each punch was perfectly placed. With Joel, she only spoke with sincerity. Both she and Stella had been there to see Joel at his worst after the accident, watching the life he had made with you crumble away within the hospital. They had been there to experience his grief firsthand, and that was something you could never argue. Joel held a special place in both of their hearts, a bond you couldn’t remember but couldn’t deny. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, burying your head in your hands. You threw caution to the wind when it came to ruining your makeup. It was a lost cause at this point. 

“Hey, come here,” Beth whispered. 

She hauled you into her arms, wrapping herself around you. Stella followed her lead, both huddling around you as you cried quietly. Time had stolen so much from you, time you couldn’t get back with your sisters. Putting everything aside, you sat in the moment with them and let their strength hold you up. 

“Okay, okay,” you sighed, peeling yourself away. “Can you both help me get into my dress?”

Stella squealed excitedly, hauling herself up and hurtling toward the door where it hung. Beth gave you one final squeeze and a quiet “I love you” before joining Stella. 

You discarded your robe on the bed and stood awkwardly before them in your bridal lingerie. Both of them whistled at you provocatively, their eyes growing wide. You blushed at their giddiness, motioning for them to bring the dress to you. The three of you worked silently as you slipped into the tulle fabric. Beth worked at zipping up the back while Stella secured the gossamer sleeves over your shoulders. The fabric was cool against your skin, a welcome reprieve from the warm anxiety that simmered below the surface. You were ready after a few final touches on your makeup and the clasping of your heels. 

“Breathe, peanut,” your dad whispered in your ear. 

The bouquet in your hand was shaking from the trembling in your fingers. You stared through the glass door into the open courtyard where everyone sat, the sky darkening by the minute. In the distance, you could spot Joel's outline as he stood under the floral arch above the altar. He was right there…waiting. 

“Whenever you’re ready,” the wedding planner said, grasping the door handle before you. 

You turned your head to look at your dad, his features soft and emotional. If he cried, you’d soon follow, and you couldn’t ruin your makeup again. You squeezed his arm and nodded to the wedding planner. 

“I’m ready,” you whispered. 

With a gentle push of the door, you stepped over the threshold and into the humid air of the early evening. The soft crescendo of the Wedding March began to drift through the open space, and your friends and family all turned to stand. Your eyes shifted side to side, looking down each row at the warm smiles in your direction. Maybe if you didn’t look down the aisle, the fear of Joel running away wouldn’t come true. Look anywhere else. Your steps faltered, and you felt a wave of anxiety assault your nerves. 

“He’s waiting for you,” your dad mumbled. “Look up.”

You lifted your head and found Joel watching you with the brightest smile. His hair was tamed and slicked down with gel, and his beard was trimmed short—but still patchy in small areas along his jaw. His broad frame stretched out the black suit that was tailored perfectly to his body, and something about the refined look on him made your heart leap. If you weren’t already breathless, seeing his eyes stole any air left in your lungs.  Joel’s brown eyes sparkled with fresh tears under the gray skies. Not even the darkest storm clouds could darken the amber flecks glimmering in his irises. 

As you neared the altar, you also realized his hands were trembling. His fingers fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt, and his body shifted from side to side as he waited for you. The music drifted to a close as you finally approached the altar, just inches from Joel. He didn’t run. He was standing right there. 

You turned to your dad, giving him a tearful hug and a quiet thank you. Joel stepped forward to give your dad a firm handshake, a warm smile gracing his face. As they said their final words to one another, you handed off your bouquet to Beth, who stood behind you, along with Stella and Sarah. Sarah’s cheeks were damp with tears as she grinned at you brightly, her skin radiant in her green dress. You blew her a kiss and turned back to Joel. 

“Y’look so fuckin’ beautiful,” he exhaled, wiping a tear from his face. 

“And you look extra handsome,” you grinned.

Joel chuckled, clasping his hands around yours. Your fingers squeezed around his knuckles, and your thumb rubbed soothing circles over the rough skin of his hand. The officiant beside you cleared his throat, and you and Joel turned your attention to him. 

“Family and friends,” he began. “Thank you all for joining us today for this wonderful union of love.”

The officiant's words faded into the background as you stared up at Joel, capturing this moment in your memory. Years of loss, pain, and grief all led you to this moment—right here. With Joel’s hands wrapped around yours and his loving smile shining down on you, it was all worth it. 

“I understand that you both have written your own vows,” the officiant said, interrupting the flood of emotions inside you.

Beth tapped you on your shoulder, handing you the small paper you had scribbled your vows onto that morning. 

“Okay,” you sighed. You smoothed out the paper in your hand, your eyes hardly focusing on the words before you. 

You opened your mouth to speak but paused as the first drop of rain splattered across the ink. A laugh bubbled out of you as you tilted your head up toward the sky. Rain misted your face, the slow sprinkle of rain dampening the ground around you. 

“Would y’look at that,” Joel laughed. “It’s rainin’ on us, baby. I think that means it’s good luck, right?”

You beamed at him, watching the raindrops catch onto his thick eyelashes. Crumpling the paper in your hand, you let it fall to the ground and composed yourself. Joel lifted his eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Joel Miller,” you started. “I can say, without a doubt, I was always meant to be with you. From the moment I ran into you, literally—.” You laughed at yourself. “I knew it would always be you. Even when time and differences separated us, a part of me knew I was missing something. You and Sarah were the missing pieces that made me whole. And I’m so thankful that the universe conspired to bring us back together and lead me home. I vow to you, Joel, that every day will be filled with memories we remember.

 I vow always to make you smile. I vow to always annoy you with my late-night conversations about books and poetry nonsense you most definitely have no interest in. I promise to stand beside you on the soccer fields, cheering on our girl through every win and loss. I vow to you, Joel Miller, to never leave and to always work through the hardest obstacles. Together.” 

“I love you so much,” Joel whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks. 

You lifted a finger to wipe them away, your hand resting against his cheek. Joel sniffled back more cries, shaking out the rain clinging to his hair. 

“Alright, guess I gotta try and beat that now,” Joel joked. 

He crumpled his vows, the paper floating onto the wet ground where they melted into the rainfall. Joel barely managed to choke out your name before succumbing to tears all over again. 

“Man, this is hard,” he huffed. “I ain’t sure how y’did all that without losin’ it, baby.”

“You’ll be just fine, Joel. I’m right here,” you assured. 

He spoke your name again, this time only faltering at the end. You gave him an encouraging smile, your hand still caressing his face. 

“I can’t tell you enough how lucky I am that you’re in my life,” Joel began. “I ain’t ever felt a love like this, and I ain’t ever wanna lose it. I’m not a many of many words, at least not where it counts, but havin’ you by my side makes every single day brighter. There ain’t no better happiness than seein’ your smile every day or seein’ you be the mother to Sarah that she always deserved. 

Y’make me the proudest man alive, and I vow always to love you and care for you in every single way. I promise to read all the books y’read. I vow to remind you which cereal we buy at the grocery. I vow to stay truthful and always love you no matter how hard things may get. It’s you and me, baby. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You got me ‘til I stop breathin’.”

You were the one crying the hardest now—a vow of all vows, spoken upon the altar that had always haunted you. One thing remained true in the weariness and uncertainty of the last several years: Joel was your steadfast. He was the constant that worked against the odds and continued to fight for a love you had since forgotten. Through the heartbreak, grief, and endless nights alone, you now had the one man the universe had created just for you. 

I love you, you mouthed. You couldn’t trust yourself not to entirely wither into a heap of sobs as his vows sunk further into your heart. 

“Now, if we may have the rings,” the officiant urged.

Tommy handed the ring to Joel while Sarah stepped forward to give you the wedding band you both had picked for her dad. 

“Thank you, kiddo,” you whispered, bending down to hug her. 

You and Joel repeated each word the officiant said, slipping the wedding bands onto each other's ring fingers. The rain was coming down harder now, pelting your face in wet splashes and rolling down your bare neck. Joel’s suit was soaked through, yet he didn’t care. Neither of you could stop smiling. 

“With the power invested in me and the state of Texas, I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Miller! You may now kiss your bride.”

“About damn time,” Joel snorted. 

His hands swept under your shoulder blades, dipping you low as he bent to kiss you. The moment his wet lips touched yours, everything became a reality. Joel was your husband. You molded your body into his embrace, your arms winding around his neck. He kissed you recklessly as if no one else around you existed. And truthfully, the world could have collapsed around you, and you would never have known it. You wanted to remain in his arms for eternity. 

This was your home. He was your everything. 

The reception had drawn into the late hours of the night, and the buzz of a few drinks had your body relaxed and at ease. Whatever stress you had before the ceremony it had long since vanished, swept away with the rain as it continued to pour from the sky. The train of your dress was stained brown from the mud, yet you didn’t care. It was a memory of the day, and you wanted to keep it with you forever. 

“One last dance?” Joel asked, extending a hand to you.

You rose from your seat, placing your hand in his. Somewhere during the night, Joel had discarded his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Seeing him this dressed up was far more dangerous than you expected; you craved to undo every button traveling down his torso and strip his tailored pants right from his muscular legs. But those tempting thoughts would have to wait till later. 

Half the attendees had left for the night, leaving only your family members and a few friends still scattered around the ballroom. As Joel swayed your bodies to the music, you caught wind of an argument drifting through the music. Turning your head over your shoulder, you watched Beth and Tommy go toe to toe in a standoff. 

“Do you think we should go calm them down?” You asked. 

Joel glanced towards his brother and shrugged.

“M’sure they’ll sort their shit out, baby. Ain’t nothin’ gonna stop me from enjoyin’ this night with you.”

“You’ve seen Beth when she’s angry,” you reminded him. 

“And y’know how grumpy Tommy can get,” Joel countered. “They can handle themselves.”

You both moved to the music in silence; your eyes settled on one another as you spun in slow circles. Joel hooked a hand under your knee and dipped you, only to pull you up just as quickly to crush his lips to yours. 

“When can I take y’home?” He muttered between kisses. “I’ve been dyin’ to take that dress off of you all night.”

“As soon as this song ends, I’m all yours,” you smiled. 

Joel’s brown eyes darkened under the twinkling lights, and dimples appeared on his cheeks as he grinned at you. 

“Baby, you’ve been mine from the start.”

[nomercymaster11]

Two-way dilemma (Chapter 2)

@SuuNemuii WC: 3,296 | Law x y/n, afab!reader, continuation of "It's complicated"

A/N: This chapter certainly exhausted my brain cells. I wrote it in between my office work, drawing inspiration from various pictures, accompanied by the music of Taylor Swift or Coldplay, and reflecting on some of my past experiences.

The Polar Tang hummed with the routine buzz of activity, and the confined space of the submarine felt both comforting and stifling. A day had passed since the confession, leaving your eyes heavy from the weight of your tears. The sting of rejection lingered, but as you rose from your bed, you took a deep breath, determined to face the day ahead with renewed strength.

Freshening up, you stood before the mirror, reminding yourself that time would heal the wounds. A slight slap to your cheeks was both a physical and mental wake-up call. With newfound resolve, you opened the door to your room, only to be greeted by the unexpected sight of Bepo standing in front of you.

"Bepo?!" Confusion etched your features as you questioned his presence.

"Good morning, <y/n>!" Bepo's infectious grin welcomed you, his demeanor bright and cheerful.

Closing the door behind you, you inquired, "Is there anything you need?"

"Ah, nothing. I'm just checking up on you." Bepo's smile remained warm and genuine.

Walking side by side, the two of you strolled through the submarine's corridors. As the minutes passed, a realization dawned on you – perhaps Penguin and Shachi had shared the bittersweet details of your confession with Bepo. Deep in thought, you mustered the courage to ask for a favor.

"Bepo, may I ask you a favor?" you hesitated, your eyes searching his.

"Yeah? What is it?" Bepo responded with curiosity.

"Could you help me get more duties here in the submarine?" The request hung in the air; your eyes hopeful but uncertain.

"Hmm? But... that's for the captain to decide," Bepo replied, his expression thoughtful.

"Oh, okay..." Your gaze lifted, lost in contemplation.

"Sorry I couldn't help you out... or maybe... you could ask the others if they need help," Bepo suggested, offering an alternative with a genuine desire to assist.

"OH! That's a good idea!" Relief washed over you, and a smile broke through the clouds of uncertainty.

Reaching the common area where the hallways split, you bid Bepo goodbye with a wave as he headed back to the control room. Determination filled you as you embarked on a quest to find other crew members. If additional duties could serve as a distraction, perhaps it would help mend the fragments of your aching heart.

"Let's do this!" you muttered to yourself, a mantra to guide you through the uncharted waters of healing and self-discovery.

--------------

A week had passed since the fateful day. The subtle change in your behavior had not gone unnoticed by the crew. You threw yourself into your work, exerting energy across various tasks aboard the submarine. Cleaning, working, taking on any duty that came your way—anything to keep busy and avoid any potential encounter with the captain. Even your eating schedule changed, either aligning with others or sneaking off to your room to dine alone, distancing yourself from Law.

You seemed content in your efforts, but the crew began to notice the change. Concern etched on their faces, they gathered in the common area, Shachi and Penguin at the center of attention.

Ikkaku, one of the engineers, voiced the growing worry.

"Is there something we need to know regarding <y/n>?"

Penguin, feigning ignorance, gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"

"She seems like she's trying to always get herself busy these few days. Did the captain scold her or something?" Ikkaku questioned, the concern noticeable.

"I bet something's going on," Hakugan added, echoing the sentiments of the crew.

Concerned voices overlapped, and the crew crowded around Penguin and Shachi, eyes wide and expectant. Penguin tried to calm the situation.

"Hey! Calm your horses! Chill, guys!" Penguin raised his hands in an attempt to quell the commotion. He sighed, gesturing for the crew to come closer to hear him out. Just as he was about to share the details, Shachi spotted Law approaching, bent down and crossing his arms.

"Captain?!" Shachi exclaimed in surprise.

Law questioned, "Am I not allowed to hear what my crew has to share with everyone here?"

Penguin, seizing the moment, anchored his arm to Law's shoulder, leading him away from the crowd. Shachi motioned for the other crew members to disperse while Law was being distracted by Penguin.

"Cap, there's nothing to worry about. Relax," Penguin said, tapping Law's shoulder with a nervous laugh.

Law, squinting his eyes and frowning, asked, "So... you are talking behind my back now?"

"NO!... No..! That ain't true!" Penguin responded nervously.

However, before the situation could escalate further, a loud thud and a massive impact shook the submarine. The sudden loss of electricity plunged the hallways into darkness, and emergency red lights began to flash. Crew members lost their balance, grasping onto whatever they could find.

"Attention, everyone! We are being attacked by a sea serpent!" Bepo's voice echoed through the submarine's speakers, alerting everyone to the imminent danger. The crew's attention shifted from internal matters to the external threat, uniting them in the face of a common adversary.

With a swift activation of his devil fruit ability, Law, accompanied by Shachi and Penguin, teleported to the control room in an instant.

"Bepo! Status report!" Law's stern voice cut through the urgency in the room, embodying the seriousness of the captain in the face of danger.

The radar emitted a rapid beep, and a rushing, flashing red light revealed another sea serpent fast approaching the submarine. Law, quick to take charge, commanded the crew in the control room effortlessly, enabling the submarine to avoid a direct hit, though it was slightly scratched at the side.

Law's keen perception led him to notice something amiss.

"Where's <y/n>-ya?" he questioned, his eyes scanning the control room.

Penguin thought of her, realizing she should have been in the room.

"Captain! I'll look - " Penguin began, but Law swiftly interrupted, issuing a chain of commands:

"Penguin, take charge," Law's voice was stern and calm.

"Shachi, call on the others and have the submarine checked for repairs."

"Clione, prepare the torpedoes and await Penguin’s orders.”

"Bepo, prepare to resurface. Alert me once we're above the sea."

"Aye, aye CAPTAIN!" The crew responded in unison, saluting Law as he left the control room, katana in hand.

An abrupt silence enveloped the room as the crew exchanged surprised glances. Penguin and Shachi, sharing a knowing grin, found delight in the unexpected action of their captain.

"He went out just to find her!" Shachi exclaimed with a sense of delight. Penguin, equally excited, couldn't contain his emotions. The room seemed to lighten up for a moment, but reality struck with Penguin's clapping of hands.

"Everyone, refocus! The ship is in our hands!" Penguin exclaimed, bringing the crew back to the urgent task at hand.

With newfound determination, the crew immediately returned to their stations, the emergency red lights casting an eerie glow on their faces. The atmosphere was tense, yet their unity and commitment to the mission prevailed as they navigated the submarine through the dark depths of the ocean.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

In the engine room, amidst the humming machinery, you conducted your routine check-up when an unexpected thud reverberated through the submarine. Panic seized you as the lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. Disoriented, you lost your balance and collided with a nearby beam, the impact sending a sharp pain through your forehead.

