#one!!! singular door!!!!!! that remains a mystery!

[solidssnakeass]

construction in progress.......................

[bun-lapin]

Confessions

Summary: Idia confesses his love to you.

A/N: Third one shot finished! I was very sick with a summer cold while I wrote this so I hope everything makes sense. I also got very carried away with the banter and so I had to cut some dialogue to keep it to my desired work length. I hope someday I can share those deleted scenes with you all~!

Confessions series: Rook, Kalim, Idia, Floyd, Vil, Silver, Leona, Trey / AO3

Your steps hit the pale marble flooring with singular purpose. Their crisp echoes spin away from your feet, only to ricochet off of towering columns and scatter up towards a vaulted ceiling. The hallways of Ignihyde are empty and bright, lit up by informational monitors and the mysterious hum of technomancy. The air inside the dormitory is pleasantly cool and feels almost sterilized with its lack of scent. You stride past countless rooms, ignoring the few rare muffled conversations that seep out from under the occasional door.

You stop at a door identical to every other door you’ve passed so far. Reaching out, you briskly knock on the door and announce, “Idia! Open up! I’ve got an emergency!”

A few beats of silence tick by before you hear the sound of reluctant, shuffling feet moving towards you. The door slowly creaks open, just barely wide enough for a single, morose yellow eye and one half of a radiantly pale face to peer out at you.

Wordlessly, you hold up your smartphone for Idia to see. Its current state could be best described in just one word: annihilated.

Idia swings the door open completely and stares down at the remains of your phone in abject horror, sputtering, “What the-! How-? What were you trying to do?! Vaporize your phone or something?!”

Handing over your former communication device, you step into the room and tiredly reply, “Several crucial mistakes were made today. Can you fix it?”

Idia’s face breaks into a wide, smug grin. He closes the bedroom door with a prideful scoff and boasts, “Like that’s even a question. Can I fix it? That’s undeniable! Too EZ. I could fix something like this with both eyes closed and my hands behind my back!”

You make your way over towards a tall bookshelf on the far side of the room and grin back at him, “Well that’s good news for me then! I’ll be over here perusing your manga collection while you get to work.”

Idia sighs wearily as he sets himself down in front of a worktable covered in various tools and hardware. “So business as usual I guess,” he mutters gloomily but from the corner of your eye, you manage to catch sight of the smallest of smiles flashing across his face.

As Idia sets up the necessary materials and begins his assignment, you trace your finger down the length of the bookshelf, scanning titles and making future reading selections. An interestingly named one catches your eye and you carefully retrieve it from its place on the shelf. With today’s selection in hand, you amble over to Idia’s worktable, seat yourself in a comfortable chair next to his, and begin reading.

Several minutes of easy silence pass by, periodically punctuated by the ambient sounds of lightly clicking repair work and the soft turning of pages. The two of you continue your parallel activities in this way for a few more minutes before you suddenly hear a short, quiet laugh from Idia.

You glance up curiously from your reading and ask, “Something funny?”

Idia does not stop or look up from his task but he smiles softly. He admits in a slightly bemused voice, “I was just thinking that this feels nice. This familiar scene, with you reading next to me while I work on a project. I never thought I'd get so comfortable with you barging into my room whenever you wanted."

You raise your eyebrows playfully and ask in a gently teasing tone, “Oh? So does that mean you used to feel uncomfortable with my visits?”

Idia turns his head to face you with an exaggerated look of retroactive disbelief and exclaims, “Understatement of the century! I was definitely super uncomfortable with your interruptions in the beginning and I believe I distinctly remember telling you to never come back on several separate occasions.”

“Yeah but you let me back in every single time afterwards,” you quip back with a self-satisfied grin.

“Well, of course. You wanted to read my manga,” Idia states frankly as he turns back to his work. “I don’t lend out my books to people I don’t know super well. If I don’t know your reading style, then reading my books requires my direct supervision!”

“Well you know my reading style now,” you say gesturing broadly to the careful and considerate way you hold the book you are currently reading. “Do you trust me enough to lend me a book now?”

Idia seems to suddenly freeze at the sound of your last question. With a hand poised elegantly in the air, clutching a small tool, he would look every bit like a beautiful statue if it weren’t for the slight flickering movement of his soft blue hair. Turning with almost excruciating slowness, he takes the book from your hands in a gentle and deliberate action and grabs a nearby bookmark to place inside before finally closing and placing it face down on the table.

Idia turns his chair so that his body is completely facing you but his eyes are cast down and to the side, still on the book. A breath of silence passes between the two of you before he finally speaks in a carefully measured voice.

"I do trust you. I completely and utterly trust you. But I'll never lend you any of my books because I want you to keep reading them here next to me."

Idia turns his head and looks into your eyes. There’s still the ever present, tired hesitation weighing down his brows, but you see something else in his face, never seen before. In his bright yellow eyes shines a fiery determination, fueled by newly realized desire.

You gaze silently into Idia’s eyes, almost hypnotized. An eternity seems to pass by in seconds like this until Idia suddenly throws his pale, thin hands over his face. You blink rapidly in surprise at the abrupt end to the moment. With fingers pressed tightly against his face, Idia’s voice comes out muffled and anxious.

“I need to tell you something really important but it might be kinda cringe? And I don’t think I have the nerve to say it out loud with you looking at me so can you please close your eyes? And also can you promise not to laugh at anything I say?”

Even though Idia can’t see you with his hands completely covering his face, you smile softly at him and state in a reassuring voice, “I promise not to laugh and I’ll close my eyes.”

With your eyes closed tight, you listen to the faint rustling of his clothes as he hesitantly lowers his arms and you hear the slight creaking of his chair, as if he is leaning himself towards you. Suddenly, you feel an ambient warmth on the side of your face and realize Idia has moved in closer to whisper into your ear. A faint feeling like feather softness swipes over your cheek and you think it must be some of Idia’s hair, flickering luxuriously against your skin like incense smoke. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low murmur against your ear.

"When I leave my room, all the whispers I hear behind my back and the stares I see from the corner of my eye... It's like harsh noise and screeching static to me. It’s overwhelming,”

Idia’s voice drops even quieter and you can almost feel his soft breath on your face as he draws a little closer, "But when I'm with you everything goes quiet. When I'm with you I feel safe."

For a few moments, the only sound in the room is the sound of the two of you breathing. The soft sound of air falling up and down weaves over and onto itself almost like calming music. Then Idia lets out a shuddering sigh, the air from his lips brushing over your skin like cool silk, and the silence melts away under his low voice.

"I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Thinking about you. When I open my eyes in the morning, I immediately think of you. When I close my eyes at night, it's your face I see. I think what this all must mean, what I’ve just now realized, is that I love you."

Your eyes fly open in surprise and you whip your head to the side to look at Idia, acting purely on instinct. His face is so close to yours, the tip of his nose almost brushes against yours. His eyes grow wide and bright from shock but he doesn’t pull away from you. Idia opens his mouth but all that comes out is a kind of strangled gasp. You read the question he can’t seem to ask, written all over his pale and unquiet face.

“Do you love me too?”

[sapphicromanoffxo]

Branding You | n.r x w.m

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Word count: 4.4k+

Warnings: Ghostface stalker!Nat, attempted assault (not from either Nat or Wanda), strap on use, mention of knife (I kinda don't know how to write a knife play yet so it's not here), praise kink, degradation, oral sex

Summary: Wanda is haunted by an elusive scent with an unknown origin. A chance encounter with a red-haired stranger, who bears the same fragrance, intertwines their destinies in a romantic yet dangerous twist of fate.

╰┈➤ Masterlist

The haunting power of scent, some claim, possesses the ability to transport us to distant memories or familiar individuals. It's not just the singular aroma of a perfume, but a blend of fragrances that make it unique and special.

For Wanda, though, identifying the exact origin or source of the scent she encounters everywhere proves challenging. It's a curious mix of vanilla, lavender, and an acrid tang of cigarette smoke; sometimes the aroma of coffee comes into the mix every now and then. Although the components seem to change every time, the lingering essence of vanilla and smoke remains constant.

Perhaps it's the vanilla and coffee used in her favorite cafe, which gives her the essence of warmth and sweetness with a twinge of bitterness, or the frequent whiff of lavender from the nearby flower shop that gives off the feeling of tranquillity and calmness. But where does the hint of smoke fit in? She concludes that it may be from the bustling streets of New York, where she passes by people engaged in a bad habit that pollutes the air.

The smell of smoke is an unwelcome element of the mixture for Wanda. She is never a fan of smoking because she thinks it's a form of silent suicide. But this certain scent has intertwined itself in her life and she has no way of eliminating it. Her mind is overwhelmed, trying to decipher this daily aroma. It has become the first thing that greets her upon opening her apartment door, enveloping her in a sensation that connects her to a place she's never visited, a person she's never known and a mystery that is yet to be discovered.

Wanda's routine visit to the nearby cafe for her go-to morning coffee turned significant one day. Engrossed in her phone while queuing up, she suddenly caught a lingering scent that had haunted her senses for weeks. Momentarily distracted, she scanned the cafe, not in search of anything specific. What caught her eye was the back of a figure heading towards the exit. The woman, clad entirely in black attire with a leather jacket and likely donning Doc Martens, showcased striking red hair swaying with every step. Wanda found herself inexplicably drawn to observe the woman until she vanished through the cafe's door. Intrigued by this unexpected captivation, Wanda couldn't help but ponder how someone could instantly command her attention, only to fade from her thoughts moments later.

Wanda has been consumed by thoughts of the redheaded woman for weeks. It's the first time someone has piqued her interest so quickly, even without any interaction. She yearns for just a glimpse of the woman's face or a hint of her profile. Wanda constantly scans her surroundings, hoping to catch sight of her again, but each day passes fruitlessly without finding her. She sighs and tries to move on with life, feeling a void she can't seem to fill.

On a rare occasion, Wanda found herself at a club in the wee hours, indulging in alcoholic drinks. In the midst of the dancefloor, she let herself go, dancing freely, a side her friends hadn't seen before. Encouraged by their shock and amusement, Wanda unveiled her hidden wild side. Normally an introvert, she recently sought to explore life's offerings, both good and bad.

Amidst the endless shots and the alcohol coursing through her, she surrendered herself further into music, her pulse racing with each beat. Unbeknownst to her, an unknown figure observed her every move, silently watching and ready to pounce at any minute.

As the alcohol's effects faded, leaving Wanda and her friends a bit dizzy, they chose to end the night. Their designated driver dropped them off one by one, with Wanda being the third. She asked to be let off at the corner of the block, a three minute walk or so to her apartment, to avoid the hassle of driving back to the main road.

It was 3:40 AM when Wanda found herself wandering through the dimly lit street. Although nothing seemed suspicious, she noticed an unknown person following her. Sensing a lurking presence through an instinctive feeling, she bravely turned around to check, but found no one behind her except herself. Despite this, her nerves remained on edge, her heart racing erratically. With hurried steps, she pressed on, eager to reach the safety of her apartment's confines.

The air held a slight chill, yet she couldn't discern if the shivers wracking her body stemmed from the cold or the persistent anxiety since her friends dropped her off. Suddenly, someone lunged at her, causing her to stumble back and fall to the ground, unleashing a scream into the open air.

Wanda's mind raced in multiple directions, torn between staying on the ground or darting out onto the street to scream for help. Knowing she had to act before the situation escalated, she scrambled to her feet, but the assailant seized her left foot, halting her escape. Reacting instinctively, Wanda used her right leg to kick, but the person seemed unfazed by the force. As the struggle ensued, the assailant maintained a grip on her feet, contorting her body in an uncomfortable manner, rendering escape impossible.

"Hey!" A voice echoed through the street, causing both Wanda and the assailant to turn toward the newcomer. But from that moment onward, Wanda's vision blurred, possibly due to the lingering alcohol or the rush of adrenaline from her terrifying situation.

Amid her hazy sight, she discerned two figures, their struggle punctuated by grunts and the sound of blows exchanged. One body slammed forcefully onto the ground, accompanied by the unmistakable crack of a bone. The assailant ended up face-first, sporting a busted nose and bloody lips.

Shock finally caught up with Wanda as she crawled backward, trying to process the bewildering scene before her. Her attention shifted to the person subduing the attacker, hearing them speak. "Do you know stalking a woman in the dark is a bad thing?"

Suddenly, Wanda was struck by a realisation that jolted her senses. Her rescuer, she noticed in an instant, was a redhead. The odds of encountering the very person she had been searching for over weeks seemed improbable. She's quite positive that she is the same redhead that she saw at the cafe. Bathed in the ray of the street lights, the woman's silhouette possessed a captivating allure that ignited Wanda's imagination.

Clad in a red leather jacket, black ripped jeans, and Doc Marten boots, the woman exuded a striking presence, her attire accentuating her already imposing height. Wanda's gaze fixated on her side profile, every contour an embodiment of artistry. The woman's cheekbones seemed meticulously sculpted by the most masterful hands ever to grace the earth.

Her nose, a delicate bridge leading to lips with a plushness that spoke of stories untold, seamlessly merged in a mesmerizing way. Wanda's silent admiration was abruptly interrupted by the woman's voice. "Hey. Are you alright? You seem to be in shock. Can you stand up for me?"

Wanda gazed at the offered hand and grasped it, allowing the stranger to assist her in standing up. "Y-yes. I'm okay," she stammered, cringing inwardly at her clumsy response. Her mind seemed to falter, overwhelmed by the reality of facing this remarkable woman who had fearlessly leaped in to aid her.

"He's unconscious now. I need to call 911, report this incident, and have him put to jail," the woman stated, her voice carrying a deep, husky timbre that resonated within Wanda. She found herself nodding dumbly at each word uttered by her rescuer. In a whirlwind of emotions, she felt a surge of confusion, wondering if she had hit her head during the altercation, but she reasoned that her erratic behavior might stem from the recent attack and the effects of alcohol. Her thoughts whirled in disarray, shifting from fear of her attacker to a sense of elation brought on by her savior.

Minutes passed in a hazy blur as Wanda witnessed the arrival of the cops, their questions a jumble she struggled to comprehend. The redhead intervened, explaining the situation on her behalf. As the interrogation concluded and the assailant was cuffed, the officers departed, offering a ride home, which the redhead politely declined, citing that they were near their apartment. Wanda didn't even notice what had been said, didn't even wonder how the woman could have guessed that.

Alone at last, the woman spoke again. "Are you ready to go home? I'll walk you there to ensure you arrive safely."

"I'd appreciate that, thank you," Wanda replied, straightening up from her slouched position, her focus on the redhead leading the way. "May I ask your name?"

The woman chuckled, amusement evident in her question. "You're still drunk, aren't you? Didn't even catch my name when I mentioned it to the cops. But for your benefit, I'm Natasha."

Wanda felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks as she lowered her gaze, a mixture of excitement and shyness washing over her. "Well, you probably heard my name from the cops, but I'm Wanda."

The walk to Wanda's apartment passed without incident, yet she yearned for a few more moments in Natasha's company. "I wanted to ask if I could take you out for coffee sometime? You saved me, and I honestly don't know what would've happened if you hadn't stepped in to help."

Natasha's smile seemed to radiate beyond Wanda's comprehension, igniting a fluttering sensation in her chest similar to a stampede of a thousand lions or attackers, much like the recent encounter.

"Coffee? I can't turn that down."

Thrilled by Natasha's response, Wanda suggested exchanging numbers, promising to text her to arrange their coffee... date?

Two days post-incident, they had their coffee date and have been texting non-stop ever since. Wanda's feeling like her high school self, giddy over every bit of attention from her crush. Natasha's shameless flirting has Wanda on cloud nine, unable to resist.

Wanda found out Natasha owns the cafe she frequents before work and the same one that they are in, leading her to realize why she's seen the redhead there. She chose not to mention her search for Natasha since that day, not wanting to come off as creepy.

She also noticed Natasha's distinct scent, one that's followed her everywhere. Wanda attributed it to Natasha being the cafe owner, a blend of vanilla, coffee, and smoke that has her infatuated, craving to be near Natasha, almost wishing the scent would linger on her own skin.

Their dates spanned from nights at Wanda's place watching movies to rides on Natasha's bike, aimlessly driving until dusk to catch the city lights. Most days found them in Natasha's cafe, engrossed in hours-long conversations, both eager to delve deeper into each other's worlds. Throughout these passing weeks, Natasha never initiated a kiss, leaving Wanda increasingly frustrated. Natasha, like a gentleman, prioritized her comfort, guiding her with a hand on her back as they walked. Wanda cherished these small gestures from Natasha, prompting her decision to take their relationship to the next level.

After dropping Wanda off at her apartment door, Natasha was invited inside but had to decline, citing the need to return to the shop to oversee the closing duties. Just as Natasha was about to leave, Wanda seized her wrist and gently guided her in with her other hand, planting an unexpected kiss on Natasha's lips. The kiss started out slow, gauging each other's reaction then escalated to a full blown make out session in a matter of seconds.

"Fuck. I've been wanting to do that, detka." Natasha gasped, catching her breath after an intense moment at Wanda's doorway.

"You kept me waiting, so I took matters into my own hands." Wanda smirked, leaning in for another passionate kiss.

As they parted, both women steadied their breaths. Natasha's eyes were hooded, a dangerous intensity sparked by Wanda's soft moans. Wanda can almost see how Natasha restrained herself from diving right back in and kissng her senseless.

"I need to leave. See you tomorrow, alright?" Natasha leaned in for another kiss, soft and tender, her hands gripping Wanda's waist affectionately.

Biting her lower lip, Wanda traced Natasha's jawline down to her chin. "Call me when you're home, okay?"

"You're quite the tease," Natasha's voice lowered, adding to Wanda's excitement.

Natasha had left her apartment, leaving Wanda to her own devices. Surveying her apartment, she detected a trace of Natasha's scent that seemed to linger, despite it being present even before they met. It seemed like the scent had been branded on her skin. Puzzled by this, Wanda pondered its origin, realizing there might be no immediate answers. Choosing to tidy up before bed, she glimpsed the lavender bouquet gifted by Natasha on her way to the bathroom. Reflecting on Natasha's enigmatic nature, Wanda felt a magnetic pull, a desire to unravel every aspect of Natasha, from the smallest facts about her to the biggest secret she could hide.

Approaching midnight, Wanda wrestled with restlessness in her bed, anxiously awaiting Natasha's call, presuming she wasn't home yet despite the late hour. Beyond concern for Natasha's whereabouts, Wanda found herself reflecting on their dating experience. Recalling moments where Natasha displayed an uncanny knowledge of her life, from effortlessly navigating to her workplace without directions to casually mentioning her favorite nail polish and preemptively ordering her preferred dish at a European restaurant, Wanda initially dismissed these incidents. However, now, the significance of Natasha's insights weighed heavily on her. It became clear that these instances weren't mere chance occurrences; Natasha inexplicably knew intimate details about her despite her not mentioning those things. Wanda grappled with the thought, how could Natasha know things about her?

Wanda's contemplation was interrupted as she heard the knob to her main door turned. Alert and heart racing, she dashed out of her room, immediately fearing a potential robbery. Scanning the area, she found nothing visibly wrong, but the unease lingered; a lurking burglar could strike at any moment. Recollecting she owned a baseball bat for self-defense, Wanda hurried back to her room. Retrieving the bat and turning around, she was startled by another presence, a masked figure carrying a knife on her left hand.

