#monologue of a foreign woman

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Joan Tierney Why Are You Haunted? / @/oceaii (tumblr) / Liv Ullmann Changing / The Elektra Complex / Rosario Castellanos Monologue of a Foreign Woman from "Meditation on the Threshold: A Bilingual Anthology of Poetry / unknown / @/violentcherries (tumblr) / @/nutnoce (tumblr) / Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea / unknown

i. Joan Tierney Why Are You Haunted? [ "This haunting is architectural. It is not about you. It is about where you are. There are bones in the foundation. This house is a graveyard. This house is a corpse. You are inside the corpse. That makes you the maggot." ]

ii. @/oceaii (tumblr) [ Black and white illustration of a deer. The deer looks forwards in the first panel and turns back to face the audience in the second panel. "Turn and face / the person you've become." ]

iii. Liv Ullmann Changing [ "I will never forget the loneliness I knew as a child. For a period in my life I hid behind a mask. Did not want to acknowledge any longing. / Now it is a part of me-something I can share. / Both the loneliness and the longing." ]

iv. The Elektra Complex [ "If you were to peel the skin of me apart as a fig's, you would finally understand. I am my mother's daughter. From poisoned seeds sprout poisoned fruits." ]

v. Rosario Castellanos Monologue of a Foreign Woman [ "I didn't want / to be the dead star / that uses borrowed light to survive." ]

vi. unknown [ Black and white illustration of two deer. They are both labeled with words. The deer in the background says "just be." The deer in the foreground replies "just being is the hardest part." ]

vii. @/violentcherries (tumblr) [ "the environment you are not thriving in is not yours forever / IT'S OKAY TO LEAVE / ... / IT'S OKAY to abandon the things you used to love" ]

viii. @/nutnoce (tumblr) [ Black and white illustration of a scorpion doing chores. It's tail just barely curls over the front of a clothes line. Various pairs of socks hang from the clothes line. It stands before a bucket with more clothes inside. "I come from the toughest, meanest place you can imagine. / I want to be gentle, I want to die gently, but / It seems that when life gets hard / I have to get harder to match." ]

ix. Jean-Paul Sartre Nausea [ "I am going to outlive myself. Eat, sleep, sleep, eat. Exist slowly, softly, like these trees, like a puddle of water, like the red bench in the streetcar." ]

x. unknown [ "1. Man is a MORAL animal. / 2. You can get human beings to do anything - IF you can convince them it is moral. / 3. You can convince human beings that anything is moral." ]

[comfortless]

so. please consider: König is a prince (yeah we aren’t going full king this route, maybe he has an older brother or some complications having the throne to himself but either way he has some power just not all of it lol) and reader is part of a performing troupe that usually acts out plays outside of the castle. he goes out to watch them and becomes so desperate for her that he gets /her/ to perform as /him/ when the plays are about his heroic deeds or whatever.

i have had this idea stuck in my head for days and i just know you can bring it to life 🩵

the evil little König in my head took over. no one look at me. 🥩🏰

prince!König x fem reader.

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. dubcon. mentions of adultery (not committed by reader or König), corruption kink (virgin!König), cunnilingus, light roleplay, scent & praise kink, smut (piv), reader is kind of evil here (König still manages to be worse), allusions to abduction.

“You are certainly lovelier than my wife, the Queen!”

He had his sword drawn, not high enough to elicit panic, but just enough to know that yes, there was a very present threat. This could be a bloodbath in an instant. Speak another word — he won’t refrain. He feels his teeth grit, grating, ash in the mouth and in the air.

The actors are unaware where they are stood on stage, and the mass of bodies surrounding barely take note of their Prince. A phantom. Loathed thing that he has always been. More hated than even their lecherous, stupid king. There’s only one thing he’s good for and it’s never been politics; there’s no need to garner up public appeal when your stage is a foreign field littered with blood and corpses.

Another insult to his poor mother and the city could be one too.

From a small wooden booth acting as a prop depiction of a brothel, steps a woman. Barefoot, bare flesh, the only thing she wears is a breast band and a loincloth of finely stitched lace. She isn’t a whore, not in truth, but she looks the part of the women his men rush to the second they’ve returned home. Ale and sex in abundance, and he’s never had the focus for the latter after a round of the former.

He watches as she sways, draws her hand to her forehead and bats her lashes while her other trails up her thigh to the hem of the piece concealing her womanhood. She stops with a laugh, turns to the crowd with sparkling eyes and says, “You lot should not cheer! The Queen surely deserves better than a womanizing fool!”

König’s never been one for plays, how tactlessly they slander the royal family and make jest of current affairs. This troupe, though… he thinks it’s done in taste. Or maybe it’s just her.

Even as the aging performer with his weathered face and messy gray beard acting the part of his father rushes to the pretty thing on stage and paws at her waist, König can not tear his eyes away.

The scene reaches its end when the brothel is burned, enacting something horrible the king had done several springs ago. Bereaved, the woman returns to the stage and bares her breasts, monologuing so sweetly as she feigns tears for her fallen sisters.

König swears to be nothing like his father but he still finds his trousers fitting more tightly at the sight, not foul enough to touch himself here, if ever at all. His heart aches with each fragile word spilled from those plush lips, and his cock demands further engagement with each gentle sway of her body and heave of her round tits.

His sword slots back into place at his hip when the scene comes to an end: the crowd a storm of laughter, the fire of the torches illuminating the street flickering, the actors dissipate behind the wooden stage, and all at once the play is over.

Tactless and impulsive, he thinks to thank her for not furthering the set-up for a joke, looks the part of a proper fool when he makes his way backstage where she’s sat wiping away carmine from her cheeks. The actress’ eyes go wide and hazy when she catches sight of him towering over her, the cloth and mirror slipping from her hands to rest on the table.

Of course, she takes it as a warning, asks him if he would prefer they only act out the current affairs— the recent siege of the southern kingdom, maybe? Or a story about the harvest festival? The gods or beasts? Anything she can sputter out to the man she easily recognizes as being the Prince.

König only finds himself further endeared when she dips her head as if ashamed and moves to conceal the bare skin of her stomach as though it would be insulting to see her in such a state of undress.

He excitedly tells her about the siege, of how he slaughtered those treasonous men and so valiantly brought their women and children to the capital to live much more honest lives, boasting while she looks on in acute, wonderous horror. That’s what he chooses, even pulls his hood from his face and drops it into her lap when he tells her she has to play his part.

The actress explains to him, docile and sweet, that she’s never played a male role and certainly lacks the stature to accurately represent him of all people. To which, he laughs, bids her a farewell with a flick of his wrist and wanders back out into the cobblestone and muck to finish up his patrol of the city.

A fortnight later, she returns to the stage in hastily put on armors, his veil hanging proudly about her head, a wooden sword clasped tightly in her hands. The crowd watching laughs at her expense as she tries in earnest to perfect the way she imagined his sword must have danced during that siege. The male actors fall with each tap of the weapon’s tip, and her voice takes on a forced, deeper tone when she speaks her praises to the kingdom she’s pilfered glory for.

König only sees fire, not in the flames of torches but lain out before him, a heat that courses from the picture of this beautiful little doe on stage straight down to simmer in his chest, his stomach. She’s so cute, pretending and doing her best just to appease him that he finds himself backstage again once the play concludes.

It’s just to talk, to congratulate her on a wonderful performance. He even presents a hefty sack of gold coins to her when she returns his veil, and she marvels at the donation, takes each piece and turns it in her fingers for a time before setting the little bag on the table.

Her brow scrunches for a moment before she settles on offering her hand out to him, fingertips ghosting over his upper thigh, loitering on the armor shell protecting him and drifting further up until he takes her hand and interlocks their fingers. Surely then, the actress comes to realize that her prince is as pure as the sisters in their temples.

She breathes out a laugh and shakes her head.

“I mean to pleasure you, my Prince,” she says, less meek now and more insisting. Her hand draws back to remove the prop armor from her body, eyes never leaving his own.

Though he considers the woman’s offer heavily, pulse stampeding and heart aching, he does eventually will himself to voice a weak refusal.

Never does he keep himself holed away from her for long, even after; König returns for each play whilst his men go about patrolling the city for prowlers and thieves. He watches each performance and continuously seeks her out backstage after. They talk each time, with him offering his suggestions and her clamoring for excuses as to why, no, she isn’t fit to play his role for another fight or some drab court meeting.

Finally, the same song and dance proves too much.

This night, there is no play and König still finds himself in the room cluttered with set pieces and props. The other actors have gone about seeking their own affairs for the evening; bedsides to coax comfort from or mugs of ale and bowls of bone to drown themselves in whilst gambling away the coins the hungering crowd has thrown their way.

She sits with him, perched up on her little table wearing nothing at all. Her skin is lit aglow by candlelight, the incense burning bathing all in the welcoming, warm comfort of lavender and rosemary. There’s ash in his chest again when he finds himself at her side, already aching with a want that should not exist, one that he would deny in full with bared teeth and blurry vision.

Only, she doesn’t prompt him with questions when her palms splay flat at the chest of his tunic, just grins like a wolf given a fat leg of mutton when she feels him begin to tense. She assures him that she’s only teaching him to act after demanding that he kneel, catches his jaw atop her hand and guides his face between her thighs where he then pants and groans at the foreign, enticing scent.

It awakens something in him, something bathed out and buried in blood, the very same that courses through his veins like a violent river now. A feral look and an iron grip on her hips that would leave bruises is all she gets. All until she hisses out the words, “I am your princess and you will do as I ask.”

The first lick is hesitant, clumsy, his stubble grazed over her most sensitive parts as he slips his tongue across the smoothness of her slit. He doesn’t have an idea of what he’s doing, only enacting the vile things he’s heard men about the castle speak of, how to properly take a woman apart and push her to not only want, but to need.

Mostly, she’s unimpressed.

When he gathers her taste on his tongue, he becomes a man possessed, ripped away from duty and sovereignty and brought down to the lowness of mere swine. He groans into her cunt, laps and suckles at anything his tongue and lips can touch, savors the sight, dewy and swollen when he presses a kiss to the bud that finally does get her to purr.

“Sweet boy..,” she coos to him when her hands find his hair, petting him so gently as he continues to lap at her clit. “You’re taking such good care of your princess, yes?”

His mind blanks entirely, driven forward with a renewed, feverish vigor as he dismantles her wholly with a drooling mouth and an unrelenting stare. Rationality should have pulled him away before it ever got to this point; she’s a peasant, and he can’t run amok fathering bastards and condemning himself to Hell for a simple woman. But that’s all beaten back by her taste, the way she writhes in his hold, keeps whispering her praises and lacing those soft fingers through his hair… no amount of devils or men could pry him from her cunt.

Only she does when her voice comes in a pant and her grip tightens to pull him back. The table, his face, all sticky and wet with what must have been her very essence, drawn out by a man lacking experience but so unknowingly eager.

“Take off your clothes,” comes her next demand, one he obliges with a great hesitance.

The tunic is pulled away with shaking hands, the tie of his trousers next. He mutters a curse below his breath when his cock springs free, so erect and angry it looks painful. The tip drools just as much as that fluttering heaven between her legs, pearly beads of preejaculate leaking down to stain the fabric and further condemn him to this impromptu fate.

He jerks when she wraps her hand around him there, whines when she leans forward to kiss its head.

“I can’t…” His voice sounds weak to his own ears, pathetic and miserable as he makes a mock attempt at prying her away with a gentle press to her shoulder. “My princess… we should not.”

He’s almost certain she’s a devil herself sent to exact some punishment upon him when her lips curl up into a grin and she lies back with her knees drawn to her chest. She speaks such words to him then that he would not dare to ever repeat, songs only the unknown could sing. An angel, perhaps, when she slips a finger into herself to demonstrate to him just what should be done… there, with panting breaths and whispers of heaven.

And finally, when his cock throbs and kicks at the sight, all resolve is entirely lost. He positions himself over her where she guides the tip of his manhood to her slit, praises his size when his hips give an involuntary twitch and he slightly dips into her, sampling her warmth and the resistance from something so thick pressing into her.

His world crumbles at the sensation, cobblestone replaced by the raging heat of brimstone and an obscene lust that clouds his mind and leads him to spear her open to his hilt.

He finds holiness in their union, bites back a roar when her walls tremble around him. She only laughs when his teeth find her shoulder, only sings more hymns into his ear as he fucks into her cunt at a reckless, brutal pace. The words don’t register, far-away and distant amidst the roaring tide of sensation. She’s so tight, so wet and yearning, quivering beneath him and clawing down his back.

“We shouldn’t, hm?,” she whispers in his ear, teeth grazing the lobe. His strokes become even sloppier, each thrust stuttered and heady when the sound of her voice pulls through the haze of bliss. “My sweet boy is so good at this, though…”

His voice is nearly a wail when he loses himself fully then. He holds the back of her thighs, fucks himself through an orgasm that leaves his head spinning and his body shaking as though he’s come down with some wretched fever. And perhaps he is ill, because he can’t bring himself to think of anything more than the divine rapture of stuffing his seed into the warmth of her pussy, can’t bring himself to pull his cock out of her even when he begins to soften.

His face is buried against her neck, professing his endless love as he breathes her in and ruts into her over and over until his cock is once again stiffened and drooling inside of the very cunt he would die to keep.

Surely, when her troupe begins to pack to drift further out into the kingdom for their performances to be seen… he could accuse them of slander, have the old man playing the part of the lecherous king executed, the others thrown into rat-infested cells, and the little princess tethered to his bed to warm his heart and his cock.

He will kiss away her tears, tell her that all could be forgiven if she would only let him make an honest woman of her.

[screamforyani]

family ties

pairing ↠ miguel o’hara x (f) shapeshifter!reader

genre .. warnings ↠ angst, violence, recurring mentions of death and murder, shapeshifter!reader, non-spiderperson reader, enemies to lovers esque, parenting!au, neighbor!au

summary ↠ six years ago, your ex-fiancé and the father of your baby was killed in a fatal incident involving the head of alchemax. ever since then, you’ve devoted yourself to a life of crime to take care of your daughter. by day, you fall deeper in love with your neighbor, and by night, you come face-to-face with spider-man.

word count ↠ 14.5k

a/n ↠ most of this is set in mc’s universe so anything’s canon here. this is a repost!!!! feedback is appreciated!!!!!!

if anybody asked, you would tell them that doing a crime lord's bidding was nothing to write home about. it was assignment after assignment to keep a roof over your head and putting up with a nineteen-year-old (at least you think he's nineteen) with a reckless mouth. his tongue had gotten him into unimaginable trouble, that was for sure. not just him, but you. curse you for being benevolent enough to not let the poor kid die.

but on the other hand, it could sometimes be rewarding. sometimes.

the venue was sizeable and bustling with rich people. as expected, given the occasion. rod malone-fisk would be hosting an event with his daddy’s money, though most significantly, somewhere upstairs lodged their family’s priceless gemstone.

drawn to your partner’s chest, you could easily pass for a lovely rich couple eager to stuff yourselves full of expensive appetizers, which you had to subtly swat hobie’s hand to keep him from grabbing. he was sporting a tailored red suit to tone with your deep crimson gown, each of you donning masks to match (given that it was a masquerade). 

it was strangely foreign to see hobie outside of his typical punk fits. none of the boots and chains and leather jackets - which looked cool on him, not that you would ever admit it - though he still had his unshakable attitude.

your partner in crime scanned the menu with disdain. “have you seen the menu? what the hell is a beef bourguignon?”

“you butchered the shit out of that,” you told him none too politely, wincing at the horrid pronounciation. “and stop being a baby. i can make you something later if you want.”

hobie dramatically put his hand over his heart. “you know, you treat me like your own son.”

“somebody has to,” you mumbled under your breath.

hobie obviously heard that, and before he could make a comment that would more than likely blow your cover, marsai interrupted through your ear pieces, “um, guys?”

hobie, sobering, asked, “any updates, mar?”

“i just hacked the surveillance system. as expected, the door to the diamond room has tight security. now, i can get you a distraction in roughly two hours, but the rest of the weight is yours to pull.”

marsai was your guy in the chair and that was her way of saying that she could get you both in, but she couldn’t get you out. 

“got it,” you said. 

for half an hour, you and hobie pretended to give a damn about what rodney had to offer, other than his father’s precious gemstones. even through the mask you could tell hobie was bored half to death by the monologue and the second it was over he didn’t hesitate to drag you to the dance floor.

the plan was etched into your memory. including the initial, backup, and safety plan. you were just waiting for marsai to give you the go-ahead. biding your time, one would put it. then you’d bolt upstairs, steal the gem, and book it.

this boring event being a test of your patience was your only concern. it gave you too much time to fret, to worry about what meadow was doing and if she was alright. of course, she’s alright, you thought to yourself. you left her in the most trustworthy of hands. nobody else would do.

“marsai, you’re killing me. it’s been fifty-leven hours,” hobie groaned impatiently for only you and the woman in his earpiece to hear.

you snickered tiredly and added in agreement, “give me any more chances to drink vodka and i might not be able to walk in a straight line. let alone carry out the mask.”

“okay, okay. give me, like, five minutes.”

devon, your getaway driver, tapped into the line and said, “hurry up. i’ve been waiting outside for like an hour.”

“only an hour?” you asked curiously. to be honest, he had been so silent that you’d forgotten he was even there. 

“oh, yeah. i got hungry and went for a burger.”

hobie snarled, voice dripping with obvious envy, “lucky you.”

you laughed.

not even a minute later, the fire alarms began to cry, alerting everyone about a potential fire. you immediately made a beeline for the stairs in spite of the crowd of people flocking towards the exit. you wanted to throw your stilettos over the railing and possibly hit rodney square in the head.

hobie was right behind you. the diamond was in a room down the hall on the far right end of the corridor. it was the perfect place to corner a potential thief.

you looked suspicious running the opposite direction as everybody else, but fortunately for you and your partner, everyone was too scared for their life to question you. even if they noticed, they sure as hell wouldn’t stop and ask why. not with their lives in jeopardy. 

marsai announced in your ears, “most of the security have evacuated their posts, but there’s a couple coming upstairs. they’re not far behind you.”

“i’ll take care of it,” hobie said without leaving much room for argument. he spared you one little look before spinning on his heels.

you drew your gun from the slit in your long gown and continued to pace down the hall, never stopping no matter what. time was most valuable in predicaments like this and you had very little. you needed to be calculated. 

there was no security guarding the door when you arrived. piece of cake, you thought to yourself smugly. and jotted down a mental note to definitely reward yourself with a sickly sweet desert after tonight. 

barging inside, you instantly spotted the gem and wasted not another second to swipe a tiny device from your thigh holster, hurling it at the glass case. it ruptured on impact, shattering on itself. you swiped the jewel and turned.

another voice spooked you and abruptly said, “thank you. i’ll take that.”

the stranger didn’t even let you get a word in before he was snapping the priceless gem out of your clutches, and in a blink, he was running for the door. it only took one glance for you to recognize your unexpected company as the masked vigilante known as spider-man. 

you hated that guy. kind of. on the one hand, you weren’t against him making new york city a safer place for your daughter, but on the other hand, all he did was get in the way of your work and you needed to be able to provide for her.

you aimed your weapon, but spider-man was quick to smoothly slip to the side, quite literally dodging a bullet without even turning around once. “nice shot,” he taunted, pursuing his escape unscathed.

hot on his heels, your stilettos clicked loudly against the cool marble floor. spider-man couldn’t even made it out the door before you were on him, sending him off of his feet. he swore under his breath but never dropped the gem, and you feared he would destroy it with with his grudging clasp. before you could move again, he stole your gun no longer strapped to your thigh, grabbing it with his webs and tossing it across the room.

“how clever,” you snarled, snatching the gem and running the opposite direction.

the masked self-proclaimed superhero charged after you with featherlight, nimble steps that you matched with a graceful agility. you didn’t bother to try to take back your weapon, because you weren’t aiming to wound or maim and there was no need for a body count. 

the two of you danced around the broken case, careful not to slip in glass shards. it reminded you of children playing tag. with you holding the weapon now, you were undoubtedly it.

spider-man pranced around the glass, walking in a circle. he could have easily taken you down and he knew it. he was bigger than you, quicker than you, and stronger than you, but he didn’t particularly want to use his strength on you.

