#so many diverse settings and characters. and as soon as one opens their mouth

[britneyshakespeare]

I don't even think of David Copperfield as a Victorian novel. I think of it like it's the Peanuts or the Simpsons

[mozak-hh]

Genshin Impact Headcanon:

When they’re horny.

thank you all so much for the genshin matchup requests! The response was so overwhelming I’m beaming. I’ll try getting through as many requests as I can so while you guys wait I’ve decided to write you a little something in appreciation. ^^ I also added my first female character because I was sick of the lack of gender diversity hehe. If you like Jean, pls comment any other fem requests you may have since it really helps out a lot. Don’t be afraid to ask me to write anything either, it’s my job after all! x

Includes: Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao, Jean

Type: Nsfw, you have been warned~

Kaeya:

When is this man not horny?

Perhaps it was the change of wind, or maybe it was the change in your attitude that set Kaeya off. The subtle lift of your skirt, the breeze making the collar of your shirt flow, Kaeya couldn’t resist the temptation of wanting more. He was a man after all. A man who fancied you quite significantly.  How could he resist the primal urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you closer? Your scent was mesmerizing, making it hard to turn away. Suddenly Kaeya found his body had become too warm to stand it. 

Kaeya growled in lustrous frustration. A Bead of sweat dripping from the crown of his head. The damp air of the shower only adding to the sensual heat in his lower abdomen. The hot water covered his broad shoulders and streamed down his toned abdomen, gliding over his hand as he pumped his cock in slow, rhythmic motions. 

Perhaps it was the change in scenery, being away from you for so long that is, which brought Kaeya into this animalistic state. He lifted his head up and jerked his arm faster. Streams of water following the curves of his muscles. He’d already seen you that morning, but his heat had gotten a lot worse. He imagined your small frame pressed against the shower wall, covered by his taller build. Arms captured in his own as he thrusted into you. You squeezing your legs which were wrapped around his waist. Locking him in your tight wet walls.

“f-fuck it..,” Kaeya moaned as he turned to lock away from his throbbing cock. rubbing his callused hands over the soft tip, pumping his hand a few more times before letting out a chocked moan. Cumming all over the wall in front of him, and letting the water wash the rest of the sweat off his body.

Damn. Kaeya sure as hell wouldn’t be spending another night in the shower alone.  

Diluc:

Diluc is a busy man, so its often that he doesn’t have the time to enjoy simple pleasures such as sex. But after weeks after not being able to spend one night with you, he becomes ravenous. 

He becomes rather snappy and short tempered. Not being able to handle any person touching him. This wont interrupt his work performance much, but it’ll make him a lot less polite, often making his staff tend to the bar instead of him. That is, until you see him one late night during his rut. 

You went to his winery to provide him with some necessary information. The maids let you in and told you he was upstairs. Once you began to move slowly towards his bedroom chambers is when you heard the painful grunt. 

You rush to door and open it slightly, peering to see if anyone was hurt. It seems as if time had slowed down completely, your breath hitched. Diluc sat at the corner of his bead, palming the large bulge straining beneath his pants. Half of his buttons on his shirt were undone, leaving his exposed chest gleaming with sweat. He must of had good hearing, as his eyes snapped to the door where his eyes instantly met yours. 

“Oh Fuck.. you look delicious..” Diluc’s eyes scanned your form, licking his lips as he stood from his bed. As soon as you silently shut the door behind you he wrapped his strong arms around your body, letting him hoist you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Diluc becomes a little more loud during sex, perhaps even a bit whiny. All while hugging you so you can’t leave. For the rest of the night, Diluc has to have his cock inside you. Gripping you tightly and fucking you senselessly. He won’t stop until he can’t breathe. 

Jean:

Jean’s another hopeless case, never allowing herself to indulge in such matters. But after getting involved in you, she suddenly finds herself waiting for her day to end, signalling her to go home. For jean, it’s the thought of her face in between your thighs that make her legs feel light beneath her office desk. 

Being under a heavy workload all the time, doesn’t do any good either. Unfortunately for Jean, there is no such thing as a sweet release during her breaks. that is, until you stride into her office, tray in hand. 

After hearing about Jean’s stress this pass week, you decided it would be a perfect chance to bring her lunch. Striding into her office, Jean’s legs start to shake, fire swelling in her stomach. You smile, and place the tray of hot food on her desk. Jean’s mouth waters, but not for the food.

“Oh you poor thing! I couldn’t imagine sitting at this desk all day. I brought some things I thought you might like-” you look down at the plate on the desk, “ I’m hope I didn’t intrude-” 

“Y/N baby~” Jeans huffs under her breath, standing up and pushing her chair abruptly. By the time your eyes snap back up, Jean’s already moved the tray of food, and taps your shoulder from behind you. Turning around, your met with a harsh kiss. Jean’s tongue dominating the inside of your mouth, making your cheeks flush and knees grow weak. You loose your balance, falling down towards the desk. Jean takes this opportunity to rest your head in her hand, gently lowering you down and slamming her other hand on the desk to catch you both before starting to kiss you again. 

You wrap your hands around Jean’s neck, running your hands through the back of her head. You whine as she stands, making her way towards the door and locking it. She turns around after the soft click, and strides back towards you, loosening the buttons on her shirt. 

 Licking her lips, she stands above you. Lightly yanking your shorts.

“Let’s take these off, shall we?”

(Sorry I’m a simp for dom Jean pls send help)

Xiao: 

This guy goes through regular periods of heat, like an animal. Perhaps It’s an adepti thing, but every so often he’ll stop talking to you and shut himself within the walls of the inn. Not even the managers go near him, fearing the unusual scent coming from his chambers. This man wont let himself stop. Only using his time to pleasure himself. 

Somehow in your right mind you decide to check up on him to make sure he was doing alright. Ascending the stairs to the attic you catch the scent of something sweet, mixed with the smell of sweat and Xiao himself. The air begins to grow thick as you reach the door to his room. Turning the knob a few times you find it to be locked from the outside. Panicking, you pound your fist on the door to see if someone had locked him inside.

Xiao smashes his fist through the door, wood splintering and groaning under his force. He rips the handle off clean, allowing himself to bust the door open and pull you inside. Trapping you beneath his body as he Hauls the broken door closed again. Seeling it with special magic.

“I knew you’d come for me~” he purrs, putting his thigh between your legs and caressing your face. Pinned up against the door, you notice Xiao’s ankles bound in thick metal cuffs, the long Chain connected to his bed. There were claw marks on every whole. It truly looked like he tried to destroy the place.

You try to break from his grip, but he blocks you with his arms, kissing you forcibly. His breath is hot, his hands tremble. “Touch me y/n, touch me” he wines, bringing your hand to press on his crotch as he moans into your neck.

Sex with this animalistic beast will be nothing short of desperate. From the minute you allow him to the end of his heat, Xiao will have his throbbing cock inside you. He won’t let you go, hugging you from behind as he pounds into you. Don’t try to run away from him, that’ll just turn him on.

At the end of his heat he’ll probably feel so bad but if you’re ok with it he’ll have you around more often during his heat.

Hope you enjoyed~

[sehunniepotwrites]

AS YOU WISH | J.JH | ONE

cover by @seostudios

SYNOPSIS. He was a boy, she was a girl— can I make it any more obvious?

But actually, she was a cursed genie of two thousand years who longed to be freed of her gilded cage and he was a modern but lonely boy who hoped to free her. He just didn’t expect to fall in love with her in the process. 

GENRE. angst, slow burn, romance, genie!au, reincarnation!au, royal!au, thief!au  PAIRING. jeong jaehyun x female genie!reader MINOR CHARACTERS. mark lee, moon taeil, jeong sungchan WORD COUNT. 10.6k+

WARNINGS. stealing, mentions of cuts and wounds, blood, physical beating, derogatory name calling  

ONE: PAST | TWO: INTERLUDE | THREE: PRESENT 

2000 YEARS AGO, THE KINGDOM OF NEIHO

“Stop, street rat!”

Heavens, how you hated that name. You ached to yell a taunting insult back but you were afraid of the royal guards catching onto your identity by hearing the sound of your voice. 

“Grab that lousy thief!” 

The calls of the guards continued to sound throughout the pathway as you ran for your life. The heavy bag of riches slung along over your shoulder pounded against your upper back as you felt the wind in your hair. The extra weight was beginning to weigh you down but you did not falter. Your strained legs propelled you forward and you stole a quick glance behind you— the burly men with swords were gaining on you and you could not let them.

“Wait— there are two of them!”

You cursed when your partner was spotted. From the corner of your eye, you caught a flicker of his cape turning a corner. You were supposed to be the diversion. The blazing sun burned your skin through your hooded cloak but you had to keep pushing. For them.

You would do anything for them, even give your life for them, just as your mother did before you.

Apologizing as you passed, you threw down displays of fresh produce to throw the guards off. You would come back to help clean up later.

You pulled the cloak down to better conceal your face before sprinting into a hidden nook in the village center. The bolstering guards ran past your hiding spot moments later, their leader barking commands to his subordinates before they all went their separate ways. Peeking behind a wall, you watched as their backs grew smaller and smaller and let out an audible sigh. 

You made it another day. With a wide-eyed grin, you pushed yourself out of your hiding spot and walked an easy path to the outskirts of the kingdom where people were waiting for you.

If the guards were smart enough, they would have easily found you by they searched the outskirts of the kingdom’s stone walls. There was an opening in the walls, big enough for one person to fit through. You frequented that small hole often with a large sack hauled over your back. As soon as you passed that point in your path, you tossed your cloaked disguise into a nearby bush before trekking on to your final destination.

The path was lengthy but at least you were in the shade instead of under the blazing sun. The clanking of your stolen riches kept you company as you navigated through the many trees. It wasn’t long until you reached an open area filled with a variety of people. Lousy tents made of the thinnest cloth and held up by fallen branches surrounded the field and in the center was a large fire pit. There were clotheslines, cooking supplies, and a short supply of food scattered around the makeshift camp. 

The plentiful conversations hushed when you dropped the sack at the end of the path. A shuffling of footsteps and the tinkling sound of coins clanging against each other reached your ears before another figure plopped down beside you, his body falling splat onto the soft grass. 

“I refuse to do that again,” a boyish voice groaned beside you. It came from a boy around your age, give or take a few years, with messy brown hair and the cutest set of doe eyes. His thin face and sharp jawline were lined with dirt but he was still what you considered handsome. 

“Minhyung, stop your fusing,” you scolded as you ruffled his hair. The boy whined at your actions, moving away to escape your teasing. “You say the same thing every single time we do this, however, you keep coming back to help me.” 

“They almost caught me this time around,” he told you. “I barely escaped— one guard grabbed me by the ends of my cloak and almost saw my face! I thought you were the distraction!”

“I was,” you fired back. 

“And yet, they still found me,” Minhyung reported dramatically, swinging an arm over his eyes. There was a beat of comfortable silence as the breeze came rolling in. 

“But was it worth it?” you asked with a soft voice. 

A pair of dirtied feet appeared in your vision. You and Minhyung tilted your heads up to find a small child, not even five years of age gazing at you expectantly. The child’s body was extremely malnourished and their cheeks were horribly sunken in. They looked bashful as they outstretched an arm towards Minhyung. 

He sent the child a tiny smile, his mouth curving up at the ends, as he produced a small loaf of bread from beneath his cloak. The child’s eyes sparkled in delight as they snatched the piece of food from Minhyung’s hold and eagerly bit into it. You patted the child’s head lovingly as you hand them a grip of gold coins. They shuffled back to their family who gave their thanks. 

As the other people in the open field started to line up to receive their share, Minhyung simply replied: “Yes, yes it was.”

You grinned at your fellow thief— you thought it was worth it, too.

Your gaze shifts to the high towers of Neiho’s palace peeking from behind the treetops. But sometimes, you pondered over how effortless life must have been when living like royalty— was it easy when everything was provided for you?

Unlike what most people assumed, living the life of a royal was far from easy. 

Jeong Yuno, the Crown Prince of Neiho, had a sudden urge to bang his head against the library wall. He refrained from doing so, the action being far from princely. He looked up from his pile of parchment paper with glazed over eyes, the ink from his quill drying from the lack of writing. There were rows of untouched books lined up at his desk and none of them were of his interest. They skirted on the topics of Neiho’s history and politics; although it was something he was already versed in, he hated the subject unlike his younger brother, Chansung, who excelled and loved it. 

Yuno longed to touch the atlas that was stationed on his tutor’s desk. He wanted to study it, chart a course to another far off land, and mark it with ink as he visited place to place. But instead of traveling, the crown prince drowned  in his studies while his tutor looked down upon his distracted self.

“Prince Yuno, have you heard a single word that has left my lips or is your head still up in the clouds?” Moon Taeil, the kingdom’s main historian and tutor, scolded. His wooden stick struck the surface of Yuno’s desk and the shocked boy jumped. From his own desk, Chansung snickered behind his thin hand. 

“My apologies,” the crown prince bowed his head, his ears turning crimson from being caught by the snippy tutor. 

“Well, since I have gained you back from the skies, might you list Neiho’s past rulers and achievements in order?” 

Yuno bit back a loud groan. He was in desperate need of a sweet escape. His gaze floated out the window and onto the blooming marketplace below. It seemed like the liveliness was calling his name.

One of the things you loved about your mother was her storytelling. You heard stories of all kinds of love while growing up on the fly. She painted clear pictures of people falling at first sight, of hate turning to overflowing affection, and so much more. Your mother sold you tales of star-crossed lovers that found their happy endings before she passed; her fables of love sounded nothing more than poppycock and folly. 

That is, until it occurred to the unsuspecting you. 

It was a usual day for you in the city— hood up, cloak flowing in the wind with a sack beating your back as you were on the run from the royal guards stationed in the marketplace. You weaved in between the townsfolk, your nimble body easily pushing through nooks and crannies when you bumped into something— or rather, someone strong.

“Oof!”

“Oh!” 

The large sack you carried added some extra weight, leading you to topple over the stranger that ran into your smaller build. The stranger was about to mumble a quick apology before you heard the bellowing of the persistent guards.

You cursed. There was no room for hesitation when you were caught in a tight spot such as this. With staggering breaths and a pounding chest, you grabbed the man’s hand and navigated through endless alleyways and store fronts. You mastered the art of escaping at a young age while he had trouble keeping up with your speed.

And so, your first adventure with the man you would soon learn to love began.

Your hurried steps brought you to an unattended rooftop. You put one foot on the ledge and leaned your body over to glance at the commotion in the market. Down below, the guards were scrambling through the bustling crowds in a failed attempt to find you. Watching them struggle on their search sent you into a laughing fit that your then mysterious companion echoed. 

With a heaving chest and rushing heart, you finally looked up at him for the first time and saw the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. Despite only seeing him from his place on the balcony or painted portraits before, you immediately knew who he was: The Crown Prince of Neiho. He had deep chocolate eyes and jet-black hair that highlighted his sweat stained skin. His cheeks and ears were flushed with a rosy red as he gasped for air. He was dressed in a horrible excuse for a disguise; the high-end material he wore and golden shoes were purposefully stained. It was as if the prince wanted to be found. 

You quickly retracted your dirtied hand from his soft one and immediately dropped to your knees. “My sincerest apologies for placing my soiled hands on yours, Your Highness. I ask for your forgiveness,” you said with a bowed head, your disheveled hair covering your embarrassed face.

Yuno let out a hearty laugh, one that was deep but still sounded like the lightest bells in your ear. “Please, none of that,” he said, helping you to your feet. 

“If anything, you helped me escape from those wretched guards,” he sent you an angelic smile and you swore the heavens were smiling down on you at that moment. “I should thank you.” 

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as you felt your face flush with an unfamiliar heat. 

“May I know the name of my savior?” Yuno questioned teasingly, his eyes looking deep into yours. 

“Perhaps another time, Your Highness,” you said quite cheekily before running back into the crowd.

The second time you met Prince Yuno, you were both on the run once again. In a way similar to what you had done in the past, his hand slipped so fluidly into yours before you sprinted through the town square. You  knocked a fruit cart down as a diversion and the guards struggled making their way through the mess. Through your hooded cloak that flowed in the breeze, you turned over your shoulder to chuckle at how helpless the so-called protectors looked.

“We must stop meeting like this, Highness,” you breathed out as you kept up with his speed.

“Why? I quite enjoy meeting like this,” he threw back at you with a sheepish grin. There was a glimmer of adventure in his eyes and you chuckled. 

The hood of your cape fell back, revealing your face for a quick moment before you tugged it back up. It was too late, though, for he had seen your face. Having only heard your voice before, Yuno’s steps faltered at the sight of you. Taking charge at that moment, you overtook him and jerked him into an unpaved path.

You took him over and under until you found a safe haven on top of a building— your makeshift home. Ratty cotton sheets were tied to poles for shade and a pile of pillows was bunched together to make a bed. Random trinkets were scattered along the rooftop along with a scarce supply of food and sacks of stolen treasures leaning against a wall. You wordlessly made yourself comfortable, pouring yourself two cups of water from a jug and handed one to the stranger in your space. He took it graciously and gulped it down, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he did so.

“From the bottom of my heart, I thank you, my dear savior,” Yuno spoke to you for the second time that day.

“It was nothing, Your Highness,” you responded, waving him off as you sat at his feet. 

“I feel like this was fate or destiny calling,” Yuno suggested out of the blue.

“This?”

“Us, meeting again,” he answered smoothly, his voice as melodic as a mother’s lullaby. 

“I suppose it is.”

“Seeing as destiny brought us together, might I know your name?” 

Despite being of a higher status, he didn’t seem as selfish as you thought he would be—Yuno seemed kind and trustworthy. You let down your walls and stuttered out your name. The dark orbs that you got lost in flashed with recognition and you wondered if you made a wrong move by revealing your identity. 

“You!” he shouted, his voice booming loudly. “Yes, I have heard many things about you.”

You glared at him with panicked eyes and you rushed to cover his soft lips. “Are you insane, Highness? Speak like that and they will surely find us here!”

“My apologies,” he replied, tugging at his earlobe in embarrassment. “My excitement got the best of me.”

You snorted at his answer, “Excitement?” you probed. “What is there to be excited about?”

“It is not everyday you meet the infamous thief that steals from the rich to give back to the poor,” Yuno grinned with dimples sinking into his soft cheeks.

He was not wrong; you did steal for a living to help the less fortunate. Unlike many others your age, you were able-bodied and felt the mighty need to provide for others who needed extra support. This had been the fifth time the guards had almost caught you but it didn’t matter. As long as the children on the street did not starve, you would risk your life over and over again. 

Your mother, compassionate and altruistic as one could ever be, had done so in the past and you were determined to carry her legacy. You wanted to make her proud. 

“Are you going to arrest me then?” you challenged with a brow. You took a large step back, ready to be on the run if the situation called for it. “If that is your intention, Your Highness, it is in my best interest to leave you.” 

“Oh, no! If anything, I agree with your actions,” he relayed, arms shooting out to keep you in his reach. The Prince’s touch pierced your skin with comforting warmth and you shudder at the odd sensation. 

“The Royal Advisor, Rowena, insists on high taxes and taking from the poor while feeding the rich,” he started to explain, taking a seat on the dusty steps. 

You hummed, recalling the many times you had laid your eyes on the advisor— she held her head high and wore a permanent, almost sinister smirk on her gorgeous face. Her eyes were as red as blood and hair as black as night. She was beyond intimidating, more so than the Royal Family and their guards. 

“What she is doing to the people out here, it isn’t right,” Yuno added on. “They are suffering and I feel as if it is my duty to stop her.” 

“I feel as if it is mine as well,” you replied.

“I tried to tell the King of how Rowena’s suggestions have been affecting the community outside the palace walls but it is as if she has him under a spell. He hears not a thing I say,” he explained exasperatedly.

He let out a defeated sigh as you crouched next to him. You let him speak, seeing how distressed he was by the whole situation. “He only listens to her and my younger brother, Chansung; he is the smarter sibling. I am nothing but a pretty face that represents the kingdom,” the prince chuckled darkly. 

“Highness—” you tried to intervene, not enjoying how he was belittling himself. He stopped you before you could even begin with a mere glance. 

“It is not I who deserves the throne, it is Chansung. I can barely do a thing when my mind is elsewhere. How can I rule when my mind is not focused on the needs of my people?”

You place a tentative hand on his knee to ground him before his thoughts send him spiraling.

“I apologize,” the runaway prince blurted suddenly. “I do not know you and here I am, spilling out my innermost thoughts. You must think I am a fool.”

“No, it’s quite alright. I imagine you have no one to discuss this with within the palace,” you comforted him with a kind smile. You encouraged Yuno to continue, hands urging him on. “But if your mind is not here, then…”

Yuno shot you an empty grin, the upturns of his lips not meeting his reddening ears. “I have been trapped inside the palace since birth. Raised inside these walls all my life. I am safe and sound with a set future here and yet…” his voice trailed off, looking at the overview of the kingdom. His stare then gravitated beyond the kingdom walls. 

“And yet?”

“I want to go beyond our borders. I know there is more the world has to offer. I have read about it in books but I want to experience it in person, write it down, and bring back what I have learned to better Neiho.” There was a sense of longing in his voice and you could almost relate to his yearning. 

You took a seat next to him, your knees touching his. Your body turned towards him, torso leaning forward to give the prince your undivided attention. “What have you read about so far, Your Highness?”

“Please call me Yuno,” he said gently, clutching onto your hand. You tried to tug it away, flustered from the sudden contact, and he only tightened his clasp. 

“Yes, Your Highness,” you replied, “I mean, Y-Yuno.” 

The instant his name left your lips, he sent you the most dazzling smile, his pearly white teeth perfectly framed by the pink of his lips and the curve of his dimples. Whiskers appeared around his closed eyes and his nose scrunched up in the most adorable way and you found yourself falling down the rabbit hole one called love.

Ever since that fated day, you arranged countless meetings in random nooks and crannies of the marketplace. Yuno taught you the many things he had learned from his readings while you showed him places he had never been before. He brought you books and taught you how to read. You taught him how to fend for himself in the forest. 

You often found yourselves weaving through crowds as the guards attempted to follow your trails. Laughter bubbled through the prince’s chest as you tugged him along with intertwined fingers. Your heart leaped huge lengths across your chest every time he glanced your way through his fluttering eyelashes and you wondered if he felt the same.

Your days with Yuno always ended on that same rooftop, overlooking the beautiful sight that was Neiho, and you adored every second of it.

One night, you blurted out, “Do you ever wonder what life would be like if things were different?” Yuno glanced up at you from your lap, head tilting with curiosity. Your fingers were tangled in his soft, clean hair as his hand played with the ends of yours. 

“Do you?” he countered. The point of your elbow dug into his toned stomach and he winced.

“I asked first,” you said and he laughed at your argument.

“And I am the Crown Prince,” he threw back and you pouted at his response.

 You were quiet for a moment, gathering your thoughts together before answering your own question. “Yes.”

“And what do you wonder about?”

“There are times I wish for a life where I am comfortable, where I’m not breaking my back for someone else’s sake.” Feeling a bit vulnerable, you drew your hands away from his head and wrapped them around your waist— it was your first time to reveal this hidden thought of yours.

“It’s not that I want to stop helping them,” you explained tentatively, “I just wonder what it would be like to start living just for me, without the weight of the world on my shoulders.”

Yuno only hummed in reply. You shook your head, snapping yourself out of the daze you were in. “Your turn to answer,” you pushed the heavy question onto him.

“I suppose so, yes,” he mused simply. “I would like to be a traveling scholar, see the world through my own eyes. I often wonder about a life of travel, you know this.”

You did know this—Yuno told you this many times. 

“There’s another thing I wonder about, though,” he slipped in.

“And what is that?” 

“I often wonder what life would be like if I had you by my side.” 

You coughed at his sweet words, not at all expecting to hear a statement like that. He reached up to pat your back as you choked on air, giggling at your antics. Your breathing returned to normal and his fingers found their way to yours. With entwined fingers and hearts, he called your name endearingly as his head rested against your lap. You returned his earnest stare under the light of the moon with the same intensity, “Yes, my prince?”

He rolled his eyes at your response. 

Yuno, hidden in a ripped cloak, brought your hand against his plump lips and looked into your eyes as he kissed your knuckles. “I arose from bed this morning with a sudden realization.” 

“Have you come to the conclusion that Chansung is the better looking royal?” you poked. He gave you a look of betrayal and you giggled at his furrowed brows and flared nostrils.

“It was nothing but a joke, dear,” you laughed, running your fingers through his thick locks of hair. He huffed loudly, turning away from your playful gaze. 

“My attempt to confess my love and she makes a fool out of me,” he mumbled under his breath but you could not catch his words. 

“You would make a great jester,” Yuno added with another roll of his gorgeous eyes. 

“I don’t think I would enjoy being the laughing stock of nobility,” you answered, poking at his soft cheek. He swatted your hand away in annoyance but your fingers were persistent. You continued to sink your finger into the skin of his cheek until he caught it and nibbled on your fingertip. Yelping, you drew back your hand and narrowed your gaze at the prince. 

It was his turn to laugh at your reaction, blessing your ears with the sweetest melody. “My darling, you would never be a laughing stock to me.”

Although your finger throbbed, you were happy to see the playful side of the prince— he often had a stoic expression when addressing the people of Neiho from the palace balconies. The sight of his bright smile was enough to light the whole kingdom tenfold. 

“What would I be then?” you asked mockingly.

Yuno shifted to face you, his ethereal features glowing in the starlight and captivating you in ways you could not explain. There was a fluttering feeling in your stomach and an intense pounding in your chest as Yuno gave you the simplest answer, “The love of my life.”

His words sent your heart soaring to the highest of places.

In that moment, it mattered not who you were and where you were because you were the love of his life just as he was yours.

Arriving at the clearing deep in the forest, you released the bag of stolen goods from your hold. Panting out breaths, you did your best to steady your heartbeat. The racing palpitations of heart felt different somehow, maybe because for once, they were not caused by the adrenaline of running away but by the highs of being deeply in love.

A gorgeous smile broke out on your face and you hadn’t a care if you looked like a crazy loon. 

“Where have you been?” A familiar voice blasted from above you. Looking up, you saw Minhyung seated on a tree branch. He leaped down, landing directly on his feet with a playful smirk. 

You coughed the grin right off your face. “I had to take a little detour is all.”

“A detour?” Minhyung questioned.

“Yes, a detour.”

Your friend circled you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Quite unusual for your detours to last until sundown,” he teased, “and you look like you’re walking on air.” 

You tried to bite back your grin and you failed. You could never hide anything from Minhyung, he had seen you through it all. He was your brother after all— not by blood but nevertheless, he was family. 

“I met the Crown Prince,” you muttered under your breath.

“Do speak up, you know how I hate when you mumble,” Minhyung teased, using the words you often fired at him.

“I said, Minhyung, I met the Crown Prince,” you repeated with a louder voice.

You watched as Minhyung’s eyes widened like saucers and how they gleamed with intrigue as he squeezed you closer to him. “You met Prince Yuno?!” he gasped. “How— why? What?”

“Keep it down, will you please?” Clamping a dirtied hand over his mouth, you tried to shut him up. He simply licked your palm to which you smacked him across the head.

“Well, this isn’t our first time meeting. We’ve met many a time before,” you started off, going down your short history with the prince. Minhyung listened attentively— his admiration for the Royal Family, much like many of the other Neiho citizens, ran deep. 

“How is he in real life?” 

“Nothing short of wonderful,” you sighed, head turning back to face the city. You wondered how he was doing, if he made it back through the palace gates without any trouble from the guards he was escaping from. “He is like the brightest star I have ever seen, so beautiful and radiant but still so far out of my reach.”

Remembering the sound of his laughter and the look in his eyes, another soft smile appeared on your face. It was a smile Minhyung had never seen on your features. You appeared as if you were the star you just described, shining brightly for one person and one person alone. The light in your eyes was almost too blinding, he wanted to look away but Minhyung couldn’t. 

It had been so long since he had seen you this happy— the last time you smiled so cheerfully was with your mother so many years ago. You adopted a harsher look throughout the years that Minhyung was beyond ecstatic to see that happiness still existed within you. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” you answered gently. “He told me to call him Yuno.”

“And did you?”

“Of course, Minhyung,” you said with a chuckle, “it would be wrong to not obey royalty.”

“Yes, you’re quite right,” Minhyung hummed back.

“He is filled with kindness and loyalty to the kingdom, which is admirable.” 

“But?” 

Thinking back to the conversation you had with the prince, your eyebrows stitched together when recalling his dreams. “His heart aches for adventure and knowledge, things he cannot find here if he is to be King.”

Minhyung searched your face for a glimpse into your head. “Isn’t that what you’re looking for, too?”

Looking your best friend and fellow thief straight in the eyes, you were posed with a thought that hadn’t even crossed your scattered mind. “I suppose it is.”

Minhyung laughed as you came to the realization. The two of you sat in silence as you breathed everything in. 

“The Prince isn’t that far from your reach then,” Minhyung posed with a childlike grin. “He is much closer than you think.”

The first time Yuno kissed you was underneath the setting sun. Hidden behind the stone walls of the palace, he pressed you into a dark corner where no one could catch sight of your unlikely pairing.

