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snowyslytherinowl · 9 months

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Joyous Nightmares - Part 1

PAIRING: Severus Snape x (Professor) Reader

SUMMARY: A year after surviving the Second Wizarding War, Severus Snape begins to have joyous nightmares where he dreams of having a wife and a daughter. These dreams bring him nightmares because he doesn't believe that he'll ever get married or have a family of his own. So what happens when the wife in his dreams is revealed to be you?

Warning: Nothing heavy, but there are some mentions of death. Angst and nightmares are also featured. This is my first fanfiction for Harry Potter. I hope you enjoy it!

Part 2 | Part 3

*GIF isn't mine

Severus has had nightmares for as long as he can remember. As a child, he dreamt of his parents arguing and his father hitting him when drunk. Then his nightmares focused mainly on his rejection from Lily, and Potter and Black bullying him. Sometimes they would trip him in the hall, causing his trousers to fall off, and other times Potter would make him kiss the ground and eat the dirt while Lily watched. As he grew older, he dreamt of Lily’s death. After the Second Wizarding War, he relived his near-fatal attack by Nagini almost every night. But about a year after the war ends, Severus starts to have nightmares about a much different topic.

Severus is sitting on his bed when he hears crying. He walks down a hall in a house, one that looks much different than the one in Spinner’s End, to the source of the crying: a baby. He opens the door at the end of the hall and sees a small infant flailing around the crib. Gingerly lifting the baby from the bed, he cradles the baby in his arm and places their head on his shoulder. He doesn’t know why or how, but he knows that the baby is a girl and that she’s his daughter. He gently bounces her up and down and sits in a rocking chair.

“Hush now. Daddy is here,” he whispers and kisses her forehead. “You have nothing to fear. I will always protect you.” He holds the little girl closer to him, and soon she falls asleep in his arms.

Severus wakes up in his bed in his private chamber at Hogwarts. Although he has dreamt of much more horrific, much more gruesome things, this dream leaves him feeling immensely worse. He has been bullied and seen death in the real world, so seeing it in his mind’s eye at night is no different than experiencing it. But dreaming of cradling his own tiny baby girl? That leaves him with a gaping hole in his heart, a hole he cannot mend because he will never have a family. Pathetic, greasy-haired Severus, forever condemned to loneliness.

He pulls the covers back up his chest, turns on his side, and closes his eyes. No matter how much he tosses and turns that night, he can't fall asleep until dawn.

XXX

Several nights later, Severus has a similar dream.

He’s back in the same house. With a quick peek through the window, he can tell that this house is in the countryside with its green, sprawling valley. Severus turns to the little girl in the highchair, who is now eight or nine months old. He dips a spoon into a jar of baby food and tries to feed it to his daughter, who purses her lips and turns her head.

“Do not be picky. This is delicious,” he says and puts the spoonful of baby food into his mouth. No, he was lying about the delicious part. “Perhaps it does not taste good, but it is good for you. My Half-Blood Princess must grow to be healthy and strong.”

Even though his daughter giggles at her nickname, she still refuses to eat the food. “Fine. I did not want to fall into temptation, but you are forcing me.”

Severus takes a small cauldron from the cupboard, which is no bigger than a large bowl. He puts the jar of baby food and spoon into the cauldron and uses his wand to make steam rise from the cauldron. He swirls his wand over the cauldron, pretending to stir it, and casts a fake spell of gibberish words.

Severus’s daughter breaks into a giggling fit and bounces up and down in her high seat. Severus can’t help but smile and laugh at her joy. He uses his wand to lift a spoonful of baby food from the cauldron and towards the little girl, who finally opens her mouth and eats.

He never thought himself much of a fatherly figure, but these joyous nightmares have made him realize how desperately he wishes to have a family of his own. Every time he visits Hogsmeade, he stares at the small children accompanying their parents at shops or playing in the playground. Even though he doesn’t show much love to the people around him, he somehow knows that he would shower his own child with love and affection.

Severus decides not to go back to sleep. There are two hours until he must make his way to the Great Hall and he still has essays to grade. Anything to get his mind off the baby, though a small cauldron in the corner of his room ensures that the hole in his heart remains open.

XXX

Over the next few months, Severus has dreams about his child almost every night. In every dream, he watches her grow up, even if it’s by a month or two. Nothing particularly profound happens; they merely participate in average daily activities. Once he dreams that she plays with a toy wand set that emits tiny colorful sparks. Another time she sits on his lap as he reads to her and wrestles his hair from her tiny fingers. That one makes him feel especially pained as he’s always felt insecure about his hair, and he can’t imagine a baby happily playing with it.

After a particularly hard day of disciplining dunderheads and spilled potions, another person joins his dreams.

Muggle baby strollers are quite the invention, Severus thinks as he pushes his sleeping daughter around the main square of the nearest town. Stores here display all types of clothes, as well as chocolate boxes and snack bags; however, he doesn’t see anything suitable for his wife’s birthday.

Finally, Severus spots a beautiful dark green pendant through a jewelry shop’s window. An idea pops into his mind about how he can transform this simple Muggle pendant into something enchanting for his wife.

He buys it, then spends the rest of the day locked in his study working on magically connecting the pendant and a journal. He charms the pendant to heat up and display messages Severus writes in the journal. This way, Severus can send short messages to his wife no matter where he is. “I love you,” he writes in the journal and watches it slowly appear on the green gem.

“What do you think?” he asks his daughter when he enters the living room. She giggles and grasps the chain of the necklace, which Severus takes as a yes.

“One day, I will give you one of your own, my Half-Blood Princess.”

A wife. A wife whom he loves. A wife that loves him, too, even if he has no proof to support his theory. A wife who he loves enough to have a baby with. A wife who he knows he will never have.

Since he started having these joyous nightmares, he has recognized that the existence of a wife would appear at some point. Though when she finally does, he’s caught off guard. He thought that as an adult, he would finally grow out of the nervous, insecure person he was as a child. But he’s thought wrong; a fist squeezes his heart as he thinks about how lonely and unlovable he is. His hand wanders to the pillow on the other side of the bed as he imagines a wife lying beside him. He wishes that he could hold her, kiss her, and love her. But who would ever be attracted to his oily hair and sallow skin, or not be appalled by his deeds as he served the Dark Lord?

Tears have threatened to spill after waking from his past dreams. This time, though, the tears overtake him and sobs wrack his body.

XXX

Steps sound from around the corner. Severus prepares to berate the student he catches, but he stops short when he spots you. “Hi Severus, you can go to bed. It’s my night to patrol the corridors, remember?”

Severus doesn’t have many friends at Hogwarts, or anywhere for that matter. But out of the few people he can rely on, you are one of them. You frequently eat lunch with him and sit beside him for meals. You’re always there for him to talk to, though you aren’t pushy. He appreciates you more than you likely appreciate him.

“I know,” he says a little too harshly. “I thought I should help since I could not sleep.” Do not want to sleep is more like it, he thinks.

You don’t take offense to his harsh tone. “That’s nice of you. Are you having nightmares, perhaps? Are the ghosts in your dreams giving you too much grief?” You give him a gentle smile and Severus feels a warmth spreading over his body.

“I consumed too much caffeine,” he lies.

“Don’t I know the dangers of drinking too much tea before I go to bed.”

You two patrol the corridors as he listens to your stories of catching students out of bed and making fools of themselves in class. He rather enjoys being in your presence, a warm welcome from his joyous nightmares.

It seems too soon when your patrol is over and you head in different directions to return to your chambers. Determined not to fall asleep, Severus spends the rest of his time until breakfast grading essays. He has never physically seen his dream wife; he only writes to her or prepares dinner or breakfast for her. Unfortunately, his eyes feel too heavy and he eventually succumbs to sleep.

It’s a beautiful day and Severus chases after his daughter, who runs through the valley outside their house. He finally catches up with her when she drops to the ground, picking at something. “I got you!” he yells after he grabs his daughter and lifts her into his arms.

“Daddy!” she giggles and presents him with the flowers she has picked. “For you!”

He takes the bundle from her dirt-stained hands and smiles down at her. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He places her back down on the ground and kneels beside her. “How about you pick some for Mummy?”

“Okay!” His daughter runs around a little more until she picks the largest flowers in the valley and gives them to her dad for safekeeping. He lifts her back into his arms and walks towards the house.

In the distance, he can see a woman by their house. He knows that it’s his wife, but the light from the setting sun and the shadow from the house blocks him from seeing her features. Severus uses one of his hands to shield his eyes from the sun glaring into his eyes and tells his daughter, “Wave to Mummy!”

Severus checks the time and jumps to his feet. He strains to discern the identity of his dream wife based on his memories of the dream but to no avail. He arrives at the Great Hall, takes his seat beside you at the High Table, and attempts to compose himself as he digs into his food. Why are you living under the delusion that this dream woman is a real person? Severus tells himself in his mind. If you ever see what she looks like, she will be an imaginary woman who only lives in your head.

For a split second, Severus peeks at you from the corner of his eyes and imagines you as his wife blinded by the light from the sun. Deciding that it’s a dangerous path to take, he snaps out of it and goes back to nibbling his toast.

You catch him looking at you and you ask, “Are you alright, Severus? You look like you didn’t get any sleep!” Oddly, he enjoys the concern in your voice and the furrowing of your brows.

“I am fine,” he brushes off, but you’ve already poured him coffee and waved your wand at it.

“Take this. It should get you through the rest of the day.” Severus grunts thanks and takes a sip. Normally, coffee makes him feel shaky and nervous as he unwittingly recalls his joyous nightmares. This coffee tastes different; it's sweet and makes him feel like he will stay awake and alert for the rest of the day.

You talk to each other about your plans for the day until you finish your food and stand from your seat. “I’ll see you later!” you call from behind. For some indiscernible reason, Severus is looking forward to that.

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cipheramnesia · 1 year

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The "movie about a movie that kills you" is a surprisingly robust genre of horror. There's a wide range of approaches, but one key factor is the question of how good the deadly film in a film is, on its own. Some approaches are keeping the faux film entirely unseen, use brief clips, or make it real short.

Antrum: The Deadliest Film Ever Made goes in for a high risk approach and delivers a complete finished film, ostensibly made in the 70s and never released, framed by brief opening and closing info bites to set the stage of it.

Somehow this thing was completely off my radar, which means I was taken fully off guard as an ominous warning about the content in white text on black appeared on screen, giving a thirty second count down to leave if I wanted.

Wonderful showmanship and canny filmmaking that got me right in the mood to enjoy what followed. While I wouldn't call it a scary movie, I found it almost delightful in the atmospheric dread and devotion to its aesthetic of low budget 70s films. Nothing in it feels like a curse on its own, but it does feel like the sort of movie that could easily prompt psychological distress for anyone under psychotropic influences, pre-existing emotional vulnerability, or prone to delusional states. Not through anything supernatural, more because it works hard to keep the viewer in constant doubt over what is and is not real for the characters in the film. Combined with the framing device of it being a movie somehow able to influence the real world of the viewer, and the use of fractionally visible flashes of occult symbols on the screen, it generates an intense feeling of unreality which for me was an almost drug-like high and an immersive pleasure.

The premise of Antrum is simply a brother and sister decide to dig a hole to hell, and the movie plays out around this event by surrounding it with disturbing sounds and imagery, as well as real world dangers that weave the protagonists between the supernatural and mundane while keeping them in a state of terror and madness that grows until it becomes unrelenting.

In a certain sense it also feels cursed, like the kind of film where there are elements that feel very transgressive - in particular the opening scene which to my mind evoked Un Chien Andalou - not the infamous eyeball slicing scene, but the use of rotting animals. The few and very basic visual effects remind me as well of the early Survival Research Laboratory devices engineered by Mark Pauline.

However, the core question for me is also always what is the movie about besides the plot. If I had to identify some rough themes, I would say it's trying to explore the idea of understanding death and violence through the eyes of children who do not yet have the psychological tools for processing such matters, but who have been left on their own to do so regardless.

Many of the unusual elements in the movie can relate to death rituals poorly understood, starting from the very premise of digging a hole into the earth. And the same act is surrounded by strange rituals unclear in their origin, ideas which might be logical drawn from watching words recited over a grave without having a connection of purpose. Their encounters with other people are fully without possibility of communication as none of them speak the same language, and these mundane threats feel at times akin to a satanic Alice in Wonderland, rituals and violence whose meaning cannot be understood by the protagonists.

Likewise the supernatural is full of unprocessed images of death. Demons with black skin who look like mummified corpses. River crossings and empty chains dragging through leaves. It's as if death itself has manifested through the ambient world, surrounding the two children and refusing to let them leave its circle.

In combination with the intriguing use of sigils inscribed throughout, it creates a movie that is for me a joy to watch. An absolutely perfect Halloween spook for next year, but your mileage may vary between finding it full of pretentious nonsense or maybe the scariest film you'll ever watch. It can really come off either way, and I'm honestly not quite sure why my reaction was actual joy in the watching. Not to undercut the severity of the subject matter, but I just can't stop thinking about how happy I was to watch the movie at work mechanically, to enjoy the well oiled pieces fitting together, and then all topped off with the delicious extra treat of the framing device. Surely worth 90 minutes of your life.

#antrum #unreality #definitely big content warnings about animal death and injury #also children in danger and possible child deaths #not many jump scares though if any #also tbh i genuinely think it has the potential to bring on a delusion because it is very committed to the bit #there's no part where its like haha jk this isn't a real documentary about a movie its all fake #the framing device is used to wrap everything up in a way that never breaks the immersion #so if you're in a really suggestive state there's a nonzero chance you may believe the movie is going to kill you for real

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cvlutos · 1 year

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HE KNOWS!!

✡︎ | May.02nd.2023 | 0.7K | Discord Req: @bby-sparkler

✡︎ | Jade Leech | Gn!Reader

✡︎ | Synopsis: Humans are cruelly fascinating.

Humans are fascinating creatures.

The way they walk, talk, eat, breathe. How you see the world through your eyes is unique. The way your heart beats, when you feel different emotions, and the ways you breathe, the way your lungs expand and release. It’s interesting. He finds you interesting, entertaining, amusing, much so that you bring out a side of him that he’s certain didn't exist when he was back in the coral sea.

To have the time to explore, to partake in interests, and to love. Before there wasn't time. Far too worried about surviving—killing others before they kill you. A life often fast-paced and dizzying, yet you. You bring a certain calm that lulls him, that makes him relax. That makes him sit a little easier, and that makes him observe more than act rationally.

He likes to keep such an emotion close. He likes to keep you close, enjoying the customs of closeness, the feel of your hand in his, the feel of your lips against his. He loves the ease as much as he loves the unpredictableness. He loves you.

Yet, there's a certain look in your eyes.

One that you only share with his brother. A certain look that no matter how long he watches—observes in silent curiosity, that he can't slightly understand. A look that you in no sense share for him. That it always seems to go away when his brother is not there. That vanishes quickly as the wind when his twin is carried off by whatever it is that captures his attention.

That's simply how Floyd is.

Yet something about his personality fills you with such utter joy, that there are moments Jade's conflicted. And whatever ache in his chest doesn't cease when you grab his hand, call his name, kiss his lips, lead him where it is you desire for the day. When you spend time in his company, when you proudly proclaim yourself to be his partner.

Yet the ache doesn't leave.

Simply because you don't look at him the same. And surely happiness is objective, the way people act with others changes, but it's as if the shine in your eyes utterly disappears when Floyd isn't in your vicinity. As if living isn't worth it without him. When he isn't talking to you, leaning against you, rambling on about his—everything. And you, shamelessly, give him your undivided attention.

He knows it isn't love...

It couldn't be love...

Yet Jade can't help but feel unneeded in your presence when his brother is there. Unable to fill whatever desire you need; he cannot do it no matter how much he tries. Yet you're his? That should be enough, it should. Yet you don't desire him…. You don't crave him.