“i don’t want to hurt you,” admitted spider-man in a way that almost came off as a warning. he was stepping around you in the way someone would walk around a sleeping dragon.

you scoffed, “oh, don’t worry, baby. you won’t.”

the feeling was not mutual. you promptly grabbed some glass shards in your black gloves - never taking your eyes off of him - and chucked them his direction. the stranger missed them narrowly, dancing out of their way. you had to give credit where credit was due. this human spider was better than any opponent before him.

in the second it took him to skate out of harm’s way, spider-man inched closer to you, enough for the diamond to be at arm’s length of his body. you slid, the jewel taking to the air. he smoothly caught you and the diamond in his arms all in the same breath, and your shock granted him a few seconds leeway for escape.

for a second, you were too stunned to take action. then, you noticed he was getting away and it wore off as quickly as it came, with you right behind him. 

you took off one of your stilettos and chucked it towards him with superhuman speed like a weapon, and he swore again, whirling around quickly enough to catch the other one before it could strike him too. “woman, you’re insane,” he hissed, eyeing you darkly as you approached him.

“i’ve heard that one before,” you teased, eyes still on the prize. “do better.”

you reached for his mask and he quickly caught your hand before you could reveal his identity, though with your spare hand you snatched the jewel while he was off guard and made a beeline for the exit, your bare feet slapping against the floor. jesus fucking christ, where the hell was hobie when you needed him?

spider-man flung the broken glass case in front of the door with his webs in a final attempt to prevent you from fleeing, immediately giving chase. it was too bad that you had already suddenly shifted towards the window, making him stop short of the broken shards, and stood at the edge of the tall window with the gem pressed to your bosom.

“this has truly been fun, spidey,” you told him, just as you fell out of the window. 

and he would have caught you. he would have stopped going easy on you, would have wrapped this tango up if it weren’t for the fact that you were nowhere to be found. he peered out of the window and saw nobody falling to their death. he crawled up the building and swung from place to place, but it was like you had disappeared in the shadows.

literally.

crawling undetected across the gloomy crevices of the building before taking to the air, you made it to the other side of the building and to the getaway car.

hobie was sitting in the backseat and was baffled when he heard the gem drop just before he saw a jet-black raven that he recognized as your go-to bird identity. “oh, hey,” he said coolly. “how’d it go?”

you transformed back into your original form and hobie glanced away. it was never a process he wanted to look at. not some perfectly animated transition like in the movies. you ignored him and said, “devon, drive.”

“it’s about time,” devon said, speeding off.

“my bad. i had a surprise guest,” you droned, massaging the balls of your feet while hobie placed the gem in the front seat and even wrapped the seatbelt around what would’ve been its chest if it had one. which wasn’t the most brilliant idea, given that rodney was definitely going to report it missing and though the windows were tinted, the roof of the car was down.

devon pushed, “as in?”

“as in spider-man,” you replied coolly. jesus, your feet were killing you. marsai should not have let you walk around in stilettos for hours.  no matter the reward of your sacrifice.

hobie was none too pleased by the intervention. “how in the hell did he know we were going to be there?”

you could see devon’s baffled face from the rear-view mirror. “that’s something to have marsai follow up on.”

you shook your head, bemused and engrossed in thought. your first encounter with spider-man. how exciting. “he caught me when i was about to fall even after i threw glass at him.”

“you were about to fall?” hobie asked, amused. “what is it you always say? never get caught slipping? you quite literally-”

“never get caught slipping. i know. thanks,” you finished, finally clicking your seatbelt into place. 

“aw, shit. she’s in love with spider-man,” devon quipped, earning a sharp glare from the backseat.

hobie laughed. obnoxiously. 

“can you guys shut the hell up already?” you hissed. “i’m just surprised. he treated me better than the two of you even as i came for his life.”

“alright. don’t call us when he throws you in a prison cell,” hobie said blankly.

you rolled your eyes.

the drive was longer than usual because devon wanted to ensure that there were no cops tailing him, aimlessly coasting around town for a while until ultimately taking a very elusive route to your house where he eventually dropped off you and hobie, who didn’t hesitate to remind you about that dinner offer.

when you opened the door to your house, you barely even stepped inside before meadow forwent her coloring book and ran over to you, shouting, “mommy!”

“hey, baby,” you said, watching her short arms wrap around your leg. “how was your day?”

“it was fun. tt took me to the park and she said we can go again tomorrow!” meadow exclaimed giddily, literal stars in her eyes. nothing made you more soft than the sight of your baby girl at the end of a long day.

“that sounds like loads of fun,” you told meadow, gently patting her back.

meadow went to hobie next, calling out for him, and he picked your six-year-old daughter up in his arms. “‘ey up, cheeto. did you make any friends at the park?”

cheeto was the nickname hobie had given your daughter four years back after he saw her eating a bag of cheetos. for whatever reason, it just stuck. everyone called her that, even you every now and then.

“i did,” meadow said, noticably less enthusiastic than before. and it took a lot to get your daughter down in the dumps. she was just so full of life and you wanted her to hold onto that innocence for as long as she could. “but there was this bully. he wouldn’t let me get on the swings.”

that got hobie’s attention, as well as yours. he sat her back down, flexing his muscles and making punching motions. “what? do you want me to handle him for ‘ya? look, i learned some new moves.”

meadow was her giggly self again, watching hobie box the air. 

you, on the other hand, were not happy. you crouched to be eye-level with her and said gently, “if there’s somebody bothering you, cheeto, i can always take to their parents.”

“that won’t be necessary,” came another voice, and you quickly glanced up to see your best friend of many years, lani lee. she was also the one and only person you trusted to babysit your daughter, although you would consider letting hobie watch her for forty-five minutes maximum. “i already talked to the little boy and his parents. he won’t be bothering her any more. i made sure of it.”

“what would i do without you,” you said, standing up to pull your best friend in for a hug while hobie entertained meadow. 

“die of paranoia, probably.”

you rolled your eyes, though she wasn’t wrong. it eased your nerves a lot bit to know your daughter was under the watchful eye of someone like a sister to you. you pulled back, noticing she had her purse in hand, and asked, “you aren’t staying for dinner?”

“oh, no. i can’t. i have a… date,” lani said, the fleeting pause and her constant awkward glimpses between you and meadow making her implications obvious. 

hobie, who also got the memo, snickered. “a date, you say?” 

“stay out of grown folk’s business,” you and lani said simultaneously. 

“mind you, i’m nineteen! i can drink!”

“in london, yes. in brooklyn, no,” you said under your breath, almost hoping he didn’t hear you. you weren’t inclined to have this conversation for the umpteenth time.

“well, i’m gonna head out. you kids have fun,” lani said, slipping out of the house before hobie could make a quip. 

instead, hobie turned to you and asked, “yo, mind if i crash here for the night?”

“you know you can stay whenever you want, hobie,” you told him, heading to the kitchen to prepare dinner. 

“sweet. i’m going to go settle down and i’ll watch cheeto while you cook.”

that’s sweet of him, you thought. you acknowledged him with a nod and immediately washed your hands.

after steaming up the kitchen and donning a more casual outfit you called the youngins out for dinner. hobie, the gentleman he was, helped you set the table and the three of you ate dinner together as if you were one big family. you didn’t mind it. usually, meadow was fed and asleep by the time you got back from work, so you warmed up whatever lani had cooked and ate alone. if lani had time, she’d stay to chitchat, but what was even more rare was you getting home early enough to eat dinner with your daughter.

you made sure lani had whatever resources she needed to take care of meadow and herself. she insisted that you didn’t need to compensate her, but you didn’t care. you couldn’t thank her enough for stepping in when you couldn’t be there like you wanted.

meadow got sleepy after dinner, like she usually did after eating, and you tucked her in, whispering, “goodnight. mommy loves you very much.”

“goodnight. i love you, too. very much,” meadow said sleepily, snuggling her favorite stuffed animal. it was a dragon named cheeto junior, much to your amusement.

you giggled, pressing a kiss to her forehead and turning on her nightlight before shutting the door behind yourself.

then, you grabbed a plate you’d set aside and wrapped up and you even made a total of twenty steps to the front door before hobie appeared out of nowhere - you could of swore he was washing the dishes a minute ago - and asked nosily, “is that for the miguel guy you’re crushing on?”

“jesus fucking christ, hobie. i’m not crushing on him,” you said, maybe a little in denial. sitting at the table eating dinner with someone other than your shadow made your chest hurt, which factored into the denial. “he just helps out a lot. mows the yard and… stuff.”

“and stuff,” hobie repeated with air quotes, because apparently you needed an echo, as if you weren’t loud enough. “that’s rubbish.”

you groaned, “look, i’m just repaying the favor. not that that’s any of your business. go to sleep, kid.”

hobie threw up his hands, mumbling, “fine, fine. but only because i’m knackered.”

you slipped out the front door, somewhat antsy, not that you would ever admit it. you just got all jittery around miguel for whatever reason. maybe it was because he was attractive, which you had no problem admitting. very attractive.

you remembered the first time meeting him. 

it was a saturday and you were cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing down every surface and wiping every dish clear of stains and clearing out the fridge. you’d only taken your eyes off your daughter for a second before you looked back up and noticed her absence. 

your heart immediately sank with panic. “meadow?” you called out. 

no answer.

you had to have flipped over the entire living room and been on your way to her bedroom before you realized the front door was more than a little cracked just as you passed by the foyer, impenetrable fear spreading through your body like wildfire.

you immediately stepped outside of your house, frantically calling out, “meadow!”

“is this who you’re looking for?”

you spun around eighty degrees, spotting meadow walking through your yard with your neighbor. you sighed out in relief, rushing over to swoop your baby girl in your arms. “sweetheart, i’m so glad you’re okay,” you told her. then, you your tone turned chastising. “don’t you ever leave this house again without me or tt, you hear me?”

meadow looked confused for a split-second, but seeing your brows furrowed with worry and your features tensed with panic, she seemed to have understood that she had messed up somewhere along the line. “‘m sorry, mama.”

you sat her down, noticing the dollar bill in her hand. “now where on earth did you get that?”

“i asked mr. o'hara if i could have a lollipop but he said it’s very bad to take food from strangers, so he gave me a dollar.”

that was when your vision panned to your next-door neighbor, miguel o’hara, who was standing there with a small smile on his face. your eyes were watering and you tried not to let them fall, repeatedly telling him, “thank you.”

miguel shook his head, a palm flat on his hips. “it’s no problem. i just wanted to make sure the little girl got back home safe.”

ever since that moment, you’d been extremely grateful for miguel. to say nothing of the fact that he did a bunch of yard work out of the sheer kindness of his heart. he insisted multiple times that he didn’t need any reward, but you had to argue. there was a chance you might not have ever seen meadow again had he not brought her back to you. if you lost your daughter, you would have nothing left.

so, your idea of compensation happened to be food, which miguel didn’t mind at all. you loved to cook. you used to cook all of the time, every meal from breakfast to dinner.

that was a while ago, though. standing on his front door now with a hot plate in hand, you tried desperately not to go down memory lane. 

not too long after, miguel opened the door and spotted you standing in his doorway. “good evening.”

“good evening, miguel. this is for you,” you said with a polite smile, extending the plate. 

“thank you,” he said graciously, accepting the food with a matching smile. “may i ask what for?”

you didn’t really know the answer yourself. the yard had already been mowed and there didn’t seem to be any other issues that lani couldn’t take care of herself. “just in case you were hungry or something. but if you’re not, you can always save it later.”

“i’m starving,” miguel replied, smiling with his eyes. they were beautiful. much like the rest of him, you might add. his broad shoulders and dark hair and the way his muscles poked out of his t-shirts.

“well, then. that solves that,” you said with a laugh. “have a goodnight, mr. o’hara!”

“you, too!”

miguel watched you back off his doorway, just until he was certain you were safely back in your house. you could feel his eyes on you like a sixth sense, but didn’t dare turn around, shutting your front door behind you.

“you’re seriously telling me you weren’t checking him out?” came hobie’s voice from your couch. 

rather than startle, you took off one of your slippers and said, “you have until the count of five. one, two, three-”

“c’ya,” hobie said, darting down the hall. 

you shook your head and let out a sigh.

EARLIER THAT DAY…

miguel shook his head and heaved a breath. 

peter, who had taken a kind of passion to his job, was none too thrilled by the news. “you let a thief wanted in forty-two counties get away?”

“forty-three,” lyla chirped.

miguel glared, on the verge of letting out an animalistic roar. normally, this would be something miguel yelled at the others about, so it was a very unwelcome change of pace. “we have a back-up plan,” miguel reminded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i’ve got it under control.”

“you sure that you’ve got it under control?” gwen asked, definitely pushing miguel’s buttons in ways that she shouldn’t have. “and not-”

“stop,” miguel hissed. “everyone go. i need to be alone.”

nobody wanted to contend with that tone, so gwen dragged miles out of the room in case miguel decided to take his anger out on him, with peter quickly following. jessica stayed behind, closing the door behind them, and lyla was, well… a computer.

miguel really did have a plan, because of course he did, he was never without one. in fact, not having a plan to follow made him lose his mind. so it was safe to say it wasn’t the fact that his mission had failed that was making him upset. it was you.

“hey,” jessica said, brushing his shoulder. “what’s on your mind?”

“i’m fine,” miguel said a little more harshly than intended, though it was to be expected with him. 

jessica snickered, putting her hands on her hips. “well, when you say it with that mean ‘ole tone of yours, i know you’re lyin’.”

look at him. a grown man sulking. it was hilarious, not that jessica would say that aloud. right now.

not too many people knew the actual plan. jessica knew. lyla knew, because of course she did, but miguel deliberately told the others that the plan was to catch you because you were a threat to the multiverse. which was the half truth, but the part about you potentially destroying the multiverse was just feeder for the birds. he didn’t want them to ruin things.

in reality, he did intend to catch you, but not because you were going to destroy the multiverse. he wanted you to help them save it. he’d been watching you for a while now, gauging your power. battling you for the first time was merely a test. he could have taken you down in no time if he wanted, left you for the cops to grab, but that would only put a dent in his plans.

miguel had seen what you could do. now, he was ready to bring you in.

TWO WEEKS LATER…

you were running, a bit more comfortably than last time considering this thiefing ordeal didn’t require you to wear painfully long heels and a dress with a huge slit down the front. just your typical mask. you burst out of the door that led to the rooftop, heaving, given that you’d just ran up what felt like fifty flights of stairs.

you were just about to shapeshift into your signature jet-black raven until you felt something stick at your feet and realized you couldn’t move. glancing down, you saw red webs, and threw your head back with a groan. not good for takeoff, you thought, in spite of the fact that you absolutely could not get caught. maybe you could still fly, but if the webs got stuck to your feathers, it was game over.

spider-man emerged from the shadows of night, moonlight glimmering on his suit. “going somewhere?”

“well, not anymore, looks like,” you grumbled, irritated. 

little did the police know, you had already dropped off the stolen item. so you would still get your next paycheck. though the expenses for having to get you out of jail could’ve potentially taken a toll on it, depending on how benevolent your boss was feeling.

spider-man chuckled, approaching you. “what did you steal this time? an emerald? a ruby?”

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you hissed.

“you got me there,” replied spider-man, although there was a kind of arrogance in his tone that really pissed you off. “i’m not letting you get away this time.”

you cackled, almost like a witch. “you can deter me, spider-man, all you want,” you told him, trying to break out of the webs, but to no avail. “but i’m unstoppable.”

spider-man took one look at you, struggling to free yourself from your restraints, and cackled. “here. let me help.”

you sucked in a breath when his talons started to protrude from the tips of his fingers, but they were gone after the mere three seconds it took for him to slash the thread of string to bits. you stepped back an inch, as if you were testing your freedom. then, you threw him a baffled look behind your mask. there was no reason why the same man trying to catch you just set you free. unless it was a trap.

now was your moment. you could have shapeshifted and been on your merry way, but something told you to stay put. just for now, as if you were going to miss something. 

“i think she went up here, boss!”

hearing those voices, your first instinct was to take flight, but spider-man had different plans and you quietly gasped when he shoved you behind a wall, placing a sheathed hand over your mouth. it was the only part of your mask that wasn’t covered. breathing issues.

there were footsteps. you glanced at spider-man, who was looking at you. the two of you said nothing, but there had to have been a billion thoughts warring through your mind and they each blurred into each other. 

“don’t move a muscle,” spider-man growled, stepping from behind the wall and approaching the police. for whatever reason, you listened, despite the fact that you should have fled while you still had the opportunity. some nerve this guy had telling you what to do.

spider-man donned his friendliest tone, greeting, “everything alright, sheriff?”

“we got a tip that a woman ran this way,” the sheriff said, glancing around the rooftop. now would probably be a great time to shapeshift into a chameleon. or literally any small critter.

“i didn’t see a woman. i can assure you it’s just me up here,” spider-man said, scratching his head. “but i can help you find her.”

the sheriff seemed to mull it over, from the brief pause you noticed him take, but ultimately responded, “no, no, that’s okay. you do enough around here, spider-man. we’ve got this one.”

“alright. you have a good night, sheriff.”

your eyes flickered, hearing the footsteps of the sheriff and his team fade. did spider-man just protect you - again?

“why did you do that?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him from behind your mask. you didn’t like this guy, if it wasn’t obvious enough. you felt like he was trying to get you off guard, and that made you dig in your heels even more.

“because if anyone’s gonna turn you in, it’ll be me,” spider-man said in a low tone, cornering you against the wall and trapping you in front of his chest. “i want to take you down all by myself.”

you snickered. that had to have been the most amusing thing you’d heard all day. you placed your hands on his shoulders, purring, “really now? you think you can take me down?”

“i know i can,” he told you, his words whispering to you with the rustling of the wind. “and i will.”

“hm,” was all you said, bringing one of your hands down his chest. he sounded so certain. 

spider-man cocked his head. you couldn’t see, obviously, but there was a little grin dancing on his lips. “do you touch every guy like this or am i special?”

“i loved a man once,” you told him. not that it was any of his business. you cloaked the wistfulness in your voice with sultriness. “didn’t end too well for either of us.”

spider-man paused, like he was surprised by the sudden confession, but wasted no time to recover. “is that why you’re here?”

you chewed your lip. he was right on the money. “i’m here because i choose to be.”

“but if you had the chance to be something else, something… better,” spider-man started, tracing your lip with his concealed thumb. “you would take it, right?”

of course, you would. those kind of opportunities just weren’t something everybody was fortunate enough to have. you had it all and then you lost it in the blink of an eye, watching it all crumble before your feet. if you were being honest, you were cheating death.

“i guess we’ll never know,” was all you said before breaking out of his arms and jumping off of the building. 

spider-man watched you, but he knew you would be alright even before he saw the raven come up and disappear into brooklyn’s dark evening sky and he couldn’t tell you apart from a star.

THE FOLLOWING DAY…

with your line of work, you had quite a few days off. but that was because you didn’t have a fixed schedule, which was a blessing and a curse wrapped into one. when your boss called, you answered. even if it meant having to haul ass out of bed at four in the morning.

today was one of those days off. you insisted lani didn’t need to do anything, sending her money to make sure she was set since she was basically your daughter’s full-time babysitter. you made meadow breakfast, dropped her off at school, and went back home. 

thinking about meadow and if she was safe always made you nervous. since you could afford it these days, you enrolled her in a private school. it didn’t hurt, even if she hates the uniform at first. you just wanted to decrease the chances of something bad happening to her.

miguel was on his front porch when you pulled into the driveway, your houses not significantly far from each other. every now and then, you let your eyes wander, and then you let your mind wonder why a man as fine as himself lived all alone.

“hey,” miguel said, waving you over. “you’re home early.”

“so are you,” you replied, shocked that he was home. this was a man that worked a typical nine-to-five, so he should have been gone longer than you, technically speaking. though he did tend to disappear often. “i admit i was a little curious when i saw your car still parked when i went to drop meadow off.”

“off day,” was all miguel said, flashing you a full set of teeth. jesus fucking christ, this man had a mesmerizing smile. “what are your plans for today, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“oh, you know. just catching up on sleep and throwing something on the stove,” you told him offhandedly. like any other working individual on their day off, you just wanted to rest. “there’s nothing like a nap on a full stomach. what about you?”

miguel rubbed his nape. “well, i was going to do some extra paperwork and some work around the house, but your plan sounds better than mine.”

you chortled, because you couldn’t even politely disagree. “in that case, you can always come over, if you’d like. no one’s home but me and i don’t bite.”

though you didn’t realize until it was too late, miguel had gotten very close to you. you could feel his warmth on your skin, although your bodies didn’t touch. his arm was just shy of yours. “no, no. i couldn’t,” he said. 

you waved him off. “of course, you could. you’re not a parasite, miguel. we both give to each other.”

