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applenilune · 1 month ago

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Trepidation | two -Astonishment-

SUMMARY~ Three years ago a Colonel from the Deepspace Fleet was murdered by his wife, now, rumors about a mind controlling chip are circulating on the Fleet’s corridors, making the officers feel scared and unsafe. Colonel Caleb is assigned to find out if they are true. But, why is a murder case from three years ago related to rumors about a chip? What does the former Colonel wife knows about that? Can Caleb get to the bottom of the mystery, without getting too close and attached to her?

Pairing ~ Caleb x Non MC female reader.

Rating ~ M! Explicit!

Tags~ 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove, dark themes, slow burn, eventual smut, trauma, mental illness, slightly gore descriptions, manipulation, murder allegations, conspiracy, stalking (I’ll add more as I think of them)

Word count ~ 1,818

Hello! It took a while but chapter two is here! Trepidation is also being posted on Ao3 here’s the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65423068/chapters/168370972 I’m really grateful for all the people who liked, reblog and left kudos on ao3. I hope you’ll keep enjoying and supporting the story. The chapter is not that long but I expect the next one to be.

The Sky Vault Institution was a facility handled by the Farspace Fleet, it was built many years ago in Skyhaven to held and provide treatment for mentally unstable patients.

It wasn’t originally intended that the fleet controlled the place, but since they had to handle some convicted felons and the fleet basically controlled everything around Skyhaven, just a few years after it started operating they took over the entire facility.

The access to the place was extremely restricted, far away from civilization, near the edges of Skyhaven, surrounded by thick forests and tall gates.

The main building, designed based on an antique Gregorian architecture style made the place look almost dismal.

Y/N hated the place, it reminded her of the humiliation, of the disdain looks that everyone gave her, that she was robbed of any chance to have a normal life ever again, but that was also why she had accepted the fact that she was gonna die there.

That was her punishment, for being a fool, for not explaining her concerns to her husband on a different way that the way she did, she couldn’t get punished for her actions if the place she was secluded in were a nice place. And Sky Vault was not a nice place, especially since it was handled by the fleet.

She tried her best to remain invisible, she didn’t want to make friends, not that the personnel were going to be her friends with her of course, but the other patients who were even more disturbed than what she was told she was were better friend options.

She navigated her new life like a ghost, not talking to anyone, and just observing and obeying whatever orders they gave her.

She just wanted to go through this torment as peacefully as possible, the only thing that she liked about this place was the fact that she was safe, whoever it was that had inserted that chip on her, in Sky Vault, they couldn’t reach her. At least that was over.

Y/n would follow the same routine every day, she would wake up with the sun, go to the showers, eat whatever plain and flavorless breakfast that they gave her and then they would let her and the rest of the patients that had “good behavior” go outside for an hour to the “garden” like she’d like to call it, but it was more like a backyard, there were only a few flowers growing here and there and trees, there were a lot of those since the place was surrounded by a literal forest, she would sit on a bench that was under a big oak tree and she would look at the sky, that was the only part of the day that she could let herself enjoy, just feeling the breeze, she would look at the sky because if she looked down she would see the fence that surrounded the place, and that was a reminder that she would never leave.

That day she was sitting there, listening to the few birds that sang on the trees and the murmuring from the other patients who liked to talk to themselves a lot, when she saw one of the nurses walking towards her.

“Miss, you need to come with me right now, please stand up” he said coldly, she knew he wasn’t asking, they never asked, they commanded. And she didn’t even bother asking why since she knew in advance that they wouldn’t give her an answer.

She stood up from the bench and started following the nurse, who was walking away already, not waiting for her to get up.

He took her to a room on “the basement”, like everyone called it. It was the staff’s floor, she’d never been there before, naturally, patients weren’t allowed in there, so she started worrying, “what now?” She asked herself. He typed a code on the panel at the side of the door, and they walked inside a large aisle, that was dimly lit. There were a lot of doors there but, she didn’t bother looking at the signs next to them.

The nurse opened one of those doors and gestured at her to get inside.

It looked like an interrogation room, like the ones they took her when that horrible night happened, it was almost empty, except for the table, the two chairs (one of which had a restraining electronic system) and the little red lights on every corner that indicated that there were cameras.

She sat on one of the chairs and the nurse activated the restraining mechanism to her wrists. Then he left.

She sat there for a good twenty minutes, just looking at the table in front of her. She felt curious, this interrogation all of a sudden, three years after she was already convicted wasn’t at all normal. Should she be scared?

Finally, the door opened again, she remained looking at the front, the person who entered closed the door and walked towards the other chair, the one without the restraints, finally she looked up, and she froze.

It was a man, but what made her feel uneasy was the fact that he was wearing the same uniform that her husband used to wear. A colonel’s uniform. Her eyes started to itch, like she could cry.

He looked at her for a few seconds, expressionless, but then, like he slipped a mask on his face, he smiled at her.

“Good morning, miss y/n” he said, he had the sweetest voice, manly but also very soothing, she couldn’t move, not even a finger. He pulled the chair and removed his hat off, he put it on the table as he sat down in front of her. “I’m Colonel Caleb Xia, it’s a pleasure meeting you”

Y/N felt like she was going to faint, she didn’t knew this man, and it wasn’t really him that made her feel that way, but seeing him wearing those clothes made pieces of really painful memories flood her mind, like he turned on the light-switch of a room that she didn’t ever wanted to light back on. She looked down on her lap, feeling almost dizzy.

She tried to regain her control as quick as possible, she felt hot, almost short of breath, y/n took a deep breath, she wasn’t going to cry in front of this man, she didn’t even knew why he was here to begin with.

When she looked back up she really took a look at him, who was still watching her with his brows furrowed, with a look of curiosity on his eyes.

His eyes were purple, his hair a deep grey-ish brown that looked almost black with the soft lights of the room, he was handsome, he looked elegant, and she could tell that he was tall even while he was sitting. He had some friendly and approachable features, but she could also feel that he was not entirely like that, otherwise he wouldn’t be a Colonel, people with high ranks at the fleet couldn’t be all rainbows and innocence.

“Are you feeling alright, miss?” He asked, as he softened his gaze “you’re looking a little bit pale, Do you want me to call a medic?”

Y/n just denied with her head, she felt like no sound would come out of her mouth even if she tried.

“Good” he simply said. “Well, I’m sure you are a little bit startled by this situation, since it was really abrupt but I assure you that we’re only having a friendly conversation”

She was determined to not let the Colonel perceive her as weak, so she tried her hardest to regain her composure.

“Why a Colonel of the Deepspace fleet, all of a sudden, want to have a ‘friendly’ conversation with me?” She asked, her voice trembling just a little bit.

“Because, we could help each other, Miss y/n” he said with a toneless voice. “You see, we’re having a situation where people are saying that there’s a controlling chip being developed, and the fleet can’t let this escalate, you may have information that could help me get to the bottom of the issue.”

Was he for real? Was this some kind of joke? She couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“What makes you think that I’d want to help you? I told the fleet about this and they just laughed at my face, and now you’re asking for my help? If there’s one thing that I would never do, is trusting in the Deepspace fleet ever again”

“I’m asking for your help because I could help you too, y/n” he said, looking straight into her eyes. “I’m asking for your help because I can offer something in return”

She bit the inside of her cheek, she could feel her body stiffening at his words, even if she was restrained, she clenched her fists.

“Oh yeah?” She said with a tight voice “and what exactly is that thing that you are offering me?”

He laid back on the chair, relaxing a little bit of his rigid posture, then he responded with a low voice

“Freedom, perhaps” and he smiled teasingly.

Y/n felt lightheaded, like the air in the room was suddenly sucked out.

“Freedom from what?” She replied.

“From this place, of course, from the stains of your past, you could just…start over” his voice confident.

“I don’t trust you, or anyone on the fleet, so, what’s the catch? What’s in it for you?”

He pursed his lips “I’m just doing my job y/n, that’s it.”

She didn’t knew if she could trust this man, she didn’t even know if she could trust herself, and… freedom? She could actually receive that? Was she worthy of it? Her mind went blank.

“Look, y/n, I don’t mean to distress you,” he declared with a honeyed tone “I know this can be difficult to process, that it could bring you back to a place in your mind that you don’t want to revisit, but, if the information we have, and the information you have is real, that would mean that you were right, you could help other people that might go through the things you went through, and maybe you could leave Sky Vault”

Caleb stood up from his chair, took his hat and put it back on his head. Y/n could only look up at him, confused, speechless.

“Why don’t you think about it today?” Caleb declared with a gentle smile, he needed her to trust him, otherwise, he knew that she will never open up to him “I’ll come back tomorrow and we’ll talk about it. I really hope you decide on helping me. It will be beneficial for both of us”

With those last words he left the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

What should she do?

#caleb #love and deepspace #lads #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #caleb smut #lnds caleb #lads caleb #lads fanfic #caleb fic

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notjustjavierpena · 1 year ago

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Terror

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: By popular demand! This turned awful in my brain very quickly. I know instantly that this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, so please read the tags before jumping into this. Not everything is fun and games for hubby.

Summary: Javier doesn’t think that he has nightmares about Colombia anymore until he suddenly does. The difference is that he also has you and the family that you have given him.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18, graphic description of gun violence, some gore, PTSD night terrors, major character death (but not really), panic attacks, domestic, cuddles, hurt/comfort, family time, love confessions, pregnant reader dies in this dream

Word count: 2.6k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54592621

Terror

Javier searches and searches to no avail. He walks with frantic determination between burning cars and bullet shells, occasionally hitting the latter with the tips of his shoes so they go cascading down the asphalt with a clinking sound. He doesn’t trip on them though, as his steps are sure, moving around the chaotic scene of the aftermath of an ambush by grabbing at whatever he can to push himself forward.

He knows where he is but he doesn’t remember getting here, and he has no clue if he was involved in the shooting that has evidently occurred here. However, when he looks down at himself, he finds no bullet wounds and no tactical gear either. So why does he think that you are here? He yelps as he accidentally grabs the hood of a car that seems to have been burning for a while, the metal so hot that it scorches his skin. The heat radiating from the vehicle makes his body prickle with sweat, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin that is riddled with damp sweat from anxiety. He clutches his burnt hand and continues down the never-ending street.

Where are you? Where are they? He searches through several empty cars, nearly ripping the doors off of their hinges to get to you quicker. Perhaps you know where they are but he doesn’t even know where you are.

When he gets to what feels like the hundredth car, finally reaching the end of the road that somehow resembles a labyrinth despite only moving forward, panic has started to rise in his throat. He calls for you but you don’t answer, and then he calls for Lucas in case he has managed to hide himself and his sibling somewhere.

“Lucas! It’s alright, it’s just me!” He yells out but it’s just the echo of his own voice that answers him, “You can come out now, it’s over, te prome— (I promi—).”

Javier has turned the corner. It is the sight of Horatio Carrillo’s face that makes him realize that this isn’t real. Carrillo is dead, and he has been for nearly twenty years. Javier will never forgive himself for not having been there. He should have been there with everyone. It should have been him; he had had nothing waiting for him back in Laredo.

In front of him, a row of children and teenagers are kneeling but he doesn’t recognize any of their faces. He has seen this scene before. He remembers doing nothing back then, and the thought is enough to make his gut twist with guilt and nausea even if nothing could have been done to change Carrillo’s attitude towards the kids. He hears a gunshot and a young child falls to the ground, head split open from the way the bullet has torn through soft, young flesh. He flinches in a way that he didn’t back then, in a way that only a man who is a father can.

Carrillo’s blank and indifferent stare terrifies him to the point where he wishes that he could wake up. It is clear that this is a nightmare, so why hasn’t he woken up yet? Aren’t you supposed to wake up when you have figured it all out? He tries pinching his arm but nothing happens, and the claustrophobia of being stuck in his own head makes his chest constrict and his heart, too big for his rib cage by now, hammer with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings.

The stare he is watching is not one of being rid of emotion but rather the look that washes over a face when the person it belongs to is dead. His old colleague is standing in front of him in a zombie-like state and Javier cannot shake the feeling that Carrillo looks less like a person and more like a thing.

“Carrillo,” he says sternly. On the ground, the blood oozes towards his feet and he shifts to avoid it soaking through his shoes.

His colleague turns to him but doesn’t say anything. He still has the weapon in his hand, arm stretched out, and pointing the gun at the row of innocent children. Javier speaks quietly despite his anxiety, “C’mon, they’re just kids. Look at them; they’re just ki—“

He turns to look at the kneeling figures but the faces aren’t unknown to him anymore. His blood runs cold at the sight of his eldest son who has his arms stretched out to hold Inés close to his body, effectively shielding her from any shot that may be coming at her at any moment.

“Lucas,” he croaks, “¿Dónde está tu madre (Where is your mother)?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” his son replies, “I’m scared.”

“I know, don’t worry, I— I’m gonna take care of it,” he replies with a dizzying heartbeat followed by the urge to throw up.

It’s then that you appear too. His heart skips a beat as you materialize right behind your kids, pregnant with his child and vulnerable as tears stream down your cheeks. Your arms are in front of you, wrapped around your children as you try to protect them while whimpering in a way that makes Javier more than desperate. He tries to sound more assertive than anxious but listening to his own voice, he doesn’t feel very successful. He turns back to Carrillo who hasn’t moved the firearm even an inch, “For fuck’s sake, get that gun away from my family!”

“Están trabajando para Escobar, Peña. Si quieres justicia, entonces esta es la única manera (They are working for Escobar, Peña. If you want justice, this is the only way),” is the only reply he gets. Carrillo spits at the ground.

Javier takes a step forward but suddenly, a shot is fired at his feet and he is forced to jump back with his hands in the air. His eyes are pleading, his voice wavering, “Jesus Christ, Carrillo, they’re not working for him. Put the damn gun down! They’re mine. They are my kids. You’re pointing a gun at my wife!”

Lucas shifts on his spot on the ground. His knees can barely hold himself up anymore, gravel gnawing at his kneecaps but Javier holds out a hand to stop him, “Don’t move, mijo (my son). I know you’re scared but—“

But Lucas’ eyes are wet with terrified tears. He panics, throws himself to the side to crawl away and the ghost of Javier’s previous colleague seems to come to the conclusion that it is too risky to attempt a shot in the boy’s direction in case he misses, so instead—

Javier flinches at the loud sound of the gun going off. You lie on the ground in the next moment. He lets out a cry of anguish, crawling across the gravel road to get to you until his hands are scraped and his knees are dirty. The love of his life and his unborn child.

“No,” he yells as tears spring from his eyes. He clutches at you whilst you breathe rapidly and try to hold onto him as well but your grip is slowly loosening on him with every beat of your heart. He can see the way your pulse slows in how your clothes soak slower and slower, knows where it is going. You try to say something but he cannot understand it, your voice having been replaced by gurgles of blood, “No don’t try to talk, baby. Shit, I— look, it’s not even that bad. Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s not even that bad, it’s fine, you’re gonna be fine, mi vida (my life). You and the baby. I promise.”

The same blank stare as the one that Carrillo sports washes over your face. He says your name over and over, “Mi amor (my love), no, no, look at me. No, no, no no no.”

Inés has started screaming in panic. She’s crying for you in the most heart-wrenching manner, terrified when you don’t react to her words like you always do. Her pitch climbs with each passing second but Javier has no strength to soothe his daughter because he yells your name until it feels like he cannot breathe.

Lucas yells for his mother in the background. The agony of hearing his children cry mixed with hearing you say nothing is too much for him. He panics, shakes you violently—

He jolts awake in the next moment to the sound of your voice. Fear still has him in its grip and leaves him disoriented, ready to fight whatever comes his way. He hyperventilates until he feels lightheaded and tries to figure out where he is, beads of cold sweat having collected on his forehead during his restless sleep.

“Javi,” you say with a hand on his shoulder and he whips his head around to face you. A moment ago, your eyes had been glazed over by death.

Immediately, he grabs your wrist in an iron grip. You place your other hand on top of his, speaking softly, “Javier. Let go.”

“Are you alright?” He chokes out and grips you harder, eyes wild in the dimly lit bedroom. He wants to run a million miles, “Are you alright?”

“I am okay, baby. We’re both safe,” you reassure him with a hand on your pregnant belly. Tears start to roll down his cheeks. He is unable to shake the image of you lying dead on the ground, “Shh…”

“Are you sure?” He whimpers, eyes flickering from your face to your stomach and back to your face again.

“Yes. It was just a bad dream. It was just a nightmare,” your voice is still ever so gentle and nowhere near the way it had been in his state of terror. He releases the clutch on your arm and you carefully run a hand over his forehead, “Breathe. Hold my hand. Tell me you love me.”

You offer your free hand to him and he carefully takes it, trying to convince himself that you won’t slip away from him in the dark bedroom. You squeeze his hand slightly. It’s a silly thing you came up with years ago.

“I love you,” he says quietly, already feeling a little better but when you say it back ever so gently, he finds himself bursting into tears. He cries and it is the kind that comes from the very bottom of one’s lungs; frantic and breathy sobs that sound almost painful.

He thought that the nightmares had stopped. They had been bad when he first met you, and he connected it to his decreasing alcohol consumption because back in Colombia, he was sometimes too boozed up to even dream. However, meeting you - marrying you - had been a glimpse into a future where he could get better because you were together. So why does his brain still do this once in a while?

“Pensé que te había perdido para siempre (I thought I had lost you forever),” he sobs when you engulf him in your arms. He rests his head against your soft chest, grabbing onto whatever he can of you to make sure you are real. It’s only times like these when his strong, broad hands feel unsure on your skin.

“Oh, baby. I’m right here,” you rock him carefully in a way that a mother does, “I’m not going anywhere, te prometo (I promise you).”

“No puedo vivir sin ti (I can’t live without you),” he continues. You reassure him that he won’t have to, that by then, someone will have discovered eternal life or made all of you into kind-hearted robots. Despite the chuckle he lets out, you also let him cry for as long as he needs to.

It takes you a while to calm him down again, resting your chin on top of his head as he lets himself fall into you instead of going out of his mind. He mumbles, “Where are the kids? Where’s Inés?”

“They’re in bed,” you promise him, arms cradling him and rubbing his back until his breathing starts to slow again, “They’re okay. They’re just asleep.”

Except they are not asleep. Your hand stops moving on his back, and he looks up at you to find your eyes on the door.

“Inés. Lucas. Stop standing at the door,” you say gently.

“Sorry,” they say in unison.

Relief floods Javier’s system at the sound of his children’s voices. His chest expands as he breathes in deeply for what feels like the first time since he woke up. He watches their little faces, hears the click of the lamp on your nightstand as you turn on the light.

“Is Daddy okay?” Inés asks carefully. Her eyes tell Javier that he has noticed the tears on her father’s face.

“We heard you yelling,” Lucas elaborates to his father, “Inés didn’t want to go in here alone. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetie,” your voice is sweet and calm. It is in these moments that he loves you the most; when you prove to be the anchor in any storm, knows that the only times he might actually get a good night's rest is when you are right here beside him.

“Come here, mis amores (my loves),” he scoots a little away from you to open his arms. His children look uncertain for a moment but then Inés rushes forward to climb into bed and into his embrace. Lucas follows a moment after, the both of them earning a kiss on top of their heads.

Inés’ eyes are wide as she stares up at him, “Papá, you scared me.”

“I had a bad dream,” he explains to both of them and attempts to smile, pulling them closer to his chest. They make faces as they are squished but he doesn’t let go, “but I’m okay now. I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Then why are you crying?” Lucas gets out of the embrace to study his face, shocked to see the tears running down until they drip down from his chin.

