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stereden · 11 months

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Of AI, Chatgpt and fandom

So, I’m finally getting around to writing that post I mentioned on AI, Chatgpt and fandom, and in particular fanfiction. There have been a lot of very good posts on the topic that I encourage you to check out (here ; here and here among many others)

I’ll preface this by saying that, as far as I know, my writing hasn’t yet been fed into an AI for an ending or alternate version. But I know it’s happening with other people’s fics, and I know it might happen to mine at some point. The very idea of it makes me sick, hence this post. The ‘you’ I’m addressing in this isn’t a specific person: it is targeted at anyone who is thinking about feeding my works into something like chatgpt, and anyone who might have already done so.

Let me be very, very clear right from the start: I do not consent to any of my works being fed into any AI, be they chatgpt or similar bullshit, just as I do not consent to anyone plagiarizing my fics, writing their own endings of my fics or trying to dictate what that ending should be. Anyone doing that with my fics is rudely invited to go sit on a cactus and never interact with me or my works ever again. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t plan on ever publishing that AI-generated shit you got about my work. Don’t fucking do it in the first place.

My problem is not just about my writing being used to train a computer program without my consent. That is part of my problem, obviously, but not the most important aspect of it in my eyes, and in the eyes of many other writers who have already spoken out about the problem - and by that, I mean fanfiction writers and professional, published writers.

My main issue is with the people using chatgpt to write endings or alternate versions of fanfics written by other people.

By all means, if you want to use chatgpt for your own stories, I can’t stop you - I can and will judge you, because seriously, there are so many fics out there you can most probably find exactly what you’re looking for with some good tag filtering, and if not you can just do what the rest of us do, which is write your own. That’s how most of us got into fanfiction to begin with. Don’t use the dubious writing ability of a robot and its absolute lack of creativity that sees it cannibalize other people’s writing and frankenstein it back together. I would rather read a twelve-year old’s first ever fanfic, full of clichés and spelling mistakes, than anything written by an AI, because I know the twelve year old poured their heart and soul into it, put the time and effort into it, and that makes it so much better in my eyes.

But if you put someone else’s story into chatgpt or similar? You are dead to me and do not deserve the hard work fic writers put into their stories. Yes, even if you’re not planning on publishing the results.

Those are our stories. The ones we've put time, energy, effort in. That we've spent hours writing. Some of us have the whole plot planned out for the next thirty chapters. Some of us are making it up as we go along. Some of us are doing both. But it's still our stories. Writing them, finishing them, is our right and privilege.

Chatgpt and similar computer programs have no clue what we have planned for the rest of the fic. They can make calculated guesses based on all the words you've just fed them and all the stories they’ve previously scrapped, but even if - and it is a big if - they do get the basic plot right, it still won't be exactly the same. It won't be the same quality, it won't be the same word choice, it won't be the exact same style.

It won't be written by us. It won't be the ending we planned or are still planning on.

You were reading that fic because you liked the plot, the characterisation, the writing style. Because you enjoyed the fruits of the efforts the writer put into it.

And now you're asking a computer to plagiarize that same writer and ghost write you the ending? And, I'm guessing, the ending you want to see, or to rewrite the fic to your liking?

That is not okay. That is beyond not okay. I don't tolerate people trying to pass off my writing as their own. I have specifically told people they were not allowed to use certain original elements of my writing or of the plot I have come up with, because those are stories I am planning on writing myself, or background lore I have already planned for. I have told people off for trying to tell me which way my fics should go, which pairings I should write, how I write certain characters.

What makes you think I would tolerate you using chatgpt and alike to do the same?

Because let me be clear. Using those is stealing. It’s stealing the time and effort we put into this, and selfishly feeding it all into a machine so it can spew out exactly what you want from it.

This is not you asking the writer of an abandoned fic if you could pick it up and write an ending for it. This is not you asking the writer of an on going fic if you can write a side story for it.

This is not you asking permission for anything from the writer of the fic. This is not you writing a heavily inspired fic, or even just copy pasting an entire fic into a new document and tweaking it to fit your personal desire. This is not even you writing anything.

Even if it's fanfictions, we writers still have rights to our intellectual property, to the stories we write. There is a reason AO3 reacts quickly to any complaints of plagiarism or reposted fics. There is a reason mirror sites or apps of AO3 are taken down. There is a reason writers like @neil-gaiman, @seananmcguire @dduane and so many others will never read fanfictions of their own works and have to regularly remind their own fans to stop sending them headcanons or fanfics: because even if what we write is based on their work, it’s still our ideas and if they write something too similar to the ideas their fans sent them, there could be legal consequences. Plagiarism accusations. For similar ideas. Not even the exact same words. Ideas. Yes, even for fanworks.

There is the plagiarism issue, as I just mentioned, but there is also the respect issue. You obviously don’t respect my writing, if you’re so quick to feed it to an AI just because you’re not getting exactly what you want right this second. You obviously don’t respect me, as a person or as a writer either, if you’re willing to disregard all the time, effort and thought I put into my work.

Yes, sometimes fics are abandoned, and you really, really want to know how it would have ended. Sometimes, the writer fell out of the fandom, sometimes real life got busy, sometimes you never know. Sometimes they died, and we mourn their silence. Often, an explanation is never given. Sometimes they reappear years later, sometimes they don’t. It’s a fact of life, a fact of fandom.

I myself have stories I haven’t updated in years that I still have plans for, that I haven’t abandoned but that I just need time and inspiration to continue writing, and yes I know I have people who want to know what happens next. Some of these people are more polite about it than others. Some act like entitled spoiled brats and get their comments deleted because I’m not here to cater for them.

No amount of time passed since the last update makes it okay to use something like Chatgpt to finish their stories. At the very least, have the decency to respect the effort they put into it and write your own version, yourself, and keep it to yourself.

Or, if they're available/if you're able to contact them, ask the writer for permission to write a continuation, or a fic based on their own, with proper credit given and a link back to the original! Or even ask them POLITELY how the fic would have ended! Some of them will happily tell you what they originally had planned, even if they are never going to finish the fic! A writer I follow actually did that just today - updated their fics to say ‘Hey, I might never finish this, but here’s what I had planned for it in case I never come back to this.”

But don’t use chatgpt, or any similar program.

Because if you do, what is even the point of us writing anything in the first place?

I have been writing fanfiction for a long time. Over fifteen years. I have dealt with a lot of different readers, some way worse than the majority of them, and even then I consider myself lucky when I see what some of my fellow writers had to deal with back on ffnet, and still have to deal with on AO3. I have built a community around my fics, with my readers, and I love it. I love fandom, despite the drama that always comes with it. I love my readers, too, love their enthusiasm when I post a new chapter, love seeing their reactions and getting yelled at in the discord for leaving them off on yet another cliffhanger.

But anyone who puts my writing in an AI? I don’t love you. You have no place in fandom, and especially not in the part of it that I have built.

You make me feel sick. You make me furious. You act like you are entitled to an ending, to a continuation, to getting exactly what you want… for what? Reading my fics? Maybe leaving a comment at some point (one that probably demanded an update, or that I write your specific pairing, or that I change this character to your specifications)?

Fuck. You.

I don’t write for you. Unless I’m specifically writing a gift for someone, I don’t write for anyone but me.

I share it on AO3 because I’m proud of what I wrote, because I think other people might like it, because I like getting feedback and interacting with others in the fandom. That does not mean it becomes your property, or that you can do anything you want with it.

I don’t get paid for writing. You are not paying me to write. You do not get to tell me what to write, or what to do with my writing, or to do what you want with my writing.

I write because I love writing, because I have too many ideas in my head and need to get them out of it, and putting words on a page is the best way for me to do that.

I don't make any money from writing, and can't afford to be a full time writer. And even if I could, unless you were my publisher and I actually had a contract with you stating that I'm being paid to write something for you, you still wouldn't get to demand updates from me.

I’ve taken to straight out deleting comments that are demanding updates or asking if a fic is abandoned. Not only are these rude, they're actively detrimental to my mental health and make me want to work on the fics in question LESS.

You feeding my work into AI? The only thing you’re doing is making me want to share my writing even less than that.

So just don’t.

#stereden talks #ai bullshit #chatgpt #fandom 101 #yes i am angry about this. so very very angry #even if it hasn't happened to me yet #the fact that it COULD and that it IS happening to others is enough to make me furious #stereden writes

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jamieatthebarricade · 3 years

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Maids to Wives / Chapter 5

In 1619, one hundred and forty-four English women from good families crossed the Atlantic in response to the Virginia Company of London’s call for maids “young and corrupt” to make wives for the planters of it’s new colony in Virginia. One in six of the maids could even claim gentry status. Although promised a free choice of husband, they were in effect being traded into marriage for a bride price of 150 pounds of best leaf tobacco, the profits to flow to individual investors

In 1619, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp made the voyage to do one thing: marry a man she’s never met. But when she arrives, she comes to the startling realization that her heart belongs to someone else, a certain James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

Chapter 5/? : A Known Stranger

Previous Chapters : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

Find Maids to Wives on Archive of Our Own!

May 22nd, 1619, Claire’s POV

“Dear diary,

As time passes by here, I find myself enjoying life here more and more. I’ve been less than a week, and since arriving I’ve made a goal for myself to discover something new everyday. Whether it’s a new tree I didn’t notice before or a currant in the river. Yesterday I discovered a field of wildflowers a little aways of me and Frank’s house. I hope to go back there one of these days, maybe take Frank there and have lunch.

Frank and I haven’t had too much time to converse with each other, aside from small pillow talk at night. I ask about his day and he asks about mine. Usually he’s away during the day, in town with peers or overseeing the farms. I suppose I had an unrealistic romantic idea of marriage, that we’d be with each other more.

That’s not to say I mind. Being able to think by myself is a privilege I’m happy to keep. This whole experience has been incredibly overwhelming, so not feeling smothered by my husband is somewhat of a plus, although I’m smothered by a different thought.

The man at the docks. His red hair. His tall statue that stood over everyone else. Since last seeing him I couldn’t stop thinking of him, and guiltily I don’t think I mind. The feelings I have for him aren’t like anything I experienced before. It’s the type of attraction you read about, but never live through. He was this erotic thought in the back of my mind I could pull out whenever I wanted to escape. He was the forbidden fruit, and I wanted nothing more than a taste.

I need to stop myself. As pleasant as those thoughts were, I had a husband. A good husband who was kind and gentle, and who provided graciously for me. I had a roof over my head, and all the free time to frolic and read. I’d been doing better than many of the other women, from what I had observed. Mary was the only other one who seemed happy to be married.

I am seeing Geillis tomorrow, so I’ll ask her then. Although, I can guess her answer. From what she told me of her dream man, her current husband didn’t fit the description. He was old, bald, and fat. From what I observed from far away, she always pulled back when he kissed her. It made me fortunate to have Frank.

I suppose I should stop for tonight. Frank will be home soon, and still have our bed to make. Thank you for letting me release my thoughts.

Love, Claire”

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May 23nd, 1619, Claire’s POV

“What are your plans for the day?” For the first time in weeks, Me and Frank were able to sit down together for breakfast. I had opted to prepare a simple meal of bread and milk, as I still had yet to learn to integrate recipes for my husband. I made a mental note to myself to start that.

“I’m visiting Geillis, my friend from the ship” Frank just smiled and sipped his milk, gazing between me and his food. I found his look charming, and I was happy to receive it. He looked at me with a nurture that was warm and inviting, that said ‘I’ll protect you,’

As he looked at me, I took the opportunity to look at him. Everytime we interacted, it seemed like I was noticing more about his features. His face was quite square, and he had these lines along his cheeks that trailed from the bottom of his jaw, and which became more defined when he smiled (thankfully, he did that a lot). He was balding slightly, but I suspected he’d be one of those men who balded nicely. He had a nice face, and I smiled to myself as I looked at him.

Suddenly the door opened, and Frank’s lesser twin came in. I hadn’t seen Jonathan for a while, as he usually kept to himself for the most part. Sometimes I saw him when I went out for a walk, but I always tried to avoid him. There was something about him that caused me to move away from his presence. It was strange, even though him and Frank looked the same, I knew deep down they weren’t the same person at all.

Frank was annoyed at his brother’s outwardly intrusion, and made no effort to hide it. “What can I do for you?” although the question wasn’t ill-spirited, the annoyed tone of his voice gave away his true feelings.

“There’s a shipment down at the docks. We need to help unload,” Jonathan returned with the same annoyed energy, and I saw the sibling tension between them. Growing up an only child, I’d always wanted a sibling of my own. Living with Jonathan and Frank rid myself of that dream.

Frank turned to me, giving a small smile. “I’m sorry our breakfast had to be cut short, we should try doing this more,” He smiled, and leaned in for a kiss. I happily returned it, and we shared a short peck before he was out the door. I hadn’t even noticed Jonathan was still in the room before I heard his voice,

“Goodbye Claire,” He said. I hated his voice so much, because it sounded so much like Frank. If any part of them shared likeness, it was their voices. Though, Jonathan’s always sounded like it was laced with something. Villainy? That’s what I suspected.

I gave him a short nod, and thankfully he was out the door. I let out the breath I didn’t know I was keeping in, and looked around the small room. Me and Frank’s half eaten breakfast, a small table with 3 chairs, and a hearth. It was quaint, but it was home.

‘I should meet Geillis,’ I told myself, taking off my apron and looking at myself in the window. My hair was pulled up, and I was hesitant to change it as my hair tended to be untamed down. It wasn’t like I was meeting the queen or anything, I kept it the way it was.

The walk to town was longer than I was expecting. I’d only ever ridden on horseback, but figured today was a good day to take a scenic route. It was sunny, and quite warm. Some of the wildflowers I passed were blooming, and birds filled the sky and sound with their presence. Everything was peaceful until it wasn’t.

It was like a dark cloud came over everything, and the perfect day turned to something worse. Behind me, I heard the rustling of bushes, and slowly the movement of feet. I didn’t even notice my own starting to pick up the pace. A part of me wanted to keep walking. I’d be to town eventually, it wasn’t too far away. I heard the footsteps getting closer and my other thought was to turn around and fight whoever this demon was.

I chose that option, turning around and screaming, at the same time punching whoever was my chaser one. The person fell to the group, clutching his nose in his hand. It was an old man, with a bushy beard and a smell of alcohol that filled my senses quite quickly. I didn’t recognize him, and surely thought that whoever it was meant to hurt me.

Before I had time to breath, I heard another pair of footsteps being him. ‘This can’t be happening’ was I being set upon by highwaymen? Were these a band of bandits intending on stealing or hurting me? I quickly ran the opposite direction to my house, but whoever was chasing me was faster. At some point I would need to fight and that time would be now.

I turned, and punched at whoever it was quickly. He doubled over, but didn’t fall like the other. When I looked at who it was, my breath caught in my throat. The man had bright ginger hair, and I’d only ever seen that color on one other person.

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A/N Thank you all for reading!! I’ve been in a writing mood lately so hopefully expect some new stuff out! Have a great day yall :)

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jay-and-dean · 4 years

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Frozen Sleep

(Dean x Reader)

This is a request by @acklesterritory :

So I'm just wanna take my chance and request a Dean x Reader imagination where the reader got hypothermia and Dean had to rescue her and take care of her all by himself bc there is a scary storm out there and Cas is somewhere else doing angel stuff. And all he got as help is Sammy who's arm is already broken in the last haunt. All angst and fluff. May I ask? 😍

Words : 4.4 k

Warnings : Hurt reader obviously. A hint of Angst. Fluff. Fluffy Smut.

Words : 2.4 k

Note : I wanted to do this one because I do have a condition that makes me have hypothermias easily and so I really hate cold.

This is written both on Reader and Dean’s Pov

Want to read more => ***MASTERLIST***

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Reader’s Pov

One step after the other. One step after the other… One step…

Dean is so strong, look at him, his footsteps crush the snow like it was nothing, when it’s basically biting my legs with each movement.

He’s holding my hand and it’s the only part of my body that is not horribly painful. The wind is made of needles, each snowflake that touches me feels like somebody was beating me up… And right now, thousands of them are harassing my body all at once, every second.

He walks too fast… And his legs are so long, how am I supposed to follow ?

Sam tells him something but I can’t hear it… the wind is deafening and the pain… It’s screaming in my ears.

Dean turns toward me, but I can’t see him clearly because of that darkness everywhere, or is it in my eyes ? Even the threatening white of that harrowing snow is dark.

“Y/n ? Look at me… Less than two miles, I promise…”

I try to answer, to show him I’m strong, but no words come out of my mouth.

“I know you’re cold… We… We will make it okay ? You stay with me sweetheart.”

Dean’s Pov

Sam is right, she’s won’t make it to the cabin, not like that. Her eyes are slightly rolling and she’s having trouble to speak : Hypothermia.

“I know you’re cold… We… We will make it okay ? You stay with me sweetheart.”

Stay with me… Y/n stay with me I’m begging you.

The storm is becoming worse, and walking against it seems almost impossible, but we have too. She has no one, no one but me. Our phones are dead, cold killed their batteries, and there is no service anyway. Sam is hurt, his arm in that stupid cast, his ribs broken… I don’t even know how he can still be walking without any complain.

“I will carry her” I tell him but he shakes his head.

“Dean… She’s having hypothermia, i-if you carry her… she will fall asleep.”

“Son of a bitch !” I yell, but the storm suffocates my anger.

She’s shaking like she was going to convulse, her hand is so cold that I feel like tugging at a corpse arm.

I’m so scared. I’m so angry. And I’m so cold.

Y/n, she… She can’t die. I can’t lose her, and Sam knows that, that’s why he’s looking at me like someone had shoot my puppy. Dammit yesterday morning, yesterday morning I did it again…

“Y/n, you hold on, I need you to hold on” I get closer, wrapping my arms around her waist, like I could give her a little of my heat. I would give it all of it if I could. “Hold on sweetheart.”

Reader’s Pov

I wish I could feel him, when he wraps that strong arm around me, but I don’t feel anything but pain and we wear too much clothes anyway.

I would give anything to feel him. To feel is skin stick to my fingers because of sweat, his muscles roll under my palms while he buries himself between my legs.

That’s where I love him the most : between my legs. And I never told him.

I feel dizzy, and the snowflakes don’t melt on my skin anymore, so my lashes are covered in them. I can’t see clearly.

What happens when we die ? I mean, I know what happens after… I have that privilege, -or maybe it’s a curse-. But just… dying. I know a man or two that actually lived that a few times… I could ask…them -I’m so tired-… if… that… feels… like… that…

“Y/n !” Dean’s voice make my heart beat suddenly too fast, and too strong. “Sammy, she really can’t walk… If we don’t make it to the cabin…”

His voice is different, I never heard it like that. He’s worried, scared maybe even, and I know him, he feels responsible, he always does.

I want to tell him everything is going to be okay, but I never lied to Dean, and right now, I feel like I’m dying.

I can’t. Dean has suffered so much, he can’t lose another friend, not in his arms, not again… Who will wake him up from nightmares ? Who will make him homemade pies ? Who will be here, when he doesn’t want to spend the night alone ? When he needs the comfort of caresses and kisses, when he needs to hide from the world deep inside of me ?

“I can w-walk” I say, the air ripping my lungs coming out of it.

But my heartbeats… They’re singing a song I don’t know.

Dean’s Pov

I can feel my jaw tremble and I have no idea if it’s cold, or that awful fear.

“I can w-walk” she mutters weakly, but after ten more steps, she falls on her knees in the deep snow before I can catch her. And seeing her body fail like this, it rips my heart in half.

“Y/n !”

I squat to take her in my arms, and let out a groan of effort when I lift both our bodies. I feel weak, and the cold is biting my legs, but I would carry her across the world if I had too.

Bridal style, in my arms, she rests her head on my shoulder, but with a harsh shake of it, I make her move it, forbidding rest.

“Don’t fall asleep, talk to me. If you stop talking, I put you on the ground again, understood ?”

“Y-yes…” she whines.

I know she’s hurt, I know it’s so hard for her, and I want to cry just knowing how she must be struggling.

“I sh-shouldn’t have eaten all those pancakes f-for breakfast…” she tries to joke. “I wouldn’t be so heavy…”

“You’re as light as a feather sweetheart.”

Sam looks at us, that pained look on his face, he can see my thighs tetanize from cold and effort. He comes closer and wipes her pale face where snow is covering her quickly.

“People with hypothermia feel distracted, and tend to lose some memories, Y/n… Why don’t you try to focus on a memory, and tell us” he says kindly, blowing on her hands.

“Me-memory…” she whispers so low I wouldn’t have known if I wasn’t watching her blue lips. “I remember s-summer…” she starts.

“Of course you do” I fake a smile when she searches my face.

“That ghost in Tennessee… D-Dean was sick.”

“Damn rabbit food !” I grunt, remembering how bad that weird fruit had made me.

Sam wipes her face again, his good hand holding hers.

“I had to stay with you all night… Y-you w-were puking your guts…” she closes her eyes a little too long so I shake her a little, panic immediately electrocuting my spine.

But she doesn’t open them right away.

“Y/N !”

“A-and…” she continues like she hadn’t realize she passed out for a second. “Th-That was the first time I slept in his-your… Dean ?”

“I’m here” I state, almost choking on the frozen tears in my throat. “Keep talking beauty, we’re almost there.”

“What was I s-saying ?”

“That I got sick in Tennessee” I answer, frowning at Sam.

“Yeah… I slept next to you… and you t-took me in your arms.”

I did. I took her in my arms that night. I had dreamed of doing it, and the night I finally overcome my fear of getting attached, I was sweating and smelled like vomit… I never stopped since then, I never stopped keeping her close. Struggling between the need of her and the fear of getting really involved, I kept snuggling up in her arms and pushing her away to protect her ; look where it got her.

“I wish I could perceive your smell… I-it always calms me… But I c-can’t smell anything. Or… maybe… the feathers are too heavy…”

“Y/n !” Sam calls. “Hey ! Look at me ! I have a memory I would like to share with you.”

He looks up at me, but his eyes are piercing me like he was praying to God knows who that this will catch her attention.

“Remember that night Dean got drunk and went out by himself ?”

I frown, and look down at her, begging my legs to make it to the cabin, counting in my head, if I can do three steps more, it means I can do ten, if I can do ten… Fuck why do my knees hurt so much, like ice was stuck on the cogs of it. Just like her, I try to focus on the story Sam is telling. She’s fighting so hard.

“I do…” she whines, like she was crying.

“Why did he left ?” Sam asks, slightly slapping her face now. The gesture makes me bite my cheek.

Stay with me, Y/n…

“He was in pain… I-I don’t remember why…”

I swallow hard. I was in pain because nothing felt right, because mom was gone, and Jack was gone… And I wanted her but I couldn’t do this anymore : Take her like she was mine, mark her body to feel like she belongs to me… And watch the hickeys from the other side of the room in the morning, while she doesn’t even try to hide them anymore.

Like yesterday morning, when I had to push her arm to get up and dress, when I saw the hurt in her eyes as she watched me leaves her again without a word…

“No need to remember why” Sam keeps talking to her. “What did you do that night ?”

What did she do ? What does he mean ?

“I… looked for a s-spell…”

“What spell ?” my brother insists.

“A spell t-to take his pain away…”

Reader’s Pov

My heart is not beating as usual and my legs are burning, like they were in flames… It’s been worse though, the pain is fading a little, or I’m just turning off… breathing is becoming hard. I feel like what Sam is asking is way beyond my strength. I just want to let go so bad.

“A spell t-to take his pain away…”

“Yes… Because seeing Dean suffer is unbearable, remember ? That’s what you told me that night. You were desperate to see him sad” Sam’s voice reaches me despite the wind.

I just wish Dean was here now… If I die and go to Heaven, I’m sure my Heaven will be him between my legs… I want that. I want that so bad. I let my head go back a little but I’m suddenly shaken…Wait… I open my eyes and see him just above me. My Dean. I could I forget…

“Now imagine the amount of pain he will feel if you let go right now” Sam says and I frown. “Imagine if you die in his arms now.”

I feel a sob escape my lips, but I’m not sure I’m actually crying, because my tears must have frozen.

“That’s unfair…” I whine, fighting against a cold that suddenly became more painful than it ever was, the frozen flames biting my muscles hard. “I can’t…”

“You can sweetheart” Dean says. “I need you with me.”

Dean’s Pov

Sam asked her to enumerate things, the seven deadly sins, the ways to kill a vampire, her favorite books… And she’s struggling, she’s so brave.

My heart is in my throat. Y/n, she likes me a lot, I know that, I can feel it in the way she’s always trying to protect me from everything, in the way she always comes to my defense, in the way she comes so easily when I touch her, in the way she clings to me at night…

But I don’t like her, I love her. Maybe she can feel it in the way I always push her away after having her close…

What Sam said, what she said… If she loves me…

I never knew that feeling. I mean, I keep on saying I am used to losing dear ones, but, one doesn’t get used to it. And, it was always so brutal, feeling someone slowly drift in my arms is different. Worse in a way.

And it’s Y/n…

My eyes widen and take a deep shaky breath.

“The cabin, sweetheart ! We made it !”

But she doesn’t answer.

“Y/n !” Sam calls but she’s not reacting to his little slaps. “Dean, we have to hurry.”

When I enter the cabin, I stop counting my steps, and my legs let go. I fall heavily on my knees, felling the wood cut through my soaked jeans and frozen skin.

“Dean !” Sam calls, but all I can do is cling to her, and push her cheek with my nose.

“I’m okay” I groan. “Just close the door ! We need to warm her up !”

Sam closes the door and the wind gets trapped outside, I sigh in relief.

With trembling hands I put her on the floor and starts taking her soaked jacket off, this wasn’t made for this weather. Underneath, her sweater is wet too, so I take it off. My own fingers are numb from that horrible cold so I struggle a little.

Without asking anything, Sam takes the backpack I was carrying off of my back. Making me grunt at the impossibility of taking her clothes off more for a second.

“Y/n… Y/n… Don’t be in a coma… Please wake up… I’m begging you…” I keep calling her while I finally take her t-shirt off, leaving her pale body in just her pants and bra.