Sitting down, you instinctively reached for your forehead, your hand coming away wet with blood. The emergency lights flickered to life, casting an eerie red glow in the confined space. The sight of your own blood on your hand made you feel lightheaded, and white dots began to dance across your field of vision.

Aware that you were on the verge of fainting, you took deep breaths in an attempt to steady your nerves. The metallic taste of fear lingered in your mouth as you struggled to remain conscious. Every move felt like a monumental effort, and as you tried to stand, fatigue threatened to overwhelm your system.

"My bad luck continues then..." you whispered to yourself, your voice weak and filled with resignation.

Summoning the last reserves of your strength, you began to crawl toward the metal door. The cold floor pressed against your palms as you moved inch by inch, each movement sending waves of dizziness through your weakened body. With determination in your heart and a throbbing pain in your head, you navigated the dimly lit engine room, the emergency lights casting long shadows that seemed to taunt your feeble attempts to reach safety.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@

As Law hurried out of the control room, his thoughts were filled with concern. The Heart Pirates had undergone rigorous training to navigate situations like these, given that the Polar Tang frequently submerged into the dark depths of the sea, encountering various threats from sea monsters. The safety of his crew always took precedence, and with the submarine under attack, Law's immediate focus was on ensuring your well-being. Noticing your absence at the station when sea monsters struck, he suspected that something might have occurred on your way to the control room.

Law had complete trust in his crew, instilling discipline and ensuring that everyone knew their responsibilities. He was well aware of each crew member's routine within the submarine, and any deviation from the norm would catch his attention. However, he had observed you taking on additional work, attributing it to your way of coping with the rejection. Though he noticed, he chose to overlook it, feeling a tinge of guilt.

Remaining calm, Law swiftly checked every room, his mind calculating the potential dangers the crew might face. At a critical point, a thought struck him – a feeling that urged him to check the engine room. Law considered every worst-case scenario that could involve you and, without hesitation, descended straight to the room.

His steps were purposeful, his heart pounding with the gravity of the situation. The emergency lights flickered as he navigated the dimly lit corridors, each step bringing him closer to the engine room. Law's expression remained stoic, but underneath, a sense of urgency and concern for your safety fueled his determined stride.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

You managed to reach the door of the engine room, your body slumped against the cold floor, the last remnants of your energy draining away. Your vision blurred, and as your eyes began to shut, you uttered a weak plea for help, the words escaping your lips almost inaudibly. Desperation fueled your attempt to stay conscious.

"Help, please..."

With the little strength you had left, you reached out for the door. As your trembling hand made contact, the door swung open, hitting the side of the wall with a metallic thud.

"<y/n>-ya!!" Law's voice echoed through the room as he flung the metal door wide open. His eyes quickly scanned the area until they landed on you, slumped on the cold floor. He ran towards you, swiftly placing his katana on the side, his immediate focus on checking your condition. The trail of dry blood on your forehead drew his attention, and he spoke to you, his voice filled with concern. However, disoriented and weakened, you struggled to comprehend his words, unsure of who was addressing you.

Before Law could use his Devil Fruit ability to scan your injuries further, Bepo's voice echoed through the submarine's speakers, bringing news of the submarine nearing the surface. Law faced a dilemma – torn between tending to you and dealing with the sea serpent threat. Reluctantly, he carefully lifted your arms to wrap around his neck, sliding his left arm behind your back for support. With his right hand, he retrieved his katana, lifting both of your legs to facilitate the carry.

"Hold on tight," Law commanded, your head resting on his left shoulder. Adjusting his grip, he twisted his left wrist, palm facing the floor, activating his Devil Fruit power.

"ROOM," he uttered, and a light, thin blue bubble film enveloped both of you.

"SHAMBLES!"

In an instant, the surroundings warped and changed, and you were no longer in the engine room.

As the submarine emerged from the sea water, Law's "Room" ability teleported you both onto the deck. Gently placing you on the floor with your back against the metallic wall near the main entrance, Law ensured your safety. The sunlight filtered into your eyes, and the sea breeze brushed against your skin as you inhaled deeply. The realization dawned on you that Law had been the one to rescue you from the engine room.

Opening your eyes, you took in the scene around you. It had been a while since you were outside the confines of the submarine. The tranquility of the moment was interrupted by two large splashes, reminiscent of exploding bombs, as the sea serpents chasing the Polar Tang emerged on the sea surface.

Your gaze followed Law as he walked toward the sea serpents, Kikoku, his katana, in hand. Activating his "Room" ability, he carefully drew the katana from its scabbard. The sunlight cast a glow on his skin-tight black shirt, revealing the flexing muscles on his back as he executed swift, clean attacks on the sea serpents. Each swing of his katana was decisive and precise, the fight seemingly slowing down in your eyes as you focused solely on your formidable captain.

Your admiration for him was undeniable, but the memory of the rejection suddenly crept into your thoughts, causing a frown to mar your expression. Despite the internal turmoil, you couldn't help but be captivated by Law's skill and prowess in battle.

With a series of clean, calculated strikes, Law dismembered the two serpents. As the fight came to an end, the metallic door flung open, and Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo rushed out, their expressions a mix of relief and urgency.

--------

Using the metallic wall for support, you did your best to stand up. Though you managed to rest for a while, your breaths remained deep, and the effort showed on your face. The three Heart Pirates finally noticed you, their surprise evident.

"Why are you here?" Penguin asked, his concern evident.

"Did you also engage with the serpents?!" Shachi followed with worry etched on his face.

"No, she's with me," Law answered, redirecting their attention to him. The trio's eyes followed Law as he walked toward you.

"I found her in the engine room. I didn't have a choice but to bring her up here," Law explained.

Law extended his hand to you, and you glanced from his hand to his face.

"Can you walk?" Law asked, offering his hand to assist you.

You glanced at them and the trio behind Law grinned and stuck their thumbs up in unison, expressing their approval. Your thoughts raced with a mix of amusement and embarrassment. With no other choice, you accepted Law's help. Instead of reaching for his hand, you placed your hands on his right arm and gripped it. As Law guided you, the trio watched the scene unfold with delight.

Before heading back inside the submarine, Law looked back at the three.

"You two, clean those up," Law's stern voice commanded Shachi and Penguin. The two sighed, glancing at the remnants of the fight scene.

"Bepo, come with me," Law directed his attention to Bepo, signaling for him to accompany him.

--------

As you walked down the hallway, Law was busy instructing Bepo about fetching various medical supplies and medicines to bring to your room. Bepo, eager to fulfill the tasks assigned by his captain, nodded and quickly left to gather the items. Now alone, an awkward silence settled between you and Law.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Law finally broke the silence, shifting his head slightly to glance at you. You responded with a simple nod, looking down, your voice barely audible. Thoughts raced through your mind about how things ended up this way, how a week's effort to avoid him seemed to crumble in an instant. You sighed, resigning to the exhaustion that consumed you. At this point, your focus was solely on your well-being.

Upon reaching your room, a sudden growl from your stomach echoed through the hallway, and you felt a tinge of embarrassment. Law sighed; his concern evident. He opened the door and gestured for you to sit at the edge of your bed.

"I'll go grab some snacks," Law stated, leaving his katana on the side of the bed before stepping out.

As soon as he left, you took the opportunity to lie down on the plush mattress. The comfort it provided offered solace from the chaos of the day. Staring up at the ceiling, you couldn't shake off the frown on your face. Puzzled by Law's sudden change in treatment towards you, his evident concern left you wondering about the thoughts racing through his mind.

"I don't want to overthink this," you murmured to yourself. Adjusting your position on the bed, within a few seconds, the weariness overwhelmed you, and you fell into a deep and fast sleep.

Law knocked on your door, holding a tray of light snacks in hand. Not hearing a reply, he entered the room and found you peacefully sleeping. His gaze softened at the sight, and he carefully placed the tray on the table before sitting at the edge of your bed. Law lifted your left hand, placing two fingers on your wrist to check your pulse. Using the back of his left hand, he then gently pressed it against your forehead to gauge your temperature. A nod from him indicated that you seemed to be fine.

The door creaked as Bepo entered the room, carrying the medical supplies. Law hushed him.

"Sorry, Captain," Bepo apologized.

Law inquired about the status of the ship as he started cleaning and tending to the wound on your forehead with ease.

"The ship needs minor repairs, and the supplies are low," Bepo explained.

"Okay. Have the ship docked at the next island," Law's voice was surprisingly calm.

Bepo observed his captain performing first aid, his eyes shifting between the both of you as he awaited further instructions.

"I guess I have to go, Captain," Bepo said with a low voice. Law appeared deep in thought.

As Bepo opened the door, Penguin and Shachi tried to peek inside, stretching their necks.

"How is she?" Shachi inquired.

"She's asleep. Captain is tending to her... but," Bepo began.

"But... what?" Penguin pressed for more information.

"I think that is the first time I saw the captain like a completely different person," Bepo answered, leaving the two curious Heart Pirates outside the door with intrigued expressions.

They were deep in conversation about the recent events when, out of nowhere, Law suddenly swung the door open and addressed the trio with an annoyed expression, his brows furrowing.

"You guys sure got a lot of time talking about me, huh? How about I add more workload to the three of you?" Law's voice was stern, and the surprised expressions on Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo mirrored their sudden realization that their conversation hadn't gone unnoticed.

"It's Penguin's fault!," Shachi quickly pointed his finger at Penguin, deflecting blame.

"What? No, I'm not! It's Bepo!" Penguin retaliated, slapping Bepo's arm with the back of his hand.

The trio engaged in playful banter, trying to shift the blame onto each other. Law, unamused, shook his head at their antics.

As Law walked away from the playful banter of Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo, the door closed behind him, leaving them to settle their dispute among themselves. The hallway returned to a momentary silence, disrupted only by the fading echoes of their friendly quarrel. Inside your room, you continued to rest peacefully, unaware of the amusing chaos that unfolded in the corridor. The submarine sailed toward the next island, carrying the Heart Pirates and their shared adventures beneath the surface of the vast sea.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 3

[k-atsukibakugou]

w/c: 0.8k tw: uh i don't 100% know what this is or what it will become, this scene was just haunting me as a daydream lmao; i imagined this with bakugou but never wrote his name lmao; f!siren reader, implied yandere

"who is she?" your voice choruses inside his head before the heavy wood has even latched closed, the chorus mostly playful, the teasing curve of your lips clear you didn’t think he’d notice one in the chorus with the mean tone, insecurity and jealousy weaved into its disembodied voice, no matter how you tried to hide it with hundreds of other voices overlapping the others, the same question on repeat.

“how did you get in here?”

“how do you know you haven’t let me in before?” aloud, your voice is even more powerful, his spine straightening minutely despite the exhaustion setting in his bones. even with his muscles fighting his instincts to remain upright, he studies you lazily, his gaze trailing over your hands; holding the book on his coffee table in the same spot he held it, his thumbs in place beneath yours just hours earlier. he wonders if he’ll be able to feel you on the pages after you leave, if your fingerprint will linger like your perfume.

there’s some kind of domesticity to it, he thinks, your hands settling in the same place as his, your comfortable pose on his couch, your insatiable need to know about him, to see inside him, your need for him to engage like a schoolgirl tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. if the schoolgirl was blood thirsty.

“so, who is she?” your tone is even, your jealousy masterfully disguised by a practised playfulness, the twinkle in your eye unmistakable when you search his face for any tells for his supposed lover. you finally stand from his couch, placing the book back in the exact spot he had it, down to the millimetre (had you been here before? would he know?), leaving your jacket on the couch, the sweet scent already seeping into the fabric. you were good at that, ensuring you were always on his mind, with your perfume, with all the criminals dazedly walking into police stations holding their own wanted flyers with his name scribbled on it beside your own. gifts, you’d called them the first time he’d caught you in the act.

“has to be someone special, hm? you’ve never left me waiting before.”

your voice is just a whisper, a tiny worm wiggling its way into his nervous system, forcing his gaze to yours (he has just enough self control to steel his eyes, to keep his face indifferent as his body fought to react, to give in). staring up at him, you carefully examine his features, the way you’re reflected in his pupils that nearly swallow his iris whole, the ring of colour proof of his stubbornness, of his power to resist your compulsion.

“there is no she, i was out cleaning up your mess.”

you raise your hands in a display of innocence you don’t deserve, slinking closer to the light he sought his shelter in.

“my mess? i convinced a criminal you’ve been searching for to walk into your agency. you should be thanking me.” the worm is more the size of a caterpillar, growing evermore with the echoing chorus of your voice, the same you’d have done to the man earlier in the evening; a tauntingly slow build up of your compulsion until it had taken hold.

his voice joined yours in ordering him, his head hurting from the resistance, thank her. thank her. thank her. thank her. squeezing his eyes shut, his lips part involuntarily, his tongue straining to speak, to form the syllables you compelled him say, “i don’t need to thank you for shit.”

his back tenses, shoulder blades pinching together in the effort to resist you, a headache forming behind his eyes the longer you stared at him; pain pulsing with every ignored syllable.

he’d given in once, the first time he saw you, before he knew how to resist. before he knew how relieving it was to give in; the sound of your honeyed voice something he craved every day since, the echo of your command like a warm stream of water rushing down his spine, the weightlessness of pleasing you, every hum of approval like a hit of nicotine.

you pout, “the others are more grateful.”

your perceived inability to break him haunts you, he can tell, you itch to feel him give in, to have a man of his power under your thumb. a toy for your entertainment. he’d give it to you, he’d tell you how he craved the feeling of your hypnosis, if he knew you’d still send him your ‘gifts’, if you’d still sneak into his house just to see the flash of shock on his face, if you’d still obsess, if he knew he wasn’t just a challenge. the unbreakable man, broken.

instead, he tries his best to keep an indifferent, slightly amused, expression firmly on his face, watching you flit about his apartment like you belonged, like you weren’t more tempting than the forbidden fruit, like submitting wasn’t a worse fate than mortality. his body screamed at him the longer you stayed near, blood, muscles bones and nerves begging to rest, to get closer, to run; the need for you prospering in the dark recesses of his mind when he takes one step closer.

“i’m not like the others.”

[shae-pine]

I Explain the Context for the songs in The Outsiders Musical

Spoilers for the Musical under cut! I was lucky enough to see the show in person so now that the album is out I decided to provide context for the songs so people listening to the album can know where in the story each one takes place/what is happening on stage during. Also some fun tidbits sprinkled in because this show is really so amazing I can not praise it enough.

Tulsa '67:

 The self-explained exposition song. We get the intro being the first line of the book and then we get the song as out introductions to the characters. One thing that is interesting is that there's a projector screen on stage and for this song Pony sits in front of the screen and speaks to the audience while the other characters are behind the screen. Acting out little scenes to show their personality while Ponyboy narrates and at the end of the song the screen lifts up to show a clear view of the stage. It's also right before Ponyboy gets jumped.

Grease Got a Hold:

Right after Ponyboy gets jumped. Like the song says in this version of the story a greaser isn't just something you are born into it's something you "earn" by being beaten down on by the socs. It shows the differences in each character most notably Darry and Dally because Darry hates the idea of Pony being stuck as a greaser, presumably because he wants more for his little brother, while Dally sees being a Greaser as something to be proud of. Presumably the first time Ponyboy gets to grease his hair (this song was also performed on the Today show and I highly recommend looking up the performance it's so good, it should be available on the today show website along with the other songs performed that day)

Runs in the Family:

Darry gets a song! After the previous song we cut to Darry in the Curtis home reflecting on where he was going in life versus where he ended up. In the musical the fact that Darry would be a soc without the gang is played up a lot more. The emphasize Darry's friendship with Paul and their history seems to go a lot deeper than just football buddies. Paul mentions gifting Darry a madras shirt and Darry being over at his house. The rest of the gang piles in at the end of the song.

Great Expectations:

The titular 'I want' song in any musical. The night after getting jumped Ponyboy tells Soda about reading great expectations and after Soda bids him goodnight he starts singing. When he mentions Darry and Johnny the actors come on stage. And at the end of the song the chorus of overlapping voices is the whole gang on the outskirts of the stage looking down/at Pony while Ponyboy sings out to the audience. (This song was also performed on the Today show)

Friday at the Drive-In:

The Soc introduction song. I think an important thing to note is that while the greasers dancing is far more rough and tumble. Jumping around and over each other, spinning and getting out nervous energy. The socs are far more reserved in their movements. They are still dancing around with spins and flips but this scene features a lot of partner dancing that's more self contained than the greasers who jump all around the stage.

I Could Talk To You All Night:

After Johnny tells Dally off/Dally leaves. Ponyboy and Cherry go to the concessions stand together. While in line Ponyboy tells her about Johnny getting jumped to which Cherry tries to defend Bob as Ponyboy already knows it was her boyfriend who beat Johnny up. Her defending him is half hearted though when Pony insists Johnny didn't do anything, he mentions reading Great Expectations to her and she tells him how Pip gets a happy ending before they start this song. It carries the story forward up until the end of the movie/the scene where they try to walk the girls home only for Bob and the socs to stop him. Also, in the musical Cherry does not go with Bob and instead breaks up with him right then and there because she's tired of all the fighting.