Wanda held out her bat and thought of ways on how to escape her room. But how can she escape when the masked figure is right there on her doorway. As the person advanced toward her with an intimidating stride, her trembling intensified. Acting on instinct, she swung the bat, but the figure deftly caught it, disarming her. Realizing her vulnerability, Wanda attempted to flee her room, but two powerful hands swiftly grabbed and wrapped her midsection, preventing her escape.

"Let go of me!" Wanda protested, squirming in a futile attempt to break free from the hold. Her captor silenced her with a hand over her mouth, yet she persisted in struggling despite the slim chances of breaking away.

The masked figure flung her onto the bed, intensifying Wanda's fear. Seated on her thighs, trapping and preventing her from leaping off the bed.

"I have been following you, watching every move," the distorted voice echoed.

Wanda briefly halted her struggles, her heart racing incessantly, scanning the figure above her. Apart from the looming mask, the body on top of her appeared to be lithe, yet possessed an unyielding grip. She can't quite decipher why she is not panicking and screaming at the top of her lungs, crying for help. Instead, the masked figure released her mouth, sensing Wanda's confusion.

"Who are you?" Wanda asked in a breathless manner, anticipating the revelation that would unfold only if the person would opt to reveal themselves.

The ensuing silence unsettled Wanda as her captor leaned closer, appearing to scrutinise her. Suddenly, a hand trailed across her clothed abdomen, creeping upward to her left breast, applying a gentle pressure. Startled, Wanda jolted from her reverie, resuming her struggle and protesting, "Get off me! Get off me!"

The other person has subdued Wanda by pinning both of her wrists on top of her head using a belt that was removed from their waist, "If you stay still and be a good girl, I promise I'm going to make you feel good."

"No, no! I don't want you! Please, get off me!" Wanda pleaded.

"It's just me, baby. I thought you wanted me so bad."

The smug tone of the masked person seemed so familiar.

"N-Natasha?" Wanda asked with disbelief.

"That's right, darling," Both of Natasha's fingertips traced over Wanda's taut abdomen, leaving goosebumps on the brunette's skin.

"What are you doing?" Wanda's voice trembled and attempted to reach Natasha's face, "Why are you doing this?"

"You've been on my mind ever since I saw you," Natasha has lifted Wanda's sweatshirt up to her chest, exposing the delicious tits that she had been admiring for a long time. "I bet you didn't know I placed a camera right here in your bedroom. Watching every move."

To say that Wanda is terrified at Natasha's confession is an understatement. All this time, Natasha knew about her and she's a clueless dumb little girl. Her breath quickens at every second that ticks while she's laying beneath this hell of a woman.

"What are you talking about? That's not true!"

"I can't get you out of my head. I had to do it. I needed, no, fuck, I wanted to own you." Natasha wishepered on her ear. She then removed her mask and placed it on top of the bed, close to reach. Her eyes carried a dangerous intention, making Wanda whine from the intensity of the stare.

"Seeing and touching your gorgeous fucking tits is better than watching them from a screen." Natasha leaned down to suck on Wanda's nipple, biting, rolling it gently while kneading the other one with her hand aggressively.

A moan escaped from Wanda's mouth, much to her surprise. She cannot fathom whether she will let herself succumb to this torturous pleasure or run with it. But fuck it, she wanted Natasha in any way possible.

"Aren't you a pretty little thing? You like this, huh? I bet your pussy is wet for me. Would you like me to check?"

"Please, no." Wanda whined even more and shook her head, embarrassed by her body's reaction from Natasha's ministrations.

"No? But I can feel you squeezing your thighs. Trying to hide your arousal, sweetheart?" And with that, Natasha got up and kneeled on the side of Wanda's bed, facing the clothed pussy. "This pussy is mine."

In a swift motion, Wanda's boxers came off and slid through her legs. She closed her thighs at an instant, feeling vulnerable at Natasha's hungry stare.

"Natasha, please!"

"Please, what? I can make this icky feeling disappear, baby. Come on! Don't make me angry!"

Natasha's threat somehow got into Wanda's brain and obediently opened her legs. And she was right, Wanda is dripping. Her arousal is evident with the way her pussy is glistening.

Wanda's breath hitched the moment Natasha's tongue touched her throbbing core. Natasha's warming it up with gentle, kitten licks from the bottom to circling the tip of her sensitive clit. These continued movements earned a deep moan from Wanda, silently pleading and praying for more.

The slow, broad licks of Natasha's tongue proved to be Wanda's undoing. She knew that this sinful act is way better than the times she touched herself, fantasising about Natasha doing the unspeakable things to her.

Natasha's method alternated between licking the clit with precision by using the tip of her tongue to sucking the entirety of Wanda's pussy, making her arch her back from the intense pleasure that was cursing through her body.

"F-fuck! Ahhh—faster!"

Wanda was startled with how her body was reacting effortlessly to Natasha and her brain was in constant push and pull whether this pleasure is a welcome touch on her senses. But what can she lose? She badly wanted Natasha and could barely keep it together. She decided right then to let herself melt on the wave of pleasure and to not overthink her current situation. The coil in her stomach snapped at an instant, welcoming the surge of intense earth-shattering orgasm that made her thrash on top of the bed, legs shaking violently.

Natasha let Wanda ride through her orgasm by slow strokes of her tongue, easing her into a relaxed manner. Although she had a smirk on her facing, feeling triumphant at Wanda's fucked out appearance. She reached up and caressed Wanda's cheek lovingly.

"What a good girl you are, Wanda."

After regaining her breath, Wanda soaked in Natasha's praise, a pleased smile lighting up her face. She gazed at Natasha and leaned in for a kiss. Their kiss was brimming with an intense passion and an insatiable desire, longing to unleash itself in the most fervent and unrestrained manner imaginable. It was a slow, deliberate meeting of lips that carried within it a fiery yearning, desperate to be set free in an eruption of fervour.

"I want to fuck you. I will make you reach places which you thought never existed within you," Natasha growled at her ears. "Lay on your stomach."

The command came in a gentle manner, but Wanda understood not to hesitate, immediately positioning herself exactly as instructed without a second thought. She felt Natasha behind her and her upper back was pushed on the bed, while her ass was hoisted further up.

Wanda glanced at the side of her room and caught a view of herself from the mirror. Her back is arched at a perfect angle, laying flat on her stomach and her ass is aligned with Natasha's crotch. Her wrists are still bound by a belt and were stretched out on top of her head. She then saw that Natasha had removed her pants and what was left on her was a harness that is strapped intricately on her waist, and the faux cock is hanging proudly in the middle of her buttcheeks.

Naturally, Wanda's eyes widened at the sight of Natasha. The redhead had opted to remove her top as well, leaving her bare breasts for Wanda to see. She wanted to reach out and feel them with her own hands, perhaps she can perform all of her fantasies at a later time, only if Natasha allows her to do it.

"You're so goddamn sexy, Wanda. I don't know how I was able to keep it this long," Natasha's hands travelled over the expanse of Wanda's back, and gave a loud smack on her left buttcheek. "I'll fuck you, so, so good."

Natasha aligned the tip of her cock at Wanda's entrance and slowly pushed in. There was little to no resistance since Wanda is well lubricated with her own wetness. But the stretch of the toy inside was overwhelming Wanda's senses.

"Fuck! It's too big. It won't fit!" Wanda said in a panicked haze.

"Oh baby," Natasha falsely comforted Wanda's worry and caressed the back of her head. "Then I'll have to push harder for it to fit, yeah?"

Natasha silenced Wanda's protest by shoving her head down further onto the pillow, stifling both her groans and pleas.

"You're going to fucking take it!" Each word was punctuated with deep, hard, backbreaking thrusts, making the bed squeak from the repetitive moment.

Wanda's silent muffled noise can be heard simultaneously with the sound of Natasha's brutal pounding. Gasping for air, she struggled to turn her head, desperate for a breath while also trying to catch a glimpse of her surroundings.

Natasha bundled Wanda's hair in her hand and pulled her to her chest abruptly "See, baby? It fits in your tight little pussy."

Mouth agaped, and eyes rolled back, Wanda nodded dumbly, letting herself be fucked throroughly. She can't remember sex being this good, but good God, Natasha knew what she's doing. True to her words, Wanda indeed reached places she thought never existed. Each brutal pound transports her to a different dimension, opening up portals for agonizing sensation and pleasure.

"My pretty little slut to ruin," Natasha murmured to her ear. "You like being fucked like this, huh?"

"Yes! Oh god! Harder, please!"

Wanda felt Natasha's breast hitting her back and their bodies' closeness somehow grounds her. And oh, that unique scent of Natasha filled her senses, intensifying her desire to be immersed in Natasha's presence. The blend of vanilla and cigarette smoke seemed to be a metaphor for Natasha's personality— soft, sweet, and kind-hearted. Yet be the kind of person who will break into her apartment with an intent of fucking her to oblivion. She felt loved and at the same time violated, questioning her own sanity at how easily she could melt like a puddle at Natasha's undeniable allure.

"Natasha, I-I'm gonna c-cum!" Wanda cried out at how fast approaching her orgasm was and Natasha doubled her efforts into bringing her into another climax.

"Cum on my cock, you slut." Natasha's encouragement opened Wanda's floodgates that made her wildly thrash against her chest, screaming her name as the orgasm paralyzed her fucked out senses.

Exhausted, Wanda collapsed on her bed, her head turned to the side, breathing heavily. Natasha pulled out the strap and laid beside her.

Natasha gazed at Wanda's face, patiently awaiting her calmness and awareness of her surroundings. "You did so good, baby."

A smile graced Wanda's face, prompting her to lean in for a sweet and gentle kiss with Natasha. The kind of soft touch that both women needed after an intense activity. Despite being tired and on the verge of sleep, Wanda still looked remarkably beautiful in Natasha's eyes.

"Planning to doze off on me, Princess?" Natasha teased her lover.

"No!" Wanda replied defiantly, scrambling to her feet and straddling Natasha's waist.

Wanda bit her lip seductively, contemplating what she's going to say next, "Why don't you wear your mask again while I ride you?"

"Hmm, did I hear that right? Are you sure you're not too tired?" Natasha teased Wanda again and pinched her nipple, checking if she was serious on her suggestion because she's ready.

Wanda playfully nodded, grabbing the ghost mask beside them and putting it on Natasha's head. She loved how Natasha's eyes sparkled dangerously while lowering the mask which made her pussy throb even more.

"Do you still have your camera set up here at the moment?" Wanda asked while she positioned herself atop Natasha.

"Yes."

Feeling satisfied, Wanda sank down and moaned at the familiar stretch.

"Good, 'cause I'm going to fuck myself with your cock all night long."

Like, comments, and reblogs are welcome. :)

[sreyaya]

Behind Closed Doors

Modern!Norton Campbell x Cam girl!Reader NSFW

content warnings: usage of toys, singular smut, plot with smut (as in before and after the smut there's another plot), 1.4K words, MDNI

(A/n: this part is solely based on Nortyy's story. I'll write down a following part for reader's story soon *if this one gets enough love kekeke)

smut under the cut!

In the bustling corridors of the company, amidst the hum of productivity and the clink of machinery, stood Norton Campbell, a well-known perhaps most influencing figure around. Running the inherited mining company after his own dad had became too venerable, trusting him fully with everything in it.

The ravenette defied every stereotype of an entitled heir. He was a man of diligence, courtesy, and most importantly a gentlemen. From simple gestures such as, opening the doors for everyone, holding out the employee elevator for food delivery to use, or maybe just greeting everyone a 'good morning' with that cheekish smile.

But as imperfect as everyone is, behind closed doors, the strikingly handsome young man dabbles with his own dubious interests. When the burdens of running a company weighs his shoulder down, the monthly subscription he had paid for his favourite cam girls saves his day.

When a friend of a friend introduced him firstly towards the newly profound entertainment, he sternly disapprove of them, deeming such indulgences 'disrespectful' but when he came across one that strikes all his kinky sides off, all his resistance crumbled as he found himself ensnared, captivated even.

It began with a seemingly innocent start, watching a video of the faceless girl on her black-laced lingerie and all it's glorious details throughout his wide monitor. Initially, he was taken aback, being indenial about adoring sensual stuffs as he IS a dignified person. Watching her slowly unclasp the dark hued undergarment caught him off guard. And that's when the intoxicating aura of the entertainer fully captured his attention, unable to tear his eyes away from the captivating scene.

Within hours of browsing her videos, he finally clicked the 'schedule' tab,

"Live everyday from 23:00 to 02:00..." he muttered

In the crucial moment, her live stream notification blinked on the bottom corner of the screen, signaling the commencement of her live stream

Intrigued by the attractive allure, he clicked on the notification. Her voice, far from gentle, resonated with a mature timbre, akin to a siren's call luring sailors to their demise. The holy curves of her body, Clad in a sangria-colored bra that cradled her voluptuous breasts with, she holds an intoxicating blend of sensuality and a little bit erotic. The matching panties gradually revealed plush thighs, completing her looks, leaving Norton compelled and more curious to see the beauty behind the entertainer. Her face remains a mystery yet everything else is displayed ravishingly in front of him

As he watched her reveal the large and satisfyingly girthy dildo, a raw desire popped up within him, turning all his senses on. With each dangerous movement she made, the anticipation coiled tighter in his belly, driving him to release his straining erection from its confines, first time feeling so lustfully for someone he had just knew.

His pulse quickened at the sight before him. Her skillful ways with the toy, sucking it up, in and out, a bulge forming on one of her cheeks and down her throat. With a lustful groan escaping his lips, his hand gradually descended down the length of his shaft, each stroke sending waves of pleasure throughout his well-toned body.

Shifting her position once more, the mesmerizing contours of her figure and curves remained partially concealed by the teasing edges of the video frame, leaving much to the imagination. With a seductive smile playing upon her lips, the entertainer proceeded to guide the saliva-coated dildo towards her eager and already slick entrance.

As the camera angle focused solely on her sculpted ass and glistening folds, she lowered herself onto the awaiting toy, her movements slow and deliberate yet sensual and attracting. With each thrust, moans of ecstasy spilled from her lips, echoing the crescendo of pleasure building within her.

As the pleasureable symphony of moans filled the air, a subtle shift in the tempo can be noticed, the entertainer's melodic cries slowing to breathy groans. With each languid thrust of her hips, the once precise movements grew increasingly erratic, leaving a ring of white left on the dildo she had been riding for the past half hour.

Behind the pixels of the screen, Norton found himself drawn deeper into the hypnotic display before him, his breaths growing heavier and deeper, his strokes quickened, the sensation of pleasure building up with every mild touch. Beads of precum leaked upon his tip and each passing stroke he grew closer and closer to his finish.

With one final thrust he soon reached his high, his climax exploding forth, releasing well on his toned and chiseled abs. Every sensation felt like a blissful feeling, enveloping him in a haze of satisfaction. Following after, the air was filled with the lingering echoes of the streamer's high-pitched moans, mingling with the sight of her juices trickling down her plush thighs in a decadent display.

Taking a moment to collect himself and tidy up, he pulls a few sheets of tissue conviniently placed on his desk. Noticing the stream still ongoing, he curiously continued watching the said streamer. With an air of casual confidence, she initiated a Q&A session with the stream live chat, her naked form still unabashedly on display.

Not too long after, hundreds of donation chats flooded the screen

"[Name]!! Why'd you decided to become a faceless cam streamer?" an anonymous superchat donation popped up

hahaha, she chuckled sheepishly, "Let's say... I know lots of people outside of this sort of work, wouldn't want them to know about this now, do I?" she ended with a tiny smirk smeared over her half revealed face.

"[Name]-ah, are you currently dating anyone? Are you interested in anyone? Do we have a chance?", someone else sent another superchat.

The entertainer stared at the chatbox for a little, muttering the question solemnly and smiled. "Of course, I'm not dating anyone". She calmly replied. "But I kinda am eyeing on someone". she continued and giggled to finish her sentence.

Multiple 'aws' and 'who is it?' spammed up on the chatbox, scrolling on a spree trying to keep up with all the disappointed groans of the watchers. Norton herd of this, slightly disappointed too, one might say. Well he only knew the cam girl for a few days. He shouldn't have felt anything, right?

Norton does not want to continue thinking about it, as he hovers over the 'X' button on the corner of the surfing tab, the entertainer opened her mouth again, continuing her talking

"He's pretty handsome too. Dark curly haired, toned body, hey i bet he even works out". She muttered, softly giggling. "He's my boss at this company I work at and he always opens the door for me in the morning. Heck, I was even late once and he didn't write me up... He's such a charm". she continued, smiling larger and wider by the second.

Norton sat straight back up, a flicker of interest sparked his eye. He was no stranger in being sensitive enough, let alone naivity, all of those criteria matched him. As the realization settled in, he scoffed at the thought, trying to dismiss all the incoming imaginaries and thoughtful scenarios in his head. Nevertheless, amidst in his mental chaos, he took a mental note, just a small one kept at the back of his head.

As the final moments of the live stream faded into the ending screen, Norton released a soft sigh before closing the tab. With a sense of tiredness, he turned his attention towards the welcoming embrace of his soft bed, bidding farewell to the day.

The following morning arrived with unexpected haste, leaving Norton feeling a pang of guilt for sleeping in later than usual. Stepping into the lobby, his gaze fell upon a familiar figure, a woman whose curves befit her uniform, hugging it well, not forgetting her breasts looking well all together. The final thing that rang Norton off was her plump lips, painted in a rich berry hue. Dismissing his thoughts, Norton saw her holding the door open, offering a warm greeting.

"Good morning, Mr. Campbell", she greeted him with a warming smile

Returning the salutation, Norton couldn't help but feel a tug of familiarity at his memory. "Good morning to you too... Have we mayhaps met before?" he blurted out, perhaps a bit too hastily before the exchange of formal introductions.

A soft chuckle, a similar one he had known and adore, escaped her lips as she replied, "Well, not directly, haha. If u had remembered, I was late once, and you were kind enough to let me off the hook."

He lets the information sink in, little by little, gears in his head turning, the puzzle pieces slowly completes itself, and that's when it hit him.

To be Continued~

[bandaged-writer]

𝗛𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗬 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗙𝗘𝗦𝗦

pov. he confesses his feelings to you feat. dazai, kunikida, ranpo + odasaku

warnings. blood, imminent death (chuuya)

note. i'm sorry for making chuuya suffer, but i love torturing my favs 🧎🏻‍♀️

𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨

Just underneath a little hill, Yokohama's summer festival slowly comes to an end. People shuffle through the alleyways, stalls sell their remaining treats all while the moon hangs high in the sky with all its stars and galaxies.

A chilly breeze makes you shudder, but it's nothing compared to Dazai's warmth seeping into your veins and sheltering you from the summer wind. It's comfortable to lean against his yukata-clad form, a tranquil smile on his handsome face and cicadas humming in the background. If this moment wasn't transient, you'd like to live in this little bubble forever.

"You know," Dazai breaks the silence with a voice smooth as silk. Hazel eyes gaze up at the moon before they settle upon your face. Skin dipped in orange hues, eyes soft like feathers and a smile upon your lips which is reserved for him only. "The moon looks beautiful tonight, doesn't it?"

A few agonizing months have passed in which Dazai's heart has been oddly attached to you. Your presence in the office which he eagerly awaits, the little lunch dates that you vehemently vow are not dates but rather a fun outing, your smile which crinkles the corner of your eyes. Oh, how long it has taken him to accept that he is in love with you.

You hum in response, stand on your tippy toes and press a chaste kiss to Dazai's cheek. "It certainly does."

𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗞𝗜𝗗𝗔 𝗗𝗢𝗣𝗣𝗢

"[Name]. Every time I see you, my heart suddenly skips a beat and.."

It's embarrassing, really. To practice his big confession in front of the mirror in the Agency's bathroom, seeking the right phrases to accurately describe his feelings towards you, but not one syllable is able to catch your vibrancy.

Kunikida exhales in frustration. If you checked off all the ideals he had written down years ago, this would've been easier, Kunikida thinks. As an idealist, he has an ideal image of his partner and, of course, desires an ideal confession, but he just has to fall in love with someone who defies his ideals.

"Damnit," he curses and stares into the sink. "How am I supposed to declare my love for someone like [Name]?"

"Oh, you love me?"

Scarlet hues dust Kunikida's cheeks and the tips of his ears, a cold shiver rolls down his spine. Oh no. No, no, no. He, who is always so careful, forgot to lock the bathroom's door? And worst of all..

You have heard his entire meltdown.

May the ground swallow him whole this instant.

"You misunderstand! Iㅡ"

Cutting him off, laughter spills from your lips and you wipe a singular tear from your eye. "Kunikida, nothing in this world is perfect. Neither your beloved schedule nor you or me. We are all flawed, but that's what makes your confession so beautiful."

As a grin splits your lips and your toes support your weight, you press a delicate kiss to his firestruck cheek. "I'm in love with you, too. And I hope you'll take me out to dinner tonight. Sounds good, doesn't it, Kunikida?"

Still struck by lightning, the idealist is frozen in place by your surprise visit, by his carelessness, by your bold advances. Each event is only slowly processed, but once the situation ceases to exist like a dandelion in the wind does Kunikida break his stillness.

"I've got..a date..?"

𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗣𝗢 𝗘𝗗𝗢𝗚𝗔𝗪𝗔

Everything Ranpo loves is either sugary sweet or murderously mysterious and luckily for you, the detective is a firm believer of you being as enticing as the pocky stick between his lips.

"Hey [Name], do you want some?," Ranpo asks, crumbs of pocky sticking to the corner of his mouth.

A giggle bubbles in the back of your throat. Sitting in front of Ranpo's desk, you take a pocky stick from the package he wiggles in his hands. "To think that I'd live long enough to witness you sharing your candy. It borders on a miracle," you joke.

Usually, Ranpo would hide his snacks in the drawers of his desk and lock them up, carrying the key in his pocket so that none of his greedy colleagues would lay a hand on his treasured treats. For exceptionally special sweets, he even has a safe. Unfortunately, Ranpo can't lock you up like this.

Not that he would, but if you happened to be a raspberry-flavored lollipop, he'd keep you safe in that little box.

"You're lucky I love you or else I wouldn't be sharing with you!"

"Wait..you..love me..?"

Oh.

Ranpo blinks owlishly.

For a detective of his caliber, he sure sucks at keeping his own little secrets.

𝗖𝗛𝗨𝗨𝗬𝗔 𝗡𝗔𝗞𝗔𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔

When Chuuya confesses his feelings, he fears you're about to slip through his fingers like many other subordinates have before you. Delicate hands clutch the wound on your stomach, pained groans leave your battered lips and your head slips in and out of consciousness. Whether it is due to blood loss or the pain, you do not know.

The only thing you know for sure is that Chuuya is carrying you, hurrying through shady alleyways to get you back to the Boss so that he could stitch you back together with the hands of a doctor.

"Chuuya," you moan, pained, "I'm not going to make it. There's..no need to run like this.."

Curses spill from his mouth like water from an overflowing sink. Sweat trickles down his temple, gloved fingers grasp you tighter, pull you closer to his body. Why are you so cold? Or is this merely his mind playing tricks on him? No, don't think, just run. Run, run, run.

"You must be stupid to think that I'd let the one I love die!"

Your lips curve into a smile and you rest your head on Chuuya's chest, just underneath his collarbone. His heart is pounding against his sternum. Blood hums in his veins. "I guess..," you start, "It'd be nice to experience being loved by..," a cough interrupts you, blood stains your mouth, "..by someone like you."

Chuuya wants to cry. Why do the ones he love always leave him behind in the most cruel ways?

𝗢𝗗𝗔 𝗦𝗔𝗞𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗦𝗨𝗞𝗘

A cigarette hangs from Odasaku's lips. He, by no means, likes the taste of nicotine nor does he like the thought of his lungs covered in onyx toxins, but old habits die hard. The guys at the mafia are to blame for his occasional cigarette, or so Odasaku likes to think whenever he lights the stick.

You're rambling about your day with a lollipop stuck between your teeth, walking alongside Odasaku who had turned off the busy shuffling of people among the streets, the sound of your voice and the endless chatter. He is in no way bored. Rather, he is mesmerized by the beauty you carry and that he has failed to notice until today.

No, you have always been beautiful, Odasaku corrects himself. When little Sakura braids your hair and puts funny pins in your locks, when you tie it into a messy bun after a rough shift, when you wake up with eyes as small as a peanut, because the light feels, and he quotes, "like acid in your eyes".

Warmth, ease, comfort. Once these three words are weaved together by fate itself, they tangle two people together until one of them realizes that it is love they're experiencing. Love for a pet, a dear friend or a significant other doesn't matter, because love is love. No form of love is inferior to the other.

Ah, so that's what it is.

He's been in love with you all along.

"Why are you staring? It's making me nervous." Endless rambles come to an end and your hand finds home in the nape of your neck. A sheepish smile graces your features.

Smoke leaves through the crack of Odasaku's lips before the cigarette itself is tossed into a trash can. He no longer needs it. "Nothing. I just..," he trails off, a pause follows and then an exhale. "I'm in love with you."

"Huh?" You trip over your shoelaces, almost choke on your lollipop and stare at Odasaku as if he has just said the L-Word. "Excuse me? I don't think I heard you?"

A man like Odasaku in love with you? Surely, the gods from above are having fun tweaking your hearing and tricking your heart into a game of Russian Roulette in which you can either emerge victorious or with a broken heart and waterfall eyes. Ridiculous, you swear. Absolutely unbelievable, you vow.

"I said I love you," Odasaku says louder this time and stops in his tracks. He regards you with eyes that are as blue as the ocean and reflect nothing but the sun, the truth, like azure mirrors.

Heat floods your face and for a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut. Jeez, he is always so painfully blunt, but it's exactly that trait which makes Odasaku so honest. Every man on earth likes to sugarcoat his sins, his lies, his truths, but Odasaku never hides anything. Even the corpses in his basement can't be hidden.

You smile. "I'd like to kiss you right now, but I don't think that strawberries and cigarettes go well together."

"I think they make quite the taste once together. You should give it a try."

[crowtrobotx]

Happy Father's Day only to Karl Heisenberg. I wrote a little oc x canon ficlet this morning to deal with some ~feelings~ and I thought maybe someone might also enjoy it. This can be considered a Check Engine-AU-AU, lol, otherwise known as "Mechanic!Karl no Village." Word Count: 2166 Warnings: Nothing significant but if the subject of pregnancy isn't your thing you probably won't have a good time. ~~~~~~~~ Come on. Where are you, jackass? Kris’s fingers fidgeted nervously with a loose thread at the hem of her dress, eyes laser focused on the empty driveway from her perch on the living room couch. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck beneath the wild tangle of curls in spite of the air conditioning, cranked a rebellious one degree lower than normal out of desperation. She winced. That singular digit might have been the only thing that was preventing her from hurling onto the freshly cleaned hardwood floor.

It was a deceptively lovely summer day outside, the only hint of how truly unpleasant the weather was buried somewhere in the incessant screaming of the cicadas crawling all over the trees that enveloped their property. The heat waves radiating from the asphalt made her feel lightheaded just looking at it - how Karl worked in that stuffy garage all day, in those frustratingly attractive coveralls, without passing out was a mystery to her even after all these years. Maybe he finally did die of heatstroke. Would explain why he’s late, today of all days. Her stomach churned miserably.

She knew she was taking this all far too seriously. It didn’t have to be perfect - she could just tell him outright, like a sane person, but unfortunately she’d gone on Pinterest one too many times over the last couple of days in an attempt to quell her bubbling anxiety and it had all gone to shit from there.

Maybe it was how unexpectedly long it had taken. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d finally convinced herself it wasn’t actually a dream, that it was really happening and she wasn’t going to wake up in a cold sweat. Regardless, she’d put a silly amount of effort into this already - and spent her coffee money at the dollar store - so dammit, it had to turn out cute at the very least. She smoothed out the black linen fabric over her belly, hand lingering a moment longer than normal.

The glint of a windshield from the road had her sitting up like an excited dog. Sturm, snoring away on his well-chewed pet bed to her side, didn’t react at all. She’d been faked out by a school bus once already, but the harsh rattle of the perpetually fucked muffler on Karl’s impossibly old pick-up was, for once, like music to her ears. The truck rolled into view, prompting Kris to shakily rise to her feet and make for the kitchen.

“Okay,” she exhaled slowly, trying to steady the flutter in her chest. “It’s fine. You’re fine. It’s going to be fine.”

The outfit: adorable. The setup: in place. The lines she’d rehearsed in the lukewarm bath this morning until she’d gone hoarse: memorized. She could not fuck this up - if she did, she might simply melt into a puddle with all that remained of her being a pair of cartoon blinking eyes.

Get your shit together. These things never go as planned. He’s going to know something is up because you’ve been home alone all day and you did your hair and makeup instead of embracing the slug girl aesthetic, anyway.

Kris grimaced at her own inner voice, ceding that perhaps it was correct. She awkwardly milled about the room: leaning on the counter, deciding it looked too suspicious, picking up a knife, deciding it looked too insane. Footfalls growing louder toward the side door had her panicked and she at last decided to busy herself washing out an already cleaned coffee mug over the sink.

You can do this. What did Linda call you last time you were in office? A boss bitch? Lull him into a false sense of security. Pretend like you’re a respectable housewife and not a foul-mouthed nasty bitch someone was stupid enough to marry.

The screen door banged open, its rusty hinges surviving yet another assault from her careless husband’s grip. The man himself finally appeared, his outgrown beard and wiry silver waves a total mess from the heat and his work. Still, he didn’t seem agitated - a good sign. Otherwise Kris would have put off her little plan until later, unwilling to take unnecessary risks with something so precious. This would be her Instagram-worthy moment, dammit.

“Honey,” Karl’s loud croon shattered the peaceful silence that had reigned all day, “I’m home!”

God, he was revolting. Kris couldn’t help but to set the cup down and nearly dash to his waiting arms. He caught her in a near crushing bear hug, looking quite pleased with her reaction. She saved the ooey-gooey greetings for special occasions - she couldn’t let the man get even cockier, after all, and she had a reputation to uphold.

“You’re sweaty,” she observed, head finding purchase on his chest all the same, finding comfort in the familiar. “And you stink.”

“Sure do,” he said with a little too much pride. He ran a hand - probably grease-covered, by the looks of it; thank God I’m wearing black - down her back and hummed thoughtfully. “But you, on the other hand, look cute as a button. What’s the occasion? Did I do something nice and not remember?”

Kris untangled herself from his grasp, trying her best to look disinterested and unaffected. With a wave of her hand she returned to the kitchen sink, this time feigning interest in putting away the dishes, and cast a lidded look at him over her shoulder. She hoped her concealer was hiding her heat in her cheeks and making her act more believable. “It’s hot and I got bored,” she lied. Why do I feel like dragging his smelly ass to the floor with me right now?

Karl’s toolbelt hit the linoleum with a loud clang. In a couple of confident strides he was at her back, hands shamelessly trying to find purchase at her hips again. “Aww, did my girl get lonely without me? I can fix that for you, y’know… I don’t mind.” His fuzzy jaw nuzzled into her neck, the edges of his lips curling into a smarmy grin.

Of course - if one thing was going to ruin this, it would be the thing that had caused the situation to begin with: Karl’s dick.

Kris thwacked him playfully on the thigh with the nearest tea towel and rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the traitorous warmth pooling deep in her abdomen. “You know the rules. Not until you’re not going to stain my poor clothes with all those oil splotches. Then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. She’d known him long enough to recognize false exasperation - he didn’t like messing up her pretty outfits, either. Karl turned to make his way to the bedroom when Kris caught his arm, putting on her best surprised face and tone.

“Oh! I almost forgot, can you help me out really quick? There’s something that needs to come out of the oven and I’ve got to finish this.”

“It’s ten steps away, doll- OUCH! You and that damn towel. Yeah, sure. One sec.”

Kris held her breath as he stomped across the room, rubbing his leg where she’d nailed him yet again. This was it. Her picture perfect moment. Even Sturm had managed to lift his greying head to peer curiously from the living room.

Karl opened the range. The singular honey bun sitting on the pain looked comically out of place, but that was the point - there was absolutely no way he could ignore it. Kris nearly shattered the dish in her hands, so tight did her fraying nerves make her grip.

“Oh, sweet,” Karl said, before picking the pastry up and taking a bite. “I was starvin’ after all those tire rotations today. Thanks!”

He resumed his trek upstairs, whistling contentedly. Sturm stared at her with a look that conveyed a sort of pity before resuming his daily 18 hours of beauty rest. Even the shriek of insects outside seemed to have dulled to a quiet hum out of respect for whatever remained of Kris’s dignity. She wordlessly placed the plate onto the counter, a mixture of resignation, rage, and outright bewilderment swirling in her chest.

He did not just do that. You hallucinated it in a hormonal fugue. There’s no way.

She had accounted for what she thought was every likely outcome. Unbridled excitement, tears, perhaps disbelief. Even that he would be angry - not truly angry, of course, but it was the emotion he defaulted to whenever he wasn’t sure how to handle whatever feelings were rushing through him, however positive.

She had not, however, considered the possibility that he was more stupid than the bag of hammers hanging above his workbench.

“Karl,” she croaked out just as he reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs.

He paused and peeked his head around to face her, crumbs somehow already decorating his beard. “What?”

Kris flexed her fingers and inhaled slowly to steady her voice. “Could you come here again please?”

When Karl returned to the kitchen, it took everything in her not to throat-punch him. He was simultaneously the smartest and dumbest man she had ever met - in spite of his horrific personality, everyone in town came to him for their mechanical needs because absolutely no one knew their way around an engine like he did. And yet here she was, trying to convey an extremely obvious plot twist to absolutely no avail while he stuffed his face.

“Can you tell me what you’re holding?” she asked, the strain in her tone causing her voice to sound unnaturally high.

Karl swallowed. He rotated the bread, eyeing it somewhat nervously as if he feared it might now explode. “It’s… a roll?”

“Well… some might say a bun.” Kris was getting desperate. Her new favorite hobby of vomiting was feeling like more and more of a possibility with every passing second. At least it would get her out of this situation.

“A bun,” Karl repeated.

She waited for him to do the math before giving in to his helpless, slightly annoyed look.

“Yes. A bun. From the oven.”

“That’s usually where they come from, babe. Did you hit that pretty little head of yours while I was at work today or what?”

Another silence. Kris swore to herself that she was going to throw this man through the second floor window.

“You found the bun…” Kris gestured, indicating that she intended him to finish her sentence.

“In the oven,” they both said at once. For a brief, tantalizing moment, Kris thought it had finally worked. She had been fully prepared to snatch the little wrapped test hidden in the utensils drawer and gift it to him in a sickeningly sweet gesture worthy of a Hallmark movie, until she noticed the completely clueless look on his face hadn’t yet retreated.

Are you fucking-

“Was it not for me?” Karl ventured at last. “Uh, s-sorry. Guess I shoulda asked. I can get you another one at the corner mart on my way home tomorrow if you want.”

“I do not want a gas station dessert, thankyouverymuch,” Kris hissed. The thought of what Karl-tier food might do to her already compromised digestive system sent a shiver down her spine. “I am trying to- you know what, never mind. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Ohhhhh,” Karl suddenly cooed, wrapping an arm around her waist and leaning in to peck the tip of her nose. “Wait. I get it now.”

Cautious relief relaxed Kris’s shoulders. She batted her lashes at him and made a soft questioning sound, feigning innocence.

“You want a new oven. Why didn’t you say so? I got enough parts in that shed out back to make you ten if you want. Anything for my gal!” Karl’s grin was begging to be slapped right off his stupid, handsome face.

Instead, and with all the strength she had in reserve, Kris simply shut her eyes and lightly patted her husband’s chest. We’re going to call this a practice run. That’s all. “A new oven would be lovely. You’re the best, Heisy-bear.”

Karl winked before happily popping the rest of the bun in his mouth and reclaiming his usual air of off-putting flirtatiousness. 

“You know it is kinda weird that you just made one,” he spat around the mouthful as he patted her cheek. “But I know you don’t like summers, pumpkin. Fries your brain and makes you do weird shit. ‘S okay, I still love you”

“Thank goodness for that.”

Kris waited until he was out of sight before allowing herself a brief, silent scream into her palms. Sturm hobbled into the kitchen at last, his three paws tapping rhythmically as he presented her one of his well-loved chew toys as a kind of consolation prize. She sighed, and at last allowed herself a laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Thanks, boy,” she whispered, bending to scratch the dog’s velvety ears. “Well, time for plan B, I suppose. Do you know where I can buy a mini toolkit?”

[hiatuswhore]

♕ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ʇɐᴚ ʇǝǝɹʇS ǝɥ⊥—ᴀ ɢᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ suoıʇɐlǝʌǝᴚ

♕ A/N: Hey! I don’t have much for this authors note lol. If it’s not clear the title is The Prince and The Street Rat—A Game of Revelations. If you guys have any theories on where this is headed please let me know. :)

♕ SUMMARY: The world works in mysterious ways and so does the residents of Kings Landing. One never knows what they find in the alleyways and rooftops. Whores, drunks, knights, thieves, sometimes even Princes.

♕ WORD COUNT: 5.2K

♕ WARNING: Major HOTD Spoilers, cursing, violence—the usual

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Sleep evades you, and upon her arrival, she slips from your grasp at the faintest of sounds. Most nights, your hand clenches the hilt of your dagger, your mind sure of his presence—a drunken lout the Kingdom calls a Prince. Often it’s merely Ser Barlo eyeing your weariness from the door. The brief moment remains the same whether you wear a frantic, distraught, or hazy expression. He never voices his thoughts, offering nods reassuring your safety. You hear nothing from Aemond, nor do you seek him out. Remnants of your blue gown sit singed in the fireplace of soot and ash.

When a parchment arrives from Daltis with your travel arrangements set in a fortnight, you cling to the fourteen days as if it will rectify all that came before it. Standing in the mirror, you lace your pants and secure your dagger at your hip. You tie a heavy cloak around your shoulders, and the sun shines brightly through your window as you glance out. The many faces of the unknown fill the streets at a volume uncommon so close to the Red Keep.

Pulling at the door, you frown as your back stiffens. You press your ear to the door to find stillness on the other side. A soft ache radiates through your knuckles as you bang against the surface.

“Guard? I believe the door is stuck,” Your shaky tone receives silence in response, recoiling from the door as though it sears your skin. You take several cautious steps back, hand hovering over your dagger. If Aegon’s behind your captivity, you are confident of a singular fate—running for the entirety of your life or a future worse than death, the Prince’s whore. The opening of the door rips you from your thoughts. Unsheathing your dagger, you move with expert precision.