It was a long day for the both of you— you had snuck into the houses of nobles, stealing their smallest treasures to sell in order to feed the hungry while he shadowed his father during his audiences with the people of Neiho. Your secret rendezvous started with exchanging stories about your eventful day with shared laughter and the sweetest of touches. Yuno’s smooth hands ghosted against your dry ones several times, each touch sending tingles down your spine. 

His arms caged you in between his strong body and the hard stone wall as his face hovered in front of your own. Your breath hitched as his intense stare shifted from your eyes to your parted lips. It was the dead of winter but you had never felt hotter under his fiery gaze.

“May I kiss you?” you found yourself asking as his plump bottom lip grazed against your own. You were shocked by your own bravery and you knew he was, too. Your heart pounded loudly like a beating drum and you swore the prince could hear it as well. 

“Do as you wish,” the prince replied almost breathlessly, captivated by the way your eyes kept flickering to the lack of space in between your bodies.

“But is that what you wish for, Yuno?” you countered with a sultry tone. He gulped loudly at how confident you were and nodded almost too eagerly, lips barely brushing against your dry ones. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Then, your wish is my command,” you smile before closing the distance between. A light press of your lips onto his was all it took to send your world spinning round. Yuno deepened it by leaning his body against your smaller build, a hand tilting your jaw up in a different angle. 

He held you so gently, making you feel as if you were royalty. Hands in his hair and his arms around your waist, his kiss made it seem like you had chased the blowing winds and touched the pastel sky. His love rose you to the heavens above and you soared with a rush of freedom you had never felt before.

You kissed as the sky cast a golden glow upon your bodies, too lost in each other to realize you were the focus of someone’s envious gaze.

While you flirted with the life of crime, Yuno made his way through the hallowed hallways of Neiho’s palace. His heavy steps echoed throughout the empty path but he couldn't even hear a thing— his mind was littered with scattered thoughts. He marched his way to his younger brother’s quarters, determined that would be the day he would reveal his heart to his kin. The crown prince groaned in frustration, decorated hands messing with his jet-black hair as he tried to piece what to say. 

How did one even start this conversation? Yuno never had a conversation as deep as this with his sibling before. The only person he poured his heart to was you. 

Does he start with not waiting to take the throne or with his dream of travel? Should he begin with his skepticism over Advisor Rowena and the poor conditions of their people? 

Yuno stopped in place— Rowena. He cringed at the thought of her. He heard the rumors swirling around the circle of nobility. The servants in the palace could never keep their mouth shut at the whispers. There were tales of the King making the advisor his betrothed for the sake of a flourishing kingdom. 

He couldn’t fathom how his father came to this as a viable option for the betterment of Neiho.

Yuno thought traveled back to you and what you stood for: how your gigantic heart only thought of others. He recalled how your body was drenched with wounds and scars and yet, you still kept going for the people that had everything to lose. He wanted to find ways to make your life easier but he knew he couldn’t find them inside Neiho’s borders. He had to leave in order to find that solution. 

Yuno had no idea how long he contemplated in front of Chansung’s room before the door burst open. Yuno let out a shocked yell as his brother cocked an eyebrow at his older sibling. 

“Brother, how long were you going to stand outside my door before simply coming in?” Chansung leaned against the wall as Yuno placed his hand over his rapid heart. He tried to catch his breath much to his brother’s amusement, but he was a bundle of nerves.

“Chansung,” he exhaled, still clutching his chest, “how did you know I was here?”

“It is impossible to not hear your stomps and groans through the wall,” the younger prince poked. “I imagine the townsfolk down below could hear your pacing.”

“Of course,” the older prince said with a roll of his eyes. His younger brother wordlessly invited him in by opening the door to his chambers wider and he breezed through, taking a seat on Chansung’s plush mattress. Chansung closed the door behind him to find his usually composed sibling with his head in his hands. A symphony of defeated sighs left Yuno’s lips and Chansung set a comforting hand on his brother’s back.

“What ails you, dear brother?” The younger implored.

“Chansung.”

“Yes, brother?”

“Have you ever felt like there was something more out there in the world, just waiting for you?” 

Chansung paused at Yuno’s question, retreating his hand from his brother’s body. A silence surrounded the room as the younger sat next to his sibling. 

“I suppose I haven’t,” Chansung answered with a hum. He turned to face his brother, finding the crown prince’s face contorted with furrowed brows and sucked in cheeks. “I knew that my place was always here in the castle and I have always taken that role seriously.” 

This was true. Chansung always buried himself in his studies, gathering enough knowledge to to soon overtake the place of Yuno’s future advisor. He studied religiously to not let his people down, just as his Father and Rowena currently were.

The older nodded silently, the black strands of his hair shifting to hide his eyes as he did so. He tugged on his earlobe, a habit he picked up when he was deep in thought or stressed beyond belief. Chansung caught sight of Yuno’s tell-tale and his lips pursed on trying to figure out as to why his brother was stressed.

“See, Chansung, that’s the difference between us,” Yuno broke the deafening silence. 

“What is?”

“You are the one who deserves the throne, not I.”

“Brother!” Chansung shouted in defiance. “Why would you say that? You would make a great king!” He pushed with such force. Yuno smiled, his brother always had seen the best in him.

“Chansung, one cannot deny the truth,” the crown prince smiled at his sibling. The upturns of his plump lip showed the prince’s fondness for his brother and a twinge of regret for not being the royal people expected him to be. 

“I have known what people have expected me to be and I have tried my best to live up to those expectations but...” Yuno began. He stood up and walked towards the open balcony, Chansung following in his wake. The elder leaned against the railings, hands resting on the cold stone as his sibling chose to press his back against it.

Townsfolk caught a glimpse of them from down below and enthusiastically yelled for the royal duo’s attention. The younger greeted them with matched excitement, bringing his hand up for a wave while the elder just nodded at them with a forlorn expression taking over his handsome face. He stared at the crowd a little longer than he should have, his mind wandering to the thief that stole his heart. His deep chocolate eyes traced the busy streets and alleyways, through the ways of the marketplace and the housing area until he could no longer see the outlines of the path.

“But you feel as if you belong down there,” Chansung finished for him with a hint of understanding. 

“Yes,” Yuno breathed out.

“Brother, you have always had a knack for escaping,” Chansung joked lightheartedly to ease his brother’s troubled heart. It was not everyday a royal revealed he wanted to be one of the people after all. 

A hearty, deep rumbling laugh escaped the crown prince’s lips. “I suppose I was not as discreet as I could have been,” he said with the shake of his head, “I was too busy running away from the guards to leave quietly.”

“I suppose not,” the younger chuckled along, the sounds of their laughter drifting with the winds.

“But Yuno,” Chansung’s voice called, “will you be alright?” His voice grew faint towards the end of the question and Yuno caught what his sibling was implying. Would the crown prince be alright after leaving a life of comfort?

“Yes,” Yuno smiled, his eyes shining in a way the second in line had never seen before, “for I will be happy.”

“Will you really be happy?” Chansung asked softly, his voice choking at the thought of his brother leaving him behind. He shook the sadness away and grinned widely at his sibling.

“You are leaving your favorite person behind after all,” he teased, barely dodging a playful punch to the chest. Yuno slung his arm over Chansung’s broad shoulder, bringing a hand to ruffle the other’s neatly styled hair.

“When have I ever called you that?” 

“Come, Yuno,” the younger man said with a proud smile, “we have much to discuss before we bring this to Father.” 

Yuno laughed once more, his heart bursting with an infinite amount of joy. He was one step closer to being free. 

Nothing could take away his happiness, or so he thought. Neither brother realized the person lurking in the shadows, hanging onto every word with disdain.

“He wants to abdicate the throne for a measly street rat? How could this be?” Rowena asked herself as she stormed into her secret hideaway within the palace walls after hearing the conversation between the siblings. The fabric of her robe flowed behind her and the mighty jeweled staff pounded against the floor as she rushed her way down steep steps. 

“All these years of scheming my way to the top will be wasted if he leaves with that peasant,” she spat harshly. Passing by the mirror hanging on her wall, Rowena paused in place to admire her looks. Running a hand through her shining black locks and stroking the sharp line of her jaw, she wondered what you had that she didn’t.

She had the looks, the intelligence, and the kingdom in the palm of her magic hand while you merely survived by committing to a life of crime. Why wasn’t the prince in love with her?

“Yuno and the position of queen was to be mine,” the advisor hissed, hazel eyes darkening with envy with each word she spoke. “I have not wasted my energy spelling the king only to settle for the second born.” 

Her reflection disappeared from her view, a bundle of smoke and clouds hiding her away before dispersing into a sweet image of you and the prince together. 

A terrifying shriek left her lips at the new reflection. Picking up the closest item within her reach, she hurled it into the mirror projecting that horrifyingly romantic image. The crack of the glass echoed in throughout the room and it fueled her bubbling ambition.

As her grip tightened against the length of her staff, she felt a new plan hatching in her head and dark magic coursing through her veins. “Prince Yuno and Neiho will be mine, make no mistake about that.”

You thought your love was too good to be true and he tried to convince you otherwise— you were a mere village thief and he was the Crown Prince. You came from practically nothing while he was of royal blood and yet, your fragile heart couldn’t help but fall for the lost man behind the crown and jewels. Your relationship was against the fates and the aligned stars but the prince had the strongest urge to rewrite them just to keep you by his side.

 “I have scheduled a private audience with the King tomorrow.” 

“And what will you discuss with him, love?” You stroked his fringe away from his forehead before cupping his cheek in your gentle hold. 

He nestled into your palm, sighing at your warmth. “Renouncing the throne,” Yuno announced casually.

“I beg your pardon?!” You almost screamed into the night.

The prince ignores your little outburst, continuing his explanation. “The life of a royal is not the life I wish to live. I want to live a life of travel and adventure.” He sat up to clutch your hands in his. “I want to live a life with you, if you will have me.”

“With me?” You managed to mutter. “Out of all people, why with me?”

“Because I’m in love with you. Any day with you would be an adventure.”

“But I don’t have anything— no riches, just rags,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. He took you in, dirt smeared face and ripped clothing, and still looked at you like you held the world in your hands. Yuno saw the stars, the sky, the whole entire universe in your eyes. He didn’t need anything else— he just needed you. 

“I love you more than anything else in this world but all I have to offer you is everything in me. I’m not sure if that is enough,” you bit your lip, teething gnawing down on your sensitive skin out of nervousness. He was the boy who had everything and he was willing to give everything up for a life with you. 

Yuno brought your injured knuckles to his lips. He kissed them gently, holding your gaze with a soft one of his own. “My love, that is more than enough. You are more than enough.”

“But what about the villagers? What will happen to them if I were to leave?” You sputtered out, worrying about others rather than yourself. 

He smiled at your selflessness. “I have already discussed this with Chansung. He is aware of the village’s situation and is willing to make changes to better their livelihood.”

“I can’t leave them behind,” you pulled your hands away. “They need me.” 

“He is willing to work with your partner, Minhyung, to reach out to our people. No man left behind,” he replied with a smile. “We thought of all the options.” 

You wanted to go with him but they were all you knew. Protecting the villagers and providing them with hope was always your number one priority— you had never thought of anything else. Would your mother be disappointed in you if you left them all behind or would she be happy to know that you have found a potential shot of happiness?  

“Please, just think about it, my darling.”

“And Minhyung, he asked me to think about it!” You shrieked while running through the trees, a sack of gold hitting the small of your back. You looked behind you to see your younger partner-in-crime giving you the smuggest smile.

“Well, are you thinking about it?” He questioned, curiosity burning in his doe eyes. He wiggled his brows to tease you and you wanted to slap him with your heavy sack.

“What is there to think about? I’m not leaving you behind.” 

“Why is that?” Your friend pushed.

“Because you need me, they need me.”

“Do we really need you or is it you that needs us?”

You frowned at him, not understanding his words. “What do you mean by that, Min?”

He laughed, nose coiling up cutely as he did so. “You have been stealing all your life, it’s all you know how to do. It’s familiar.”

“I do not see where you’re going with this.”

“You love him and you want to go with him but you’re scared.”

“Of what?”

“The unknown.” Minhyung gestured to all the riches you’ve stolen gathered by your feet. “This is all you’ve known but wouldn’t it be nice to do something more?” 

“But this is all you’ve known too, Min,” you countered defensively. 

“True, but by working with Prince Chansung, I can broaden my horizons.” There was this proud glint in his eye. “I can help more people. And you—”

“And me?”

“— you can finally be free to see what’s out there just like you’ve always dreamed of doing with nothing holding you back.” 

Your friend grabbed hold of your hand, his larger one clasping over your own. Minhyung’s grip tightened around your palm to reassure you. “You can be selfish for once, to think only of yourself, and it will be perfectly fine.”

“Min, I want to be selfish but I’m frightened of everything— life beyond the walls and forest. What if everything out there is not what I think it is? What if I’m not prepared to leave this familiarity?”

Minhyung whispered your name as you began to spiral down a road he could not follow. 

“And being in love with a prince for that matter! Love could be fleeting. Any given day after I leave with him, Yuno may not want me. He could turn his back on me and leave me to die. He has options, Min. I, for one, am not that lucky.”

Your friend squeezed firmly on your shoulder before reaching down to take hold of your hands. He crossed your arms over your chest and placed each hand on a shoulder, leading your fingers to tap against your skin. Minhyung encouraged you to follow along as he began to guide you through deep, calming breaths. 

As your heart rate and thoughts began to settle, you wondered when Minhyung grew up to be the strong boy who stood beside you. 

“Life is frightening. We know that more than anyone, flying by the seat of our pants,” Minhyung said with a chuckle of his own. “It’s alright to be scared of the unknown but it should not stop you from living your life the way you wish to live it.”

As you took another breath, you nodded to acknowledge his words. 

“Do you want to live a life with the Crown Prince?”

“More than anything in this world,” was your firm reply. 

Minhyung grinned at you, “Then that should be enough. Your love will be enough.”

Tugging him into a hug, you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. The act of affection was a “thank you” you cannot express with words. You only hoped your friend would understand the meaning behind the gesture. Luckily, with years of experience being your partner-in-crime, the young Minhyung was able to between the lines.

“Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” he said, placing a faint kiss against the crown of your head. “You’ve taught me everything I need to know.”

Minhyung, the younger and more energetic one of your thieving duo, ran ahead of you into the clearing to make the first drop of goods. You laughed at his excitable demeanor— you knew he would be the person you would miss most once you hightrailed out of the kingdom. He was the only family you had left but there he was, happy that you were finally setting yourself free.

The upward curve of your lips dropped when you heard his voice yell out for help. Heart racing, you let go of your sack, legs running faster than ever before to come to your best friend’s aid.

Once you caught a glimpse of him, your heart dropped to the floor, right by your soiled and tattered coverings you called shoes.

Minhyung was fighting against the hold of the strong guards that always chased your tail. His hands were handcuffed in chains and tears were running down his sunken cheeks as one guard repeatedly abused his small frame. You screeched at the vulgar sight unfolding before you— your little brother was being beaten to a pulp.

Three rough strikes to the stomach was all you could witness before you went flying towards him, hands outstretched to catch him as his body fell to the floor. You never reached him, another pair of guards preventing you from doing so. They immediately cuffed you and pulled your struggling frame towards them. Your shouts and frantic cries for the injured Minhyung were hushed when a restricting feeling took over your vocal chords.

Opening your mouth, you tried your best to make a sound but you found yourself mute. 

A horrifyingly disturbing laugh came from behind the trees and you scuffled to find the source through your tears. The tall and sleek figure, dressed far too nice to be caught in these parts, approached you with the most evil smirk. Her back was straightened, chest puffed out, and head held high with pride as she used the tip of her staff to lift your head.

“So you are the one who caught the crown prince’s eye,” the figure said, her voice as piercing as her glare. “The little thief.”

“You,” came your choked reply as she released the spell she casted on you.

“Oh, so you know of me?” she laughed haughtily. “Say my name then, child.”

Refusing to do what she said, you turned your head to look at the unconscious Minhyung who was slumped across the grass. 

“I said,” she hissed, using her hand to force your gaze back at her. “Say my name.” 

“Rowena,” you growled. “What do you want from me? I have nothing you want.” Her sharp nails dug into your skin and you winced at the pain. The royal advisor clearly did not appreciate your snark. 

“That is where you are wrong, my sweet child,” Rowena almost purred back. “You possess the thing I long for most.”

You scoffed at her answer. “And what would that be, witch?”

“Be careful with your words, street rat. I can end your friend’s life in an instant if you fail to hold your tongue,” a nail scratched your cheek, leaving you with a new cut. A thin stream of blood flowed down your face, dripping onto your tattered clothes as Rowena watched amusingly. “You are in possession of Prince Yuno’s heart when it was destined to be mine.”

You fought the urge to laugh, “You are doing this out of jealousy?”

“Hold your tongue, riff raff. You forget who is in control here, I can easily command my men to strike another blow on your poor fri—”

“No!” you yelled, cutting Rowena off, suddenly desperate to get on her good side. “Don’t hurt Minhyung; he has nothing to do with the situation!”

Minhyung weakly called your name and you ignored his cries. 

“But he is a thief and it is a great crime to steal in this kingdom,” Rowena drawled on teasingly, like a cat playing with a hopeless mouse.

“No, please,” you begged. “You mustn’t hurt him.”

“Then you must do something for me in return, peasant,” Rowena laughed at how easily she had you wrapped around her finger. You appeared to be strong, but your overly selfless heart was weak. 

“I will do anything you ask me to if you leave Minhyung alone,” you petitioned. You couldn’t let anything happen to Minhyung— he was the only family you had left. “He’s a brother to me.”

Minhyung’s head shot up at his new title while he gasped for air. Locking eyes with him, you smiled painfully. He was always at your side, protecting you when he could. Now, it was your time to protect him.

“I will let the boy live if you come with me without a fight,” Rowena schemed, grin growing wider by the second. She had you in the palm of her hands. “He is of no importance to me.”

“He is of the utmost importance to me,” you said, the familial love seeping through your veins. Though physically far apart from him, you hoped he could feel the love you had for him. Minhyung violently shook his head, as if to tell you not to go. He refused to let you sacrifice yourself to let him live, you had done enough for him as is.

“I will go with you, Rowena. Just allow me a moment to say my goodbyes.”

The guards holding you and Minhyung back looked at their commander for an order. With a roll of her eyes and a wave of her hand, you and your friend were freed of your confinement. You quickly shuffled to your feet and Minhyung fell into your arms as you sunk to the ground. 

“Oh my stars, Min,” you sniffled as you took him in. Sandwiching his fallen face in between your hands, you stroked his cheeks and pushed back the strands of hair that stuck to his sweaty forehead. “Please tell me you’re alright.”

“I’ll be alright if you stay here with me,” Minhyung replied with tears welling up in his soft brown eyes. Minhyung was always the crier between the two of you. He cried more at your mother’s death than you did but this time, you let your tears cascade down your cheeks, knowing this was the last time you would see your best friend. 

“You know I can’t do that. I can’t let anything happen to you, you have gotten yourself hurt because of me,” You gather enough strength in your shaking hands to squeeze his cheeks, something you always did to cheer him up. “I refuse to be the cause of your pain.”

“And I refuse to let you go,” Minhyung raised his hands to hold onto yours.

“I have made my choice,” you whispered harshly, “and that is to keep you and the others safe.”

You take a moment to hug the younger boy in your arms, trying to commit the feeling of Minhyung in your memory. Flashes of your best friend growing up by your side ran through your mind as your fingers stroked through his hair. Pressing a lingering kiss to the top of his head, you shut your eyes and bit back a sob. “Do me one favor? Find your happiness, wherever it may be and never let it go, alright?”

When you released him from your hold, Minhyung whined at the loss of warmth. 

“You’re my brother, Minhyung. I love you,” were your last words to your thieving partner before you turned away from him and his heart wrenching sobs and willingly stepped into your doom.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

What started off as secret meetings and stolen kisses in alleyways was ending with you chained to the floor of the palace’s throne room while your lover watched helplessly from the side. He screamed your name and struggled against the hold of his guards but you shook his head to silence him.

Stop, you begged in your head, make it stop. 

The King and Prince Chansung did nothing to help you or their kin, only staring blankly at the chaotic scene unfolding in front of them. They had no choice; they were bewitched to be at the sorceress’ beck and call, just like the many guards that protected the kingdom. If only Prince Yuno had realized it sooner. 

“Why are you doing this?” Yuno yelled, his deep voice booming throughout the large room. His harsh glare, a look you had never seen on him, was focused on the lady seated on his father’s rightful throne. 

“Why?” Rowena echoed. “My darling prince, I did this because of you and your wish to renounce the throne for her.” Her extreme distaste for you was apparent as she hissed the last word. 

She left her seat, leisurely sauntering over to Yuno with a smile as if it was a casual meeting when the situation was far from it. Rowena squatted down to reach his level and Yuno hastily turned his head to the side, refusing to meet her eyes. His jaw tightened and his teeth grinded against each other as she forced him to look her directly in the eye. “Marry me and crown me as your Queen. Only then will I let her go.”

Instead of answering the witch with words, he chose to spit in her face instead. “Never, you hag. You are not worthy of ruling Neiho, nor will you ever be.” Yuno’s voice was ruthless and unwavering, just as a prince’s should be. Even in a moment like this, your heart swelled with pride at his bravery.

“Long live King Chansung,” he jeered, which only set Rowena off. “He is the next, rightful ruler of the kingdom.”

“If this is how you want to play, so be it, Prince,” Rowena laughed in his face. The sound of her cackles made shivers run down your spine and cold sweat broke out in a number of places. You were scared of what was to come. 

Using her staff to help her back up to a standing position, Rowena made her way towards you with a menacing stare. The curve of her lips grew wider as you flinched back in fear. You heard the clanking of metal chains as Yuno wrestled against the guard’s hold. “Don’t you dare do anything to her!”

“And what will you do, Yuno?” she threw back. “There is nothing you can do to help her now.”

Only a few steps from you, she points the end of her staff in your direction. A gleaming emerald jewel taunted you as you sucked in a breath. “You, peasant, have always given selflessly without expecting anything in return so selfless you will remain,” she started to say, a gust of wind bursted out the end of the jewel. It first surrounded her figure, then you, before spreading throughout the room. 

A golden lamp appeared out of thin air, floating in front of your face before you felt the spark of dark magic course within you. It released you from your physical binds only to leave you immobile. A pair of gold cuffs materialized on your wrists and tugged you closer to the lamp. 

“No longer will you be able to act selfishly for you are bound to this lamp and to these chains until a master wishes you free,” she explained. The taunting laughter that would soon haunt your memories echoed in your ears as ideas for a curse were thrown into the wind. “It will be at least two thousand years until you have the chance of seeing your precious prince again, that is, if Prince Yuno finds you first.” 

“What? No!” Yuno howled across the room as you were slowly consumed by a dark cloud. Calls of your name were heard but you could not respond as Rowena began to chant,

“Golden lamp of antique old, Bind her body, mind, and soul. May she obey her master’s whim, Turn her future dark and grim. Freedom comes with just one wish Unless it is a true love’s kiss.”

The smoke spread throughout the room, leaving the surroundings in a haze. As the evil enchantress concentrated on the curse, the hold on the others in the room fell through. The king and Chansung snapped out of their daze only to watch the horrific separation begin to take place. 

“Brother, what is the meaning of this?!” Chansung shouted to get his sibling’s attention, bringing an arm to shield his eyes from the powerful gusts. His father gripped at his youngest’s sleeve as the gale turned into a hurricane with you in the middle. 

Yuno failed to hear his brother’s questions, eyes zoned in on you as your freedom was slowly stripped away from you. The sight of you crushingly accepting your fate tugged on his heartstrings. This wasn’t the ending he wanted for you. This was far from it. 

"Remember me! You must remember me," he yelled over the commotion. You watched him struggle over the smoke as you cry out for him. 

"How could I ever forget you?" you reassured him with a broken smile. You felt the tail end of your body being pulled inside your new cage and tried to fight the unbreakable force. 

Yuno screamed your name once more. You locked eyes across the room, his dark orbs spinning with love and desperation. You wondered if your wet irises looked the same as his. 

"I will find you! I will search until the ends of the earth until you are by my side again.”

You wanted to laugh at his hopeful optimism— how did love get you into this situation? 

As much as you wanted to believe Yuno would find you, the situation was bleak. 

Rowena’s body rumbled with a laughter so sinister, so piercing that you flinched at the sound as her dark magic ran through your veins. “I would like to see you try, my prince, but until then, you and the throne belong to me,” she sneered. 

Ignoring the enchantress’ claims, his eyes continued to search for your disappearing figure. “I will come back to you, I promise!” Yuno’s deep voice rang into your ears. 

“I hope you will,” you whispered a defeated reply back. 

“If not in this life, then I will find you in the next! Mark my words!”

“Yuno…”

“In any version of reality, my darling, I will find you and I will choose you every single time. Do you hear me?” 

You nodded vigorously as you choked back your sobs. 

Just as the last bits of your being slipped through the spout of the lamp, Yuno broke free from the guards’ hold and rushed to your side. You reached out a hand and his fingertips grazed yours. 

“Don’t forget me,” he mumbled through choked up sobs. His shaking hands grabbed at the dreaded lamp, clutching it to his broad chest like it was the most precious thing on earth.

The sight of him so desperate before you was reminiscent of the star-crossed lovers you heard about during your younger years, the ones that ended in the worst of tragedies. You pondered  if this was your own personal tragedy, if this particular scene would haunt you for the rest of your cursed life. 

You exchanged one last glance. One last touch. 

Your hand clutched his cheek like it was made of the most fragile glass and the pad of your thumb stroked his soft skin. Yuno leaned into your touch, wanting to soak in his last moment with you. A spark flickered the place of contact, a sizzle of bright dust oozing from your fingers— your first dose of magic and you couldn’t even use it to keep him by your side. A glittering tear fell from your cheek and landed on his skin. 

It was then you muttered your last words to the man who claimed your heart before being completely tugged into your golden cage, “As you wish.” 

author’s note. hello, my darling readers! i know many of you have been waiting for this release for the longest time. this is the first of three (or four) parts. this part has been done for quite some time now; i’m just struggling to get the rest of it out.

but i thought it was too good of a story to just sit there in my google docs. i had this need to finally put part of it out into the world so here we are! i’ve been writing this since october and i would like to thank the many people who have helped me with the plot so far: kira, my chaotic gc, allex, and joyce!! ily all!! <3 this is for you!!!

part two is finished and i’m in the process of editing it! will it be out soon? who knows?

taglist. @rindomo @yshbaewenjun @hannie-dul-set @itsapapisongo @babyyynatty @notnctu @w0nni3wrld @yuta1forme @lucyinthesunshinee

i lost my original copy of the taglist so i’m sorry if i missed people! (especially since it’s been so long!) please let me know if you would like to be added to the list for future parts!

© sehunniepotwrites, 2020-2021

[charlotte-headcanons]

Hey! How have ypu been? 2,3,6,7,9,15 Who else but Monty (Kata, Brulee, Peros too :D) yeah it's a big order!

Phew, that one sure took a while! But everything for you, friend 💕💕 We're alright, hope you've been well too! ✨

Some practicalities first: We decided to organize this answer by characters, for maximum space to go into detail on each headcanon! Some headcanons pertain to our modern AU rather than to the One Piece canon as we found these headcanons worked better for a particular prompt: we'll indicate those at the start of each bullet point!

Send us a number and a character and we'll post headcanons!

2. Job headcanon

Modern AU: Mont D'Or is a librarian by passion and a prosecutor by profession. He opened up and manages his own library in the early mornings and late evenings, but in-between that, he works on court cases. He might be overworked, and is definitely a workaholic but he hardly ever slacks off on either of his careers; and he's notorious for being professional, convincing, and very attached to every case. Highly principled unless Mama orders him to do something for her, he refuses to prosecute those he doesn't believe should be prosecuted, and for those he wants to face justice - he will get so heated that he might get reprimanded by judges for yelling or by cops and detectives for joining their investigations uninvited. His sister, Galette, is his secretary, and she follows him around everywhere, helping out however much she can!

3. Drinking headcanon

Mont D'Or... might have a bit of an alcohol problem. It's not that he gets drunk often... but he does drink regularly. Essentially, every time his siblings piss him off, he takes a sip, so you can imagine how many sips accumulate throughout the day. His prefer drink is red dry wine and he mostly drinks alone, without witnesses, not to give a bad example! To get really drunk, he would have to drink a lot; but if he does get drunk, he mostly gets more explosive than usual or somewhat lagged out, processing all information input slower than normally.

6. Musical headcanon

In Mont D'Or's eyes, the main function music has is to help him either focus or unwind. For both of these roles, he enjoys classical music most - think especially something akin to Wagner. He despises loud music and prefers instrumental pieces, although he is also an opera enthusiast. His guilty pleasure, discovered quite recently, could also be lo-fi kind of music! It calms him down a little, even though he doesn't like to be caught listening to it, as his expressed music-related opinions are overall quite snobbish.