I take my coat off and check my flannel, it’s not wet. Sam hands me the blanket that’s on the cabin’s bed, and I can see he hesitates to tell me to put her on the bed. I will. But right now, I’m not sure I can stand, and she needs to get rid of those damp freezing clothes as soon as possible.

As I try to dress her with my flannel, I freak out : her inert body looks like she was already dead. My tears start to fall on her.

“Please baby… Help me with that okay…” but her arms fall like I’ve seen so many times on other people, less important people… “Please. You can’t leave me… I love you Y/n…”

A sudden feeling of warmth wraps us with a comforting light. Sam managed to light up a fire in the old fireplace.

“Bring her here” he says.

I close the flannel on her body and let out a growl when I get up, just to make a few steps and fall on my knees again, cutting deeper in my skin, next to the fireplace. Her lips are blue. Sam checks her pulse while I wrap her in the cover, squeezing her tight against me.

“She’s here, she just fainted because her heart is slow” Sam says, sitting in a sore whine next to us.

He starts undoing her shoes and she whines a little when he tugs at it, taking her socks with it. That little sound is the first clue of her life, and my frozen heart starts to melt.

“Jesus Sam” I say when I see how blue her feet are.

I push her pants off, making sure her panties stays in place. Her legs are as blue as her feet, and bruises are forming on it from the blood not running correctly in her veins.

“You must be in so much pain, baby…” I whine, holding back my sobs.

I cover her legs with the cover and my brother takes her feet between his thighs.

Silence.

“She’s going to live Dean” Sam finally says in a serious frown, and only now, I notice how shaking he is, how soaked his hair.

“There are other blankets, Sammy, and pillows, look” I point at the couch with my chin, where another blanket and some dusty pillows lay. “Bring them all, take the blanket for you.”

He gets up and comes back with everything in his giant arms, even the couch’s big pillows.

“Your knees are bleeding, Dean” he says. “And you’re in your t-shirt.”

I nod, not really listening, she moved her face on my chest.

I push her hair, and notice some strands are frozen. So I bend my head, and put my lips on her forehead, determined to give her all my heat.

Sam is trying to get things out of the bag, but his wounded body fights against him. He wants to give me water, but I won’t take my lips off her skin.

“We made the worst of it already, Dean, we’re only a few miles away from the Impala, the road and that diner where we had breakfast” Sam says. “We have food and water, so we will be okay.”

I’m not if she doesn’t wake up.

All I can think of is all the times I didn’t enjoy waking up next to her. Now she might never come back from her frozen sleep, and I would give anything to come back to yesterday morning.

“I love her, Sam.”

“I know” he sighs.

“No I mean, I’m in love with her.”

“Yes, Dean, I know. You should tell her that. You will. Okay, Dean ? She’s not dead, she’s strong. You will tell her.”

Reader’s Pov

I open my eyes and the light seems to burn them in the corner. Something very warm is on my forehead, like a piece of ember, but soft.

Little drops of water fall on my face… Where am I ?

It suddenly comes back like a scream in my head, the storm, the pain, the snow digging holes to my flesh.

Those drops are soft and warm. And my body still hurts so I’m not dead. I remember promising Sam I won’t, for Dean. My Dean. He’s cold too, where is he ?

“Dean…” I whisper.

“Y/n ?” the piece of soft ember moves and the smell of the man I love reaches my senses. “I’m here, Sweetheart.”

I look up and he is here, just above me, tears on his face. He puts his forehead on mine and kiss the corner of my mouth.

It’s night, it was not supposed to be night before a few hours…

“I can’t move” I say, still a little confused.

“Yes, you’re weak and I’m holding you close, look : You’re in a big blanket and there is a fireplace.”

“You’re shaking” I say. “And you’re in a t-shirt… Come in the cover with me.”

He chuckles, a few more tears reaching his chin.

“Don’t worry for me, Y/n…”

“I always do” I say, trying to move because I know how stubborn he is.

“Okay, okay…” he sighs.

While he laboriously moves his body in a grunt, my mind slowly becomes clearer, and I turn my head to see Sam sleeping on the couch, with a too little blanket on his giant body.

“Is Sam okay ?” I frown.

“Yes… He’s just exhausted with those wounds and all, I gave him a strong pill for pain, it might have knocked him out, he tried to stay awake but he drifted at some point” Dean says, taking the blanket off of me to sit me between in legs. “I hope he’s not too cold, but I think the fire is keeping this room at a habitable temperature…”

I struggle to stay straight, so I let go my head back on his chest. He puts the both of us in the large blanket and wraps his arms around me. His body’s heat is like a bath, his thighs caging mine, his chin on my head. Paradoxically, I never felt so safe.

He will probably ignore me tomorrow, he will most likely suddenly act like we always were those simple friends, and make our passionate nights disappear with a friendly peck on my cheek ; but I don’t care…

He grabs my weak legs to bend them against me, to make sure my feet are under the covers, and gently blows with his mouth wide open against my neck, to cover it with his hot breath.

I can still fell the held back sobs against my back.

“Dean… Why are you crying ?” I dare, grabbing his hand in mine under the blanket.

He doesn’t answer, of course he doesn’t. I sigh and squeeze his hand in my still cold fingers, just to let him know that I am here.

“I thought you were going to die…” he whispers, his husky but smooth voice, so close to my ear. “You were frozen and… And sleeping this sleep that looks like death.”

“I’m sorry” I say, not sure what I can tell.

“Don’t be… I’m the one who brought us here.”

I can’t see him, but I feel his body contract and I know him by heart, so much I actually can picture his face in my head, with his jaw clenched, and that self-hatred darkness in his eyes.

“Don’t blame yourself…”

A dark chuckle.

“Dean… The storm wasn’t expected. And my clothes…” I sigh. “I need to buy a coat.”

“I could have given you mine” he grunts.

“Oh yeah and we both would be lying cold as ice somewhere in this forest… You saved me. Again.”

I love you.

He kisses the side of my neck and just behind my ear. His gesture is soft and pure, like it always is when he touches me, like it was meant to be…

“I’m sorry for yesterday” he says low, his lips barely grazing my ear.

Yesterday ? Is he talking about yesterday morning ? He never does, he never talks about those times we have together, almost leaving me believing they were dreams.

“I’m a coward” he sighs, and his face nuzzles in the crook of my neck.

“You’re pretty far from that, Dean.”

“When it comes to feelings, I am. You know that” he murmurs and his fingers start to play with mine. “You’re so patient and loving… Sweetheart, you know I love you, right ?”

Dean’s Pov

A burning feeling roams my whole body, and I know she can feel how hot I suddenly am. She was so brave, she is so brave. Fighting for her life, fighting for her friends, fighting for me when I just keep letting her down.

“Sweetheart, you know I love you, right ?”

She takes a deep breath and I hold mine, my feet bending inward, like I could cage her more.

“To be honest Dean…” she sighs and my heart falls in a loud crashing sound. “Knowing it is not easy… Sometimes I manage to convince myself of it… When you show me, when you give yourself so completely to me…”

When she says that, I close my eyes, images of her pretty thighs holding her body above me, of her teeth grazing my chest… And I feel blood rushing south.

I kiss her jaw and she turns her head to let me reach her lips. Her skin is still not perfectly warm, but she’s not cold anymore, her body is not shaking and her lips are so cutely pink.

When she feels my body grow on her lower back, a smile appears on her face. I know that smile.

She suddenly starts to move, and I protest a little, wanting her to stay close to me, and away from the cold. But she just turns in my arms, pushing my legs down and straddling me, before I close the blanket around us again.

“What are you doing ?” I murmur, pecking her lips.

But she doesn’t answer with her voice. She starts opening my jeans and my eyes widen.

“Baby you just came near death” I grunt, but she grabs my cock with no more warnings or anything.

I gasp.

“Yes… I see no better reason” she smiles against my lips, before claiming my mouth with her sweet, demanding tongue.

“Y/n…” I moan when she pushes her panties to the side and rubs herself against my throbbing length. “Sam is just here…”

“So be quiet…” she whispers before sinking slowly on me, swallowing me like I was made for her. No foreplay, no games… My lady wants me.

I hide in her neck and try to muffle the moans escaping my lips, she grabs my head in both hands and her thighs start to shake ; but not that pre orgasms quake I know by heart, her legs are weak, sore…

So I grab her waist and push her a little off me, before I bring her so close again, the tip of my cock touches her cervix.

“Dean…” she whispers, out of breath, digging her nails in my scalp, the cover falling a little without my arms to hold it. “I love you between my legs… I…” Her walls are clenching around me and she holds my head against her with both hands like it was the most precious thing. “I needed to tell you that…”

My fingers dig in her waist but I’m too tired to really thrust, so I grind. I grind hard and rub her pelvis against mine in held back groans.

Sweat breaks through the skin of my back and the fireplace suddenly feels to be burning my jeans, making it almost painful against my legs.

Being inside of her, even in a lost tiny crappy cabin in a haunted wood with a snow storm raging… It feels like home. Every time.

Home.

And I’m not ashamed to feel my climax built so soon, after so few efforts. Just because we were there and together, and because she needed that connection I only gave her during sex until now.

But that will change…

“I love you…” I gasp when I cum so deep inside her, and she falls silent, wrapping her arms around my neck to hold on to me, and pulsing in a soft but long orgasm.

She stays still, panting, and I worry I could have make her sick again, so I wrap the cover back around us.

“Y/n ?”

“Will you stay tomorrow ?” she asks putting her lips on mine in a lazy kiss and I can’t help but smile wide, her lips missing mine to meet my teeth as I do.

“I love you” I just say, knowing it contains all the answers she needs.

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

***FEEDBACK IS GOLD***

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purplesurveys · 3 years

Text

1248

Your ex taps you on the shoulder and says, “I still love you.” You say? I feel like I’ve answered a similar situation recently, but I would assume it was a drunk text or wrong text, inform them about it, and move on.

Do you play video games? Nah. I do feel a sort of connection of video games since I grew up surrounded by them, though; but I’m more of a watcher than anything. I like watching playthroughs of video games I’ll never play. Do you spend a lot of time with family? No. We used to, back when the quarantine was still a relatively new thing – we hung out in the living room all the time. But now that we’ve settled in this new normal, we’re back to our normal routines and I usually like staying in my room.

Is your house more than two stories tall? Technically, yes. We have a rooftop that serves as the ‘third’ floor.

Have you ever hit your significant other? Has he/she ever hit you? My ex and I never hit one another; that’s a gigantic red flag even I would notice, considering I ignored most of the ones I saw hahaha.

What makes you an attractive person? (Talk about your personality too!) I’m not sure if I’ll be able to answer this question directly, but I like my generosity. I’m not sure if I can call it attractive, though. But if we were focusing on physical features, I like my smile.

What color is your hairbrush/comb? Pink.

What snacks do you have available in your household atm? My dad splurged on chips in his last grocery run so we actually have quite a lot of junk food in the pantry at the moment. He also bought several packs of cookie sandwiches, wafers, sunflower seeds, and garlic-flavored peanuts.

Has anyone recently told you that they like you, or find you attractive? Neither.

Are you attracted to the last person you Facebook messaged? No, she’s just a good friend of mine.

Do you care about anyone that doesn’t care about you? I guess I don’t, because I’m not even aware of them.

Was your last Facebook friend requests from a male or female? Guy. It was another reporter, so I just ignored it and luckily he didn’t PM me just to ask to add him back, which others have already done. I really hate when work people try to make their way into my personal accounts.

Which one of your relatives is most likely to embarrass you? My parents, especially when they are rude to service crew. Gen X-ers are impeccably talented at that, apparently.

When was the last time you ate a bar of chocolate? Around two or three weeks ago when I had dinner at Angela’s. Her dad gave me a bar of Crunch so I can have something sweet after our meal.

Do you play any games on Facebook? No, I never did hop on that trend.

What would you like to get a degree in? I wanted a degree in journalism, and graduated with such. At the end of my college stint I didn’t want to pursue it anymore, but I pushed through with it anyway because it was too much of a hassle to shift and start all over.

Do you wake up a lot in the middle of the night? Technically not, because I stay up until the middle of the night anyway. It’s been a while since I fell asleep anywhere between 8 to 10 PM.

Would you prefer to read a book, watch a movie or TV show, or play a video game? Watch a show.

Do you usually get popcorn or soda at the movie theater? I don’t like either; I get fries instead.

What genre of films do you like the best? Drama.

How many bank accounts do you have? Two but I haven’t been using the other one in months. That was the bank account I initially opened when I first started ~adulting~ but when I got employed I was required to enroll in this other specific bank, so that’s what I mainly use now.

Have you ever had the flu? Not really. I just get the occasional fever that pop out of nowhere.

What is your goal for the next few months? Start saving FOR REAL, and also prioritizing furniture over merch for a while so I can finally fix up my room, which is quickly starting to look and feel like just a warehouse and not very homey at all.

Have you ever had some kind of sleep-disorder? How did it affect your life? Nope.

Have you ever had food poisoning before? Describe the experience. Yeah, it was from barbecue that apparently went bad, even though it tasted nothing of the sort. I woke up at 3 AM sweating profusely and with the most excruciating stomachache; I was feeling hot, cold, and nauseous all at the same time, and it probably lasted for like an hour or so.

What are two things that you have no problem paying full price for? Sealed albums and my pets’ vet expenses.

Funny, charming, cute, romantic, smart - choose only 2 for the opposite sex. Charming and smart.

Have you ever let somebody use you? Why did you do it? It felt nice to help people.

You can go back in time & change something in your mom’s past - what is it? Good question; I’ve never encountered this before. I would let her live a more comfortable, privileged life, where she didn’t have to staple her shoes to keep them closed or have to choose between eating at a fast food restaurant or being able to commute back home.

Do you know anybody who is around the exact same size as you? Who? I’m not sure, actually. Everyone’s always slightly taller than me.

Ever been to a haunted house? How scared were you? I haven’t.

Been on any websites today you wouldn’t want your parents to see? Tumblr, I guess? My survey blog isn’t for any irls to see.

Which is worse: dusting or mopping? I don’t really do either often, but I’ll go with mopping.

Would you marry somebody who was intensely religious? Not for me.

Did you pull a senior prank? No, that’s not a thing here. Did you graduate? Yeah, elementary, high school, and college.

Have you ever been unfaithful in a serious relationship? Nope.

What was the last song you listened to? It’s a song called Epiphany.

Are you one of those lucky people with 20/20 vision? Not ever since I was like 9 lol.

Is fashion one of your interests? I’m way more interested in it now for sure, mostly because the celebrities I’m into these days put a lot of effort when it comes to their style; so it makes me more aware of the trends that come and go, as well.

Do you think you’ll eventually find that special someone? I’m keeping it as a possibility, but it’s not a priority for me now.

Do you care what people think? To an extent, I would say. My life doesn’t depend on it, though.

Is acting something you enjoy? Never been.

What was the last thing you broke/sprained? Do you mean a thing or a body part? Anyway, I’ll answer both. The last thing I broke was my BTS Mic Drop pen of V looooooooooool the figurine came off the pen :(( It was pretty cheap though so I’m fine with it; I can always get another one. Last body part I sprained was my ankle, when I had a bad fall a couple of years ago.

Have you ever fought with a friend because of their boyfriend/girlfriend? Because of yours? Either hasn’t happened.

Has a stranger ever yelled at you for your language? I don’t think so.

Whose house, other than yours and your families', are you most comfortable at? Angela’s. Also JM’s, just because their family doesn’t hover and that vibe can sometimes be nice whenever I’m at someone else’s place.

Has any of your friends’ family ever yelled at you? Never.

Did you ever play a sport as a little kid? Did you enjoy it? Not as a very young kid, but I took up table tennis starting when I was 12. Did you ever watch the show Full House? Nope.

Is there a celebrity you are just DETERMINED to marry? Now that’s just delusional haha. I’m pretty obsessed with some celebrities, that much I can admit; but thinking of them in the context of marriage is so many steps overboard.

Have you ever burned someone’s picture? No. I could, but I am scared of fire and will probably just think of other ways to express my anger, like tearing up the photograph. What’s the longest hike you’ve ever been on? Total length was probably like 3 hours. I haven’t gone too far when it comes to hiking.

Would you ever get a lip tattoo? Not interested.

Who is the first person of the opposite sex that pops into your head? Hans.

Do your parents smoke cigarettes? My mom tried it once in her life, I think. My dad has never smoked.

What does one of your T-shirts have written on it? “Hope right here!”

Name a pet you definitely wouldn’t want. Anything that’s supposed to roam freely in the wild, like squirrels.

Would you prefer your partner smaller or taller? Taller, since I’m already quite pint-sized to begin with lol.

Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times, it's too painful. It also depends on the era of the pictures. < Agree, especially with the eras. Childhood photos are always fun to look at, but I have had to delete a CHUNK of photos from years ranging from 2014 to 2020 because I’ve lost a handful of friends from that period.

Do you believe people when they say they don’t judge people? It’s hard to for the most part, but I’ve noticed very few people people really don’t. Most of the time it’s bullshit though.

What did you love the most about the town you grew up in? That it’s pretty close to the metro.

What’s a movie that you laughed the hardest during? Hmm, I prefer TV shows if I’m craving comedy.

What’s a movie you cried the hardest during? Life Is Beautiful.

What’s your favorite restaurant? Omakase for my sushi fix; School Tteokbokki if I want Korean; Yabu if I’m looking for a generous rice meal.

Is there a dessert you don’t like? Anything with fruits.

Favorite album? After Laughter by Paramore.

What’s a book that you read because everyone else was reading it? I can name authors instead of books – John Green and Haruki Murakami.

Underwater or outer space? Outer space.

Dogs or cats? Dogs.

Kittens or puppies? Puppies.

Bird watching or whale watching? Whale watching. I don’t get to be in the water as much, so I would jump at the opportunity.

What is your spirit animal? I dunno if I have one but let’s just go with dog and elephant, I guess? They’re my favorites.

What was your best subject in school? History.

What was your worst subject in school? Chemistry.

What is one thing you wish you knew in high school? Don’t waste your time.

Who is your fashion icon? Audrey Hepburn.

Diamonds or pearls? Diamonds.

What color dress did you wear to prom? For my own prom it was cream-colored/beige. When I went to Mike’s ball, I went with a royal blue gown.

What’s your favorite plot-twist? I don’t think I’ve found my favorite yet.

Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now? Not actively.

Honestly, what’s the worst thing you’ve done when you were mad? I dunno...road rage, maybe?

Honestly, ever made anyone cry when you were mad? It’s very likely.

Honestly, when was the last time you REALLY cried your heart out? Sometime in the last week.

Ever pop someone else’s pimple? No thanks.

Do you need to return anyone’s phone call? Nope.

Who are you closest to? Angela.

Have you ever had a bad concert experience? No, all the ones I’ve been to have been amazing experiences.

Are you currently sad about anything? Not really. I can’t complain.

Have you had any form of exercise today? Nah.

Can you handle blood? Nope, I will feel faint if I see it 100%.

Has any place hired you underage for a job? No.

Have you ever carried a concealed weapon? I haven’t.

Are you currently searching for a job? No, I like the one I have.

Does eating breakfast make you sick? No?

#survey #surveys

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semperintrepida · 4 years

Text

The Sellout, chapter six

six: the not date

Two hours before Kassandra was supposed to meet Kyra downtown, she paced beside the wall of windows in her condo and tried to keep her eyes away from her old nemesis, the clock. This wasn't the unforgiving squeeze of pressure in the final seconds of a basketball game or the relentless climb of lap times at the track. This was time moving at a glacial scale.

She paced, and wondered how many steps it would take to wear a groove into the concrete floor. She paced, and tried not to think of the ways Kyra's presence had filled this room so completely, or how Kyra had stood by this window and sat in that chair. She paced, because if she stopped, her footsteps would fade and she'd have to admit how fucking quiet it was in here.

Her tank top stuck to her skin as she moved, and she realized she was sweating. The room was too hot, but the numbers on the climate control were the same as they'd always been. Her heartbeat was up, her breathing fast and shallow. With some effort, she diverted her steps away from the windows to the wet bar, and when she picked up a glass and a bottle of bourbon, her hands were trembling slightly.

She tipped a healthy pour into the glass, along with an ice cube, and as she lifted the drink, it slipped from her hand and shattered on the granite bar top.

Motherfucker. At least it wasn't from the bottle of antique single barrel.

She dug out a bar towel and a trash bin, and swept the shards and liquid into the bin along with the towel for good measure. She dug out another towel for the floor. On her knees mopping up broken glass and now all her muscles were jittery, not just her hands.

Try again. Another pour — this time it was the antique single barrel to make up for how well her evening had been going so far. Careful now. The bourbon hit her like a caramel bomb, and it sat back and fumed vanilla while the taste of fruit and honey danced on her tongue for several seconds. Nearly 130 proof and it went down smooth as cream.

The drink wrapped around her like a cashmere bathrobe as she savored it and watched the sun's rays slant across the river. After a while, her muscles were steady again, but her heart was still a whirring motor forced to idle on the dragstrip, waiting for that green light to go.

She carried her drink with her into her bedroom, threw open the doors to her closet, and surveyed her wardrobe. Time to do battle with Portland's sartorial lawlessness.

Individuality ruled this place, and nothing was ever cool if anyone else did it too. It was the opposite of L.A., which never met a trend it didn't want to chase. Portland was reflexively anti-trend, and even those with money had changed their ways to compensate, trying to downplay their net worths through their choice of clothes.

In this town, the penalty for overdressing wasn't embarrassment — it was distrust.

Kyra had that antiauthoritarian streak too. Kassandra had never met someone so repulsed by her money. Most were the opposite, wanting to get real close to her real fast. She'd learned early on that people were best kept at arm's length.

She was eight years old the first time her mother spoke to her directly about money, old enough to understand that a private boarding school in upstate New York was not how most kids grew up. Most kids saw their parents more often than birthdays and Christmas — even her classmates, most of whom belonged to the Northeastern elites. She'd been a bargaining chip in a divorce between an American father and a Greek mother, and New York was where she'd landed in the settlement. She never saw her father, even though he lived in New York City and was the one paying her tuition. He was too busy becoming a billionaire. Her mother lived in London then, working as a diplomatic attaché in the Greek embassy. Kassandra had quickly learned not to miss either of them. On rare occasions, her mother would fly in for a few days to visit her. They'd spend most of their time together in awkward silence, or muddling through stilted conversations like near-strangers. In one of them, she'd complained about a schoolmate, one of the day-goers who lived in the town nearby, who kept asking her for things, like pens, or notebooks, or erasers; who'd treat her sweetly as long as she handed them over but cruelly whenever she refused. Her mother had looked at her with her opaque diplomat's gaze and said, You are a child of two families of wealth and power, Kassandra. Some recognize the resources you have, and want it only for themselves. They will try to take it from you. And Kassandra had nodded as if she understood.

Pens and notebooks became pocket money became real money soon enough. She didn't truly understand her mother's warning until she arrived at Stanford, but by then she'd learned there were benefits to having all those resources, too.

She could have damn near any woman she wanted, and she did, quite often. And when she was done, she put them back where she'd found them. She had no idea how big her cumulative hotel bill was from all those indulgences around the world, but it was probably enough to buy another home to go with the apartment in New York City, the flats in London and Athens, the house in Seattle, and the condo in San Francisco.

She sipped her bourbon and ran her hand along her collection of bespoke suits. Then she heard her mother's voice again, from some other memory in their distant past. The way we present ourselves to the world is a message, and a single glance will tell a stranger your taste, your means, and your confidence.

Odd, all these thoughts about her mother. She was back in Athens now, the Cabinet Minister of Economy and Development in the new government. Kassandra hadn't seen her in years. But she'd been right about the message a wardrobe could send, and as Kassandra pulled hangers off the rack, she wondered what message Kyra might be composing.

She set her drink aside and pulled on a pair of sand-colored trousers cut from fine English twill, a lightweight denim shirt in a medium wash, and a linen sport jacket the golden brown of a Cuban cigar. Would Kyra wear a flannel shirt to a fundraising gala? She'd probably get away with it if she did. Maybe she'd wear the lumberjack one and lean full tilt into Portland's "Stumptown" persona.

Kassandra frowned as she adjusted her collar in the mirror. A tie would be too formal for this audience, but to go without was unappealing. She browsed her drawers of neckties and accessories until she found a navy blue neckerchief and a matching pocket square. Perfect.

She imagined Kyra the lumberjack smirking into her own mirror at home. Hell, maybe she already had someone there to show off for, someone to ask, How do I look?

Then Kassandra fought back a sigh and lifted her wrist to unbuckle her watch, and in her bedroom's cavernous silence, she could hear the watch's mechanical movement tick-tick-ticking away.

.oOo.

Five minutes past seven o'clock, she was strolling up Alder Street in search of the right address when she heard a "Hey!" from a passing car, and looked over just in time to see Kyra emerge from the back seat of a taxi.

She'd guessed wrong. Kyra had left the flannel at home. Instead, she wore black on black on black: a long-sleeve button-down tucked into tight jeans cuffed at mid-calf over combat boots. She wasn't here to be charming; she was here to kick ass.

Kyra raked her with a glance. "You look... nice," she said, and it was hard to tell what flavor of nice she really meant.

Style lived and died by details, and Kassandra could take in all of Kyra's details now that she was standing up close. Kyra's shirt was fine linen, embroidered with small dots of charcoal grey thread in a pattern reminiscent of Dotted Swiss fabric. It gave the shirt texture and interest. Kassandra had never seen her without mascara and eyeliner on, but now she'd added red lipstick, a dash of color mirrored at the cuffs of her jeans, where the rolled fabric revealed red stitching.

And she'd pulled her hair up into an artfully messy bun, exposing the lines of her neck along with a silver necklace and circular pendant. All together, it was a bold, confident variation of what Kassandra was learning was her signature style. The only thing missing was her tattoos, hidden under long sleeves.

Kassandra swallowed into a suddenly dry mouth. "So do you." She meant it.

The smallest hint of color crept into Kyra's cheeks. "So," she said before the pause grew awkward. "Who am I supposed to be tonight? A friend, or..."

"A friend would be fine." More than that would be dangerous for Kassandra. She'd have to be satisfied seeing Kyra struggle to hide how much she despised her.