“I have no time for your violent fervor. Would you or your resourceful associates have an inkling of the whereabouts of Aegon?” Aemond catches your wrist, spinning you away from him. You crash into his back as he pulls you in, speaking with an urgency lacing his calm. Something’s wrong. His forearm rests loosely below your chin. Biting down, you duck back as he pulls away.

“Why am I locked in here?” You tilt your head taking note of Ser Cole lingering in the doorway. The morning guard stands with his hand on his sword, eyeing you both. Aemond inquires again of Aegon, clasping his hands behind his back, ignoring your grimace. “Damn you, Aemond! Why would I care to be privy to his proclivities? I will not sit in captivity like a good little prisone—!”

"Enough!" Squeezing your eyes shut, a loud ringing takes your ears. Aemond's grip on your cloak rigid as he yanks you forward before pressing you back swiftly into the wall. You open your eyes blinking profusely, a haze splintering your vision as you move your head languidly. He grabs your face turning you forward, swallowing thickly as your sights set ablaze, "My father is dead, and you may think yourself covert in your machinations of what comes next, but I have no time to deal with both you and my degenerate brother."

You lean your head against the wall, your nose crinkling at the tenderness. A breathy laugh leaves your lips, balling your fists to cover the trembling of your hands, “So I was right, and now you scramble with your family to usurp the throne. Making certain of the war I warned you of for years.”

“(Y/n),” You slap away his hand as he reaches toward your face, a silence lingering between you both as he takes a step away from you. The clenching of his jaw falls slack as he studies your pointed stare. You turn your gaze to the window, ignoring the skin-crawling sensation of his eyes on your skin. A heavy fog of fatigue weighing on your eyes.

“I will return for you,” He says, exiting without another word. You do not move until the sight of Ser Cole and Aemond reach outside your window. At the door, you pull to no avail—resting your head against the door, your shoulders fall with a heavy sigh. Closing your eyes, you relish the brief relief it brings as a sluggish yawn leaves you.

“Guard. I know your loyalty and honor are bound to the instruction of those above your station. But I implore you to heed my warning, please. A war is coming, and it is a fool that stands willingly amid the pending storm,” Your voice wavers, a silent cry supplanting your attempts at composure. The silence in the room deafening, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You do not call out to the guard again or try again when Ser Barlo arrives for his watch. Instead, you sit on the floor by the door with your head leaning against the wall. Whether it has been minutes or hours proves irrelevant, the ringing of the bells filling the silence with an influx of chatter from beyond your window.

Ser Barlo enters your room with a blank exterior offering his hand you take, gasping at the rush that tilts the room. You grip his arm tightly as he guides you toward the stairs at a snail's pace. A heavy sigh leaves your lips as every step takes a significant portion of your energy. You lean your head on Ser Barlo’s shoulder, your arms secure around his own as you ask where you are going.

“To the Red Keep, Lady (Y/n),” He says, stepping outside. You grip his arm tighter at the thrust of the many faces and yelling. Ser Barlo navigates through the crowd as you keep your eyes tightly shut. The bells send tremors through your body as hands roughly shove you forward. You fail to notice as Ser Barlo wraps his arms around your shoulder, his commandeering tone roughly cutting through patrons toward the dragon pit.

“The bells,” You whisper without destination, squinting up at the sky as you catch glimpses of its constant rocking. Your eyes well with tears as your father's voice reaches your ears. Ser Barlo frowns as you mutter aimlessly, “Pa, why do they ring?”

Ser Barlo’s confusion fades as a hand on your back sends you from his hold to the cobblestone. His hand swiftly drags you back to your feet, his eyes haphazardly eyeing the dried blood that clumps the back of your hair. “Pa, where are you going?”

Inside, you frown as the blinding light turns to a dim stupor. Ser Barlo stops a few rows from the front, allowing you to lean on him like a sickly child. He pulls your hood on your head, letting you rest against his shoulder.

“I’m going to die here,” Ser Barlo’s head turns at your breathless admission, his eyebrows creasing together as he squeezes your hand. Your eyes remain closed, your heavy panting being the only proof of life.

“You just hold on, okay,” He whispers. You open your eyes looking ahead of you. Chatter surrounds you both, and the Royal stands with calm demeanors. Aemond carefully scans the crowd with his usual deficit in revealing what lies beneath his surface. You pull your hood a little tighter, enough to still provide a full view of the steps.

“People of King’s Landing, today is the saddest of days. Our beloved King, Viserys the Peaceful, is dead.” Otto Hightower’s eyes finds you. Meeting his gaze, the two of you watch the other as though you solely debate upon something between you both alone. You shake your head softly, chatter taking the room at the hand’s pause, “But it is also the most joyous of days, for as his spirit left us, he whispered his final wish. That his first-born son, Aegon, should succeed him.”

A sigh leaves your lips as your mind wanders to your fathers' warnings. No good comes when the Keep bells ring? You cut left to find Aemond watching you. Remorse painting his features, your mind replaying how his hands slammed you against your room wall without hesitation or care. The bells. You flinch into the crook of Ser Barlo’s neck, a chorus of clapping sending shooting pain through your skull. Horns fill the hall as two rows of guards clear a pathway with their swords held high. You do not turn to view the grim reality before you. Aegon the Unworthy’s ascension. Ser Barlo rubs gentle circles on your back as you squeeze your eyes shut, sinking further into who you imagine being your father—your safety.

“It is your great good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this, a new day for our city, a new day for our realm. A new King to lead us!” Otto’s words split your fantasy into two. The bells' return sends an aching shudder through your body as cheers in merriment overshadow your pain. Ser Barlo’s words drown into nothing as it blends into the never-ending faces before you. Your heart hammering in your throat as you tremble in your night guard's arms—the moment meaningless as all focus on the new King.

Dust and smoke sting your eyes as your body numbs. Laying on the rubble of limbs and rock, you lay unmoving on your back. Screaming supplants the cheering, and the horror fails to reach you at the sound of a ferocious growl. Blood pools beneath you. What belongs to you versus others remains unclear. You stare up at the beast watching as it misses crushing your body into nothing by mere hairs. The edges of your vision darken as a dry chuckle leaves your lips, eyeing the scarlet scales on the underbelly of the beast. What a stupid way to die.

The sound of metal clinging makes your nose scrunch as a yawn turns to a grimace. Opening your eyes, you squeeze them shut once more at the light that shines without remorse. You dig your elbows into the bed, a cry leaving your lips while dragging yourself further onto your pillow.

“You mustn’t move so much, my lady. You’re still healing,” Opening your eyes, you flinch back at the touch. A young girl stands at your side, her eyebrow furrowing at the sight of your fretful stare. She steps back, turning to another who stands by the door, whispering amongst themselves. The second abandons the room in haste. You frown at the spacious room, warm furs and bandages securing your head and stomach. “You were hurt. The maesters feared you would not wake. The Prince has been putting much pressure on them.”

Her words hit you far worse than the dragon or even Aemond had in your room. You grit your teeth, digging your elbows into the bed once more. As you drag yourself to sit up, a strangled cry leaves your lips, “I must leave now.”

“My lady, you are in no condition—“ A gasp leaves her lips as she reaches your side. You wrap your hands around her throat, roughly pulling her close to your face.

“I cannot stay here,” Your words venomous as the chamber doors open. Aemond halts in his tracks at the sight of you. A smile threatens his lips as you glare at him.

“Release the girl, (Y/n),” Aemond huffs. You do not move for several seconds as the servant girl weakly grips your wrists, squeezing her eyes shut. When you release her, she stumbles away from the bed with her hands at her throat. Aemond dismisses her, and you watch as she races out of the room. A smile takes his lips as he walks to your bedside, grabbing your hand, “You have no idea the joy it is to know you have woken.”

“Joy? In death, I was free. Here I am but a prisoner,” You yank your arm away, his smile faltering.

“You are not a prisoner,” You furrow your eyebrows, your scoff filling the room as you shake your head.

“Then I wish to leave!” You exclaim. He glances down at his hands, fiddling with the edge of your furs.

“I know you. You will flee King's Landing. My care for you is no secret to the realm, and you are hurt,” Your jaw clenches as you shake your head at his words. His eyebrows pull together as he scoffs, “You suddenly do not believe me.”

“A fortnight ago, I would have. Aemond the difference in friendship and servitude are lost on you. If you care for me, Aemond, when King Viserys died, you would have let me go. Many say I forget myself due to our friendship, but I believe it is you who forgets yourself. Our friendship is a farce that ended the day you had me summoned into the Red Keep, and your mother put me in service of you. When I voiced my distaste for captivity, you pushed me against a wall. I am not your friend—I am your property. I never wanted this, and you know that,” You speak barely above a whisper, eyeing his hands carefully. He purses his lips, sighing deeply, his eyes shooting to the bandages around your head.

“I am sorry, (Y/n). You have always been a comfort to me. I give you my word. I will never hurt you again,” Aemond cautiously takes your hand, his pointer finger drawing circles against your palm.

“That does not address my lost freedoms. Aemond, you are hurting me by keeping me here. Let me return to the Inn Keep,” You grab his hands, your eyes eager as you tilt your head to meet his eye. The fireplace's crackling fills the silence as you stare at each other. “Do you trust me?”

A distance dances in his eyes as he stares at you. His contemplative silence casting uncertainty in the air. Aemond speaks coolly, an edge to his tone as he continues tracing your palm, “Would you like the honest answer or the expected one?”

You pull your hand away, dizzying nausea bubbling in your stomach. Turning on your side to face away from him, a scowl takes your features. On your bedside table sits a chalice and tray with fresh bread.

Aemond releases a long sigh before rising to his feet behind you, “Despite what you may believe, all I do is to protect you. Even if it is from yourself and your nature. I must fly to Storm's End to discuss matters with Lord Baratheon. Upon my return, we may discuss an arrangement that best suits the only thing that truly matters to me (Y/n). Your safety and happiness.”

You remain unmoving to his words, the room stilling with your silence. Aemond exits without a word, leaving the room just as he found it—despondent. You pick at your bread and finish your water long before a servant returns to your chambers. Your window reveals storm clouds that loom high above Kings Landing, casting a grim shadow above all that resides beneath it.

The chamber doors opening does not garner your attention as you still lay on your side gazing out the parallel window.

“Queen Helaena,” A servant announces. Still, your gaze remains consistent, staring out at nothing particular. Helaena arrives at your side with a timid smile. In her hands holds a tray of fruits and a steaming cup.

“My apologies that I could not come to you sooner upon learning you had awoken. I thought some tea and fruits may aid in easing your pains,” She smiles sweetly, pausing as a servant removes the previous tray. Helaena places the new tray down before taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you, your grace.” You whisper, not tearing your gaze from the window. The room falls silent as Helaena awkwardly fidgets. You watch her from the corner of your eye.

“You wish to leave,” She says as a statement rather than a question. You nod your head slowly, studying her contemplative expression. “Aemond loves you.”

“Not enough, I suppose,” You mutter. Helaena takes your hand, offering a weak smile. “I remember the day he lost his eye. He wept in fear of losing his only friend. I often find my brother bound to a book or training. He worries far too much about achieving greatness, but I believe no joy compares to what you have brought him. So I supposed I am thanking you.”

The warmth of her presence leaves you in awe. Her soft nature unlike anything you encounter in the city. You stare blankly at her, offering no inkling of what stews within you. Your eyebrows pinch as her grip tightens, her smile weakening. Horror flashes across her eyes, a gasp leaving her lips as you wince while dragging yourself to sit up.

“An eye for an eye. Pride for vengeance,” She pulls back swiftly before confusion takes her features at your close proximity. Her eyes find the fruit tray, and she leans forward casually, plucking a grape into her mouth, disregarding your gaze.

“What does that mean?” You ask. Helaena frowns at your question, leaning back—you eye her with caution.

“I hope you enjoy the fruit, lady (Y/n). I will return soon,” She offers a wide smile giving your hand a quick squeeze before rising to her feet. You watch as she exits the room just as she came.

Besides servants and a maester coming to check on you, your chambers remain uneventful. No one answers your questions about what happened or Ser Barlo, merely completing their tasks and leaving. The room’s foreign to you, and many of your belongings from the Inn Keep sit scattered, confirming your fears. They carry no intention of release.

The next day comes with many obscenities as the maesters tend to your wounds. Helaena visits you once more, whispering beneath her breath of pride and vengeance. You do not question her words, merely welcoming her company with comfortable silence. Outside appears as dreary as the day prior, the rain heavier as thunder and lightning battle in the sky. This continues well past Helaena’s visit.

Your chamber doors opening stirs you from sleep, and you flinch at the sound of hasty steps. Aemond rushes in, ignoring how you groan as he pulls you into an abrupt hug. Your body stiffens at the cold of his touch, his hair dripping water down your back. The trembling of his skin and shaky breaths fill the room.

“Aemond,” You call out, bringing your hand to his back. You rub conservative circles. He pulls you in tighter, burying his head into your neck, “What has happened?”

“I only intended to scare him. Instill fear as payment for my torment and permanent affliction but—Vhagar—she, I could no longer control her,” His words nearly muffle into your neck, but they reach your ears with spine-rattling clarity.

You pull back from Aemond, lifting his face to meet your gaze. Urgency supplants your aches as you inspect the faraway look in his eyes, “What have you done?”

“I killed him—I killed Lucerys,” A deafening silence takes the room as the uncomfortable clinging of your wet clothing becomes your focus. Aemond wraps around your waist, his head resting on your stomach. Gagging, nothing leaves you as nausea bubbles in your stomach with a numbing realization. The Greens have officially declared against Princess Rhaenyra.

The room stays silent for several minutes until a servant arrives, announcing a summons of Aemond from his mother. He leaves with your encouragement, his exit coming with your hasty movements toward your things. You inhale sharply at the lack of your dagger. Opening the door, you request a servant to the guard. When the servant enters, you stand leaning on the far window; she immediately frowns.

“My lady, you should be resting,” You grab her arm, allowing her to guide you toward the bed. In one swift motion in reach of the bedside table, you grab the kitchen knife holding it to her throat. “Do not be foolish. You will be pardoned for my escape, but if you try to stop you, you will not live to see the sunrise.”

“Please, my lady,” She whimpers under your hold, promising complicity. You switch clothes with her, ordering her beneath your furs as you tuck your hair beneath her hat.

“You move from that bed with me still within these walls, and I assure you a fate worse than death,” You say, hanging your cloak over your arm and tucking the kitchen knife in your sleeve. Upon exiting the room, you keep your head down, the guard staring forward with the same stoic expression as they all do. You hold in a breath while forcing yourself to fight through the aches down your back, maintaining a gait of one without injury. Turning a corner, you wrap the cloak around your shoulders, pulling the hood over your head. After several minutes of aimless wandering, you let out a breath at the sight of the courtyard. You keep your eyes on the gate, just a few more feet. The outside of the Red Keep near taunting you at its distance. Out of the gate, you smile, moving at an eerie pace. A silent cry leaves your lips as your pace falters and you stumble.

“Halt,” You stop in your tracks, sliding the kitchen knife down your sleeve. A hand roughly turns your shoulder, raising the blade; you pause at the sight. Ser Barlo gapes at the sight of you, your eyes wide as the two of you halt, standing on the edge of where the torch lights of the Red Keep meet the city's darkness. A cut slits his eyebrow with a fading bruise painting his jawline. You bite the inside of your cheek, waiting to be forcibly dragged before the King—before Aegon. “Watch where you’re going, boy.”

He releases your shoulder, nodding his head with a knowing look. You pull your hood further down, disappearing into the streets of Kings Landing. Wiping away the stray tears that leave you, you nearly collapse into the door when you arrive at your destination.

Cayde answers with groans as he rubs his eyes, wearing only a pair of loose-fitting pants. “(Y/n)? What has happened?”

“How long until my passage to Pentos?” You ask, wincing as he helps you inside. The cloak hood falls back, revealing the bruising on the back of your neck.

“Not for another two days,” Cayde helps guide you to a seat before rushing away and returning with a cup of water.

“I must leave tonight,” You shudder as your mind toys with the gravity of all you know. Cayde shakes his head, but as his gaze meets your own fatigue, a sigh leaves his lips. He leaves you alone in his home for longer than you care to still be in Kings Landing. You glance out his window, scanning the corridor to see gold cloaks or Aemond himself. When Cayde returns, neither of you discusses what comes; next, you both leave for the ports without a word.

Upon arrival, only one boat appears to be readying for departure. The man greets you curtly, and Cayde thanks him.

“This is where we part,” Cayde says, taking his hands as you glance at the boat and back at him. Your longest friend and closest confidant.

“Come with me. I can never return here. You told Aegon you were in love with me. I cannot promise to return those feelings, but I do love you, my dear friend. I—I fear I cannot do this alone,” You wipe away your tears, cursing yourself for crying once more. Cayde chuckles, bringing your hands to his lips. He releases them, reaching into his cloak before retaking them.

“I wish I could, truly. I do love you very much. You are the strongest person I know. If anyone can do it. It’s you,” Cayde releases your hands, leaving a large coin pouch in them. As he leaves a lingering kiss on your forehead, you purse your lips, “I’ll visit you. Maybe someday I will join you, but I’m good at what I do, and I’m needed here. Now you must go.”

On the boat, you watch each other until you are both well out of view. You abandon the top of your cabin, befriending a bucket as you empty your stomach for most of the trip. Pentos greets you with a far different atmosphere than Kings Landing. It does not take long to find your footing, connecting with Daltis’s associates for work.

The first few weeks were the worst of it. Despite the heat, you wore your hood up for a long while. Maintaining a low profile while lingering on the streets searching for the foundation for your new life. Cayde sent one raven with instructions to not respond but send a whisper through their Pentos connections. Assuring your safety without detail, you find yourself in a position you have long forgotten—alone.

Over time your paranoia eases, and wounds heal. You find your bounty-hunting work far more affluent in Pentos than in King's Landing. Walking down the street to your home, you carry a woven bag that holds a delivery for one of your assignments. You chuckle at the rushing stature of the short boy.

“Now, where might you be rushing off to Tregaro?” He thrashes against your hold for several seconds as his hood falls from his head. You chuckle when he finally stops glaring up at you.

“Not you again. What does it matter to you?” You mockingly contemplate his words as he swears against doing anything unjust. Reaching into his cloak pocket, you hold up a pouch that jingles at the clattering of coins.

“Mhm. Which part of stealing is just?” You ask. Releasing his cloak, you take the pouch. He shrugs away from you, grumbling under his breath as you reach into your coin pouch.

“I don’t need your charity,” He scoffs. Rolling your eyes, you speak matter-of-factly, “You’re going to get yourself killed or worse. Here, take it, should cover food for the next few days.”

“Whatever,” He takes the coins from your hands, a hesitant look in his eyes before thanking you. You watch as he disappears down the road, refusing to share where he lives. A tender smile paints your features before continuing your trek home. Up the stairs, you enter your room, a long yawn leaving your lips as you unload your things on your desk.

“Street knowledge. When it comes to imports and exports. He’s the guy. For food, clothes, and people. He almost always has a connection if you need something done quickly and quietly,” Your movements halt as your entire body stiffens. The emphasis at the end of his remarks making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He speaks at a drawn-out pace, the honey coat of his tone dripping in venom. You do not move, your back facing the rest of the room. “You coined me Aemond the Generous that day.”

“I hear they call you Kinslayer now,” You say. Your mind scrambling to formulate your next move. To your left sits the door, and to your right, the window, the medium size of the room, leaving you at a significant disadvantage.