7. Food/Cooking headcanon

Mont D'Or would gladly cook if he had the time for it; but being as busy as he is, he is forced to depend on others and on ordering food throughout each day. His tastes encompass rather fancy cuisine: he adores charcuterie boards and seafood, refuses to eat fast food, adds cheese to pretty much everything that is remotely acceptable like an apple pie and calls it an acquired taste. Besides that, he always likes to have a cookie with his black coffee; considering how much coffee he drinks every day, that is a lot of cookies consumed!

9. Childhood headcanon

As a child, Mont D'Or was known as just a nerd. He was way more shy and less aggressive than he is now; it was only over time, having been ridiculed by some siblings for his unconventional (in this family) interests, that he toughened up and learned to stand up for himself. Ever since he learned to read, Mont D'Or was a frequent visitor to all libraries of Totto Land. At the time, there weren't that many, nor did they have impressive book collections, so soon enough, Mont D'Or started reading books way above his age target group, and by the time he came of age, he was disappointed to find out that he has already read every book currently available within Big Mom's territory. At first, little Mont D'Or wasn't quite sure what he can offer to his family of murderous pirates: he wasn't strong nor all that ruthless, and his strengths could be found rather in the areas that wouldn't be that useful for sailing or plundering. He also felt lonely before Galette came along, and he could most often be found alone, or around Compote, who had a soft spot for her smart little brother. Eventually, Mont D'Or figured out that strategy and organization were the areas where his family could need him, though; from there, he moved on to transform from a quiet nerd into a pillar of Big Mom Pirates’ planning.

15. School headcanon

Besides setting up many more libraries in Totto Land than it once had, Mont D'Or took it onto himself to kickstart a proper education system in his mother's territory. In the past, none of the Charlotte siblings went through formalized education, rather having to learn from experience or directly from Big Mom, other pirates, and from each other. Now, Mont D'Or makes sure that teachers are recruited to Totto, and at least basic schools (available universally) are established!

Modern AU: It is probably not surprising that at school, Mont D'Or would be a straight-A's student. Stellar at every test, he would however not be all that liked by the teachers due to his behavior problems. His temper and lack of respect for authority if the authority is wrong would both make him a troublesome student to get in conflict with. He'd absolutely correct the teachers on their mistakes, and if they dared refuse to acknowledge their faults... he would yell. 😔

Katakuri, Brulee, and Perospero under the cut!

2. Job headcanon

Modern AU: As we discussed in a previous post, Katakuri would definitely be every parent's dream child, aka a doctor and a lawyer in one! A neurologist and an advocate, Katakuri would be very close to burnout, and wouldn't really actively work in the law field anymore, not wanting to infringe on Mont D'Or's turf. He would definitely work too much, but telling him to rest would hardly be a solution: with his perfectionism, he would not be able to sleep unless his task was carried out well. He wouldn't like his job all that much, really, but he'd still keep it to continue supporting his younger or less talented siblings with his money; and not to disappoint his mother, of course.

3. Drinking headcanon

Katakuri refuses to drink alcohol, finding every possible excuse to not be pressured into it. First of all, he just doesn't want to show his mouth, lay down, or do something even more embarassing for anyone to see if he gets drunk. More importantly, though, he is scared of falling into an addiction as a coping method, so he prefers to just avoid the temptation altogether. If possible, he'd rather not be around drunk people, too!

6. Musical headcanon

Katakuri enjoys all kinds of music and has quite a diverse tastes, with some of his favorites coming from indie rock, metal, cute pixel music, grunge, and more. He is quite embarrassed to share the music he listens to, so when possible, he listens to it on headphones. When he's fully convinced that he's alone, he might sing a little or bob his head to the music he enjoys; if listening to songs around people, though, he'll keep a fully straight, unmoved face.

7. Food/Cooking headcanon

As the supreme donut lover, Katakuri actually has a secret bucket list of all flavors of donuts he wants to try! He cares about the textures of food a lot, and generally prefers soft and chewy things. To set him apart from Luffy, Katakuri also doesn't really like meat, with few exceptions! Sometimes, Katakuri joins Perospero in his morning tea drinking sessions, and it was from his older brother that he learned to like his tea very sweet. As for cooking, he tried it as a child, but found to have little patience for it back then; now, he'd probably do way better if he tried to cook, but just like Mont D'Or, he just doesn't have the time!

9. Childhood headcanon

Katakuri is probably the Charlotte that changed the most since his early childhood. Before the Brulee incident, he was actually a rather lazy, even if talented, kid. To get him to train, an incentive of donuts was always necessary; and having been highly influenced by Daifuku and Oven, he also used to be a bit of a troublemaker. If anyone made fun of him or annoyed him, they would always see Katakuri throwing hands - he was far more eruptive than now and didn't really care what others thought. Brulee getting hurt because of him, though, had a life-changing effect on him; and it effectively molded him into the hardworking, serious, troubled person that he is now.

15. School headcanon

Modern AU: Despite starting off as a troublemaker who slept through the boring classes, these days Katakuri is a model student, and many teachers marvel at his transformation. He is just as good in sciences as in sports, and often represents his school in various competitions, regularly winning too! Although he gets A's in everything, his favorite school subjects remain the humanities. After school, he revises the lesson material for exactly an hour every day, but doesn't need to study much before tests, having a great memory and a kind of sixth sense for filtering out important information. Despite not wanting to be in the spotlight, he's very popular with fellow students and a lot of classmates have secret crushes on him, girls or guys!

2. Job headcanon

Modern AU: As we headcanon, one of Brulee's main hobbies is tending to her herbal garden, and she knows a lot about the healing properties of plants! Naturally, then, she would gladly choose pharmacy as her career path: the calm atmosphere combined with helping others would fit her vibe perfectly. Besides that, she would also work voluntarily babysitting the children of her siblings; the kids would always be kind of scared of her at first, but soon enough they would outright cry whenever she would have to leave even just for a moment.

3. Drinking headcanon

Brulee drinks alcohol rarely and in small amounts; mostly as an addition to a good dinner. She is an extreme lightweight, so anything more than one glass of her favorite white wine results in her becoming way more clumsy than usual and inevitably getting a next-morning headache. To avoid this, she makes sure to never drink more than she knows she can handle!

6. Musical headcanon

Another classical music lover, Brulee would enjoy something akin to Schubert's songs most! Even though she isn't the best at it, with her voice being just a bit too nasal and too scratchy, Brulee likes to sing (especially ballads and lullabies!) and often hums while working. Having a bit more free time than most of her siblings, Brulee also managed to learn some instruments, albeit she only ever stuck to the basics and simple pieces. The piano is the instrument she plays rather well, so she can teach her younger siblings how to play a few easy songs if they so please; very recently, she also picked up the violin, and she enjoys practicing it although, so far, the sounds she can make hardly resemble what she would like to hear.

7. Food/Cooking headcanon

Brulee cooks a lot and enjoys doing that a bunch! She's quite experimental and healthy with her recipes, and prefers salty foods as well as meat or soups. As a result, she is one of the few bastions that keep some of her siblings from succumbing to dessert-only diets. Once in a while, she bakes bread too; since she always cooks way more food than she needs, she often ends up sharing or donating it! You can almost always smell something cooking up in her hut; even if Totto Land has so many high-level chefs, Brulee still likes to make her own, homemade food herself.

9. Childhood headcanon

As a child, Brulee was much more anxious than she is now. She was always a bit awkward and clumsy, and kind of bullied for her witchy appearance by the other children in ports and in Totto Land. Over time, she learned to embrace herself, though; in the stories her older siblings told her, she always identified with the witches, and she later proceeded to amplify this image of herself as much as possible, instead of resenting it!

15. School headcanon

Modern AU: Brulee would be a mediocre student, who'd be kind of picked on, at least until Katakuri got all set on defending her! Her favorite school subject would be history, and she'd also enjoy some parts of biology - though she'd much rather learn about plants and animals than the human insides. Always a sweetheart, Brulee would enjoy secretly making her classmates happy with little anonymous gifts; each birthday or Valentine's Day, anyone could count on at least one card from a secret friend, who everyone would suspect to be her, as she isn't all that great at hiding.

2. Job headcanon

Modern AU: Perospero would be an interior designer, but really, one of a kind. Even if just designing a chair, he'd see his work as art and himself as an artist, and he'd act accordingly. Cracker Any architect unlucky enough to have to work with him would end up in despair as he'd blatanly ignore the technical limits and capacities of a building for the aesthetic. Likewise, his clients would have to be prepared for many unexpected decisions and costs: Perospero would not take orders from them but always stick to what he thinks looks good, no matter how intricate or expensive. Effectively, the only clients brave enough to employ him more than once would be the rich and extravagant ones: those would appreciate his work immensely, while anyone remotely more practical would have to complain.

3. Drinking headcanon

Perospero parties and gets drunk quite often, although he exclusively drinks overly sweet cocktails and never drinks outside of a social context! When he has too much to drink, he gets either hyper, horny, or annoying - or all three at once - depending on his mood. Whichever it is, he also loses all understanding of personal space, gets a lot more touchy, and much more likely to lick everyone and everything. At the end of the night, he has the tendency to pretend that he's much more drunk than he actually is, too, hoping that someone will carry him home like the princess he wants to be; though most of the time, it just ends up with Daifuku pulling him back by the leg.

6. Musical headcanon

Perospero loves to sing, especially publically, and he's surprisingly good at it! damn I really got a stroke first time I heard him sing, like, my man, how can you sing so well with an entire tongue out wtf Perospero explain. His preferred repertoire of music to sing includes all sorts of songs from musicals; as for music to listen to, he ranges between musicals and hyperpop, or any music sweet and bubbly on the outside but disturbing and horror-like as it develops!

7. Food/cooking headcanon

Perospero does not cook on principle, insisting that they have the chefs for it. His diet as a whole is downright atrocious; he adds sugar to quite literally everything, acts dramatically, as if he was poisoned if forced to eat anything not sweet enough, and mostly lives off candy. His 'tea' can hardly be called that anymore, considering that it contains more syrups and sugar than tea itself. Basically, Compote gets chills whenever she sees him eat and continuously marvels at how the fuck he is still alive.

9. Childhood headcanon

Having to take care of his siblings early on, Perospero didn't get much of a careless childhood. Once Linlin was unable to keep all children with her on the Rocks Pirates ship, by the time he was 8, he was put in charge of all the younger siblings she left in a port (while Compote was looking over the ones that stayed with Linlin on the ship). Perospero looks back at his childhood fondly, though; he liked ordering his brothers and sisters around, liked being in charge, and especially loved being admired and looked up to as the eldest sibling role model. Once Katakuri became a new favorite of the family, Perospero was so jealous and grumpy for a while that he even went through a rebellious phase of trying to run away; he came back less than a day later though, having cried his eyes out once missing his family and homesickness kicked in, never to try to leave ever again.

15. School headcanon

Modern AU: At school, Perospero would definitely focus on socializing way more than on learning. Among the teachers, he would be known as a smart but lazy kind of student, doing the bare minimum for most classes, though excelling in art and music. He would have mostly girl friends, essentially running his own mean girls group; together with them, he'd always come up with excuses to not exercise during P.E. so that his looks don't get ruined and so that he can just spend the time gossiping about the guys instead. If someone got on his bad side, Perospero would also not be above bullying them, although he wouldn't do that in a conventional way - rather, he'd just make his victims severely uncomfortable, getting way to close, switching between flirty and dangerous tones, and making them feel trapped before just backing off and laughing. An absolute menace to society, even in a modern AU 😔

If you managed to get through all of this, we salute you, soldier 🎖️Hope you enjoyed, though! ✨ It was sure fun to come up with. Thanks for the ask! 💕

[paper-n-ashes]

New Endeavours

Characters: Modern AU!Kylo Ren x Female Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings/Tags: Explicit (18+), Sugar daddy relationship, sexual references but no actual smut, bisexual vibes, attending a strip club.

Author’s Note: This is all because of my love, @maryforyou. An AU venture she ignited and I couldn’t let go of. Read into this however you want, I’m an open book in terms of exploring sexuality without labels. Being the first AU I’ve ever attempted, I kept this as an intro, to hopefully dive into the more explicit content I’ve been ruminating on for too long as a Part 2 (depending on how this is received).

*

“Are you sure this what you want?”

You smiled sweetly, smoothing out the creases in your dress as Kylo handed you your coat and gloves. “Like I said every day this week, I’m very sure.”

He still appeared doubtful, plush lips twisted in a disbelieving frown. “I could give you anything your heart desires for your birthday, princess,” he urged, helping you to secure the top buttons of your waistcoat, his large frame shifting close to yours. “This barely seems like enough of a gift for such a special occasion.”

Kylo was used to showering you with physical symbols of his adoration in the 18 months you had known him. The man had more money than he knew what to do with, lavishing all types of jewellery and clothing on you, some of the pieces you were certain cost more than your tiny apartment in the outskirts of the city. Every time you tried to refuse the extravagant gifts, Kylo always replied with sweetened notions of needing to worship and adore the personified goddess he saw you as. And when spoken in his infuriatingly mesmerising tenor, they would quickly conquer your resistance.

You were acutely aware of what this looked like from an outside perspective. A wealthy older man courting a young woman over 10 years his junior. Bathing her head to toe in the finest attire, parading her around in places a woman of her standing wouldn’t have been able to afford in two lifetimes.

A label came with this kind of behaviour. One you didn’t particularly like, yet was still true.

Sugar daddy.

There wasn’t a way you could deny that’s how your association with Kylo begun.

You’d heard whispers of other girls at the college you went to doing it. Offering their bodies to the affluent men of this city. At first, you’d scoffed at the idea. But when that third overdue notice of your credit card debt came, with the threat of eviction hanging over your head, you didn’t really have much choice.

A name was given to you of a bar that specialised in these kinds of meetings, completely covertly of course. And there Kylo had found you, hiding away in a secluded corner, stirring the gin and tonic in front of you with a single finger. At first, you’d assumed he was a well-dressed bartender, seemingly too young and strikingly handsome to be in need of a place like this. So you smiled sweetly and told him you weren’t quite done with your drink.

Within such an innocent interaction, Kylo knew he had to have you. And he did, 45 minutes later in the poorly lit bathroom stall, half-dressed bodies clutched together as he had you perch on the porcelain sink, fucking you with an uncharacteristically reckless abandon.

He hadn’t intended to. He hadn’t been entirely sure what he anticipated from that evening, the recommendation being given to him from a higher executive who regularly partook in the questionable operations of this establishment. Kylo meant only to scope the place out, sit for a quiet solitary drink out of the way of other patrons. There, he’d discovered you.

Shrinking into your stool, somewhat inhibited, clearly out of your element. The shy smile that spread across your face after he murmured a stiff hello ensnared him in moments, simply for how sincere it was. He wasn’t used to that.

Another thing Kylo wasn’t used to was the type of electricity that followed in your conversation. Rarely had he experienced an exchange that was so charged yet… genuine. You didn’t appear expectant, didn’t care to know how much money he made or the status of his career. You simply wanted to talk.

It was interesting how this fuelled an urge to make you speechless, to have you resorting to whines and whimpers rather than articulate your thoughts with any words. He didn’t act on them. Content to bide his time, play his cards right, set a precedence of composure and restraint in the hope of securing another meeting. You, however, had never cultivated the same type of discipline Kylo had.

After too many long minutes of flirtatious banter, you leaned forward, mouthing in a hushed tone, asking him to meet you in the women’s bathroom.

The chance encounter had bound you for longer than predicted.

Although never explicitly stated, the two of you fulfilled a portion of each other’s needs. Kylo required adequate distraction from his corporate life, someone who could slip into his erratic schedule with ease to… relieve him of mounting tension. In return, he provided you the monetary means to live in the city of your dreams without constant fear of homelessness.

In the months that passed, your arrangement turned into something stable, secure. His presence a constant in your life. While his working hours were long and finishing times unpredictable, Kylo could always count on you to be summoned to him from a single text message. Be it in the middle of the day, or the early hours of morning, you would race to a place of his choosing. Sometimes at his lush apartment, sometimes his office, and a plethora of restaurant bathrooms across the city after particularly stressful business lunches.

Initially, your involvement was kept mostly out of public view. Kylo had wanted to protect you from the judgements and negative connotations that were unavoidable in the arena of his work. Around the year mark, these reservations about being seen with you seemed to dissipate. Soon you were linked hand in hand at countless high-class dinners and charity events. A poised and elegant couple, right until the last set of eyes moved away.

This is where you had your fun.

As spectacular as Kylo was at fucking you until you saw stars, he’d surprisingly gone this long in life without venturing into more creative territory when it came to satisfaction. His version of sex was fast and hard, needing as much as you as he could get, chasing release with no frills or diversion. He’d never had the time, or the right lover, to encourage any of his deeply hidden fantasies. Until you.

You were game for anything. Sexually adventurous. Ready and willing to try all there was on offer just to elicit the highest levels of ecstasy. It was difficult not to be at the thought of Kylo’s hands, his mouth, his tongue, any part of him.

Although a little more slowly, he began to welcome new experiences, new pursuits of pleasure. Witnessing your reactions to these efforts became somewhat of an addiction for him. The way you writhed and squealed when exploring anal play for the first time. The way you surrendered and adored his verbal degradation and physical strikes. The way your body twitched and spasmed after the use of a newly obtained toy purchased with his platinum credit card.

You never pushed him, or forced him into anything he found uncomfortable in the chase of a sexual high. Communication was paramount, and boundaries were respected.

Interestingly enough, tonight was a boundary he never thought you’d cross.

“This is what I asked for, remember?” you smiled, taking the opportunity to press a gentle kiss to his nose.

Kylo’s apprehension refused to dissipate, while still clutching you closer. “It just… seems like this is something I will enjoy more than you.”

You barely withheld the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re sure about that, are you?”

His eyebrows crinkled, thinking the question over. There was the hint of a smirk that tugged the corner of his mouth, a subtle excited quiver in the breath he exhaled. “So you’re not doing this for me?”

“Not at all,” you breathed. Your palm slipped under his clean-shaven jaw, skating a thumb reassuringly over his cheek. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“You have?”

You hummed a yes, drifting your lips intoxicatingly close to his, staring up with wide eyes.

Kylo’s mouth twisted slightly. “I wouldn’t want you to feel jealous, princess.”

“You’re only looking,” you insisted softly. “And, even if you touch a little…” You bit your lip at the thought. “Those women won’t be who gets to be taken home and fucked until it hurts.”

There was a noticeable tensing in the arms circled around you, as Kylo’s eyes began to burn with an impatient greed. “I could do that now, right against this door.”

It was difficult to deny how you’d happily allow him to make true on that statement. To slam you into the exquisitely carved oak door of his apartment and fill you to your absolute limit. However, the tantalising image of your planned evening was too consuming, heaving and tugging for you to indulge a deeply embedded desire you’d never been brave enough to pursue.

“Save it for when we get home,” you chirped, reaching for the doorhandle and dragging Kylo into the hallway.

 *

“Follow me,” the maître D instructed, her voice cheerfully welcoming. Even the sight of her silken, green dress was intimidating, the fabric glossing over her nimble shape as she guided you up the set of stairs. The lighting was low, almost too dark to see properly, Kylo’s grip strong as your steps were drowned out by the sultry music emanating behind the double doors at the apex. As they were opened to you, the hypnotic baseline ricocheted around your body.

You scanned around the large room, bold lights illuminating a risen stage with two currently unused silver poles at either corner. Plush chairs circled around, occupied by a differing array of men. Slinking between the patrons were women decorated with luxurious, high-end lingerie, each one styled and set to provoke unyielding temptation.

This was a completely new undertaking for you. Attending a strip club. Usually a male endeavour, seeking out instant gratification in the form of scantily clad bodies and paid attention. You knew this was an unusual request for a birthday outing, yet in truth there was nothing from Kylo you wanted more.

The two reasons were somewhat opposing, although they would still feed the same goal. Satisfying a craving.

One being that you had always found women to be alluring and captivating to a height you’d never really accepted, almost been afraid of. Only with time and maturity had you learned your attraction to them was a natural occurrence you were now ready to explore.

The other reason was a little more scandalous, and what you hadn’t quite articulated to Kylo yet. To have the view of his eyes roaming another woman’s almost naked body as she exposed herself to him, drove you wild. In a situation you should feel jealousy, you were only devoured by an uncontainable lust.

Occasionally your mind had forayed into imaginations where he would take another like he’d taken you countless times, able to watch his hands clawing at supple breasts, the smooth motion of his hips, how his thick cock would split a tight, dripping cunt in two. All the while he would deride and goad you, layering you with taunts, desperate to inflame your envy and ownership.

Your plan for this particular evening didn’t extend that far. You only wished to enjoy the performance of mesmeric women in their most enchanting form, observe Kylo’s undeniable arousal at the same lithe, flexible bodies, and return home to remind him that only you could ignite the billowing flames of a violent release.

Oh, but that plan crumbled when you’d each settled into your seats, just in time for the next show of seduction. A pair of glittered, platform heels slinked near to the pole closest to you, your vision roaming upwards over the statuesque figure they connected to. Delicately laced, ivory fabric shielded her most intimate portions from full view, conforming flawlessly to the curves of her figure. Somehow demure yet indecently sensual.

Lips parted, your breath hitched as the exquisite woman twirled around, her eyes trained to you as she let a wicked smile appear. You were sure this was a regular occurrence, a flirtation she expressed to all the patrons in this room. Yet, as she began to move in time with the decadent beat of the music, her eyes stayed transfixed to you marvelling stare.

In an unprecedented display of courage, you beckoned Kylo closer to you, whispering to his ear. “Her. That’s what I really want for my birthday.”

*To be continued*

Let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in future works! 

@tlcwrites @roanniom @maryforyou @mariesackler @sacklerscumrag @barbers-glimmerin-darlin @finn-ray-nal-beads @mylifeisactuallyamess @hopeamarsu @foxilayde @goddesstonythetiger @caillea @direnightshade @blackberries45 

[rodeoxqueen]

Stuck Thinking About You-Dante/Reader

TheLastCrusader Requested: Dante or Vergil gets immobilized in some embarrassing or inconvenient way during a job and then (Y/N) pays them company until they can be freed. How about they have a crush on (Y/N) and they don't know it is returned until the end?

Vergil’s Part: Coming Soon. 

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28187496

Warnings: Fluff, Romantic Comedy, Taking Care of The Twins, Vulnerability, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Characters Call Out The Writer for Her Lazy Writing

Dante was the Legendary Devil Hunter, a tried and true hunter with the might of hundreds of men. And here he was, paralyzed by a venomous demon. During a hunt, it had a lucky shot and hit him with a dart. It would have killed a normal man three times over, causing the victim to lose muscle function and die. Since Dante was not a normal man, his body would metabolize the poison in due time. It’s just too bad he was stuck in his current form, arms to his side and stiff. He was lucky to be able to talk anyway. 

Nero had laughed at his predicament and dragged him back to the van by the boots, throwing him onto the spare seat like a sack of potatoes. His brother had smugly walked alongside his son, entertained by how Dante complained about his now immobilized situation. 

“Laugh it up. When I can move again, I’ll be kicking your asses.” Dante threatened, face down on the cushion with his sword strapped to his back. He sounded muffled and Nero laughed at him again. 

“Wait until (Y/N) found out you got shot in the butt by a demon.” Nero jeered. Dante groaned. 

Oh God forbid you found out, his crush. The gorgeous and funny (Y/N). He’d be a laughingstock. 

You had been working on the Devil May Cry paperwork when the red devil was carried in looking like a cardboard cut out of himself. The red devil was incredibly displeased and had a sour look on his face. 

Nero and Vergil dropped him onto a couch, dusting themselves off and high-fiving. 

“What happened to Dante?” You ask, seeing how Dante was unnaturally still. 

“My brother was unluckily poisoned. The toxins shall wear off soon, although he will be stuck like this for the meanwhile.” 

You see Dante attempt to move with his grunts and groans, yet to no avail. 

“Yeah, he’s gonna have to wait for it to wear off. You should’ve seen him, he gets jabbed and he just drops like a dead body!” Nero wiped a tear of laughter off his face. 

“Anyways, I gotta go back to Fortuna. Call me when he’s back to normal.” Vergil nodded as his son left the door. 

He turned his gaze to you. 

“I am going to retire to my room. Please let me know when he can move again.” He said as he exited the first floor. 

You put your hands on your hips seeing the devil still face down on the couch. 

“Um..Dante?” 

“Yeah?” He said, slightly muted by the cushion. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Can’t move. Stuck.” 

“..Do you want some help?” 

“Nah, I’m alright.” 

“Well, are you sure?” 

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” 

There was a pause. You could hear Dante trying to breathe with the leather of the couch right up on his nose. 

“Would you like to be face up?” 

Dante stopped for a moment. 

“Yes.” You grinned, getting up from your seat to help out the red devil. Rolling up the sleeves of your sweater, you began by pulling on his side at the innermost of the sofa. You grunted as you put all your might on him. 

He was literally built like a brick house, and he sure as hell weighed like one. You broke a sweat getting him to be perpendicular to the couch before gravity helped out and you tipped him over. He fell back on the couch with a resounding thump. 

“Thanks (Y/N).” He flashed his charming grin, a bit of a struggle as his face muscles were slightly numb.  

You smiled at him. You saw how his veins were slightly darker, and he was quite pale. His body must be working overtime to detox itself. 

“Do you want anything while you’re trapped like this?” He made an effort to try to shrug. 

“I’m good.” Dante was not good. He was freaking out. You were used to touching him, punching him when he said a joke too cheesy, and those grazing touches he’d freak out internally over. You had such nice hands. His side where you pulled him up had tingled. 

You made your way back to the desk, Dante’s eyes on your rear. 

You went back to work, typing up reports, and examining payments from clients. Music played from your headphones, leaving Dante in silence. 

The sounds of you typing, scratching down notes on a notebook, and humming lull him to sleep. Maybe when he wakes up, he’ll be up and running again. 

You were half an hour into your work when you heard snores. Looking up, you see that the younger Sparda twin was fast asleep, probably sleeping off the toxins. An endeared smile crept up your face, seeing how at peace he was. 

Dante was an attractive guy, he was nice and funny. He seemed to always want to hang out with you and make you laugh. What a nice half-demon who was your boss. 

The veins around his neck seemed to pulse, forcing the blood to withdraw the demonic toxins within it. 

You admired the white-haired male, before going back to the papers. 

Dante woke up a few hours later. 

He tried to stretch, only to find his limbs were still stuck to his sides. 

“Ah shit.” He mumbled, yawning. His jaw popped in several places and he tried turning his head to see you. 

You answered the phone tucked by your ear as you rapidly typed out more reports. 

Once you had hung up the phone, you saw that the sleeping man had awakened. 

“Hey, Dante. You’re up. How are you feeling?” Dante sighed.

“Still can’t move.” You frowned. Even with his metabolism? 

“Aw, that sucks.” 

“Is that all my paperwork?” Dante asked, seeing the mountain of papers on the table. You slapped the yellowed papers. 

“This bad boy can fit so many missing payments.” You joked, quoting a car commercial you saw. Dante rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, let’s all make fun of Dante.” He said. 

You went back to check a few things. Dante peered at the clock. Crap, he always forgets to fix that clock. It’s been 4 o’clock for three months now. 

Dante coughed. He hadn’t had a sip of anything for hours now and napping always made him wake up with a desert-dry throat. He also wanted to rub his eyes but once again, can’t move. 

There was a knock on the door. You grabbed your wallet and got to the door. An amazing smell hit Dante’s nose. 

You came back into his line of sight when you came back with a plastic bag

“You hungry?” You asked, opening the box of pizza you had ordered. You hummed with approval when you saw no olives. 

“Meh, not really.” 

Just when Dante wanted to be low-key, his stomach made the loudest noise. It was like a damn whale call. Mind you, he was starving after his nap. He flushed with embarrassment but tried to play it off. 

You laughed. You made your way over to Dante. 

“It’s fine, I got enough for the two of us.” Setting the pizza box on the ground, you sat next to his still paralyzed form. 

“Oh man, you totally didn’t have to-” His stomach made a louder noise at the amplified smell of baked goods. 

You laughed at his expression. 

“It’s not like I can just move and take a slice right now.” He groaned. His eyes widened when you held up a fork of sliced pizza. You absolute angel. 

“I know.” You winked. 

“Now say ah..” You teased. He smirked, opening his mouth to be fed. 

Dante felt the warm cheesy culinary creation hit his tastebuds. He reveled in the lack of olives, something he always got on his slices whenever he ordered. 

You helped yourself to your own slices between feeding Dante. 

He swallowed wrong, and coughed. He had already hid his dry throat from you, not wanting to be needy. He continued coughing like a madman. A straw hit his lip and he simply sipped it, doing whatever he could to counter his fit. 

The familiar sweetness of cola soothed him and he let out a small burp.

“My bad.” He smiled as you laughed. His eyes darted to the can of soda you put back on the floor. Holy shit. You were drinking out of that. You gave him your straw. You were cool sharing drinks with him. That was an indirect kiss. Dante was ready to implode. Before you could notice his shock, he quickly made a diversion. 

“Where did you order this? It’s a lot better than the place I order at.” He asked after another forkful. You shrugged. 

