#people posting perfect handwriting

[kiwisbell]

Las Mañanas || Chapter 1 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, reader has a shitty husband, domestic violence, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, javier pines like a mf, FLIRTING, referenced PIV (protection implied), food as sexual tension, angst, so much fluff, some light touching, steve being a little shit, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout

word count: ~ 8.8k

a/n: HOORAY! it begins! since this is my oldest fic, it lacks some polish, but neverthless!! i'll be posting new chapters every couple days so your dashboards don't get clogged up, but i sincerely hope you enjoy this series!! to my lovely friends who have already read this series and given it so much love, words cannot express how much i appreciate you. to my newcomers, i am kissing you through my screen rn for giving this fic a chance. i hope you like!! xoxo

chapter one: for all the coffee beans in colombia

The café, Las Mañanas, makes stellar coffee. Javier Peña knows this; everyone in Bogotá knows this. That’s why he comes in at seven o’clock every morning and pays 30 pesos for a cup. Black. Then he sits at a table and sips it while he watches her move. He leaves at seven-thirty and clocks in at the Embassy ten minutes later. He does it again the next morning.

Two months ago, he would come in twice a week. Two weeks later, three times. Now, it’s daily. He thinks he might have an addiction, but so does every other bastard in the city. It’s not his fault the coffee wakes him up just right, striking his tired bones like hammers and making him sit upright all day, alert as a rearing cobra.

She’s got eyes like that: bright, sharp. They cut incisions into early-morning brain fog and part the haziness like curtains. Then she sutures the edges with that smile and turns every man in the café complacent, cheery, harmless. Javier goes for the coffee, but it’s nice to look at her. It’s not his fault she’s so nice to look at.

She doesn’t own the place. Her boss is a family friend and doesn’t share her last name; he knew her father, who died. The records don’t say how, and Javier had to sneak out before he could find out more. Technically, he wasn’t allowed to be snooping around in records that didn’t have explicit relevance to his job, but he was just being safe.

He knows this because he likes to know things. He’s proactive. It reassures him to know that his thorough background checks on each employee and regular produced nothing of concern, that she’s around safe, innocent people all day. When she brings his coffee to him, she smiles at him, and her eyes shine. He knows that when he leaves for work, she’s safe. It’s real fucking hard to be safe in Bogotá these days.

Javier drinks. The coffee goes down hot, always the same temperature, always strong. He lifts a cigarette to his lips, watches her, lights it. He keeps it in his mouth when she raises her eyes from her notepad at the counter and smiles. From this corner of the café, he has a perfect view of her. She’s relaxing to watch. She walks with a sway to her hips; she bags pastries so delicately it’s like they’re strapped with C4; she writes little notes on her customers’ receipts and her handwriting is impeccable. He keeps his receipts.

She puts her lip between her teeth and worries it, like she’s debating something in her head, pen pausing over paper. Javier narrows his eyes playfully at her, and then she moves. She ties her apron tighter around her waist, tucks her hair behind her ear with the pen, and grabs something from behind the counter before she’s moving. Toward him.

Javier panics for a moment, but he feels stupid when he does. He forces himself to adjust minimally, sitting up straighter and tucking his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. She’s carrying a pastry bag. “Here,” she says, “for when you leave.”

Her honeyed voice seeps bone-deep. They speak in English, but he’s heard her use the local colour with her patrons. “What’s the occasion?” he asks her.

“I want to see how long the poison takes to activate inside a human body.” She thrusts the bag out farther. “It’s a thank-you. Empanadas. New recipe.”

Javier takes it, looks inside. “You poison all your customers, or am I special?” he says, inhaling the fresh burst of warmth. “These smell incredible.”

“I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”

“God, no.”

“More coffee?”

He glances at his watch. 7:23. “I can’t,” he says, and it gives him pause when his voice carries a faint whine. “Work.”

She bites her lip again. Instinct tugs his eyes down to it. “You’re certainly the most mysterious customer I’ve ever had.”

He stands up so he can look down at her, puffing at his cigarette. She puckers her lips and blows the smoke away from her face with a teasing glare. “And the only one special enough to try the new recipe for free,” he says lowly. “Isn’t that right?”

She shoves the bag into his chest and rolls her eyes, beckoning him back toward the counter. “Who said it was free?” she says, looking back at him over her shoulder. It stops him, stunned, in his tracks.

He comes back the next day. He makes sure to learn her name this time.

~

At some point in the seven months since he first entered the café, Javier makes a friend.

He does not remember how it happened. His life is not conducive to friendship. But this half-hour routine inside the café doesn’t give a shit about his life. She’s begun to call his name when he steps through the door.

“Javier!” She shimmied around her coworker as she hurriedly untied her apron. He barely had time to open his mouth before she continued, “I took my break early. Now come on, I made churros.”

“Fuck, cariño, I think I’ve gained ten pounds since I met you.”

She just grinned at him and shooed him toward his usual table while she grabbed a plate with two sweet-smelling churros on it. “My father would say that’s a good thing. Go, go!”

He obeyed her without further complaint and put out his cigarette so he could sip at the coffee that was already steaming on his table. She slid into the chair across from him. He knew churros for breakfast were a terrible decision for his digestive system, but he physically could not refuse her. Her leg bounced excitedly when he picked one up and took a bite. He closed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re fucking magic. Where did you learn to bake like this?”

She grinned and took a bite of her own churro. He noticed she liked to hold her free hand underneath her chin to catch any residue that would make a mess of her apron; preventative measures. She was careful, meticulous. “My father lived in Spain most of his life; he taught my sister and I to cook from the second we were able to walk.” Her head tilted as she watched him eat, her smart eyes travelling in latitudes across his face like she was memorising a script, line by line. “I’m lucky to see other people fall in love with my food the same way I loved his.” She smiled suddenly, warm. “You’ve got churro dust in your moustache, viejo.”

He raised a brow. “You learn enough Spanish for that, huh, smartass?”

The bell above the door chimes when he walks through. She’s tending to a customer at the back of the room, but she looks over her shoulder. Smiles and waves. Gestures with her eyes to his usual table.

His table, which now has a very new, very handmade sign on top of it: RESERVED.

Javier sits down and touches the black ink. It smudges on his finger.

“I almost had to rugby-tackle Jorge for sitting there during his break,” she says when she arrives.

“All this for me?” He clicks his tongue. “Bad for business.”

“You’re a paying customer, viejo,” she says teasingly. “You are business.”

Javier slides his sunglasses off his nose and stares her down, dropping his voice all low and mean. “You better knock that nickname habit quick, baby. Could get you in trouble.”

“More trouble than the man who comes in every morning with a gun in his pants?” She bites her lip when she grins. “I think I’ll be okay. Oh, and here’s your coffee.”

She places a mug in front of him, snatches the RESERVED sign from his hand, and carries it with her to the counter.

~

“What is it you do at your big, scary, gun-totin’ job, anyway?” she asks as his coffee pours. He’s at the counter, waiting this time, knowing no one’s going to take his table. Not if they know what’s good for them, what with the leopard behind the counter.

Javier lights his cigarette. “Don’t wanna have to kill you.”

She cocks her head. “Can’t kill me, viejo. Who’d make your coffee?” She leans in real close and whispers, “Jorge can’t treat you like I can.”

He does not focus on the way her breath knocks against each knob of his spine.

“Janitorial services,” he blurts out, not so much suavely, “at the Embassy.”

“Hmm. Didn’t know they let janitors carry guns nowadays, but I guess there’s always something new to learn.”

“Tell me something about you,” he says.

“My doctor says I’ll never be able to get the smell of coffee out of my nose.”

Javier laughs, plucking the dish rag from her hands so she stops cleaning the counter and looks him in the eye instead. “Gonna need more than that. Tell me something I don’t know, cielito.”

She flushes. “You have to pay extra for that.”

“Then pour one on me,” he says, sliding the coffee pot toward her.

A wicked smile overcomes her face, one she tries to tame by chewing on the inside of her cheek. She spots a customer waving her down, so she turns quickly to Javier and says, “Give me two minutes. Pour it for me.”

He fills the cup she’s just cleaned until it’s almost overflowing.

~

The first day something goes wrong, Javier is unprepared.

She’s all smiles and flowy skirts when he walks in the door, but he feels out of sorts when he spots the men she’s pouring coffee for—mostly because he recognises them, and they’ve never been in here before.

His heart swoops down into his gut when he remembers where he’s seen their three faces before.

It stings to watch her smile falter when he ignores her familiar greeting for him, pretending like he doesn’t know her. He heads straight for the counter, sits down, waits twenty seconds, and then accidentally knocks a mug to the floor.

A few people idly turn, but it’s her excusing herself to clean up the mess that matters. He lowers himself to the ground with her when she grabs the broom and dustpan. “Keep smiling at me,” he says under his breath. “Don’t let your face change.”

“Javier…” His name is an exhale from her mouth. “What’s going on?”

“Those men are involved in some bad shit, and I don’t want you in it.”

To her credit, she does not look at the three men at the table, nor do her eyes widen, her mouth drop. He knows her mind is chewing on this, working it through, judging whether or not she can trust him. At last, still cleaning up the ceramic shards, she asks, “What do I do, Javi?”

That’s his girl. “I need you to take your break until they’re gone. Can you do that for me?”

She breaths out a yes and looks up at him for one brief moment. “Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispers. “Paying customer, remember?”

“Always and forever, baby. Now go on. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She stands up with the dustpan and thanks him loudly, that bright smile still on her face. She takes the broken mug into the back room, and she does not reappear.

Javier has backup waiting when the three narcos leave, filled with his waitress’s coffee and pastries. Javier stays inside, sipping his own coffee. They won’t know he called for backup. They’ve never seen his face. But they’ll be ambushed once they’re a safe distance from the café, and they’ll go away in handcuffs for the couple kilos of cocaine inside the trunks of their taxis.

Javier comes in the next day and expects her to cuss him out. She’s had every opportunity to call the police, to report him for being somehow involved with bad men, to ban him from her little safe haven. Instead, she just sets down the coffee at his table and shakes her head.

“Janitor, my ass.”

~

He wishes he could shut his mouth every now and then, but he finds himself telling her the truth about his job before he can think to stop.

He rationalises.

He owes her this much. The strange men may not have harmed her, but in a line of work like Javier’s, people have to learn to be cautious. In his case, he may have been uber-cautious, but his senses become a whirlpool when it comes to her.

She takes it all in stride, same as yesterday. She’s a rapt listener, tuning out the world as he stumbles through the truth, and when he’s done, when he thinks he’s laid out all she needs to know for now, she nods. She understands.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, unusually sombre, brushing a knuckle under his chin the way he does her.

“Can’t stand the thought of you mad at me, cielito.” It’s the truth—he thinks he would forsake all his manliness and beg on his knees for forgiveness.

But he doesn’t need to do that with her. “It was scary, Javi,” she says earnestly, “but it would’ve been a lot scarier if you weren’t there, talking me through it.”

He grins up at her where she stands on the other side of the counter. “Any chance that means free churros for life?”

She hums like she’s pondering the thought. “For you, viejo? That’s only two more years at your tender age.”

Javier leans in close to her and glares. “Keep it up, honey.”

She drums her fingers on the side of his mug and smirks. “Plan to. More coffee, Agent Peña?”

~

She’s talking to another man when Javier walks into the café. He’s average height and muscled, around her age or a bit older, wearing a black leather jacket that matches the beard and hair on his head (the stuff that’s not greying), and he’s speaking rapidly, tautly. She keeps shaking her head, her lips pressed tightly together, furiously wiping down the counter and nudging his elbows away when he tries to set them down. Javier tries to eavesdrop, but they’re speaking too quietly, interrupting one another, so he settles into his chair at the back with his sunglasses still on his nose. And he watches carefully.

He's never seen this man before. He isn’t a customer, and his scowling face was not one Javier had combed through during his dubiously ethical background checks. It unsettles him enough to lean forward in his seat when the man abruptly tears the rag from her hand. Javier instinctively reaches for the gun in his waistband, but he will not fire here. He bites down on his cigarette when she aggressively wipes under her eyes and storms into the back room. Moments later, she emerges with her purse, fishes out a wad of cash, and throws it square at the man’s chest. He leaves once the money is tucked inside his pockets.

Javier approaches the counter with his coffee. She is visibly shaking, but she smiles at him like he’s a relief to see. “Javi,” she says in one long exhale. “Good morning.”

“Thought you might like some company,” he says, setting down his mug.

He doesn’t press her to tell him about what he’s seen, even though he knows she saw him walk in. Her shoulders loosen. “I… I didn’t have time to make you something, Javi.”

Her eyes are watering, and her irises undulate like they’re caught in a swell. Not for the first time in seven months, Javier reaches out and touches her. Lays a hand atop hers and squeezes her fingers. “You’re gonna make me fat, cielito,” he says softly.

She doesn’t let the tears fall. She just laughs and rolls her eyes, her cheeks warm.

~

It’s another month before Javier sees the man again.

Javier has been very good at keeping his life behind a wall, and while it’s obvious she notices, she doesn’t press him. He is profoundly stupid to give her the information he does; he’s told her about his father (she smiles like she’s remembering an old friend), bitched about Murphy (constantly), and told her about his hobbies. He told her that he reads in his spare time, even though nobody expects him to and fucking backwoods-hillbilly Murphy gives him constant shit for it. She knows he likes Tolkien, that he’s a fan of Lewis and Fleming. She gives him shit for reading so many “manly” books, but she laughs while she does it, and the corners of her eyes crinkle.

He knows he is older than her. She’s never read Tolkien. He finds himself promising things. He’s going to lend her his copies. He wants to share his interests with her, to watch her face light up with excitement when she tells him how much she loves Marilyn Monroe and Gloria Estefan and Selena.

She moved to Colombia two years ago, but he doesn’t know why. There is the switch. He’s found it: the moment of closure, when her spine stiffens and her smile trembles in an effort to hold on. Everyone has their switches. Javier understands.

But for the first time since he came to Bogotá, he wants to know someone. He wants to get attached. He wants a friend. Why the fuck shouldn’t he have that?

“Javi.”

He looks at her over the rim of his mug. “Hmm.”

She bites down on her smile. “It’s seven-thirty.”

Shit. He says as much, downs the rest of his coffee (she watches him with a raised brow), and begins to haul his jacket over his arm. He’ll have to put it on on the move; he’ll be late if he doesn’t leave now.

The bell above the door chimes.

He’s dressed the same as last time, but Javier knows his clothes are expensive. When he doesn’t see her at the counter, he peers through the employees’ door, then scans the café until he spots her, sitting across from Javier.

He stalks over and goes off immediately. “Whoring around, guapa? Haven’t you learned your lesson?”

He doesn’t even spare a glance toward Javier.

She looks more angry than embarrassed. “Nicolás, you need to leave.”

Javier settles back into his seat. No way in fucking hell he’s leaving her alone with him.

His dark eyes blaze at the woman, and he crowds her space, frowning. “I’m not signing.”

“We’ve talked about this,” she says calmly, though her skin is stretched over her knuckles as her hands clasp each other.

“You don’t just get to leave me.” The man’s scowl deepens, and when he grabs her by the wrist, she yelps, slapping a free hand over her mouth so nobody notices.

Well, Javier sure as fuck notices.

Last time, he stayed back, let the situation diffuse. He didn’t want to make a scene, didn’t want her to be uncomfortable. This time, he doesn’t give a shit.

This time, Javier sees red.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

He stands up and clasps his own hand around the man’s wrist.

“I don’t see you letting her go,” he says gruffly. “Let’s try again.”

“You fucking son of a bitch, trying to tell me what to do with my wife,” grunts the man, letting go of her wrist with a jolt. She stands up and pushes him squarely in the chest.

“I am not. Your. Wife,” she says, spitting a large glob of saliva in his face. “Sign the papers, Nicolás. I don’t love you. I don’t even give a shit about you.”

Nicolás moves like he plans to smack her across the face, but Javier is quick—and itching to knock him unconscious.

The punch cracks his jaw. He howls while the owner emerges from the back room and another customer helps drag Nicolás out the door. They throw him on the street and cuss him out. Javier shrugs on his jacket and sniffs, feeling accomplished.

“Cielito,” he mutters, offering his hand. Trembling (more with rage than fear, he suspects), she holds out her wrist and he gently prods around the area, feeling for disturbances. She winces, but it will only bruise. Still—

“I should have been faster.”

“Javier,” she whispers. “Don’t start.”

He lets out one frustrated sigh through his nose and nods. “Is it a judgment against your character if I say you married a complete fucking asshole?”

She laughs softly, like sad little bells. “Wasn’t my choice in the first place.”

He frowns down at her. “Cielito—”

“You’re already late for work, Javi. They’re gonna chew you out.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, brushing a knuckle over her chin. “I’ll lay on my charm.”

She hums. “Maybe you’re the asshole, Javier Peña.”

~

It’s been a year since he met his waitress. Tonight, for the first time, he pictures her face to make himself come.

He’s in the shower when it happens. Standing under the stream of hot water, he's unable to quell the image that bubbles up in his hindbrain. He imagines her lips around him as he hardens, and when he takes himself in his hand and juts out his hips roughly, he grunts, pretending he’s pushing past the seal of her pretty lips. Her face—so beautiful, so smiling and kind—sweaty and ruined, more radiant than ever. Her body: its curves and its delectable softness, its taste like coffee beans and flowers, if he can imagine it. The tempting, unknowable skin under that waitress’s uniform. He wants to make her feel good. He wants to lick every inch of her, savour every drop of her wetness when he gets her ready to take him. Tangy sweetness, twilight and the calm of the water at dusk. Flashes of teeth, lips, skin. 

That's it, baby. You can take me. I’ll make you feel good. 

Javier… A rush of breath, the distant cry of a swan over the water. Please. 

He doesn’t think until he’s spilling over his hand and the wall, harder than he’s come in a long time, of how wrong this is. How wrong of him to imagine a claim on her body, her life. Underneath the steaming hot water, his mind sharpens. He wants her, and he feels so filthy for it.

He turns up the heat some more and lets himself scald. 