Runs in the Family(Reprise):

Ponyboy and Johnny make it to the Curtis house and instead of falling asleep at the lot it's stated that Ponyboy just spent so long talking to Cherry that that was why he was late for curfew. He acts nonchalant about it and Darry bursts into the reprise. There's also a scene here where Darry goes to advance on Johnny only for Soda to step between him(I think this was meant to be a moment where Darry is just lashing out because he's under a lot of stress as a guardian and Johnny is there but it hurts my heart a little to think Johnny was scared in that moment as he backs up and ducks away before Soda steps in front of him) And after the slap Ponyboy freezes until Johnny runs over and tells him they gotta get out of there.

Far Away From Tulsa:

After getting hit is when the two wind up at the park. Their conversation in the book about a life outside of Tulsa is now taking place after Darry has hit Ponyboy which makes his desire to find a place without worries all the more real. Johnny and Pony have this beautiful moment on stage together where they look out to the audience together and imagine a life where they can do and be whoever they want. Which makes it hurt all the more that right after they sing all their desires for a better life is when Bob and the rest of the socs show up.

Run Run Brother:

The two make it to Buck's after the stabbing of Bob where they ask for Dally. It's worth mentioning that Dally straight up mentions his willingness to die for Pony and Johnny, and that he thinks of the two of them as brothers, though I can not remember if this happens here or after 'Grease Got A Hold'. After the first bit of the song the  scene shifts from Buck's to Pony and Johnny running to the train/hiding from the workers as they make their way to Windrixville. There's also a line in the beginning when Pony says 'when I came to there was Johnny with his knife' this is important and I'll explain in 'Little Brother.' I also really like the detail of before, during 'Grease Got a Hold', 'you're a greaser now and you ain't going back' was said as a proud statement and now when the chorus sings it it sounds sad and almost like a death sentence. 

Justice for Tulsa:

We cut back to Tulsa after the boys escape. The cops line up the socs on the stage as they call for justice now that one of their own has been murdered. When Cherry speaks she is doing it at the vigil the soc's are holding for Bob before Randy approaches her. He's organizing a hunting party against the greasers. It's worth mentioning that when Cherry speaks against him Marcia tries to go to her side only for the other soc girl in the show(Bev) to hold her back. Cherry leaves alone and once she's gone Marcia pick up a flashlight, which serves as the symbol for the socs hunting down the greasers with no mercy during this scene. Where in the book Dally mentions Two-Bit getting jumped during this song we see it happen. The socs jump him and Bev holds a lit cigarette to his cheek while the guys hold him down(in the live version of this song we hear Two-Bit's scream) It's worth mentioning that Randy does not get a redemption in this version, in fact, outside of Cherry the socs are pretty much painted at the bad guys with her as the one exception. Even though we get Randy's emotions with 'this can't be real, he can't be gone' rather than feeling sadness over his friend's death for too long Randy switches to anger. Cherry's role as such has been adapted to be a mix of her and Randy from the book in terms of story beats.

Death's At My Door:

The boy's are in the church, as far as I can recall this was after they cut their hair and I believe it was meant to be implied that a day or two has passed since Bob's death. Though if this is before or after Pony read the poem I no longer remember. The two boys are relying on each other in this scene as they reflect on how nothing is gonna be the same again what with their ability to go home taken away unless they want Johnny to be thrown in jail. Something I forgot to mention before is that Pony blames himself for his parents death. In the musical he say that on Darry's birthday he was supposed to pick up a special frosting for his brother's cake from a bakery his mother liked. But because he forgot his parents had to go out of their way to go and get it and thus were hit by the train because they had to go over the tracks. He tells Cherry before 'I Could Talk To You For Hours' that if he had just remembered his parents would still be alive. Which is why in this song he claims death follows him because he believes his parent's would still be alive if he had remembered to pick up the frosting, and that Bob would still be alive if he hadn't run out of the house/if Johnny didn't need to protect him. 

Throwing in the Towel:

We cut back to Darry and Soda after the boys have been missing for a few days. Darry finally breaks down to Soda all the pressure he's under and how he feels like his brother's would be better off without him. He admits how much he thinks this is all his fault for being too hard on Pony and causing him to storm off after hitting him. During this scene while Soda and Darry are singing Ponyboy can be seen at the back on the stage watching them, and during the last chorus of the song 'this it the darkest hour of the darkest night' his voice joins his brothers. (This song was also performed on the Today Show and you should go watch it)

Soda's Letter:

Back in the church now right after Dally gets there after greeting Pony and Johnny he hands over the letter for Pony to read. Ponyboy reads it at the front of the stage while Soda's actor sing behind him/looking at him. Pretty much unchanged in terms of what Soda's letter gives to the story/when it given/read. The final "Ponyboy this house ain't a home without you" is sung by Darry who makes his way onto stage when Soda mentions him in the letter and we see him behind Ponyboy all but begging his brother to come home in this song.

Hoods Turned Heroes:

This is the fire song. We see Pony, Dally and Johnny in the church, I saw Pony light the cigarette and toss it behind him. I saw the flames go up and a terrified Ponyboy going "it's my fault" and then we cut to Two-Bit, grabbing the paper and beginning this song. We see a somewhat split stage in terms of spacing, the greasers back in Tulsa on one side, passing the newspaper between them as they read it, and we see Pony and Johnny in the middle saving the kids from the church. The scene is actually so creatively done and I adore it, outside of the fire they have two actors hold up a blanket and use shadows to show Pony and Johnny pulling kids from the fire since there are no child actors in this production. Interlaced with the puppetry of the saving kids we see Johnny and Pony sliding out from under the blanket and jump around beams that are held up by other actors while the paper is being read. All ending with Dally going in after Johnny. The scene changes to Dally holding Johnny, who's been changed into a hospital gown, and Dally gently lays him on the hospital bed when the song ends.

Hopeless War:

Before the rumble Pony does not leave the hospital. He stays there watching Johnny until Cherry comes in. She looks at Johnny, asking after his health, before turning to Pony and begging him not to fight. But if you recall earlier, as far as the musical is concerned the fire was set by Ponyboy's cigarette(sidenote: I think it'd be cool if every night they rotated who lights the cigarette and throws it and just switch Pony's line from "it's my fault" to "it's our fault" but I only saw the show once so I assume it's the same every time for who lights the fire even though it the book and movie we don't know for sure)  So Pony can't listen to Cherry, even though in this scene she's taking the place of Pony's discussion with Randy in the book about the fight not making areal difference, because he sees this as his only chance to try and do something for Johnny since he can't do much else but watch over him in the hospital.

Trouble:

We cut to directly after Pony's discussion with Cherry. The greasers have their war cry of trouble brewing as everyone prepares for the rumble. While Ponyboy gets ready Darry comes up and begs him not to fight. If you recall during "Grease Got a Hold" Darry says how Pony "better know what you're fighting for" But he still doesn't want his brother to have to fight. But by this point Pony had his reason for fighting and he's the one to rally the gang with the call of "Do it for Johnny!" right before the socs roll up. Dally does say “do it for Johnny” at the beginning of the song but it’s Ponyboy who uses it as a war cry. Dally also has a moment where he calls out Darry for being on the greasers side when he was so against being a greaser before, but Darry looks at him and says confidently "once a greaser always a greaser". Paul has a moment with Darry where he calls him out for wanting to be a soc but Darry shuts him right down and the rumble is on.

Little Brother:

Right after the rumble the entire gang heads over to see Johnny, yes, the entire gang. Not just Pony and Dally everyone gathers around him and tells him about beating the socs. They watch as Johnny tells Pony to stay gold and they all break down when he passes, Dally runs out before anyone can stop him. He makes it to the top of the stage, and he begins his song. breaking down the boards around him in a show of anger and violence while the ensemble sings below him looking up. He says tearfully "I could not save you" remember during 'Run run brother' where I said the knife would be brought up later? It's because Dally was the one to give him the switchblade. Before the socs get their number Dally comes across Johnny staying in the lot while his parents are fighting. He tells Dally how he's been uncertain since he was jumped to be out alone. So Dally reaches into his jacket, pulls out the blade, and gives it to him(that one promo pic) and Dally tells him that "if you're gonna use it, use it" and I believe he says something along the lines of "because if you do there's no going back" Dally gave Johnny that knife to try and protect him, but all it did was sign his death warrant. It protected him from Bob but not from anything else, not from the fire. And when Dally said he would die for Pony and Johnny he meant it. He sings and is joined by the cast who echo him "little brother" but he stands alone at the top of the stage. He makes his way down to the bottom portion of the stage, stepping onto the train tracks(in my mind it's the same spot where the Curtis' parents crashed) planting his feet and squaring his shoulders before the song ends, and the train comes. According to Ponyboy his body derailed the train, and Pony likes to believe that despite that, some part of Dallas Winston managed to make it's way back to New York. (Playbill released Joshua Boone singing this song and it's so heartbreaking because there is no ensemble in that version so you have to sit with the harsh melody when Dally makes his choice to face the train head on)

Stay Gold:

After Dally's death we head back to the Curtis house. We don't get a time frame but going off the book it's been a week or two since they've both died. Cherry comes by with Johnny's things from the hospital, she mentions she volunteers there now, and gives Pony Johnny's letter for him. Pony refuses to read it but after Soda has his break down about "we're all we got left" he grabs Johnny's letter and starts to read it for Pony. Getting a line or two in before Pony asks for it, starts to read it himself, and the song begins. Johnny Cade joins us back on stage as he sings to Pony his hope for the world he has to leave behind. And of course, that request to stay gold.

Finale (Tulsa '67): 

After reading Johnny's letter Ponyboy begins to write his theme. He finishes a page or two before joining his brothers at the table, he tells them what he writing about and Soda tells him to read it. Pony says it's only a few pages but Darry speaks up, "Can I read it?" he asks. And Pony hands it over, it isn't Ponyboy reading that intro again, but Darry, determined to do better by his brother and reading his work. He and Soda pass the theme to each other, taking turns reading sections aloud while Pony sings. Sings about Tulsa and the gang, of Dally who saw being a greaser as a badge of honor, of Johnny who wanted more for himself and more for Ponyboy who vows that "in his memory I'll stay gold!" The entire cast comes onto the stage as they sing, no longer to each other but to the audience, "stay gold!" It is something that has stuck with me and will stick with me to know that those final lines were no longer characters talking to each other, but talking to the audience right as the show comes to an end.

Anyways this got way longer then I thought but if you want me to ramble more about the show literally just ask I can not stop thinking about it. Might make another post about the differences between the musical and the book.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: A Bleak Picture

Unsure whether they've been trapped inside a painting or been cast back in time, the party must venture through the desolate ruins of a once warm and familiar place to rescue a number of innocents that've gone missing after being abducted by some shadowy force.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive in the town of Valasren on innocuous business, following the rumors of a ruin, attending a nearby shrine, or visiting some old friends. When they arrive they're given an unexpectedly amiable welcome by lord Lucas Kevral, who's heard of their earlier exploits and wants to cultivate a good relationship with such aspiring heroes. While taking him up on an invitation to dine at his castle, the party spy a gloomy painting depicting Valasren in ruins. Lord Kevral explains that it was painted to commemorate the near destruction of the town some generations ago, when one of his ancestors left the settlement defenceless to go off seeking glory in war. His grandmother commissioned the painting from one of the survivors, and hung it in a place of honour so she nor any of her descendants would forget their duty to defend the people.

As the party pursue their mission around Valasren they'll begin to notice a number of disappearances that only seems to climb as time ticks on. Rumors begin to circulate about something moving in the night, stalking people, creeping into their homes when they're asleep, leaving only open doors and empty beds come daylight. These rumours become all too real when the party awake one morning to find one of their number missing, taken without a whisper from where they slept. A scattering of untrustworthy witnesses say they saw an unnatural figure carrying a sack up the hill towards the Lord's castle, giving them at least a ghost of a trail.

Following the trail back to the palace eventually leads the party to the painting, an inexplicable cold draft intermittently drifting from its now permeable surface.

Background: The painter who witnessed the destruction of Valasren was a true master, and was years later able to immortalize the hopelessness they felt in that moment through their skill with the brush. There is power in such emotional resonance, and transformed the painting into an overlap with the shadowfell, where the town's sorrow had likewise been reflected. Not quite a portal, the painting never did much harm but making the already drafty castle hall a little more cold and unwelcoming at night, at least until recent days.

Drawn by the warmth of life and merriment on the air, A Snatcher has discovered the painting and forced its way through, one by one dragging inhabitants of Valasren into the upside down for an unknown purpose.

Challenges & Complications:

Once the party figure out there's something up with the painting, cut to the abducted player waking up in the ruined shadow-town. There's no corresponding painting anywhere to be seen, and because they were taken while they were asleep they're likely a bit exhausted and missing most of their gear. They'll have to be quiet and clever to escape the nightmare things and lingering spirits that dwell within Valasren's shadow, but doing so may give them vital clues about what's really going on. Keep the tension on until the isolated hero is backed into a corner, then have the rest of their friends arrive.

It's a grim irony that before war came to Valasren, the painter was working on capturing the beauty and peace of their home town on canvas, only for that work to be destroyed in the town's raising. Thinking it lost forever, the painter added it in as a detail nearby the burnt out remains of their workshop as a meditation on the happiness thought taken from them. Like many things lost to the mortal world, an echo of the painting has come to reside in the shadowfell, and acts as the exit portal back into the land of light. Finding it though is a problem, the snatcher has removed it from it's resting place and given it over to the terrible entity lairing in the castle. Where they've put it, who can say?

Numerous townsfolk have been pulled into the shadowfell and are scattered about the echo of a place they thought they knew. Lost, affraid, and isolated, many of them have run for cover or have started to sink into the spirit siphoning torpor that afflicts all to dwell too long in shadow.

Extra special thanks to @dm-tuz , who's monsters are ALWAYS an inspiration.

Artsource

[physalian]

Humanizing Your Characters (And Why You Should)

To humanize a character is not to contort an irredeemable villain into the warped funhouse mirror reflection of a hero in the last 30 seconds to gain “narrative subversion” points. To humanize is not to give said villain a tragic backstory that validates every bad choice they make in attempt to provide nuance where it does not deserve to be.

To humanize a character, villain or otherwise, is to make them flawed. Scuff them up, give them narrative birthmarks and scars and imperfections. Whether it’s your hero, their love interest, the comic relief, the mentor, the villain, the rival, these little narrative details serve to make all your literary babies better.

Why should you humanize your characters?

To do this means to write in details beyond those that service the plot, or the themes, or the motifs, morals, foreshadowing, or story. These might be (and usually are) entirely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. So, if I wrote lengthy diatribes on pacing and why every detail must matter, and character descriptions and thematic importance, why am I now suggesting go free-for-all on the fluff?

Just like real people have quirks and tics and beliefs and pet peeves that serve our no greater purpose, so should fictional people. Your average reader doesn’t have the foggiest idea what literary devices are beyond metaphor, simile foreshadowing, and anecdote, but they can tell when the author is using motif and theme and all the syntactical marvels because it reads that much richer, even if they can’t pinpoint why.

And, for shipping fodder, these tiny little details are what help your audience fall in love with the character. It doesn’t even have to be in a book – Taylor Swift (whether you like her or not) never fills her music with sexual innuendo or going clubbing. She tells stories filled with human details like dancing in the refrigerator light. People can simultaneously relate to these very specific and vivid experiences, and say “not that exactly, but man this reminds me of…” and that’s (part of) the reason her music is so popular.

What kinds of narratives need these details?

All of them. Visual media, audio, written, stage play. Now, to what degree and excess you apply these details depends on your tone, intended audience, and writing style. If your style of writing is introspection heavy, noir character drama, you might go pretty heavy on the character design.

But even if you’re writing a kids book with a scant few paragraphs of setting descriptors and internal narration, or you’re drawing a comic book – if you have characters you want people to care about, do this.

Animators, particularly, are very adept at humanizing non-human characters, because, unlike live acting, every single stroke of the pen is there with intent. They use their own reflections for facial references, record their own movements to draw a dance, and insert little bits of themselves into signature character poses so you know that *that* animator did this one.

How to humanize your characters.

I’m going to break this down into a couple sections: Costume/wardrobe, personality, beliefs/behavior/superstitions, haptics/proxemics/kinesics, and voice. They will all overlap and the sheer variety and possibilities are way too broad for me to capture every facet.