Kassandra gestured towards the massive wooden door behind them. "Shall we?" A carved wooden sign was affixed to the wall beside the door that read, Multnomah Whiskey Library, Members Only.

She pulled the door open and let Kyra pass through first.

"So this is the infamous Whiskey Library," Kyra said once inside.

"Ever been here before?"

Kyra snorted. "Fuck no. I'm not paying for the privilege of paying for drinks I could easily make at home." She peered into a glass display case as she passed. "Okay maybe I don't have any twelve hundred dollar bottles of bourbon. But I could make you a damn good cocktail, so good you wouldn't even miss it."

I could make you a damn good cocktail. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Make me a cocktail sometime."

She shrugged. "Maybe. You're a decent tipper. That's earned you some points."

"You'd actually make me pay for it?"

"We're not friends yet," she said breezily. "And I don't work for free."

The doorway to the greatroom beckoned. Kassandra leaned close to Kyra and whispered in her ear. "We're supposed to be. Tonight." Close enough to catch Kyra's scent: a faint hint of coffee, and the spice of some aromatic wood. Cedar maybe, ancient and heady, wafting from the sun-warmed deck of a Kyprian trireme as it cleaved the clear blue waves of the Aegean...

The pleasant image dissipated when Kyra came to an abrupt halt just inside the greatroom. She craned her neck, taking in the sight of heavy oak beams and crystal chandeliers hanging high over brick walls paneled with mahogany. The entire back of the room was dominated by the bar, an imposing structure made of even more mahogany, crowned by shelves packed with bottles. The bartenders wore waistcoats and ties with their shirts, and used an antique library ladder to reach the bottles on the upper tiers.

"I hope you aren't expecting me to hop over that bar to fix you something right now."

Kassandra laughed. "No. However, I am expecting you to have a nice time." And to have a chat with her target. If her hunch proved true, he'd find Kyra very intriguing indeed.

"I'll drink to that," Kyra said drily.

The room was filling up. They moved through the throng, pausing here and there as Kassandra greeted those she knew, until they reached the bar.

Kyra wandered off to order, while Kassandra recognized a man standing nearby as one of the Multnomah County commissioners.

"Chuck Meeran?" She offered her hand. "Kassandra Agiadis. So wonderful to finally meet you."

His handshake was as carefully modulated as any politicians' and he had to tilt his head up to look in her eyes. She could see the wheels turning as he tried to place her name, then the slight widening of recognition. "Ms. Agiadis. It's a pleasure." Only a fractional stumble over the unfamiliar pronunciation of her name. Not bad. He flashed her a friendly smile. "I take it you're not here on coffee business?"

She smiled to match his own. "I'm just a civilian tonight," she said. She glanced at the drink in his hand and pulled on an air of confused helplessness. "I've never been here before, is there a drink you'd recommend?" Men never relaxed around her until they felt themselves superior in some way. Sometimes it paid to speed the process along.

"First time at the Library, really?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "Don't tell anyone, but I just moved here from Seattle." A wink and a smile. Maybe a donation to his re-election campaign later. Greasing the wheels, for the day when one of her companies needed a zoning change, or a variance.

"Ahh yes. As a Timbers fan, I'll try not to hold it against you," he said generously. "Now let's see, if you like a lot of rye..."

She half-listened as he incorrected himself, while sneaking glances up the bar at Kyra, who was leaning conspiratorially in conversation with one of the bartenders — a stocky woman, tidy in her wool waistcoat and polka-dot pocket square. Kassandra felt her eyes narrow, and only after some effort did she manage to wrangle her face back to neutral as the Commissioner blathered on.

It took a few minutes, but Kassandra extracted herself from the conversation with a promise to schedule lunch "very soon" and a glass of some unremarkable bourbon in her hand.

Kyra and the bartender were chuckling over some shared joke. "Seriously," she said, rolling her eyes as the bartender chuckled some more and moved away to take another order.

Kyra leaned back against the bar as Kassandra approached. "Jesus, you weren't kidding about all the Patagucci vests."

"It's a thing," Kassandra said. Even trend-hating Portland wasn't immune to the plague of finance and tech bros who'd decided that fleece vests were the pinnacle of style. "I don't understand it myself."

The area around the bar was starting to get crowded. Kyra pushed herself away from it to let a laughing couple move past. She sipped her drink and studied the assembled guests. "Why am I here tonight, Kassandra?"

Kassandra led her to a slightly more quiet corner of the room. "I want you to meet someone."

"Are they here yet?"

Was she that anxious to leave already? Kassandra hoped not, because her target seemed to be missing. She scanned the crowd again just to be sure, using her height to full advantage. No sign of him. "No, not yet."

Kyra's gaze settled upon her. "I bet you go to shit like this all the time."

"More than I'd like to."

After that, silence. Maybe Kyra had run out of things to say, because supposed to be friends wasn't at all like they actually were.

Closed or open. Those were Kassandra's options. Stay closed, and stand in awkward silence or chat about small, safe subjects. Or she could open up, reveal a little of herself and hope that Kyra might follow. "I spend hours and hours a day talking to people. Sometimes I just want to sit with a book and a glass of bourbon."

Kyra nodded. "I get that. Sometimes it's like... if I have to listen to one more story about someone's day, I'm gonna go mad. Maybe I'd like someone to ask me about my day for once."

"People want a side of therapy with their latte."

"All for four bucks," she said. "But don't get me wrong. Customer service is my gig, and I like it well enough, it's just..."

"Too much of anything will kill you," Kassandra said agreeably.

Kyra eyed her over the edge of her glass. "What about you? If you didn't have to be here, what hot book would you be on a date with?"

To Kassandra's surprise, Kyra's voice held none of her usual mocking tone. She thought of the half-finished translation of Sappho she'd been working on. Kyra would probably roll her eyes and think it horrifically pretentious.

Kyra made Kassandra want to edit herself to impress her. "I've... been reading a lot of poetry lately." A bad answer, but it would give her time to wrack her brain for a good one.

"Oh? Like what?"

A commotion at the front of the room saved her. She looked up, saw a man posing dramatically within the frame of the greatroom's doorway, and smiled.

He strolled into the room: blonde and beautiful as a Greek god. He wasn't Aphrodite emerging from the waves, but a man named Alkibiades, known more for his wit and insatiable appetite for hedonism than his generosity. And if Kassandra was going to win this evening, she'd need to convince him to change his ways, if only for a little while.

Kyra's attention followed Kassandra's lead, and her eyes widened as she caught sight of him. "You want me to talk to Alki Henriksen? Climbing Magazine coverboy Alki Henriksen?"

Kassandra grinned. "Yeah."

"What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and chat him up?"

"Of course not. I'll make an introduction." Or she would, if she knew Kyra's last name. God damn it. How had she overlooked that important detail?

"You know him?" Kyra was saying, between incredulous head shakes. "Of course you do."

She'd never seen Kyra this... flustered. It was delightful. "Don't tell me you're nervous."

"I'm not nervous," she said a little too quickly. She knocked back the rest of her drink and handed the empty glass to a passing waiter. "Well, what's the plan?"

First, the matter of Kyra's name. "Do you have a business card?"

Kyra shot her a suspicious look, but didn't argue, just reached into her back pocket and pulled out a stack of cards, sliding one off the top and handing it over.

Cliffhanger Coffee Kyra Delianos, Proprietor

No way. Kyra was a fellow Greek. Kassandra's mind flooded with questions. Did she speak Greek? How did she end up in Portland of all places? But now wasn't the time to ask. She shoved her curiosity into her pocket along with the card.

One last thing. She reached for Kyra's wrist, but stopped before making contact. "May I?"

"Okay..." Kyra's brows wrinkled. "Wait, why?" she asked, but she didn't pull away when Kassandra gently lifted her arm and began rolling up her shirtsleeve.

"You have more credibility than anyone else in this room. You own a business here, but you're also a part of this community," Kassandra said as she folded the fabric, her heart jumping every time her fingers brushed Kyra's skin. "And you very clearly don't look like someone who lives in Lake Oswego or West Linn." Stepford, cookie-cutter suburbs, filled with what passed for the wealthy in this part of the country. "It's worth emphasizing that you're a patron and constituent. To this particular audience, that carries weight." She finished the cuff, then moved on to the second sleeve.

Kyra looked skeptical but didn't say anything, just dropped her eyes to watch Kassandra's hands work the fabric of her shirt.

Kassandra smoothed the cuff just above Kyra's elbow, then ran a fingertip down the delicately shaded lines of the tattoo she'd revealed. "Besides, I think they're beautiful." And with that, she turned and stepped into the crowd.

Time to go fishing.

She cast her line easily enough, edging through the crowd that had gathered around Alkibiades and hooking him with a simple, "Walk with me?" They weren't exactly friends, but their history was such that it was enough to get him to join her without question.

Kyra, to her credit, hadn't moved from where Kassandra had left her, and she greeted their arrival with a casual ease. No sign of the nervous fluster of before.

"Now Alki," Kassandra said. "I know you get so bored talking to the same stale people at these things, and you know I can't tell a cam from a carabiner, so I brought you someone who does." She turned her gaze to Kyra. "Kyra, this is Alkibiades Henriksen. Alki, this is Kyra Delianos."

They shook hands. "Alki's short for Alkibiades?" she asked.

He grinned. "My mother had a flair for the dramatic."

"Kyra owns a coffee shop here in town," Kassandra said. "Cliffhanger, off of Belmont."

"Cliffhanger, you say? I like you already."

Kyra's eyes flicked over her and back. "I'm so glad Kassandra introduced us, because I owe you a thank you."

"Oh?"

"One of your ropes saved my life once."

Kassandra had chosen wisely. Kyra knew how to work a conversation, balancing her compliments with questions to get him to talk about himself and his company, and soon enough they were discussing things like the hand feel of synthetic fibers and dynamic versus static elongation and Kassandra took that as her cue to step back and get out of the way.

A tall, trim man in a sport jacket wandered past her elbow. "Merritt!" she said with a smile as she joined him. He owned the top tier men's and women's teams in this soccer-obsessed city. "How nice to see you. And how are your Timbers and Thorns..."

.oOo.

For the next half hour, Kassandra worked the room with a smile, a firm handshake, and a stack of business cards. She spoke with a tipsy neurologist from OHSU; a partner at some law firm with a comically long name she'd already forgotten; and a creative director at Wieden+Kennedy, who was all too happy to tell her how they'd picked the locations to animate in this year's anime-inspired advert for the Oregon tourism board.

Alki caught up to her as she finished her circuit of the room. "Kassandra! I really must thank you."

"For?"

"That introduction." He nodded over the crowd towards Kyra, who was off in a corner chatting with a few other guests. "She's exquisite. Like a wild tigress. Is she yours?"

"No. And she'd better not hear you say that or you'll end up wearing your balls for a necklace."

"So not yet."

"She can barely stand to be in the same room with me." What the fuck was she doing, letting that slip? There was something about him that disarmed her in the most inconvenient times.

His face lit up. "She's fair game, then?"

Careful, Kassandra. She smiled at him while taking a slow and measured breath through her nose. "You'd have to ask her."

He dropped his mouth open and pressed his hand against his chest. "Tamping down your anger on my behalf? Are you trying to turn me on?" Then he laughed. "I never thought I'd see the mighty Kassandra sell herself short. Your tigress only has eyes for you, darling."

Kassandra found herself meeting Kyra's gaze across the room, but before she could nod, or smile, or do anything at all, Kyra looked away abruptly.

"I know carnal interest when I see it," he said sagely.

"It'll never happen."

"Why not? Did you kick her puppy or something? No, don't give me that look. I know you're no puppy kicker. Stealing her puppy for yourself would be more your style."

She ignored him. "Have you forgotten who I work for?"

His eyes widened as he connected the dots. "Oh dear, that is awkward." He paused, considering. "But look at you, still trying anyway. I admire your persistence in the face of adversity."

"You're speaking to me like you know me well."

"Oh, but it's true. Like recognizing like. It's what we do, you and I: float high above it all to keep everyone from coming too close. But sometimes one of those pesky mortals becomes too captivating to resist." He lifted a brow over clear grey eyes and fine, androgynous features. "Is she worth coming down from Olympus for?"

She found herself gritting her teeth. "You don't know a fucking thing about me."

"Come now, Kassandra. All this sexual tension's making you mean."

To hell with him and his money. She was this close to writing off the bet she'd made and telling him something she'd regret. But then she'd be wasting all of Kyra's efforts, and setting back the Library's fundraising as well. She took a breath, then laughed a laugh that said Let's change the subject. "We've been talking far too much about me," she said. "So, what magazine cover did you land this quarter?"

He was all too happy to tell her about his latest climbing adventure, to Peru this time, and then the conversation shifted as it always did to his ambitions for Vertus, the climbing gear company he'd founded.

"Then Kyra flat-out told me that Vertus had no reputation other than making 'bombproof' gear."

That did sound Kyra-esque.

"And then she said if I wanted to be Yvon Chouinard, I'd have to start acting like him."

Yvon Chouinard, the founder of Patagonia, Inc., known for his activism and philanthropic efforts. "She's got a point, and she's not shy about stabbing people with it."

"Is she that candid with you?" he asked, smiling as Kassandra nodded. "Oh to have a front row seat in the theatre when that happens." He paused in thought. "Well. Between the two of you, I've had a wonderfully enlightening time this evening. But I'm sure you invited me here for a reason, Kassandra."

Her smile was small and knowing and there was no need for her to say more.

"I'd love to see my name at the top of the generosity leaderboard tonight," he said. "How many digits do you think it would take?"

"Six."

"For you darling, my wallet's wide, wide open."

.oOo.

A short while later, Kassandra was camped near the bar with a well-deserved victory drink in hand. No way she was losing this bet now. She couldn't wait to see the look on—

"So that was Alki Henriksen."

Kassandra turned and found Kyra walking up to join her. "It sure was."

"Did you get what you wanted?" she asked. "Scratch that, I can already tell. You're just reeking of smug satisfaction."

"Couldn't have done it without you."

"You're welcome." There was humor in her voice. "He said the two of you met at a Blazers game."

"We did, yeah."

"He also said you used to play, once." She gave Kassandra an appraising look. "Were you any good?"

Kassandra shrugged, her edges still raw from her earlier conversation with him. "I was all right."

A voice spoke from behind her. "'All right'? She was the best player in the country three years in a row."

Kassandra turned with a grin. "Hello, Roxana."

They embraced, briefly, as Kyra watched them with thinly-veiled curiosity. Roxana squeezed Kassandra's hands and stepped back to study her. "'course I'll never fucking forgive you for knocking us out of the Final Four."

Stanford versus Cal, that never-ending Bay Area rivalry. They'd split their regular season games that year and traded spots in the rankings back and forth until tournament time, and then everything came down to one game, win or go home, Stanford down one point and only two seconds left on the clock...

"You were guarding me so close it took a fucking circus shot to win that game," Kassandra said.

"Only you would have taken that shot — and only you could have made it."

They grinned at each other until Kassandra remembered her manners. "Roxana, this is Kyra. Kyra, Roxana." The two of them shook hands like two leopards meeting: an instant sizing up of the other, shoulders pulling back, spines straightening.

"Nice to meet you," Kyra said.

"The pleasure's mine." Roxana shifted her gaze between Kyra and Kassandra and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry I interrupted you two, but this was my first chance to say hello all evening."

"It's been what, five years since we've seen each other?"

"Near enough."

"How are the kids?"

"Kiana's on a good travel team and thinks she's going to play for Stanford. I don't know if I'm going to survive wearing your colors for four years."

"She's got plenty of time to change her mind."

Kyra lifted her empty glass. "Excuse me a moment," she said.

She cut through the crowd with a feline grace. Kassandra turned back to Roxana to find her smiling curiously. "A friend of yours?"

"Something like that."

"I'm not sure what I think of this new humble, evasive you."

Damn, it was good to see her. She'd always been beautiful, and over the years, she'd found contentment in a balance of family and career that had only deepened her beauty. Roxana wasn't the one who got away, but a vision of what might have been.

What might have been, if they'd been able to make a long-distance relationship work while Roxana was playing ball in Russia and trying to catch on to a WNBA roster. What might have been, if Kassandra had never gotten into the back of that towncar with her father, not knowing that she was about to be driven straight into a car wreck that would tear her and her life to shreds.

Roxana had tried — she'd tried harder than anyone else — but when Kassandra finally got out of the hospital, she was too far gone, too into her anger, too busy pushing everyone away while she tried to figure out what the hell she was going to do with her life now that basketball had been canceled from her equation.

"It's good to see you," she told Roxana. "And I'm going to win our bet, just so you know."

"Now there's the Kassandra I know and love."

"Nike still running you ragged?"

"I flew in from Boston last night. We're going all in with Eliud — if anyone's going to run a sub-two-hour marathon, it's going to be him."

"I can't think of anyone better to lead that charge," she said, smiling as Roxana wrestled with the compliment. "So what have I missed in five years?" she asked, but as she listened to Roxana tell her of what might have been, her eyes kept drifting to the crowd, looking for Kyra and the possibility of what might be.

.oOo.

It wasn't until the fundraiser was winding down that Kyra found her at the bar.

She'd left Kyra alone to mingle without distraction, and every time she'd caught a glimpse of Kyra in the crowd, she'd been deep in conversation with someone new. Good. Let her build that network.

"They're saying Alki pledged half a million tonight," she said without preamble. "No one else came close."

Kassandra smiled into the last of her drink and finished it off. "Mmmhmm."

"That's a lot of money," she said. Then she gave Kassandra a sideways glance and added, "Not for you, I'm sure, but..."

Any answer from Kassandra's mouth would be wrong. That topic had too many dangerous currents, was too perilous to their friendly façade. "Did you have a nice time tonight, at least?" Safer waters.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Nearly ten o'clock. She'd overstayed her deadline by an hour.

"But not for long."

That confused her, but then she followed Kassandra's eyes to the area behind bar, where the bartenders were moving racks of glassware and wiping down the bartop, cleaning up after the fundraiser and getting ready to reopen for the bar's private clientele.

They got the hint, and headed for the exit.

"This carriage is about to turn back into a pumpkin. Or a speakeasy," Kyra said. Then she gave herself a self-deprecating snort. "That was a terrible metaphor. It's not even close to midnight."

On the sidewalk outside, they stopped and looked at each other, both trying to figure out something to say.

Kyra beat her to it. "I did have a really nice time," she said, and there was an ember of warmth to her that hadn't been there before.

Kassandra wanted more of it. "Would you like to grab a—"

"Kassandra! You weren't going to leave without gloating over your victory, were you?"

Fuck. She turned to Roxana in time to be enveloped in a bear hug. "Actually, I was—"

"Alki Henriksen opening his wallet. Unbelievable. I thought I had you beat for sure after I got Tim and Merritt to sign on."

At the edge of her vision, she could see Kyra's features freeze over. Fuckfuckfuck.

Roxana smiled at her fondly. "You should join me on the Library board, you know. We could use you."

It took Kassandra a moment to regain her wits. "I'll think about it."

"Don't think too long to say yes." She checked her phone. "There's my Uber, I've got to run. Lunch sometime? Soon."

"Yes, for sure."

Then Roxana disappeared into the back of her ride. She'd left Kassandra on the sidewalk and taken all the air on the street with her.

Kassandra turned slowly. "Kyra, I—"

"You used me."

"To raise more money than I could have on my own."

"So you could win a bet. That's all this was to you. Another chance for you to lift some trophy in your own mind," she said, her voice as sharp as a blade. Then she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"Where are you going?"

She didn't stop, didn't turn around. "On a walk."

"At this time of night?"

She ignored the question, putting more and more distance between them.

"Fuck," Kassandra muttered, then hurried in pursuit, falling into step beside Kyra, close enough to be caught in the splash zone of Kyra's seething anger.

Kyra kept her eyes straight ahead. "What are you doing?"

"Walking with you."

"I didn't ask you to."

"I don't care," Kassandra said. "You want to go somewhere? I'll see you there safely. You want to walk around, aimlessly? We'll walk around, aim—"

Kyra took two quick steps and pulled ahead, then whirled around and stopped square in Kassandra's path, somehow filling the entire sidewalk with her immovable presence. "Stop it," she said, raising both hands in front of her. "Just... stop." Her eyes searched Kassandra's face. "Why won't you leave me alone?"

Sudden pain was something Kassandra knew. A lowered shoulder bashing into her chest hard enough to crack ribs. A highside flinging her from her dirtbike onto the rocks. And now she had another entry for the list: a few simple words in the shape of a question. "If that's what you want, say it, and you won't see me again."

Kyra stared at her, and Kassandra felt herself standing up straighter, her spine and ribs tightening as if pulled by a great winch; her body closing the gates and readying the defenses.

Then Kyra laughed, the sound as thin and brittle as the shards from a broken window, and just as dangerously sharp. "I want a fucking drink."

She walked away, and Kassandra followed helplessly after her. One block up, another block over, and then Kyra headed straight for a hole in the wall with the discouraging name of "Scooter McQuades" printed on a boxy sign that flickered fluorescently into the night.

If the Oxford English Dictionary had an entry for "dive bar," it couldn't do any better than a description of this place: a dimly lit snapshot of the early nineties, where the music was abrasive and loud, and decades of grime stained the walls.

The woman behind the bar looked over at them and smiled. "Kyra! I'll be damned."

It was interesting, how quickly Kyra could relax in the right circumstances. Like a light switch flipping.

"Ann! I didn't think you'd be working tonight." She smiled apologetically. "It's been too long, I know."

"You're busy. I'm busy. It's all good." The bartender was older, maybe in her fifties, dark hair streaked with grey and faded tattoos on her forearms. Cotton-candy pinks and blues. But her movements behind the bar were as clean and purposeful as a scalpel and her eyes were lively with humor. She quirked an eyebrow just long enough to give Kassandra an appraising gaze, then turned back to Kyra.

"What are ya hankerin' for, love?"

"PBR and tots."

Then it was Kassandra's turn. "What'll it be for you?"

Kyra interrupted before she could open her mouth. "She'll have a PBR, too."

"How do you like them tots?"

"Cajun."

"Won't take but a minute, I promise." She dismissed them with a wave of her hand. "Well, don't just stand there, have a seat, both of you. Booth, bar, pick your poison."

Kyra chose a booth near the windows. The cracked vinyl seats had once been emerald green, but time had faded them to a dull moss, and someone had patched the worst of the wear with strips of black tape. At least the top of the table seemed clean.

Kyra leaned back against the vinyl and stared at her.

Kassandra had been grilled by hostile lawyers in the courtroom and shouted at by C-level blowhards in the boardroom, but nothing compared to the withering scrutiny she was getting in this dive bar — and Kyra hadn't even said a fucking word.

The drinks came, along with a steaming basket of tater tots, and in moments the booth smelled of beer and fried potatoes. Kyra tossed a soggy cardboard coaster emblazoned with "Kilkenny" in front of her, then placed a pint of PBR upon it.

"Drink it."

She did. It was better than she thought. Better than she remembered, during those beer-soaked college days when she played hard and partied harder, a different sorority girl in her bed every night.

Kyra sipped her own beer and nodded at the bottles of Jameson lined up at the end of the bar. "I want that bottle of whiskey. But I know I shouldn't have it." She popped a tater tot into her mouth, chewed thoughtfully. Reached across the table for the bottle of ketchup. Shook it forcefully and tapped out a puddle onto a paper-lined corner of the basket.

Kassandra couldn't remember the last time she'd had a tater tot. College, maybe? She picked one out and ate it. Spicy heat. Paprika and cayenne and plenty of MSG, probably, the flavors floating on a raft of grease and fluffy potato. It was good, and as comforting as a warm blanket.

She glanced at the ketchup bottle. Not Heinz, something local. Organic, artisanal ketchup in a dive bar, reminding her that she was still in Portland after all.

Ann bustled by with a tray full of pints destined for another table.

Kyra nodded in her direction. "She's owned this place something like twenty-five years," she said. "That's what I want. I want my shop to last." She pushed the corner of her beer coaster with a fingertip. "But I don't think that's going to happen."

She moved her finger in a slow arc, spinning the coaster. Her glass spun with it, leaving a wet trail behind on the tabletop.

"I don't have a safety net, Kassandra. I don't have any family left, and my money's tied up in my shop. If I fuck up, it's all on me." Her hand stilled. "And I think about that every single time I have to make a decision about the shop or about money. It's always there in the back of my mind. Always."

She pushed the coaster hard enough for the beer in the glass to slosh from side to side.

"I'm not telling you this because I want your pity. I chose this business. It's just... I have a lot to lose, but my everything wouldn't even be a blip on your radar."

"I understand."

Her smile was patient. "No you don't, but that's okay."

She tipped a tater tot into the pool of ketchup. Fished it out. Ate it.

"My lease is up this fall, and judging by that look on your face, you know exactly what that means for me. I'll get to play the negotiation game with my landlord, trying to get to a place where the rent increase won't crush me."

Kassandra thought of the shiny new furniture store next door to the coffee shop. The deck was stacked against Kyra; all that outside money pouring into the neighborhood was there for one purpose: to raise rents.

"So I'm still thinking about your offer, because I'd be a fool not to."

"There's no universe in which I'd ever mistake you for a fool."

Silence, then. Maybe she'd killed the conversation. Maybe Kyra just wanted to sit in peace and drink her beer and eat some tater tots, and forget for a moment that she was the only one holding up the weight of her world.

The world revolved around money. Kassandra saw the windows of the coffee shop going dark, the bar and chairs and tables vanishing, a FOR LEASE sign pasted up against the glass. Outside money. Kyra's problem was the kind of problem she could solve.

One tater tot left. Kyra's brow arched in silent question, and Kassandra shook her head in a take it motion.

Kassandra finished her beer, and watched the remnants of foam slide down the walls of the glass. After a while, she cleared her throat, looked at Kyra, and said, "So, how was your day?"

Kyra blinked, but then a slow smile spread across her lips. "It was interesting," she said. "I had the day off, so I climbed all morning and spent the afternoon figuring out what the hell I was going to wear tonight." Then she laughed, more from disbelief than humor. "And then I go to this fundraiser with no idea what to expect, and end up talking to Alki fucking Henriksen, the god of climbing. He wants to meet about doing a collab with my shop. I never would have dreamed of that being a possibility. Never. Though I'm sure he's just trying to get in my pants."