“are you sure it’s okay?”

“positive. we’re both grown adults. you don’t need anyone’s permission but mine to come over to my house, you know,” you joked.

miguel visibly mulled it over, his brows furrowed in deep thought, almost as though he thought you were going to eat him or something. but then he bobbed his head and said, “sounds like a good time.”

you broke into a smile that you hadn’t made in years, leading miguel to your house. ironically, it was the first time he had been inside. you hadn’t had any indoor issues that you or lani couldn’t take care of on your own so far, which meant he stuck to yardwork. foolishly, you were a little nervous.

“tidy,” miguel remarked while he followed you to your kitchen. you didn’t see the way he smiled at the tiny pairs of shoes on the rack in the foyer. he noticed that there were a lot of pictures of meadow hanging around, ranging from when she was a mere infant until now.

“very. thank god for lani. i used to think i was a good, but that woman is a different breed of clean,” you said after washing your hands, grabbing a bunch of ingredients from your cabinets and refrigerator. 

miguel observed from behind your island, leaning up against it. “you two seem very close.”

“i trust her with my life. and my daughter’s life. she’s like a sister to me,” you told him, smiling. for a split-second, miguel swore he saw something wistful. “she almost was.”

“almost?”

“almost,” you whispered, plopping a bag of peppers onto the counter. 

miguel didn’t press. if you wanted to talk about it, you would. the two of you weren’t exactly close, no matter how blurry the lines between just friends and neighbors had gotten over the years.

reading the room, miguel expertly shifted the subject, “what are you making?”

the stars were back in your eyes as you gushed, “it’s a family recipe. my mother used to make it all the time. i feel bad now for complaining about how much she did when i was a kid. it’s mouthwatering perfection.” you deliberately left out the part that you felt bad because you would never get the chance to eat her food again.

“i hear you,” miguel replied, watching you cut the peppers. he didn’t like how sharp the knife was. “let me help.”

you brushed him off. “it’s fine. sit down.”

“i wasn’t asking,” miguel said sternly, his feet already moving. 

you blinked. “oh. okay.”

miguel maneuvered around the island, grabbing your waist while he walked past you, which admittedly made butterflies flutter in your gut. you chided them, begging them to keep the excitement to a minimum, but it was no use when you saw miguel had rolled up his sleeves and taken the knife out of your hands.

you pretended to look at the vegetables, though it couldn’t have been more obvious that you were watching his bare, exposed forearms and the taut muscles tense with his every movement. then, reminding yourself that there were other things you could have been doing, you tried to concentrate on the meat.

absentmindedly working, your thoughts were still on his arms, though for more chaste reasons. there were some lingering scratches on his skin, like he’d gotten into a fight or two. you wondered if he was taking care of himself. 

something particularly paralyzing hit you when you realized that that was all you could do - wonder. you didn’t really know miguel, nor did he know you, and you had long convinced yourself that it was better that way. you kept your family a distance from others until they bared their souls to you.

miguel was different. there was an air of familiarity to his presence. like he had half a soul that was completed by yours.

after forty minutes of what felt like reckless conversation featuring the two of you cooking instead of the other way around, lunch was ready and it was noon. you offered miguel wine and chattered over a meal and through your wine drunk haze. 

good thing he only lived next door.

“you know, you cook the best food i’ve ever tasted,” miguel told you, not a single sign of insincerity on his face. 

you perked up, glancing at him from across the dining table. what a kind gentleman he had been, refusing to let you set the table. or carry the dishes over. “really?”

“i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t mean it,” he said. “such great flavor.”

“thanks,” you chirped, breaking into a broadening grin. “i’ve been hoping to pass it down to meadow so that the legacy doesn’t die. she loves watching me cook. her grandmother would be proud.”

miguel cocked a brow. “no other family?”

you shook your head, fidgeting with the near-empty wine glass now that you’d finished your meals. “nope. my mother was single, my father is god knows where, so it was just me and her for the longest. and you know how i said lani was almost my sister?”

“mm-hm,” miguel hummed, brows furrowed as a sign he was listening deeply. 

you sucked in a breath. you had never admitted this to anyone before. “she was my fiancé’s sister. he, uh, yeah. work incident. six years ago.”

miguel’s features softened, the ache on your face conspicuous. hurt recognized hurt. he grabbed your hand from underneath the table, gave it a gentle squeeze, and said, “i’m sorry that happened.” 

“me, too,” you mumbled.

you deliberately left out the part that you were involved in that incident. it was a dinner at alchemax with the man you were about to start a family with and his boss, who had sent the rest of the company home. you wished you would have seen it coming, wished you would have known your drinks were spiked before your almost husband sipped from that glass.

the dosage had killed him, but mutated your dna. you should have died. it was a miracle your unborn baby at the time survived. instead, you turned into a shape-shifting entity, a mere test subject.

though there weren’t any signs, you were always wary, wondering if meadow had been affected by the dosage, but the doctors declared her very healthy at birth and during checkups.

“i lost my family, too,” miguel confessed, much to your and his mutual surprise. “i wasn’t always a lonely old man. i had a wife and a daughter.”

that piqued your interest. “have you looked again?”

“have you?”

that was fair. “no,” you said. not particularly, came a voice in your head, but you didn’t let it speak. “mainly because i have a daughter. i’m careful who i bring into her life. and with work, i don’t have the time to do background checks on who i date.”

“you’re a good mother,” miguel said after a moment or two. “meadow is lucky to have you.”

you smiled gently. “i like to think so.”

minutes of conversation turned into hours with miguel, but you didn’t forgo your plans of napping. almost the second you put on the movie, both of you were fast asleep, your head on his shoulder. 

when you woke up again, your head had fallen to his chest and his arm was tightly secured around your waist like a seatbelt. it wasn’t time to pick up meadow, you had set a time just in case you got a little too distracted, but you noticed a text from lani insisting that she would drop your daughter off since she was in the area of her school and wanted you to rest.

for a little while, you let yourself wallow in the feeling of miguel’s warmth and the sound of his soft snores. it wasn’t very often that you actually let yourself enjoy things.

you were too paranoid. too vigilant. it was nice to put your guard down for a second.

the doorbell rang after a while and you felt miguel’s arm flex protectively around you. he was awake.

“it’s lani. she dropped off meadow,” you whispered, feeling his protective grip slacken. your heart fluttered at how instinctively cautious he was over you.

standing to your feet, you opened the door and greeted your daughter. you made small talk with lani at the door before she said she had places to be and drove off. 

“hi, mr. o’hara,” greeted meadow when she entered the living room, plopping on the couch to watch cartoons. 

“hey, cheeto,” miguel greeted gruffly, sitting up. “you don’t have any homework to do?”

“nope,” meadow said, popping the p. “we don’t have homework on friday’s.”

“oh, silly me,” miguel said, making you poorly stifle a laugh.

meadow giggled, too. 

miguel cocked his head at you, standing beside him, leaning against the arm of the chair. “who are you laughing at?”

you raised your arms defensively. “nothing.”

“i said,” miguel started, donning a playfully monster-like tone, probably for meadow’s amusement. you gasped when he switched your positions, though he was rather gentle when he pushed you into the couch. “who are you laughing at?”

when his fingers started to dance over your skin, you couldn’t even get the words out, convulsing in a fit of giggles as he tickled you and pressed you for answers. you squirmed and writhed, laughing uncontrollably.

“meadow,” you called out for help, but she simply covered her ears and kept her eyes glued to the television screen for all the times you tickled her. but you saw her lips twitch into a mischievous grin.

there was almost tears in your ears at this point. miguel’s fingers were merciless, almost killing you with how much they made you laugh. 

“oh my god, miguel, quit it…,” you chanted, your cheeks hurting. 

“what’s the magic word?”

“stop.”

“wrong answer.”

“please,” you blurted, a line of tears rolling down your face as you writhed beneath him. “please!”

miguel let up, at last pulling back from your frame as your chest heaved and you tried to catch your breath. meadow lifted up her hand and high-fived miguel, both of them looking like nothing but trouble.

miguel plopped back on the couch, asking, “are you okay?”

“i almost pee’d myself,” you admitted through ragged breaths. 

both miguel and meadow laughed. 

once you could breathe again, you called meadow into the kitchen for an after school snack since she insisted that she wasn’t very hungry. “mom,” she called out, standing beside you. “a boy told me he liked me at school today.”

any other parent would have had a heart attack, but you knew your daughter well enough, and asked expectantly, “and what did you say?”

“that he’s icky,” she told you with a straight face. 

you snickered in amusement. “atta girl.”

“do you like mr. o’hara?”

now that almost gave you a heart attack, but you feigned some kind of semblance of calm, asking, “what makes you think that?”

“it just looks like it,” meadow chirped, but she was quick to get distracted by the snacks in the pantry and asked for a blueberry muffin.

but that was the million dollar question. did you like miguel o’hara?

THE NEXT DAY IN DOWNTOWN BROOKLYN…

“it’s about time you got here,” was the first thing hobie said when you arrived at the warehouse.

the abandoned warehouse was rusty and run-down, and it wasn’t too much of a leap to make that it hadn’t been used in years. you swore you saw a critter scurry away upon your entrance.

“hello to you too, hobie,” you greeted levelly. “cutting to the chase, where’s michael fontana? you didn’t leave a live body alone, did you?”

hobie scoffed, “ay, do i look like an amateur to you? follow my lead.”

you followed hobie through the warehouse littered with clutter, boxes cast aside that were presumably filled with old junk and spiders. the job was supposed to easy. tie the guy up, press him for answers, and relay the information. it could have been a one-person job, but your boss preferred having multiple witnesses.

hobie’s fingers curled around a doorknob, turning it and pushing the door open. but the room was void of life. your brows furrowed, glancing up at hobie, uttering, “there’s nobody here…”

you screamed when you felt somebody grab you from behind, assuming it was an escaped michael fontana. this is why you don’t hire nineteen-year-olds, you thought grumpily to yourself.

struggling in his arms, you shouted to your partner, “hobie, the gun!”

hobie didn’t move a muscle, much to your shock, shooting you an apologetic wince. “sorry, mate. it’s nothing personal. i actually like you,” he said. “but boss’ order.”

you glanced back, the sting of brutal betrayal settling in with the mind-numbing realization that the person grabbing you wasn’t michael fontana.

before you could shapeshift, you felt a needle poke your arm and hissed, just a grand total of seconds before your body went slack and the world around you vanished.

when you regained consciousness, the first thing you noticed was how bright it was in whatever room you were in, sunlight filtering through the blinds. the second thing you noticed was that your hands were cuffed behind the back of whatever chair you were now sitting in, followed by the pain flaring through your right arm. 

glancing around, you opened your winced eyes. an interrogation room with an outdoor window. that was a first.

“she’s awake!” you heard someone calling out, craning your head to spot two teenagers. if you had to guess, they didn’t look over seventeen. the boy waved, but the girl tugged his hand back down.

they must have heard someone coming, but they moved out of the way, letting them cross the threshold between their room and yours, the door already open. like they knew for certain that there was no way you could escape.

spider-man came to sit in front of you, across from you. your last memory was of him standing behind you. you narrowed your eyes, sneering, “you.”

you didn’t wonder how he knew who you are, remembering hobie had betrayed you. he must have been ratting you out for the longest. marsai had been looking into how spider-man seemingly always knew when and where you’d strike, but found nothing. you guessed you had your answer.

“not me,” spider-man said, deactivating his mask. “me.”

shock paralyzed you, not that you could move very much in the first place. this had to be some kind of dream. or, better yet, a nightmare. “miguel?” you gasped.

it all made sense now. the disappearances at random hours of the day and ungodly hours of the night. the scratches and bruises you sometimes noticed on his skin, and lord knows you hadn’t even seen half of them. it was because he was out fighting evil, out fighting you. 

“i’m not your enemy,” miguel said, his voice stern like it had been in your kitchen.

“yes, because only my ally would set me up, drug me, and cuff me to a chair,” you droned, voice dripping with sarcasm.

you shifted as much as you could,  uncomfortable at the thought of being drugged. the last time it happened, you lost a fiancé, the future you always wanted, and - on the brink of death - turned into a shape-shifting creature. you were also a little hurt, not that you would show it on the surface. you’d trusted miguel, even liked him, much to your daughter’s suspicion.

wondering how long he knew was even more maddening. this man was posing as your kind next-door neighbor all the while knowing where you were and what you did when you left your home everyday. and all of it was for what - to capture you and cage you like an animal?

miguel lolled his neck. you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, weighing him down. “it was for your own good. you would have tried to shapeshift and get away from me, no?”

you chewed your lip, saying nothing. you didn’t want to admit that he was right. much to miguel’s amusement. 

“about that,” came one of the two teenagers, the boy, you noticed. “we really wanted to ask you about being a shapeshifter. i mean, that’s so cool. i’ve never met a shapeshifter before.”

“most people haven’t, kid,” you said stiffly. “who are you two?”

“i’m miles morales,” the boy introduced himself, stretching out his hand for you to shake. 

wiggling your fingers behind your back, you droned, “my hands are kinda tied here, kid. literally.”

miles made a face, immediately rushing to uncuff you after miguel unceremoniously tossed him the key. 

“i’m gwen stacy,” the girl said as your cuffs slackened and your hands were freed. “can you please tell us what it’s like to be a shapeshifter?”

“no, no, and no,” miguel said for you, clearly against the idea for whatever reason. 

“but why?” gwen pressed. then, an idea hit her and she looked to you, continuing, “miguel didn’t mean any harm. he has a good reason for doing all of this.”

“i’d sure like to hear it,” you mumbled under your breath.

“miguel hasn’t really told us, either,” miles added. “i mean, i thought-”

gwen covered miles’ mouth before he could say anything that would undo and hender their progress and convincing either you or miguel. 

from the looks if it, though, miguel was unimpressed to begin with, a blank look on his face. “whatever you’re trying to do, gwen, it’s not working.”

“it’s her choice,” gwen reminded, returning her attention to you and clasping her hands together against her chest. “please, please, please? we won’t bother you ever again.”

you glanced at miguel, who was glancing at you, both of you trying to read each other. there seemed to be a telepathic communication going on between you both before miguel visibly relented and you said, “alright, fine. go ahead. shoot.”

“can you shapeshift into anything?”

“animals and other humans, but not objects. and only living things that i’ve stored dna from.”

“do your senses get enhanced, like superhuman?”

“my senses depend on whatever - or whoever - i’m inhabiting,” you explained. “like, if i were to shapeshift into a bat, my hearing would be keener. but when it comes to humans, i only don their appearance.”

“do you have weaknesses?”

“next question,” you mumbled. of course, you did. your abilities were impaired when you were sick or injured, and downright disarmed it you consumed or came into close contact with something that you were allergic to. it was your kryptonite, not that anyone needed to know that.

“how long can you stay in shapeshifting form?”

“depends on my health.”

“alright, that’s enough,” miguel said. “both of you. out.”

strangely enough, miles and gwen didn’t argue, seemingly content with your answers. they bid you goodbye and left the room chattering amongst themselves.

you cocked your head, meeting miguel’s stare. “well, cap, what’s your motive?”

miguel got comfortable in his chair, like he was about to give you a monologue. “you’ve been on our radar since you mutated. i was going to just lock you up and throw you with the others at first, since i assumed you were hurting innocent people.”

“you think daddy’s boy and his family are innocent?” you asked with a hint of amusement. 

“rodney malone-fisk?” 

you groaned at that name. “you call him rodney. i call him a spoiled brat.”

“i know what his family did to you. what they took from you,” miguel started, making all the blood drain from your face. “your fiancé didn’t just die in a work incident. he was killed as a lab rat. fisk was trying to test out a mix that would grant him dimension-traveling abilities but it ended up being a shape-shifting solution instead. you were supposed to die, too, but the dosages weren’t measured properly.”

you said nothing. there was nothing that you could say. just thinking about it made tears sting your eyes.

miguel grabbed your hand over the table, squeezed it like he had the other day. there was tenderness he had for you that he hadn’t felt in a long time. you understood him. “you know why i asked if you had the chance to be something better, would you take it? because i know that you’re more than this. you’re not a bad person. you just do bad things to survive.”

“i can’t,” you whispered, swatting his hand away. “everything i touch, i destroy.”

that miguel understood on levels he didn’t want to nor care to admit.

you fought the tears with all your might. after your fiancé died, you lost everything you had. except for your family. you had meadow and lani and built a safe haven for them from the ground up, swearing to protect them with your whole heart.

“i want to give you that chance,” miguel said stoically. “on a silver platter. i want you to join us.”

your eyes flickered. “join you? to do what?”

“you obviously have useful skill that could be put to better use. but kingpin and his son are going to destroy your universe as you know it if nobody stops him. and if anyone deserves to take him down, it’s you.”

that got your attention. kingpin wanted to destroy the universe? your fiancé always talked about his boss wanting to cross different dimensions, but you never thought it was humanly possible.

though considering you could shapeshift, you figured anything was possible nowadays. but your major concern was your daughter, your eyes widening with the realization that you should have been with her already. you could feel a tingle, sensing that something just wasn’t right. 

you didn’t say a word as you immediately hopped to your feet and ran out of the door, miguel immediately giving chase, but you ultimately disappeared into a crowd of spider-people and although it couldn’t have been too hard to differentiate you from them, you were already on the loose.

running as fast as you could, you didn’t stop, although you didn’t really know where you were going and with all the many spider-people roaming around that resembled each other, it felt as though you were running in circles.

then, you came face-to-face with hobie, and scowled.

“move,” you hissed. 

hobie called out your name. “ay, mate, no hard feelings.”

“all the feelings i have for you right now are hard,” you snarled, pushing past him. you would be affording miguel the same amount of animosity when you were certain your daughter was safely in your arms. right now, he was in your way, and anyone stopping you from being with your kid was going to be met with a snappy attitude.

“wait,” hobie called out behind you. 

you turning around, pointing an accusing finger towards him, and snapped, “i was supposed to be back with my child by now and because of you i’m not. so unless you’re going to help me get to her, i suggest you move out of my way.”

“that guy sucks anyway,” hobie said, not having to even think about which option he preferred. “follow me.”

you hesitated, because he was the whole reason that you were even here, but eventually followed him down the hallway, careful to move quiet and stealthily. you were also wary that it could be trap, but truth be told, you had no other way out.

though you probably should have questioned how or why it was so many of them, that was the last thing on your mind. lani was probably worried sick about you. you didn’t have a clue what time it was, but it didn’t take a genius to know that hours had passed, and you said you would be home way before now. 

the hall broadened towards its end where you saw a gathering of spider-people, all looking like they were scouting somebody out. “blast, he’s got them looking for you,” hobie grumbled under his breath. he walked you back around a corner and handed you something around his wrist. “here, take this.”

“what the hell is that?”

“it’s a wristband. it’ll open a portal to your universe. but you’ve gotta go now,” hobie explained, tapping some kind of button. 

you were more than a little surprised when an orange warp portal opened.

“go,” hobie said, glancing around for anybody. “i’ve got your six.”

hearing footsteps approaching, you neared the portal and almost entered, but there was a gnawing question that you couldn’t ignore. you whipped around, asking, “where do your loyalties lie?”

“in myself,” hobie answered without a second of hesitation. “and in the people that mean the most to me.”

you scoffed. “what happened to boss’ order?”

“i’m my own boss. that was in your best interest,” hobie replied, leaning against the wall. “c’mon. get outta here.”

turning around, you sucked in a breath, and walked through that portal. 

BACK IN BROOKLYN…

you returned right back at your house, just near the road. glancing around, nothing looked too out of the ordinary. lani’s car was parked in the driveway, meaning she had to have been there. didn’t she?

running to your house with all of your speed, you prepared to search yourself for your keys, only for your heart to drop when you realized that the door was already wide open.

heart racing, you burst through the foyer, and the first thing you saw when you entered your living room was lani sprawled out on the floor, a puddle of blood beneath her. 

“lani,” you gasped out, crouching down beside her. 

lani’s eyes were fluttering, a tremble in her weak voice as she whispered, “i tried to stop them.”

