#| has a way with people. (marlo) |

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x OC Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis Presley - Elvis (2022)

Read More Here - Broken Glass Masterlist! (Coming Soon)

Prompt: You are Dolores Cannava, a young Italian-American nurse desperate to make her own way in the world and break free of her dysfunctional mafia-connected family and traumatic past. Elvis Presley is just returning home from his two-year stint in the Army, looking more handsome than ever, but feeling the pressure to successfully find his way back to the stratospheric career he was forced to leave behind. In a twisted turn of fate, Elvis finds himself in the hospital where your paths cross. Forced to harbor his potentially career-ending secret and needing to escape a terrifying future in New York, you are pulled into his unusual world and must endure a begrudging fake relationship with Elvis in order to protect his reputation (and his life). 

TW: Hospitals, illness, allusions to abuse. Some historical inaccuracies.

Tags: Fake relationship. Slow burn. Angst. (Sort of) enemies to lovers.

Rating: PG (ish?) (but this story will eventually be Mature/NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact)   ||     Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: It’s good to be back, my lil’ darlin’s! I’ve missed y’all! Broken Glass has a decidedly different feel than Pink Scarf, and I really hope that you enjoy it. This will be more of a slow burn and not quite as smut heavy as PS, but we’ll get there eventually! The original character of Dolores can also be read as Reader, but her back story needed to be pretty specific so I decided to go the OC route. I’m excited to dive into some of my favorite tropes with this one, and hopefully I can do them justice.

Delicious 1960 Post-Army E has me in almost as much of a chokehold as ’69 E, so it was only right that I give him the attention he deserves! 

As always, I love and live for your reactions, comments, asks, and reblogs, so thank you in advance for both reading and giving another one of my stories a chance! 

I imagined it with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat.

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

I’ve used the tag list from Pink Scarf, so please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Story is cross-posted to my Wattpad and AO3, if you prefer those reading experiences! 

Bellevue Hospital

New York City, New York

March 1960

“Nurse Cannava!”

The shrill call of Charge Nurse Irma Hunt grates on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but you don’t dare show it on your face. Instead, you take a deep breath through your nose and hurry over to the severe woman.

“Yes, Nurse Hunt?” you say as evenly as possible. You’ve only been an official Registered Nurse for a few months and cannot afford to make a wrong step with this drill sergeant of a woman. You’d rather be extra deferential and placating than looking for a new job, no matter how much you want to run in the opposite direction any time she calls your name.

She looks at you critically, peering down over her glasses with her sharp stare. “Nurse Calhoun was pulled away to surgery before she was able to finish her other duties. I need you to change the sheets for our VIP patient while he’s upstairs for x-rays. I need you to be quick. In and out, no funny business, you understand me?”

“Of course, Nurse Hunt,” you nod frantically. It’s the middle of the night, so it is strange for the patient to be doing tests at this hour. Though if they are trying to keep his identity under wraps, it makes sense that they would choose an hour where less people were involved.

“And absolutely no telling anyone about our patient. We must uphold the strictest confidentiality, now more than ever,” she adds with a glare.

The threat is clear:

Don’t mess this up.

“I understand.” Curiosity of who it could be itches at the edge of your mind, wondering about this VIP that has the woman in more of a harsh mood than usual.

Maybe it’s Ricky Nelson or Mario Lanza or Marlon Brando, your mind titters, but it’s probably just some stuffy politician. You figure it’s better to have low expectations and be pleasantly surprised than to have high ones and be disappointed.

Ever the realist.

Regardless of who might be, you don’t have time for silly schoolgirl fantasies. There is a job to do, and you best be getting to it before getting into trouble.

You scurry away to gather fresh linens, then make your way back to one of the few private rooms on the floor. Most patients are relegated to the open wards here in Manhattan’s biggest hospital, but there are special cases, such as this, it seems, where a more private setting is needed.

There’s a large man at the door, keeping watch, and he looks you up and down with narrowed eyes longer than you’d like, sending a chill into your gut. But this is nothing new. You hold your ground, straightening your spine and lifting your chin.

“Nurse Hunt asked me to change the sheets,” you say, clipped. He smiles, as if in on a joke you’re not privy to, then opens the door.

At 20, you are the youngest nurse on the ward. People, especially men, tend to underestimate you, but you have something to prove and no time for nonsense. Graduating high school early, you were thrilled to be accepted to Bellevue School of Nursing, one of the best programs in the country. The four-year experience had been grueling, but since you had to live in the dormitory, it got you out of the house and away from your damned father and his cronies.

In the process, you discovered that helping people truly is your calling. So, while young, you are good at your job and take it seriously.

This is why you hurry in and start stripping the bed as quickly as possible. As curious as you are as to who this mysterious man might be, getting the job done is much more important than snooping around the room.

You tug and pull the sheets as taut as possible, perfect hospital corners making the bed crisp and neat. Your attention to detail and cleanliness are a sense of pride, so spending a little more time than necessary making sure the bed is perfect is worth it. The intention isn’t to linger, but if this VIP is as important as everyone is making him out to be, you want to make sure everything is done right.

Finally, after inspection, you gather up the dirty sheets and make your way around the bed, just as the door opens to the room.

Damn. You weren’t fast enough.

Your gaze cannot help but drop to the man in the wheelchair. A bandage is stuck at the edge of his thick chestnut locks. Although he is obviously ill, his sapphire eyes rimmed with dark circles and his pallor pale, there is absolutely no mistaking who the VIP is.

America’s biggest rebel-turned-G.I., the one and only Elvis Presley.

You are not a fan, but your heart unwillingly kerthunks against your ribcage anyway because he’s still one of the most famous men on the planet, and you are shocked at how pictures barely do the man justice.

Dear lord, even sick, he is wildly gorgeous in person, you catch yourself thinking. His essence seems to fill the room, pushing all the oxygen out, because suddenly you can’t catch your breath. Suddenly, you understand why millions of ladies fall faint at his feet.

Surprised to see someone in his room, his eyes rake up your body from your toes to your little white nurse’s cap. You hold back a shiver as those famous bedroom eyes finally land on yours.

“Well, hello there, little bird.”

Little bird? You know you shouldn’t let it bother you, but the pet name rankles you in its familiarity. You’ve been called all manner of things by all manner of men, both in and out of this hospital, but this is a new one, and though certainly not the worst, it bothers you all the same. Perhaps it’s because he acts as though he is owed this familiarity and expects you to be grateful for it.

His lilting Southern drawl is creaky and hoarse from illness, making him a little less mystical, which allows you to quickly recover your wits. Trying not to show annoyance on your face, you straighten your posture while moving aside to let the orderly push Elvis into the room and help him onto the bed.

“Goodnight, sir,” you say politely, as pissing off this VIP will do you no favors, but your eyes harden at the way his gaze openly lingers on you. You attempt to skirt around him as quickly as possible, but the room, though private, is not large, and the wheelchair and the two men take up much of the space.

“Hey, little bird, wait!” he calls out before you even reach the door.

Stopping in your tracks, your infernal heart continues to pound in your ears. All you want is to get out of this suffocating room, but you inhale and turn around instead. The orderly gives a wink before sliding out of the room behind you. You resist the urge to huff.

“It’s Nurse Cannava, sir,” you say firmly, trying to take the edge out of your voice, albeit unsuccessfully. “Is there something I can help you with?”

That sly, signature grin spreads almost bashfully across his face and if you weren’t so perturbed by the suggestiveness of it, you might keel over from its brilliance filling the small space.

“Call me Elvis, little birdy,” he drawls, blatantly ignoring using your given name, as requested. “Could ya be so kind as to get me some water? Please?” he asks kindly, which is far more than you expect.

“Yes, certainly, sir,” you reply, equally ignoring his request to call him Elvis. You turn on your heel and escape as quickly as possible before he can ask any more of you.

A breath shudders through you once you’re out in the hallway. You hadn’t realized you were holding it. You are as bothered by this reaction as by the fact that you must get this man water and go back in there without showing him that you are in any way affected by the fact that he’s Elvis Presley or that his behavior has you decidedly on edge.

He’s a patient, you remind myself silently, and this is part of my job. A job I desperately need to keep if I want to get out of that nightmare of a house...

This thought steadies you more than anything. You’ll do almost anything to be in a position to permanently leave home and to do so without having to marry that mook Gianni. And hell, you’ve dealt with much worse in terms of patient behavior. Getting Elvis water is objectively the easiest thing you’ve had to do all shift.

You can’t seem to help straightening your starched white apron before taking a deep breath and marching back into the room, pitcher of water and a glass in hand.

“Here you are, sir,” you say, trying not to sound terse, trying not to look directly at him. It’s almost like the feeling that you shouldn’t be looking at the sun, yet your eyes want to do it anyway. Even without looking at him, you can sense his heavy gaze lingering over you. You blush involuntarily, the blooming warmth a betrayal of your modesty. In response, you place the pitcher and water down on the table near him and turn to flee as quickly as possible without making it seem like that’s what you are doing.

“Hey, now, little bird,” Elvis says, catching the hem of your skirt, halting your exit. “Why ya tryin’ to fly away so fast?”

“Oh Madone,” you mumble under your breath, your Italian heritage making an appearance as you roll your eyes to the heavens before turning back around and pulling the fabric from his long fingers. Heat washes over you in an angry wave, turning your blush a deeper shade of red.

“I have other patients to tend to, sir.” It’s not a lie but sure feels like one with the strained way it falls off your tongue. Your lips press into a thin line of a smile, desperately trying not to glare at him but catching his eyes with your unamused ones all the same.

“Elvis,” he corrects me, maddingly, that smirk playing on his lips, a playfulness in his glassy, feverish eyes. “And I was just wonderin’ if ya could pour me a cup, since it’s all the way over d’ere?”

The water is on the table right next to the bed, and he certainly looks able to pour it himself, and you both know it, but he just smiles, playing this infuriating game, wasting your time.

Finally, you sigh and relent. It’ll be faster to just do it than to try an argue about it. He’s a patient, after all.

You still feel his eyes on you as you turn sideways and dutifully pour the water out. His presence, especially when focused on you alone, feels incredibly overwhelming, mixing a healthy dose of trepidation in with your irritation. You keep your face as neutral as possible and hand over the glass.

What you don’t expect is for him to touch you, his fingers circling over yours, blazing hot from the fever he looks to have. You loathe the way your heart flips in your chest when he looks up at you through impossibly long, feathering lashes, those gemstone eyes of his expressive beyond imagining and conveying more than just playfulness.

“Thank you, little bird,” he whispers. The sound swirls up your spine, breaking through your annoyance just enough to see the blithe, handsome boyishness of him. It promises an unfamiliar temptation, one you’ve seen only in movies and never willingly and truthfully experienced for yourself. Your mouth goes bone dry.

He is dangerous, you think, but not because you are afraid of him in a physical sense (and lord knows you’ve feared too many men already in your short lifetime). No, his is a danger of an entirely different sort. He makes you want to trust him, and in your experience, men are never, ever to be trusted.

“Nurse Cannava! What are you doing in here?” Nurse Hunt’s shrill admonishment startles you out of the hypnotizing stare of the teen idol, causing you to jump back as though he was on fire. You let go of the glass, slipping your hands out of his, but he does the same, and the glass spills water all over the newly changed sheets before tumbling to the floor where it shatters with a crash.

The tinkling of the glass explodes in your head, and a latent and all-too-familiar fear associated with the sound freezes you to the spot. Try as you might, you cannot stop the involuntary trembling that rushes through your limbs. Air attempts to fill your lungs, but the breaths are too short and shallow to do any good. The wave of panic threatens to undo you, right here, in front of both your superior and the most famous man in the world.

It's just broken glass. I’m safe. I’m at work. He can’t hurt me here. The mantra plays in your head over and over as you clasp your shaking hands in front of you, trying to pull yourself together before anyone notices anything amiss.

“I told you to be quick and quiet, not go around cavorting with our patient!” Hunt hisses harshly, glowering, but it snaps you out of the trance-like state that has overtaken you.

Now, instead of fearing things that cannot hurt you here, you are suddenly afraid for your job. Nurse Hunt is a terrifying and formidable leader and being on her bad side means a world of hurt going forward. Your heart feels like a hummingbird’s, fueled by anger, embarrassment, and lingering panic. You resist the urge to give Elvis a scathing look, knowing it will likely just result in more trouble. Instead, you quickly raise your eyes and catch a strangely curious yet concerned look from the man.

“I-I’m s-so sorry, Head Nurse,” you finally stammer out, realizing she is waiting for you to say something. “I’ll clean that up right away.” You start for the bed but are stopped by the crunching glass beneath your practical white nurse’s shoes.

“Ma’am?” Elvis croaks out suddenly, gently, capturing the older woman’s attention. “I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t mean to be a bother, but it wasn’t the young lady’s fault at all. I asked her for the water. She was just doin’ her job, and I distracted her. It’s my fault.” His bedroom eyes widen with an almost childlike deference as he looks at her through those long lashes.

Elvis oozes an effusive charm that makes the formidable woman’s hardened veneer crack. It might not be obvious to one who doesn’t know her, but her gaze softens ever so slightly.

You almost want to roll your eyes and scoff, but the strange thing is that it doesn’t feel at all like a put-on. It first strikes you as some sort of malevolent manipulation, like he wants to impress you somehow by getting you out of the mess he got you into, but he seems nothing but honest. He looks truly sorry.

You stand stock still, hands still clasped in front of your apron, needing to know your fate before moving. Nurse Hunt finally sighs, having weighed her options of denying her VIP’s puppy dog eyes or making your life miserable.

“Alright, Mr. Presley. Nurse Cannava will help you move to that chair there so she can change your sheets again and clean up this mess,” she says through pursed lips. “And you let her be and do her job, you hear? You’re not the only patient on the ward, young man.”

“Of course, ma’am. I really am sorry about the mess,” he says softly, seriously, nodding.

“Quickly, Nurse!” Nurse Hunt barks. Picking your jaw off the ground, you hustle to the other side of the bed, still amazed he was able to soften the old goat in any way.

It’s not until your arm is around his waist while the other steadies him in a well-practiced and trained move that you realize that you are holding a barely clothed Elvis Presley. A brief but decidedly improper and embarrassing thought flirts in the back of your mind as you help him into the chair in the corner. His skin is hot with fever, easily felt where your skin touches his and it radiates through his thin hospital gown. It burns into you, through you, melding with the unnerving, angry fire that already consumes you. You can feel his eyes on you but don’t dare to look at him, not with Hunt watching, making sure you don’t drop the prize patient.

You suppose you are glad for the fact that your cheeks were already on fire from humiliation, so neither can see just how uncomfortable and ashamed you feel right now. The way emotions flash rapidly through you, you’re amazed you can concentrate at all, but you manage to deposit the singer in the chair, unscathed.

Nurse Hunt huffs a little, but seems satisfied, and takes her leave, on to the next crisis.

A relieved but shuddering breath releases from you and without looking at the man in the chair that has caused so much trouble tonight, you jump to removing the sheets you made so perfectly not minutes ago.

“Hey, little b—Nurse Cannava,” Elvis catches himself, “I-I-I meant what I said—I really am sorry I made things harder on ya.”

You refuse to look at him. Instead, you grit your teeth and yank the sheets off, furious. Storming out of the room, you quickly retrieve a new set of sheets and a broom and dustpan for the glass on the floor.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he mutters as you stomp back in the room, dutifully ignoring his presence. You busy yourself with the glass first, sweeping it into a pile, then bending over to sweep it into the dustpan. You realize too late that you’ve just effectively but unwittingly shown Elvis your rear end. You can practically hear the smirk on his face, which is confirmed once you flit your eyes over to him.

A new wave of heat flushes over your cheeks, but you pretend you don’t notice his leering. Nothing good has come tonight from you paying any sort of mind to what Elvis is doing. You go about your business as swiftly as possible, counting the seconds before you can remove yourself from his suffocating presence.

“You just gonna ignore me now, honey? Come on, I-I-I said I-I was sorry,” he stutters petulantly after another minute of silence.

Your response is to tug the sheets as tight as you can. You move around the other side, hating that your behind will be in his face while you finish the bed, but it can’t be helped. You grit your teeth and focus on smoothing the sheets instead of the hole Elvis is burning through your backside.

“Well, at least I got a nice view in the room…of the city, I mean,” he chuckles. The innuendo is crystal clear.