Jade doesn't make you feel like how you make him feel. He brings you nothing.

“I truly wish to understand.”

Even in your cruelty, there is a part of him that cares for you. That should simply brush off this moment and be understanding, yet he won't. He’ll drag out this painful game, being the perfect boyfriend, catering to all your needs like no other. Drowning you in his unwanted love, until you say it. Until you say the truth with tainted lips, kissed again and again by his brother.

He watches from afar, watching you lean too close, yearning to be closer, yearning for his brother to hold you. He knows. He knows. He knows. It hurts. Yet what satisfaction can he get out of letting you go, what should Jade gain from letting you go and letting you be with him, when you so desperately desire it. He won’t. Not unless you say something. Not until the words spill from your lying lips that you fell out of love—when you never loved him to begin with—he wants to watch you struggle. Forcing out the words with guilt. He wants you to hurt. He does. He does. He does. Yet it hurts him to hurt you.

He knows.

He does.

It hurts.

#t.manor.writings #jade leech angst #jade leech x reader #jade leech #jade x reader #jade angst #twst angst #twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland x reader angst #twst x reader

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nonbinaryspy · 7 months

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Meta: Elincia's Trolley Problems

Elincia's arc comes into sharpest relief when you consider both PoR and RD together. From living a sheltered life as a secret princess, to watching her parents get killed as her country is invaded, to eventually rising to the challenge of her unexpected role as queen, she has to deal with important decisions at every turn. Every action she takes is out of love for Crimea's people and a desire to secure them safe and happy lives. But what happens when she has to choose between the life of a loved one and the future of the overall populace? Both PoR and RD test this with narrative beats that form a perfect mirror, ultimately reflecting Elincia's development.

Path of Radiance

Throughout PoR, Elincia has been separated from her usual support network, particularly her retainers. After returning to Crimea, she finally finds them—however, in chapter 24, before she is able to reunite with Geoffrey, he is left behind to fend off Daein troupes so that Elincia can escape. Elincia is naturally horrified.

Bastian: Geoffrey's acting as a decoy. You must continue on this road to the southwest. Lucia: So the enemy's found us, eh? Lucia: Nothing to do about it but change course. I'll lead you to another hiding place. Elincia: Wh-what are you saying, Lucia? We must help Geoffrey! Bastian? Lucia: Luck was not with us, Princess. We have no choice. We'll have to abandon our companions in Castle Delbray. Elincia: No!! We will not!! Geoffrey and the others have survived so much already... I will not abandon them! Lucia: Princess, please understand. If we could do so without danger to you, we would gladly risk our lives to go back. Elincia: We cannot do this! Please, Lucia! We must go to the castle! ...Bastian! You must not do this thing! Bastian: Geoffrey is a knight. In the name of our friend's honor, Princess, you must escape. Elincia: No... No! They've survived this long! They're alive! NO!!!

When Ike gives her the chance to instead save Geoffrey, she affirms that this is what she wants.

Elincia: Yes. I don't want... I don't want anyone else to be sacrificed.

Lucia and Bastian respect her wishes and agree to help Geoffrey, at which point she is able to get her feelings across.

Elincia: Because the two of you think to put me above all else, you say you will sacrifice your lives for me. Yet... Even if I'm able to borrow of Ike's strength and win back Crimea... If the cost of that victory is the lives of the two of you, I shall never smile again. And joy? Never again would that emotion fill my heart...

Elincia is a leader, but she's also a person—one who never asked for this role. Until recently, she has not had to make decisions that would affect the future of a whole country, as opposed to only living within her personal sphere. In fact, the main political decision made re: her life—the decision to keep her birth secret—was made for her. She has already lost her parents and, as far as she knows, her beloved uncle.

Since then, her choices have all been for the sake of Crimea. In reality, she has had little choice in how to go about that goal, considering she has been fleeing for her life while at the whims of Begnion politics. Being able to return to Crimea and reunite with her retainers is the first time she has been running toward, rather than away, from something, and still part of that goal is being held from her reach. Nothing will stop her from working hard for Crimea, but individual losses will still give her permanent grief. So here, she finally takes a stand against the choices other people try to make for her, and insists on protecting her loved ones and regaining some of what she lost.

What happens next depends on the player, but considering her retainers are alive in RD, the duology's canon here is that they all survive this fight. Due to Elincia getting her feelings across, her loved ones are saved, and the campaign continues.

After this experience, the cost of individual lives in war is hammered home, and Elincia decides it's not enough to order others to keep her retainers safe. Regaining her inherited pegasus and sword, she takes to the field despite the mixed feelings of her retainers.

Elincia: Even though I'm dressed like this, I have no experience, and do not expect to fight as well as the rest of you. But…this constant waiting behind and doing nothing…it sets my heart beating with such unease I fear it may burst. Even if I cannot fight, I could use a staff to heal the wounded. If I could save just one soldier, it would mean so much to me.

This quote shows her resolve and compassion, but it also shows that she still lacks experience and confidence, especially when it comes to conflict. Despite being trained in swordplay, she instead emphasizes her ability to heal, and sets a fairly low bar for what her contribution will mean. Although, given that this plot demonstrates the importance of saving an individual life, maybe I shouldn't call it a low bar. Either way, at this point, there is still plenty of room for her to grow and change, and RD will challenge her to due so.

Radiant Dawn

Part two of Radiant Dawn focuses on Ludveck attempting to usurp Elincia's throne by stirring up reactionary attitudes toward her policies, specifically with regards to her alliance with Gallia, to threaten civil war and pressure her into giving up her throne. Because she fears the conflict that could come out of taking direct action against a noble, and because his followers are also citizens of Crimea for whom she feels responsible, she approaches the situation carefully. Ludveck takes advantage of this hesitance to eventually kidnap Lucia.

Once again, one of the Delbray siblings is in peril, and this time, as Crimea's queen, Elincia does not need to convince anyone to save her. Instead, she takes to the field herself. As with PoR, she had not immediately done so—in this case, because of the delicacy the situation called for. But with Lucia's life at risk and Ludveck's forces at Elincia's door, she decides the time for delicacy is past.

Elincia: “Lucia… Lucia, I’m sorry. Somehow, I promise you… I will save you!” ... Elincia: “…Very well. I must prepare as well. I had hoped this day would never come… Amiti, the treasured blade of House Crimea, will awaken from its long slumber.”

Unlike in PoR, rather than focusing on her healing ability, she mentions Amiti. She no longer needs to make disclaimers or doubt the importance of her role commanding the field. The wording of "I had hoped this day would never come" and "awaken from its long slumber" emphasize that she has already been through the horrors of war once, and never wanted to again. She despises violence, but she is resigned to doing what she must.

Despite holding out against Ludveck's forces and throwing him in the dungeon, she is not able to do anything about his trump card. With Lucia as hostage, he tries to use her life as a bargaining chip for his release, as well as the country. After the incident in PoR, where her retainers saw their own lives as disposable, she convinced them to realize how valuable they were to her. So with the Delbray siblings' situations reversed, Geoffrey now asks Elincia to save Lucia.

Geoffrey: “…Your Majesty, you can’t… You have to let me do something about this.” Elincia: “…” Geoffrey: “Lucia would willingly die fighting for her country, I know… But you have to help her, Elincia. If you were in her position, she would surely do the same. Please, just give the word.”

Again, Elincia is at the point where she is taking action herself instead of entreating others. Rather than order him to do anything, Elincia visits Ludveck in what is one of the most defining scenes of her arc. The non-extended version is below as I think it gets the point across quite well, but there are more dialogue beats in the extended version.

Ludveck: “Queen Elincia, you’re so naive. Cold and callous decisions are sometimes required of a nation’s ruler. …I was testing you. We all wanted to know if our queen would have the power to stop a civil war.” Ludveck: “But, no, you were too hesitant and too concerned about harming the people… Now look what has happened. The rule of Crimea cannot be kept in your hands! Please, Your Majesty! You must abdicate and cede the crown to me!” Ludveck: “And considering Lady Lucia’s life is on the line, you haven’t much choice. Now, let’s have you free me from this prison cell, and then we can discuss any further details…” Elincia: “I don’t think so.” Ludveck: “What?! Are you truly willing to sacrifice Lady Lucia?!” Elincia: “…Lord Ludveck, all your dissatisfaction and misgivings about me are well founded. However, do you realize how many lives you’ve simply thrown away?! Strength without compassion does not a ruler make. You care nothing for the people, sir. You cloak your desire to rule with pretty speeches, but it is petty avarice nonetheless!” Ludveck: “…So this is how it shall be? Very well… But Lady Lucia cannot be spared without my order.” Elincia: “Allowing you to plant the seeds of rebellion and play havoc with the lives of my people is a failure for which I must answer. But I will see Crimea through this trial. I will give my people the future they deserve, no matter the cost.”

Ludveck patronizes Elincia for her compassion while pretending he has the citizens' best interests at heart, but Elincia doesn't bow to his demands. She maintains her compassion along with her resolve. However, no matter how caring someone is, the fact of the matter is that decisions that help even a great deal of people still come with consequences. Elincia realizes this, and is prepared to make that sacrifice while taking responsibility—even though, as she said in PoR, she "shall never smile again."

In the beginning of PoR, Elincia lost almost everything in one fell swoop. When she was finally reunited with her retainers, the thought of sacrificing even one of them was unbearable, even if it could potentially have derailed her goal to retake her country from an invading tyrant. Now, though, she is in a position of greater power, and she is fully aware of the responsibility that comes with it. Compared to PoR, where she was so often at the mercy of others, the only thing tying her hands now is the threat to Lucia. Of course, Lucia is immensely important to her, but after spending three years working to rebuild Crimea, nothing can convince her to let it again fall to ruin under another power-hungry leader.

Thankfully, Lucia's life and Elincia's smiles are saved, thanks to Bastian secretly calling in the Greil Mercenaries. Despite her resolve, Elincia's conflicting priorities are still apparent, as in the extended version (translation on Serenes Forest provided below) she expresses wonder at her decision. As for her retainers, though their feelings on how she should handle such situations have shifted over time, they don't begrudge her decision.

Elincia: “…When Lucia was captured… It was as if I lost my other half. Even now, seeing her by my side, I feel so strange… Wondering how, at that time, I could make the decision to abandon her…” Lucia: “Lady Elincia…” Elincia: “Still… If the same scenario occurred… I believe I would make the same decision. Lucia’s life is important, but it’s not on the same scale as protecting the country. As the Queen of Crimea, I must accomplish my duty to the country foremost.” Lucia: “Of course. Seeing Lady Elincia being able to make this decision, it truly makes me happy. As if I would hate you.” Geoffrey: “My thoughts exactly.” Elincia: “Lucia, Geoffrey… I value your lives more than even my own. But it’s my duty to protect this country, even if that means losing you. I’ve learned a lot from all of this. I hope to keep them out of harm’s way, and I’ll never make the same mistakes again.”

By the end of this section, the bulk of Elincia's arc is complete. She has decided what matters to her and what she will do as queen when put into high-pressure situations. She resolves the situation by deciding to be openly harsh in punishing Ludveck's followers despite the fact that it will gain ire toward her, as refusing to do so before gave him the opening he needed. She has decided to be uncompromising in the face of reactionary politics. Not everyone in Crimea will agree with her decisions, but those closest to her will never waver in their loyalty, to the extent that they are both willing to live and die for her. It's no wonder that, as her epilogue says, "Her reign was remembered as a golden age."

Conclusion

Because I touched on the topic of Elincia's agency and how she maneuvers within the limits of it, I want to give a brief shout-out to her actions in part three. She is Gallia's ally and does not want any more bloodshed in her lands. However, due to Begnion exercising its imperial power, she cannot fully stop its army from entering her lands in pursuit of the laguz alliance. The action she ultimately takes, dropping her weapon in between the opposing armies and essentially daring them to murder a queen of a country with whom they're both allied, all without betraying her own nonviolent ideals, is an unparalleled power move.

Getting back to Elincia's trolley problems, what I find interesting is that though Elincia's decisions are different in PoR and RD, neither game condemns her for her choices. She cares for both the mass of strangers that comprise her kingdom and the loved ones who she's spent her life beside. Her situation in each game is different, so she handles each situation differently in ways that make sense given her roles, pressures, and motivations.

FE in general, and Tellius in particular, asks the characters and players to care about the fates of individual lives as well as whole worlds. Both PoR and RD present the question of what someone would or should do when these personal and political goals conflict, without giving one black-and-white answer. Elincia's arc is just one impactful example of this.

As for me, I'm not gonna lie—though Elincia doesn't have the option to reset the game whenever someone dies, I probably always will.

#fire emblem #tellius #fe9 #fe10 #elincia #elincia ridell crimea #elincia fire emblem #lucia fire emblem #geoffrey fire emblem #path of radiance #radiant dawn #anyway I'm still yodeling about her finally getting a legendary. in the same year as her ascended alt even!

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ystrike1 · 11 months

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Remarried Empress - By Alphatart (9.5/10)

I've waited a long, long time for this. I'm not sure if this review will offend anyone, but here I go. I am not insinuating that Remarried Empress is a traditional yandere story. Obsession is not the focus. Especially not during the first season, but longtime readers know the drama eventually boils over. Delusion, denial, and love all clash during the fabulous finale. The line between villain and hero blurs in a beautiful way halfway through the story.

Spoilers for everything (I mean it) ahead!!!

Remarried Empress is well known for its seamless magic integration. Fantasy webtoons are infamous for clunky, wordy spellcasting systems and magic schools with zero charm.

That is not the case here.

Magic is a plot point that has little to no relevance during the first quarter of the story. We get hints. The issue grows. We get drama from the very beginning, from the perspective of a powerful woman trapped in a toxic marriage. The woman in question is the Empress, Navier, who has no magic whatsoever. Magic is an important political power tool. It doesn't magically make you more important. Lots of badly written stories love to give their protagonists fantastical magical powers, as if that power gives you the ability to rule.

This is not the case here.

Navier gains magical powers at the very end of the story. It is part of her happy ending. It is not the reason why she is successful in her political endeavors. Navier loves ruling. She was raised for it, and uprooting corruption gives her joy. Drama and sparkles are not her source of power. She is a borne and true politician who recognizes that the nobility cannot prosper without happy, healthy common people. She receives magic when her duplicitous and extremely loving husband decides she is worthy of it. It's sort of a wedding gift. Yes, it's a very morally dubious part of the story. The magic imbuing process starts without her permission.

(I won't spoil all the details. Don't be too mad at Heinrey.)

Navier is from the Trovi family. Her family line has produced multiple Eastern Empire ex-Empresses. Magic is on the decline. The Eastern Empire has less active wizards than ever before, and they can't figure out why. Luckily the nation has a steady Empress and Emperor to rely on. Naiver and Sovieshu have a good relationship. She loves him more than he loves her. They mostly live separate lives. They don't even eat together every day, because they are both so busy, but Navier trusts Sovieshu. They were raised together as children. The priest who married them thought they would be different. A rare, happy royal couple.

Souvieshu ruins that lifelong relationship when we brings in a runaway slave. The lovely young woman, Rashta, got caught in one of the Emperors animal traps! How awful! He takes responsibility for the terrible accident. He carries her to the doctor on horseback the way any decent man would.

He almost immediately makes her his Official Mistress. There is a formal title, as mistresses are common for Emperors. Naiver has to go through a humiliating process. She has to welcome, and give a spending allowance to, the woman her beloved husband is sleeping with. She even has to throw parties for the woman her husband is currently spoiling instead of her.

Ouch.

(Yes. You are correct. It is revealed later that the accident was no accident. Rashta jumped in harms way in a desperate attempt to escape her shackles as a slave. A slave who had a bastard child with her owners son. When said son decided he didn't want to lower himself and marry her Rashta dolled herself up. She ran into the royal woods looking gorgeous on purpose. She would have been a cool protagonist, in another life, but she's just not tough enough to survive royal intrigue. In her desperation she loses everything. It does sound tragic, until you get to know her. Rashta is a child abusing, bloodthirsty, narcissistic tattle-tale by the end of her story. I'm sure you can guess how it ends.)