“stop who?” you asked, trying to stop the blood flow. she had been shot, lying here for only god knew how long. you threw off your jacket and pressed it to her gut, apologizing when she winced out in pain. 

“kingpin’s men,” she croaked. “they took meadow. they want you.”

you gritted your teeth, bristling with anger. hadn’t that man taken enough from you? you let him get away with killing your fiancé, but your daughter was crossing the line and you’d show him the mistake he’d made. even if it cost you everything. “where?” you asked. 

lani lifted up her arm, and that was when you noticed that it was also coated in blood, but there were symbols carved into her skin. 

it was the symbol of an abandoned alchemax building.

“go,” lani said, tensing as though it took all of her strength to say that one syllable. your fingers were clenched into fists. you would kill everyone involved with your bare hands if you had to. 

“no,” you balked, shaking your head. “i can’t leave you like this.”

lani grabbed your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. “your daughter is more important.”

thinking about what they could have been doing to meadow right now made you shudder with a fear you had never felt before. 

“i’ll take her to a hospital,” came a voice from behind you. you turned immediately, recognizing it. there stood miguel, still clad in his spider-man suit. “go save your daughter. i’ve already sent the team.”

you stood, coming face-to-face with miguel, and hissed, “if anything happens to her…”

“i know,” miguel said, as if he understood you wholeheartedly. “go.”

miguel scooped lani up into his arms, and it hurt you when she hissed in pain. you turned to her. “i’ll come back for you.”

lani smiled weakly. “i know you will.”

and with that, you were out the door, shapeshifting into your signature raven and flying across town.

the abandoned alchemax wasn’t exactly old. it was the building where your fiancé was killed and they covered up the incident as the result of faulty equipment, which ultimately led them to build an entirely new facility. you landed on top of the building that somehow hadn’t been demolished yet, transforming back into yourself when your feet were against the ground.

there wasn’t really an entrance all the way up here. the rooftop door was blocked and bolted as preventative measures. guess i’ve got to make my own door, you told yourself, undeterred.

spotting a stray piece of metal debris, you wielded the pipe in your hands. there was always the option of the lower-level entrances, if you wanted to get caught immediately. kingpin’s men were probably staking the place out, waiting to ambush.

you stepped back, holding the pipe, and charged towards the door as you shattered the window open, glass shards flying everywhere. cautiously stepping over the glass, you fitted your way through the gap you’d created, craning your head downwards until your feet plopped against the floor.

you were in. 

there were two halls on either side of you and though you didn’t really know which one went where, you followed your gut and took the path to your right.

the whole place was eerily dark and empty. duh, it’s abandoned, you cogitated. not that it made things any better. all you could hear was yourself, your own feet against the cold floor, though it would be naive to believe you were truly alone.

someone was here. kingpin’s men were everywhere but nowhere at the same time, waiting for you to make yourself known. and miguel had told you that he sent the team that should have been here by now, making you wonder how they got in and if they’d been detected.

you couldn’t explain it, but it felt like you were being watched, like there was somebody on your heels ready to strike you in your back when you least expected it. though to be honest, you always felt that way. always alert. never safe.

what you would give to live in peace again, to rest your heart and mind even for just a second. but you couldn’t afford not to be careful, not when you had a daughter to live for.

walking by a door, you cried out in shock when somebody grabbed your arm in pulling you inside, instinctively shapeshifting into a venomous creature, but withdrawing when you saw that it was only hobie and his friends.

“i almost killed you,” you hissed to him after donning your normal appearance again.

hobie threw his hands off, feigning innocence. 

there were two people you didn’t recognize tagging along with them. gwen shut the door, while a lady approached you, introducing, “i’m jessica. i work with miguel. and listen, we really need your help.”

your brows furrowed. “what’s going on?”

“kingpin’s making this weird space-traveling machine that’s really a doom machine because he’s gonna kill everyone,” some kid rambled. “oh, i’m pavitr.”

miles looked surprised, like nobody told him what was going on, and asked, “you got evil kingpin in your universe, too?”

“unfortunately,” you mumbled. 

“he’s out of control. he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” gwen told you frantically. “we’re making a device that will deactivate the accelerator but it’s taking some time.”

“so what?” you asked, trying to get to the point. “you want me to stall him?”

“he’s got cheeto,” hobie reminded. “there ain’t no telling what he’ll do to her if somebody doesn’t stop him.”

you gritted your teeth, filled with unadulterated rage. god, you felt murderous. you tried to speak levelly, “so, what’s the plan?”

“we split up into pairs,” jessica said. “we find where he has the accelerator. that’s where he’s keeping your daughter.”

hobie declared, “i dibs miles.”

miles didn’t protest. jessica insisted it was best if the younger ones were supervised, so she volunteered to take pavitr and the device that they were cooking. which left you with gwen. “guess it’s just you and me, kid,” you said, stepping out of the room.

“i think it’s really cool that you can shapeshift,” gwen told you while you stealthily crept down a hall with her. “i mean, it sucks how it happened to you, but…”

“shh,” you whispered, tugging her behind a wall. she seemed surprised, but then she heard the footsteps, too.

someone was coming.

“i’m gonna do something really weird,” you told her lowly. “and i need you to play along.”

“what are you…”

you shapeshifted into kingpin. 

“oh my god. that is really weird,” gwen mumbled. 

you grabbed her arm none too gently, reminding her to play along, and approached the man that was working for kingpin. “found this one lurking around.”

“i knew i heard something from over here,” the guy said, shooting gwen a scowl. “you want me to take her off your hands, boss?”

“take her to the accelerator. now,” you ordered, handing gwen over, who was doing a good job at looking dejected. “i’ll follow behind.”

the man didn’t hesitate to follow orders, leading you to the room where the accelerator was. that was far too easy. 

it was a lot of walking. apparently the accelerator was at the very bottom of the building, beneath the first floor, heavily guarded by kingpin’s men. it was a good thing you were wearing something even better than a hyper realistic costume.

the room was white and starkly bright compared to every other inch of the place, though all of that could be chalked up to the fact that it was the only room in the whole building currently using energy. and lots of it, too.

when you finally saw your daughter sitting in a small cage above the accelerator, between bars like an animal, you almost killed everyone in the room. instead, you kept your cool, ordering the dude to unhand gwen.

“anything else, boss?”

just as you opened your mouth to speak, the unimaginable happened. the door swung open, revealing the real kingpin, who seemed more than baffled when he saw you standing there. until it hit him that he knew of a shapeshifter. 

“you fool,” kingpin bellowed, glaring at the man. “that’s her!”

“fuck,” you swore under your breath. 

the man turned to you, watching you visibly break into a sweat, and called out, “hey, you’re not my boss!”

that cry got the attention of everyone in the room, all of kingpin’s very armed men. you gave gwen a look and shouted, “now!”

gwen started to shoot webs, restraining men that turned to put their weapons on you, and you shapeshifted into a wolf, attacking the man that had been under the impression that you were his boss until he was nothing but a bloody course. 

and the cycle repeated. kingpin ordered more of his men to move in and attack you, keeping his distance seeing as you were currently in a form of a wolf that could bite his head off if she so pleased. some of his men took him somewhere else in the room, away from you, and crowded him defensively. 

all the while, your five-year-old daughter was watching. she was almost six, and she was brilliant, and she was watching you attack with something that surprisingly wasn’t fear. almost like she thought she was watching a movie of some sorts, anticipating the next scene.

you were trying to get to her, but kingpin had made it so that if you really wanted to, you would have to get through him first.

blood quickly started to pool around and it wasn’t yours. there were bodies everywhere, dropping like flies. though you desperately wanted to cover your daughter’s eyes and spare her from the horror of seeing multiple people die at your hands in real time, you were in too deep of a rage to stop and nothing would keep you from fighting.

then, it happened. you didn’t move quick enough. the bullet tore right through you, making you howl out, and you glitched back into your true form. the wound was there, blood dripping around your calf.

gwen gasped, coming to your side, but she was caught and forcibly restrained. 

“mom!” meadow cried out, gripping the metal cage bars. 

kingpin cackled in amusement. “bravo, bravo. you know, i really do have to applaud the show you put on right there. this could have been painless if you would have just complied.”

“let my daughter go,” you snarled with vitriol. 

“i will,” kingpin said, like she was the most insignificant part of this little scheme of his. “after you give me what i want.

“what don’t you understand? i don’t have anything,” you shouted, fingers reaching to your wound and becoming stained in your own blood. “you took everything from me!”

“the code, woman. what’s the code?” kingpin hissed. “your fiancé was working on it. he cracked it. the code to the accelerator.”

for a second, you genuinely had no idea what he was talking about, until it hit you. your fiancé talked at length about a device at work that he’d been programming under his boss’ order, but he wanted to sabotage it. he said that it was unsafe. that kingpin didn’t realize the mistake he was making. it was an underdeveloped device that could destroy the whole planet.

you quickly realized he’d been talking about the accelerator. he’d worked many long days and nights on it and still thought that it wasn’t ready for use. that was what kingpin had been developing for all these years, completing your fiancé’s unfinished business.

“damn that code,” you snapped irritably.

kingpin was furious, and started to ramble, “your fiancé died at his own hand. he signed a contract. it isn’t my fault that the mix killed him, but if you don’t telling me everything i need to know about this damn machine, i’ll kill you and i’ll kill-”

“boss,” interjected one of kingpin’s men. 

“don’t you hear me speaking?” roared kingpin. 

“but boss, the baby,” the man started. “she’s gone.”

kingpin’s eyes flitted up to the cage, immediately noticing the absence of your five-year-old daughter. “what? how did she escape? what did you do?”

“i didn’t do anything, boss, i swear! i…”

the man’s words interrupted by a blood-curdling cry as a small but ferocious animal attacked him to the ground.

it was a baby wolf. and more importantly, it was your baby.

“capture that thing!” roared kingpin. 

not on your watch. you mustered the strength to rise to your feet, snatching a gun out of the man closest to you and briefly knocking him out with it just before doing a complete three-sixty and shooting in every direction.

all the while, meadow was agile and too quick on her feet, and it didn’t hurt that she was super tiny. you jogged over to gwen, wincing as you limped over, dropping to the ground to avoid facing the barrels of guns and shooting at the men that were restraining her.

gwen wiggled her arm, probably sore from how tightly they were holding her. “thanks.”

“thank me later,” you said, panting for breath.

“wait!” gwen called out behind you. “you’re hurt. can you still shift?”

you exhaled a sigh. “remember when you asked me about my weaknesses?”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

when you turned around, you saw meadow still kicking ass. just a second later, one of kingpin’s men grabbed her and your maternal instincts immediately kicked in, ignoring all of your pain and suffering to parade over there and take action.

it was like you blacked out. you didn’t even know what happened. one second, you were marching over there, and the next, meadow was safely in your arms and the guy that had dared to lay his bare hands on her was floored with more than a couple of broken bones and was certainly no longer breathing.

“are you okay?” you asked, cradling her to your bosom. 

meadow nodded, nestling closer to you. you were almost elated to tears, unable to describe the relief you felt knowing that she was okay. though it was a shock, you were pleasantly surprised that she had inherited your ability. 

worried, but pleasantly surprised.

“do i need to make any other examples of what happens when you come between a mother and her child?” you shouted out, watching a couple of men cower.

in the next second, there was another shattering noise, like the one when you broke into the building through the window. and then you quickly realized that it was a window being smashed into, fractured glass pelting everywhere.

there was a blur of blue and red, but you still recognized it, especially when the intruder’s feet skidded across multiple faces, successfully knocking them out, until he dropped his red string and came to a land before you.

“miguel,” you gasped, more than a little surprised.

“lani is fine. they said she’ll make it,” he said, knowing that you would ask. that was what was most important to you right now. “i didn’t leave her alone. her mother came.”

you nodded, content with that. you weren’t on speaking terms with lani’s mother - she’d never liked you - but you knew she cared for her children deeply and that was all that mattered in that moment.

“oh, how sweet. a reunion,” kingpin barked sarcastically, looking at you both with pure hatred.

miguel’s jaw clenched noticing your injured form, and he immediately caged you and your daughter behind him, bellowing back, “we can either make this really easy or really hard.”

kingpin cackled. “hilarious! i was thinking the same thing.”

miguel growled, reaching for the person nearest to him, and you covered meadow’s eyes when he went to rip them to literal shreds. she had shapeshifted back to normal now, still as tiny as ever, though.

dropping the guy’s remains, miguel glanced around, red eyes making contact with the startled ones of kingpin’s men. he didn’t have to say anything else. they all immediately surrendered, even the ones intended to be defending kingpin. 

“you know, good help is really hard to find these days,” kingpin groaned.

“save it, doucheface,” gwen said, swooping in to wrap him in her webs.

the doors burst open, revealing jessica and pavitr holding an orange, radiating deactivator, followed by hobie and miles.

jessica gave a nod. “it’s ready.”

“catch!” exclaimed pavitr, throwing the device in the air. 

you caught it in your hands. if anybody deserved to destroy this machine, it was you. and you wanted to do it with kingpin helplessly watching, just like how you watched your fiancé die in front of your own eyes, unable to help.

“say goodbye to this piece of shit, kingpin,” you taunted, handing meadow over to miguel as you approached the accelerator. 

“no!” kingpin roared, restlessly flailing in his restraints, but to no avail. 

nothing felt as satisfying as when you latched the deactivator on the accelerator. the whole machine started to groan, jerking in place, and you backed away. the surface started to crystallize and you watched in pure uncertainty of if this was even going to work. 

for a whole minute, the entire room was deadly silent, only watching. like nobody could tell if it was starting up or breaking down. then, it started to ebb out, atom by atom.

piece by fucking piece.

“it’s over!” gwen exclaimed. 

you bobbed your head. it really was over. this was closure.

“i’ll handle him,” jess volunteered with a sigh, throwing kingpin an unimpressed look before glancing between you and miguel. “y’all got things to hash out.”

you avoided miguel’s eyes.

THE SEVENTH FLOOR OF BROOKLYN HOSPITAL…

it felt like hours that you were waiting inside the hospital lobby, so the second that the nurse came up to you and told you that lani was finally available for visiting, you politely thanked her and attempted to rush the whole way to her room with meadow in yours arms.

“lani,” you exhaled when you opened the door to her room. 

“hi,” lani rasped. she was hooked to lots of different things, paler than usual. though, to be fair, she did almost die. meadow rushed over, handing her a bouquet. “oh, wow, are these for me?”

meadow bobbed her head, beaming proudly. “i picked them all by myself.”

though her every moment was obviously taxing, lani flashed a smile. “you have a great eye, meadow. how’d you know tt loves pink?”

meadow giggled. 

you stepped closer, feeling your heart warm and a tear escape your eye, but you quickly wiped it. “i’m so sorry.”

lani gave you a displeased look. “oh, quit it. this is absolutely not your fault.”

“but it is,” you insisted. “i should have known this day would come. it could have been avoided. you should have left town like your mom or...”

lani called out your name and grabbed your hand with all of her strength. “hey, hey, hey. listen to me. you are my sister and i love you so much. i don’t care what the law says or what happened and what didn’t. there is nothing that would stop me from being there for you and i’d take so many bullets for you both.”

your eyes dampened with tears. 

“it already happened. it’s over,” lani whispered. “let it go.”

you bobbed your head, squeezing her hand back. she was the strongest women you knew, though you had a feeling she would have a contrasting opinion.

meadow inspected the stitches on lani’s arm. “tt, what are you going to do about the stitches?”

lani made a face, as if to say that that was a good question. “well, that scar is for sure never going to fade away and i will indefinitely have some scientific research company’s symbol craved into my skin, but on the plus side, i ironically think i’m officially over my fear of needles. so i’ll probably get a tattoo.”

meadow’s eyes were glimmering and she looked to you. “mommy, can i get a tattoo?”

“when you’re old enough, sweetheart,” you cooed, gently patting her on the back.

meadow pouted.

you threw lani a skeptical look, scoffing, “you of all people are seriously thinking about getting a tattoo?”

“not just thinking about it. i’ve decided,” lani told you matter-of-factly. “i figured that if i could survive a knife in my skin, then a needle is nothing. it’s like i unlocked a superpower.”

you shook your head in disbelief. leave it to lani to always make something out of nothing and the best out of everything. “speaking of unlocking superpowers, you won’t believe what happened today...”

lani furrowed her brows, trying to guess, but when she saw you wiggle yours, all the pieces came into place. “no way.”

you grinned. “yes way.”

“i want to see,” lani said, glancing towards meadow. 

“she can’t do it on command yet. trust me, we tried,” you replied with a chortle. “but i saw it with my own eyes. my baby’s got a gift.”

lani breathed out a sigh of bliss. “she sure does.”

speaking of gifts, there was a knock on your door, followed by an exclamation of, “special delivery!”

you recognized that voice, and seemingly so did lani from the smile on her face. even meadow looked happy. you went to go open the door, revealing miguel, dressed in normal clothes for a change. 

he approached lani, carrying a care package that he sat on her bedside. “i hope i’m not intruding. i wanted to give you a get well soon gift. i got you some chocolates in there, by the way, but don’t eat them too soon. they make your blood sugar levels increase, i heard.”

he definitely heard that from lyla, but he wasn’t going to mention that part.

“thank you, miguel,” lani said, glimpsing through the bag. “how you’d know i love ferrero?”

“someone mentioned it in passing,” miguel said, scratching his nape. 

your heart fluttered. he remembered something that you mentioned in passing?

lani nodded in approval, ever so grateful. there were also some soft blankets in there on top of other things. “well, i appreciate it.”

“it’s no problem,” miguel responded, then he glanced towards you, an unreadable look in his eyes. “we need to talk.”

“right,” you drawled. “lead the way.”

miguel turned his back, heading for the door. before you walked out, lani mouthed to you, “he’s a keeper.”

your heart skipped a beat. 

you closed the door behind yourself, looking up to meet miguel’s eyes. “well?”

miguel kissed you. in front of all of the hospital staff roaming the halls, in front of the loose patients, but you didn’t care. all you gave a damn about was his lips on yours and the way his broad shoulders felt in your palms. it was slow and sensual, a first kiss between lovers.

nothing else mattered in that moment. you forgot all of your pain and agony, all of your fears and woes. you forgot the past because you were so deeply rooted in that moment that nothing else occurred to you anymore.

when you two parted to breathe, you jokingly rasped, “i sure like the way you speak.”

miguel chuckled, placing a hand on his hip, before he sobered. “listen to me. i know i lied to you, but i wasn’t doing it to hurt you.”

“i know,” you whispered. “i’m not mad anymore. but i’m not sorry for storming out. my baby...”

“i know,” miguel finished. like he knew the feeling. “she means the world to you. and lani.”

you nodded. 

“i’m… i’m sorry for taking you away from them. she might’ve been okay if i hadn’t,” miguel apologized, much to his own shock. you unlocked sides of him that nobody else had seen, pieces of him he didn’t even know were still there.

“it already happened. it’s over,” you whispered, as a wise woman had once told you. it was water under the bridge. “let it go.”

miguel almost seemed nervous, which was a surprise. you had literally never seen this man nervous.

grabbing his hand and inching closer to his chest, you asked softly, “did you mean it? when you said you lost your family?”

miguel swallowed. “yes. i know how it feels.”

“then you know that it’s hard,” you started, scrambling for words. “you know, reopening yourself to people. being vulnerable. becoming a slave to your feelings because you don’t want to risk getting hurt again.”

miguel was silent, but you knew from the look in his eyes that he understood you completely. 

“but i want to give it a try with you,” you said, voice hardly the frequent beeping scattered along the hospital floor. “and the team.”

miguel’s eyes widened. “you want…”

“yes,” you cut him off. “i want to be on the team. although, i’m not sure how i’ll fit in. i’m not a spider-thing after all.”

miguel groaned, “who gives a damn? i’ll change the whole name for you.”

you giggled, wrapped your hands around his waist.

miguel found himself doing the same to you, holding you as he stared at you with all the affections a man had to offer. he just couldn’t wrap his head around it, or what it meant for the two of you, but he knew you’d both figure it out. 

“miguel?”

“mm?”

“you’re always welcome to be a part of my family,” you whispered gently, voice muffled against his shirt, though he heard you loud and clear. 

miguel’s eyes fluttered closed, holding onto you like he never wanted to let go, like he’d finally found a refuge in you. somewhere where he felt safe enough to let go. “you’re a part of mine now, too.”