You whirl around and want to slap that stupid grin right off his pretty face. You’ve never felt so unprofessional or off the rails as you do with this man.

He’s a patient, he’s a patient, he’s a VIP patient, you remind yourself, trying to take calming breaths. But try as you might, you can’t seem to keep your damn mouth shut, that Italian temper flaring, boiling your blood.

“Eyes up!” you snap your fingers at him. “I have work to do and a job to keep, and talking with you only gets me in trouble, so leave me be!” Blood throbs in your ears as you attempt unsuccessfully to keep your fury at bay.

“Ooh, I heard New York cherries were feisty, but I hadn’t the occasion to see it for m’self,” he muses, thinking he’s just about the funniest thing since Lenny Bruce.

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” you mutter under your breath, fuming, turning around to finish the bed. Once it’s done, you breathe a sigh of relief and make to leave.

“Hey, little bird, you want an autograph or somethin’?” Elvis asks, still vying for your attention for whatever reason.

God, the ego on this one. “I don’t want anything from you.” You can’t help but turn towards him, even though you know you should leave as fast as your legs will carry you.

“Not a fan, huh? Bet I can change your mind,” he says, his left eyebrow quirking up suggestively. The man is as gorgeous as he is infuriating.

“I prefer Ricky Nelson, so no thanks,” you shoot back at him.

He fully laughs at that, a big, hiccupping, musical sound that under any other circumstance might be attractive and endearing, but now it just seeks to make you angrier. Your seething seems to amuse him all the more, however, as he erupts into more peals of laughter.

“You’re somethin’ else, lil’ bird,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. But his face suddenly turns alarmed as he can’t seem to catch his breath, the laughter turning into gasps.

“Elvis, enough of that. Let’s get you into bed.” Your training immediately overrides whatever negative feelings you might have towards the man. “Try to take slow, deep breaths,” you say calmly, crossing the room quickly.

His face turns red and panic starts to bloom in his darkening, churning eyes as he wheezes. You help him up and out of the chair, and he shudders, leaning all his weight on you. His breathing is too labored and he’s burning up, and you’re not sure he’ll make it the short way to the bed.

Indeed, the two of you only make it a single step before his long legs give way, and it’s all you can do to brace his tall, lean body and keep him from hitting the tile floor hard. Instead, you slide down together, and you make sure to cradle his head as he collapses.

You don’t panic. In fact, you are the calmest you’ve been since meeting the superstar because this you know you can handle. This is what you were born to do.

“We need some help in here!” you shout out to the ward before turning your attention back to Elvis, now sprawled on his back on the floor. You quickly grab the oxygen mask from his bedside and turn the nozzle to get the air flowing.

“Elvis, you’re going to be okay. I need you to try and breathe deep for me, as deep as you can,” you say, fitting the mask over his mouth. He coughs, struggling to get the air in his lungs. He seems in and out of consciousness, those panicked eyes of his now a stormy, glassy gray as they try to focus on you.

“That’s it, just breathe now,” you coo at him, taking his vitals. His pulse is too fast and thready. You give him a small smile, trying to keep him calm.

An orderly, a doctor, and another nurse rush in. You quickly rattle off numbers and facts regarding his respiratory distress.

“Let’s get him on the bed,” the doctor orders, and the four of you lift him on a count of three.

Elvis flails his hand, gripping your arm. It’s certainly not the first time a patient has grabbed you out of fear, but it is the first time you’ve ever felt a jolt of electricity running through you from it. Looking in his eyes, the terror you see there gives you pause.

He’s just a man, you think. A very frightened young man.

And he wants comfort. Care. So, despite wanting to throttle him earlier, you hold his hand. He clings to you as the team tries to stabilize him. Your touch seems to settle him a little, despite the way his eyes flutter and he still gasps for breath.  

You all manage to get him breathing better, but he won’t let go of you. He starts to panic again every time you try to move away, throwing his vitals into a tailspin. As weak as he may be, that strong guitar-playing hand of his has you in a vise-like grip. The doctor looks at you judgmentally, and you make it clear that you have no idea why this is happening, that you’d rather not be relegated to hand-holding duty. But since his vitals are better holding your hand, the doctor nods his okay.

Give the VIP patient what he needs, is the clear message.

Elvis stabilizes. The room clears, and you stand at his bedside, waiting for him to fall asleep, to relax, to release you—anything that will allow you to leave and get back to work and forget the last half an hour ever happened. His eyes are closed, but every time you try to slip away, he just pulls you back. You try not to sigh audibly, to let your frustration show. You are usually much more compassionate and professional, rarely letting patients get under your skin. But Elvis…well, he seems to bring out an unwanted side of your normally mild and shy self.

He’s not consciously trying to be bothersome like he was earlier; he’s much too scared and out of it for that, you reason.

And at least this is better than cleaning bedpans, you chuckle, finally deciding to sit on the edge of the bed and make yourself a little more comfortable. You take this somewhat surreal moment to really look at him.

He is truly beautiful. There is an almost angelic innocence about him with his pale skin and high cheekbones, the way his cheeks are somehow both full and soft, but his jaw chiseled at the same time. His lips are pillowy and full, though nearly colorless now due to the lack of oxygen. His hair gleams, a deep, golden chestnut—a far cry from the rebellious black locks he was known for at the height of his fame a few years ago. With his straight nose and fanning, long lashes, it seems as though he was carved in stone by the masters and brought to life somehow.

Your heart skips, quite involuntarily.

Of course, there are imperfections. He’s got a day’s worth of dark stubble growing and you can see places where his skin is mottled from what was probably youthful acne. The circles around his eyes are too dark and…

I am really reaching here, you think. No, you are quite at a loss because even his “imperfections” add to his beauty.

Okay, so objectively, he’s pretty—when he’s quiet and sleeping. It’s just when he opens his big mouth that he becomes less attractive. This reminder makes you feel better and less like a fawning teenager.

Finally, his hand relaxes, and you slip out of his grasp without him reaching for you. As if trying not to wake a sleeping baby, you very slowly and quietly raise yourself off the bed. But curiosity gets the better of you, halting your leave, and you quietly open his chart at the end of the bed.

Your eyes scan the pages quickly, widening, hardly containing your disbelief. They glance up at the unrealistically beautiful young man in the hospital bed. Though you barely know him, and what you do know of him has already driven you mad, you can’t help but feel a sense of sadness and dread.

It’s the thing all his bravado and beauty distracted you from.

Elvis Presley is a very, very ill man.

*

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#Broken Glass #💔🥂❤️‍🩹 #Broken Glass Ch 1 #elvis #elvis presley #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis 2022 #elvis movie #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis x oc #elvis presley x oc #austin!elvis presley x reader #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley imagine #elvis imagine #missmaywemeetagain #elvis 1960 #post army elvis

[pastelalleycat]

i was thinking of why wally darling sounds so nervous and upset in some of the whrp website audios, and i think i might have a theory.

in one of the secret audios, wally talks about how he has more eyes than he did before, but he still can't see, most likely referring to the amount of people who have seen the whrp's website and/or the large amount of fanart drawn of him. he's breathing heavily and clearly distressed.

in the talkshow audio, when the host shifts from barnaby and asks what wally thinks of all the newfound fame of welcome home, there's a pause before he replies with his signature catchphrase, but in a shaky, quiet voice, as all attention is fixated on him.

my working theory is that eye contact, for wally, works sort of like a telephone connection. when welcome home was running on tv, it allowed him to have a personal connection with the children he was talking to through the screen, a back-and-forth transmission of information between their hearts. like other famous children's television hosts, but not a parasocial relationship-- a literal, intimate link. drawings of wally may also allow him to have that connection to others, as mentioned earlier-- for example, perhaps a 70s child's crayon sketch of him would allow them to have playdates even after the credits roll for the day.

it's heavily implied that humans can talk to the welcome home puppets through the marlo telephone toy, and also that their words can echo through home. in this case, home would be a sort of signal tower for wally to connect with others.

there was an entire studio audience's worth of eyes on wally at the talkshow. this would normally be all well and good for wally to handle in the context of a structured television program, but so many connections opening all at once with no clear way to filter and channel the inputs in a non-interactable context is going to be very rough on him.

in the current day, without welcome home being on the air, and with the signal tower that is home being corrupted, wally's able to reach out to the whrp and us, but his efforts to connect to us are being blocked. it's a one-sided phone call in which we can hear him, he can feel we're there, but we can't talk to him, we can't link with him.

he teaches us how to draw an eye as he speaks so maybe, as he has our full attention, he can finally complete his connection with us. he begs for us to "let him in" (as creepy as it may sound to phrase that way) because that's all he knows, that's how he understands people, that's how he makes friends. he's disoriented, he's confused, he's stuck with the presence of at least five million eyes that can't let him in.

#welcome home #welcome home theory #welcome home speculation #wally darling #welcome home home #tw scopophobia. just in case. #mint's posts 💛 #mint's bangers

[paleopinesofficial]

Paleo Pines Gameplay FAQs

WARNING: Spoilers under the cut

How do I get more Poppin flavours? If you've only unlocked Crunchy, you can unlock the next one by either feeding a Styracosaurus a Crunchy or you can talk to Mari after completing the taming tutorial and entering/exiting the Plaza. After that, the next one comes after you enter Dapplewood for the first time and then Pippin will have a quest every day/few days or so.

Are there any future content plans for the game? There are no current plans for more content. At the moment, we're bug fixing but we will add some commonly requested features too! If the game does well, we'd LOVE to make more!

Making money is hard, what are some good ways to do so? Doing quests from the town board is a good way to make money if you don't need the rewards!

Later on, growing higher star crops can sell for a lot and can become consistent - especially berry bushes/trees as they don't require watering/constant care!

How do I get turnips? Sometimes they can be rewards from quests, but Granny will sell the seeds if your friendship is high enough.

How do I get strawberries? Corlan can sell them and Granny will sell the seeds if your friendship is high enough.

How do I get forest wood? In Dapplewood; - Regular wood logs: - Path near stegos - Woods near treeceratops - Area around Agami's

Forest wood logs: - Theri area - Anky area - Troodon pond when drained - Log at the megalo area

Single forest wood: - Centro area - Stego area - Back of Deinocheirus area - Near treeceratops - Megalo area - Troodon pond (drained)

Can I cancel quests/requests? For now, no.

Can I cut down trees on my ranch? Marlo is the only person who can cut down mature trees (since they're important to the people of Paleo Pines) but we never quite managed to get that into the game. It's on our big list of would-be-nice-to-add features.

How do I blur distant objects/make text larger/add high contrasting text/adjust field of view? These are all available in the settings menu!

How do I split stacks? Look in the help menu- there are a lot of tips on sprinting/stack splitting and other control-specific instructions! (For example, on Xbox hold RT and press Aand the stack will split, hold RT and the 'up' on the dpad will bring across one thing at a time)

What do small dinos do? Our small dinos are tenders and discoverers!

For their discovery abilities, simply use your flute to ask them to follow you and go out in the wild- they will find wild collectables and signal to you that they've found something! (Plus all dinos love going for walks)

Tender abilities are unlockable by talking to a special NPC (Avery) in Pebble Plaza in Jurassos! Once you do quests for him, he'll give you some tools to help your smaller friends farm!

How do you get a sleeping patch to make a dreamstone? It's the other way around - sleeping patches are made by upgrading dreamstones, which you find hidden around the wilds. Marlo has an option to downgrade a sleeping patch back into a dreamstone in case you change your mind about which type you wanted, but most players won't need to use that.

How do I get a dino to trust me enough to be a helper? There are multiple ways to raise the happiness of a dino enough so they'll be a helper. It will take a few days before it is enough.

Make sure to feed the dino a treat they like Feed the dino their favourite poppin Take the dino on a walk to the zone they came from Pet their nose, Play their friend song, Keep their pen clean, Make sure their pen is the biome it likes, Try to match their social type- Make sure the dino has enough penmates (different kinds of dinos can share a pen as long as they like the same food!) Make sure they have enough food!

Remember: Some Dinos can take a while to become your helper- as long as you're consistent and checking on them, you'll be on the right track! But not all dinos will become helpers in 2-3 days! How do I change the biome of a pen? Either by changing 2 dreamstones to a biome or by placing at least 3 of a decor type inside the pen!

How do I know what kind of Biome my dino wants? If you use your journal on them, usually it will say what kind they want!

How do I take my dino for a walk? Yoohoo the dino with your flute, then ask it to follow you and then walk to wherever you want to go! You can have three dinosaurs follow you at any one time (or 4 if you count one as your steed).

What does social type mean? It's the amount of Dinos in one pen. Loner type dinos only want to be by themselves. Pack dinos like to be in a pen with 2 to 3 other dinos. Herd dinos want lots of friends, preferably 3+!

I have lots of herd dinos in a pen but it says the pen is too small! You can check the journal for a dinos minimum preferred space, each dino wants that amount of space so if you have 3 dinos who want 20 minimum space, then your pen should be 60 minimum. You can open your journal by the gate to see how big your pen is!

What kind of Poppin/Treat does X dino like? Check out paleo.gg! It looks great and has a lot of information on each dino, including their favourite flavours of treat/Poppin!

How many dreamstones are there? There are enough dreamstones for one of each of every dino plus a handful more- in exact, there will be 45 Dreamstones. You can swap large dreamstones for small dreamstones (and vice versa) from Archeo Pelago in Ariacotta Canyon

Where are the tablet fragments?

A map of all the fragments can be found on our discord.

What's the last Veridian Dino?

It is a Parasaurolophus

'I can't find Owynn's missing pages'

There is one in the bushes near the rope bridge

There is one on the hill where Owynn and Mari’s fight happened

For the third, you have to befriend a coelophysis and bring your new friend to Mari!

Paleo.GG- Paleo Pines Guide

Sisquinanamook/Skudde's Pen Planner

Sisquinanamook's Database: covers multiple sets of information + happiness calculator

Sisquinanamook's Tips & Tricks game guide doc: the how-tos and little details!

Skudde: dino colors and patterns

Skudde/Jynn's infographic - dino and dreamstone location map

Skuddle: Crop Chart Guide

Jynn’s video- Paleo Pines - Beginner's Tips, Tricks, and Guide TIMESTAMPS: Changed spawns, going over befriending 2:35, Gaining Trust 4:18 (there is an echo here for about a minute but the audio is clear enough), Quests 7:40, 8:30 Crops + Crop Rotation, Journal 10:00, Moving Dinos to the Wild 10:30

MelissaVerse’s video BEGINNING TOP TIPS FOR PALEO PINES TIMESTAMPS: Dino Skills 2:00, Farming 2:28, 3:45 Journal incl. All their stuff about dino and pen types and crops etc, Inventory 7:00, Exploring and collecting 8:00, Flute & befriending 10:49, Still says the dino needs a pen 13:29, Decorating 13:47

#paleo pines #paleopines #indie games #faq #gameplay faq

[siremasterlawrence]

The Inheritance: The Isle Of My Dreams

Ken Jack Wilson Thomason Marlo is the one owner of this isle that I have fully inherited in a surprise death of a relative that I have no idea even existed.

Unfortunately for him my arrival on a small boat that sailed onto the shore landing on a quaint sandy beach and planted my feet in it for security.

Ken happens to be walking on the beach as he passes me I rummage to find my keys to his shock I place it upward in to sky the sun light flashes on it.

The light strikes him in an instant moment of time hitting his eye sight he caught my mind eyes he stops turning to face me I begin to shake the keys.

The sun light burst even brighter in the wind the sound of the keys howling loudly catch his ears he spun his ears to the side needing to hear the sound of the keys.

He tries to take a step sticking in to the hot weight of the sand every step he attempts provides even more weight as he sinks in to the ground disappearing.

The sand rolls swiftly like a volcano of ashes covering his body entirely till all that is left up to see is his head lost in a trance he can’t look away.

I approach him knelt down next to him I cup my hands grabbing his chin firmly I yank it ever so closely swiftly I turn it to the side to side.

I lean in to him slowly playing with his chin as I kiss him slowly wrapping his arms over me as we make out a bit feeling him fall in to me.

I wave my hand to the side letting it falls to the waste side overwhelmingly consuming control over his body as he pulls himself up by the roots.

Climbing up to the surface of the sand he is now up in a mindless obedient state ready to obey my every command as if he has any choice in the matter.