“It was this new place that recently opened up. It’s close where I live. Thought I’d spice things up a bit and pick a new joint.” 

“Have you been there before?” 

You shook your head no. 

“Yeah, I haven’t. This was my first time ordering there.” Maybe next time Dante could take you there. 

“Feeling bold aren’t we?” You asked smugly at his mumbled sentence. Shit. He did not mean to say that out loud. 

“Uh. Yeah. I am.” He sputtered. You chuckled at the devil’s sudden bashfulnes. 

Dante wished he knew when to shut up. This was one of the times he wished he could. 

“Yeah. I like you a lot. You’re really nice to me, you’re real good looking too. This is totally not how I wanted to ask you out but here I am. This is really awkward for me. You can totally say no. I’m not going to be mad. I’m also your boss so that might be weird-” 

“Tell you what-” You quickly gave him another piece of pizza. 

“Once you can move again, I’ll take you on that offer.” You winked. Dante almost choked again. 

“I like you too, if you haven’t noticed.” You added, looking away for a moment. 

He laughed. You angel. 

Once the slices were cleared and the drink finished, you cleaned up. Dante saw through the window a completely dark night. 

“Whoa. It’s super late. Are you sure you want to go out that late?” Dante asked, genuinely worried. 

You shrugged. 

“I mean, it’s not too bad. I don’t live that far-” 

“I can teleport you home.” Vergil called from the stairs. The older twin came down with his book in hand. 

“Oh Vergil. Nice to see you again. I saved you a couple slices of pizza.” You pointed to the box that lied on Dante’s desk. 

“No need. Although the gesture was very kind of you.” Vergil quickly took out the Yamato, slashing through dimensions.

“Well this is oddly convenient plot-wise. Totally lazy writing. The writer definitely gave up with the conclusion. This is outrageously well-timed.” You said, hands on your hips. Vergil gave you a look.

“What?” 

“What.” 

“Anyways. I’ll see you soon. Call me when you’re back to normal.” You say to Dante. He winks at you and makes a click noise with his mouth. He’d do the finger guns too but again, he can’t freaking move. 

You left promptly, waving at Dante and thanking Vergil. 

The older twin turns around to see his shameless brother. 

“So, how long were you upstairs waiting for her to leave?” 

“Too long. I’m surprised she took overtime just to take care of your sorry self.” 

“I’m the one with a hot date, Mr. I Got Laid Once.” 

His brother scowled. 

“If it were not for the fact that you are not a fair match in your current condition, I would have slaughtered you by now.” The Yamato was pointed in his direction and Dante blew a raspberry at him. 

“Whatever.” 

“I’m going to bed. You can stay on the couch, you dolt.” Vergil snipped, going back up the stairs. The lights were shut off, leaving Dante in darkness. 

Dante smirked, closing his eyes. He can’t wait to wake up tomorrow and plan out a date with you.

[tossawary]

Chapter 28: “A Growing Family” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” quotes and commentary. Not a full list of favorite quotes or full commentary.

-

The fact that Shen Qingqiu is waiting for them, just outside of Yue Qingyuan’s office, really doesn’t help the dread that Shang Qinghua is feeling here.

A stocky young woman is standing attentively beside the seated Peak Lord. This is that Fu Qiang character, one of Binghe’s favorite shijies on Qing Jing Peak, here to whisk Peerless Cucumber away for a one-to-one chat on the other transmigrator’s potential relationship to the House of Rejuvenation. Or maybe to give the kid a tutoring session on recovering memories from trauma or something! Shang Qinghua doesn’t know exactly, not having been invited to sit in.

“Shidi,” Shen Qingqiu greets coolly.

“Greetings, Shen-Shixiong,” Shang Qinghua returns, feeling sweaty already, but also weirdly giddy. He’s tempted to wink, but he’s pretty sure that would get him killed. “How are you? You look very well! Aha, how did those ‘other engagements’ go the other day? Meet with anyone? Have a good time?”

Over the top of his elegant fan, Shen Qingqiu immediately gives him a look that could probably kill a lesser man - or maybe a greater one, like someone who has more dignity and shame and whatever than Shang Qinghua does. Shang Qinghua doesn’t flinch. He assumes that the meeting with Yue Qingyuan went well! Which is great! Super great! If it had gone badly, he’s pretty sure that Shen Qingqiu wouldn’t even be setting foot on Qiong Ding Peak now - or at least would have been projecting “I’ll kill to get out of here and I’m mentally picking all my victims” hard enough to send all the Qiong Ding Peak disciples and cultivators off like panicked chickens.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shen Qingqiu says, downright frosty now. “Shang-Shidi must have been paying too much attention to nonsense gossip again.”

“Ah, of course! Of course! My mistake, Shen-Shixiong! Please forgive me!”

Shang Qinghua looks to his fellow transmigrator next, to reintroduce them, only to find Shen Yuan making a very strange expression. Shen Yuan is looking between Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu kind of like he’s never seen them before. His mouth is even a little open and everything. It takes the kid a few seconds to realize that he has two Peak Lords staring at him and to swallow the strange expression.

- 

AN: Shen Yuan knows that 1) SQQ came to meet SQH personally immediately after their mission was over, 2) SQH stayed in bed the following day for a LONG time, and 3) SQH had a hickey on his neck. 

So when Shang Qinghua makes a reference to the meeting that SQQ had with Yue Qingyuan, almost flirtatiously asking if Shen Qingqiu “met with anyone” and “had a good time”, Shen Yuan is going to draw his own conclusions. 

Namely, that Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu might be sleeping together. 

After all, Shen Yuan doesn��t know about the YQY and SQQ backstory! Shen Yuan only knows that Shang Qinghua is weirdly friendly with PIDW’s most famous scum villain and that Shen Qingqiu apparently likes SQH enough not to be an asshole to Luo Binghe. Shang Qinghua kind of talks like they’re friend, so what if they’re... more than friends?! 

Meanwhile, Shang Qinghua cannot fathom anyone EVER considering that he and SHEN QINGQIU might be lovers. It’s not an idea that he is in a position to have because what the fuck?! 

I was tickled pink when I realized that things were in position to have the disciples think that Shangjiu is a thing. I was already planning on having them notice Shang Qinghua’s brand-new-relationship good mood. Shen Yuan may not notice when people are in love with HIM, but he did still read a twenty-million-word stallion web-novel, so he’s totally prepared to assume that secret affairs are happening for OTHER PEOPLE. 

- 

His fellow transmigrator hastily performs the appropriate greeting. Shen Qingqiu doesn’t reply beyond inclining his head, instead sweeping his eyes over Shen Yuan, who stands hilariously still like he’s facing down a predator, except for how the kid squints back a little at the Lord of Qing Jing Peak. Ha! That’s pretty fearless coming from someone still so unnerved by the man who would have Proud Immortal Demon Way’s most famous scum villain.

“Fu Qiang,” Shen Qingqiu says finally. “I have instructed Assistant Ma to set aside a private room for your discussion. You may take Disciple Shen there now.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

The other disciple gestures for Shen Yuan to follow and the other transmigrator hastily takes her up on that. As the disciples disappear, Shen Qingqiu rises and, without a word, leads Shang Qinghua into Yue Qingyuan’s office.

- 

AN: It’s tempting to try and make Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan actually develop more of a relationship than “passing acquaintance”, but the thing is that I can’t see either of them really going for it without being forced or without a very serious push. They’re both so prickly. 

- 

Yue Qingyuan greets him in a friendly manner, like he’s genuinely pleased to see Shang Qinghua and happy to help. Shang Qinghua greets the man in the same way. It’s nice! It also kind of feels like they’re both pretending the past few months of awkwardness, resentment, and avoidance never happened.

- 

AN: It felt a little more true to life and to the characters to have Shang Qinghua and Yue Qingyuan just... move forward instead of getting into their issues with each other and what apologies may be due. 

It’s kind of like a mutual: “What if we didn’t talk about it?” 

And they’re both like, “Oh, thank fuck.” 

I think that if they both brew on it a bit more, they may eventually decide to try to assuage their respective anger or guilt by saying something, but right now they’re feeling raw and/or embarrassed, and don’t want to accidentally get into it again. So they’ll talk about work! They always have work to talk about! Work is more important than personal matters, so they’re just going to pretend everything is fine! 

- 

It’s not just the System who won’t let the Immortal Alliance Conference not happen! But, ahhh, Shang Qinghua can still dream of them actually managing to convince Zhao Hua Temple Sect and everyone else to call the whole thing off. He can dream!

Yue Qingyuan has this pained expression that says, “You’re not wrong, but I wish you were.” This guy knows what Shang Qinghua is talking about!

Shen Qingqiu has this expression that says something like, “I can only critique the accuracy of your assessment on the grounds that you may be giving our fellow cultivators too much credit in terms of common sense and cooperation. This annoys me immensely.”

“You have put a great deal of thought into this,” Yue Qingyuan says finally. “You received this news… when exactly… again?”

“Ah, yesterday morning?” Shang Qinghua answers.

 “While in bed with a demon lord,” he doesn’t elaborate. Nope! Not elaborating!

“I know it’s not- I’ll try to get more information, but everyone is still in the planning stages, and it’s not easy getting any information!” Shang Qinghua says defensively. “But, even with that, I thought, ‘Ah, my shixiongs will probably want to know right away!’ Someone will need to tell Zhao Hua to take precautions, at least?”

Yue Qingyuan visibly regathers himself and says, “It is better to know these things as soon as possible. Thank you, Qinghua, for this forewarning.”

“He’s very good at knowing these things,” Shen Qingqiu agrees, but the man’s gaze is like a very sharp pin and Shang Qinghua is but a lowly insect under it. “When might you be expected to know more about this?”

“Ah, I’ll have to get in contact with… ah, some people I know.”

- 

AN: Of course YQY and SQQ want to know more about where SQH is getting this information, but for all they know he might just have gotten a tip-off from one of his merchant contacts or someone in the black market. This has been brewing for a while between these demon lords and the cultivation sects. It’s really bad news, but it’s also not really that surprising. 

According to the Airplane Extras, when MBJ and SQH meet, Airplane offhandedly mentions that Mobei-Jun’s clan and Huan Hua Palace Sect have a serious grudge from a conflict at a previous Immortal Alliance Conference. In PINTWILF, this conference is why the IACs got cancelled and had to be recently “revived”. The coming IAC is the 3rd since this revival.  

Shang Qinghua has proven himself reliable enough by this point that YQY and SQQ will let him keep his informants close to his chest. Between SQH’s years of improved services (helped by actually getting his personal disciples to help him) and SQH’s interference in their personal issues, they do actually trust him. 

So, yeah, they think he’s a squirmy little rat man. 

But he’s THEIR squirmy little rat man who has come through in times of need. Also, SQQ, for all his glaring, might stab YQY if he started giving SQH a hard time about this. Sometimes a shidi just wants you to back the fuck off, YQY! Let him have his secrets! Even though SQQ absolutely wants to know SQH’s secrets and is on the verge of dying of curiosity. 

I am VERY MUCH looking forward to them finding out that Shang Qinghua has a demon prince for a boyfriend. That’s going to be fun. 

- 

“I have also been… considering the advantages of lessons and between Peaks to encourage both cooperation and… survival skills,” Shen Qingqiu says next. “Rarely does one become a master of all disciplines - the Twelve Peaks allow for many of our sect to become specialists, masters of one art - but it seems unwise not to be learned in the basics of as many life-saving arts as one is able.”

“A diversity of learning can be very beneficial,” Yue Qingyuan agrees immediately.

“My disciple, Fu Qiang, has become a very adept medic over the years, though this was in the hopes of avoiding visiting Qian Cao Peak. The head disciples of An Ding, as I understand it, have sought to take special lessons from Qian Cao and Xian Shu to improve themselves."

 “Ah, that explains how Hongpeng spied on Peerless Cucumber back when the little bro was still in Mu Qingfang’s clutches,” Shang Qinghua thinks. “And, ah, Shen Bro, I don’t know how to tell you this, but Wenjiao goes to Xian Shu Peak mostly to moon over pretty girls, especially my little sister-in-law.”

"There is also the example of Qi-Shimei’s most frustrating disciple, who must be routinely dragged away from Bai Zhan, but who has also apparently helped to improve her fellow Xian Shu disciples’ martial abilities.”

 "Ah, that's one of putting Qi Qingqi letting Luo Fanli and Liu Mingyan fight each other in order to hopefully wear them both out," Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Even if demons should not attack, though only a limited number of our disciples will be attending the Immortal Alliance Conference, it would nevertheless be beneficial to ensure that all disciples across the sect are well-equipped to keep themselves alive until the specialists arrive,” Shen Qingqiu finishes. “Shang-Shidi, as one of the most well-connected leading members of our sect, the organization of such an initiative would be best left in your hands.”

- 

AN: Okay, so I know that this is kind of a weird thing to be coming from Shen Qingqiu, but he’s grown a bit over the course of this fic! AND he’s totally coming at it from the perspective of: “I don’t have to cooperate or get along with anyone beyond what I’m doing now.” 

So SQQ is like, “My disciples are stupid. We should have more field medics.” 

And he’s like, “Some people’s disciples can’t fight for shit and we should make sure they know more self-defense.” 

And he’s like, “Liu Qingge’s disciples are animals. Someone at least teach them how to protect other disciples and how to not bleed to death, because he won’t. That man doesn’t teach them anything.” 

And he’s like, “Shang Qinghua, you do that. I don’t want to.” 

- 

Peerless Cucumber’s conversation with Shen Qingqiu’s disciple is long over, but apparently his fellow transmigrator didn’t just leave afterwards. Yue Qingyuan’s youngest assistant intercepts to politely point Shang Qinghua towards their waiting room. Shen Yuan is asleep in a chair, with one of his cultivation manuals open in his lap. Judging by his pose, Shang Qinghua is going to guess that the kid was trying some kind of meditation and ended up taking a nap by accident.

It happens to the best of them sometimes! Or at least to Shang Qinghua!

“Ah, I told you not to wait on me. Come on, bro, I don’t want to have to carry you back,” Shang Qinghua says, while jostling the kid awake. “You’re too big for that. My nephew is too big for that these days. Just because it would be nostalgic for me and just because I can doesn’t mean that I want to be carrying you around like a sack of vegetables.”

- 

AN: If Shang Qinghua can haul Mobei-Jun around, then he could pick up Shen Yuan no problem. Also, this is the bit where I was like, “Wow, I have very much made SQH into SY’s dad here.” 

Even SVSSS SQH gives me Uncle Vibes, to be honest. The man wants to pop into Bingqiu’s life, ask some nosy questions, be treated to a free meal (who doesn’t), tell some bad jokes, offer some terrible advice, complain about his workload, and then flounce off again with his boyfriend. SVSSS SQH seems to like being useful and appreciated and part of the group, but in a way where he’s not directly attached to anyone, you know? Give SVSSS SQH the benefits, but none of the responsibilities! 

- 

Shang Qinghua is kind of sick of this roundabout conversation and decides to bring out the big guns: a move taught to him by his extremely powerful sister-in-law, who has effortlessly defeated their resident War God. He knows the effectiveness of this technique personally, because Luo Jiahui has used it to defeat him many times. He puts on the best concerned face he has.

“Yuan,” he says seriously, looking the kid directly in the eye. “I’m not making jokes here about not skipping out on cultivating. It’s not always going to be fun - a lot of the time, it’s going to be pretty embarrassing and a little painful. Bro, I was an adult stuck in a teenage body, regularly getting my ass handed to me by actual teenagers. That was awful. But I really need you to keep doing it, even if you don’t become the next War God ready to challenge the protagonist, because I don’t want you to die. This shitty world isn’t safe. And if you want to be involved in these missions, then I need you to be able to carry yourself, or we’re both going to get trampled by some OP monster wandering out of an advanced chapter early instead of fixing anything here.”

Shen Yuan is having difficulty meeting his eyes. He keeps trying to force himself to look at Shang Qinghua and then looking away again automatically.

Shang Qinghua employs another of his sister-in-law’s immensely powerful techniques: he reaches out and puts a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “I will tell you stuff when I have stuff to tell you and when I can tell it to you. You’ve been super helpful, I’m going to need your help in the future, but I need you to be a little patient right now too.”

Shen Yuan nods. “...Fine.”

-

AN: Shang Qinghua: “I can’t believe that I’m tricking this person into thinking I’m a good person by being nice to them and looking after them and doing good things. I have learned this behavior for TRICKING PURPOSES only and have NOT accidentally adopted yet another kid.” 

- 

Shang Qinghua can’t answer the question right now! Leave a message!

He’s too busy replaying all the times he’s seen his nephew and his fellow transmigrator interact. Binghe did ask after Shen Yuan every time that he and Shang Qinghua talked, while the other transmigrator was on Qian Cao and after he came to An Ding, but… Shang Qinghua just thought his nephew was being polite and curious? Peerless Cucumber stands out! Binghe didn’t act too weirdly about it!

Luo Binghe is supposed to be a stallion protagonist with 600 wives!

Although… Shang Qinghua’s nephew has never really shown any interest in that kind of thing. Which Shang Qinghua has been pretty glad about! He doesn’t want to have 600 nieces-in-law! He also doesn’t want that for his nephew!

The protagonist of Proud Immortal Demon Way ’s harem was basically a snake pit of drama and desperation and decaying fantasies. For everyone who could read between the lines of empty papapa to see Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky’s tragic story of resentment and revenge, it wouldn’t be inaccurate to say the tyrannical, broken protagonist was like a black hole, dragging everyone else into orbit around this man who couldn’t really love anyone! You can take a blackened protagonist out of the Eternal Abyss, but you can’t take that abyss out of the blackened protagonist, right?

The original Luo Binghe didn’t take wives because he was in love. He took wives because he could! Because they were beautiful or powerful or useful! Because he pitied them! Because he liked being their savior! Because he didn't want anyone else to have them! Because he liked being an object of envy and desire and love! Because it was expected of him, as the man all the readers wanted to be, who was supposed to have everything a man could ever want!

 “...Ah, there are… some implications there,” Airplane Shooting Towards The Sky realizes, remembering just how half-hearted most of that harem bullshit was. “Maybe a bent man wrote a kind of bent protagonist by accident? Who knows?”

“Da-Ge?” Fanli says. “Da-Ge, didn’t you know?”

- 

AN: I’ve said this before, but there’s a meta argument to be made in regards to Luo Binghe and obligatory heterosexuality. 

Also, from what I remember, Airplane didn’t actually seem to care too much about Luo Binghe being interested in Shen Yuan. In the Airplane Extras, Airplane says that in the original version of PIDW that he never got to write, Luo Binghe actually ended up totally alone at the end of the story. He was apparently planning a pretty downer ending for Luo Binghe. But Luo Binghe ended up getting a huge harem instead because that’s what the readers wanted! 

So, my impression is, that when SVSSS Airplane first realizes that LBH is into men (and into SQQ specifically), he does a little bit of self-reflection and also reflection on PIDW, then just goes, “Huh. That makes... sense.” 

- 

“Though, aha, I can’t remember Shen-Shixiong ever really not being kind of angry at me and I’m not dead yet. I had to talk really fast sometimes, but I lived! Now go away.”

When Shang Qinghua looks up, all of his disciples are staring at him. They all look surprised, except for Shen Yuan, who looks embarrassed. Shang Qinghua would guess that someone cracked a dirty joke, but that doesn’t seem right.

"What?"

“...Shifu, how long have you known Shen-Shibo?” Chen Xuan asks.

“Since we were disciples? Ah, I think he hated me at first sight.”

“But you’re close now?” Lin Wenjiao blurts out.

“Closer, ” Shang Qinghua agrees warily. “Aha, don’t think that any of you can ask me for favors to do with Shen Qingqiu or Qing Jing Peak too! That’s not happening! Disciple Luo, Shen, get out of here before you give my disciples any more weird ideas.”

- 

AN: Okay, so what happened is that as soon as Luo Fanli and Shang Qinghua left the room, Shen Yuan was like, “...Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu are... very close? Are they...?” 

And SQH’s disciples are like, “Holy shit, are you asking if SQH and SQQ are romantically involved?!” And SQH’s disciples laugh in SY’s face because that’s RIDICULOUS. Which makes SY really embarrassed and defensive! SQH’s disciples ask why he would EVER think a thing like that. 

SY provides the evidence. It’s a reasonable conclusion! 

And then SQH’s disciples are like, “...Holy shit?!” 

And then SY is like, “Wait, maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” 

But it’s too late. SQH’s disciples are already putting all the evidence together and there is SO MUCH EVIDENCE of something going on there. 

I know I refer to this ship as “Shangjiu”, but that’s mostly just to specify which Shen Qingqiu and I doubt that anyone in Cang Qiong Mountain Sect dares to call SQQ “Jiu” besides YQY. They’d probably actually end up calling it something along the lines of “The Premise” like original Star Trek: The Original Series Kirk/Spock shippers. (See Fanlore or something for more info on that.) 

Again, SQH cannot... CONCEIVE of them conceiving this idea. 

-

By the time that Mobei-Jun shows up at his Leisure House, Shang Qinghua is a little on the edge! Honestly, he’s kind of off the edge, dangling from a very thin branch just underneath the cliff’s edge, and that thin branch is making some very concerning noises! Sure, at least the demon lord isn’t late, but Shang Qinghua is suddenly reminded of just how intimidating Mobei-Jun looks! Also, he’s cleaned up his house and knows his sister-in-law knows he’s kind of a slob sometimes, but he’s so sure that she’s still going to judge his cleaning job! What if she blames Mobei-Jun for it? (She’d be right to blame him a little! The man can be kind of lazy and messy sometimes too!)

A cool hand at Shang Qinghua’s hip prevents him from walking around in circles, repositioning disobedient cushions and offending tables. Shang Qinghua looks up at Mobei-Jun, who moves his hand to where Shang Qinghua’s neck meets shoulder.

“Stop it,” Mobei-Jun says.

- 

AN: It’s really funny thinking about how all of Mobei-Jun’s gentle and affectionate behaviors towards SQH are totally learned. This does not come naturally to the man. If SQH was having a panic attack, Mobei-Jun’s first (panicked) instinct would be to bark at him to stop it. 

- 

“It’s just… Jiahui is… it didn’t have to be this way for us? I would have just helped her get to safety and left her to live her life without me, but she didn’t let that happen, even though her family wasn’t any good either, so why would she want another one?” Shang Qinghua tries to explain. “She chose me? She looked out for me. She helped me understand a lot of things. Even though she probably could have picked anyone else. I don’t really know where I’d be right now if she didn’t? Ah, probably… not talking to or trusting anyone ever? You remember what things used to be like.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never really liked any of the sisters I’ve had before very much,” Shang Qinghua admits. “Ah, but they didn’t like me either, so it worked. Anyway! It’s… important to me that things work out now because…”

 “I don’t want to choose,” Shang Qinghua doesn’t say.

He clears his throat instead.

“Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua forces himself to look up from his hands on Mobei-Jun’s collar.

“I am glad that you were not without someone to trust,” Mobei-Jun says, though it sounds like it takes effort. “Your sister has nothing to fear from me.”

Mobei-Jun has already made this promise, but it’s good to hear it again.

“Thank you, my king. I’ll, ah- I should go get her now.”

-

AN: Mobei-Jun is jealous. He is very, VERY jealous. 

BUT Mobei-Jun can also see some parallels here. Luo Jiahui is to Shang Qinghua in many ways what Shang Qinghua is to him. Mobei-Jun understands the importance of this relationship and of this person. He understands that Jiahui and SQH’s relationship is not romantic, of course, and understands her to be the “head of the family”, so he has to force himself not to act on his jealousy. 

I think that a part of Mobei-Jun might see jealousy as something very negative? Thinking about what I said about Mobei-Jun’s hang-ups surrounding consent and possessiveness possibly originating with his father being a wife-stealer, Mobei-Jun can’t act on his jealousy for the same reasons that he needs Shang Qinghua to make the first explicit moves. He wants Shang Qinghua to choose him and to choose him of his own free will. 

So, he’s jealous when he hears about how LJH chose SQH and SQH chose LJH, but he can’t act on it because 1) he loves SQH and 2) he’s (possibly unconsciously) terrified of becoming his father and creating resentment that will ripple out into his family potentially for generations. 

- 

It’s so, so weird to see his human sister-in-law sitting across from a demon lord. Luo Jiahui is not a tall woman and her cultivation is very good these days, but she’s not a warrior. Seeing the height and width differences side-by-side make them really obvious! Mobei-Jun is at least twice Shang Qinghua’s sister-in-law’s size! He has to be easily twice her weight!

When Luo Jiahui puts food in front of Mobei-Jun, Shang Qinghua gets huge “I dare you to not eat my food” messages! It took a really long time before Mobei-Jun seemed to accept that Shang Qinghua really wouldn’t take every available opportunity to hand him poison. Thankfully, however, Mobei-Jun has eaten Luo Jiahui’s food before! Shang Qinghua has shared his sister-in-law's food with the demon lord! Shang Qinghua also communicated beforehand that Mobei-Jun has to eat the food. No matter what!

So, Mobei-Jun eats the food and Shang Qinghua breathes a sigh of relief. Mobei-Jun even goes so far as to tell Luo Jiahui that she’s a good cook (above and beyond social interaction! Also delivered kind of awkwardly!), which his sister-in-law accepts with thanks (and also maybe just a little bit as her rightful due).

Luo Jiahui already knows the basics of Mobei-Jun: that he’s an ice demon, the son of the Northern Demon King, and he’s going to be the next Northern Demon King. She already knows that he’s a warrior and that his time is mostly spent tending to his duties, usually on his father’s behalf. She even knows that demon families can be kind of violently competitive and that Mobei-Jun’s family is no exception.

So, when she finally decides to speak seriously, she says, “My brother is very important to me. I have told him that if he is happy, then I’m happy for him. He has told me that you are very important to him.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is going to hold that revelation close to his chest for WEEKS. Shang Qinghua said that Mobei-Jun is very important to him! 

Juggling the tension of this scene was weird. 

Because, like, Mobei-Jun is not a kind or a gentle or a good person. He’s disdainful of humanity. It’s kind of a mindfuck for him to be having a meal with a strange human who is not of the things he has been raised to respect. 

Meanwhile, Luo Jiahui is fucking terrified of Mobei-Jun, dislikes him, and doesn’t want to like him. He’s a stranger who could destroy her family. He looks kind of monstrous. He acts strangely. 

But they HAVE TO BE CIVIL to each other for Shang Qinghua’s sake. 

So they are. 

Mobei-Jun tries not to make any scary moves around the soft human. 

Luo Jiahui tries to act like MBJ is a normal person and to be polite. 

They are both very out of their depth. 

- 

“...Shang Qinghua saved my life,” Mobei-Jun says, which is the first time he’s spoken without someone else speaking to him first. “Many times, he has done this.”

Luo Jiahui sets down her teacup, listening expectantly.

“Even when I did not trust him, and he did not trust me, Qinghua has always provided shelter and safety,” Mobei-Jun says slowly, solemnly. “Medicine, when I have been injured. Direction, when I have been lost. Company and loyalty. This is rare.”

“Yes,” Luo Jiahui agrees.

“The trust I have put in him has never been betrayed.”

Shang Qinghua kind of feels like he’s overheating here - like maybe his heart is melting! Mobei-Jun as a character has always prized loyalty above all! “I had no fucking clue,” he thinks. “Honestly, how the FUCK did I have no fucking clue?! Hindsight is incredible!”

“I would not betray him,” Mobei-Jun says, looking to Shang Qinghua directly. “My life has been his since the day we met.”

Shang Qinghua tries not to melt even more. Mobei-Jun is supposed to be an ice demon! What the hell is this?! It’s unfair! It’s embarrassing! It’s too much!

“...Good,” Luo Jiahui says, determinedly. “I’m happy to hear that. My hard-working brother needs someone to appreciate and cherish him.”

“Yes.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is like, “Humans use words. I need to use words. I need to be direct about this because humans are bad at understanding things.” 

And Luo Jiahui is like, “Oh my, you are very intense. Okay.” 

- 

Mobei-Jun nods. “I did not think a human would ever care for a demon child.”

Luo Jiahui frowns a little. “Oh?”

“I admire this,” Mobei-Jun amends, frowning back. “I do not know how humans are raised. It is good that your child has never had to doubt his safety here.”

“...Of course.”

“It is clear that your child is loved beyond his bloodline.”

“Of course,” Luo Jiahui insists, with an offended note in her voice. “When I found Binghe in that river, I didn’t know he was part demon, but I would have taken him in anyway! Whoever the parent is, whatever the parent has done, it’s never the baby’s fault. Even if a parent has done something wrong, then babies shouldn’t suffer for it. All children should be cherished.”

Luo Jiahui’s voice breaks a little, her eyes turning wet. Shang Qinghua fumbles for a handkerchief to offer his sister-in-law, which she accepts gratefully.

He wonders if she’s thinking about her stillborn baby. She doesn’t talk about her other baby very often, but she does sometimes. She told him once that she observes that day. It’s something that she insists on doing alone.

“...I was left in the human world as a young child,” Mobei-Jun says.