[rollforjackass]

webweave — A WALKING PLAGUE OF A MAN.

john constantine: hellblazer #6 / 'monologue of a foreign woman' - rosario castellanos / hellblazer #7 / maybe it would be fun - florence welch / hellblazer #30 / east of eden - john steinbeck / hellblazer #27 / bite the hand - boygenius

[hellframe]

Henry Winter, flirting

The first day of his visit to Francis’s country house Richard had a little voyage with Henry and Camilla in a boat. And here we have this introduction to Henry’s habits:

“He had a habit, as I was later to discover, of trailing off into absorbed, didactic, entirely self-contained monologues, about whatever he happened to be interested in at the time"

Richard was wrong, of course. Henry’s monologues were not ‘entirely self-contained’, they had particular purpose — at least, two of them were an instrument of mild pressure on Camilla, including this one which Richard heard during their voyage:

"That day he was talking about Elizabeth and Leicester, I remember: the murdered wife, the royal barge, the queen on a white horse talking to the troops at Tilbury Fort, and Leicester and the Earl of Essex holding the bridle rein… Camilla, flushed and sleepy, trailed her hand in the water… It was many years later, and far away, when I came across this passage in The Waste Land: Elizabeth and Leicester beating oars…”

T. S. Eliot left notes for these lines of his poem, citing History of England:

Author of this letter, Alvaro de la Quadra, was a Spanish diplomat and Catholic clergyman, he apparently had a right to marry a couple. For many years Leicester was queen’s favourite and suitor for her hand, but she didn’t want to marry — didn’t want to share her power with anyone, and used her claimed virginity as a political asset. Eventually, Leicester got tired of waiting, and married another woman, which broke the queen's heart.

In view of these facts, the boat scene in TSH looks so ironic. Richard’s surname, Papen, means ‘priest, cleric’ in North German, and he also was a foreign figure in their group, like that Spanish bishop in England. However, Richard wasn't able to marry anyone.

I guess, in such a manner Henry was telling Camilla: "I’m ready to be with you right here, now. But don’t make me wait for too long". And Camilla was flushed, because she understood this reassurance mingled with warning.

Another instance of this mild pressure was quoting passages about Emma Bovary, whose chaotic love choices ruined her life: Sa pensée, sans but d'abord, vagabondait au hasard, comme sa levrette, qui faisait des cercles dans la campagne… “Her thoughts were wandering at first without any purpose” — could it mean "Camilla, make up your mind, or you’ll end up like madame Bovary''?

From Henry’s point these monologues were probably a sort of flirting, an indirect way to show romantic interest towards Camilla.

Come on, Henry, why spend so many words, when you can say Cubitum eamus?

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Some fluff for you to write. Sorry if you have done this request, or something similar,before.

What gifts/trinkets/random items do the M6 give MC and how does MC react? Also, what does MC do with the gifts they are given and do they ever give gifts back?

The Arcana HCs: Gift giving

~ thank you for the ask anon! Here's your fluff, and thank you for the smiles it brought me writing it - brainrot ~

Julian

What he gives you:

His gifts lean wildly into his creative and romantic side

He's not trying to give you something practical, he's trying to give you something that shows you his love

Bouquets of flowers, original pieces of poetry, a relic of his childhood in Nevivon that he wanted to share with you

He's also the most likely to give intangible gifts, like a song on his vielle or a daily recitation of famous love struck monologues

Every now and then it'll be a weird combination of a gift and his questionable medical research

Why exactly do you need to follow this oatmeal bathing regimen for the next week? You appreciate the oats, but ...

What you give him:

Julian doesn't really care whether a gift is practical or not. If it tells him that you love him and were thinking about him, it's perfect

Sometimes it's you coming home from errands with a refill of his favorite coffee grounds when he didn't ask for them

Sometimes it's a flower that looked pretty

Asra

Sometimes it's returning his letters and songs with a few bars of your own

Sometimes it's even finding a famous love scene in a play and agreeing to perform it with him. Without an audience of course

What they give you:

The best word you could use is eclectic

Sometimes his nurturing instincts kick in and they'll come home with a satchel full of foraged goods, each item carefully selected to meet a need

Sometimes it's the most random, outlandish thing but looking at it made him think of your smile, so here it is!

Your shop and kitchen are never lacking for inventory or cravings

On the other hand, you're not sure when to use the bath bomb designed to dye your whole body blue

Or the potion that'll make your skeleton glow in the dark, to the point that it is visible through your skin

Or the bidet shaped flamethrower

What you give them:

Giving him gifts is a struggle. He's so contented with having you in his life there's not much else to give him besides yourself

You're still not sure if you should have enabled him with that one glitter bomb. Nadia still spots pieces of it in the palace ceilings and tapestries

However, if it is weird and wonderful or an abomination that aspires to be either of those things, they will light up

A foreign delicacy consisting of ingredients you've never heard of before? A skirt with so many prisms sewn onto it it turns its wearer into a rainbow power source as soon as they step outside?

Nadia

Gift giving is one of her favorite ways to show love. Be prepared, you're going to need a lot of closet space

Gifts can range from a simple "here's an extra jeweled earring that matches my hair piece" to "I've called the palace merchants and tailors to give you a wardrobe overhaul"

The reason she's able to spoil you like this is because she's a Countess with plenty of resources and staff at her bidding

Which is why the most precious gift she can give you is her time

She tries to do this once a week, and you'll know it's time when Chandra appears with a little invitation to tea in her tower

Tea time is the highlight of your week. It's several hours of no distractions and nothing to do but give and receive each other's love

What you give her:

It was quite intimidating at first. What do you give the woman who has everything?

The thing is, she doesn't. There are so many places you can go and things you can experience that she has to move mountains to enjoy with you

So you bring the streets to the palace. Hearty pub food from the Rowdy Raven. Brightly painted wooden tops and puppets from the street corners. And of course, Selasi's pumpkin bread

Each gift makes her grin. To her, they are a taste of your world and she adores them. She's made a secret "museum of commonalities" to store your trinkets

Muriel

What he gives you:

Gifts aren't as much of a frequent thing from him, but not because he doesn't think to do it

It's because everything he gives you is painstakingly thought out and prepared

He spent weeks making the perfect walking stick for you. Selecting the branch, curing the wood, shaping it to your height and grip, sanding it smoother than silk, covering it in the most beautiful and meaningful carvings, giving it the perfect stain and finish ...

And then leaving it quietly by the door next to his with no further indication that it was a really special present and invitation for you to join him on his normally solitary walks

The same goes for the tray he brings you breakfast on with "I love you" carved into it, or the cape he made you from a pelt he spent weeks trapping for

What you give him:

"Unnecessary" but enjoyable things from the city. Meeting you was the start of his shift from surviving to living, and you like to capitalize on that

You have a spice cupboard in the hut now, which you keep stocked

You made him a pillow stuffed with feathers that the chickens donated

You also found myrrh scented shampoo (he'd been using bar soap on his head) and that day he fell in love with you all over again

Portia

What she gives you:

So. Many. Baked. Treats.

She and Selasi have a friendly rivalry over who can make your favorite baked good

(They also trade baking tips but that doesn't belong in this headcanon)

She also likes to present you with her own versions of trophies from war

This could be the feather she took off the chamberlain's hat when he annoyed her, or the last slice of cake she had to armwrestle one of the foot soldiers for, or a piece of fruit she bargained down to a brilliant price

Because she's more acts of service oriented, gifts from her aren't frequent enough to be predictable unless she knows it's how you like to be treated. You might get three in a day and then go weeks without receiving anything in that way

What you give her:

Practical items, but more luxurious than what she would get for herself

She grew up to be generally self sufficient for a reason. She keeps her own garden, manages her own clothes, uses the library to educate herself, etc

So if you show up with some fancy skin cream and a hair mask? Some leave in conditioner for her curls? The silk skirt she was admiring in the shop window?

Lucio

She'll be hesitant to accept such nice things, but she'll light up every time she uses or wears them and give you a kiss

She will also make them last for months

What he gives you:

This is a sore point for him. Back when he was count, he could snap his fingers and you'd be covered in gold and jewelry and silks and furs and magical trinkets

But now he's a humble journeyman. Which he doesn't mind, it's a good life, but he can't spoil you like he wants to

The first time he learned the satisfaction of saving up for something and then buying it was to get you a leather satchel that wouldn't ruin your shoulders or back

It was a test of his patience, but the look on your face when he gave it to you and the way you thanked him when the day ended and you weren't in pain made him feel ten feet tall

He doesn't always have the patience to save up like that, but it's not uncommon for him to get you something small and lightweight that the area you're traveling through specializes in

What you give him:

He counts a lot of what you already do for him as gifts. Your companionship, your cooking skills, your moral guidance

But something he's always admired in others is the use of magic. If you give him any item either made with magic or boosted by it, he's like a kid on Christmas

His favorite is the earring with some of your magic stored in it so you can track him

(Does this make him a backpack leash kid? Absolutely. Is he proud of it? Yes.)

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Seven

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

She called him at ten o’clock the next morning, right as he returned from breakfast. She sounded very excited. And scared. They agreed to meet the next afternoon not at the shop, but on a broad street from where they would walk to the Baron’s office. It all had more secrecy than a muggle dabbler merited, but Tom played along.

“Ready?” she asked once they were outside his building, a tall wide limestone white manor.

“As ready as you are,” grinned Tom, his eyes glinting. He was teasing her, and enjoying it far too much.

“Oh dear, I hope not,” she chuckled.

Its doors were as big as city gates, thick old wood with one much smaller door inset on the right. Above it in a shield of stone, a fat snake swirled as it ate a child, legs first. It was a biscione, the Baron’s sigil.

She pushed a button on a metal box beside the door, and a low voice answered on the other side.

“It’s us.”

The door unlocked with a buzz.

The inside was wide and sparse, a naked vault that rose high into the darkness, all cold corridors and decorous marble. There were no carpets, no paintings, not even chairs or tables, only stains and scratches on the stone to tell there ever were any. Golden candleholders clung lightless on the walls, replaced it seemed by fake-crystal fixtures that hummed with electricity.

There was a lift, but they ignored it and went up the stairs instead.

“I’ve been to mausoleums with more life than this,” said Tom.

She giggled. “He’s had to sell a lot of his family assets to renovate the shop. He could probably have them replaced by now, the last few years have been profitable. But I guess he prefers it like this. It’s just his way.”

They climbed the wide and stately stairs up and up and up, going past the first floor, and the second, and the third, and Tom began to wonder if the building was abandoned when a hollow noise came through. A steady murmur. A monologue.

They reached the fourth floor. She opened another door, the only one there between two naked walls, and they stepped into a vestibule.

It was a little livelier and richly decorated. Low red sofas lined the walls on either side, and a tall stove made of ceramic tiles was fixed into the corner. Bookshelves lined the walls, and busts of ladies in black marble were set against the corners.

In the centre, behind a tall imposing desk, sat a woman who nearly dwarfed it with her presence. She was flanked by stacks of papers and a telephone. Although her suit of blue and bronze was feminine in shape, Tom felt a bit emasculated. Her hair was pinned in a harsh style, slinked back and practical.

“Ciao, Berit! Come stai?”

“Bongiorno. Bene.”

“He’s still speaking?”

“Yes. You’re free to enter, silently.”

“I think we’ll wait here. Oh, by the way, this is Tom Riddle. Tom, this is Mrs. Berit Boveri, the Baron’s secretary.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Tom, staying where he was.

The woman was impressive, and he wondered briefly whether this Baron had hired her for security rather than for answering his letters.

“Please,” she said, extending a hand in a quick, precise movement, “sit down.”

She appraised Tom coolly, quickly, before turning her attention back to the newspaper before her. An orange the size of a child’s head was cut open on the desk beside her, filling the room with a fresh scent.

The pair of them sat down, and Tom turned his attention to the sounds coming from the room behind them. A man was speaking in a low and shaky drawl, droning in Italian about what sounded to Tom like the Malleus Maleficarum, a compendium on witchcraft and demonology written by a sadistic German inquisitor in the 15th century. The silence of his audience was heavy and intense, chairs groaning now and then beneath their anxious squirms and ink pens scratching eagerly on paper.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered to her after a sudden thought.

“What?” she whispered back.

“About the nero di seppia… I looked a perfect fool all night, didn’t I?”

She giggled. Tom frowned at her.

“I warned you not to order it.”

“Yes, but perhaps next time I’d like an indication as to why.”

She was going to say something else when the doors opened, and the Baron’s audience ambled their way out. The air buzzed with their excited murmurs, some laughing nervously, some crying.

The pair of them got up, ready to greet the Baron. Tom looked over the crowd as they filed out, a mixed group of all sorts of people, from students to the elderly.

“Where is he?” he asked.

“He’s coming over,” she said.

“Where? I can’t —” He was going to say he couldn’t see anyone else, but then he looked down.

The figure that approached them was far from what he had imagined. Although not diminutive in size, the white and wrinkly lump that came took Tom by surprise. He sat, like a deflated balloon, in a stout but polished wheelchair, and was rolling toward them.

“Hello, Baron,” she greeted with a little bow. “Thank you for seeing us today. This is —”

“Come to my office,” said the old man as he rolled right past them.

II

The room was golden-lit with deep and intimate colours, as natural as an autumn forest. There was something to look at everywhere. The walls were dense with paintings and photographs in black and brown of little groups of men. The chairs were wide, majestic things with crimson wings and cushions. The carpet was a floral red, the windows tall and gilded. A crystal chandelier hung overhead, low and opulent and gleaming, and from a cabinet on the side a set of golden spoons with handles like rose stems shone among fine china glasses shaped like gaping koi. It couldn’t be anything further from what Tom was used to.

The Baron’s desk was small and delicate, overburdened with ink wells and notes, a lone lamp hard at work between them.

“So, how are you?” the Baron asked them once they were alone.

“Very well,” she answered, smiling widely. “And you, Baron?”

“Fit as an ox on the field, and twice as strong,” he answered in an imposing voice. “Is this him?”

“Yes,” she said, her nervous gaze flitting to Tom. “Should I —”

“Thank you. You may go.”

She nodded and turned without another word to Tom, her eyes lingering on his for just a moment as if to wish good luck. He watched her as she left like a chastened child, then turned his attention back to the old man.

“Pleased to meet you, Baron,” he said with a light bow. “My name is Tom Riddle. At your service.”

The man rolled his way slowly from behind the table, his face set in a frown — or perhaps the rolls of skin were so heavy that it was his fixed expression. He’d clearly been corpulent once, but old age and disability drained him of his strength. He stopped in front of Tom, the wheels almost atop his shoes, and extended his hand — to shake? to kiss? Tom had never met muggle nobility before… Although he was looking at him from two feet below, the old still managed to look down his nose at him.

Tom squared his shoulders, took a breath, and shook the Baron’s hand.

“Julius Eugenio Victor Agarda,” he introduced himself. His grip was still quite strong. His mouth seemed flimsy beneath a sparse moustache, and he spoke with a slight lisp — unless Tom’s eyes deceived him, he was missing a few teeth — but his eyes, a clear blue, had a steady gleam to them. “How do you do?”

“I’m well, sir, thank you,” said Tom, finally getting his hand back. “I came about the books.”

“So I’ve heard.”

With a flourish, the Baron directed Tom’s attention to the right, where a pair of doors stood closed.

“Help me with those, will you?”

Tom looked at him, feeling a bit puzzled, but he maintained his air of calm. He steadied the messenger bag over his shoulder and bowed.

“Of course, sir,” he smiled.

The doors were delicate and white, with carvings on their edges like a frame. Tom grabbed the brass handles and pushed. Beyond them was a large and sunny room in the same style as the Baron’s office but much wider. Its centre was dominated by a dark brown table and its walls with books. The east of the room was all tall windows framed by a thin balcony, and beyond that was the street and the canals.

“My most precious possession. My private collection.”

Tom rolled the Baron through, but quickly let go of him to stroll along the bookshelves without waiting for an invitation. They held every kind of esoterica, from the Corpus Hermeticum to the Grimoire of Armadel. Archidoxis was there, as was De Umbris Idearum, a book Tom had not seen since his first year at Hogwarts.

Others were more recent books, like a cluster on Bacchanal arts written in the 19th century. There stood among them also a well-worn copy of the Metaphysics of Sex. Tom curled his nose at it and looked over his shoulder with disgust. Some books were held in chains, with locks connected to the bookcase, and others were held safe behind glass panes, bright lights in the darkness.

“Impressed?” asked the Baron from the doorway.

“A remarkable collection,” said Tom as he turned.

The old man rolled forward with a peculiar twist of his heavy brows that Tom suspected to be pride. He went to one shelf in particular and reached as high up as he could, carefully picking out a volume. It was bound in leather so aged it was completely black, its spine capped in silver fastenings.

“Look at this,” the Baron said.

Tom stepped forward and carefully lifted it from his hands.

“Michael Psellus, De Operation Daemonum,” Tom read. “Byzantine books on demonology are hard to come by. It must be worth a fortune.”

“Seventeenth-century edition,” he said, slipping right over Tom’s praises. “One of five copies. They survived hidden among the volumes of Psellus’ Mathematics. Only the most important families of the time had access to them.”

Tom smirked. With the Baron’s toothless mouth and his scraggly sparse hair, he didn’t cut a very noble figure. “I don’t suppose you inherited it.”

The Baron took the book from him and set it on his lap, his fat hands folded over it. “I might have,” he said measuredly. “My family traces its roots to the eleven hundreds.”

A mocking smile played on Tom’s lips. He hid it with a timely bow. He’d rather not tell the old man he could brag of the same through Salazar, and so instead he said, “I’m honoured, then, to be in your presence.” But he didn’t hide as well as he meant to.

“Don’t be obsequious,” said the Baron tersely.

Tom straightened and looked down at him, steadying the strap over his shoulder once again.

“I showed my collection to you to illustrate a point. I have some of the rarest editions in my collection, first. And second, there is nothing that I want that I cannot acquire. Now, you may attempt to barter with me.”

Tom regarded the old man coolly for a moment, then took the messenger bag off his shoulder and placed it on the table. The Baron, after that little speech meant to humble him, had nevertheless given himself away: he may have had a grand collection, but he was still willing to entertain a nobody, a stranger, an unknown, for a chance at something rarer. A small man with a big ego and an insatiable hunger, Tom thought, I am well familiar with his kind.

“Then let me show you what I’ve brought for you today,” he said, “and you’ll tell me if it meets with your approval.”

The Baron went to place the books back on its shelves, and by the time he turned back, Tom had lined them all along the table.

There were six books in total. First was the Liber de Lamiis et Phitonicis Mulieribus, a 15th-century manuscript on witches and demonic possession. Then, the Liber Belial,a medieval grimoire with an unknown author, highly sought after and obscure. He took out The Grimorium Verum, an illuminated copy of The Sworn Book of Honorius, the Codex Palatinus Germanicus, and finally the colourful Le Livre de la Vigne Nostre Seigneur.

The Baron approached, retrieving from his breast pocket a thin-rimmed monocle that he perched upon his nose. He looked down at the books while Tom waited a little to the side, one hand stuffed casually in his pocket.

He picked the first one up, his old hands trembling slightly, and opened it, spine cracking. He threw his eyes over the frontispiece, then peeled away the first few pages.

Tom waited patiently as the Baron looked through the second book, and the third, and not a word was said. He could only hope the illusions he had cast on them would hold. It was difficult to even tell what the old bastard was thinking.

When the Baron was done, he took the monocle off, and slowly rolled to face him.

“Remarkable,” he said, his fat plum lips aquiver. “What vitality in these images… And The Grimorium Verum in particular I have been hunting for years.Where did you find them?”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief and grinned. “I’m afraid that will have to remain one of their mysteries. So, I take it you are interested in a trade?”

“I am,” he grumbled, taking from his pocket the list of books Tom had provided, “but it can not go forward.”

Tom cocked a brow. “And why is that?”

The Baron rolled forward and past him, going back into his office. Tom frowned at him and packed the books again before he joined him. With one last longing look at the vast library, he turned and closed the doors behind him.

The Baron was back behind his desk, stuffing a black pipe with tobacco.

“I wish I could,” said the old man, “but I cannot afford it.”

“I’m sure we could —”

“No,” he said, “I do not mean fiscally. I mean ethically.”