Snapping my fingers again his clothes strip into rolls of ribbon falling off of him into the sand and unable to uncomprehending that he is now a mere puppet.

I smack his cheek kissing him once more as his cock sprang up rising to be flat straight poking in to my body as we make out in a crazy haze.

He is swooning giving in to me as he wakes up to see the key in my hand and he is now suddenly remembering that he is an owned property.

He kneels to my feet taking my hand as we make out a bit with a small kiss he admits he succumbs to me with utter love, lust and desire.

Mathew James Bailey is his younger son but I sent Ken to the Hotel to begin process of my take over by instituting all of the many varied changes.

Mathew James is a hottie laying almost half way stark naked on the beach the sunlight shines over his wash board abs for all to see as he smirks at all the beach goers.

People are gawking at him in rows of them all aligning at the beach he fully spread up for the entirety he is so fine I think with a smile.

“Hey Mathew James right?”

“Do I know you need?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your in my way “

“Am I blocking the sun?”

“Yes freak”

“Focus on the keys “

“Stare into the light”

“They key is sparkling”

He is about to please me in ways I definitely he can imagine I began to shake the keys in the air but the keys emitting a strange cold sound.

The sound instantly distract him as his body shook the sand beginning to cover him as he falls under the in a pit of regret, complex and failure.

“You are mine”

you are Sam right” I ask approaching the young man.

“Back off “ he says taking a swing at me in the face and I caught his hand.

“Release me at once.” He swears yelling at me in anger.

“Hell no! I am in control from this moment on.”

“Dad help!”

“He can’t hear you”

“DAD!”

“I said shut the fuck up”

“Yes sir”

“Much better “

“I hope you can appreciate it”

“What?”

“My presence “

“I am inevitable “

“You mind fucked me this whole time”

The end

#fantasy to life #nick pickard #Matthew James-Bailey #Owen Warner #Inheritance #financial #mind control #hypnosis #reprogramming #slave doll #android.

[sparrowmoth]

hi there! i know you're not much of a descendants blog right now, but i was wondering if you could recommend me some fics that look into the magic on the isle? specifically the barrier and not being able to die on the isle - i remember reading some really cool fics about that a while ago, but haven't been able to find them since. no worries if you don't want to answer this, and thanks!

Hi Anon! No worries at all, I'm never not going to be a Descendants blog, so you're always welcome to ask me about stuff like this! <3 And indeed, I'm sure I can think of some fics to rec you! Been a while since I read a couple of the ones that come to mind, though, so let me do some digging through my AO3 bookmarks...

Strawberry Split Lip (Rotten OT4)

till death do us part (Jaylos)

Maybe together we can get somewhere (Jaylos)

Redemption (Multi-ship)*

*This one's incomplete at 31 chaps and hasn't been updated in 2+ years, so fair warning. It's been a long time since I read it and I can't really remember much except that dragon!Mal rescues Carlos at one point, which I thought was fun as hell, so I'mma rec it 'cause the plot has to do with the barrier (not "no death" though, I don't think).

And finally, there's the two I've written myself, which are...

Written in the Scars (Marlos-centric, Rotten OT4)

Red Days, Blue Nights (Carvie)

Hmmm, I'm sure there's more fics out there about this stuff, but the way people tag for it is pretty inconsistent so I might be forgetting some things. Descendants fam, did I miss any fics? If y'all have recs for Anon, please feel free to reblog or comment with links! <3

#anonymous #<3 #descendants #descendants fanfiction #descendants fandom #fic recs #jaylos #rotten OT4 #I hope that helps Anon! <3 #the ask box

[teakookssi]

Before I Leave You [Eren/Levi x Reader FF]

[ curated playlist ][ full story can be found here or here ]

[Overview & prologue]

➺ pairing: levi ackerman/eren jeager x fem!reader 

➺content: mafia au, crime, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, angst, lol so much angst

➺warnings: SHIT. IS. DARK. YO. violence, blood, strong language, guns/weapons, and illegal activities are all mentioned but hey, that’s attack on titan for you, so if you can handle that, you can handle this (: 

chapter 5: the worst kind of monsters

You stand leaning against the black metal railing of your home’s rooftop, alone, a lit cigarette in between your fingers. Above you, the sky bleeds a crimson red and orange as day gives way into night. You look out over the smog-infested city, to the bustling streets below.

Children are scurrying back home as shops begin to close for the day. Men and women of all ages cross through the unpaved roads as they return back from work, sidestepping out of the way every once in a while to let a random member of the aristocracy drive on by in their rumbling automobiles.

Before your father came into power, the Founding Sector had been nothing more than a rundown, underdeveloped, pathetic excuse of a city. The ones in power were the only ones who ever knew what it was like to live comfortably. Slaves to their greed, they fed off the weak like ravenous vultures, all the while the people of the Founding Sector grew ever the more weak and powerless.

Your father—forced to grow up under such a corrupt and broken system — learned from a very early age how the world worked.

And the world belonged to the strong.

You were either the one in control or the one being controlled.

It was for this reason your father, a mere young working class man with nothing to his name save his wit and desire to succeed, refused to submit to the unfavorable hand he had been dealt with.

You draw your cigarette to your lips and exhale, your sharp eyes easily locating your father’s legally owned businesses and properties across the city like landmarks. You think of the illicit activities taking place from within most of them and your eyes narrow.

You will not deny there are days when you are sick with guilt. Sick with death. When your mind aches for solace and peace even though every drop of blood you’ve ever spilled screams you do not deserve it. But then you gaze out into the powerful city your cunningly ambitious father has managed to rule over through violence and fear and intimidation, and you're reminded of why the line between right and wrong does not exist for people like you.

You never asked for this life.

Neither did your father, or Levi, or Mikasa, or any of them. But the world has never apologized for forcing you all to walk down this dark and weary road, so why should you?

The strong devoured the weak.

That was the twisted reality. So your father found a way for this rigged bureaucracy to serve him instead. If that meant crime was to continue running rampant across all Sectors of Paradis, than so be it. At least he would be the one in control now.

And you…

You were to make sure it stayed that way.

Eventually, the streets below begin to clear out and the clanging of construction and manufacturing companies begins to die down as street lamps and late business signs flicker to life across the Founding Sector.

Meaningful footsteps sound behind you moments later. You don’t need to turn around to know they belong to Mikasa.

“The appointment you requested with the journalist has been scheduled for eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” she informs you, coming to stand beside you to look out over the city.

You flick the burnt ashes from your cigarette with a tap of your ring finger, letting the wind catch them in its midst, before taking another smoke. “You sent the invitation under my father’s name as I instructed?”

Mikasa nods. “Will he need to be taken care of?”

The corner of your lip curls. “Not yet.”

Based off what you wrote in your invitation, Marlo Freudenberg, a journalist for Paradis Times, thinks he is meeting with your father tomorrow morning in his office, Ymir & Co., for a brief one-on-one interview, which is why he responded so quickly. Your father is not one to entertain the prying questions of many journalists, after all.

But if Marlo thinks you haven't already figured out what his true intentions really are, he's more of an amateur than you originally thought.

You put out your cigarette against the metal rail of the rooftop. “Erwin’s little spies are hard to come by,” you say almost playfully. “I’d like to have a proper chat with this one first before we're forced to part ways.”

You turn on your heels and commence to make your way down the rooftop to the stairs leading to the balcony on the third floor. Mikasa shadows behind you until you reach the hallway on the first floor leading to the kitchen where she thinks you will join them for dinner.

The freshly rich aroma that welcomes you as you pass by the dining room on your way to the front door stirs your appetite. You manage to catch a glimpse of Niccolo, your home chef, watch with expectant eyes as Sasha and Connie bite into his exquisite looking meals with great enthusiasm and appreciation. Jean and Historia, seated beside them, are the only ones who notice you walk by.

You’re almost to the front door when Historia calls after you. “Anya? Aren’t you staying for dinner?”

A glimpse over your shoulder tells you she’s popped her head out of the dining room, along with Mikasa and Jean.

“I need to check on something,” you mutter reluctantly.

“You haven’t eaten anything since this morning,” Mikasa points out almost accusingly.

“I’m fine. I won’t be long. I’ll be just around the corner.”

Mikasa begins to stride over towards you with the full intention of chaining you to the dining table if that’s what it took to get you to sit down and eat.

“It’s fine.” Jean steps in her path, a hand in the air to get her to stop. “I’ll go with her. I’ll make sure she eats something at one of the pubs.”

“I’ll go too,” Historia offers, leaving the dining room to reach for her coat.

“Maybe we should all go,” Connie suggests reluctantly, not wanting to leave his precious meal behind so soon. “Last time she was alone with Jean she nearly died and Levi almost had our heads.”

Jean’s face flushes as he turns on him angrily. “And what the hell were you doing? Stuffing yourself with food like a damn useless boar?”

“Huh?!” Connie exclaims indignantly.

You roll your eyes and head out the door as they continue their bickering, not willing to wait for them to come to an arrangement.

The moment you step out, however, you inwardly grimace at your timing.

Eren is walking up the porch to the townhouse next door, where Levi’s men are stationed, key in hand and ready to head inside. Levi had insisted his people be the ones to keep an eye on him, since no one trusted him enough to have him anywhere near you, let alone living under the same roof.

A swift glimpse in Eren’s direction confirms he’s just arrived from your father’s office. He carries a leather suitcase in hand and wears a dark grey tailored suit that helps him fit the role you’ve assigned him well.

You test your luck and walk forward into the streets, needing to head past him in order to get to the alley behind The Red Rose — your destination for tonight — but your presence doesn’t go unnoticed by him. The second he recognizes you, his face lights up and he begins to walk towards you.

“Anya!” He waves at you thinking that might get your attention, but you blatantly ignore him, not wanting to peer into those doe-like eyes of his if you could help it.

This doesn’t seem to derail him though. He's close enough now you catch him from your peripheral vision as he extends a hand out to try and reach out to you.

“Oi!” Jean quickly appears beside you, roughly shoving Eren back before he can touch you.

You don’t miss a step in your stride as you leave Jean to deal with Eren, but you can still hear Jean loud and clear behind you, pointing a threatening finger at Eren’s chest.

“Try going anywhere near her again,” Jean growls, “and I’ll have you wishing she had never spared your life at all.”

“Jean!” Historia chides, stepping in to steer him away from Eren and back in your direction. “He only wanted to say hello. You don’t have to be so hostile with him all the time.”

Jean lets out a grumble of disagreement before they both fall into step beside you, failing to notice the amused glimmer in your eye.

There is no denying how much Jean despises Eren. Whether it’s because he doesn’t trust him or because Eren had bruised his ego by saving you in his place from your encounter with Floch, Jean was looking for any kind of excuse to get his hands on Eren. To prove to you he needed to be gotten ridden of. And it was killing him that despite Levi’s objection, you were still adamant on keeping Eren close — to you, to your circle, and now to the inner workings of Ymir & Co.

Or at least that’s what it looks like to him.

You glimpse over your shoulder to Historia, an assistant to one of your father’s legal advisors, and the one you assigned to oversee Eren’s work at your father's company.

“Has he settled in well?” you ask her casually, not needing to mention Eren’s name for her to know you were talking about him.

Eren’s current position there was to serve as your father’s administrative assistant — a temporary role you wanted him to perform to help determine if he was fit for the actual position you had in mind for him.

It’s been over a few weeks now since you first made his acquaintance, and you find it rather suspicious that in all that time, not once has he attempted to leave town. You’ve allowed him to walk the streets of your city freely, without any threat of your people tailing after him. He could have used any moment to make his escape. And yet, at the end of the day, the boy still kept coming back.

You don’t spare Eren a second glance as you continue down the street for the same reason Historia is looking at him over her shoulder with a sympathetic look in her eye. Given Eren’s unexplainable attachment to you, he’s probably standing in the middle of the road watching you leave the way a puppy looks when their master leaves them behind. Confused and hurt, but still loyally waiting for their return.

Historia turns her head forward again. She nods beside you. “You were right about him. He’s clever as he is charming. He’s already interacted with some of your father’s usual clients, and there’s no denying he's got a way with people.”

Jean scoffs, not at all impressed, but Historia ignores him. Her softhearted sapphire eyes are pinned on you. “He’s been asking for you.”

But your face remains indifferent. “I’m flattered.”

She frowns. “Anya—”

You throw her a warning look and she lowers her gaze, dropping the subject.

You make one quick stop at the fish market, ignoring the odd looks Jean and Historia give each other when you ask for any leftover tuna or sardines from today, before heading to the Red Rose.

As the pub appears within your line of sight, Jean goes ahead and stops in front of the entrance where many of your father’s men are already stationed so he can inform them of your presence. Ever since the attempt on your life, your father has doubled the amount of men in your area to help patrol town. Unfortunately, that means any chance for Erwin to make any more bold appearances grow all the more slim.

When you confronted Hannes about why he'd failed to mention to you Erwin’s little surprise visits to the pub, he claimed it was because of how difficult it was to keep track of the amount of people that go in and out of the pub ever day. If Eren had spotted him, it had been because ever since Hannes had hired him, Hannes had spent less and less time out front serving drinks for him to notice.

To some degree, you believed him. If only because you knew that nowadays, he was always passed out, drunk, somewhere in the back.

“Oi!” Jean calls after you when he sees you walk past the entrance of Red Rose. “Where are you going?”

You turn the corner into the narrow alleyway behind the pub where you spotted the little furball a few weeks ago.

“Anya, what is it?” Historia asks, peering into the dark alley behind you.

You raise a finger to your lips to silence her and signal for her to stay back as you see her begin to follow you, but Historia refuses.

“I’m not letting you walk into a dark alleyway on your own,” she hisses behind you.

Jean’s footsteps stop short beside Historia. “What is she doing?”

You tear open the small newspaper-wrapped package you’ve been carrying in your hand from the fish market and pull out a sardine.

Trash bags rustle on the floor near a dumpster to your left and when you crouch down, a pair of eyes flash in the dark.

You hum in delight. “There you are.”

You toss the small piece of fish a few feet in front of you to lure the kit out. It had taken shelter under a stack of cardboard boxes, but the moment it caught the scent of food it slowly made its way out.

It’s black fur blended well against the darkness of the alley. If it weren’t for its bright, glowing eyes you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint where it was.

Just a few weeks ago you’d seen a female cat with her young litter foraging for food around the back of the pub. They must have relocated soon after because you never saw them again, but being the runt in the litter, this last one must have been left behind. It couldn’t have been any older than three weeks old when you first heard its mewling on your way back from the pub.

Out of curiosity, you’d gone in search of the noise and came across the little black thing stumbling its way around the alleyway looking for food.

For a while you just stood there and watched as it struggled.

You knew that without the mother to fend for it, it was not going to survive on its own. It looked so small and frail in comparison to its surroundings, so helpless, you were reminded of that day as a kid when your mother was taken from you. When you too learned what it was like to be afraid and powerless. But like all things born of this world with a will to live, you learned how to survive. Instead of being afraid, you became something to fear. And if this little thing wished to live despite its unfavorable circumstances, it would learn this too.

You would give it a week before deciding if it possessed the strength and determination necessary to live and survive on its own. You had no interest in weaklings, and if this one didn’t fit your requirements, you would find another that did.

Assessing it up closely now, you’re impressed by how nicely it has grown in size since you last saw it. It has to be at least five weeks old, which means it’s much more curiously aware of its surroundings than before, and within seconds, it devours the piece of sardine you've offered it.

It meows at you for another and starts to approach you cautiously, sniffing out the rest of the fish you carry in your hand.

But then Jean steps forward too abruptly and startles it, having peered over your shoulder to check what you were doing.

“A flea-infested stray?” he asks incredulously beside you. “That’s what we came here for?”

The kitten hisses at him in warning. Jean has stepped far too closely than the kit is comfortable with. It’s back is arched towards him with its hairs raised and its ears flattened backward on its head—pupils dilated.

You smile approvingly at the kitten's reaction. In the short time its lived out on the streets, its learned to be distrustful of humans — and much rightfully so. Humans are the worst.

As you were about to prove it.

Dropping another piece of sardine in front of you to warrant its attention, you take advantage while it’s distracted to reach for its scruff.

“Don’t touch it!” Jean scolds you, pulling your hand back. “It's feral. It’s probably got rabies.”