You keep your movements slow, reaching for the dagger on your hip. A dark chuckle reaches your ears, “Don’t be stupid. Tell me, why Pentos? We have some time before Vhagar returns. I sent her off knowing you would flee at the sight of her.”

“How’d you find me?” Your question earns a laugh, and still, you do not move.

“You know your little friends would make excellent gold cloaks. Their unflinching loyalty was an irritating snag in locating you. Daltis would not budge even when I named his irritatingly proud son a traitor to the crown and gifted his head to his mother,” Aemond speaks as though he speaks of daily tasks such as cleaning or eating. You lean forward as your breath knocks from your chest, turning your head—eyes narrowing in disbelief, “It was my brother, in fact, who enlightened me on a night in a tavern. Says he overheard your little lover mention Pentos. From there, it didn’t take much. Everything I know of living in the streets, I learned from you. The art of survival is an admirable feat, especially for a woman.”

“You’re a filthy liar, claiming care when you crave control. You declared war on your sister, Aemond. And still, you expect me to stand at your side? I will not be collateral or stultify myself for a senseless war,” You say, meeting his sharp gaze. He turns his head, leaving his bad eyes facing you, glancing at the window you. You glance back at Aemond, who watches your small fireplace, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“The window’s a good thought. You have always been a far better climber than I. But, I should warn you, you will find sell swords awaiting your arrival on the other side,” He speaks plainly, sitting with perfect posture, his arms resting on the sides of the chair. A smirk tugs at his lips, he has you, and he knows it. You let out a hum in disapproval, wetting your lips as you play your final card.

“Aemond, you are my friend, and I am sorry for abandoning you, and yet the gravity of our situation has not changed. Rhaenyra will retaliate, and if you care for me as you claim, then you know this is the safest option. You have broken every promise you have ever made in the name of our friendship. It is not too late to salvage this, to prove you love me as you say. Leave me here. Return to King's Landing and announce me dead. Win your war and achieve all glory you have always dreamed of. Live knowing I am well—that I am safe,” You say. Taking a cautious step forward, you hold out your hand. His smirk falls as he stares at you, a pregnant pause between you. He rises to his feet and closes the distance pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead just as Cayde had. Guilt seeps into your pores at Aemond’s touch, your throat burning as you squeeze your eyes shut.

Aemond pulls away, looking at you with a gentle resolve, and you cling to the sliver of the boy you once knew. He brushes a hair behind your ear, touching you as though you are made from glass. Studying every little detail of your face. Your mind wrestling with the Aemond you love and the murderer who forces your hand. He nods, smiling as you release a breath you were not actively aware of holding. A weary chuckle leaves your lips as you lean into his touch, and for a second, he frees you from your shackles to his family. You stand not in a stuffy room in Pentos but on the rooftop beneath the stars—just another pair of Kings Landing’s bastards. In a blink of an eye, he slays the boy that grazes your skin, freeing the man who binds your wrists. He speaks gently, drinking in your close proximity, “Gather your things. We will be meeting Vhagar outside the city walls.”

[pb-dot]

Sliding into yr asks to request an infodump about His Impossible Brushstrokes now that I know there's Rivals-to-Lovers and Horror. I heard that treat tin shake from 15 blocks away.

I am simplifying a bit when I say Rivals-to-Lovers, it is essentially One-sided admiration both ways -> Awkward politeness -> Something More? -> Wait a minute something's wrong here -> [SPOILER EXPUNGED] -> Night Of Terror -> Rallying -> Fight to the death pt. 1 -> Uneasy Alliance -> Genuine (?) Love? -> [SPOILER EXPUNGED] -> Fight to the death pt. 2 -> [SPOILER EXPUNGED]

I suppose everything between "something's wrong here" and the end can pretty much be collapsed into a Rivals To Lovers arc, although the precise emotions in play at any given time is... more implicit than explicit let's just say.

This is perhaps all getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning:

Oscar Skerry is a San Francisco Art Critic with a singular artistic obsession. He loves the strange, bleak and jagged paintings of one Tomasz Gildebrant, a Polish-Dutch autodidact artist, at least he's assumed to be an autodidact, as nobody can find any documentation for his education. There's actually precious little known about Gildebrant, as he has not made a public appearance for decades, and the only a handful of photographs prove his existence.

Gildebrant's art isn't particularly popular, given how unpleasant many of his paintings are to watch in obscure but tangible ways, but a small community of fans, as well as the allure of his mystery, keeps getting his paintings sold. There might, however, be something more to it. Skerry follows a thread of brutal violence and odd obsession that seem to follow the Gildebrant paintings, and in stepping over a fair few ethical lines himself, he even secures an invitation from Gildebrant himself, to join him in his home in the Romanian mountains.

Once he finally meets the artist behind his obsession near the top of the Carpathian alps, Oscar can't quite get himself to believe that this refined, gregarious man produces art so bleak it is on occasion described as Depression Put On Canvas, but still, under the overwhelming almost-romantic friendliness, something else lurks. Try as he might, Oscar can't help but notice the cracks in the facade. Why are there so many different pairs and sizes of mountain boots at the entrance? What secret does the Gildebrant basement hold? Why does every door in the house lock automatically at midnight? Oscar simply must know, but what he will do, what he even could do, with the knowledge Gildebrant's house and mind contains, remains to be seen.

Oh shit, I almost forgot. The above isn't even the first time Oscar gotten himself into an antagonism-into-love situation. It's how he met his best frenemy, Mara. They met just after he moved from Minnesota where he grew up and went to University, and started hating each other in the most heteroerotic way possible just about right away. Oscar would belittle Mara, who in retaliation, or just because she felt like it, expose his parochial origins, mock his pretensions, or just throw shit at him. Things grew a bit messier, but much more interesting when Mara came to realize that Oscar had, and still has, a pronounced masochistic streak, and their relationship took a turn for the sexual. Hate-fucking turned into a more amicable sort of slap-and-tickle, and before they knew it, Mara and Oscar both had come to regard each others as whatever you call the overlap between friends, fuckbuddies, and rivals. Whatever you might call it, Mara and Oscar are still very close, and she provides much commentary on Oscar's ongoing descent into obsession in the earlier act of the book.

As for the status of this whole thing, the first draft is finished, but work on it is on a temporary hiatus as I do a final legibility pass on my previous work, The Clockwork Boy (which sadly contains no rivals-to-lovers at present,) but if you want to keep abreast of the developments when I start up working on HIB again, do feel free to check out my Tag List Post

[sobredunia]

tell me about Fez, please, im looking through your blog and like, i am intrigued

please click read more for an unskippable cutscene

ALRIGHT SO.

FEZ is an indie game created by a (now hated on the internet) guy called Phil Fish. If you wanna find out why he's hated do your own research this isn't about him it's about his videogame

It came out on april 13th of 2012 (yes. homestuck day. i know), and it sold over a million copies by the end of 2013. I've tried finding how many copies have been sold up to this day in total but didn't find anything, but the general gist is that it was pretty much an instant hit, and people absolutely loved it, working together to solve its intricate puzzles even to this day. Yes, there are mysteries hidden in here that an entire community of dedicated fans still hasn't found the solution to 11 years later

(tiny warning here, do not play this game if you have motion sickness or are severely affected by rapidly changing images, there are whole areas that are a doozy to play through. Please stay safe!)

Gameplay

Fez has a singular core mechanic that remains unchanging throughout the entire course of the game, and that is the ability to change perspectives

this is what the game looks like, a 2d pixelated landscape with tons of beautiful colors

but.

this is what the game also looks like

that's right, baby, this shit's actually in 3d

you use this change of perspective nonstop throughout your adventure, to cross gaps like demonstrated in the gif, or to simply access places you couldn't in that current perspective. There are other tiny mechanics that get added, like invisible platforms, crates and buttons, bombs, timed platforms that disappear... they add a bit of flavor, but the main mechanic is always there

There's also a really big emphasis on puzzles towards the latter half of the game, but I'll get more into it later

Story motivations

Your name is Gomez, you are a tiny little guy living in a cozy 2d village that you have never ever left. One day, an old man named Geezer sends you a letter asking you to climb to the top of the village. There, a giant fucking cube appears outta nowhere, teleports you to a satanic ritual, then to the vaccum of space, speaks to you in a strange language you cannot understand, and gives you a free hat. Oh and also he explodes or something

After you're given the hat, the fez, you discover that the world is actually in 3d, and you can now change perspectives. You unlock the core mechanic

After that, you wake up in your room with the fez still on your head, and a being in 4d called Dot is sent from who knows where to tell you that the cube that gave you the hat is called Hexahedron, is actually technically kinda god, and you fucking killed him. Now, your mission is to pick up its 64 pieces and reconstruct him

You see all those tiny golden cubes? You have to collect 8 of them to make a bigger cube, and you need to collect 32 of those

Now hold on, I hear you ask, didn't you just say that you need to collect 64 pieces? Why are you changing your mind and saying 32?

Because, my dear friend, there is another type of cube that you have to also collect

These are called anticubes. Y'know, "a negative for every positive" type of stuff. You have to also collect 32 of those

The main difference between an anticube and a normal cube is that they aren't broken into 8 pieces, when you find one it'll be whole. You can also sometimes encounter full golden cubes btw, but they're rarer than its normal tiny pieces that you collect. Another main difference is that these cubes are much, much harder to find, and I'll go into detail in the next section

There's also this one hub area, with four doors that will only open once you have enough cubes (anticubes also count)

Once you open the door with 16 cubes, you'll enter this one town filled with people that aren't quite like you. In there there's yet another door that will open when you get 32 cubes, so get to gathering motherfucker, you got a long way ahead of you

Puzzles (anticube edition)

When you collect that first anti cube, there is no going back. The floodgates have opened and you are now too deep in. You know too much. You must see this to the very end, for better and especially for the worse

The puzzles in fez are actually surprisingly varied when it comes to difficulty and accessibility. Most likely, the first anticube you'll find will be in this one room. You'll scan the qr code and do the instructions it says, and then the horror of your new life will begin

But this is just the tip of the iceberg, because BOY OH BOY are anticubes convoluted to find in some cases

Sometimes you'll get them by solving relatively easy puzzles, like this one

others will require a bit more thinking, like this one

and then we have the hardest ones where you'll have to learn how to read words, numbers, and commands in the FEZ language

and these arent even the hardest bullshit puzzles the game will pull at you. it gets worse. it gets so much worse

Game ending

Surprisingly enough, you can get a game ending with just 32 cubes. In fact, it is literally impossible to get the 64 cube ending without the 32 cube one unless you have outside help, you know the answer to all puzzles, or you somehow get extremely lucky in a very specific number of rooms

Behind the 32 cube door there's a giant gate that, and I shit you not, teleports you into fucking space

Aliens are canon in the fez lore and they look like squids

Once you reach the top of the alien temple fucking thing, you enter an eye(?) and there you meet the shell of god, the Hexahedron. Since you haven't gathered all 64 cubes, it fails to reconstruct, and it breaks down. This part is pretty dangerous for people with epilepsy, by the way, as there's rapidly changing black and white colors. The 64 cube ending is a bit easier in the eyes, but yeah, just a heads up

In the 32 cube ending, you get sent back home, and you see how the town gets more and more pixelated. Then you see a weird sequence that's like those videos of people really zooming in into things and you see the particles and microscopic stuff?? idk. and then you see Gomez playing the drums :D

After that, you wake up in your room, still with your Fez, and the same sequence at the start of the game plays out. You go to the top of the village, Geezer summons a giant fucking cube, you meet god, but instead of getting another fez, you get cool glasses, that allow you to finally solve a batch of puzzles you couldn't see before and you can finally gather the last anticubes

In the 64 cube ending, the Hexahedron reforms correctly, and instead of zooming in, it zooms out. You see that your world is a tiny cube next to many tiny cubes, and then those tiny cubes form a 4d entity that looks just like Dot, and then those many Dots next to eachother zoom out until they're nothing but static, and then it looks like a tv is turned off, and then the credits roll

They're both very strange endings, and definitely not what a lot of players expected or wanted, but what can you do

Puzzles (hell edition)

NOW.

You thought that was the end?

You thought you could simply walk away scot free?

You thought that this game had no more last "fuck you"s up in its arse?

You thought fucking wrong

Because you know that something's not right

Because you're in too deep

You've played this far. You've scrolled this far.

You have to see how this ends

You have to tie up the last loose ends

You see this? This is the game's map. It actually has a really clever design! Not only are the icons for the areas cubes, but you can also change perspectives like how you do in-game! Pretty cool, right? There are also some small indicators you can see on the bottom left. They mark if you've left any cubes, bits, treasures, or locked doors. They also mark any secrets you might have left! And they turn golden once you've found everything there is in that room, including secrets

If you were normal (let's imagine that for a bit, okay?) and you got the 64 cube ending, that's it, right? You've gathered every cube, you've gathered every map (you need them to get all cubes), you've gotten every key and opened every locked door, that should be it, right? You have everything the game asked you to have, so the whole map should be golden, right?

...right?

No! :D you fucking fool, you poor summer child

In fact, there are three rooms left. Three rooms left with a secret symbol next to them, and one other special room

First, we'll talk about the special room

Once you gather 64 cubes, you'll be able to open a door hidden on an unsuspecting island and access this one special room

kinda weird, right? It has a tileset that appears nowhere else in the game, same with its background. There's also a strange transparent heart over it? Strange

Now, the three ungolden rooms

First, the observatory, the room with the easiest puzzle, at least in comparison with the other two

Second, you have whatever the fuck this is. In order to solve this one, you HAVE to know the Fez language, no ifs or buts. Not only that, but there's a high chance that you were reading the language the wrong way, so in order to have the remote chance to solve this mf you'll have to git gud and realise the error of your ways

And last, but definitely not least

The most infamous room in the entire game aside from maybe the heart room previously shown

This cunt

These three are the hardest challenges the game has to offer, no exaggeration. And also, the first two rooms can be solved at any point of your adventure, but for the third one you HAVE to have completed the 32 cube ending, no workarounds

Now, how to solve them?

If you go to the observatory at night, you'll notice two red blinking stars in the corner. They're speaking in binary code, with one being 1 and the other being 0. Then, that binary has to be translated into a buncha diff languages to be decoded, and once you're done you'll be left with a set of commands that you'll enter in the observatory to get a special red cube that not even Dot, the motherfucker in 4 dimensions that knows things beyond our comprehension, knows what it is

For the second room in fez language, you'll need to answer a question with the cubes provided to you. It's a weird thing where you have to mix this word with the name of the company who made the game, I don't know man. Once you've answered you'll get the second red cube

And now, the third room

Commonly denominated the black monolith room

Why is there no black monolith?

Because you have to make it appear

First, you have to get this burnt map

Behind it, there's a string of code that translates into commands

You need to get into the room, and use the special ability given to you in the 32 cube ending: first perspective mode

You'll have to stand in the tiny square inside this infinity symbol thing that doesn't have a line in it (basically, not the one the screenshot is looking at lol), and then you'll have to do the commands

Once you do it, the black monolith will appear

Okay, you did it

You put the code correctly

Now what?

This isn't a collectable. This isn't a red cube. This doesn't do anything. What is this? How do I solve this puzzle

You wanna know the answer?

Who fucking knows

No one knows the answer to this. No one knows how to solve this. The community solved this a week after launch by bruteforcing it. I shit you not they made a bot that spewed random fez inputs and people just tried them until they got the correct solution

No one knows how it's meant to be solved. To this day, people still go on the r/fez subreddit to give their theories on what the intended solution was meant to be

They have tried everything

The position of the candles, the boiler room, some other random ass rooms that look remotely similar to the black monolith room, a random shower room, it somehow being on a book in the game that's just filled with haikus??, some bullshittery mobius strip mental gymnastics, the other half of the code being in an abandoned airport in Arizona...

...whatever the fuck this is...

by far the most known theory was the release date theory

but that got disproven by one of the devs a few years ago

but anyways, we've already gone through insanity for long enough, it's time to be normal now

Once you've gathered all of the red pieces, they will appear in the heart room

that's it

we're done

.

..

...

....almost

there's a secret code

one that was actually intended to be datamined for once lmao

If you look at certain artifacts in the menu and you rotate them a certain way in a certain order, the heart will vanish and the screen will turn white

you'll be sent back to the menu, and if you load that save file and go back into the temple...

there will be nothing waiting for you there

that, my friend, is the true end of Fez

You wanted to know too much, you wanted to learn everything, to the point of wanting to tear open a creation that took blood, sweat, tears, and five years to complete. And now there is nothing. You ignored the game's boundaries of only wanting to let you know this much, and now the game is empty, the love is gone, and there is nothing left for you here

You can leave now, I hope you're satisfied

[voidandabyssal]

Somehow this wasn’t how you expected to meet your first Monster. Only a few short months since the barrier fell, and you knew it would be an inevitable but did it really have to happen like this?!

You supposed you should start from the beginning. Typical bad morning, alarm doesn’t wake you up, hair not cooperating, missed breakfast and late for work.

You had rushed through your apartment door, nearly slamming into the ground below as you narrowly avoided your weaving cats body.

Your eyes snagged at the local coffee shop. God were you craving some. Well, you were already late. Couldn’t make it worse. You burst through the doors, wallet in hand, stumbling out an order.

The smell was divine, you closed your eyes, taking in the hot, awakening smell of coffee. Your legs kept moving, following the familiar path to the door.

SMASH!

You let out an ‘opmfh’ as your butt lands onto the floor, your coffee flying out of your hand and through the air. Your eyes still remained closed as you rubbed your sore ass.

“FU-FRICK, CRAP, SHOOT!” A husky voice screeches out, you can hear another quieter voice whispering something out. Your eyes snap open, following up the soaked pants and shirt and meeting the singular eye of one very pissed off Monster.

Tall, muscled with flowing red hair. Her other eye covered by a black eye patch. Her sharp teeth are pressed together as she breathes in tight breaths. Blue scaled hands holding her soaked shirt away from her chest. A small human, holds their arm, quickly trying to shake off the boiling liquid.

“Oh, my, god! I am so sorry! Here lemme help you!” You hurriedly say, sweeping yourself off the tiled floor as your hands pull on her coffee stained shirt. You can hear her hiss something out. But you’re too focused on keeping the boiling liquid that you don’t hear her.

Her arms grab at your hands, pulling you away from her shirt. Her face twisted into a snarling frown. A shiver crawls down your spine, your sure that if the small human child wasn’t there, you’d be in for a treat.

“It’s alright, human, just, UGH!” she hisses out in a menacing way. Your eyes laser in on the yellow of her eyes. Like a cat’s gaze you can’t help but want to keep her looking at you. Your legs get shakes as she pulls away from you, giving you an evil stare as she walks to the counter.

You hurry away, too embarrassed to do say much else. A red blush dusting your cheeks.

You groan about the encounter to your coworkers, who simultaneously grill you for details and make fun of you.

“Only you could piss off a scary fish lady and then grow a crush on her!” Your friend laughs, especially as you groan and duck your head into your hands.

“What’s wrong with me?! Why couldn’t I just use my eyes?!” You wallowed in your misery.

“Why don’t you go there again? Maybe you’ll see her and you can actually apologise, buy her a drink!” You roll your eyes

“This isn’t the club Daniel, you can’t just go up to strangers and buy them things”

“You can if it’s an apology!” He chirps out, basking in your misery.

So here you stand, well sit, in one of the booths, hoping the mystery lady comes by again.