Seeing her in the little café after fucking himself to the thought of her naked is a surreal experience. He’s never even seen the more intimate areas of her; she wears an apron and a dress, and he can only ever see her knees, her arms, her collarbones. But now he wants to trace them with his fingers, watch them hollow out when she inhales, watch the curve in her throat as she swallows and sighs. He wants to get on his knees and lift up her dress so he can make her fall apart on his tongue. He’s fucked everything up.

Him and his stupid goddamn dick.

“I’ve figured it out,” she says triumphantly, sitting down at his table across from him. There’s a cup of coffee for both of them; he figures she’s taken her break. Which means she likes to spend this half-hour with him. Which means she likes him.

“What have you figured out?” he asks, pushing his sunglasses further down his nose to peer at her.

“That DEA disguise might work for you, but I see all.” She reaches for his glasses and puts them on her own face, pantomime-lighting a cigarette. “You’re a spy, Agent Peña,” she says mischievously. 

He really, truly, desperately wants to kiss her.

The sunglasses slip down her face, so he pushes them onto the top of her head. Stares her in the eyes. “You got me, honey. What are you gonna do, huh? Lock me up?”

“How much money can I get for a spy?” she muses. “Guess it depends how good you are.” Her eyes narrow when a grin slithers up the corner of his mouth. “Javier, do not—”

“Oh, I’m very good,” he says, toasting his cup of coffee.

With a roll of her eyes, she lifts her own cup in toast, and takes a sip. The sight of her lips on the rim while she meet his eyes is enough to make Javier wish he owned looser jeans.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

Her eyes ask the same question, but she phrases it sweetly, the way she always does. She’s a fucking tonic to his bones and the reason he’s so goddamn tense. “Blinking is very important, you know.”

He does just that, clearing his vision and letting her come back into sharp focus. The morning sunlight adorns her skin like jewellery. She’s a vision. Even someone with a single sense out of the five could tell how beautiful she is, but it doesn’t make his life any easier. It doesn’t lower his heart rate, doesn’t cool him down, and it definitely doesn’t help the tightness in his pants.

He fucks his hand in a bathroom at the Embassy, and then he brings an informant home and fucks her, too. He makes sure she enjoys it when she’s on her hands and knees, because all he’s doing is picturing his waitress. He hates himself for the way it makes him grasp her a bit tighter, pump her a bit harder: imagining her syrupy whines, her flushed chest, her smooth skin all for him. He tunes out the noises she makes and pretends it's her. When he makes her come, he pictures her brows scrunching up, her eyes squeezing shut when she can't take the pleasure he gives her. He’d make his girl real happy, make her satisfied and dazed and fucking drooling.

Javier completes the transaction and cleans up in the bathroom. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long while, at his dishevelled hair and his tired eyes. Sex didn’t help.

She’s still in his blood. She’s in his system for good.

He doesn’t want a quick fuck. He wants her: his friend, his secret. His girl, whether she knows it or not.

The next day, she’s working on the books when he comes up to the counter, a pair of glasses perched on her nose, so engrossed she doesn’t even notice he’s arrived until he sits down.

She’s so fucking cute, he thinks, with her glasses and her thinking face, brows pinched together. But she smiles up at him like always. “Good morning, Javier.”

His mind is really a bastard, feeding him flashbacks of last night's wet dream. On her knees, taking him so well, so perfect, on her back while he left marks that would let everyone know she'd been fucked and who’d done it, on top of him, writhing and gasping and collapsing next to him. In his dream, he kissed the top of her head, laced their fingers together, and mumbled how well she’d done until they both fell asleep.

“Morning,” he says. “Don’t you have people for that?”

She huffs. “We’re short-staffed. Which means there’s me, one other cook, and Jorge. So I’m stuck making sure we won’t get audited.”

Javier whistles lowly. “Jorge’s got a real soldier working for him.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear. He likes making her nervous. “Maybe if you say that to his face, he’ll give me a raise.”

“You need money?”

Fucking moron, he thinks. Way to scare her off. Her eyes widen, but then she’s saying, “Oh, Javi, no. I’m doing all right. I promise. Just some… marital strain.”

His jaw may snap off if he clenches it any tighter. He can’t meet her eyes when he asks, “He been bothering you?”

It doesn’t piss him off that she’s married. She hates the guy, never wants to see him again. She’s been trying to get him to sign the divorce papers for over a year. What pisses him off is that any mention of her husband sucks her cheer away like blood from a wound. Javier has a real problem with someone making her frown.

She rests her cheek in her palm. “Every time I try to pay him off, he comes back saying it wasn’t enough, that he can’t afford a lawyer. Which is bullshit, by the way. He makes a hell of a lot more than me.”

“What does he do?”

She shutters off again, looks back down at her books. “It’s not a moral sort of work.”

Javier would know all about that.

“Oh!” she says suddenly, whirling around, the glimmer in her eye back again. “I forgot—I made you something.”

His chest feels tight. “ Bonita—”

She slides the books aside and places down a piece of blueberry pie. “You can’t say no,” she says, producing two forks, “because I’m helping you eat it.”

He’ll prod about her shitty husband later. For now, Javier enjoys the half-hour he has with her. They finish the pie in minutes.

~

Steve Murphy is a dick.

Javier knows it was a mistake to bring her up to him, because now Murphy has forgotten all his paperwork for the night, and he’s got his eyes set on making his partner’s life hell.

“Does she know you got those narcos arrested a few weeks ago?”

“She’s not stupid, Steve.”

“Do you know her last name?”

“Yes.”

“Is that because you told her, or because you stole her personal file?”

“Murphy, if you don’t shut up—”

“You’re not fucking her, are you?”

For some reason, that pisses him off the most. Javier grits his teeth. “Knock it off.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right. Jesus, Javi.” When he leans back in his chair, he’s still watching Javier with a smile spreading slowly across his face. “You really aren't.”

Javier puffs his cigarette and tries not to fly across his desk at his partner. “And how do you know that?”

“’Cause if you didn’t respect her so damn much, you wouldn’t get all defensive.” Murphy whistles lowly. “You’re so fucked, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t look up from his typewriter. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man. You don’t wanna fuck any random girl.” Murphy hides his mocking laugh with his hand. “You want to fuck your friend.”

Javier flicks his cigarette and it smacks Murphy in the cheek. “Pendejo.”

Murphy’s still laughing when Javier grumbles about going somewhere. He doesn’t even know where he’s planning to go, but it’s his lunch break and he needs fresh air. He definitely doesn’t want to linger on the reality that Murphy is right.

There’s a market across the street and down a block from the Embassy, which itself is a block away from the café. It’s not strange that she’s there, tediously browsing apples like choosing the wrong one will poison her customers, but Javier’s heart still kicks up, watching her as he waits for the traffic to clear.

She’s real fucking pretty in the daylight. Her hair is down, no longer in its clean ponytail, and the breeze picks it up like it’s watching her, too. She smiles at the vendors she passes; some call out to her, trying to sell or flirt. Javier crosses the street and gets giddy at the thought of seeing her outside.

He strolls up behind her and watches her inspect an apple. “If you stare any harder, it’ll wither.”

A little gasp leaves her mouth. “Javi!” she says brightly, eyeing him without a modicum of shame, her hand over her brows to shield herself from the sunlight. “So this is how you look in the light.”

She’s dressed in a flowy skirt that forms around her thighs when a breeze rolls by, and her shirt shows more of her cleavage than he’s ever seen before. He knows she notices his gaze lingering, but he doesn’t particularly care to look away. Watching her roll her eyes above his sunglasses delights Javier to no end. “You’ll get arrested walking around like this, cariño,” he says, leaning in real close and feeling her shiver when his breath reaches her ear.

She steps backward and holds onto the lapel of his jacket. “If you’re going to flirt with me, Javier, do it while you help me shop. I don’t have all the time in the world like you and your fellow superheroes.”

It only spurs him on. He lifts the canvas tote off her shoulder. “Fine by me,” he says. “What are the apples for?”

“Pie,” she says, picking two more apples from the cart. “You ever bake?”

“I cherish my place too much; don’t wanna see it burn down.” He steps in front of her when she reaches into her pocket to pay the vendor, slapping his own pesos into the man’s hand. She slowly lowers her hand and smiles at him in thanks. He lets her put the apples in the bag. “You want to teach me?”

Her face glows at the thought. “You’d really want to learn?”

It feels so good to make her happy that Javier doesn’t give a shit if Murphy finds out he offered to bake with this girl. “Will you put your hands over mine to show me how to knead the dough?”

Her hand trails across his stomach when she passes him. “Anything you want, honey,” she says.

Javier feels like he’s in high school again. He shuts his eyes for a moment to reset his brain, since the imprint of her hand on him shut it off. When his eyes are open again, she’s three vendors away. Javier scrambles to catch up with her. “So,” he says, “come here often?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” she says. “You and your big, scary bloodhounds.”

“They only allow one bloodhound for a partner, and he’s pissing me off. Besides, how could I just let you walk around by yourself out here? It’s dangerous.”

She pokes him in the stomach. “You’re the dangerous one, Peña.”

She stops between two vendors’ carts and stares up at him with her hands on her hips. For a moment, Javier worries he’s in trouble, and he’s about to open his mouth to apologise, when she asks, “Are you free tonight?”

It is frankly humiliating how fast he blurts out a yes.

“Good,” she says plainly. “I’ll teach you how to bake.”

~

Javier is practically salivating when he arrives at her door for dinner. There are two reasons for it.

One: whatever she’s cooking smells incredible. It’s a lot fucking nicer than the shit he eats at home—on the rare nights he remembers to eat after all the long nights at work.

Two: she’s dressed in loungewear. It’s a pair of shorts and a too-large sweatshirt. It should not make him half-hard. But she’s adjusting the bun on top of her head when she opens the door and beams at him and Christ, he’s going to be lucky if he lasts the night without excusing himself to his car to relieve his situation like a horny teenage boy.

A grin splits her face, and she leans on the door. “You brought flowers.”

He did. He thrusts them out in front of him and grimaces, his face warm. “You like lilies.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, squeezing the hand that holds the bouquet of white flowers, “I do. Come in, Javi.”

He thinks of himself as a gentleman where it counts, so he bites his tongue when he takes in the state of her apartment. She isn’t messy—she’s clearly done her best to keep up appearances, despite the fact there are leaks bleeding down the walls and peeling wallpaper and her bed is mere feet from the puny bathroom. Javier feels suddenly embarrassed by his own swanky place, set up for him by the DEA. He’s hit with a burst of cold air when he enters the room, and she crosses the room, flowers in hand, to fiddle with the thermostat.

“I’m sorry it’s so chilly,” she says sheepishly. “This thing needs fixing. Unless the problem is behind the wheel.” She tries to dial the heat up by two degrees, but the dial falls off and lands next to her feet. She just sighs. “You ever go undercover as a handyman, by any chance?”

He chuckles, closing the door behind him. The broken chain lock worries him; there’s nothing but the lock on the door to stop someone from breaking in, and picking this sort of lock is too simple. “I don’t go undercover,” he tells her, “but I can smack your landlord around.”

She hums. “They’ll trace it back to me. Gotta be careful about those things, Peña. There should be a vase in that cupboard behind you.”

He finds it, fills it with water (which sputters for a while before it runs), and places it on the dining table (barely big enough for two). She places the flowers inside and smiles fondly. “You have an eye for décor.”

“Wrong,” says Javier, “I have an ear, and it listens to what the woman likes.”

She swats him gently in the chest. “Flattery doesn’t excuse you from helping the woman in the kitchen. Get an apron on those hips.”

~

Javier decides he hates baking. But she makes it tolerable.

His job is full of tedium. He likes to leave that behind in his personal life. She’s so easy to be around, to talk to. He likes leaving the Embassy, leaving behind the narcos, and knowing she’ll be the first person he talks to the next morning. There’s no politics, no bureaucracy, no bullshit with her. He trusts her.

Baking is tedious as shit. It’s precise, all about waiting, timing, and the end result is only good if you’ve worked like hell for it. It’s too much like work.

She has flour on her nose, and he lifts his thumb to wipe it away. The look she gives him makes him forget why he hates baking. 

Javier tried to knead the dough for the pie crust but ended up treating it like an interrogation suspect, so she did as promised and placed her hands over his. He remembers her cheek resting against his arm as she leaned around him, felt her breasts on his back, her impossibly soft hands, her warmth. 

“Be nice to it,” she whispered. “We don’t want our food to bite back.”

“It’s delicious, Javi,” she says, finishing her last bite of the apple pie. They made it, together. Javier is proud of that no matter how much sweat he wasted slaving over that oven. “Worth all the pain and swearing?”

“Fucking malparido,” he hissed. She whipped around, eyes wide. He rubbed his elbow. “Burned myself.”

“Oh, honey,” she said, wetting a cloth with cool water and wrapping it around his arm. She was always quick to react, quick to soothe. “¿Mejor? (Better?)”

He liked the way Spanish rolled off her tongue. It was sweet and smooth, not quite fluent but proficient enough to fake it. He grinned down at her. “Eres demasiado buena para mi, bebita (You’re too good to me, baby).”

She looked away and he pretended not to notice her smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it.”

It is a damn good pie.

~

He’s still in her apartment four hours later, and she hasn’t given him a hint she wants him gone. It’s the longest he’s spent at a woman’s home without getting into bed with her. Sure, he wants to, but Javier’s content here, on her small sofa, sharing a bottle of wine.

“So. Want to tell me how you ended up working in a café in Bogotá, married as far down as someone can possibly go?”

She shoves him lightly. “Don’t rub it in, Javier.”

“Just can’t get my head around a guy like that marrying a woman so far out of his league. You’re you, cariño. He’s—”

“A moron?”

“You said it, honey.”

She traces her finger around the rim of her wine glass. “Javi, I trust you. I honest-to-God trust you more than I’ve let myself trust anyone in a long time.”

He lifts a brow and ducks his head to meet her eyes. “That’s a good start.”

She lets out a shaky sigh. “I came to Colombia to help take care of my sister. She was sick. Nicolás approached me one night while I was out for her medication. He offered me work, told me it would pay more than anywhere could. I was desperate and stupid enough to buy it.”

Javier doesn’t like where this is going. Still, he places a hand atop her knee and lets her continue. “He turned me into a whore, Javi. I don’t care about that, not really. It paid, it gave me work. But the things he would make me do…” She breathes in harshly, like the memory pains her. “He made me believe he loved me. I married him, and my sister died anyway.

“My brother-in-law is a lawyer. When I served the papers, Nicolás took all the money and ran off. He only started coming back a few months ago, trying to make me believe he’s broke.”

Javier brushes a knuckle across her chin. His rage, horror, and sadness are a cocktail in his aching head. Her husband was her pimp. He forced her into sex with men and then put her money in his pocket. Javier wants to act—he needs to help her, to pull strings with folks outside the DEA and get the asshole to sign the papers. If not, a restraining order could work. But there are tears falling down her cheeks, and Javier’s plan of action retreats to the back of his mind. He smooths back her hair and places a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you for telling me,” he whispers, nearly chokes out, voice strained. “Thank you.”

She sniffles. “I can see your wheels turning, Javi. What are you thinking?”

“I know how it feels to be trapped in a marriage,” he tells her. She frowns.

“You were married?”

“Nearly,” he amends. “The kid wasn’t mine.”

“Ah.” She nods in understanding, like that’s all the explanation she needs. “We’ve both been truly fucked over, huh?”

He lifts his glass in toast. “That we have.”

She clinks their glasses together. “To making bad decisions.”

He chuckles. “I can toast to that.”

~

“Like… none?” Steve peers at him from across their desks. It’s times like these Javier hates being forced to sit right in the bullpen with Murphy. “None at all? How long?”

“You wanna play this game, Murphy? Really?” Javier glares. “When’s the last time you got fucked by your wife, huh?”

Murphy throws a pen at him, but Javier catches it. “Don’t talk about my wife, Peña. And since you’re curious, last night.”

Well, fucking good for Steve Murphy. Javier hasn’t cared to get in bed with a woman for weeks; even in the weeks before that, the sex was nothing inspiring, nothing good enough to make him forget about how badly he wants his waitress’s sweet body beneath him.

“Fuck your hand later, man,” says Murphy, “we got doors to knock on.”

Javier rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m sitting this one out. Got another lead to look at.”

Murphy grunts. “Sure. Make sure you pay her well.”

“Fuck you.”

Javier waits outside the unassuming house, drumming his fingers beneath the driver’s side window with his sunglasses pushed down to the tip of his nose. He has triple-checked the address, memorised the routine of the man he’s watching, but it still unnerves him when he finds himself waiting for a long damn time for him to emerge.

When he does, Javier steps out of his car and walks right up to him. “Nicolás.”

The man curses when he sees Javier, surging forward. “You want to assault a DEA agent?” Javier challenges, choosing Spanish. “I just want to talk.”

“You assaulted me, you son of a bitch,” says Nicolás. “She send you?”

“No. But you’re going to sign the papers.”

Nicolás scoffs. “Just because you’re fucking my wife—”

Javier itches to pull his gun and press it to the asshole’s forehead until he shits himself in fear. “I’m not fucking your wife,” he says, “but it doesn’t seem like you are, either.”

Nicolás snarls. “I’m not signing the papers.”

Javier feels dirty when he reaches inside his vehicle and pulls out the divorce papers he stole from her bedside table. Nicolás’s brows come down in a furious line. “This is coercion,” he says.

“It’s a warning.” Javier’s patience is waning. “She’s not going to be nice forever, and neither am I. I won’t lose sleep if you go to jail.”

“Let me tell you something,” says Nicolás. “I own her. I have owned her from the moment she signed her contract and I will own her even if she’s not my wife. I have shit on her that will destroy any chance she has at a life, a career. You’ll have to do a lot better than fucking divorce papers.”

Javier’s jaw ticks, but he’s already tucked away the information he needs. He’s going to get her out.

~

That night, she shows up at his home.

Javier opens the door when a soft knock sounds. He’s not expecting anyone, which is why his gun is tucked into his waistband.