The cat mistakes Jean’s quick hand movement as a threat and scratches him across the hand with its sharp claws with enough ferocity to draw blood. Jean curses and pulls his hand back as you raise your eyebrows in surprise.

Historia stifles a giggle. “It doesn’t seem to like you very much, Jean.”

“Vicious little thing, aren’t you?” you muse as it resumes munching on the last scraps of raw fish on the floor when it feels Jean no longer poses a threat to him.

Before it has time to finish it, however, you snatch it by the scruff before it can fight back and you rise to your feet with it. It hangs helplessly in your hand with its paws out in front of him. You tap its pink nose. “We’re going to get along just nicely.”

You hand the leftover fish to Historia despite your new companion’s meows of protest. But it's already associated your scent now with food so it believes you’ll provide him with more if it behaves and waits a little longer.

Jean and Historia follow after you as you begin to head back home, but Jean has his scratched hand cupped in his other hand with a sulking face. “You better have a good reason as to why you're bringing that bloody thing home with us.”

You pet the mangy fur of the creature in your arms mindlessly. It looks to you and meows before it starts purring at your touch, comforted by the scent of fish in your hands. As you pass under a lamppost, you notice the cat’s eyes are bright and green, like fresh blades of grass.

“There’s a very special person I’d like to befriend at the park,” you tell Jean and Historia. “He's very fond of these furballs.” You raise the black cat to your eye level, noticing it's still very small for his age given his entire body fits in the palm of your hand. “My walks to the park will prove most promising with this one in my pocket.”

—

The following morning Connie drives you over to Ymir & Co. in a sleek black automobile, gifted to you by your father now that you were enforcing business meetings further out into the city more frequently.

Mikasa sits in the front passenger's seat next to Connie while you sit in the back of the car, gazing impassively outside your window with an elbow propped up against the door frame. Outside, the people of the Founding Sector scurry about, rushing to get to work and start their day. They’re familiar with the type of vehicles you and your family own, so when they recognize your car drive past them, they nod towards your car respectfully before continuing on their way.

Ymir & Co. is located in the heart of the city, and it’s where your father handles the legal side of business. You drive past one of your father’s warehouses a few blocks from your townhouse, where his men are most likely finalizing the last preparations necessary to ship out the manufactured commodities over to Marley as agreed upon, along with various misplaced military weapons hidden in the cargo.

If anyone were to discover these weapons had been sent over to aid enemy nations, like that of Marley, when Paradis was on the brink of war with them for wanting to extract Paradis of its natural resources, the ones responsible would be found guilty of treason and imprisoned for life, if not sentenced to death.

You look to the east of town, where the Founding Sector’s canal networks currently send illicit goods into the heart of the city, per the requests of many powerful lords and elected officials, who await for them with open arms and pockets full of money.

There was a time when you used to look down on them all for their unscrupulous ways. As a child, you would often hear of their appalling demands and just the mere sight of them afterwards sickened you to your stomach. But after your childhood became overrun with death and violence, you grew numb to humanity’s sinful nature. You came to realize there was no use changing it. Your father understood this better than anyone. The intricate web of criminal activity he was able to form in the underworld, embedded so deep in the Founding Sector only those within his circle knew just how deep it truly lied, proves it.

Such was his network of clients — corrupted to the core, requesting all kinds of services ranging from the legal to the illegal, and willing to pay good money in exchange for the guaranteed promise of delivery — that made this business so profitable. But your father also had a reputation to uphold as CEO of a highly successful car manufacturing company. And to continue holding onto that respectable power and status, all legal matters needed to come first.

Which is where Eren would come in.

Your father needed a spokesman. Someone to represent him whenever he couldn’t attend a certain business meeting for Ymir &Co., or whenever he needed someone to simply whisper in his ear the names of people he encountered at charity events or other important social gatherings so as to appear interested and involved.

Ymir had originally wanted it to be you. So he could show you off proudly as his one and only heir. But your father had raised his taste in business partners. He was now keeping senators, diplomats, leaders of entire countries, for company — people whose presence required you to play civil.

And you were never one for diplomacy.

To keep the bridges your father had built with his new affluential clients, your father needed someone tailored to their liking. Someone with a welcoming face and charming personality, capable of striking a deal with them because he knew how to put on a fake smile and make it look genuine. Someone docile and patient, who didn’t appear like a threat and could follow their social rules and etiquette until he had them letting down their guard enough to attack.

Eren checked all these boxes perfectly, and as Historia mentioned earlier, was doing so already.

When you brought this up to your father, you assured him that he lost nothing with using him. Eren would only ever be informed of the legal parts of business. He would have no access to the records or dealings that your father partook in outside of the law because all incriminating evidence was stored outside of that office. In a room that only you, your father, and Levi had access to. And after showing your father Eren’s identification papers, along with a photo of him, he could not deny you that he fit the part well. All Eren needed was to prove whether he had the skills necessary to take on such a task.

The boy also seemed to be willing to do anything to please you, and you would have mentioned this to your father — to assure him of your confidence in this plan — but after the way Eren saw you kill another man in cold blood without hesitation, you weren’t so sure.

Armin would have been an alternatively ideal and safe choice after you, if his name hadn’t already been marked and linked to the underworld. The majority of your cadre’s identities, actually, had already been defaced in some shape or form before coming to you.

But it did not matter; you needed Armin down in the Colossal Sector more.

The day you had been targeted, he had been in the area on business. Once he knew you were out of danger, he returned back to the Colossal Sector without a moments waste, despite having left it in safe hands. Bertholdt’s clan may have bent the knee to House Ymir, but tensions still ran high between families, and only Armin was capable of keeping them all in check. He was wickedly clever. He knew what made people tick, which made it easy for him to find people’s weaknesses and manipulate them to your advantage. A skillset of his you valued greatly.

Ten or so minutes later, you arrive at the red-bricked building where Ymir & Co.’s business partners frequent and where your father’s prestigious looking office is located.

You make your way up the staircase with Connie and Mikasa behind you, passing through the open glass doors and richly warm colored hues of the main parlor.

Not bothering with the receptionist at the front desk, you walk right past her and take the elevator up to the last floor where your father’s office as CEO is located. Mikasa and Connie join you inside. When you arrive at the top floor, Connie stays behind and stations himself beside the elevator’s sliding black gates while you and Mikasa head down the end of the hallway to your father’s office.

A metal sign with your father’s name on it and the word CEO underneath is framed on the wall beside a dark cherry wooden door. You open it and find Eren sitting behind a desk to your right. Historia stands over his shoulder, in the middle of explaining something to him.

At the sight of you, Eren stands up so suddenly, the chair behind him nearly tips over. He was not expecting you to make an appearance at the office and it’s caught him by surprise.

“Anya,” he says in a daze, as if not quite believing you’re standing in front of him.

Historia clears her throat. “You’re early,” she notes, beginning to move towards you so as to draw your attention away from Eren’s reaction. “Have you had breakfast? I can order you something to eat—”

“I won’t be staying long,” you reply, already half way across the reception’s area. “Send him in when he arrives.”

From your peripherals you catch Eren attempt to follow you, but Historia rests a hand on his shoulder and manages to keep him seated at his desk.

You turn the corner to the right and walk through the open door of your father’s office where you’re immediately welcomed with the smell of expensive leather, fine wood, and burnt cigarettes. The blinds are drawn, with only a small sliver of golden sunlight to seep through, but there’s something about this dim lighting that makes you feel powerful the second you walk in; you feel right at home.

Ymir’s desk is made of rich, dark wood and is sparsely populated by writing tools, a telephone, a cigarette tray, and two tall lamps. One on each side to provide him light during the late hours of the night. Behind his desk is a wooden shelf with a small collection of decorative books and trinkets on display, and to his right is a metal filing cabinet pushed up against the wall. Beside it, a little farther to the left, is a small table where he keeps some fine bottles of scotch and bourbon, a pair of drinking glasses, and some fresh ice that Historia must have recently set up for you.

You take a seat on your father’s black leather padded chair behind his desk as Mikasa closes the door behind her. She faces you, her jaw set, and you sigh, bracing yourself. You cannot avoid this conversation with her any longer.

“Go on then, Mikasa. Out with it.”

Mikasa crosses her arms across her chest and rests her back against the wall beside the door. “Levi is right. You can’t keep collecting any more of these strays. One of these days they’re going to betray you.”

You shrug, nonplussed. “If the cat remains feral, we can always toss it back out.”

She throws you a deathly glare and you try not to smirk. You know she is referring to Eren, but she’s so easy to rattle you enjoy teasing her when you can.

“You think keeping him confined within these walls is going to shield him from the things that go on outside this office?” she questions. “He knows who you are. He’s aware of your father’s reputation. The longer you keep him at your side, the higher chance he has of finding something to use against you —against your father.”

You meet Mikasa’s troubled gaze with steady eyes. “His sole purpose is to serve as the face of this company. Nothing more.” Eren may have an inkling about the kind of activities you and your family are involved with outside of Ymir & Co., but he cannot begin to comprehend the exact kind of business that entails. And he never will.

Mikasa raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest. “Right. But does he know that?”

You roll your eyes, a look of distaste on your face at her underlying meaning. “Whatever perfect vision he has of me will shatter soon enough, if it hasn’t already.”

Mikasa frowns. “That’s the problem.” She begins to cut across the room towards you. “He knows you’re spoken for. He’s got a good sense of what you do for a living — I mean, you killed a man in front of him. A police officer, at that. All things that would have any normal person running, yet he refuses to stay away.” She shakes her head with open annoyance. “You should see the way his eyes light up whenever you walk into the room.”

You prop your elbow against the arm rest of your father’s chair and rest your chin on your fist. Mikasa’s suspicions mirror your own so you surprise her by not dismissing her concerns as you usually do. Jean is also very much against Eren’s presence. Mostly because they cannot be assured of Eren’s true intentions with you, and you have too many enemies on your back for Eren not to raise mistrust amongst your inner circle…

You flick a subtle gaze over to Mikasa at the thought of the rest of your cadre.

Mikasa, Armin, Jean, Sasha, Connie, Historia — all loyal to you because you had saved them all from a fate worse than death. When the world turned its back on them, you gave them a second chance at life — even if it that life was one of crime. The fact that you went out of your way for them, risked your own life and your own people to save them, is what ultimately won you their undying loyalty. They would die before letting anything happen to you.

Except…Eren is not like all your other strays.

You cadre had all suffered. They had known pain before coming to you. Eren had not. And that’s what has your team worried. They are all well acquainted with the darkest parts of humanity, and thus understand why you do what you do, but Eren never will. The second he finds out what you are truly capable of, he will not hesitate to turn to the law and make you pay your dues.

A knock sounds at your father’s door and your attention cuts to Historia as she opens the door to let herself in. But a hint of sadness envelops you at the sight of her. The softness in her eyes and inviting aura she radiates with her charm is the most deceiving part about her; it’s also what makes her the most dangerous.

If you didn’t know any better you would think she’s lived a carefree, happy life, alongside a family who loves her and wishes only the best for her.

But, you do know her.

You know the kind of life she’s lived. Of the grotesque filth you tried wiping off her golden hair and skin the night you set her free from her captors. But no amount of water or soap could remove the amount of scars traced across her body, and it’s that gentleness in her demeanor she carries with her always that catches you off guard. Because you are incapable of smiling the way she can.

As if everything was all right in the world.

As if she wasn’t terribly broken inside.

It always made you wonder if Historia would behave any differently — less pleasant, more angry, more real — if you had been able to save the brunette as well. But Historia never spoke of the girl with the freckled face, who had looked after her protectively inside the brothel. The selfless girl who died helping Historia get away — to you.

“The journalist from Paradis Times is here,” Historia announces, snapping your attention back into place.

She steps aside to signal the journalist to come in and you amuse yourself by the look of confusion that quickly settles across his features at the sight of you sitting in your father’s chair. At Mikasa standing to your right.

“Mr. Marlo Freudenberg,” you announce in that deceptively inviting tone of yours, leaning back in your father’s leather chair to give Erwin’s little spy a once over. “You have no idea how much I’ve been dying to meet you.”

Marlo Freudenberg was a tall young man with a diamond-shaped face, black bowl-cut hair, a beaklike nose, and dark brown eyes. He carries a dark grey coat in his arm and a brown leather suitcase where you assume he stores all his notebook and pens to take notes. He glances over nervously to Historia and Mikasa as they begin to take their leave.

“I was…I was told I would be meeting with Mr. Ymir today,” he stumbles out.

“Right.“ You offer him a wicked side grin as Mikasa closes the door shut behind her. “About that…”

Marlo might have thought —or perhaps had it been Erwin?—that by setting up a meeting with your father at his company’s office, under the watchful eye of the public, Ymir would never risk acting out on a threat so openly. That by being in his office with so many potential, respectable witnesses, his safety was guaranteed. So the fact you’re here instead changes things significantly.

He seems well aware of how wild and unpredictable you are, and the danger of being left alone in a closed room with you based on the way his eyes flicker over to the door warily.

Reaching into the inner pocket of you coat for your pack of cigarettes, you take your time lighting one up, enjoying the fear and uneasiness you evoke in him as he watches your every move, not knowing what you’ll do next. You finally lean back in your chair and put your feet up on the desk, blowing the first smoke upwards.

“You're not the first journalist to request a meeting with my father and get denied,” you begin most calmly. “Inquiries after inquires he receives. Every day.” You give the cigarette in your hand a light tap and let the ash fall on a tray nearby. “Your very own list of questions might have gotten lost amongst the rest if I hadn’t come across them first.” You flick your gaze up at him, an undertone of danger in your voice. “And your questions have garnered my attention, Mr. Freudenberg.”

You nod to the chair across your father's desk. “Have a seat.”

Marlo swallows at your command, throwing the door behind him one final look, before gingerly taking a seat at the chair you’ve indicated. He’s realized that Mikasa is probably waiting outside the door and that there is no way out for him until you allow there to be.

“I’ve read your articles, Mr. Freudenberg,” you continue coolly while he loosens his tie with unsteady fingers. “You consider yourself an honorable man, willing to stand up against corruption. You wish to empower your readers to do the same. To not be afraid of those in power and bring about change.”

You blow out a last line of smoke from your cigarette before putting it out. “I commend you. I really do. It takes a lot of courage to play the hero.” You let out a heavy sigh before getting out of your chair to circle around the desk. “If only you weren’t trying so hard to dig into my father’s past.”

Marlo’s jaw clenches as you lean against your father’s desk in front of him, hearing the threat in your words, but his eyes remain leveled to the empty chair where you’d been sitting. His voice, unyielding. “The people of this city deserve to know about the kind of leaders who represent them.”

“My father is nothing but a small, working class man who made his fortune by working hard,” you correct him, an edge to your voice. “Do not write him off as the villain Erwin Smith is trying to sell him as.”

His stoic expression falters for a brief second. “Erwin Smith? I don’t understand. What does the Chief of Police have to do —”

You laugh mockingly. “Oh, but Erwin Smith has everything to do with this, my friend! He hired you to tear my father’s image apart, did he not?” You swiftly reach into the pocket of his coat and pull out the voice recorder Marlo had intended to use to record your father during his interview. You’d seen him subtly reach for it when he first walked in, and you turn if off with a click. “To use any means necessary to gather your evidence so you can release it to the media. He risked your life by setting up your meeting with my father here, and yet you still chose to walk in here willingly.”

You step away to fix yourself a drink from your father’s bottle of scotch. You serve one for Marlo as well before heading back to him with both drinks in hand.

“Tell me,” you say curiously, holding out his drink to him, which he takes somewhat mindlessly. “What inspirational speech did he give you for you to give up your life for him so easily? Did he share with you his vision of the world? Free of evil and corruption?” You read his tense posture and smirk as you take a drink from your glass. “He made you believe you were important, didn’t he? That despite the danger, what you would accomplish here”— you gesture to the space between you and him — “would be for the greater good. And if you died, it would be an honorable death. That your life’s sacrifice was a step towards the betterment of mankind.”

His refusal to look at you tells you you’re right.