“Daddy! You are crying!” Inés parrots her older brother as she notices too. She kneels in front of her father and tilts her head.

“I am?” He asks, pretending not to know. Inés’ tiny hand reaches to wipe a few tears away without much success and his heart clenches in his chest with how lucky he feels to have such a beautiful family.

“It’s okay to cry,” Lucas explains softly, “That’s what Mom says.”

“Alright, let’s give your father some space,” you lock eyes with your husband, cup his cheek for a moment before brushing away the last traces of tears from his face with the back of your hand. He smiles at you and it is completely genuine for the first time.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Inés protests loudly.

“What if you both sleep in here for the rest of the night?” You bargain whilst still smiling at Javier, however a little more goofily now, “Just for tonight.”

Lucas is already crawling under the covers to cuddle up next to you, and Inés lays down next to her father. It takes a moment of quiet chatter and soothing caresses to make them both fall asleep again, their bodies exhausted from being awake in the middle of the early hours of the morning.

Javier can’t fall back asleep but from the way you breathe, he can tell that sleep hasn’t found you either.

Outside, the first light of dawn has begun to filter through the curtains. There’s a warmer glow in the room now, and he peeks at you from where he lies, looking like someone catching a glimpse of their crush.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely audible.

You turn your head to face him and smile tenderly, the morning glow illuminating you from behind. You are so beautiful, he thinks, beautiful and pregnant, and he is so lucky.

Your voice is filled with genuine happiness, warm and loving. You look down at your sleeping children, place a hand on your bump, and then look back up at him, "We love you too.”

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

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snailsgoingdowntown · 3 months ago

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Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Chapter 20

Story masterlist

Arranged marriage AU

Interact with THIS LINKED POST to be added to the tag list.

NOTE: Reader is not having a good time. Or Grizelda. Or Dion. Or Fontaine. No-one is. Whatever this chapter is, I do not know. It came to me in a dream/j (it's been sitting in my google docs and I decided to go with it in the end).

Warnings: toxic marriage/relationship, implied suicidal thoughts/ideation, attempted murder, choking (Dion to Fontaine), mental breakdown (Reader), Reader pulls her hair harshly, toxic and abusive family (the Agriches), talks of punishment, small themes of imprisonment, themes of abuse, implied past/recent attempted sexual assault, the Reader and Grizelda do get stalked a bit for plot reasons, the Reader can’t decide on what she wants, Dion gets called a dog a few times, mention of pregnancy once at the end, the Reader is an emotional mess and genuinely does not know what she wants in this moment, possible yandere themes (I’m not even sure, just adding just in case). Lant only cares about the hypothetical child since it would be Dion's and thus a rising star. Please tell me if I missed any.

Warning #2: some suggestive lines.

Everyone is out of character but that’s f i n e -

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS (BLOGS THAT DO NOT HAVE ANY CONTENT), BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT WITH OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC, OR EVEN ANIMAL PICS), DNI.

= = =

Grizelda had made a turn to show you some of the safe flowers. The direction also leads to the indoor training room, but she’s sure that Fontaine is outside the gates of the mansion - after all, it’s bigger. More room to act recklessly.

She didn’t know that others were outside it right now, which led to her older half-brother staying inside an isolated area, awaying from prying eyes.

You didn’t either.

“Oh, they’re… lovely,” your eyes soak in the sight of the colorful flora. The grass was also a healthy green - if there was one thing you could say about Lant Agriche, it’s that he makes damn sure everything is pleasing to the eyes.

If you ignore his face and the monsters raised here for dubious reasons. Fontaine being one of them.

You bite your lip - it’s still fresh in your mind. His voice. His touch.

No - just ignore it. He’s not here. Grizelda is.

Even so, you’re jittery, scanning your surroundings every few seconds. In spite of her good company, you can’t help but to feel naked, watched from the shadows. Paranoia works wonders, especially when you see a shadow move from the corner of your eye.

“They are, aren’t they?” She watches as you approach a rose bush, fingers lightly tracing the petals. The pink flowers she had given - burdened - you with are in your left hand, held against your chest. “I don’t come here often, but it’s a nice change of pace.”

She joins you in looking at them. However, she doesn’t admire them like you are. They’re beautiful, sure, but they wilt rather quickly once plucked. They’re also used to make drugs.

Of course, she keeps that fact to herself.

Approaching footsteps catches your attention, looking over your shoulder to see two guards. Your heart fills with guilt the moment you recognize them -

They’re the ones you smiled at while ignoring your husband. They look tired, a bandage on one’s neck while the other looks half-dead. You immediately knew that Dion was behind it - frankly speaking, you thought they would be dead.

You’re also amazed at how fast he works - it was only yesterday they committed the crime that is looking at you. You freeze as they get closer, making your sister-in-law curious.

When they see you they become stiffer than a statue. The air becomes awkward as Grizelda looks on with curiosity. Their eyes trail over to her, seeing that you’re not alone.

That’s when they bow.

There’s a bitterness in your mouth. You quickly remind yourself why they’re like this. However, this interaction is only making you resent Dion more. Your grip tightens on the flower stems.

“Greetings, Lady Grizelda and Lady (Name),” they say with a croaky voice. They don’t lift their heads for several seconds until your sister-in-law commands them to. When they do, they avoid looking at you, their eyes glued to something behind you.

You hold back an apology - what good would that do? If anything, you copy their behavior, humming awkwardly as you stare at the flowers in your hands.

The remnants of their ripped thorns dig into the fabric of the glove.

The three of you don’t want a repeat of that day - them getting punished for daring to look at Dion’s lovely wife, and you being ‘teased,’ hearing Dion call himself your husband - while it’s true, you hate hearing the word come out of his mouth.

You want him to leave you alone.

‘If it were me, I wouldn’t have left you alone in this maze of a mansion.’ A wave of nausea washes over you when his voice swims to the surface. Chills crawl down your spine at the thought of being married to Fontaine. It almost feels like a blessing that you got stuck with the second eldest.

But is it really…?

“... ah, we should get going - we’ve been ordered to help with the children’s lessons,” the brunette guard states. “They’re practicing with their weapons,” he finishes before attempting to walk past you.

“Oh? That’s today?” Grizelda asks the retreating guard. He stops, turning to face her as he confirms it. He tries his best not to look at you.

“Yes; it’s taking place in the outside training grounds, My Lady,” the grey-haired man answers. Now that his attention is on the seventeen-year-old, his body becomes less stiff, a bit more comfortable.

It makes you want to smack Dion.

… no, I shouldn’t… it’s tempting, but -, and the resentment only blooms more.

“Hm… I suppose that means we can’t go anywhere near there - father is rather strict about that. Not only that, but there’s a chance you might accidentally get hit.”

“O-oh.. right.” You nod your head.

The guards bid their farewells before leaving. You watch their retreating figures with a hint of guilt - they wouldn’t be like that had you just ignored them. But that guilt is slowly replaced with a thin layer of anger, baffled that Dion would go that far - you’re not sure what he did, but from how they acted, it wasn’t anything good - just because you smiled at them.

…does that horrible man expect you to eventually cave in? With his actions, it only makes you see him in a worse light, signaling he might not even let you have friends. The flower stems in your hand threaten to break under your grip. A moment later and you finally relax your hand.

For now, you bury the thought away, returning your attention to Grizelda. You try to smile. It feels tight.

“Since we can’t go there, how about another area? Anywhere is fine.” The sun beams down on you, your (h/c) shining in it as your (e/c) eyes reflect her figure, but there’s a hint of something she can’t put her finger on in them.

She hums, tapping her chin with her pointer finger, mulling over the options. “Well… we have to pass by the indoor training grounds - it’s a building smaller than the mansion, but still rather big. It’s usually used for whenever it’s raining and it’s too slippery.”

The description reminds you of a gym.

“Since the children are outside, it should be empty - no-one to run into. I doubt Dion is there, and Fontaine is probably taking his anger out on some monsters right outside the estate gates.”

As you would later find out, her guess was wrong. Extremely wrong.

She continues, “We have to pass it to get to this one area I would like to show you. It’s peaceful there; barely anyone visits. Same for the library if you ever want to check it out.”

You hesitate to nod your head, your gut twisting uncomfortably. The nice smell slowly fades away, unable to kick the feeling away. You must be tired.

“What type of place is it?” You ask instead, shifting your weight onto your right foot. The left one still has a faint sting. It’s barely there, but it’s still a reminder of what happened.

Despite your outward behavior, you can’t shake everything off. So, you just smile.

Either she doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she answers. It sounds like a nice place - a small gazebo tucked away in a corner covered by trimmed bushes.

Apparently it wasn’t as flashy as the rest of the mansion, simple but durable.

So ordinary that no-one bats an eye at it, and it is something that your father-in-law has forgotten about completely - a nice place to hide away from the horrors of the world.

“That actually sounds… nice,” you say with a smile - doing your best to forget everything that happened earlier.

Right.

The sun is bright and the air is fresh.

“It is. A nice little hiding place - I doubt that anyone is there right now.” And with that, the younger girl takes lead, and like a baby chick you follow, still holding the pink flowers as the red ones are in her own hands.

It still feels like eyes are on you. Your legs are starting to feel strained, walking becoming an effort. The hairs on the back of your neck are standing, a small sheen of sweat on your nape.

Your eyes travel downwards to the flowers in your hands - still vivid and pink, not a hint of wilt on them. You look back up at Grizelda’s back, her brown hair gently bouncing with each step. It’s peaceful.

… how long will this last…?

Your gaze drops to your feet, slowly inhaling before shaking your head at the silly and useless question. But the feeling of being watched only increases. The lie you told yourself moments ago is already starting to shatter as you’re imprisoned by your own mind.

“Once we get there, we can stay for a bit, admire the view of the garden.” The brunette suggests with a quick glance behind her shoulder. She looks back ahead once you nod your head. The rest of the walk is quiet, something heavy edging at the back of your mind.

When you get near the indoor training room, two guards are carrying dummies while heading towards it. You both halt, surprised to see anyone there - you shouldn’t be, but the sorceress was so sure of herself it almost felt like the scene was going against the laws of nature.

Confusion fills you - Fontaine was the oldest, Dion the second, Grizelda the third and Roxana the fourth. Twenty-three, twenty, seventeen and fifteen. The rest are considered children, therefore wouldn’t they be attending their lesson…?

Neither of them notice you, too caught up in their conversation. Both you and your sister-in-law don’t see a point in calling out to them, simply continuing your walk.

That is, until they drop the dummies, their expressions turning grave. They scream out two certain names before rushing in.

“M-Master Dion! Stop, please!”

“Master Fontaine!”

“...huh?”

“What?”

You both look at each other, Grizelda looking over her shoulder. There’s a pause before you silently agree to check out what’s the commotion about. You don’t rush, you don’t run, your steps hesitant while hers are confident. She drops the flowers once she peeks inside, still as a statue, eyes wide and mouth ajar - an expression you have never seen on her once, both in this life and your last in illustrations.

You hurry, heart dreadfully drumming against your chest, a hollow pain swelling your chest cavity. Both Dion and Fontaine are in there - just what’s going on?

The flowers drop to the ground as your grasp loosens.

Holding the first born against the wall, your husband was choking his own brother. You can’t see his face, but his entire body is tense, putting his all into trying his best not to snap Fontaine’s neck. You can see the veins on his neck and hands.

… it’s a nice sight, until you remember -

He’s not supposed to die yet. Fuck, he’s not supposed to die yet!

Reflexes taking over, you run over to the two men.

This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s not supposed to kill him. He’s not supposed to die yet - the story has changed so much already! What happens if he dies right here and right now!?

Someone calls out to you, their voice distant. Hands grab your shoulders, firm but not enough to stop you from shaking them off. You grab him without thinking.

Dion freezes.

You pull harshly. Part of you wants to watch the scene in full - does he even deserve to live? He’s trash, worse than your husband and yet -

The fear you’re feeling isn’t for your own safety nor is it for his outburst. No, in spite of yourself, it’s for Fontaine’s worthless life -

What happens if he dies right now?

It’s a question you don’t want answered.

Distantly you feel your head shaking side to side. You don’t stop pulling, but your body is screaming that you should. You ignore it, ignore the nagging voice at the back of your head to let it happen. A lot has changed already.

So, what if this happens? No, you tell yourself, no.

Your gut is twisting painfully, screaming he can’t die now.

Dion looks at you like you’ve gone mad and honestly, you think you have. You shouldn’t be saving his brother’s worthless life. You don’t want to.

But -

Not yet.

Two words you silently mouth. You dig your feet into the wood as you use all of your strength to attempt to pull your husband away. Of course, it doesn’t work, he’s too big and strong to be physically stopped by you.

His red eyes become blank as his grasp on his brother’s neck slowly loosens. Good.

He called himself my dog… Dion Agriche, you better keep that promise. You feel gross for calling him one, reducing him to something that has no choice but to listen to you.

You don’t notice how his gaze travels to your chest, the way his eyes narrow once they see the blood stain on your bodice. But you do notice how he tightens his hold on Fontaine’s neck again.

You’re not listening well for someone who said he’s my dog!

These thoughts will haunt you for weeks on end once all of this ends.

You try another method. It feels shaky as you talk, the words feel heavy. You force them out regardless, scared of what would happen if Fontaine Agriche were to die right here and right now. You can’t let that happen.

Even as a small part of you wishes to praise Dion.

“Dion… please.”

THUD

Like the obedient dog he promised to be, he lets go. He takes a few steps back and you follow suit. You don’t let go of his arm. You repeat your words from earlier silently.

Not yet.

The man looks confused before returning his attention to Fontaine. Your eyes also fall onto the older Agriche, small amounts of regret joining the fear in your chest. How are you supposed to take care of this…?

This isn’t like you.

You blink before you look up at your husband, seeing your reflection in his scarlet eyes. Your lips painfully force a smile and you hope it looks sweet and loving. Your fingers dig into his sleeved arm and you don’t even notice it.

It takes effort to rub your thumbs across his knuckles after a moment passes. Pretend to be a caring wife, pretend that you don’t want him to stain his hands further.

You can feel your hands tremble. It’s hard to keep smiling. The man before you said he was your dog and he listened like one, which brings forth a new worry -

What if he wants a reward?

You swallow the thought down. “Let’s go back. Please?” You don’t want to return to his room, you don’t want to be alone with him. But if you just leave him here…

Everything after that is a blur. The only thing you remember before reaching his bedroom is his tight grip on your hand. If only you noticed the figure in the background.

- - -

Grizelda stares at her older brother on the floor. He doesn’t make any attempts to get up, and he’s still breathing heavily. His men fret over him, but know better than to touch him. She wonders if he’ll kill them for not forcing Dion off of him.

The sight was amusing.

But it was also slightly… concerning.

‘... he listened. Fontaine knows he has a soft spot for her now… not to mention, Dion might even listen to all of her demands… ah, this will either be amusing or horrible.’

She leaves before Fontaine even notices her.

It’s concerning but also interesting. She slightly smiles in amusement - things will change around here.

But that amusement is washed away once someone calls her. When she looks at the person, she forces a scowl away. The tattle-tell will rat this out to Lant.

- - -

You’re still scared of your husband. You still hate him.

Your heart won’t stop hammering against your chest. Your hands feel clammy and his larger one holding yours only adds more heat. His pace is enough for you to keep up, but it still feels like he’s dragging you.

You feel like you’re becoming his little doll.

You want to cry. You want to scoff. To scream, to encourage his behavior towards Fontaine. But the uncertainty of the future prevents you from doing so, unsure if hell will be let loose if he dies so early, if doesn’t die at the hands of Cassis.

You bite your lip. None of this should be happening. You shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be married.

But someone has twisted their and your faith for entertainment.

Wait, you think. Maybe Roxana will pity you some more after learning what happened with Fontaine… hopefully that’ll give her a good enough reason to help you out of this hellhole.

Then, you realize it -

He knows.

Your heart drops at the realization. Why else would he try to kill him? So early at that, before the timeskip. Should… should you be happy he knows? That he tried to murder him for you?

But you didn’t ask him to. You might have, you probably would have once you found your voice. Regardless, your skin starts to feel filthy - are you, an unwilling wife, really about to rely on your sadistic and possessive husband? The same man who indirectly told you he would lock you up if you even try to leave?

You can hear your heart beating against your chest. The sound is loud, echoing in your head dully. It hurts, bringing your free hand to clutch at your chest. It does little to soothe the pain.

Breathing becomes difficult. Thinking about anything else is hard. If you’re not thinking about the man in front of you, then your mind reaches for the recent memories of being chased and touched. Threatened with violence.

Your waist starts to tingle where Fontaine gripped it. Your skin feels prickly, dirty. The taste of iron makes itself at home on your tastebuds again. A sharp sting on your bottom lip, the pressure only increases the longer you walk.

You made a mistake.

You shouldn’t have gone to him. You should have let Grizelda take care of it. You shouldn’t have fucking left the room.

He might lock you up after this. He might hover around you more now, might -

A hand gently cups your cheek, handling you with utmost care. Like you were made of glass. However, the touch burns your skin, bringing forth an unpleasant sensation that travels down your spine and drowns in your stomach.

SLAP!

“Don’t-!” By reflex you slap the hand away, taking multiple steps back until your back hits something sturdy. Pressed against the double doors, your eyes travel to your side, landing on the door handle. Your hand grabs it as you look ahead, seeing the figure of the man who might trap you in this very room, if it means Fontaine won’t touch a single hair on your head.

Safety for freedom - he would be that type of person. The bird he wants to keep is mere inches away from him - it would be easy for him to grab you. But it wouldn’t be in the same manner as Fontaine. Regardless, it doesn’t ease your worries.

You don’t want to be touched by that pervert but you also don’t want to be trapped by your own husband.

You don’t want to rely on him, either. He’s scum too, he took you from your family - why else would you be married to him? He probably blackmailed your father, or, or something.

An emotion unfamiliar to you flashes through his eyes. He almost looks hurt, but doesn’t take another step towards you. It’s then do you look around, only to realize you’re in his room.

This stupid room!

Your heavy breathing fills the room. Your head hangs, chest twisting and turning as your heart beats to a tune that’s too loud and heavy. It’s painful, breathing is painful, thinking is painful, you feel dirty -

You look at Dion again. Like a dog, he stays in place, waiting for you to call him. He looks worried and it makes you sick, stomach churning at an expression he shouldn’t even know how to make. This isn’t right.

This is going against the natural order of things.

This isn’t right.

A small part of you feels guilty. That small part wants to thank him and even praise him. But the rest of you want to run and hide from him, from Fontaine, from everyone.

Your husband remains quiet as your chaotic state of mind refuses to calm down. Your back presses harder against the door as you slide down, unable to support yourself on your feet and legs anymore.

Pathetic, I’m pathetic. This isn’t -

Should you blame yourself? Blame him? Fontaine?

Should you blame God?

… you don’t know anymore. You only know how to run and cry.

You should have stayed dead. Ah, but God wouldn’t give you that pleasure, would he?

“Wife -”

“Stop. Please. I’ve been through enough already,” you interrupt, on the verge of bawling your eyes out. You were able to touch him earlier. You smiled at him. You considered praising him on the way back.

What happened?

You were fine with him holding your hand. But now -

“You can’t keep ignoring this-! Whatever delusions you’re living in, they won’t!”

You should thank him.

You should curse him.

Stay.

Run.

Praise him.

Degrade him,

Accept him.

Escape him.