Her face is puffy with tears, and Javier is on red alert. His hairs stand on end and he steps into the hallway, crowding her gently so he can place his hands on her shoulders. Her lower lip trembles when he touches her. “Oh, cielito,” he murmurs. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

She shivers. It’s raining outside, and she’s soaked to the bone, her pretty skirt clinging to her thighs and her knit cardigan a blanket of sopping fabric. He knows she doesn’t have a car, that she walks everywhere, but he feels like an asshole for not tracking her down and picking her up anyway. “Went to the Embassy,” she says, teeth chattering. “I found your friend Steve; he gave me your address.”

“Oh, shit, honey.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. He’s an asshole.”

She tries to laugh, but tears are still rolling down her cheeks. “I—I’m sorry, Javier. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Javier ushers her inside and she stands timidly on the mat while he closes the door behind them. “C’mon, take your shoes off. Can I…?” She nods, and he helps her shrug off the heavy wet cardigan while she slips off her tennis shoes, still hesitant about stepping onto his hardwood floors. “A little water never hurt me, honey. I don’t pay for this place. C’mere, I’ll get you some clothes.”

She holds herself reserved and taut as she follows him, but does not step beyond the threshold into his bedroom. He roots through his closet and refuses to look at the bed. Javier does not let himself imagine her lying there, both of them rolling around in hazy desire, morning laziness, and close talks while squinting against the morning sunlight. He finds a pair of sweatpants and an old, shitty sweatshirt emblazoned with Texas A&M spirit. She smiles down at it and says in a wrecked voice, “It’s gathering cobwebs, viejo.”

He wants to fire something back about her smart mouth, but he doesn’t have the heart. Not when she’s crying. “You can change in here,” he says. “I’ll make you some coffee. That okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll make some for myself, too. How about that?”

Finally, she nods. “Okay.”

He leaves her just as she’s beginning to pull off her shirt, and he warns his heartbeat to settle before working on the coffee pot. Javier doesn’t let himself think much when he’s working. He tries to get the job done, accomplish what’s necessary. If he thinks… Well, if he thinks, he’ll think about why she’s crying. He’ll wonder what happened to her that was so bad she didn’t have anywhere else to go. He’ll want to track whoever did this to her down and the things he’ll do to them will be horrific enough to land him in jail, let alone fired. No. He’ll make coffee. He will assure that she’s comfortable. He will not—

Fuck.

Javier’s brain goes blank, like he’s wiped all the chalk off the board, when she emerges wearing his clothes. Her feet are bare, the sweatshirt too big, her arms hugging herself as she pads over to him. It’s almost domestic; it’s his fucking dream, seeing her in his home like this, and he can’t enjoy it because she’s in trouble.

He hands her a mug and waits for his brain to restart. They sit together on his sofa and she watches him for a while, scanning his face.

He doesn’t realise until a minute passes that he’s fucked up. Royally.

Her gaze is soft. “I don’t blame you, Javi. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Javier pinches the bridge of his nose and curses at himself in Spanish. “I… Fuck, I just wanted to help. I promise you.”

She reaches out and grasps his hand. “I know,” she says. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice raspy, “he did.”

She shuffles closer, and he can feel her fresh warmth, smell her dewy hair, watch her irises shimmer in the dim light. He clenches her hand tighter. “I’m okay,” she says, reassuring him even though he’s the one who brought the wrath of her husband down upon her. “Just had to see you.”

“Tell me what he did to you.”

“Knocked on my door and told me off for getting involved with a hijo de puta like you.” She smiles wryly, looking down at their joined hands. “His words. Then he told me you showed up at his house, threatened him.”

He tries a joke and feels even more rotten inside for it. “Couldn’t help it. He’s easily threatened.”

Now, as the initial panic subsides, Javier begins to think.

There isn’t a noise inside his home besides the sound of their breathing. He’s wearing jeans, a button-up, and he still feels like he’s on fire. She’s on his fucking couch. Her legs are tucked underneath her and she’s sipping his coffee, and she’s so close to him her arm brushes against him whenever she shifts. Her face is a foot away from his; there are little specks in her eyes, tear tracks on her face; she parts her lips to say something, and his ears begin to ring. He needs her. He needs her close.

Javier cups her face in his hand and brushes his thumb along her chin. She leans into his touch like it’s the most natural thing he could do, like they aren’t crossing a hundred lines. Both of the mugs are set down on the coffee table. She turns her body to face him, looking up at him with doe’s eyes, and his entire body hums for her.

“He knows, Javier.” Her voice is a whisper. “He knows what you mean to me. He said if I don’t start working for him again, he’ll kill you.” She licks her lips, curling her fingers around his forearm. Her eyes are welling up again. “I can’t…”

“Shh, cielito.” He wants her out of her head, wants his girl back. He drops his voice, too, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Gonna get you out of this.”

She’s butter beneath him, soft and sighing. “Javi, I—”

“I know.” His other hand slips around her hip, fingers teasing the skin beneath the hem of his sweatshirt. She’s so soft.

He drinks in her little gasp. “We can’t—”

“I know.” He brings his hand forward, pressing gently into the small of her back and enjoying the way her warm body curves to him. He slides his hand back around the curve of her waist, memorising, relishing, making a map of the places he wants to explore.

She whimpers when his hand leaves her skin, only to rest between her hip and thigh. “He’ll use it against me.”

“I know, baby.” She’s close enough now that he can brush his lips to her temple in the mere suggestion of a kiss. “We’re gonna do this right,” he says, trailing his hand back up her side so he can grab her other hand and squeeze. “Hey? You and me.”

She nods fervently. “You and me.”

“That’s my girl,” he says into her ear.

“What do I do?”

“It’s already done. I just need you to do the final step for me.”

She traces her fingers along his jawline and he feels the tremor through his spine. He’s at home, here, melting under her touch. He nudges the pads of her fingers with his nose, and she smiles at him like he saved her life. “Anything,” she whispers.

~

next

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[ash5monster01]

Can I get Drew Starkey with prompt 2.??

First Love

Valentines Celebration Prompt

Pairing: Drew Starkey x FemReader

Warnings: mentions of heartbreak, fluff, established relationship

2. You find an old love letter from your high school sweetheart, do you reach out?

word count: 2k

Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always brought up old memories. Thoughts to a time that didn’t even feel like you had lived it anymore. So much had changed, things you never really expected too. It’s weird that it feels so much heavier this year. Maybe since it had been ten years. A decade later and your life was not what you had wanted or expected it to be. Which explains why you pull the box stuffed away in your closet out. A layer of dust covering the top and you slowly blow it away as you pull the lid open to memories you hadn’t revisited in a very long time.

It’s the big things you notice first. The pair of roller skates you seemed to live in sophomore year of high school. A stack of year books with worn covers and faded signatures on the inside. A hoodie, one from him that overtime just became yours. Then it was the pictures. So many pictures it made you realize just how much of your life had been intertwined with his. It may have been ten years since but it was still ten years together before. Trying your best to avoid your young smiling face you find a stack of letters, rubber banded together with handwriting that is all too familiar. You knew it maybe wasn’t the best idea to read one, open old wounds, and yet you can’t stop yourself from freeing one of the envelopes.

Hello my love,

Did I happen to mention just how beautiful you looked today. I didn’t hear a single thing in Calc class because you kept brushing that perfect hair out of your face and across those shoulders. All I could think about was the smell of your perfume and wishing my head was buried in your neck. If I fail it’ll be all your fault but I wouldn’t really mind. It’d be worth it if it meant I got to keep looking at you. Just a degreeless loser with the most perfect wife. That’s right, I said wife, because I’m going to marry the hell out of you. It’s my only dream, out of all my successes in life you will always be my best one. Remember that.

Love Drew

The tears that spring to your eyes are not intentional. It was just that you had almost forgotten just how much he loved you. It was still your biggest regret that you never got to tell him just how much you loved him too. Maybe he had a girlfriend or even a different wife now but that still never stopped you from checking his Instagram and watching all of his latest movies. Which is why you’re so quick to pull up his account and scroll through the posts. He had grown up so much. He wasn’t that young 19 year old boy you used to know. He was a man now, a man you had let go of in order to not hold him back.

It’s when you accidentally double tap the screen and the heart appears do you feel your stomach drop. In instant panic you realize you’ve just become one of those crazy exes who still looks at their old boyfriend’s profile. Yet you shouldn’t feel this way. Drew was always your closest friend after all. So in order to make yourself look less crazy or possibly even more crazy, you hit the message button on the top.

Hey, was just reminiscing. So proud of all the things you have done. Hope all is well.

The internal cringe is enough for you to throw your phone across the room and pray that his famed status will keep him from ever seeing any notifications from you. Yet that isn’t proven true when your phone dings with a text from an unknown number on the other side of the room. Nervously picking it up, you prepare for whatever the text may hold.

Hey, it’s Drew. I’m really hoping this is still your number 😅

I got your DM but it feels weird messaging you of all people over Instagram

The second text comes through as you’re finished reading the first one, nerves tingling through your entire body. You hadn’t expected a DM back, let alone a text. Yet here you both were and now you had to face the consequences of your actions. You were the one who reached out first after all.

It’s still me! I would have texted but obviously your number did change

You know how awkward it seems. Texting him professionally as if he isn’t the only person in the world you are most comfortable with. You don’t have time to dwell considering another text comes through.

Yeah, I actually had to ditch it after a crazy fan incident. I would have given you my new one but honestly I figured you didn’t want it.

Of course I’d want it, no matter what you’ll be important to me

You don’t want to come off as flirty but it was true. Even if your relationship had been ten years ago. Drew held your heart and gave you every first experience of love in your life. That never goes away, he would carry those firsts around with him forever.

You home? I’m in town and I’d love to meet up

It’s not the text you expect to come after the one you just sent. Knowing Drew was so close now made you even more nervous. It had been so long. Were you really even ready for that kind of confrontation? Then again you didn’t want him to think you were still all torn up especially after you reached out to him. So you sucked it up and texted back.

Yeah! We could meet at our old place, 4 o’clock?

See you then

And just like that, you not only revisited your past memories, but were truly going to step in it. Ten years ago this was your normal routine and it was weird how getting ready for this still felt so natural after all this time. This time you put a bit more effort into your appearance. If you were going to see Drew for the first time after all these years, you had to look good.

So with your jacket wrapped tightly around you, you find yourself walking to the center of town. The bustle of familiar faces walking along the streets, colors of red and pink covering every storefront you can see. You register completely that you’re doing this on Valentine’s day. The anniversary of when you left him ten years ago. Right in front of the old diner stands Drew, bundled up and holding a single pink rose in his hand. He doesn’t see you approach right away which makes you smile just slightly.

“Hi” you hum out, all emotions leaving you but happiness. You never would’ve thought seeing him in person again would bring you this much peace. He jumps just lightly before his head swiftly turns to face you.

“Hi! There you are” he grins and you can’t help the small laugh that falls from your lips. Suddenly he’s holding the pink rose forward. “This is for you, since it’s Valentines after all”

“Are you asking me to be your Valentine?” you tease, fingers curling around the stem and lightly brushing his own. You can’t believe how long it’s been since you’ve felt his touch. Red covers the boys cheeks as you pull the flower close and take in its scent.

“No, well if you want. Yes, maybe. I don’t know anymore honestly” he flusters out and all you can do is giggle as you take a step closer to him.

“I’ll be your Valentine, considering I have been many times before” you tell him with a smile and he sighs in relief, comforted just as much by you, as you are of him.

“Let’s go inside, I don’t want you to freeze” he says, hand falling on your back and guiding you towards the door. You obey, heading straight for your old designated booth. Drew watches as you slide carefully into your side before he sits down himself.

“Look at you movie star” you grin at him after a moment, taking in his grown and handsome appearance. A fresh blush covers his cheeks as he lets out a soft chuckle.

“I’m no movie star, not quite yet” he says and you roll your eyes.

“Oh please, Drew I see your face everywhere I go. Edits of you pop up on my tik tok now. Who would’ve thought my high school sweetheart would be everyone’s celebrity crush by now” you say, knocking your foot with his and he laughs lightly.

“To be honest it shocks me. At the end of the day I still am the bad guy on my claim to fame show” he says and you just smile, taking all of him in.

“That buzzed hair, been so long since I’ve seen you with shaggy hair. It’s weird how different you look and yet you’re still completely the same” you don’t mean to be sappy but sitting here of all places with him will make you like that.

“Yeah, I kinda wanted to grow it out but with filming schedules I’ve had to keep it shaved down. Maybe after though” he says running a hand over his head and you just grin.

“I can’t wait” and the sentence isn’t meant to imply you’ll be spending time together in the future, yet Drew can’t help but think of that.

“Why’d you reach out today?” he cuts to the chase and the smile quickly falls from your lips. “And don’t give me some classic bullshit response. I want the truth”

And you consider your options before finally choosing to speak.

“Every Valentine’s day I go through our box of things. Mementos of our time together, because if I’m being honest, I’m not really over it. I know I left you but it wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore. It’s because I didn’t want to hold you back” you saw no point in lying, he deserved the truth. Even after all these years.

“You never ever held me back” he says after he lets your words sink in and you sigh, hands coming up to tug at your hair.

“It doesn’t matter Drew. I know you, you would’ve chosen me over going to LA. Chasing your dream, becoming a superstar, I wasn’t apart of that” you tell him and Drew sighs, taking a moment to think of his next words.

“You were apart of that. You always were, because none of that mattered compared to you. You were always my greatest accomplishment” and the words from that letter ring through your mind.

“Do you still love me?” you finally ask, needing to know exactly what was going through his mind.

“I never stopped” he says and finally a small smile pulls at the corner of your lips.

“Do you think I could be apart of it now? So I stop accidentally liking your instagram posts?” you ask and a belly laugh falls from the boys lips across from you.

“If you’ll have me” he says, hands reaching across and cupping yours into his own.

“Always” you tell him with a grin and just like when you two were 16 and first started to come here, he lifts off his seat and leans across the table to meet you. Searching his eyes you meet him halfway and slowly press your lips against his own. Kissing him like this again for the first time in ten years feels like a fever dream but it was perfect. He was perfect and still tasted faintly of cherries and coffee. He was the only thing you ever truly wanted.

And you got him back.

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[kaeyachi]

Kaeyappreciation post!

Kaeya is wonderful in a sense that he:

Has a penmanship described as "Beautiful Handwriting". He for sure worked on that.

Willingly spends his time making sure his outfit looks perfect

Is well-loved by Mondstadt and the Dawn Winery staff

Is described to like a prince, both in looks and in actions

Is shown to be gentle and caring to children and elderly, most seen with Klee and the staff from Dawn Winery

Is a great listener and, therefore, also knows what gifts to buy based off of something someone said in passing

Is predominantly kind- unafraid to help out and defend someone in need. His first reaction is always kindness, and worry about covering up that kindness later on

But Kaeya also has his moments where he:

Says things out of pocket with enough alcohol in his system. Things that usually lead to shame and regret.

Would rather give others the credit for his hard work if he could help it

Intentionally makes himself look suspicious by withholding information and only throwing tidbits that are not of substance

Has sadist tendencies, which affects how he treats both his (cavalry) company and his enemies

Can and will use underhanded tactics to gain the upper hand

Rarely ever says what he truly wants to say

Has a fake smile. Usually lies or only deals with half truths.

He is such a complex character. I really do want people to appreciate him and his intricacies more. The fact that his entire personality and story is done so well and continues to actually grow and expand as the story progresses is something that genuinely makes me want to keep watch of him. I have never, in all my fandoms, stuck to a character as long as I did with Kaeya, and honestly? I know I'm not alone with this.

Look at how well they made our boy!

#the longest other characters have lasted with me is 6 months at most but kaeya has been eating my brain for YEARS #kaeyachi randoms #kaeya #kaeya alberich #note: everything listed here is from the kaeya hangout/limited events/character stories. None of these are HCs #but no seriously look at how much we have of him and yet all of this is still barely scratching the surface augh #im gonna keep digging #HIS FLAWS ARE APPRECIATED IN THIS HOUSE #room for growth and error? thats very cool. give me more pls #give kaeya the dan heng treatment 🙏 #bro's character is legit getting more and more detailed its amazing like ayo why is genshin leaving other characters in the dust?! #look at how they made kaeya and compare it with others who have lower lore relevance... #some characters stopped growing after they were introduced :( #tbh the fact that genshin released a starter character this amazing made several of us stick to the game #thats amazing tbh...

[tinselxoxo26]

𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸 𝓞𝓫𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 𝓥𝓘𝓘 ○◦˚.

[Note: Hello my lovelies 💕 I'm not present as this is one of my scheduled post from my 1 year hiatus. This post is about tropical astrology. Happy reading!]

Part 6

◌ 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬 born between 𝟐𝟒 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟖 𝐉𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟔 have a nice handwriting or voice due to having 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐆𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢

◌ 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝟏𝟎𝐇 tends to aim being an "𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫". Art department? ✓ Music department? ✓ Academic department? ✓ Sports department? ✓ From my experience being with them they're most likely pick a department & try to hone their skills to perfection.

(For example: Art department. Learns how to master watercolour, charcoal drawings, acrylics, oil paintings etc.)

◌ 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 - 𝐍𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 🤝 hopeless romatics

◌ 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐬 - 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬🤝 realists

◌ 𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐧 with a 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 might get compliments from being mature/responsible or being a good parent one day. They're the type of people that takes care of others especially their loved ones like cooking/cleaning up for them.

◌ I've noticed that 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 (𝐓𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬, 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐨, 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐧) in the chart especially in the 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝟑 (𝐒𝐮𝐧, 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧, 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠) usually don't post/share anything on their social media like Instagram. If you see them post it's like once in a blue moon. They're usually reserved in their private lives.

(Unless they have a lot of fire & air signs in the chart)

◌ I've also noticed that 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐬 in the 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝟑 might go through phases like deleting social media, distancing themselves from social media etc.

◌ 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐢𝐝 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐚 (𝟑𝟎𝟏𝟖) 𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝟏𝟐𝐇 could indicate that the Godiva person glances at the 12H person while they're not focused, not aware, hidden/subtle glances.

◌ If you're interested in 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭/𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐲/𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐲 check for 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧 (𝟐𝟓𝟗𝟖) in your chart. I've noticed that ppl who are interested in tarot tends to have Merlin in the 3H & 6H or Merlin aspected to AC/MC or personal planets especially Sun & Moon.