"He wants both. Business and pleasure." Like recognizing like.

"It's tempting; he is a beautiful man."

They'd make a striking couple. The thought of it was vertiginous. She kept her face blank and her mouth shut as she studied the worn formica next to her glass.

"But I already have enough of a distraction on my plate."

Kassandra nodded. "I know." Everything kept circling back to the same place.

Silence for several seconds, then Kyra spoke again. "I wish our circumstances were different."

That made Kassandra look up. "So do I."

"Do you? Would you even notice me if I was some rando on the street, I wonder." Then she waved one hand dismissively while tipping back her head to drain her beer with the other. The glass hit the table with a bang, and she slid it aside. "No, don't answer that. I've got to open the shop early tomorrow."

Kassandra grabbed the check before Kyra's glass came to a stop. She dropped cash on the table, then picked up the pen and receipt and wrote her number at the bottom.

"What's this?" Kyra said as Kassandra pushed it in front of her.

"My phone number, if you ever need it. Or if your opinion about our circumstances ever changes."

For a moment, she thought Kyra might not take it. But Kyra did, her fingers gracefully folding the paper before slipping it into her front pocket. And then they were standing, and Kyra was saying goodbye to Ann, and they were walking outside to stand face-to-face on the sidewalk. Déjà vu.

They stared at each other.

In the backwash of fluorescent light, Kyra's eyes were sheened with black opal. "I was kinda hoping I'd have a horrible time tonight," she said, and she reached out and tucked a stray lock of Kassandra's hair back behind her ear, and then her fingers drifted down to the lapel of Kassandra's jacket, and over to the knot on Kassandra's neckerchief, and she gave it a gentle tug, and smoothed its tails so they hung neatly. "I really was."

She stepped back, and her eyes said something in a language Kassandra hadn't yet learned how to read.

"Will you text me?" Kassandra asked.

"I don't know." Her gaze moved past Kassandra's shoulder. "Oh, I want that taxi."

Three long strides and Kassandra was in the street, flagging it down, opening the door.

"Thanks for coming with me tonight," she said as Kyra settled into the back seat.

"Wait, how are you getting home?"

"Walking. It's not far." Then she closed the door, flashed a smirk and a wave as Kyra rolled her eyes and the taxi pulled away.

Chapter six of The Sellout.

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #okay so this is like the longest thing ever #but it also needed to be #god this fic is such an indulgence lol #i had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this #the sellout

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tokoyamisstuff · 4 years

Text

Four Seasons Pt. 1 out of 4 - Spring

After the pretty vague request of a sweet little Anon:

Pt. 1 - Blooming Love

Summary: Collection of shorts about how you spent a surprisingly normal year at the Stark Tower with the Avengers - except for the fact that you somehow got the God of Mischief to take a liking to you.

Warnings: None. No kinky shit, sorry guys. No Angst either. Just pure Fluff.

Words: 2880

(I think I’ve wrote everything gender neutral but I’m not sure. Maybe I forgot sth, let me know!)

Masterlist to my other Fics right ->Here<-

On a morning ike this, it was hard for you to be asleep for too long.

Rays of sun had already softly woken you up, reminding you that this day would be a special one.

Even though you would’ve loved to sleep late on your day off, your racing heartbeat pumped adrenaline through your veins the very moment your lover’s image shot into your head.

He was the last thing you thought of when you’d close your eyes, and the first thing when a new day began.

Still a bit sleep drunk, you did your usual morning stretches and enjoyed a long shower before you tried to make yourself looking as formidable as possible.

Wandering along the still empty streets of New York, you enjoyed the relaxing silence, while whistling carelessly together with the birds in the trees.

Colours, sounds, even thoughts - that feeling when you were in love, it made everything seem even brighter.

It sounded ridiculous, really - but you had been invited for brunch with the Avengers.

When you arrived at the giant sky scrapper, you’d rummage in your bag to get the ID card Tony handed you and shoved it into the face of the security guard.

“Welcome, Y/N” a robotic voice you recognized to be F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted you, “But I have to inform that you’re quite early. The other team members are still fast asleep.”

“I’m not a team member” you thought to yourself as you smiled into one of the security cameras, as means to greet it back. The lower floors were completely empty on sundays, being mostly offices and other rooms made for Tony’s employees.

Walking through the pomporous entrance hall, seeing so many monitors and advertisment (of which most of it was Tony’s self-glorification), you could only think about how all of this was way too flashy, too modern for your taste, but well...

That’s just Tony’s taste. His home, his rules. And to a certain extend, you thought, giggling audibly, Loki and him were alike - both full of pride and, if you wanted to be mean, you could say they were little showoffs.

And since last time when you invited them to your flat they almost destroyed everithing during their friendly little strenght battles, you thought it’d be better if from now on you’d become the visitor instead.

“I wonder what Loki’s room looks like” you pondered when the lift was making it’s way upwards to the highest levels.

You walked straight through the giant living room, trying to sneak past the God of Thunder, who seemed to have fallen asleep while watching Netflix and playing Video Games the whole night - again.

Letting out a little sigh, you closed the kitchen door behind you and asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to play some music as you started to collect the needed kitchen utensils.

Good thing Bucky bought everything you asked of him. Going grocery shopping sounded so easy for every normal human being, yet to Bucky, it was part of his rehabilitation process and you knew it didn’t came easy to him to be in great crowds of people, all by himself.

So you were really relieved that your worries seemed to have been unnecessary.

Actually, Tony wanted to just buy something for breakfast. You’ve never heared of a brunch delivery - even though in your mind it was a damn good idea - but you guessed it was nothing unusual for a man that rich.

He could probably get anything he wanted by just waving his hand - another thing he and Loki had in common, only through different ressources.

But well, it didn’t really feel like work to you. Putting a little effort into telling your newfound friends “Thanks for having me”, was almost as much fun to you as actually spending time with them.

You loved showering those you care about with love and attention, which was probably why you were simply made for that touch-starved, affectionate alien.

Soon, your hum turned into loud singing as you swept across the kitchen counter and prepared all kinds of food. Hours rushed past and still no sign of life from the others, but you didn’t care.

Suddenly, you heared a loud snort coming from the doorframe, startling you to an extend that made you stumble together with a bowl filled with strawberries.

You had already protectively covered your head with your hands - but were confused when you didn’t feel yourself hit the ground.

Looking up, there he was, giving you his usual, smug grin - Loki.

He was holding you tight with his one arm, and even caught the bowl with his other, not even one berrie having hit the ground.

“Oh my” he started, “How clumsy you are.”

The god put the plate on the table and gently helped you get back on your feet, holding your hands thight.

Immediately, you felt your head getting as red as the fruit, finding yourself at loss for words.

He still held your hand, leading one of them to his lips so he could place a tender kiss onto it’s back. “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Your shocked features relaxed and you gave him a warm smile as response. “It’s okay, darling.” He secretly loved that nickname - but that’d remain his little secret.

“But why didn’t you wake me up?” While you were already working again, having seen the time, Loki would aimlessly walking besides you. “At least let me help.”

Without you even having time to answer, just a flick of his fingers made the silverware reappear at the table.

“I didn’t know a prince would know how to cook. And also, I didn’t want to bother you that early.” At first he thought you were joking, but it seemed like you really didn’t know much about him.

After all, you’ve only been a couple for a short period of time. It’s only natural that you don’t know such details about life in the palace.

All that was part of his past, and you always said that his future was your privilege.

It was love at first sight, if one believed in that kind of thing.

You were invited to one of Tony’s “reputation-boosting” parties. As a member of one of New York’s greatest newspapers, it was only naturally for you to get invited.

There you were, a fresh reporter, standing in the same room as this surreal troup. Since you mostly worked from home, writing columns and being responsible for a small part of the newspaper’s website, working in the field didn’t come quite naturally to you.

But that shouldn’t ruin your evening.

Everything on you looked stunning, and you knew it.

The wardrobe you chose for tonight, the way you made you hair - it all was perfect for a celebration this formal.

Usually, you didn’t really give a damn about other people’s opinions, and neither you were one to judge someone’s outer appearance.

No, you rather did this for yourself. To boost your confidence, make this special occasion worth remembering.

You were shining, like a shooting star or a freshly polished diamond - and someone else noticed.

Many glances got stuck on you that evening, with one exceptional one glued to you without you noticing .

Until you disappeared to the bar, he basically stared holes into your back. And that man was a mastermind at magic tricks, so even though you were watching him as well, you’d never realize that your eyes met so many times before.

On Asgard, Loki had attended countless of such gatherings. Yet this one was sheer boring - not to talk about the fact that estimately 90% of the people in this hall would either want to see him rotting in jail, or worse.

So he just stood there, nipping on his drink as he stood at the edge of the troup, his brother being at the very center. Everyone was giving interviews or talked to fans, while he patiently waited for this event to be over.

“I’m sorry” a voice directed to him all of a sudden, carefully tapping his back. It was you.

“What?” he retorted, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t mind a magnificent beauty as you approaching him, but it was a mistery why you’d do such a thing.

“Could...umm...would you take a selfie with me? Please?”

His eyes widened in surprise as he saw your pleading eyes, shyly trying to avoid meeting his as you crossed your arms behind your back. “Only if you want to, of course.”

When he took in your appearance, he took notice of the journalist pass around your neck - and it was even more interesting than your unexpected request:

“You areY/N Y/L/N?”

“Y-Yes. Why?” Your cheeks changing to a shade of pink, there was only to hope he didn’t read-

He touched his chin, as if hardly thinking about something. “If I remember correctly, ,you wrote that certain article about the attack of New York, right?”

Damn.

You’ve always been a fan of norse mythology, and had a special weakness for so-called “anti-heroes”, too. They were just way too relatable. So it was only natural for you to write an article about that certain event.

In your earlier works, you’d basically write about how that guy’s misunderstood and philosophize about not only seeing black and white, because there was also a lot of grey zones in the clash of good and evil.

There were also parts where you worked together with psychologists and moral scientists to assess the god and his deeds, coming to the conclusion that even though we might learn something from the incident, the objectives of gods were far too great to understand for us mere mortals. And that was only the beginning...

How f*cking embarassing.

“That’s right” you stuttered, panicking and already trying to leave. “Sorry, I didn’t want to be impolite. I’ll make my leave.”

“Don’t be a fool” he whispered out of the blue, pulling you towards him. “I was quite flattered to have at least a single admirer amongst the human race.”

Planning to give his probably only fan a memory he’d never forget, Loki put his palm on your lower back, kneeling down to your height so you could take the photo. “Shall we?”

It felt like an eternity until your trembling hands would finally get that cellphone out of your pocket, but Loki realized your struggle and took it - his arms were way longer than yours anyway. “May I?” “Yeah, uh- Thank you.”

His appearance almost had a childlike innocence to it when he posed for these photos - a personal gift to you.

Turning your head, your eyes met once again, both faces being mere inches apart. It didn’t seem like he was mocking you, rather enjoying himself right now. You could feel it.

And at that very moment, the two of you simultaneously began to laugh, loudly and heartily before getting lost in each others eyes - and to this day, it would be your favourite photo.

“I think the two of us could have very enlightening conversations, don’t you think?” the sorcerer declared as he watched you swipe through the photos, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. “If you want to go somewhere more interesting, I’d be a honour to guide you to a room with more privacy.”

One nod of you and just like that, in the midst of the festives, the two of you disappeared together, without anyone taking notice.

You had found yourself on top of the stark tower, being able to watch the whole city from the roof. Stars stretched far beyond the horizon, making the lights of the city seem so insignificant.

And on the end of that evening, the Prince of Asgard even managed to steal his first kiss from you - even though only on the cheek.

None of you knew what the two of you just started, or what you should await for the future - but Loki could voice both of your hopes very well:

“I think this is the beginning of something unimaginably fulfilling.”

Lokis words brought you back to the present:

“What’s sleeping worth if the real dream is right here at my side?”

While you were standing at the stove, making some more pancakes, Loki would embrace you from behind, his nose nestling against your neck, making you shiver.

“How cheeky” you mumbled as both of you turned your head so your cheeks could touch.

“You foolish humans just don’t appreciate real romance anymore.” With those words, he’d kiss your temple as he changed his appearance into what resembled a cook. “Now finally, by the gods, let me help you!”

“Yeah, yeah, I see. You’re such a gentleman. And a comedian, too. Maybe you could prepare the scrambled eggs?”

“Your wish is my command, my lady.”

While you watched him eagerly trying to crack the eggs without getting all the shells into the pan, your head shifted back to that first night.

If you looked at him right now, no one would believe you that he’s a literal god, a master of the magical arts and a sharpwittted combatant.

But back then, on that rooftop of the Stark Tower, you knew that no matter what exactly he was, and what secrets e’d still be keeping to himself - you wanted to know anything about this man.

And it was set in stone that you’d fell in love with every facade of him.

A little bit exhausted, you let yourself fall onto the sofa in the living room. Thor has probably gone for his early training, and there was no one else to be seen either - all of them seemed to have been sleeping late.

It was a wonder no one had smelled the food and simply annihilate it even faster than it had been prepared. But when you watched the whole scenery at the kitchen table, you were pretty damn proud of yourself.

“Truly magnificent” Loki commented as he sat down next to you, adding “You must value your companions very much.”

“Maybe I was just trying to impress you, you know.” You rested your head at the most comfortable place possible - Loki’s lap, while he gently stroke your hair. “You’ve done well, little one. But you don’t have to go to such lenghts to impress me. My respect is meant only for you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss onto your temple before leaning onto the backrest, wondering “How about we just disappear? A day for just the two of us?”

“Well...” you pondered as you got up, your hand still resting on his knee “I wanted to go for a walk in the park. Maybe you’re up for a traditional picknick?”

Loki’s face contorted in disapproval, which only caused you to blurt out a laugh and pinch his nose. “What’s wrong now, moaning minnie? Not fancy enough?”

“You call that cheap excuse of nature a place someone wants to be? Oh my, I wish you could’ve seen the royal gardens of Asgard.” You knew he missed his home painfully, even though he used to say that you were his home from now on, and he wouldn’t need anything else. It was hard to adapt to an environment that alien to him.

Suddenly, like he did many times before, he cupped your cheeks with his hands, his fingertips only barely touching your temples, assuming “Or maybe, I can show you...”

You felt his magic flow through you, projecting the most beautiful images directly into your head. It was like you could wander those woods yourself, feel the grass onto your feet and smell flowers you’ve never seen before.

There were no words for the bond that two of you shared at that moment, when he let you into the core of his very self, letting you see his memories through your eyes.

Calmness began to settle in both of you, exhaling deeply before your eyes met once again.

“That was amazing, Loki. You are amazing.”

“I don’t have much to offer, my love. But I’m willing to share everything remotely positive with you, Y/N.”

You could feel the cold he was radiating, his fastened breath on your skin. His hands still on your face, you were even able to feel his heart racing through his veins.

Finally, the glimmer in your eyes hinting consent, he’d slowly move himself closer to you, not letting go of you for one second. His hold got tighter as your lips were just about to meet, when-

“Oh my GOD! Guys, they’re finally at it!” Scott yelled through the whole hallway, and you could hear metaphorically a thousand doors opening in response. He was still wearing his Frozen-Pyjama, holding a mug with Natasha’s forbiddenly strong coffee in his hand.

It was so intriguing to them, how anyone could win the heart of the God of Lies -until he met you, they were doubting he even had one. So in an instant, the whole team of superheroes had surrounded you, as if to watch a romantic movie together and waiting for the final sequence.

“I need a coffee before I’m able to deal with you guys.”

“That makes two of us.”

_____

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tatooines-ghosts · 3 years

Text

HAPPY 2020s ENDING Y’ALL!!!

Enjoy a little blog-exclusive Shades AU that I affectionately refer to as the No Jedi Allowed AU, feat. everybody’s favorite prequel-era Mandalorian bounty hunter.

Sometime this last summer, while trying to work past writer’s block, I toyed with a little AU idea for funsies, I made a post about it, said I wasn’t going to do anything else with it, and left it at that. Until a month or two ago when, still in the throes of writer’s block, I took that little AU idea and figured “fuck it, I’m not working on the next chapter, but at least it’s writing SOMETHING Shades related” and made a real thing out of it.

This is Part 1. Future parts will come out at some point in the future, I’m thinking about making these a holiday special or something haven’t decided yet. (And really it’s only blog-exclusive because I cannot make a series on AO3 and remain anonymous so...)

Enough rambling. Please read, I hope you all enjoy this look at how things might have gone a little differently if a couple Jedi didn’t end up going all the way out to Tatooine to stick their noses into Hutt business.

Please assume content warnings given on AO3 may apply to this story as well. Also, beware spoilers if you are not fully caught up on the main story.

No Jedi Allowed AU - Part 1

Jango Fett heaved a long sigh as the door closed behind him. He had just finished up a long job for Jabba, one that should have been quick but ended up requiring well over a week of stake outs and reconnaissance, but in the end he got his man, as he always did. Jabba had at least expressed his gratitude suitably, in money and amenities. He had given Jango one of the better guest suites and was probably going to send up one of his better girls for a night of entertainment.

Jango began shedding his armor, considering what he would do with the slave girl. He really didn't have the energy to draw anything out. He hoped it wasn't going to be a new girl, explaining how things work was more effort than he cared to expend. Really he just wanted a shower and to sleep, but he wasn't about to leave his stuff unattended with a stranger on the way.

There was a light rap on the door.

"Enter."

The slave entered pushing a dinner cart. Jango breathed a sigh of relief. "Skywalker, nice to see you again."

She flashed him a small smile. "Been a while, hasn't it, Jango?" She paused just over the threshold and let the door lock behind her. "The usual tonight?"

"Sure." He finished removing his armor and set it aside carefully aside. "Get yourself ready, I'm hitting the shower first."

He stepped into the 'fresher, leaving Skywalker alone. Ten minutes later, he was stepping back out, with the provided robe draped around him. His clothes were a little rank, and the quick rinse he gave them in the shower wasn't enough to really clean them. They'd get a proper wash when he got home.

Skywalker had set up dinner, laying out the food and drink from the cart on the little dining table for him. She was perched at the holotable, flipping through the selection of games. There weren’t many games, as most visitors to a Hutt pleasure den were usually otherwise occupied in their rooms, or wanted to watch porn.

"How's dejarik sound? I'm not feeling anything particularly strenuous tonight."

"Fine." Jango sat down in the free seat. He grabbed the complimentary bottle of liquor and poured himself a healthy glass. He offered Skywalker a drink, but she declined. She did pick at the fruit he offered to share. There was always more food than he could eat, and he knew the slaves didn’t get fed nearly as well as guests.

She made the first move on the dejarik board. "How's Boba?"

They fell into comfortable conversation about Boba, about Skywalker's sister, about the recently finished racing season – Jango congratulated Skywalker on another victorious season. They played a few lackluster games of dejarik. That was a bit unusual, Skywalker was a worthy opponent, and she didn’t usually lose more than once or twice.

He beat her soundly for the fourth time in a row, the board resent, his turn to make the first move, but instead he checked the time. "I think I'm going to turn in. It's late enough."

"Yeah," she agreed distractedly. She fiddled with the edge of the gauzy white shawl wrapped around her. She looked pale, uneasy.

Jango gave her another critical, searching look. Her behavior was odd enough, was she supposed to be spying on him? Bribe him, coerce him, assassinate him? He knew Jabba wasn’t opposed to taking out a troublesome being with some poison served by a pretty face, but Jango hadn’t done anything to offend his second-best employer recently. The Hutt had no reason to want him dead, or otherwise intimidated.

Maybe Skywalker was just having an off day, or dealing with some other problem. He wasn’t going to ask. Wasn’t his business.

Her outfit tonight was white and copper, paper-thin linen wrapped in layers to be made suitably opaque, with copper metal accents to draw the eye and match the heavy collar around her neck. It was one of her softer, looser costumes. Aside from looking pale and anxious, Skywalker looked pretty good, a little softer, better fed. Jabba kept his slaves starved and stick thin, save for a few exceptions for the fetishists. This was a change, but not a poor one. Maybe Skywalker was being treated better after another successful racing season.

He turned off the holotable and stood up to stretch. The bed was looking very comfortable, and he wanted to get out of here early tomorrow morning.

Skywalker didn't move. "Jango, I need your help."

He fell still. This was a first, she had never asked for his help before. He'd taught her a few tricks to defend herself against handsy patrons who hadn't paid for the privilege to touch her. Maybe someone was a little more aggressive than she could handle. But Jabba had enforcers on staff whose job it was to take care of people like that. There wasn't anything else he could do for her. She had nothing to ask him to smuggle of planet, and there probably wasn't anything she knew of that he could bring to her. Which meant she was about to ask him to do something very stupid and probably impossible.

"What is it?"

She turned her wide blue eyes to him, her lower lip was caught between her teeth, and she worried it as she considered her next words. He could read her indecision clear in her face. His heart sank. If she was so afraid to even say the words, it couldn't be anything good.

"I need you to free me and my sister."

Jango actually laughed, a single, dry bark. "You're joking." She wasn't. "You want me to steal you from the Hutts? Never gonna happen. Jabba would kill us both for just considering it."

She didn't seem particularly disappointed with his rejection. She implored, "Please, Jango, you're our only hope for freedom."

"No. No way." Even if he wanted to, Jango wouldn't risk earning Jabba's ire, no matter how much he liked Skywalker.

Yes, he felt sorry for Skywalker and her little sister. Being born slaves was unfortunate, but it was their rotten luck that they ended up being owned by Jabba the Hutt. If anyone touched Jabba's property, or thought they could steal from him, they were dead already. Jango had been hired several times to bring in a bounty on someone who had done exactly that. He was not going to put himself on Jabba's shit list.

"I'm pregnant!" she blurted out. "Please, Jango, I can't let my baby be born a slave too." She shifted her arms, removing the shawl from around her waist, and there was the unmistakable roundness to her belly. "I don't even know if Jabba will let me keep my baby."

Jango sighed heavily. "He let you keep your sister."

"Because I didn't give birth to her, because he needed leverage over me after my mom died." She drew a shaking breath; he could see tears gathering in her frightened eyes. "He hasn't even made up his mind on whether he'll let me have the baby. Any day now he could take them from me if it stops me from being able to serve. He'll cut the baby out of me, he'll kill them. And if I do get to have them, then what? He'll steal them from my arms, or just use them like he uses Shila. Please, Jango, I can't go on like this. I want my baby to live. I want to raise them. I want Shila to grow up and know what freedom is."

Jango didn't move, didn't speak, his eyes stayed on Skywalker. His brain was already picking at the idea; it wouldn't be too difficult to – no! He was not about to ruin his career and risk his life for a pregnant slave girl, it's not like the baby was his. What stake did he have at all in Skywalker's future? None! If he tried helping her and they got caught, Boba would be left fatherless. The boy might never know what became of his father. But Anakin... she was the victim of her circumstances. Her little sister and her unborn baby were innocent of the whole matter. They were just slaves.

It wasn't like Jango was opposed to slavery, it was a lucrative evil for the dark corners of the galaxy, and it kept him paid, fed, and employed. He was a mercenary; he wasn't a saint, or even really a good person. Killing was never personal, it was for the job, but he still had a code of honor. And abandoning Skywalker after she asked for his help, after she had exposed herself to be in such a vulnerable position… that was breaking his code.

Would he be able to live with himself if he left her here to her fate? If Jabba stole her child, would he ever be able to look her in the eye again? And Boba... was this the kind of example he wanted to set for his son? Disregarding the lives of children and babies because he didn’t want to risk his own neck. Shameful. Dishonorable. No true Mandalorian would sacrifice a child’s life for their own comfort.

"Ossik," Jango hissed under his breath, dropping back into his seat. "Okay. Fine. I'll get you out of here."

Freeing Skywalker and her little sister was easier than Jango suspected it would have been. Granted it was easy for him to go where he needed in the palace, and nobody looked at him twice. He met Shila Skywalker, the little ad'ika he had heard so much about from her older sister. It was clear they were family, they shared the same face, but where Anakin was fair haired and blue-eyed, Shila was dark haired and brown-eyed. Reportedly she looked like their mother, Shmi, but Jango had never met the woman. Shila was young, only three years old, and she was quiet and shy, and frightened of Jango; a fact that was not helped at all when Jango had to cut the slave chip out of the child's stomach. It was just beneath the skin, and he didn't have to cut deep, so he was able to be very quick about it, but it still had to be done without pain killers.

It hadn’t been pleasant or fun for any involved. Skywalker had to hold the child down, keeping her hand pressed over Shila’s mouth to muffle the screams. But Jango had been the one with the knife. It would probably be some time before the child trusted him.

She flinched away from him with a whimper, hiding her face in her sister’s shoulder when he offered his hand after it and apologized. “Sorry, ad’ika, but you were very brave.”

The elder Skywalker, on the other hand, hardly made a sound when Jango carved out her chip from her shoulder.

With the girls freshly unchipped, Jango smuggled them unseen into his ship and stowed them in a hidden compartment in his cargo hold. It was specially lined to block life signs from most scanners, and certainly anything Jabba had his hands on out here. He left at dawn, nobody looked twice as he had made several comments before about leaving early, and he had never made a habit of staying very long in Jabba's palace in the first place.

Only when he was safely in hyperspace and clear from any Hutt influence did he release his cargo from the hold. Shila had been soothed to sleep by her sister, but Anakin was fully alert and terrified.

"Thank you for doing this," she said gratefully. "Jango, I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you. You saved our lives."

"Don't thank me yet. Just because I got you out of there doesn't mean you're safe. Jabba's not going to like losing you."

"I know." Her hand moved behind Shila, rested against her belly. "But you've given us a chance."

A few hours later there was a small explosion at Jabba's palace. Nobody was injured, and the damage was minimal, but it threw everyone and everything into hysterics. In the chaos, it took time for someone to take count of the slaves, and then they noticed two very valuable slaves were missing. Search parties uncovered the hastily buried tracker chips, coated in dried blood and sand. Jabba's wrath was terrible and he turned the planet of Tatooine upside down looking for Anakin Skywalker.