Throughout season one we see how integral the Empress is to the East. At first it seems like everyone favors the Emperor, but things are not what they seem. Empress Navier runs a tight ship. She doesn't need to be babied like Souvieshu. A gap slowly begins to grow between them. His incompetence starts to shine bright when he lashes out at his Empress. He blames her for every little problem his Mistress encounters. Including the problems Rashta makes up to cause unnecessary drama. Rashta makes little mistakes that pile up over time. Her allies aren't very strong, and she is never honest with anyone. She talks like a cute idiot on purpose, but that backfires when she can't find a teacher willing to put up with her as a result. She can't catch up to Navier. A genius couldn't. Navier has been privy to national secrets since her youth. Trying to catch up on that much reading...just isn't possible for a regular, but gorgeous, slave. Also, Rashta is desperately hiding her slave status. Rashta starts to copy Navier in obvious ways, and Navier is refreshingly human about it. She hates it. She tells Rashta to learn on her own, and she isn't always diplomatic about it. Her complaints push her into an intimate but platonic friendship with the Prince of the Western Kingdom, Heinrey.

Heinrey has a special kind of magic. He can turn into a bird. He uses his bird form as an excuse to stick close to Navier, because he's carrying a MASSIVE torch for her. It is not just a crush. He's bitter about being younger than her. If they were the same age he would have gotten the chance to woo her, but Souvieshu was the most convenient and familiar choice for her family. Navier was a couple years out of his reach. He thought he would have to sulk about losing the chance to have her forever, but then Souvieshu stirs the pot. Sidenote Souvieshu is very insecure. He expects his Empress to love him over everything. He got upset when Navier...you know...did her job well. He wanted his wife to be drooling over him constantly or something. It's weird. He is also quite sexist. This becomes more obvious as the story goes on. He treats Rashta like an object, and he loses interest in her after less than a year. That's suspiciously fast. He is only using Rashta to satisfy his craving for cute attention. It's quite pathetic. They both are.

Anyway moving on.

Heinrey "visits on diplomatic business", but in reality he's planning to take over the East. Yeah. That's something. The writing is really on another level. I had no clue whatsoever until later on. He also stole the magic by the way. Yeah. Heinrey is the reason why their magicians just can't cast anymore. An adorable young student despairs before the Empress about her crushed dreams in tears. All while Heinrey is just standing there, in the background, completely aware of the fact that he is the cause of her suffering.

He's a pretty scary guy.

Navier eventually agrees to flee the country and marry him.

Rashta's lies leave no other choice for her. Rashta falls pregnant. Navier has never been pregnant. As the woman, she has always received the blame. Cough. Sexism. Cough. Souvieshu is actually infertile due to a childhood accident. He, of course, is completely convinced that Navier is the infertile one. Rashta is carrying another baby that belongs to her masters son. She is willing to put an illegitimate child on the throne to get power, because she doesn't know any better. There are certain things peasants just don't know. A magical paternity test exists. It involves droplets of blood and a mixture of special water. After Rashta gives birth to a child that looks nothing like Souvieshu he gets wise. Souvieshu makes Rashta Empress (temporarily) for the sake of "his" child. He always intended to remove Rashta from the Empress seat, as soon as "his" child was seen as legitimate by the court of law. His callous attitude is what convinces Navier to leave. She has always loved her husband. She loved him more than she thought she did. She put up with real pain to support him, but he decided to remove her from her Empress seat. She didn't know he graciously planned to take her back after the divorce, but it doesn't matter.

The incident proves he never respected her, so she leaves with Heinrey to become the Western Queen.

The West isn't really as powerful as an Empire yet, but oh! Wait! As soon as Navier is crowned and by his side Heinrey proclaims that the Kingdom is an Empire now.

How convenient!

Heinrey is pretty and morally grey, but he is a good husband. He worships the ground Navier walks on. When rumors about her infertility start spreading he does not give a crap. He has ways to fix the issue if it's true, and if she's actually not the infertile one he's ready to kill whoever started the story. His bird form is cute enough to be a marketable plushy. It's shitty that he lied about being a bird for the entire first season, but Navier needed comfort. He provided it how he could. As a pet. Yes I know it's weird. Navier wasn't willing to befriend him at first though. He had to use his adorable bird body to bring her guard down!

Wait.

That makes him sound worse...

He's a good husband though.

I swear...

This is Christa. The young dowager Queen of the newly formed Western Empire. Heinrey's sick brother kicked the bucket. Now Heinrey is Emperor and he's brought a foreign Empress home. Slight problem. Christa is in love with Heinrey. She uses a spiked love potion, and a man who is madly in love with Naiver, in an attempt to seduce him and destroy the couple. Christa is pathetic, like Rashta, but she's a little smarter. Her love for Heinrey is the weakness that brings her down. She kills herself after she boldly claims that Heinrey slept with her, in an attempt to become his Mistress. Heinrey produces proof that the affair doesn't exist...and Christa doesn't recover mentally.

Fair warning.

Remarried Empress gets darker and darker until the ending.

Heinrey throws a party, to celebrate Navier's pregnancy, right after her death.

Suddenly I don't think Heinrey is cute anymore...

This is Grand Duke Kaufman. He falls in love with Navier. He accidentally used a love potion he was experimenting with. It turns out that the potion effects are extra strong when you already have a crush. Kaufman never intended to act on his feelings, but the potion eventually turns him into a madman.

His story ends after he attacks the Empress.

I think you already know how that ending looks.

Rashta ties everything together really well as a villain. She looks like an idiot, but for a commoner who didn't even know how to write she does pretty well. Her idiotic copycat act is a distraction. It cleverly hides the mastermind behind the scenes. Heinrey. Navier had no clue Heinrey was in love with her when she accepted his proposal. She accepted it because she was desperate to rule. She didn’t want to watch Rashta take her place, and Heinrey took advantage of that.

He sweeps her off her feet. They live happily ever after, but the pile of bodies behind them is quite steep.

(Souvieshu realizes he made a mistake as soon as Navier marries Heinrey. He starts drinking heavily. He travels to the West again and again to beg her to take him back. He quietly goes insane and he eventually loses his memories. He lives on thinking Navier is still his fiance, and everything is the way it used to be. Navier will always love him. That's his drunken dream. When his memories return he begs yet again and he says he'll accept Heinrey's children as his own, because they have her blood. Her goes seriously insane in six different ways. He also basically forgets Rashta ever existed.)

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #fantasy novel #light novel #Remarried Empress

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karahalloway · 4 months

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(Less Than) Noble Intentions: Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

Fandom: TRR

Pairing: Drake Walker x F!OC (Harper Gale)

Series Summary: The social season may be over, but Harper Gale’s problems are just beginning. With everyone at court a potential suspect, can she and Drake survive the engagement tour and get to the bottom of the plot against her and clear her name? An AU take of TRR2 featuring my OTP - Harper & Drake.

Masterlist: (Less Than) Noble Intentions

Chapter Summary: Harper greets the world as the new Duchess of Valtoria, but that is not the only newsworthy item that rocks the Apple Harvest Festival...

Word Count: 7,300

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing, angst, possible ulterior motives)

Chapter theme song:

A/N1: Things are slowly coming to a head! Thanks for bearing with me on this series - I know I have a lot of other projects in the works, so I have not been updating as much as I probably should. But, we are finally getting to the exciting parts (as if what's happened until now hasn't been exciting 🤣) as after this chapter, we are into the meat of the engagement tour, and all the juicy plot changes that I have been wanting to write for over a year will finally come to a fore! *evil laugh*

A/N2: If you have not heard of TURN - the TV show from which I borrowed the chapter theme song - then, I can highly recommend it (especially if you like historical dramas, US history (specifically the Revolutionary War period), or just really good story-telling)!

A/N3: This is also much submission for @choicesjanuary2024 Day 12: Smiles / Secret

Chapter 16 - Snakes in the Garden

"Are you sure I look okay?" I ask, nervously pulling at the high-necked strip of emerald lace that circles my throat.

"Stop fiddling!" Bertrand berates, slapping my hand away. "We are running late as it, and we cannot afford to lose any more time to last minute touch-ups!"

"Yeah, but—"

"You look great, Harper," Maxwell assures me with a beaming smile. "Marcie did a great job."

The petite make-up artist that the Beaumonts had procured out of thin air bobs a curtsy to my right. "It was my pleasure, Your Grace."

Her words hit me like a whiplash.

Your Grace.

My new form of address. One I'm not sure I'm ever going to get used to. Lady Harper had been one thing, but that had always felt like a curtesy. A temporary formality that had been extended to me by virtue of my sponsorship by the Beaumonts during the social season.

But there is nothing temporary about my current situation. The weight of the ring on my hand — and its implications — bears down heavily on my finger... and my thoughts. Especially since I still haven't found a moment alone with Drake to finish our conversation from this morning... or bring him up to speed on my new status.

Because no sooner had my ennoblement been sealed with the very expensive — and very potent — champagne, than the Beaumonts had shown back up (somewhat mercifully) to crash Christian's surprise party.

And from there it had been a whirlwind of hair, makeup and outfitting for the all-important Apple Harvest Festival where I am due to make my grand debut as the new Duchess of Valtoria.

A position of some importance — Bertrand has stressed, multiple times — given that in addition to the impressive estate that I am now the official caretaker of, I also have a seat on the infamous Council, as well as a seat on the even more exclusive Privy Council. Not to mention my own fleet of staff, vehicles, bank accounts, and carefully curated online profiles.

Which is why — on top of everything — the ever-industrious press corps have worked at record speed to throw the fruits of yesterday's labours together into an exclusive, twelve-page spread as part of a special edition of Trend magazine, which dropped this morning.

And while I haven't actually had a chance to read through the copy that currently sits on the coffee table of my room (together with every other major national and international news publication), Maxwell has assured me that the social media reactions have — so far — been positive. The snaps of my stress-fuelled efforts at yesterday's apple pick have apparently helped.

Which means that Jonathan's PR gamble is starting to pay dividends, and I now have a public image to maintain. Not just for myself, but for Cordonia as well. Because when I step outside today, I'll be representing everything that the kingdom under Christian's burgeoning rule is striving to be — beauty, modernity, opportunity.

Definitely not the best day to wake up with a litany of awkwardly situated bruises!

Thankfully, both Maxwell and Bertrand seem to have had a chance to pull themselves together after this morning's surprising (and definitely explosive!) turn of events, and — after the initial shock — have set about covering for mine and Drake's mess with the same coordinated precision that they employed to pull the Beaumont Bash out of their butts.

With the result that they somehow managed to transform me from the black and blue disaster I woke up as, into the picture of a polished and refined lady.

I glance apprehensively out at the bright sunshine blanketing the hills. Hopefully, the carefully applied window-dressing survives the literal trial by fire it's about to be subjected to. Because just like yesterday, the temperature is set to climb into the mid-90's today as well, which means I'll most likely end up sweating buckets again, thanks to the Edwardian nature of my dress's neckline.

And what I definitely don't need today is for all the blush and cover-up getting smudged away so that everyone at the event can start speculating about the intimate placement of my of hickeys!

I close my eyes wearily. God, I can't wait for all this to be over...

"No catnaps!" snaps Bertrand, slapping a wide-brimmed hat onto my head. "The people are waiting on us!"

I barely have time to grab my matching clutch before the Beaumonts are whisking me out of my room and down the length of the corridor towards the manor's lawn.

"Surely the Festival can start without us...!" I gasp as I stumble after Bertrand in my heels.

"No, it cannot," he reprimands. "All members of the Council must be present for the ceremonial tree planting."

I frown. "Tree planting? Isn't that a little... agrarian for the aristos?"

"It is a time-honoured tradition!" corrects Bertrand. "Cordonia owes its existence and livelihood to the noble Ruby, so it is the duty of the Council to ensure that the fruits of our bounty are secured for future generations! Hence, the requirement to plant new saplings at the end of each harvest!"

"If you say so..." I concede as we pass through the back doors of the manor.

Based on what I saw at the apple pick, Bertrand's pronouncement seems optimistic at best, given that none of the aristos even bothered to lift a finger to a tree yesterday.

But, looks can always be deceiving, so maybe today is the day that the I am pleasantly surprised for once.

A deafening cheer erupts as the Beaumonts and I step out onto the manor's steps.

Snapping my head towards the source of the commotion, I see what appears to be thousands of people crammed behind velvet-lined cordons, screaming and jostling for position like they're in the front row of a Taylor Swift concert...

...and it takes me a second to realise that it's my name that they're shouting.

"Duchess!"

"Lady Harper, we love you!"

"You're the true Apple Queen, no matter what anyone says!"

"Wow..." I blink, taken aback by the fervency of the crowd's reaction. "I didn't realise I had such a rabid following..."

"Best wave to them," suggests Maxwell, leaning in as he raises his arm into the air with a wide smile.

"Okay..." I concede hesitantly, turning to the crowd to do the same.

The last time I experienced anything remotely like this had been on the red carpet at the Derby — my first public outing as a suitor. But even the bright flash of the cameras and the intrusive questions that the reporters had flung at me paled in comparison to the reaction I am receiving today.

Phones and cameras are thrust into the air as the Beaumonts and I descend the manor's stairs to the accompaniment of the increasingly frenzied cheers and shouts of encouragement. Even a few bouquets of flowers fly through the air, narrowly missing my hat.

And I can't help but smile in the face of the genuine outpouring of support from the crowd. Because it sure as heck feels good to be on top for once!

However, arriving at the edge of the orchard where the tree planting ceremony is due to take place, I am greeted by a very different type of welcome.

Snooty expressions drip down the ends of aristocratic noses as the members of the Council pass silent judgment on my somewhat bombastic entrance.

"They're just jealous," Maxwell whispers to me as we take up our spots at the edge of the gathering.

"Yeah..." I agree with a stilted voice. "That's what I'm worried about."

I know firsthand of the lengths that these people are willing to go to in order to exact vengeance for perceived slights. And I did not particularly feel like painting a target on my back a second time while I am still trying to recover from the hurt caused by the first.

Maybe this is a mistake...

But I don't have time to think on it long, because the public erupts into an even more deafening outburst as Christian appears with Madeleine on his arm.

"Look at her..." snips a voice from behind me. "Acting like she's Queen already."

I whip around in disbelief. "Olivia!"

The Duchess of Lythikos cuts her green eyes over at me with a derisive look. "Oh, don't look so surprised, Harper. Just because you are now a duchess, does not mean that the rest of us have taken early retirement."

"Trust me," I grumble under my breath, "this was not the plan."

"Opportunities multiply as they are seized," she replies sagely.

I quirk a brow at her. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," she expounds surly, "opportunity breeds opportunity. And only by exploiting every advantage will you uncover previously hidden gains. Do they not teach The Art of War inyour schools?"

"No..."

She scoffs under her breath. "Explains a lot."

I roll my eyes at her as Christian and Madeleine pause on the steps for photos and a couple of quick sound bites. "I guess this means your sabbatical was productive?"

"Exceedingly."

I heave a breath. "At least one of us is making progress..."

"Oh, don't sell yourself short," she counters out of the corner of her mouth. "Your recent advancements have served as a welcome distraction..."

"Not sure if that’s a compliment, or not..." I admit sourly.

"You have more power than you realise," she insists quietly. "Make sure you use it."

"Wow..." I mutter, glancing over at her in genuine surprise. "Friendly advice from the Scarlet Duchess? What else have you learnt during your time away?"

"Our interests are temporarily aligned, nothing more," she replies, shooting daggers across the lawn towards Madeleine. "And I'll fill you in shortly."