◌ Check for 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞 (𝟓𝟔) in your natal chart if you have 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲/𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬/𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(You have it prominent when it's conjuncting personal planets/ASC/DC/MC/IC.)

𝒪𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

Melete in Leo tends to have anxiety in their younger years/childhood/kindergarten/primary. Melete conjunct ascendant could mean that other people could see that the native have anxiety. Melete conjunct/square MC could mean that their anxiety triggers in public spaces. Melete conjunct/square Mercury could indicate that the native have anxiety in speaking. They tend to overthink every single wording that they choose & due to that they could take a long time to text. Melete conjunct mars could indicate that the native tends to have anxiety around men.

◌ Look for 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 (𝟑𝟕𝟒𝟐) in your natal chart, it shows how to 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬/𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲

𝒪𝒷𝓈𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈

Sunshine in 5H is through healing your inner child by watching kids shows/movies. Sunshine in sagittarius is through travelling learning about astrology/tarot. Sunshine - Neptune aspects especially conjunction means that the native uses meditation to heal or uses fantasy as an escapism to 'heal' like reading novels/fiction/fanfiction etc.

[I do not own any of these pics]

Thank you for reading this far <3 Make sure to stay tune for my next posts!!

~ 𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑥𝑜𝑥𝑜26 🌸✨ ll masterlist

all rights reserved © tinselxoxo26

#astrology #tinselxoxo26 #astro community #astrology community #tropical astrology #astro notes #astrology observations #astro observations #asteroid post #leo moon #cancer sun #earth placements

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Promise Woven in Silk

18/12: Letters & Lingerie Kink - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2.1k~ | Warnings: suggestive letters, masturbation (m), p in v sex A/N: thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs for checking my Tom Bennett was cunty enough 🤭

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Tom couldn't wait to be off this fucking boat.

It was a sort of slum in motion, but with the threat of being killed or drowned.

He made his own fun, practically forcing people's hands into betting on the day his canary laid an egg, pissing off the commanding officer and choosing rather colourful language when he was speaking to people of a higher rank than him. Not like he gave a shit.

But he only did those things because he was Tom.

It didn't make him really happy.

The only thing that managed to pull a smile to his face were letters with her handwriting on the front.

It felt wrong to call her a sweetheart so to speak. After all, at first there was no expectation of anything deeper, not wanting to get involved in something so trivial before he decided to disappear abroad. But it was exactly that expectation that drew him to her.

She wasn't desperate and needy. And yes, he'd tease her for it, but she was so fiercely independent, she turned her nose up at how a woman should conventionally act towards someone she liked.

He loved her for that.

He leapt onto the top bunk, checking the room was clear before pulling the sealed letter from his pocket, the paper slightly crumpled with her swirly feminine handwriting decorating the front.

Dearest Tom,

I hope you are settling into navy life well and are not causing too much trouble for the people who have the displeasure of being around you all day and night. 

He smirked. She knew him too well.

As I write this, my stomach flutters at the thought of your upcoming shore leave. I have been entirely too impatient to not tell you that I have concealed a great secret from you, one I should hope you will be pleased to uncover upon your return to me.

Picture me, with delicate lace trimming framing the curves of my body, meant for your eyes only of course. The fabric, as smooth as a moonlit ocean, holds promises of stolen moments where you are once again by my side.

I must confess, once you are back I scarcely think I could ever let you go again. The mere thought of you being here with me has a pleasant, exciting effect on my inhibitions. An effect, I dare say, you are keen to replicate.

I anticipate the shared warmth of our reunion, one I have no doubt you have sorely missed.

Yours in fervent longing…

He swore his mouth was agape, before a sly grin slipped onto his face.

Jesus Christ.

Tom's baby blues flitted over her handwriting, as if needing to commit the words to memory over and over to make certain he was reading the same thing.

His fingers gripped the delicate paper noticeably tighter as his mouth went dry.

Cheeky fucking minx.

Completely naturally, he brought the paper to his face, sighing longingly at the familiar scent of her perfume. She'd no doubt spritzed it a few times before sealing it, intent on torturing him even further as if the words alone had not done so.

Her scent flooded his mind, making way in his brain and pushing all the blood there south, his manhood pulsing almost uncomfortably at the memory of her.

The way he'd left her lingered there.

She had his white shirt around her shoulders and completely nothing else, her breasts peeking teasingly against the thin fabric as if to tempt him to stay when she knew he couldn't.

He'd almost jumped right back on her when she rose to her knees and plucked the post-coital cigarette from his lips to have a sweet, shallow drag of her own, her eyes aglimmer with mischief and sparkled with lust. 

And he's not ashamed to say that the image of her lips around the cigarette had him wishing they were around him instead. Looking up at him through her eyelashes, massaging the length that would not fit in her perfect mouth.

And so here, miles and miles from her, but unable to think of anyone or anything but her, he slipped his hand into his trousers, keeping her letter close to his face and pumped himself needily, imagining it was her grinding her hips atop him, her moist lips parted with those sounds he loved so much slipping forth.

He spilled himself over his knuckles in no time with a choked moan that he had to keep quiet.

It was sweet, sweet torture.

“Cheeky. Fucking. Minx.”

Tom practically skipped through off the train onto the platform, resisting the urge to break into a run as he played the route to her flat in his mind and how to get there the fastest.

It felt like he'd had a perpetual need for her ever since he read her words, which was more akin to pornography than an innocent love letter, having the desired effect of keeping him rock hard, fists clenched and jaw tightened.

God, she'd pay for that.

His boots thumped as he made his way up the back stairs to her flat, fists rapping on the door rapidly and excitedly, his chest feeling all tight and fluttery.

Every second there was no answer, his leg bobbed with anticipation.

Tom's tongue poked his cheek as the door slowly cracked open, a smile working its way to his face.

Her hair was waved over her shoulders, a satin dressing gown around her and tied at the middle, accentuating her waist, with her legs all bare and poking tantalisingly out beneath the rich fabric.

She herself gave a smirk, pulling the cigarette from her lips with two of her manicured fingers.

“Hello, sailor.”

Fuck, her voice.

She squeaked in surprise as Tom's tall form had to twist to force his way in, his bag forgotten to the floor with a thud, finding better purchase on her body as he surged down to meet her lips halfway. She smelled and tasted just as he remembered.

Bodies touching and smirking between fervent kisses, he mumbles between them, “Hello, beautiful.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and equally sank to that spot between her thighs that grew moist, aided by the endless weeks without his presence.

“I can't believe you sent me such racy letters. You just want to get me in trouble, don't you... and believe me you're doing a fantastic job at it.”

She hummed, pulling away to look up at him, smirking as he plucked the cigarette from her to take a drag for himself.

“You've got to have something to look forward to on shore leave, Bennett.”

He grinned with all his perfect teeth, stubbing it out once he was done with it and running his tongue over his lips.

She scrunched her nose, her hands around his shoulders as she craned up to meet his misty gaze, “in any case, I don't know what you mean. My letters were perfectly well-meaning and innocent.”

He scoffed, the smoke leaving between his pink lips, blonde eyebrows raised, “innocent? Those letters could be classified as a war crime.”

Her lips part involuntarily, warmth gathering in her gut as his hands lay flat either side of her waist.

"Now, where's my promised prize? To celebrate my return.”

She bit back a grin, her hands sliding down his chest to the tie at her front, fingers pulling it loosely unbearably slowly.

Tom swore he ascended to heaven once the silk parted to reveal what she'd promised beneath, a delicate lacy number that seemed to drift over every curve and left very little to the imagination.

 “Now that's what I call a greeting and my reward.”

His hands assisted in pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her standing in her silk sleepwear, the front dipping right where the shadow of her breasts appeared.

He grinned like a schoolboy, raking in every piece of her he'd been unable to see for weeks. God, maybe even months.

“You know, I almost thought you were lying in your letter and you didn't actually have this... but you surprised me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as they both leaned in, dragging his nose over her cheekbone and placing several kisses, too chaste for his nature, along her jawline.

“I couldn't possibly do that to you, Tom.”

She giggled girlishly as his hands were now unable to stop their journey around her body, squeezing and moulding the flesh to his palm as he guided her to her bed. He stood, looking down as she lay there waiting for him with that honey-like gaze, biting her lip when she saw him work on his own clothes.

Once he got to his belt, she lifted her hands to the straps of her brassiere, to pull them down, until Tom tutted at her, kneeing her legs apart in reprimand, earning a confused expression.

He loved it when she looked all dumb like that.

He smirked, “Maybe I want you to keep it on. You look good in it.”

At this she lowered her hands, eyes glimmering with mischief as she watched him struggle with his belt.

She smiled smugly, “have you gone soft on me, Tom Bennett?”

“Soft is the opposite of what I am right now, love.”

A soft giggle slides past her lips as Tom looms above her, shoving his trousers past his hips as they snag on nothing, his eyes hardening  the more frustrated he gets. But it quickly dissipates, core clenching around nothing once he pulls himself from his underwear, hardly having to stroke himself to full attention.

His fingers creep along the side of her thigh beneath the delicate lace, swiping the pads of his fingers against her, grinning widely when he finds his words and actions have had the desired effect, her hips twitching upwards at his touch. 

“Oh, love. You’re fucking soaked for me.”

His ministrations become rough almost instantly, tugging the silk to the side and running the fat head of his cock, red and weeping against her womanhood. She watches the way his chest inflates and deflates with heavy breathing, at how the dog tag there glimmering in the low light around his neck, looking down between them, the air feeling hot and only the sounds of pure carnal desire rumbling in their throats. 

“Tom - please -”, she mewled longingly, trying to move her hips to gain friction as he teases her bud with the tip of his length. 

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest, “God I fucking love it when you beg. What do you think, should I make you do it again?”

She shakes her head quickly, closing her eyes and turning away with a warm face at the intensity of his gaze down at her. 

He huffs another laugh and lays atop her, pushing her leg apart with his knee and pressing a kiss to her temple, “It’s alright, love, too fucking impatient for that.”

Her mouth falls open, warmth flooding her as he pushes into her agonisingly slowly, splitting her apart on his length to slide into her slick walls. Tom can’t help but screw his eyes shut, burying his face in her neck and inhaling her perfume as her warmth squeezes him and her fingernails leave crescent-moon shaped marks on his back.

He barely waits to reach the end of her before he moves, his hips meeting hers softly at first, but increasing in vigour once he hears her tiny little whimpers, and the way she presses her lips together to try and be quiet. 

Ever stubborn. 

Skin meets skin with quiet smacks, neither needing to say anything (except for the occasional ‘fuck’ encompassed by a low moan from Tom) but just basking in this closeness they’d been deprived of in all the time they’d been away. He is sure he could stay between her legs all fucking day, squeezing the flesh of her thighs and tasting her lips on his. 

“Fuck - ‘m gonna-”, he moans lowly, his hand running up the nape of her neck and pulling the strands of her hair through his fingers, not enough to hurt. Her core tightens around him, head thrown back into the mattress, lips parted. 

“oh - fuck, yes-”

With a choked moan, he takes her over the edge with him, holding her so tightly that had he been in his right mind, he’d think he was hurting her. But she doesn’t protest. She only loosens her grip on him when his thrusts falter to a stop, but his length remains tucked inside her, shuddering when he feels her core clenching around him in the aftermath of her peak.

His normal attitude clouded by the haziness sex, he rests on his forearms above her, giving an exhausted smile that she returns. 

“That the greeting you were hoping for?” she asks, her breath coming in short, hot pants.

And just like that, the Tom Bennett grin returns, leaning down to capture her lips again, “Yes, but I’m not done with you yet.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

#tom bennett smut #tom bennett x you #tom bennett world on fire #tom bennett angst #tom bennett #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #tom bennett wof #tom bennett x oc #tom bennett x female reader #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x y/n #tom bennett fan fiction #tom bennett fan fic #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fic #tom bennett fanfic #12 days of smuff #tom bennett imagine

[beepboopkek]

— An evening well spent

including: Jing Yuan

cw: !! NSFW !!, fem!reader, VERY SHORT, posted on mobile so formatting might suck sorry :( , one singular cl1t slap, c0ckwarming, implied unprotected p in v, still spreading my jing yuan is a bastard (affectionate) agenda , written very quickly there might be a few errors

w/c: 477 words

a/n: hallo everynyan my last nsfw kind of blew up and now my mentally ill ass is struggling because I am answerable to people now . but fuck it we ball. Wracjing my brain for more ideas so I can write more but if u have any requests then pls share!! sorry about the english again 🦅

NSFW BELOW !

There's no way you could concentrate.

Your bastard of a boyfriend had a wonderful suggestion when you told him of your troubles.

See, despite being a Xianzhou native, you had never been particularly fond of writing in the script and that was now coming back to bite you in the ass.

You'd gotten passing comments about it before, about how shabby it is or how it's almost illegible.

It seemed perfectly fine to you though, something for future you to worry about.

That was the case until your boss doubled down on you, her exact words being, “An outsider stepping foot on the Xianzhou for the first time would have a better handwriting than you.”

That was the last straw.

When you told Jing Yuan about it, he laughed for a few minutes before realizing you were deeply disturbed by this.

So, he offered a simple solution.

He'll help you practice the Xianzhou script for a month to help you get better handwriting.

The only catch? Well, he said there weren't any.

But, there's never not a catch with the general.

So, that ended up with you and him, settled in his private office at his home…

…With his cock stuffed inside you.

There's the expected catch. Who would've guessed the general found some way or the other to make sure he can have his way (consensually) with his darling partner.

Frankly, you don't know how he managed to get you to agree to this, maybe it was the fact that the two of you hadn't been intimate for a while or the fact that he knew you've always wanted to try cockwarming.

Maybe it was both.

You shook your head, trying to focus back on your shaking hand that was holding the brush.

“Have a tighter grip, you need to hold the brush a little more vertically for this set of the alphabet.”

Jing Yuan's deep voice echoed through your ears, turning your brain into mush.

But, you had to push on. He wasn't going to move until you finished writing a sentence perfectly and you knew for a fact that your dear boyfriend kept to his promises.

You took a deep breath, composing yourself before moving the brush again, making a perfect arch.

“There we go, that's my girl, hm. Doing so well. Just a little more, you can do it.”

He rested his head against your shoulder, bringing his hand to start rubbing lazy circles on your clit.

“Yu, stop that I—”

“Focus.” 

A small slap to your clit made you flinch immediately, the extra ink in your brush spilling a few drops on the paper.

“Love, you ruined the paper.”

Shit.

“Looks like we'll have to start all over again, hm? What a shame.” 

He tutted, almost sounding regretful but he was far from it.

…This was going to be a long night.

#jing yuan #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr #i tried

[wanderersbell]

between the pages

wanderer x gn!reader

genre: modern!au, meet-cute, fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2206

✧.* a/n: sorry i haven't posted in forever teehee i had to use all of my effort to squeeze this out of my brain ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

try as you might, it’s impossible not to notice the new customer perusing the bookshelves in the old, worn down shop you’ve taken a job at over the summer. compared to the aged shelves and creaky floors, it’s like seeing a shiny new car in the middle of a junkyard, pristine and vivid against the washed out backdrop. 

it’s pleasantly cool inside away from the sweltering july heat so for a moment you’re sure he only ducked in to cool off, but he actually appears to be looking for something as he approaches one of the towering displays. 

you watch discreetly from the counter as the boy slides a book out and opens to a random page, little specks of dust floating up from the pages and around him, visible only because of the sunlight from the window in the back that casts its glow right above him. 

you cringe a bit at the sight. no matter how often you dust, it never seems to go away, which you suppose is to be expected of such an old little shop. he doesn’t seem to mind though, hardly even seems to notice it as his violet eyes stay fixed on the words in front of him. 

he’s beautiful, so much so that you almost wonder if you’re hallucinating the first time he pushes through the door and takes in the towering shelves lined from wall to wall. he has an air of grace that shows through his calculated movements, almost like a robot that’s programmed to be perfect. 

but he’s very much real when he finally finds what he’s looking for and brings it up to checkout. 

“borrowing or purchasing?” you ask automatically, praying silently that your voice doesn’t sound weird. up close, you realize he can’t be much older than you, and that somehow makes him all the more intimidating. 

his eyes are sharp and cold as he meets yours, practically the textbook definition of unapproachable. 

“borrowing.” he replies. his voice is a bit softer and higher pitched than you were expecting, but there’s a hint of roughness to it that almost makes your skin prick with goosebumps in a way that you try to ignore. 

as you turn away to find the notepad for him to write his information down on, his eyes drift to the whiteboard next to the counter. ‘book of the week’ is written at the top in blue marker, with the title of a novel underneath. 

there’s a half written annotation on the board that you were in the middle of jotting down before he walked in. in your opinion it’s messy, unorganized, and impossible to understand. just a jumble of thoughts that you scribbled down as they came to you. 

you’re the only one who ever adds anything every week and most people coming in hardly spare it a glance, but when you find what you’re looking for and slide it over to the customer you notice his eyes flitting over your scribbles. 

it almost makes you feel self conscious of what you’ve written. it could be worded so much better, and your handwriting looks so much nicer when you slow down a bit, but you hadn’t anticipated anyone actually bothering to read it. 

he shifts his attention back to you as soon as he realizes you’re looking at him and he takes the notepad and pen from you without a word. 

you fidget with a stapler while he fills it out, suddenly becoming aware of how fast your heart is pounding behind your ribcage. when he’s done he hands it back to you, you hand him the book, and then he turns to leave without another word. 

your usual ‘have a good day’ gets caught in your throat for some reason so all you can manage is a small, awkward wave that he doesn’t even notice as the door swings shut behind him. 

when you glance down at the ‘borrow’ list, the first thing you notice is his handwriting, somehow equal parts neat and messy. the tops of his letters nearly loop together but blunt angles prevent it from being considered neat. the other thing, is his name. 