Tom regarded him without blinking for a moment. He searched the Baron’s mind for truth and found only a nest of brambles. Too many ideas, conflicts and confusion, plans that stood to shatter at the lightest touch. How much was going on with his little bookshop? Was it to do with that ‘auction’ he’d heard about?

“I don’t see how ethics come into it.”

“Nor do I,” chuckled the Baron with a puff. “That’s the problem.”

He fixed his steely gaze on Tom, and then he understood. Distrust. The old man didn’t trust him.

“Ah,” Tom smiled, “that is a pity.” He bowed, the books tight by his side. “Thank you, nevertheless, for your time. I shall be in Rome for at least another month. If your ethics should change, I would be honoured to be invited to see you again.”

“Be sure I let those books leave my office with a heavy heart, Mr. Riddle.”

“Oh, I know, Baron,” he grinned. “But you might yet see them again. And me.”

[joesalw]

This conversation about Taylor's downfall in 2016 and what led up to it, plus this lie that most criticism of female celebrities is just misogyny is really interesting to me because it's something I talk to people about in real life. There's this idea that in mainstream media people love to build female celebrities up and then rip them apart when they get successful, which don't get me wrong is absolutely true, but in some cases it's a little more complicated than that. There are times when certain celebrities brand and present themselves as "the ideal dream woman" of whatever period they're in, and then when the societal image of what "the ideal dream woman" shifts but the celebrity's image doesn't, the facade cracks.

I think a good example of this is Jennifer Lawrence. I was a teenager when the hunger games movies were coming out and was obsessed so I used to watch a lot of the interviews with the cast. Jlaw presentes herself very much as a "cool girl", she was the youngest of 2 older brothers so she was a "tomboy" that loves sports and drinking beers and shots. She also made it a big deal about how she doesn't diet and is constantly eating yet still has a slim body and doesn't know about designer clothes and is so above all this fame thing. Whilst all this was happening the Gone Girl monologue was gaining traction particularly the part about cool girls and how women alter their personality for men's consumption. Eventually people caught on about all the fictional women and celebrities that fall into the trope and were over it, yet jlaw kept up with the persona. Couple that with her continually working with David o Russell, the insensitivity to other cultures, the overexposure and people realising her acting ain't really all that, you have the general public getting sick of her and her having to take a break. She's sort of made a comeback now and people are just chalking her downfall to "misogyny".

I wasn't really following what Taylor was up to in the lead up to her crash because I'd gotten sick of her long before that and avoided her stuff like the plague, but I did see someone on Reddit talk about how her winning album of the year over Kendrick Lemar and then using her speech to shit on another prominent black hip hop artist over something that was a lie wasn't a good luck for her. Add in the racist undertones in shake it off and wildest dreams videos for good measure.

This time around I do think her not adapting to the political and societal change is going to be a major factor if (I hope) she has another downfall. Before I get to the next part I do have to say I'm from England (you may have heard of it but it is a very foreign country/s) so if I'm wrong about the American political atmosphere someone feel free to correct me. After the election of trump there was a whole knew political awakening and conversations happening, one of them being about how Hillary lost due to misogyny (not completely true) so there were conversations about patriarchy, sexism, double standards and all that. This was the perfect climate for Taylor to be able to swoop in and use all these buzzwords she's learnt and blame anything bad that happened to her on misogyny and made all of her problems into "women problems". You had her giving quotes like how women are only allowed to react or some shit and released "the man" (side note but does anyone else find the bridge to the song kind of racist? Especially the way she's constantly compared to black artists?). She was of course celebrated for all this and had successfully rebranded to politically conscious Taylor Swift.

I don't think she expected the political climate to shift so quickly once again. In 2020 we had those viral videos of white women calling the cops on black people and the conversations about how white women use their privilege and tears to harm others and get away with it. During BLM there were talks about how certain white women will present themselves as allies and progressive but still have friends and date people who are bigots showing their politics is skin deep *cough cough*. COVID had us talking about the disconnect from celebrities about the real world and how capitalism is just another plague that is killing us normal people. You had certain companies and people becoming billionaires during this time and this truly began the crumbling of the pedestal the rich and famous were on.

Flashforward to now, where there are multiple genocides happening in front of our eyes. A time where you can't open any social media site without seeing innocents being slaughtered in ways that fills you with a rage and sorrow I can't even put into words. A time where our world leaders are doing Jake shit like some Arab leaders or actively funding it like the UK and US. A large number of Americans are saying they won't vote for Biden next year, others are screaming if you do that we'll get a repeat of 2016. But people are rightfully pointing out that Hilary is also a war criminal and the DNC were told people are not going to vote for her so pick a different candidate, they didn't and lo and behold those people stuck to their word. Women being in power does nothing if they uphold the same system which is exactly what women like Taylor do.

So the women Taylor rebranded herself to is the exact kind of woman whos shit people are sick of. Her face literally being used as the face of the western media ignoring the atrocities happening to brown and black people and upholding the status quo is just poetic justice. Add in the absolute shallowness of that interview and the whole capitalism is okay when you're girl bossing and you've got people wondering who the fuck does she thinks she is.

There's obviously a lot more to any potential crash Taylor may have and this is all my observations that may be wrong, but I do find all this shit fascinating and I wish people smarter than me would look into it to see if I've got a point.

You’ve got a great point

[fr0gg13b413]

AREN'T STARS MEANT TO BURN?; ON SELF-DESTRUCTION (FOR ACHIEVEMENT'S SAKE)

friedrich nietzsche // would that i, hozier // meditation on the threshold: a bilingual anthology of poetry, ‘monologue of a foreign woman’ by rosario castellanos // boyish, japanese breakfast // nineteen, movements // angel on fire, halsey // nata sin // vincent van gogh // notes from underground, fyodor dostoevsky // holly warburton // joan crawford // unknown, pinterest // first fig, edna st. vincent millay // Clementine von Radics // holly warburton // forugh farrokhzad, tr. by hasan javadi & susan sallée // she knows, j. cole // @/ragingantisocial // some kind of perfect, krista ritchie and becca ritchie // holly warburton // burned out, dodie // unknown, pinterest // a moth to a flame (burnt child), stig dagerman, tr. by benjamin mier-cruz // unknown

[thestrongestmen]

𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘁𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽

➺ Character: Levi Ackerman.

➺ Reader: afab!reader

➺ Words: 8 316

➺ Summary: Levi Ackerman. Duke Ackerman. A mysterious, stern man who never strays from the straight and narrow, whether by choice or because of his hectic schedule, no one knows and no one wants to know, because this social season, they say, he's planning to take a wife. To your best parade ladies, the most coveted bachelor is finally available…

➺ Warning: Misogyny. Women are seen as reproducers. It's not a smut, but it's tendentious.

➺ A/n: I've watched so much Queen Charlotte and Bridgertone that I wanted to write something in that kind of historical universe. Haha… that ties in with my love of historical manhwa. English is not my first language. Sorry for the mistakes.

"Are you ready for the new social season, Ackerman?

Slumped against the comfortable back of the imposing office chair, the principal concerned didn't even bother to look up from his documents. Not out of concentration but to avoid being confronted with the irritating sight of that shit-eating, mocking smile on his friend's lips. His hand, holding a quill, continued to scratch the paper, drowning the sheet under the jet-haired man's beautiful cursive handwriting. He was doing all he could to divert his attention from the noisy, annoying ramblings of this over-talkative individual who doesn't know when to stop talking. The social season was far from his first and he hoped it would be his last. To take a respectable wife and finally be rid of the target that all the carnivorous mothers were staring at behind his back.

"Levi Ackerman. The most coveted bachelor since Duke Smith was taken off the marital market. Smith has found himself a charming little wife who fills him with happiness. And who will you find to warm your cold heart and sour mood? Will you have a sweet little loving wife? Maybe you'll have a carbon copy of yourself, which I wouldn't wish on any of the servants in your homes. Putting up with you alone is enough, so a woman like you…" "Hange, if you've got nothing better to do, get the hell out of my house." "Aw Ackerman, you're so rude! I'm sick to my stomach."

Levi looked up briefly from his documents to shoot a bored glance at the person in front of his desk who was feigning a deep wound in his heart. He snorted in disdain before diving back into his urgent business, all the while continuing to ignore Hange's mocking and playful monologue. He didn't need to be reminded of the social seasons. He still remembered perfectly how many people gathered around him at every ball he had the misfortune to attend. At the time, Erwin Smith was also single, which eased some of the pressure from mothers eager to find a good match for their daughters. But now he was married, forcing Levi to face the demons alone in the elegant clothes of a noblewoman called mother. Worst of all, rumour had it that he was planning to take a wife. It wasn't a lie; he intended to declare his intentions and take the hand of a young woman who would meet his standards, which he was forced to lower in the hope of finding someone. However, this rumour would fuel the ambition of these mothers. He could already see himself in a ballroom, unable to take a single step without being interrupted by one of them. Levi could bet his hand that the person behind the rumour was standing right in front of him.

"Erwin was lucky to find someone who makes his heart beat. If I don't rule out love, it's the last thing that's going to enter into my calculations. I need a duchess. A woman who can host and organise receptions and welcome foreign dignitaries. I need someone who can manage high society and the heritage of our estates while giving birth to my children. She must have the shoulders and spirit to handle the duties of a duchess. She must have the dignity and poise that comes with the title." "You are demanding." Hange sighed, in a melancholy breath. "I have to be. I can't accept just anyone as Duchess and you know that. Erwin was very lucky. One in a million. Who knows if I could be so lucky as to find in the most capable of women the one I would love." "Good. You're so serious about this that I can't not lend you a hand." "Please. I don't need your help which is too often useless and catastrophic. Not to mention shitty." "Trust me! The Queen has already chosen her diamond, the girl who shines above the rest. I happen to know her personally." "Don't say it like it's some revolutionary idea. There was nothing more predictable than being interested in the diamond of the season. A girl who is all too often chosen for her beauty rather than her skills. A factor I have no interest in." "You're depressing Ackerman." Hange complains, her upper body slumped over the paper-free part of the desk.

Levi clicks his tongue against his palate, now having to endure the sighs and complaints of this individual lounging on his wooden desk that is surely worth more than a small estate in the heart of the capital. He makes a mental note to himself to thoroughly clean the wooden surface to remove any germs that Hange might leave on his wonderful desk.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"Lady [Name]. Miss [Name]. What a pleasure it is to welcome you to our land. I hope British soil suits your tastes." "It is an honour, Your Majesty. We thank you for your hospitality." "Isn't there someone missing? Don't you have two daughters?" Asks the Queen, one eyebrow arched. "My apologies, Your Majesty, my sister could not bear the journey on the ship. She was forced to stay in bed while her illness subsided." You say.

Along with your mother, you bow to Her Majesty the Queen of England. There is no doubt that this woman is of a completely different class to the ladies of the nobility. The Queen is the most noble. The one to whom all eyes naturally turn. You can't help but let your eyes take in the sumptuous details of the lace covering Her Majesty the Queen's dress. A puffed-up dress that breaks with the current trend for empire dresses. Why didn't she follow the current fashion? Wasn't it a silent obligation of society not to step out of line at the risk of being singled out for criticism and harsh words by other nobles? You have abandoned the clothes of your native country to blend in with current British fashion, but you feel a touch of admiration before Her Majesty the Queen. Perhaps you could persuade your mother to let you proudly wear the dresses of your homeland?

"Come, come, come! We have so much to talk about. We'll soon be one big, beautiful family." "I hope so too, Your Majesty." Your mother affirms, with a discreet, unruffled smile.

With that, you follow in the Queen's rapid and ample footsteps. How can she be so comfortable in clothes that seem so uncomfortable? It's probably a question of habit. A few steps behind her, you try to keep up with the rapid pace through the magnificent corridors decorated with gilding and sculptures that you know are worth more than anything the less fortunate could dream of. On the walls hang paintings depicting the royal couple's life together. When they are young, then soon joined by a multitude of toddlers until these children take on the appearance of young adults. A chronological frieze that tells the story of a hidden family history.

There's nothing like that in your family. There's just a register that takes into account the many members of your clan. Only the hard core share the ancestral domain, while the others are invited every year for a week to maintain a certain union between all the members of your clan. And you… you're the chief's goddaughter. Daughter of the chief's sister. After the chief's daughter, you are the most noble thing in your country. The purest. If your cousin is promised to the prince of your kingdom, you… Are you going to join the jewels of the British Empire? That is a perfectly acceptable future. But are you prepared to give up your family? Your country? The life you've built there? To leave to start a new life with a man whose company you're not sure you'd enjoy?

For a moment, this sumptuous palace looks like a cage. Your future cage.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"Miss [Name], what's your country like? I'm genuinely curious about the different regions." The princess's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. "At the risk of committing an act of treason on your soil, I admit that our landscapes have nothing to envy to those of British soil. I would even go so far as to say that they are splendid. I think you'd like it very much."

The princess lets a soft laugh slip from her lips, which she hastens to hide behind her fan. You squint your eyes in delight. The princess doesn't seem to be offended by this little joke; she seems to be enjoying it. You take a sip of the tea you were served a few minutes ago.

Several days have passed since your arrival. You still haven't met the prince who may become your fiancé, but you won't regret not having met him yet. You dread this moment. If you do meet him, it will all become too real for you. These imaginary chains of commitment will be physically represented by a sumptuous ring on your left ring finger. The very thought makes your stomach boil with palpable discomfort. Fortunately, you've been lucky enough to meet a charming princess your own age. Historia Reiss. A soul so sweet and pure that you could swear you'd want to protect her just so she wouldn't encounter any unpleasantness in her life. You could almost find comfort in her presence should you end up marrying one of the princes.

"The first ball of the season will be held at Lord and Lady Yeager's house. Would you be comfortable? I don't know how different the culture of your country is from here." "Don't worry, your highness. I used to attend quite a few balls in my country, along with my cousins. We never missed an opportunity to socialise. We were an inseparable trio…" "You seem very close to your family." "I grew up with them. I can't conceive of a life without them in my life." "With so many brothers and sisters, I can only understand you. Sometimes they're unbearable but in the end, I wouldn't give them up for anything in the world."

The atmosphere becomes heavy with nostalgia. Memories of numerous family events come back to haunt you and add to the weight on your shoulders. The same dilemma seems to be facing the princess, who is also due to marry in the not too distant future. She too will have to leave her family, perhaps even her homeland, to marry a powerful nobleman from another nation in order to forge ties. Because that's what women are for: to produce heirs and to act as bargaining chips in the political game. Knowing and accepting are two different things. You know your destiny, but can you accept it? Are you even being asked to accept it? No. You are asked to suffer and endure.

The princess coughed in a feeble attempt to lighten the almost ceremonial mood.

"If you wish, I can teach you a few things for your first ball here. I don't doubt your social skills, far from it! But the culture here must still be foreign to you…" "Thank you, Your Highness, it is with pleasure that I accept your kind offer."

A smile curves your lips. The afternoon is spent talking about the little subtleties of the English court, which you find so lacking. Little protocols, little messages coded behind the tilt of your fan. The language of the fan is different from that of your country. She also teaches you the latest rumours so that you don't feel too out of place, even if you don't really know the protagonists portrayed in her rumours. It would seem, however, that this kingdom is particularly fond of such gossip. Time passed at an alarming rate and before you knew it it was time to part. The sun was about to set. You both had to get ready for the dinner that was about to begin.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The evening of the first ball of the season has finally arrived. As expected, as soon as Duke Ackerman arrived, all the mothers with ambition presented themselves to him, their daughters in tow. He didn't hear any family names, all he heard was the roar of lionesses hungry for prestige or the pecking of hens. He almost cursed Erwin for abandoning him to indulge in his newlywed life. While he was genuinely happy for his friend, Levi couldn't help but curse him in this situation. A duke still single…a real dawn to behold. He excused himself briefly with a shake of his head, ignoring the sighs of disappointment, and extricated himself from the flock of ladies to join Hange, who was standing in the company of Erwin and his young wife.

He almost regretted having come to keep them company when he was forced to listen to Hange's mocking laughter, which seemed to find the Duke's distress satisfying in every way. If looks could kill, Hange would already be six feet under rotting and being eaten by worms. Too bad that's not possible.

"I can't wait to find someone nice so I can get away from all this excitement for good." Levi grumbled, his lips against the rim of his champagne glass. "You talk more than you act. If you keep running away, you won't know any of these girls and you'll end up another season on your own. A real vicious circle." Hange scoffs. "I'm not running away. I'm running away from this savage horde." Retorts the man concerned. "She's not wrong. You'll never find anyone at this rate." Erwin agrees, shaking his head. "Even Smith says so." Hange boasts. "Oh…I always thought you two would end up married. You're always together…" Lady Smith intervenes in a timid voice, unsure whether to say the words or not.

The other three turned to her. Erwin gently shook his head and calmly explained the situation. Hange couldn't help laughing as if she'd just heard the most hilarious joke, while Levi frowned, not holding back the visible disgust he felt at the very idea of having to share his life more than he already did with this individual. A friendly relationship could be tolerated, but more? Ah, God save him from this dark fate!

"My apologies! I always thought…" "Don't worry, my dear." Erwin said to soothe her. "It's common knowledge in the various circles of high society. Your relationship is a trending topic at every turn." Informs Lady Smith, a nervous smile on her lips. "Please don't say another word about it." Begs Levi, who swears a glass of champagne isn't strong enough to hear that kind of story about him. He needs stronger alcohol.

Fortunately for the Duke, the music ends, replaced immediately by the powerful melody of trumpets, a harbinger of the arrival of the one everyone is waiting for: Her Majesty the Queen of England. The big doors open, revealing the royal figure in her sublime gown of thick ivory with a few touches of blue. The guard at the door announced the Queen's arrival in a firm voice. Then other names were called: that of Princess Historia Reiss. Then the Countess [Name] and her daughter.

All bowed to Her Majesty the Queen, before rising to gaze at the two newcomers to the British court: mother and daughter [Name]. Two foreigners whose features stand out from the rest of the nobility. A refined exoticism that is sure to catch the eye of even the most self-righteous duke. Recognising beauty in the unknown is right up his street. But perhaps his gaze lingered a little too long on the young miss descending the stairs, as Hange tapped him on the side of the elbow. A single glance was enough for him to see the mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"Don't think about it, four eyes."

Hange shrugged, before pushing him forward, encouraging him to take a step towards the quartet who had finally set foot on the ballroom floor. Levi stumbled on his feet, managing to catch himself in time before hitting the floor. A movement that didn't seem to go unnoticed, on the contrary. He felt the weight of Her Majesty The Queen's gaze, which had just spotted him in the crowd. He refrains from swearing between his teeth, cursing the day Hange was born. With a perfect bow, he presented himself to Her Majesty, without bothering to smile. No one has ever seen him smile, he is thought to be incapable of it.

"Duke Ackerman, what a pleasure it is to honour us with your presence." The Queen begins. "The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty." "Have you already met our guests, Lady [Name] and Miss [Name]?" "I have not had that honour before today."

The Duke analysed the curve of the Queen's smile, then followed the discreet movement of her eyes towards the young miss in silent command. Levi wrinkled his nose briefly, so as not to break his legendary impassivity and reveal his displeasure at his situation. But perhaps he could have picked a worse partner than a young miss who had just arrived on English soil and who certainly didn't know the latest gossip. He walked around The Queen, his strides guiding him to a respectable distance from the foreign miss, his hand outstretched towards her. His steely eyes gazed into hers, taking in the minute details in her irises. The brilliance of the crystals on the ballroom chandelier was reflected in her eyes, as if a whole galaxy had taken refuge in her.

"Miss [Name], would you do me the honour of a dance?"

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

You smooth down the silk of your dress, which covers your body in a beautifully crafted adornment. You feel uncomfortable in this dress, not so much from the corset as from the layers of this empire dress. You weren't sure whether there was too much fabric or not enough. Your breasts, contoured by the corset, bulge out for all to see. Your eyes can't take your eyes off this display of flesh, which now seemed so unseemly just a few seconds before your entrance. A gentle pressure on your arm rouses you from your obvious discomfort. The princess stands beside you in a pleasant attempt to help you overcome the demons of anxiety. You offer her a gentle smile, thanking her for her kindness.

The double doors open to reveal the bright lights coming from the candles, especially the giant chandelier suspended above the couples of motionless dancers, facing you. All this attention is directed at you. Suddenly, all that nervousness evaporates like snow in the sun. The feeling of being the eye-catching jewel takes you back to the wonderful days when you and your two cousins dominated your country's high society. Your body remembers the small, graceful gestures and discreet, charming smiles of a noble lady. Why were you nervous again? You couldn't remember, but the delight of returning to balls and luxury made you feel like a fish in water.