Costumes and Wardrobe

In the film Fellowship of the Ring, there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment where, after Boromir is slain by the Uruk-Hai, Aragorn takes Boromir’s Gondorian vambraces to wear in his honor, and in honor of their shared country. He wears them the rest of the trilogy. The editing pays no extra attention to them beyond a split second of Aragorn tightening the straps, it never lingers on them, never reminds you that they’re there, but they kept it in nonetheless. His actor also included a hunting bow that didn't exist in the book because he's a roamer, a ranger, and needs to be able to feed himself, along with a couple other survival tools.

Aragorn wears plenty of other symbolic bits of costume – the light of the Evenstar we see constantly from Arwen, the Lothlorien green cloaks shared by the entire Fellowship, his re-forged sword and eventual full Gondorian regalia, but all those are Epic Movie Moments that serve a thematic purpose.

Taking the vambraces is just a small, otherwise insignificant character moment, a choice made for no other reason than that’s what this character would do. That’s what makes him human, not an archetype.

When you’re writing these details and can’t rely on sneaking them into films, you have to work a little harder to remind your audience that they exist, but not too often. A detail shifts from “human” to “plot point” when it starts to serve a purpose to the themes and story.

Inconsequentiality might be how a character ties, or doesn’t tie their shoelaces, because they just can’t be bothered so they remain permanent knots and tripping hazards. It might be a throw-away line about how they refuse to wear shorts and strictly stick to long pants because they don’t like showing off their legs. It might be perpetually greasy hair from constantly running their fingers through it with stress, or self-soothing. A necklace they fidget with, or a ring, a belt they never bother to replace even though they should, a pair of lucky socks.

Resist the urge to make it more meaningful than “this is just how they are”. If I’m using the untied shoelaces example – in Spiderverse, this became a part of the story’s themes, motifs, and foreshadowing, and doesn’t count. Which isn’t bad! It’s just not what I’m talking about.

Personality

In How to Train Your Dragon, Toothless does not speak. All his personality comes from how he moves, the noises he makes, and the expressions on his face. There’s moments, like in the finale, when his prosthetic has burned off and Hiccup tells him to hold on for a little bit longer, and you can clearly see on his face that he’s deeply uncertain about his ability to do so. It’s almost off the screen, another blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment. Or the beat of hesitation before he lets Hiccup touch him in the Forbidden Friendship scene. Or the irritated noise he makes when he’s impatiently waiting for Hiccup to stop chatting with his dad because they have a giant dragon to murder. Or when he slaps Hiccup with his ear fin for flying them into a rock spire.

None of those details *needed* to exist to endear you to his character or to serve the scenes they’re in. The scenes would carry on just fine without them. He’s a fictional dragon, yes, but these details make him real.

Other personality tics you could include might be a character who gets frustrated with tedious things very quickly and starts making little inteligible curses under their breath. Or how they giggle when they’re excited and start bouncing on their toes. Maybe they have a tic where they snap their fingers when they’re concentrating, trying to will an idea into existence. Or they stick their tongue out while they work and get embarrassed when another character calls them on it. They roll around in their sleep, steal blankets, drool, leave dishes in the sink or are neurotic with how things must be organized. They have one CD in their car, and actually use that CD player instead of the phone jack or Bluetooth. They sing in the shower, while they cook, or while they do homework, no matter how grating their voice.

They like the smell of new shoes or Sharpies. They hate the texture of suede or velvet or sticky residues. They never pick their socks up. They hate the overhead light in their room and use 50 lamps instead. They hate turning into oncoming traffic or don’t trust their backup camera. They collect Funko Pops and insist there’s always room for more.

And about a million others.

Beliefs, Behaviors, and Superstitions

*If you happen to be writing a story where superstitions have merit, maybe skip this one.* Usually, inevitably, these evolve into character centerpieces and I can’t actually think of one off the top of my head that doesn’t become this beyond the ones we all know. A few comedic examples do come to mind:

The Magic Conch in “Club Spongebob” and the sea-bear-proof dirt circle in “The Camping Episode”

Dean Winchester’s fear and panic-driven actions in “Yellow Fever” and “Sam, Interrupted”

The references to the trolls that steal left-foot socks in How to Train Your Dragon

I’m not a fan of wasting time writing a religious character doing their religious thing when Plot Is Happening, but smaller things are what I’m talking about. Like them wearing a cross/rosary and touching it when they’re nervous. Having a specific off-beat prayer, saying, or expression because they don’t believe in cursing.

The classic ones like black cats, ladders, broken mirrors, salt, sidewalk cracks can all be funny. Athletes have plenty, too, and some of them, particularly in baseball culture, are a bit ridiculous. Not washing socks or uniforms, having a team idol they donate Double Bubble to and also rub their toes. A specific workout routine, diet, team morale dance.

Other things, too. A character who’s afraid to go back downstairs once the lights are off, or fear the basement or the backyard shed. Or they’re really put-off by this old family photo for no reason other than how glassy their eyes look and it’s creepy. They like crystals, dreamcatchers, star signs, tarot, or they absolutely do not under any circumstances.

They believe in all the tried and true ways of predicting the weather like a grizzled old sailor. They believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves, witches, skinwalkers, doppelgangers, fairies. They talk to the cat statue in their kitchen and named it Fudge Pop. They whisper to the spirit that possessed the fridge so it stops making all that racket, and half the time, it works every time. They wear yellow for good luck or carry a rabbit’s foot. They’re not religious at all but still throw prayers out to whoever’s listening because, you know, just in case. They sit by their window sill and talk to the moon and the stars and pretend like they’re in a music video when they’re driving through the city in the rain.

Haptics, Proxemics, and Kinesics

These are, for all you non-communication and psych majors out there, touch and physical contact, how they move, and how they move around other people.

Behold, your shipping fodder.

Two shining examples of proxemics in action are the famous “close talker” episode of Seinfeld (of which every communication major has been subjected to) and Castiel’s not understanding of personal space (and human chronemic habits) in Supernatural.

These are how a character walks, if they’re flat-footed, clumsy, or tip-toers. If they make a racket or constantly spook the other characters. If they fidget or can’t sit still in a seat for five seconds, if they like to sit backwards or upside down. How they touch themselves, if they do a lot of self-soothing maneuvers (hugging themselves, rubbing their arms, touching their face, drawing their knees up, holding their neck, etc) or if they don’t do any self-soothing at all.

This is how they shake hands, if they dance while they cook or work. It’s how much space they let themselves take up, if they man-spread or keep their limbs in closer. How close they stand to others or how far. If they let themselves be touched at all, or if they always have their skin covered. If they always have their back to a wall,  or are always making sure they know where the nearest exit is. If they make grand gestures when they talk and give directions. If they flinch from pats on the back or raised hands. If they lean away from loud voices or project their own. If they use their height to their advantage when arguing, puff their chest, square their shoulders, put their hands on their hips, or point fingers in accusation.

If they touch other characters as they pass by. If they’re huggers or victims of falling asleep on or near their comrades. If they must sleep facing the door, or with something solid behind them. If they can sleep in the middle of a party wholly uncaring. If they sleepwalk, sleeptalk, migrate across the bed to cuddle whoever’s nearest with no idea they’re doing it.

If they like to be held or like to hold others. If they hate being picked up and slung around or are touch-starved for it. If they like their space and stick to it or are more than happy to share.

Do they walk with grace, head held high and back straight? Or are they hunched over, head hung, watching their feet? Are they meanderers or speed-walkers? Do they cross their arms in front or lace their hands behind them? Do they bow to authority or meet that gaze head on?

I have heard that Prince Zuko, in Last Airbender, is usually drawn sleeping with his bad ear down when he doesn’t feel safe, like on his warship or anywhere in the Fire Nation, or on the road. He’s drawn on his other side once he joins the Gaang. In Dead Man’s Chest, just before Davy Jones drives the Flying Dutchman under the waves, two tentacles curl up and around the brim of his hat to keep it from blowing off in the water.

When they fight, do they attack first, or defend first? Do they touch other characters’ hair? Share makeup, share clothes? Touch their faces with boops or bonks or nuzzles and eskimo kisses? Do they crack their knuckles and necks and knees?

Do they stare in baffled curiosity at all the other characters wholly comfortable in each other's spaces because they can’t, won’t, or don’t see the point in all this nonsense? Do they say they’re happy on the outside, but are betrayed by their body language?

Voice

Whether or not to write an accent is entirely up to you. Books like Their Eyes Were Watching God writes dialogue in a vernacular specific to its characters. Westerners and southerners tend to be written with the southern drawl or dialect, ripe with stereotypical contractions. Be advised, however, that in attempt to write an accent to give your character depth, you could be instead turning off your audience who doesn’t have energy to decipher what they’re saying, or you went and wrote a racist stereotype.

Voice isn’t just accent and dialect, nor is it how it sounds, which falls more solidly under useful character descriptions. Voice for the sake of humanizing your characters concerns how they talk, how they convey their thoughts, and how they become distinct from other characters in dialogue and narration.

If you’re writing a narrative that hops heads and don’t want to include a big banner to indicate who’s talking at any given time, this is where voice matters. It is, I think, the least appreciated of all the possible traits to pay attention to.

First person narrators have the most flexibility here because the audience is zero degrees removed from their first-hand experiences. Their personality comes through sharply in how they describe things and what they pay attention to.

But it’s also in what similes and metaphors they use. I read a book that had an average (allegedly straight) male narrator going off and describing colors with types of flowers, some I had to look up because I just don’t know those off the top of my head. My immediate thought was either this character is a poorly written gay, or he’s a florist. Neither (allegedly), the writer was just being too specific.

Do they have crutch words they use? like, um, actually, so…, uh

Or repeat exclamations specific to them? yikes, yowzers, jeepers, jinkies, zoinks, balls, beans, d’oh!

Or idioms they’re fond of? Like a bat out of hell. Snowball’s chance.

Do they stutter when they’re nervous? Do they lose their train of thought and bounce around, losing other characters in the process? Do they have a non-Christian god they pray to and say something other than “thank God”? Are they from another country, culture, time period, realm, or planet with their own gods, beliefs, and idioms?

When they describe settings, how flowery is the language? Would this grizzled war hero use flowery language? How would he or she describe the color pink, versus a PTA mom? Do they use only a generic “blue, green, red” or do they really pay attention with “aquamarine, teal, emerald, viridian, vermillion, rose, ruby”?

How do this character’s hobbies affect how well they can describe dance moves, painting styles, car models, music genres?

This mostly matters when you’re head-hopping and the voice of the narrator serves to be more distinct, otherwise, what’s the point of head-hopping? Just use third-person omniscient.

If you really want to go wild, give a specific narrator unique syntax. Maybe one character is the ghost of Oscar Wild with never-ending run-on sentences. Just be sure to not go too overboard and compromise the integrity of your story.

In the book A Lesson Before Dying, a somewhat illiterate, underprivileged and undereducated minor has been given a mentor, a teacher, before they face the death penalty. At the end of the book, you read all of the letters they wrote to their teacher. There’s misspellings everywhere, almost no punctuation, and long, rambling sentences.

It’s heartbreaking. The subject matter is heavy and horrible, yes, but it’s the choice to write with such poor English that has a much bigger impact than perfect MLA format.

How to implement these details

Most of these, in the written medium, need only show up once or twice before your audience notices and wonders why they’re there. Most fall squarely under character design, which falls under exposition, and should follow all the exposition guidelines.

These details exist to be random and fluffy, but they can’t exist randomly within the narrative. If you want to have your character be superstitious, pick a relevant time to include that superstition.

Others, like ongoing speech habits or movements, still don’t overuse, especially if they’re unique. A character might like to sit backwards in a chair, but if you mention that they’re doing it every single time they sit down, your audience will wonder what’s so important and if the character is unwell.

And, of course, you can let these traits become thematically important, like a superstition being central to their personality or backstory or motivation. These all serve the same purpose of making your character feel like a real person instead of just a “character”.

Just think about tossing in a few random details every now and then and see what happens. One tiny sentence can take a background character and make them candidates for the eventual fandom’s fan favorite. Details like these turn your work from “This a story, and these are the characters who tell it” into “these are my characters, and this is their story.”

[plounce]

made this chart because i think the role/class assignments are such fun pieces of characterization for story NPCs! information pulled from here.

footnotes under the cut:

many NPCs have fancy titles instead of job names - for example, ysayle is referred to as "oracle of ice", and pre-edw alphinaud is an "academician". the jobs i marked them as are pulled from the icons of their classes + the movesets they use.

i didn't include the nameless fill-in NPCs like "temple chirurgeon" or "scion lancer". i am aware that the ARR duty support npcs have dialogue and mini-arcs, but that isn't relevant to my interest in making this chart. and sorry to j'moldva and any fans she has, but she also does not meet the threshold of character significance to be included in the chart.

thancred, urianger, and alphinaud can only dps in specific duty support instances: thancred in the antitower (if he tanks, this is the only time he can GLD - without a shield equipped! uh oh), alphinaud during hvw & stb, and urianger in the mothercrystal (if the player heals, alphinaud is your other healer). y'shtola will only heal in the burn and edw patch dungeons (funny, since her introductory epithet is "cultured conjurer"). all of these can only be used in duty support and not in trust, so they are on the cusps of their overlaps, not properly in them, as i feel this more accurately reflects their actual roles.

alphinaud functions as a scholar with his special massive carby. urianger also pulls out an even bigger carby to somehow be a summoner ("lithomancer") who can use bahamut and phoenix, but not the other three egis! due to his involvement in the bahamut coils raids?

there are no pure healers, outside of the fill-in NPCs!

DPS is a girl job, tanking is a boy job, and healer is equality. ysayle and venat are the only women who can tank, and both use a sword & shield, which makes me want to eat drywall, also i'm also kissing them both on the mouth.

apparently samurais can tank (🔄Third Eye🔄) and apparently gladiators are DPS.

g'raha is notable outside of being an all-rounder in that all of his jobs are, well, jobs. the majority of characters use class icons, while he gets to be full-fledged versions of all of these things. something something soul crystals / the crystal tower / the exarch / etc etc. frankly i'm a little fuzzy on soul crystal lore. i just think this is an interesting distinction.

if you're interested in this kind of stuff, @trustinsighters is a great resource for character dialogue, actions, and many more interesting details in the characters' programming in duty support and trust dungeons! they have great infographics and videos, including localization differences. one of my favorite accounts. their twitter has charts for every trust dungeon from shb onwards, and high-res versions are available on their kofi!

now look at my wol's adorable starlight RDM fit. isn't she so cute. she's my angel. i think about her lore and i weep. her heart is so Good. tomte peregrin on maduin ♥

that is all.

[melancholicmelanin]

Compress/Repress | Chapter 1: Sins of The Father

pairing: art donaldson x black!oc x patrick zweig, tashi duncan x black!oc (platonic)

summary: all was quiet at the Duncan household. The boys were safety tucked into bed, mom and dad lay side by side with their last argument buried under the pretense of peace. Meanwhile, Tashi finally had a moment alone—in front of the family computer, the one her parents had strictly forbidden her from using. But tonight, like many, she couldn't resist the pull of her secret Facebook account.

wordcount: 14k

warning(s): minor challengers spoilers (if any?), mild cursing, a non american writing americans, self edited and no beta.

masterlist | prev | next | wattpad | AO3

OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA – September 27, 2005

The dining room radiates with a cosy warmth, emanating from the outdated light fixture that hangs low above the table. The yellowed glow gives the room an intimate feel, as if time has stopped and this moment is frozen in it. The walls are adorned with a collage of memories - photographs capturing moments of love and laughter, alongside colourful drawings etched into the plaster by tiny hands.

A mismatched collection of plates holds steaming dishes of homemade food, each one a gift from a distant family member. The utensils are a mismatched collection of spoons accumulated over the years, contributing to the quaint and disorganised ambiance. As everyone takes their assigned seats, the room hums with lively conversation and constant movement - a true reflection of this close-knit household.

Kevin, the patriarch of the family, sits at the head of the table with his wife, Chrystal, gracefully settled on his right-hand side. Across from her is their eldest son, Demetrius, who may only be thirteen years old but holds himself with a confidence beyond his years in the presence of his father.

Next to Demetrius is Kenan, the youngest of the family and the cause of their current laughter. He eagerly shares a story about an incident at school, causing raucous laughter among his relatives, showcasing the antics of middle schoolers.

Within arm's reach sits Tashi, the only daughter in the family. Her lanky frame slumps slightly over the table as she listens intently to her brother's story, a small smile playing on her lips as she attempts to immerse herself within the present moment.

The table buzzed with excited chatter as the family asked further questions, their voices overlapping in a symphony of confusion and amusement. But tonight, Tashi's mind was elsewhere, drifting between the infectious joy of her family and the alluring pull of Chandler Prescott's end of summer party.

The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the enticing possibility of what could have been. She could almost feel the pulsing beat of the music and see the glittering lights that awaited her at the party, pulling her towards them like a moth to a flame.