Jango landed Slave I on the storm tossed landing pad, rain drummed against the hull. It was midday, though the rainclouds were so thick it might as well have been midnight. He dropped from the cockpit down to the passenger hold, where Skywalker sat with her sister.

Anakin, he supposed he should get used to calling her by her first name. They were aliit now. Whether she knew it or not, when Anakin had thrown her lot in with him to gain her freedom, Jango had brought her into his tiny clan. There really was no way to get around it. Releasing the Skywalkers into the galaxy to fend for themselves was as good as putting a blaster bolt in the back of their skulls. Jabba would have them back and dead, or worse, by week’s end. There was safety, at least, in a clan, security under the Fett name; even if the clan had doubled it in size overnight.

Shila was sleeping soundly, curled in her sister's arms and lap, but Anakin was alert and worried.

"What's that noise? An attack?"

The rain was so familiar to Jango, he tuned it out automatically. "What? No, that's the rain. Water falling from the sky," he had to clarify. He realized rain probably wasn't a word that ever got thrown around on Tatooine.

Anakin glowered at him. "I know what rain is. My mother told me." Her cheeks went pink. "I just didn't realize it made much noise."

Jango gave her some credit. "It is coming down rather hard out there. Come on. We'll get you inside and into more suitable clothes."

Kamino was cold, and the cloner's kept their facility chilly. Anakin's service costume was not going to cut it. He opened the cargo ramp, a blast of cold, wet air swept in.

He heard a gasp and a yelp behind him, Shila had woken up. Anakin tried to comfort the child in Huttese, but Jango could see her own eyes were wide with fear. This much rain and water had to be a shock. But Jango was hungry, tired, and ready to change into something more comfortable. He didn't want to stand here until the desert natives got used to rain.

"Come on," he said again, taking Anakin by the arm and pulling her forward. They walked quickly from ship to facility door, Jango keeping his grip firm so Anakin didn't slip and fall on the wet walkway, her shoes were less suitable for the slick metal than her clothes were for the climate. By the time they stepped inside, Anakin was shivering. Whether from the cold and wet, or everything else, he wasn't sure but thirty seconds in the downpour had turned her costume downright indecent. The flowy white linen had turned translucent and plastered against her body. It made the curve of her belly even more obvious.

It was a good thing Skywalker was so distracted looking around at everything else to not notice him staring and frowning at her. Well, more accurately, staring at her abdomen. A seed of doubt quickly settled and bloomed in his mind – not the first to grow since he agreed to free the Skywalkers, and he squashed it like the others. Having a baby around soon was going to make things interesting.

He sighed softly and shook his head. That little bastard was going to cause him a lot of trouble, he knew it already. After all, it had been the baby that tipped him over to helping the Skywalkers in the first place and inevitably put him on Jabba’s shit list.

How long would it be until Jabba put a bounty on his head? He couldn't possibly be so lucky as to escape without suspicion.

Jango stepped off down the hall, wondering whether the Skywalkers should be seen by a doctor first or if he should just take them home. When the ad'ika began to complain of the cold and the wet, he bypassed the corridor turn that would lead to the medical wing.

Their apartment had that mild, unlived in scent when he stepped in. Boba would have been left with his Kaminoan caretakers while Jango had been gone for a few weeks.

"Come on. We'll get you dried and change clothes before getting you to a doctor."

"Doctor?"

Jango stepped into the 'fresher and dug out some clean towels. He buried his derisive snort in the linen closet. "I doubt Jabba wasted any expenses on having you checked out, didn't he?"

"No, he didn't." Anakin folded her hands over her belly. "I thought for the longest time it might be dead inside me, but I've started to feel them move."

Jango handed her two towels. "How far along are you?"

"Almost six months."

Anakin bent to wrap Shila in the fluffy towel so she didn't see Jango frown at her. He was no expert, but he was almost certain most women were bigger by the time they were five or six months pregnant. Sure, she looked pregnant, but only barely.

"You sure about that?"

Anakin stilled, but nodded, her voice was low and confident. "Yes. I know exactly when it happened."

Jango wasn't going to press the issue. The Kaminoans could figure out the nitty gritty biological details. He moved to the bedrooms, "I'll find you some dry clothes. Won't fit all that well, but they'll be warmer and more suitable than that costume." He pulled a shirt and a pair of pants with a soft, drawstring waistband from his closet. The Kaminoans would have no trouble fabricating something more suitable for Anakin and Shila to wear, but this would do short-term. The little girl's clothes were the basic pants and tunic of Tatooine, but Anakin's costume would be entirely unsuitable for Kamino's climate, not to mention just daily life.

Jango grabbed a shirt from Boba’s room for Shila. It was big enough to be a dress on the child, and the sleeves fell past her hands, but it was workable with a few adjustments. Anakin's clothes were just as ill-fitting, but she didn't complain. She just had to pull the drawstring tight to keep her pants secure around her waist.

"It's only temporary," Jango assured her as she tugged at the oversized shirt. "We'll get you some better fitting clothes ‘fabbed once the Kaminoans get their measurements."

"It's fine," Anakin said quietly, fingering the shirt fabric, it was probably sturdier than anything she'd worn in a long time. Jango's clothes were made for warmth and wear. "This will do."

Jango took them back from the apartment and into the cloning complex, through the cold white hallways to the medical facility. It wasn't empty, it never was. With how many clones the Kaminoans spat out, the medical facilities were always busy; someone was always hurt or sick or injured, or having their genetic aberrations evaluated for viability. But the entrance from Jango's side of the facility kept him separated from the main body. He had mentioned the cloners to Anakin before, but he wasn't sure how much she had picked up on though. It had been a passing conversation as he taught her how to play sabbac. He felt like explaining it in whole might be a bit much for the newly-freed slave.

His side of the medical facility was a little clinic set aside from the main body of the medical wing. It was just one room; the medical bed dominated one side, while cabinets of medication and supplies lined the other walls. There were two doors, one they came through and another that went into the larger facility.

Jango flipped a switch on the panel by the facility door, it would summon a doctor. It must have been a slow day because a Kaminoan stepped into the room a few moments later, one of the doctors. Her big eyes scanned over Anakin and Shila before turning to Jango.

"What can I do for you today, Jango?"

"Doctor Wey Luma, this is Anakin and Shila Skywalker, new additions to my aliit. They both had subdermal chips removed that need patching up, and health checks, and Anakin's pregnant."

Kaminoans weren't nearly as expressive as humans, but Jango could see the excitement in Wey Luma's face. The doctors working with the clones were human specialists, but it wasn't like they came across any pregnant ones in this facility. She would probably become a scientific celebrity just on the fact that she got knocked up. He hoped Anakin wouldn't mind the scientists pawing at her. Probably not, she had enough practice with drunk Hutt patrons, and the Kaminoans wouldn't want to fuck her.

He turned to the Skywalkers, "Wey Luma will take care of you. I need to make some arrangements for your stay here."

"Okay." Anakin nodded and set her sister on the bed at the doctor's encouragement. Jango left the room and pulled up his comm.

He made a call to Taun We to arrange for a bigger apartment, they would need more space with Anakin, Shila, and a baby on the way. Plus supplies and clothing for the new additions.

And it was time to get Boba back from his caretakers and introduce his son to his new aliit. By the time he stepped back into the exam room, Anakin was perched on the medical bed, and Wey Luma was practically buzzing with excitement.

"Such hybridizations are almost unheard of," the doctor trilled. "You could provide us with priceless data."

Anakin looked nervous. She chewed on her lower lip while her hands rested over her little belly. "Would that mean you'll make sure the baby is healthy?"

The Kaminoan paused, confused. Jango stepped in quickly. "They'll take care of you and the baby regardless of whether you agree to let them study you."

"Oh, yes, of course," Wey Luma insisted quickly. "We would not withhold medical treatment. But… you would just do us an enormous favor if we were able to study you and your child."

"What's so special about it anyway?" Jango asked before Anakin had to agree to anything.

"He's half-pantoran. Humans and pantorans typically do not mix genetically."

Jango grunted in understanding. He understood only the most basics of genetics, and he imagined Anakin understood even less. "She'll think about it."

There was nothing else they needed from the doctor, so Jango took them back home.

Taun We was waiting with Boba and a small crate of supplies, the new clothes. Kaminoans were nothing if not efficient; the clothing fabricators must have gotten Anakin's measurements from the medical scans.

There wasn’t time for more than the quickest introductions, as their apartment had to be packed up and everything moved into bigger quarters. A squad of droids expedited the process, and after only a couple hours, they were fully moved into a new apartment.

Taun We and the droids left the newly expanded Fett clan alone to get properly acquainted.

“Boba,” Jango put a hand on his son’s shoulder, pushing him forward ever so slightly. “This is Anakin and her sister Shila Skywalker.”

Boba’s dark eyes traced over the Skywalkers. Confusion curled in his head, father had never brought home anyone before, much less a woman and child. He’d met a few of his father’s more trustworthy associates before, but Anakin didn’t look like a bounty hunter or well… much of anything. What was it about them that had prompted such a sudden uprooting? Why were they now living together?

He’d heard Jango and Anakin muttering about a baby earlier during the move. Was that why? Was she his father’s… girlfriend? Was Shila his half-sister? A natural born Fett heir?

Jango’s grip tightened on Boba’s shoulder and he quickly remembered his manners. “Hello.” He nodded quickly to Anakin and Shila, and then turned to his father for further explanation.

“Anakin and Shila are alit now. I expect you to treat them as such.”

Aliit? Them? That word meant something in Mando’a, Jango wouldn’t throw it around casually. But he knew his father’s adopted clan lines, he knew the branches and offshoots, and distant relations belonging to the family that had taken his father in as a boy. Skywalker was not one of those family names.

“Where did they come from?”

“Tatooine.”

That illuminated very little for Boba, but he could hear the mildly dismissive tone in his father’s words. Now was not the time for more questions.

Jango pushed Boba forward a little more. “Anakin and I need to talk. Can you keep Shila entertained?”

“Oh, okay.” Boba craned his neck a little to peek behind Anakin’s legs, where Shila was hiding. “Shila?” The child buried her face in the back of Anakin’s thighs.

Anakin smiled slightly and scooped her hand behind the child’s head and pushed her forward towards Boba. She said in gentle Huttese, “Go on, Shila, go with Boba.”

Shila stumbled forward, gripping tightly to Anakin’s sleeve. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and Boba didn’t miss the way she flinched away from Jango.

“Introduce yourself.” Anakin prompted.

Shila stuttered out in Huttese a quiet little, “H-hello.”

Boba looked back to his father once again, asking silently if Shila only spoke Huttese. His father nodded curtly, yes.

No worry there, Boba was near fluent in Huttese, so he smiled at the little girl and said back to her, “Hello Shila, I’m Boba.”

Her eyes lit up when she finally understood his words. Boba offered his hand and the child took it. He led her off down the hallway to her new bedroom, right across the hall from Boba’s.

“Let’s see what kind of toys we can find.”

Boba thought he was getting a little too old for toys, but the move had unearthed a lot of old stuff he had nearly forgotten about. He pulled the box down and set it on the floor for Shila to explore while he moved to the open door and tried to listen to whatever his father and Anakin were discussing, but they were speaking too quietly for him to overhear. Jango was clattering around the kitchen, preparing their evening meal, but also making enough noise to purposefully discourage eavesdropping.

Annoyed and disappointed, Boba turned back to Shila. She had tipped most of the boxes contents out onto the floor and had promptly ignored all of them for the plush Aiwha that was almost as big as she was. It must have been a gift or something, though Boba had never particularly cared for the stuffed animal; or many plus toys in general. Shila seemed to like it, though, so he held no qualms bestowing it upon her. Shila was so delighted and excited over the gift, she even dragged it out to the kitchen when they were called for dinner to show Anakin what Boba had given her.

Shila was all set to sit the Aiwha at the table with them for dinner, but Anakin had her put it back in her room. Jango wouldn’t have cared either way – it wouldn’t have been the first time a toddler would have insisted that a favorite toy had to be a dinner guest – but Anakin was still trying to figure out her place in this whole affair, so he wasn’t about to step in a parent her baby sister. Not yet at least.

Shila was still very much frightened of him, even without his armor and the knife, it would be some times before she warmed up to him. Probably when the pain and scar from her tracker faded. Having everyone around her able to speak the same language helped, but Jango knew the child couldn’t only know Huttese for forever. Galactic Basic was a must, as was Mando’a, and Kaminoan would be useful too. He had no doubt Shila would pick up new languages quickly, children that young learned fast. Anakin on the other hand needed to start Mando’a lessons as quickly as possible, picking up the language would be harder for her, but it was something she had to know.

Nobody in his aliit would not be fluent in Mando'a.

"You keep using that word," Anakin observed over dinner. "'A-leet' what does it mean?"

"Aliit means family, of the same clan."

She frowned at him, her brow furrowing in suspicion. "But we're not-"

"You are newly freed slaves. You have no clan or family. You're foundlings and I have taken you in, so now you are part of my aliit. The galaxy is safer for you this way, you have protection."

Anakin stared at him, caught between gratitude and suspicion. “Does this mean we will have to change our names?”

For practical reasons, it would be safer for Anakin and Shila to adopt new surnames; it reduced the chance people would recognize her by name. But he understood the importance and attachment beings could have to family names. If he told her she had to change, she would probably do so without complaint, but that might make her resent the name, resent him and this gift of freedom he was giving her. Then again, this wasn’t something he felt was within his power to decide for her. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Anakin nodded slowly, considering something else. “Does that mean we’re trapped here?”

Trapped wasn’t the word that Jango would have chosen, but he knew where she was coming from. What was the point of being free if you had nowhere to go except back to slavery? With no home, no family, no resources, or friends to turn to Kamino could feel like a trap.

“For now,” he said reassuringly, “You are safe here, and hidden. Kamino is not widely known to the galaxy, nor will the Hutts think to search for you here. And there’s no chance of anyone seeing you and turning you back over to him. If you find staying here to be truly interminable, I can make other arrangements for you, but it will take time.”

Most of the suspicion left Anakin, though Jango could still read a little unease in her. Freedom would take time to adjust to, and it had been less than a day. Her eyes skimmed over him and to the dark, rain-lashed windows that made up a wall of their living area. She managed an uneasy smile and said lightly, “Well, it is very different from Tatooine.”

#long post #not kidding y'all #this is over 5k of story #story related #no jedi allowed au #shades of tatooine #anakin skywalker #jango fett #boba fett #star wars #Jango is ace and there is nothing that will ever convince me otherwise!

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xxconclusione-aperioxx · 4 years

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Okay so I'd like to share what I commented on this video. I watched it and it sent me into a whole rant about the motives and characterization of Draco. I recommend watching before reading this:

@quinncurio is the original poster

Here's the copy paste of my comment/ Essay. I was slight heated when I wrote this, but my points still stand.

"OH BOY. HI, HELLO I VERY MUCH DISAGREE. ALSO: DISCLAIMER: DONT TAKE THINGS PERSONALLY, YOU WILL FIND I HAVE A VERY LOGICAL EXPLANATION, FOR WHY THIS ANALYSIS DOESN'T WORK.

Calling a Draco a cowardly bigoted bully, and a carbon copy of Dudley is the most SHALLOW and LOW EFFORT CONCLUSION YOU COULD POSSIBLY DRAW. IT IS LOW HANGING FRUIT. I'm going to have to break this into sections to truly explain why your conclusion is soooo incredibly shallow. You may have done your research, but I feel like you learned nothing more about Draco then if you'd never seen more then 5 min. So I'm going to start the same way you have and break this down into the same points.

PART 1 : AN ANALYSIS OF HARRY MEETING DRACO

I'm not going to go into detail of Harry's impression or ideas of Draco, because this analysis is about Draco, Not Harry. Also remember the books were written from Harry's POV, not a neutral party. I'm not obliged to Harry's opinions, just facts. Which brings up the first true conclusion about Draco's character. *Draco Malfoy feels a strong need to impress others, to gain their affection.* He does this through incisive bragging, trying to make people believe he knows best, and tearing down the reputation of others, so the object of his desires sees Draco and the most obvious choice. Where we differ is:

You believe Draco does this, because he thinks, he's better then others.

I believe,(which circumstantially has more evidence), Draco does this because he wants the affection, and acceptance of others

Whether you believe he acts out this way bc of how he is raised, his privilege, or something else, it doesn't change the fact that Draco was truly trying to make a friend, perhaps the only way he knew how.

In noble wizarding society, traditions, and your family does mean a lot. Not even looking at it from a pureblood view, imagine having a family that old and known. They really are a type of nobility, with family Lords even having political seats in the Wizengamote just because of their family name. The Longbottoms and Weaselys hold this same political influence, and it's not tied to Slytherins, pureblood ideals or anything like that. Draco is an only child, and an heir to his family line, so he is going to be treated importantly bc of that. He is raised with that responsibility, and in social situations not only represents himself, but the whole heritage of his family. Draco hasn't had the ability to act like a normal petulant child (part of the reason he tends to act out at Hogwarts.*ie. away from home*). He's been taught to act proper, make good allies, and impress others for the good of his reputation. I'd say most noble wizarding children probably get the same training and lectures, and have their own customs and culture of educate. What may come for Draco as polite, and diplomatic, may sound rude or arrogant to Harry. This is because Draco was not aware how different Harry's upbringing was from his own, and has never dealt with not having enough. Perhaps if Draco knew how different and ignorant Harry was he would have felt pity, or a sense of wrongness at Harry's injustice. Though Draco is just an 11yr old boy, who's only ever had a loving family, and almost anything he wanted. It is difficult for him to relate to the lack of others. As all wizarding children, he probably grew up with the story of the boy who lived and may have even been excited when his father said he wanted them to become friends. He truely was excited to meet Harry and genuinely wanted to be friends. While yes Lucius definitely wanted Draco to befriend Harry to help lighten their family reputation, I also think that Draco, being a child, would more likely be more excited of making a famous friend. Maybe he even had some hope seeing he'd met Harry before when he saw him on the train.

Part 2 : THE DIFFERENCES BETWEEN DRACO AND DUDLEY

Draco's sense of superiority comes from his traditions and pride in his family, while Dudley's is strictly from his own greed and selfishness. Draco would't do half of the things Dudley does simply because it's incredibly unclothe, and he has better ways of getting what he wants. Dudley isn't smart enough to compare to Draco. Though Draco and Dudley might both have things handed to them, Draco is not gluttonous or greedy about it. Dudley will trash his gifts and belongings, constantly wanting more, and viewing things given to him as disposable. Draco wants things yes (like every child does) but he's proud of his possessions and cherishes them, brags about them. Dudley is an animal compared to Draco. He doesn't have the same skill, smarts or self control. Dudley is abusive, and a tyrant in his bullying. Dudley wants to see Harry hurt and bleed. He is very violent compared to Draco. While we constantly and repeatedly see Draco shy away from violence, and use more his words.

Part 3 : DRACO'S "HARASSMENT", STRATEGIES AND EVOLUTION.

Draco despite his threats and facade is Not a violent person. This is because despite all Draco's bravo, and cruel words, Draco is kind. Yes he is conflicted, but that is only more proof of his inner kindness. If he didn't feel guilty, he wouldn't feel conflicted. Which means he really doesn't want to be mean to others, but he's just acting out based on how he thinks he's supposed to feel/act, but doesn't really enjoy it. I think when you strip Draco back behind his actions, and pose, you'll find a very different person. The half-blood prince gave us some of that, but it's another thing to see it in Draco from the beginning. Essentially Draco's attempt at bullying started when Harry rejected his friendship. Draco had probably never been rejected before, and probably couldn't possibly fathom why Harry would choose anyone else over him. While yes that's a bit coincided, Draco was also incredibly sheltered and probably wasn't introduced to children who weren't already tied to his family. Harry's rejection irrevocably shattered Draco's confidence and perception, which sent him into literal years of lashing out at Harry for his hurt emotions, and pining for his attention. It is the most pathetic excuse for bullying, and Draco antagonizing Harry is the equivalent of pulling a girl's pigtails. Draco did get quite shrewd with words, but he was really just trying to get the biggest reaction, especially since Harry is so volatile at times. The truth of the matter is Draco is actually very jealous, because deep down he really admires Harry. He want's the same freedom Harry has. He doesn't want to worry about his duty or who he has to be, but to be able to live authentically the way he views that Harry does. Draco really just wants to be more like Harry, but feels he is stuck, by the Dark Lord, his family obligations or anything else. Draco isn't a bully, he's just sad. Not even Ron or Hermione take him seriously after a while. *cough*this is why Drarry is so huge*

Part 4 : He had no choice?????

Everyone has a choice, but I think you over estimate how easy a choice can be. Family is important to Draco, they are probably the only people who love him for who he is, not what they can get out of him. As a child Draco felt pride in his family, and family made him feel special and important. As he got older that pride turn into expectations, and responsibility. Lucius and Narcissa value the preservation of their family above all else. They are protective and loving and those feeling extended to Draco. It's where he gets his kindness. It is indeed a Slytherin trait to value those you care about above everyone else. We protect our own, a loyalty probably stronger then Hufflepuff for those select few a Slytherin deeply cares about. Draco's parent would let the whole world burn to save him, and Draco would do the same for them. While Draco's family did hold pureblood ideals, after the first war Voldemort was not someone they willing wanted to follow. The light sided also would have never offered aid to death eaters, because fundamentally they were still against the dark, and there was no other place for dark wizards to go except Voldemort. Most of the death eaters had actually been somewhat relived at the news of Voldemort's death, and the boy who lived, as Voldemort had already become insane to the point of torturing his own followers, and wasn't getting them anywhere near their goals. Except for the also insane brainwashed few like Bella who'd follow her lord to the grave, many of the death eater's were content to be peaceful and stay quite after the war. Probably even grateful for it, as there were many needless casualties on both sides. I feel like the Malfoys were one of those families that were happy to get out. If the side they are on is harmful or losing, they are ready to abandon ship. This may sound like they are cowardly with no resolve, but if it was the life and death of your family, and your loved ones, I think you might think differently. I feel like we aren't too far off in agreement here, but where we differ is in judgement and motives we feel the Malfoys, or Draco had. Lucius made a mistake in the first war, and spent the second trying to keep his family out of danger. I can't imagine the fear he had in Azkaban for his family, the dementors feeding off him and what he thought the Dark Lord would do to his only son, his wife, his family. Meanwhile Draco was left with the threat of his father rotting in Azkaban, and his mother being killed. His mother also with the thought of her son being killed. So yes Draco could have made a choice, and he did make a choice, a choice to protect his family, and honestly I can't see that as wrong. Maybe if Harry would have actually taken his offer of friendship things could have gone differently and it wouldn't have come to that.

Part 5 : Abuse Theory

I definitely agree with you here. The Malfoys were not abusive, and get a better anthology for racism then something which in fact could be solved with a study on culture rather then blood. If you want a good parallel for racism in HP forget muggleborns, and look at creature blood, not dumb house elfs either, but werewolves, goblins, centaurs beings just as intelligent as wizards. The bigotry towards werewolves especially is horrific, especially from the "light side" who avidly labels them as dangerous dark creatures. *Also note about the scene in Borgen and Berks* Lucius stopped Draco from touching the artifact because it was probably cursed, as many dark artifacts are. Even if you know what you're doing they can be dangerous to handle carelessly. So Lucius was actually very wise and protecting Draco, his 12 yr old son, from getting badly hurt. Why the cane? If touching a cursed object curses you, then its better not to get close with your actual hands. Using his cane to push Draco away was actually a precaution. Lucius is anything but careless,

Part 6: Draco's Wand and Symbolism

I generally agree here too, but I believe this symbolism is more reflective of the things Draco wishes he could have had, or done differently. If anything the wand and symbolism Draco has is representative of the good in him, and not cowardice, or inability to do enough.

Part 7: Redemption

Tbh I'm part of the crowd that would have liked that deleted scene to stay in the final cut. However I understand what's justifiable for one person, may not be enough for someone else. This is where you get more into the topic of morality, and how much are you morally responsible for as a person. Harry has been drilled with the mindset for years that he has to save everyone, and that if your not in it for the greater good, ready to lay down your life you better forget being in it at all. Personally I don't believe Harry has any right to claim that rhetoric, as Dumbledore(and by association Grindlewald) practically spoon fed it down his throat; but I wont talk about that as it's a whole other issue. Draco, you have to understand has a whole type of different morality. Objectively I believe he's a good person, if not pressured by the echo chamber of ideals around him. Yet Draco repeatedly gives signs, and expresses the desire to want to do good. In order to properly analyze Draco you have to look past his outward facade, and actions, or you'll never see him as anything more then he pretends to be. If you can only read plain text, if you can't see past the obvious, you will always have a very flat one dimensional view of a character or a person. To me there's no redemption needed. Draco is already good, more good then his parents, and perhaps more good then some who claim goodness.

In summary Draco is a very complex person, who tries to over compensate for his flaws, struggles to express honesty, but deeply cares for others, especially his family. His duality lies in how he wants to be good to others, yet how in the end he always chooses to save the ones he loves, over the majority. Draco will always have his flaws, but he will always have his goodness too, and I hope you won't disregard that.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

P.S

Kudos to anyone who read through all that.

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bryanfaganlaw · 4 years

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Avoid harming your attorney-client relationship during your divorce by following these simple steps

If you have need a best suitable service your Child Law experience, Avoid harming your attorney-client relationship during your divorce by following these simple steps with the great process!

Family Lawyers Houston: In yesterday's blog post from the Law Office of Bryan Fagan, we utilized our time to discuss how you can improve and solidify the relationship that you have with your family law attorney. The nature of that relationship is as much about a partnership as it is about your attorney working for you or about you relying on your attorney for guidance and information. If one of you does not fulfill their responsibilities the relationship cannot succeed and ultimately you will not be successful in your divorce.

Fortunately for you (and your attorney), it is really not that difficult to build and maintain a positive and fruitful relationship with your attorney. Simple steps like communicating well (or at least often), asking questions and complying with requests for information/documents are about all you have to do in order to have a beneficial relationship with your attorney. Whether you like your attorney or wouldn’t want to share a meal with him or her if they were the last person on earth, your attorney is still an important person in your life for as long as your divorce goes on.