‘kuni.’

he seems to have chosen not to write his full name, which technically isn’t allowed but also isn’t really that big of a deal at the end of the day, because his phone number is still written where it should be and your boss never checks the list anyway. 

the entire thing was such a normal, boring interaction that had it been anybody else you probably would’ve forgotten about it by the next day—but this lingered on your mind throughout the rest of the week. 

the following week when he returns the book, he exchanges it for another one. there’s a new novel listed this week, and you don’t even process the fact that kuni pulls his phone out to write down the name of it because your eyes are glued to the red eyeliner lining his lower eyelashes. it’s stark against his pale skin, so perfectly drawn that you once again find yourself questioning whether or not he’s even real.

you almost choke on your spit when his gaze flicks up to meet yours and you quickly slide the ‘borrow’ list over to him, completely missing the way one of his eyebrows quirks up in mild amusement at your reaction. 

it takes him a bit longer than last time to write his information down because he pauses to skim over your annotation for this week's book, which is much more presentable this time around. 

if you weren’t awkwardly staring at your feet still caught on the fact that he looks like he walked straight out of a painting, you would’ve noticed the flash of an impressed expression on his face, but you keep your eyes pointed down until he sets the pen back into the tin cup to the side with a clink. 

when he grabs the book and silently turns to leave, you take a grounding breath. 

“have a good day.” you blurt out to his retreating form, internally thanking the heavens that the words come out even and not too quiet. 

kuni doesn’t stop walking towards the door, but he turns his head to the side and lifts his hand up in acknowledgement. 

“you too.”

you don’t work fridays and the shop is closed on the weekends, but when you return on monday, kuni’s book is already filled out as returned, meaning he must have stopped by on your day off. 

you feel a bit bummed out at the fact that you missed him when he came back, but he had replaced it with another so all you can do is hope he’d show up again sometime before friday. 

much to your surprise, when you turn around to erase last week's book and change it to another, there’s something new written on the whiteboard. 

just off to the side of your previous annotation are notes, scribbled in a slightly familiar somewhat elegant chicken scratch. it takes you a second, but when you realize it’s kuni’s handwriting your heart jumps into your throat. 

his notes branch out from what you have written in response, taking in your thoughts and then challenging them with a counter argument that has you thinking from a perspective you hadn’t been able to see before. 

after being frozen on the spot for a bit longer, you grab and uncap the marker and start scribbling a response to his response, trying to ignore the excitement thrumming in your limbs. 

to think that someone else would take an interest in the featured books, and even bother to pick apart your annotation and invite you to think harder about the story was almost hard to believe. 

especially because it’s him.

anyone else might feel a bit bothered having their opinions countered so bluntly, but you’re so stuck on the fact that you have someone to indulge you in this interest that it never even crosses your mind. 

when you finish and stand back, an entire half of the whiteboard is taken up by two people’s handwriting where it once would have been nearly empty. instead of erasing it to add the new one, you move to the other side of the board and add the new week’s novel, as well as your thoughts on it that you had organized over the weekend. 

still feeling elated by the unexpected happening, the rest of your shift goes by in a flash until an hour before the store closes when kuni finally shows up again, all intimidating sharp gracefulness.

it’s not until he walks up to the counter after wandering off to find something to check out that you finally realize it’s not the featured book he’s returning, and he had actually never even checked out the book that was listed on the whiteboard last week.

you had wanted to say something about the notes, but the way he doesn’t even acknowledge that they exist has you clamming up and doubting whether or not he was even the one who wrote them in the first place. out of the desperate desire to not embarrass yourself, you decide it’s best left unmentioned. 

“thanks,” you say almost hesitantly as you add the book to the return pile to put away later and pass him the clipboard so he can cross his previous entry off the list and add a new one. 

if only you had been paying attention instead of being lost in your own doubt, you would’ve seen how he eyed the whiteboard and the way a corner of his lips turned up a fraction at your messy reply, but his back is turned and he’s already leaving by the time you look up again. 

and you would never know it, but a while later across town a boy with the pretty red eyeliner walks into a library and checks out another book, one that had been hastily written down on an old whiteboard where a pretty person that made his hands sweat with nervousness works.

this continues for another two weeks and another two books before you finally muster the courage to mention it to him. one of the things he had written under your annotation didn’t make any sense to you, and you can’t help but ask the next time he comes in. 

he clearly wasn’t expecting you to know that it was him, because he looks absolutely taken aback when the words come out of your mouth. 

“what did you mean about the protagonist's actions mirroring the dialogue in the first half?” you try to say this as casually as possible, but your hands are wringing each other behind the counter as you speak. “i mean, i noticed that the emperor almost perfectly predicted what would happen, but it was still super vague.”

it takes kuni a few seconds to gather his bearings before he responds in stride. 

“it was in the story one of the elders told.” he explains. “the one that describes the man who had to pass three trials before he could figure out how to lift the curse.”

“oh!” you gasp, finally understanding what he had written. it was such a small section that you had completely overlooked it so you can’t help but feel a little amazed by his attention to detail. “i never caught that, good eye.”

“mn.” he responds stiffly. 

in the silence that follows afterwards, neither of you know what to say for a moment. the annoying fluttering is back in your stomach and even though you want to say a million things, not a single word forms on your lips. 

“did you know it was me the whole time?” kuni eventually asks, eyes burning holes into the counter. 

“yeah, pretty much.” you admit sheepishly. 

if you didn’t know any better you would think the tips of his ears looked a little red as you slid the clipboard in his direction, but you decide not to point it out and instead clear your throat and give a pathetic attempt at pushing the conversation forward. 

“so did you read the new one?” 

you don’t realize how stupid that question is until it’s already out of your mouth given the fact that it’s monday and you had just added the new one to the whiteboard about an hour ago, but he pretends not to notice that and glances behind you to see the title. 

“not yet.” kuni replies. “i’ll get around to it tomorrow.”

you can’t stop the smile that takes over your face at his words as a rush of warmth and anticipation fills your chest. 

as soon as you begin to internally debate whether or not to ask him where he’s been getting the weekly recommendations if he’s not borrowing them from here, it’s almost like he knows you’re waiting to bring that up because he’s already halfway to the door after he scribbles his information down on the list. 

“do you already own all of these books or-“

“see you next week.”

you can’t stop the tiny pfft that slips out as the door swings shut behind him. and just like that, the store is empty again. 

#favoniuslibrary #astronetwrk #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #kunikuzushi x reader

[huramuna]

banshee's lament - chapter 5.

aemond targaryen x stark ofc minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc masterlist prev | next

a/n: again, a little bit of a slow chapter. shera deserved some happiness and i'm giving it to her, dammit. also i lied, i dropped the chapter on monday oopsies.

wordcount: 4.5k

@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.

content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage, graphic depictions of violence, my terrible, terrible combat writing

story playlist

Shera’s handwriting, in all accounts, was terrible. It was crude and wispy, all blending together like a child’s scrawl. As she sat at her desk, the ink dripping onto the paper from the length of her pauses, she wondered how to sign it. 

Yours,

Shera

No, that was much too personal— she… she wasn’t his. 

Best,

Shera Stark

That felt formal and detached. It simply wouldn’t do.

She went through a myriad of different closing statements, wroughting her brain over like wringing out a rag. She even considered not doing it at all. 

No, no— she… she wanted to. She needed to try, atleast. Sulking and crying would only do so much for her. She needed to be proactive and offer an olive branch of sorts. She settled on a simple drawing of Moongeist— or mayhaps any wolf, but the point was there. He’d know. 

With the note pinned to her cut dress fabric, she snuck from her chambers, flagging down a pageboy. 

“Hello,” she murmured to the young lad, who couldn’t be any older than nine or ten. “May I ask a favor of you, ser?” 

“Yes ma’am… my lady,” he corrected softly, eyes wondering to Moongeist, who was sitting patiently at Shera’s feet. 

“May you take this fabric and note to Prince Aemond’s chambers and leave it upon his desk?” 

“The prince doesn’t like people going through his things while he’s not there, miss,” he responded, blue eyes wide. “I do not wish to be flogged.” 

Shera blinked slowly. Surely Aemond didn’t have servants flogged for an indiscretion. “Has… Prince Aemond had pageboys flogged before?” 

“No, miss— but I delivered him a letter while he was eating his lunch once… he had his eyepatch off on the table and I did not knock,” the young boy looked at his hands. “He said if I didn’t knock next time, he would make me clean up Vhagar’s dung with a wheelbarrow.” 

What the fuck, Aemond? Shera stifled a little laugh, trying not to embarrass the boy. “How about this,” she hummed. “Would you like to pet my wolf? He’s a real direwolf, all the way from the North.” 

The lad eyed Moongeist with a curious gaze. “My mumma had a shaggy dog with a curly tail when I was young. He licked my face n’ smelled horrible but he was my bestest friend,” he said, bashful. “He died a while ago— no one’s got any more pups for me to pet.” 

“He’d love a pet from you, ser,” Shera continued. “Will you deliver this to Prince Aemond’s chambers? If he gets cross with you, tell me and I’ll resolve it and sic my wolf upon him. No harm will befall you.” 

Shyly, the boy smiled, offering his hand to the wolf. Moongeist sniffed his hand and licked his palm, causing the boy to giggle. 

Shera showed him where Moongeist liked to be scratched the most, and the pageboy was quite pleased with himself when he had the giant wolf thumping his foot on the ground like a puppy at the most perfect of scratches. 

He took her note and favor and tottered off. 

— 

Shera knocked on Helaena’s door. “Hela?” she called softly. 

A handmaid opened the door and let her in, wide eyes upon Moongeist. 

The solar was lovely, decorated in blue and purple silks upon the ceiling. There were framed pinnings of various bugs upon the walls, some of them being very rare if she remembered correctly. 

Upon the floor were strewn children’s toys, like wooden dragons that Helaena had when she was little, along with soldier dolls and princess dolls. Some children’s books were left open, some neatly stacked near the settee. 

Shera’s eye landed on Helaena, who was bobbing a toddler on her knee on the couch. A white haired child approached her, his violet eyes wide. He was the spitting image of Aegon as a child. 

“Who’s you?” he asked, not afraid to stare— like all children do. 

“Shera!” Helaena exclaimed, humming as she hoisted the smaller child onto her hip. “Jaehaerys, this is your auntie Shera.” 

“Auntie… Shera…” the little boy echoed. “Is she married to uncle Aemond?” 

Helaena’s face blanched slightly. “No, dearest,” she hummed. “She is very close to me, like a sister. Like Jaehaera is your sister.” 

“Oh,” he murmured. “She doesn’t have white hair. And she has a dog.” 

“He’s a wolf, Jaehaerys,” Shera chimed in. “Has your mumma read to you about direwolves and Winter Kings yet?” 

“A woof,” the smallest child chimed in, bouncing happily upon Helaena’s hip. “A woof, a woof!” 

“Well, I should introduce the children. You have already met Jaehaerys,” Helaena ruffed up his white curls as he continued to stare at Shera unabashedly. “He has a twin sister, Jaehaera. Who is…” Helaena swirled around. “She is hiding behind the settee,” she whispered, leading Shera to look at the pair of violet eyes peeking over the furniture at her. “And this is my youngest, Maelor. He is two years old. The twins are five.” 

“They’re gorgeous Hela,” Shera mused. “Jaehaerys looks just like Aegon, I thought I had stepped into the past when I saw him. Maelor, however,” she added, smiling at the little cherubic face of the youngest prince, who was blushing and giggling, “looks just like his mumma.” 

“Come sit, lovey,” Helaena said as she put Maelor down on the floor near the toys. “Lunch should be here soon. You look darling in that shade. You look like a jeweled beetle,” she hummed, offering her hand to Shera, which she took. Hela’s palm was warm, like a toasty fire, but not sweltering. It felt akin to being swaddled with a blanket. “Can I show you some of my bugs?” 

“Of course,” Shera agreed, feeling genuinely at ease. The solar was lively and lived in, surely because of the children— it felt… homely and not sterile and lifeless like some others’ chambers. 

Off to the far wall, Helaena led her to a bookshelf, carved in draconic designs and various Old Valyrian sigils that she couldn’t quite parse. It was stocked from top to bottom with various books, mostly pertaining to the taxonomy and biology of insects and arachnids— but there were some familiar titles snuck in as well. 

‘The Winter Kings of Yore: An Account of the North’. 

“Hela— you still have this?” Shera asked, her hand thumbing over the positively ancient book, prising it from the shelf. She remembered this was one of her favorite books as a child and would request Helaena to read it when they bathed. 

“Of course! I still have this one, too. ‘Tis Maelor’s favorite.” she pointed to another book, nestled next to the other tome. It was much shorter, but its hard cover was more colorful with streams of blue and purple thread embroidered into a moon and an image of a wolf. 

‘Moonpuppy’. It was a children’s book, the only one Shera had brought with her to King’s Landing when she arrived at age five. 

“Oh Gods,” Shera breathed, her fingertips skimming over the embroidery. It wasn’t the original binding of the book— the book was well loved into bits, to where the inner pages only remained at one point. Shera and Helaena had worked tirelessly for a whole moon trying to prise it back together. The princess embroidered the cover, trying to make it as close to the original as possible. 

Opening the book, she remembered they even made a title page, inked in their silly children’s handwriting. 

‘Moonpuppy, edition II. By Helaena Targaryen and Shera Stark.’

Shera wanted to cry. She sniffed, carefully going through the pages. “Helaena, how have you managed to make me cry twice now?” 

“Tears of happiness, my little wolf spider,” Hela whispered. “You should read it to Maelor. You were always better at the voices than I.”

“Oh, Hela— I… I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, heat coming to her ears. “It… hurts to speak for long and I cannot project… what if he cannot hear me?” 

“Even at two, he is a very good listener. He is nothing like his father in that regard.” 

Shera wiped away her tears and went to sit down. “Maelor, is this your favorite book?” 

“Mwoonpubby!” the toddler exclaimed, jumping to attention right away. 

“Do you know all the words? It’s been quite a while since I’ve read— I may need help remembering.” 

“Mumma reads it every night— can I be the pubby and you be the mwoon?” 

The strength of Shera’s smile almost hurt her face. “Of course.” 

She began her reading, her fingertips buzzing with elation and a strange sense of anxiety.

Once, long ago, there was a puppy. 

He lived in the bitter cold and was very small, but that was okay. He had a large family to keep him warm. 

His mumma and papa talked to the moon each night, encouraging him to do the same. 

‘I don’t know what to say.’ said the little pup. 

‘Whatever is in your heart, dearest. The moon will listen. She will always listen.’ His mumma soothed him, fiddling over his fur with her big tongue. 

One day, it was very dark. Usually, at night, they had the light of the moon. But it was gone this night, smothered in fog and clouds. 

The little pup whined, trudging in the snow. He was lost! He was lost and he couldn’t find his way back to his mumma. 

‘Mumma! Mumma!’ he howled to the sky, to the hidden stars, to the darkened moon. ‘Moon? Moon?’ 

Shera cleared her throat, feeling the pinch of her nerves creeping up on her. She wanted to finish it— she had to.

There was no answer. He was alone. 

He cried and cried for hours, so alone and so cold without his family to warm him. He missed his mumma so badly, he missed the moon. 

‘I don’t talk to you much,’ the pup said, muzzle to the sky. ‘I don’t have much to say usually. I am sorry.’ 

He shuffled his paws as he huddled under a low hanging ledge, out of the snow. It was still wet and he was cold, but it was better than nothing. 

He felt cold still, cold in his bones— 

A light shined down upon him, finally. The moon had broken through the fog. 

Her voice was so hoarse now, that nary a sound came out. Moongeist nuzzled his snout under her hand in a gesture to tell her to take it easy. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t, her voice catching within the brambles of her inflamed vocal cords. 

“S’okay, auntie Shewa,” Maelor said, toddling up onto the couch and snuggling up to Shera without any reservation. “I can finish it, I know all the pawrts. Mumma gets tired too sometimes… so I finish the stowy.” 

He could see, he could see. ‘Oh, thank you, thank you!’ he howled and barked and yipped. 

‘You should talk to me more, little pup,’ the moon cooed, bathing him in her silver light. ‘My sweet little moonpuppy.’ 

His pack found him quickly, all piling near him to keep him warm. He snuggled into their furs, looking up at the sky. 

The moon was full that night, full and bright. 

“Auntie Shewa?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I pet your woof?” 

Shera looked to Helaena and gave a nod.

“You have to be gentle, like with the bugs.” Helaena stepped in, saving Shera from further talking— to which she was grateful for. 

“Uh huh…” Maelor mumbled, dragging his chubby little hand over Moongeist’s fur in a gentle manner so unlike a toddler. “Soft.” 

Moongeist licked the boy’s head, cowlicking his white curls into one. He giggled with delight.

–

They all lunched together, Helaena insisting that they sit on the floor and eat with the children. They sat in a circle, the kids having their porridge. They each had different toppings, which felt so much like them.

Jaehaerys had cut up ham atop his, accompanied by a smattering of frizzled onions. 

Jaehaera, on the other hand, had pieces of stewed pumpkin atop hers, glazed with cinnamon and maple syrup. It had some roasted pumpkin seeds atop for crunch. She had more of a sweet tooth than her brother, it seemed.

Maelor had a smaller bowl with plain porridge and melted butter– he glanced at Shera’s plate, to which her and Helaena were both eating parboiled quail eggs, dipping their toasted bread in the yolk. 

“Mumma– want egg,” Maelor muttered, swirling his spoon in his porridge. 

“What kind of egg, darling?” Helaena asked.

“I want what Auntie Shewa has,” he continued. “Dippy egg.”

“Maera,” Helaena called to her handmaiden. “Can you please have the cooks whip up some dippy eggs for Maelor– and mayhaps a bone for Moongeist, too?” 

The thumping of a tail was heard as the wolf heard ‘bone’ and ‘Moongeist’ in the same sentence. He stayed near Shera, but also in close proximity to Maelor, who had become quite attached to the wolf very quickly. The toddler offered porridge from his spoon to him, who happily slurped up the food with a wagging tail. 

Soon enough, Maelor was devouring his dippy eggs with toast. Helaena leaned forward now, tracing little circles on the plush rug they sat upon. “It was supposed to be different, you know.” 

Shera blinked. “What was?”

“I was supposed to be betrothed to Jacaerys– before… Aegon,” she started, eyes glazed over and looking towards somewhere far away, somewhere not completely there. “It might have been nice. I don’t know.”

“... really? You and Jacaerys?” she raised a brow. She couldn’t imagine Alicent ever agreeing to such a thing.