Despite the warm atmosphere and company of her family, Tashi couldn't shake off the longing for something more exciting and exhilarating. Tashi's eyes constantly darted around the room, taking in every detail with precision. Her gaze shifted from her brothers to her parents, her brows furrowed in deep thought.

How in the world am I going to make it to that party? She pondered, carefully weighing the consequences of each crazy idea that popped into her head.

‘I could try sneaking out, she contemplated,’ a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

‘My room is conveniently located on the other side of the house,’ Tashi pondered further.

‘Dad just fixed that stubborn window just in time for summer.’

Tashi let the idea simmer in her mind, savouring the thrill of rebellion. But as quickly as the excitement came, a flicker of concern crossed her features as she realised one crucial detail - ‘how the fuck am I gonna get there?’

Tashi's mind raced with possibilities, each one more outlandish than the last. She could bike there, but the party was on the other side of town, and she'd arrive sweaty and dishevelled. Maybe she could convince one of her friends to pick her up, but most of them weren't invited to the exclusive gathering anyways.

As she pondered her limited options, her fingers absently traced the delicate curves of the golden crucifix around her neck, a habit ingrained in her from countless hours spent at bible study. The smooth metal warmed against her skin, offering a sense of comfort and familiarity amidst the chaos of indecision.

The nickname "The Duncanator" echoed in her mind, a reminder of her prowess and her simultaneous struggle to fit in at school. Sure, she could serve an ace that would make even the toughest opponent’s quake in their tennis shoes, but that same intensity that made her a force to be reckoned with on the court seemed to intimidate her classmates.

The few friends she had were mostly fellow athletes who understood the dedication and drive required to excel in sports. But this party was different. It was hosted by Chandler Prescott, the most popular boy in school, and attending could be her chance to finally break into the inner circle of cool kids.

Tashi let out an exasperated sigh, her delicate fingers tracing the intricate details of her crucifix necklace. She glanced at the clock on the microwave, the red digital numbers flashing 7:15 PM. The party was supposed to start at 8 and she still had so much to do.

With her back pressed against the wall, Tashi was left with one last option, an idea that had already been exhausted at this point. Gathering the courage to voice her thoughts, Tashi mustered up the bravery to confront her father once again, maybe the presents of her mother can assist her this time. Her heart raced with adrenaline as she knew time was running out.

"Dad, I know your mind's made up, but this is the last party of—" As Tashi spoke, a loud clattering noise broke the silence. All eyes turned towards Mr. Duncan, whose spoon had slipped from his hand and landed with a loud clang on his plate. Tashi's heart sank in her chest, mirroring the sudden drop of the spoon. The room was now filled with tension and all attention was on Mr. Duncan as he nervously clasped his hands together in what seemed like a prayer.

Kevin's face contorted into a scowl as he fixed his gaze on his daughter. "Do we have to go through this again?" he exclaimed in frustration.

Tashi's voice was insistent, her eyes flashing with excitement. "It's the last party before summer break is over, Dad," she repeated, not wanting him to interrupt her declaration again.

Tashi's heart raced as she imagined all the fun she would have at the party, surrounded by loud music and non-stop dancing. She couldn't let her father spoil it for her. Mr. Duncan's voice was strained, his left hand pressed against his forehead in a futile attempt to ease the mounting frustration.

"How many times do I have to tell you, Tashi?" he asked wearily, as if he had repeated this same request countless times before.

The wrinkles on his brow deepened with each passing moment, a physical manifestation of his exasperation. The tension in the room was palpable, thick like molasses and just as sticky. Tashi sat across from him, head down and shoulders slumped, knowing she had disappointed him once again. She couldn't bear to meet his gaze, unable to shake off the feeling of defeat that washed over her at his words.

Mr. Duncan's voice rose with each word, the tone becoming more urgent as he spoke. "I will not allow my daughter to stumble home in a drunken state from some white kid's party". The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, emphasising the gravity of the situation.

The mood instantly shifted as silence fell over the table and every move made by his family was influenced by his authoritative voice. The clinking of silverware against plates sounded like scratches on a record as Kenan's giggles were drowned out by the tense atmosphere. Frowns appeared on the faces of the boys as they looked to their mother for an explanation.

"Who do you think the cops are going to target when they shut that damn thing down?" He continued, his stern tone silencing any possible objections from his daughter.

Tashi could feel her mind racing, searching for the right words to say. On one hand, she could appease her father with a response that she knew he wanted to hear. “You’re absolutely right, Dad. I should prioritise getting enough sleep for practice tomorrow.”

But deep down, she knew that would be dishonest and not truly reflective of her current state. Taking a deep breath, she made the difficult decision to be honest with her father and give him a piece of her mind. She squared her shoulders and let it out, "I doubt they would even catch me; I don’t think Officer Moores has been to the gym since the fucking—"

She’s cut off mid-sentence again, reminded of where exactly she was. This wasn't another afternoon with Jasmyn and Destiny, gallivanting about Oakland with nothing better to do then shit talk people from school. No, this was her father's house, and she had to abide by his rules. The air felt stifling and suffocating, like a cage closing in on her. She yearned for the carefree days spent with her friends, but she knew she had to play by her father's rules in his domain.

"Watch your language, young lady. How do you expect me to let you out of this house when you talk like that in front of me?" Mr. Duncan's authoritative voice straightens Tashi’s posture by the mere sound of it, further adding to her frustration and resentment. Tashi's eyes flashed with defiance, her grip tightening on the edge of the table.

"But Dad, you don't understand! This isn't just any party. It's the end-of-summer bash, and everyone who's anyone will be there.” Demetrius' brow furrows even deeper as he grasps the meaning behind Tashi's words. He remembers his sister's recent preoccupation with her overflowing wardrobe of not quite cute clothes. As a clueless teenage boy, he had brushed it off as typical big sister behaviour. Little did he realise that Tashi was planning to attend a party, which explained her sudden desire for the perfect outfit.

“I've worked so hard all year, both in school and on the court. Don't I deserve one night of fun?”

Tashi's words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of a year's worth of hard work and sacrifice. Her mother's eyes filled with pride and understanding, gleaming like polished gems in the soft light of the room. On the other hand, her father's eyes were clouded with ignorance and disappointment, a storm brewing behind them as he sat stoically in his chair.

It was a familiar scene for the family, one that only added to Tashi's growing resentment towards her father's strict rules. She could feel the tension thickening between them, like a tightly coiled spring ready to snap at any moment. And yet, despite it all, she continued to prove herself as the strongest player in the state, her name quickly gaining traction in the tennis world. Her mother watched in awe and admiration, wishing her father could see and appreciate their daughter's undeniable talent and determination.

Despite Kevin's attempt to maintain a stoic facade, his clenched jaw and visibly tense muscles betrayed any sign of guilt. Mr. Duncan's expression was one of clear disappointment as he observed Tashi's childish behaviour at the dinner table. Kevin's knuckles turned almost white, a clear difference to his brown skin, as he braced himself to address Tashi's immature inclinations. The once jovial atmosphere now hung heavily with tension, the air thick and charged with unspoken words. It was a stark contrast to the pleasant atmosphere just moments before, a dramatic shift in mood that could not be ignored.

"Fun? You call hanging around a swarm of reckless, intoxicated teenagers, fun? I've seen the destruction and chaos these parties can bring, Tashi.”

The words emphasised dripped from Kevin's tongue with disdain as he raised his hands in exasperation. His gaze shot out the window, towards the direction of the Prescott's upscale neighbourhood. Tashi could see the anger and frustration etched on Kevin's face, his jaw clenched tightly as he spoke. The sound of his words cut through the air like a sharp blade, leaving no room for argument.

"Our family will not become gossip fodder simply because you sought a moment of fun."

His gaze bore into her with unwavering intensity, his protective nature surging forth. Kevin was resolute in ensuring his daughter's reputation remained untarnished, particularly with the scrutiny from giants like Nike and Adidas. After enduring numerous trials, the future seemed promising for the Duncans, and no stupid party would derail their progress.

The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Chrystal placed a gentle hand on her husband’s shoulder, attempting to soften his hard exterior. Kevin's muscles remained rigid under her touch; his jaw clenched tight as he stared out the window at the setting sun. The fading light cast long shadows across the living room, mirroring his hooded eyes as he laid with his thoughts post outburst.

Chrystal released a deep, shaky breath as she tried to navigate the tumultuous waves of emotions crashing within her in response to her husband's words. She glanced over at her daughter, who sat slumped and defeated, and made the decision. Mrs. Duncan knew that this could be the last summer they would have together before things became chaotic and out of their control. With determination in her heart, she would negotiate with her husband to give their daughter a chance at experiencing joy and freedom before the weight of a full-time athlete settled upon her shoulders.

"Darling," she began, her voice soft and melodious, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.

Crystal pleaded, her voice filled with longing and hope. "Perhaps we should reconsider," she said, her eyes focused on Kevin.

"Tashi is growing up so fast, and this party could be a wonderful opportunity for her to socialise with her classmates."

But Kevin's mind was already made up, his stubborn nature once again prevailing over reason. Chrystal could see the determination in his steely gaze and knew that there was no use arguing further. The disappointment weighed heavy on her heart as she resigned herself to another missed opportunity for their daughter.

"My decision is final, Tashi."

Mr. Duncan's voice echoed through the room, reaching every corner and piercing the silence that hung heavy in the air. His stern gaze shifted to Tashi, whose fidgeting hands had now stilled and were gripping tightly onto the hem of her skirt. The table, made of dark mahogany wood, seemed to creak under Mr. Duncan's weight as he leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Tashi's.

"I expect you in bed, getting enough rest for practice tomorrow," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Tashi could feel her heart pounding against her chest as she nodded, understanding his expectations. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on her shoulders as she realised the gravity of Mr. Duncan's words and the importance of Tashi maintaining her consistency.

Tashi nodded silently, her father's expectations bearing down on her like a heavy weight. In all her years living under the strict rules of Kevin Duncan, Tashi had never felt so suffocated. Her father, who had been her coach for many years, had ingrained in her that following the straight and narrow path both on the court and in real life would lead to success and reward. But as she stood there now, it was clear that this belief was nothing but a facade. Today, with crushing disappointment, Tashi realised that it was all just a load of bullshit.

“Now, you kids need to get ready for bed."

Kevin chimed in, his voice breaking through the tense atmosphere that had settled over the family. The dim lights in the living room cast shadows across his face as he leaned back in his chair, trying to diffuse the tension with a light-hearted tone.

"Kenan, I better hear some vigorous teeth brushing up in that bathroom. And Demetrius, don't forget to floss!"

His words were met with half-hearted groans and eye rolls from the two children, who reluctantly got up from their spots on the couch and headed towards the hallway.

“Yes, sir.”

The voices of the boys strained as they struggled to release the words, unsure if they should speak in that tense moment. This caused Kevin's expression to falter for a brief second, as he realised his impact on the family. Just moments before, they had all been laughing at the youngest member's tales from school, but now not even the most talkative person in the house could utter a single word. The atmosphere had shifted from one of lightness and joy to one of tension and unease.

The sounds of shuffling feet and murmured goodnights filled the air as the boys followed Tashi’s lead and headed upstairs to their rooms. The hallway was dimly lit, casting shadows along the walls as Tashi trudged towards her own room at the end of the hall. As they are about to reach their shared room, Demetrius and Kenan stalk at their door taking one last look at their sister. Tashi closes the door to her bedroom with a heavy sigh, throwing herself onto her bed.

Tashi’s room was a reflection of her disciplined but quietly personal world. The walls were painted a soft lavender, calming but with enough energy to keep her focused. Above her bed hung a large poster of Serena Williams in mid-swing, the fierce determination on her face a daily source of inspiration. Tashi admired Serena—her strength, her focus, her ability to balance success with the weight of expectation. The poster faded at the edges, a sign of how long it had been there, a constant in Tashi’s room and her life.

Her desk, positioned neatly under the window, was cluttered with tennis gear, notebooks, and textbooks, all piled in organised chaos. A calendar hung beside it, every square meticulously filled with her tight schedule—practices, study sessions, and tournaments. Each date was marked in different coloured ink, from practice drills to strategy meetings with her father. She was constantly balancing schoolwork and tennis training, and the calendar was her anchor in the whirlwind of her days.

Across from the desk, her bed was made with precision—crisp white sheets tucked neatly under a soft lilac duvet. Plush pillows were carefully arranged at the head of the bed, though the space wasn’t untouched by the subtle messiness of teenage life—a few clothes tossed on the chair, a pair of sneakers casually kicked off by the door.

Shelves lined the wall, filled with trophies, tennis balls, and framed photos of her with friends, her brothers, and, of course, her father. Her room was functional but still held onto a certain charm, with fairy lights strung along the headboard and a few stuffed animals from childhood tucked neatly into the corner of the bed—small reminders of a softer, less regimented time.

Though every inch of the room was curated to reflect Tashi’s commitment to tennis and her busy life, there were subtle touches of her own personality—the lavender scented candle on her nightstand, a few dog-eared novels she’d never had the time to finish, and the carefully framed picture of her mom, the quiet presence in her life. It was a room that felt like a mix of who she was and who she was becoming—structured yet still searching for balance.

As she stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing with frustration and disappointment, she thought about how she ended up in this predicament.

‘So much for making this the best summer ever.’

Why couldn't her dad just trust her? She was a responsible teenager, always on top of her schoolwork and dedicated to tennis. All Tashi wanted was one night to let loose and get to know some people before senior year next fall. Since freshman year, she had never quite fit in at her school.

With daily tennis practices and matches consuming most of her time on top of the already heavy workload, Tashi didn’t have much time to socialise with her classmates outside of school. And recently, as she watched groups of laughing teenagers splashing in the water and playing beach games on social media, she couldn't help but feel like an outsider once again.

It didn’t help that nobody seemed to care about tennis, except for Jasmyn and Destiny who were eager to learn all they could about the sport - especially when it came to the cute athletes.

Tonight's party held the promise of liberation for Tashi, a chance to shed her reputation as nothing more than 'the girl who fucks herself with a racket all day'. After publicly confronting Chandler Prescott for spreading that disgusting rumour, she had hoped to gain some sort of an apology. But those mindless idiots would blindly follow any order from the muscle-headed jock.

In a perfect world, her parents would have sent her to a prestigious boarding school, preferably one focused on tennis. But no, her father had insisted on being her coach. Tashi had endured years of relentless criticism and harsh training sessions from her father, his words driving her to relentlessly perfect her serve. There was even one night when they had missed dinner entirely, caught up in endless drills and corrections. By the time they returned home, Kenan and Demetrius were already fast asleep. And ‘Father of The Year goes to…’

Knock, knock, knock.

Startled from her thoughts, Tashi whips her head towards her bedroom door. Her initial assumption is that it's her mom, ready to give her a guilt-laden lecture about not being able to sway her father at dinner. But to her surprise, something much better awaits on the other side.

"Come in," She calls out from her bed, still fixated on the ceiling.

The door creaks open and she hears the pitter patter of tiny feet approaching. With a grin spreading across her face, Tashi finally abandons the popcorn-textured surface above and sits upright.

Like a little gremlin, Kenan's head is the first to pop out from behind his sister's door, followed closely by his older and taller brother Demetrius. Their mischievous smiles mirror each other as they enter the room, and Tashi can't help but feel a surge of joy and warmth in their presence.

“Hey, guys!”Tashi's cheerful voice echoed through the room as she greeted her brothers, her body quickly sitting up in bed. She adjusted her collection of stuffed animals and pillows, already anticipating the weight of her brothers collapsing onto the soft surface.

"What's going on?" Tashi asked, a wide smile spreading across her face as she watched her brothers make themselves comfortable on her bed. Kenan reached for her beloved Lilo and Stitch plushie, while Demetrius fluffed up a pillow and prepared to lounge. Their presence filled the room with warmth and comfort, like three puzzle pieces perfectly fitting together.

Demetrius rested his hands behind his head, stretching out his body and crossing his legs on Tashi's bed. His voice was smooth and confident as he spoke, "I know it's nowhere near the cool high school parties you're used to, but I promise this will be worth your while."

Kenan couldn't contain his excitement, bursting into giggles and exclaiming, "It's a super-duper ultra secret party, for Duncan siblings only!"

He playfully tossed a Stitch plushie into the air before it landed straight towards Tashi's head. The siblings erupted in laughter at Kenan's enthusiasm. In that moment, Tashi couldn't help but feel a twinge of warmth in her heart at her siblings' genuine excitement.

"A party, huh? What's the occasion?" Tashi asked with a raised eyebrow.

Kenan's mischievous grin grew wider. "We're celebrating the end of summer and because...um, because you're the best big sister ever!"

Demetrius rolled his eyes at Kenan's words but couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at his lips. Tashi chuckled at her brother's earnestness. Their wide-eyed and energetic natures never failed to bring a smile to her face.

They were her biggest supporters, always finding ways to lift her spirits even in her darkest moments. But tonight was different, the argument with their father had changed something within Tashi and she was determined not to back down. She would not be silenced or dismissed any longer.