Today’s blog post will see us shift gears from discussing how to strengthen your relationship with your attorney to habits/behaviors to avoid in your relationship with your attorney. We will also get into situations that occur in many divorces and how to handle them in the event you end up facing them in your own.

Talk to your attorney about anything and everything

Think of your attorney as your personal confidant when it comes to matters related to your divorce and your life. Remember- your attorney must keep secret and confidential any and all information to tell him unless you expressly give him permission to disclose the information. You've probably heard of this concept before as something called the "attorney-client privilege." Any worries that the sensitive or embarrassing information that you are going to share with your attorney will be made known to your spouse, their attorney or anyone else without your permission should be tampered down due to this privilege.

With that said, let’s consider just how important it is to share information with your attorney. There is a lot of information that you have in your brain, computer or file cabinet that could be very beneficial to your case. On the other hand, there are probably more than just a handful of pieces of information that have the potential to seriously harm your case. Some information falls in between either of these two categories. Either way- if your attorney asks you for documents or information regarding a specific topic related to your divorce it is best to provide him with all of the information available.

Furthermore, I tell clients all the time to not be the one to make the determination that a piece of evidence is not relevant to the divorce. While you may think something is inconsequential and therefore not important, you should defer to your attorney to make this decision. He may have a different opinion and can tell you why something may be relevant if you are in doubt. Remember- you are trying to build a relationship with your attorney. Allow him to provide context and advice regarding what is and what is not relevant to your divorce. If you vehemently disagree then what you say goes. However, it is typical that a simple explanation as to why something may be relevant will assuage any concerns you may have.

Remember who the client is, and who the attorney is

As in most any relationship when you start to place more "importance" on either person trouble will quickly follow. I am not at all trying to argue that either person- you or your attorney- is the more crucial partner. Without you there would be no case and therefore would be no need for an attorney. On the other hand, without your attorney, you would be operating in a world where you have no experience and little to no knowledge of family law. You need him and he needs you. It’s as simple as that.

That is to say that when your attorney makes a recommendation, especially one that you disagree with, you should treat your attorney with respect. That doesn’t mean that you need to kiss the ground that he walks on, but it does mean that you need to understand that your attorney is your guide through the divorce and should be treated like someone trying to help you. If you own a business that performs any type of direct service for the public then you likely know the feeling of a client not appreciating or respecting you despite your best efforts to serve him or her. While you may not agree with every piece of advice you receive from your attorney that does not mean that you have the right to disrespect your lawyer. If you find yourself in a position where you are doing so it may mean it’s time for you to look for new representation.

Money- here today, gone tomorrow

Family Lawyer in Houston: A big no-no in the world of divorce is to hide assets or property that you own in an attempt to shield them from being divided in your divorce. For instance, you could have a big bonus coming into your bank account that you know would ordinarily be divisible as part of your community estate. However, you got the bright idea to open a new bank account in order to deposit that bonus and therefore hide it from your spouse.

You can try to rationalize a decision like that anyway that you would like but the bottom line is that it is wrong. Number one you are violating the temporary or standing orders that were issued by the judge in your case. Doing so carries with it significant penalties that would likely place a large chunk of that bonus in your spouse's column for the purposes of dividing up a property. A second harmful side effect of your attempting to hide property is that you are harming your relationship with your attorney by doing so.

Wait a minute, you may be asking. How can you harm your attorney-client relationship by hiding assets from your spouse? How does that actually affect him? Getting back to what we discussed in the earlier parts of today’s blog it is essential that your spouse have information in order to help you make good decisions. He can only get that information from one person- you. If you choose to withhold information and hide assets at the same time you are committing a double-whammy to your relationship with him.

If you make a mistake in relation to your case it is best to tell your attorney immediately. Think about when you were a kid and broke something around your house. Your first reaction was likely to hide the broken item and then to spend an inordinate amount of time trying to think of a way to undo what you did before your parents could find out. Coming forward to talk to another person about a bad act that you committed is one of the hardest things that we can do as a person. Pulling the rug over something to hide it feels a lot better- at least in the short term.

In the long run, however, failing to tell your parent about a broken window in your room can result in you not sleeping well due to cold air coming in at night. If you tried to fix something on your own you could end up making a bad situation even worse. In this situation, your attorney is like a parent in a way. You are relying on their expertise and knowledge to help you create a successful result in your divorce. Your attorney should be told immediately if you have done something that could potentially be in violation of your temporary orders. If you tell your attorney as soon as possible about that bad act he can attempt to mitigate its damaging effects.

If your spouse finds out about your hiding property from her before your attorney does you will likely wind up receiving a phone call from your spouse asking you why you did what you did. At that point, it may be too late to offer an explanation from your attorney. Often times your spouse will have filed an enforcement lawsuit against you seeking to enforce whatever portion of your temporary orders bar you from doing things like this. Had you told your attorney earlier about your actions, or spoke to him before hiding the bonus in the first place, you could have avoided this lawsuit altogether.

Before you hire your attorney make sure you feel like you can trust him

Houston Family Law Lawyer: You would be surprised at how many people going through a divorce hire an attorney based on the way he looks in a suit or because his office has the nicest furniture. If these sound like silly reasons to hire an attorney I would agree with you, but that does not change the fact that many people do hire attorneys for these specific reasons. For them, the actual advice that the attorney will provide is secondary to other factors that are more important in their mind ... Continue Reading

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cherriesandcreametarot · 4 years

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general september 2020 tarot read for aries sun, moon, and rising 🍂♈️

🎍 love, career, and general readings for aries sun, aries moon, and aries rising for september 2020🎍

🎍 since they are general, this may or may not resonate with you this month 🎍

love readings 🥀

aries sun: the emperor and five of swords

during this month, you will be putting an end to any conflict or disagreements that may have plagued you in the past. for some, this may mean walking away from a relationship that was not serving you. instead, it was emotionally draining you and stressing you out. you will be leaving that behind and finding your own stability and security by yourself. after all, the emperor is a card that represents the sign of aries, so this means you will be taking back your power during this month. for others of you, you may be entering a stable, formal relationship with an older, mature individual. make sure to take things easy in the beginning stages of this relationship so that unnecessary conflicts and disputes don't materialize.

aries moon: seven of cups in reverse and six of pentacles in reverse

for some of you, your current relationship may have brought you a sense of confusion. for this month, it may be time to focus on yourself and self-care in general in order to give yourself time to step back and see the bigger picture. in hindsight, things become much more clear. for others of you, you may begin to realize that your current relationship is not panning out in the way you dreamed of or imagined it due to current imbalances or an unfairness that exists in the relationship. to mend this, it is important to acknowledge whatever issue is going on that is disillusioning you with your partner. in general, you're going through a reality check with your current relationship and some of you may take the month of september to focus on yourselves instead.

aries rising: three of pentacles and queen of cups in reverse

even though some of you are spending time with your partner/significant other, you still feel a sense of insecurity. you may feel as if you are giving too much of yourself and not receiving anything in return. others may feel as if you (or your partner) are becoming overly dependent or clingy. the emotional connection that once connected you and your partner may be fizzling out. the phrase "alone together" popped into my head with this reading. if this sounds like your story, take september as a time to recognize the flaws in your relationship and work to fix them. it's clear that you once had a fulfilling and exciting relationship with this person in the past and it's never too late to get things back to the way they used to be with a little effort.

career/work readings 💵

aries sun: the tower and the devil

this is a very specific story for some aries suns so this may not resonate with many. the main energy i'm getting is that during this month (and it may have already happened), you will find out something that one of your co-workers did that definitely involved some sort of criminal activity. this will be a shock to you and the people you work with, but i don't think it'll negatively impact your personal finances or career trajectory in the slightest. essentially, one of your co-workers did something shocking that may even lead to their arrest and this will bring a tower moment to you and the rest of your co-workers. if this sounds like your story, this may be someone you have already had a bad feeling about for a long while.

aries moon: eight of swords and two of pentacles

some of you may be feeling stuck in your current workplace/occupation and you'll be making a decision this month whether or not to continue in your position. this will be a tricky decision to make, considering your current job provides some privileges and benefits that you have gotten used to. not to mention, the job market is not the steadiest right now so your job has provided you with some financial security. however, it's not making you happy. this month will be spent weighing the pros and cons of leaving your job and you will ultimately make a decision after thinking about it in its entirety.

aries rising: ten of swords and two of wands in reverse

sudden obstacles may arise for you within your career/job finding process that leave you feeling hopeless, lost, and exhausted. you may be feeling that your current projects/business ventures are going to inevitably fail, but something tells me that you are simply overanalyzing the current circumstances. although you recognize that things may be spinning out of your control right now, you may feel powerless to stop it. however, that is not true. take the risk, believe in yourself, and take actions to make your goals manifest into reality. you may be afraid of failure and that is what's hindering you from going after what you want. for the month of september, you should be open to taking leaps of faith instead of overthinking things in the fear that they might not work out. you may be fixated on the question, "what if it doesn't work out?" ...but what if it does?

general advice 💡

aries sun: knight of pentacles and three of swords

keep working hard and grinding towards your goals this month! it's a slow and steady process and you may not see the fruits of your labor right now, but they will come in time. i'm getting a few different stories for different aries suns in regards to the three of swords. for some of you, you may be primarily focusing on your work in order to take your mind off a recent heartbreak or disappointment that happened to you. for others of you, i feel like you will be moving past conflicts and issues at work and you will keep yourself focused on your long-term goals instead. keep your eyes on the prize, aries suns! with patience, things will soon start coming to you. whatever your focus is for this month, whether in regards to love or career or anything else, stay committed and keep working hard to get what you want.

aries moon: page of wands and king of swords in reverse

for my aries moons, don't be afraid to tap into your creative sides and playful natures this month! be open to new ideas, new experiences, and new ventures that come your way. be fearless. don't let current obstacles hinder you from doing the things you want to do. make sure that you're pursuing things that make you truly happy. at the same time, make sure to be careful not to step on other people's toes this month as well. you will be exhibiting an excited, reckless energy for september and you may say things (while they may be true) that do not sit well with the people around you. this can, in turn, negatively impact their perception of you. in your excitement, be careful not to let your words flow too freely this month. you may end up unintentionally hurting someone around you with the things you say, even if you didn't mean to.

aries rising: the fool and the hermit in reverse

for my aries risings, this month marks a new beginning for you. you may have been going through a time of isolation, solitude, and self-reflection in your recent past, but you are now ready to venture out of your shell and take a new leap of faith in your life. is there anything you would like to do? a new location you want to visit? a new style you want to try? a new food you want to enjoy? go ahead and take those opportunities in stride! you deserve it. at the same time, don't be ashamed if you have no one else to do these things with. it's perfectly fine to go out and enjoy these experiences by yourself. don't let that stop you! if it's something you have been thinking about doing for a while, go out and have fun. it doesn't matter if you're by yourself as long as you're enjoying whatever you're doing.

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2dsheep · 5 years

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“How old are you now, Erwin?”

They’re the first words out of either of them for the few hours they’ve been sat there, Levi on the office sofa and Erwin at his desk. The day has been long and it’s far from over, though it won’t be too long before they’ll have to light the candles.

“I can’t remember,” Erwin mutters, his eyes not leaving the paper in front of him. “It’s hardly something I consider important.” He’ll have to redo this entire funding request. The presenting committee members were changed at the eleventh hour, and Erwin knows that at least three those now making the final decision will vehemently disapprove of the angle at which he’s requesting funding. It’s impossible to please every one, to tick all of their boxes, but he must make sure he’s thought of everything.

“I’m turning 34 this year,” Levi says, to which Erwin gives a small hum.

After a moment of consideration, he allows himself a small respite and indulges his Captain, and admittedly, his own curiosity. “I wouldn’t take you as the type to count off your years.”

Erwin catches Levi give a thin smile before he turns his face away, seeming to ignore the paperwork laid out in front of him and choosing instead to stare into the fireplace. It’s still empty and will be for another two months at least, but Erwin has no doubt that Levi would have started lighting it weeks ago if he could. It’s not winter yet, but even in the height of summer this office will have that lingering touch of cold, the sun never quite reaching the windows on this side of the building. There have been times when Erwin has been tempted to allow Levi to light the fire before winter settles in, but he has to remind himself that the rules are there for a reason and it would be entirely unprofessional to make exceptions.

“In the underground, every birthday’s a milestone.” Levi says, face stiff as if he were trying all he could to remove any show of emotion. “Too many don’t even make it to double digits. I can’t help remember, count off how old I am.

“And my mum - ”

Levi pauses and the silence that had accompanied them for hours before feels uncomfortable all of a sudden. Erwin puts down his pen but he doesn’t say anything to break the quiet, aware that it isn’t necessary, he simply knows that his attention belongs wholly to Levi from then on.

“We’d eat pastries,” Levi says after a few long seconds, and after a few more he turns where he sits, looking at Erwin before he continues. “She’d make them. It wasn’t easy getting the ingredients, but she’d always manage it. And I swear, they were so good you could convince yourself they came from a bakery in Sina.”

Erwin recognises this for what it is; Levi is offering up a rare privilege, opening a window to his past. It’s only a small crack that Levi guides him to, but for most people that window is sealed up and barricaded, a few thick, dark curtains thrown over for good measure. Erwin can’t work out where this is coming from, but he knows that Levi doesn’t tell this sort of story in search of pity, it’s a reward of intimacy given in one of the few ways Levi knows how.

Deciding his work can wait, Erwin stands and stretches, wincing as one or two joints crack as he does so, and sits in the armchair across from Levi. The change in position is pleasant enough in itself, he probably needed a break more than a few hours ago, but it’s when he looks over at Levi, their eyes just missing one another, Erwin realises just how much he longs for opportunities like this, as if it’s something he denies from himself until confronted with the fact. Despite them sharing the office more often than not these days, the two of them taking the time to talk with one another outside of the formalities of work isn’t such a regular occurrence.

Levi doesn’t look back at him until Erwin speaks. His grey eyes are sharp, yet his expression settles soft on his face, and Erwin can’t help but wonder who else knows that Levi can look like that. There’s a small, selfish part of him that hopes he alone is lucky enough to have seen it.

“You know I’m awfully fond of pastries.”

It’s true, and he knows that Levi knows. In fact, it’s a surprise for him that Levi eats pastries or ever did considering the scolding he gave to Erwin a few months ago when he returned to his office with a whole bag of pastries for himself. He would have offered to share but Levi simply tutted and grumbled something about his weight before walking out the door.

Erwin hasn’t seen Levi eat anything other than the food prepared by the Scouting Legion cooks in the canteen or whatever rations they are supplied with on their missions, and he’s always assumed that food is nothing more than a necessity for Levi, mere fuel as a means of survival.

“What kind would she make, sweet, savoury?” Erwin asks with genuine interest, all while silently pleading his stomach to not growl while his mind, and not his stomach, is filled with freshly baked good.

Levi considers him for a moment before answering.

“Always sweet.” He sits up slightly from where he’d been slouching against the back of the chair. “Sugar’s like gold down there. But my mum was always determined to make my birthday something special.”

Try as he might, Erwin can’t think of a single occasion where Levi has spoken with such passion, such joy dancing around his words. The thought that he could listen to Levi talk for hours like this comes so sudden that Erwin doesn’t know what to do with it. He decides to swallow it down, and he pours himself a glass of water and takes a big gulp for good measure.

“Fruit was even more difficult to get hold of than sugar,” Levi continues. “But one year, my mum managed to get some peaches and she made a tart with them.”

“How was it?”

“It was the best.” Levi states, so sure. Erwin is sure that Levi can still taste it to this day, the man appearing to be practically salivating just at the thought. Sure enough, Levi licks his lips, though only at the corner of his mouth as if he trying to be discreet about it. “I’ve never been able to find anything like it since.”

“There’s nothing quite like handmade goods given by someone who loves you.”

Erwin’s comment is met with silence. If it weren’t for Levi’s eyes widening ever so slightly, Erwin would think that time had stopped still, but it can’t have lasted more than a second before Levi looks away, possibly hoping that Erwin wouldn’t notice. But he does notice. Not that Erwin is able to get a read on him. In all his life, Erwin’s never had difficulty reading a person quite like he has with Levi. He’s like a picture book in which all the writing is in scribbles, granting nothing more than image before you. Getting Levi to translate those scribbles has been like drawing blood from a stone, and to this day Erwin struggles to make sense of any of it. Some days he finds himself wondering if Levi even considers him a friend.

“It clearly wasn’t an effort made in vain,” Erwin says, attempting to guide the conversation back on track, thinking it would be such a shame to have it fall apart so quickly. “It’s a fond memory for you, even now.”

Levi smiles, his gaze lost to reminiscence. “Yeah.”

And before be can shake away the notion, Erwin becomes a little lost too, his attention entirely focused on just how charming Levi can be with such a look of content. If only they lead lives in which Levi could wear it more often.

“So you really can’t remember how old you are?” Levi says, pulling Erwin from his thoughts, not a moment too soon. “You must be older than I thought.”

Though it’s clear he’s trying to hide it, Erwin doesn’t fail to notice Levi’s lip twitch at the corner, amused at his own teasing, no doubt building up to something.

“It’s a shame that we’ll lose the commander to senility so soon.”

And there is it. Erwin smiles, almost laughs as he tries to give Levi a look of disapproval. Not that Levi would pay any notice even if they were both serious. It’s on that thought he can’t hold it in, and he chuckles under his breath.

“Well, I was born in 809 so that would make me, oh 36 going on 37.”

Erwin of course knew he was making his way into the late half of his thirties, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought of the actual number. He has his own memories of childhood birthdays, though the years have painted them foggy, feelings of warmth and comfort coming through stronger than any images he attempts to conjure.

“Where do the years go?”

Levi picks up his tea cup, swirling what’s left inside. “It’s soon, isn’t it?” The tea must have long gone cold, but Levi brings the cup to his mouth and drinks it anyway, slowly, all while not making eye contact with Erwin.

“My birthday?”

Levi only hums in response, as if he couldn’t care less about the answer despite being the one to ask. He is certainly in a strange mood today. Just as he rarely gives anything of himself, he just as seldom asks as much of other people.

“That’s right,” Erwin says, unable to keep his sense of caution behind his lips. “On the 14th.”

Levi hums again, and Erwin doesn’t think he’s noticed Levi do it so much before. It’s like a habit he’s picked up but hasn’t quite got the hang of yet. Before Erwin can make a comment though, Levi presses on. “You eat pastries every now and again, don’t you?”

“You know I do,” Erwin answers with a chuckle. “You’ve told me off for it more than once.”

“Well, yeah. Having a pastry is one thing, buying half the bakery and eating it in an afternoon is another. One day you won’t be able to fasten up your manoeuvre gear, and what’ll you do then, huh?”

Levi’s face remains serious, and Erwin is sure that Levi had said it in all seriousness too, but Erwin can’t help but laugh some more.

“So what’s your favourite pastry?” Levi asks, glowering at Erwin from beneath scrunched eyebrows.

“Why are you asking?”

Levi huffs, splutters before he can bark out a response. “Damnit Erwin, it’s just conversation.”

Erwin thinks he spots a subtle blush bloom across Levi’s cheeks, but before he can spare even a second to look, Levi rises to his feet and takes strong strides towards the door.

“It’s not something you gotta read into.”

Erwin assumes Levi will storm out of the door on that note, shutting it not at all lightly behind him. It’s not an unusual routine, all sorts of things are able to bring about this sort of reaction from Levi, but he lingers a step away from the door, his hand resting on the handle. Erwin thinks Levi might say something, and it takes him an awkward few moments for him to realise that Levi is waiting for an answer; Erwin is so used to Levi making demands, not waiting with such hesitation for the answer to come to him.

There really is something odd about Levi today, and Erwin wishes he’d made more effort to just listen. It’s an easy choice to at least give Levi this.

“I think I’d have to say the good old apple tart is my favourite.”

Levi doesn’t look back, simply gives a quick nod of the head before he pulls the door open and walks through, closing it behind him - without slamming it.

#eruri #Erwin Smith #Levi Ackerman #Shingeki no Kyojin #SNK #fanfic #First short in a while #I think this started off as two sentences of dialogue I wrote at work like two years ago #I'm so slow with everything it's ridiculous #Also titles are NOT my thing #I really should just number everything I write #I wonder how many I have now....#been here for too long #this aint getting a title #pffffft #unless I put it up on ao3 but that's a problem for the future

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an-ambivalent · 5 years

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World Of Envy [Yandere! Fallen Angel! Kim Taehyung] [Reader-Insert]

Warning: As this story contains yandere themes, the characters display behaviors that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not believe any of the mentioned members would display any sort of this behaviour irl.

(Honestly, this chapter isn’t too bad. It’s pretty vanilla compared to my other yandere works but I guess works like these still require warnings).

Word Count: 3K

In the World Of Envy, angels and devils lived in one existing stream but each of their territory was at the end of the stream. In other words, they lived completely opposite one another. As long as they kept to themselves, did not mingle or interfere with the other's business, they lived in peace and tranquility for the most part. Neither angels or devils approved of the each other’s ways. In the past, all of the wars and bloodshed that had occured between them just proved that for them to exist in peace, they needed to call it a truce and let the other be.

Aforementioned reasons, marriages, and breeding of offsprings happened between persons of the same species except for some exceptional cases. When young, horminal, and rebellious adults believed they could do anything and take over the world, they never thought about the consequences. They made decisions irrationally, before they received the bitter taste of harsh reality that would cause them to have regrets.

Once upon a time, a decade or two ago, an angel had run away to elope with a devil. This story was known and retold by many. Each time it was retold, there was a new twist to it from the person who told it. Eventually, many versions of the story existed. Some came to believe that the devil was an not a devil, but a succubus who had seduced an innocent angel to run away with her. Others believed that this story was nothing but a mere myth, or that an angel had pretended to run away with the devil so he could kill her in secret.

Barely anyone knew the truth about the story -- anyone that was not Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung was the fruit of his parent’s love. He was a half breed mixed between an angel and the devil. He was someone or others may refer to him as “something” that had never existed before. He knew the real story behind his parent’s love story and that it had no lying. There was no forcing, killing, manipulation, or toxicity. There was only one feeling they shared with each other just like everyone else who were romantically involved with someone -- there was only love between his parents. They had to run away because the underworld had no room for an angel and the heavens had no acceptance for a devil. So certainly, neither would accept someone who was from the both the fallen and the risen side -- there was nowhere a fallen angel could belong in.

Things were not too bad for Taehyung until the unfortunate day their home was found by the magic council. It was forbidden for opposites to love one another. For indulging in such sinful actions, both of his parents were punished harshly. Their wings were clipped away. They were left as flightless birds who could not run away, and then they were burned to death. With how vicious they had been with Taehyung’s parents, one could only imagine what they would done if they found an abomination like Taehyung. Luckily, this was at a time when Taehyung was old enough to know what to do, and he had run away in time and managed to survive. Ever since then, he lived secretively to avoid trouble for himself. Though, just because he avoided trouble for himself, did not mean he could not cause trouble for others.

The thirst for revenge burnt bright in Taehyung’s heart. He lingered in the shadows a lot. Whenever, he saw how happy everyone was with their families, friends, and someone else, it infuriated him and he was envious.

As far as Taehyung was concerned, his parents would be the only ones who would ever love and accept him for who he was. However, they were taken away from him in mere moments. Seeing others happy, and realising how the rest of the world did not seem to care about their unjust passing, made his blood boil.

It was in that moment that Taehyung decided he would do what was done to his parents as revenge. He would ruin everyone’s happiness and their life like his was ruined.

_______________________________________

You were nearing the age of marriage and that meant you were required to socialize with potential partners. It would not be too bad if your parents were not who they were. See, your father was one of the very few angels who was given the opportunity to be part of the magic council. Meanwhile, your mother was considered to be one of the most beautiful angels. She was famous for the purity and majestic beauty of her wings. It was not too far-fetched to say that you were a child from a privileged, wealthy, influential, and powerful family. For this and many other reasons, you were bound to be pursued by many.

As much as you hated attention and had tried to keep to yourself, it was an almost impossible task; especially considering that you had ended up inheriting wings that were just as awe striking, if not more, as your mother’s.

As an introvert, it really sucked to have extroverted parents who were always in the limelight, and because of that, brought spotlight on you too. Not to mention, you were not interested in getting married in the slightest. Marriage would bound you to one person who for your entire life, and you would be forced into a life of responsibilities. Before settling down, you wanted enjoy your freedom, go on adventures, and discover yourself. One would not necessarily be restricted after marriage, but that was just how you felt.

The thought of marriage almost made you envious of the devils and their free ways of living. They did whatever they wanted whenever they wanted; their lives were rich with adventures and fun. You wanted to explore, have adventures and fun. However, as an angel yu knew that would never happen.

Angels like yourself, had rules and strict orders which acted as a guideline for the way you should live. You were meant to live a clean and pure life. The restrictions almost made you want to gag in disgust everytime you thought about them. If someone found out that you felt like this, or how you hated your life as an angel which was already set for you, you would certainly get banished.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt yourself being shook gently. You blinked before you turned your head towards the person. You saw that it was someone you were rather familiar with: Jung Hoseok. He was looking down at you with a deep stare, his white wings were raised high behind him, and shone underneath the heavenly light. His eyes flickered to the book you held in your hands, which you had not realized that you were holding upside down. His lips twitched up in a soft smile. He loved your little quirks like this.

From the loving eyes Hoseok stared at you with, to the way his fingers softly brushed your hair behind your ear, lingered on your skin, as he leaned down and his breath fanned your ear made you feel queasy in discomfort.

“Can I talk to you alone?” He asked, his words sounding soft in your ears. You furrowed your eyebrows. Then, your eyes flickered to the side to see others in the holy library watching the two of you with analytical eyes. Their boring gazes manifested your queasiness because you knew exactly what was happening; Hoseok was purposefully being touchy and feely with you in front of everyone to make a point of starting to ‘claim’ you. After all, the more you would be seen with someone close to your marrying age, the more speculations there would about you belonging to them.

You did not like it one bit.

“Sure,” You murmured, with hesitancy in your eyes. Hoseok chose to ignore such a reaction and instead chose to indulge in your submissiveness. He smiled in satisfaction as he gently grabbed your hand, intertwined his fingers with yours, and pulled you to stand up.