Luckily, you’re rewarded for your patience when she finally appears in the doorway. Eye scanning over the crowd before joining the cue. You quickly hurry to join her.

“Uh, hi! I’m not sure if you remember me? I accidentally threw coffee on you yesterday?” You say, hesitating on the words as her head tips down to look at you. You gulp, stay focused! Don’t get distracted!

Her buff arms cross over her body, “I remember,” she sternly states. You almost feel like you’re in an interrogation with how she’s eyeing you.

“Gonna try and repay me, punk?” She says, spitting out the ‘punk’ with hostility. You nod vigorously, hair falling up and down as you do.

“I’m really sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going and I totally-“

“Heh, come on human! You can buy me a coffee and we call it even” a toothy grin spreads wide across her face. You internally breathe a sigh of relief as she relaxes. Oh thank god, you weren’t sure you could handle her staring for any longer.

Soon you lead her to your booth, cups in hand. Conversation flows a little easier once you’ve both had your caffeine. You see her visibly relax and grin in joy as she does.

“You’re not so bad, human. Thought you hit me intentionally!” She loudly stated. You flinch away at the very idea,

“No, no! Never! I just- I wasn’t looking!” She laughs, shoulders rolling as she does

“Ahh, don’t worry, human. Knew the second you started speaking that you were just some big ol’ WEENIE!” She shouts that last part, ignoring the dirty looks of the other customers.

She hooks her muscled arms around your neck, tugging you closely to her side. You let out an indignant squawk as her knuckles dig into your hair.

“Not the hair! Not the hair!” You scramble out, pulling out of her hold (and failing)

She bellows with laughter as you finally manage to scoot away from her, patting your messed hair down, humphing in disgruntled annoyance.

Your impromptu meeting ends as you check your phone. Late again!

You scramble out of your seat, throwing your code in the bin. You horridly turn back around to the Minster, whom you realise you never got the name of.

“Could we do this again?! You’re- you’re funny!” You exclaim. Her sharp teeth enhance her happy grin as she gestures for your phone. Typing in her number.

“Names Undyne, meet you here tomorrow!” She shouts, launching herself out of her seat, leaving you behind in a trail of dust.

Undyne, huh. You clutched your phone to your chest.

Tomorrow it was!

[umbry-fic]

Dwarven Potluck… Surprise?!

Summary: Lloyd's given the mysterious task of gathering materials... But for what purpose?

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Dirk Relationships: Dirk & Lloyd Irving Rating: G Word Count: 1545 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 04/01/2024

Notes: A secret santa gift for Pink--Reptile! They wanted Lloyd and Dirk cooking together :D

~~~

"Materials, materials... But what materials?" Lloyd mumbled, contemplating the mysterious assignment Dad had given him.

Dad hadn't revealed much of anything to him. He'd simply dragged Lloyd out of bed as he did every morning, ushered him to the dining table and then loudly proclaimed that it was time for him to learn before chasing him out of the house with the simple directive to gather materials.

His enquiry was swallowed by the forest that surrounded him, leaves casting shifting shadows under the midday sun. He waited for a few seconds, but all the answer he got was silence, and some rustling from animals crawling about in the undergrowth.

Squatting down to swat at the grass that poked at his ankles, he frowned as he caught sight of a few pebbles, nestled within the endless sea of green like treasures awaiting his perusal. They were the usual drab grey like every other pebble he’d seen before, but their surfaces were smooth, reflecting the sunlight at him. Morning dew still lingered upon them, making them shimmer.

Scooping one up from the dirt, he weighed it upon his palm, bringing it close to his nose to give it an intense once-over. It's what Dad always did when appraising the various minerals and gems he had successfully extracted from the mine after hours of back-breaking work. Doing this would allow him to glean the true value of this pebble, supposedly...

"It's round enough," Lloyd declared with all the confidence a nine-year-old could muster, which was to say, a lot.

Tucking the pebble into one of his many, many pockets with no care for how the remaining droplets still clinging to its surface soaked into the fabric of his shirt, he turned on his heel, scanning the forest for the path back home.

Maybe Dad was finally going to teach him how to make stuff in the forge? It was fascinating, watching him work. The rush of molten metal, the clang of the hammer, the delicate manner with which those large hands could shape an intricate design into existence… It was all so awesome, and he wanted to learn as soon as possible, so he could be just as cool as Dad!

Then maybe he could make two swords! And another two swords! And -

But Dad had insisted they wait another year, and he wasn't the type to ever fold. His will was like the tallest mountain - solid as its bedrock and insurmountable, much to Lloyd’s chagrin at times. Besides, the kitchen table had had a large pot sitting on it this morning...

"Maybe I should also get something more interesting," he mused.

A familiar bark drew Lloyd from his thoughts. Noishe bounded into view, tongue lolling from his mouth as he cocked his head, curious as to what his young master was up to.

Peering at the green and white fur that covered Noishe, Lloyd arrived at a sudden idea for a more interesting material. "That might actually work!" he cheered, a grin growing on his face as he took a step towards the large dog.

As if sensing the danger, Noishe took a hesitant step backwards, ears drooping.

Unfortunately, it was already too late for him.

~~~

"There you are, Lloyd!"

Dad’s loud and cheerful guffaw was there to welcome Lloyd back into the house as he stumbled through the door.

"What do you have there?"

"Oh, just a bit of fur!" he waved around the tuft of fur clenched securely in his hand. "Woah, what's all this?" he exclaimed, making a bee-line to the dining table. Now, arranged in a circle around the singular pot that had been there this morning, was an entire array of objects. From raw meat, to a hammer, and even a boot, crusted in dirt!

"Why, didn't I tell you to gather some materials?" Dirk heaved out another rumbling laugh, his thick beard shifting with his voice. "You're gonna learn how to make Dwarven Potluck Surprise today!"

"Really?!" Any and all thoughts of smithing flew right out of Lloyd's head as he crowded closer to his father. He'd had Dwarven Potluck Surprise many times over the years, usually as a celebration for some special occasion or when he invited his friends over. He didn't care what Genis said, the dish was amazing each and every time he tried it!

"Listen closely!" With a few steps and a quick tug of the hand, Dad released the thick curtains that had been bundled up beside the window, pitching the room into almost complete darkness. "The first step is to get rid of the lights. Wouldn't be much of a surprise if we could see, now could it?"

Squinting to take advantage of the scant light filtering through the gap between the curtains, Lloyd noted that the ingredients were now impossible to make out. All he could see were murky shapes that seemed to waver in the darkness.

"Now then, get your hands on whatever you can and throw them right in the pot!"

Scrambling to follow Dad's instructions, he leaned over the table and grabbed the first thing his fingers brushed against. The texture felt like wood... Maybe the handle of something?

Not that it mattered! With an enthusiastic flourish (visible to no one), he flung whatever it was into the pot of water, a satisfying thunk echoing as it hit the bottom of the pot.

"That's the spirit, Lloyd!" Dad encouraged, slamming him on the back so hard that he almost became part of the stew himself. "Now keep on it!"

And so, he dashed in circles around the dining table, blindly flinging whatever he could find. While he barely dodged the objects wildly flying around, he crashed right into Dad a few times, sending him to the floor and right back to square one, their laughter mingling in the air. Thankfully, the pot never capsized off the table.

Gradually, the two of them created a hodgepodge whose taste could only be guessed...

~~~

Steam rose from the deep bowl filled to the brim with stew placed on the table before him, a strong aroma wafting into his nose. Even peering intently into its depths did not reveal its contents - they were thoroughly hidden beneath the surface.

“Smells good, Dad!” Lloyd grinned, giving a thumbs up. He couldn’t wait to try out this pot of Dwarven Potluck Surprise that he’d a hand in making. It was sure to be incredible.

Following Dad’s cue, he cupped the bowl with both hands and brought it up to his face, preparing to gulp down everything in one go -

“Ow!” he hissed, recoiling as he nearly chipped a tooth on something large. Hurriedly placing the bowl down, he gingerly fished out one of the pebbles he’d picked up this morning. “So cool,” he murmured, plopping it back into the bowl. What were the chances he’d gotten something he gathered as one of the secret components in his bowl?

Glancing at Dad to gauge his progress, Lloyd couldn’t help but burst into a fit of giggles. A few strands of green fur had gotten tangled in his bushy beard, giving the impression that he was midway through dyeing it.

“Here you go,” he whispered, holding the bowl under the table to let Noishe have some of the stew. It was with his help that this was possible, after all!

The dog lapped it up, perking up just a little at the… unique taste.

Lloyd was glad to know he’d been right. This was an incredible meal!

~~~

The sounds of running water filled the space as Lloyd helped Dad wash the pot, scrubbing it until the metal gleamed under the amber light of the sun that had begun to make its descent, once again let in through the open windows.

"Hey, Dad?" he piped up, grabbing the towel from the rack over the sink to begin drying the pot. "Thanks for teaching me."

Dad’s large hand came down on his head, ruffling his hair as he sputtered in protest. He wasn't a little kid anymore! Well, at least there was no one here to witness this, since Noishe had slunk out the front door some time ago.

So he could smile, and tip his head up just a little…

Discreetly, of course!

"No problem, Lloyd. I remember my own father teaching me when I was a wee lad. What kind of father would I be if I didn't teach you this?"

A toothy smile stretched across his face, so wide that his cheeks hurt from it. His heart warmed at the thought that Dad would trust him with any of the Dwarven traditions, and deem him worthy to carry their legacy. Just as he had already been entrusted with the Dwarven vows.

He would carry their weight with pride. He’d make sure that his children, and even grandchildren, would know how to make this dish by heart! He'd make it with them, again and again, until they'd gotten it into their skulls, just as he was sure Dad would do with him. He’d ensure the recipe would never die, long into the future.

But for now, the only thought that ran through his head… was that he was really looking forward to making this dish with Dad again, sometime soon.

[admiral-mason]

You Reap What You Sow - Chapter 7

Genshin Impact SAGAU x Iron Harvest 1920+

Rekindled Knowledge

Warning: Mentions of Aether being the traveler.

You were walking with the Tsaritsa to the "Divine Archives" of this palace to learn more about yourself. Despite being the supposed 'divine creator,' you didn't really know much about yourself. You and the Tsaritsa were all alone, your rifthound and Sluga buddies playing with the Harbingers.

The archives had a different door compared to the other doors within the palace, which were all in different shades of light blue. The archive door, however, was a dark blue with various symbols correlating to you engraved on it. These symbols included the seven elements alongside the seven gnoses. There was also a hole which appeared to be in the shape of the Cryo gnosis.

"Here we are, your grace. The Divine Archives, where I have all the different scrolls and books focusing on you that I could find." She took out her gnosis and placed it in the hole before taking it out and opening up the double doors to them.

The room was large. Bookshelves and chandeliers of ice littered the place. Various pieces of furniture were also around the area. You looked over one of the images on the wall. It depicted you wearing a hood, overshadowed and mysterious. However, you also held out your arms in what seemed to be a hugging position, symbolizing your mystifying yet kind nature.

You took out a maroon-red book from its shelf, sat down on a soft chair, and opened it up. It depicted how you have created the world of Teyvat.

In the beginning, there were volatile masses of ever-changing matter.

In the midst of this nothingness, a singular, lone, but sentient light existed, wandering aimlessly around the world.

The light, feeling lonely, decided to create something using the matter of this dark realm.

They first created some stable chunks of matter, which are solids, liquids, and gases. They created seven starting elements: Anemo, Geo, Electro, Dendro, Hydro, Pyro, and Cryo.

As this light grew more advanced, they learned how to create life. They gave rise to the Seven Sovereigns, and later on the Primordial One. The Primordial One was a test to see how tough their newest creation, mankind, can get. They managed to defeat the Seven Sovereigns and shaped the Human Realm. The light then created a form for themselves, and it is here where they first have the formal title of "Divine One."

Over time, Humanity grew stronger, and Celestia rose to power. Khaenri'ah was also founded as a godless nation, something which the divine creator was impressed at. Then, Celestia gave seven seats to those who are strong and heroic enough to claim them. This led to the Archon War.

The Divine One hated this war. So many dead, so many lost. Finally, when the war was over, the creator watched as the new gods took their place. Only Barbatos and Morax of the original seven remained.

Finally, the world was at a shaky peace. Or was it?

The Cataclysm occurred, and the Divine One watched in lamentation once more at the sight of their creations fighting. While Khaenri'ah was a threat to the natural order of Teyvat, the creator couldn't help but feel empathy for the destruction of what could have been a wonderous, prospering nation.

Then, the Travelers arrived. The Divine One breathed life into these two siblings as a method to observe other potential worlds, and ultimately their final creation before the Divine One stored away their powers in order to rest. They unfortunately did not expect the Sustainer of Heavenly Principles to separate them from each other. The female was trapped in Teyvat and witnessed the Cataclysm, and the male lay dormant for 500 years. As the male traveler began their Journey in Mondstadt, the Divine One learned something atrocious from their acolytes.

Their acolytes had been punishing those who bore the same face as them. The Divine One looked at their hands as they witnessed a citizen of Mondstadt have their head chopped off through the eyes of the traveler, all because they had the same looks as the almighty one.

You closed the book right there and then, and the memories came washing back. The Archon War, the Cataclysm, everything. You internally panicked, remembering all of the chaos and destruction you saw. You further remembered the time that your own acolytes tried killing your own self. The Tsaritsa, sitting next to you, sensed your panic and tried to calm you down.

"Your grace, look at me, please." She softly said to you, before enveloping you in a slow and soft hug. "I am sorry for defiling your personal space, but I could sense that you were panicked."

"No- no, it's fine." You replied, reciprocating the hug.

You further read upon different subjects in the archives, such as further into on Khaenri'ah, the Fatui, etc. However, one golden-covered book caught your interest the most, and it was on the topic of your powers.

It turned out your powers were greater than you could imagine. You could create ANYTHING you wanted, whether it be a pink sheep or an indestructible chunk of rock, you could do so. However, since you were reborn, it would take a while before you could create totally anything. You had heavy restrictions placed on your current, more fragile form. Then, you reached the topic of revitalization, and the information it had to tell hit you.

The Divine One can revive chosen individuals, but they must be assisted by large amounts of an element during the process.

You drew a conclusion from this: in order to revive La Signora and Rostam, you just needed to supercharge yourself with TF-610 Baterijas from Tesla's Factory.

However, by the time you learned that information, you were growing tired as the drowsiness starts to hit you. "Hey, uhhhh... Tsaritsa? I think I'm done for the day."

The Tsaritsa smiled as she lead you outside of the Archives and to a bedroom dedicated to you. It was near the archives and away from other rooms so you could have a lot of privacy. It was also incredibly gorgeous, boasting a comfortable king-sized bed, lavish furnishing, and a decorated crystal chandelier. There was also an ocean-blue door which you would explore tomorrow. Oh, and your rifthound buddy was here alongside the Slugas. The whelp is sleeping, and the robots are powered down. You also found a changing room with some dark blue nightwear.

As you got settled in for the night in said nightwear, Columbina entered the room. "The Tsaritsa suggested to me that I should sing a lullaby to help you sleep." She said, smiling at you with her closed eyes. Childe may fear her, but you certainly don't.

"Alright then, Damselette. Go ahead." You replied as you closed your eyes.

Genshin Impact is owned by miHoYo. Iron Harvest 1920+ is owned by Jakub Różalski and KING Art Games.

[lilac-5ky]

Killing Butterflies (Part 3: Hana Yori Dango)

A/N: Nnnnnoooo, this has nothing to do with the fact that I'm currently watching Meteor Garden. Okay, maybe a bit, but, it still makes sense. You will know once you read this.

Warning: Language a bit, I'd say. Other than that, nothing else. If anything this is cuter than the previous ones, not super angsty either.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

They say that love finds you when you least expect it. A feeling so intense that you have no choice but to follow, even when that means utterly losing yourself in it. Love at first sight was something you didn’t believe in. The overly romanticized idea of stumbling upon someone so perfect that would at once take your breath away, seemed rather foolish. Yet when you met Takasugi Shinsuke, you couldn’t keep rejecting the idea anymore. This was love.

The boy was unlike anyone you had witnessed before, carrying a mesmerizing aura that could draw just about anyone to him. He seemed to be your age, around seventeen years old, although, when looking at his singular green eye, you could tell he had seen far too much for a teenager. He called himself a samurai, an actual survivor of the Joui battles, one who had bravely resisted the Amanto to the end. His story felt like something out of your novels of valiant and gallant heroes from faraway empires.

Everything about him was fascinating and exciting to you, even when his past was shrouded in a veil of mystery. Other than the fact that he was a mere ronin, someone whose master had perished in the war, there was nothing else you knew about him, though you were determined to find out the true identity of the man behind the name.

At first, you tried asking around your servants, wondering if they had picked up on any information from the market. They were the ones who moved around the most. Surely they would have heard the name of such a hero. You asked nearly every single person, only to come to the same conclusion; no one had heard or seen him. 

After that, you entertained the idea of asking your father’s advisors, before realizing that perhaps this wouldn’t be the greatest idea. Ever since the war came to an end, no one, and especially the ones who served the Bakufu, held the samurai in high regard. They quickly went from legendary warriors to war criminals to be executed. With the anti-sword law being imposed, few of those remained, and the talk of their existence got reduced to whispers behind closed doors. 

Besides, they reported directly to your father. Who knew what they’d make of your asking around for him? The last thing you wanted was for foul rumors to spread.

And so, your final options remained to either ask your father, your least favorable option, or to muster up your courage and try to approach him. Your status would definitely come in handy for once. Takasugi had pledged himself to your family, meaning that just like he respected the lord of the house, he ought to respect you as well. And if he respected you, then getting answers from him would be a piece of cake, right? Or so you thought.

The first time you tried to approach Takasugi was right after he had finished a meeting with your father. He was pacing down the grounds of your residence, his one arm buried inside his pale purple yukata, his eye peering at the horizon. He seemed to be a tad too lost in his thoughts, but he was on his own and that’s all that mattered.

"Takasugi!" He turned around at his name, his eye directly locked with yours.

You weren’t too used to people of lesser origins staring at you without any sort of reverence. After all, the Tsuguaru clan was one of the most respected clans in Edo. Despite that, the way he looked at you as if you were equals, was enough to make you forget all about what you were trying to say in the first place. If anything, part of you felt obligated to apologize for disturbing his walk.

Disheartened, you shook your head, bowing out of courtesy before running as quickly as possible out of his sight. Falling against the first wall with your back, you brought your hands to your chest, feeling the loud thumping of your heart. It wasn’t all in vain. Even if it was for just a moment, you had received his attention.

The attempts that followed weren’t particularly successful either. Takasugi went wherever your father did, becoming one of his closest attendants in no time. Because of that, you ended up memorizing their schedule by heart, conveniently showing up the second the young samurai was left alone. Though you did nothing but await your ‘not so random’ encounters, they were just as fruitless as your very first interaction.

Takasugi seemed to have no interest in conversing with you, giving you straight-cut answers to each and every one of your questions. He was a man of few words; you could tell as much, but even so, the way he shut you down was beyond frustrating. It made you feel as if you were nothing but a nuisance, a pebble in his shoe. He was never particularly rude or disrespectful to you, however, his indifference stung more than any word he could say.