Shang Qinghua’s head snaps up. He knows that, but that’s because he wrote that. He has never, ever heard Mobei-Jun talk about it before.

“Oh, no,” Luo Jiahui says.

“I was nearly killed by humans,” Mobei-Jun informs them.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Luo Jiahui says.

“It was my uncle’s doing. He wishes to see me dead.” Mobei-Jun says this like it’s just another fact of life, not even an upsetting one, which kind of makes it one of the saddest fucking things that Shang Qinghua has ever heard the man say.

“That’s terrible,” Luo Jiahui says vehemently. “How rotten.”

Mobei-Jun blinks at her. His expression is still solemn, but the pause seems surprised.

Shang Qinghua almost wants to shrug. Yep, his sister-in-law is just like this!

“I have promised Qinghua that I will protect your son,” Mobei-Jun says to her. “I make you the same promise now.”

“...Thank you.”

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is like, “I understand you to be one of the rare humans who is not a piece of shit and who would have saved me as a child. I respect this. I don’t fucking understand it, but I understand you should be protected and that your child should be protected. I am doing this for Shang Qinghua and not because I have any personal issues surrounding the endangerment of demon children.” 

Luo Jiahui is like, “Oh, he’s soft inside! He’ll protect my Binghe. Okay, I like him now. I didn’t want to, but anyone who basically professes to be willing to die for my child and my brother has my reluctant approval.” 

- 

Shang Qinghua can’t help it. The energy in here is so weird! He laughs.

“My king, have you had that all this time?”

Mobei-Jun doesn’t say anything, he just frowns.

“Clearly he was waiting to return it in person, Houhua,” Luo Jiahui admonishes. “It’s not his fault that you took so long introducing us or surely he would have returned it sooner. Don’t make it out to be impolite.”

Mobei-Jun gives Shang Qinghua’s sister-in-law an approving look.

- 

AN: Mobei-Jun is like, “Oh, she’s smarter than Qinghua. Good. (Not that my Shang Qinghua isn’t very clever, but he’s an idiot.)” 

- 

And sometimes it’s just nice to take a minute to sit back, relax, and see his disciples daring their shidi, his fellow transmigrator, to chug the spiciest soup on the menu.

“Ah, kids,” Shang Qinghua says to Luo Jiahui.

Luo Jiahui is making a very concerned expression as her sisters, Shang Qinghua’s head disciples, and even Liu Mingyan chant: “Chug! Chug! Chug!” Yeah, he should probably stop them! But why would he? If anyone throws up from this, he’ll just appear out of nowhere to scare the shit out of all of them and then make them clean it up. It’s fine. He says as much to Luo Jiahui.

“They’re old enough to know better,” she says, but she looks fond now. “Their shifu should have taught them better manners, hm?”

“Hey! Only… four of those are mine.”

- 

AN: Friends for Shen Yuan! Friends for Shen Yuan! 

Also SQH being like, “Oh, fuck, I really have too many kids.” 

- 

Luo Jiahui sighs wistfully. “It is nice having children in here again, even big ones who are supposed to be adults now. I’m so proud of how Binghe has grown, but I miss when he was little. I miss when I could pick him up and carry him around. Uncle Han’s daughter brought her new baby in yesterday. He was so cute!”

“Aha, don’t steal a baby to fill the empty nest, please!”

Luo Jiahui swats him. “I wouldn’t do something like that!” she insists, cheeks flushing pink.

- 

AN: Baby?! Baby for Luo Jiahui and Liu Qingge?! Maybe! 

[imnotwolverine]

Nerdflirt

Henry Cavill x reader twoshot (1/2)

Word count: 2.768

Disclaimer: tiny, tiny hint of fluff

Summary: There’s apparently a bit more involved than just paint and innocent flirting, when you meet a stranger on Instagram with a shared hobby. 

Find the second part here.

This story is based on a prompt I received from @aestheticqueenb

(Link to my Masterlist)

‘Maybe, you can like…I don’t know…find some new hobby or something?’

Your friend had said it more as an after thought during your Zoom chat, but here you were. Thinking yet again if she was perhaps right. A new hobby. It’s not like you hadn’t tried to find some diversion in these strange times. Like. You had ordered some of these picture paint books for adults since they were all the rage, but you had grown bored of them again.

Heck. You had even asked your boss if you could help him out while stuck at home. But apparently the restaurant business was really on its ass and you’d just have to wait for things to settle down and regulations to become less restricting.

This whole COVID-19 thing had initially seemed like a bit of a fad. Like some sick joke that nobody stopped at the right time. It was just a fever, right? Well, apparently…it wasn’t. You could still remember the moment all too well when you were sent home, told to wait for news. Hours passed. Days passed. Weeks passed. But there was no sign of things soon to improve.

And thus you resorted to adult colouring books and sulking away on your desk chair.

Stretching out you pushed the chair away from your desk, the tiny wheels immediately halting as you bumped against your bed. Oh yes, it was also good to mention you were slowly losing your mind because your studio apartment was SOO friggin’ small you couldn’t stretch as much as a foot without bumping into a piece of furniture.

Not a problem when you have a social life. But very much a problem when you hadn’t. Usually you worked a lot, went out with friends, enjoyed to go for a run. And home? Home was just a conveniently placed bed in the middle of London.

Now, however, it was a constricting prison that seemed to strip away your sanity piece by piece.

As had become second nature by now you opened your phone, fingers automatically refreshing the front news page. Scroll, scroll, scroll. No new news. Then your e-mail. No new e-mails. Then perhaps look for some “inspiration” - whatever you needed that for - on Pinterest? Scroll, scroll, scroll. Okay, no, this is dumb. Going back to the mainscreen your thumb hovered over the Instagram button. 

You honestly didn’t like the app much. Fake people. Fake fun lives. It just wasn’t your cuppa tea. And yet you never got so far as deleting it since you did enjoy seeing baby pictures of your baby niece.

Okay, fine, maybe there were some new pictures or something. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do and so you opened the app, only to be confronted with a somewhat confusing image. What’s this? A large pair of hands painting an absolutely tiny polystyrene figurine. Why is this on your timeline? Your eyes gazed up, even more confused when you read the name “Henry Cavill” above it. Pfft. Probably some attention whoring from another bored superstar. You shook your head and scrolled on, eventually giving up again.

You groaned, feeling the abyss of utter boredom suck you in once more, your eyes wandering to the world outside. It was sunny, a spotless blue sky, not a cloud in sight. Hilarious, ain’t it? It’s nice weather out in the UK and guess what? You’re stuck inside because the whole world is in lockdown.

So…now what? You just had lunch, your apartment was pristinely clean and you already went for a run this morning. You sighed and turned your chair back so you could awaken your trusty old friend again. Your laptop. Perhaps Google something random? See what you find? The internet’s your friend, right?

Open. Google. 

You bit your lip, thinking of something. Anything. But your mind was a blank.

Hmm. Oh. You know what. Maybe it’d be fun to know what kind of fake nerd Henry Cavill actually was.

You opened Instagram again and, of course, his post was back on the top of the timeline. It was almost too easy. #GamesWorkshop #ProperGeek #Custodes. Hmm, probably one of those three tags were the secret. You decided to enter “custodes”, since it sounded the least familiar and hit enter.

Before long you had dived head first into the miraculous world of Warhammer miniature strategy boardgaming and the most ludicrous, but fascinating lore. There was a medieval variant, a sci-fi variant and some ancient Rome and English civil war stuff. All including a well-thought out background story and even more figurines then you could count. Pretty cool figures too, you thought, haphazardly clicking on “order” while scrolling through one of the webshops.

Like it contained some kind of bomb, the mailman sprinted off, leaving the small package behind while you opened your door. Fuck this corona crisis. You couldn’t even..greet the fucking mailman.

Picking up the package you carefully moved it to your desk. Would they be fragile? How tiny could tiny really be? There was only one way to find out, you decided, picking up a pair of scissors and cutting open the small brown box.

Well. Okay. That’s tiny. Tiny tiny tiny. Perhaps you had been a bit too over enthusiastic about just randomly picking up a new hobby. Like..did you even need like special paint for this? Carefully you placed the kit sheets with the hundreds of tiny pieces in them on your desk and bit your lip, deciding what you’d do next. Tiny heads, guns, wings, all stuck in a meticulously thought out grid. Where to start? Perhaps look for some inspiration? Tips and tricks?

The internet is your friend.

Silly as it was you ended up scrolling through Instagram again, this time on the profile of some “SirEltharin” who posted daily updates on his miniature painting. And just like you, he had bought the Retributor Squad from the Adepta Sororitas, the all-female fighter division that were also known as “The Sisters of Battle”. Just thinking how ridiculous that sounded made you chuckle. Were you a nerd too now? Perhaps.

He just posted something new you noticed.

‘These ladies are hard to tame! Oops, painting accident..’ He posted, along with a picture of some smudged paint on one of the figurines. You chuckled, commenting without much of a second thought.

LadyGrim - ‘Well at least you started..I just can’t get myself to paint :X’ - 1 minute ago SirEltharin - ‘No need to be Grim, good Lady. What’s keeping you from starting?’ - 2 seconds ago

Hmm. He responded immediately. A smile reached the corners of your lips as you shrugged and typed again.

LadyGrim - ‘Painters limbo? No honestly it’s my first set and I’m out of my depth here.’ - 2 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘Well if large male hands can do it. Surely a Lady can do it too? ;)’ - 30 seconds ago

LadyGrim - ‘Size can be deceiving.’ - 2 seconds ago

Your eyes rested on the screen for a bit, hoping he’d respond, but eventually giving up. Your eyes turned towards the sheets with the figurine parts on the other side of your desk.

Welp, it’s not like anyone could judge you for trying, right?

You painted that whole day, finding it nerve wrecking and meditative all at the same time. You hadn’t even noticed that it was past dinner time, until your stomach really started to growl with hunger.

After cooking yourself a simple pasta dish you sat back on your desk chair, forking the pasta into your mouth while opening your phone to check on any news updates. No news. Mail. No mail. Pinterest? Skip. Instagram. Heck, why not.

*New message from SirEltharin* Hmm. A private message. You didn’t even know that you could send private messages in Instagram, but alas, perhaps you were just a failed millennial.

SirEltharin - ‘Hey :) Guess what? I totally screwed up that figurine and have to do it all over again. Started any painting yet?’ - 2 hours ago

LadyGrim - ‘Perhaps you gave me all your good luck? Just started and..maybe..it actually starts to look pretty cool?’ - 2 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘Which one did you start with?’ - 2 seconds ago

Damn, guess it wasn’t just you who was bored to bits. This guy was one fast responder.

LadyGrim - ‘The one with the book? At least, I think…. So many parts..’

SirEltharin - ‘Yea. Requires a bit of strategising hehe. Besides..holy fervour and good faith!’

LadyGrim - ‘So why did you chose the sisters? You’re a guy right?’

SirEltharin - ‘And that’s a problem? ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘No..’

SirEltharin - ‘Honestly though. They’re cool. Strong women.’

LadyGrim - ‘Who got betrayed by the man they promised to serve.’

SirEltharin - ‘Ah you read the lore? Yea..men are dicks haha ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘Can’t agree more.’

You back and forthed throughout the evening. Starting off with some Warhammer 40k related banter, but soon drifting off to talking about the Corona lockdown and the boredom that came with it. SirEltharin didn’t let off a whole lot about himself, which made your imagination run a little wild.

Perhaps it was this “milady” type of guy, that’d tip his hat at you, then grow annoyed as soon as you didn’t immediately fall in love with him. Or, maybe it was this skinny pimple-faced guy who only ever played female characters in games. Or a really, really fat guy. He did say large male hands. Large…could be fat? Or at least chubby? Ugh. What did it matter anyways. Men, you had decided, were always going to disappoint.

SirEltharin - ‘Hey, just curious by the way. Why did YOU decide to start painting?’

LadyGrim - ‘Are you asking just because I’m a girl? ;)’

SirEltharin - ‘Hardly. What do you even think of me?! ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘Okay. Don’t call me an idiot. But this movie star, Henry Cavill? He posted an image and though I absolutely think he’s one of those fake nerd celebrities who are in it for the attention, it did get me interested in the figurines..so..I just ordered and..here I am!’

He stopped responding after that. For the rest of the night. Did you say something wrong or did he just not see your message? Ah..whatever. It didn’t really matter. He was just some stranger on the internet. You started Netflix and crawled onto your bed, wasting away another evening bingewatching How I Met Your Mother.  

The next morning he had responded again. Around 5 am. Damn. Nerds ARE night owls, you thought, sipping your freshly brewn cup of french pressed coffee while leaning against your tiny kitchen block.

SirEltharin - ‘Can’t really say that without knowing him, right?’ - 3 hours ago

SirEltharin - ‘Anything in particular wrong with Henry Cavill?’ - 2 hours ago

LadyGrim - ‘Woa woa. No harm meant. Sorry. Guess I just don’t trust ‘em pretty boys?’ - 3 minutes ago

SirEltharin - ‘How’s that so? And good morning, Lady ;)’ - 2 seconds ago

You bit your lip and let out a deep sigh. Oh this man didn’t know what hellfire could come his way, opening THAT topic.

LadyGrim - ‘Good morning ..and..I doubt you’d be interested.’

SirEltharin - ‘You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention.’

LadyGrim - ‘Fine. Let’s just keep it plain and simple. Lied to, cheated on and continuously disappointed. Guess I’ll just have to become a lesbian?’

SirEltharin - ‘Don’t let a few bad ones ruin it for the rest of us. Has it been long?’

LadyGrim - ‘Long?’

SirEltharin - ‘Apologies. I mean. Since you last dated?’

LadyGrim - ‘A year or so.’

SirEltharin - ‘And how old are you? Or am I being too bold asking such a thing?’

LadyGrim - ‘It’s fine. Thirty. Had my birthday two weeks ago. So yea..becoming a bit of an old spinster hehe.’

SirEltharin - ‘Belated happy birthday and..hardly a spinster, right? I mean. I’m 37 and haven’t found anyone yet. Heck. I guess I’m the old spinster here haha.’

LadyGrim - ‘I doubt the same rules apply for men.’

SirEltharin - ‘Trust me. We are all judged.’

Weeks passed and you and Sir kinda started to really get to know each other. You both lived in London - how practical -, were pretty enthused about sports, liked dogs (he had one, you wished you had one) and were close knit with your family. You with your sister, who already had a few kids. And he with his brothers. All with kids. Teasingly you donned each other the nicknames ‘Uncle and Aunty Spinster’.

You knew he had looked on your account. Seen some pictures of you. Even made a few comments on them and liked everything new you posted. But he, SirEltharin, remained mostly a mystery. You tried to talk yourself out of your curiosity, but couldn’t help but lay in bed fantasising about him. The only body part you had seen of him to this point were his hands, and they were actually quite pretty hands. Well manicured nails, strong fingers. It meant he probably wasn’t SUPER fat. So. That’s something.

Eventually the COVID-19 related regulations were becoming less restrictive and for the first time in months you could go back to work. The very news had made you both reluctant - you liked this new rhythm of painting and chatting with SirEltharin -, but also happy. Finally getting out of your tiny apartment, finally getting back to work. It may require some getting used to again, but this was just what you really needed.

In your enthusiasm you posted a picture on Instagram of your work outfit as it lay neatly spread out on your bed sheets. Your boss had made some quirky shirts to celebrate the reopening of the restaurant: “Brunello’s back” was written in fancy white lettering on the back of the shirt. You giggled as SirEltharin liked it within a split second.

SirEltharin - ‘Back to work hmm?’

LadyGrim - ‘Yep. Its all fun and games until the rat race starts again.’

SirEltharin - ‘Sounds Grim ;)’

LadyGrim - ‘You know me too well Sir. Anyways gotta go. Bye!’

SirEltharin - ‘See ya.’

See ya. You always thought it weird when strangers said that at the end of an online chat. Clients sometimes said it at the end of a phone reservation. That was understandable though; they were to come to the restaurant. But complete strangers? There was no such thing as “seeing you around”. However in the case of SirEltharin you were willing to let it slip. He probably didn’t think anything of it.

For a first night it was already quite hectic at Brunello’s. The room, although still far less bustling than usual, was filled. People were obviously eager to pick up their social lives again, the animated chatter of guests zooming around the room while you paced past the neatly spaced white clothed tables. Brunello’s was a rather luxurious restaurant and mostly businessmen and well-to-do families and friends came here to wine and dine. Tonight was special though, as a few celebrities were sitting in the far corner. Including a familiar face: Mr. Cavill, your eyes immediately falling on him as he seemingly was giving you a questioning look.

Perhaps he just wanted to order some drinks, you thought, halting next to the table and offering them your most kind, professional smile - ignoring the curious pair of blue eyes that tracked your every move.

‘Good evening and welcome to Brunello’s. Is there anything I can help you with?’ You spoke, the sentence fluently tipping of your tongue, your eyes wandering slowly over the guests. Most of them were unfamiliar to you. And Mr. Cavill..you tried to just not give him any attention as he was still burning his eyes into you.

‘We actually could use some advice on the wine. We’d like to start white, slightly fruity, perhaps French? Though the Italian one also sounds quite nice.’ A small blonde woman spoke, peering over her menu card.

As this was not your expertise, you called for the sommelier, stepping back to make room for him. And all the while you felt those eyes, gazing at you, almost brazenly. What was up with this Mr. Cavill? Or did you maybe have something funny on your face and did nobody dare to tell you? Shyly you excused yourself, leaving the guests in the capable hands of the sommelier, and quickly made for the women’s bathroom to check your face. 

There was nothing out of sort when you looked into the mirror. Strange. 

Peeking quickly on your phone, a habit when you were alone, you noticed a new message popping up on your Insta-chat.

SirEltharin - ‘I think we need to talk.’ - 30 seconds ago

--

Go to part 2

[propertyofwicked]

Your a-z s are so good!! Omg you’re so talented☺️ could you possibly do one for George? We would all love that💕

thank you anons for these requests. im quite busy atm so im sorry if other requests take a while and thank you for being patient with me.

a-z of dating george mackay

a - argue

neither you or george are shouters, instead you go very quiet when something goes wrong or upsets either one of you. george would huff and mumble, until one of you grew the balls to talk through the issue. you’d be sat on the sofa and he’d just come and sit facing you, taking your hands in his and press his lips to them softly. this was his way of saying he was ready to talk.

b - body (his favourite body part of yours)

george loves your lips and your cheeks. he loves watching you talk, how your mouth moves and he loves how effortlessly your voice tumbles out. he loves how your smile grows when you laugh, small dimples forming in your cheeks - it was enough to make him smile with you. he loves to kiss your lips and your cheeks. whether it was a quick peck here and there or when he’d push you up against a wall and kiss you till you couldn’t breathe. he loved to kiss your lips till they went redder and more plump. 

c - care (caring for each other when you’re sick)

when george is ill, he pulls you back into bed anytime you get up, claiming he’s cold and needs your body warmth. whilst you’d comply, you also had stuff you needed to get on with. so you’d sit next to his sleeping figure, trying to quietly type on your laptop or write into your notebook. when you’re ill, george waits on you all day. he’d constantly ask if you needed a drink or food and if you’re being sick, he’ll follow you to the bathroom and hold your hair back. he’d gently rub small circles into your back and carry you back to your bed, when you were too weak to walk alone.

d - dates (what do you guys do?)

being an actor, george loves to take you to the cinema to watch new films that he’d seen about, or heard about at awards nights. sometimes, you’d go and see films that his friends or previous co-workers were in. you’d share popcorn and he’d let you rest your head on his shoulder whilst his arm was wrapped around your shoulders. afterwards, you’d maybe go out for dinner or to a coffee shop, and he’d love to have a discussion with you about the film, what you liked and didn’t, the directing, filming, acting. by the end of the evening, the entire film would’ve been deeply analysed by the two of you and you’d have it no other way.

e - engagements (how he proposed) 

he’d take you out to dinner, to celebrate your birthday or anniversary, and after the meal, you’d take a walk back to your flat or the car. but, then he’d take a diversion and say he just wanted to show you something. next thing you know, you’re standing on the rooftop of the cafe you met, staring up at the stars. whilst you were looking away, he’d get down on his knee and then cough slightly to gain your attention. he had planned a small little speech, which went the window the moment you turned around. he tells you how much he loves you, what he loves about you, what he sees in the future for you two, and you can’t help but say yes. 

f - friends and family (do they like you/him?)

george’s family were initially weary of your relationship. not because they didn’t like you, but because of how long george spent away from home working. they feared you would both end up ending it soon because you couldn’t cope. as soon as they met you, however, they saw how relaxed george was - different to his typically stressed exterior. when he was away, his mum invited you round for dinner, and his sister was similar in age, so you had a lot in common.

your family feared he would be a distraction from your studies, but once they saw your relationship thriving, they had no fears. your dad liked that he was politically aware and into football, whilst your mum liked the fact he was active in feminism (#pussypower)

g - gifts

when george went away for filming, he’d bring you home stuff. they could be really simple, such as local delicacies or fridge magnets. something simple, that was a small reminder of him every time you opened the fridge. 

h - how you met

you met in a cafe. you were sat in the corner, typing away at a script you were working on, nothing official just something that kept you occupied. he happened to take the table next to you and notice you furiously typing away your ideas, jotting down notes in the book next to you. he stood up and walked over to you. 

“um, hi. i’m george.”

“hi?”

he told you about him being an actor, asked what you were working on and then asked to read. he complimented your work, and you gave him your number to “keep him updated and ask for advice”. he made a habit of going back to the cafe every day that he could, just to see you. he’d take a seat opposite you and didn’t mind when the two of you sat in silence. 

i - intimacy (how often are yall getting down)

oh that man may seem innocent, but he will take you any time, any where. when he came home, the first thing he’d do is take you to your bedroom. he’d go slow savouring the moment - similar to how he would be the night before he had to leave. and the morning. and maybe before he got in the taxi. and then maybe he’d send you some suggestive texts. he lead you to toilets at awards shows for a quickie, or just lay you down on the sofa and go to town. 

j - jealousy

when you come to set, some of his male co workers got a little bit close. when you were gone, they’d make jokes to george - he laugh outwardly but inside he was seething. it was easy to feel jealous of people you interacted with when he was away, much as it was for you to be of him working with loads of people, that his character was physically intimate with. however, it didn’t take much for either of you to remind the other of your love ;)

k - kinks

idk if this is a kink but hickies. george loves to litter your neck, chest, stomach and inner thighs with small bruises. he loves seeing a quick flash of the marks whenever your shirt rides up, or your towel exposes a few. he very much loves to mark his territory, as much as likes to see marks you’ve left on him. 

l - long distance

a lot of your relationship had been spent long distance, with him working away for 1917 and then the history of the ned kelly gang. every night, you facetimed, till one of you fell asleep, but you’d mostly just do your usual evening routine, just hundreds of miles apart. you’d cook your dinner at the same time, shower, and then sleep. it felt as if you were together, just through a screen. you were obviously limited to what you could do but there was many things you could do to replace what was physically missing. it didn’t take a massive toll on your relationship, but george found it really hard to see you struggling and knowing he couldn’t be there to help - and vice versa. 

m - moving in

george asked you to move in, over facetime, whilst he was away filming 1917. he said he wanted to come home to your face every evening, and his flat wouldn’t feel like home without you there. his flat was closer to your uni/work place as it was, so even though you were quite early on into your relationship, it was ideal. whilst he was away, you kept the flat in order every time george came home, he damn near welled up at the thought of you being there waiting for him, in difference to the usual cold, empty flat. 

n - nights out 

being a student, you went out a lot with your friends. often when george was away, so he’d be delighted to wake up to barely legible texts from you. when he was home, however, the two of you found yourself going to a local pub with dean and some of your other friends and taking part in the pub quiz or darts. sometimes you’d just watch the game that was on.

o - open with each other

initially, you both found it hard to talk to each other, but as all good people do, he had a catharsis. he broke down, relaying all his stresses onto you, to which you comforted him and talked him through it. he can sense when your bottling it up, and even though you’re not massively open with him naturally, he knows when to ask you to talk, and you do, knowing he will be there to support you.

p - pda

george isn’t a massive fan of pda, but he would hold your hand when you walk through town, and when you accompanied him to award shows, his hand would be firmly stationed on your lower back, his fingers rubbing small circles. he’d press soft, small pecks onto your cheek, or your forehead or sometimes, just the simplest act of raising your hand and kissing your knuckles softly would be enough to comfort you. 

q - questions (what you talk about late at night?)

you talk about your day usually. it’ll start of as being, “i cant sleep” which will then turn into either one of you starting to talk about something funny that happened or just an overview of how your day went. this would go on until you managed to fall asleep, you soft breathing lulling george into his own sleep.

r - reproduction (do you want kids?)

george wants kids, in fact he definitely has notes on his phone of baby names that he wants to bring up with you. however, he respects your decisions and only wants what you want. he lives by “her body, her decision” but it is something he will ask you one night, casually. to which you respond however you feel.

s - surprising (what surprised you about him)

he loves to dance. if a song is playing in the background or on the radio, he’ll stand up and dance. in the kitchen, he’ll take a wooden spoon and sing into it. then take your hand and twirl you around. he loves to slow dance with you under the stars and he loves to rock out with you, with air guitars and all.

t - together (what you do together)

as said before, you watch a lot of films and programmes together. you also write a lot together, carpooling ideas into scripts or stories. his imagination is phenomenal. sometimes, you’d go on road trips, and he’d have control of the aux. he’d play songs to you, to see if you knew them, and he’d serenade you with ABBA non stop. anything you did was made 10x better when you did it together.

u - under the influence (drunk vibes)

drunk george is the softest man alive. he just wants to cuddle and tell you how madly in love he is with you. he’d press kisses all over your face and then pull you in close, to squeeze you tightly. when you’re drunk he loves to watch you get up to your antics, only intervening when it got dangerous or illegal. drunk together was a whole other force to be reckoned with. you’d both be doing stupid stuff until someone else had to step in. drunk you and sober you were both madly in love with george, just sober you was more willing to show absolutely everyone.

v - vacations

george definitely takes you to an island somewhere, like malta. or maybe he’d take you to a greek island. you’d spend the entire time exploring the city or the local markets, soaking up the local atmosphere and the sun. he’d defo get all artsy, taking photos of you from behind as you walked, the sun shining down on you angelically. 

w - wedding

the cutest wedding ever. no cap. outside, in summer. you’d chosen a outside area, like a greenhouse kinda room, surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. the reception was afternoon tea in a little marquee. the next day, you had a family meal, where your two families came together to celebrate the two of you.

x - xray (when he’s hurt)

let’s say he injured himself on the set of 1917. a piece of rubble in the bunker scene fell and trapped on his arm, cutting it wide open. whilst it didn’t put him completely out of working, it did require him to go to hospital for stitches. it happened that you were on set on these days so accompanied the whole way. you held his hand as the nurse gave him stitches, and though he didn’t look scared of the needle, you could tell he was slightly panicking at the size. you walked with him back to the trailer where dean sat waiting, laughing slightly has a pale george sauntered up to him, you pulled into his side.

y - you (a random headcanon) 

imagine that you both innocently take a shower together. “saving water” or something like that. george would spend his time massaging shampoo in your scalp and then brushing his fingers through it as the water washed it out. he’d turn around and you lather him in soap, your hands rubbing his shoulders, tense from a week of working. it wasn’t much but it was the little things that allowed the two of you to wind down at the end of a busy week.

z - zzzzzzzzzzzz’s (sleeping routine)

whilst you wouldn’t admit to being tired, george would watch you as you sat next to him, your eyelids falling heavy and your blinks getting longer and longer. he’d stand up himself, then hold out his hand for you to take. you’d follow him up the stairs and whilst he was brushing his teeth, you’d change into your pyjamas and then you’d swap. as you wander back into the room, george would hold out his arms for you to climb into, your head burying into the crook of his neck. nights like this, it was easier to fall asleep quickly.

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Unexpected Ally

Amon liked clouds. He had for as long as he could remember. Some of his earliest memories involved laying on his back and staring up at the puffy white clouds slowly sliding across a perfect blue sky or the deep velvet of night. He liked them so much that he’d built an entire deck around clouds.

Clouds were one thing. The rain that poured down from that particular cloud was something else altogether. The cloud hung over his head, tiny bolts of thunder flickering from it, but never coming close to him.

It was just one cloud and it floated over his head no matter where he went in this world, happily raining on him. He could tell it was happily raining because the cloud smiled at him as it rained.

Spirit cloud. Not one of the Cloudians. He would have welcomed it if it were one of them. But a simple thundercloud that didn’t give a single hint of wanting to go anywhere that wasn’t over him.

If it could talk, it hadn’t said anything at all. Tiny peals of thunder rolled on occasion and the lightning flashed, but that was it. Amon almost wished that he could encounter someone he knew could speak to spirits, just so he could ask if this cloud followed him for a reason or because it had nothing better to do with its time.

Almost as soon as he thought that, the cloud flickered lightning again, and a tiny peal of thunder rolled. It floated a little farther head and rained harder down on the path ahead. Amon stopped and stared at the spirit thoughtfully.

Is it trying to tell me something? He considered before he addressed the creature. “Is it safe?”