Harshly tugging at your hair, you fight with yourself mentally. It was fine, you were fine, you could touch him earlier, so why can’t you now? It feels like your scalp is being ripped apart. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts -

Something grabs your hands. It’s warm but unwelcoming. Firm enough to stop you but gentle enough it doesn’t hurt.

You hate it.

“Hey.” The voice is deep and scratches the back of your mind. It’s pleasant but the person it belongs to isn’t. Wait. No.

It’s not pleasant. It’s horrible, nails on a chalkboard, making your ears bleed. It makes you want to go deaf. You shut your eyes tight.

This isn’t right.

“...let go. You touched me enough, haven’t you?” Your words come out broken, small. He almost has to strain his ears just to hear you.

“If I do, you'll just hurt yourself again,” Dion states, refusing to let you go. This isn’t romantic. And both of you can’t even pretend that it is.

“... I… I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t ask for this either. I just… wanted some fresh air…,” you trail off, exhaustion catching up. Maybe you’re about to start your period - yeah, that’s it. That explains everything.

You’re just emotional because of the hormones. You’ll be fine in a week from now. This will be a distant memory.

The lie only takes you so far before Dion asks what you meant by that. The first part specifically, and it’s obvious that he’s trying his best not to grip your hands harder.

Dion… he… he wouldn’t blame you, right?

Hah. one moment you’re fearing him and the next you’re hoping he’ll take your side. You don’t know what you want anymore. You want to sleep everything off.

You can’t help but hate him. But as a husband, he should know, but you don’t want him as one -

“... he grabbed me. I - I stomped on his foot before he could go further - he ch-chased me but Grizelda he-helped me… I mean, that’s all he did, so I shouldn’t -”

“He would have done more if you didn’t stop him.”

The fact only makes you curl into yourself. Dion still has a grip on you, not allowing you to escape him. There’s nothing but static in your head. Your body is slowly giving up on you, having to remind yourself to breathe.

You have a family here, a lovely one. A father who cares. A mother who nurtured you, loved you. An older sister who guided you, a younger brother who teases you. You have a family who you love, who loves you.

Yet, resentment has been building up for a while now, hasn’t it? Small amounts of it that are starting to clump together. No, you shouldn’t, you love them.

But even at the thought of them, your breathing becomes slower. More gaps between each breath. You blink.

Secretly, you’re starting to wish that you would drop dead.

…is living worth it when I struggle to keep up?

It’s a dangerous thought. It darkens the corners of your mind the more it echoes in your head. You’re not supposed to be here. This is supposed to be a fictional world.

These people are supposed to be fictional characters.

This setting is supposed to be a dark fantasy, survival first and romance second. The Agriche family are only supposed to be names on the screen, beautifully drawn digital pictures to tell the story. You’re not supposed to be here.

But God has decided to make this your punishment.

Are you willing to do it? After all this mental distress? After wanting to survive and escape this hell - are you willing to do it?

Do you want to?

Living here is death. But your family, they’ll mourn, right? Don’t you want to see them again? Your siblings, your parents - don’t you want to hug and laugh with them?

So, why? Why are you considering -

Because you are weak.

“...” The air is suffocating, something is constricting your throat. Your mouth feels dry and your mind goes blank. You can’t think. The static gets louder and louder, filling your head, ringing in your ears. You were fine earlier.

But now something is tugging at your feet, daring you to stand. It would be easier to just drown at this point. If you’re breaking down just from this… then there really is no hope for you.

Your eyes feel heavy as you force yourself to lift your head and look at bright scarlet. His face looks fuzzy, but your reflection in his eyes is clear. That’s all you can see.

Today, you decide that you hate bright and vivid red the most.

That Fontaine Agriche is enemy number one.

Your mouth moves but you don’t hear your own words. You don’t see your husband’s expression. You can’t even feel the beating of your heart. You feel nothing but the static filling your little head.

The urge to die has begun to resurface.

- - -

“You what?”

Lant’s deep voice becomes lower after hearing the report - unfortunately for everyone involved, a faithful servant to the Black Master overheard and even saw the aftermath of the incident.

It was also that same servant who happened to be in the locked room across from Grizelda’s study when Fontaine showed up to wreak havoc. They had debated opening the door until the sibling’s conversation went on.

They decided to wait it out. To trail behind you and the Master’s daughter. He had planned on appearing sooner once he saw the physical assault, but his gut screamed he would die had he did.

The oldest son stands in front of his father’s desk with his head hanging low. Sweat pools at his temples before slowly sliding down his face. His hands are clammy as a million excuses rush through his head.

He knows that even if he were to tell Lant that you had stomped on his foot, it wouldn’t work for him but against him. Of course, there was a chance you would receive a small punishment for injuring an Agriche, but since it was he who went against Lant’s orders, Fontaine would get the worst of it.

You were off-limits. But the oldest son always had greedy hands.

Grizelda stands off to the side, watching the entire thing unfold. Lant’s faithful servant stands at his side, hands clasped as he awaits for further instruction. Silently she wishes for him to ram his pinky toe into the sharpest corner of a dresser while barefoot.

Fontaine’s men are on their knees, bowing with their head on the floor. The oldest person in the room pays no heed to them. Instead his heated gaze is on his own son.

“F-father… I was just -”

“Silence - I did not give you permission to talk, you fool!” Your father-in-law stands behind his desk as his fist slams down on it, unable to believe that his own flesh and blood would go against his orders. He doesn’t know what punishment to give him.

He doesn’t even want to see his dull face.

“Where is Dion?” He growls out, holding out a cigar for his servant to light. The smell of smoke starts to fill the room after a few puffs.

“He took the Lady with him, Master. I saw them on my way to the training room,” the man dressed in black answers. “He was holding her hand.”

A moment of silence before Lant lets out a laugh. “Is that so? Tell them both to stop by later today. I’m curious as to why he reacted so violently.” Dionn wasn’t exactly known to be emotional - he had little to no interests.

The change in his attitude is clear - anger at Fontaine, slight amusement with Dion. The grey-eyed man grits his teeth in silence. He was the one who got choked!

No-one notices the slight flinch Grizelda gives. This was why she didn’t want to report it - it’ll only cause complications. If her older brother does care about you, then Lant finding out would only bring forth something awful.

You’re a stranger but this wasn’t your fault. You just were a poor soul who got dragged into this hell.

Her stomach churns at thoughts of possibilities of what could happen. Dion was already unsteady deep down - this would only make it worse. What would happen if Lant does something to you?

“Going back to you,” their father looks at Fontaine again, taking a hit of his cigar. He puffs out smoke, doing his best not to physically lash out at him. Everyone waits with bated breath.

“The punishment room isn’t enough for you. You dare touch something that isn’t yours? Go against my orders?”

Lant goes on, watching as his son’s body starts to tremble. It’s a pathetic sight, and could have been avoided if he listened like the good boy he’s supposed to be. “But for now, until I say otherwise, you’re going to be held in a cell without any food or water - I’ll even lash your back personally.”

Another puff as Fontaine’s head whips up, protests on his tongue. He bites the pink and slimy muscle when Lant glares at him. “As for the girl - she’ll be confined to her room for a few days. She should have had a maid with her - what was her name again…?”

“Hana, Master.”

“Right. She needs to be punished too.”

“And what of Young Master Dion, Master Lant?”

The Black Master stops to think. While it’s true he was in the right - after all, you belong to him - he can’t exactly let him get away with attempted murder on a family member. It’s almost tempting, but then, thoughts might start to pop up in his head.

He doubts Dion will ever betray him. But, at one point, he was also a son to a father who trusted him. He was a son who killed his father.

Besides… he’s curious. Why would he react so violently? A man who showed no interest in anything, simply carrying out orders. Something’s not adding up.

Or maybe he’s just stressed right now, with the paperwork due and Fontaine being a fool.

“I’ll send him to the hunting grounds. It’ll take at least a month for him to return,” he answers after taking another puff. “Now, who should I replace that maid with…”

“... I’m regretful to say this, but Hana was sent on an errand by the Young Master when this happened. She was preparing the contraceptives on his orders.”

Lant blinks before sighing. “Right. I forgot about that.” He looks at the stack of papers on his desk - did this really have to happen when so much is due? His teeth grind against each other.

However, before Lant could think of what else to say, the servant spoke up once more. “While we are talking about the Lady… she hasn’t stepped foot in her room once.”

Grizelda’s nails dig into her palms once her father was finally alerted. Still, this could easily be brushed off as Dion simply sleeping with you, addicted to carnal lust. Until that damn man speaks more.

“Even when he’s off on missions, she stays in the Young Master’s room.”

This is a matter that frankly, doesn’t concern Lant. But does that matter? No.

“...interesting. I’ll question them about it later.”

Grizelda’s stomach twists. You’re nothing more than a stranger she pities. So, why? Why is this dread so deeply etched into her bones? You only spoke a handful of times before today - you are nothing to her aside from an in-law on paper.

This isn’t like her.

This doesn’t feel natural.

Oh.

Maybe… something interfered with their faith. With yours.

She scoffs at herself quietly enough that no-one hears. What a stupid thought. Her attention returns to her father. It’s here when he finally speaks to her.

“Grizelda. Tell me, why didn’t you report the incident that made her run into your study?” His accusatory tone is ironically justified, but he doesn’t need to know that. Grizelda has always been a good girl, and she never interacted with you once you moved in.

“I thought it would be best to have her calm down first. I was going to bring it up when we ran into each other in the hallway - but she was still jittery. Please forgive me, father.”

She bows her head before adding, “I’ll accept any punishment you see fit.”

It goes without saying that Lant considers this for a moment. After a beat, he replies with, “Until I say otherwise, stay in your room.” The same punishment as you. Twins!

Grizelda mentally cringes at her uncharacteristic thought. What was she, a child?

“Go and bring them both to me. Now.”

“Yes, Master.”

The servant leaves with a bow. The room goes quiet, panic in everyone’s head. Lant doesn’t dismiss any of them. His footsteps echo in the room until he stops right in front of Fontaine. He puffs smoke directly into his face, causing his son to cough.

“Prepare for the worst if she’s pregnant.”

= = =

Tag list: @umi-adxhira @queenofspades403 @pix-stuff @manitscold

@darkumbreon92 @s-ajia @disappointment-san @louissatturi @cjafjatkstke @rainofcrime @kokomi2 @elvinapandra @ishamyshaa @semi-wife @danae-misfortune @rosedellamorte @labryel @rentaldarling @tiny-mimi @puggyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

#yandere x reader #yandere #dion agriche #twtptflob #the way to protect the female lead's older brother #dion agriche x reader #yandere dion agriche #deon agrece #twtptflob x reader #grizelda agriche #yandere twtptflob #roxana #yandere dion agriche x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader

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kaylopolis · 1 year ago

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Alastor's Shadow (18+) Chapter Five

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months sooner than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. Afterall, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plans brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down, but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers, This was my first attempt at smut (I giggled posting this, I am so excited!). I am new, but any advice is welcome! I tried something different with formatting (you'll see when you get there). I didn't want anything to be spoiled while ya'll rode the emotional rollercoaster that is this chapter. Let me know if it was weird and didn't work (or if it did that would be great!). I also added a link to the music found in a later part of this chapter in case you wanted to listen while you read.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Five - Night's Mistress

Content Warning: Blood, Blood Play, Murder, Choking, Graphic Sexual Scenes Involving Violence, Smut, MINORS DNI! (let me know if I missed anything else!)

The pull behind your navel felt foreign.

It didn’t come with the taste of honey or the scent of daffodils like Rosie’s summons normally did. It didn’t come with a hint of sass or flood your mouth with spice like Carmilla’s. Crimson’s tasted of red pepper flakes and copper - a disgusting combination - but he was no longer an issue.

This pull, however, was new and terribly, terribly… boring.

Has one of your cards fallen to a rogue with sticky fingers? Has one of your holders died and a new holder taken their place?

Whomever it was, the pull made you pause atop your perch overlooking V Tower. With Vox’s new Angelic Security soon to be released, you didn’t know how close you could get to the media demon’s headquarters. So you sat a few buildings away, scanning the horizon for any newfound technology that might impede your nighttime endeavors.

There was another tug.

Jesus, impatient much?

You stood, stretching the stiffness from your legs. It was late, you’ve been out here for hours watching absolutely nothing happen. All the Vees like to do is sit, drink, and talk shit. Seriously what did they get out of their friendship? Was it friendship? Or were they all fucking? Ugh, you did not want that picture in your head.

Okay, time to go.

You jumped, allowing the smoke to envelop your form. Feeling the pull, you headed toward the inner part of the city. Circling Heaven’s Clocktower, you broke off back toward the Magne District - the district that held the Hotel. Except you weren’t headed for your new home. The pull brought you left, almost to the border town but not quite, to an old tower.

In a plume of smoke, you landed on a balcony, the black swirls twirling about the landing before pooling over the sides. You were probably twenty stories up, the tallest building around. Not nearly as tall as V Tower - which the balcony gave you a great view of - but still, Pentagram City was striking.

The balcony was connected to an apartment, reachable to the world only by an elevator at its center. Behind you was a wall of glass, heavy curtains preventing you from peering inside. On the balcony sat a small table, framed by two iron chairs. The setup was empty, except for your card which sat atop the table, a single drop of blood at its center.

You took a step, your feet finding a puddle of red before you finally noticed the body. It was face down, scarlett flooding from a wound which wasn’t visible to you. It didn’t appear to be anyone you knew. Definitely a Human Sinner, but not one particularly interesting.

So who in Hell summoned you?

As if on cue, a zip of static runs across the back of your neck.

Of-fucking-course…

“Ah, there you are,” Alastor emerges from the darkened apartment, shutting the door behind him with a kick of his heel, a smooth jazz playing on his radio.

Your heart skips a beat as his eyes find yours. Half-lidded, he smirks, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pair of glasses in another.

Your eyes flit between the dead Sinner on the floor and the red demon before you. “You did not use your own blood?" This was a first. Cardholders always used their own blood. Although not directly stated, it was implied.

“Heavens, no!” The demon places the glasses on the table, next to the obsidian calling card, as he uncorks the bottle using the tip of his claw. “We barely know each other. That would be too…” His eyes slid to yours. You feel his gaze rake over your form eliciting a blush beneath your cloak. “Intimate.”

Jesus.

You stifle a sharp intake of breath.

Get your shit together. You’re a fucking Overlord for Christ’s sake.

You drop his gaze, eyeing the half-dead pile of blood beneath your feet.

“Ah, apologies for the mess,” Alastor snaps and the Sinner, along with the blood, disappears. “Wine?” The red demon holds a glass out to you, liquid sloshing in its basin.

You look at your boots before moving, noticing he even wiped the blood from their leather. How thoughtful.

Goblet in hand, you finally join the Radio Demon in the chair adjacent to his, and gaze out to the City.

It was quiet, the hustle of Pentagram City’s nightlife drowned out by his jazz. Funny, you thought it almost peaceful. Could Hell be peaceful? No. That would be an oxymoron. Hell was designed not to be peaceful by definition. Yet all the way up here, tucked far back from the rest of the chaos, you could pretend it was.

The demon sits back in his chair, crossing his legs at his knees. You hadn’t noticed it before, but his shoes have a print on the bottom - a deer’s hoof. How fitting.

The obsidian calling card sits between you, a drop of scarlet crusting on its surface. Letters in white slowly fade from the card’s edge, signifying the death of the card owner. Whoever the Hell Stanley Jenkins was, Alastor had killed him and used his blood instead. Smart actually, for the card comes with its own parameters…

And to the Sinners without a card? That was a bit trickier. Only a handful of obsidian calling cards were in circulation, and only cardholders could summon you at will. To the lower rung demons without the honor, they had to go through back channels. That’s what you used Rosie for. The Cannibal Queen knew all the best gossip in town, her network of information reached every edge of the Pentagram. She was your starting point for potential hits - you took care of the rest.

“A toast,” Alastor holds his glass out to you. “To power and chaos.”

You freeze.

The demon clinks his glass with yours.

You had not heard that phrase in a very long time.

You look to the Radio Demon and watch as he sips his wine, the red liquid kissing his lips as he drinks.

More importantly, where had he heard that phrase?

And then it clicks.

Lilith. You last heard that from Lilith.

“It isn’t poisoned. I assure you,” Alastor purrs, bringing your thoughts back to the wine. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.” The demon chuckles.

You shudder at the sudden static vibrating through your bones.

You put a pin in this conversation - a mental note. You had more homework to do.

You swirl the red around the glass, noting the alcohol crystals sticking to the sides. It was an older wine, a heavier red by the color. The liquid wooed you in scents of dark berry, cloves, and cedar. You could taste the tannins on your tongue before the liquid even hit your teeth. God, was it a thick red, so dry it left your mouth parched for more. Alastor couldn’t see your face beneath the hood, but if he could, he would see the moan you stifled behind closed lips.

God, it was almost Heavenly.

“One of my more everyday favorites,” Alastor smiled at the world below, his eyes sparkling with the reflection of City lights. “Although, I have far better in my cellar.”

In my cellar. Your ears perked up at that, although you tried to hide it, the twitch of Alastor’s lips told you he had noticed. The Radio Demon knew something about you now: you liked wine.

Was that what this meeting was all about? He wanted to gather more information on the Shadow? The way he made it seem at Carmilla’s was that there was a deal to be made. He thought you two could benefit from some sort of… partnership. Yet, you sit here and drink.

This wasn’t how your deals often went. Usually, you showed up, and Sinners demanded action straight away. They practically begged you for your help, all too eager to make a deal. Lesser demons were pathetic, demons thinking themselves anything more attempted to look strong or intimidating, but the second they saw your eyes, they cowered. You’d like to think it the same as Zestial’s situation but you didn’t dare compare yourself to someone as great as him.

Alastor, however, sat before you as an entertainer, a flatterer, a narcissist obsessed with his image. He didn’t just want to make a deal with you - if he did at all - he wanted to put on a show. Offering you a drink and a lovely view of the City communicated to you that he didn’t see you as a threat, but you already knew that. The question then was, did he respect you, and why did it bother you so much not to know?

You turned the bottle to read the label: Stag’s Leap. How fitting.

“Have you read the Allegory of the Cave*?” Alastor posits.

You nod. Of course, who hasn’t read Plato?

“When the man leaves the cave and makes it to the surface and is finally disenchanted with the shadows below, why do you suppose he returns?” Alastor takes another sip, waiting for you to answer, because he genuinely cares as to what you have to say.

“To free the two he left behind,” your voice growls.

“Hmm,” he ponders. “I supposed that as well, but never understood. To have the power of knowledge and to then share it… To not take advantage when it benefited him so. I see it as a tragedy.”

“Perhaps it is the Humanity in all of us.”

Alastor’s eyes flashed. “And if there is no Humanity left?”

“Return…” Your lips curled, “and kill the other two.”

Alastor tipped his head back and laughed, a deep chuckle from his chest. No laugh track followed. Was that genuine? A real laugh from Alastor and not the façade of the Radio Demon. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest at the thought.

Focus!

“Alastor, why have you summoned me?”

The Radio Demon’s lips faltered ever so slightly, his cheery attitude hardening. He thought a long moment before answering. “It seems we have found ourselves in quite the predicament.” He places the glass on the table and folds his fingers in his lap, his attention on the City below. Your eyes follow his, all the way to V Tower.

Ah, yes Velvette and Vox.

“Velvette can be quite the troublemaker.”

“And Vox can be quite the thorn.” You counter, taking another sip.

God, the wine was so good.