“He does not care for you, Mr. Freudenberg. You are all just pieces of pawns for him to use in his grand scheme of things.” You take another sip of your drink. “Which is most unfortunate, really. Your noble, white knight has ruined more lives than you will ever know. And for what?” Your voice drips with venom. “All his life he’s been chasing after a pipe dream, and deluded others to do the same.” You shake your head. “This whole world, this society,” you say emphatically, circling your hand in the air you nearly spill your drink, “is founded on corruption. You cannot change it.” You narrow your eyes at Marlo in warning. “If you do not accept this, you will die for nothing, as will the people of this city — your readers.”

Marlo’s grip on the drink in his hand has his knuckles turning deathly white, that you wonder if he’ll break the glass. “You wish for me to turn a blind eye to everything wrong in the world?” he asks, voice strained. “Like some spineless coward?” He finally meets your gaze. “No. My heart will not allow it. I cannot live in such a world.” He firmly places his drink on your father’s desk. “I refuse.”

You study the deep resolve in his eyes closely before lowering your gaze with lament. “All I’ve said,” you mutter quietly, “and you still think he’s on the side of the angels. Is it because he’s offered you money to pay for your daughter’s treatment?”

Marlo’s face pales. “What — What are you talking about?”

You give him a pointed look. “Come on now, Mr. Freudenberg. I make it my business to know things — just like you. And I not only know what Erwin Smith hired you for, but I also know of your family. Your wife — Hitch, was it?” You place your cup of glass on top of some books by your father’s desk to pull out a dainty golden locket from the pocket of your coat. “And your only child, Freya, who is terribly ill.”

You let the locket fall out of your hand, using its golden necklace to dangle it in front of him.

A noteworthy gift from Sasha, you had to admit, considering she had nicked it from his daughter’s room while her mother bathed her. Inside the locket is a mini portrait of five-year-old Freya being held in Hitch’s arms with Marlo standing behind her. Engraved in the back with fancy letters was Freya’s name.

Marlo’s eyes widen at the sight of it in your hands and he lunges for it, but you pull it back out of reach before he can take it. “Uh, uh, uh. Not so fast.”

Despite how Marlo stands looming over you, you are not at all threatened by him. You wave a hand for him to back away and he obeys you. Reluctantly, but without protest. With the way his wide eyes are full of dread at the thought of you hurting his family, he’s at your complete mercy.

“Please,” he begins to say, “don’t—”

You raise a finger to silence him and his mouth clamps shut as you force him to wait.

“Here is my offer, Mr. Freudenberg: I will pay for your daughter’s medical expenses and I will make it that you and your family live a safe, and comfortable life.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Do not give me an answer just yet. Think it over first. Think of your daughter. If you die, do you really think Erwin will keep his word and look after her? You cannot deny the gamble Erwin took with you. The chances of you succeeding here were slim. By giving you this job, he knew he was most likely sending you to die.”

Marlo frowns, looking hesitant, and you watch as the seed of doubt you’ve planted begins to grow.

“This is what he does, Marlo,” you insist with brows knitted in concern. “He sends people to their deaths. Do not give him the power to do with you what he wills as he’s done with so many others.”

He slowly sinks back down into his chair, an expression of defeat woven in his features.

“If you insist on sparking change and influencing the mind of the people,” you go on, unable to hone down the malice in your voice, “you will only be leading them straight to their deaths. And you will be no better than him: a monster.”

This doesn’t seem to sit well with Marlo, however, and you sense the change in him almost immediately. “I fail to see how wanting the best for humanity makes you a monster,” he says through gritted teeth, glaring up at you.

Your expression hardens as you catch the heroic ardor in his eyes. He’s made you aware of his decision without even realizing it and you can’t help your disappointment.

You break eye contact with him to reach back for your drink and throw the last of it down your throat before going over to place the cup face down on the table with the rest of your father’s drinks. “The worst kind of monsters are those who don’t think they’re monsters.”

Marlo’s own drink, which he’d left untouched on your father’s desk, is in your other hand. You give it a swirl.

“You have twenty four hours to collect whatever research you have managed to get your hands on for this story and deliver it all to me,” you say with finality. “You betray me, you submit any of your work for publishing, and I come for you instead.”

He takes this as his cue to leave and numbly makes his way to the door while you down his drink in one go.

“And something you should know about me, Mr. Freudenberg,” you forewarn behind him as you place the empty cup face down next to your other one.

Marlo stops halfway to the door and turns to you. The familiar look of resentment you rouse in your enemies settling well over his features. You toss his daughter’s necklace for him to catch.

“I always keep my word.”

—

Moments later, Eren catches you in the hallway as you try to leave your father’s office.

“Anya!” you hear him call behind you. “Wait!”

Mikasa stands a few feet ahead of you, eyes fixed on Eren from over your shoulder as you hear him approach you.

He’d skittered out of his desk the second you walked past him in the reception’s area, and with no sign of Historia there to stop him, he did not hesitate to chase after you.

“Anya!”

Your nails dig into the palm of your hands as he keeps calling your name, frustrated at his inability to take a hint. Ignoring him was clearly getting you nowhere, so you stop short in the middle of the hallway, most unwillingly, your back to him. When Eren realizes he has your attention, his footsteps come to a halt a few feet behind you.

“Why are you avoiding me?” he asks quietly, almost petulantly. “You spared my life that day, but ever since then you won’t even look at me.”

You scoff dismissively and resume your leave, hating that Mikasa was right about his undying attachment for you, but the boy is deeply wounded and unwilling to hide it.

“Do you regret saving me that much?” you hear him muster out behind you, his voice pained, as if afraid to hear the answer.

His words stop you dead in your tracks.

“Saving you?”

You let out a sharp laugh, turning to face him.

“What makes you think I saved you?”

His bright green eyes are visibly hurt as he looks to you from across the hall, but your piercing gaze remains cold and dangerous as you stride towards him.

Eren watches you wearily as you come to stand in front of him. He manages to hold his ground, but your disdain is written all over your face he struggles from flinching away.

“You exist because I allow it,” you snarl at him, inches from his face, “and you will die when I demand it.”

You turn on your heels and leave, not needing a response from him, but you’re left with a bitter taste in your mouth, as if you’ve swallowed down poison. But you refuse to take the antidote; refuse to let doubt cloud your judgment.

You storm out of there before the crushed look and anguish on Eren’s face remains permanently branded across your mind, and before the guilt, of knowing just how much you’re bound to ruin him, starts to catch up to you.

—

Later that evening Sasha knocks at your bedroom door. You’re lying on your stomach in bed with your elbows propped on the mattress and your chin in the palm of your hands, watching as your little black alley cat frolics around on the floor in front of you.

“Did you retrieve it?” you ask Sasha as she makes her way inside.

She places a manila envelope beside you on the bed. The article about your father Marlo had tried to deliver to the presses despite your warning, tucked safely inside.

“Any problems?”

She shrugs. “Nothing I couldn’t handle it.”

You let out a heavy sigh, hating that the journalist had to go on and be so predictable, because now you had to drag yourself out of bed and pay him a visit all the way across the city, when all you wanted to do tonight was catch up on your sleep.

It was tiring, always being right.

After your meeting with Marlo, you’d sent Sasha to monitor the Paradis Times building for any signs of him while you had Connie tail him the second he left your father’s office.

Leaving your bed, you retrieve your weapons from your bedside table and begin to strap them to their respective places across your person.

It was truly a pity about Marlo.

You’d tried to warn him about Erwin, but that hard look in his eyes at the end of your meeting with him told you Erwin’s scrupulous ideals were already planted in him too deeply. There was nothing you could say that would change his mind.

Even when you’d offered him the money for his daughter’s treatment, you knew he wasn’t going to accept it. Not when he knew where that kind of money came from.

Swiping the manila envelope from your bed, you begin to open it as you make your way out the door, your four-legged creature following behind you like a small shadow. It hurries on past you and disappears somewhere downstairs, probably in the direction of the kitchen where it hopes Niccolo will feed it some scraps before dinner.

“I could have spared you the trouble of doing it yourself,” Sasha says, coming up beside you as you head down the stairs while you skim through the article Marlo had risked his life to send to the presses. “I had eyes on him from above the whole time he was there. I could have taken him out at any moment before he sneaked out from the back and drove off. If he’s got any brains, he’ll be trying to make a run for it right about now.”

But you disagree.

When you had asked Sasha to keep tabs on the Paradis Times building, you’d done so with the assumption that Erwin had provided Marlo with some form of protection for him and his family, since he knew what would happen once it became known he had gone against your wishes. Connie had followed Marlo all the way to his home and only confirmed this for you when he’d returned to report the number of coppers stationed at every corner of his home. Whatever trouble Sasha had come across in her interception of the article had come from Erwin’s men, who had been patrolling the area from your people so as to assure Marlo’s success.

You’d asked Sasha to maintain secrecy and act as quickly as possible so as to avoid any unwanted attention since she’d be working out in broad daylight. You trusted her skillsets to get the job done so you had her act alone, not wanting any more of your people in the area than necessary. It’s why you’d had her keep Marlo alive — to make him and Erwin think he had succeeded — all the while Sasha would swoop in moments later to infiltrate the place with as much discretion as possible, and locate Marlo’s article to replace it with a fake one.

“Erwin promised Marlo security,” you explain to Sasha, ripping the article in half, “and Marlo trusts him too much to think the coppers stationed at his home will be enough to stop me.”

Sasha hears the slyness in your voice and it finally dawns on her. “You know this is a trap,” she states matter-of-factly, not at all surprised that you’re once again running into danger head on. “They’re expecting an attack from us.”

“They’re expecting an attack from my father,” you correct her. “But in Erwin’s pathetic attempt to draw him out, he’s failed to anticipate the extra chess piece on the playing board.”

You.

“Your father has plans for Erwin,” Sasha reminds you gently. “He’s told you not to interact with him until the time is ready. Is Ymir even aware of your meeting with the journalist today? Is Levi?”

You slide her a knowing look that answers her question. “I’ve waited long enough, Sasha. Don’t you think?”

Your stealthiest of spies exhales sharply through her nostrils in disapproval. You smile back at her wickedly. “Relax, love. There will be no encounters with Erwin tonight. Though, I expect him to be watching. His obsession with my father means he’s got tabs on him everywhere, waiting for him to make a wrong move. But by doing so he’s invited me to come out and play.” Your smile lights up like a loaded gun. “And I want to show him just how well I play the rules of the game.”

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you head into the main living room where the nearest fireplace is located. Pulling out your lighter you feed the ripped pages of the article to the candle-like flame and throw it into the hearth to let its ashes collect inside. The article contained nothing that could implicate your father legally. Everything Marlo had brought up, Ymir had been cleared of years ago. But despite Marlo being unable to collect any new hard evidence that could stir open a new investigation against your father, his mention of these past allegations was enough for people’s suspicions over his questionable background to resurface amongst his new business partners. And that was not the kind of attention your father needed, or deserved.

The sound of a car engine draws near and moments later you hear the front door open.

You turn towards it and Mikasa appears in the doorway, layered in all black, much like you and Sasha.

“The car’s ready,” she informs you. “The rest of your team has already left and will meet us there. They’ve been instructed to wait until you give the signal.”

You lead Sasha and Mikasa to the front door. Opening it, you find your car and another modestly luxurious car parked outside in front of the house. Connie sits in the driver’s seat of the car behind yours while Jean leans against the side of your car with a cigarette pressed to his lips, patiently waiting for you.

It had been decided that Jean and Mikasa would accompany you in your car, while Sasha and Connie would take the spare.

You begin to climb down the stairs of the front porch when you catch sight of two running figures a small distance away.

“Eren, wait!” you hear one of them call out.

You quickly recognize them as Historia and Eren, but the way they’re racing towards you has your cadre on alert. Mikasa immediately steps in front of you protectively, not allowing you to take another step further, while Jean stands ready for them at the bottom of the stairs by your car.

Both Historia and Eren look completely disheveled and appear to be returning from the office despite their work attire reflecting their current indecorous state. There is no mistaking Historia is chasing after Eren, trying desperately to catch up to him and get him to stop. But Eren has a great lead over her and covering a lot of ground, fast. He makes it to you in no time, but Jean is there waiting for him and intercepts him before he can make it up the stairs. You inwardly wince as Eren collides into him.

“No!” Eren protests, struggling in Jean’s hold. “Anya!” The horror in his face takes you by surprise as he looks up to you with pleading eyes. “You can’t do this! Please! Call it off!

“Oi!” Jean hisses at him angrily as he struggles to hold Eren in place. “Calm down!”

“He has a family!” Eren cries out to you. “The reporter, Marlo —”

Your cadre all tense around you at his mention of the journalist, eyeing you for your reaction, but your face remains void of emotion.

“— I spoke with him when he came asking for your father a few days ago. He’s a good man!”

Historia finally reaches you and collapses on her knees before you. “Forgive me, Anya,” she says in between breaths, head bowed in shame. “He must have overheard my conversation with Jean earlier today. I should have been more careful, but he must have connected the dots on his own. I tried to stop him the second he figured out about tonight, but he’s faster than I anticipated.”

You tsk, and shift your eyes to Eren, annoyed. Why was this boy proving so damn uncontrollable? He was supposed to remain ignorant and far, far away from all this bloody business of yours, dammit. Why was he trying to meddle his way into this life of crime when his chances of surviving it were nonexistent?

“I don’t have time for this right now.” You sidestep Mikasa and resume your way down the stairs to your car. “I’ll deal with you both later,” you say as you walk past Historia and Eren.

“No! Anya!“ Eren grits his teeth as he struggles against Jean’s grip. “His daughter,” he pleads to you desperately. “She’s sick. She needs him!”

You pause mid-step. Rather surprised and mildly impressed by how he got that piece of information out of the journalist by simply striking up a conversation with him when Sasha had to follow him all day, and from afar, to collect that same intel.

Your face, however, remains blank, distant, as you resume and open the back door of your car. “Then he should have thought of her before dipping his toes in business that does not concern him.”

Before you step inside, you glance at Historia over your shoulder with evaluating eyes. Levi was out of town with Isabel and Furlan so you couldn’t rely on them to keep an eye on Eren for you while you and your cadre were away.

”Can I trust you to keep him in check,” you ask Historia none too kindly, “or is he going to run off on you again?”

Historia registers you’re talking to her and she stands at attention. “It won’t happen again,” she assures you firmly. “You can trust me.”

You give Jean a subtle nod before stepping in the car and directing your next order to Historia, gesturing to Eren. “Get him out of here. He’s causing a bloody scene.”

You shut the door and seconds later hear Jean knock the air out of Eren. You don’t need to look out your window to know Eren is on the ground, doubled over in pain.

You rest your head against your seat and close your eyes, impatiently waiting for Jean to get in to start the car so you could leave this moment behind. The look of horror and desperation on Eren’s face at your callousness is seared across your mind and you can’t shake it off. It was far too similar to the way you had once looked upon your tormentors from that day. When they’d rid you of your innocence and filled your heart, your soul, with so much darkness, the girl you were before was left buried ten feet underground.

Perhaps this is why you can’t bare having Eren anywhere near you. Because you knew that for as long as he remained within close proximity of you, you were chipping away at his innocence the way they had done away with yours.

It makes you hate yourself just a little bit more, knowing you were turning into the same monsters you’d vowed to destroy.

But then you think of what your father once told you, and your inner demons still once more. “There are two kinds of people in this world,” your father had said. “Those who live on the side of the world who have never been touched by darkness, and those who were raised in darkness.”

And you, Anya Ymir, belonged to the darkness, residing alongside the monsters and devils that reigned within it until you’d learned to make it feel like home.

As a child these creatures had threatened to devour you, sensing the softness still nestled within you. But now they recognized you as one of their own — a monster in human form. If you had any chance at retribution, your wretched soul could not waver. Could not forget: your mother’s killers had been monsters too.

A slam of a door closing snaps your eyes open. Jean has finally made his way inside your car and jabs the keys into the ignition, turning it on. Behind you, Connie’s vehicle also roars to life. Connie and Sasha leave first and Jean follows behind them seconds later, leaving Historia behind with Eren still bent over on the floor at her feet.

You draw out the revolver from your holster and pop the barrel open. Taking out the bullet with Marlo’s name from your coat, you exchange it for one of your regular bullets.

It takes a monster to destroy a monster, you remind yourself, locking the barrel back in place with a hard click. And you intend to be the deadliest.