“Great, follow me,” He said, and you flew behind him reluctantly as he led you out of the library.

You flew and followed Hoseok until he led you into a secluded area for what you assumed for privacy. You could guess what he wanted to talk about. You aimlessly hoped to whatever higher deity was out there that you would be wrong.

“So [Name], we’ve known each other since we were children,” Hoseok started, and you knew instantly that nope, you were completely right. You should have known really, that with your luck this was bound to happen. Well, you did know and did expect it but not this soon, not before you even reached the age of marriage.

“We grew up together, and for years I have been in love with you. I love the way you smile shyly when you feel awkward, and how your eyes light up when something excites you. You’re absolutely beautiful and I love how magnificent and large your wings are. Our families have known each other since the dawn of our friendship, and I think your parents would be the happiest if you were to choose me. I want to work hard for you and be the reason behind your smile,” Hoseok confessed, and continued to list each thing he loved about you, along with the benefits there would be if you chose him as your spouse. It was obvious from the the way he continued that his confession was scripted. He seemed to have practiced it a lot so it would be perfect for this moment. The effort was appreciated but it was not your style. Scripted, practice, discipline, perfection — he was portraying values of a full-fledged angel; values that forged a person and prompted reheated perfection rather than allowing a person to be sincere or raw in the moment. He was everything ‘perfect’ that you hated about being an angel.

While in the midst of listening to his confession and becoming uncomfortable with each passing moment, you suddenly felt an unnervingly cryptic gaze watching you intensely. For you, the vibe of the atmosphere that was usually pure, had now shifted into something that felt suffocatingly dangerous. The knot of discomfort in your stomach was no longer from Hoseok’s still continuing confession, but from the feeling of being watched by someone with blood lust.

Its presence was too strong, and you wondered why Hoseok was not reacting to it. You held up your hand in a stop signal to signal Hoseok to quiet down.

“Don’t you feel that?” You asked breathily, and in confusion to suddenly being cut off, Hoseok furrowed his eyebrows.

“Feel what?” He answered, with confusion etched in his eyes. Then, moments later, his eyes widened in some sort of realization. A wide smile appeared on Hoseok’s face, and instantly knew what that smile meant. Right away, you knew that what you were talking about, the ‘realisation’ that Hoseok had were were going to be two completely different things.

“Feel your love for me? That’s rather cheesy [Name], even for you—“ Hoseok flirted, but you cut him off when you saw someone with black and white wings fly at the speed of light from behind of Hoseok. The sight had caused you to gasp in shock and for your eyes to widen.

What the hell was that? You wondered, and the sound of Hoseok saying something was disant to you.

“I don’t have time for this. As much as I appreciate you as a friend Hobi, I don’t love you romantically. It seems like fate has something else planned for me than settling down with the angel for the rest of my life so soon,” You said, muttering the last sentence to yourself and rejecting Hoseok. His eyes were widened at your unexpected blalant response. You gave him no time to reply as you fluttered your wings. The strength of the fluttere caused a gust of wind to arise. Then, you jumped high, and took off as fast you could towards the stranger with black and white wings.

_______________________________________

You were lead towards the streams in heaven that connected to other places and worlds. Unlike till this moment, when you had been flying freely in whatever way you pleased, in the realm of streams you had to be extremely cautious. This was because one would never know what stream would pull them towards itself, and as a result of that pull, what place they might end up in.

Usually, people were not allowed in the realm of streams without authorisation or a permit. So, if you were to be caught, you would be in big trouble. This, along with the looming dangers of what you had chased, out your nerves on the edge.

As you walked slowly and looked around everywhere warily, you hugged your arms, and wings around yourself as a comforting gesture. Additionally, it also made you physically smaller, which was needed since you did not want to be pulled in by a random stream.

From his hiding spot, Taehyung watched you, and licked his lips in anticipation. You were much more gorgeous in person. The rumours were true after all; the daughter of the angel in the magic council was born with beautiful wings like no other. He had to have them for himself.

Although Taehyung was currently the predator, and unbeknownst to you that you were a prey, he failed to realise that he could become a target too. This was because he was not the only one who was capable of obsessing.

“I-I know you are here,” You bellowed, as you nervously rubbed your arms, and glanced around. Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you, and noticed how the feathers of your wings were twitching in anxiety due to the unknown circumstances — due to him. Tingles of excitement started to course through him.

“I saw you fly here. I don’t know who or what you are but you obviously wanted to bring me here… alone. So, come out or I’ll leave,” You threatened weakly, and he almost found your facade of bravery to be cute. He stayed where he was for a few moments.

Meanwhile, you were inwardly cursing at yourself for flying away and chasing something you had no idea about. Your desperation to experience something new, and breakaway from the stereotypical life that was set for you had caused you to act recklessly. It made you break rules in the past too, but you had never gone this far.

When you received no response for a bit, you sighed in disappointment. Perhaps it had been a figment of your imagination? Reluctantly, you turned around. As you were about to leave, someone flew from behind, wrapped their arms around your waist, and flew away with you.

You gasped in surprise, and were going to turn your head to see who had captured you, until his deep and authoritative stopped you.

“Don’t turn around. If you do, I won’t be nice to you,” Taehyung stated stoically. You instantly stilled in your movements, and did not budge your head even a bit. All you could do was stare at the various colourful streams you flew past, and wondered where fate would take you. From the way the person holding you was flying, and dodging the pull of each stream with effortless grace, you knew he had to be exceptionally talented.

Taehyung’s gaze flickered towards your head that was looking down, and his lips twitched in a miniscule smile at how obedient you were. He did not expect it, especially since you were the offspring of one of the council members. Your obedience felt … nice. Perhaps, Taehyung would rethink his plans for you, and if you continued to submit so easily to him, then he would reward you, instead of hurt you.

_______________________________________

When Taehyung had kidnapped you and brought you to his abode, he was a bit rough with you because he wanted to intimidate you. His entire presence was domineering as he backed you into a corner and began to explain all of his ‘rules’ to you. He gave you two options: you submit to him and court him or return to the heavens without your wings. He was entranced by your beauty so whether he had your entire being to himself, or could just preserve the best part of you for his collection, it did not really matter to him -- as long as he had a piece of you.

What Taehyung did not expect was for you to become entranced by his beauty too, which he had come to think would be perceived as a hideous abomination.

Your eyes were wide and there was an awe stricken expression on your face when you observed his features. He was something you had never seen before — a crossover of an angel and a devil. His hair was blond, and he was dressed in white clothing. However, unlike an angel and like a devil, his sclera was pure black instead of white. One of his irises was a beautiful shade of caramel hazel, and the other was a haunting shade of a red ruby. His wings were large and sumptuous with one being purely white, and the other being as dark as a starless and moonless night; he was breathtaking.

While in the midst of waiting your response, Taehyung never expected you to be brave enough to wrap your wings around him affectionately, and flip him over so that you would be the one cornering him instead.

“You’re so otherworldly and gorgeous,” You breathed, and leaned your face closer to his. Simultaneously, you cupped his face gently in your hands and brushed your thumb softly against his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise.

“So different, new… I’ve never seen anything like you. Sure, I’ll be yours. I’m interested to see what a hybrid like you can show me. I will be yours as long as you vow to belong to me as much as I will belong to you.”

GOOD ENDING

I can’t add links because then it doesn’t show in the tags :^) you can click on my profile to see Jungkook’s profile and the quiz link

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sansanficrec · 5 years

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Q&A with ladytp

Grab a glass of wine and get to know @ladytp!

How long have you been writing fanfiction?

I actually went back to the folder of my first posted fanfic, and it was almost 6.5 years ago, September 2012… That was my first ever creative work I wrote as well, as I started quite late – being already adult, established professional and all that. So never too late to start, one doesn’t have to have grown up writing!

Did you write before that?

No I didn't - unless scientific publications are counted as 'creative' writing (well, to be honest, sometimes there was an element of creativity when trying to make one's data make sense, LOL!)

How long ago did you join Tumblr?

To be precise (as I like to be!) I joined March 1st 2013 – so almost six years ago… But it took me four months to make my first post (an awesome music video about ASOIAF and GoT), being initially a ‘lurker’ to observe and learn. I migrated there from Livejournal when things started to quiet down there – like a moth I was drawn to bright lights, moving images, and more of my fandom content!

What is the meaning behind your username?

My username is from the Livejournal times as well, as when I joined it, I didn’t grasp the significance of one’s url or username and just picked the first one that came to mind when filling in the details: “lady” and my initials. D’oh! Luckily I have been able to successfully have the same name in other platforms as well, which is great – it is easier than have many different names. I am also glad that it is not fandom specific, as my interests are many and varied…

What was your first fandom? First pairing?

Definitively ASOIAF – that was my introduction to the whole cultural phenomenon of ‘fandom’, devouring fics and joining communities (yeah, I am so far behind of everyone else – I used to have a life, LOL!). Sansan was my first ship, but I also had a brief period when I was very interested in Daenerys and Jorah (this was before I saw the show). Even though the show had a big negative impact on Sansan experience for me (not due to Rory, I hasten to add – but the storylines), it has still stayed my OTP in a sense that I feel most comfortable about writing them and their dynamic still fascinates me above anything else.

How/when did you first notice (or start to ship) Sansan?

My story is very typical; first reading their interactions after the Hand’s Tourney, then the scene of the Battle of the Blackwater – and I was hooked. Googling and finding fics, Livejournal communities and all the metas…no getting back from there! I mean; it is so blatantly obvious that I wonder who can read the books and NOT get the vibes??

Is there a SanSan fic you’re particularly proud of? Chapter? Paragraph? Plot?

Hmmm…’Which one of your children you love the best?’, in other words – always a difficult question! I guess I am still the proudest of “The Triangle” It was one of my early fics, it was a long-fic, and it was about the subject I had been fascinated with for years and years; the complicated Arthurian relationship between 3 people who loved each other for different reasons (Arthur, Guinevere and Lancelot in the original, Sandor, Sansa and Jaime in the fic). Chapter-wise I am very happy with the last chapter of the “Kiss of the Blade”, as hard as it may be for some due to the character death implied. It has melancholy but also beauty, I thought when I wrote it. Plot-wise I am excited and happy about my current WIP “This Time, We’ll Do Better”, as although it has some common trope elements, I think they have somewhat cool applications and it is nice to write something more plot-orientated for a change!

Any comments you’ve received that stick out, even now?

I have to admit that again, “The Triangle” inspired some absolutely wonderful comments, probably because of its unusual premise. Towards the end, and especially with people who had read it in one go long after it had been completed, there were some wonderful convos going back and forth. I especially enjoyed the ones where people either told that they had had some reservations starting it, but then ended up really enjoying the fic, or the ones where they might have had some queries and doubts and questions, leading to a mutually fruitful and eye-opening discussions on both sides. Those conversations really blew my mind!

Do you use a beta?

I have had the privilege of working with two wonderful betas, of which I am eternally grateful. The first one was wildskysheri / wildsky, whom I “met” via Livejournal, and who betaed for me for “The Triangle”, “A Chance Encounter” and “A Premediated Reunion”. She taught me – a non-native English speaker/writer – so much about writing and what to pay attention to and what to look out for. I owe her so much! After our ways parted amicably as she moved on to other things, I was without beta for a long time, not really actively looking for one, but when my path crossed with the lovely @hardlyfatal, I have once again had the pleasure of getting my words scrutinised by someone knowledgeable, making them better on “This Time, We’ll Do Better”. I honestly can’t speak highly enough for a beta who can make any writer and fic so much better!

Are there tropes/styles/genres you struggle with? Any that are almost too easy?

I do struggle a bit writing babies and children, and hence haven’t written much about them… I don’t generally care for modern AUs either and would struggle to write a full story in a modern times – although who knows, maybe in a right setting, replicating the high stakes situation of the canon, it could work. Haven’t tried so can’t say for sure! Very fluffy genre is also something I don’t feel particularly comfortable with, nor anything where the characters are very young. And porn without plot is neither a genre I relish. The most comfortable genres for me are the slow-burns, where mature people interact with each other in a mature way (whatever that means…). First realisations of feelings, hesitancy, and all that. I also do like plot-driven stories that have a start, middle and ending. I am all open for fake marriage, bed-sharing, ‘there was only one room at the inn’ kind of genres – any kind of ‘forced’ situations where the characters are obliged to spend time together!

When you start a fic, do you know where it will end? Or do you figure it out along the way?

There have been fics along both scenarios – some were started at the spur of the moment, with only vague ideas of where and how far they would go (”The Prophecy” comes to mind, which I started as a random holiday scribbling – and repeatedly apologised and updated my chapter number as it grew and grew and grew…). And there were the ones where even at the end I couldn’t decide what the ending should be, so I wrote two (for example “Past Was Such A Long Time Ago“). But for most I would have some idea about the ending at the start, and for some I would gain it somewhere early along the way. So yeah, it varies!

Do you have any rituals/conditions for ‘getting in the mood’ to write?

I mostly write over the weekends when I have more time, after getting up and having breakfast, reading my emails and checking on Tumblr and doing all the routine stuff one does – and then I open my doc and start writing… With my internet radio blasting on the background on some jazz or lounge or classic channel. I find it hard to write during the weeks after getting back from work and being distracted by mundane home things and TV and such.

Have you ever had writer’s block? Any tips for overcoming it?

I did have a period well over a year ago when I felt I had ‘lost my mojo’. It was largely to do with the way the Game of Thrones show had progressed and changed the characters so much that I couldn’t recognise them anymore, and my initial inspiration of writing about them consequently suffered. Especially as the show canon started to take over the original book canon so strongly in many platforms, including fics. The way I got over it was to distance myself from the show and partly, unfortunately, also from the fandom (so largely focused on show). I had a nice break, didn’t read many fics, focused on books and generally took a step back. Then I challenged myself to write a new type of story, a plot-focused ‘action & adventure’ story instead of romance focused only. That inspired me to write again, and I have been riding on that inspirational wave ever since with my latest long-fic WIP!

Aspirations of publishing one day?

No, not really. It is a tough world out there, especially as writing has become more reachable to many people who previously might not have even considered it (yay, fanfic and other forms of creative writing and platforms encouraging it!), and publishing world is awash with submissions and self-published stories alike. Although I don’t know for sure, I suspect that wanting to become published would take much more effort and determination and will than what I have for now, as for me this is a lovely hobby, nothing more.

What are your other hobbies?

My absolutely biggest hobbies are food and wine. I have loved cooking, eating and learning about food and wine for most of my life and it’s really important for me. Cooking meals ‘from the scratch’ from their base ingredient is what I love, as well as learning to master new techniques, new cuisines and difficult recipes. When I travel, food is one of the main drivers for that too, and holidays are largely built around restaurants, regions, cuisines and wineries. Holidaying in wine regions and wine tasting is the favourite kind of holiday! Yet I also love everyday cooking – the beauty of this as a hobby is that I get to do it every day and can challenge myself, be inspired by it and practice it all the time!

As for other hobbies…not really… I follow the transformative artform that is WWE, especially Dean Ambrose, and love visiting historical sites and reading about history, but that can hardly be called an active hobby… I also make some photo and video edits for fun, but lately my writing has taken much of the time I used to dedicate to that. Yet I feel that what I have is enough – I have no desires for an active life with lots of different hobbies and activities.

Any tips for writers looking to post their first (or second, or twentieth) fic?

I hope this doesn’t sound too harsh, but it would be really cool if even those who write only for ‘shits and giggles’ would do some basic formatting and language checks… Things like how to indicate dialogue, spacing between paragraphs and when to apply them, and of course, basic grammar. There are nowadays so many websites advising about those things, as well as free tools (for example Grammarly), that they are accessible to every person with access to sites posting their stuff – and a simple Google search is your best friend. I recommend this because ignoring those things may easily drown even the most amazing story in these times of fic over-abundance.

Other than that, write the stories you would like to read yourself, and the scenarios you would like to see in the canon. Study the writing style of the writers whose stories you admire and see if you could pick up a trick or two from them (but not plagiarizing, naturally). And if you can, get a beta – it is not absolutely necessary, but would give you a second opinion and advice from a trusted person. Oh, and give yourself a break between writing and final editing – ideally have a buffer of chapters in a draft phase before starting to post, so whenever you write something new, you can afford to let it rest for a while before getting back to it with fresh eyes. And have fun!

Anything you’d like to say to writers in general?

Don’t get hung up on statistics or comparisons. Think why you are writing – is it because everyone does it and you feel you should too, or because you truly enjoy it, or because of the stories themselves, or because you have an internal urge to do it, or it is part of your social networking activities… all are valid reasons, but once you define what they are for you, the easier it is to focus on it and the satisfaction it gives to you.

Anything you’d like to say to readers in general?

If you like a fic, don’t be shy about commenting, as it truly means so much to the writers… Even simplest comment is gratefully received. If you feel like wanting to pass on constructive criticism, first ensure the writer welcomes it, then formulate it in the politest possible way with positivism thrown in as well (and of course, make sure it is actually constructive). Marvel the choices and abundance of fic availability and acknowledge what a joy it is to live in this time and age when all that is possible. Enjoy!

Anything you’d like to say to the SanSan fandom in general?

Do not give up hope – Game of Thrones is over soon and we can get back to canon content, hopefully soon with The Winds of Winter. Whatever the further story of Sandor and Sansa is there, we know how important it has been already and nothing can take that away!

Read LadyTP’s SanSan here!

Read LadyTP’s full library here!

#sansan fic recs #Q&A #ladytp #sansan

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sabraeal · 5 years

Text

Truth in Masquerade, Chapter 5: Le Beau Monde

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

An extremely, extremely late birthday gift for the fabulous @xaphrin. Let us all never speak of how late this was.

Lyrias is too small -- even if one generously lumps Wilant into the equation -- for Shirayuki to not be acutely aware of what is said about her.

(”The perfect scholar,” Yuzuri intones with Mistress Akane’s proper, measured cadence. “Always in the library, always the first for class. A first-rate thinker; the ideal student.”

Shirayuki tears open her evaluation with more vigor than strictly necessary. One corner rips from her efforts, but it doesn’t mar any of the message inside. “She’s never said all that.”

Suzu lets out a dubious honk. “Of course she has.”

“Maybe she didn’t say it.” Yuzuri waggles her own envelope. “But she’s certainly written it.”

Shirayuki stares down at the paper pinched between her fingers and just makes out the words, a pleasure in lecture. A few lines down, it reads, an abundantly clever mind.

She folds the paper over. “You don’t know that for sure.”)

It’s only too bad that, despite her sterling reputation in the classroom, the whole waking up early thing never took.

Worse still, neither did the waking up clever.

Birdsong wedges itself into the thin crevices of her dreams, levering Shirayuki, reluctantly, into the world of the waking. It’s a far gentler reveille than she’s used to; half a decade at Lyrias, and still the clangor of the bells jar her out of sleep more often than not.

Confusion sets in with all the regularly of morning fog, her memories filing in like recalcitrant students to remind her of the day, the season, where she last her research, where it should be. With an ease borne of practice, she electively forgets the last. There’s no need to start off the morning on a depressing note.

Her body wakes even slower, skin prickling numbly against the sheets. A breeze gently rolls over her, as warm as a summer in Wistal. It’s strange that she’s left her window open -- she knows better to trust in the weather of Wilant -- but the fresh air soothes her, reminds her of when she would leave open the window of her tiny office, an invitation --

And any moment now, Obi will hop though it to scold her.

If you get a cold, I’ll make sure Suzu is the one that treats you, he’ll grumble; an empty threat when he never lets anyone take care of her but himself. Or maybe, how am I supposed to keep you safe, Miss, if you leave such an invitation for any old rogue?

Maybe today she’ll let herself say, but you’re the only one who’s ever taken it.

Now that would make him stutter, make his jaw drop, maybe even make him blush --

But she shouldn’t be concerned with that. Not when she’s has -- has --

Her eyes fly open. Zen.

Zen, who is marrying someone else. Who is marrying Kihal.

Silk sheets slip slickly beneath her fingers, and – and she’s not in Wilant. Her bed at the castle may be extravagant compared to what she had grown used to at Lyrias, but it’s not this, not silken sheets and down pillows on a bed so wide she can’t touch the other side. She’s not in Wilant, not even in Clarines, but –

But in Tanbarun, in Shenezard Castle, and Obi –

Obi is clutching the far side of the bed like it’s flotsam after a shipwreck. Shirayuki stares, brow furrowing in numb consternation as she tries to will the events of last night back into her memories. There must be some reason he’s in her bed, an ocean of silk away, but her mind clunks along as it tries to find it, like gears whose teeth won’t mesh. Ah, how she wishes her mind was quicker to rise.

(“Just past first bell,” Obi drawls from the window, startling the beaker out of her hand. He catches it hardly more than a few inches from her hadn. “And already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eh, Miss?”

“Hn,” she grunts, tucking the glassware safely away on her bench. “I’m awake.”

“Oh yes.” She can hear the laugh flirting with his words. “I can tell.”

Her mouth pulls thin. It’s nowhere near fair that he’s so awake in the morning, so quick it’s like he’s been up since --

She twists toward him, eyes narrowed. Rumpled uniform, bruised under-eye, tousled hair. “It doesn’t count as being a morning person if you’ve been up all night, Obi.”

He jolts, surprise and guilt flashing across his face. Clearly, he hadn’t thought her awake enough to catch him out.

Obi gives her a sheepish smile, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Now, Miss, that’s all a matter of opinion.”)

The memories are right there, just out of reach, but they slip away when she looks at him, when her gaze lingers at where the sheets wrap tight around his waist and his naked back above it.

She stares, eyes tracing the patchwork of smooth bronze and puckered silver. His head is wrenched away from her, half-buried in the pillow he’s strangling, but she knows from his breathing, from the loose set of his jaw, that his mouth is slack, and he’s drooling.

She grins, reaching out for him, but the smell of medicinal herbs brings her up short. That is – that is the muscle balm she uses, and if Obi smells like it –

Her heart leaps to her throat. She’d – she’d been the one to invite him into her room, to ask him to undress. She’d been the one who suggest he – he stay, that this could be just another part of their deception

Distantly, she realizes that she has no idea whether there is anything beneath that sheet. Her palms itch; it’s entirely too tempting to peek, to try to peel back the silk and see just how much she has forgotten --

The clang of a tray dropping to the floor tears her attention away.

Obi bolts upright, blade in hand, and –

“A-apologies, my lady!” the maid squeaks, hands fluttering to her mouth. It’s a new one this morning, her mouth and eyes round as she stares at them. “A-and my lord! I only – I didn’t – oh!”

The maid hastily gathers up the cracked dishes, cheeks flaming, and scurries away.

It’s only the two of them in her rooms now, a sea of covers between them.

Obi clucks his tongue, knife disappearing with a quite flick of his fingers. “I guess that means no breakfast.”

She turns, staring.

He presses a hand to his chest. “I’m a growing boy, Miss. I need my five different kinds of pork.”

She stares harder.

“And a fruit cup,” he concedes smoothly, slipping out from beneath the covers. She squeaks, averting her eyes –

But it’s unnecessary; he’s wearing the same pants he had worn to dinner, creased and rumpled from a night of wear.

Whatever this feeling is in her breast, it’s not disappointment. “We’ll have to eat in the hall, then.”

Obi’s face wrinkles in distaste.

She ducks her head, trying to hide her smile. He’s come a long way; years ago he wouldn’t have turned his nose up at food found on the floor. “Unless you want to skip --”

“Fine,” he sighs. “At least that girl’s probably scurried off to report to the king. I’m sure he’s interested in who spends time in your bed.”

Shirayuki looks at the sheets between them, trying to think what the maid might glean from this, the both of them dressed, clutching to opposite ends of the bed. She may not be an expert in such things, but she doesn’t think it says lovers. “I hope it was convincing enough.”

He turns, as if to ask her meaning, and his eyes catch on the expanse of bed between them, the conspicuous lack of a lack of clothes. His mouth closes.

“Well,” he says, voice oddly stilted. “People see what they want to see.”

Shirayuki doesn’t allow herself to wonder what the king wants to see, doesn’t think about how Izana would have his spies report on every detail down to the cast of their eyes and position of their fingers so that he could form his own opinion.

She slides out of bed herself, nightgown fluttering around her legs. “I hope so.”

Miss has never needed much time to ready herself. While Yuzuri might take hours to change for dinner, Miss only took a handful of minutes -- unless she lost herself on the way from the bath to the door, pausing to look at the notes on her desk, or slide a book she had been looking for off her shelf, or reading just one more page before dinner.

(”But I’ve been looking for that all day,” Miss protests, leaning into the hand he’s placed on her back. “It will only take a minute!”

“Then you can do it after dinner.” He gives her a gentle push, herding her toward the door. “You’re hungry.”

Her mouth purses into a pout. “No, I’m --”

As always, her stomach obliges him, letting loose a gurgle he’s sure can be heard halfway down the hall.

“All right,” she relents, “dinner first.”)

It’s different here, in court. A woman isn’t fully dressed until she’s gone through her toilette, a word Obi can’t make heads or tails of, save that it involves at least four forms of underwear. There’s no dress thrown on over leggings here; oh no, here it is crinolines and corsets, hair pulled back in combs and flawless faces. Even with more modest dresses, the sort that can be put on without a lady’s maid -- or at least only requiring a helpful bodyguard with nimble fingers -- it still takes nearly half an hour.

Obi flops back onto her divan, a fussy thing with eagle-claw legs that looks like it might fall apart under one of the many assignations Tanbarun’s court is known for producing, and settles in to wait. Even here, all it takes him is a quick rinse and a change of clothes and he’s court-ready, ten minutes’ work. It’s the privilege of being in service as opposed to being served – you don’t have to look so nice when you’re supposed to blend in with the wallpaper.

He remembers the girls from last night, arguing over where his land would be and – ah, perhaps he would not be as much furniture as he is used to, this trip.

Obi picks at the rivets along divan’s border, trying to put it out of his mind. They would deal with that sort of thing when they came to it. Until then, he was just part bodyguard, part lady’s maid – and he’d just seen his Miss walk into the bath with that dove-gray number, the one with a thousand buttons. He’s more than content to spend his time guessing how many she’ll manage before she has to call him in to help

(“I don’t even know why they would cover them with cloth!” she squeaks, flushed from her hairline to halfway down her back. He can see every bit of it from where he’s standing. “It doesn’t help any!”