“Mother wasn’t pleased. Father pushed and pushed but mother was stronger and pushed back. It was a flash in the pan, so to speak. I wish I knew where we would be now if she had agreed.” 

“You would be upon Dragonstone, Hela– with… Jace’s children, presumably,” Shera cringed inwardly at the thought– that would be her some day.

Helaena wrinkled her nose at the thought, seemingly agreeing with Shera’s sentiment. “For all his faults–” she got up then, tugging Shera to her feet and leading her to the open window. “Aegon is… good with the children. When he is here. I don’t… he isn’t my husband in feeling– but he is my brother. What are we, any of us– but beholden to the mistakes of our families. All of us.”

Shera stayed silent as they sat on the windowsill together, letting Helaena talk. It seemed like something she didn’t talk about much– if ever. 

“He got the worst of mother’s rage. It broke something in him. But I think there is something broken in all of us, even mother,” Helaena reached to the trellis, plucking a beetle that was hiding between two folded leaves. “All of her children are cursed in some way,” she lifted her periwinkle gaze to Shera then. “You are one of her children, too.” 

“... cursed,” she echoed. Yes, that seems about right.

“Will you survive?” the princess turned the conversation then. “Upon Dragonstone?”

“I don’t know.” she answered truthfully, talking in honesty about the betrothal to someone for the first time. She tried before with Cregan, but he didn’t listen. 

“You’ll have to take the reins, you know,” Helaena prattled on, staring at the beetle with her full, rapt attention. It was blue in color, gleaming like a sapphire jewel in the sunlight. “Take them and steer them. You’ll be the only one able to change it– the trees bleed, Shera– cut lip, punctured wood...”

Shera’s brow furrowed further. Helaena was known to descend into her ramblings– but something within her tingled at the words. She didn’t know what they meant, but it made her stomach churn. She felt the whoosh of air from outside the window, a cream colored blur in the edge of her vision. She didn’t hear it, only felt it and saw it, fleeting. It landed upon a spiked point of the keep, across the way from the window– but she couldn’t parse what it was. Shera blinked profusely, bringing her hands to her eyes and rubbing them. When she looked again, it was gone, mayhaps never even there. 

“Hold the beetle, Shera,” Hela hummed, offering the jewel colored insect to her. “You remember how to hold them?”

“Gentle,” she responded, voice so quiet that it was hardly even a whisper. The beetle crawled eagerly onto her palm, roving around slowly. 

“I need to clean up the children for naptime. Maera,” the princess called, hopping off of the window sill. She walked to the handmaiden, who was a head taller than Helaena. Her dark brown hair was braided in one long wisp, a few errant strands sticking to her forehead. She had tanned skin and dark eyes, with a curved nose. The handmaiden smiled to Helaena and they whispered to one another, clearly very familiar, before they disappeared toward the nursery.

Her surroundings blurred as she kept her attention on the beetle. It seemed so simple, so… calm, despite being in the palm of a would-be predator. The light reflected off of its blue colored carapice, the elytra buzzing ever so slightly. It wanted to stretch, the slight unfold of its wings captivating Shera. She wondered what it was like to fly– she had always refused Jacaerys when he asked her to join him atop Vermax. But if… if she were the one flying, she may not be so scared. Her shoulders rolled in tandem with the beetle, feeling a crack of her bones and the ghostly sensation of her own wings clawing out from them. 

The beetle’s antenna wriggled, its little claws digging into her palm, pulling itself along. It wanted to go, it wanted to fly. Leaning towards the window, she saw the great expanse of the sky, littered now with clouds. There was a little breeze now, ruffling the gentle film of the wings as they extended– they looked and felt broken when coming from their sutures, but straightened out quickly. Crawling closer, closer to the breeze, flitting upon it. Hovering now, legs dangling ever expertly. Regarding the indoors one last time– pushing forward into the open air, flight, flight, wisping upon the breeze… was this freedom? 

“Shera! Open your eyes!” 

The breeze died upon her face as she turned to see Helaena at her side, a few maids behind her looking terrified– Moongeist was whining at her feet. 

“Shera?” Helaena whispered now, her periwinkle eyes wide. “Are you alright?”

“... yes– um,” she glanced around nervously at the maids, who were now chittering amongst themselves. 

“Thank you, ladies– you may go now. I will call the maester myself if Shera falls ill again.” 

Ill? She was awake that entire time, she knew it– she was… focusing on the beetle… the beetle…

“Hela– where is the beetle?” 

“The beetle…” she breathed, looking over to the table. 

Shera looked to see an open lightbox, the beetle was in it. It was seized up, not moving. 

“It fell. Its thorax got torn on the windowsill– I will fix it before I pin it,” the princess sighed. “The breeze was too strong.”

“Is it dead?” 

“Yes.” 

Shera felt cold, a chill creeping at her back. “I should… I should get some rest, I think. M-much excitement for me today, I think.”

Helaena nodded.

–

Shera laid in bed, taking her dinner in her chambers. She felt… utterly exhausted. The day had been tumultuous, even without her… disassociating spell in Helaena’s chambers.

Her fingers roved over a book– it was something that was just left in her room for decoration and no real substance. Her eye strained as she tried to focus on the words. It was already hard enough to read with only one working eye, but with the content of this book being so boring, she couldn’t parse any of it at all. 

Knock, knock, knock. Three knocks rapt upon her door.

“I don’t need any tea,” she croaked out, unable to project her voice. She slipped out of her bed, adorned in her nightgown– it was fairly see-through, so she grabbed a blanket and slipped it over her head and body, snugging it close. She hated being caught without her veil on. “Please, come back in the morning.” she muttered as she opened the door, peeking her face out slightly.

“I’m afraid I cannot take no for an answer, Lady Stark,” Aemond hummed, standing before her in all his glory. He wasn’t dressed for bed– she wondered if he wore his riding and sparring leathers to bed, too. “I was tasked with delivering some… reading material to you.” 

Shera perked a brow inquisitively. “Reading material?” She hadn’t requested anything specific from the library.

“Can I come in?” 

Shera bit her lip. “Yes… I suppose…” she opened the door wider for him to come in as she scrambled to find a veil to wear. 

“No need for that. I won’t look if it makes you uncomfortable.” he said, his tone a bit softer than usual. He had two books in his hands as he looked around the room. 

“I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable,” Shera grunted, a bit indignantly. His words from the dinner still echoed in her head. Mayhaps it's a mangled mess under there. She remembered him laughing at her earlier in the day when her veil had slipped slightly. Her cheeks burned as she pulled the blanket taut around her, facing away from him. 

“I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he said flatly, putting the books down on the side table next to the chaise. “But, out of respect, I won’t look.” 

She was sure he meant it as a way to soothe her worry, but she couldn’t help but feel tears start to form. Hastily, she wiped them away. “What was so important that this… delivery couldn’t wait until morn?” she glanced at him, her eyes stinging. “And why you?” she added, her punctuation of you a bit more harsh than she intended. 

Aemond’s brow knit as he regarded her. He said he wouldn’t look, the liar. 

She whipped in the opposite direction quickly. 

“Helaena asked me to deliver you this… and I had one to give you as well. Think of it as a betrothal gift.” he muttered, beginning to walk the room as if he wasn’t an intruder. Well, she had invited him in. 

Moongeist was snoozing on the bed, belly up. His legs twitched in the air as he whimpered softly from dreaming. Aemond stared at him. “This is your valiant protector? He is sleeping on the job.” 

“He deserves rest— you aren’t a threat to me, Aemond. He senses that,” she replied. Not a threat physically, at least. You’re a predator to my mind. 

“Hm,” he hummed, walking to the table where she still had two honey walnut cakes sitting out. “You enjoyed them, I take it?” 

“What?”

“The cakes. I had a maid bring them to you this morn.” 

“Oh– it was you,” she murmured, the tips of her ears flushing under the implication. “... thank you. It… helped.” 

“You were… distressed– these always used to cheer you up.”

Shera let out a tentative breath. He had thought of her– and remembered her favorite sweet? And… cared enough to have them brought to her. Maybe… maybe he didn’t loathe her so. “They were… very good,” she continued, letting a smile come to her face. It felt strange to smile around Aemond after so long.

“Yes, the cook who made them still works in the kitchens,” he picked up one, taking a bite. He had liked them as well, but his favorite had always been blueberry scones. “She surprisingly hasn’t kicked the bucket yet– still working away down there, at seventy-five. Mother offered her retirement and a nice hole in the wall shack near the wharf. She refused, adamant to work until she died.” he made a noise of surprise at the taste. “Still good.” 

“I’m surprised you remembered, Aemond,” she walked closer then, making sure to snatch the last one off of the plate before he decided to take it, too. She took a bite, the honey sticking to her fingers.

“I remember a lot, Shera,” he pulled out a chair and took a seat. Why was he staying?

 Her heart stopped momentarily as he said her name. She buried herself further into the pastry to hide her red cheeks. “Memories are a plague,” she grumbled, pulling up her legs to her chest after she settled into the chair next to him. 

“That they are, most of them are. A festering, decrepit reminder of… things best left forgotten. However,” he leaned forward then, his thumb cleaning off a drip of errant honey from the corner of her mouth. “I do remember, you were always a messy eater. Some things don’t change, do they?”

She shivered as he touched her with such… gentleness he hadn’t displayed at all since she’s been back. It was a glimpse into the boy he used to be– he was still there, deep down. She almost choked on the rest of her cake, putting it down on the plate as she quietly licked her fingers, trying to distract herself. “... no, some things don’t change.” 

“The book weren’t the only reason I came– Helaena asked me to ask you if you would like to come on a picnic to the Kingswood tomorrow. With Aegon, the children, Helaena and I. She told me that… Maelor required you bring Moongeist.” 

Shera stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide and owlish. The blanket slipped from her head slightly as she leaned forward, snatching the remainder of Aemond’s honey walnut cake from his fingers. “I suppose– as long as there are more cakes,” she hummed, feeling a slightly giddy sensation tingle down her spine as she devoured the rest. “How on earth did you manage to get Aegon to agree?” 

“I promised that there would be wine,” he watched, his violet eye roving her face unabashedly as she finished the pilfered sweet. 

“And?” 

“And… mayhaps I threatened to pay all the brothels off to not service him any longer if he did not attend.” 

–

Aemond left soon after, bidding her goodnight in a very stiff and still… somewhat cold in manner. But he was trying– she could see that. 

Before tucking back into bed, she looked to see the books he had left for her.

One was the copy of ‘Moonpuppy’ that she had read earlier that day.

The other, the supposed ‘gift’ from Aemond, was a well-worn, well-loved copy of the old folk hero ‘Symeon Star-Eyes’. Upon opening the cover and flitting through the pages, she saw many notes and footnotes on each page– it was Aemond’s handwriting. He had left his thoughts on each page– as she descended through the book, his handwriting changed and evolved. It started off very shaky and tenuous, but as she scanned through the end of the tome, it was confident and sophisticated. He had annotated this copy for years, his handwriting and views on the text changing with each year. Flipping back to the front, she looked at the date.

It was dated five moons after the Driftmark incident. Then, opening the back– it was dated a fortnight ago. He had written, noted, and journaled in this book for ten years.

Why did he give this to her?

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #banshees lament #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond x original female character #aemond x ofc

[breadandblankets]

i saw a handwriting post that i cant find now but they left people out so heres a few more!:

bruce: batman and bruce have completely different handwriting styles, hell matches malone has a different writing style. bruce is the mfer that hearts his i's, handwriting so round and fun that it should be exclusively written in sparkly pink pen, batman is spiky and sharp that is more chicken scratch than anything (its really hard to write in the gloves okay leave him alone)

steph: okay and hear me out with this one, all caps and all of the letters are exactly the same height, like people have told her that her handwriting is "serial killer esq" before and she almost punched that person, like bruce she has a separate handwriting for in costume and its how people expect her to write, purple ink with super curly w's and all (she does this For the Bit)

duke: duke doesn't print, like... ever, he probably Has a print handwriting but no ones' ever seen it, duke exclusively writes in cursive like the old man teenager he is, his handwriting is absolutely unreadable unless you're used to reading cursive i.e. alfred is the only person who can actually read it lmao, duke also at some point probably gets his hands on like a UV ink pen, something he can read no problem but other people need tools to read

babs: you know that girl (this person was almost always a girl lets be real) who had just the most pinterest perfect handwriting you suddenly knew you were very different genres of people? yeah and even when she's rushing it still comes out print perfect

alfred: similar to duke script writing Only, his is more readable that duke's to someone who isn't used to cursive but the fact that he only writes with a fountain pen does make it a little challenging.

#bruce wayne #stephanie brown #duke thomas #barbara gordon #alfred pennyworth #i just included a few people i thinkkk the original excluded #or i disagreed lmao it can be both #anyway duke is definitly an journaling girly and he just does it all in invisible ink #is it bat proof? no nothing is #but it makes you pause when you just read over his shoulder and he's just writing with an empty pen on a blank page like its nothing #batfam #bread talk

[thegatorsgoose]

Dove

My headcanon (?) of what Danny from Wayne's Haunted Mansion by @tathartiel would look like as a vigilante

I love this fic to bits and as everything I love I overthink about it, and I started thinking about what he would look like if he became a vigilante with the batfam. (considering Bruce’s track record, and Danny’s need to help, I feel like it’s inevitable lmao)

It’s mostly just a slightly tweaked version of his hazmat suit + a white clockwork style cloak. I made sure to add a lot of armor around the knees, shoulders, elbows and knuckles and not much else because id imagine like black bat, he doesn’t run in there like the others, instead waiting all sneaky like for the perfect moment to jump out of the shadows.

The mask was originally just the top part, which is shaped like the bat symbol if you couldn’t tell, but then I realized this Danny has a very noticeable scar on his mouth and I’m not about to pull a Jason Todd and have a major definable feature just hanging out (seriously dude cover your hair) so I added the bottom part as well. It does detach tho! So he can eat bat burger with the fam afterwards:) the eyes of the mask are either black or ecto green, which Danny controls by feeding ectoplasm into it. I saw someone do something similar in a fic but I don’t remember which one, but I thought it was cool. I also added it cus Dannys a ghost, he likes causing mischief and spooking people, it’s in his blood! And seeing two glowing green eyes appear out of nowhere in the shadows is very spooky.

Also we got service dog/guard dog Cujo, the best boy, and Nightwing congratulating Dove on his first patrol! “Good job on your first patrol, spooky!”(My handwriting is trash I would have fixed it up but eh). Why give him a scythe, you ask? Well, why not? In reality I doubt he’d use one in this fic but also he has an extremely rich and specialized family, if no one in the fam can teach him then they could easily higher someone. So why no :P

I definitely intend to color this, but I’m to lazy and tired rn and I just wanted to share cus this design has been plaguing me for a while. Luckily the sketchs turned out good enough to post 👍 I hope.

(Edit, posted a little comic of him)

#dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc art #dp x dc fanart #dp x dc fanfic #my art #Danny phantom #Batman #digital art #sketch #art #mourning dove #mourning dove au

[luci4theminorannoyance]

141 writing letters!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

a/n: I plan to post a lot today due to me having a lot of free time! Which means my drafts are once again gonna be all done- mostly

gaz:

-uses really fancy paper to write people letters and refuses to do so otherwise even if it’s just for work

-writes in cursive even though he knows nobody else will

-if it’s a letter to you it will end up being like two pages of just stories and how he’s doing, and his name signed with a heart by it

ghost:

-writes ‘alive.’ Followed by a dad joke and that’s it to most people, but to you his letters end up being at least a paragraph and maybe two if your lucky

-isn’t one for writing letters but likes getting letters from you or of course sending print out photos for him to keep with his gear

-would much rather have you send him a photo of you with writing on the back then just a note, but anything from you is important to him

soap:

-somehow has managed to send you multiple random things from his work. Photos of him and the team, random trinkets- even a bullet shell earring once!

-writes you letters too ofc, although their always kind of stained with oil or grease from bombs and gear and work

-loves when you send over snacks or sweets for him. Although has to fight tooth and nail for roach not to steal them

roach:

-loves writing you long LONG letters with perfect print handwriting and a heart wax seal

-since he can’t talk on the phone even if he was allowed to have phones on mission, it’s his favorite way of talking to you when your not around

-adores getting letters back too! Will keep them in his helmet until someone finds them, and then he will just hide them in a different uniform pocket

price:

-sends lots of photos and/or just dried flowers and things from places hes been tucked away in his letters, and sketches of things on the bottom half of his letters since he doesn’t write much

-would rather tell you all of his fun stories face to face, so he mostly writes how much he adores you and misses you in his notes

-sometimes his writing is a bit sloppy, but that’s usually just when he’s on the move or on an plane from one place to the next

#requests open #cod mw2 #cod fic #luci44_writing #cod headcanons #cod hcs #headcannons #gaz x y/n #gaz x gn!reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz x reader #Kyle gaz x y/n #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #kyle garrick x y/n #kyle garrick x gn!reader #kyle gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz call of duty #cod gaz #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #ghost x you #ghost x gender neutral reader #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x gn reader #ghost headcanons

[h0neytalk]

Practicing the Arabic Alphabet

I honestly lucked out so much taking Arabic in college and learning basic MSA reading/writing/grammar from an excellent professor but I’m gonna compile the most useful things we did in class here to help people learning on their own (this isn’t focused on resources, just strategies, might do a separate post with worksheets and videos but they’re pretty easy to find):

Get the alphabet in front of you. We had a packet with a page for every letter with the letter written in the three positions, pronunciations, names, and lines to trace and write like 100 times. And then a page with all the diacritics. These sheets abound for free online. Make yourself an alphabet packet. Watch copious videos/listen to recordings going over the letters and how they sound. Repeat it back. Work in chunks and don’t move to the next set until you can recognize and write the current set.

Tracing! Learn to write the letters right to left and with the proper order from day one. This sounds obvious but people in my class were still drawing letters left to right as isolated shapes next to each other so idk maybe it’s not. Having nice handwriting in Arabic is both satisfying and absurdly helpful. Learn how the letters connect. Spend more time than you think is necessary on this.