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi x you #levi ackerman x you #levi x reader #captain levi #levi aot #levi attack on titan #snk levi #levi x y/n #snk reader #aot fanfiction #aot x you #snk fanfiction #attack on titan #levi angst #levi x reader angst #aot #aot x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan x reader #eren jeager #eren yeager #eren x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager x y/n #eren jeager x you #eren x you #shingeki no kyojin

[bracketsoffear]

Heck: Where the Bad Kids Go (Dale E. Basye) "WHEN MILTON AND Marlo Fauster die in a marshmallow bear explosion, they get sent straight to Heck, an otherworldly reform school. Milton can understand why his kleptomaniac sister is here, but Milton is—or was—a model citizen. Has a mistake been made? Not according to Bea 'Elsa' Bubb, the Principal of Darkness. She doesn't make mistakes. She personally sees to it that Heck—whether it be home-ec class with Lizzie Borden, ethics with Richard Nixon, or gym with Blackbeard the Pirate—is especially, well, heckish for the Fausters. Will Milton and Marlo find a way to escape? Or are they stuck here for all eternity, or until they turn 18, whichever comes first?"

Dante's Inferno, for kids!

I Shall Wear Midnight (Terry Pratchett) "It starts with whispers.

Then someone picks up a stone.

Finally, the fires begin.

When people turn on witches, the innocents suffer. . .

Tiffany Aching has spent years studying with senior witches, and now she is on her own. As the witch of the Chalk, she performs the bits of witchcraft that aren't sparkly, aren't fun, don't involve any kind of wand, and that people seldom ever hear about: She does the unglamorous work of caring for the needy.

But someone or something is igniting fear, inculcating dark thoughts and angry murmurs against witches. Aided by her tiny blue allies, the Wee Free Men, Tiffany must find the source of this unrest and defeat the evil at its root before it takes her life. Because if Tiffany falls, the whole Chalk falls with her."

#desolation poll #the desolation #poll #the magnus archives #leitner tournament #heck #dale e basye #i shall wear midnight #discworld #terry pratchett

[whxre4hange]

the most disturbing deaths in aot

manga spoilers below! u hav been warned!

honestly, all of the deaths in aot were horrifying in their own way, but in this post, im just gonna brain-puke my thoughts about all of the most terrible deaths (in my opinion)

carla

eaten alive by her husband’s ex wife 

covered her own mouth so her son wouldn’t hear her weeping for him to come back so she wouldn’t have to die alone ):

also connie’s mother (as a pure titan) recognised connie enough to say “welcome home”

so u cant tell me dina didn’t know who carla was....

>:(

mike

the guy is usually so strong, composed, everything a leader should be

and he was screaming like a child when being eaten alive

it freaked me out 

nanaba

similar to mike, a survey corps veteran who was eaten alive

screaming for her father to stop the whole time, indicating some kind of trauma

broke my heart into a million pieces

her death was pretty much forgotten but it stuck with me

marco

and even at the end of the manga

i couldn’t forget the ‘disposable’ character who still had an impact years after his death

he was so fkn innocent and sweet

he wasn’t even angry

he just wanted to talk things out ): 

faye

a literal child who just wanted to see the air ships

torn apart by fucking dogs

i can’t comprehend how people can do that kind of awful stuff

especially to a CHILD

as someone who has a sibling that age

idk it really just

yeah

isabel

again, a literal child, who had no idea what she’d gotten into

brutally killed, still believing that levi would come and save her 

farlan

and farlan, who refused to run even when he knew he’d die a gruesome death

who waved farewell to levi, a slight smile of acceptance gracing his face

ymir

who willingly went to marley, knowing she’d die, to save historia 

who died knowing that she’d never get to marry the love of her life

she was so full of a drive to survive

but in the scene where she was chained up to die

she just looked broken 

marlo

and all of those soldiers that charged headon into certain death

who thought of hitch just before he died

she was thinking of you too; worrying about a man who would never return

hannes

who was so wracked by grief and regret that he charged the smiling titan just to avenge Carla

he mightve had a chance to survive, but he got so caught up in avenging carla (e.g. torturing the titan instead of going for the kill because of all of the trauma she caused eren and mikasa), he didn’t

who closed his eyes as he died 

he had a good redemption arc but still ):

and all of those survey corps soldiers who died, screaming in fear, pain and anguish. theres too many to name here, but yeah

okay back to crying now! would love to hear your thoughts in the comments :)

#aot #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk #hannes #aot sad #farlan #isobel aot #levi aot #aot imagines #armin aot #aot fandom #aot death #ymir #historia #nanaba #marco bodt fluff #marco aot

[fromriches-tosin]

I really love the parallels between Jean and Levi that you mentioned, about how the two of them care way too much about their comrades. Like how Levi was telling Erwin that "it wasn't worth all the lives lost just to discover the truth" while Erwin was saying it was, and then after the attack on Marley, Floch and the others were celebrating the victory but all Jean could think of was the casualities they had.

continuation of this

It's even more interesting when we take into consideration the fact that Armin and Jean were initially intended to be one character.

Their future development is pretty much summarized during this scene. Armin's continuous attempts at trying to understand Erwin's motivations, and prioritizing the mission's outcome vs. Jean's outrage at the idea of an empty death – or any death, in general, no matter the goal.

Armin follows into Erwin's footsteps and in a way takes his place in the narrative. Jean becomes close to Levi because of their shared concern for others. Levi is of course much more composed than him — able to hide his heartbreak and continue with the mission as expected — whereas Jean tends to break down and cry.

One of my favorite Levi scenes is the one from season 1 when Dieter disregards the orders and goes back for Ivan's body. When the Titans attack, and the Scouts have to leave all of their dead behind, you can expect Levi to snap. He sees Petra's body get trampled again, and you know he is extremely hurt, but... he doesn't go after Dieter. He doesn't even reprimand him. Instead, he gives him the logo from Ivan's jacket. Why? Because he understands how Dieter feels. He knows why Dieter did what he did.

This is exactly the same level of empathy Jean displays when saving Reiner – both in Shiganshina (after Reiner has just tried to kill him), and during the final battle (when Jean already knows Reiner is the one responsible for Marco's death). I often joke that Jean is Levi's favorite Scout, but I honestly do think that he is. Levi knows they are the same when it comes to valuing other people's lives. And there is nothing else Levi respects more.

Levi is not angry (irritated, maybe) when Jean initially refuses to kill the members of Kenny's Squad and almost gets killed himself. Even when Jean openly admits that he thought Levi's orders were wrong, Levi knows where Jean is coming from. That's why he later allows him to deal with Marlo and Hitch. Levi trusts Jean's judgment because it's so similar to his own.

After his near-death experience, Jean's trust in Levi becomes absolute. He receives the same confusing guidance Eren did in S1 ("I'm not telling you what's right or wrong, I have no way of knowing what is the right choice"), but he understands what Levi means. Jean listens to his heart and does what is needed to save the people he cares about.

#thanks for the ask ✨ #reijean #reiner x jean #veecanons

[tadpoledyke]

Had another dream about Marlo. Like for fucks sake why does this keep happening. I don't think I've ever had dreams about exes like this.

Funny though cause in this dream I was the one who had dumped her first? Maybe cause that's how o wish it had gone. I wish I said I like you but I want to wait before I commit, rather than just jumping in unprepared. I wish I dumped her over the fact that she wanted to romance shadowheart in BG3. (Petty and kind of hilarious)

Maybe I just want that power. Rather than the way she came over the night of an event I had been waiting months for. And said we need to talk after. And I said just tell me now and joked "I mean you're not breaking up with me are you"

And she was silent.

She tells me why she can't do this anymore, despite the last year being the best of her life. Despite me being a person and loves so much and will always love.

I tell her how people I've ever dated has come to me insecure and come out of it confident. And then dumped me.

My Spotify shuffle decides to play your best American girl by Mitski. Like my life is a fucking TV show. Couldn't have picked a more appropriate song for the first white person I fell in love with.

Anyway idk what this fucking post is anymore

#div yells into the void

[levmada]

HELLO, thank you for disecting Levi’s character and the whole manga, i really REALLY *REALLY* like your analysis🧎, and for the aot ask game, 4, 6, 11 and 15: did you have any theories or ideas of where the titans came from or why Eren could shift? I’m sorry if I’m repeating this question on multiple blogs, i just find it very interesting to see what theories other people came up with jsjsjsjs

4: Who is/are your least favorite character(s) and why?

hitch.

and

yelena.

i hate them i despise them. they were written too well (/hj) and so i can't help but hate them as PEOPLE does that make sense.

hitch just reminds me of every mean bitch i knew in school. i get what her character means symbolically but GOD i just can’t stand how petty and up her own ass she is.

and yelena is. the way she is. vindictive, sadistic, painfully delusional, cocky, annoying.

i can understand every other character’s motivations and/or just fall in love with them but not them (and also don’t like them as people).

….i dont like freckles ymir … for the not liking her as a person thing. i like her development and everything, but she’s such a cocky asshole who has no business shitting on those around her.

(opinion that’s my opinion)

6. Most heart-wrenching death?

answered :D

11. Favorite minor character?

aot has so many characters with influences in the plot that it’s hard to say who’s minor🥲so i’m going to say marlo. such a sweet boy :(( he started in the military police and WANTED to actually FIX it???? brass balls as levi would say. then he DOES join the sc and he proves to be charming and a little naive but full of heart then

HE FUCKING DIES. so brutally too.

i don’t just like him, i like the tragedy of the character. it’s the prime example of the role erwin has played that gives him the reason he hates himself so much. i love it that’s all

15: did you have any theories or ideas of where the titans came from or why Eren could shift?

i’m assuming you mean before the basement????

yes i thought (-partly based on the s2 intro with the animals-) titans were basically predatory animals that had evolved from ppl????? but grisha had something to do with eren’s transformation as a doctor/scientist guy.

he wanted to bring about the most powerful form of the human race BUT in a way that the human would retain intelligence n shit which resulted in eren.

oh and the beast titan was like . the king of the titans(💀) who naturally evolved to have human intelligence Somehow and that’s why RBA wanted to bring eren back to him/it.

alt theory: AOT doesn’t take place on earth, but grisha WAS from earth and the basement had his SPACESHIP. he came from earth with others to study the fauna and found titans.

thru artificial insemination and cryogenic freezing or something over thousands of years he cultivated humans behind the walls(💀).

but some of his crew or one of his crew survived which was the beast titan and that’s why RBA wanted to capture eren.

(unhinged idk why i was like this)

#thank you for your ask :DDD any time every time i’m happy to dissect levi’s character :333 #aot #attack on titan #kore

[distopea]

how did/do you pick the colored border of your different muses icons? is it just ~vibes~ or are they symbolic

@royaletiquette

Ouh good one here! Actually all the colors are based on the own representation of their temper somehow and how I feel about them? I'll try to explain it, I hope it will make sense.

Angelyne, #5b788a

Shade of coin colors between blue and grey, a lonely match for her lonely character. Not truly one without being the other, like she's not truly a woman without being a witch. A certain softness, but her color is also a profound sign of nostalgia, a print of the past as well.

Astra, #f8c951

A cold canary yellow representing the shy glow he has, and the mention of stars and suns, for his name, Astra. Made of cold gold, cold yellow, to match his behaviors and the fact he's a distant character who doesn't shine too bright.

Gabriele, #d3442f

Blood orange, a colorful and vivid character with a strong and intense presence. Tainted with shades of red for conquest and violence, boldness as well, Gabriele yet has tamed his nature without being able to repress it fully. He's noticeable in many ways and fills the room with his aura.

Gambit, #878d7f

Grey with hints of a fading green, almost dirty. It doesn't translate much about his temper, because most of the time, Gambit is perceived as bland and harmless, unnoticed. It represents his neutrality towards the world and how they see him, but it also shows the hidden sickness, the morally grey area he evolves in.

Jovan, #7c3d00

Soft wooden colors, gentle and warm, just like Jovan can be. He's a soft individual, close from the nature, with an oozing gentleness than can't be denied. Hints of strength, and mostly, far from being cold.

Mads, #282d4e

The deepness of his temper, his sorrow, his guilt, his loneliness, intense, oppressive, like a pit of nostalgia. Mads went through a lot, changes his temper through his experience, becoming distant and profound in many ways.

Marlo, #b4978b

The color of clay, the shaper and the artist in many ways. Marlo shapes his own history, his own design, his own perception of the world. Clay between his fingers because extravagant or dull, he's an everlasting line between many mysteries and world.

Mika, #d69146

A fading orange, the color of the optimistic, generous and bold character. Fading, because his relentless efforts for normality are affecting his daily life. Behind the orange hides the blue, the very same deepness of his brother Mads.

Oliver, #adf5c7

Mint, for the color of freshness, creativity and open-mindedness. A raging river of freedom running coldly through the world, bright and soft at the same time. Mint as green, for the color of fear and cowardice. For the lost eagerness.

Requiem, #926c68

A color between flesh and blood, between beige and red. A neutral trace that doesn't show much about his behavior nor his temper, like he wouldn't show in his every day either. The epitome of a certain quietness, associated with coldness.

Vex, #6e1b35

Another vibrant color for a vibrant personality. Fushia stands for his boldness, his self-assurance and confidence. Atypical and vivid, Vex can't be unseen and doesn't leave a neutral print on people. Fushia, like the favorite color he uses to taint his hair as well.

Zeffy, #835393

Lilac for her intuitiveness and her smartness, the color of fearless invidivual. She's the half way between recklessness and spirituality, with a vibrant taint that echoes with her temper.

Zodiac, #7a2322

Crimson, like the untamed and raging anger that lives inside of him. Passion, strength, boldness, Zodiac's temper is splashing against everything and everyone. Like a raging bull running in the arena, he's a walking fire, raw and powerful, burning in many ways.

#; royaletiquette #⌇playing all the aces on the table ( 𝙈𝙚𝙢𝙚 ) #⌇welcome to the circus! ( 𝘼𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 ) #⌇until the ink goes dry ( 𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙋𝙤𝙨𝙩 ) #; it took me some time doing that but 😤 yes their colors have a meaning! #; it's my little brain going wild over details though gfsduy #cw: long post

[peace-coast-island]

Diary of a Junebug

The beginning of a weary dreamer regaining control of their life

There’s just something about this time of the year when a lot of people consider making big changes in their lives, especially if they already spent a lot of time thinking about it. Sometimes you just need a sign to give you that extra push to take action. And sometimes it’s like an aha moment where you just wake up one morning and suddenly everything’s crystal clear. Either way, change happens whether you like it or not.

That said, I’m not the one who’s looking to make any big changes in my life right now. Everything’s going well for me and I have no reason to fix something if it ain’t broke. Of course, I’m open to improving myself and stepping out of my comfort zone, but really, it’s the little things I’m more into right now. Maybe that’ll change later on, but for now I’ve found a rhythm and pace in my life that’s well suited for me so I intend to stick with it. Not everything you strive for has to be big and ambitious - stability is an option too.

Before coming home, we spent some time visiting Marlo, Don, and Mindy, Marlo’s friend from college who’s visiting. Mindy was an aspiring fashion designer who dabbled in theater, which was how they met. I think the last time I saw Mindy was at Marlo’s college graduation, which was a long time ago. A lot has changed for her since then, and not entirely in a good way.

Marlo said that instead of staying in New York like she originally planned, Mindy went to stay with her mother in the UK and take a gap year. It wasn’t until years later when Mindy realized she made a mistake that would eventually cause her to lose trust in her parents, probably forever considering how things turned out. After hearing what she’s been through, I don’t blame her for having some resentment towards them.

What makes Mindy stick out is the fact that she’s a psychic. As in, she randomly gets small flashes of something happening in the near future. It’s something she inherited from her grandmother and great-grandmother ever since she was young. Her powers didn’t fully come in until she was around 13, which was the same for her grandma, and that was when she began using her visions to get into various shenanigans.

Like the future, Mindy says visions can be finicky. Most of the time they come true, usually in unexpected ways, kinda like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Most of the time they’re good things, which makes her try to make them come true. However, in rare cases when it’s bad - as in serious, not inconvenience type of things that usually happen for her - she manages to avert that possibility happening.

To Mindy, her powers were just something that were always there. Sure, it can be inconvenient at times, especially when she was younger and didn’t quite understand what it meant to have such an ability. Of course, most of what she learned is through trial and error., as well as typical teenage shenanigans. In other words, she was a troublemaker in a well-meaning sort of way, the kind of person who just wanted to use her psychic ability to help others.