“I have… information worth your while.” His teeth shined.

“And in return?”

“A quid-pro-quo. I have been gone a long time, but my relationships with those I am… close with have held strong. That is the perk of being as old as I am. I am tried and true. You are new blood, officially worth a seat at the table. That seat will be tested.” There was an edge to his words now. “Do not take Velvette’s silence for inaction.”

You did not.

Yet, what could Alastor know that you have not yet uncovered yourself? After all, you have been watching them these past few days. Surely something would have come up by now.

You scoffed, finding the underlying meaning in his words. “Is that what happened with Vox?”

The Radio Demon stiffened. There it was, a hint of that barely contained anger. Oh, how you would love to see it unleashed.

You sniffed, searching for the scent of rage, of jasmine green tea - the main reason why you loved the drink. Yet there was nothing. Irritation prickled your skin. You have never been able to not read someone before. What made this Sinner so special?

“That is what you want from this… partnership, is it not?” You prod, hoping he will give away something, anything that might clue you in as to why you are here.

The demon returned to his wine, a muscle in his jaw flickering with agitation. He didn’t like appearing weak.

Narcissist.

“The plans I have in mind are far bigger than that poor excuse for an entertainment system.”

You snorted.

Alastor’s strained smile softened.

Hmm, a quid-pro-quo, huh? Still, he hasn’t said what he wants out of this deal.

You took another sip to think, noting your glass was already empty.

The Radio Demon cleared his throat, wine bottle in hand, gesturing for your cup. His fingers brushed yours as you handed him the glass, sending a wave of static through to your core. You pulled back too fast, bringing your arm to your chest. The demon’s eyes gleamed in amusement.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! You are not afraid of the Radio Demon, so why were you acting like an idiot? Never let your weaknesses show and you just gave him a clear indication that he intimidated you. You are a FUCKING OVERLORD.

Why was this not easier with a mask on??? At the Hotel, you didn’t back down, but still, you let him think less of you. Not here. Here you are the fucking Shadow, you didn’t have to pretend. You had no reason to be so nervous.

So why was the smile on his face and the look in his half-lidded eyes making your heart do backflips in your chest? Why was it when he handed the glass back you were conscious to not let your fingers touch his? Why were you so grateful for the space between you two yet also so, so irritated by it?

“You still have not told me what you seek to gain.” You prayed your voice didn't sound as unnerved as you felt.

His smile went cockeyed. “A mutual agreement. We stay out of each other’s way, yet seek out the other when we can benefit equally.”

That didn’t sound like a partnership. That sounded like an alliance. Is this the same type of deal he had with Rosie? Interestingly, they seemed more like friends than something so surface-level as an alliance. Perhaps it started out that way and blossomed into one?

The butterflies in your stomach kicked up in a flurry. The Radio Demon thought you were worth his time. Your cheeks heated. He thought you could help him - in some sort of capacity. God, why did that make you wanna squeal like a small child?

“I will not be signing a contract,” you warned.

Rosie informed you of Alastor’s contract crafting abilities. The demon was meticulous, bordering on obsessive when it came to exacting details. Line-by-line he would work and when it was finally done, the deal would appear flattering in what it would have to offer. Somehow, Alastor always made it seem like it was you who was the one to benefit. Yet, that was never the case. It was a trap, a beautifully disguised ploy which demoted you to a creature privy to his whim. Alastor was a master and the signee his pet - he would have it no other way.

You’d die before you signed anything he authored.

The demon laughed. Yet, underneath, there was a hint of irritation. “Oh, no. I did not expect that, I assure you. Ours will be one of a verbal agreement.”

You let that marinate. He won’t be getting your name, but an agreement will still be made, and in Hell, that was a very powerful thing indeed. You’ve made plenty of verbal agreements before. Fuck, every hit you contracted was a verbal agreement - silence and the contractee’s soul in exchange for murder. The terms you set were quite simple, actually, yet strong enough to have kept any hint, any suspicion of who you are and how to find you, out of the mouths of Pentagram City’s most powerful. Yes, the media did try to track you down, even attempted to hunt you at one point, but they haven’t gotten very far. And they never will if you had anything to do with it…

You took a sip, letting the flavors melt off your tongue one final time, before standing and offering a hand.

The demon’s eyes lit up with a crimson fire, his lips curling at the edges. He looked far too eager for this deal and that made you hesitate.

Dealing with Alastor was like dancing - a dance you both pretended not to be leading but also refused to be the follower in. It was a game of power, you see. Yes, dancing had its steps and rules - a waltz is a waltz after all - but the direction it was going, the added flare to the spins, the story the choreography told - that was where you battled. Thus, you needed to be a half-step ahead of Alastor at all times - without him knowing, of course - until either the dance ended or you found a way to end him.

The Radio Demon took your hand, and as you gazed into his eyes, you watched his pupils dilate. The glow of your yellow irises reflected in their dark center, an aura of red encircling your hooded form. A river of blue and green exploded from where your hands touched, twirling about you like the eye of a beautifully destructive hurricane.

The wind whipped Alastor’s hair about his face, his smile never faltering, his eyes never leaving yours as a connection snapped between the two of you. Like a thin string bridging your souls, you could, for a moment, feel Alastor on the other end, feel his static radiating from his core before the connection faded entirely.

It was done.

“A pleasure,” he purred.

You attempted to step back and break away from his grasp, but the demon responded by clamping down and pulling you to him. You stumbled, your other hand coming to his chest to prevent your fall. The hood atop your head shifted back ever so slightly, but not enough to reveal your face or to give away anything underneath.

The shadows engulfing your feet twirled and twirled about you, yet you remained frozen. Alastor was a solid wall of muscle beneath his suit; even with gloves on, you could feel the marble from which his chest was sculpted. You took a breath before you pulled your hand away before your brain finally caught up with the rest of you.

“Beautiful,” Alastor’s voice deepened.

You dared a glance from beneath your hood and found the demon’s eyes locked on the silver embroidery of your cloak. With his other hand, he ghosted over the trim, his fingers tracing the hard edges of the stitching. Yet, at no point did he actually touch the black fabric. If he did, his fingers would phase through it, just as Velvette’s had at the meeting.

Without saying anything, he dropped the grip on your fist, freeing you from his clutches. You stumbled backward, grasping your hood and pulling it forward to ensure it stayed in place. Alastor couldn’t remove it, but that little stunt he pulled almost ruined everything you had worked for.

Your body grew cold as you backtracked to the railing, your little meeting coming to an end. You watched as Alastor’s grin turned into a lopsided smirk as he shoved his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly watching you flee.

Your instincts were screaming again, but this time, they were telling you not to let the demon out of your sight.

Passing by the table, you noted the obsidian calling card. He would use it to summon you from here on out, but he would never be using his own blood. His real name would be made to you then, and he would never risk that.

Take advantage of the power given, was what he recollected from Plato, and use it to slaughter others.

“Velvette is using a third party to buy weapons from Carmilla Carmine,” the demon finally spoke, breaking the tension. He turned to the skyline, absentmindedly analyzing V Tower as he talked. “The female Vee, however, is not the fighter of the group, she leaves that to Vox and Valentino. Velvette destroys by reputation. She is not much to fear if armed, but if privy to certain information, she will use that to destroy her enemies.”

A.K.A do not let her find out who you are.

You paused as your back hit the railing. You let your shadows build beneath your feet before you jumped in order to conceal your form as you flew. “Vox’s Angelic Security is in place but not online. It expands two blocks from V Tower. If anyone were to make a move, he would see it coming.”

The Radio Demon nods. He pauses a moment before adding, “Carmilla killed the Angel.”

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. How the Hell did he know that?

“Carmilla is monitoring the Vees,” The words tumbled out of your mouth as you grabbed hold of the railing. “She doesn’t want them making a move against Heaven.” You needed to get away. This meeting was getting dangerous. Losing your cool and almost losing your hood in the span of minutes? You were never this sloppy. Alastor made you sloppy.

“Interesting,” his voice stopped you again.

You spun, raising an eyebrow in question. His lopsided smirk only grew. “You didn’t ask me how Carmilla killed the Angel.”

Fuck. He knew. He knew you already knew. He didn’t have to look at you to see the surprise in your eyes, he had figured it out by your response alone.

“Goodnight, Alastor,” you gave a shallow head bow before jumping off into the night, Alastor’s fucking grin following you into the sky.

____________________________________________

It was late when you returned. You took a few extra spins about Pentagram City before heading back, trying to collect your thoughts on everything that had just happened.

You had surmised two important things: One, Alastor’s absence wasn’t just about Lilith. The demon somehow knew Lilith. Perhaps it was because of her that he left in the first place. Which you already somewhat suspected, but this confirmed it. Two, Alastor wanted the Vees dealt with, but he knew he couldn’t do it alone.

A quid-pro-quo in taking out the Vees. Now, things were getting interesting. This didn’t derail your plans, however, little Ms. Morningstar was still heading in the direction you needed her to go for everything to work. You didn’t need the Vees for the endgame - you had other powers in your back pocket with far more influence than the three of them. Plus, the connections you were making at the Hotel were going swimmingly. Soon, not yet, but soon, you’d implement the next phase.

Oh, if only Father could see you now - wherever the Hell he was. Did he fall to Hell or was he somehow topside? No. You’d know if he was down here with you. You’d feel it in your bones. Wherever he ended up, you were going to find him and you were going to make him suffer for everything he put you through.

You weren’t just going to kill him - oh, no. He didn’t deserve a quick and clean death. It was going to be slow and torturous. You were going to make him feel every ounce of the pain he put you through and more. You’d take your time, after all; why rush? Hours, days, months, years; what use was putting a timeline to his punishment when it would never make up for what he did? No. You’d take your time pushing him to the edge, and when he was on the cusp of eternal darkness, you’d heal him and start all over again.

Perhaps you did have a flair for murder like the Radio Demon. Your creative outlets were just significantly more specific - lying in wait for the perfect muse.

Wrapping your fingers around the edge of the window pane, you quietly slipped inside. With a snap, your leather gear and cloak slipped into the Void, replaced with a silk pajama set: a tank top and shorts bordering on just too short. Scandalous, but you enjoyed burying yourself beneath layers of blankets while you slept. Any more clothing and you’d wake up sweating.

Going for the bathroom, you turned on the light and paused. In the reflection of your mirror, you saw it: a red box wrapped in black ribbon. Your heart skipped a beat.

Someone had been in your room.

Hesitantly, you made your way before the coffee table and found a card perched atop the neatly wrapped bow.

You leaned in and sniffed the package - Nifty. You were going to have to touch base with the Hotel cleaning lady after breakfast. From day one, you had made it quite clear - to her great disappointment - not to clean your room, let alone enter it. Perhaps you weren’t clear enough, for she felt it acceptable to leave this here as opposed to outside your door.

Doing a circle about the space, you inspected the sealing runes which kept certain individuals out, eyeing the shadows just in case. You had hidden the ancient magic in concealed places, even buying a rug to cover the one at the base of your door, and kept your most important things in your Void. It wasn’t the best place to store your leather and cloak - especially after the moth infestation a few years back - but it was a necessity at the moment.

Then you went for the present. Pulling the black ribbon atop, you jumped back as the box split into fours, revealing a small radio. It was of a classic design and cathedral in shape, carved from mahogany and detailed in yellow and red. The device was simple, with only two buttons: an on-and-off switch and a volume dial. No tuning dial to change the channel? No chord to plug it in?

Fuck. How did he know? You racked your brain trying to figure out when and to whom you talked to regarding your sleepless nights. Rosie knew, but you hadn’t specifically discussed it with her lately. Did you say something to Husk in passing? To Angel while you were bitching at breakfast?

Hesitantly, you turned on the device. A pleasant, smooth jazz echoed through the speaker: Paul Whiteman’s “Sleepy Time Down South.” Hilarious… The Radio Demon has a sense of humor. At least it wasn’t the screams of blood-curdling murder.

After inspecting the radio three times over, you deemed it not a threat - although you kept it far away from your bed as you crawled beneath the sheets. With a snap of your fingers, the bathroom light turned off, plunging you into a cocoon of darkness, enveloped by the lullaby of sweet jazz…

____________________________________________

At some point in the night, you awoke, your mouth parched and throat dry.

🎶 It’s not the pale moon that excites me 🎶

Alastor’s radio switches over to a new song, the music seeming to follow you as you make your way to the kitchen. The hallways were silent, the Hotel Natives snoozing away in the late hours of the night.

🎶 That thrills and delights me 🎶

You pass by the library as a zip of static runs its way down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. Alastor stood before the fireplace, flames roaring in its hearth, casting an eerie glow throughout the room. The demon faces the fire, his attention on the crackle of the logs as they whittled away into ash. He was still dressed in his three piece suit you saw him in only hours ago, his ears pressed flat against his head in irritation. Something was bothering him.

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

He pretended not to notice you standing there staring at him from the hallway, but his shadow didn't. It zipped around your feet, twirling about your ankles in greeting, before practically dragging you inside the room. And when it had you well within the confines of the space, it flew to the doors.

🎶 It isn’t your sweet conversation 🎶

The shadow slammed them shut. CLICK! Then locked them.

You were trapped.

🎶 That brings this sensation 🎶

Alastor tilts his head over his shoulder, his half-lidded eyes landing on you. The demon looked royally pissed.

This was it, this was the moment.

Alastor had figured out who you are. Your hood had fallen farther than you thought and he had seen your face and put the pieces together. He knew you were the Shadow, the mysterious new Overlord, here to challenge his grab for Princess Morningstar’s power.

And he was going to kill you for it.

🎶 Oh, no. It’s just the nearness of you 🎶

You didn’t hesitate to summon your blue flames, preparing for a fight, yet he moved faster than your mind could comprehend. Between one blink and the next, Alastor appears before you, his hand wrapping around your throat so tight you choke on the lack of air. Grasping at his arm, you dig your claws into his skin, your demon form summoning, as you melt the red fabric with your flame. But he is unphased by the heat, pulling back and slamming you so hard into the wall that spiderwebs crack across the plaster.

🎶 When you’re in my arms 🎶

You try to summon more flame to burn him down to the very core of his soul like you had done to thousands of Sinners before, but the blue fire does nothing to his skin. It singes the red fabric, turning it black, but his skin beneath is unharmed.

Shit.

🎶 And I feel you so close to me 🎶

The demon leans in, a low growl emanating from his chest, his teeth glinting in the firelight as his eyes hone in on your neck. As the blood pumped through your jugular, you watched his pupils dilate and fixate on the vein. He was a Cannibal, a predator, a killer whittled down to pure instinct. Everything within him was screaming kill, kill, kill.

🎶 All my wildest dreams came true…🎶

Your lungs screamed as you choked out, “Alastor.” It was weak, barely a whisper, but it was enough to draw his gaze from your neck to your eyes. In his pupils, you saw yourself desperate and bordering on losing yourself to the darkness threatening to close in. Despite the fight you felt in your bones you looked terrified.

🎶 I need no soft lights to enchant me 🎶

His name slipping from your mouth, the quiver he saw in your lips, had cracked something within him.

🎶 If you would only grant me 🎶

His grip disappeared, allowing you a breath of air.

🎶 The right to hold you ever so tight 🎶

You bent over, coughing onto the floor, sucking down breaths in gasps that make your eyes water.

🎶And to feel in the night🎶

Standing, you held onto the broken wall, forcing yourself to stay on your feet, despite your knees threatening to collapse beneath you.

“Alastor, what the fuck…” And before you had a chance to finish your question, the demon wraps his claws around your chin and forcefully slams his lips into yours.

🎶The nearness of you🎶

The kiss was anything but soft, anything but patient. The demon was hungry and starving, and only you could satiate his appetite.

His other hand presses your hip back against the wall as he kicks your legs apart, drawing a gasp from your lips. Alastor takes the opportunity to run his tongue across your bottom lip before snaking it into your mouth. His tongue finds yours, prodding, testing, tasting.

He pushes you flush against the wall, his knee pressing higher and higher until it finds the pocket between your thighs, eliciting a gasp that turns into a moan as he pulls you onto him, forcing your clit in line with his leg.

The demon smiles against your lips, finally releasing your chin to grab your waist, his fingers bunching in the thin material of your pajama bottoms. You take the opportunity to find the lapels of his jacket to give you something to grab onto as you arch into him, pulling him closer as you press your breasts into his chest. The demon growls, a deep rumble emanating from within as he bites down on your bottom lip.

Copper floods your mouth, turning the kiss sweet, but for Alastor, it’s a frenzy. He was no longer satisfied with just tasting you. He had to devour you.

The silky material of your pajamas was oh-so thin. No underwear or bra beneath them, you were practically naked as the tips of his claws sank into the meat of your hips, beads of red pebbling on your skin.

God and the pain only added to the pleasure building between your legs, only made your head swim as his lips slid over yours, capturing every drop of scarlet flooding your mouth.

The demon helps guide your hips as you ground your clit into his thigh, wetness seeping into the silky material before pooling onto his pants. The room flooded with the scent of warm vanilla.

This man had you soaked, had your lips dripping as you ground into him faster and faster, your pleasure building with each roll. Alastor finally released your mouth, his teeth finding your neck, but he didn’t bite. Instead, he teased. He ran his tongue along the dip of your collarbone, tracing it to the spot where your shoulder met your neck, before finally running it up to your ear.

You moaned when he took your lobe into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth. Alastor instinctively rolled his hips, his cock tenting his pants, grinding on nothing but air.

Suddenly, it wasn’t enough. The friction wasn’t enough. You needed more. Needed more of him to push yourself over the edge.

“Al…” You breathed into his ear between moans, your fingers trailing down to the twitch in his pants, but stopping when you hit his belt. “Please…” You tugged.

The demon laughed, capturing your groans with his mouth before answering, “No.”

You blinked. “No?”

The demon puts a hard stop to your hips, pausing your grinding and the build in your pleasure. He grabs your hand on his belt and captures two of your fingers in his mouth. Sucking with his lips, he circles your fingertips with his tongue, wetting them before guiding your hand back down to your clit.

“I want to watch,” he smiles against your cheek before he wraps a finger under your chin and brings your face up to his. “Fuck yourself,” he commands.

And you obeyed.

Your two fingers find the apex of your pleasure beneath your shorts, and you moan, wetting your clit with his spit as you circle the bud.

You barely have to touch yourself, you’re already so close.

Alastor does nothing to help, save for his gaze, save for his breath which matched yours. The demon’s eyes glittered with heat and desire as they bore into you. He could feel the pleasure radiating off of you, could feel it as real as you could feel his static on the other side of the bond you formed today.

“Good girl,” he growled, his cock twitching in his pants with each moan that escaped your lips.

“I’m close,” you whined, twirling your fingers faster and faster, feeling the pressure build between your legs.

Alastor dug his claws into your skin, his gaze soaking up every look of pleasure on your face, his ears absorbing every moan, his cock hardening with every swipe of your fingers against yourself.

“Cum for me, darling.” The demon’s lips curled as he swiped the hair from your eyes, sticky with sweat. He wanted to watch as you sent yourself over the edge. He wanted to miss nothing.

And just as you reached your climax...

(Keep scrolling)

...you wake up in bed, your screams of pleasure drawing you from sleep.

Your orgasm spasmed through your body, your legs twitching as you rode the wave, your pussy clenching on nothing but air…

Fuck, it was the best orgasm you had ever had, nevermind that it was your first.

And when it was over and your mind sobered, you realized it was all a dream.

You never woke up for a glass of water.

You never found Alastor in the library.