The cloud thundered again and shot out a couple of small bolts of lightning, raining harder on the forward reaching path. Amon carefully turned his steps so he walked in a different direction. The floating cloud made a noise that wasn’t quite thunder, but seemed more like a trill of happiness, and followed along as Amon walked in his new direction.

Something was strange about this. He couldn’t imagine what the monster would want with him. He fought hard to become a demon, to shatter the iron will that had kept him in shackles all this time. What did this strange spirit have to do with that?

What spirit was this, even? He remembered seeing a few cards that had clouds in them, but since they weren’t his Cloudians, Amon hadn’t paid that much attention to them. He didn’t remember their names anymore.

Again he regarded the storm-cloud. It seemed content to float along above him, holding back its rain a little more now. He was still wet, but not as much as he had been before.

“Could you not rain on me?” He didn’t want to take the chance of caching a cold. This world without a sun held a bit of chill to it.

The cloud sort of rolled around, then moved over to one side, so it came with him on the journey, but it didn’t rain on him. That was better, at least.

Amon wasn’t sure of how long he walked before he finally picked a quiet area to settle down on and started to gather the wood to make a fire. Even those who sought to become a demon needed food and rest. He’d kept his search to the parts of Dark World that weren’t affected by the war he’d heard about going on elsewhere. That was a little harder than it had seemed; this “Haou” person had forces everywhere.

But here seemed a safe enough place. Amon kindled a fire – that was one of the many lessons he’d learned from the Garams – and pulled a few small bites of food from his pack. The cloud floated closer, once again making that noise that seemed oddly happy, and he tossed a piece of his sandwich to the creature, not expecting it to do anything.

So seeing the cloud open a mouth and swallow that sandwich bit startled Amon so much that perhaps it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t move fast enough to prevent a sudden spiral of shadows from wrapping around him, binding his arms to his chest and keeping him on the ground.

“You’re not going anywhere,” a strange voice spoke. “Black Mamba’s special effect will keep you in defense position and unable to fight.”

Amon growled as he realized what it was that bound him – a gigantic snake curled all around him. The scales were cold and tight against his skin, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t manage to get out of the grip.

“What do you want?” He managed to spit out. He would have tried being more polite, the way he’d been with Juudai and his friends, but he’d been in the middle of his dinner, and he was already annoyed from having walked in the rain for so long. Plus, when he’d been polite to them, he’d been easily able to go where he wanted and they would eagerly help him.

“You’re very strong,” the snake hissed in his ear, tongue flickering against his skin. “You will bring a very fine price.”

Slavery? Him? Amon strained even harder but to no avail. He tried to see what was going on. There were two other shapes not that far away, one somewhat humanoid and the other not so much. They moved closer and in the firelight, he could see them now. The humanoid one stood about head and shoulders taller than he did – if one could say that about a creature possessed of four arms and two sets of shoulders. All four arms were crossed as it stared down at him.

But it wasn’t the one who spoke. The other creature did – and he recognized this one: Darkness Dragon.

“I’m certain Haou-sama will find a very good use for you.” Darkness Dragon spoke, very pleased with himself. He ducked his head and eyed his four-armed partner. “See what he has in his pack. If he has a deck, he might be useful to Haou-sama.”

Amon kept on struggling, even as the monster started to reach for his bag. Before it could touch it, however, rain cascaded from the cloud, enough rain to fill the world, followed by a peal of thunder so loud that Amon couldn’t hear anything for minutes. Then the world turned bright as sunlight, with three quick lightning bolts shot down between the monster and the bag.

Squall! The name of the monster’s card flung itself into his mind now. This had been the very first cloud card that he’d ever seen, and he’d cast it aside as it wasn’t a Cloudian that he searched for.

Darkness Dragon roared, head casting about helplessly, and Amon remembered that it didn’t have very good eyesight, at least according to the card text.

“Squall!” Amon snapped. “Aim at Darkness Dragon’s eyes! Now!”

Again the thundercloud turned and now a blast of raw lightning flashed forward, landing directly between Darkness Dragon’s eyes. The dragon squealed, stumbling back, then fell to one side. Another blast of lightning finished off the second monster, and the third one uncoiled itself from Amon and started to wriggle away.

Amon stared at it for a few seconds. Squall hovered closer and made a questioning noise. Amon knew this time what he meant, and nodded.

“Take him out,” he ordered, even as the snake slithered out of sight. Squall lashed out with one more lightning bolt, and in the aftermath, everything was silent and cold. The rain had put out his fire and soaked every bit o his food.

Amon brushed himself off as best he could, then took the time to search through all three bodies. Once he’d taken a few useful bits and the bodies began to break up, he regarded Squall. “Are you the one?” He asked. “The one that’s the spirit of that card?”

Squall’s cloud-stuff rippled a little and a tiny spark of lighting flashed. Amon took that to mean a yes.

“Do you want to stay with me?”

Another flicker of movement and light. Amon decided that was also a yes. He shrugged.

“Do you know where I can find Exodia?” His goals hadn’t changed. If anything, he thought that he could achieve his goals more easily with this kind of assistance. Squall came from this world, so far as he could tell. Surely he’d know something.

Again there was a ripple and a flicker, but it seemed different this time. But then he began to carefully move, and Amon followed along. Wherever Squall led, he would follow – until he found Exodia and could dispose himself of everything that held him back – Yubel, Echo, and Sid being at the top of the list.

But perhaps he might keep Squall. A king needed a pet – and even if he were a demon king, he would be a king no less.

The End

Notes: Black Mamba and Dark Daemon Nightmare both have 1300 attack points. Darkness Dragon has 1500. Squall/Violent Rain has 1550 attack points. Granted, he technically "attacked" three times but this is Dark World. Not every rule of dueling holds!

Also, while the two stories aren't connected - yet - Juudai has Wolf and Amon has Squall.

Now, what will happen to Squall the happy thunderstorm cloud, after Amon dies?

[elaz-ivero]

Cabin Teeth + Diversity in Writing

Cabin Teeth, the offspring of binging hereditary and get out and approaching July deadlines. Somehow no matter how prepared I feel I’m always line editing and second guessing myself the night submissions close. This story is important however, because I wrote it after I began reading more books written by black authors, books with black leads. I’m a strong believer that nothing we write is truly original we take note of story lines and characters from books we read and the media we consume and it expresses itself in our work. The wider your range of reading the more diverse and real your stories will be. I like to think Cabin Teeth is only the first stop on my long road of changing my writing for the better. 

The idea for Cabin Teeth came from a fragmented set of inciting incidents, a near death experience in a nursing home, a lone coffin in the woods and a set of rotting teeth. I wanted to explore how horror finales often lead to more questions then answers as the intensity and complex images increases. Cabin Teeth doesn’t tell you anything it’s filled with holes you have to fill. 

The short story follows Harrison and his history with strange illnesses, near death experiences and an inhuman hunger that consumes his life, leading to him accidentally becoming a cannibal. 

When he closed his eyes his seven year old self was ready to not open them again. But he did, he got better and for the first time in weeks his body was warm. His fingers flushed full of healthy blood pushed the pair of coins, his fare across the river Styx off his cheeks. He was covered in flowers, lilacs rested on top of his feet and roses were laid out to follow the curve of his body. Cut lilies were slipped between his fingers. He’d been buried above ground and prayed over.

His accidental cannibalism comes after a work dinner goes wrong when the estranged chef decides to serve the group that booked the whole restaurant... human. What haunts Harrison the most is the fact that he got seconds and scraped both plates clean. This hunger is both him hungering for life and him hungering for control. 

“ The police said they couldn’t find the rest of the remains, someone told them they probably ate them. “  

After this...altercation Harrison is obviously given a therapist and one day a random girl shows up in his house and tell him she’s his assistant. Her name is Carrie and she decides to book an entire holiday park so Harrison can relax...for like four days in the middle of nowhere with nobody around but him and his best friend Tan, Harrison obviously freaks out! and ! is ! not ! cool ! with ! that

Harrison sensed the walls beginning to sneak towards him, threatening to crush him like that weighted blanket had. He could feel that spoon slip inside his mouth and he couldn’t help but take note that in this light, this dim, dark, depressing light lit by the oven, door still open, heating the room like he was the meal, her navy dress looked black. It swung slightly and her smile softly slipped down the corner of her face.

Ooh I love this excerpt, the rhythm the way the sentence goes on and on and on. Love it, my favorite sentence from the story. I referenced my panic book (I write how I’m feeling down whenever I experience a panic attack) to remind myself how I feel during them and for me I tend to hyper focus on so many things and get agitated by anything slightly negative. 

So now Harrison’s undergoing rehab in an empty camp ground and he’s starting to notice his teeth are beginning to rot (hence the title) and his hunger’s growing out of control so when he stumbles upon a coffin in the woods he thinks finally something that’ll make himself sane.

As soon as Harrison familiarizes himself with this lonely casket and has gained the confidence to look inside he his caught by Carrie who locks him in the cabin’s attic and goes out to the woods to burn the coffin, Harrison can only watch as the fire as hungry as he is consumes the coffin leaving him without answers. 

So that’s Cabin Teeth! A hazy exploration into horror, I can’t wait to go back in a couple weeks and explore the characters and themes a little bit more but for now enjoy the excerpts. 

[julesvalebright]

Verdancy: Before

(( This story took place about a month ago now. I’ve just been that terrible about getting it out. Previous post is Verdancy: Prologue. CW: Some graphic violence, Void Stuff, minor character death ))

“Be sure to bring this delightful trinket with you to Pandaria, gardener. I’m sure it will serve you well there.” Ather’s roughshod baritone was met seconds later by the displeasure in Julrien’s reply. 

“You’re hilarious,” he smirked, launching a fistful of freshly revived soil at his comrade. Bits of earth bounced harmlessly off Ather’s moss-trimmed vest, just as Julrien’s reaction had, so he ventured on: “We can’t all get by on edgy pot-shots, you know. Some of us actually want--” 

A larger fistful, this time with a bit of finely hewn mulch, spattered the front of Julrien’s tunic. It was met with gritted teeth that slid into an easy grin as he waved about the soil knife still loose in his grasp. A recent purchase of beautiful Dwarven craftsmanship, the ‘trinket’ had replaced many of his usual tools, and had proven invaluable in their downtime at Silithus.  

“Will you two shut up already? I’m tryin’ ta pretend m’not surrounded by children,” Laures’ annoyance drifted like the desert nightfall through the mouth of their tent. She added the heavy toss of her plate boots against its stretched-hide wall for emphasis, which was of course followed by Lucan’s unmistakable laughing sigh. “The same goes for you, ya pig-witted prat,” the half-elven woman snapped, and Julrien could feel her exasperation from there. It was not unusual for the temperamental Laures to take out her frustrations on her twin, just as it was not unusual for there to be plenty to frustrate her. Lucan, for his part, was a deep well of patience, ever gentle as he pushed back. 

“You’re cross ‘cause ‘o the early summons this mornin’,” he spoke softly, his Westfall Common accenting the Darnassian they tended to use at camp. “‘Cause ‘o how you’ve been sleepin’…” Because of how they’d all been sleeping--or not, as it were, Julrien inwardly agreed. Ather grunted beside him, edging away with his back to the tent while the Sin’dorei listened on, his own weariness remembered.

“Lucan! Just let it go, will ya? I’m fine!”

Laures was in no mood for gentle talk. Of all of them, she had come closest in their trials to achieving affinity beyond the flora with which they worked; as such, she was as spirited as the nightsaber whose tattooed paw prints marked each side of her neck, and just as difficult. A heavy silence fell over them, drowning out the crackle and quiet laughter at neighbouring campfires and the distant--constant--clash of stone and steel. Every so often they could feel the swell of the Source at work, their magic welling up from the deep secrets of the earth and its Emerald counterpart in tandem. It was the nature of their work, that connection that spoke its inimitable truth and bound them all to the knowledge. Julrien felt it in that silent moment, listened to its whispers as he’d been trained to do. 

It came as it always did, like sunlight flowing to the tips of his fingers, shot through with ivy tendrils sown in his veins. It used to leave him giddy, intoxicated at the sensation and long after it had passed. It still did, to an extent, though he’d grown used to the vitality of it all in his time with the others. But there was something else to it this time, some subtle difference he couldn’t quite place. A voice, like Laures’, echoing her words… Let it go… let...go… let-... Sylvan ears perked, Julrien kept his focus inside himself, listening hard in hopes of determining what exactly he heard. It was Laures, until it wasn’t. He recognized it changing, felt his chest tighten as aching familiarity crept into its timbre. There was the ghost of grinning teeth in it- their tender pull at the dip of his hip bone, the inside of his wrist; he was sure he saw a smattering of freckles along an upturned nose… felt it pressed into his neck as he strained to listen, still... 

He was scarcely able to breathe by the time Ather’s sudden movement drew him to the present. Behind them, he could at last hear the strangled cry wrenched from Laures’ throat. It took him a moment to recognize the subtle change within had somehow found its way without, falling like great shadows over the open space of their encampment. It couldn’t be… here?

But it was everywhere. Behind him, screams raised the fine hairs at his nape, his bare forearms icy in spite of the desert air. There was no wind. It was the absence of it all that moved on them. The Void. They were under attack, and yet as he and Ather tore back the leafy canopy draped over their tent, it was only Lucan they saw inside. Lucan, with his fist clamped tight about his sister’s windpipe, squeezing with an untold rage, even as he stood calmly in the act. 

Laures’ eyes flew open, glassy and wide, pleading with them not to hurt him, as she made another valiant attempt to find her footing and gain some leverage. The hunting knife at her belt was well within her reach, and yet she hadn’t taken it, couldn’t, Julrien knew, bring herself to end this sudden horror at the expense of her brother’s safety. They were well past that though. Ather had already taken it upon himself to intercept, heavy-handed as ever as he grasped Lucan’s arm with a force to rival that around Laures’ neck. 

“Leave off, Lucan… this is not what you want,” he growled at their comrade, seeming in that moment to tower over them all. Julrien was quick to take advantage of the diversion, only a second or two wherein Lucan--but it wasn’t him, not really--glanced up at the demand. Laures gave a half-hearted shake of her head, hindered at once by even more pressure at her throat, until she all but hung from Lucan’s grip. “Let her go,” Julrien hissed, face turned towards Lucan’s pointed ear as he pressed the serrated edge of his soil knife to the underside of the half-elf’s chin. Lucan, for his part, remained impassive, unblinking at the dark clouds flooding his gaze. He glanced from Ather to the Blood Elf tucked in behind him, unmoved. “Why do you resist us?” he--they--asked, making a mockery of Lucan’s gentleness. Lucan was undoubtedly viewed by many in their group, as well as the larger body of Druids, as soft, even simple. His all-too-Human appearance, and downright cherubic features aside, set him apart along with his sister, who communicated her value through clenched fists and a wicked tongue. Lucan used neither, preferring to defer to louder personalities in most matters. But those in their unit knew him to be the very best of friends: loyal, unassuming, and gifted when it came to soothing both ire and injury. Julrien’s racing heart seized, the chill wrapped around it like a fist as he watched Laures’ red face turn ashen. Lucan’s voice went on: “We are already here, as we always have been. You need only let us in…” From there, it all happened so fast. First came the sickening crack of bone, silencing the strange sibilance spilling from Lucan’s tongue and wrenching from him an anguished, all-too-familiar cry. Next came the rush of stricken air that flooded Laures’ lungs. She spun, gasping and sputtering, away from her brother’s limply hanging limb, which Ather released as soon as she was free. From there, it was easy for Julrien to draw upon the entangling vines of their ken. The soil knife fell to the earth, shifting along with their meager bedding and few, small comforts from home as the thick verdancy split the ground beneath their feet, slithering between them to wrap Lucan in a stranglehold of their own. 

Julrien’s fingers still curled into his palms, still trembled with the effort of keeping this… version of Lucan… in restraint, for long seconds afterward. He exhaled for what felt like the first time since rushing into their modest tent, slumping against the wall with a kick of a heavy, straw pillow. Ather’s steely silence in the wake of his violence had him gritting his teeth, especially set against the twins’ pained wheezes and whimpers. But one look at Laures, and he knew better than to get into it then. 

“Laur…what happened-” he began instead, seeking backstory for the unlikely scene. A toss of his head swept sweat-dampened locks over his shoulder as Julrien started towards their friend. Laures, for her part, uttered a cracked, “M’fine,” alternating between gasping and gaping at the face of her twin held fast by coiled greenery- and something else entirely. It was hideous, this likeness of their half-elven comrade. His saucer eyes no longer held the golden fields of Westfall in their depths; amber irises were eclipsed by darkness as they darted from the towering Ather to the rustling door of the tent. His mouth...at first it was contorted in agony, only for a slow, seething smile to split his lips, exposing too many teeth to the dim light of their oil lamp. Everything flickered, the lamp, that grin… 

The wind had returned, carrying the sounds of pitched cries and clashing weapons, and with it the unmistakable stench of… charred hides? There was only a second when Julrien could swear he heard it, a voice of warning, as familiar as the vacant spot in his mattress. It rang in his ears, urgent under the cackling of Lucan’s stolen voice:

RUN.

But he was too slow to react; they all were. An explosion sounded mere yards away, rocking the encampment as it fed on nearby azerite and blew through the neighbouring tent. The trio were flung to the far wall as the flames roared to life, flashing gold and sizzling into slick blackness beneath. Julrien choked on the scream that ripped through his chest as his hold on Lucan, his magic, burned through his tendons. The strong vines he’d summoned, brimming with Light and Life, languished in his grasp and, and in their stead, the deep well of nothing threatened to swallow them all.  Such a heavy burden… Soon you will see…

Ather’s fingers felt like claws dug into his shoulder as he shook him from his daze, but Julrien could no longer make out his words. He gagged, bitter ash in his mouth as he registered the colours bleeding around him. Thick, dark tendrils burst through the flames, spreading like oil over everything they’d worked for, slowly devouring the Life at his fingertips until he couldn’t hold it any more. He could no longer hear Ather, just as he could no longer see where Laures went, but Lucan--their gentle Lucan--was everywhere at once. His head tipped back...his flailing limbs, grasping and wrenching and filling Julrien’s sight. His laughter... dripping madness like ichor, down Julrien’s spine--

Our time has come… Let go and be free… His world shook, swirling around him in fire and shadow. He couldn’t tell whose hands were on him anymore, couldn’t breathe a word of what he felt as the cackles and crackling faded into his own unsteady pulse. Run, the voice had warned. And he should have- they all should have run from this place. It was a festering wound, a sickness they were not equipped to deal with. His world shook and he shook with it, writhing as it threatened to feed on him like every one of his tangling vines…

...until the very moment his mentor’s palm struck his cheek. A moment passed, and another, and eventually he could sense the solid ground once more. Ather held him from behind, and he felt the desperate press of Laures’ nails in his forearm. Thoridath…their leader stood over him, taut brows belying the stern line of his lips. “We are out of time,” he confirmed, taking just one step aside and jutting a calloused digit in the direction of the portal. Ahead of them, the camp was ablaze with chaos. The Earthen Ring scattered, with enraged elementals bearing down upon their numbers, and the Cenarion crew were scrambling to aid. But Thoridath could not risk their little group; what remained of them had to make it through to the other side, if they ever stood a chance at curbing the assault. “I have Lucan,” the Kaldorei added hastily, and Julrien swayed a little beneath that fervent gaze. He finally nodded, pulling free of Ather’s grasp. 

One arm hooked around Laures’, dragging her forward as they all darted after the Arcane rift. As they neared its shimmering borders, and the promise of safety on the other side, he couldn’t help but pause and chance a look back. Behind them, in the charred remnants of their tent and pieces of their belongings, Julrien could still make out the slender figure of Laures’ twin. The half-elf faced the great Sword of Sargeras, his mutated body trembling with horror… with glee… or some terrible blend of the two. Ather saw quickly towards pulling a struggling and shrieking Laures through, as it suddenly became all too clear that this was the last they would see of her twin. 

Julrien alone lingered, one hand poised to help his friends even as they disappeared through the portal, the other clenched hard at his side. Thoridath, true to his word, had moved towards Lucan, arms outstretched as he seemed to speak to him, the way one might speak to a frightened animal. Lucan, if he heard him at all, did not respond, instead lifting a pair of blades in malformed hands, the ‘fingers’ too long and too monstrous to be recognized. Before Julrien could call out, before his fear could bubble over into words at all, he watched as the soft soul of his friend who once held golden fields in his eyes… plunged each of those daggers into their depths. Someone slammed into Julrien then, with an impact he felt in the centre of his chest. He didn’t see Lucan fall, didn’t catch even a glimpse of Thoridath through the violet-black murk and scorched soil. As he sank backward, there was nothing but liquid flames trickling through to iridescent light, and the scent of sunflowers tickling his nose. 

[eirian-houpe]

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 34

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Grumpy | Leroy, Maurice | Moe French, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Merida (Once Upon a Time), Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Le Fou, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Gus | Billy, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham, Mother Trude (Fairytale Character)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 34 - Threats

The apartment felt very empty without Ruby, and breakfasts became lonely affairs with bowls of cereal and a hastily made cup of tea, which she invariably ended up carrying down to the library with her when she couldn’t stand the solitude any more. It was odd, but she felt less alone when she was surrounded by books.

Today, though, she did find herself feeling lonely; lonely and worried. For the third time in as many weeks, Paige hadn’t turned up for her after school internship - as Belle liked to call it - at the library. She knew it wasn’t a formal arrangement or anything of the sort, but she enjoyed Paige’s company, and the girl was very good at organizing; making suggestions for the library’s weekly story-time. She was very quick thinking and clever.

The last few weeks, however, when she had come to the library she seemed tired and listless, uninterested in the things she usually enjoyed. She didn’t shirk, and the work she did for Belle was still accurate, and completed with her usual swift efficiency, but she seemed to take little joy in the work as she used to. Nor did she seem to be troubled by the work she was to do, angry or resentful, it felt to Belle almost like a tired kind of… relief.

This time, Belle decided, she could let the absence slide, and though she was loathe to do so, she closed up the library, with a note on the door that said she would be back shortly, and began the long march up the road toward the school. She had no idea what she would say when she got there, but she couldn’t sit idly by and watch a young girl’s future go to hell in a hand-basket because no one would look out for her.

“Miss French,” Belle started slightly as the familiar voice called her name from beside the hardware store, repeating, louder, “Belle!” when she did not stop, forcing him to trot to catch up with her.

“Is everything all right,” Jefferson asked as he fell into step with her, and now that they were side by side he could take much shorter strides.

“I’m sorry, Jefferson, I’m in a bit of a hurry,” she said. “I want to try and catch Miss Blanchard before she leaves the school.”

“Is this about Paige?” he asked, and was forced to turn around to continue his conversation with her when Belle pulled up short.

“How… how do you know about Paige?” she asked.

For a moment she saw a flash of something almost like pain cross his blue eyes, which she noticed, only now - and thinking back on the last time she saw him - seemed a little red rimmed, but then he answered hesitantly, “Uh… Gold?”

“Gold told you?” she asked, feeling somewhat put out that Gold had spoken of their private conversation with another person.

“Not… exactly,” Jefferson hedged. “He may have mentioned in passing that you were worried.”

She nodded a little stiffly and began to walk again, as she started to say, “Well, I am, I—”

She broke off with a soft ‘oof’ sound, even as Jefferson’s fingers folded almost gently around her arm, no doubt meaning to draw her aside as she literally ran into Mayor Mills as she came out of Doctor Hopper’s office.

“Well, if it isn’t our erstwhile Librarian,” she sneered. “Shouldn’t you be at the library?”

“I’m taking a lunch break,” Belle snapped.

“At three-thirty in the afternoon?” Doubt colored the mayor’s voice, and Belle scowled.

“When I take my lunch is none of your business, Madam Mayor,” she said.

“Besides,” Jefferson piped up, a half convincing smile on his face, “she’s out on library business.”

“Oh, really?” Regina cocked an eyebrow at Belle, and then lowered her voice slightly to say, “If I were you… Jefferson, I’d keep my nose out of whatever is going on here.”

“Are you threatening him!”

The mayor had been the last person Belle had either wanted or expected to run into on the walk from the library to the school, but that didn’t mean she felt in any way intimidated. After all the times Regina had tried to throw something into her path to prevent Belle from opening the library, she was more than ready for a fight, and her getting all up in Jefferson’s face - metaphorically at least - was enough to trigger Belle into full on rebellion. After all, the man was only sticking up for her.

“Belle,” Jefferson said, his mouth set into a hard line and his breath coming down his nose in an angry kind of sigh, “It’s all right.”

“No, it is not all right,” Belle said, stepping between the mayor and Jefferson, and turning to face him. “Since when is it all right for the mayor of any town to go around threatening private citizens. She’s supposed to protect your rights, your needs.”

“Oh, but I am,” Regina’s oily, deep, soft voice predicated the tickle of her breath close to Belle’s ear, and she couldn’t help but shudder. Without apparent notice, Regina went on, “There are many people in this town, Miss French, about whom you know nothing. So, I will let this one slide - for now, but…”  She stood up straight as Belle turned to look at her, nothing but indignation and outrage on her face. “If I find you’ve been… interfering… helping where your help isn’t wanted, not even the town council will stop me from closing the library, and turning you out of town on you ass.”

Belle spluttered at Regina’s words, ready to argue, ready to fight, but Jefferson’s soft touch on her elbow stilled her.

“Do I make myself clear?” the mayor said, then looking between Belle and Jefferson. “Both of you?” When neither answered, she snapped, “Go home, Jefferson, and you, Little Miss French, don’t you have a library to run?”

The mayor turned then, and walked up along Third Street toward the elementary school, leaving no way for Belle to get to speak with Miss Blanchard without passing the mayor.

“Belle, I’m sorry, I—” Jefferson began as soon as Regina was out of earshot.

“No, really, it’s fine, I’ll… I’ll just talk with Mary Margaret another time,” she said, nodding vigorously, trying to convince herself as well as Jefferson. “No harm done.”

“I, uh…” he gestured behind himself, “I have to go. Home. I have to go home.”

“You don’t have to leave just because—”

“Really. I do, I…” he started to move away, “I’m sorry.”

He turned along Second, and out of sight before Belle could answer, and with a sigh, she doubled back, retraced her own steps and returned to the library.

She felt on tenterhooks for the rest of the afternoon, half expecting the mayor to burst in on her any moment, and with half her mind running through everything that had happened. Not that she knew him well, but she had never seen Jefferson act the way he had in front of the mayor. She decided there had to be something going on; something the mayor had to hold over him and make him do as she wanted, and that he was one of the people - as the mayor had so indelicately put it - about whom she knew nothing, but she was resolved to find out.

She decided that she was going to close the library early that evening, and take a walk.  She found out from Leroy, when he came in to return the book he’d borrowed, that Jefferson lived a long way out of town and thought that a walk might do her some good, might help to settle her mind  before she tried to sleep that night, however her semi-nocturnal wanderings took her nowhere near to ‘Casa Jefferson.’ Instead, she found herself arriving at The Bend.

She sighed. That hadn’t at all been her intention, to return to the scene of the latest of her mistakes with Hunter, and far from calming her, it sent her mind swirling - and she couldn’t deny the way her heart sped up when she saw that there was a plastic zip-lock bag attached to the nail in the tree.

She grabbed the bag and virtually ripped it from the tree as she reached inside to pull out the note. It was as uncomplicated as they came. Seven short words written on a sheet of notepaper that had been ripped out, folded once and put into the bag.

“Please come to Boston to meet me.”

It was unsigned, and could only have been written by Hunter. After a moment of thought she pulled out her cell phone, flicked open the contact’s list and dialed Ruby’s number.

[okimargarvez]

MAIN TARGET

Original title: Main target.

Prompt: a hacker unsub is targeting Penelope.

Warning: what if for 15x4.

Genre: action, family, romantic.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, unsub, BAU team, Andrew Mendoza, Maxine.

Pairing: Garvez; slight maxcer, katt, prendoza.

Note: oneshot 68 in Garvez collection.

Legend: 💏😘🔦.

Song mentioned: Eri come l’oro ora sei come loro, Tiziano Ferro.

Note: As I promised, here there is the second story about the spoiler for 15x4. The first I written was based more on the plot and pics, this one it’s after seeing the promo. So I written as I NEVER watched the sneak peeks. Hope you can like it, but more than the episode will be good. The final part it’s based on @thinitta​ opinions. Thank you, again!

GARVEZ STORIES

MAIN TARGET

 No one has entered my golden limbo anymore, an abandoned, cold, tired kitten

-Are you sure you had nothing better to do than to accompany me to this nerd competition?- despite her protests, she has not been able to convince him that she is able to bring the trophy she has won alone, which confirms beyond any doubt that she is still the best hacker out there. -You will be very bored.- the man shakes his head, amused by her statement. He justifies her only because she was too busy “kicking the ass' of geeky kids, to realize how much fun he had, on the contrary. How many times he has laughed or smiled.