I remember getting caught up in a few of her shenanigans back then, usually because of her meddling. Though, despite some misunderstandings, Mindy was able to help out, which is really the reason why she embraced her ability. Her grandma was the kind of person who wanted to use her powers for good, and Mindy wanted to be like her in that aspect.

Marlo said Mindy was the reason why the Sunny Theater Troupe didn’t shut down when the director lost her mojo - it’s because Mindy had a vision of her announcing her resignation and wanted to change the future. If Mindy hadn’t meddled, the theater troupe would’ve been no more and Marlo wouldn’t have been discovered by an acting coach who encouraged her to pursue her dreams. And if that hadn’t happened and Marlo went back home instead, she wouldn’t have met Don or become an actress. So it’s kinda like a butterfly effect sort of thing. And that’s why Mindy means a lot to Marlo and Don.

To me, Mindy seems like the person who manages to make things work no matter what. I’ve always liked her “over-the-top” personality, as others called it. Sure, she can get a little heavy handed, but her heart’s in the right place. Though I can find pushy people hard to get along with sometimes, there are situations when you need someone like that to get you moving - as long as they respect you and your boundaries.

From past experiences, Mindy says nothing’s more important than enforcing your own boundaries, especially when someone tries to trample on them. As someone who’s been on both sides - being the one whose boundaries aren’t respected and being the intruder - I imagine she has a lot to say on that.

After being betrayed by her parents when she needed them the most, not only she’s trying to become a bit more sensitive when giving someone a gentle nudge, but she also realized more than ever how important it is to help someone in need. Despite how her mother made her feel about her psychic abilities, Mindy will never stop using her powers the way she wants to. And she won’t ever let anyone convince her that her misfortune was her own fault because she didn’t foresee it.

Basically, Mindy made the mistake of staying with her mother after graduating. She didn’t have a rough childhood or anything, and she always got along well with her family, which makes what happens later on all the more baffling. Mindy believes it started when her mother decided to go back to school for her master’s. Next thing she knew, Mindy’s mother took off to law school in London and the family barely saw her afterwards.

The following year, Mindy went off to college, and she too barely kept in contact. Not too long after she left, her father and brother moved across the country without consulting the rest of the family, so she never got to say goodbye to her childhood home. Sometime later, her mother filed for divorce, and that was anticlimactic for Mindy. Looking back, she said that it made sense that she didn’t really feel anything when the family broke up - it just happened and that was really about it.

In short, Mindy’s mother set her up with this guy who was the son of some very important attorney that she was trying to get close to. Mindy described him as a very charming guy, but that was about it. While she had visions that showed their relationship in a good light, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy about it, almost like it was a warning. At this point in time she says it’s not worth beating herself up for not acting on her intuition - she’s already done enough of that in the past. She was young and foolish and really thought that she found “The One”.

Mindy described it as a whirlwind romance that didn’t really feel “real”, mostly because her mother and his father wanted them to be together. There was also another aspect regarding Mindy’s psychic powers that complicated things. Basically, they exploited her for it and that contributed to how she later resented her gift for getting her into that mess.

However, the one good thing that came out of her unhappy marriage was her daughter Misty. Her ex spoiled Misty and he seemed like a good parent, but Mindy later realized that his care and affection were superficial. As for Mindy’s parents, they seemed indifferent towards Misty, something she didn’t realize until much later on when she realized that her marriage wasn’t working out.

What got to Mindy the most about the whole thing was how her parents were well aware that she was unhappy and refused to help when she reached out to them. She admits that communication wasn’t always their strongest suit, but back then it was treated as a funny thing because life wasn’t serious back then. Looking back, she found that her parents were kinda superficial and often glossed over serious stuff, which was why she had a tough time when she left for college.

It’s not bad to be carefree, but it’s a problem when you act without considering other people’s feelings. Mindy’s been doing a lot of reflecting since cutting ties with her ex and parents, so she’s been trying to put the pieces together. When she mentioned what kind of people her parents are, it makes sense why she’s the way she is with her meddling. Her carefreeness and need to take action no matter what are traits that can easily be good and bad.

Mindy’s mother was the one who insisted that Mindy suck it up and deal with what she got herself into, which is kinda hypocritical coming from someone who walked out on her family on a whim. Mindy suspected that her mother was jealous of the fact that she never got psychic powers since it ran in her family and that resentment grew as she got older. She relentlessly mocked Mindy by saying that her powers were useless because she should have known that she wasn’t gonna happy, and therefore, she brought it on herself. Talk about victim blaming, especially from someone who put the victim in that situation.

As for her father, Mindy said she felt the most betrayed by him. She described him as the fun, life of the party type - good as a friend, not so much as a parent. He would brush Mindy off whenever she tried to confide in him, complaining that she was bringing down the mood and needed to lighten up. His main reason for not helping Mindy out was because he didn’t want to get involved in that. In other words, her unhappiness put a cramp in his style and he didn’t like that. Some parent he is.

Even when Mindy brought up Misty and how she was concerned for her daughter’s wellbeing, her parents were basically like, that’s not our problem, Yes, they really did refer to their granddaughter as a “problem”, an inconvenience that isn’t their concern. That’s another thing Mindy can’t forgive them for.

In the end, the only family member Mindy could turn to was her younger brother Travis, who just finished grad school. Mindy’s grateful, of course, but she’s also upset that he had to be the one to pull her out when their parents refused to. Her ex’s family made getting a divorce a nightmare, and with her parents taking his side in keeping her trapped, Mindy was unable to really do anything unless she wanted to risk losing Misty.

Luckily, Travis was able to find some people who were able to help Mindy and Misty leave and avoid a lot of the potential consequences of a messy divorce. It wasn’t easy as it took over a year for everything to be finalized, but they did it. And now Mindy’s finally free.

One of the first things Mindy did was get back in touch with various friends she lost contact with over the years. Her ex was the controlling type who didn’t want her associating with certain people. In other words, he treated her like a trophy wife, a caged bird. Marlo was one of the few she kept in sporadic contact with, as well as the first to know what happened to her over the past several years.

Mindy and Misty actually live about half and hour away from Marlo and Don, and it’s in a nice neighborhood. Of course, Mindy still has a lot of unpacking to do, so we helped her out with that. I’d say we did a pretty good job and the place looks a lot more livelier. They may not have much for now, but once they settle in, it’ll really feel like home. I feel like it’s a huge step for Mindy, a sign that she really is free.

As for what’s next for Mindy, she says she’s gonna take it slow. For now, her main focus is on finding a daycare for Misty before classes start. She’s picked up some online courses from a local community college as she’s really considering going back to school. But since it’s been over a decade, Mindy wants to do sort of a trial run before taking the plunge with grad school, especially since she still isn’t sure exactly what she wants to go back for other than to stay in something related to the fashion industry.

There’s also the possibility of her using her visions to take a peek into her future, something she’s tempted to do at times. Life seems to be easier when you’re young, probably because you don’t have as many responsibilities and worries on your shoulders. Mindy says she’s still in kind of a weird love-hate relationship with her psychic powers, and with her mental state admittedly not in the best shape, she’s kinda tuned out her visions. That’s not to say they’re not reliable, it’s more that she just doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with it.

Funny enough, she kinda reminds me of Steven and his struggles with his powers when he was in a low mental state. I bring that up because Mindy mentioned that his song Taking Back What’s Mine really helped her a lot in terms of getting the courage to move on from the past and take control of the present. She discovered him and Emmaline by chance and was mind blown when we told her that not only we know Steven, but that Emmaline grew up in the same neighborhood as us.

Since Mindy’s not far from Marlo, I hope that one day I can arrange for her, Steven, and Emmaline to meet one day. I know they would be touched to find out how much their music resonated with someone.

I’m glad that Mindy’s doing well and I’m looking forward to seeing more of her in the near future. I know Marlo’s glad to finally see her after all these years. An uncertain future isn’t necessarily bad, especially if you’re taking the wheel. And like Mindy’s visions, the future isn’t always set in stone, so there’s nothing stopping you from taking charge. It’s your life, your future, so it’s up to you to decide what you want.

After hanging out and catching up with Mindy, we headed to Rosevine to hibernate for a while. Since the objective is to take it slow after the rush of the holidays, we decided to take the scenic route. It took longer and we might have gotten lost a little, but I think it was worth every minute.

Read on AO3

#animal crossing pocket camp #animal crossing #diary of a junebug #headcanon ramble

[the-himawari-otome]

[Piofiore no Banshou] Drama CD Translation

Invitation to the Passenger Ship Conte Viola

Summary: It is approaching the end of autumn. The three organizations of the Burlone mafia join hands under a shared agreement in order to settle a certain incident. Around that time, each man receives a letter. It is an invitation to a party for locals of note. The venue being―Conte Viola, a luxury cruise ship.

Translated by ear so it might not be 100% accurate.

･ﾟ･:,｡★ translation under the cut ★,｡･:･ﾟ

Gilbert: It is approaching the end of autumn. The three organizations of the Burlone Mafia, the Falzone, Visconti, and Lao-Shu, join hands under a shared agreement in order to settle a certain incident. Around that time, each of us receive a letter. The sender is Burlone’s mayor, Alessandro Marlo. It appears he is gathering locals of note to hold a party to commemorate the anniversary of his inauguration. The venue is the luxury cruise ship Conte Viola.

*sfx: fog horn, waves churn*

Gilbert: Yo, Nicola. You alone? That’s rare.

Nicola: Dante is escorting her, after all.

Gilbert: I see.

Orlok: There are currently no abnormalities onboard.

Gilbert: —Oh. You came too, Orlok?

Orlok: Yeah. I was called here to be her guard.

Nicola: The more people, the better, right? It’s simple enough to procure an invitation if we use the Falzone name.

Gilbert: Well, we do need to stay alert. Though I doubt anyone here would cause a scene.

Nicola: All of us were invited, after all. If anything happens, then they’ll make enemies of the Burlone mafia.

Orlok: I don’t think anyone would under normal conditions. But the more people there are, the easier it is to sneak in.

Nicola: Perhaps the so-called mastermind has managed to slip into the crowd?

Gilbert: That’s not somethin’ to joke about, y’know?

Yang: Three men chatting with each other, face-to-face? That’s not appealing in the slightest.

Gilbert: Yang, you’re here too?

Yang: It’s hard to turn down when you get an invitation from the mayor himself.

Nicola: Playing dumb, are we? The head of the Lao-Shu is famous for his lack of public appearances, you know?

Orlok: Are you scheming something?

Yang: It’s not that deep. I’m just in the mood tonight, that’s all.

*sfx: footsteps approach*

Dante: I see all of you have gathered.

Gilbert: Yo, Dante. And you as well, signorina. Colour me surprised. I thought an angel had descended from the sky. You look especially breathtaking today.

Orlok: Um… you look… really adorable. When I look at you, my heart starts racing.

Yang: You’re really dolled up, huh? I suppose it’s a little better than your regular get-up that lacks any sex-appeal.

Dante: Yang. You can word that better, can’t you?

Yang: I’m just stating my honest impression.

Nicola: Don’t mind Yang. More importantly—what to do? You might not believe me, but you’re just too charming that I’m lost for words. That dress looks amazing on you. It was worth putting so much effort into picking it out right? Dante~?

Dante: Ah—.

Orlok: Oh, Dante’s the one who chose it. That blue dress.

Yang: Oh? It was specifically from the ever-so busy Capo of the Falzone Family, hm?

Dante: I-I have no hidden intentions.

Gilbert: Yes, you do. Your preferences are plain as day.

Dante: T-that’s not it. I simply thought that dress would suit her. I didn’t have such questionable feelings—.

Nicola: Alright, alright. By the way, Dante, have you greeted the mayor yet?

Dante: No. How about the rest of you?

Nicola: I did, quickly.

Gilbert: Same here.

Orlok: What about you, Yang?

Yang: I got my underlings to go. All of them were clamouring over going on my behalf.

Gilbert: That was a good choice. Even though he sent an invitation out, he didn’t actually expect that Yang himself would come. It would only frighten the mayor if you show up.

Nicola: Good point. You should go on ahead and greet him, Dante.

Dante: Ah, that’s right. However, I feel a bit… apprehensive leaving her here.

Gilbert: Haha! Don’t you worry, Dante. I’ll make sure to escort her.

Dante: No, that makes me even more anxious.

Gilbert: Eh? And why’s that?

Yang: Ask yourself, Redford.

Orlok: Mm, I can’t say I don’t understand how Dante feels.

Gilbert: The hell? Even you, Orlok?

Dante: *Sigh*. Nicola, can I entrust her to you?

Nicola: Of course.

Dante: That helps. Then, see you later.

*sfx: footsteps walk away, ballroom music starts*

Nicola: Ah, it looks like the dance has started on the floor. Are you perhaps interested?

Gilbert: Then let’s go. It’s a great chance and all. I’d love to dance with you. Don’t worry about that. You can just leave everythin’ to me.

Yang: What a bore.

*sfx: walks away*

Orlok: Ah. Yang, where are you going?

Yang: To eat. That’s far more interesting than dancing.

Orlok: Ah—mm… Nicola, please look after her. We can’t be sure what Yang will do if we leave him on his own. I’ll keep an eye on him for now.

Nicola: Ah, that helps. Grazie, Orlok.

Gilbert: We’ll get going too then. Let me escort you, signorina.

Nicola: Hold on a second, Gilbert.

Gilbert: Huh? What’s up, Nicola?

Nicola: This totally slipped my mind, but I have something I have to discuss with her before you dance.

Gilbert: What the heck? Does it have to be now?

Nicola: I’d like to get this done first. Before she’s worn out from the party. So could you wait for us inside?

Gilbert: Uh…

Nicola: You won’t interrupt us, of course?

Gilbert: Well, I guess so.

Nicola: Thanks. I don’t think it’ll take very long. Plus, I promise I’ll leave the escorting on the floor to you.

Gilbert: I got it. I’ll see you later then, signorina. …Don’t do anything weird, Nicola.

Nicola: I’m not Yang. I intend to bear that in mind.

Gilbert: Hehe, you’re not wrong!

Nicola: What was Gilbert imagining there? There’s no way I would do anything strange here.

-pause-

Nicola: Now then, signorina. Your hand, please. Aha, I lied when I said I had something to discuss. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to practice a bit before the real deal. Yep, your face looked anxious. It’s only the two of us on the deck right now, so you don’t have to worry about being seen. You’re welcome. Is it alright if I hold you? We can’t dance unless we get closer. Alright, then without further ado. Are you nervous? Your arms are too tense. Relax. All you have to do is remember the natural turns. I’ll step out with my left foot, and you step back with your right foot. Exactly. Don’t drop your gaze. Look at my face. Now then, here goes. 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3… Aha, that’s it! You’re a natural. There’s no need to worry then, huh? Shall we dance a little more? It’s fine. I’ll stay with you as long as you want. … …Huh? Ahh, I was just thinking. Why did I want to teach you how to dance? The reason is… it concerns myself, so I can basically guess. But it’s not going to sound that great. If anything, it’s something that I really shouldn’t say. Eh? You want me to tell you? That’s just like you, huh? It’s because perhaps I could… have your… Ah, nope, not telling. I’m not budging even if you make that face. If I say it out loud, then I have a feeling it’ll be tough to take it back. Ah, no can do. Don’t push me any further. You’re the one who’s going to regret it. Up until now, I’ve always tried to make rational decisions. But for some reason, my feelings get the better of me when it comes to you. “Think carefully and make the best choice.” That’s how I lived. But when you’re involved, my body tends to move first and then I come to my senses after. Haven’t you noticed? The truth is, I’m always being influenced by you. I’m sure you’re not aware of it though, but that makes it even worse. Hey, you look nice with your hair down, but I like it this way too. Your nape is beautiful, after all. It looks a bit too vulnerable, so I don’t want anyone else to see. Ha, just kidding. I’m just joking. There’s no way I have the desire to keep her to myself…

*sfx: waves churn*

Nicola: Ah, hey! Are you alright? That wave just now was a big one. I’m glad I managed to catch you. Oh, your face sure is red. Ah, I hugged you without thinking. I’m sure your dancing will be fine now, so let’s end our rehearsal here. If we don’t, then I might do something unexpected, just like Gilbert was concerned about. Just kidding. I’m not serious. Not to worry, signorina.