Grabbing a pillow, you launched it at the radio on the coffee table but missed by a mile. Burying your face in the sheets, you screamed. You screamed until your lungs burned because anything was better than acknowledging the truth.

Anything was better than acknowledging that you just had your very first wet dream, and it was of Alastor, the Radio Demon.

Muahahahaha! Remember it's a slow burn ;)

-> Chapter Six

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

*Plato's Allegory of the Cave

Tag List (Let me know if you want to be added):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @goyablogsstuff

#alastor #alastor shadow #alastor smut #alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin #radio demon #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel x you #reader insert #smut #Spotify

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kivino · 5 months ago

Text

PROMISE KEPT || ZOMBIE AU || PLATONIC!SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY X KID!READER

sum. Among blood and whispering ghosts of the past, you would never dream your caretaker Simon to keep a spur-of-the-moment promise to forever stay with you. Yet he did.

tags. hurt/comfort, parental struggles once again, teenager reader yay, arguments, fluff in the end, obviously this is platonic

w. c. 2.9k

a. n. I’m so glad I got the request to continue this Ghost fic, because that was one of the hardest and rewarding works of mine. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy!

jjk masterlist || cod masterlist || ao3 link to this fic || ko-fi

Sun scorched your eyelids, insistently urging you to wake up. But you didn’t move, half-expecting a gruff, deep voice to accompany the sunshine in waking you up. Something certainly felt missing when you didn’t hear it. A wave of panic rose within you, which you forcefully suppressed, almost like pushing down on the trash in an overflowing garbage can.

Everything’s fine. He’s around somewhere. You should stop worrying so much.

He wouldn’t abandon you.

A soft, uneven sigh escaped you, and finally, you get up from the bottom of a bunk bed that was so generously left by the previous owners of the cabins. Whatever was the case with the family of four that would stay here on so many holidays and vacations, it was safe to assume that they were not coming back. That’s what Simon said, anyway. You didn’t want to think much about what the people who lived here were like. Always made you sad. Who were the siblings whose stuff you were now using, strangers connected to you beyond the time and space, through a blanket littered with bees and flowers, or a ski jacket that was a tad too loose on you. Simon said you’ll grow into that jacket. You’ve been waiting for it to happen for months. Didn’t make much progress, though.

You shuffle out of the room, eyes still darting from one corner to another, looking for Simon, but all in vain. The man wasn’t in the cramped living room, either. Still, your eyes find his sleeping spot – right there, on the couch, a dent from his heavy body pressing the old, dusty couch pillows down, right under a messily thrown checkered blanket with some stains on it. You weren’t sure why he was still sleeping on a couch – it certainly wasn’t made to accommodate his giant form, but you didn’t question his quirks. A bedroom right across from yours was waiting for him, untouched, yet he chose to spend his nights beside the stove, on a couch too uncomfortable to get some actual sleep. You could never stop being amazed at his logic.

By the looks of it, it was already late afternoon and Simon was nowhere to be found in this cabin, a little too cold for your liking. Your eyes quickly dart towards the furnace in the middle of the room. You wrap a longer sleeve of your top around the palm of your hand, reaching out towards the handle you expected to be quite hot. Instead, you’re greeted with lukewarm metal, and underneath it, the sight of dull embers, with their blooming scarlet light generously pouring out onto the floor. Yeah, you definitely needed to add some more firewood to the pile. Or, if luck has it and the day was going to be warm, you could leave it as is. It was still winter, you had to keep that in mind, but even here in the mountains, it was much warmer than where you and Simon started your journey.

It wasn’t easy getting to the cabin, either. After that horrible day at the infested hospital, your sickness worsened, you were feverish, but thankfully, the stuff Simon grabbed from there was enough to keep your temperature down, and keep you on your feet. It also took you quite some time to let Simon out of your sight for more than a couple of minutes without breaking out into a silent crying fit, irrational fear taking over your mind completely. You…didn’t talk about it anymore, but before you found this house, it was quite tough. It still was, but not as much. Here you at least had a roof over your head, and you were warm, gifted with the spoils of the forest.

“Morning. You sure slept in today.” The door suddenly slides open, and a low, painfully familiar voice greets you, flowing through the room. You watch Simon shaking off the snow from his boots, the bag over his shoulder heavy with game, and roll on your heels, keeping yourself from running over to hug the man in greeting. How weird would that be. Simon, however, seemed to have noticed that, be it your downturned eyes, or fiddling with your fingers. So, he propped his rifle on the wall beside the door and approached you instead, affection in the form of a firm, reassuring side hug is given to you. A gloved hand rubs your shoulder and your worries melt away, even if your receiving of the gesture is quite stiff and awkward, you appreciate it nonetheless.

“Well, you know me. I’d rather be asleep than do something useful once in a while.” You say with a crooked smile, reminding him of his recent remark, which only causes the man to avert his eyes from you in an indiscernible manner. Shameful? Guilty? No, that’s ridiculous. Why would he feel something of sorts? Simon promptly let go of you, stomping towards the kitchen, silent and broody, as usual.

Your eyes follow his hands, putting the game bag on the counter, taking out his beloved knife, sharpening, methodical and slow. His motions almost hypnotize you, working at the blade with precision and care, silent in his concentration and focus. In those moments, you realized how you admired this big nuisance of a parent. You’d be gone for sure if he wasn’t there for you. He would’ve lived just the same if you weren’t there. A tear suddenly burns your eye and you rub it off in a hurried, rough motion.

“What’s for dinner?” You plop down on the counter, eyeing his back, feet dangling in the air. Not really thinking, just…enjoying the moment. Who knows, maybe in a few months you’ll have to be on the road again. It wouldn’t make sense, though. Simon told you that you’ve reached this mysterious “South” already, even if it was in mountains. So that’s well.

“Rabbit.” You nod and linger behind him, waiting for some instructions, words, a request… Anything. It went without saying that you were to help Simon around the house, he always had stuff for you to do (you weren’t quite sure how he managed to come up with all the tasks that seemed to never have an end to them), but now he was silent. Which only reinforced the uncertainty within you. Something must’ve happened. He won’t tell you, though. No way.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“What is it?” Simon’s voice cuts you off a little too rough, but you didn’t mind. He was just like that.

“Take me hunting with you, please?” You turn on your best pleading eyes, which is probably unnecessary, since the man is standing with his back turned to you. Simon is silent, giving you no response, while his knife expertly carves away at the small animal under his hands. Of course, you were used to him not talking, but for some reason, him not giving you an answer and choosing to play silent treatment scared and infuriated you all at the same time. “Da… Simon?” You call out to him, correcting yourself mid-word, poorly masking your mishap with a cough.

“This again, kid?” Simon mumbles, after letting out a heavy, weighed sigh. You didn’t know if you should feel offended or discouraged.

“What do you mean?” You gave him an incredulous expression, as if not getting what he was talking about. It was not your first time asking, and it definitely wasn’t his first time refusing to grant your request. Simon’s head turns towards you slightly, and he answers with “the look”, one he gives you when you’re being bratty or just too much. You wanted to hunt your own food. And you wanted to help him. It couldn’t have been easy, being up at five in the morning, pulling on heavy boots and dragging behind a rifle to hunt something down, but he insisted on doing it by himself.

“You damn well know what I mean. We’ve been over this over ten times.” It’s true, you asked him to take you with quite a lot, especially in the past month. Just because he said “no”, didn’t mean you couldn’t ask again. “It’s dangerous. You stay here, like I told you. Both of us have our own responsibilities. Yours just happen to be involving more of the housework, but they’re just as important as mine.” You open your mouth to respond, refute his statement and finally convince him, but he puts his finger up, already anticipating your antagonistic position. “It’s final, the discussion is over. For good.”

“But…” You’re effectively cut off by Simon’s booming voice once again.

“What’s the first rule?” He demands of you, daring you to defy him further. Your breathing is suddenly labored, heartbeat drumming in your ears. You could tell him all your opinions about him forbidding you things, all about his dismissal and overbearing behavior, but you’re silent. A minute passes, but Simon doesn’t turn around, patiently waiting for an answer from you, knife steadily carving away at a rabbit. You realize you’ve been biting back your lip so hard it started bleeding.

“Whatever you say goes.” You choke out from the depths of your chest, feeling a wild tremble within from how unfair it felt. To escape this overwhelming, strong feeling you jump down from the counter, free of your momentary paralysis, and retreat back to your room, not calm and collected in your defeat, but seething and shaky.

Deep down, you knew it was true. Up where you were living, the undead weren’t much of a problem, instead, there were quite many animals. In your time hiking the mountain you’ve heard the occasional variety of howls, yips and whatnot, saw an array of footprints left in the snow or mud, and some of them were of terrifying size. But there was no chance you’d just stumble into animals that dangerous. But more so, Simon was going on about it again. Danger. Your safety. Like you couldn’t take care of yourself. Like you were still that scared child, cowering in the corner with your cheeks stained by the tears.

You know he’s right. And you don’t want to fight. But damn you, if it didn’t feel shitty to be dismissed like that. Not even given a chance. You couldn’t help the bitterness that welled up within you at the mere notion of your lack of usefulness. You were tired of being taken care of. Not only that, but you wanted to do something for once, to help Simon. But he was stubborn as a bull, so fighting against him was like fighting against the tide of a river – fruitless and tiring.

The next reminder you get of him is a knock on your door, unsure and very quiet, unlike the man himself. Well, you’ve noticed he could be very quiet when he wanted to. More than on one occasion, he made you almost jump out of your own skin, sneaking around the cabin at night. The knock pulls you out of the state of uncertainty, almost a trance, staring at the wall with thoughts swarming inside your mind, much like a restless hive. With this uncertain knock comes an invitation to eat – you were supposed to be making dinner together today, but you…obviously skipped out on your cooking duty. Nonetheless, you accept it with some underlying reluctance lurking deep within.

“Listen, kid, I understand that you want to help out.” Simon finally drops, fed up with the silence that didn’t help the tension from the argument in the slightest. His face is uncovered, which still feels unusual, an occasion that became more frequent since the two of you managed to settle down for a while. For some reason, without that rancid balaclava, he looks vulnerable. Simon always seemed so untouchable, impervious, almost inhuman in his strength. But now, exposed like that in front of you, he looked…tired, more than anything. “I’m just…worried. I don’t want you getting hurt. One time was enough of a scare for the both of us, don’t you think?” His eyes find yours, but you don’t return his stare, eyes drilling holes in the plate of the stew on your lap.

“I know, I just…” You pause, thinking carefully about your next words. Not daring to look up from the spoon, submerged in the food. For some reason, looking at Simon right now felt like some violation of his privacy. “I don’t want to have to rely on you all the time.” You finally settle on something simple. Truthful. To the point. If he has something to say, he better be just as forward with you.

“Alright. I’ll think about bringing you with. How does that sound? Good?” Simon gives you a final verdict after a short pause, and that’s enough. Just considering an idea of you hunting together. You’re not asking for more. Simon is given a small nod from you, eyes still staring at the plate, like it was going to solve all your problems for you.

“Simon…can you be honest with me?” You finally blurt out before you can stop yourself, but it feels…right. Vulnerable and weak, and desperate for his love, his attention, his protection, but right nonetheless. How could it not be?

“I don’t know, can I?” Simon’s head tips slightly to the left, and the smile you see on his face warms you up better than any fire in the world could, even if made by his calloused, big hands, hardened by labor. You won’t ever tell him that, though. How weird would that be.

“Wow, you’re so funny, haha. Anyway.” Accompanied by your flat tone, the remarks cause the corners of his mouth to tug upright even further, but he stays silent. “You’re not really a mechanic, are you?” The look he gives you, especially with his face bare for you to see, would probably be accurate to call “deer in the headlights”. You heard him say it a long time ago, but these eyes, as big as saucers, were definitely it.

“Of course not.” Simon finally answers, shaking off the aftershock of being caught on telling a lie. It was a white lie, though. To keep you safe. Trusting. Not scared of what he was.

“Thought so.” You shrug, and Simon can’t help yet another smile. He didn’t care how you concluded that he was lying, what mattered is you saw right through him. Did him proud. He knows you were always a smart one.

“So, just for curiosity’s sake… How long has it been since you figure that out?” Simon finally asks, brown eyes finding yours once again.

“A long time. Not long after you told me, that’s for sure.”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I used to be in the military.” Simon says with a sense of finality after a couple of minutes filled with silence. This chapter in his life will remain forever closed. There is no military anymore, no government, nothing at all that composed his life a long time ago. Only him and you, his little one that he…wants to take care of, protect. For as long as his body would allow him.

“It…makes a lot of sense, actually.” You nod along with a teasing glint in your eye. You notice Simon arch his brow at you, a silent ask to elaborate on what you mean. “You have this “sunshine and rainbows” thing going about you, that just screams “military”.”

“Yeah-yeah, laugh away at me, that’s what I’m here for.” The man waves off your ridicule with a kind-hearted, toothy grin. In the dull, orange light of the furnace, you could count each scar marring the skin of his face. Putting together a map of a life that didn’t exist anymore, one that had nothing to do with you.

“I will, thank you very much.” A comfortable silence falls over you in warm, flowing cascades, enveloping you in a pleasant feeling that would get lost on you in days of desperate hunger and cold. This, what you had here, allowed you to be…well, you. And you’d guess the Simon you had now was probably closest to what he was back when the world was not in pieces. You wondered what that Simon saw in you that day to take you in. What made him think it was a good idea, to grab a kid he didn’t know and run farther than the eye could see. At times, it was hard to crawl inside his head and try on his thoughts like that. “Hey, Simon… Why’d you save me?”

The question hit him like a damn fucking bus. Even the fact that you were questioning the reason behind it somehow made him want to ask only one question: “How could I not?”.

“Honest.” You warn the man in front of you, spoon pointing towards his chest in a bold demand.

“Honest?” Simon repeats with a heavy sigh tearing out of him. “I don’t have an answer you seek.” Simon watches your face fall, defeated. He didn’t really understand what you were trying to gouge from his psyche, yet continued, recalling his feelings when those eyes, soaked with tears, fell on him, fear and hope intertwined. “I don’t know. It was never in my plans, it just seemed right at the moment. I saw you, and right then I knew I had to protect you.” Simon answers, as honest as he could. You deserved that much.

Simon waits for an answer, an acknowledgment, anything from you, but no sound escapes your lips. You just stay silent. However, anticipating what your next question could be, he mutters, averting his eyes while making the simplest of confessions:

“I never regretted it. Not for a single moment.”

“Honest?” It is the only thing Simon hears you croak, barely audible and weak, after moments of silence that stretch for so long he’s almost sure the time stopped.

“Honest, kid. Honest.”

check out this masterlist for more cod fics or send me a request/comment! you can also support me on ko-fi

#cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty mwii #cod mwii #modern warfare ii #ghost x reader #mw2022 #call of duty fanfic #call of duty fic #ghost call of duty #cod #ghost cod #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #mw2 ghost #ghost mw2

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dadupbuck · 7 months ago

Note

Any recommendations on hurt-comfort Buddie that will make you cry? HEA please!

I started to answer this but accidentally clicked on a Tumblr link so I gotta start over 😂

I haven't read Buddie fics in a while so these are a bit older. (I'm going to catch up soon! I've just been in a phase where I'm either reading Teen Wolf fics or physical books)

Also haven't updated my bookmarks yet. Sadly a lot of great authors I'd normally recommend have turned anti-Buddie since April and I'd rather not promote them in Buddie posts if they're not safe to follow anymore as a Buddie fan.

Please check the tags of a fic before reading in case something is triggering for you!

the things that haunt me in the middle of the night by justhockey

2,4k, rated G

He gasps for breath and it feels like a reflex - like coming up for air after being sucked under. Like a desperate, manic thing.

He’s safe, he knows that. Knows he was never really in much danger anyway. But the sound of it all - the waves, the rain, the crashing and the thundering - it echoes in his head, ricochets through his bones. It lives inside of him, he guesses, even after all these years. That fear, the exhaustion, the crippling terror of finding the surface only to realise that Christopher was gone.

He rubs at his sternum, tries to breathe deeply, tries to blink away the memories of the day the water nearly took everything from him.

I let my guard down by bucksclipboard

6,5k, rated M

"It didn’t stop. Buck went from hoping the packages were from someone special to suspecting someone was toying with him. The hopeless romantic in him was slowly wilting. When he opened the latest letter, suddenly he was not so sure his secret admirer was of the good-natured kind. "

or: who needs police protection when you have eddie diaz by your side?

Cut me slack (I've watched your heart stop) by kat_atthewisco

Rated G, 5,4k

“Well, unfortunately I am calling you specifically for your role as Mr. Buckley’s power of attorney. He does need a couple of decisions made about his care that he’s not fit for at the moment. If you’re able to get here soon that would be best, I can’t tell you much over the phone.” To her credit, Deirdre does sound apologetic, and Eddie’s panic has begun to ratchet back up.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can, is he- please, how bad?” Eddie repeats.

In which Eddie gets The Call from Cedars-Sinai while he's off work thanks to a healing injury. Being Buck's emergency contact is suddenly a very real thing.

Never More To Leave Here by devirnis

Rated T, 10,2k

"Can you remind my brother that we were supposed to get lunch?” Maddie asks.

“Uh sure,” Eddie says slowly, confused. “But why don’t you just call him yourself?”

“I did, a couple times, but he didn’t answer. I assumed he was still with you?”

Eddie thinks back to last night, to Buck specifically making plans to go back to his own place so he wouldn’t be late for lunch with Maddie. Buck had texted him when he got home, just a simple night :) that still made Eddie’s heart flutter, so obviously Buck had made it back to the loft… But there haven’t been any texts from Buck all morning. Not that that is necessarily unheard of, but especially over the last few weeks it’s become rarer and rarer for even a few hours to go by without Eddie’s phone dinging with a message notification from Buck.

A small tendril of worry curls around Eddie’s ribs.

BTHB: locked up & left behind

Diagnosis: Dumbass by snarkymuch

Rated T, 2,7K

Christopher scrunched his face, then stopped rummaging through his pack to grab something from the ground—something that turned out to be his phone.

“No, nope—who do you think you’re calling?” he asked, trying to reach for it, but Christopher had already hit the button, dialing someone—whom he’d bet anything was his father.

Christopher pulled away, out of reach, phone to his ear, then a moment later saying, “Yeah, I’m okay, dad—yeah, I know—no, but he fell out of a tree—”

“He is fine, though!” Buck yelled, hoping to stop the inevitable freakout from Eddie. “Eddie, do you hear me? I’m fine!”

--or--

Buck takes Chris out for a light hike, somehow ends up falling out of a tree, and Chris patches him up while waiting for his dad to arrive.

Presumed Dead by inkonmyheartandonthepage

Rated G, 4,4K

The fresh air was supposed to have been good for Buck. A small hike that he had done a million times. A nice hike that gave him a workout and at the same time allowed him to sift through his thoughts and feelings and to focus on what he really wanted.

Instead, he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere at a rest stop watching some asshole drive away in his jeep.

The 118 crew arrive a fender bender only to find it's Buck's jeep on fire and the body inside dead and burning.

The monsters turned out to be just trees by Ink_Dancer

Rated T, 8,4k

Buck and Eddie are searching for a missing person, and they're already lost in the woods when Buck gets injured and makes their situation a lot more complicated. With the sun going down, they're forced to spend the night outside, with only each other for warmth and shelter.

(set post-buck's recovery from the firetruck, but no other specific time markers. nebulously within the show's canon.)