Tashi chuckled, a bittersweet sound that held a hint of laughter and sadness. "That's sweet, you guys," she exclaimed, her voice carrying in the quiet night air.

"But I have to be up early for practice tomorrow," she reminded them, raising an eyebrow at Kenan playfully. She made a funny face at him, causing him to burst into laughter.

Demetrius' expression shifted, his face falling slightly as he realised their time together was limited. "It's just for one night," he pleaded, trying to find a solution. "You can sleep over in our room too." His eyes searched hers, silently begging her to just stay up for a little longer.

Tashi rose gracefully from her spot on the bed and lowered herself to the ground, kneeling next to her brothers. She placed a gentle hand on each of their shoulders, offering comfort in her touch. "I'm sorry I can't join you tonight," she said softly, her eyes filled with regret. "But I promise, we’ll get ice cream after practice tomorrow instead, okay?

“Just the three of us." Her voice held a hint of excitement at the thought of their special tradition and the bond they shared as siblings.

Kenan's bottom lip jutted out in a pout, but his eyes glimmered with anticipation at the thought of their special outing. Even without words, his eager nod showed his agreement. Demetrius, always one for adventure, grinned widely and eagerly joined in with a nod of his own. Their shared excitement for the promised treat radiated through the space between them and into the world around them, like beams of sunlight bursting through the clouds.

Tashi gently pressed her lips to each of their foreheads before ushering the boys back to their room. She couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia, remembering how her own mother used to tuck her into bed. Kenan was still young enough to be tucked in, his soft face peaceful as he settled under the covers. Demetrius, on the other hand, was growing too old for such gestures, and Tashi couldn't help but wonder if he missed being coddled like this. With the night light casting a warm glow over their shared room, Tashi made sure everything was in place before finally making her way back to her own room down the hall.

As she let out a sigh, Tashi climbed into bed and reached over to switch off the bedside lamp. As she pulled the covers up to her chin, she let out a contented sigh. For a while, she lay there in the darkness, listening intently to the sounds of the house settling for the night. The creaks and groans of old wood echoed through the walls, accompanied by the distant murmur of her parents' voices down the hall. It was a comforting sound, one that had been a constant in her life since childhood.

As time went on, even those familiar noises faded away, leaving behind complete silence. But Tashi couldn't seem to quiet her mind. Restlessness consumed her as her thoughts continued to buzz with everything she was missing out on. The party, the chance to let go and be just another carefree teenager, if only for a few hours. She knew she shouldn't care so much about fitting in, but she did. How could she not when it felt like she was constantly an outsider looking in?

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one weighed down by the oppressive stillness of the house. Tashi couldn't fight the temptation any longer - she had to know what was happening at the party, even if she couldn't be there. With a sense of defeat, she took matters into her own hands and turned to her last resort.

With her bunny slippers on, Tashi tiptoes down the creaky stairs, wincing at every small sound. The house seems to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the refrigerator and the occasional snore from her father's room. Moonlight spills through the windows, casting long shadows across the living room as Tashi makes her way to her target tucked away in the corner.

The family computer was strategically placed here for a reason, under the gazes of old photographs of distant family members and her technophobic mother. Tashi had been here a thousand times, but tonight, it felt different—like she was doing something forbidden. Her parents had made it clear that she wasn’t allowed to have a Facebook account, let alone use the computer without permission. But she needed this, needed to feel connected to her friends, even if it was just through a screen.

The ancient machine whirs to life, the fan sputtering like an old car engine. Tashi anxiously drums her fingers on the desk, willing the computer to boot up faster. Finally, the familiar chime of the dial-up connection fills the air, and Tashi quickly mutes the speakers, her heart racing at the thought of waking her parents.

As Tashi logged into Facebook, a flood of images and status updates assaulted her senses, pulling her from the quiet isolation of her room into the buzzing life of the party she was missing. The screen became a kaleidoscope of colour and emotion, each snapshot of the night hitting her like a wave crashing against the shore. Every post, every comment felt like a direct invitation to join in, and yet, she remained on the outside looking in. The party, which had taken on an almost mythic quality in her imagination, was now laid bare in front of her—an explosion of energy captured in still frames and carefully chosen words, all beckoning her to be part of the action she was forbidden to attend.

Tashi’s heart fluttered with a mix of excitement and longing as she scrolled through her newsfeed. There it was, the event she had been eagerly anticipating but couldn't attend—’Chandler Prescott’s party’. The photos filled the screen in a burst of vibrant colour and motion, documenting moments of pure joy and careless abandon. Red solo cups clutched in hands, the neon glow of lights bathing smiling faces in a bright, electric haze. The music, though silent on her screen, seemed to thrum through the images, the rhythm palpable in the dancing bodies and laughing faces.

Her eyes flicked over the photos, recognizing the faces that populated her everyday life but felt so distant tonight. Jessica, draped over her new boyfriend, her heartbreak from last week seemingly erased in the neon glow. Chandler himself, his wide grin as infectious as ever, stood in the centre of it all, arms slung around a group of friends, owning the night as if it were made for him. The photos seemed to pulse with life, and with each scroll, Tashi felt the tug of longing grow stronger, the pull to be there, to belong.

The vibrant colours of the party lit up her screen, the red of the cups and the swirl of light leaving Tashi feeling as though she were standing on the edge of something thrilling and untouchable. Her fingers, adorned with glittering nail polish and delicate rings, hovered over the keyboard, itching to click “like” or leave a comment—just something to remind everyone she was still part of the crowd, even though she wasn’t there.

But as quickly as excitement sparked, hesitation cooled it. What if someone asked why she wasn’t at the party? The unspoken question lurked in the back of her mind, casting a shadow over the bright photos. Tashi could already hear the judgments, the whispers about her absence. She wasn’t like the others—free to come and go as they pleased, slipping in and out of each other’s lives with no consequences. Her father’s strict rules dictated her every move, and the idea of telling anyone that she wasn’t allowed to go felt humiliating.

Her hand paused on the keyboard, the gentle hum of the computer filling the quiet, empty space of her room. The contrast between the quietness of her reality and the explosive energy of the party was stark, the divide almost too much to bear. The loneliness crept in, wrapping around her as she scrolled, trying to feel a part of it all without being there.

And then, amidst the constant stream of content, a new notification popped up on the screen—a friend request. It blinked at her like a neon sign in a dark alley, flashing with the promise of something new, something unexpected. Tashi’s pulse quickened, her fingers trembling slightly as her cursor hovered over the notification, curiosity bubbling up inside her.

Maya Pratt-Duncan.

Tashi's eyelids fluttered, her mind scrambling to catch up with what her eyes were seeing. ‘Duncan?’ The last name was unmistakable. Her heart raced, like it was trying to outrun the sudden reality pressing in on her. Could this be a coincidence, or was there something bigger at play? Her gaze locked onto the profile picture—Maya Pratt-Duncan. A girl, possibly her age, with lustrous dark hair and piercing brown eyes that felt almost unsettlingly familiar, like staring into a mirror warped by time and circumstance.

With a growing sense of unease, Tashi clicked on Maya’s profile, desperate to make sense of it all. The photos revealed a life both familiar and alien, a world that felt connected to hers in ways she didn’t yet understand. Pictures of Maya with an older couple—her grandparents, Tashi guessed—smiling in front of sprawling estates, on beaches, and in sunny parts of California. The girl's life seemed elegant, effortless, almost picturesque.

But one photo in particular made Tashi’s breath hitch and her fingers freeze. It was Maya, standing proudly beside a brand-new Mercedes Benz convertible, a beaming smile lighting up her face as she posed with balloons in hand. Happy Sweet 16, the caption read, the milestone dripping with wealth and privilege. The sight of the sparkling car and the girl’s seemingly perfect life stirred something deep within Tashi—a pang of envy, sure, but also confusion. This wasn’t just some random girl with the same last name.

Tashi’s fingers gripped the sides of her mouse, her mind racing. Who was Maya really? What did she want, reaching out now, in the dead of night? Tashi's instincts told her to log off; to shut the computer and pretend she had never seen the notification. But something deeper—a gnawing curiosity, a flicker of something she couldn’t quite place—compelled her to stay. Her finger hesitated for only a moment before she clicked “Accept.”

Friend request accepted!

The quiet of the house pressed in around her, the only sound of the faint hum of her computer and her own shallow breathing. The air felt heavier now, as though the night itself had thickened with anticipation. Every second stretched into an eternity, her chest tightening as the weight of her decision sank in. What now? Was Maya going to say something? Tashi stared at the screen, her heart pounding in her ears, waiting for something to happen.

And then, just as Tashi was about to log off, a notification popped up at the bottom of the screen.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hi.

One simple word, but it might as well have been a grenade. Tashi stared at it, her breath caught in her throat. Hi? That was it? A single, casual greeting that felt completely at odds with the intensity of what was unfolding inside her. She didn’t know what she had expected—some grand explanation, perhaps, or an answer to the million questions racing through her mind—but instead, it was just hi.

Tashi’s fingers hovered above the keyboard, her thoughts swirling in every direction. What should I say? How did she even begin to respond? Her eyes flicked back to Maya’s profile picture, those familiar brown eyes staring back at her, waiting.

Against her better judgement, Tashi began to type.

Tashi Duncan: Hi... Do I know you?

BEL-AIR CALIFORNIA – Earlier That Evening

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the sprawling Bel-Air mansion, the only sound that could be heard was the soft click of high heels echoing against polished marble. It was a rhythmic heartbeat in a world of opulence, as if the very walls were pulsing with wealth and privilege.

The sound belonged to Maya Pratt-Duncan, heir to this legacy, gingerly making her way through the hallowed interior of her grandparents' walk-in closet. The room itself was a symphony of silence, each piece carefully chosen to exude taste and refinement. The scent of fine leather mingled with aged cedarwood, creating an intoxicating aroma that enveloped her senses.

In the full-length mirror, her reflection stared back at her—dark waves cascading over her shoulders, hazel eyes narrowed in concentration. She wore a sleek black silk dress that whispered against her skin, a perfect embodiment of Bel-Air glamour and sophistication. Yet despite her effortless appearance, there was a restlessness lurking beneath the surface.

Maya's delicate fingers traced the smooth, high-quality fabrics of blouses and tailored suits, each one exuding a faint scent of her grandmother's signature perfume—a blend of rose with a hint of amber. Tabitha and Winston's closet was like an enchanted treasure trove, filled with luxuriously crafted pieces that held stories and memories within their threads. Each item was carefully selected, like a chapter in the grand saga of her family's life of wealth and elegance. Maya's eyes roamed over the shelves, searching for the sleek Chanel purse she had lent Tabitha for last Sunday's church service.

She let out a heavy sigh, knowing it could be hidden anywhere in this labyrinth of a closet. Her mind couldn't help but wonder why she had offered to lend her grandmother the purse in the first place—Tabitha had always admired Maya's impeccable sense of style and would have no doubt appreciated any accessory loaned to her. In fact, during their shopping trip at the Chanel store, after hearing Tabitha gush about the purse, Maya insisted on buying one for herself as well. But her generous grandmother, always wanting to share, suggested that she simply borrow Maya's when she wasn't using it. Well, now none of us can use it, Gam Gam!

"Come on, where are you?" Frustration bubbled up in Maya's chest as she rummaged through hat boxes and garment bags, determined to find what she was looking for. She pulled out each box methodically, scanning its contents before placing it back with a huff. Chloé Fall 1997—nothing, Ralph Lauren Spring 2002—nothing, Saint Laurent Winter 1989—nothing! Each box accumulated to everything but her purse. Maya’s search continued; she couldn't help but feel like she was getting closer to the elusive item.

Finally, her eyes landed on a worn box hidden behind a row of perfectly aligned shoes. She hadn't noticed it before, but the faded logo on top made her heart skip a beat. Fendi. Maybe there would be something even better inside, she thought with a mischievous grin.

With eager anticipation, she lifted the lid.

But the sight that greeted her made her breath catch in her throat.

It wasn't Fendi.

As Maya lifted the lid of the delicate box, she was met with a collection of items that felt intimately personal. Her fingers delicately brushed over yellowed tissue paper, revealing treasures within. One item in particular caught her eye—a small, red Cartier box. She knew what it held before even opening it - an engraved Love bracelet bearing a name she knew all too well—Shayla Pratt. Her mother. A pang of emotion tightened Maya's chest as she slowly pulled out the bracelet and placed it around her wrist, admiring its timeless beauty. Beneath the larger Fendi box laid a stack of photographs that Maya had never seen before.

Each one captured a moment in her mother's life, from her 3rd birthday to her middle school portrait. But it was the photo of her mother at the bottom of a staircase in her prom dress that struck a chord with Maya. She stood next to a young man, presumably her date for the evening, with a wide smile and an air of youthful joy exuding from every inch of the frame. These photos were windows into moments of her mother's past that Maya had never known, and they filled her with a mix of longing for someone she never knew.

Maya had always been curious about her mother, but the stories she heard were always fragmented, like puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together. Tabitha and Winston rarely spoke of Shayla, their voices hushed and hesitant as if afraid to awaken old ghosts. But in this moment, as Maya sifted through her mother's belongings, she finally felt a connection to the woman she had never known. The scent of lavender and memories lingered in the air, drawing Maya deeper into the closet where secrets were hidden behind closed doors. She traced her fingers over old photographs and trinkets, trying to piece together the puzzle of her mother's life. Why had her grandparents kept these objects hidden from her? Why had they never shared these precious pieces of her mother’s life?

A loud, sudden knock at the closet door jolted Maya out of her deep thoughts. The sound echoed through the quiet space, causing her heart to skip a beat and her fingers to tremble on the delicate photographs in her hands. She had been completely absorbed in the world of her mother's past, so much so that she had almost forgotten where she was—or rather, where she wasn't supposed to be. A sense of panic washed over her as she realised the danger of getting caught exploring this forbidden part of her mother's life.

As the weight of her actions came crashing down, a wave of guilt washed over Maya. Yes, she had been granted permission to search through her grandparent's closet, but this box was clearly not meant for her eyes. It was carefully packed away and hidden deep within the closet, almost as if it held some dark secret. Maya's heart raced as she quickly and carefully placed the photographs back inside followed by the Cartier box, her hands trembling with both fear and excitement. She swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat as she hurriedly closed the lid, the forbidden nature of her exploration sinking in. The weight of her actions weighed heavily on her conscience as she quietly backed out of the closet, promising herself never to cross that line again.

She stood up just as the knock came again, this time followed by a soft voice.

“Miss Maya?”

It was Ettie, the Pratt’s housekeeper, her voice gentle but insistent through the door. Maya’s heart steadied, realising that she was in good company. Her presence offered a sense of comfort in her confused state. Frozen for a moment, Maya wasn't sure what to do with the information she had just discovered. Should I reveal it to Ettie? Would that put her in danger of her grandparents finding out? After all, Ettie was bound by her loyalty to them and Maya wouldn't want to jeopardise her job by keeping secrets.

Taking a deep breath and straightening her posture, Maya cleared her throat and composed herself. Her voice remained steady, portraying no hint of the turmoil going on inside her mind. "Yes, Ettie?" She responded calmly, ready to navigate this delicate situation.

The ancient wooden door creaked open, revealing Ettie's serene features and warm smile. She stood upright before Maya, her posture exuding grace and professionalism, her arms neatly tucked behind her back. With a gentle tone, she conveyed the message from Maya's grandparents. “The driver’s waiting out front.” Ettie's eyes sparkled with excitement as she spoke, she had assisted in Maya’s preparations for dinner tonight, meticulously pressing her dress earlier that day. "Your grandparents are eagerly waiting downstairs."

Maya nodded, flashing her a warm, grateful smile as she replied. “Thank you, Ettie. I’ll be down in a minute.”

Ettie hesitated, her sharp gaze flickering towards the boxes and racks of clothing, sensing that something was amiss. Her dark eyes were filled with a hint of concern. But she didn’t press further, instead offering a small smile of reassurance. “Very well, Miss Maya. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

With that, she gently closed the door behind her, leaving Maya alone once more in the dimly lit closet. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut, Maya exhaled deeply, her shoulders slumping as the tension in her chest loosened. She turned back to the box, her mind still reeling from the weight of what she had uncovered.

Her gaze lingered on the closed lid for a few seconds longer, tempted to dive back in and uncover more pieces of her mother’s hidden past. But the reminder of the waiting driver—and her grandparents’ inevitable impatience—pulled her back to the present. Not now, she told herself sternly, though every fibre of her being yearned to stay. Later. I’ll figure it out later. Maybe when there’s more time and less pressure. For now, duty called, and she couldn't afford to delay any longer. Giving it a final glance, Maya hastily snatched the nearest purse and made her way to the top of the stairs in a hurry.