"Well, it's good to have you back, regardless," I say with a dip of my head. "Your Grace."

Olivia shoots me a sidelong look. "Don't get sentimental on me, Duchess."

But I can see the hint of a smile pulling at her lips.

Christian and Madeleine arrive at the edge of the trees. Stepping up to the row of waiting saplings, Christian pulls a stack of notecards out of his pocket and delivers a short speech to the click of the cameras.

As the mandatory applause dies down, he slots the pieces of paper carefully away... and pulls off his jacket.

"What are you doing?" hisses Madeleine as the crowd descends into a hubbub of excited reactions.

"Taking a leaf out of the Duchess of Valtoria's book," he replies, handing his jacket off to the closest shocked Councillor as he sets about rolling up his sleeves.

"Out of—!" Madeleine bristles in indignation, while trying to maintain an outwardly calm composure. "The only thing you have taken is leave of your senses! Now get back here and—!"

Ignoring his fiancée's outburst, Christian grabs the ribbon-bedecked shovel out of the hands of the footman that was holding it, and steps up to a clear patch of grass. Adjusting his grip on the handle, he digs the metal blade decisively into the ground to the accompanying slew of clicking camera shutters.

"Shall we?" asks Olivia with a sly smirk as she pushes her way to the front of the line of gawping nobles.

"Let's," I agree, instantly catching onto her plan.

"Lady Harper!" hisses Bertrand from behind me. "What do you think you're—?"

"Lending a hand to the King," I throw back over my shoulder as I step to the front of the row of aristos who are looking mutely onto the sight of their monarch working up an actual sweat before them.

Grabbing another shovel from the pile in the corner — these ones obviously having seen some honest work already, judging by the dirt encrusted on their faces — I join the King of Cordonia in enlarging the hole in the ground.

Because regardless of Christian's underlying motives for ennobling me, and whatever his broader game may be, what he is doing right now is bigger than me, bigger than him, bigger than any of us. And that deserves recognition. Especially when he is taking such active — and public — strides towards being the change he wants to see unfurl during his rule. Where the ruling class doesn't just offer empty platitudes and hollow ceremony, but actually practices what it preaches. So, what better way to do that, than by planting the seeds of change in front of thousands of people in the literal heart of the kingdom?

Christian rewards my arrival with a nod and a smile as I take up position next to him.

Hefting my shovel, I slice it into the earth that he's already uncovered, using the somewhat flimsy sole of my heeled sandals to drive it deeper.

Scooping the blade back out, I suddenly feel a presence to my left. Looking up, I see that Maxwell has also joined our impromptu work crew.

Throwing me a wink, he drops his shovel in next to mine.

With the three of us working on tandem, it takes us almost no time at all to dig out a hole large enough to house the new apple tree.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead — the weatherman had not lied, that's for sure! — I see that Olivia, with some assistance from Hana, has already prepared the sapling by shunting it closer to the hole and removing the burlap covering from its roots.

Laying down our shovels, we help her manoeuvre the tree to the edge of the dint. Cheers and applause rise up from the onlookers as the sapling thuds into the earth. Olivia uses one of the knives from her hidden arsenal to slice off the twines holding the branches together, and the tree unfurls itself with a satisfied snap.

"Your Majesty!" shouts a reporter, who I recognise as Frederick Capone. "One for the Cordonian Times, if you please!"

"And for the CBS!" adds Donald Brine, muscling his way to the front.

"Certainly," accedes Christian graciously, holding his arm out. "It was a group effort, after all."

We all gather in — sweaty and dirty, but smiling — as the press corps immortalises the scene...

...and I innocuously sweep my hair over my shoulder in a vain effort to try and hide any bruises that may have become uncovered as a result of the unplanned exertion.

"Thank you for joining me in my moment of impulsivity," Christian acknowledges softly as the bulbs flash.

"Please," scoffs Olivia out of the side of her mouth. "It was coordinated from the start."

"The people don't seem to mind," counters Hana with a demure smile as she faces the cameras.

"With the exception of about half-dozen," I note, glancing back at the disgruntled looks of the Councillors from behind us, as they try to save face by applauding our efforts together with the rest of the crowd.

"They'll fall in line." Christian assures me as he lifts his hand with a wave.

I feel a prick between my shoulder blades. Turning my head, I catch sight of the cold fire radiating out of Madeleine's gaze from behind the mask of her perfect smile.

"Maybe not everyone..." I mutter under my breath as I turn back towards the paps.

I'm already on Madeleine's shit list for daring to return to court after my very public humiliation and banishment. On the night of her engagement tour launch party, no less! So, the fact that I ended up upstaging her — again — probably means that I've sunk even further down the ladder of her estimations.

To what end, I have no idea. But I'm going to have to start being more careful from here on out.

Once the press are finally placated, we disperse across the lawn in search of some much-needed refreshments.

"Harper!"

I swallow a groan as I'm brought up short, mere steps from the freshly squeezed, rosemary-infused lemonade that I desperately need after toiling away in this heat. "What now, Bertrand...?"

"I... uhm..." He clears his throat as I turn to face him. "I wanted to apologise for my earlier outburst. It was unseemly... and in retrospect, short-sighted."

"What do you mean?" I ask with a frown. Bertrand very rarely — if ever! — apologised.

"The public reaction to the tree planting has been overwhelming," he clarifies, pulling his phone out.

My eyes bulge as I take in the view count on the screen. "A hundred thousand views already!"

"And counting," Bertrand adds. "And that is only one website."

"And look at the comments!" I exclaim, scrolling through the feed. "They're loving Maxwell as well!"

"Yes, it appears that my brother has a keener instinct for media relations than I do..."

"You should tell him that," I say. "It would mean the world to him."

Bertrand looks momentarily taken aback. "I... Well..." He clears his throat again. "Yes. Maybe I will. He deserves some recognition for his efforts in diverting — at least temporarily — the negative attention away from our financial predicaments."

"A simple hug and a 'thank-you' will do," I tell him with a knowing look.

Bertrand reels back in abject horror. "I will not subject my brother to such a sordid display of affection! Especially in public!"

I heave a sigh. "And there's your problem, right th—"

I trail off as I spot a familiar figure signalling to me from over Bertrand's shoulders.

"Excuse me," I say, palming Bertrand's phone back to him as I move towards one of the marquees that had been set up at the edge of the lawn.

Slipping inside the flap of the tent, I come face-to-face with Ana de Luca.

"Your Grace," she nods, dipping into a curtesy, something she hasn't deigned to do before. "Thank you for making the time."

"Ana," I nod in return, wondering why the influential editor of Trend chose to pull me away for a private meeting. Especially after I cornered her so forcefully at Madeleine's garden party a few days ago.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," she continues, straightening back up. "Since returning to court you have managed to elevate yourself not just in rank, but in the eyes of the public as well. Rolling your sleeves up in tandem with the King was a masterful piece of image enhancement."

"I didn't do it for myself," I reply evenly.

"Of course," she nods quickly. "We must all step in line with our new King. But your reputation is certainly reaping the benefits as well."

"As is your bottom line," I point out.

"Your initiative is markedly boosting sales of this month's special edition, as well as traffic to our website," she concedes. "For which Trend is very grateful. But that is not the reason I pulled you aside."

"What is it then?"

"I found out the name of the photographer," she replies, reaching into her handbag.

I feel my heart jump in my chest. "You're joking..."

She raises a brow at me from behind the lenses of her black-out Versace shades as she pulls a small flash-drive out. "I can assure you that I am not."

I quickly pull myself back together. "No. Of course not..."

Handing the drive over, she adds. "On there you will find all the pertinent information I was able to obtain through my own means."

"Thank you," I say sincerely, taking the piece of plastic from her. "I honestly was not expecting this..."

She shrugs an elegant shoulder. "I said I would look into it, so I did. It is not much, but I am sure you have people who can hopefully take it further."

"I do," I affirm, slotting the device into my clutch.

"After all," she adds with a knowing quirk to her lips. "You are not the only one with a vested interest in seeing your name cleared, Your Grace."

With another quick bob, she exits the marquee.

I let out a low exhale as the tent flap drops back into place in her wake. "Thank God..."

Some much-needed progress at last!

Hopefully, Drake can take the information from the drive and do a deep dive into the photographer to see if they ever crossed paths with whoever it is that has it in for me.

Which reminds me...

Opening my clutch up again, I pull my phone out and type up a quick message to my elusive boyfriend.

I haven't seen or heard from him since the event started. And now I have two pieces of critical information I need to share with him. So, rather than chasing after him like some damsel in distress, I'm going to make him come to me for a change. Because time is of the essence, and I don't want to wait.

Hitting send, I exit the tent and head back towards the orchard. I figure that since everyone is on the lawn, the secluded garden hidden amongst the trees will give me and Drake the best chance to meet in private, away from the prying eyes of the court and the press.

Slipping between the tree trunks, I try to make my way as casually as possible through the orchard, as if I am simply out for a walk, in order to ward off potential suspicion. But, as I drift further away from the Festival, I start to pick up the pace, mindful of the short timeframe I gave Drake... as well as the exposed roots on the ground.

Because as much as I might want to hurry, I definitely don't want — or need — a twisted ankle the day before we're due to start the international leg of the trip. As Mom was right — I should take advantage of the upcoming whirlwind tour of Europe to at least try and get some sightseeing in. As who knows when I'll get the chance to do this again...

...especially if I'm forced to become a hermit because we fail to expose the mastermind behind the press scandal.

I shake my head. No. I need to stay positive. It's the only way I'm going to get through—

"Competing with a herd of elephants, Gale?"

I snap my gaze up at the sound of Drake's voice... and nearly trip over a hidden apple lodged in the grass.

"You try sneaking ‘round in four-inch heels," I grumble back at him, while using the trunk of a nearby tree to steady myself.

He mutters something under his breath as he steps over to me with an outstretched hand. "Here."

Grabbing his hand, I navigate gingerly away from the tree, only to find that the slightly rotten fruit has become impaled on the end of my stiletto.

"Great..." I groan, trying to flick the stupid thing off... But it stays stubbornly stuck.

"You're a walking disaster, y'know that, right?" drawls Drake as he drops down in front of me.

"Ha-ha, funny," I snark back at him while trying to balance on one foot on the uneven ground.

He meets my eye with a wry look as he finally manages to pull the offending fruit off with a squelch. "You're only gripin' 'cause it's true."

"Yeah, well, not all of us have... reflexes... like Neo..." I reply sardonically as I save myself from tipping over by grabbing onto Drake's shoulder.

He stifles a scoff as he tosses the apple into the trees. "You good?"

"Yeah," I confirm, righting myself again and letting go of his shirt.

Drake regards me critically for a long moment — as if expecting me to keel over again at the drop of a hat — before pushing himself up.

"Thanks," I say, laying an appreciative hand on his arm.

The humour fades from his gaze at the contact.

"Drake..." I start...

...but he's already pulled away.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asks, not quite meeting my eyes as he slots his hands into his pockets, the momentary lightness of our previous interaction gone.

I heave a breath.

We really need to talk about what happened this morning. But his suddenly standoffish demeanour makes it clear that he's not quite ready for that yet.

So, I decide to start with something less contentious.

"We have a lead on the photographer," I tell him, reaching into my clutch.

His head perks up with interest. "That was fast."

"Teamwork makes the dream work," I agree with a smile, pulling the flash drive back out and holding it out to him.

His posture suddenly stiffens. "The hell is that?"

I glance around me uncertainly. "What?"

"The fucking ring on your finger," he declares dispassionately, his accusatory gaze scorching into my outstretched hand.

My heart drops. Oh, no...

This is not how I wanted to break it to him. But unfortunately for both of us, the cat has now ripped itself out of the proverbial bag, so I'm just going to have to scamper after it.

Taking a steadying inhale, I look him square in the eye. "It's my new signet ring." I turn my hand over to show it to him.

His face darkens. "Fils de pute de—" he grits under his breath, snapping a hand out to grab my wrist.

My eyes widen. "Drake, what are y—?"

A storm is raging in his espresso gaze. "Signet rings go on the little finger. On the right hand."

"Oh," is all I can manage as he swipes the golden band off my left ring finger.

"You didn't know, did you?" he asks softly, reaching for my other hand... more gently this time.

I shake my head with a constricted throat. "No, I—"

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

My head jerks ‘round at the sound of the unexpected voice. "Christian!"

"I see you couldn't resist a somewhat impulsive stroll through the orchards, either?" he asks, more rhetorically than anything else. "The scent of apples is truly luscious this time of year."

"Erm... yes...!" I manage to squeak out, shoving my right hand behind my back. "Smells like apple juice!"

Christian's brow quivers ever so slightly at my slightly random — and obviously unexpected — comparison.

But I'm too busy coordinating with Drake to get the signet ring shoved back onto my hand while trying to palm the flash drive off to him without dropping either in the process. As both outcomes would lead to some very awkward conversations!

I feel the warmth of the metal slide onto the index finger of my hand (Drake had probably ascertained that the circumference of the band was too large for my pinky), and I'm finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.

Embarrassing backpedaling, narrowly averted!

Drake uses the opportunity to extract the flash drive from my hand as well, dropping the device casually into his pocket as he moves beside me. "She ain't wrong."

"No," concedes Christian, eying the two of us for a second longer than strictly comfortable. "She rarely is."

"So, umm... Are you hiding from the paps as well?" I ask in a bid to diffuse the growing tension in the air.

"No, I came looking for you, actually," he corrects, taking a step forward. "I saw you slip into the orchard, and thought it prudent to follow you."

"Oh?" I say, feeling my stomach tighten again. "Worried I might get lost?"

"I was hoping to catch you alone," he corrects, coming to a stop in front of me.

I swallow tightly as I see him glance over at Drake.

Please don't fight... Please don't fight...

Christian's gaze reverts to me. "But I suppose it is convenient for Drake to happen to be here as well."

My heart skips an uncomfortable beat. "It is?"

"Yes," he affirms. "I have received some news that you'll both be interested in hearing."

"Well, don't keep us in damn suspense, then..." mutters Drake with a noticeable edge to his voice.

I try to reach discretely out to brush my fingers against his, to reassure him that come what may, we'll get through it together, that—

"We found Tariq."

Christian's words hit me like a kick to the chest. The breath explodes out of me so forcefully that I am actually forced to take a step back in a bid to maintain my balance as the apple trees descend into a spin around me.

No way...

"Where?"

Drake's voice floats across the edge of my awareness. And even in my spaced-out state, I can feel the weight of the cold, calculated fury infused into that single word.

No corner... No mercy.

"Dubai," replies Christian, who also sounds like he's miles away. "He—"

But Drake's already spun away. "Send me the coordinates."

"Harper?"

I blink up at Christian in a daze. "Huh?"

"Are you alright?" he asks, laying a concerned hand on my cheek. "You... You looked as if you were about to faint..."

"I..." I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat. "I'm okay."

"Are you certain?" he presses, peering down at me. "I could ring for a doctor, and—"

"No," I insist, pulling away from him. "I'm fine. I... I guess I just got caught off-guard..."

"It is an unexpected development, certainly," he concedes. "But hopefully still a welcome one?"

"Yes!" I blurt out. "Of course! I want to clear my name more than anyone, and Tariq is key to that! I just..." My voice trails uncertainly off.

Christian flashes me a knowing half-smile. "Feel some trepidation about the prospect...?"

"I guess so," I concede, my fingers moving unconsciously to the horseshoe charm at my wrist.

Because as much as I may want Tariq to pay for what he did from a rational point of view, from an emotional standpoint, I’m terrified.

As even though I know in the back of my mind that a lot of my trepidation has to do with the fact that I am still trying to recover from the psychological trauma that Tariq inflicted on me, a major part of me is also scared of what setting the record straight would entail in practice.