It's what my rotting bones will sing when the rest of me is dead by heartbeatdiaz

Rated T, 12,4k

"Eddie? Eds, can you hear me?” Buck rubs his knuckles against Eddie's sternum, a little too harsh, a little too desperate. "Eddie!"

Eddie croaks out a weak, barely there, whine as Buck's knuckles do the trick and his eyes open in slits.

"Evan?" He chokes out, his voice so hoarse and raspy that it must have been hurting his throat. "You're real?" He whispers in awe, his hand twitching as his side like he wants to reach up to Buck— touch his face— but he's too weak to do that. Eddie's brow furrowed but a small smile graces his lips, barely there. "I didn't give up. I made it home to you."

or;

the one where a call goes wrong and leaves everyone thinking eddie was dead, buck finds about the will through a letter and comes to some other revelations in the process.

and in which eddie finds his way back home and finally gets to be happy with the love of his life.

BTHB Prompt: Missing and Presumed Dead

Let me go by tawaifeddiediaz

Rated T, 8,1K

For the first time since he met him, he wasn’t sure where Buck was, and it was driving him insane. His shift ended three hours later than Eddie on Tuesdays, and today, he had texted saying that he was going to pick up groceries.

After that, he hadn’t returned back home.

Kindness: What Connects Us by FandomLife54

Rated T, 9,6k

Still off balance, Buck slams his left heel onto the roof, heaving forward to catch the collar of that yellow shirt. And there’s no conscious decision making here. It’s all instinct, and he’s grateful for it. If he’d given his overzealous mind the chance to consider another way, he would have missed his shot. Instead, his arms hurl the boy into the hands of another survivor...

And his right foot misses the edge.

Buck catches Chris before he rolls off the firetruck, and it's him who falls back into the retreating waters of the tsunami. Unconscious and seriously injured, he's unaware that his team has been searching for him, never giving up as the days pass.

A leaf falls on loneliness by iimpossible_things

Not rated, 11,1k

Buck doesn’t think that if he were to say, “I’m in a bad place”, that anyone would turn him away. Really, he doesn’t. The 118 has too many good, kind people for that.

But every time he wants to open his mouth, to say something, to reach out to Eddie or Bobby or Hen or Chim, he hears Eddie yelling, “you’re exhausting.”

—you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting, you’re exhausting—

So each day he does his job and he laughs and he jokes and he pretends he’s the care-free goofball he’s always been. And each day he packs away his bruises and his worries, takes them home to his empty loft with its quiet rooms, and licks his wounds in silence.

And I watched a part of myself die 'cause no amount of freedom gets you clean by himbobuckley

WARNING: rape/non-con. Rated T, 10,2K

Buck goes out drinking after a particularly tragic call and the night takes a turn for the worse when he's targeted and assaulted. Struggling in the aftermath and unsure how to handle it, Buck tries to distance himself from his friends and family, believing that with time he can simply move past it on his own. Eddie notices something is wrong with Buck and desperately tries to get through to his friend, fearing the worst.

or:

Buck goes through the fucking ringer. eddie notices something's horribly wrong. you can contact my lawyer for emotional damages.

or:

“I heard about what happened yesterday,” Eddie says softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. And that I didn’t know. I should’ve gone out with you, or made you come over, or-”

“Eddie,” Buck interrupts. “It’s- it’s okay. I just went out drinking. It’s fine.”

“Drinking alone?”

“Yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah, alone.”

“Hey listen, why don’t you come over tonight? We can do a movie night. And… I have something to tell you.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Buck murmurs, feeling the tears welling up again. “I don’t think I can tonight.”

“Hey, wait Buck-”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Blue skies by spaceprincessem

36,7k, rated T

“Most babies are born as accidents,” She says suddenly, like she’s decided that Buck has passed, that she can trust him with this.

Buck doesn’t really have an answer because that question hits way to fucking close to home. A year or so ago he would have said, yes, I was an accident, so I know how that goes, but Buck knows better now. Knows that he would almost give anything for that answer to still be yes. Evie’s finger works under the seal to rip it open, a stack of important looking papers dumping out onto the table in front of her.

“Not me,” she says without looking up as she organizes them into a neat stack, “I was engineered.”

And.

And Buck’s pretty fucking sure a giant, cataclysmic hole has ripped right open, dragging him down to the earth’s core where he vaporizes into dust.

{or Buck meets another savior baby and everything comes crashing down}

Leave The Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania

Rated M, 44,4k, fandom classic

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says.

“Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says.

“I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies.

“Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.”

An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed.

While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

Over The Age, Over Again by mintedwitcher

Rated E, 16,5k

EXCERPT:

He would’ve fallen down the cliffside if it hadn’t been for Bobby on the winch. Because that… that’s Buck’s jeep. There’s no denying it, no mistaking it. That is Buck’s jeep. Hanging almost sideways off a ledge, the driver’s side doors flung open with the force of the fall. And further down… no. No it can’t be… a man, smashed against the rocks. A massive pool of blood. But Eddie can see the familiar white sneakers against the dirt.

No Sight For Heart Eyes by znks

Rated E, 20,5k

“Buck, Karen, and Eddie stayed on the couch and talked while the kids settled on the floor to draw. It all felt so wonderfully normal that Eddie found himself forgetting that he hadn’t just closed his eyes in serenity as he leaned against Buck.

That’s what made the spell breaking so painful.

“Dad! Look! I drew the firetru- Oh, wait, it’s okay you can see it when you’re all better!” Christopher said it so cheerfully, not even hesitating before going back to swapping out pens with Denny.

But Eddie felt it like a shot to the chest.

He couldn’t see his son’s drawings.

Buck and Karen had barely paused in the conversation, but Eddie could hear how strained it became, both of them obviously knowing exactly how heartbreaking the moment had been. Buck’s arm wrapped more tightly around Eddie’s waist, chin resting on his shoulder.”

losing your sight for a week sucks but at least eddie has buck to guide him through his healing or at least through his own house

This has inspired me to go read more recent hurt/comfort Buddie fics! I haven't been super active on this account but hopefully I can update this soon :)

#911 #buddie #911 on abc #buddie fanfiction #911 buddie #911 fanfiction #911 abc #buddie fanfic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #hurt/comfort #buddie fic rec #buddie fanfic rec

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changes · 2 years ago

Text

Friday, September 8th, 2023

🌟 New

We’ve rolled out dashboard tab configuration options to everyone. We’re still working on adding the ability to change the default tab between Following and For You. Also, if you were in the experiment and had enabled certain tabs, like Popular Reblogs and Blog Subs, please note that those settings have moved back to the Tumblr Labs settings, instead of being configurable options in the new config screen.

We’ve deployed some performance and stability improvements for browsing feeds through the site, including the ability to truly handle endless scrolling. If you disabled endless scrolling in your dashboard preferences on web because it was laggy, give it another try! If you disabled it because you like paged browsing better, keep on keeping on! You’ll still benefit from these improvements.

We’re working on improving search across Tumblr, and one of our latest experiments is to try surfacing posts in search results based on image recognition. If you search for something on Tumblr and it returns a bunch of images that aren’t actually related to what you searched for, and have no other text or tags to indicate why you’re seeing it, please send us some feedback via Support about it, providing the search term you used and what posts didn’t make sense.

In the post editor on web, you can now choose to convert a link block down to an inline text link if you’d like, via the meatball menu on the link block that’s generated when you paste a link.

We’re shortening the ask button label maximum length to 26 characters, and providing better error messages when exceeding that limit.

Replies/reblogs/likes from blogs that have blocked the author, or the author has blocked, will no longer appear in the notes view on your posts for anyone.

We’re now filtering asks and submissions from blogs that have blocked the receiver.

🛠 Fixed

We fixed an issue on the Following and For You tabs that was sometimes causing it to take 10+ seconds to load subsequent pages as you scroll.

In the post editor on web, we’ve fixed a variety of issues with copying and pasting and selecting text.

Clicking to like a post while logged out, and then logging in, now brings you back to the post, instead of bringing you to Explore.

When uploading media in the post editor on the web, the “Post” button stays disabled until the media finishes uploading.

Removing a reblog or reply from the notes on your post removes the associated activity item as well.

Folks can no longer mention blogs that they’ve blocked or are blocked by — this was already covered in most circumstances, but we’ve fixed a few rare cases that have popped up where people have gotten around it.

🚧 Ongoing

Nothing to report here today.

🌱 Upcoming

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Experiencing an issue? File a Support Request and we’ll get back to you as soon as we can!

Want to share your feedback about something? Check out our Work in Progress blog and start a discussion with the community.

#tumblr update

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dcocca · 7 months ago

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Hellooooo!

How's it going? Here you can find the first chapter of my Good Omens Human AU fic! It's called "Pages About You, Pages About Me" and it features a Bookseller!Aziraphale and a ComicBoookseller!Crowley.

It's super fluffy and, I'll say, a little bit Christmas-y. And if you love books and graphic novels, you'll definitely find some tasty recommendations!

Find it at the link below!

Also tagging @goodomensafterdark 💙

UPDATE: you can now find the Reading List (👈) with all the books and comics mentioned in the fic, in order of appearance!

An excerpt:

It took Aziraphale just over five minutes to reach the place. He remembered the building, which had sat dilapidated and abandoned for years, with no buyer willing to take on such a small space for a business. What had been there before? A florist? Aziraphale couldn’t even recall; it had been so long.

In any case, the shop wouldn’t be hard to spot. The window and door occupied only a few metres; one could walk past without even noticing it. But the sign was impossible to miss: large, crimson red, with the shop’s name in bold black letters that seemed almost to shout. Aziraphale frowned, perplexed, as the aggressive colour and the words A HELLUVA READ caught his eye.

Below the shop name was an illustration of a little devil lounging on its side, complete with horns, wings, and a pointed tail, dressed in a black suit and tie, holding a glass of red wine in one hand and a book in the other. Its face was adorned with sunglasses and a mischievous grin.

The window display was packed top to bottom with shelves crammed full of comics in a chaotic arrangement. Superheroes, monsters, detectives, stylised or highly detailed drawings, characters with big cartoonish eyes or realistic, austere expressions. Fonts of every conceivable type accompanied a riot of colours and bold titles, all shouting just as loudly as the shop sign.

Aziraphale honestly didn’t know how to process all those stimuli. The comic shop’s window display redefined his understanding of “too much.”

#fanfic #good omens #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #good omens 2 #ineffable husbands #books and reading #comic books #ineffable spouses #pages about you pages about me #ao3 #ao3 fanfic

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letmesleep8 · 9 months ago

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the fucking punchline // elliexreader

CHAPTER 1: White Carnations

Ao3

content warnings/tags: drug usage (weed), implied daddy issues

notes: hello lesbians! this is my second ever fanfiction here on tumblr, quick reminder: i didn't drop the other one. this is kinda slowburn and also kinda daisy jones & the six inspired, so if you like that book you might like this too. i'll always link up the songs I used in the story at the end of the chapter. hope you enjoy. <3

taglist: @lorelaihehe @lonelyfooryouonly

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────••─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

September 09th, 2023

Time shakes, found you at the water

At first you were a problem my father, now I love you like a father a brother

Earthquakes shake the dust behind you

This world at times will blind you

Still I know I’ll see you there

The calloused, ink stained hands scribbled on a sketchbook, next to a drawing of what seemed to be a wolf. On the same page, Ecology notes got lost between chord progressions and two-sentence long lyrics. Near the margin, a quick but precise drawing of Dina’s eyes.

Ellie was sitting in the corner of her Organic Chemistry lecture at Jackson’s Community College, hiding her freckled body under a gray sweatshirt and her sleepy eyes behind overgrown face-framing bangs. As the professor finally called the class off, she got up from her seat, walking to her visibly well loved truck, its blue paint holding scratches and slight dents, clearly faded from the sun

I sat on my window as I watched her old truck drive by, as loud as always. I was waiting for my nails to dry, afraid that the maroon polish would stick to everything if I didn’t have the patience to let it take its sweet time. She got off her truck and stepped on her cigarette before going through the front door.

I had met Jesse a few weeks earlier, it was karaoke night at the bar. I managed to get a few drinks from the old creeps there and was already feeling a bit too “happy” when I stepped onto the improvised stage we had set up and gave that bikers’ bar the best drunk performance of “Hopelessly Devoted to You” they had ever seen.

I have always loved to sing. Writing, playing the guitar, putting up concerts for my family in my living room. Music is my soul. But I’ve come from a reality where art wasn’t an option, being an artist would not pay my rent, nor would it show to my parents that I wasn’t a complete disaster. So I worked as a waitress and saved up to the last cent of any tips I would get, only spending enough to pay my parents my contribution to what they spent so I could go to cosmetology school

After I finished my fifteen minutes of fame, I went back to the cold reality and started cleaning up some tables. That was when Jesse came up to me, drunk and full of compliments to give. He had a girl beside him, Dina. He started rambling about his band and how they’re so good that they even do weddings, and then he asked me if I had ever auditioned for a singing gig at all. I was full of confidence and whisky, so I gave him my number when he said they could use another vocalist

The next morning I had basically forgotten about my new deal, and I figured he would have forgotten about it too. But I was wrong. The boy did not forget about it, in fact, he kept calling me to schedule my “audition”. So I finally gave in. I grabbed my guitar case and started walking to the address he gave me. It was just down the street from my house, at the Miller’s. I held the case on my shoulder and walked towards the open garage door. There were Dina, Jesse and the girl I had only seen from my window every now and then.

– You actually came! – Jesse got up from his seat, walking his way to me. – Oh, you play the guitar too? Damn, Williams, found someone else to do your work. – He joked and the girl gave him an annoyed look, sitting comfortably on the old chair inside the garage. I couldn’t help but observe how her thighs set apart from each other and her head was thrown back mindlessly.

– So, are you gonna show me what you’re all about? You seem to have really impressed the other two. – She gestured for me to sit on a stool, her voice was, honestly, cold but not in an unfriendly way. She seemed nonchalant, but not distant. Her green eyes had the warmth her mouth seemed to lack and her face was strangely expressive, like someone who had spent their developing years in front of the tv instead of talking to people, but it complemented her sharp voice just perfectly.

– This is a song I wrote a few weeks ago. It’s not finished yet, but I think it’s fine. – I spoke as I tuned in the guitar while keeping my eyes mostly on the girl, who seemed to be paying close attention to me and, at the same time, seemed to disdain me.

She analyzed my every move as I started singing. I could see some curiosity peeking through her eyes when I began performing the first verse.

“She's asleep in the backseat

Looking peaceful enough to me

But she's wakin' up inside a dream

Full of screeching tires and fire”

I played the chords and kept singing the words, trying to mask the knot on my throat. “Emily, I’m sorry, baby / You know how I get when I’m wrong” I tried to keep my voice from shaking; not because of the lyrics, I haven’t talked to Emily since 8th grade and, honestly, I just think it’s a beautiful name. I wanted to cry because I felt anxious. Turns out it hurts more to overcome your fears when your blood is not 50% whisky.

It was as if I could listen to my father screaming from a distance: “you are a waste of time!” Suddenly, it was like I could slowly feel my blood going through my veins all throughout my body, sliding like raindrops on a window. I was feeling overwhelmed, the song felt never ending and I was sure that I had gotten at least 30% of all the notes wrong. I didn’t realize how much I wanted this, how much I craved for a chance to showcase my songs, a chance to pretend that my dreams were possible. And in my head, it was all over, until I heard Ellie’s voice from across the room.

– Sounds good to me. – She shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows. – If you two think she’s good then she’s good and she’s in. I’d be the odd one out anyway. Dina flashed me a warm smile and gave me a side hug.

– Welcome to the band! – She nudges my arm.

– Rehearsal every Sunday, Wednesday and Thursday from 3 to 5 pm. – Jesse smiled from the worn out couch he was lazily lying on.

We decided to spend the rest of the afternoon getting to know each other better. Dina talked about some songs she would like to perform at their next weddings, Jesse laid back on the couch and played with the drum sticks. The band had some work of their own, but not many since Ellie was basically the only one who was more interested in writing than playing covers.

– Hey – I was sitting on the floor and scrolling on my phone, Ellie scooted closer to me, brushing her jeans against my knee. – D’you write that song by yourself? The “Emily” one and shit?

– It’s called “Emily, I’m sorry”. – I chuckled, nodding. – Yeah, I did. I actually write a lot of songs. Why?

She reached out for her sketchbook inside of her forest green backpack, I couldn’t help but notice how it matches her eyes almost too perfectly. She flipped the yellow pages until she found a small verse of lyrics to show me. I wasn’t really used to showing unfinished lyrics to people but I grabbed the small handbook in my pocket.

Do you understand the things that you’ve been seeing?

Do you understand the things that you’ve been dreaming?

Come a little closer, then you’ll see

– I woke up in the middle of the night last week and wrote this down on my phone. Do you think it could perhaps work with the melody you wrote?

– Well, actually… – She scratched the back of her head and looked up.

– You haven’t thought of a melody yet, have you? – I smirked.

– No, no, of course I have, I just… – She stuttered. – It just needs a bit of… refining.

– Refining, huh? – I chuckled.

Jesse told Dina he was bored and, with a smirk, they both decided it was time to go watch a movie at his house. I was ready to take my things and leave too, but Ellie stopped me.

– Hey, wait! – She called for me. – Do you want to work on the song? I mean, I ain’t got no professional studio but we could make it work with what I have. The others don’t really like to write and shit, I was thinking maybe we could give that one a try.

– Oh, sure. – I smiled softly.

She closed the garage door, giving us some more privacy. Ellie reached for the laptop on a tools table, it was plugged into a reasonably nice mic, she must have saved up for ages to buy it. She also got an electric guitar out of the case and started to tune it. With my acoustic guitar, I started humming a few different generic melodies that came to my head, until Ellie liked one and decided to try to follow it with her guitar. We stayed there for a while.

– Do you like it that way? I don’t think it’s working out well enough.

I scratched the back of my head, my eyes narrowed. I rubbed my hands over my face.

– I don’t know, I'm just having trouble locking in, I guess. We could give up for now, if you want.

– I know something that could help, if you’re up for it. – She smirked slightly. Maybe I was overthinking it, but I could swear I saw her eyes wander to my mouth. – I mean, if you’re even a smoker, of course.

– Oh. – I fell into reality and felt stupid. – Oh yeah, sure, I- I mean, we could try. Cool.

She got up and gestured to me to follow, I put the guitar on the case and took it with us. We exited the garage through a small door that led to the kitchen. Her house was messy enough to be acknowledged as a college student’s but it was furnished like some kind of family had once lived in that space

She led me up the stairs, into her room. I shyly sat on the edge of her bed and she got some weed and some silk out of her bedside table. She started rolling it up and I watched as she licked it together in record time, I would be lying to say I wasn’t impressed. A simple lighter came out of her pocket and she took a long hit before passing it over to me. I brought both the blunt and her gaze up to my lips, taking a drag not as experienced as hers. It wasn’t my first time smoking but I was scared to bite more than I could chew, for some reason.

– So, are you from around town? Never seen you around. – She was trying to break the ice. I got up from her bed and walked towards her window, she was quick to follow after me.

– Right there. – I pointed to the other side of the street, about three or four houses over. She seemed surprised.

– Really?! – She spoke, surprised. – I thought that was where the annoying lady from the Neighborhood Association lived. The one that’s always telling people to speed down and shit.