He keeps the door open, but he collides with a girl who apparently doesn’t seem at all a computer’s lover, but appearance are not everything and maybe she has accompanied someone in this competition, as he did. He starts to apologize, but she is raising her hand, signaling that it was her fault. Her eyes however don't leave Penelope's body, that is stop behind him. It seems strange to him, he feels an unidentified sensation that he prefers to remain so, so he remembers the way in which more or less the whole place looked at her when they arrived. In the IT field, Garcia is a celebrity. -Anyway, I don't think so.- he resumes their speech as soon as they are outside. -And I was happy to be able to spend time with my best friend.- she stops, turning almost to effect rallenty, widening her eyes and mouth.

He recognizes that kind of expression on her face. -Awww, Luke, you are my best friend too!- she exclaims, stroking him on the arm, not being able to embrace him. -This reminds me...- she hits him symbolically on the shoulder.

Luke massages himself exaggeratedly, to make her feel guilty. -Ouch! Why?- he also uses the hurt puppy eyes look.

She doesn't leave him too much to stew in his juice. -For having terrified me to death with that bomb.- she explains, as they start walking again. It wanted to sound like a nice joke, but in the middle the voice betrays her, breaking.

With his free hand and without stopping to walk he takes her by the arm. -Well, but I didn't asked for be in that situation.- and above all, the bomb was fake, nothing but a diversion. But those two seconds in which he believed he was going to die had been enough for him to see everything more clearly. The important things in his life, which were not things at all. One image. The photo in his memory. The first meeting between Roxy and Penelope. About a week has passed, but he didn't need more than those two seconds to understand why in such a moment he had thought just that.

The blonde taunts herself immediately, unable to be really mad at him. -I know, sorry, I... I was only afraid of... you know.- to lose you, but to really lose you, not to say, not in the sense that you move to another city or even another state or you get married with Lisa ... lose yourself permanently.

Luke also hears the part she prefers to keep silent. -Yes, I know.- what's between them has now become clear, impossible to hide. Neither of them tries to. They don’t know when it will happen, but little, very little is missing. The wait is almost over. This awareness is sufficient not to make them anxious, in fibrillation. It is as if they were already together, even if not officially. She didn't introduce him as her boyfriend to the hackers they met at the competition, but most still perceived him as such. Sometimes attitudes, body language tell more than what we just say. -Would you mind if we made a detour?- the blonde nods. They leave the trophy in the trunk of Luke's car. He sees her watching him trying to understand what goes on in his mind. He chuckles, amused. It's always nice to be the center of her world. They reach the entrance of a park. -Here I take Roxy and Lou to stretch their legs.- Penelope no longer knows where to turn her head. Everywhere there are dogs of every breed, color, size. There are those who run, those who play, those who sleep. It is a kind of circle, reminiscent of an amphitheater or an arena, but covered entirely with lawn, the benches for the owners arranged in a strategic way, to allow everyone to keep an eye on their puppy. One dog in particular attracts Penelope's attention. She leaves the bag and runs towards him. Luke watches her talk to a blond man about her age. They smile. He feels a twinge of jealousy, but doesn’t frighten him or fight against it. Not anymore. She may have a smile on her face, but her heart belongs to him anyway. Something vibrates next to his thigh. He looks down. A pink cover, with the head of a piglet. She has an infinity of them, little less than the frames of the glasses. The mobile phone screen lights up. It was not a deliberate, voluntary action, he will be said later as justification. It was a normal instinct to drop his gaze on that surface. And it's not his fault that he can read quickly, not as much as Reid, but he is doing pretty well. -Hey, Penelope!- simultaneously he does the right thing, calling her. -You got a message.- but then his brain processes the information provided by the retinas. -But what...- and he can't really stop there. He takes her cell phone and scrolls through the email to the end, rereads it a second time, just to be sure. So, he sees that it is part of a series of similar emails from the same sender. He starts reading those too and is about halfway through when she returns to the bench.

The smile immediately turns off on her lips. She is quite bewildered, confused, more than angry or indignant. -Luke, why are you reading my mail?- she asks, but despite the sight problems, she is also a skilled reader. -Luke?- she repeats, shaking him from the numbness or trance in which he has fallen.

He doesn’t give up the telephone set, shows it to her, indicating the contents of one of the emails. -What the hell is this?- even if she knows those words by heart, her eyes can't help reading them again. And she experiences exactly the same thrill as the first one. -Please tell me it's just a joke, a hacker stuff.- Luke pleads, not ashamed to use a desperate tone, not at all macho.

Penelope shakes her head, forced to give him a displeasure. -No, I... don't ask me.- she tries to take back her cell phone and instead ends up that he grabs her wrist.

-This fool says: Tonight, I will dream of a new way to kill you. You did not want to give me a chance in the real world and I will destroy you first in the virtual one, where you are more comfortable, and then also in the real one. There will not be a single trace of your existence, the black queen will cease to exist. No comment?- hearing this threat coming out of Luke's mouth is more than she can bear. She abandons herself on the bench, but the man doesn’t waste any time. He did it when it was not even thinkable, he did it a little further on, for sure he will not scruple himself now.

His right arm surrounds her shoulders, pushing her to lean against him. -He... I...- she is shaking. She is terrified, but he doesn’t know if it is more the responsibility of the stalker or the fact of having to confess it to someone. As if it could be her fault, as if she could have ever done something to deserve such unwelcome attention. But in the eyes of these depraved people, even a smile, like what she did a little while ago, can be considered an invitation, a suggestion.

He sighs, trying to calm down, because it could only shake her further. And this is certainly not his target. -You went out with him?- he knows it's an awkward question, but he's forced to ask it. He should treat the matter like any case, not get involved. But it is practically impossible. Did Morgan do it when Battle tried to kill her? -Make me understand, because I want, I need to understand.- fortunately, to his enormous relief, she shakes her head.

-No... the situation is...- she stutters. Without thinking about it, Luke begins to caress her hair, and continues, realizing that the gesture is helping her. -There is this guy, on the web... he has been explaining me in details... how he is gonna kill me...- she doesn't cry, and the thing is quite strange, but she vibrates like a jackhammer and the beating of her heart gallops. It's all true, he didn't imagine it, it's not a funny joke, even if he hoped for it.

He swallows, feeling anger rise up his body and stop in his throat as usual. He closes his eyes. Counting even up to ten thousand won't help. -How long?- he asks only, without opening his eyes. If he does, he will find that she is afraid of him too, right now. Because his voice seems to come from the depths of hell. Such anger resounds within him, implacable and at the same time so tempting...

Her lips tremble, her hands vibrate, the whole body is shaken by sobs. -A few... a few weeks... almost a month.- she admits at the end.

All good intentions are sending to hell immediately. -WHAT?- he shouts so loud as to attract the attention of some owners and even some dogs, who stop to stare in their direction. He looks at her without masking the nervous in any way. But his arm remains where it is, wrapped around her shoulders. -Is there any living thing, apart from Sergio, to whom you said it?- Penelope shakes her head, fleeing her gaze. And he doesn’t seem about to perform a deplorable act. -Why didn't you tell anybody about this?- some men simply keep an eye on him from a distance. But the real question is Why didn't you want to tell me either?

-I, I don't know! I thought it wasn't dangerous, he never did anything other than sending me those messages, and I didn't want to waste time of the team, with all the things that have happened in these months...- JJ's confession, then she then had risked to die because of the daughter of the Chameleon, the bomb, the break between him and Lisa, the engagement of Emily and Andrew. It is understandable, her reasoning, but not for this more acceptable. Because she risked being killed so as not to weigh on others. And he can't see it as a nice thing. He may never find out what it feels like to kiss her. Or to wake up next to her. And only because he fell in love with a too generous woman. No way.

-How could you believe it wasn't dangerous? This madman will not limit himself to online threats, his language says so, he will come out. Very soon.- he can't take it, looking at her in a normal way. -There is even a part where he talks about me.- he whispers, showing her. You fell for the new boy like an ordinary whore. You were like gold and now you're like them. But I know how to make you come back precious. With death you will recover that aura of purity.

-I'm sorry, Luke, please excuse me!- watching her cry and begging him to forgive her for faults that are not actually hers, is more than he can handle. He takes her face in his hands, forcing her to stop. But she manages to say one last thing. -I don't want you to hate me too!- he takes a breath before speaking.

-Hate you? I don't hate you and I could never do it. What does it mean that too? Who would this fool be?- the childish appearance has never made her less attractive to his eyes.

-My brothers, because I allowed Jesse to get out of prison and because it is because of me if our parents were out at that time.- she replies, eating only a few words in sobs. Luke wipes her latest tears to flow down her cheeks.

-I am sure they don't really hate you, and that in any case things will work out .- he replies in a calm tone, realizing that it is working, that she is calming down. -But right now, we have to focus on this madman. We need to talk to the team about it. You will see, we will take him.- he cannot have the mathematical certainty, were it not that the idea of living together every day from here on with the possibility that she will be torn from his hands... is inconceivable. So, they will be able to find him and make him harmless, in a more or less definitive way. This will depend on him. Hackers are often cowards, although it is bad to think so, since she also falls into the category; but it is enough for him to remember the reaction of the boy who worked at WUKO and enjoyed driving cars to invest people. He doesn’t believe that he will be able to endure a physical struggle.

-No, please, we can't tell the others, it's one of the few times that we don’t have a case, they're all relaxing... I know that Emily and Rossi are helping Matt to assemble the crib, Kristy sent me a pic... and they chose a tremendous color.- she chuckles, but she can't fool him, because his eyes are still shiny. -With all that has happened... we deserve a break.- but Luke is not willing to listen to reasons.

He caresses her delicate face again, bringing it closer to his own. -I wish I could do as you say, Penelope, but... I have a bad feeling.- it is the instinct of the hunter, who has awakened from hibernation and is almost never wrong. -I have to protect you, I can't lose you, okay? I know it's melodramatic, that seems to come out of a bad action movie with some romantic skits, enough to convince your girlfriend to come to the cinema with you to see him...- marketing strategies, nothing else. -But it’s still the truth.- the weight of his words hovers between them. He lifts her chin and their lips meet for the first time. During the kiss he feels her tremble. She is afraid, she is terrified, but she has no intention of communicating it to him, not even to him, after all that has been and is happening even now.

And every kiss you denied is a little bit that you of lost me

They separate gently. Penelope immediately looks away and the man realizes that the path is still long, he has not crossed the finish line. -Luke, I...- he doesn’t allow her to waste her breath in listing the thousand reasons why that kiss is not to be understood in the only sense it assumes. He does it in her place.

And every ‘I love you’ that I kept silent is a bit that I lost of you

-No.- he shakes his head. -It was not a comforting kiss, nor I did let myself be taken by the role of friend or protective colleague, by the atmosphere. Do you really want to deny what's between us?- she shakes her head, curling up against him. -Good. Now let's start by informing Emily, she will decide what is best to do, what do you say?- she disagrees, even though she is aware that Luke is right. So, she just keeps silent. -Listen to me, Penelope, I will not allow anyone to kill you or tear you a single hair, do you believe me? I know you are afraid, I’m too, I am terrified, but I will not leave you alone for a second, it will have to kill me first, pass over my dead body, as they say, to get to you.- the woman remains with her eyes sealed, clinging to the his chest as a lifeline. A buoy in the middle of the sea. -I couldn't do anything for Battle already... but this time... I'm here, and I'll do my part.- she walks away and looks at him, shocked.

-You know?- she only whispers. But she should have guessed that someone had told him what had happened after her reaction as they were discussing Ferrell's case again. Luke nods.

-Yes, I know, and even now I struggle to understand how someone could have done such a horrible action. Not just for shooting you. But that bastard went out with you. He was able to admire a suit that you had chosen specifically for him. And your smiles. He had a privilege that I didn't think it would ever be granted to me... for this I hate him, even if he's dead.- he doesn't want to hide even a small part of his thoughts anymore. -I would have liked to kill him with my own hands.- he fears that she could get away, after all this is the main reason why he has always limited himself to flirting with her.

-Wow.- she replies instead, as the information aligns in her brain.

-Yeah.- he sighs and calls Emily. -Hey, am I bothering you?- he feels the blonde's gaze on him. He strokes her hand gently to reassure her. -Huh, well, maybe it's better if you put the speakerphone on. Penelope has a stalker. Ok, a quarter of an hour and we'll be at BAU.- he hangs up. -Honey, I know you don't want to bother anyone, but believe me, if you force Rossi to wear another tie to come to your funeral, he will be very annoyed.- despite the dramatic situation, he managed to make her laugh. -Here, let’s go.-

And your every silent smile was a photo of us

 On the way they still talk about Battle, but above all, Penelope reveals that there was another time when someone wished her dead, not long before he appeared on the horizon. -They were called the dirty dozen, it's a complicated story, but it has to do with Cat, Cat Adams. It's thanks to Reid if they didn't kill me.- he listens without asking questions, he keeps them all for later. -In practice the worst and most skilled assassins wanted my head on a silver platter, like Salome with John the Baptist.- along the way she makes various attempts to make the story less ugly. But he remains silent and inscrutable. -I lived for some time indoors in the BAU, in an office. I had equipped it pretty well and sleeping on those sofas wasn't bad either, I don't know if you've ever tried...- nothing, not even in this case any decipherable reaction. -And it wasn't terrible, I'm serious!- she doesn't know if he believes her, and she's afraid to deepen what goes on in his mind, considering what he told her about Battle. And that in any other case it would have exclusively terrified her, but since it was him... she had also been flattered. Because even if he hadn't explicitly told her he loved her, it was as if he had. -They have all been very close to me, Rossi has tried to teach me how to play poker, but, you know... I'm bad at bluffing.- a hint of a smile. She should be decidedly satisfied. -And Hotch dined with me, we cooked the jalapenos... - whatever is going on in his mind, he never lets her hand, until they reach his car, and if by chance someone risks touching her, he quickly drags her against him, literally shielding her. -I wanted to tell you so you won't find out from others, as happened with Battle.- she concludes, and he understands that she's done. He brings her hand close to his mouth, kissing her knuckles.

-Thank you for trusting me.- trust is all in a relationship and he has a weight on his conscience to take off, but this is not the right time. They will first eliminate the threat and then discuss it. -It is really terrible to imagine you in such a situation and to know that all this was happening only a few floors higher than mine... and rationally I know that I could not have done anything. It was not yet my turn, but this time it is. Please allow me to protect you.- he is kind to ask, considering he won't accept a negative answer anyway.

-I don't want you to be in danger because of me.- she replies instead, putting the cards back on the table. Luke understands what she meant by that phrase. -You want to do what you couldn't with Battle, am I right? Hunt him and eliminate the threat.- her eyes memorize every detail of the man. -What if I asked you instead to stay by my side and let the others conduct the research? Would you be willing to do this for me?- she is asking him a lot, because she is aware of his nature, how much he misses certain aspects of his previous work.

The man doesn’t reply hastily, risking to say the wrong thing, as has often happened to him before and not only with her. Obviously, he had imagined to personally hunt the bastard who was threatening the life of his... loved girl. Like a knight on a white horse in fairy tales, like Orlando in the Carolingian cycle. Fearless and intrepid, heedless of death. But he is too insightful not to understand the blonde's point of view. If he dies during this hunt, what sense could there to try to protect her? Yes, she will be alive and this is the main thing, the main goal; but without him... right now that he has confessed what he feels... he meets her gaze for a thousandth of a second and obtains confirmation. She could die of it anyway. -Penelope, honey... if that's what you really want, I'll do it, even if it's going to be really hard.- she nods.

-I know. I know I claim a lot, but... try to see it in this perspective. You won't be on the bench. You will be my personal bodyguard. Or would you rather leave me alone while you are all out looking for him? I'm not a profiler, but I know hackers are a particular category of unknown subject. They are not part of the classic schemes.- it is not certain that he understood what she meant. -It could send you off the road, sidetrack you and wait for the right moment to attack me when I'm alone. If he really intends to move on to the facts.- she concludes.

-Fuck, you're right, that's why you are the genius of the lamp and I am the Aladdin's carpet.- the joke manages to snatch a giggle, but above all it goes to hit a very hidden part of her soul. Never, at first glance, she would have said that Luke was such a playful guy. And she likes to bask in the belief that she is partially responsible for his transformation.

-There would be another thing too... and I don't think you will like this more than the other.- she recovered her security not because she stopped being scared... it's difficult, when you know there is someone out there who has done of you his main goal. Rather, because panicking won't get her anywhere. And she has a lot to fight for. Her extended family, Sergio and now also Luke. She will not allow any homunculus to ruin everything. It took four years to get to this point and he still seemed on the verge of making a decisive move, regardless of this situation, which accelerated things. But she has no intention of thanking him when she has him in front of her. The man patiently waits for her to start talking again. -Here, the fact is that... the unsub it's like me. I think I'm a more challenging opponent for him. I mean...- he got there. He brakes, risking to cause a tamponade. He recovers part of his faculties and pulls over laterally.

-You want to be the bait, don't you? You want to lure him into a trap, you want...- he shakes his head. She knew he would never agree.

-Luke, if it is true that you love me...- it sounds like a fake phrase. -You have to let me do my job. I'll be safe, I'll be behind a screen and you'll be with me!- she tries to make him reason. -It's my field, this, not yours!- she protests, clenching her fists.

-Let's see what Prentiss will say, and what the others will think.- he replies, as a sort of respite.

In my opinion it is much better to give a cut and thank goodness because you were doing too well, you know

JJ is the first to notice their entwined hands when they enter the meeting room. The other thing that stands out is the absence of Spencer, who arrives a few minutes later, with a very strange look, half confused and half with head on the clouds. There is a third detail. Almost everyone is dressed inappropriately to do their job, because in fact it was not expected that they would.

-Well, now that we're all here... Penelope, do you prefer I explain the situation to others?- the blonde is about to respond, when Agent Alvez takes the floor in her place, standing up and separating from her for the first time in about an hour.

-I would like to do it, if you don't mind...- he just gives her a look and maybe he wants her approbation. Garcia opens her laptop and a first image appears on the screen in front of them. One of the last emails the asshole sent her. Full of vivid details on how he will kill her. Everyone's eyes widen in disbelief. JJ just can't conceive that this is happening again. Although more than six months have passed, he feels the scar throbbing, the last of a beautiful collection. Luke leaves them a few more seconds to absorb everything. -This person, if we can call him that, about a month ago started contacting Garcia, writing things like the ones you see here. Spence, we has already sent you a detailed copy, I am sure that in five minutes you will have read it all.- the youngest nods, bending over the tablet and trying to concentrate each neuron on the task entrusted to him. Even if the image of a certain girl with whom he was spending a nice afternoon continues to disturb him, tease him. -Garcia has narrowed the field of research while we were waiting for you.- he looks at her with such pride that all doubts disappear from the mind of the profilers. Tara caresses the blonde's shoulder, sitting next to her.

-He is good, but not so much.- he is not at her level, it is the translation. -He managed to mask his real address, well, any teenager who spends too much time in front of a computer...- the fact that she is rambling, as usual, reassures them, even if they can't let go too much. The danger is always out there and this time it has a precise face. -To make a long story short, the area from which he sent those messages is Denver.- another image, it is a map with a red dot towards the center of the state of Colorado.

-This, however, doesn’t mean that he is still here, right?- Rossi asks and he is not the only one to have wondered this question. Everyone first looks at Penelope and then turns their gaze to Luke. He nods.

-Yeah, I think so too.- he turns to the boss. -I know it's not correct, that goes against the protocol...- Emily lets him speak, but her face darkens. -I wish I could stay with her, I should blindly trust the teams and the witness protection service...- but he shakes his head, because when the person you love in first person is at risk, then everything changes.

Taking into account what he risked with Barnes only two years ago, he doesn’t expect the brunette to nod so strongly. -They won't let us handle this case, because one of our agents is directly involved…- she replies. -So, I don't see where is the problem.- a radiant smile appears on the lips of the Latin. -Matt, I think it's better if you also stay here in Quantico, Kristy is so close to giving birth...- the other man nods, relieved. Although the idea of witnessing the birth of another child perhaps makes him more anxious than leaving with others. -The rest of us are going to Denver, although I feel we won't get much out of it, we can't leave out any options.- Reid never took the floor, which is quite strange, but above all he is still staring at the tablet. -Wheels up in twenty.- JJ reaches out, placing a hand on his shoulder.

-Hey, Spencer, are you okay? - he winces. Jennifer is her best friend, but six months is not enough to erase certain confessions. He is torn about the need to tell someone what happened to him, because it was since Maeve's time... or rather, this comparison cannot stand. Because the first time he saw Maeve was practically the last. Max, on the other hand... why can't he stop thinking about it? What's so special about her?

-Yes, yes, I am... upset by this thing.- this doesn’t calm the uncertainties of the blonde. -Shall we go?-

 Taking advantage of the paid leave they both have in arrears, Luke moves to live at Garcia's house, along with Roxy, of course. Perhaps his apartment would have been safer, with all the weapons hidden, but when he proposed it to her, he read in her eyes that it was not the best choice. He had lived there with another woman; however girls were friends. Her home, however... was a virgin. In any case, he equips it as a bunker, installs every security system he knows and almost they get into a fight, when he discovers that it was such a vulnerable target. He calms down because losing his head doesn't help anyone.

On the third day they receive a message. Kristy gave birth to the baby. It's a girl. Matt is back in the minority again, and they are sure he won't mind. They even manage to laugh at it, although the tension is always clear between them, and of a different type than usual. It is not sexual, even if that remains latent and never disappears. It does not depend on being aware of what the other is feeling. Or for the only kiss they exchanged. It is the waiting that exhausts them.

By violating any existing protocol, the team manages, with the help of Emily's boyfriend, who has knowledge in the Denver police... to convince the chief of the latter to collaborate without letting the superiors know, because otherwise they know they will try to take them off the case. Even if they can't force Garcia to join the program if she doesn't want to. And they are sure Luke can do much better than any stranger, however well trained. However, they don’t get blood out of a stone and are forced to return to Quantico empty-handed, but with a heart full of panic.

On the jet, Spencer receives a message that interrupts his fifteenth reading of War and Peace. He does it whenever he feels scared, insecure, because it reminds him of Gideon, a case where computers were seen as the main threat, and also those who use them for work. He flows that short sentence that has already implanted in his retinas... but of course, he has an eidetic memory, no? But he is certain that this would have happened anyway, even if he was an ordinary man. He raises his head and glance at JJ who is talking to Emily and Tara. And suddenly he feels good, and not a reckless one for having given the number to an almost unknown woman. But she is not an unknown; her name is Max, and that's all he needs to know. Now he can concentrate on his job and prevent the asshole, as Luke calls him, from hurting Penelope. She has given him back the lucidity that he thought he had lost and she has succeeded in being simply herself.

 -I don't agree and I don't like it at all.- he exclaims, as expected. Penelope shakes her head. -No one here has anything to say? JJ, are you really going to let your best friend, untrained to shoot and not even get out on the field, put her life in direct danger? Reid, is it possible that you didn't come up with one of your brilliant ideas? Someone say something, please!- they are all at her (their) home because they didn't even consider the trip from there to Quantico safe. A few days have passed and living with her is beautiful, an advance, a glimpse of the future... but not like that, not with that shadow always between them.

-I understand how you feel, Luke, of course we are all concerned about Penelope's safety, but we will be close to her, you know we would never let her go completely alone.- tries to reassure him Rossi, who has always seen him as a son and is responsible for what was born among his children... after all he was the first to insist so much that he joined the team.

To be on the safe side, they used his magic box of baseball tickets, the faraday cage, so that the unknown subject cannot hear what they are saying, even if their cell phones are turned off. -Honey, we've already discussed it. You have to let me do my job.- but the man's eyes reply You don't want me to do mine, though. And those of her, still Instead yes, you are already doing it and it could even last more than one case, right? Protect me and love me, as I will protect and love you. She strokes his arm, not ashamed to show affection for him. And he to reciprocate, intertwining their fingers.

-Dammit!- a book flies beyond the table, without being damaged. Everyone turns to Spencer. Garcia starts to vibrate, because she remembers another occasion when he did the same. -I don't know why it took me so long.- Emily intimates him with the look to go on. -We have not considered a fundamental variable. We assumed it was a man, right? But for those who were... JJ, Penelope, do you remember the case of Lila Archer?- the two blondes nod in sync. But Reid's super-powered brain has already gone further. There would be another example he could give… and which he would understandably prefer to avoid.

-What is it about?- Matt asks for those like him who still ignore the connection.

-She's an actress we met in 2005, I think.- JJ seeks the approval of her best friend. -The people around her, like a rival, her manager... died, paving her the way for success and at the same time various persistent messages arrived from a particularly devoted admirer...- it is the landlady to reveal the mystery.

-It was her assistant. She was a woman.- silence for a few seconds.

Tara is the first to break it. -Are you really convinced that this is a similar situation?- at the same time, Luke curses himself. Why was he so stupid? Why has he never considered such an option? Penelope risked dying from a stereotype.

Spencer shows them some sheets, prints of the emails of the subject unknown for Garcia. -It's in the language, it's all here, black on white.-

 Agent Alvez sighs, trying to make as little noise as possible. The new dad next to him just looks at him. He won't make the same mistake. He will not be fooled by the fact that being a woman, the asshole is a minor threat to the woman he loves. They are in a van just one meter from the place where she is. He doesn’t see her, but sees what he is observing, as if they were inside her eyes, thanks to the micro camera installed in a special pair of glasses.

There is still no one, then, a noise. Years and years of training. Work undercover. And he jumps like a Newbie. Ouch, wrong term. -Friend, stay calm.- it's easy for him to say. But he tries to listen to him, aware that he is right.

-Hey, honey!- the asshole doesn’t have to understand that this is a trap. She didn’t write to her "let's meet in this place at this time", as she would have liked. No, Emily has come up with another plan, much more sophisticated. She loaned her boyfriend, an excellent bodyguard. Luke watches Mendoza smile at her and then everything turns black for a few seconds, but he knows it's because he hugged her, as he knows that being jealous of him is stupid and irrational... but he can't help it. He will have to work on it and he will have the time, so closed speech. -I missed you.- he says, and he could be an actor, however good and credible he is.

-Me too.- a snap. But she's not kissing him, no, it was probably... on the cheek, yes, he wants to believe it is so. Again, moving images. There are not many people, but one in particular attracts his attention, however out of focus it is.

-I have already seen her. Shit, I've seen her before.- he starts muttering. -During the hacker competition!- he stands up, banging his head against the roof, given the limited space.

-Where would you like to sit?- his girlfriend asks her boss's fiance in the meantime. Trying to do the right thing, he speaks to her thanks to the skillfully modified earring he wears.

-Penelope, I identified her, is the one sitting two tables away, I have already seen her, it cannot be a coincidence.- he communicates them, masking as best he can the anger that rises. He doesn’t care at all that it is a woman and not a man, as he assumed until a few hours ago. If she dares to hurt Penelope, he will have no hesitation. Andrew, who is equipped with another kind of device and has therefore listened to Luke in turn, takes her by the hand.

-What about this?- exactly in front of the mad woman. Penelope nods.

-It seems perfect to me.- but her smile falters. Just a second. Just one miserable second. And someone else's eyes widen.

-She has understood it's a trap.- Luke whispers, so softly that only Simmons hears him. He takes off the equipment. -I’m going.- he announces. The friend holds him by the arm, but he gets rid of it. -I don't give a fuck, I have to get in!- he opens the door and rushes to the street, almost spraining an ankle. Such distractions cannot be allowed. He runs to the entrance, but he has to calm down, think clearly. What if he was wrong and ruined everything? Then he looks through the window and feels himself dying. There is a body on the floor. He forces the eyes to focus on the image. It's not her, it's not her. He repeats it as a mantra.

He throws open the door abruptly, now he cares nothing about the surprise effect. The device screams the same name into Penelope's head over and over again. -Andrew, Andrew, are you okay?- a voice that she has never heard so desperate.

-FBI, let her go!- he shouts, and for the first time during this mission, he follows the protocol. He pulls the trigger, ready to fire. His aim is very good, but enough to risk hitting her? What was one of the last things Spencer said? These subjects tend to put themselves in extreme situations and if they understand that they cannot obtain the love of the subject of their desire, then they kill themselves, taking it away with them. He looks at the narrow weapon in those pretty hands. He has no intention of underestimating her.

-Good evening, Agent Alvez.- her voice is melodious, but there is something too much, like a coffee to which excess sugar has been added (Reid would not agree). -Why didn't you pretend to be her boyfriend? You certainly have more chemistry.- she is smiling, while she points the gun at the blonde's belly, her arm around her neck.

-You knew who I was.- he tries not to look towards Mendoza. -She has no fault. You love her, right? And then you have to let her go. Isn't this the true love? Wanting what the other wants, even if it makes us feel bad.- he approaches slowly, while the other people have already been evacuated. She doesn't care about anyone else outside of Penelope. -What's your name?- tries Luke again.

-Yeah, you really care! But Penny knows me, doesn't she? How could you not realize that I was behind all this!- she tightens tightly, until she snatches a moan.

Her eyes are shiny but she doesn't cry. -I... I'm sorry, I don't remember...- her eyes widen suddenly. -Elizabeth.- she says only. The other's face melts into an ecstatic expression, and almost seems to be about to embrace her. He takes advantage of it to get closer.