Christian had mentioned that there were 'methods of persuasion' that could be used to force a confession from Tariq. But then what? Would I be made to very publicly relive the entire horrible episode in the form of TV spots and interviews, or would we be able to get by with one official press release? And given my spotty history with the press, will people actually believe my side of the story...?

I mean, Meghan and Harry didn’t exactly fare well in the court of public opinion when they tried to counter the official royal narrative...

On top of all that, in light of my very visceral reactions to returning to Applewood, I have no idea how I'm going to react to seeing Tariq in person again. Would I burst into tears? Have a nervous breakdown? Dissolve into a panic attack? Stab him in the gut and then the nuts?

And (possibly worst of all) what if we discover that Tariq had been acting alone? And his attack on me — while traumatising — is in no way connected to the larger, and definitely more dangerous plot to remove me from the running for Queen? What then...?

"Your qualms are not as misplaced as you may initially think," Christian consoles. "It is a daunting prospect to face the person who actively sought to harm you."

Something in his tone catches my attention. "What do you mean?"

Christian heaves a sigh. "I do not know if you are aware of this, but several years ago, I was the target of an assassination attempt."

I nod tightly. "Yes. Drake told me."

"Then I presume he also told you how deeply the experience affected me," he says, catching my eye with an uncharacteristically guarded look.

"Yes," I affirm, thinking back to the conversation in Olivia's wine cellar that felt like years ago.

"What he probably didn't tell you, however," he continues, "is that I visited the perpetrator in prison."

My jaw drops. "You what!"

"Not publicly and certainly not in any official capacity." He shakes his head wryly. "I did not even talk to the man."

"Then why...?"

"I... I was having trouble reconciling with what had happened," he explains. "And moving past it. The trauma councillor that I was working with suggested that it was perhaps because I was subconsciously endowing the gunman with too much power, and thereby transmuting the man into something more akin to an evil monster."

A shiver runs down my spine at Christian's words. It's like he's talking about Tariq...

"So, to help break the negative emotional associations I had built up, my councillor arranged a clandestine meeting where I would have the opportunity to face the man."

"How... How did that go?" I ask nervously.

"I was terrified, of course," Christian admits. "I had no idea what to expect and each scenario I imagined in my head was worse than the last. But, when I finally got into room where the meeting was to take place, I was surprised by what I saw. As rather than some hulking, shadowy fiend, it was a pale, somewhat diminutive man sat across from me."

"So… what did you do?"

"We simply sat at a table and stared at each other," he recounts. "He with more than a bit of contemptuous malice, I have to admit, but in that moment, I realised that he was a flesh-and-blood person who had fallen prey to the same misguided emotions as I — anger, fear, resentment — just manifested differently. And that helped set me onto the path of true healing. As ultimately, I was able to forgive him."

"Forgive him?" I gasp disbelievingly. "For trying to murder you?"

"Nobody acts in isolation," Christian advises calmly. "Even the most unconscionable horrors perpetrated by the villains of humanity — torture, mass murder, genocide — sprout from the basis of an emotional or psychological motivator such as love, fear, greed, jealousy... to name but a few. So, while we may disagree with and condemn the action retrospectively from the safety of the moral high-ground, it is very possible that had we found ourselves in a similar situation, we would end up being just as guilty as the person we are looking to condemn."

"So, what?" I demand testily. "I should feel sorry for Tariq for what he did to me?"

"Showing empathy and compassion towards our counterparts does not mean forgetting or excusing the harm suffered," counsels Christian. "But it will certainly allow you to start on the path of true healing."

I shake my head as I turn away. "I'm not sure Tariq deserves that..."

"It is by no means an easy assignment," he admits, laying a hand on my shoulder. "But even if you cannot find it in your heart presently to forgive him, do at least try to keep yourself open to the possibility down the line. You may be surprised by the results."

Looking up, I can see that there is sincerity welling on his emerald gaze. And — for once — I don't doubt the true intent of his words. "Thanks. I'll think about it."

"As diplomatic as ever," he smiles, the tips of his fingers brushing down my back as he drops his hand. "And, regardless of what you choose to do, I'll be right by your side to support you."

"Thanks," I mutter with what I hope is a genuine smile, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that with Drake’s abrupt departure, it’s just me and Christian amongst the trees. Taking a step back towards the way I’d come, I ask, "So, umm... How did you end up finding him?"

"Instagram," replies Christian with a wry chuckle as he falls into step beside me.

My head snaps up in bewilderment. "He posted his whereabouts?"

"No," he laughs, looping my arm through his in reassurance. "Not intentionally, at any rate. He took shelter on his cousin's yacht docked off the coast of the Palm Jumeirah, and—"

"What's that?" I ask with a frown.

"One of a trio of artificially constructed archipelagos located off the coast of Dubai," he explains. "They are so called for their shape, which resemble stylised palm trees."

"Sounds... fancy," I admit, while trying to maintain some semblance of platonic distance between the two of us.

"They really are a sight to behold," he affirms, pulling me back to his side. "But it is part of the reason why we were not able to locate him initially — we knew he has family in the Emirates, of course, but—"

"He does?" I interject in surprise. This is certainly news to me...!

"Yes," he nods. "His father is a Cordonian nobleman, but his mother hails from the House of Al Falasi, the branch of the Bani Yas tribe that also produced Dubai's ruling family."

My eyes widen. "So, his mom is royalty?"

"No," chuckles Christian. "She is not directly connected to the Al Maktoum dynasty. But her family is nevertheless influential in the region. Which is why when we hit a roadblock with the French authorities, we decided to focus our efforts on countries where we knew he had familial or business connections. The Emirates, however, boast a multitude of private airfields, not to mention water-based ports of entry, so attempting to narrow down Tariq’s possible time and method of arrival and determining where he went from there was providing to be a complex undertaking. Especially since we had to ensure to conduct our enquiries outside of the official channels."

"Specifically, via social media," I supply dryly.

"Yes," confirms Christian, only half jokingly. "When we realised that Tariq must have switched off or changed out his phone, Drake suggested that we set up a facial recognition-based search algorithm that could scour the various social media and news portals in a bid to help us pinpoint his exact location."

"That sounds... technical," I admit.

"A few years ago, it would have been, But the technology is relatively commonplace now, thankfully."

"So, you managed to get a hit?"

"Yes," he affirms. "One of his cousins on his mother's side posted a selfie featuring his new yacht a couple of days ago... and someone who partially matched Tariq's features was visible on the edge of the frame. But it wasn't until this morning that our man on the ground was able to obtain independent confirmation that it really was him."

"Wow..." I manage. "Talk about blind, dumb luck."

"Never underestimate the awesome power of serendipity," counsels Christian with a smile as we reach the edge of the trees again. "It certainly played a hand in crossing our paths."

I swallow nervously. "Yeah, I—"

"You have some nerve!"

Before I have a chance to realise what is happening, Madeleine has swooped in from seemingly out of nowhere to intercept us with all the wrathful precision of a homing missile.

"Ow!" I hiss, feeling the ends of her manicured nails sink into my arm as she wrenches me off Christian like I'm some kind of plague.

"One would think you would be grateful to His Majesty for his benevolent generosity in elevating your previously non-existent status to that of a duchess," she spits with barely disguised contempt as she pulls me nose-to-nose with her.

"Get off me!" I grit, trying to shake her loose.

"Madeleine..." interjects Christian from behind me in a voice that I only heard him use once before... in the hallway at Ramsford when he realised that Drake had brought me back to Cordonia. "You overstep."

But the Countess of Fydelia seems to hear neither of us as she tightens her claw-like hold on me. "Yet instead, you repay him by not only by hijacking a royal event to serve your own shameless self-aggrandisement—"

I shake my head in disbelief. "Wait... Wh—?"

"—but then you have the unmitigated gall—"

"Madeleine," says Christian again, more forcefully this time. "That is enough."

But Madeleine is oblivious to the quiet threat suffused into the sound of her name, choosing to continue her tirade instead, "—to sneak off into the bushes with my fiancé in order to do God-knows-what when he should be—"

"I said, enough!" snaps Christian, coming suddenly between Madeleine and me with a face of thunder.

The force of his command is loud enough to cause a few heads on the edge of the lawn to turn curiously towards us.

Even Madeleine startles somewhat in response to the uncharacteristically vehement order. But not enough to let go of me.

"Can you not see what she is doing?" she demands indignantly as she turns to face Christian. "Or does she have you wrapped so tightly around her finger that you cannot even—?"

"How I choose to spend my time with the Duchess of Valtoria in private is of no concern to you, Countess," interjects Christian bluntly. "Or do I need to remind you of the conditions of our engagement?"

Madeleine's alabaster cheeks flush scarlet. "No..."

"Then I strongly suggest that you unhand Lady Harper, and ensure that this kind of juvenile outburst does not happen again."

Madeleine's eyes blaze with cold fury. But she relinquishes her hold on me, nevertheless. "My apologies, Duchess..." she snips, her voice dripping with insincerity.

I reach up to rub the spot where her nails had been on the verge of puncturing my skin.

Bitch...

Christian nods tersely in approval. "Now that that is sorted, I believe our guests are waiting. Lady Madeleine, if you'd be so kind..."

Madeleine takes his arm with a look that could've killed. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Lady Harper," acknowledges Christian with a dip of his head as he starts to steer his seething fiancée away.

Knowing that all eyes are still on us, I drop into a quick curtesy as they walk past, on one hand grateful to Christian for shutting Madeleine down, but on the other hand wondering how badly we kicked into a nest of hornets in the process.

As it is clear that Madeleine is still raging with jealous insecurity... Perhaps even more so than she had been back at her manor when she cornered me in the bathroom. And the fact that — despite the massive diamond on her finger — I now technically outrank her is definitely not helping the situation!

So much for making allies at court…

Blowing a wayward strand of hair out of my face, I turn back towards the festivities…

…only to be greeted by a wall of judgemental eyes, and more than a few camera lenses.

"Great..." I mutter under my breath.

Whether catching me with Christian had been the genuine straw that snapped Madeleine's cool, or whether she deliberately fabricated the showdown to undermine the positive reactions I got from the press earlier, the end result is the same...

I'm going to be on the front page tomorrow. Again.

Exactly in what form, I have no idea. But I've been at court long enough now to know that the whole thing will be blown completely out of proportion, and the resulting story will generate even more press frenzy.

But if there’s one thing that Drake has taught me, it’s that I cannot allow myself to give the aristos the satisfaction of ever thinking that they’ve managed to squash me into the dirt. Because that would undermine the entire reason why I came back to court in the first place, and given how close we now are to claiming back the truth, it would be a massive and premature admission of defeat.

So, raising my chin defiantly, I make my way back across the lawn to rejoin the remainder of the Festival.

The story continues in Chapter 17 - News Flash

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fairy-verse · 4 months

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I've been curious about this for a while since I read you mentioned none of the firstborns are 'siblings' and left it up to our headcanons, essentially?

What would a relationship between the firstborn of Summer and the firstborn of Autumn look like? How would they have become mates? How would their personalities go together in a relationship?

There are such differences yet similarities, and I'm curious how a relationship between Dream (who is shown to usually stay in his Valley) would go with Nightlight (who i remember almost never leaves Nightmare's area)?

Please do feel free to disregard this ask if you see fit, thank you for making such a truly lovely au, it's always fun to backread again whenever I have the time. Thank you for sharing your au with us :D<3

Before Nightmare’s corruption, a relationship with Dream would have been pleasant and filled with gentle touches and soft poems made of song and dance. They would frolic on the Meadow of the Firstborn as they were free from worry and grief, flying either naked or with flowing silks that made them giggle sweetly. They are different, that is true, but their earliest days were slow-moving and filled with nothing but time and patience, so they slowly drifted closer and closer, until eventually they interlaced and became inseparable… Up till the fateful day of Nightmare’s corruption and the demise of his innocence.

Their relationship would have become gloomy and distant. Nightmare would appreciate the support and love Dream gave him, but his broken soul would no longer be able to fully take it in, at least not yet. He’s split apart, changed, covered in corruption as thick and sticky as tar that he’s not yet mastered full control over. He shoves Dream’s love away, and Dream is left in the growing dark of autumn’s new visage.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Now, you specifically ask for Nightlight, so I will show you how him and Dream end up together and how this development will affect Nightmare.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Dream might rarely leave his valley of summer, but at the arrival of Nightlight, he will quickly begin to make frequent visits to Nightmare’s underground nest. He’s beside himself with delight at the sight of the fragile fairy and he cannot help himself but to weep from joy, grief, and relief. He cannot help the fact that he reacts this way, nor can he truly be blamed for not thinking it all through properly. Nightlight holds the memories of Nightmare’s early days, so his love for Dream is as present and strong as back then, too.

Their embrace completes a puzzle left undone for centuries.

Nightmare is happy at their love for one another. He’s happy that Nightlight is loved in more ways than one, and he’s happy that Dream is smiling like that again. He’s happy with this outcome.

He is happy.

… Then why does his happiness sting in his sockets and hurt so badly in his throat?

Nightlight looks and acts the way Nightmare did before his corruption, so of course, Dream would be drawn to him. He is what Nightmare lost, the pleasant sight of colours of early autumn and the gentle breeze of a cooling wind not yet biting cold. Nightlight is sweet and lovely and pure, and he and Dream are so wonderful together. They’re beautiful.

And that is what hurts so badly.

Nightlight is Nightmare in a way, but he’s a past version of him, the second half of Nightmare’s soul that broke apart and died. Nightmare is what was left, what survived the cruelty done by the Big Folk, the harsher and darker part of autumn that could withstand the defilement brought upon him. Nightlight is the part of him that fit so well with Dream, the part of his autumn that still held onto summer and cherished it as much as summer valued its gentleness.

Nightmare isn’t that. He’s not someone who can be careless and free together with Dream anymore, he’s the wrong kind of autumn for Dream, and he’s as deceptive as half of the season he represents, the one giving false promises of a prolonged pause before the bitter winter cold’s arrival. As such, it’s easy to lie right to Dream’s face as the firstborn fairy of summer cradles his cheeks in remorse and pleading mercy for his sudden reaction at the sight of Nightlight.

Dream realises that he’s gone past Nightmare and straight for his lighter counterpart, and he’s remorseful and sorrowful as he begs for Nightmare’s forgiveness and gives away terrible promises that he’ll stay away if he’s hurt him too badly.

Nightmare loves Dream and it breaks him to see Dream so willing to cast himself down just because he was overcome with joy and love for the rebirth of someone that he’d lost so very long ago. Nightmare doesn’t ever want Dream to feel guilty for expressing his raw and wondrous emotions, so he lies. He lies and tells him that it’s okay. That he wants Dream and Nightlight to be together and that he’s moved on. And he doesn’t even stop to think about offering himself to Dream, too, because he doesn’t think Dream wants him like that anymore.

After all, Nightlight is made of the best parts of him, he’s everything that used to be good about him. Why would Dream want him as he is now… melancholic, sarcastic, stubborn, sullen, withdrawn…

If only he’d asked Dream he would have known that he’s not below Nightlight. He would have known that Dream wanted him, too. But now Dream believes that Nightmare isn’t interested, that he has indeed moved on; Nightmare is too good at lying so Dream doesn’t see the grief in his soul, and with how Nightmare’s grown to endure the pain from centuries of being without half of his soul, he’ll be able to endure the heartache from seeing Dream and Nightlight together.

He will endure it, no matter how much it stings and numbs him.