– Yeah, that’s my mom. – I laughed as I watched her cheeks grow a bright red, her eyes trying to look anywhere but mine. – It’s okay, she really is annoying. She does that to me too and I’m her own daughter. – I sat on her windowsill, taking another drag of the joint. She joined me, sitting by my side.

– I mean, she never complained about the noise during the band’s practice sessions. Gotta give her that, though.

I laughed and she took the weed back.

– She can be a bit mean but she is a music lover, after all. Maybe you’ve found her soft spot with that one.

– Aw shit, gonna have to give her tickets to our next underground-bar concert.

We both laughed at the idea of my mom at one of our shows.

– Gonna make sure to tell her to look out for it. – That was when I realized I hadn’t asked a really important question. – What’s the band’s name anyway?

– White Carnations. – Ellie took another hit, blowing the smoke outside and passing it to me.

– White Carnations… – I breathed out the smoke. – I like it. Any particular reason for the name?

– I don’t know. – She shrugged her shoulders. – Sounded good, I guess. – She was clearly lying, but I didn’t want to push her too hard so I changed the subject.

I went back to playing some chords on the guitar and we were lost in a comfortable silence, until I had an idea. I started humming something along the lines of: “Ten thousand people stand alone now / And in the evening the sun sank, tomorrow it will rise / Time flies by, they all sing along”, repeating the last line over and over until Ellie started singing it too. At some point she simply changed it to “time flies, bye-bye” and I absolutely loved it. It sounded like something you’d point the mic at people so they could scream at a concert

Only then I realized my bare feet were in her lap, like we had been the closest of friends for ages and not distant neighbors that only now realized that each other existed. Her tattooed hand rested on top of my ankles and her hazy eyes and smile seemed as familiar as my mirror. That evening we wrote the entirety of ‘Come A Little Closer” while sitting on her bedroom window, then ate a bunch of chocolate covered ice cream bites.

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lionhanie · 1 year ago

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han taesan ; back 2 u (part one)

you can’t help but find yourself coming back to taesan everytime

this is part one of my series, back 2 u! read the previous part here!

fuckboy!taesan x fem!reader, college au

...featuring! BFFS jaehyun + woonhak, fuckboy leehan (AND he's taesan's roommate), and lovely roomies sungho + riwoo <3

word count: 1.7k

warnings: cursing, alcohol mention and usage, party mentions, TAESAN IS A BIG FLIRT, reader lowkey doesn't like him lol

a/n: fuckboy taesan i won;t U so bad .. . .. </3

likes ♡ and reblogs ↺ always appreciated!

You would’ve never expected yourself to be involved with Han Taesan, well-known on campus equally for his pretty face and his ability to have someone new under his arm every week. Your school wasn’t necessarily huge, but it was impressive to think that most students had some inkling about who Han Taesan was.

His existence frustrated you deeply, actually. There wasn't any actual reason to hate him per se, but it was aggravating to think that some people just have so much going for them. Not only was he undeniably attractive to anyone who had eyes, he was also known for his unmistakable musical talent and a captivating charm that drew people in immediately. It’s almost comical the way you could be minding your business in class only to overhear a group of girls a couple seats over talking about how handsome Taesan was at a party last weekend or who his most recent fling could be.

Despite everything you’ve heard people say concerning him, you found it hard to believe he was such a player. Sure, he may have some good looks, but he looks… Innocent, in a way. Harmless.

The first time you’d interacted was in the library. You’ve noticed him in there on various occasions while you were working, but never paid much mind to it, given that he’d only look around the bookshelves for a couple minutes before seeing himself out. Taesan was standing right in front of the library’s help desk, where you worked for a couple hours in between classes. “By any chance, would I be able to check out this book?” He’s holding it out to you, and you’re surprised to find that he’s renting out one of your favorite novels.

“Yup, I’m just going to need your name and student ID. You can only get it for four days at a time, but you’re free to come back and renew the book if you need more time with it,” You type away at the keyboard in front of you, opening up the form you needed to fill out for book rentals. “That’s a good book, by the way.” Your small talk is unnecessary, but your job was too boring not to make conversation with the few people that actually used your services.

“Yeah, I’ve been eyeing it for a while,” He’s smiling as he takes his card out from the back of his phone case, sliding it to you on the counter. “Ah, my name is Han Taesan. And here’s my ID.” Picking it up, you notice that the name he’d just given you didn’t match the one on his ID. Han Dongmin? You were almost sure this was Taesan, though. Sensing your confusion, he chuckles as he moves to explain the mismatching names. “Most people know me as Taesan, not Dongmin. It’s just a nickname, really. Does it matter what name I use to check out the book?” He tilts his head as he looks back up at you, waiting for your response.

“No, not really. It’ll be linked to your ID anyways, so it should be fine.” You scan his ID on the card reader next to you, allowing you to finish up the form splayed out on the monitor. Taesan drums his fingers on the counter, glancing around the near-empty library; he’s humming the melody to a song you don’t know. “You’re all set, Dongmin.” You slide his receipt and a piece of paper telling him when he needs to return the book under the cover before giving it back to him.

He’s caught off-guard at hearing his real name come from your mouth, but he flashes you a grin regardless. “Have we met somewhere before…” Taesan’s sentence trails off until he notices the name tag pinned to your shirt, “...Y/N?”

This time, you’re the one caught off-guard. “Sorry, is it better for me to call you Taesan?” You question. He’s probably only striking up a conversation because he doesn’t like people calling him by his real name— that probably explains why people call him Taesan instead. “And no, I don’t think we have.”

“Nah, keep calling me Dongmin. It sounds nice coming from you.” He’s leaning on the counter now, close enough for you to notice the luxurious-smelling cologne coming off of him. “You’ll be one of the few people who call me that, you know.” His comment makes you roll your eyes playfully, scoffing at the way he’s making it sound like a special honor for you to be able to call him that. “Are you free this weekend?”

The clicking of your keyboard stops as you finally look at him properly, feeling slightly bashful at the sudden question paired with his intense stare. “...Why do you ask?” Your initial perceptions of Taesan quickly dissolve, as you now realize that this is the type of person he really is. Looks really can be deceiving. He smirks at the expression on your face, happy with himself knowing he has such an effect on someone he just met.

He slides his phone over to you, just like he had done with his student ID just moments ago. You take a peek at it, curious about its contents, only to see a blank “New Contact” screen waiting for you. “Number?” He asks for a girl’s number… Like this? It irritates you to think that he’s probably used this exact sequence numerous times without fail, and now he’s here using it on you while you’re at work.

Hesitating briefly, you pick up the phone and type in your info— You hate how easily you give in to him, almost wishing you played a bit harder to get, but it’s hard to say no to the handsome face of Han Taesan directly asking you for your number. “I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Okay,” You reply, completely baffled at the interaction that just unfolded all in the span of less than ten minutes. Taesan slips his phone into his pocket and tucks the book he rented under his arm, giving you a small smile as he steps away from the desk. As you watch him walk out the sliding doors, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in. Next to you, your phone screen lights up.

4 new messages from “Unknown Number”! it’s dongmin [address] come saturday if ur free, starts at 10 i’d love to talk to u again, y/n :-)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Just this once, you’re grateful that Han Taesan is so widely known, because it was surprisingly easy to find friends who were already planning on attending Saturday’s party. You were at ease knowing you’d at least have Riwoo and Sungho to fall back on if the nerves suddenly took over.

You wish you could say that you debated on not coming, but that’d be a complete lie, because you’re currently standing in the middle of Riwoo and Sungho’s shared apartment throwing back shots to pregame. “It’s been a while since you came out with us Y/N! What’s the occasion?” Sungho randomly interrogates you while refilling the empty shot glasses on the counter.

Biting your lip, you contemplate your response: Should you lie and say you just felt like partying this weekend? You’re well aware of the fact that the pair of roommates in front of you are friends with Taesan… So it wouldn’t be weird to mention him now, right? But then again, his parties are huge. Chances are, he invites random strangers to them all the time, so there’s no need for you to act like your interaction at the library was anything special— You’re about to answer when your phone screen flashes on the kitchen island.

2 new messages from “Han Dongmin”! i’ll see u later ya? ik u won’t leave me hanging again y/n ;P

The notification exhilarates you. Was he looking forward to seeing you tonight? It annoys you slightly to think that Taesan knew you’d show up, even if you’d never confirmed the matter. “Ah… I didn’t know you were friends with Taesan, Y/N!” Riwoo reads the text off your phone from over your shoulder as he moves to pick up one of the shots Sungho just poured. Guess he chose the answer to your internal turmoil for you. “Now that I think of it, how come we’ve never gone to any of his parties together before?”

Mirroring his actions, you take a glass for yourself and finish it in one clean gulp, wincing at the burn it sends down your throat. “Hm, I don’t think I’d call us friends. He asked for my number at the library the other day.” You correct him, explaining the encounter you shared with Taesan two days prior.

Being the last to take their shot, Sungho hums in understanding across from you. You can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to actually get to know the kind of person Han Taesan is; Would he maintain the tension with his flirty remarks? Or is he just a normal college student that doesn’t actually live up to the reputation he’s made for himself around campus?

“So, Y/N, do you think he’s hot?” Sungho blurts out, making you choke on your spit. Riwoo giggles from beside you, patting your back as you finish your coughing fit. “I mean, we don’t care if you think he is. Taesan’s a handsome guy. Hell, half the student population probably thinks so too!” Sungho’s contagious laughter fills the kitchen, making you and Riwoo laugh along with him.

“Well duh, why wouldn’t I think he’s hot?” There’s a smile on your face as you admit your attraction to the boy in question. Han Taesan is definitely intriguing. The alcohol feels like it’s finally made its way through your system, the room feeling a bit warmer than it was earlier. The three of you didn’t drink much; just enough to give you a little more courage to go to the party without feeling too nervous. You take a glance at the clock on their microwave: 10:43PM. “Shouldn’t we get going?”

taglist: @minwrlds @luna2nite @taesancore @taesanmoon @helpsplease @taylorluvation (send an ask / comment if you want to be added hehe)

#boynextdoor x reader #boynextdoor #bnd #bnd x reader #x reader #taesan #han taesan #boynextdoor taesan #taesan x reader #kpop fic #kpop #han dongmin #han dongmin x reader #riwoo #sungho #boynextdoor riwoo #boynextdoor sungho #ᯓᡣ𐭩 my writing #✧.* back 2 u

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fan-goddess · 1 year ago

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MY ANALYSIS OF THE SCENE BELOW

Gif and photo credit goes to @barbieaemond

A/N: First of all! I want to say these are personal opinions and ideas I have come up with and discussed further on! None of the things I will say are confirmed! I am merely speculating and debating theories! The start is less on topic but it gets more focused the more I talk.

I didn’t want to bother users by directly tagging but there users are there and in some cases links to their posts are added in bold. I also bolded certain quotes.

Okay, first of all I want to discuss the words they had playing when they showed this scene before we look into the scene itself. When listening to the voiceover I couldn't tell who it was who was saying the quote, but after putting on the captions I found its Larys Strong which is interesting given his character is pretty much the master of whispers. He's the man who knows everything on everyone the man behind the curtains as shown in season 1 when he manipulated Alicent to make her believe she was responsible for Harrenhals fire and therefore make her guilty enough for her to feel the need to keep Larys in kingslanding where hes at his most powerful. Why go back to Harrenhal and trust his birdies to bring him the information while he sits back when he can do the dirty work himself? That is a key aspect of his character which is why it makes the quote so noteworthy.

The quote itself though is this: The enemy without may be fought with swords. The enemy within is more insidious. Even the use of camera shots which are placed while he's saying that have meaning, as when he says the enemy without its showing Rhaenyra who has lost her daughter, her son, her crown and her throne. And when he says may be fought with swords Aegon shows to be possibly mourning the loss of Jaehaerys, and it's known that after finding out about blood and cheese Aegon went on a rampage killing all ratcatchers in the city. This is showing the shots they’re showing in this line have meaning, meaning we need to take into consideration the scenes/words they show next.

The shot saying The enemy within shows Daemon walking down in a dimly torch lit tunnel somewhere underground with no real indication of where he is. Perhaps they'll play around with blood and cheese by having Daemon come with them to show them the tunnels needed to get to Helaenas chambers, but that would not make sense as it's been highly discussed how Dyana (A maid shown in season 1 who had been a victim of Aegon) would be a part of season 2 for a few episodes, so its much more likely she'll be the one guiding blood and cheese to Helaenas chambers. Though I must say I feel Dyana will most likely be punished and killed for this as she has affectively been part of a plot to kill the innocent son of Helaena. I suspect her guilt will show, and maybe Alicent or maybe even Aegon himself can see that she knows something and questions her, leading to Dyanas confession and death.

Though the scene with Aemond as Larys says is more insidious, that is what caught my eye and no doubt brought you here. We can still that the whole line as part of the reasoning for the use of that scene, as I have discussed with @/anjelicawrites and we have thought of the possibility on this being Aemond crumbling down from his usual, "Tis I the younger brother who studies history and philosophy, it is I who trains with the sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be-" This is a new side of Aemond. A version of him which we beleive is him finally directly suffering for his actions in the war, AKA killing Luke and indirectly causing the death of Jaehaerys. He looks as though he is becoming something that even he said he would never become as he even says to Criston, as Anjelica mentioned to me, that the two of them were people with morals. It's honestly quite an interesting take as by having the usually stoic Aemond break down in front of this woman, the identity of whom I will talk further on later, shows even he is not safe and that no one is truly immune to the grief of war and that sacrifices must be made by all.

Now we do not know the setting in where the photo takes place but if this truly is a brothel then maybe Aemond went back to the place which truly psychologically hurt him in order to enact punishment on himself, as what punishment can really be done after what Aemond has had to go through. Torture is not an option especially since he's already had to suffer through the major damages of loosing an eye which has already permanently damaged not only Aemonds vision but his whole nervous system. There is a post where a lovely individual goes through the medical side of Aemonds injury which I shall link here for those who would like to take a further look. Going to the brothels as well could be a sign of him becoming what he hates most of all. Aegon. Aegon has always been Aemonds biggest jealousy as he has everything Aemond wants. Aegon has the title of first born son, two eyes, a valyrian wife, heirs, even an actual inheritance and yet he throws it all alway and very easily wanted to when Aegon tried to convince Aemond to allow him to board that boat to wherever he was planning to run off too (Probably Lys when you think about all the people there who have silver hair and the violet eyes.) To see Aemond slowly develop into Aegon would be almost strangely poetic to see as he becomes the epitome of what he hates and wanted most, especially when its just the worst side of Aegon he becomes and not the good parts.

Now onto the context of the scene! The way Aemond is laid on the women suggests intimacy, as he has his hair put down naturally, has his sapphire eye on pure display, and most noticeably of all is naked as the day he was born. He also has his back to the person, which to him especially given his lack of vision on his left side, means he trusts them enough to be vulnerable. People are heavily implying that Aemond is in a brothel, but when you think about how Aemond reacted to the brothel owner in the first season, who it turned out to be the woman who SA'd 10 year old him, I do not believe he would go back there willingly with that much sense of vulnerability around those sort of people. But when you think about the idea of him going back there to punish himself for his misdeeds then it cannot be ruled out as a possibility. Though someone mentioned it didn't seem right how Aemond was the one in the nude while the woman he is laying his head on is still fully dressed, which is certainly odd especially when you remember that when we got a first glimpse of the whores they pretty much walked around the room stark naked with very little clothing. Perhaps Aemond walked in with her naked and demanded she dress in clothing that was either laying about or even brought her clothes for her to wear (possibly Helaenas or even his mothers) we will not know until we watch the scene on screen.

When discussing the position Aemond is in with the woman too like I said earlier defenitely gives an idea on intimacy, possibly bordering on motherly. We know that when Aemond returns from storms end and tells his family of what he had done, 'Queen alicent went pale when she heard what he had done, crying "mother have mercy on us all." nor was ser otto pleased. "you only lost one eye" he is reported to have said. "how could you be so blind?" In the books it is said that since Aemond did kill Luke with intention to kill, he was expecting to revieve pretty much a heroes welcome. But since they changed that and make Lukes death accidently Aemond will no doubt go back to kingslanding feeling grief and regret, with maybe some happiness that he finally in his own way got revenge back for Luke taking his eye. Going back to the almost motherly seeming position he is in, I suggested that perhaps Aemond went to the brothel for a sort of motherly comfort for what he has done as Alicent almost certainly will not be giving it to him for what he has done. Perhaps he went there to get comfort from women but not in a sexual way but in an emotional way so he can feel less at fault for what he has done, even when the physical reminder haunts him daily.

Some people have suggested this to be Alicent who he is with, and whilst that makes sense given the intimacy of the position he's in it does not make much sense to me as why would he be naked with his mother. That to me is more of an Aegon move than an Aemond move. Though it was also brought up how she possibly came into his chambers at night whilst he sleeps nudes which very well could be a possibility so I've decided not to rule out that idea.

Another possible idea on who the woman is is the brothel lady from season 1 who I talked about earlier as being the one who SA’d Aemond when he was 10 years old. When looking at how other people have viewed the picture and came across a user named @/scaly-freaks who gave great insight on this topic which I shall leave a link for here. Firstly they mention how of course CSA is a sensitive topic, I want to mention that first. Though what they further talked about what how in some cases a victim can subconsciously find traits of their abusers in romantic partners (which thinking about it may be why he went for Alys given that she was a much older woman similarly to the brothel worker) or they can return to their abuser even at an older age. I won’t discuss these two points further as consideration for those who may feel triggered with this topic and so I will just say to click on the link for the post and read the rest there. Like I said about Alicent, I will not rule out this brothel woman as a possibility especially as it’s supposedly been confirm that she has filmed some nude scenes for season two. We do not know if she will be the woman in the scene, especially since in the picture the woman is seen wearing clothing, she may have filmed some general brothel scenes involving Aegon. I read another user @/lovelykhaleesiii theory about who the woman was and she said it was the brothel women and that it was her, as possibly Aegon may have taken him to the brothel to celebrate Luke’s death as we’re apparently getting scenes of Aegon at the whore house. This would make a lot of sense given the evidence shown and makes it a lot more believable as to why Aemond is in a brothel in the first place as like I had mentioned earlier it’s a more Aegon thing to do not really an Aemond act. Also a user named @/magnificentdelusionr has spoken out about how apparently the woman Aemond is with and the brothel lady share the same scar, so my belief in this being the woman has increased I’ll tell you that now. Though like I said, I will not rule her out as a possibility. The evidence for the brothel is bellow. I think this may be the most likely theory honestly given all the evidence that has been shown for her to be the one Aemond is with.

Now, this third possibility for who the woman is technically unknown as we do not know who she is. The actress from the scenes shown appears to be a dancer and the theory as it shows in the photo shown bellow is that she may have been sent by Mysaria as a distraction for Aemond. But looking at the scenes (pictures of which are shown in the twitter post down bellow) I don’t believe the scene in the top right is of Aemond and her, purely from the fact Aemond does not wear rings and the fact it looks very similar to Daemons ring. Furthermore the woman looks as though to be a younger Aemma purely from her face shape so that is why I’ve decided to rule out this theory. I will admit that it’s a high possibility that Aemond would be seduced by a dragonseed, as in my mind Aemond wants tradition of his culture. If he could’ve he would’ve married Helaena, as those are the ways of his people and the culture he cares for. He also, as was shown in the scene where Driftmarks inheritance was called into question, is seen to have a great admiration for Daemon who has married two women of Valyrian blood and has fathered technically 6 children (two of which did not survive past the womb). Aemond in my mind if the war never happened would’ve 100% been a sort of student under Daemons wing so in my mind it is not hard to imagine Aemond as wanting to mimic Daemon in his own way, that way being bedding a Valyrian woman. Yet even so when looking at the dragonseed people believe to be the woman Aemond was with I believe she plays a different part of season 2, my belief is that her role of season 2 is to be one of the dragonseeds team black or team green hunt down to try and recruit, as it was said team black went around Westeros finding anyone of dragon blood and offering them a chance of a dragon. So I do not think she is who Aemond is with.