Write English words and sentences phonetically using diacritics and Arabic letters. Do not worry about translation and spelling. Just make the connection between shape -> sound. Use anything you have. Lists of names, entire pages from books and magazines, texts from friends, menus. Literally anything. Work through how to make those words with the new alphabet. You will learn a surprising amount about the language and pronunciation by doing this. How do you translate sounds that don’t exist? What about multiple sounds where English only has one? Read it back with the accent.

Transcribe English phonetically. Same as above but do it without the English in front of you and just listening. Make that voice to visual connection.

Hand write word lists once you get to vocab. Then type them on your laptop and phone (if you want to be able to type in Arabic, also highly recommend a keyboard cover with the letters next to the Latin alphabet). Copy all the diacritics even though that’s not necessarily how native speakers do it. I have a notebook that looks like it belongs to lunatic toddler because it just has the same words and snippets written over and over again lmao.

Finally, transcribe Arabic. If you can use something with a transcript or captions to check your work even better! But don’t check for perfect spelling, check you used mostly the right letters and marks. You will definitely smash some words together and miss a silent or elided letter or something but try and hear the difference between ع and ا or ق and ك etc. The more sources you use the better.

We did this for one full semester of 50 minute classes 3 times a week while sprinkling in some basic vocab towards the second half. It felt like forever at the time but I never lost my ability to phonetically read and write in Arabic despite 4 years of complete non-use while living in America in an area without any significant Arabic-speaking population or language presence. It is absolutely CHISELED into my brain.

#arabic langblr #learning arabic #ref #reference #langblr resources #langblr #language lessons #language resources #language learning #mine

[murderedbyhomework]

Kinda scared to post this but

translation of the last chapter of mlc novel not including the extra here:

If anyone doesn’t want to click into google docs full translation plus an extremely lengthy translator’s note underneath the cut

Main Text:

Di Feisheng had already crossed blades with all the main sects consecutively. Except for the Shaolin1 “Empty of tricks” Abbot who insisted against fighting, and Wudang2 “Purple haze” Daozhang3, who had been in seclusion for a long time, he was nearly undefeated in this world.

25th of August.

From the day they’d plummeted into the sea, till now, 13 years had almost passed.

Di Feisheng arrived at the shore of the East Sea very early, at a little village called “Grave of Clouds”, where everyone in the village was surnamed Yun4. The beach outside the village was very clean, with pearly white sand and an aquamarine sea, its waters reflecting the cloudless blue sky.

As if recalling the weather that year, on this patch of the beach, there was a great reef named “Sun Summoning”.

On some unknown date, an unknown person carved on this rock in unrestrained and majestic handwriting. As of now, miniscule sea conches had buried themselves in the deepest nooks and crannies of the calligraphy, but they could not take away from the magnificence of those winning loops and strong strokes5.

Di Feisheng stood on this very reef, clad in green billowing robes, just as he had all those years ago. In all honesty, he could kill Li Lianhua very easily, but what he wanted to achieve victory over, was not Li Lianhua himself, but Li Xiangyi’s swordsmanship.

13 years ago, he’d won the match, only because Li Xiangyi had been severely poisoned, but even poisoned, he’d still been able to do great damage to Di Feisheng. That move “The bright moon sinks in the west sea”, and the resulting 10 years spent on a sickbed, was engraved not just in his memory but in his bones, his heart6, for the rest of his life. 

Today.

Di Feisheng felt that he could even just use half his true power to fight. He was going to kill Li Xiangyi. But not before he could crack his “The bright moon sinks in the west sea”. Besides, that man was crafty and resourceful, and in 13 years, perhaps he’d perfected maneuvers that surpassed “The bright moon sinks in the west sea”.

Di Feisheng stood on the “Sun Summoning” reef, and his heart faintly looked forward to the fight.

Beneath the reef, around 100 people stood there.  The heads of Sigu Sect of course came, which among them included Qiao Wanmian. Emei7 Sect sent some young disciples, the gang of beggars sent 3 elders, Wudang Sect had Lu Jianchi, and even Shaolin Temple had some bald young monks arriving.

Among this motley crew of unusual people, a big golden and flashy sedan was what caused people to gape in tongue-tied disbelief8. The walls of the sedan were made of golden satin, which were embroidered with colorful phoenixes. The four people carrying it may have worn simple clothes, but with their arrogant attitude and blank expressions, it was clear that they were highly trained martial artists.

Sitting in the sedan was naturally great Young Master Fang and Princess Zhaoling. Outside, there stood a blank faced scholar, whose face was quite darkly tanned. Confronted with such a strange sight, members of the martial world kept their distance from it, exchanging hurried whispers and theories.

Fang Duobjng actually wasn’t willing to ride the sedan here at all. He’d originally planned to throw his wife off his trail, climb over the wall, and leave, spending the better half of the next year free to do whatever. Unbeknownst to him, his wife knew the tune his soul strummed out9 too well, and, knowing that her husband was about to run away, cheerfully prepared a grand sedan and carriages, sorted out their duties, and came here hand to hand with her ‘good husband’.

Along with this loving couple came Yang Yunchun. He’d been curious about the legend of Li Xiangyi and Di Feisheng for long, and had practically been raised on their stories. As a practitioner of martial arts, why wouldn’t he be curious? On the reef, Di Feisheng seemed as imposing as the mountains and the abyss, his impressive aura reaching far and wide10. To Yang Yunchun, this sight greatly expanded his horizons, and he silently praised how people of the Jianghu were indeed different from the ones in court.

And yet even as Di Feisheng stood on that reef for 4hours, until it was past noon, nobody caught a glimpse of Li Xiangyi’s figure.

The crowd began exchanging theories in hushed whispers, Ji Hanfo’s forehead creased, as did Xiao Zijin. Bai Jiangchun had started to quietly order his attendants around, and Qiao Wanmian had unconsciously adopted a troubled expression.

Fang Duobing poked his head out from the sedan, “Why hasn’t he arrived after so long? Li Xiangyi wouldn’t have broken his promise right?”

Princess Zhaoling said quietly, “With an event of this magnitude, if he’s that unique among his contemporaries, a god amongst men11, how could he miss this? What if he’s had something happen to him?”

Di Feisheng stood on the reef, clear in mind and heart. Li Xiangyi was cunning, his late arrival was possibly a way for him to throw him off balance. At this moment, a large horse galloped towards the crowd, and someone called loudly from quite a distance away; “Young Master! Young Master! First Young Master!”

Fang Duobing leaped out from the sedan, brows drawn together, and asked, “What happened? During such an important moment, the Fang family somehow decides to send a messenger to yell and cause trouble, is it not really embarrassing?”

The servant boy had sped here by horse, and his breath was nearly gone, his face pale as he raised up a letter.”Young master, young master, this is a letter.”

Fang Duobing replied, not particularly good-natured in tone, “Of course I can tell that’s a letter. Hand it over!”

The servant boy handed over the crumpled up letter, turning paler by the second in fear, “This is Li Xiangyi’s letter…..”

“What kind of letter has to be delivered right now? Since when was Fang Family matters decided by this respectable one12?”

In a moment of infuriation, the phrase “this respectable one” fell from his lips, and yet Fang Duobing suddenly paused, “Li Xiangyi’s letter? His letter wasn’t sent to Sigu Sect instead? Why was it sent to me?”

He’d already been taking quite loudly, and after he said this sentence, everyone turned to look at him, and surrounded him and the servant boy quickly.

Li Xiangyi’s letter? Why would he send a letter to the Fang Family? And why wasn’t he here in person? Fang Duobing nervously opened the letter, his fingers trembling. The letter was a very commonplace piece of white paper, and on it was very familiar handwriting.

It wrote:

During the battle of the East Sea 13 years ago, this one, surnamed Li, used the advantage of concealed weaponry, and took the chance of a sinking ship to battle with you, yet was unable to emerge victorious. Your bravery and honor is near unmatched in this world, this one’s defeat graciously and gladly accepted. many years have passed, this one has succumbed to illness and cannot recover, blade broken and spirit departed, thereby unable to attend the promise of the east sea, much to this one’s regret.

Fang Duobing stared at that familiar handwriting, and only after a few sentences, he felt cold all over, and he could only see the letter say:

The mountains and rivers ever endure, ever changing. Departure follows departure, and my time has come. Today Xiao Zijin of Sigu Sect has trained with his sword valiantly for many years, and is not inferior to “the bright moon sinks in the west sea”. You pursue not a fleeting moment, not a deer in flight, but strive towards the martial world’s peak. This one has departed, and should you be dissatisfied, please request Sect Leader Xiao to take my place.

Fang Duobing’s face was deadly pale, and he looked at that last sentence:

Li Xiangyi passed on 13th July.

“What did the letter say?”

Ji Hanfo and Xiao Zijin walked over shoulder to shoulder, the crowd scattering out of their way, yet still poking their heads around in curiosity. Fang Duobing swallowed with difficulty, and when he opened his mouth his voice was hoarse. 

“He said…...”

Xiao Zijin’s gaze was filled with a fierce light, and he grabbed Fang Duobing by his robes at his chest. 

“What did he say?”

He was infuriated beyond belief, how dare Li Xiangyi break his promise to avoid a fight! This shameless type of vile character practically took Sigu Sect’s face and threw it out of the nine heavens13! If he did show up later, even if Di Feisheng didn’t kill him, he would!

“He said….. .he said…...” Fang Duobing looked at Xiao Zijin blearily, “He said he was already dead, so he can’t come, and he asked you……he asked you to take his place.”

“What?” Ji Hanfo exclaimed, and snatched the letter.

Xiao Zijin blinked, startled.

“What?”

“He said he’s already dead, so he can’t come, and that he regrets it a lot……” Fang Duobing mumbled. “He said…... he said your sword skill was very good, better than his, so he asked you to take his place.

The flame of fury burning in Xiao Zijin’s chest shot up into the heavens in an instant. 

“What do you mean he’s already dead? Why does he want me to take his place? This is his oath of battle! This is his place! Why do I have to take his place?”

“He said…….” Fang Duobing said dazedly.

“Because you’re Sigu Sect Leader. Di Feisheng…….. is here to duel the Sigu Sect Leader, is he not?”

Xiao Zijin paused, dazed by the words.

“Why didn’t he come? If he came…... If he came I’d have….... returned the position to him….... returned it to him……”

He didn’t know why he said this, but somehow it came out so smoothly and naturally, as if he’d already said it in his heart a hundred million times. Fang Duobing shook his head. 

“He said his blade was broken and his spirit was gone……. He’s already…....” 

His voice was soft.

“He’s already dead.”

After that, he paid Xiao Zijin no more attention, and shakily walked back to his sedan.

“What is it?” Princess Zhaoling looked at him in concern.

Fang Duobing stood dazedly next to the sedan, and after what seemed like an eternity, the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Say……Darned Lianhua isn’t Li Xiangyi right?”

Next to the sedan, Shi Wenjue had watched as he became near dumb after reading the letter, and he hmphed.

“Pah! This respectable one told you ages ago, Li Lianhua is Li Xiangyi, Li Xiangyi is Li Lianhua, it was you who’d die rather than believing it. What is it? He sent you a letter? Now you believe it? Hahahahaha, he tricked us both so many years, it really is entertaining.”

Fang Duobing shook his head.

“Tell me— Darned Lianhua isn’t Li Xiangyi—“ Shi Wenjue was taken back.

“What is it?” Fang Duobing lifted his head.

“He sent a letter to Di Feisheng, he said…... he said he’s already dead, so he asked Xiao Zijin to take his place in the duel today.”

Shi Wenjue stared at Fang Duobing, as if in that instant, he’d become a piece of rock or a monster. Fang Duobing stared back in dazed confusion.

“Why did he have to send a letter to me? How nice would it have been if he hadn’t sent it?” 

If he hadn’t sent it, I would never have known the truth.

Shi Wenjue dumbly looked back at Fang Duobing. All around them were so many people, yet in his eyes, they were but stone. Li Xiangyi was dead? That liar was dead? Why would he die? Wasn’t he Li Xiangyi? Li Xiangyi should’ve been…….undying.

“Was it really because of…… those injuries?” Shi Wenjue mumbled.

“Skies above…... I’d clearly known, yet…… yet I left— Skies above—”

Fang Duobing turned around, grabbing him all of a sudden and lifting him up, and snarled,

“What did you know?”

Shi Wenjue’s smile was more terrible than if he’d started crying.

“The liar has a lot of injuries, really severe old injuries…..probably remnants from when he fell into the sea…….”

Fang Duobing paused for asecond, and he wanted to continue yelling, but instead loosened his grip and put Shi Wenjue down.

“Whatever” He murmured, “Whatever whatever…...” He lifted his head to look at the turquoise sea and cerulean sky. 

“This respectable one has known him for so many years, we ate and drank and even relieved ourselves in front of each other, but didn’t I end up knowing nothing about him anyway?”

“Is he really dead?” Shi Wenjue stood back up. “Who knows, maybe he lied, and to avoid coming to the duel, he’d pull something of this magnitude.”

Fang Duobing dazedly looked at the clear sunny sky, and shoke his head.

“He’s not pulling a trick. He might be a liar and a trickster, but he never really did trick anyone much……. not really, it’s just that you and I didn’t understand…....” His voice faded into a murmur.

“We just……. we just never took him seriously.”

On the reef, Di Feisheng had also heard about Li Xiangyi’s last letter, where he requested Xiao Zijin to take his place. After listening, he calmly tilted his head towards the sunlight and flew away, too disdainful to even cross blades with Xiao Zijin.

Yet Xiao Zijin was also unwilling to fight with him. He still couldn’t think it through, as to why Li Lianhua would rather run away than kill him that day, but suddenly died without a trace?

He’d said blade broken and spirit departed. Was it really that back then, when he’d shattered Wenjing, he’d also destroyed his chance of staying alive? Xiao Zijin felt horrified. What if….. what if it really was himself……. who had forced Li Xiangyi to death? He’d wanted him dead with singleminded passion, yet now when he really seemed to be dead, Xiang Zijin felt it was incomprehensible and unacceptable. Li Xiangyi was undying, he was undefeatable. He was supposed to be a godly presence, and no matter how Xiao Zijin treated him, how he spat hateful words or pointed swords at him, he should’ve never faded away and ceased to exist.

How could he just…... actually die? Was it because of the severe injuries he’d suffered years ago? When he’d been unwilling to kill, unwilling to end his own life that day, was it because—

Xiao Zijin’s face paled in an instant— could it be that Li Xiangyi didn’t want the former to kill him by his own hand! He didn’t want Xiao ZIjin to do someone he’d regret, or let Wanmian know he’d tried to force him to end his own life— so he couldn’t die at that moment! If he’d died then, Wanmian would’ve never forgiven Zijin.

So he’d jumped onto a fishing boat, to go…... to another place…... to die alone.

Xiao Zijin’s eyes reddened. He’d died alone, but when he died, was anyone there for him? Was there anyone who’d buried him, who’d given his corpse proper respects?

On the other end, the shore was silent in desolation, interspersed only by a few sobs, which were let out by some blue robed women in the corner. Ji Hanfo’s face was deathly pale to to extent of appearing gray, Bai Jiangchun collapsed to sit on the ground, and Shi Shui walked away silently. Xiao Zijin lifted his head to shout out sternly.

“Where did you die, Li Xiangyi? If you’re alive I’ll find you in person, if you’re dead I need to see your corpse. Even if I have to travel all over the world and overturn every inch of the ground, I will find you!”

Translator notes:

A sect for martial artists. One of the biggest, most prominent, most diverse martial arts sects with one of the longest histories in irl China. Present in reality and therefore referenced in a lot of works of literature as a martial arts sect

Wudang is a fictional martial arts school that’s often present in wuxia works of fiction

Daozhang, which might be familiar if you’ve read mdzs, is a title for very knowledgeable and spiritual people in Taoist believes. It can be extended to be used as a title of respect for any high up member of religion. In Taiwan it is also an address of respect between lawyers

Yun2 云 is the mandarin pronunciation for the words cloud. In the ancient times, entire tribes in China would often share the same surname and live together, and they’d often name the place they settled in after their own surname.

The chinese idiom used here was 银钩铁画 which refers to majestic calligraphy that deserves to win prizes essentially. The characters literally translated are silver, hooks/ticks, steel/metal, and strokes, so I went with half the idiom meaning and half the literal meaning.

Another chinese idiom (the author uses a lot honestly I’m just explaining the ones that I think deserve it) 刻骨銘心, which refers to a memory or experience being so unforgettable, it’s like it’s engraved into your bones and carved into your heart. 刻 and 銘 both mean carve/engrave, while 骨 is bone and 心 is heart.

The sect is called 峨嵋 sect, which sounds perfectly fine in in chinese, and in fact is named after a place in Taiwan, but unfortunately if you translate it literally it’s something like “mountain peak” and “brows” respectively, which sounds weird so I left it as the pinyin instead. Know that I tried. 

Yet another idiom (Tengping I admire your literary ability and degree of culture, but please have mercy on the people translating ty <3) 瞠目结舌 which literally translated means to stare unblinking and unwaveringly, with your tongue tied. Mostly used to express great shock or disbelief.

The exact expression was zhiyin 知音, a term which anyone here who likes watching ‘bromance’ dramas will undoubtedly be familiar with. It actually doesn’t mean soulmate completely. Zhiji means something like “the one who knows me and my soul, my self utterly”, with zhi 知 being “to know/understand/comprehend” and ji 己 meaning “self”. Zhiyin therefore means something similar, but yin 音 means “sound”, or in this case “music”, so the meaning of this term would be “the one who understands the music my soul makes”. It originates from a very interesting story between friends Zhong Ziqi and Boya, and to summarize, Boya was a musician and Ziqi his friend, who despite his lack of formal education compared to Boya, could understand what Boya wanted to convey with every melody he performed, which is where the term zhiyin came from. 

The idioms in question are 岳峙淵渟，氣象磅礡´. The first idiom 岳峙淵渟 means that someone is as silent as an abyss(淵渟) and as tall and imposing as mountains(岳峙), and is a metaphor for one’s upstanding and noble character (岳峙 part), as well as how great their tolerance is (淵渟). For 氣象磅礡´, 氣象mostly refers to weather, but in this case refers to one’s aura, while 磅礴 means expansive and endless. 