#aufairyverse #utmv #ask for the fairy #fairy!nightmare #fairy!dream #fairy!nightlight #nightmare sans #dream sans #uncorrupted nightmare sans #trust me to turn lovely romance into angst #since you first mentioned “firstborn of autumn” which is Nightmare I assumed you meant a relationship between him and Dream #but then I saw you mentioned Nightlight later and suddenly my mind went wild with angsty ideas #so I went with angst because whoa... this is a tragically beautiful concept to imagine #tragic love is so bitter yet so sweet #can't help but love it #if you just want beautiful romance then you can send another ask for Nightmare Dream and Nightlight ♡

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sweetblinginrose · 17 days

Text

𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒕,

(Jonathan Byers x PlayboyModel fem!reader)

summary: Jonathan's first job in California is not what his friend promised, being a little more... dirty.

word count: 3,3k

warning: +18 small age difference (Jonathan is of legal age), nudes, porn magazine, embarrassing erection, blowjob, cum on face.

a/n: well, like, what can i say about this? obv, i wasn't inspired by anyone. it just popped into my head while thinking about another fanfic. ig it's like a headcanon that Jonathan used to work as a nude photographer or something. idk, just enjoy, ig lol ;p

━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━ ✧♡✧ ━━

He was holding the letter with a mixture of hope and nervousness. The rough texture of the paper contrasted with the smoothness of his fingers, which caressed it almost unconsciously while his mind wandered between the possibilities that letter represented. It was more than just a piece of paper; it was the key to a future he longed for, a job in California that could change his life and that of his mother, Joyce, forever.

Money had always been a delicate subject at home. Joyce, with her job, managed to make ends meet, but always just barely. Jonathan wanted more than just survival; he wanted to live. That's why when Argyle, his long-haired friend with a scent of cheerful herbs, suggested that he apply to that photography agency, he didn't think twice. Argyle, who knew more about plants than people, had seen something in Jonathan, a creative spark that deserved to be explored and shared with the world.

The letter was from 'California Play-graphy', an agency unknown to the boy, with an incredible eagerness to know the answer it contained. Jonathan remembered Argyle's words: "Brother, your photos tell stories that words cannot. You have to show that to the world." And so, with a resume full of dreams and a letter that weighed more than gold, Jonathan found himself on the threshold of his future.

With a deep sigh, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter. The first words danced before his eyes: "Dear Jonathan, we are pleased to inform you...". A shout of joy escaped his lips, resonating in the small room, where Willy and Jane were also making a school project, and surely in the heart of Joyce, who eagerly awaited a package in the kitchen. Jonathan had landed a job, and with it, the promise of a fresh start.

The days leading up to Jonathan's first photo shoot at the agency passed slowly, each second filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. As the appointed day approached, Jonathan's nerves intensified, and he found solace in the company of Argyle, his friend and mentor in the art of calm. Together, they sat on Argyle's old leather sofa, which creaked under their weight, sharing stories and laughter. In their hands, a joint, which they lit with the solemnity of a ritual. Smoke wafted in spirals, carrying away some of the tension Jonathan felt. Argyle, always the philosopher, told him, "Relax, brother. Photography is like this plant, you have to let it flow."

And so, with the background sound of Peter Tosh singing about freedom and struggle, Jonathan allowed himself to let go. The lyrics of "Legalize It" or "Equal Rights" filled the room, and for a moment, everything seemed possible. Argyle, with his street wisdom and heart of gold, reminded Jonathan that life was more than just worries and that every photo he would take would be a reflection of his soul.

When the day finally arrived, Jonathan rose with the dawn. The first rays of sun filtered through the window, bathing the room in a golden light that promised a new beginning. With his camera hanging from his shoulder and the rest of his equipment under his arm, and a nervous smile, he bid farewell to his brother and Jane. He stepped out, and there was Argyle, the one responsible for bringing him to the studios and bringing him back. They drove while Argyle smoked until they reached the giant buildings, causing the long-haired guy to take off his sunglasses and lazily look up with his red eyes, seeing a giant Playboy logo, but since he was so high, he didn't pay much attention.

When they finally arrived, Argyle got out and started looking around, completely taken by the desserts of half-naked women, giving Jon a friendly pat on the back and telling him, "Go and capture the magic, brother."

Jonathan entered the gigantic building, having to go through two checks by giant security guards, reaching his destination. The room Jonathan had found was the epitome of minimalist elegance. The walls, painted in immaculate white, reflected the artificial light emanating from the wide spotlights, creating a serene and almost ethereal atmosphere. There were no paintings or decorations; the beauty lay in the simplicity of the space.

In the center, an asymmetrical velvet sofa stood as the centerpiece of the room. Its modern and daring design invited contemplation as much as rest. The light gray velvet seemed to change with the light, adding depth and texture to the environment. Despite its luxurious appearance, the sofa promised comfort, with soft cushions that seemed to embrace the body. Next to it, on a low glass table, rested a transparent cube. Inside, a pile of bright red cherries, each one a little balloon of sweetness, awaited to be enjoyed. The simplicity of the cube contrasted with the richness of the cherries, creating an intriguing and tempting focal point.

To the right, a producer stood, his gaze fixed on you, the woman who would be Jonathan's model, quite beautiful. His posture was that of someone accustomed to making quick and precise decisions, and his presence commanded respect. By your side, you shone like a golden vision. Your long, flowing robe cascaded from your shoulders to the floor, the golden fabric capturing the light and making you sparkle with every movement. The elegance of your attire contrasted with the informality of the producer, but together, they formed a dynamic and complementary duo.

Jonathan knew that this room, with its atmosphere of calm and careful aesthetics, was the perfect place for his first photo shoot. Here, his art would come to life. Or so he thought.

The producer, with his refined air and delicate gestures, glided through the room with the grace of a dancer. His eyes lit up at the sight of Jonathan, and with a warm smile, he approached him. "Bonjour, mon cher Jonathan," he said with a French accent that enveloped each word like a hug. Their cheeks met in a traditional greeting, two gentle kisses, one on each cheek, that resonated with a resounding muah.

As he spoke, his hands floated in the air, drawing shapes that accompanied his words. "Your talent is magnifique, and we are très excited to work with you," he continued, mixing French with English in a way that seemed almost poetic. Jonathan, although surprised by the effusiveness of the greeting, couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable.

The producer, with his silk shirt and matching pocket square, was the embodiment of Parisian elegance, even thousands of kilometers away from France. "We are going to create art today, do you understand?" he declared confidently, guiding Jonathan to the set while continuing to give instructions, his voice a melodic murmur that promised an unforgettable session. "This work should be a dream come true for a jeune homme hétéro like you, no?" he laughed as he pointed at what Jonathan had to do. With his watch marking the rhythm of a busy day, he apologized with hurried elegance. "My apologies, I have an urgent matter to attend to," he said in his charming mix of French and English. With a gesture of his hand and one last approving glance at Jonathan, he slid out of the set, leaving behind a trace of his distinctive perfume and the promise of returning soon.

Jonathan and you, a few years older than him, with your golden robe, were left alone, surrounded by the pristine whiteness of the room. The absence of the producer filled the space with expectant silence. You turned to Jonathan, your eyes shining with a mixture of surprise and complicity in the unexpected situation. "I guess it's just you and me now," you said, with a smile that exuded confidence and grace. Jonathan nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. However, your calmness and imposing presence gave him strength.

"We are going to make this session memorable," declared Jonathan, adjusting his camera with steady hands. You nodded and took your position on the set, your golden robe reflecting the light as if woven with threads from the same sun.

Jonathan began the session, with a sense of normality, although he sensed that something was not right. Suddenly, you raised a hand, requesting a pause. "The session is without the robe," you said in a soft but firm voice, quite seductive. Jonathan stopped, a little surprised, but nodded in understanding, thinking that you would be wearing an outfit underneath. You gracefully slid out of the golden robe, revealing your fully exposed chest, as well as your entire torso, wearing only a transparent thread-like fabric that 'covered' your intimate area, if that can be called covering.

In the warmth of the light emanating from the spotlights, your bronzed skin and your generous breasts merged into an illuminated tone, with no trace of bikini lines to disrupt the harmony of your smooth and sinuous skin. Every curve of your body was carefully sculpted, leaving no room for imperfections. The absence of hair left your skin impeccable, highlighting its smoothness. Your generously sized breasts stood proudly, crowned by pink nipples that contrasted perfectly with the tone of your lips. Jonathan, captivated by the vision of this goddess in front of him, could barely tear his gaze away from your abdomen, slowly descending until it met the tiny thread-like thong that barely covered the essentials. Without showing any hint of discomfort, you approached Jonathan with overwhelming confidence, asking him if he was truly prepared for the photo shoot.

Without waiting for a response, you reclined on the sofa, unleashing a wave of anticipation in the photographer. Every movement you made was calculated, every pose was a game of seduction meant to ignite the viewer's imagination. Your breasts, as they moved gracefully, seemed to whisper secrets to the wind, tempting the camera to capture your provocative essence.

Jonathan's tent, unable to contain his growing excitement, began to rise, oblivious to his will. Desperately seeking a way to hide his agitation, he crouched slightly, justifying the gesture as an attempt to improve the angle of the shot. In that moment, amidst the visual ecstasy, he was lost, unsure of what to do to conceal his growing desire.

His choice, palpable against his thighs, was a blazing reminder of his desperate need. The absence of female companionship for so long had heightened his desire, leaving him in a state of almost uncontrollable excitement. Jonathan's labored breathing did not go unnoticed by you, your attentive gaze, who, concerned about his sudden distress, placed a soft and elegantly manicured hand on his shoulder. The slight brush of your hand against his skin sent waves of electric sensations through Jon, moistening his underwear slightly with the pre-cum escaping from the tip of his sensitive bulge. The slight friction against his underwear only intensified his ecstasy, plunging him into a state of overwhelming pleasure.

From your point of view, Jonathan seemed on the verge of fainting, a concern that soon became a reality as the boy lost consciousness due to overexcitement. Skillfully, you held him as best you could and placed him on the sofa, watching him with concern as you considered your options. The idea of seeking medical help crossed your mind, but before you could act, something caught your attention. As you stooped to pick up a fallen object, you inadvertently exposed your buttocks and inner thighs close to the photographer's face. A nervous cough escaped from the boy's lips as he pretended to be asleep, trying to hide his growing excitement. However, once again, his tent gave him away before your eyes, who now faced an uncomfortable and tense situation.

After the awkward moment, you chose to act as if nothing had happened, aware that these situations were quite common in your profession. You decided to give Jonathan a few minutes to calm down, although you noticed that this boy was different: shy, charming, and respectful, as he made no comments about your body, which you quite liked.

After some time, you returned to face the camera, but this time the session took an unexpected turn. You incorporated cherries into your poses, strategically placing them on your nipples, causing the pink juice to seductively slide down your skin. With sensual movements, you bit the cherries and slid them over your abdomen, even above your intimate area. For Jonathan, this was completely different from what he had imagined photographing, but at the same time, it was exciting and fascinating. You, without averting your gaze from the camera, began to lightly touch yourself with the cherries, asking Jonathan if the image looked good. Unable to articulate a coherent response, Jonathan simply nodded with a "uhu" between his slightly parted lips, completely absorbed in the tempting vision before him.

Jonathan's excitement drove him to want to explore further, so he proposed to you to strike more provocative poses he had seen in old magazines. You readily accepted, but it soon became clear that you did not understand Jonathan's instructions, leading you to ask for help. With some hesitation, Jonathan approached you and asked permission to touch you, eliciting a playful giggle from you. No one had been so considerate with you before. With delicate, long hands, Jonathan positioned himself between your thighs, gently parting them to leave you fully exposed. With his other arm, he tilted your torso slightly towards the sofa, causing your buttocks to inadvertently brush against his erection, which was now vigorous again. You made no comment, as you were not at all displeased with the size, on the contrary, you began to find it attractive, especially now that it was positioned this way for the photos.

Jonathan lamented with great embarrassment, moving away from you.

He was preparing to take the photo when you removed the scant fabric covering your intimacy, leaving it completely exposed in front of Jon, who felt all the tension in his body melt away. The intimacy shared in that moment created a special bond between you, a connection that went beyond the photo shoot.

Confused but intrigued by your proposal, Byers asked you what you were doing. With a mischievous look and a suggestive smile, you responded that you wanted to experiment even more and find out if Jonathan was really the best. This statement ignited a spark in Jonathan, who let the camera rest on his neck and approached you, his palpable excitement filling the air. "What do you mean?" he murmured.

Your response unleashed a wave of desire in Jonathan, whose breathing became faster and shallower at your passionate touch on his tight and erect jeans. His hips instinctively moved closer to you, eager for the intimate contact you offered.

Far from rejecting him, you responded to Jonathan's desire with equal passion, touching and kissing every inch of the fabric covering his manhood. However, a question lingered in your mind: Was Jonathan just another virgin?

Without wasting time, you began to caress Jonathan's thighs, ascending from his knees to underneath them, causing an overwhelming sensation in Jonathan, who was on the verge of exploding.

With deliberate slowness, you proceeded to unfasten Jonathan's worn-out belt, while licking your lips with anticipation and watching him from below, enjoying the expression of desperation on his face, craving more of your expertise.

Finally, Jonathan's pants fell to the ground, revealing boxers stained by the pre-cum escaping from his overflowing excitement. The feeling of constriction around his member was evident, so you didn't hesitate to lower them, freeing Jonathan's thick cock.

Jonathan couldn't believe it. He was going to be sucked by a girl with a scandalous body.

His cock was firm and throbbing, generously sized, and adorned with prominent veins that marked its vigor. The head was swollen and glossy, dripping with the essence of his uncontrollable desire. With each beat, it seemed to throb with a life of its own, eager to be caressed and adored by the goddess before it. Some spasms caused the cock to rise slightly.

With a lustful gaze, you leaned forward, bringing your face closer to Jonathan's thick cock. Your breath became irregular, anticipating the taste and texture of the throbbing member that was about to be explored. With deliberate movements, you wrapped your lips around the swollen tip of Jonathan's cock, savoring the prelude to his excitement. The sensation of warmth and moisture enveloped every inch of his member, sending waves of pleasure throughout his body.

With expert skill, you began to slide your tongue along Jonathan's long shaft, tracing tempting circles as you slowly descended towards the base. Each suction was a promise of ecstasy, each movement of your lips an invitation to deeper pleasure. Jonathan clung to the sofa, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations that engulfed him.

When Jonathan's cock disappeared completely into the warm cavern of your mouth, a guttural groan escaped from his lips, lost in the ecstasy of the moment. Your movements were expert and coordinated, alternating between gentle sucking and quick thrusts that made Jonathan quiver with pleasure.

Time seemed to stand still as you continued your work, bringing Jonathan to the edge of the abyss of pleasure. Each stroke of your tongue, each passionate suction, brought him closer and closer to the precipice of orgasm.

And then, just as Jonathan felt he could no longer hold back, you intensified your movements, bringing him to the most glorious climax. With a muffled cry, Jonathan surrendered to the wave of pleasure that overwhelmed him, releasing his load of ecstasy into your mouth, gripping your head tightly, restricting your movement. In that moment, he didn't think about Nancy or any other model, only about you.

With skill, you received every drop of his cum with devotion, allowing Jonathan's essence to slide over your tongue and fill your mouth with its intoxicating flavor. But when it seemed to be all done, Jonathan shot another stream onto your face, causing a mischievous smile from you, thinking that it would be the perfect moment to take a photo, finding yourself damn sexy.

And when Jonathan finally finished, you moved away slowly, allowing your gaze to meet his, your faces bathed in the And when Jonathan finally finished, you moved away slowly, allowing your gaze to meet his, your faces bathed in the shared ecstasy of a moment of unbridled passion.

"You've got a good cock, photographer," you whispered, giving him a spank, winking at him, and wiping your face with your golden robe, leaving it covered in traces of that hot liquid.

—> Plus.

"Brother, look at the cover of the new PlayBoy!" exclaimed Argyle, entering his van and throwing a magazine at Jonathan, surprising him. "I just stole it from the gas station attendant while he was peeing, so we should go now..."

On the cover, your lustful eyes stared directly at the camera, while the liquid rested on your face, causing a familiar sensation in Jonathan's pants.

"I should have asked for her number before I got kicked out for fucking the model," Jonathan thought, sighing and throwing the magazine back. The page opened to a photo taken by him, where he played with the cherries and they dripped on your nipples.