Behind the Queen, you watch the Duke's silhouette approach you. A very handsome man, the orange glow of the candles emphasising the chiselled, severe features of his face. He doesn't stand out for his height, but the way his expensive suit clings to his muscles, the shadows discreetly emphasise the contours of his sculpted body. You hold your breath as he approaches you. Blimey, you've completely forgotten to follow the discussion that's just taken place. Has he caught you looking at him in the most shameful way possible? To your surprise, he invites you to join him in a dance. You slip your hand into his, a pleasant shiver caressing your spine as he traps your hand between his fingers, drawing you onto the dance floor. You feel his second hand slide down your side to rest on your hip, the perfect place to keep from being indecent. His warmth embraces you with a gentle sensation. It's so different to when you're being held by your cousin for a dance, it's different…because you're in the presence of a man and not a family member you grew up with. A breath slips from your lips as you feel his fingers tighten their grip on your hip. That simple touch electrifies your nerves. Your eyes gaze into his, searching for his soul for a brief moment. Perhaps it's simply because he's a man… the first man to hold you. Maybe it's because you can feel the firmness of his muscles under his suit.

The music begins, echoing throughout the room. You dance together, following the silent instructions of his body against yours. Around you other couples join in, but in all honesty you're not really paying attention.

"So…you're the most coveted bachelor of the season?" You ask to start a conversation with your dance partner. "I see you've been made aware of the latest rumours." The Duke resigns himself, his features hardened by the despair of his situation.

You can't help but let a laugh escape you at your dance partner's visible dissatisfaction. It would seem that this is a subject that puts him in an uncomfortable situation.

"The princess seemed well to inform me of the latest intriguing news at court so that I should not find myself out of place." "Do you intend to stay until the end of the season or will you be staying on British soil?" "It's a huge upheaval to change countries for good. But I'm beginning to discover the attractions of the British Empire." You reply, your gaze firmly anchored in his.

He opens his lips briefly, like a fish out of water. Then he turns in on himself, becoming once again the cold, stern duke, inflexible in his expressions if only for the tiny expressions that make him human and not a marble statue.

"The princess is a charming person who never fails to brighten my days. Her ladies-in-waiting, though I don't really know them, seem to me to be perfectly benevolent ladies."

The drawing music threatened to end the song. Soon you will have to part with this man whose surname and title you know only. A beauty like that won't struggle to find a wife before the season is over.

"I want to know you more, Your Grace."

No sooner do these words leave your lips than the music stops. The surprised expression on your dance partner's face reflects your own surprise. Tact has never been your strong point according to your twin sister, and today you have just confirmed what you have denied all your life. Are you really going to…propose getting to know another man? When you may end up betrothed to a prince if the discussions between your mother and the Queen come to an agreement.

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

Levi didn't know what to expect when he asked her to dance, or what the queen might be thinking. This damsel had not crossed oceans to come here with the intention of seeing some scenery. Everyone could sense that a royal wedding was approaching. The union between two great and powerful families that would make every nobleman in their homeland tremble. Yet he had to restrain his hand from slipping lower on her hip to feel the curves under her dress that must remain inaccessible to him forever. It wasn't love at first sight, he didn't believe in it and the very concept seemed delirious and implausible. Nevertheless, he recognised the principle of attraction. And the young woman in front of him was one of the few to arouse in him the first shivers of desire. But she was out of reach. She would soon be joining the crown jewels. He was not going to jeopardise this young woman's fine future plans, just as he was not going to ruin the excellent reputation he had built up by staying away from brothels and opera singers looking for stability and finance in the arms of rich men.

The conversation was very casual, nothing interesting, just banal politeness. Despite the tingling in his fingers when his ears were graced by her laughter. He hated the fact that this stupid rumour, although true, was brought to the attention of his dance partner. But unlike the many other suitors, she had no intention of putting a target on his back, as a better partner was presenting herself. She could be a breath of fresh air, if only for a moment. Was it wrong to enjoy this dance? To enjoy this company even for a few minutes? One dance before returning to their respective worlds. Or so he thought, until the words left her lips.

"I want to know you more, Your Grace."

Like a mirror, their surprise was reflected in each other's faces. Those words shouldn't have been spoken, not to a stranger and not to someone you know. Those words imply a lot of things, especially with a woman who was perhaps going to join the crown. He shouldn't accept, he couldn't accept. Perhaps his answer, his refusal, was visible in his eyes, for he needed no words to make her more embarrassed than she already was. Under his hands, he could feel the heat radiating from this body that wanted to bend over and disappear six feet under to save herself the embarrassment. He could feel the movement of her muscles, he could feel her holding back from rushing away and abandoning him on the dance floor, causing a scandal. She held back to avoid causing trouble for him as much as for herself. In the shame of rejection, she knew how to behave and curb her urges to save face. A quality… if it could be described that way.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I beg you to forget what just happened."

She bowed in a curtsy, signalling the end of their dance. He returned the courtesy. And before he knew it, he was with his friends, a glass in his hand to quench his thirst. His gaze lost in the sparkling bubbles of the alcoholic beverage.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Why did fate seem so set against you? The ball was only a day old and yet you bumped into the man you swore you'd never see again for the sake of your pride. He also seemed taken aback, your eyes unable to tear themselves away from each other. You look away and concentrate on the young woman standing beside Lord Ackerman. She seems to be beaming with delight, ready to pounce on you for questioning or…examination. You feel the need to cover yourself with more than a dress and a thin shawl against the breeze.

"Oh, look at the sun; already so low in the sky. I'll be off, Ackerman! It's every gentleman's duty to keep such a charming damsel as the young miss company!"

Left in utter bewilderment, you bat your eyelashes at the spectacle, unsure of how to deal with the hasty departure of the brown-haired woman already far away from you both. Silently, you arch an eyebrow at Levi, as if to confirm that what has just happened really did happen.

"You…you're in the queen's gardens." "I am." Levi retorts.

Silence.

This is so uncomfortable, even for you. You decide to take your leave. A meticulously and swiftly executed curtsy, then you make your way back to the palace and hide under the covers of your bed to forget this second shame. You need to regain your composure. Shame doesn't kill, you've faced worse than this in your country! A man a little more handsome than the average is not going to make you forget your means. As you try to convince yourself mentally, you are slow to notice the footsteps at your back, until a hand wraps around your wrist. A gasp escapes your lips, and your body quickly turns towards the person who dares to touch you. You come face to face with the Duke. So close. Almost as close as when you were dancing. You blink, fighting against the honour you would lose if you were caught alone this close to a man, or the desire to feel that hand slide up your arm and lodge itself in the hollow of your neck.

"Your Grace…" You whisper. "I beg you to let me go. This is unseemly." You manage to stay firm on your feet, pushing deep into your mind that strange feeling that runs through you every time this man lays a finger on you. "I apologise. No matter how many times I called you, you didn't seem to be able to hear me."

With that, he releases your wrist, taking several steps away from you. A perfectly respectable distance. Your wrist still seemed to be burning from the Duke's touch. An exquisite warmth. Before you can sink any deeper into your thoughts, his voice brings you back to reality.

"I am also on my way to the palace. Allow me to accompany you."

Even now you're wondering what went through your head to accept the proposal of a man you can neither know nor approach for the sake of your mother's discussions. No… It was only a courtesy, there was no implication. It's ridiculous to worry so much about a man you only met a day ago. It's because he's so beautiful that you lose your nerve! It's only attraction, nothing more can come from this beauty. The journey continues in silence. Honestly, you don't know whether you prefer silence or a conversation filled with banality to fill the void. On reflection, however, the Duke seems to revel in the quiet, preferring words when absolutely necessary. In this respect, he reminds you of your twin sister, who thrives on silence and useful conversation. A smile lights up your face, shy and as light as the cherry blossoms that fall from their tree when the season ends.

"Was that Miss Zoe?" You ask, annoyed at more silence. "Your ability to learn all the latest society gossip both fascinates and frightens me. you'll make a fine lady of British society." Levi sighed, admitting defeat at your ability to inform yourself on such matters just days after arriving on the soil of the Kingdom of England. "You flatter me, Your Grace. But I am not. Your person intrigues every person in this company. Almost every rumour revolves around you." "I intrigue you too, it would seem." "Don't give yourself too much credit, Your Grace." You reply with a hint of mischief in your voice. Teasing your interlocutor. "You are the prologue to a great book called High Society in the British Empire." "Oh, but it's when you read the prologue that you decide to continue reading a book. Are you going to continue reading this book, miss?" He snarls, his steely eyes darting into yours in defiance. "I don't know. I haven't read the whole prologue to be able to decide." You reply with a satisfied smile.

Your smile widens as you hear the Duke chuckle. If you didn't listen carefully, it would be easy to miss his laughter. A soft warmth spreads through your chest, satisfied that for a moment you have been able to break the cold, unruffled expression. Once outside the glass doors leading to one of the palace's too many halls, your companion stops in his tracks. This is it. The time has come for you to part. There's no need to exchange any more words, just a glance at each other and you already know that you mustn't stay together any longer than that. So you do what your mind tells you rather than the tug of disappointment of interrupting a beautiful discussion. You go your separate ways until fate allows you to see each other again.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The weeks went by. Invitations to the ball, invitations to tea, days spent with Princess Historia and sometimes, exceptionally, you have the honour of sharing a conversation with the Queen. You never got even a glimpse of the prince who might become part of your future. Nothing was official yet, but wasn't it the least you could do to come and see one of the women who was going to share his life? The Prince shone through his absence from the palace, but rumours spread quickly, even among a young miss who was still new to British society. You've heard the rumours: the Prince favours an opera singer. He flaunts her publicly with no regard for his honour. Historia was trying to protect you, but at the same time she refused to hide her brother's imperfections from you, especially if you were to marry him. This is how you discovered that he had fathered two little bastards whom he was trying to have recognised by his mother so that they could become princes with a right of succession.

Disgusting.

Was this the future fate that awaited you? Waiting for your twin sister? Sharing a life with a man who shows the world his mistress? Unable to do so discreetly like most other nobles.

That should be your main concern, yet you can't help thinking of the duke who shares a few conversations with you when you find yourselves at the same ball. You always shared a dance under your mother's watchful eye. She said nothing, did nothing to prevent you from getting involved with other men. Perhaps she thought, as you did, that it was just a friendly relationship that was developing? Perhaps you were the only one to convince yourself of this lie when you wanted to feel the Duke's hands on your hips. Were you alone in feeling that desire boiling in your chest? Yet here you were, once again, sharing a fleeting moment of happiness that was to end as soon as the ball was over. On the balcony of the manor house, surrounded by a few souls looking for refreshment, you were chatting with the Duke. Lost in your admiration of the thin smile that lit up the Duke's stern face, at this moment he looked divinely peaceful.

"Come now, Your Grace, these are not noble words to say in public, and not in front of a woman either." You murmur, stifling your mirth behind your fan. "Are you the best person to speak of noble words? I remember the last ball…" He replies, teasing you. "Your Grace, you promised never to speak of that again!" You react immediately, urging him with a wave of your hand to lower the volume of his voice in the hope that no one will hear him. "I didn't…I simply mentioned the last ball. Where have I sinned?" "You are impertinent." "Oh, Miss [Name], impertinence is a sin."

You roll your eyes as your lips make contact with your glass of champagne, taking light sips to avoid repeating the same mistakes you made at the previous ball. Even now you regret drinking a little too quickly with so little food in your stomach, the result wasn't bad enough to damage your reputation in the eyes of society but… The Duke witnessed a lot of…freedom on your part.

"Your Grace." A woman's voice breaks the comfortable silence that has just settled.

You both turn towards the woman who has come forward with three daughters on her arms. Ah… A mother has just spotted him, causing the other mothers to come to him with that simple word. You offer a compassionate smile mixed with a touch of mockery as you leave him in the hungry hands of the mothers and daughters. Swallowing the bitter taste of frustration at the very idea that a woman will have the honour of becoming Lady Ackerman. The wife of such a good and kind man… while you…

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

When you return to the quarters you have been given for the time of your stay here, your mother is standing on the sofa in the bedroom. She closes the book and puts it down again in a terribly slow gesture. You lick your lips, suddenly nervous about what she might be telling you. There was always that imperturbable smile on your mother's face, but you knew her better than anyone. The slight wrinkle of her nose could only mean one thing: she wasn't satisfied with something. Did the discussions between her and Her Majesty The Queen go badly? You can only imagine the worst.

You take your place at your mother's side, your hands gripping hers in an attempt to comfort her or yourself. You're not sure. The impatience was going to kill you, yet she continued to remain silent. She seemed almost about to give up on telling you.

"Mother, what's the matter?" "[Your name]…I must say I should be pleased, yet I can't seem to rejoice."

You swallow your saliva with difficulty. Your fingers tighten around your mother's hands. Her fingers caress the backs of your hands in a circular motion, a gentle massage to try and soothe your raw nerves. But it brings no comfort.

"They agree to the marriage…" It wasn't a question. You let the phrase leave your lips in a silent breath. "Yes. They accept the union between our two families." "I see…" You fail to express more than those two words. "They did not specify the name. If a man caught your eye…" "No, no one caught my eye, I would marry the prince." "Are you sure, my dear child?" "Quite sure." "You still have a few weeks to think about it."

Your mother places a kiss on your forehead, leaving you alone in your room to consider the implications further. It's no longer just about you and your selfish desires. It's about the future of your family.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

"Miss [Name], it is an honour to meet you." "The pleasure is mine, your royal highness."

Those words stick in your throat, barely holding back the bitterness of disgust as the prince's lips brush the back of your hand. Lips that have whispered words of love to another. That have kissed the lips of another. And unlike other men, he never hid the fact that he had a mistress. Why do women have to be pure and chaste until they get married, while men do unspeakable things to 'enjoy' their youth before they tie the noose around their own necks? Why does she have to put up with the shame of a future husband who is incapable of controlling himself? Why does she have to put up with the way the prince looks at her?

For the family.

For your family, you will smile politely at the Prince, get to know him and pretend not to be repulsed by his touch. You will turn a blind eye to his actions and accept that he defiles your body with his sinful touch. For the sake of your family. For the sake of your twin sister, you will endure and accept this marriage. You know that your sister is in no state to put up with such a situation for years to come. But are you?

That tea to get to know you was as dull and miserable as the Prince's personality. He didn't want this marriage either, and he showed it shamelessly by hinting at his relationship with this opera singer. You couldn't dislike this woman. She is looking to survive, a prince is an excellent match and a protection against the harshness of everyday life for the less fortunate. You hated the prince. He is the one who initiated this relationship and who brings shame on Her Majesty The Queen and the entire royal family.

But for the sake of your family, you will turn a blind eye to this deplorable moment. You will smile at your mother's questions about your compatibility with the Prince.

"You are as beautiful as they say. Had I known sooner, I want you to know that I would have hastened from my royal duties to come and meet you." "You flatter me your royal highness. But I would be sad if you had to hasten your duties as prince to come and keep me company." You reply in the kindest tone you can muster. "You are right, after all, we could well spend the rest of our lives together."

A shiver of horror runs down your spine. Spend your life with him… for eternity. An infinitely long time. A life away from your land and your family to start one with this individual who is supposed to embody the best that the kingdom of England has to offer. But here again, you force a smile onto your face and offer a shy laugh like a sweet young damsel too modest to imagine making a life with a prince.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

How many days since this woman had approached him? She had expressed a desire to get to know him, she had persisted in talking to him despite her situation, and little by little she had dug into the abrupt façade he had built for himself as duke. And here she was, categorically refusing to stand in front of him or give him the slightest glance as she held her prince's hand and let him slide his hand lower than he should during a dance. He had always known how this story would end: badly. Despite all the warnings and dangers that his conversations with her continued to entail, Levi had found himself enjoying her company. Those moments of laughter when she momentarily forgot all about propriety. Those moments when the stars twinkled in her pupils and always fascinated him. Those moments of peace when even the most unhelpful discussions became distractions for him, even though he hates talking in vain.

This woman had forced her way into his life, only to leave as quickly as she had entered. He was angry with her. He blamed himself for having let her do it when he knew full well that a foreigner would not cross the oceans without the intention of marrying a prince.

Yet the sight of her unhappy eyes, of her thin, peaceful smile that can't deceive him… Levi hates having to be a mere witness to her fatal fate. A splendid woman with a mind and heart of gold married to a pathetic excuse for a prince. He hates how his chest boils with dull anger at the sight of this extraordinary woman trapped in invisible chains pulled by adults to gain power. For the sake of these two great families, she will sacrifice herself and accept a miserable marriage. A condemnation to torture for eternity.

But what business is it of the Duke's? None at all. He shouldn't interfere. He should be content to continue his search for a future duchess. Oh… But had he even begun his search? He didn't have the slightest recollection of having really been looking for anyone during this entire social season. For a moment, the face of that terribly annoying woman appeared in his mind. It was her again. Always her. Always [First name] [Last name].

He needed air. Immediately.

The wind hits his face as he sinks into the depths of his hosts' garden. Luckily for him, he's a man, so he's able to walk freely without his honour being called into question. And even if it wasn't, at the moment, he couldn't give a damn about his honour. His rational mind is fighting with his heart, which has decided to awaken a conscience of its own.

It's always that woman's fault.

If only she hadn't come into his life, everything would have been resolved by now. He'd already have a fiancée. He would have settled into a comfortable life far removed from the problems of being a single duke.

A creak drew him out of his thoughts. Someone was in the garden with him. Who would go this far into the gloom if it wasn't another man who was also trying to get away from greedy mothers? No… It wasn't another man, his breath catching in his throat as he laid eyes on the female figure who was the target of his internal battle.

"Miss [Name], are you unconscious? You mustn't be here alone, you're in big trouble." He tries to whisper despite his desire to scold her for such inconsiderate conduct. She was lucky to run into him and no one else, but no other noble soul should see them at the risk of causing a huge scandal.

Yet the harsh, reproving words he was about to say to her disappeared like snow in the sun. His eyes went wide as he witnessed the wet marks on the reddened cheeks of the young woman, who nevertheless had only a smile on her lips, true or false. She is crying. Alone. In the half-light of a garden. Breathing hieratically as if she has just escaped from something… or someone.

"Your Grace. Le…Levi."

A shiver caressed his body as his first name slipped from the miss’s moist lips. A name barely louder than a whisper, yet he could still hear it echoing in his mind. The sensation far surpassed his wildest thoughts. He didn't react until it was too late, when she let herself run straight into his arms. Buried against the hollow of his collarbone, she sobbed her pain, hoping for comfort. He could only guess. What was he supposed to do? Should he embrace her and risk being seen to sully the impeccable reputation of a future princess? Should he push her away and force her to go discreetly to a safer place where she would no longer fear anything? His hands clenched into a fist, he forced himself to stand still. He chose neither of the two options open to him. He couldn't go any further, just as he didn't have the strength to push her away.

"Miss [Name]. You shouldn't do that. It's dangerous." "I don't care!" "…You will soon be joining the crown jewels. I believe that soon your engagement will be announced. You must not risk ruining your future." "I have no future with such a man! You know that…you must have heard the rumours."

Who hasn't? Everyone had heard them. The prince had done everything he could to make sure the whole kingdom knew about his mistress and the two bastards he had fathered with her. He knew deep down that she would not have a bright future. But he also knew that this current situation, even if it didn't affect her, would inevitably lead her to a much more shameful and painful end than marrying an adulterous prince. At least she would have the luxury and comfort of a peaceful and secure life.

"Stand aside." He orders as firmly as he can. "Then do it." She provokes him. He knows she is trying to make a point. He orders her to step aside to perform a task he cannot. A frown bars the Duke's inexpressive face. "Miss…"

Only a whisper leaves the Duke's lips as he tilts his head to watch the miss against him embrace him as if her life depended on it. He can feel her breasts dancing against his, the layers of clothing separating them doing nothing to soften the sweet sensation of her breasts against his torso. His gaze wanders over the curve of her breasts, bulging from the corset. Enticing. Inviting. Terribly…irresistible.

"I have no future without you, Levi."