On the rare days Takasugi wasn’t occupied with your father and his official business, you spotted him resting in the shade of a sakura tree in your back yard, his head and back resting against the trunk, with his eye closed, a near serene look on his face. As much as you’d like to shoot your shot, during such moments, you never dared disturb him, content with simply gazing at his beautiful form from afar. It was a dreamy sight that, more often than not, distracted you from your morning classes. Propping your chin on top of your elbow, you’d tilt your head towards your room’s window, peering at the boy for hours on end while ignoring Harumi’s scornful look.

What are you thinking about? Why is it that although I can look at you all I want, I can never really see you?

Such questions circled through your brain while watching him, knowing that no textbook or novel could give you a clear-cut answer. 

One day, your father passed by your quarters to inform you that he’d be having a handful of guests over for lunch, namely the Shinsengumi’s Superintendent—along with the commander and vice commander—, as well as some "important guests of the Bakufu," as he called them. Normally, he would have requested your attendance, considering you were the sole heir of the Tsugaru clan, but this time, he insisted that you stay out of the way. Not just you. In reality, he had given a day off to the majority of his attendants and staff members.

By the time your father had exited the room, you were celebrating in utter joy. Not only were you spared from a rather dull meeting, but you were also given the perfect opportunity to try things out with Takasugi, assuming he was also on the list of people who received leave. An entire day of swooning over him... it sounded like a dream come true!

"Lady Y/N, I shall be going for now." Harumi’s voice caught you off guard. You hadn’t even realized she was in the room in the first place. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

"No, nothing at all. You may leave. "

The woman bowed her head, walking with her back facing the wall.

"Actually, Harumi, would you happen to know who’s working today?"

"Do you have anyone specific in mind, my lady?"

"That swordsman. You know, the one my father took in... Is he still here? " You ask, biting down on your lip.

"Oh, you mean that handsome samurai you are always watching? He just left. "

He... what now?!?

Without wasting any time, you rushed to the window. Lifting the skirt of your kimono up, you jumped right outside at once, Harumi's complaints falling on deaf ears. What did she know about true love, anyway? She had dedicated her entire life to serving your family, to the point of completely disregarding her own personal affairs. You weren't about to let social rules about how ladies should behave get in your way. If he had only just left, there was still time for you to catch up with him.

You ran through the grass at full speed, prancing towards the front gate in no time. As expected, there were no people to stop you from leaving; the ones who were still around were too busy with preparations.

Once you reached the street, you caught a glimpse of a man walking in the far distance. There was no way you could distinguish any of his features, a large straw hat covering his head, though there was no doubt. That purple shade of clothing could only belong to Takasugi himself.

“Takasugi!” You called out to him, yet your voice went unregistered. He was too far away while you were completely out of breath. Trying again would be pointless, considering the distance between you kept getting bigger. The only choice you had was to trail after him, following him to what appeared to be the road to the city.

Though you were born and raised in Edo, the times you had visited the center of the city had been few and far between. All of your needs were tended to by Harumi or the rest of your attendants. There really was no need for you to leave the comfort of your home. Plus, even if you wanted to, there was no way your father would allow you to walk through town without anyone to watch over you. Rather than having to face the fake courtesies of the townsfolk, you’d prefer to go unnoticed, mingling with the crowd like a commoner. At least that seemed more fun.

Even after you had caught up to him, you still made no move to reveal yourself to Takasugi. He was walking ahead of you, completely unaware of your presence, while you kept on observing his every move. Perhaps this was for the best, you realized. The chances of you having an actual conversation with him were slim. Knowing that you were there would only make things more uncomfortable for him, especially if he came to realize that you’d been following him the entire time. Besides, watching over him was something you were content with, for the time being.

The first thing he did upon entering the market was stroll by the different vendors. You saw him pick up an assortment of different things, from fabrics to folding fans. He studied each item carefully before eventually placing it down. Was he out there on a shopping spree? You couldn’t tell. Nothing seemed to be catching his interest, and the ones he reviewed, he ended up leaving behind.

After a while of strolling around, Takasugi entered an empty alleyway. There was no way for you to follow him there without getting busted. For now, you had to make do with idly sitting by a jewelry vendor, your hands examining the intricate hair pins while your eyes stayed glued to the alley.

You spotted him standing with his arms crossed before his chest, leaning against a wall. He seemed to be waiting for something, someone. Surely enough, another figure concealed by an equally big straw hat appeared by his side. You peeked your head behind the corner, watching as the stranger handed him an envelope, one that Takasugi stuffed inside a book before turning to face the other way. The unknown man tipped his hat off at him, folding his hands behind his back, as he walked out of the alley and towards you.

Quickly, you went back to looking at the hairpins, pretending as if you had seen nothing. The man passed you by, the shadow of his hat catching your eye before he  vanished in the crowd. What was that all about? You weren’t the greatest judge of character, but you didn’t like this one bit. There was something shady about him, and while Takasugi seemed to be, at the very least, on friendly terms with him, you couldn’t shake the feeling. This man was dangerous.

But if he was dangerous, then that meant... Takasugi!

Without thinking, you ran into the alleyway, your eyes frantically darting left and right. There was nowhere there. Your attention was diverted for less than a minute, and this is what happened. All this time of following him around for nothing. You had lost him.

"For a woman of noble origin, your steps are quite heavy." A whisper that fell to your ears made you jolt in surprise.

"T-Takasugi!" He was standing behind you, his expression dead serious as he peered into your eyes. So much for sneaking around. "It’s not that, I wasn’t-"

"Following me? I find that hard to believe. "

"N-no, you see, I..." Desperately, you tried to come up with an excuse. Though the chances of him actually believing you were slim, it wasn’t as if you were left with much of a choice. Not with his eye so intently fixed on you, staring right into your soul.

"I came to the city to visit a friend."

"What’s your friend’s name?"

"Fujiwara. She is the youngest daughter of Lord Fujiwara. We’ve been friends since childhood." While it wasn’t exactly a lie that you were acquainted with Fujiwara Kanae, you shouldn’t have gone as far as to claim you were this close. Normally, you detest deceiving others, but all’s fair in love and war, as they say.

"Oh? That would be Fujiwara Kanae. " He knew her?!? "In that case, should I escort you there?"

"No!" You practically shouted. "I mean... no, there is no need to." You repeated in a softer voice.

"But I insist. Your father would be restless to know you’ve been roaming the streets of Edo unsupervised. " That was... true.

Takasugi wasn't cutting you any slack. Most would have the courtesy to go along with your scheming, not letting a lady of your status embarrass herself any further. Shame was an unknown feature to you, yet right now, there was no way to hide your blushed cheeks. You were beyond humiliated, a direct hit to your pride. All hope of impressing him faded in an instant. At the time, you looked no better than an average stalker.

Ducking your head, you tried to avoid his stare. The last thing you wanted to see was the contemptuous look on his face.

"Fine... I wasn’t visiting Fujiwara." You meekly said, with voice as quiet as a whisper.

"So you lied."

"I did not!" You were quick to correct him, losing your temper.

Takasugi grinned at you, barely muffling a chuckle. This was the first time you had heard him laugh, a fact that threw you off your train of thought. Even when he was scolding you, he looked too good doing so.

Sighing, you shook your head. It was already too late to go back. The only thing you could do was to try and turn this around somehow.

"At least not entirely… I came to visit you. " Twisting the words in your favor with a smile, just like every good politician did.

"I’m not your friend." He counter argued with a stern tone.

"But you can be!"

"Not interested."

"But-"

"No buts. I’m taking you home." Without giving you time to try and convince him, Takasugi turned his back on you, stuffing both of his hands inside his kimono.

Even if you stood still, there was always a chance he’d drag you away, and while you weren’t opposed to the thought, your father would be mad to hear you’d made a spectacle out of yourself. Groaning, you lowered your head in disappointment, involuntarily following in his footsteps.

The two of you went back into the market, walking side by side among the crowd. Takasugi had his eye set on the road ahead, looking past the colorful shapes of the people ahead. His lips were pursed together in a straight line, revealing no emotion. Was he mad that you had gone after him? Was he annoyed at you? There was no way to tell. He didn’t do as much as speak to you throughout your entire walk, keeping to himself at all times.

"So what were you doing in town?" You said in an attempt to lighten things up.

"Same as you. Meeting with a friend."

"The guy with the hat?" He nodded.

"He doesn’t seem too friendly to me. You should be careful with people, not everyone takes samurai too kindly nowadays."

"I’ll... keep that in mind." Takasugi scoffed. "What about you? What do you think of samurai? "

You blinked in surprise. He had never asked your opinion on anything before.

"To me, samurai are like heroes."

"Heroes?"

"They are both strong and brave! I hear that even when all hope was lost, they still fought valiantly to the end. Surely, there was no chance for them to win the war, but their courage is admirable. I can see why Amanto are so scared of them. Even if they kill their bodies, they can never kill their souls. "

Takasugi slowed his steps, looking into your eyes as if he was trying to evaluate your words. Although his hat kept clouding his gaze, you could tell that he wasn’t staring at you with such disdain anymore.

"Hmm." He eventually shrugged. "Interesting take."

Your face lit up at his comment. This was the first time he acknowledged you, the first time it felt as if you had gotten through to him.

He kept on leading the way, with the two of you making it out of the busiest part of the market. The vendors had given their place to proper stores, with the exception of a single stall that stood out in the middle of the road. An old man was tending to it, rows of colorful skewered balls lying before him. You had never seen anything like this, and naturally, curiosity got the best of you. It smelled so good that your steps led you right in front of the stall, eyes and nostrils both widening in awe.

"Miss, would you like one?"

"Would I like one…?" You repeated his question, tilting your head while you tried to understand what those things were.

"Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a dango before." Takasugi chimed in, catching up to you.

"Dango?" You shook your head negatively. "It smells really good, but I’m afraid I can’t afford that."

"What kind of noble doesn’t carry money on them?" He sneered.

"I didn’t have the time to find my purse before following you-"

Cutting your sentence in half, you realized it was too late. You had exposed yourself to Takasugi yet again, giving him permission to rightfully call you a stalker. He merely glanced at you, a hint of a smirk carving his lips. This was the second time you were making a fool of yourself in front of him. It was so unladylike that Harumi would most definitely scold you.

"Give us one."

Momentarily, he pulled his hand out of his kimono, placing a coin onto the counter. The old man accepted it, handing Takasugi one of the skewers, who, in turn, handed it over to you. Mumbling a ‘thank you’, you dragged your feet away from the stall, praying that the earth would open up and devour you.

Once you felt comfortable enough to open your mouth again, you brought the skewer to your lips, taking a small bite of the pink-colored dango, as they called it. The sweet flavor of red beans filled your mouth as you chewed on it, a delightful though not overbearing taste that you quite liked.

"It’s really good!" You smiled at him once you had swallowed. "Thank you, and sorry for making you pay."

Takasugi shook his head as if to say there was no need to thank him. Despite appearing as a stoic and rather difficult guy, he was kinder than he let on, you noted. True kindness, not the forced kind that the people in your environment showered you with.

While you munched on your skewer, he revealed a thin kiseru from within his kimono. You had never seen him smoke before, but watching him now, it looked quite natural. There was a certain elegance in the way his fingers, along with his lips, curled around the golden tip. You considered asking him whether you could take a puff, but eventually decided against it. Having him deny you while calling you a brat was the last thing you wanted to hear. Besides, you weren’t even sure whether you could handle smoking.

The way back felt longer than it did when you followed him this noon, the silence between you contributing to that. A million things kept flying through your brain, questions ranging from what he thought of the random flora and fauna you encountered to personal questions about his past. There was so much you wanted to know, though rather than asking him a thing, the sound of his name fell out of your lips.

"Shinsuke… Takasugi Shinsuke." You tested the way it rolled off your tongue.

"Hm?"'

"Oh, it’s nothing." Perhaps doing so in front of him wasn’t your brightest idea. "It’s just that, your name is quite nice. I like the sound of it. Shinsuke."

"Hmph." He scorned, moving forward.

"Can I start calling you Shinsuke?"

"Are we that close?"

"Not yet." You flashed him a smile, one that he didn't return.

Though evidently annoyed, he didn’t deny you the privilege, merely rolling his eyes at your request.

"Do you have anyone you are close with, Shinsuke?" 

"Not anymore."

"How come?"

Looking at you, he took a rather prolonged draw from his pipe, keeping quiet for a moment as if he was contemplating his next answer.

"Bonds get severed all the time, don’t they?" Takasugi eventually said.

"That’s true. Did you do anything to preserve them though? " You inquired.

"There’s nothing to be preserved."

"You sound very absolute."

"So I’m told." He smirked.

Another moment of silence.

"What about your family then? Do they live here? " You pressed on.

"Am I going under interrogation?" 

"I’m just curious."

"Don’t be. Nothing good will come out of it. " And with that, the wall between you rose once again. He might have answered most of your questions, but other than vague replies and the feeling that he wanted to forget the past, there was not much you had gained. 

Another while passed with neither of you saying a word to each other. In an attempt to fill the void of the silence, you started humming ever so softly to the sound of the cicadas. The road was near empty at this time of the day, most people having made their way home in prior, nothing but the shadow of trees escorting you home, the sun having already set a long time ago. 

You were wondering whether your father had finished entertaining his guests, when you stumbled upon a small pebble which you mindlessly, began to kick around.Left foot, right foot, left and then right, repeating the same movements, you managed to drag it along for quite the distance, until it fell out of your control, landing directly in front of Takasugi. He stopped in his tracks, briefly glancing at it before eventually kicking it back to you. Taking this as an invitation, you threw it towards him once again, elated to find him tossing it back.

Continuing your little game, you reached the front gate of your estate in no time. By the time you did, you felt rather sorrowful knowing that this was a goodbye, at least for the time being. Perhaps today wasn't the ideal kind of day you had planned in your mind, but, nonetheless, it was still fun. 

Rather than entering the door, Takasugi stood idly by the pavement as if he was stalling. 

"Aren’t you coming in?" You asked, pointing at the door with your thumb.

"I have certain things to take care of." He replied.

"What kind of things?"

He took a step closer, a sardonic smile curling his lips upwards.

"Dangerous things." Takasugi humored you before walking away, leaving you to stand there by yourself.

Whether he truly said the truth or not, you had no idea. Everything was possible after his encounter with that man in the market, though it was none of your concern. If you wanted him to open up to you, asking him about every single thing would get you nothing. Besides, you didn’t mean to end your night on a bad note.

"Shinsuke?" He turned around at the sound of his name. "I meant what I said earlier. I want us to be close. If you ever want to talk about those ‘dangerous things’, I'd be happy to lend you an ear."

"I appreciate the offer." He mumbled.

"You won’t tell my father about this, right?"

"Hmm..." He pondered out loud before flashing you a crooked smile. "As long as you quit following me around, I’m willing to keep your little secret. Until next time, dango girl."

"But Senpai, what’s even the point? It’s the fifth time her bowl remains untouched. This bitch refuses to eat, it’s a waste of supplies at this point." The blonde exclaimed, obviously aggravated while she paced through the room.

"It’d be a shame to have such a beautiful flower wither in this cell." A man you had never seen before argued in a perfectly calm voice.

"I don’t get why we should care whether she withers or not. She’s just an intruder who tried to murder Shinsuke-sama. And finally, when are you gonna stop romanticizing our prisoners? Take your fetish elsewhere! "

"Appreciation of beauty is no fetish, Matako. Young Tsugaru-san is quite the charmer. I can see why Shinsuke-dono is so enthralled with her." Enthralled?

"Shinsuke…sama? You have it all wrong, there is no way he’d care for a filthy Bakufu descendant like her. Quit tarnishing him with your self-projection." Filthy?

"I’m just speaking the truth."

"You do know that I can hear you, right?"

The two of them turned to look at you at once. The girl, the very same girl that had tried to shoot you, stared at you with near hatred in her eyes, while the way the man studied you held a certain endearment, despite the two of you never having met before.

While their argument was entertaining at first, providing a break from the monotonous days you spent locked in this cell, it quickly became overbearing. They’ve been at each other's throats ever since they walked into the room. One would have a hard time believing they were comrades working for the same cause, or that Takasugi would choose to associate with such people.

The excuse behind their visit had been to check on your health and daily meal consumption, both of which you’d been severely neglecting. However, that soon escalated to a heated debate regarding your looks. It was so nonsensical that, under different circumstances, you might have laughed in their faces.

"Shut up! This is none of your concern! " She spat back at you.

"Tsugaru-san, why is it that you reject the food we offer you? Could it be that it’s not to your liking?" The man said, walking closer to you with his hands buried in his sleeves.

"That’s... not it."

"Then perhaps there’s something you want to request? Though keep in mind, choices are limited on board."

"No, I…"

For a second, you felt rather guilty. The man, whatever his name was, seemed to be genuine with his intentions, kind even. You didn’t wanna disappoint him, but then again, why should you bother with him? As far as you were concerned, an associate of Takasugi's was the same as he was, if not even worse.

"I don’t want anything from you. Or from him for that matter." You pushed the bowl to his side, some of the rice spilling onto the floor.

"You ungrateful-" The woman, Matako, raised her hand, evidently attempting to assault you.

Stepping in the middle, the man blocked her attack, somehow managing to infuriate her even further.

"Senpai! Let me teach her a lesson!"

"Enough, Matako. If young Lady Tsugaru wishes to abstain from eating, then we shall respect her wishes. " He spoke to her before directing his attention back to you. "Should you change your mind, we’ll bring you dinner later on."

While the man picked up the leftover bowls, Matako stormed out of the room, not before glaring at you a final time, that was. Soon, he trailed after her, the door falling shut behind him. Out of the two, you’d definitely have an easier time communicating with him, you could tell. At least he didn't seem to be wanting to place a bullet in your brain, nor was he caught up in some petty jealousy feud with you, like she was.

Sigh, now it’s quiet again.

The worst thing about the silence was that despite your will to refuse each of the meals they served you, your stomach seemed to have another opinion, which it openly voiced. The grumbling was turned up to full volume, a reminder that unless you sated your hunger, it wouldn’t be too long until your stomach gave up, until you made no sound at all.

Your body had grown significantly weaker and you could only spend your days sleeping, unsure of how much time had gone by. This was the fifth bowl you had turned down, indicating that it must have been about four or five days since you’d last eaten, counting the time you had spent unconscious. Your mind was going hazy, unable to support any thoughts or even your grudge towards Takasugi and his crewmates. Right now, all you wanted to do was yell for them to come back with the bowls, but you wouldn’t allow yourself to sink this low. You had to hold on, you had to keep it up, you had to-

Before you knew it, you were lying on your side, surrendering to a slumber devoid of dreams.

The next time you opened your eyes, was due to the sound of the door opening. You couldn’t tell how long you’d been passed out, but most likely it was long enough for them to bring your dinner to you.

"I told you, I have no intention of eating your food." Your voice came out like a croak, while you kept your back turned to the door.

"I was told you were acting foolish again. Once an idiot, always an idiot." Takasugi’s voice forced you to sit up, each and every trace of sleep evading you at once.

"It’s you." You scoffed at him.

Closing the door behind him, Takasugi didn't bother to hide his smile at your forced bravado. If anything, he appeared to be entertained as he dragged the chair -the very same chair from the last time he'd visited you- to the middle of the room. Taking a seat, you watched him place a silver tray containing two plates on top of his lap, the contents of which you failed to distinguish. 

"Contempt doesn’t suit you, Y/N." He said once he’d settled down.

"Contempt is the one thing I can spare for you. What brings you here again? Curious to see if I’m still alive and kicking?"