#jonathan #stranger things 3 #stranger things 4 #fanfic #byers #jonathan byers #joyce byers #smut #photoshoot #california #st #st4 #jonathan byers x you #jonathan byers x reader

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delopsia · 15 days

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Hello and welcome to "Del wants to ramble about the Outer Range season 2 trailer." I hope you're ready for a whole lot of nothing...

The CGI continues to remind us that it is, in fact, CGI. What the hell is this?

Flash scene of Wayne burning his damn house down. I'd know that bald spot anywhere.

Y'all already heard me ramble about this, but there's something wrong with this dinner scene. Aside from us knowing that the family is not together, there's one major oddity in the background.

Rhett's truck is an entirely different color.

That's his lightbar with the iconic four lights. Still a single-cab GMC Sierra. But Rhett's truck is blue. Not tan.

Wilder, we see Rhett's truck a few scenes later! You can even see how the hood is bent from hitting the billboard.

We finally confirm that Amy is 8. Even though the writer said she was 9...😑Brian Watkins, I had faith in you being correct. If you squint, you'll notice that Rhett's right hand is wounded. I doubt this stems from the rodeo because he always uses his left hand to hang on to the bull. The only injury we saw was to his left shoulder.

I'm taking the guess that up until now, Rhett likely didn't know that Amy went missing during the rodeo. Which may cause him to realize that Cecelia never abandoned him; she was just looking for Amy.

In the official Season 2 press notes, the following is mentioned: "After Amy's disappearance, Rhett is torn between his dreams of starting over somewhere new with Maria and being a dutiful son to Royal and Cecelia." So, I can assume that this might be what sets that into motion?

Offhanded, but this is SUCH a good look on her

MY TOUCH THEORY IS DOING THINGS. Look at Autumn's hand. Royal's touching the back of it, and as soon as he pulls away, the cute cosmic lights stop.

I'm so happy to see this random side character make a return. I was so nervous that she was one of those characters that appear for two minutes and that's it.

...this is a wild way for Joy to get in touch with her roots. But unfortunately for her, talking about it will more than likely get her a one-way trip to a psychiatrist.

Clyde is alive and well; bless him.

I've said it once, and I'll say it again. How the hell did Billy survive being shot through the neck??

and also

WAYNE? All it took was Billy feeding him a little bit of time powder and he's back to his old menacing ways. Meanwhile Luke looks like he lost part of his soul when that herd of buffalo ran him over.

Luke, what does this gesture mean. Strangle? Punch? My jaw hurts? And I assume this is Autumn we're seeing on the corner? Patricia maybe? I dunno.

PERRY YOU DAMN IDIOT. HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING FROM YOUR LAST BAR FIGHT?? I don't know who this other dude is but I hope he gets Perry square in the mouth <3 please I need to see Perry get his ass handed to him

This gives me so many thoughts. Rhett's shorter hair. He's a hand holder, your honor! Sentence him to a lifetime of snuggles and interlaced fingers!

So we know that for sure, Joy will somehow return to the present timeline. I don't know who could be driving this vehicle, but it looks a lot like the one that was sitting in the Tillerson's driveway in S1. We know Billy drives the older red vehicle, so this can either belong to Luke or Trevor.

Hear me out, hear me out. We can assume that the blonde woman is Autumn, considering the whole...cult thing. We've seen a handful of scenes of her with Luke in this trailer, so what if that's him holding her hand? That hat silhouette looks an awful lot like the one we saw in S1.

Alternatively, It can also be Rebecca and Perry, but I have no evidence to back this other than the blonde hair.

*in my best patrick star voice* WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?

I cannot be convinced that this is a real scene. It's gotta be some kind of dream that Royal is having, especially when you take note of the little white things floating around. It gives a sort of dreamy effect.

THIS IS SHERRIF JOY! Not only is the outfit the same in the following scene (not the one of her running lmao, that's just to show you what the gun looks like), but you can see the gun on her hip.

The hand on Rhett's throat is smaller than his is. Look how thick his fingers are compared to the mystery ones. I'm betting my left foot that this is a female character doing this to him. Autumn and Rebecca are on my list of suspects.

But also, what the hell is he looking at? Never once is he looking at the person doing this to him; he's looking at something behind the camera. Baby, what did they do to you this season?? 😭

I hit my picture limit, but Wayne (I think) diving into the hole made me giggle. He picked such an iconic pose.

Someone says quote "Time reveals all." But I don't think we've heard this voice before?? Who the hell is speaking?

This final shot is insane. Don't know who is coming out, presumably Perry or Wayne, but you could ABSOLUTELY spin Outer Range as a horror if you really wanted to. The elements are all there; they just need a little reworking!

#outer range #outer range spoilers #del's tin hat thoughts

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smallgodseries · 1 year

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[image description: A lovely Black woman lies back against the deep blue night sky as the world spins around and behind her. Whether the orange on the horizon is the earliest dawn, or deepest dusk we cannot know. She (and her stuffed sheep) lie in comforting spirals of cloud-like gold. To either side lie forms that resemble the shelves that hem in Sleep Miser. But where those shelves were full of distractions, these are nothing but empty peaceful shapes. Text reads, “203, Lulah BYE, small god of A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP”]

• • • • •

Her faithful are many; she inspires multitudes. Most children come to her when they close their eyes, but it is a skill too many lose as they age, slipping from her hands like the sand they credit to all gods of slumber and of dreaming. They become adults in uncomfortable beds, their shoulders bowed with stress, their dreams clouded with concern, and they move away from her.

So she tries to tell them how to return to her arms. She tells them, replace your mattress if you can, find something that suits the curve of your spine and the comfort of your hip, hard or sort of anywhere in-between. If replacing your mattress is too much to ask of bank and budget, replace your pillows, find something soft and sweet to cradle you, and wash your pillowcases and your sheets. Find a soothing drink to ease you into my arms, turn off the television, put away the phone. Please, please, come home. Come home to me.

She tries to pull them from Appalla’s arms, for nothing disrupts a good night’s sleep like doom scrolling until the walls of slumber close in; she tries to tell them to protect their time with her as they would protect their time with any lover, that yes, she will ask them for hours upon hours, but she will give them so much of their waking lives back again that they will not resent the lost. She is the salt in the soup: she will make all things that much richer and more flavorful. She begs, when she must. She does not often win, but oh, when she does. When she does, she celebrates.

She is not a god of pleasant dreams, cannot promise you fine fantasies or comfort, but she is a god of waking rested and content, able to face the world. She comes for all, the wicked and the divine, the rich and the poor, and while she understands that some lives are more suited to her comforts, she tries to reach us all. She yearns to grant us her compassion.

Each night, she stands in battle with the Sleep Miser for our survival. We have a choice. We can dedicate ourselves to only one of them.

Lulah hopes we will choose joy, and dreaming.

#Small Gods #smallgodseries #Seanan McGuire #Lee Moyer #icons and stories

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seraphiism · 1 year

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❀ ﾟ. ༄ ┊ 𝐄𝐆𝐎 , 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 , 𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐑-𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐍-𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 ( 𝐩𝐭. 𝐢 ) ;

( it seems to me that the dead only return for love or for revenge WHO DID YOU COME BACK FOR? )

characters : scaramouche / alhaitham / xiao fandom : genshin impact quote cr : lexie liu ; helen oyeyemi a/n : reincarnation!au

↬ scaramouche ࿐ ࿔

◸✦◿ ; ( you ask yourself every question you can think of : what, why, how come, and then your sadness turns to anger )

& A PUPPET WILL BE FREED FROM THE CHAINS OF DAMNATION, REBORN INTO A LIFE HE HAS YET TO GRIEVE FOR. it will be his undoing & uprising one in the same ; he will recognize you in a place that you once knew as the beginning of a happiness shared between two souls.

you stand before each other, reminiscent in the bittersweet nostalgia that lingers on your tongue, fills your mouth with the taste of iron.

you will know this feeling as love found and reunited. he will know this feeling as the fourth betrayal.

( how much must he endure, this trial of brutalities? it feels like something is torn from his chest, ripped away from his soul, and crushed beneath the weight of it all. )

because it is a blessing and curse, this fateful meeting, and a wanderer feels his heart pound with rage and relief. what a foreign sensation this is, the racing of wavering altruism in his chest. he has found you again, desires to seek refuge in your touch, just as he always has in all your previous lives together.

but to find you again means he will lose you again, and this cycle will repeat until your lives are no more and the gods have granted you forgiveness to rest in the depths of the earth, bodies side by side as you fall in eternal slumber.

this will hurt. it always does.

he steels himself, holds his breath as you take a step towards him : cautious, gentle, almost apologetic.

this will hurt. it always does. but the pain will be worth it. it always is.

you hold your hand out to him, pray he does not notice the way it shakes in both joy and fear of what is to come in the beginning and end of this cycle. how delicately the tears fall from your face, pierce his heart in ways he cannot explain. your lips part, fragments of the past nearly relived as his former name dances on the tip of your tongue. but you stop yourself , feel a gentle smile bloom on your lips.

"come, tell me what name you have chosen for yourself in this life."

↬ alhaitham ࿐ ࿔

◸✦◿ ; ( i forgot softness because it did not serve me )

HE WILL ONLY KNOW LOVE AS A DISTANT BEING, THE SCRIBE WHO ONLY KNOWS OF LOGIC AND RATIONALITY. in a world of survival, alhaitham knows that to bear the softness of oneself is a death wish. to harden oneself, create a shell of what is meant to be protected is the only means of living. it is foolish to do otherwise, and so he will deem those who wear their heart on their sleeve as cowardly.

so what is it that makes you different? in a time where he does not remember the past & previous selves, there is something that draws him to you. he does not catch the way you look at him, a fondness in your eyes and all the right words lodged in your throat.

because you remember him, you do, but he does not remember you, and maybe it's better that way. because you are far too different, humanity embracing all feelings and instinct, while his humanity only knows of logic and nothing of what it means to succumb to the heart. your love was a strange thing -- the way you broke down those walls, waited so patiently until he allowed himself to understand what he felt for you.

how you miss those days, yearn for the sensation of his hands on you. how gentle he was, words and expression softening in your presence. you keep your silence in this world, know what is meant to happen will happen, even if days and months have passed and passed.

but alhaitham has always been intuitive, knows that there is something more to this friendship you share. there is something deeper, something that goes beyond lifelines and lifetimes. there is something about you that is unforgettable, his dreams filled with hazy scenes that almost feel too real.

"i dreamt of you." he tells you one day, gauges your reaction carefully, notes how you tense up, instinctively tear your gaze away from his.

you are nervous and you do not know why. you almost excuse yourself, realize perhaps you are not ready to remember what love is like once more, but he stands before you, purposely blocks your path.

"we have met before. who were you to me?"

your soul freezes, feels a trepidation at the possible rediscovery of memories. you do not know if fate is cruel or kind in this moment. you swallow hard, watch as he observes the devastation and longing in your eyes. that look in itself is enough, he decides, but he awaits your answer, knows that it will be the beginning of something you both have been waiting for all along.

"i was someone you once loved, alhaitham."

↬ xiao ࿐ ࿔

◸✦◿ ; ( i wept because i have lost my pain and i am not yet accustomed to its absence )

OH, BUT A YAKSHA DOES NOT KNOW A WORLD WITHOUT CRUELTY, THIS PEACE SO FOREIGN AND DISTRAUGHT. xiao has carried his pain and sins throughout many lives, relived them over and over again until this cycle. it is too strange, the serenity in this life with you, and he cannot relax entirely. because it is meant to happen, isn't it? he has hurt too many, stained his hands with blood as they bathed in sanguine in uncontrollable massacre.

the punishment must be coming-- is what he thinks, day by day, year by year, yet it never comes. but it must be, it must be, because xiao does not know what to do with mercy, and he does not know if he is worthy of living such a tranquil life. it makes him feel guilty, makes him feel ungrateful, because he loves you so, loves spending these moments with you, but carrying the weight of the world has taken its toll on him and he does not know anything else but that.

you wake to a silence, your slumber disrupted by a nothingness except for a weary heaviness. you blink, take in the darkness, listen carefully, but there is nothing there. you close your eyes, hear a subtle shift from the warm body beside you, hold your breath, listen, listen : and you hear it.

"love?"

he does not answer immediately, wipes the tears and gathers composure before he answers you with a hum of acknowledgement. you sit up, concern plastered all over your features as your hands cup his face tenderly, feel the tears that trail down his face reach your fingers. seldom is it that you see him break, his facade always so carefully crafted and held together.

you do not speak, hope your presence can be more than enough in this moment of vulnerability. the clock ticks, the minutes pass, and the tears dry. you have spoken of this before -- this peace that neither of you can quite accept, the lack of fighting and struggle in these golden days. it dwells, visits him far too often, and he cannot escape it.

"xiao," your fingers trail down his cheek, leave a quiet strength in their wake, "you can be happy."

he trembles beneath your touch, finds haven in your arms, buries his face in the crook of your neck. how the tears still fall, their warmth felt upon your skin.

"it's alright, xiao." you hold him close, know that his grief is yours as well. "you have always deserved to be happy, whether in this life or another."

so you'll hold him until he falls asleep, hope that he will one day, eventually learn that this is the ending he has always meant to have.

quote cr : ↬ scaramouche : jennifer salaiz ↬ alhaitham : catherynne m. valente ↬ xiao : anaïs nin

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche #alhaitham #xiao #scaramouche x reader #alhaitham x reader #xiao x reader #.: writing #.: multi #listen to mira by lexie liu or else .#trying a new format w the quotes c: just a test run

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justagalwhowrites · 11 months

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Beskar Doll - Ch. 1: Faceless Man

You're in trouble. Again. And the only person who can get you off world? A Mandalorian bounty hunter. Chapter Master List. AO3. Overall Master List.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: None yet! No use of Y/N. Whole piece is violent and smutty so minors? DNI. 18+ ONLY.

Length: 3.9k

A/N: Hi all! So the first 30 chapters of this are up on AO3 (linked above) but I plan to post about a chapter a day here until I'm caught up. Read along at whatever pace brings you joy on whatever site brings you joy! I'm just too lazy to post all the existing chapters here in one go, so we're spreading this out a bit. Thank you so much for reading! I love you all!

6 ABY - 3 Years Ago

Your father, you were certain, was being paranoid.

His eyebrows had been knitted together for days, a perpetual frown on his hardened but handsome face. He had never been paranoid before, though. Worried, sure. You don’t end up baking in the desert suns of Tatooine after fleeing your home during galactic civil war without worry. Worry you could deal with. But this? This was new.

“We’ll find someone who can take you off world,” he said, more to himself than to you, his fingers knitting together on the cantina table. He was wearing his best clothes, some of the last he had left from your years on Naboo, hoping that looking like he had money would get someone to take him seriously. But the once fine garments were washed out and worn, the cuffs tattered and elbows threadbare. Anyone looking closely would see through him. “Once you’re away from here, you’ll be safe…”

“I’m safe here,” you put your hands over his, thumbs running over his knuckles. “You’re over reacting…”

“No,” he shook his head, voice firm. “You don’t know what beings like that will do, you’re too young to remember the worst of the Empire…”

“I remember plenty,” you cut him off. You’d meant for your voice to be soothing but instead it sounded impatient and harsh. “This is nothing like that…”

“No, you’re right,” he snapped. “This is worse. They’re not coming for us or our planet, they’re coming for you.” You rolled your eyes and fell back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest. With any luck, the bounty hunter who the friend of a friend told your father might be willing to take on some “questionable cargo” wasn’t even on planet. Soon, you could make the trek home and put this stupid spaceport trip - and your father’s paranoia - behind you.