His name again. Again her bloody words to seduce him. To make him stray from the straight and narrow path he'd set for himself. He shouldn't destroy his whole life for one woman. He shouldn't…

Yet he surrendered to a kiss. He revels in the surprised moan of the woman who holds his heart in the palm of her hands. He savours with appetite and delight the faint contractions of her muscles against him, an honest and sincere body enjoying the heated kiss. He's going to engulf her. He feels he is capable of ravishing her essence and soul with this kiss, because he wants everything she has to offer. He wants to be able to caress the radiance she embodies with his fingertips.

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

His lips glide down your neck, covering every inch of accessible skin with light, velvety kisses. These simple little touches electrify your raw nerves. Your hands grasp his shoulders, in the faint hope of supporting you as your legs buckle under your own weight. You feel his kisses linger on your sweet spot, a moan slips from your lips but you can't hold it in. The petticoats of your dress lift as the Duke's hands roam over your bare thighs to find your crotch clad in fabric so thin he can feel the moisture seeping through. You collapse under the weight of the new sensations of ecstasy. Pleasure seeps into every pore of your body.

"L-Levi."

His name has become an unholy prayer. A sacred mantra that keeps your mind from slipping into the depths of this new ecstasy. His fingers encircle this sensitive little bud, caressing you through the fabric, actively working to introduce you to a new world. His lips cover yours in an instant, silencing your unholy moans from echoing too loudly in the darkness of the garden.

"[First name]…you are the bane of my existence. You are my dearest sin."

Never mind if you get caught…right now, only the two of you matter.

[thisaccountisagainstmywill]

Get To Know Your Tav!

I was tagged by @my-favourite-zhent , so I'll put my Ruganfucker Tav.

This is Luce Locke (she/her), Wood Half-Elf, College of Lore Bard. My failgirl who has risen to the occasion.

What is Your Tav's...

Favorite Weapon?

Wits first and foremost. But physical weapons: Rapier now that she's slightly less of a failure. Pre-tadpole, daggers because they were conveniently discrete (and cheap). Luce begins her adventure with almost no combat skills at all but slowly learns to spar with Wyll.

Style of Combat? In short: evasive maneuvers. In long: what I like to describe as "If they can't catch you, the consequences of what you just said can't hurt you."

Deepest Desire? To belong.

Guilty Pleasure? Pub Quizzes. Trivia. Little tiny useless facts. Fucking loves them. It's the whole reason she became a 'bard' in the first place. No one gives you a second glance if you're at the pub too often if you're a bard. "Lass, why do you know all of this stuff?" "I'm uh...College of...Lore?" "I don't know enough about bards to argue with that."

Best-Kept Secret? She's very deeply in debt to multiple pubs across the city and banned from most of them. But has been consistently swapping identities for the last three decades so they haven't yet pieced together that they've all been screwed by the same woman. Fatal Flaw? Flighty. Staying in one place makes her nervous. The need to keep moving so consequences don't catch up with you is too deeply ingrained for her to ever move past it. (Also the regrettable neck tattoo. It gave her a defining feature and made the pub-hopping a little more difficult.) Favorite Scent?

Cloves. She associates it with winter feasting and happy drunks.

Favorite Spell/Cantrip(s)? Vicious Mockery -- she learned that one almost entirely on accident. Speak to Animals -- she didn't learn it until her adventure. But she can't help but consider how useful it could've been pre-tadpole. She's not above eating food procured by a friendly rat. Pet Peeve? Stereotypical bards. Their stupid little outfits. Their flouncy word choice. The flashy colors. Everything about them is grating. It may be envy, it may be some internal self-hatred. It may be me projecting. But she fucking hates Volo and Alfira. Regardless, she's made sure they get their best endings...just far away from her. It also makes Milil a delight to meet. He's so salty. Bad Habit? Keeps running her fucking mouth and ending up in situations.

She didn't, but the sheer implications of this screencap were too good. Hidden Talent? Can sleep anywhere at any time, no matter what. Blinks too long during Raphael monologues to get a nap in. Semi-eidetic memory, but usually for the most seemingly unimportant things. Leisure Activity? Casual breaking and entering. "Oh, I'm so sorry...wrong house." Favorite Drink? Anything that's free. Tends towards spiced drinks. Comfort Food? Scones. Despite the incident.* Favorite Person(s)? Romantically: Halsin and Shadowheart Platonically: Karlach and Wyll Favored Display of Affection?

Touch. Alone and transient for too long, you end up starved for it.

Fondest Childhood Memory? Getting to visit the city for the first time. It was so deeply foreign to the life with an Elf Ranger mother that it was enthralling. It's why she settled in the Gate when she left home. Anything Else You'd Like to Share?

She is a pre-canon Ruganfucker. I realize now I called her a Ruganfucker early on and then never brought him up again. They were not continual or long-term.

Luce Drawings: Current Day Luce Casual Hangout

Outfits Answered Asks: Favorite Items

*Favorite Memory

Ideal Home

I can't remember who's been tagged, but tag yourself and say I did it if you want. uwu

[fairly-fairy-shampoo]

“In Every Universe”

⭐️Summary: Everything about your situationship with Yeonjun seemed perfect. There were no rules, no romantic feelings, and you stayed friends. But when jealousy leads to a falling out between the two of you, Yeonjun is forced to look inward and reevaluate his feeling for you as well was what kind of relationship he wants with you. The question is, are his feeling more powerful then fate?

genre: NSFW, FLUFF, ANGST

pairing: yeonjun × fem!reader × Soobin

Warnings: none

Chapter 9

Confidence is something that everyone associates you with. But that wasn't always the case. You were 17 when you started as a trainee. A foreign girl hoping to make it in another country. As anything at that point. A model, an actress, an idol. You didn't care as long as you were front and center. Your dream was to be a person and be involved in the arts no matter what they were. You were always complimented on being kind, easy to get along with, funny, and the one thing you hated the most. Beautiful. That compliment always made you feel worse about yourself. Even as a girl you were always obsessed with the idea of love and romance. Reading stories and watching movies and tv shows with the theme of it. That mixed with your creative imagination (and love of daydreaming and fanfiction LOL) caused you to have what your friends described as an unrealistic view of it. But regardless, all you wanted was to have some beautiful love story. All you friends had one, whether they ended up bad or not they still had it. And yet you never did. No first kiss no, no first boyfriend, no nothing. But you were beautiful. Stunning even. And yet never pursued. Hence why you hated the compliment. It only got worse as you grew older into your teen years developing a quiet figure. Sexy and hot were the ones you heard the most. Giving you the attention you desired but in the wrong format.

School had become too much socially and the idea of applying to college heavy on your mind. When a friend of yours was talking about an audition in the city looking for models, singers, dancers, and actors you thought this would be a good option to see if you’re cut out for this business. Not having much experience in bigger auditions, more of the local stuff (and your school shows) you went to. Preparing how you would for a regular one. Your one mistake was not really researching the company in detail. Nothing seemed shady so you prepared to sing a song and do a monologue.

When the day of the audition came you vividly remember going to the city with your dad, since your mom couldn’t. That was your first problem. Your mother - being a performer herself - always commanded you. You adored your father but he didn’t work in this industry like your mom did. He was claiming then that your mom could come in handy. The whole ride over you kept going over and you material, feeling anxious and scared but also slightly confident. You knew your abilities. And your father always said the grass will still be green, the sky will still be blue, and your family will still love you. Everything felt right as you hopped off the train and walked through the city with your dad and you took the elevator up to the studio floor. But as you opened the door, you immediately felt your stomach drop. It was painfully obvious you were the odd one out. Everyone there was Asian. There wasn’t a single other person here, let alone black. All eyes fell on you as you stood in the door frozen, not sure what to do! Maybe you had the wrong floor? Maybe it was the wrong room? But everything checked out. You felt exposed and like an alien with the way people were looking at you. You felt the tears coming until your father grabbed your hand and gave you a look. A look that said I'm confused too but let's just go. The two of you walked through the sea of people all with numbers and names on their shirts to the fold out table with a lady and a man. You wanted to immediately go to the woman but the way she looked you up and down made you switch to the man with a kind smile. He asked how he could help you and if you were here to audition. You nodded which made the women scoff. He gave her a look and handed you some paperwork to fill out and asked what you were doing for your talent. you responded with singing and acting to which he said…

“Oh? Not modeling ( you shake your head no with a shy smile )...well you’d be perfect. You're very pretty. Just fill this out and come back to hand it in. Then I'll take your picture ( you handed him your headshot ) ohh prepared are we?! Well I'll still have to take your picture and give you a number okay. You'll have two. One for acting and one for singing. Sounds good ?”

You felt a little more at ease but overall giddy he called you pretty. You're sure he had to but he seems so genuine. You ended up waiting a long time just to get into the room. And due to the overflow of people you had to do your vocals and monologue one after the other. They also cut your bars from 32 to 15 which sucked. When you finally got called in you were part of the last group of people. You really had to be good now they were probably exhausted and wanted to go home. As they call in the last group, you hug you dad and he kisses your head and tells you you’re gonna be great, as well as his mantra “the grass will still be green, the sky will still be blue, and your family will still love you.”

You were so anxious you were shaking. Sitting outside the door. Hearing the faint sound of voices singing and acting. Sneakers squeaking against the floor but little to no talking. You held your paperwork close to your chest as you closed your eyes and took deep breaths to distract yourself from the banging in your chest going to your ears.

“Okay you ready?”

The second you opened the door you were met with a table of men looking down at their paperwork speaking in a different language. A young woman who took your paperwork and came to lead you to the X on the floor and smiled walked to a small table left of the big one. There was also a man standing behind a camera. It was quite for a moment as they did not acknowledge you. The woman looked over at the men and cleared her throat, causing them to look up. Their expression quickly changed to shock. You smiled, said hello and stated

“Um hi …My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I'm 17 years old….(silence) “ And given your expression probably not what you were expecting.” You smile and they start to chuckle with you which makes you feel a little more at ease.

The center man, the youngest of the table, starts to ask what you're doing. And you go over your material. You start with your monologue causing them to start laughing a lot. Afterwards you go on with your song. You pull up your tracking music and began singing. Really getting into your emotional headspace and just singing. Feeling every word and riff. By the time you're finished you realize they let you sing the whole song. You come down off your high and look around the silent room, you say thank you and prepare yourself to leave. Like you would normally audition. But then the older men ask two questions. “Can you dance?” “And do you speak Korean?” The first one you answer right away saying that you can learn! And that you're a hard worker. Honesty is not your strong suit but when you learn the choreography you can do it. Now the second question takes you off guard quite a bit and it was evident on your face. “Um no I don’t I'm sorry… Was that a requirement?” One of the older men goes to speak with a disappointed face but the younger one stops him. “No, not at all! Just wondering. Thank you so much, we'll be in touch.” He smiles and you go to shake their hands and leave. But as you head for the door you stop and turn around walking back over to the X.

“I can learn” The men look back up at you. The younger one asking you to repeat yourself. “I said I can learn.”

The first thing you did as you got home was properly look up the audition and company. Your mouth was hanging wide open when you realized there was a Korean performance company. You felt like such an idiot of course they were surprised they were looking for Korean-American to recruit. You’d listened to BTS and listened to K-pop songs here and there but not enough to know about this. You unfortunately heard bad things about the K-pop industry which made you weary. Especially since the company seemed small. Which also makes you wonder why so many people come out for such a small company. But it didn't matter much, there was no way you were getting chosen. You’re not exactly their target audience. Which made the call and email asking to meet with you via video call surprised you. After a few meetings and emails. You were asked to meet in NYC again. They finally revealed that it wasn’t a small company but a smaller branch of a bigger company BIG HIT. You did some research and you knew about them. That was the BTS company. This was a big deal and it was becoming too real. The story was they found you not only talented but very unique and they were looking to set themself apart from other companies. Wanting to Debut a new boy group soon and girl group but instead they thought of a female solo artist instead. This was all exciting but they wanted you to move to Korea to start training.

[kristailine]

On Jun Kazama's personality

I have an on and off recurring tekken / kazujun phase ever since I shipped them when I was 7 years old lol. Whenever this phase occurs, I have the sudden urge to read and re-read all the kazujun fanfics and consume some canon content crumbs.

Besides this, a part of me still finds it difficult to conceptualize Jun's personality that is independent from all her ties with the supernatural and her relationship with Kazuya and Jin. The lack of information on the source material itself really allows for people to interpret her in different ways, mostly by making sense out of implicative instances and subtleties that's written in canon. I noticed the differences in interpretations mostly on fanfics.

Like I have read a ton of kazujun fanfics (fanfiction dot net, ao3, heck even tumblr and some on that dead tekken dojo website that was shut down a few years ago. You name it all) and almost all of them have in some way a very unique characterization of Jun.

Some older works stick with the orthodox, depicting her as like the purest and most tranquil person to have ever graced the Earth who also possesses little to no flaws. She's also often written as innocent and naive but has a strong willpower. I believe this kind of personality of hers was brought about thanks to the Tekken Motion Picture anime wherein Jun is very persistent about freeing Kazuya from his hatred and all that.

Other works that were made in the mid 2000s until early 2010s give her a little more dimension by making her a bit more playful and adventurous. Just like what a 22 year old woman would be (now I can somehow relate to this because I finally reached that early 20s age too and all I wanna do is explore and have fun in life).

It's not such an out of character kind of characterization to Jun when she's always been depicted as someone who's pure and tranquil. In fact, I do find this an interesting layer on her personality. Like imagine living in a remote island in Japan, learning martial arts, then probably relocating to the capital to study college (??) and get a job and become a wildlife officer then to join a freaking fighting tournament and become attracted to a man who's literally got the devil inside of him. Like if that does not scream adventurous to you then better read all that again. Miss girlie lived many lives lol. So I believe Jun being adventurous is not at all that oc, and it also adds to her fearless persona as it can be seen that she can manage change and foreign situations well (which also makes more sense how she even managed to bear with Kazuya)

Moving onto the more contemporary projections of Jun's personality as what I have observed in the mid 2010s to present fanfics. There's a theme in making her much more mature, kind of like someone who is very attuned to the ways of life. But despite that, they also show more of her humane side and her flaws (kind of like the opposite of how she's written in older fic works).

Now, I think this huge shift in how she's interpreted is because of the Tekken 6 monologue wherein Kazuya talks briefly about Jun. Then we also have Jun in TTT2. Lastly, I think Tekken Bloodline also played a role in solidifying this mature Jun personality (but to be fair tho, Jun's already a mother who's been raising her 15 year old son as a single parent on that show. I guess it's just appropriate that she becomes mature).

Anyway, I'm on this talk because all the interpreted Jun personality varies a lot and kind of clashes with one another. I only ever just realized how much I know nothing about Jun when I tried writing kazujun fanfics and realized how Jun's internal monologue keeps on having tone changes as if she isn't one person. Kinda felt like my interpretation of her is influenced by all the aforementioned personalities that I have observed in fanfics, but they all kinda clash so I need to straighten this out and try to flesh her out more so I can continue writing my drafts.

However, I do find it interesting that although the fandom really isn't given that much information about Jun, it's still very entertaining to see how different people would write and play her out in fanfics.

Tekken 8 better deliver a backstory about Jun hopefully, and also some good storytelling as well. Supporters of the franchise are long overdue with quality storytelling that provides answers to the many mysteries that surround Tekken. Most especially Jun because of her disappearance.

[celira]

(this marks the end of using days 1-6 of Whumptober to write a very rough TLT 5+1 draft - thanks for following along! guesses about the overarching theme are welcome, too. it'll be probably less consistent posting &/or a multifandom grab bag from here on out) +1/5+1

An object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an unbalanced force, Camilla thought to herself, echoing some long-forgotten Scholar, and then, more fancifully, and balance is in short supply. She had been off-balance since the moment they received the ostentatious paper invitation from the First, though, and persevered nonetheless. That she should be so derailed now felt frankly ridiculous.

But here she was, all the same, lying on the threadbare couch of the strange apartment she’d newly moved into with unlikely companions for ease of access to formerly-enemy collaborators on a foreign planet, unable to lift her head. 

Her body, it seemed, wanted to retread old ground, as if the act of doing so would offer recompense for indelible wounds or could shield her from the same in the future. Lies, and not even ones that offered any great solace, but ones difficult to override. There was ersatz-Dulcinea, fluttering her eyelashes at the Ninth cavalier as the Warden turned to hide a wince. Abigail Pent’s still form. The half-inch her right foot slid in the wrong direction as Cytherea’s construct bore down on her. There was every opportunity Camilla had to press a little further, dig that much deeper, work harder.

She was peering down this mental wormhole so intently that she didn’t hear one of the unlikely companions come in.

“Hect,” said Pyrrha. “I haven’t seen you leave that spot in an hour. What gives?”

“Irrationality,” Camilla said dryly. 

“Say more,” was the reply. Camilla looked up. The red-capped head above her seemed politely curious, even in the face of her deadpan response.

She paused, rolling the thought around in her head, and then blurted, “It’s been a year since we – were…found at Canaan House.”

“I get it,” Pyrrha replied, and Camilla found that sentiment more believable than she expected. “I really do. It should have been me, too. Catch.”

Camilla automatically raised her hands to intercept the object flying toward her face, reflexes superseding thought, and found herself examining the antique object before she’d fully registered it should have been me, too. The other woman continued:

“Listen. You’ve been running on fumes. Now that you two have moved your House, set them up with BoE, used up possibly all the flimsy and paper I’ve seen you touch, you need to regroup. We have a strange kiddie to figure out and this cell to work from, and I’m here in it. You don’t need to do things the hard way all the time. We’ll never get through this in one piece otherwise. Okay?”

Without waiting for a response to this impromptu monologue, she turned and left as unceremoniously as she’d come.

We, Pyrrha’d said. Camilla wondered at the static tingle of strange warmth, discomfiting in its unfamiliarity, and thought that there might be a singular disorientation to being understood by someone similar to you. She thought of Pyrrha’s unerring support in the whirlwind of days that followed the disastrous Cohort encounter: her knowledge of inter-system communication arrays, her facilitation of contact with the Sixth, her stoicism in the face of Blood of Eden’s persistent, smouldering hostility.  A commander, a dogged survivor – and a cavalier through and through.

She stared at the recorder in her hand.

For the better part of a year, she’d been fueled by more belief than reason, driven Now that their plans were starting to gain momentum, now that the veil separating her and the Warden was – not surmountable, still, maybe not even strictly bearable, but perhaps more manageable – perhaps she didn’t need to keep reexamining her mistakes, taking them out of their specimen drawer and turning them over and over again. Perhaps this was the beginning of a return to form.

Cam raised the box to her lips, and pressed the red button at the end. “Warden?”

Perhaps she could start to believe that they were on the right track.

[hanasnx]

anakin and riyo have been separated for a while. long enough for riyo to find love in another, engaged to be wed.

anakin knows. he knows that she can’t possibly care for him the same way she did anakin. there’s nothing passionate, or carnal about their relationship. when he’s seen them together, it’s grossly formal. suffocating, even. he can’t handle a woman like that, can’t handle her the way anakin can.

as her jedi escort, he’s at her side even during their search for their venue. and when the ordained solely speaks an unexpected and foreign language, it’s up to anakin to translate. he explains throughout the monologue how the wedding will commence, he stands in front of riyo— much like a groom— and talks them both through it.

“you—“ he gestures to the husband-to-be, “will be asked to say ���i do.’ and now riyo, your turn.” he looks to her expectantly, and riyo is obedient when she repeats it.

“i do.”

“you’ll be asked to produce a ring.” he tells the fiancé, and sifts one made of twine from his breast pocket. “and you’ll slip it onto her finger, like so.” he offers his hand, and riyo takes it. he can see in her eyes that she’s lost in the moment as he slides the twine over her delicate knuckles. “and you’ll be united as…” he meets her gaze, his voice softening. “husband and wife.” a dream she used to have about him, that has suffered long and hard through his jedi-ship, only to be decimated until their eventual separation.

when they find a minute alone, she confesses that she believes herself to be making a mistake. that she’s reconsidering the professional partnership between herself and her fiancé. anakin approaches her, an easy smile on his complexion.

“i know. that’s why i’ve taken care of everything.”

“what? what do you mean?”

“that was a real minister. riyo, we’re united. you said so yourself, ‘i do.’”

[darcyolsson]

today its kings day here in the netherlands and some woman whose necklace i bought gave me a whole monologue on foreign coins and she was strangely persuasive why do I want to collect all the different euro coins now