*sfx: footsteps walk inside*

Nicola: Sorry for the wait, Gilbert.

Gilbert: Are you finished now?

Nicola: Yep. I’ll leave her to you then.

Gilbert: What’re you gonna do?

Nicola: I’ll make myself scarce in a corner of the floor. There are a few people I have to meet, so I’ll say a quick hello. Ah, but I’ll be keeping my eye on you two. Dante asked me to take care of her. Alright, see you later.

-pause-

Gilbert: Maybe Nicola was holding back in his own way, huh? If me and Falzone’s underboss are together, then I’m sure it’d draw unwanted attention to you too. Anyways, can I ask you for a dance now? Oh, you’re pretty good. How pretty. Have you waltzed before? Nicola taught you? Ahh, I see. So that’s what happened. He wanted to use an excuse to be the first to dance with you. I might’ve handed you over if he was just honest from the beginning. But not being frank is just like him. It might be too late to take back if he does something like that. But I won’t back off from the other guys. —Huh? Ah, no, just talkin’ to myself. For me, the order that we dance isn’t important. What I care about is the fact that I get to dance with you. Oh, you’re gettin’ better and better at this. I’m so enchanted by the sight that I almost stopped dead in my tracks without thinking. Haven’t you noticed? All the eyes on the floor have been glued to you for a while now. Everyone’s captivated by you since you’re just so beautiful. No, it’s your charm. At least I can see it, even if you don’t realize it yourself. I’m always able to spot you in any crowd. And, I especially I love your eyes. Those eyes that clearly show when you’re happy, sad, or embarrassed always capture my heart. —Ah, I know. It’s just a coincidence that we’re holdin' hands like this right now. Or maybe it’s the whims of fate. If that's true, then this moment might never have happened. That’s why, I think I’m glad that I met you that night. I’m glad I could find you when you had nowhere else to go for help. Not that long has passed since that night, but I’m totally crazy about you. That’s… why I’m a bit impatient sometimes. I’d love to take our time to deepen our relationship, but I wanna sweep you away in one step right this second. I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you anymore. Just holding your hand and dancing like this ain’t enough. You don’t have to answer me right away. But… please give it some thought—about a future with me. Grazie. I’ll be expecting a nice reply. That much is fine, isn’t it? Oh—look, the song just changed. I’m reluctant to part, but should we finish up here? It’s a party, after all. Let’s enjoy everything, not just the dancing! There’s food prepared over there. Wanna have a nibble on somethin’ and take a break? Yang should’ve come here on his own too. It doesn’t look like he’s made a commotion. I guess he’s layin’ low for now, but we’ll see how long that lasts.

*sfx: footsteps walk towards table*

Gilbert: Yo, Orlok. Did you have something to eat?

Orlok: No, not yet. My attention was caught up in a lot of other things.

Gilbert: I see. What’s Yang up to?

Orlok: He’s behaving for now. He’s driving away everyone who approaches him.

Gilbert: I see. —Hm? That guy’s here? My bad, it’s a client of mine. I’m gonna go speak with him for a bit, so can I leave her with you, Orlok?

Orlok: Sure. Leave it to me.

Gilbert: I’ll be right back. Wait for me.

-pause-

Orlok: Um… I saw you dancing from here. You looked really beautiful. Um, this might sound strange, but I felt really envious of Gilbert. I can’t dance, but one day…  it would be great if I could be able to lead you—that’s what I thought. Ah—err, you came for food, right? What would you like to eat? I’ll get it for you. Saltimbocca…? Uh, w-which one? Ah, this one? Should I grab it with the sauce? Mm, there. Here you go, dig in. Ehe. It feels kind of strange. I was just thinking this is the first time I’ve gotten food for someone. The food at the church is always served when it comes out. Plus, I don’t really help out much in the kitchen. I never ate with anyone before I started staying over at the church to protect you. Since I started eating meals with you, I feel like I’ve come to understand that food is delicious. Up until now, I thought just getting some kind of nourishment was sufficient. But it’s different now. I think I like it best when I’m eating and commenting how delicious it is with you and everyone else. Ah. Hey, is this prosciutto on veal? What does it taste like? Eh? Ah, h-hold on, in a place like this—. I-I do want to try it… but… A-ahhh… Mm… it’s delicious. This is the first time I’ve been to a party… but they sure are amazing. There’s tons of food I’ve ever seen before. The dolce in particular are sparkling like gems. I wonder how you make something so beautiful? Eh? You can make them too. That’s amazing. But is that alright? Going out of your way to show me when you make it? Ah, I’m happy. Grazie. I’ll be looking forward to it. Yang? If you need Yang, he’s over there. He’s at the edge of the floor. Are you curious? I think it’s fine to leave him be. But if you’re going to go, then I won’t stop you. I think it would be better if I don’t come along with you. It seems Yang’s mood would get worse if I do. But I’ll run right over if anything happens. Mhm, be careful.

-pause-

*sfx: footsteps approach*

Yang: What do you want? I stand out a bit too much. Besides, I’m not well known here anyways. If I don’t stay off to the side, then a bunch of ignorant women will approach, and that’s irritating. These types of events aren’t my thing to begin with, you know? With this fire smouldering in town, I had hoped this would not just be a lavish and lively banquet, but that it would develop into a bloodbath. But of course, it’s hosted by the city’s mayor, so the local police are on the lookout all over the place. Only a great fool would cause a commotion here. How boring. Oh—this is perfect. Be my woman repellent. You’re happy, aren’t you? Merely being held by me like this will be of help to me. If you understand, then act like my woman. Don’t disobey. If you cause too much trouble for me, then I’ll kill you. I’m always serious. Killing someone is not something that should be said in jest. Do you understand now? Ah, you catch on quite quick. You’ve calmed down. That’s what I like about you. Hmm… No, it’s not bad at all. I mentioned this earlier, but your outfit looks more tantalizing than usual. When I see your hair wrapped up neatly, I can’t help but want to mess it up. Even so, I still don’t like western clothing. A woman’s skin is not something that should be shown. Geez, this style has the Falzone’s young master written all over it. If you bring her to the bedroom, then you can see as much as you’d like. So it’s much more enjoyable keeping it hidden under regular circumstances. Shall I go ahead and choose your clothing at the next opportunity? What would suit a woman like you? I understand much more than that juvenile Capo. It would also be amusing to show you dyed in my colour to the other guys. Don’t be shy. If you’re too humble, then I’ll want to kill you.

Dante: YANG! What are you doing!?

Yang: Falzone? We were just getting to the good part. Don’t tell me you came to get in between us?

Dante: Don’t kid with me. Unhand her. Just where do you think you’re touching her? Where!?

Yang: Men who worry about the details will be hated. Didn’t Francesca teach you that?

Dante: …

Yang: Well, whatever. If you want her, then take her.

Dante: That was easy.

Yang: I’ve simply had enough of this idle talk. If we chat any more than this, then you and the others will make a fuss, won’t you?

Dante: Obviously! I apologize for my lateness. Let’s go.

-pause-

Dante: Were you alright? It looked like you were tangled up with Yang so I hurried back. Yeah, there are no issues. Nicola’s at the corner of the floor, remember? He’s doing a great job dealing with the other parliament members. More importantly, why were you over here? Do you find this party boring? Is that so? I’m relieved then. It felt like I practically forced you to come along this time. Ah, come to think of it, I haven’t explained to you properly. I took you along because I wanted you to be by my side. Enemies might make a move on you while we’re on the boat and unable to act until it returns to shore. However, there is also the possibility that this party has some kind hidden trap or set-up. If either of them posed a threat, then I wanted to be within arm’s reach. If I am, then it would be easy to protect you, no matter what happens. That’s why I brought you here. Although, it appears this ship is free from danger. I’m glad if tonight helped you relax, even a little bit. Sometimes, I’m told that I don’t speak enough. If there’s anything worrying you, then let me know. I’ll do all I can. It has only been a little while since we started talking like this, so it may come as a surprise to hear this… but it seems I feel at ease when I’m talking with you. That’s probably because with you, I can say what I really think. I’m part of the mafia—a criminal who breaks the law. But you’re different. You’re not a mobster, but a citizen to be protected. I never dreamed that I would build a relationship with such a person whom I could honestly speak my mind with. Fate sure is interesting, isn’t it? When this incident is all settled, I have something that I’d like to tell you. Not as someone from the Falzone family, but a regular man. It’s fine if you don’t understand what I mean yet. I just wanted get that out there. Also… I kept missing the chance to say this, but… the dress that I chose looks amazing on you. It was the first time I’ve sent clothes to a woman, so it was quite difficult to decide what to go with, and I was anxious whether you would like what I picked out. However, I didn’t want to let anyone else prepare it. I wanted to choose it for you. So when I saw that you were pleased with this dress, I was overjoyed. If I didn’t look like it… then that was because Nicola was there too. I have my reputation as the Capo. I cannot show any immaturity to the members of our family. It truly does suit you. If you smile at me like that, then I’ll want to send you countless dresses. It’ll become a habit. —Ah, right. I’ll go fetch you something to drink. Alright, wait here for a moment. I’ll return shortly.

-pause-

*sfx: footsteps approach*

Henri: What a rare sight. Are you alone? Perhaps I startled you? You see, I have somewhat of an affiliation with the mayor. I received an invitation as well. The stars are pretty, aren’t they? However, radiance of the sky pales in front of you. Mm, that looks splendid on you. I was wondering who this princess was. I’m curious why you’re here… but I won’t pry tonight. We can just enjoy this peaceful night for now. It wouldn’t be a sin forget about your daily life while you’re out at sea. At least, I think you should be allowed to have some more free time. Do you… remember the last time we gazed at the morning sea together? It was dazzlingly beautiful back then. But I feel like the evening sea also looks breathtaking when I’m with you. Ahh, I bet I can sleep without dreaming on nights like this. Well then, I’ll be heading on my way. It’s time your companion returned.

*sfx: reaches out*

Henri: Ngh, *sigh*. I’ll be troubled if you stop me. I have my own circumstances, after all. In the first place, I never thought that we would meet again like this. I wasn’t planning on calling out to you… but I suppose I’ve gone mad. If… there’s a chance that we meet again, let’s talk some more then. Heh. Have a good night, signorina.

*sfx: footsteps walk away and a different set of footsteps hurry back*

Dante: Was someone here just now? I felt like I could see a figure from the floor, so I made my way back. I see. I’m relieved you didn’t get caught up in anything. But I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone, even for a short while. It’s not alright. I mean, you look really… beautiful tonight. Of course you’re always pretty, but it wouldn’t be strange if there were guys who were thinking something unscrupulous. Like Yang or Gilbert in particular…

Gilbert: You called, Dante?

Dante: Gilbert.

Gilbert: We found ya. So you were over here, huh?

Yang: Did we by any chance, interrupt at the wrong time? My bad, Falzone.

Dante: So you came too, Yang?

Yang: Of course. It’s more amusing to tease you two than to play an idle wallflower.

Gilbert: By the way, there’s no particular disturbances goin’ on at the floor.

Nicola: It’s almost time for the party to end, so at this rate, it looks like tonight’s gonna wind up without a hitch.

Dante: Nicola! And Orlok too.

Orlok: Yeah. The only one acting suspicious on the floor was Yang. Everyone else was enjoying the party as usual.

Dante: What did Yang do?

Orlok: He was picking fights with the other guests, eating food, making things difficult for me, and so on.

Nicola: Anyways, Dante. How did your side go? Were you able to talk a little?

Dante: Just who do you think I am? I can hold a conversation.

Gilbert: That’s not what Nicola’s sayin’, y’know?

Yang: From Francesca’s point of view, you’re still like a troublesome child, Falzone.

Nicola: I mean, I didn’t go that far.

Orlok: The ship will be returning to port soon.

Yang: How boring. All the city’s VIPs are gathered together on one boat, so it would’ve been nice if something could’ve blown up in flames.

Gilbert: Hold up. Is that why you were in a bad mood, Yang? ‘Cause there’s been no loud commotions?

Yang: Yeah. I wondered if I should do something instead, but Orlok was making a fuss.

Orlok: I… tried my best. I really did.

Nicola: Well, nights like this are fine once in a while, aren’t they? Right, Dante?

Dante: That’s true. Once we’re back in town, we’ll have to face the incident again. Sometimes, taking breaks is necessary.

Nicola: What’s the matter, signorina? You look troubled. Are you worried?

Gilbert: It’ll be fine. We’ve joined forces, after all. We’ll manage, no matter what the problem is.

Nicola: If we can’t even settle this, then it’ll affect our reputation.

Yang: Right, the Burlone mafia’s honour will fall to ruin.

Dante: Don’t say that so happily, Yang.

Gilbert: See, signorina? Smile for us. Your smile gives us strength. It really is a fine night.

---

[DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WORK W/O PERMISSION, THANK YOU]

#piofiore no banshou #piofiore translation #piofiore #dante falzone #gilbert redford #nicola francesca #piofiore orlok #piofiore yang #henri lambert #thanks for your patience :) #things came up which made me a lot busier than i expected OTL #but this was a cute one!! #enjoy <33

[bringbackwendellvaughn]

Do you happen to have a reading list or suggestions for Genis-Vell?

The omnibus coming out later this month collects the majority of his solo comics. All 60 issues (across two ongoing titles) by Peter David. That's all you really need.

But to expand...

He also had a very quickly cancelled ongoing in 1996 by Fabian Nicieza and Ed Benes which was ended mid-story and has never been collected. An issue in the omnibus brings Nicieza back to do a flashback issue that "resolves" the loose ends (by not telling any of those stories sadly).

Silver Surfer Annual #6 is his first appearance (and as much as a backdoor pilot for the character). Cosmic Powers #4 was his first solo story. Both are written by Ron Marz who has written him a bunch over the years - and a lot very recently in Silver Surfer and Warlock continuity insert stories - but he has never really moved away from his original vision of the character or seems aware that there was a character after he stopped writing him. A character who had grown a lot and forged stronger bonds to characters like Rick Jones, Marlo Chandler and Moondragon rather than just Silver Surfer over and over again.

He has decent-ish presence in Jim Starlin's Infinity Abyss and Marvel Universe: The End (Starlin also co-plots/draws 3 issues in the omni). Genis was the only Captain Marvel successor/legacy that Starlin treat with respect. Possibly because his friend and former co-writer created him or maybe he did actually think it was the most appropriate way to continue Captain Marvel's legacy.

Some other stuff...

He was also in Thunderbolts for a few years but didn't really do much there and editorial kept forcing changes on him every few issues just so other people could take the Captain Marvel name - the final one being to utterly destroy Genis-Vell's form across all space and time so that he could "never return". Not a good time.

His recent solo miniseries, again by Peter David (not in the omni - fortunately!), started decent enough but had an enormous wet fart of an ending that soured my opinion on the whole thing. A story beat that nobody wanted to see happen to a long neglected supporting character which also completely messes up and misunderstands the abstract entities in the MU.

I don't recommend Avengers Forever.

[ofxmidnights]

[CISFEMALE, SHE/HER/HERS]. Hey, is that PHOEBE TONKIN, no that is just MISTY FOSTER around Turtle Bay. I heard they are 37 years old, and their birthday is FEBRUARY 14TH, 1986. They rest their heads in the MIDTOWN but they can mainly be found working as ROMANCE NOVELIST. Some say they are CREATIVE, DISCREET, ROMANTIC and can be FANCIFUL, SECRETIVE, STRONG-WILLED. If they had a theme song it would be, GIRLFRIEND BY ICONA POP. I hear they are NATIVE, either way Turtle Bay is home and welcomes you!

Has a twin sister, Marlo, who she shares a place in midtown with.

Writes lesbian romance novels (sometimes with an urban fantasy twist) under various pen names, which has helped her mostly keep a low profile, although she does have some fans who might recognize her from her photograph in the back of her books.

Born on Valentine's Day, which is highly appropriate given her career choice.

If and when most people ask what she does for a living, she tells them she is in publishing. That is technically true, but helps her maintain her low profile and live a normal life in Turtle Bay.

That said, if somebody was a fan of hers and knew straight up she was a novelist, she wouldn't shy away from admitting it.

Figured out she was attracted to women as a very young teenager (around 13 or 14), but didn't come out as a lesbian until her mid-20s, when she realized she had zero attraction to men.

#turtlebayintro #misty foster