“Darling girl,” he said, Bothese comforting after being surrounded by Basic. “Your mother and I cannot lose you. We have to do everything we can to protect you…”

The cantina went quiet and your father did too as he looked past you to the entrance, following the eyes of everyone else in the bar. He swallowed, hard, and you twisted to see just what had caught his attention. In the door, blotting the light from the street beyond, was a man covered in armor. Your mouth went dry. You hadn’t been surrounded by faceless threats since the war and this tall, broad man was nothing if not a threat.

He looked around, analyzing the space like a warrior or a hunter. You moved slowly, cautiously - like an animal trying to not become prey - to put yourself between this man and your father. The faceless man was large and your father hadn’t been well in years. You would survive a hit from this man - or you thought you would, at least. Your father might not.

The man spotted you, turning his attention to your table and the rest of the cantina picked up where they left off - relieved to not be in his sights. Your spine stiffened. You wouldn’t go down without a fight.

But when he approached your table, he didn’t touch you. Instead, he stood in front of you, armor sending spots of light splashing onto the walls. He looked behind you, like you weren’t even there, down toward your father at the table.

“You needed transport,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” your father almost jumped to his feet before gently moving you aside, offering a handshake. The masked man didn’t take it. Your father stood there, awkwardly, for a moment before dropping his hand. “Yes, my daughter needs transport off world.”

You fought to not disagree with him in front of this large man, but you did give him a look all the same. Was he really going to send you off with this stranger? One whose face you couldn’t see and who looked like he could snap you like a twig?

“Where?” The man asked. You looked closer at him, trying to place the armor. He obviously wasn’t a stormtrooper - though the familiar unease you had when looking at one was there.

“Across the galaxy,” your father said quietly. “I’d rather you not know until you were both far from here.”

“I have other jobs I’m committed to,” he shrugged and turned to leave. For half a moment, you thought that might be the end of it. That you could go home. But your father was persistent.

“Good,” he said quickly, grabbing the man’s armored arm. You watched his reaction carefully. The man moved quickly at first, like he was responding to a threat, before catching himself half a second before you intervened. He looked slowly from your father’s hand to his face. You weren’t sure if your father even noticed, desperate to convince this man to take you away. “That’s good - better, in fact. It will make her harder to trace…”

“I don’t move fugitives,” he cut him off.

“She’s not,” your father said quickly. “She’s not in trouble with the law, it’s not that. There’s… She’s being hunted.”

You rolled your eyes as the man looked at you. You couldn’t see his eyes through the darkness of his visor but you could feel them on you, assessing you.

“He’s exaggerating,” you said. “I upset the wrong people…”

“There’s no bounty,” your father said quickly. “And no warrant. She just isn’t safe here. Please.”

The man looked back to your father.

“Across the galaxy comes at a cost,” he said. “And I can’t promise it will be quick.”

Your eyes widened a bit as you tried to hide your shock. The way the conversation had been going, you thought you’d be back home before too long, not one foot onto a faceless man’s transport.

“We can pay,” your father practically dove into the bag at his hip, pulling out a hunk of shining metal and holding it up as an offering. The man stood still for a second, looking at the metal, before taking it with a sense of reverence. You frowned as you saw it next to his helmet as he examined it. The chunk in his hand was rough but it was obviously the same material. “Please, it’s all we have left but it’s yours…”

“I’ll take her where she needs to go,” the man said, putting the metal in a pouch at his hip before turning to you. “Meet me at the Razor Crest, at the port. We leave in an hour.”

You watched the man leave before turning back to your father who sank into the booth. He looked resigned, his face firm.

“Father,” you shifted to Bothese, the first language he taught you after Basic, taking the seat across from him. “We don’t have to do this. I don’t want to do this. I want to stay here. You and Mother are all I have left, I can’t… Please. Don’t ask me to start over, not again. Or at least come with me…”

“We would be nothing but a risk to you,” he smiled sadly. “And I’m not sure your mother could survive it even if we could. Darling girl, it is our job to keep you alive. That is more important than me, her or our life here. The only way is if you leave. And you will leave, you can’t make us lose another child.”

It was a low blow. You were sure he had been saving it, a secret weapon to force you onto the vessel. Your mother’s health had been fragile since you’d come to Tatooine just over two years ago. Losing you to another planet would be hard, but losing you to death would be impossible.

“OK,” you said quietly, switching back to Basic. It didn’t feel right, accepting leaving what remained of your family in Bothese. “I’ll go.”

You sat in the cantina a while longer, pretending things were normal. You would miss this place. It wasn’t home exactly but it was familiar. That familiarity was hard won. You hadn’t expected to feel comfortable anywhere again, like you could let your guard down. It had taken more than a year of living on this planet to get there but you had and now you were leaving it behind.

If you’d doubted finding familiarity before, you were even less hopeful now. Without your family, you’d have nothing to hold onto, nothing to put down roots with. You’d felt lonely for a long time but to be truly alone was something else entirely.

Even though you walked slowly to the spaceport and found the hanger, it felt too fast.

“Mando!” A hanger worker called, running over to the ship as the armored man came down the ramp. You frowned, suddenly realizing why you recognized the armor. Mando. Mandalorian. Your father was shipping you away with the member of a religious cult that worshipped weapons. After all you’d done, all you’d seen…

“Father,” you put your back to the ship and lowered your voice. “This is a bad idea, Mandalorians…”

“Live by a creed and he said he would transport you,” he cut you off. “They’re unmatched warriors…” “He’s for sale,” you hissed. “Creed or no…”

“This isn’t the rebellion anymore, Darling Girl,” he brushed back the hair that had come loose from the knot on your head. “For sale is a good thing. He’ll get you there.”

You nodded, swallowing the tears threatening to break through. If you started crying now, leaving would be worse. Your father smiled sadly before pulling you into his arms, holding you to his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Never forget how much we love you,” he said softly. “Be safe.”

“I’ll come back,” you said. “I’m not abandoning you…”

“No,” he stepped back from you, his hands on your shoulders. Tears glistened in his eyes. “Go out, live your life. Find happiness. You deserve that much. We never should have asked so much of you. We should have known it would have been different for you than it was for your mother…”

“I love you,” you changed to Bothese for what you hoped wouldn’t be the last time. You couldn’t bear this conversation. You’d rather never have it at all than have it now. “So much.”

“I know,” he kissed your forehead.

“Time to go,” the Mandalorian had appeared behind you, making you jump. You weren’t sure how someone so large and covered in metal could move so quietly but he managed it. He paused, looking down at you and your father. He turned to leave but seemed to think better of it. “I’ll get her there safely. You have my word.”

Your father gave him a grateful nod before the Mandalorian took his leave.

With a final squeeze of your hands, your father handed you the only bag you’d be starting your new life with. It was odd, holding all you had left in your hands. You tried to memorize his face, making notes of the lines around his mouth, the flecks of gold in his irises, the freckles across his cheeks. Neither of you could bring yourselves to say goodbye but you felt his eyes on you as you walked up the ramp, resisting the urge to look back. There was no point in longing for what you could not have.

The ship was old, that was clear, but well loved. The Mandalorian obviously cared for it. You wondered if the ship’s age was necessity or a tactic. Surely other bounty hunters and New Republic patrols alike would underestimate it at a glance but you knew your ships. This one was solid.

“You should strap in in the cockpit for takeoff,” the Mandalorian appeared behind you again, sending your heart to your throat.

“Do you do that a lot?” You asked.

“Do what?” Even with the modulator he had a pleasant voice, soothing and even. It irritated you. You didn’t want to like anything about this man.

“Sneak up on people.”

The modulator picked up a puff of air.

“Yes.”

You glared after him as he stalked off to climb the ladder to the cockpit. You found what seemed like a safe nook to stash your bag, making sure nothing in the hold would shift and crush it when you launched, and followed him into the cockpit.

It wasn’t large but you’d flown in tighter spaces - one of the many things that came along with serving someone trained as a fighter pilot. The Mandalorian was already in the captain’s seat and the only other option was beside him. You sighed, taking your seat and buckling up as he started pushing buttons on the dash. You watched his launch sequence, trying to memorize it. You were far from the most skilled pilot you knew but you could get along in a pinch. You liked knowing at least how to operate the ships you were aboard - it felt safer that way, gave you a sense of control even when you didn’t have it.

You took one last look out at the hanger, your father still standing where you left him. You raised a hand, even though you know he can’t see it, bidding him farewell. You left it up as the ship rose off the ground, sand swirling, until the hanger was out of sight, not even a speck in the sea of yellow-orange that made up Tatooine.

“Wow,” you whisper, gazing down at the planet. The color was vibrant, a bright swirl below, taking focus to notice the variations that indicated the rise and fall of the dunes, the settlements that managed to survive the harsh climate. It was hard to believe you weren’t there anymore. That you’d ever been there at all.

“What?” The Mandalorian asked after a moment. It took you a second to realize that you’d spoken aloud.

“Oh,” you said, glancing over at him before looking back at the planet. “I just… I’ve never seen Tatooine from space. Any desert planet from space. I hadn’t really thought about how different it would seem…”

“You aren’t from here,” he said. It wasn’t a question but you answered anyway.

“No.”

“How didn’t you see it?”

“I just…” You paused. You remembered the disorientation of waking up there, a world you’d never touched, body throbbing with pain that threatened to put you under again, the sound of your mother sobbing. “I didn’t see it when we came in and I haven’t been off world since.”

You could feel his eyes on you again, silently evaluating you. You hated it.

“Where am I taking you?” He asked eventually. “Across the galaxy is a big target.”

“Dantooine,” you said, pulling your eyes from the planet you’d tried to call home to look at the armor-clad man beside you. He nodded slowly.

“It will be a long trip,” he said, punching in coordinates on his navi. “I have some pucks that need fulfilling.”

“I’m in no rush,” you sank down in the chair with a shrug. “There’s nothing waiting for me there.”

He looked back over at you. His gaze was unnerving. The helmet set you on edge, the total coverage too close to the armor of a stormtrooper. They were faceless killing machines, beings designed to inflict as much pain and death as they could wherever they touched. Their uniformity made them inhumane, distanced them from their victims in a way that made it so they could mercilessly slaughter innocents. Whole planets had been lost to the Empire at the hands of faceless men. You didn’t like being so close to this one.

“Is it safe for me to go to the hold?” You asked after a moment. He looked at you. “I don’t want to be on the ladder if we’re jumping.”

“You’re safe,” he said after a moment. You gave him a stiff nod and went below, leaving him to input your route.

***

There was something off about his new… cargo. Din didn’t like not knowing what was going on his ship. When he picked up a bounty, he knew who they were, what they’d done and who was willing to pay. It was simple. You were another story.

A contact had told him to seek you out at the cantina. Well, not you, exactly. An older Naboo man willing to pay well for a cargo run. The contact he trusted. Mostly. But the lead seemed good and it was better to pick up some cargo here than run empty handed to start hunting again, especially if the cargo wasn’t on a time crunch. He wasn’t expecting the cargo to be human.

He’d nearly turned it down, but the desperation on the older man’s face made him give in and when he saw the beskar, he couldn’t say no. He’d almost reconsidered when he saw you both at the hanger again, but something your father said made him bite his tongue. “We never should have asked so much of you.”

He didn’t know a lot of Naboo but they’d never struck him as the type to force things on their children. Your father obviously loved you. It puzzled him.

He wondered, idly, if your family had been powerful Imperials. The Emperor had been from Naboo, and if you’d been shipped off to Tatooine on some fancy cruiser, of course you wouldn’t have seen it as you landed - too busy lounging in your finery. He scoffed. Maybe someone had learned what you were and were hunting you down. Why else would you be going across the galaxy when your home world was so close? If he was right, you’d deserve it.

He finished programming the navi, almost purposely picking the puck that would take him further from Dantooine, not closer. If you were Imperial, he’d still fulfill his contract. He’d given his word and he wouldn’t go back on it. But he wouldn’t have to make it easy on you.

Eventually, he went down into the hold. He told himself it was to use the fresher and settle in for the night but, really, he wanted to know what you were up to. If you were Imperial, there was a chance you’d try to kill him. Small, perhaps, but it was there. He’d like to know it was coming.

It took him longer than he liked to find you. It put him out of sorts, not knowing exactly where things were on his ship, especially living things. On the rare occasions he transported people who weren’t prisoners, they stuck to sitting on a crate, in the copilot’s seat or in the galley. You, however, had folded yourself into a nook between crates, hiding you from view. If it hadn’t been for the heat signature, he may not have found you at all.

He approached silently, wondering if he could catch you in the act. He looked down at you from the top of the crates but you were almost disappointing. You’d taken your hair down since you’d come aboard, the curtain of it so long that part of it pooled on the floor around your hips. There was a data pad on your lap and you were looking at it intently, lips slightly pursed. The only indication that something was off was the redness in your eyes and a tear clinging to your lower lashes.

“What are you reading?” He asked. You nearly jumped out of your skin, clutching the data pad to your chest. He snorted.

“Maker!” Your body went limp against the crate before you turned your steely gaze on him. “Why do you do that?”

“It’s my ship,” he shrugged. “I can do what I want.”

“Yes, because that’s a good reason,” you rolled your eyes before unfolding yourself from the space between crates and standing up to look him in the eye. He was still more than a head taller than you - the top of your head would barely graze his chin if he pulled you against him.

“You found a hiding place,” he said, nodding to the cramped spot. He didn’t think he could sit inside it the way you did, his bulk too great. You were smaller, nimble.

“I like small spaces,” you said, sounding almost ashamed of it. After a moment you stuck your chin out proudly. “Not that it’s your business.”

“My ship, my business,” he shrugged. “I like to know where my cargo is.”

“I’ll stay in the hold like a good little bounty,” you glared at him.

“You didn’t answer the question,” he said, taking the data pad from you before you had the chance to stop him. He frowned. You hadn’t been reading at all. It was a picture. You were younger than you were now, probably a teenager. Your hair was braided elaborately and you were wearing something that looked almost impossibly soft to the Mandalorian. He wondered what it would be like to touch something that soft.

With you was obviously your family, your father’s arm around your waist on one side, the woman who had to be your mother on the other. There were two young men behind you, both in Naboo pilot uniforms. You snatched the data pad back before he could take in the rest. You clutched it to your chest, clinging to it desperately.

“No,” you snapped, your voice cracking. “You don’t get to take this from me.”

“Don’t worry,” he said cooly. “Wouldn’t want to steal whatever fond memories you have of the Empire.”

You looked so offended that, for a moment, he thought he might be wrong. But you didn’t say anything. Instead, you flicked off the data pad and stared him down.

“Is there a reason you were looking for me?” You asked.

“We’re headed to Crait,” he replied. “Stay out of the cockpit.”

“Fine,” you snapped.

“We don’t have the kind of accommodations you’re probably accustomed to,” he said, voice still cold. “But there’s a sleeping mat you can lay out in here.”

“I’m a moisture farmer,” you glared at him. “I’m not exactly used to luxury.”

“You weren’t always a moisture farmer, were you?” He said. It was the first time he’d asked you a question but it was obvious he didn’t expect a response. He didn’t know how he was going to get you to Dantooine without killing you. Imperials were responsible for the devastation of his people and his planet and now he was carting one clear across the galaxy - an annoying one at that. You didn’t say anything but your glare was watery. “Didn’t think so. What’s your name?”

“Why do you care?” You snapped.

“I like to know what I’m hauling,” he replied.

“Liska,” you said after a moment. He paused.

“What name were you using when you took that picture,” he asked.

“You can’t take that from me, either,” you replied.

He looked at you for a moment. He couldn’t research you without a name but given the state of archives from the Imperial era, he’d probably be out of luck anyway. Liska might be a pile of bantha shit but it was something.

“Sleeping pad is in the cabinet next to the fresher,” he said. “Try not to sleep where you’ll get crushed.”

With that he stalked off, leaving you alone with your memories.

#fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #enemies to friends to lovers #slow burn #the mandalorian #smut fic #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x oc #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x female reader

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