Poison dripped from your words while you dragged yourself across the floor, sitting right in front of him. You could only hope he wouldn’t be able to tell that the reason for that was your inability to stand up and walk like a normal person. 

"You won’t be either if you keep on skipping your meals."

"And what do you care?"

"A corpse will do me no good."

"Of course it won’t."

Though he attributed his keeping you alive to past sentiments, he was finally showing you his true face. Who knew what he had in store for you? As far as you were aware, he could easily sell you off to some space crime syndicate pirates without looking back. Wouldn’t be too out of the question for a man like him.

"Glad we settled this." Takasugi mumbled, bringing one of the plates to your feet. 

As expected, the usual portion of rice and fish that you’d been resisting for so long. Up to this point, they had only served you the exact same dish, merely changing the label for it, sometimes calling it lunch, while other times calling it dinner. Despite having not seen the other plate, you didn't feel the urge to do so. After all, you could claim with near certainty that more rice and fish awaited you. This would turn out to be easier than you thought. There was no need to break down before him over such a mundane dish. 

"I told you, I want nothing from you." You stubbornly exclaimed, pushing the plate towards him. 

"Not even this? You used to be quite fond of them from what I remember." Though his words didn't particularly move you, his placing the second plate before you managed to do so. Involuntarily, your eyes widened at the sight of its contents; three colorful dango skewers. To anyone else, dango was nothing but another piece of commonly acquired street food, but that wasn't the case for you. Not when he was the one who gave them to you, not when he was the one who introduced you to them, and certainly not when the memory of that day lingered in your mind to this very day. Fucking hell, why did he have to make things so hard for you? 

"Where did you get these?" You breathed in a soft voice. 

Watching your change of demeanor, Takasugi couldn't help but smirk. "I've come to understand that for the right price, there is nothing you can't obtain in space. Even dango."

"Space? Did you just say space?" Did he just say space?!?

He nodded.

"Since when?"

"Three days ago."

While your father was alive, you'd barely been able to leave your house. Even in the years following his death, you hadn't done so much as to wander past Edo's port, and now you found yourself soaring through space? While unreal, the notion wasn't completely unheard of. After all, you had the Amanto to thank for. Ever since they had taken over, such trips that had previously been nothing but figments of a child's imagination, were now reality, one that you came to face by yourself, whether you liked it or not. 

All of a sudden, you forgot about your hunger, the dango, and even the fact that Takasugi stood right in front of you. A rather grim thought circled your brain, causing a nauseating feeling to rise from your guts. Even if you somehow managed to escape this hell hole, where would you go? What would you do? It was either turn into cosmic dust, or leaving your bones in this godforsaken cell. Needless to say, neither choice sounded particularly attractive, contrary to the delicacies that kept taunting you. If he kept them in front of you any longer, you weren't so sure you could keep turning them down. 

"You think you can buy me off with dango?" You scoffed, half-heartedly shoving the plate next to the other one. "Stick it up your ass for all I care." 

Inhaling sharply, Takasugi furrowed his eyebrows. Not even he was able to mask his own aggravation, his eye narrowing into a slit at the sound of your words. Getting under his skin wasn't too easy of a task, yet now that you had gotten him to drop the act, you couldn't help but smirk. For the first time since you'd stepped your foot on this ship, you were feeling rather amused, be it at his expense. 

Rather than talking back at you, he let out a prolonged sigh, one that resembled more of a growl if anything.

"Very well. Then you certainly won't mind me having these. " He said, bringing the dango plate back onto the tray. 

"Go ahead." You shrugged as he placed the plate back onto the tray.

"Such a brat." At the end, he was unable to keep his comments to himself. 

"Says the bastard samurai." You sneered back at him.

Despite his annoyance, Takasugi appeared to be somewhat amused by your attempt at an insult, a muffled chuckle evading his lips as he bit into the first dango. 

"What’s holding you back from getting rid of such a bastard samurai?" He pondered after swallowing.

Instead of answering his question, you let the rattling of your shackles provide him with a reply.

"What good would it be if I set you free? Would you face me? Kill me? Say, Y/N. How many days have you gone without eating? Can you even stand on your feet? No, there's no way you can."

The barrage of questions only came to a halt when he took another bite of the skewer. He never meant to hear any of your replies, yet, his provocations held a certain truth to them. Even if he cut through your chains, in your current condition, there'd be no way for you to exit a fight with him unscathed. The bandage he had given you had stopped the bleeding, but the pain and fatigue were both still there. Best case scenario, you'd land a hit before perishing at his blade, a rather optimistic thought, if you were being honest with yourself. Every minute, every second that went by, you could feel yourself growing weaker, and it wouldn't be too long before you collapsed. He was right, you were well aware of that, and that's what irritated you more than anything. 

"This lovely set of fangs you developed, it won't take long for it to rot away. If you keep turning your meals down, you can forget all about that little revenge plot of yours." 

"You think I don’t know that?" You snapped at him desperation clinging onto your voice like tar. You didn't want him to see you like this, but holding back was impossible.

This time the point was his. 

Undisturbed, Takasugi kept eating the first dango, slowly licking his fingers one by one after finishing. 

"Are you certain you don't want it? I won't be asking again. " He said, gesturing the plate towards you. 

Of course you wanted it! You wanted it more than anything in this world right now and he knew it, throwing the bait before you right when you were the most desperate, hoping to successfully reel it in. Still, you couldn't give him the satisfaction. 

"I’m not hungry." You gave him your final answer, full of pride, when all of a sudden, you experienced the ultimate betrayal. 

As if meaning to dispute your claim and eradicate every last vestige of self respect you had left within, a continuous symphony of gurgles and grunts echoed from the depths of your stomach. Squinting your eyes, you stayed frozen in place, praying that the gods would be kind enough to claim your life on the spot, saving you from the embarrassment of facing his smug expression. 

Yet, rather than facing the wings of an angel or the fires of hell, the next time you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sight of Takasugi leaning closer to you, his knees supporting his body against the floor. Immediately, you flinched away. You had so carelessly lowered your guard that he'd managed to make his move without you noticing. Unfazed, Takasugi took hold of your shoulder, his other hand landing on top of your head. You tried shaking him off, but his hold was so strong and your body was too weak. Just like the previous time, there was nothing you could do, other than watch.

While you couldn't exactly tell what he was doing to you, his eye was fixed on the the bandages around your head, the ones he had tossed at you the other day. Although hesitant to accept them at first, no ulterior motive seemed to be behind his gesture, and so, you had wrapped them around the wound as best as you could. By the looks of it -namely by the look he gave you-, you had done a rather poor job. 

Soon enough, he brought his left hand to the other side of your head as he began to fiddle with the material.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

Ignoring your question, you felt his fingers applying pressure to your temples as he undid the wrapping completely. With one hand, Takasugi pushed your hair out of the way, keeping it within his grasp, while he worked on re-wrapping the bandage around your forehead. His fingers worked with great care, avoiding the spots that hurt the most to the touch. He must have done that so many times for himself that, perhaps, after all, it shouldn't come of as a surprise that he knew how to do that with such expertise. 

All the while he did so, you felt the sound of your heart beating accelerating, its tempo violently hitting through your chest like a drum. You hated Takasugi with every bit of your soul, you were sure of it. You being here as his prisoner in this dirty cell, served as a testament for that. Yes, you hated him, you had every reason to hate him and you could hear the thoughts in your brain clearly. But even so, the rest of your body seemed to be having a different opinion. With the way he looked at you, no such thing as malice clouding his gaze, and with the way he took care of your wound (one that he had inflicted on you in the first place, you reminded yourself), your resolution faltered ever so slightly. 

At the end, you concluded that this war you had waged against him was a war you had foremost waged against your own heart, whether you liked to admit it or not. 

Once he was done, Takasugi tugged at the ends of the bandage a final time before securing it with a tight knot. You couldn't tell any difference, but he seemed evidently satisfied with the result and you'd have to make do with that, for now. 

At last, he got back to his feet, allowing you to finally breathe, hoping that he hadn't noticed the disarray he'd caused you. The last thing you needed was for him to find out that he still had a certain hold on you. 

Dragging the chair out of the way, you noticed how he'd left the tray onto the floor, barely within your reach. Was he still trying to taunt you? You couldn't tell. But when he walked to the door, his hand grabbing onto the knob, you got to understand his true intentions.

"Leave the plates by the door when you are done." And with that, he turned his back on you, leaving the room without stalling one bit to hear your answer. 

"I said I'm not having any! You can hear me, right?" You shouted, but it was too late. "Takasugi? Takasugi!" You knew that there was no way for your voice to go past the metallic door but that didn't prevent you from howling. If he left that behind then you... then how you... how could you possibly resist?

Hesitantly, your fingers tugged at the tray, dragging it closer. You forced a gulp down your throat, the sight of your beloved delicacy tempting you beyond compare. Perhaps, taking a bite wouldn’t be so bad. And then another one. And then one more. And then actually finish eating the first skewer. After all, if Takasugi was right about one thing, that was the reality that without food, you wouldn’t be able to last long enough to exact your vengeance.

In reality, you weren’t succumbing to his wish at all. You were merely tending to your own survival instincts. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had been able to recall your love for this specific delicacy, and it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he’d gotten one of his men to locate and bring it to you. Self preservation, that’s all it was. No feelings whatsoever.

Convincing yourself that this was the right choice, you finished your meal in no time, making a promise that once you managed to break free from this place, you wouldn't dare to touch another dango, not ever again.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Gandhi is often slightly misquoted as saying, "Be the change you wish to see in the world."

He actually said, " "We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.”

The latter quote is used to good effect in the following excerpt from an article.

Meeting Our Own Mortality  ::  by Navin Amarasuriya

Stories have helped us make meaning of the world, from ancient times when our ancestors whispered around campfires. Inner mental models that explained the outside world shaped our perceptions, and formed the basis of cohesion from tribes to the greatest civilizations. In these stories lay a natural exclusion, for our stories of creation or broader ideologies, subtly creates a dualistic way of seeing the world, and 'othering' those who live outside of our interpretation.

Creation stories, and the exploration of our mortality is a foundational theme. As Ernest Becker put it, "Man is literally split in two: he has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order to blindly and dumbly rot and disappear forever. It is a terrifying dilemma to be in and to have to live with." In order to make sense of this existential dread, humanity has invented countless stories to comfort us as we conceptually peer over the edge of our mortal precipice.

These tales have the power to bind people together, but equally, to tear them apart. Much of human conflict has been one group trying to convince the other that it is right. From Becker's point of view, those conflicts stem from an insecurity about a singular worldview that comes under threat when an alternate explanation erodes that foundation. The dominant narratives have a tendency of locating 'evil' outside of themselves, and that violence against these threatening other views is justified. Religious wars about which god is true, civil wars within countries with differing economic doctrines, genocides that eradicate entire minorities - most conflicts start with finding someone to blame.

The scapegoat is then blamed for all the problems, and there is a collective cooperation of those in the dominant narrative to put aside their mutual antagonisms and bond in a mutual hatred. Ironically, the killing or sacrifice of the scapegoat can foster a kind of temporary peace and cohesion among those who are the 'victors', but the underlying anger, and the ignorance of the endless cycle will remain. When we point our finger in blame at someone, we fall back into that cycle of afflictive emotions and lack of empathy. From ancient ritual killing of animals as sacrifice, to intercontinental ballistic missiles that cause collateral damage, even if we destroy the object we blame, the cycle remains.

As Gandhi once said, "We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do.” The scapegoat should become, instead of an object of blame, a spirit animal to help us discover other stories and offer a chance at transcending the cycle through a collective exploration of compassionate possibility.

Exploring our own mental models and our own biases cause a shift in perception that opens a door for us to change the way we show up in our lives. This in turn creates a lived example of what is possible, and that influences those around us. This cultivation of empathy through deep inquiry reduces the 'otherness' of those outside of our perspectives and makes it harder to abstract them into evil that must be dealt with. Starting with our deepest fears and strongest beliefs is a place to begin. The seeds of seeing the world as a complex yet beautiful spectrum of colors can be tended to, which allows the tree of wisdom and compassion to bear fruit.

[Ian Sanders]

[handeaux]

Even More Curious Cincinnati Street Names: The Syphilis Doctor, The Janitor, And The Confederate General

Ravogli Avenue (Westwood) Dr. Augustus Ravogli had an important but unusual specialty. He was a syphilologist. In the days before penicillin and other antibiotics became available, Ravogli and his colleagues struggled to find a cure for syphilis, or what the newspapers of the day referred to as the “loathsome disease.” He was also a renowned dermatologist, and served as Italian consul in Cincinnati. His efforts to improve the image of Italian-Americans by condemning organized crime earned him several death threats, purportedly from the Mafia.

Red Light Boulevards (West End) From the late 1870s until around 1917, Cincinnati maintained a red-light district in the West End, from Central Avenue west to Mound Street and from Fifth Street north to Seventh Street. Between Fifth and Sixth ran a street called Longworth. Between Sixth and Seventh ran George Street. Most of the red-light brothels were located on Longworth and George, mingled among otherwise respectable homes. Those residents not profiting from the sins of the flesh regularly petitioned the city to change the name of their block to remove the salacious taint. Consequently, parts of Longworth became Carlisle Avenue and Opera Place, while parts of George became Kenyon Street and Shillito Place.

Richmond Street (Downtown) Bordering the north side of City Hall is the only street in Cincinnati to honor a janitor. John Lambert Richmond left New York State with just a few weeks’ schooling, determined to become a medical doctor. With no formal education, admission to any of Cincinnati’s medical schools was impossible, but he secured a position as janitor at the Ohio Medical College. While working, he would linger at the classroom doors, absorbing the lectures. College president Daniel Drake recognized Richmond’s interest and acuity and encouraged his studies. Richmond eventually learned enough to go into practice. In 1827, at Newtown, Ohio, Richmond performed the first caesarian section birth in the United States.

Romance Lane (Delhi Township) There is a real romance behind Romance Lane in Delhi. Way back in 1915, a young salesman named Fred Duebber met a young lady named Alma Stetter at a picnic grove known as Green’s Woods off Anderson Ferry Road. Their courtship blossomed and they married on 28 November 1918. Forty years later, Fred, now investing in real estate, bought a portion of Green’s Woods to develop as home sites. There must have been some magic in those woods. For some years, Green’s Woods provided the venue for the reunions of the Rutenschroer family, with attendance regularly topping 100 offspring of offspring.

Salvador Street (Mount Washington) Salvator (notice the T) was a great horse, a hall-of-fame horse that dominated racetracks from 1888 through 1890, setting a world record for the mile. Despite his talents, Salvator could not spell, and nor could the Cincinnati city functionary who named this street “Salvador” in honor of the equine champion. It appears that the city was in a hurry to replace the old name for the street, Flour Barrel Avenue. The original name derived from a property owner who paved his sidewalks with the lids of old flour barrels.

Slack Street (Mount Auburn) The name of this street has nothing to do with a deficiency in tension, nor is it the singular of slacks, nor does it refer to the main goal of the Church of the SubGenius. Little Slack Street, bounded on the south by WLWT-TV, honors the memory of Dr. Elijah Slack, Presbyterian minister, first president of Cincinnati College, and among the founders of Cincinnati’s first medical school. Known as a good chemist with no sense of humor, Slack once picked up a pig’s bladder – used at the time as a laboratory container – and announced, “I shall now fill my bladder and proceed to make water.” He could not understand why his class broke into hilarious laughter.

Stacon Street (Columbia-Tusculum) There are some streets for which the origin of their names will forever remain a mystery. One is the short, address-less Stacon Street off Stanley Avenue in Columbia-Tusculum. Although there are people named Stacon, none appear to have ever settled in Cincinnati. A company in Illinois named Stacon manufactured temperature-control devices and we might imagine a clerk at City Hall, stumped while trying to imagine a name for a vacant street, finding inspiration on the thermostat. A reporter for the old Cincinnati Times-Star [27 November 1954] was skeptical when informed “Stacon” was a combination of two proper names and preferred to think it was just “No cats” spelled backwards.

Stonewall Street (Over-the-Rhine) You will search in vain for this street which, for 100 years, memorialized Confederate General Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson. Up until 1917, this hilly ramp among the old breweries was known as Hamburg Street. As the United States entered World War I, public sentiment demanded that any streets with “Hunnish” names get relabeled pronto. As Berlin Street became Woodrow Street and Hanover Street became Yukon Street, Hamburg Street became Stonewall Street. The anti-German designation for a handful of Cincinnati streets was reversed in 2017, due to the efforts of local historian Don Heinrich Tolzmann. Stonewall was returned to Hamburg.

Thornton Avenue (Sayler Park) Farmer John Fitzhugh Thornton died in 1907 at the age of 65 and his obituary mostly mentioned his famous grandfather, William Henry Harrison, and his cousin Benjamin Harrison. In 1912, Thornton’s widow, Eliza, donated a triangular bit of land just off River Road as a memorial to her late husband and decorated it with a fountain topped by the iron statue of a Native American warrior named Standing Watch or, in some tellings, Tecumseh. All was well until 21 December 1940 when James Bemberling, 21, of Covington, Kentucky, crashed into the monument and sent Standing Watch (or Tecumseh) crashing to the pavement. A few months later, residents of the Fernbank neighborhood were shocked to learn that their Indian had been sold for scrap, and for only $10 at that! The buyer, Nell Doctor of Aurora, Indiana, said she was willing to sell the statue back to the Cincinnati Park Board, but wanted $300 because her husband, Harry, had repaired and restored the damages caused by the crash. Mr. Bemberling’s insurance company coughed up $400, Mrs. Doctor was paid, and the statue was remounted on 14 April 1941.

Warsaw & Cleves-Warsaw (Price Hill) Price Hill is not now, nor has it ever been, particularly Polish. And yet, this neighborhood boasts two streets named after the capital of that eastern European country – Warsaw Avenue and Cleves-Warsaw Pike. The anomaly is explained by examining old maps which reveal that a small village named Warsaw (even though it was founded and populated by Germans, not Poles) existed for many years along what is now Glenway Avenue between Sunset Avenue and Rapid Run Road. Cleves-Warsaw Pike ran, not surprisingly, from Cleves to Warsaw, and Warsaw Avenue ran from Cincinnati to Warsaw.

Wilaray Terrace (Mount Washington) Right off Beechmont Avenue, there’s a monument to the World Champion 1919 Cincinnati Reds that thousands of commuters pass each day without notice. Wilaray Terrace memorializes two stalwarts of that team, short-stop William Lorenz “Larry” Kopf and outfielder Raymond Bloom "Rube" Bressler who got into real estate development while still participating in pro ball during the summers. While early advertisements for the Wilaray subdivision featured baseball stars Larry and Rube, their silent partner (the “Wil” of Wilaray) was Willard Kopf, apparently the only Kopf brother without a significant athletic career. It’s reported that some of the first sales were to teammates and that some houses have baseball-themed stained glass. (Thanks to Robert Hayes for the tip.)

Zodiac Drive (Colerain Township) It was 1957 and the space race was on when developer Bob Terris laid out a new subdivision off Compton Road west of Mount Healthy. To give that project space-age flavor, he named his development Skyline Acres and boasted about completely electric kitchens, Plextone washable walls and automatic radial heat. In addition to Zodiac Drive, Skyline Acres includes streets named Neptune, Mars, Mercury, Venus, Uranus, Sunlight, Moonlight, Planet, Comet, Eclipse, Polaris, Aquarius, Sirius and Morningstar.