In the grand foyer, Tabitha stood on her tiptoes beside Winston, her delicate fingers expertly adjusting his bowtie as he checked his watch. Winston, known for his stoic demeanour, remained unfazed by her ministrations, his determination focused on making it to their dinner reservation on time. Maya descended the spiral staircase with deliberate grace, her heels clicking against the polished marble steps in perfect rhythm. Her grandparents, waiting at the bottom of the stairs, turned towards her with warm smiles of approval. The chandelier above cast a brilliant glow over the scene, highlighting every elegant detail of Maya’s outfit.

Winston's voice softened as he took in the sight of Maya, standing before him in a breathtaking dress. "There's our girl," he said, his eyes shining with pride.

Tabitha let out a soft gasp as she took in her granddaughter 's appearance. "Valentino, of course," she exclaimed with a gleam in her eye, stepping back to admire Maya from head to toe. "You look stunning, my dear. Truly."

Maya's dress was a masterpiece of delicate silk clad in sparkling diamonds against her clavicle, hugging her figure perfectly and cascading down to her knees. The colour was a rich shade of black that complimented her skin tone and brought out the richness of her brown eyes. Not a single imperfection was present, Ettie meticulously had inspected the expensive fabric, ensuring that not a single trace of lint could be found.

Maya looked like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus. Her presence was striking, like a celestial being gracing the mortal world with her ethereal beauty. She exuded confidence and grace, her form draped in a stunning masterpiece that seemed to have been woven by the hands of divine beings. Her aura was radiating and regal, as if she had descended from the heavens above to bless the mundane earth with her divine presence.

Winston's heart swelled with pride and love as he gazed upon his granddaughter . She stood before him, a vision of beauty and grace, radiating an aura of elegance that captivated him. "You are truly remarkable, Maya," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration and awe at her presence. His eyes followed the gentle curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes, feeling grateful for every moment spent in her company.

Despite having heard these words from her grandparents before, Maya's heart swelled with warmth and happiness as she basked in the affirmations from her beloved grandparents. "Thank you, Gam Gam, Papa. I'm glad you like it," she beamed.

Tabitha, ever observant, tilted her head and studied Maya closely. The bag clad against Maya’s shoulder was indeed not Chanel, on the contrary it’s Louis Vuitton! Her piercing gaze made Maya feel as though her thoughts were being read like an open book. "Did you find your purse?" she asked.

For a moment, Maya hesitated, thinking about the box that lay hidden inside her grandparent’s closet—the bracelet, the photographs—and a lump formed in her throat. But ever the lady, Maya bottled everything in, now was not the time to open that door. Not yet.

"Oh, I...found something better," she said with a quiet but firm voice. Tabitha raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by Maya's response, but she did not press further. Maya could sense the curiosity behind her grandmother's composed expression.

Winston stepped in, gesturing towards the door.

"Shall we? The driver's waiting," he said politely, breaking the tension in the air with his gentle tone.

The evening air was crisp, the breeze whispered through the door as they stepped outside, the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers tickling their noses. Two sleek and shiny black Mercedes-Benz S-Classes waited in the driveway, their engines humming softly.

Tabitha and Winston moved towards the first car with practised ease, their movements coordinated and fluid. Maya, on the other hand, was left to ride alone in the second car. Tabitha had made it clear that a lady must always ride in the back seat unless her suitor is behind the wheel. Maya climbed into the back seat of the luxurious vehicle, sinking into the plush leather seats as the door clicked shut behind her.

As the car glided smoothly down the long driveway, Maya's mind drifted back to the mysterious box she had discovered earlier that day. She couldn't help but wonder about her mother's past and what secrets it held. What kind of life had her mother lived before Maya was born? And why had her story been kept hidden for so many years. More importantly, why was her father's identity still shrouded in secrecy?

The questions swirled through Maya's mind as she gazed out at the passing trees and houses, lost in her own thoughts. The faint scent of leather mixed with a hint of expensive perfume filled the air, aiding in Maya’s thought process as she contemplated her next move within the car. With every mile travelled, Maya felt herself getting closer to unlocking the mysteries of her past.

The soft hum of the Mercedes-Benz came to a halt as the driver opened Maya's door. She stepped out gracefully, the cool evening air brushing against her skin, bringing with it the scent of fine dining and the distant murmur of city life. She stood for a moment, adjusting the folds of her dress, and glanced toward the other car, where her grandparents were already emerging with the practised elegance of people long accustomed to being in the public eye.

Tabitha stepped out first, her movements graceful and precise, as if she were still a young socialite descending a ballroom staircase. She wore a navy-blue floor-length dress accented with a ruffle faux-wrap skirt, tailored to perfection, her hair pinned back in a classic chignon that added to her air of timeless sophistication. Winston followed close behind, straightening the jacket of his black Armani three-piece suit as the driver helped him out of the car. Though age had softened his posture, there was still a commanding presence about him, his jaw set with purpose, his eyes sharp behind wire-rimmed glasses.

They met at the entrance of the restaurant, an upscale establishment known for its exclusivity and clientele that valued privacy as much as they did luxury. The restaurant's facade gleamed in the glow of well-placed lighting; its grand double doors made of rich mahogany with gold-plated handles. A valet rushed to collect the keys, but Winston waved him off with a curt nod, the gesture practised and swift.

Tabitha turned to Maya, her keen eyes sweeping over her granddaughter  as if seeing her for the first time that night. A glimmer of pride and mischief danced in her gaze as she spoke, her voice warm but controlled.

"You know, my dear, if you're lucky tonight, you may catch the eye of a suitor," she said in a hushed tone, her gaze lingering on Maya's figure dressed in the stunning gown. "That dress fits you like a glove. I wouldn't be surprised if every boy cracked their necks just to catch a glimpse of you."

Maya let out a polite laugh, hoping her hand would hold back the noise. "Oh my god, grandma! Can we please just enjoy one night without you trying to set me up?" She glanced around nervously, making sure no one had overheard their conversation. The music hummed in the background, punctuated by distant laughter and chatter from patrons. The warm mood lighting and scents of the restaurant surrounded them, adding to the serene atmosphere of the evening.

The family made their way into the restaurant, greeted by the Hostess standing within the entrance. The mere sight of Winston and Tabitha Pratt straightens her posture. Her bright smile widened in recognition as they stepped towards her, extending a hand to greet them.

“Mr. and Mrs. Pratt, it’s wonderful to see you again,” she said with a professional warmth.

“Right this way, your table is ready.”

Winston nodded politely but remained reserved as the Hostess led them inside. The interior of the restaurant was dimly lit, designed to give each table a sense of privacy. The gentle clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation filled the air, along with the rich aroma of aged wine and freshly prepared dishes. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a soft glow over the dark mahogany tables and velvet chairs. The ambiance was luxurious without being overly opulent, the kind of place where elegance spoke quietly but confidently.

The Hostess's eyes lit up at the sight of Maya, remembering the conversation she had with Mr. Pratt over the phone confirming his reservation. Her smile widened as she led them deeper into the elegant restaurant, weaving through tables and patrons with ease. "And congratulations to Miss Duncan," she said warmly, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

"I heard a rumour that it’s your senior year next fall, and as always you’re here for your pre-semester celebratory dinner." Maya offered a grateful smile, placing a hand over her heart in appreciation for the Hostess's thoughtfulness. She hadn't expected her to know about the occasion, but then again, their frequent visits to the restaurant made them familiar faces among the staff. "Thank you so much," she replied softly, her elegant voice barely audible above the gentle hum of conversation in the restaurant lounge.

As the Pratt-Duncan family were shown to their seats, the Hostess leaned in towards Maya with a hint of mischief. "Just so you know, we have something special for you in the back," she whispered conspiratorially. "Courtesy of the old man over there." She nodded towards Mr. Pratt, who was currently engaged in a playful dance with his eyebrows, trying to make Maya laugh. And it worked—she couldn't help but let out a giggle at his antics. The Hostess placed a finger over her lips, letting out a soft shushing sound before darting off to attend to other guests.

Winston, ever the gentleman, helped his wife into her seat before he took his own. With precise movements, he unfolded her chair, guided her carefully towards it and smoothly shifted her snugly against the table. Shortly after, Winston did the same for his granddaughter, taking the same amount of care he did for his wife.

He then joined them after, grabbing his spectacles from his hidden jacket pocket preparing to read what the restaurant had to offer. The attentive wait staff appeared almost instantly, presenting the trio with menus and pouring chilled water into their sparkling glasses. The soft clinking of silverware and hushed conversations filled the air as the couple perused the extensive wine list in search of the perfect pairing for their meal.

The first course arrived, heralded by a symphony of smells that wafted from the kitchen. A delicate salad of heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella was presented with a drizzle of bright green basil oil, each ingredient carefully placed like an artist's brushstrokes on a canvas. Maya's grandparents launched into their usual conversation about the restaurant's use of seasonal produce, but her mind was elsewhere.

She picked at the salad, her fork moving absently across the plate, as she tried to ground herself in the familiar conversation around her. But her thoughts were consumed by the events of earlier that evening, causing her to drift in and out of conversation, struggling to maintain a facade of normalcy in her off behaviour.

Winston took a sip of his wine and glanced at his granddaughter  over the rim of his glass. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight, Maya-Mia.” He remarked, his voice calm but observant. “Is something on your mind?”

Maya looked up, startled by the directness of the question. She set her fork down carefully, the metal clinking softly against the plate. “I’ve just... had a lot on my mind lately.”

Tabitha’s eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze sharp and knowing. “What could possibly be weighing so heavily on your mind, darling? You were so excited about tonight.”

Maya hesitated, feeling the tension coil tighter in her chest. She glanced down at her napkin, unsure of how to broach the topic. Her pulse quickened, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out.

“I found something in your closet earlier today,” she said, her voice softer than she intended but laden with unspoken meaning. “Something belonging to my mother.”

Tabitha stiffened, her perfectly composed expression faltering for a split second before hardening into something more controlled. Winston set his glass down slowly, his eyes flicking between his wife and granddaughter , sensing the shift in tone.

“Maya,” Tabitha began, her voice low and measured, “You shouldn’t have been going through my things.”

“I wasn’t snooping,” Maya said, her frustration bubbling up. “I was looking for my purse, but I found... I found a box. A box of Mom’s things.”

The atmosphere at the table became suffocating, heavy with the weight of unspoken truths that hung in the air like a leaden curtain. Maya's heartbeat wildly as she studied her grandmother's face, desperately searching for any sign of vulnerability or explanation. But all she could see was the same carefully crafted mask of control that Tabitha always wore so effortlessly. It was a barrier between them, a fortress built to keep Maya out and the truth hidden within. The tension in the room was palpable, like a storm brewing on the horizon, ready to erupt at any moment.

“And what exactly did you find in that box?” Tabitha asked, her tone sharp, almost daring Maya to continue.

“Photographs,” Maya said, her voice trembling slightly. “Especially the ones of her at prom... with a boy. He seemed to be a big part of her life, judging by how often he showed up in the other photos.”

Tabitha’s expression tightened, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as if bracing herself for what was to come. The room suddenly felt heavier, the silence between them thick with unspoken truths.

“Why didn’t you ever show me any of this?” Maya asked, her voice softer now, almost pleading.

Winston shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat as he placed his hands flat on the table. “Maya, we didn’t think it was necessary. Your mother’s past—”

“Her past matters!” Maya interrupted, her emotions flaring now, unable to keep the frustration contained. “She was my mother, and I deserve to know about her. And about my father.”

The word hung in the air, charged with the tension of years of secrets and silence. Tabitha’s jaw tightened; her lips pressed into a thin line.

“Maya, this isn’t the time or place for such discussions,” Winston said, his voice suddenly stern, as if hoping to steer the conversation back to safer waters. “We’re here to celebrate—”

“I’m tired of waiting for the right time,” Maya cut him off, her voice firm. “I’ve waited my whole life to know who he is. And you’ve kept that from me.”

The table fell into a hush once more, the gentle clinking of silverware and murmurs of conversation serving as a backdrop to the tension brewing between them. Winston released a heavy sigh, stealing a quick glance at Tabitha for any sign of approval before daring to speak again. But before he could, Tabitha's voice cut through the quiet like a sharp knife, low but unwavering in its conviction. The air around them felt charged with unspoken words and unrelenting emotions, a storm on the brink of breaking.

“You are going to be a respectful young lady, and you’re going to enjoy this wonderful night your grandfather has prepared for you,” Tabitha said, her voice cold and unwavering, her eyes locked on Maya’s with an intensity that left no room for argument. The tension in the air was palpable, the unspoken command clear as her gaze bore into her granddaughter’s. “That’s all.”

Maya's breath caught in her throat, her hazel eyes darting towards the plate of food in front of her as she struggled to regain her composure. Her grandmother's words still echoed in her mind, sending a surge of emotions through her body. What Tabitha said left her feeling smaller than ever before. She had always been hard on Maya, pushing her to become a refined and sophisticated young woman, but this felt like something deeper, more damaging.

The wait staff appeared with dessert, a rich and indulgent chocolate torte that looked almost too beautiful to eat. Maya hesitated before taking a small bite, not wanting to seem ungrateful for her grandfather's efforts. The sweetness exploded on her tongue, but she couldn't fully savour it amidst the turmoil within her. She forced herself to take a few more bites, trying to push aside the memories and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her.

The rest of the meal passed in uneasy silence, but the night was far from over. Winston still had one trick up his sleeve, a surprise that would surely make Maya's heart skip a beat. With a sly smile, he waved the waiter over to their table and whispered his instructions. The waiter nodded eagerly and disappeared into the kitchen.

After a few moments, the waiter returned with a silver cloche in hand. He approached the Pratt's table and stood next to Maya, who looked both confused and excited at the same time. With a flourish, he placed the cloche in front of her and lifted the lid to reveal a small red box—a Cartier one, to be exact. Maya gasped in shock, her eyes widening as she took in the luxurious packaging. Without hesitation, she reached for it and eagerly pried open the package.

Inside was exactly what she had anticipated: a gleaming Cartier Love bracelet, the very same one she found in her grandmother’s closet. But this one was different, her name was engraved on it in delicate script—Maya Pratt-Duncan. Her heart swelled with emotion as she slipped the bracelet onto her wrist and admired it in awe. Winston truly knew how to make a girl feel special.

A single tear slipped down Maya's cheek, her emotions threatening to burst through her usual composed manner. She cast a grateful glance at her grandparents, who shared a knowing look with her. Her heart overflowed with love and gratitude for their thoughtfulness.

Winston reached out a comforting hand to his granddaughter , his touch gentle, sensing the whirlwind of emotions she must be feeling upon receiving the gift. The delicate bracelet gleamed softly in the dim light, its intricate design mirroring the one they had given her mother on the eve of her senior year—a tradition quietly upheld. It was their way of passing down a piece of history, a symbol of their love and the legacy she carried.

“It’s beautiful, I love it! Thank you,” Maya said, her voice tinged with emotion as she ran her fingers over the cool metal, feeling the weight of the moment.

“You’re welcome, baby girl,” Winston replied, his soft smile warming the air between them. His eyes, filled with pride and tenderness, lingered on her face, knowing the significance of the gift was more than words could convey.

As the evening drew to a close, Winston reached for his wallet and carefully placed his black American Express card. He made sure to add a generous tip for their exceptional service. The family gracefully made their way through the crowded restaurant, exchanging pleasantries with the Hostess before stepping out into the crisp California night air.

The chauffeurs, now donning windbreakers to protect against the chill, stood patiently by their sleek black cars. The soft glow of the streetlights illuminated the bustling city streets as they climbed into their luxurious vehicles, bidding farewell to a tension filled, yet wonderful evening.

Tabitha insisted on riding back with Maya, her earlier tension softened only slightly. Winston, silent but composed as always, leaned down to kiss Tabitha and Maya's cheeks before giving his granddaughter  a brief but reassuring nod. He then strode towards his own car, the gravel crunching beneath his dress shoes as he jumped into the back seat.

The air was filled with a peaceful stillness, like a calm before the storm. Despite the tension that lingered between them, Maya and Tabitha remained outwardly cordial as they made their way to the car soon after. But beneath the surface, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings hung heavily in the air.

Tabitha climbed into the passenger seat beside Maya, her movements sharp and controlled, as though she was holding back more than she let on. The silence between them was thick, oppressive, as if neither wanted to be the first to acknowledge the strain that had settled between them.

The city lights blurred outside the window, casting fleeting shadows across Tabitha’s face, her expression unreadable. Maya’s fingers fidgeted in her lap, but she didn’t dare break the quiet. It was the kind of silence that wrapped around you, uncomfortable and suffocating, where every second felt stretched too long, and every thought felt too loud.

Each mile passed with the tension growing heavier, filling the car until it seemed like the air itself was too thick to breathe. Maya glanced at her grandmother out of the corner of her eye, the tightness in Tabitha’s jaw, the way her hands clenched slightly in her lap—small tells of a woman who rarely let anything show.