-Stop there.- but she is not stupid, not enough. -Penelope, do you prefer me to kill him or you first? Who do you choose?- the blonde's eyes fall into hers, while he reads her lips. Forgive me. He rushes forward.

The detonation of a shot. Matt gets out of the van like a fury, followed by the others. It was impossible to surprise her from behind, because she leaned against the wall. Tara stays with Emily to calm her down. Scuffle noises. Matt picks up Luke's cold gun. It didn't shoot, shit. Spencer touches Mendoza's neck: there is a beat. A stain of blood on the gray floor. Small.

The drops and the noise follow. Luke and the woman are struggling, but it is now clear who is getting the better of it. -Luke! Please don't do this! Luke!- Matt and Rossi lift the injured agent off the ground, careful not to hurt him. JJ rushes to her friend, while Spencer handcuffs the woman along with a dented but alive Mendoza. -I'm fine, I'm fine, but she shot him!- she embraces her, and together they leave that place in a sort of strange procession of sick people.

Reid feels the cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He answers, smiling when he recognizes the voice on the other side. -We have just solved a bad case and saved one of my best friends... I would like it if you can know her...- he looks at JJ -maybe all of them.- the wait, the uncertainty.

-It would be nice, but… are your days all like this?- she asks him.

-More or less.- he admits.

A little further on, red and blue lights signal the arrival of the rescuers. -It's nothing, just grazed my arm.- Luke protests, trying to convince them not to go to the hospital. But Penelope's gaze leaves no room for compromise. He resigns himself with a sigh. Andrew is loaded onto the same ambulance.

-We have to stop meeting like this.- Emily tells him with a trembling tone.

-I agree.- the man simply replies, chuckling. Wrong choice. His fiancée scolds him with a dirty look.

-What would you say about a nice double date?- Penelope suggests. Luke watches Spencer before the doors are closed.

-If we wait a few more days I think we can make a third date.

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

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[kloxbian]

You’re my Little Secret Chapter Five

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: F/F

Fandoms: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan

Relationship: Clarke Griffin/Lexa

Characters: Clarke Griffin, Lexa (The 100), Octavia Blake, Bellamy Blake, Anya (The 100), Mountain Men (The 100)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Forbidden Love, Secret Relationship, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Sort Of, Opposite of slowburn, More tags to be added

Language: English

Words:11603

Chapters (as of 1/28/2020): 5/?

Previous Chapter: “You have no muscle.”

“I lived in a metal box my entire life.”

“Yes, you did.” Lexa met her eyes once more. “We need to fix that. Try and keep up.”

Clarke’s legs were going to hurt like hell when this was over.

When Clarke banished Murphy, she’d never expected to see him again.

Much less being pushed along with Lexa’s fist wrapped around the back of his shirt.

Clarke was stunned as Lexa tossed Murphy to the ground. Murphy looked up at her with a confused look on his face, his eyes flitting between her and Lexa. Lexa rapped him on the bad of the head. “He yours?”

“... yes.” Clarke narrowed her eyes at him. “We banished him.”

She nodded. “I’d seen him wandering. What did he do?”

Clarke scowled. “Murdered someone.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “Jaha Junior deserved it.”

“Like hell he did.”

Lexa grabbed his hair, yanking his head up. “Don’t speak, ripa, or I will gag you.” She looked at Clarke. “Mind if I have him?”

She shrugged. “Do what you want with him. We don’t want him.”

Murphy actually looked shocked. “You know this savage?”

Lexa snarled and backhanded him across the face. “Silence, banau. I will not feel guilt over harming a murderer.”

Clarke approached Murphy. “You are more of a savage than she is. You deserve whatever they do to you.” She nodded to Lexa, who heaved him to his feet. She raised a hand into the air and two other people dropped from the trees, each taking an arm and dragging him off.

Clarke tried to brush off her surprise. “Friends of yours?”

“Guards. They’ve been watching the camp along with me, though they are there more to make sure they stay in line rather than gather information. I am the one who is collecting the information.”

“So is that your job? To spy?”

Lexa cocked her head thoughtfully. “I do many things. This is just another task to complete.”

A vague answer. But then again, all of Lexa’s answers were.

“Okay.” Clarke shifted her weight, pulling out her dagger. “What now?”

“Put the knife away. Your throwing skills are fine.”

Clarke groaned. She knew what that meant.

Luckily enough, days at camp were getting better. Clarke was learning to bring in more food herself rather than just have Lexa provide it for her, and a few others around camp seemed to be getting a feel for it as well. Most days, everyone ate something, even if it was only a small slice of rabbit meat.

They were beginning to organize a working system. The hunting party went out at dawn. As people woke, some would start a couple of fires, as a cold chill was beginning to set in, a time of year old-world had called ‘autumn.’ Some people would collect water from a small stream they had found trickling by about a mile or so east. Tents had been set up from the supplies in the dropship, usually five or more per tent, and many still slept in the dropship, Clarke included. As more and more people accepted that they needed to work to survive, more was able to be accomplished. Firewood was gathered and stored. Logs were set up around the fire pits. All in all, things were finally starting to smooth out.

Clarke continued to meet Lexa, not daily, but often. She honed her throwing skills and had, according to Lexa, gotten much better at keeping quiet in the brush, though was still far from perfect. She was confident that she would soon be able to reveal to her people the existence of the clans.

Not yet, though. Not when Bellamy still largely held control over the camp.

Clarke was more respected, definitely. People listened to her. They did as she asked. But they would much rather listen to Bellamy than to her. Clarke was a daughter of the council. They thought that if they gave up control to her, she would seize it much like her mother had.

It was still too much of a risk.

-

It had been four days since she’d last seen Lexa, a fairly long period compared to their normal meetings. Though many people still lazed around camp all day having fun, Clarke was working herself to exhaustion. She hadn’t had the time to see Lexa.

So Lexa came to see her.

“Clarke.” She felt a light shake on her shoulder, rousing her from her slumber. Clarke growled lightly from her throat, her eyes still heavy with exhaustion. “Clarke, wake.”

That voice.

Her eyes cracked open and then went wide at Lexa, hovering by her side. In the dropship. Surrounded by other delinquents.

“What the hell are you doing?” Clarke hissed quietly, sitting up and looking around to make sure no one was awake. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“They will not wake. Your people sleep heavy, including you. I am a hunter. I will not wake them.”

Lexa was right. Nobody even stirred.

“Okay, point proven. Now, why did you come here in the first place?”

Lexa smirked. “You’ll see.”

“What? What does that mean?” Lexa stood, slipping out of the dropship. Clarke followed as quietly as she could. Lexa was waiting outside. “What are you doing?”

“Come,” was all she said, darting off into the woods past the single dying embers of a fire.

Clarke had two choices: stay back at camp or follow Lexa into the unknown. 

She went with Lexa.

Lexa moved swiftly, heading north in the direction of the mountain. She glanced over her shoulder occasionally, never long enough for Clarke to see her face, only to check that she was following. Lexa led her a fair distance before stopping. “We are just shy of it.”

Clarke looked around. “I’ve been through here before. There isn’t anything special about it.”

“In the daylight, no. During the night- you shall see.”

“What could be so special about the forest at night? It’s still just a bunch of-” a gasp broke her words as Lexa parted the foliage in front of them. It was a familiar clearing, but the only difference was that the moss that covered the trees and the ground all glowed a blue hue. Butterflies flitted around above them, glowing just as brightly, looking like stars in the night. She could feel a wide grin stretching over her face.

“Do you like it?” Lexa asked, walking up from behind close enough for their shoulders to brush. 

“Like it? Are you kidding, this is amazing!” Clarke couldn’t help the laugh that broke out of her, her once drowsy body thrumming with excitement. “What is this stuff?”

Lexa shrugged, dragging her through it and leaving a dark stripe that quickly regained its glow. “I do not know. If anyone would know, it would be our healers, for they are familiar with herbs, but a healer I am not.”

Clarke absentmindedly traced her finger in the moss. “Not that I’m not grateful, but why did you show me this?”

Lexa shrugged. “I wanted to. I knew you would enjoy it, and it is not something you can see anytime you want. Though I suppose I do want to escape my guards for a bit. They do not leave me alone.”

“The price we pay for safety, I guess.”

Lexa scoffed. “I can defend myself.”

“I have no doubt you can.”

Lexa’s lips twitched into a smile. “Sit with me, Clarke.”

Clarke sat next to Lexa in the moss, curling her feet up beneath her. “So?”

“Tell me about you.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow. “If I do, I expect you to return the favor.”

Lexa hesitated, but as much as she knew she shouldn’t, she had started to trust this skai girl over the last couple weeks. Never once has she suspected Clarke of having ulterior motives or even something as small as telling a lie. She truly believed the Clarke she saw before her was genuine. Not a facade like Heda. Clarke had nothing of the sort. She and skaiheda were one and the same. Lexa could not say that about herself. In all truthfulness, she was more herself around Clarke than she was around any of her people. Everyone back home saw her as Heda. To Clarke, she was only Lexa.

And so Lexa found herself agreeing.

Clarke’s smile made it worth it.

-

“Tell me about where you live.”

Lexa clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth, considering. “I live, officially, in Polis, the capitol. It is many days from here on horseback, so I am currently staying at the capitol of this clan’s territory, Tondisi. Or, I will be, once my mission is finished.”

Clarke was leaning forward, eager to hear more about this mysterious population and their customs. “What clan are we in?” “The clan we are currently in is called the Trigedakru, or Trikru for short. To the north is Azgeda and Sankru. East is Floukru. South is Louwoda Kliron and Yujleda. West is Ouskejon Kru. I am from the Trikru, though I only lived here for the first three years of my life until I was moved to Polis.”

“What clan is Polis in?”

“Polis also resides in Trikru Territory. It was one of the only old-world cities to have even a single building still upright. That single building is the commander’s tower.” Lexa’s eyes shone as she began to speak about Polis. “The tower is the best part of the city. It is over a hundred stories high, though not many have access to the upper levels. The top is where the eternal flame burns. The city itself would take hours to cross on foot it is so large. I would guess at least thirty thousand reside within the city, not including the constant flow of travelers. People from all clans come to Polis, so trade is very diverse.”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “Thirty thousand? How many people are in all twelve of the clans?”

Lexa shrugged. “Trikru has around thirty, forty thousand people total, and it is one of the most populated clans. I would estimate at least a couple hundred thousand people inhabit all twelve territories.”

“Hundred thousand,” Clarke mumbled. “That’s… incredible. How big are the territories?”

“On horseback, it would take months to cross from Trikru to Ingranrona Kru.”

“Holy shit.” Clarke leaned back heavily against the tree, sighing loudly. “That’s… a lot.”

“Indeed. We have become good at staying alive.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Clarke sighed again. “The Ark only has about two, three thousand people. You could crush them.”

“Not everyone is a warrior like myself,” Lexa said, pulling out her dagger. “Many are, though. Especially in clans like Trikru and Azgeda. At least half of the population, if not more.”

“That’s still over a hundred thousand. I can’t believe your commander actually decided to give us a chance when you could have easily wiped us out and went on with your lives.”

Lexa was amused. Little did she know.

“The commander is just, at least whenever justice is an option. She has spared your lives for now.”

“I’m glad she did.” Clarke looked around at the bioluminescence. “Even if she hadn’t, I’m glad we came down here. It’s hard, but it’s so… free.”

Lexa smiled. “I could not imagine living how you did. I don’t think I could have dealt with such restraints. You are strong in that aspect, Klark.”

Clarke smiled back, leaning over and bumping their shoulders. “Maybe so, but you’d still put me on my ass in seconds if I tried to beat you.”

Lexa chuckled quietly. “You have a strong mind. In a battle of wits, I’m sure we would at least tie.”

The two laughed again, but a voice interrupted their bubble of peace. “Clarke?”

Clarke knew that voice. “Shit,” she hissed. “You have to leave.”

“Who is that?” Lexa asked, rising to her feet easily and helping Clarke up. “Why do they want you?”

“He must have noticed I was gone,” Clarke said. “And that would be Finn.”

Finn. Lexa knew of the boy. He was always ogling at Clarke, always trying to gain her favor. It made her sick. He was pitiful and didn’t realize that Clarke had no such interest in him. She felt the urge to punch him in the face, to watch the blood run from his broken nose, whenever she saw him staring at Clarke like she was some sort of goddess. It made her insides boil.

Clarke saw Lexa’s scowl. “You don’t like him. Doesn’t surprise me. You can tell him how much you hate him later. Right now, you need to leave.” Lexa hesitated but heard the crunch of the skai boy’s feet on the earth. She nodded and gracefully scaled one of the trees, peering out from behind the thick trunk. She caught Clarke’s eye one last time before the shaggy-haired boy stepped into the clearing.

“Holy shit…” he looked around at the glow but lost interest in it when he saw Clarke walking slowly toward him. “Clarke! There you are!”

“Finn.” Her voice had a hint of anger and frustration, something Finn didn’t seem to notice. “Why were you looking for me?”

“I saw that you were gone and I was worried,” he said, once again looking at Clarke like she was vital to his existence.

“I can take care of myself. I don’t need you to protect me.” His face fell a bit and Lexa smirked. “Stop treating me like I’m a child. Go back to camp, Finn.”

Finn looked broken. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you to,” she snapped. “Leave.”

“I can’t leave you out here by yourself!”

Clarke groaned. “Fine. I’ll come back with you. Don’t do this again,” she warned. Finn nodded, happy Clarke had accepted his ‘help.’ Clarke sent an apologetic look to Lexa, mouthing ‘sorry’ before Finn took her wrist and dragged her away.

Lexa could feel herself seething. How dare that insolent boy treat Clarke like she was some branwada goufa who needed a caretaker. It was blatant disrespect, and Lexa had to restrain the urge to knock him in the head to see if it would put some sense into his brain.

Lexa began her return to her own camp, pondering over what it was about the skai girl that made her feel such emotions.

Chapters 1-5 up on ao3 here.

First chapter on Tumblr here.

[zamancollective]

Fiction, Poetry, and the Shaping of Mizrahi Cultural Consciousness

By Sophie Levy

This article was originally published in the Fall 2019 issue of The Current, a journal of politics, culture, and Jewish affairs at Columbia University.

“So sometimes people think we are Arabs

and they are Jews?

[My nephew’s] words make flocks of birds fly through my body

ripping my blood vessels in the commotion

and I want to tell him about my Grandmother Sham’a

and Uncle Moussa and Uncle Daoud and Uncle Awad

But at the age of six he already has

Grandmother Ziona

Grandmother Yaffa

lots of uncles

and fear and war

he received as a gift

from the state.”

- Adi Keissar, “Clock Square”

I read Adi Keissar’s poetry for the first time at fifteen years old, when my mother forwarded me a link to Haaretz’s Poem of the Week under the headline “Who’s who? Who’s an Arab, who’s a Jew?”

The poem was a vignette of a conversation between Keissar and her young nephew as they walked beside the clock tower in Jaffa, tracing the aftermath of his distant observation of a man speaking Arabic. With each consecutive line, I felt like an anvil had been dropped on my chest (in the best way possible). Why did a Persian girl from Los Angeles who hadn’t really thought about her Judaism in years feel such a punch in the gut from a poem by a Yemeni woman in Israel? It felt incomplete and a little tacky to exclusively attribute my reaction to our shared Judaism. There was another layer to consider— a quiet but strong common denominator between the way I thought of my family and the way Keissar wrote about hers, even though I grew up hearing Farsi spoken more than Arabic, and I am American, not Israeli.

I only heard the word Mizrahi used to describe people from Middle-Eastern and North African Jewish backgrounds a few weeks before I read “Clock Square.” It made sense to me that there was another word for us out there—for Jewish people who called ourselves Sephardi even though our supposedly Spanish lineage seemed less-than-factual. It felt good to become aware of this new, audibly articulated way of making a distinction I wanted made—not because I resented the Sephardi label, but because I noticed something different about the community from which I came, and those differences were bound to Iran, not Spain. I let the word roll around inside my head and off my tongue. Mizrahi. So that’s what I’m called.

Of course, label-picking in the age of identity politics can sometimes take on a flattening or superficial connotation. It’s understandable that pinning any one label onto a multifaceted self can feel stifling, and there's been no shortage of analysis surrounding the derogatory or Orientalist undertones of Mizrahi’s literal translation to eastern. It’s a subject that often comes up in the company of other young Arab and Persian Jews I know, some of whom also feel distanced from the term’s relatively recent or “artificial” origin in Israel’s political lexicon.

Bearing this nuance in mind, I would still argue that identification with and critical thought surrounding the issue of Mizrahiut can open the doors for a new, constructive, collective self-perception— one that’s rooted in a consciousness of culture, heritage, and history. In her essay “The Invention of the Mizrahim,” Ella Shohat acknowledges how the Mizrahi label can be seen as a construct born from societal formation under Zionism, but also sheds light on its strengths. She notes that Mizrahi identity “celebrates a Jewish past” in Southwest Asia and North Africa, and that in turn, it can imply a “future of revived cohabitation” with other peoples of the region. In the meantime, its inclusion of a diverse range of Jewish communities places value on the cultural dialogue that ensued between them once they encountered each other in Israel (or in Western countries, as in my family’s case).

The story of Mizrahi immigration to Israel is not a smooth one. Between 1948 and 1951, roughly 325,000 Southwestern Asian and North African Jews migrated there, following their departure or expulsion from their countries of origin. Upon their arrival, many were placed in transitory refugee camps (ma’abarot) with poor conditions, later being displaced to remote development towns or vacated Palestinian neighborhoods in Jerusalem—situating them in Israel’s geographic and socioeconomic periphery. Their ensuing civil rights struggle would continue for decades.

Mizrahi refugees at a ma’abara in the early 1950s.

Contemporaneously, an underground Arabic literary network began to take shape, connecting Mizrahim in Jerusalem and the ma’abarot with Palestinian writers who remained in Israel proper after 1948. Fiction writers like Sami Michael and Shimon Ballas got their start publishing short stories in al-Jadid, an Arabic-language, left-aligned journal that served as a vital platform for Mizrahim and Palestinians alike in the early decades of Israeli statehood. The novel soon emerged as a favorite medium of Mizrahi writers (many of whom were Iraqi men), their characters’ psycho-emotional turmoil reflecting the tumult of the political changes in which they were caught. Whether set in Baghdad, Jerusalem, or Haifa, these novels lamented the waning reality of integrated Muslim-Jewish life, criticized the treatment of Mizrahim in Israel, and conveyed wistful longing for Iraq— all in Arabic.

However important this underground fiction movement was, its tangible success in spurring Mizrahi cultural consciousness among a wider public was limited. Contributors to al-Jadid were writing almost exclusively in intellectual circles, hiding themselves from wider readership in ma’abarot or other communities of Arabic-speaking immigrants to Israel. Further, the overwhelming cultural dominance of the Labor Zionist Ashkenazi literary canon and the disenfranchisement of Mizrahim on a material level led to practical obstacles to publishing. Thirdly, although the deliberate decision on the part of these authors to write (sometimes exclusively) in Arabic was a commendable act of resistance against the state’s efforts to stifle the language’s use, this reduced their novels’ wider appeal to a Hebrew-speaking public. Amid the political activism of the Mizrahi Black Panthers and the decline of the Labor Party in the 1970s, Mizrahi novelists were able to publish their work more frequently; yet even then, they mostly remained on the margins of literary life in Israel— dear to a burgeoning community of Mizrahi academics, but largely unknown to a wider audience.

Despite these barriers to recognition, Mizrahi fiction was and is of value. The often explicitly-stated goal of these novelists was to encourage a sustained connection to and appreciation of the worlds they were a part of before their displacement to Israel. By writing in Arabic, they demonstrated acute political and historical consciousness, challenging the state’s prevailing narratives about Mizrahi primitiveness, its effective demonization of Arab language and culture, and its dismissal of any positive bond to diasporic life. Most importantly, in the words of the writer Almog Behar, their work “carried a torch” for Mizrahim of future generations — like Adi Keissar, and like me.

After “Clock Square,” I started reading Keissar’s work almost voraciously, scouring Haaretz and the Forward for translated poems when I couldn’t understand enough of her Hebrew. As a flagrantly opinionated teenager, I got a high from her blunt feminism and indulged in the refreshing matter-of-factness with which she expressed the depth of her emotions. After having left my majority-Mizrahi Jewish day school for the odd funhouse mirror of a secular, preppy, majority-white high school, it felt like a comforting exhale to settle in the sweet, relatable sadness of poems like “Black on Black:”

"My grandmother loved me with a thick accent

spoke to me Yemeni words

I never understood,

and as a child

I remember

how scared I was to stay alone with her

out of fear that I wouldn’t understand the tongue in her mouth [...]

the sounds far, far away

even when she spoke closely.”

I didn’t yet know enough about Israeli history to fully grasp the political subversiveness of Keissar’s poetry, but I did know that her work made me feel seen. I felt estranged from the no-questions-asked Zionism of the Reform, Ashkenazi institutions I belonged to as a child, and I felt detached from my high school’s country-clubby, all-American ethos. Sometimes, as much as it embarrassed me to admit it, I felt the same distance from my large and (lovingly) overbearing Persian family, and even from other Mizrahi kids. Yet the more I looked into Adi Keissar’s work, the more I understood I wasn’t alone in those feelings, and the more I understood there were ways to address them constructively.

The fact that my mother came across “Clock Square” on Haaretz in English translation was not only indicative of Keissar’s increasing success as an individual poet, but of the rising recognition of a poetic movement she had ignited a few years prior. Keissar is the founder of Ars Poetica, a collective whose name is a double-entendre between Horace’s The Art of Poetry and the word ars عرص — a slur reserved for Mizrahi men that essentially translates to pimp in Arabic. Bringing together Mizrahi poets of diverse ages and backgrounds under an all-women roster of leaders, the group has put a new spin on the poetry reading by reinventing it as the hafla (Arabic for party).

Adi Keissar at a poetry reading.

Since Keissar organized a night of rousing performances by spoken-word poets, alternative DJs, and belly dancers at her first hafla in 2013, Ars Poetica’s loud, multifaceted reclamation of Mizrahi cultures has sent shockwaves through Israel and beyond. Keissar, Roy Hasan, and Tehila Hakimi— additional members of the group and renegade poets in their own right— all won the Bernstein Literary Prize within two years of Ars Poetica’s launch. Change is also felt elsewhere. Erez Biton, often seen as a father figure of this poetic movement, faced many of the same obstacles to mainstream success as his fiction-writing contemporaries for decades, until he became the first Mizrahi writer to win the Israeli Prize for Literature in 2015. The next year also presented a huge milestone, when Biton was appointed as chairman of a new governmental committee dedicated to promoting the inclusion of Mizrahi history and literature in school curricula. Since Ars Poetica’s founding, the group’s impact has garnered extensive media attention, with Jewish newspapers and poetry magazines in the US and Britain publishing article after article about the “Mizrahi Revival” cropping up in Israel.

Ars Poetica may well have triggered the strongest shake-up of Liberal Zionist, Ashkenazi hegemony in the context of Israeli literature to date. Of course, as we’ve seen, the written fight for Mizrahi recognition didn’t begin with Keissar, but her collective does much more than function as a simple continuation of the efforts of writers who preceded them. The group’s unprecedented headway is the result of taking that history, learning from it, and building on it in a new direction.

One thing this “new direction” has entailed is a deeper, more intersectional, subversive strain of political consciousness. Written attacks on the structural subordination of Mizrahim now often serve double functions; when Adi Keissar writes in embracement of her body and physical features as a Mizrahi woman, she is also writing to undo the internalization of racialized misogyny. When Roy Hasan bristles against the performative liberalism of centrist Ashkenazi elites, he is also tackling Israel’s class divide as it occurs along ethnic lines. Keissar and Hasan’s ability to synthetically address a broader range of societal issues in their work with relative brevity enables it to speak to a readership wider than that of the novelists before them.

Furthermore, Ars Poetica’s rejection of elitism goes beyond the content of their poems and permeates their approach to language itself— their verses often full of curses and reclaimed slurs, their Hebrew colloquial, their tone raw and piercing. Hasan points to Jay-Z and the Wu-Tang Clan as important influences on his writing, and it only takes feeling the rhythm of repetition and line breaks in his poem “In the Land of Ashkenaz” to feel their impact on his work:

“...I am the armed fucking robbery

The crook with the kippah

In the court of law

I am the graves of holy men

And talismans

I am a pimp

I am clapping hands

And cheap music

Low culture

Low grade

A stubborn root

And a pain in the ass…”

Between the subject matter of its members’ poetry, their use of vernacular language, and their formulation of the hafla as a truly grassroots method for communal ingathering and artistic promotion, Ars Poetica has shown itself to be founded on a sense of radical accessibility. These poets are stripping their medium of the sterile, elite connotation it has borne for many working-class Mizrahim and presented it as a reachable, usable medium for readers, thereby breaking down the barriers that kept Keissar herself from writing poems until she was in her thirties. It’s predictable, of course, that this accessibility has garnered some backlash from prominent Ashkenazim in mainstream literary institutions; critics have branded their poems as too angry, unrefined, or unsophisticated— arguably recalling decades-old biases about Mizrahi primitiveness. I think it’s safe to say that Keissar and Hasan would meet their discomfort with a scoff and a smile.

There’s also something to be said about the rise of poetry as the medium of choice for many of today’s Mizrahi writers. Prose still has its merits, of course; fictional narratives are a way of emotively articulating and preserving a fairly developed sense of what life was like for Mizrahim before 1948. It remains relevant, as demonstrated by the writer Ayelet Tsabari, for instance, in her use of short stories to create strikingly beautiful vignettes of modern Mizrahi life. But poetry, by virtue of its performability and new aura of accessibility, has demonstrated a special potential for change— not only in Ars Poetica’s move closer to the spotlight in Israel, but in its ability to effectively reaffirm the value of Mizrahiut in the eyes of an ordinary reading public.

This new wave of Mizrahi writing is turning heads toward old and new writers alike. A sweet consequence of the poets’ success today has been rising recognition of yesterday’s novelists, and that recognition is happening in contexts much more interesting than just Israeli academia. This past October, Mahmoud Abbas requested the printing of Ishaq Bar-Moshe’s novel Departing Iraq for distribution at a “conference for Arab leaders” in the West Bank, echoing the author’s hopes for cooperation and consistent interaction with Palestinian Arabs. Meanwhile, the media buzz around Ars Poetica has exposed young Mizrahim in the diaspora to the concept of cultural revival, creating real potential for us to process what we’ve been through, scrutinize where we are, and connect to where we come from.

That’s certainly what new Mizrahi poetry has done for me. I should clarify that my close family doesn’t have a history of immigration to Israel, and I will not erroneously claim to understand what it’s like to grow up in a majority-working class, Mizrahi development town. Even so, amid the difficulties of toggling between life in a huge, close-knit Persian family and finding myself lost in Ashkenazi-run, ardently Zionist institutions, I’ve noticed links between the kinds of alienation many Mizrahim feel from our cultures, whether we were raised in Israel or in the Western diaspora.

The experience of occupying any larger, Ashkenormative framework presents its commonalities: being discouraged or prohibited from speaking Farsi or Arabic as if it were a vulgarity, receiving minimal formal education in Jewish history aside from shadowy mentions of the Holocaust or sanitized tales of Israel’s establishment. From another angle, the legacy of our parents’ or grandparents’ exile from Muslim countries presents its own unique implications: a precarious relationship to the languages that came before English or Hebrew because of the political stigmas they bear, the angst or detachment that results from not being able to see your family’s country of origin because of blacklisting or hostile diplomatic relations. All of this feels disorienting, to say the least.

Written endeavors to foster Mizrahi cultural consciousness— whether academic or creative, intellectual or grassroots— have not only sought to combat this disorientation, but to engage with it on a deeper level, to wrestle with it and derive something of substance from that struggle. The Mizrahi writing with the strongest impact and the most meaningful legacy does more than shallowly advocate that we “connect to our roots;” rather, it demands that we unravel feelings of disorientation and displacement by facing our histories in full, envisioning what we want for the future, and giving ourselves a voice to communicate that effectively. This means reckoning with our relationships to Ashkenazi institutions and communities, but also to non-Jewish Middle-Eastern ones. Iraqi novelists sought to reach across the latter divide by writing in Arabic, and progressive Mizrahi writers today do the same in their advocacy for increased solidarity with oppressed populations across the region.

Engaging with Mizrahiut in a modern context also prompts us to reevaluate the idea of the “homeland.” There is discomfort in an awareness of our communities’ intense estrangement from places and worlds that were once inextricable from our existence. But out of this awareness, and out of the complex implications of exile, there is room for a new understanding of what constitutes a “homeland” for Mizrahim. Alphabets and accents, stories and poems, flavors and smells, songs and images become objects of longing often as deep as the desire for physical return to an inaccessible place. I think a lot of us quietly yearn for that feeling of home, even if we don’t always know how to articulate that or put a finger on what it is. I find it most often in the celebration of dialogue between Mizrahim, in recognizing the connections we have to the things we’ve been conditioned to forget, and in the words of writers like Roy Hasan:

“From the ruins of the language of my parents

I shall build a house for my children."