Now the final idea on who the woman is is Alys Rivers. I have seen people freaking out over the idea of Alys changing her looks to seduce Daemon, and that is who we see in the scene shown at the top left of the twitter post screenshotted above. But that is not Alys style as there is honestly less of a chance she could get shit done with Daemon. What there is though is a chance she could use Aemond given he was younger, more naive and ultimately more emotional and needing an outlet she is happy to become to ensure her freedom. Though in context with the scene, when discussing the idea about Alys with @/anjelicawrites, she brought up the idea about Alys possibly visiting Aemond in a dream. This lead me to think about her doing this which would ultimately force Aemond to come to Harrenhal and fulfil his ‘duty’ of coming to Alys and giving her a son of pale hair. I spoke to her saying how I like the idea of Alys visiting Aemond in his dreams, as this would further the witch allegations. With the context of the scene though I believe she could put this image of a finally calm Aemond who is finally at peace with himself in his mind and make him crave that part of himself. This would ultimately force him to come to Harrenhal in the future. One thing I do want to bring up is this connection that was brought to my attention by user @/boundlessfantasy. They made the connection about Alys possibility being the woman holding Aemond in a dream since Ewan said in the interview with TGC where they discussed three scenes from season 1, that the process of killing Luke haunts his dreams possibly hinting at a dream aspect of the season. This may end up being just a sarcastic comment, but if this actually a hidden Easter egg then I must applaud Ewan for being so sneaky. There is a screenshot of the interview down bellow with the line also a link to the interview here.

We cannot see the woman’s face therefore we cannot be sure on this woman’s identity, but out of these four main theories on the woman’s identity I think this is most strongest in my opinion. Though us could very well be some random women we’ve never seen in the series before so I very much am not exoecting my theories or anyone else’s to be particularly right. I accept them all (pretty much) but am expecting pretty much for the unexpected.

Some other theories though I would like to take into consideration is the idea it’s Helaena in the picture. I do like that idea as it brings further this idea of Helaemond, a ship I do enjoy personally, especially as they hinted at the idea that Aemond was the father of Helaenas children. The clothing the woman is wearing by the looks of it does seem to be a similar shade of blue that Helaena is usually seen wearing, and there are seem similarities in the hands (this idea was brought to my attention by @/lady-phasma who has talked on this idea on their account) Though I do suggest you click on the photos bellow to see them much more up close as then it’ll be a clearer image. Helaena and Aemond have been shown to be close together so it’s no surprise if he’d want to break down and show weakness with her. It’s a very intimate position as his back is to her showing he in his own way trusts the woman, making it believable this woman could be Helaena. I haven’t made this a main theory as there are some more compelling evidence for the other cases but still I will say this theory is quite strong especially when looking at other theories like the idea the woman is Alicent.

And the final theory on who the person is which I would like to take into consideration is that the person Aemond is with is Aegon. Now I’m sorry to have to break it to the Aegmond shippers but I do believe out of all these 6 theories I’ve talked about this one is least likely. For one it’s clearly a woman who Aemond is with, given the way the body is shaped, even when we cannot see her breasts. I will admit I have seen people though speculating it’s Aegon which is why I’ve decided to mention it and discuss it. One user named @/cyeco13 has done some incredible art of what it would look like if Aegon was the person Aemond was with and I shall link it here for those who wish to go see it (I do recommend it!)

Okay, out of the six Ive decided to rank those that I believe are most believable to be the woman!

1) The brothel madam

2) Helaena + Alys (as I’m tied with these theories not gonna lie)

3) Alicent

4) The unnamed dancing dragonseed woman in the trailer

5) Aegon

This is all I really can say on the matter as there are constant new theories daily and sad to say I cannot directly talk about them all. Still send me your favourite theories I am interested in hearing and if people would like debating them with me.

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wei-ying-kexing-apologist · 6 months ago

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Well, I was tagged in this reblog (linked for context because that post is wayyyy too long already and I’m prone to run on sentences) so I am going to respond to the part of this that @doublel27 quoted me on.

I want to make some things clear before I start:

Critiquing shows does not mean I always hate those shows, few shows are perfect, and for me it is worth discussing what a show did and did not do well.

I do not care if people like the shows I do not like, and I do not care if people do not like the shows I like. It is extremely rare that people agree on everything in the same piece of media. Everyone is entitled to their own enjoyment of their preferred media and I guarantee you that Shan, Turtles, Ben, Twig, etc. etc. will say the same. Also, since you mentioned Twig’s post about We Are, please let me direct you to the episode of The Conversation where Twig, Ben, and NiNi talk together about their differing opinions on that very show. And in case you were genuinely concerned about Ben and Twig’s feelings on the quality of Thai BLs this year, you can stick around for the second half where they talk about Knock, Knock Boys! Hopefully that will assuage your fears.

Some of the issues I have with vague posting are (a) it can lead to confusion, especially in a case like this where, according to you, maybe boys do love posted a response to eight different people’s commentary simultaneously without attributing which op’s thoughts he was responding to at any point. (b) By bundling eight responses in to one post without @ ing people, it makes it seem like he has misinterpreted other people’s commentary or taken something in intentionally bad faith (c) other tumblr users in a fandom will let people know when an “unrelated post” makes commentary specific enough to be recognized as a response to someone else’s statements thus drawing them in to the conversation. It’s why I prefer to be tagged in responses to the thoughts I share. This is a public forum, whatever I post in here is able to be reblogged, tagged, or commented on. If I didn’t want people to interact with my posts…I wouldn’t post them. If you don’t feel comfortable tagging people who you are responding to, then at least acknowledge them in your writing. We love a cited source.

I don’t love policing language, but since you were more than happy doing it in your post, then I’ll say one thing here: the tone of maybe boys do love’s post does not read, to me, like it is intended to welcome people who appreciate that there is “not a single stance about what qualifies BL as good work.” It reads like it is “reminding” the supposedly eight people he is vague-posting about that they are being unreasonable in their expressed opinions. It especially does not read with the primary intention of welcoming others when Maybe Boys Do Love’s response to Turtle’s initial reblog was to comment on her “respectfulness” and Shan and Ben’s lack thereof simply because they blocked him on Tumblr. A thing which people do every day for any number of reasons. But I digress.

As for my part in your response, you referenced a statement from my tumblr post A Pause for Reflection: Part 2- Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians:

“We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media”

On the seriousness of this statement, doublel27, you and I are agreed. I think it is valid to state that this should apply to the decisions of writers, directors, etc. of BLs. And I also agree that preventing infantilization and removal of agency from writers, directors, actors, and audiences is a good addition. That said, I do not think critiquing media is in any way shape or form an infantilizing or agency-removing act.

I do, however, think you are falling victim to the western paternalism/white saviorism you are so upset about by going on to a South East Asian woman’s post and chastising her about not speaking for a South East Asian audience when you are a white westerner?

Also, I think there I might be missing a step in your logical progression when you say “I’m of the opinion that what’s good for queer Thai television is not for foreign audiences to decide, ultimately. That’s for queer Thai people to decide.” It would amaze me greatly if this hypothetical monolith of queer people in Thailand were to be 100% in agreement about what constitutes good queer television. Personally I see your belief that no one outside of queer Thai people is allowed to critique queer Thai shows as actually undermining the legitimacy of this genre as a source of entertainment for audiences outside of just queer (in this case) Thai people. Media is frequently made with an intended audience in mind, but that does not mean people outside that target audience are barred from engaging with it. No one is saying “this is a bad queer Thai show and I am deciding that for all queer people” they are saying “here is what or why I did not like the decision they made about x,y,z."

If you are going to quote me, then I hope you also read the first half of my Pause for Reflection posts Taking Pause for Reflection- Part 1: Respectable Promiscuity and Only Friends where I talk about respectable promiscuity and discuss the ways in which respectability politics have resulted in “current LGBTQ+ political movements shifting away from highlighting sexual liberation as an aspect of queer culture, in order to make queer people more palatable to the overarching heterosexual society. And how that bleeds through in to the kinds of media that exist, the types of queer people portrayed within that media, as well as how often gay sex is shown, the type of gay sex shown, and the number of gay sex partners depicted. (Read: generally infrequently, generally vanilla, generally one).” Just so you are aware of where I stand in all of this and what people like Shan and myself are talking about when we critique the decision to remove sexual content from queer stories for the sake of storytelling or viewership.

I haven’t mentioned this one in awhile but I used to talk a lot about my perception of queer content being able to be categorized in By, For, and About Queers formatting. For example, a film like Pariah (2011) is a story about a queer person created by a queer person with a narrative that feels like it is made for the enjoyment of queer people above all others (but of course anyone can watch).

^I think this was made by abl, who I am not tagging because I do not want to drag them in to this conversation, but whose image I still want to cite.

This is obviously subjective, and I’m not saying it should always be used, but I know some people can find it nice to organize things by categories.

Again, this is subjective but I’ll give a short list of a couple of BLs that I personally would categorize as being For queer people- by which I mean it feels like a love letter to queer people, I can see something of myself and my experiences in it, and I would not be surprised if the primary intended audience was queer people:

I Told Sunset About You

The Miracle of Teddy Bear

What Did You Eat Yesterday

Koisenu Futari

Here is a short list of some BLs I would personally categorize under About queer people- that is, queer people are the main characters but the piece feels like the primary intended audience is not queer people:

Kiseki: Dear to Me

KinnPorsche

My School President

Spare Me Your Mercy

That does not mean the shows about queer people aren’t queer stories, but it does mean the intention behind the work is different. Which brings me all the way back to Spare Me Your Mercy since that’s what started all of this in the first place:

Lux Sirilux in an interview before the show came out stated:

“Having NC would steal the attention of the story because what we were going to talk about was dark drama and euthanasia.”

She also says:

“The characters are gay, but we don’t offer [fan]service in every episode or include NC (explicit) scenes."

(I got these statements above from this post by clariredaring who I am not tagging in this because I do not want to pull them in to this whole ordeal any more than they already have been).

Lux is absolutely allowed to make the decision to remove NC scenes from SMYM if she believes that it will detract from the vibe and the overarching theme. Sammon is absolutely allowed to approve and accept the removal of NC content from the Spare Me Your Mercy television show. No one is arguing that. (And I feel comfortable speaking for Shan here at the very least because we talk about shows a lot and I know what her post was actually saying as it relates to viewership). I already wrote a post about my feelings on this matter where I discussed why I feel that choice went wrong in this case. That does not mean anyone else has to feel that way, and I’m not forcing anyone to agree with me. And if people disagree with me, fine, they are welcome to discuss with me why they feel like the story worked as is if they want to and ignore me if they don't. (And literally as I was writing this a great example of someone disagreeing with me came through in this post by elimstillnotgarak who I will not be tagging in this simply because I don't want to drag someone who is not involved in this in to a very different discussion). But there is a level of disingenuousness that comes with the statement 'you should not say anything negative ever about the stories you have watched from cultures outside of your own.' I'm not saying this is the belief you hold, but I am saying that is how I interpret your statements about not speaking for a queer Thai audience.

And, as someone who has written multiple essays breaking down sex scenes in BLs, let me just say that I believe there is a fundamental difference between NC scenes and fanservice. I think there are instances where fanservice can result in positive changes (The Magnus Archives, for example, updated their ending after seeing how much fans were shipping Jon and Martin together and I think the ending was better for it) but I think there are a lot of times when fanservice actually does undermine the narrative. As for NC scenes, there are definitely ones that detract from the story at hand, and there are ones that I think people throw in as a bandaid in the hopes that they can get higher viewership (Playboyy and Battle of the Writers are examples of that imo) but I think there are a lot of times when NC scenes actually improve the narratives they are a part of expressly because they can tell you a whole hell of a lot about a character’s relationship and feelings to another person in a very short period of time.

For me, I think Sammon and Lux here engaged in respectability politics operating under a belief that NC scenes between these queer characters would take away from the larger story they were trying to tell. And I think that the believability of the romantic relationship between Kan and Tew suffered for it. This is a show that already was written for a larger general audience because most of Sammon’s work places some medical mystery narrative at the front and center (which makes sense because she’s a doctor).

And personally doublel27 I feel you are drawing a false equivalency between critique and infantilization and I would appreciate it if next time you quote me, you make sure you read the entirety of the post so that you can better understand that I will continue to be critical of people who submit to respectable promiscuity and make the choice to tone down the queerness in their story because they are worried it will distract the audience at large.

#fandom drama #this is all i am going to say on this matter #spare me your mercy #smym #for by about

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holmesianlove · 2 months ago

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First Sentence Game

Thanks @lisbeth-kk for the tag!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tags ten people. If you have written less than ten, don't be shy and share anyway!

I've included links in the titles if you want to keep reading - except for the WIPS! You gotta be patient!

Yet to be titled - FTH fic (current WIP) #johnlock

For the first time in nearly ten months, John Watson had finally lost the sense of dread in his gut when he woke up. It had been a long journey to get to this point. After failing at everything else in his life, it felt encouraging to be slightly calmer about today, at least.

An Unexpected Meeting #mystrade

The call had come through well after work hours, even by Mycroft’s standards. Still, he was always one to answer a call – regardless of the time of day. One of the benefits of being an enduring bachelor with a steep career trajectory and no hobbies, was that work became every aspect of your life. You gained a reputation for being reliable – the one to call at any time of the livelong day it seemed. All that lay waiting for him at home was a glass of fine whisky and the BBC newscast. So really, it was no different to being in the office – only that home had a more comfortable sofa and better glassware.

Summer Lovin' (also a current WIP - part 4 of Seasons of Love series)

Molly stood on the street jiggling nervously up and down on the spot, which was utterly ridiculous. Harriet Watson had been to her flat last night after the wedding, where she had met Toby.

(don't want to give away too many spoilers - coming soon!)

New Year, New Us - part 3 Seasons of Love series #johnlock #mystrade

Greg kissed Mycroft gently, still half asleep himself. They were still in that strange space between Christmas and New Year where no one really knows what day it is. “Morning,” he mumbled, not even sure if it was morning.

Ever since the incident with his siblings, Mycroft hadn’t wanted Greg to stay at his own flat. So here he was, in Mycroft's large, plush bed enjoying being wrapped around his gorgeous redhead.

Christmas Time in London (part 2 - Seasons of Love) #johnlock #mystrade

John looked around the apartment and fussed with final details. He had surprised Mrs Hudson and Sherlock by fully cleaning the flat, top to bottom until it sparkled. The tree was laden with decorations and coloured lights. The roast was cooking in the oven, heavenly scents wafted through the flat. It hadn’t had a good cleaning since Halloween – since Sherlock’s clever ploy to get him to participate in a costume party and John wanted to make sure he put in a top effort too. Now that they were together.

Trick or Treat - Part 1 Seasons of Love with @fuck-off-watson-rp #johnlock

Sherlock’s brain was about ready to crawl out of his skull. It had been two weeks since their last case. Actually it had been fourteen days, sixteen hours, forty two minutes, and eleven… twelve… thirteen seconds… since their last case. If you could call it a case even. A bird had flown in through an open window and scared an elderly woman as she was carving a pumpkin. She tripped and the large knife was subsequently impaled in her chest. Then the bird flew out the same open window it had flown in from.

So no. Not really a case. No real murderer to chase after. Just an unlucky woman and a perhaps marginally homicidal bird but nothing more.

Once Upon a December #johnlock

“Sherlock!”

The screech came from the bathroom, piercing the peaceful surrounds of Baker Street. Sherlock had been waiting, his supine position on the couch absolutely and entirely for this purpose. He had intentionally opened the newspaper to cover his gleeful smirk.

“Sorry, John. I didn’t hear you. Do you need something?” he asked sweetly. He waited behind his newspaper as he heard the sound of John padding angrily across the apartment, his bare feet slapping along the floorboards. Sherlock remained steadfast in his nonchalance.

The silence extended between them for too long, as Sherlock waited in eager anticipation, until John finally cleared his throat deliberately. Sherlock dropped a corner of the paper, just long enough to see what John was angry about, and then chose to return his paper to its original position.

“Sherlock!” John yelled again, more angrily this time.

Sherlock finally conceded and dropped the paper to his stomach. “What is it John?” he asked, trying his best to sound annoyed. He had waited hours for this, after all, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch.

“I’m green!” John shrieked.

Homecoming #1895 #johnlock

As I stood, waiting quietly in the familiar entryway, I took a moment to observe the man who had, for a number of years, consumed me. He was lost in thought, leaning against the mantel as he stared into the well-stoked fire, seemingly unaware of my presence. Being the middle of the night, there was a chill, the first signs of the approaching winter temperatures, fresh in the air. It felt strange returning here and yet, there was something comforting, though unsettling about it, the recognisable scent of home assaulting my nostrils, harking back to a time I had struggled to leave behind.

Show Me Your Flaws #johnlock

There was something about the sickly-sweet smell of heated soy milk which made John’s stomach turn. He had survived the blood-soaked, sweat drenched battlefields of the punishing Afghanistan desert and the unrelenting, stressful mad pace of surgical internship. Yet, here he was with burns on the insides of his wrists and aching feet, resisting the urge to gag from the bloody smell of that god awful soy milk everyone was so obsessed with here, as if it was his biggest hardship. Almond milk wasn’t much better. What was wrong with just ordinary milk from a cow anyway? It had already served humans well for centuries.

A Christmas Surprise #johnlock

The phone rang for far too long, which only made John angrier. Fortunately, Sherlock finally answered, or he had been prepared to leave a tirade on his flatmate’s voicemail.

“Sherlock, it’s John,” he said through the phone with a firm tone. He realised how it sounded, but his mood was stormy and it was the best he could do for the moment.

“Yes, John. I’m aware. I don’t know if you know this, but mobile phones actually recognise other peoples’ numbers and display the name on the screen now,” Sherlock said with his usual smugness.

Entanglement (Part 4 of Extraction Series) #johnlock

John leapt out of the cab, before the wheels had even stopped turning, throwing a twenty-pound note at the front seat and flying out without a word. Slamming the door unforgivingly as he hit the pavement, he kept running, thankful for the automated hospital doors. He knew he wouldn’t have stopped for them either way. His heart raced, thumping against his chest in a painful rhythm but it didn’t deter him. He was jolted by the freezing air conditioning hitting his face first, then the familiar scent of over-sanitisation, despite their attempts to make the foyer welcoming with plants and stylised furniture. John pushed the sensations aside as he flew right past the reception desk. He knew this hospital well, so he headed straight for the emergency department. As he rounded the corner though, he was brought up short, his legs almost buckling from under him at the sight. His breath caught in his throat as he froze, and his stomach dropped.

There he was, in all his glory, standing tall and strong and beautiful. Sherlock Holmes in his coat, collar up, curls wild. How dare he show his face here looking like that.

@bluebuell33 @khorazir @jbaillier @a-victorian-girl @chriscalledmesweetie @writingloud @vulpesmellifera @totallysilvergirl

#johnlock #sherlockbbc #fanfic #bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #john watson #ao3 fanfic #sherlock holmes #sherlock and mycroft #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #am writing #mystrade

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