Halfway through the drive, Tabitha finally spoke, her voice low and deliberate, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Everything we’ve done, Maya, has been to protect you.”

Maya’s heart pounded, her throat tightening as she waited for more, but Tabitha’s gaze remained fixed on the window, her reflection cold and distant, refusing to meet Maya’s eyes. The city lights flickered in and out of view, and for a brief moment, the shadows danced across Tabitha’s face, hardening her already stern features.

“I hope you understand that, at the very least,” Tabitha added, her tone layered with expectation and finality, as if she were handing down a decree rather than seeking any true understanding.

The estate gates loomed ahead, and as the car slowed, Tabitha finally turned to face Maya, her eyes softening just slightly, though the steel behind them remained.

“Your father, his name is Kevin…Kevin Duncan.” she repeated, as if weighing the words carefully. Her tone was more resigned now, less sharp, but still carrying an unmistakable finality. “He was... someone your mother loved, but he wasn’t right for her. Or for you.”

Maya’s breath hitched. She had always imagined this moment—hearing her father’s name for the first time—but now that it was here, it felt surreal. Kevin Duncan. The name reverberated in her mind, unfamiliar yet suddenly so significant. Who was he? Why had he been hidden from her all these years?

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about him?” Maya asked, her voice quieter now, almost pleading. “All these years... I had no idea.”

Tabitha sighed, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly. “We thought it was best to shield you from him after your mother’s death. Your mother... She made certain choices, Maya. Your father felt the same way.”

Maya frowned, confusion swirling through her. Choices? What choices? The vague hints about her mother’s past only fuelled her frustration. “What do you mean?”

Tabitha’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “It’s not something you need to worry about now.”

Maya opened her mouth to protest, but the car had already come to a smooth stop in front of the estate’s grand entrance. The soft glow of the porch lights illuminated the sweeping driveway, casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Tabitha straightened her posture and reached for the door, the conversation seemingly over.

Stepping out of the car, Maya was greeted by a chill in the air that seemed to seep into her bones. Despite the coolness, she couldn't shake off the feeling of suffocation—trapped in a tangled web of secrets spun by her grandparents, a burden she had carried for as long as she could remember. Tabitha's expression softened as she turned towards her granddaughter , though there was still a hint of authority in her voice. "Get some rest, love. I know tonight wasn't what you expected."

Maya nodded, her mind racing with thoughts and questions. She tried to calm herself, but the tension in her body was palpable. "Goodnight, Grandma," she said, her voice betraying her unease.

The night air whispered through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth, adding a touch of tranquillity to an otherwise tense situation. But for Maya, sleep would not come easily. She couldn't shake off the feeling that something was amiss. Tabitha gave her a brief, restrained smile before heading into the house, leaving Maya standing alone in the driveway for a moment. As she gazed up at the stars twinkling above, she couldn't help but feel small and insignificant in comparison.

Finally, she made her way into the house, the heavy door clicking shut behind her, sealing her in with the echoes of the night. The family portrait in the entrance hall seemed to watch her as she passed, the frozen smiles of her grandparents a stark contrast to the tension that had followed her home. The grand staircase loomed before her, its marble steps gleaming under the soft chandelier light, spiralling upward like a pathway to another world. Maya took each step slowly, her fingers trailing along the polished bannister, each movement deliberate, as if she could somehow delay the thoughts swirling in her mind.

Her room waited at the top—her sanctuary, untouched by time, a snapshot of a younger Maya’s dreams and desires. The door creaked open, revealing a world drenched in soft, romantic hues of pink and white, where everything had been meticulously chosen and arranged. The white lace curtains, slightly drawn, fluttered against the open window, a gentle breeze carrying in the scent of night jasmine.

Her vanity stood by the wall, framed by a gilded mirror that reflected the glow of her rose-coloured lampshade, casting the room in a dreamlike haze. The bed, draped in pale satin sheets and pillows edged with delicate ruffles, sat like a throne at the centre of it all—a place that had once brought her comfort, a cocoon of childhood fantasies and carefully curated innocence.

But tonight, the room felt too perfect, too still. It seemed to mock the storm brewing inside her. The soft pink walls, once a reminder of her younger self’s vision of femininity, now felt suffocating, as though they were closing in on her. The plush white rug beneath her feet offered no solace, only a reminder of the distance between the Maya who had carefully decorated this room and the one who now stood lost and uncertain.

She moved mechanically through her nighttime routine, washing her face with cold water that did little to cool the heat of confusion in her chest. Her brush moved rhythmically through her hair, each stroke steady but absent-minded as her thoughts spiralled. Kevin Duncan. The name buzzed in her head like a low hum, impossible to shake, growing louder with every passing second.

Who was he? And why did his name weigh so heavily in her grandmother’s voice, as though it held the power to unravel everything? She tossed the brush onto the vanity, her reflection staring back at her—eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and unease.

The room, with its dreamy, fairy-tale quality, felt distant from the reality pressing down on her. The white vintage vanity, the plush armchair by the window, the shelves filled with trinkets and framed photos of ballet recitals—all of it seemed like a relic from a life she no longer recognized.

Maya sat on the edge of her bed, the cool satin sheets slipping beneath her fingers. The glow of her bedside lamp flickered, casting long shadows across the room, as if even the light couldn’t decide whether to stay or leave. Her heart raced, her mind buzzing with questions she knew wouldn’t let her rest. She glanced toward the window, where the moonlight spilled through, painting the room in silver and soft shadows.

Kevin Duncan.

There would be no sleep tonight—not until she found out who he really was.

Unable to bear the weight of not knowing any longer, Maya rose from her bed and made her way toward the desk tucked into the corner of her room. Her fingers traced the familiar edges of the chair before she sank into it, the leather creaking softly beneath her. The room, cloaked in shadows, felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for her to act.

She powered on her iMac G3, the soft glow of the screen flickering to life, spilling its pale light across the room. The gentle hum of the machine filled the silence, a steady presence in the dark. Her face, bathed in the glow of the screen, looked as though it belonged to someone else, her features drawn and tense, eyes wide with anticipation. The light danced across her skin, deepening the shadows around her, making the room feel even smaller, more claustrophobic.

Her fingers hovered above the keyboard, trembling slightly as they prepared to unlock the mystery that had haunted her since dinner.

Kevin Duncan.

The name echoed in her mind, filling the room like an unspoken promise. She typed it slowly, deliberately, as if each letter would bring her closer to the answers she sought. The soft click of the keys was the only sound, mingling with the beating of her heart, which pounded faster with every letter.

She hesitated for a brief second before pressing enter, a wave of anticipation washing over her, tightening her chest. Her breath caught in her throat, and her heart raced like an alarm bell, the sound loud in her ears. The screen flickered for a moment before loading, and as the search results began to populate, Maya leaned in closer, her eyes scanning the screen with desperate eagerness.

Kevin Duncan.

The truth—whatever it was—felt closer now, almost within reach, hovering just out of sight, ready to be unearthed.

Instantly, the screen filled with a flurry of results. Articles, profiles, and images, each tied to the name Kevin Duncan. Maya’s pulse quickened as her eyes darted over the links, each one containing pieces of a puzzle she had never even realised existed. Her fingers hovered over the mouse, hesitating for only a second before she clicked on the first link. As the page loaded, her breath hitched.

A photograph appeared, cantered at the top of the page: a middle-aged man with a square jawline, a large head shaved clean, and deep-set eyes that seemed to hold a quiet intensity. Her breath caught in her throat as she studied him more closely. His eyes—they were dark, piercing, and unmistakably familiar. They mirrored her own in a way that sent a shiver through her. The resemblance was undeniable. The shape of his face, the way his brow furrowed slightly, even the confident, guarded expression on his face—it all echoed something she recognized within herself.

Her heart raced, pounding so loudly she could almost hear it. This is him. Her father. The man she had been kept from all her life. The man whose name had lingered like a ghost on her grandmother’s lips.

Maya’s gaze shifted downward to the text beneath the photograph, her eyes widening as she read the words. Kevin Duncan—tennis coach. The air in the room seemed to still, the soft hum of the computer fading into the background as the weight of that revelation sank in. He wasn’t just any coach; he was a self-regulated tennis coach with a reputation that stretched across the sports world.

Maya's fingers twitched as she scrolled down further, her eyes scanning the page in disbelief. And then, one name stood out like a lightning bolt—Tashi Duncan. Her heart seemed to skip a beat as she saw the name repeated over and over in articles, captions, interviews. Tashi Duncan, the up-and-coming tennis star he was training. A girl about her own age, a girl who appeared in photo after photo, her poised smile and athletic grace splashed across the page like a rising celebrity.

Her stomach tightened, confusion swirling in her chest. Tashi Duncan—her father's protégé, but... her half-sister? The revelation hit her with the force of a tidal wave. The resemblance between them became clearer with every glance at Tashi's photos, the shared features, the same dark eyes, the high cheekbones.

Her head spun as she leaned back in her chair, staring blankly at the screen. The familiar comfort of her room seemed to vanish, replaced by the overwhelming rush of this new truth.

Tashi Duncan.

A sister she never knew she had. A sister who was living a life so closely intertwined with their father’s—while Maya had been left in the dark, her existence a secret, hidden away behind closed doors.

The name buzzed in her mind, louder and louder, a truth too big to ignore. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. Everything she thought she knew about her family, her identity, crumbled beneath the weight of this discovery. The world she had grown up in, the carefully crafted bubble of her grandparents’ home, now felt miles away, like a distant dream.

And in its place was a reality she was only just beginning to uncover.

Time seemed to slip through Maya’s fingers as she delved deeper into Tashi’s Facebook profile, her eyes tracing every photo, every post, as if they were clues to a life she had been excluded from for so long. Each image offered a new window into a world that felt both connected and impossibly distant—a life that was hers, yet entirely not.

She scrolled through photos of Tashi with her friends, their laughter forever preserved in freeze-frame moments as they clutched Sonic cups, the slushies as vibrant as the carefree smiles on their faces. Tashi’s world seemed so... normal, yet infinitely richer than Maya’s in ways that had nothing to do with wealth.

It was a strange thing, peering into the life of someone who had no idea you even existed. The more she clicked, the more Maya felt like an intruder, an outsider looking in on something private. But she couldn’t stop. Each post drew her in further, the thread of her curiosity pulling tighter with every new image she uncovered.

And then one photo caught her eye—a snapshot that stood out among the rest. Tashi, smiling radiantly beside a man Maya now recognized as Kevin Duncan. Her father. The easy closeness between them was unmistakable, a bond Maya had never known.

Her breath hitched as she took in the rest of the image: a woman with kind eyes and dark hair, standing close to Kevin—Tashi’s mother, no doubt—and two younger boys, their wide grins mirroring their father’s. They looked like a picture-perfect family, the golden sunlight casting a warm glow across their faces, their happiness captured effortlessly by the camera’s lens.

Maya’s chest tightened as she stared at the photo, her heart twisting with emotions she couldn’t quite name. Jealousy, anger, and sadness all churned together, threatening to overwhelm her. This is the life I never had, she thought bitterly. A father who was present, a family who looked whole, unbroken.

Her eyes lingered on Kevin’s face—the same strong features she’d seen in her own reflection, now softened by the love and warmth in his expression as he stood with his other family. His real family, it seemed. The weight of that truth pressed down on her, suffocating in its simplicity. He had been there for Tashi, coaching her, guiding her, sharing moments like this one—moments Maya would never have.

She felt a lump form in her throat, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. They look so happy, she thought, an ache blooming in her chest. The photo radiated warmth, a snapshot of a life that had continued without her, a life that had no space for her existence.

What stung the most was the ease of it all. Tashi had a father, a mother, and brothers who adored her. She had friends, laughter, and the carefree glow of a life lived without the burden of saving face in front of the vulture-like housewives of Bel-Air. Meanwhile, Maya had been raised in a gilded cage, with the expectations to marry wealthy and a family portrait that always felt incomplete.

Maya's fingers trembled as they hovered over her mouse, the cursor hesitantly searching for the "Add Friend" button. Should she take the plunge and click it? Make the first attempt at communicating with her long-lost sister? Her mind raced with questions. Did Tashi know about Maya's existence? Would she even want to be friends?

The pounding of her heart drowned out any rational thoughts as she finally made her decision. With a deep inhale and exhale, Maya clicked her mouse, the sound echoing through the quiet room like a gunshot. It was a small but significant step towards reconnecting with her sister after so many years apart.

Your friend request was successfully sent!

The damage was done.

To her shock, it was accepted almost instantly. Maya’s stomach flipped with nervous excitement. She stared at the screen, unsure of what to do next. But something inside urged her forward, pushed her to make the first move. It was as if a spark had been ignited within her, crackling and sizzling with anticipation. Her heart raced like a wild horse, galloping towards a long-awaited finish line. Every fibre of her being tingled with nervous energy, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the keyboard.

She braced herself to begin typing, the urge to type something, anything, burning inside her. But what would she even say? ‘Hello, Tashi. We have the same father. Surprise!’ It sounded ridiculous in her head, and the thought of disrupting Tashi’s seemingly perfect life with this revelation made her stomach churn.

But she couldn’t go back now. She had seen too much, learned too much. The truth was out there, and it was too big to ignore. As she stared at the screen, Maya felt the familiar surge of curiosity and pain bubbling up inside her. This was her chance to connect with the family she never knew, the life she had been denied. But it would also mean breaking the fragile facade that had kept her world intact.

She clicked on the "Message" button, her heart pounding in her chest. The blank chat window popped up, the cursor blinking at her, waiting for her to make a move. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed the first words, feeling the weight of what was to come.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hey, Tashi. I’m not sure if you know who I am, but...

Her mind raced, unsure of how to even begin explaining the connection that tied them together. How could she condense a lifetime of unanswered questions, secrets, and longing into a few simple words? She stared at the screen, biting her lip, her thoughts a chaotic mess. And yet, somehow, it felt like this was the moment she had been waiting for—her chance to finally uncover the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.

With a heavy sigh, she let go of her initial words and instead chose to play it safe, opting for a simple and nondescript message that revealed nothing of her inner turmoil. With a shaky breath, she erased the words, clearing a path for a simpler, safer message.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Hi

Maya sat in the soft glow of her iMac, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared at the chat box. She had never felt this nervous before—like the weight of every move she was about to make had the potential to shatter something fragile. The whole night had led up to this moment, and now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to begin. Hi. It felt so small, so insignificant for what she was about to reveal, but she didn’t know what else to say.

She waited, her heart pounding in her chest as the seconds stretched on. The screen remained still, the only sound in the room was her uneven breathing. What if she doesn’t reply? The thought gnawed at her, but before she could spiral, the typing indicator appeared.

Tashi Duncan: Hi... Do I know you?

Maya’s stomach flipped. She had been preparing herself for this, but seeing Tashi’s message—those four little words—made it real in a way she wasn’t ready for. Do I know you? Maya’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, her pulse quickening. How do you tell someone something that will change their life?

Her mind raced through a thousand different possibilities, a thousand ways to soften the blow, to ease into the conversation. But there was no softening this. No way to sugarcoat the truth she had been holding on to for all of about an hour. Tashi had been living one version of reality, and Maya—Maya had no fucking clue she existed till tonight.

Her chest tightened. This was the moment that would open a door neither of them could close again. She took a deep breath, fingers steadying themselves against the tension coiling in her body. It was time. There was no more hiding.

Maya Pratt-Duncan: Tashi, we have the same father.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, her breath catching in her throat as the words disappeared into the void. The truth, now laid bare, hung between them in the quiet of the night. The silence that followed felt oppressive, like the world was holding its breath, waiting for the fallout.

Maya stared at the screen, every muscle in her body tense. What now?

author's note: after three months of brainstorming, plotting and planning, I can finally say that my Challengers fic is officially out! It's been a long time coming, the early versions of this were completely different, but it turned into something I am very proud of. I wanted to write something that was cinematic and told a new kind of story in the sea of thousands of other fics out there. I encourage everyone to flood my inbox with your thoughts, opinions and questions. I am dying to read what you guys think, but before that, I'd like you have your say on this poll.

[worflesbian]

middle of thee night and im reading way too much into how worf and b'elanna's names are both bad anglicisations. it's obvious how wo'rIv became worf (you pull a six year old out of the rubble, ask him his name and write down his answer phonetically) but how does beylana become b'elanna? my moneys on john torres not being familiar enough with the klingon alphabet to transcribe it right on her federation birth certificate but nonetheless wanting it to "look" klingon so he threw a qaghwI' in there kind of at random. the unhinged point that im getting to being that worf's name is a reflection of his violent seperation from Klingon culture and imperfect attempts to reconstruct it from memory whereas b'elanna's is a reflection of how other people's warped perceptions and expectations of "klingonness" have been projected onto her overlapping and obscuring her own sense of identity since birth