Original idiom is 绝代謫仙, 絕代 means for one to be unique among one’s contemporaries, or to be the best within your generation. 謫仙 refers to gods who have been cast down into the mortal world, which extends to being a metaphor for people who are both noble in character and extremely talented, so much so that they seem otherworldly and unattached to the rest of the mortal world. God among men/mortals was the best translation I could condense this into.

The name Fang Duobing calls himself by is 老子 which can mean father, but in this case is a way for men to call themselves if they feel highly about themselves. Essentially it’s a pretty arrogant way to call yourself, because the title in the end can also mean father, so its a bit like someone saying “I’m your father” as in they have authority over/are senior compared to you

There’s a chinese saying 丢脸面which means to lose face. Xiao Zijin essentially wants to say that Li Xiangyi made Sigu Sect lose face so badly they can’t regain said “face” because it's 9 realms/heavens away. 

#li lianhua #mysterious lotus casebook #li xiangyi #lian hua lou #di feisheng #fang duobing #xiao zijin #my translations #my writing #mlc novel #lianhualou novel #吉祥纹莲花楼 #if the format is iffy just bear with me i’m sorry #tumblr hates me #and also copy paste fucks up format so bad

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟒   ❛ 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ❜   |   LEONOR'S APARTMENT, MID MARCH 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

❛ Lleida had made her name as a funny girl who could lull Uspana’s beautiful people into a kind of conviviality that dissipated their guard. Even the most reticent fell into revealing laughter under the push and prod of her humor. She asked hard questions with the concerned forwardness of a good friend, too. Her knack for levity wasn’t just disarming; it made her guests candid, smoothly masking vulnerability with amusement and self-deprecation. These people, she knew, appreciated such a mask. They were keen to be seen but never truly visible, entertaining but never exposed. They loved to laugh—with, at, rarely alone. Lleida, possessed of a demeanor that was as much innate as mastered, threaded that needled for them. They unspooled, and she led them to the point.  Princess Safya had never required such cajoling to give people what they wanted, perhaps because it allowed her to do so on her own terms.

❧ this is another post (prose included) that came together months and months ago ... it was actually the first television excerpt i planned ! it's not perfect, but i like it well enough. in retrospect, i should've focused the prose on what's happening at the end of the scene, but i ran out of juice and also time :^) if u can believe it, we're onto fun stuff after this, i promise !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Before her life ended some months ago, Safya had sat on Lleida’s well-lit set and flashed back to the moment that brought her there.  Aides always filtered the requests from bookers that made their way to her office. Most failed to make it past the larger press office where most intended for Safya went directly into the trash. She logged scores of appearances in a given year, but they were all picked with thought and care. Most sprung from established relationships or trusted recommendations, and it was easy to reject the frivolous requests. This particular one had arrived in a slim, unnecessary folder. On its cover, a sticky note held on. The single sheet of paper inside turned out to be a transcript from an answering machine message. Lleida’s assistant producer had left a brief, bold proposal: ‘Princess Safya is supporting a large, expensive overhaul of the educational system. We don’t really care about that, but Lleida would love to talk to her, and we’re thinking our princess would love to talk about her little project. Consider it? If it helps, we also heard our queen loves Lleida. Thanks.’

Selma, Safya’s principal aide, had stood around waiting to give further explanation, but the princess didn’t need the follow-up. The note’s handwriting was unmistakable. Indeed, it read simply, ‘I will tune in either way.’

TRANSCRIPT:

[L V.O.] Tonight’s programming is a reairing of a special interview from last year that most of our viewers will remember very well.

{Intro music plays, volume increases}

[L V.O.] My guest tonight is a treat: our very own Princess Safya.

[L V.O.] Are you happy to be here?

[S] I love late night television. I’m thrilled.

[L] May I push you on that? [S] Sure. Please.

[L] We don’t make it easy for you, do we?

[S] Is it inconceivable that I laugh along with you? {Lleida chuckles}

[L] We poke fun at superficial things, but we get serious, too. Some topics must be sensitive—unfunny to you.

[L] We poke fun at superficial things, but we get serious, too. Some topics must be sensitive—unfunny to you.

[L] Is that thrilling, is what I’m asking. The audience is locked in! Look at them. You’re looking. We’re waiting.

[S] You’re working a theory. What do you have in mind? [L] How about this: you are not your mother. We know. Do you? [S] [Hums] That is a concern, isn’t it?

[S] It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother her. I’m humbled to say that the majority of you seem to find it untroubling.

[L] Running a country is hard work. Your persona is— [S] Soft. I know. Old hat criticism.

[S] It’s been forty years. I like to think being that way is a choice. [L] To be soft? [S] To be gentle. To trust myself and who I am.

[L] Not every queen needs to be a warrior to be taken seriously?

[L] If you were on Tello’s set, he would ask if that was traditional. [S] I would tell him it is. [L] A woman-queen who leads

[S] {Chuckles} I would call it respecting the decisions of our elders, but maybe Mister Tello has a different definition of tradition.

[L] I think I got a rise out of her. A little one—a “gentle” one, as it were. We have to take a short break, but our princess has even more educating to do when we return! {Outro music plays}

{Television static noise}

{Leonor weeps}

#ts4 story #sims story #sims 4 story #royal sims #simblr #ts4 legacy #1992.story.post #1992.a1 #1992.e03

[bungiri]

FINALLY got around to doing a slight redesign for wren and figuring out how i wanna draw her SO HERE SHE IS !!!

posted some close ups way under the cut bc i didn't realize how small my handwriting is IM SORRY

if u don't know her yet here's my stardew valley expanded based farmer oc her name is wren <3 she's a half witch who isn't very good at magic, but is more capable than people tend to think.

EDIT: ok i still get likes on this as of the day i’m editing this post so i thought i’d mention that this is outdated asfk. if ur at all interested in seeing wren’s new intro page u can find it here although it’s not as detailed as this one is

the only person who consistently believes in her and has never doubted her is her father, alejandro, who is an experienced adventurer based in pelican town. he is well known in various guilds (specifically the castle village guild) for not only his physical strength and mastery of the sword, but his optimism and abilities as a natural born leader. since he's a member of the guild in pelican town, he'd often bring wren to town since she was a little girl all the way to the present day.

on the other side, wren's mother, dolores, is much more critical of her and has had high expectations of her since childhood. she expects wren to practice her magic by the book and strive for perfection. protective and often overbearing, dolores wants wren to remain in their small town without consideration for her daughter's desires. the two of them bond over their love of fashion and dolores often spends a lot of time making clothing and accessories for wren to wear by hand.

as much as i want to make this an infodump about her Lore, i don't wanna give away too much bc i wanna do vague art about it first !!! she has 2 very good reasons for running away to the farm and is quickly overwhelmed as she tries to adjust to her new life and make money. she isn't gonna quit though because she doesn't wanna have to do the Walk Of Shame back home and admit to anyone that she couldn't do it. thankfully some of the townspeople (marnie, marlon, pierre, gus, linus) are familiar with her and help her out in her first few weeks.

i don't have a clue what isaac's backstory will be like but the idea that he and wren are childhood enemies is drilled into my brain LMAO. they haven't set aside that childhood beef because when they reunite as adults they're still snarky and hostile towards each other. isaac thinks she's a spoiled nepo baby who has only gotten accepted into the pelican town guild + is being considered for castle village entry because her dad is so cherished in the scene and he thinks they can't outright say no to her. he also believes that she's not cut out for Adventurer Life™️ and that she should just stick to farming and failing at magic or whatever it is she does. wren can also be very reckless (she gets it from alejandro) which isaac believes can possibly put not only herself but other people in danger (Valid Point). wren is stubborn though and is sick of people doubting her. isaac has never been particularly nice to her in the first place so why should she listen to him fr !!! however things happen and they eventually smooch so ?!?!?? enemies to lovers.

idk what Else to add pls do ask questions if u want,, i'll definitely be doing more art of her soon

CLOSE UPS !!! not very detailed thoughts just some notes hopefully u can read it

#stardew valley #stardew valley expanded #sdv oc #sdv farmer #stardew valley farmer #stardew valley oc #farmer wren #my art 𓈒˚⭒ #this took me longer than expected #drawing has been tough the past 2 days bc i've been in a lot of pain and on a lot of medication #but finally got it done yay

[tracfone]

The “glados/caroline is chell’s mom” theory sucks and the math does not add up, and let me tell you why:

(Preface: this is going to cover a LOT of spoilers from both games. I would advise turning back unless you’ve finished portal 2)

To start off—i do not believe that test subjects age in stasis. If chell was a child during the specific bring your daughter to work day event (which i do not think so, but I’ll elaborate later), i do not know how she would have the mental faculties to handle the events of either game without freaking out, as she would have aged from a child to an adult in the time she was in stasis, with no time for her to develop mentally. Also, the time between the first and second games is unknown, though it’s definitely….a while, more than just a few months. Had stasis not preserved her, she would either look significantly older or be like, a literal pile of bones. But no, she remains largely unchanged, save for the fact she looks much less haggard and more refreshed:

According to the portal wiki, the time between GLaDOS’s activation/takeover and the events of portal is 12 years; the year this event took place would have been in 1998:

You could also say like, “oh but but her dad could have brought his adult daughter to work!!” but this does not make sense, as…well, just look at this penmanship. You would have to assume chell has horrible handwriting, but this clearly looks like the writing of an elementary schooler:

…but. I also do believe that THE bring your daughter to work day event and the one chell attended as a child were two separate events—likely taking place in two separate DECADES. I don’t know how long it takes to fully extract someone’s brain into a personality core, but it was probably not instantaneous, so I think it’s safe to assume caroline is already dead, and could not have brought her; cave johnson is most definitely dead and his brain is in a robot. Chell refers to her father and cave as two separate people, in any case

EDIT: actually i looked at this image more clearly, and the fact that chell refers to cave at all as someone she's interacted with means that the event she attended must be in the 80's or earlier!!!

(Side note: there is a line in portal where glados mentions that “the aperture science bring your daughter to work day is the perfect time to have her tested”, which you may think is evidence for the theory, and, admittedly, does raise some questions about how cryosleep works in this universe, but for reasons I’ve already stated, I don’t think this means they are putting kids into stasis so they can test as adults, though they may be introduced to the concept at the time and encouraged to apply once they’re old enough. This could also potentially refer to getting “tested” to be uploaded into a robot body)

Here, glados mom truthers, i will throw you a bone for once—savor it, because I’m not done, but according to a reddit AMA thread circa ~2015, ellen mclain admits she thinks the theory is interesting:

…HOWEVER!!

I am going to take that bone back now. In a 2011 panel, when asked if glados really deleted caroline or not, she says (this is me paraphrasing but you can view the whole thing), “…there’s what ellen mclain thinks, and then theres what erik wolpaw thinks. You’ll have to ask him…”. She’s basically saying not to take what she says as hard canon, because what the director says ultimately is what matters. Also in the thread specifically she could have been acting cheeky—see how she refers to herself as….well, herself, and not as glados. She could mean either, i guess, but it really sounds like “chell is my (ellen mclain’s) daughter ;)”. I dont know! It ultimately doesn’t matter, either way. This is me just going off the tone of her other answers

In any case. Back to the main point of the post. At the end of portal 2, glados gives a very bittersweet speech. She tells chell she realized that she was all along her best friend. This….is not something a mother says to her child, unless you happen to be a very suffocating parent who maybe possibly parentifies their child. I know what you might be thinking, and like, I don’t mean to kick dirt all over your experience if your takeaway from this series was “escaping an abusive parent”; i can see why you interpret it this way. Tonally, though, this goodbye speech does not fit a farewell speech from a parent, in my opinion!!! The portal series also is very “show and not tell”—you kind of have to figure out through clues from cave johnson’s recordings what is happening to the employees, and how glados came to be; you aren’t explicitly told it, until glados says that “being caroline taught (her) a valuable lesson”. The story unfolds with a lot of environmental clues, and that’s part of what makes it so engaging, figuring out what’s going on by yourself, by assembling this puzzle in the debris of an abandoned facility. That said though, the single player ending would have been a great time to elaborate on the parent plot IF it were actually a parent plot. At the end of the first game, glados tells you what she did to all the scientists, finally giving you an answer to why the facility is so empty, aside from you and her—portal 2 could have taken the chance to make her say something like, “being caroline taught me a valuable lesson: i remembered who i am, and who you are, my child…I’m so sorry i put you through all this” or [insert whatever tooth-rottingly sweet line you want here]. But they didn’t!

(Side note I think “cara mia addio” is completely unreliable evidence no matter which side of this you’re on, due to the double meaning of the word “bambina” and the fact it is, allegedly, an improvised song. I will not be using it to prove anything, though, i do think we can assume the tone to be of a romantic fondness, if you match it up with the vein “want you gone” was written in)

EDIT 9/7/22: OKAY I JUST GOT THE FINAL NAIL IN THE COFFIN ON CARA MIA (thank you so so much @ossyflawol on Twitter for letting me use this excerpt). This is from the portal 2 official guide, the collector's edition. Take a look!:

This post is becoming long and so as not to risk this entire textwall becoming completely incoherent, I’ll cut to my final point: chell was already an adult by the time she was put into stasis

In lab rat, we see a photograph of chell in her profile. It doesn’t really look any different from how she looks in every single other drawing in the comic:

I’m going to go as far as to say that chell was employed at aperture before the takeover. During her boss battle in the first game, glados has this to say:

…this would seem to imply that chell was a part-timer or an intern pre-stasis. Glados lies a lot but I’m choosing to take what she’s saying here to heart

Remember when i said “cara mia addio” doesn’t hold much water, and can’t be used as reliable evidence for anything? Well now I’m the one who lied, because i need to bring it up again. This song is like, the holy grail to those who stand by the mom theory—they say glados is sending her child “away from science” and saving her on the bring your daughter to work day incident. But—please stay with me here, this is where it all falls apart—there is no conceivable way that chell was a “little girl” in 1998, we know FOR SURE she was an adult. To illustrate, let’s see what our old pal cave johnson has to say about this:

During the 1980’s aperture had completely phased out of using people they grabbed off the street (and offering them $60) for testing, and have switched over to solely using their employees. He also says directly after that they plan to discontinue human testing altogether—this evidently did not happen, as there are ten thousand humans in stasis ready for testing. At least, there’s not really any evidence to the contrary: whether glados put all the employees in stasis, or caroline did when she was still human, or whether it happened before cave’s death is ultimately irrelevant, though i doubt it was glados as her current form, because she killed off the remaining staff sans rattmann

EDIT 9/21/22: it is with a heavy heart that, after receiving some more timeline resources, that i am unfortunately going to write off the science project entirely. but this is okay. while the words on the project itself do imply that the time chell met cave johnson would have had to be before the 1990's (and i still think it should be interpreted that way, canon or no), the combine-overwatch portal/half-life wiki has this to say about the bring your daughter to work day incident:

"The untested AI of GLaDOS is activated for the first time as one of the planned activities on Aperture's first annual bring-your-daughter-to-work day. Upon being activated, she almost instantly becomes self-aware, takes control of the Enrichment Center, locks everyone inside, and floods the Enrichment Center with a deadly neurotoxin, but is halted when she is quickly fitted with a Morality Core. She then begins a permanent cycle of testing, aimed at beating Black Mesa in the race to develop functioning portal technology."

...so it was the first, as well as the last one. taking place in may of 200x (1998 was apparently retconned at some point, according to aperturescience.com). the entire timeline of these games is a horrible trainwreck, to be perfectly honest, so you can take this or leave this, but still, i wouldn't be swayed by allegations of chell being a child during this time. the forced testing initiative also began in 200x. not enough time could have elapsed for this project to have been made around the same time. it's impossible. this image of chell's science project is nothing more than a non-canon easter egg; it doesn't fit anywhere. therefore the point still stands, but i just thought i would be transparent about it if i know something. this entire post is kind of a living document at this point haha

In conclusion: CHELL WAS AN ADULT EMPLOYEE AT APERTURE LABORATORIES BY THE TIME OF THE BRING YOUR DAUGHTER TO WORK DAY INCIDENT. Caroline did not bring her to work that day, these two are completely unrelated

You might be crinkling your nose right now and thinking “buh buh buh but roryyy you only think this way because you’re a chelldos shipper!!!” and like, you’re right to an extent, but i also firmly believe that were the narrative a familial one, it would change the meaning of the work drastically; portal is about two women who face workplace abuse and inevitably end up working together to combat it. It’s about the horrors of capitalism and the lack of ethics in the scientific field; it’s about an intelligent woman forced into a computer and suppressed so hard because people don’t want to give her any power or autonomy, to the point that she’s become a completely different person. And, of course…it’s a sweet, sad story of a robot who, no matter if you interpret the nature of these feelings as romantic or not, becomes attached to a test subject and it’s incredibly painful, emotionally, and she can’t deal with it; her test subject is both her killer and, if you think about it, also her savior. Putting glados in the role of chell’s mom feels like it slims down her character development significantly. It’s not sweet, I don’t have “chills bro literal chills”, it doesn’t move me or make me want to cry, it does absolutely nothing for me! The self-discovery, the mutual trust built between her and chell in a crisis situation, it morphs into something completely different if this narrative turns into “ohhh she softens up because she learns she’s a mother uwuwuwuwuwuuuuuu happy famiwy teehee!!!” I am going to VOMIT

I should say that i don't care whether you ship them together or not. I just think this theory is ridiculous and wanted to point out how full of glaring holes it is. A lot of people like to parrot this theory as ABSOLUTE TRUTH when nothing has been confirmed on th matter, and with developer commentary that directly contradicts it (have you heard the good word of Johnathan Coulton?), it's hard to present it as such. Glados loves and cares about chell--this much is absolutely true, even if the reverse isn't canon, and there is no hard evidence to suggest any of the named characters are related by blood or by legal ties

Anyways, if you read all this: thank you. Here’s some supplemental reading you may or may not have already read that features points i purposefully didn’t touch on, because i wanted to focus on things that have been said less on this topic

#portal #portal 2 #portal 2 spoilers/ #glados #chell #chelldos #abuse mention / #genuinely sorry to those whom i have textwalled before about this i think i got it all out of my system now #this theory makes me so angry and i had to go to bat here