“Because you’re supposed to have someone else dressing you, Miss,” he teases, slipping buttons the size of peas through even smaller holes. “The more obviously you can’t put it on yourself, the more elegant it is.”

“It’s not as if everyone could have a lady’s maid all the time,” she protests, eyes wide when she meets his in the mirror. “Who is supposed to dress you if your maid is asleep?”

She wakes up is the true answer, but Obi has never let the truth get in the way of a good opportunity. “Your lover.”

“Oh!” Miss squeaks, blushing a painful red. “Oh my.”)

It’s not his Miss’s sweet voice summoning him that gets him to his feet, but an impatient knock at her door that. He darts a glance back at the bath, but Miss offers no explanation, the sound of running water drowning out anything she might hear from the rest of her quarters.

She’s clearly not expecting any visitors. After all, the only person they knew at court was the prince himself, and he would have barged straight through the door, scolding Sakaki for his bad manners. Unless Miss managed to make friends last night at dinner –

He grits his teeth. Her cousin. There was a chance that he was coming to…renew their acquaintance. And his miss would be all-too happy to reunite with family; she had told him last night, as they lay in bed, that her cousin had dangled her grandparents in front her of, a living set, and –

And Obi didn’t see the draw, but Miss had grown up with her family. She missed having blood to go back to. And here it was.

Conveniently.

He’s barely touched the doorknob before the door flies open, and --

His worries are for nothing. A parade of pink marches through, trailing the smell of roses behind it.

“You may wait outside,” Her Highness informs her likewise pink-clad companions, though in a paler shade than the princess herself. “I have private business to discuss with Lady Shirayuki.”

They demure at the door, casting him wary glances. Rona gives him a nod, and with entirely too much pleasure, he slams the door in their faces.

“Now there’s some decoration I didn’t see the other day,” he remarks evenly, watching Her Highness flounce to the divan, lounging at one corner. Out of all the royal family, he thinks he’s only ever seen Eugena sit properly in a chair. “New accessories?”

“Unfortunately not,” she sighs, waving a hand. “My father sends me the most unfashionable things sometimes. I leave them in my rooms when I can, but you know how men get when you don’t flaunt their gifts.”

He’s highly tempted to ask if she knows how men get with their gifts. He’s never quite kept track of Her Highness’s age, but she can’t be older than Ryuu, not by much, and at that age –

Well, never mind what he’d done at eighteen. Not anything a princess should be doing, that’s for sure.

“That is why most ladies curate their own collection,” he offers, leaning against the wall.

Her Highness grimaces, just for a moment. “Maybe when I control my own purse strings. Until then, Father is all too happy to ensure I’m properly dowered.”

His eyebrows raise at that. As far as he knew, Raj ran through his allowance at an alarming rate, and still the king had never cut the strings on his purse. Rona was much less likely to spend frivolously, unless she had good reason to seem frivolous, and –

Ah, that would be the problem. If she wasn’t going to spend it on baubles like her elder brother, or books like her youngest, just what would Her Highness be spending it on? Nothing that would let her father sleep easy at night, that was for certain.

“You should do what girls your age do,” he tells her. “Marry a very lenient husband. With deep pockets.”

Her eyebrows lift, amused. “From your mouth to father’s ears.”

He grins. “I --”

“Obi!” Miss’s voice floats out desperately from the bath. “Could you --? There’s just so many of them…”

She pokes her head around the jamb, hair in disarray. “I’m so – oh, Rona!”

He should not be wondering how far her blush extends, not with Her Highness watching him so closely, with such a sly smile on her face. Slipping up like this is what leads to him catching Miss after suspiciously clumsy accidents, or finding himself alone with her in cramped closets, or once, memorably, being shoved into a lake.

Especially since he doesn’t need to wonder, since he’ll be seeing it first hand in a few moments.

“Oh, Shirayuki,” Her Highness demures with the sort of smile sharks wear. “I did not mean to grab you in such a state of dishabille.”

Miss glances at him, all wide eyes and worry, before giving the princess a tremulous smile. “It’s all right, I just – just needed some help. With buttons.”

“Hasn’t my brother seen to your arrangements?” Her Highness asks, too innocent. “He should have sent a lady’s maid to see to you for your visit. I mean, until you find a more permanent one.”

“He…did.” Miss shuffles awkwardly at the door, looking like she’d much rather be having this particular conversation fully dressed. “It’s just…that it never seems to be the same one. So it’s just…easier if I ask…”

“Curious.” There’s something far too serious in Her Highness’s answer, but in a moment it’s gone, replaced with her too-innocent look. “Well, I am happy to help you now, if you --”

“No!” Miss darts a look at him, alarmed. “I mean…your offer is too kind, but I couldn’t possibly ask you to do something so…ah…simple. Obi is just fine. If he doesn’t mind.”

At the tip of his tongue is I would much rather be taking it off than putting it on, but he knows what reaction that would get. That’s something he could try on Miss Kiki, but Her Highness would get ideas, and Miss – Miss would blush.

His gaze raises to meet hers, and -- and there’s something steady in it, something reminds him of how a fire looks behind a screen, just barely tamed –

Well, he thinks all she would do is blush.

“Of course not, Miss.” He pushes off the wall before he remembers Her Highness is still in the room, and when she fixes him with a knowing look, he can only hope his skin obscures the heat he feels burning on his face.

“By all means,” she tell him with exaggerated graciousness. “Go rescue your Mistress. That’s your job after all.”

Her mouth spreads into an unnerving grin. “Don’t take too long, though.” Her eyebrows lift pointedly. “That how rumors start, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” Shirayuki whispers fervently as Obi closes the door to the bath. “I didn’t even heard the door open. If you’d like to finish your conversation, I can wait?”

“Don’t worry, Miss,” Obi soothes, as he always does, teeth peeking out from beneath his lips. “We were only talking about accessories, after all. Nothing important.”

She doubts that; Rona never talks save to say two things at once, and between the both of them, it’s Obi who knows how to play that game, making innocuous comments laden to bursting with meaning.

“You don’t have to --”

There’s suddenly no breath in her lungs, none at all, as silk cinches intimately around her waist. It’s his hands pulling it tight, closing the halves to help fasten them. There’s no – no reason for it to be such a surprise – she called him in here to help her, but –

But there’s something different in the way he touches her. Or rather, in the way he’s so careful to not. His hands never stray from the round pearl of the buttons, or the silk of the bodice but -- but for some reason it feels intimate, as if it were not cloth hugging her tight, but his own hands.

“There,” he murmurs, too loud in the quiet of the room. “I think that should do you, Miss.”

She presses a hand to her back, wondering how she can be buttoned to within an inch of her life and yet feel so undone.

“Thank you,” she breathes, brushing her palms against her hips. It doesn’t distract from the phantom pressure there, from how hands much larger than her own should hooked around them and –

Hah, that’s – that’s enough of that.

She turns on her heel, mouth open to – to says something inane, probably, but he’s so close her shoulder brushes against his sternum. In the dim light of the bath it seems as if the gold of his eyes nearly glow –

Ah, she hadn’t – hadn’t realized the room was this small. She’d…have to remember that. Later.

His smile looms far too close like this. “Anytime, Miss.”

For a moment she thinks he might close what little space is between them, that he might lift a hand to her cheek like he has last night, might hook his fingers around the curve of her jaw and –

And he steps to the side, gesturing toward the door. “It’s probably best not to keep her Highness Waiting. You might give her time to think.”

She wants to glare – she would glare, full of warning yet playful, a tease – but her shoulder brushes the bronze of his buttons as she passes, rumpling his lapel, and – and it feels too close to let their eyes meet. Instead she lets her feet carry her past, hardly daring to breathe until she’s in her chamber.

It’s a good thing she’s left the windows open; fresh air banishes her light-headedness like bells to miasma. The bath’s must have gone stale. There’s no other reason for – for all that, otherwise.

“Lady Shirayuki,” Rona drawls as she enters, lounging as much as propriety allows. “Or should I call you margravine, now?”

She grimaces before she can stop herself. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Oh, it will,” Rona promises her, the piercing green of her eyes watching her carefully, “but not for me, I think. After all, we are old friends, are we not?”

Shirayuki find that a bit of an overstatement for someone she sees once every two years, and has only dizzying, confounding conversations with. Then again, Raj also calls her a friend of a crown, and at times, a bosom companion with not even a hint of irony. Perhaps this is as much friendship as the Shenezards have comes to expect. At least they know she doesn’t have any ulterior motives, unlike most of the people they talk to on a regular basis.

Still, she doesn’t miss the way Rona’s gaze darts pointedly over her shoulder before cutting back to her. She’s being told something here, something the princess already knows Obi will take note of, if she doesn’t.

“Of course,” Shirayuki says, and she is pleasantly surprised to find the words natural in the air between them. Maybe they have become friends, with only sparse visits and letters between them.

Rona smiles, and to Shirayuki it seems genuine. “I am too pleased to hear it.”

A warmth settles over them. It’s nice to think that maybe she hasn’t only done Raj some good over the years, but also Rona. That maybe she’s been able to give some comfort, and is only now starting to receive it in return.

And just like her brother, the princess ruins the moment by continuing to speak.

“I trust that I will see you at my picnic.” Just like her father, Rona fails to understand the purpose of a request.

Shirayuki grits her teeth, ready to refuse the invitation – or, more accurately, the demand – but the princess forges on before she can reply, “In your honor, of course. The morning before the ball. All of my set will be there.”

In your honor. Shirayuki is beginning to think royalty only utters those words when they mean to say trap.

“I suppose they’re the only people worth knowing?” Obi offers blandly from the corner of the couch. Shirayuki feels her cheeks heat. Of course Obi is actually paying attention to what matters.

Rona’s mouth slants, sly, fan coming up to flutter coyly. “Hardly, I’m sure. Just the young and the fashionable.”

Having met more than a few of that sort between her time in both Wistal and Wilant, Shirayuki feels her already thin enthusiasm waning.

“That’s very kind of you, but --”

“I insist.”

Rona’s tone makes her hesitate, but when she looks up into the princess’s face, she’s all smiles.

“Don’t worry, Shirayuki,” she assures her with a pat on the hands. “I know you’ll be just The Thing.”

That was exactly what she was afraid of. Attention.

She hopes her grimace looks much more like a smile than it feels. “Lovely.”

Her Highness never lingers long after her mischief is managed – he’d suspect, if she were less flighty, that she plans her schemes down to the minute – but the princess does surprise by taking her leave almost as soon as her invitation is tendered. Miss stares at the closed door for a long moment after she’s swept from the room, leaving only the lingering taster of rose on the air.

“Well,” she says, wide-eyed. “I wonder what that was all about.”

Obi’s mouth twitches at the corner. “Something tells me we won’t have to wait long to find out.”

Obi is right, of course.

Within the hour she’s flooded with invitations – picnics, dinners, teas, soirees, and even, most memorably, some illicit horse races.

(”Oh,” Obi coos, eyebrows raised. “Now doesn’t that sound fun?”

Shirayuki snags the card from his hand. “Absolutely not.”)

“Where did these all come from?” she sighs, the pile spread out in front of her. She had received formal invitations before, of course; her work at Lyrias had captured the attention of more than a few enterprising merchants, and her continued presence at Wilant had assured a contingent of nobles had taken interest in her as well.

But those had been sparing, parties and dinner set months and miles apart, and easily turned down with no hard feelings. These are – more.

Obi cocks an eyebrow at her, mouth following suit. “A new margravine has suddenly showed up in their midst. Anyone who is anyone – and especially those who aren’t – are going to want a better look at you.”

“I was a margravine yesterday, too,” she mutters, more cross than she would like. “These are all for today.”

He snatches the offending pile from her hands, aggravatingly smug. “Yesterday, you didn’t have the attention of a princess.”

Her jaw drops. “Do you think Rona…?”

“Planned this?” Obi offers when her own mind will not. “If she can orchestrate me falling into a duck pond, I think she can manage making a few nobles interested in a mystery woman.”

Shirayuki grimaces, staring down that the pile. “What do I do?”

His smile turns tight. “Oh Miss,” he murmurs. “You aren’t going to like this.”

(He’s right: she doesn’t.

“Whoever I turn down will take it personally,” Miss complains with a sigh.

Obi can’t help but grin. She doesn’t even know these people, but already she hates to let them down. “Oh, absolutely.”

She deflates at the thought. “Then how am I supposed to do this?”

“Let me give you some advice Sir Hisame once gave me.”

She eyes him, dubious. “I wasn’t aware you took advice from traitors.”

“I take good advice whatever the source, Miss.” He grins, sharp. “Make friends carefully, and enemies purposefully.”

“Oh,” she breathes out, resting her cheeks on her fists. “That does sound like him.”)

“Lady Shirayuki.”

She startles at the title. It’s not odd – most of the court at Wistal had taken to using it after she had fallen into Zen’s orbit. Even Izana favored it, and though she’d tried to protest, he held up a quelling hand and told her, you will need every inch of respectability a title could afford you, if you plan to stay by my brother’s side.

If only he hadn’t been so right. He palm still itches when she thinks of that clerk, of the way his cultured voice had drawled, perhaps you should wait in the bedroom, where you’re used to…

But she’s beyond that now. She’s earned the respect her title grants her, even if she doesn’t agree with the institution. It’s not novelty that makes her flinch but instead –

Instead it is the gravity. Even the most earnest of Wistal’s courtiers had put a stress on it, had let it be known that their regard was a favor to be repaid, but now –

Now the footman stares at her expectantly, easily repeating, “Lady Shirayuki?”

She shakes herself. “Ah, yes, I’m here.”

“The countess apologizes for the wait. If you would follow me?” He gesture to a door leading further into the suite, and she springs to her feet, eager to follow.

“You’ll have to get used to that, you know,” Obi murmurs in her ear, grin implied by his tone. “A margravine never leaves home without her titles.”

Her mouth thins at the thought. “Maybe we won’t have to tell anyone in Clarines.”

His eyebrows raise, a corner of his mouth tagging alone. “I think they send letters out about this kind of thing, Miss.”

“They?” She can’t quite wrap her mind around who would care enough to keep track.

“Oh, you know.” He shrugs, careless as he escorts her to the door. “Spies.”

Her feet stutter to a stop beneath her, breath trapped in her chest, and she wants to ask him what he means, ask him just who he suspects of having spies, but –

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, Miss?” he asks, eyeing the room beyond warily.

“Yes,” she sighs, fingers clenching on his arm. “I mean, no. I mean – I should go alone. I don’t want anyone to think I can’t – can’t go anywhere by myself.”

“But isn’t that what we want them to think, Miss?” he asks, in the way she knows is supposed to be a prod. “That you can’t go anywhere without me?”

She stares for a moment, mouth agape.

Obi grins, lewd. “You know, because I have to be ready to sate my mis --”

“All right, goodbye!” she yelps, dropping his arm as if it burns. “I hope you, ah, have fun entertaining yourself?”

“Oh, Miss,” he purrs, entirely too much, “don’t I always?”

(“Are you not to join your Mistress?” the countess’s footman asks, trying his best to look politely disinterested, while being hawkishly aware of his every gesture. With his level of skill, he’s obviously not been part of her household long. “Sir.”

Ah, so they have not missed his sudden upgrade in status from last night’s dinner. Server to served in a day’s time. That was good information to have.

“No,” Obi tells him airy. “You know how it is.”

“Sir?”

Obi leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “Girl talk.”)

“Margravine Entaepode.” A woman stands as she enters, her golden skin unlined and hair still a deep chestnut, save for one lock of stately white that reminds Shirayuki of a wave captured in oils.

Shirayuki bounces her knees in a small nod to a curtsy. She’s never believed in any of this bowing and scraping, of knowing the precise degree of obeisance one owes, but she can admit now that even if she does not, she needs to pretend she does. She’s just lucky margravine has bought her less time on her knees, as little as she likes it. “Countess Katares.”

She only knows the name from the invitation; she’d wanted to refuse all of them. It’s not as if she could tell one title from another – but Obi had hummed, had reminded her that Rona hardly did things without reason, and handing her this one off the pile.

“Let’s not stand on formality here,” Katares says, gesturing for her to take a seat at the table. “Call me Nereida. After all, I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Shirayuki wobbles as she sits. “You’ve heard of me?”

The countess’s mouth quirks wryly. “Is there anyone who hasn’t heard of you my now? You’re that mystery margravine, brought in from Clarines. Zemarchus’s secret heir.”

Shirayuki bows her head, the words I never knew him on her lips –

But they never have a chance to fall.

“—the girl who usurped Caius’s long-awaited reward,” she continues, teeth flashing behind her tea cup.

Shirayuki grimaces. “I didn’t mean to --”

“Of course not.” The countess waves her hand, as if it were hardly worth the effort to say. “But it doesn’t make it any less true. Though it is probably Theodosia whose chances you ruined most, and she won’t quickly forget that.”

“I --”

“Don’t worry too much about all that, Shirayuki,” Nereida tells her with a tittering laugh. “You may have made an enemy of her, but foiling Caius and his sister will only endear you to the rest of the court. Practically makes you one of those folk heroes the commoners like to coo over.”

She feels her mouth gaping, and she closes it. If only Obi were here, he would know what to say.

“Is that…?” There is no good way to pose this question, no way that doesn’t seem either desperate or scolding.

“Is that why everyone is so interested in you? Hardly. Everyone in this court has their agenda, and hopes to bend your ear to further it, whether that makes you a player or pawn.” Nereida offers her the sugar, which she denies, and the lemon, which she takes. “Except me, of course. I’ve reached the age where I have no cause for ambition and can firmly settle into being eccentric.”

It’s like having a conversation with Raj: circular and confusing. “Oh…”

“Though I love being fashionable and confounding,” Nereida tells her with a smile. “And by being the first to see you, why, that allows me to be both.”

“I…” Shirayuki blinks, lost.

The door opens, and a footman bustle in, bearing a tray.

“Oh good,” the countess says, smile broad and ravenous. “Luncheon has arrived.”

As much as Obi would have loved to take to the roofs, hanging from gutters and swinging from balconies as he made his rounds, gathering the information he should have days ago when they first arrived, he’s all-too awake of the eyes on him. As a guard, he was invisible, just moving décor for those with better bloodlines to ignore, but as a knight, and more importantly, a margravine’s lover –

Well, he won’t be going anywhere unobserved any time soon. His shoulders itch under the heavy cloth of his dress blacks, and he brings a hand up to one, rubbing out the tension. It’s a lot less fun being watched than being the watcher.

He’s starting to understand why his marks seemed so stupid. He’s walked the length of two corridors and already he wants to break into a run.

He takes a breath, bringing the problem into focus. He knows eyes are on him, that as long as they keep up this game, servants and spies will be dogging his steps. If he can’t get rid of them, the only thing he can do is identify them. Knowing who is so interested in the goings on of the margravine’s lover is information that can be useful. He has to go somewhere no one else would, where it would be simple to see who was following him.

Ah, the library.

For once, he’s glad Miss spent most of her visits in Tanbarun idling away her hours in the palace’s mustiest room. She’d told him it was fascinating, that it had even more books on more varied topics than the one at Wistal, but – the draw has always been lost on him. He’s fine at reading, but there’s far too much that’s more interesting than just words.

As expected, the cavernous room is empty, all its rococo trappings wasted upon an audience of none. He’s spent enough hours here to have memorized every curve of its fleur-de-lis, every crest of its leaf-like waves, but as much as he’s a fan of gold’s glitter, he fails to be impressed by gilt. He doubts Miss even bothered to look up.

He saunters towards the bank of giant windows lining the far side. They open, he knows; one of them is open even now, and the temptation to throw himself out it, to feel the air on his face and the hard jarring in his bones as he find his place to land is palpable. No one would know to look up if he sprung to the roofs here, he’d be away from prying eyes –

Obi drops his hand to the shelf below it. Impossible. Not in broad daylight, when anyone could look up and see him. If he was just a guard it would only be a curiosity, but as Miss’s knight, it would be a scandal.

Oh, how he misses being invisible.

“Obi?”

His head swivels towards the voice, wide green eyes awaiting him beneath a sweep of mousy brown. The second prince of Tanbarun practically blends into the library’s woodwork; even now Obi’s gaze wants to skip over him, to settle on something more eye-catching.

“I-I mean, Sir Obi,” the prince corrects himself, shuffling under the weight of the books in his arms. He’s Ryuu’s age, or at least thereabouts, but unlike Ryuu, the second prince never quite hit the growth spurt to send him to a remarkable height. Like his brother, he’s average, with no above-average personality to make him stand out.

“Highness.” Obi lifts some of the books from the prince’s arms, lightening his load. “I didn’t expect to see anyone here.”

That had, in fact, been the point.

The Younger Highness lifts his shoulder, an awkward shrug that serves to only make him smaller. Obi remembers that gesture too well, on a not-so-different boy. “This is where I always am. If I’m not in my rooms that is. Or wherever Rona dr—ah, brings me.”

Obi muffles his snort in a laugh. Good to see that, at least, hadn’t changed. The prince may be a retiring, quiet young man – but his sister would see to it that he was not forgotten. At least, not until she was packed up and sent off to her eventual husband, a world away if the king had any sense of self-preservation.

That was a sobering thought. No one to drag the recalcitrant prince out, after that.

Obi let out a huff of a laugh. No, Her Highness would burn half a world to see her brother remained properly socialized.

“I’m glad I found you,” Obi tells him. “I’d been meaning to come say hello, but…events haven’t allowed it.”

“Mm, I imagine they wouldn’t.” His Highness casts him a wary, yet hopeful glance. “Do you mean it? You were going to find me?”

He blinks. “Of course. You haven’t tried to make my mistress a concubine, or worse, pushed me in a duck pond. You’re practically my favorite Shenezard.”

The prince ducks his head, smiling.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says a moment later. “I mean, about my father. I know that he – he tries to force everyone’s hand. I’m sorry that it’s happening to you and Shirayuki.”

“It’s…” Obi presses his lips together, discarding words as soon as he thinks them. “…Not your fault.”

“I think he’s desperate,” the second prince confides, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. “He’s tried to find Raj other wives, more…politically advantageous ones, but…”

His highness gives him a guilty look. “He’s managed to scuttle every one.”

Obi swallows his laugh. “Prince Raj? I can’t imagine why.” After all, don’t princesses just lap up bombastic declarations?

“I think…” The prince hesitates. “I think he’s done it on purpose.”

Obi’s brows draw together. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know.” Eugena looks at him, steady. “Maybe he already knows what he wants.”

The prince takes the stack of books from his arms. “Thank you, sir, for your help.”

“It’s Obi,” he says distantly. “And thank you for yours.”

“You didn’t bring your guard?” Nereida makes the remark mildly, as if it were regular conversation, as if she had not just implied that she made enemies by breathing before the sandwiches had been trotted out. “I heard you traveled few places without him.”

“His name wasn’t on your invitation,” Shirayuki replies, finally able to untie her tongue that much. “He didn’t want to be rude.”

“How disappointing,” the countess sighs. “I do love inappropriate people. And he seemed like the type. I’m given to understand he’s titled as well?”

“A knight,” she corrects, appetite leaving her, if it ever truly arrived.

“A knight.” The countess’s expression turns wistful, speculative. “A fair choice to be attached to a margravine.”

Shirayuki’s fingers fumble a scone. It’s impossible to miss the way the countess lingered over the word attached, implying far more than employment. It was what she wanted, what they wanted, and doubtlessly Obi would be pleased to know that the rumor had spread so far around court.

“At least loosely.” Nereida smiles, but her dark eyes remained fixed on her. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a title that fit you better at court.”

She’s so surprised, she doesn’t even think when she says, “Like what?”

Nereida grins. “Like princess.”

Shirayuki nearly chokes.

“I’m still getting used to margravine,” she insists, attempting a smile. It feels far more like a grimace, and the countess’s reaction doesn’t give her much hope for it seeming otherwise. “I don’t think I could handle another.”

“Ah, of course.” The countess lifts an inquiring brow. “You were…what, before?”

“An herbalist,” Shirayuki tells her, at least comfortable with this avenue of conversation. “At Wilant.”

The woman nods. “You were some sort of…physician?”

“Sometimes,” she says, trying to forget Suzu’s helpful patient requests. “But I did more research than pharmacy work.”

“Research,” Nereida looks interested despite herself. “On plants?”

“At first,” Shirayuki says. “But my recent project has been with pregnant women. The mother mortality rate post-birth is higher in the north than elsewhere in Clarines, and I’d been working to see if there was some sort of external factor.”

She expects, when she looks up from her plate, to see glazed eyes, to see a mind that has wandered, but –

But the countess is staring straight at her, unblinking. “You don’t say,” she murmurs, footman pouring her another cup of tea. “Do go on.”

Miss stumbles through the door, mouth pulled into a thin line, fingers picking at the pearls that keep her gown plastered to her body.

“A good luncheon?” Obi asks, grin tilting his mouth. He’d been interested in the countess since that first dinner; older women hardly stayed fashionable, especially widows, but by all accounts Katares had stayed at the top of the wheel, not quite driving fashion, but certainly not being crushed beneath.

Miss hesitates, hand still on her back. “Yes, actually. Strangely enough.”

That was…unexpected. “So the food was good, then?”

She gives him a flat look. “I mean that the countess seemed interested in my work.”

His eyebrows raise “Your work?”

Miss nods, teeth sinking into her lip. “I was surprised too.”

She finally unclasps the first button, and he holds up a hand. “You may not want to do that, Miss.”

Her eyebrows raise in question. “Why is that?”

He holds up a folded letter, and she grimaces.

“I don’t want to go to any more events today,” she sighs, trying to wave him off. He presses the letter toward her.

“I’m sure that this one you will.”

#obiyuki #truth in masquerade #my fic #akagami no shirayukihime #this took somewhere in the realm of forever #BUT #it is COMPLETE #....because I cut it in half #BUT AT LEAST THAT MEANS I HAVE A LOT OF CHAPTER 6 DONE :D #sorry that this was so late xaph #IF I HAD ONLY KNOWN HOW LONG IT WOULD GET #i could have had it to you so much earlier

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