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kyoshithewriter · 11 days ago

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Pomum. (Part six).

Wc: 4.3k

Warnings: violence, mentions of mental health issues, angst, mature themes (18+)

A/n: I couldn’t do too much of his pov because I felt like that would give too much away😭. Also, did you guys know that his mom is blasian???? I had to do something with that information. I also apologize in advance for this loool. Enjoy?

The mug of half-drunk coffee somehow manages to steal his attention despite the important presentation, Mr. McLeod, the COO, is currently giving at the front of the conference room. The tendrils from the cup now rise in sparser intervals and are a lot less prominent. They probably wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t paying keen attention like he is. But it’s not the black liquid that’s cooling in the cup that has his attention— no, it’s the mug itself. White porcelain and plain, just as he requested. He likes things simple and pristine; it brings a sort of peace that cuts through the constant buzzing in his brain, like thousands of bees are always in his vicinity. Simplicity, order, cleanliness and recently, Sofía. But the more Virgil stares at the mug, the louder the buzzing seems to grow. There’s a chip on it. It’s minuscule, but it’s there: a light grey patch that sullies the glistening white.

“Mr. Van Dijk?"

On instinct, his fist folds into a harsh clench at the use of his surname. A reminder of the man who has made him everything he is today. A man he is torn between despising and admiring.

“Yes?”

Mr. McLeod quivers under his stare, so he hurries to relax his features: empty—blank, rather than the harsh furrowed brows and piercing glare he knows he first pinned him with.

“Oh I was saying um…” the Caucasian man clears his throat, adjusting his tie out of nerves. But it only manages to tick Virgil off more because he now makes it crooked. It leans a little too far to his left.

“In summary, operations are good and profits are even better since we started importing goods from China.”

“Good. If that’s all?”

Relief ripples throughout the room and it annoys him further. He hates the way his employees in office cower in his presence because they dub him as intimidating. Sure he’s not looking to attend after work socials, but he treats them all with respect, listens to their opinions or concerns and pays them all handsomely. ‘Maybe if you’d try showing an ounce of emotion around them rather than annoyance?’ He ignores the rational side of his brain to focus on his surroundings.

“That’s all.”

“Then the meeting is concluded. Who seconds?”

The CFO raises his hand to second the motion. Virgil stands and everyone else follows suit. Before exiting the conference room, he turns to address his assistant; “I need a new mug. White, plain and porcelain. Please.”

**********

“Have you decided if you want to move forward with the plan yet?”

Scratching at his goatee four times, Virgil reclines in the plush chair in Mr. Zhào’s humble space. The smell of burning Chinese herbs in his small ‘doctor’s office’ helps bring a level of calm the rational side of his mind chooses to combat; he’s not one to believe in the use of plants and weeds to regulate emotions or stall one’s mind from collapsing in on itself. He had witnessed his father trying and failing for years. Mr. Zhào’s face is textured with wrinkles, crows feet and dark brown moles. His black hair is thinning in the middle and he now has a characteristic hunch to his shoulders and bend to his knees. But Virgil is no fool, he knows weaponized helplessness when he sees it. It’s easy to underestimate a man like him— a fool’s first mistake. This man not only has a high rank in the Chinese Triad, but he’s also a master of martial arts. He helped mold Virgil into the parts of himself that he despises a little less than the others and is still a valuable ally.

“A certain… complication-”

Mr. Zhào cuts him off with a wheezing laugh. It’s scratchy from years of tobacco abuse. It also shows in the yellowing of his teeth.

“Complication, huh? What’s her name?”

Virgil stiffens in his seat; his fingers tap against his thigh: once, twice a third time. He pauses and tries to physically fight against the buzzing in his brain but concedes after only two painful seconds to bring his finger down a fourth time.

‘You waited too long; the rhythm is lost. Go again.’

His brain is almost screaming at him despite his calm demeanor. He hurries to tap four times then clenches his fist.

“Why are you so sure it’s a woman?” He eyes the man whose wisdom is always something he has been envious of. Mr. Zhào is patient, strategic and wise; always armed with old Chinese sayings and information from leisurely strolls throughout the streets of California.

“Or a lover. I’ve been in our world a long time, Virgil. ‘Complications’ usually mean only one thing, especially for levelheaded, smart men like yourself.” He states in a matter of fact tone. He reaches over to hand Virgil a cup of ginseng tea he had been steeping since he stepped into his office.

He takes the offered white mug. Porcelain and pristine. Mr. Zhào has known him since he was a child, after all.

“Not exactly a lover but…”

“Ah, you want her to be. It’s that daughter of his, isn’t it? Don’t look so alarmed. I’m old and I know things, you know this, nephew.” He says with a small laugh at the slight widening of Virgil’s eyes.

“What have you heard?” The mug is starting to burn his palm that he has clasped tightly around it.

“Don’t worry, no rumors about the two of you. Just that she’s supposed to marry the Ferrante heir and that she’s all bright eyed and beautiful. The Chen’s wanted to make a move when word started going around that her father was looking for a suitor to strengthen his position. And many others in fact— a beautiful bride that comes with the Hernandez last name. A name that has been respected in these parts since the 1970s.”

Virgil exhales a relieved breath, placing the cup on the dark wooden desk between them.

“A name that is also slowly starting to lose the respect it once had. Barka is slowly amping up his reputation because he keeps getting away with blatant disrespect. The Ferrante’s are slowly starting to earn more respect because their shipments of drugs are now more reliable. I have been here for almost a decade and you have been meeting me here for the better part of two years and he still has no idea.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Mr. Hernandez, xū zhāng shēng shì.”

Virgil’s mandarin is a little rusty but he knows that saying well; ‘all bark no bite.’

“It took you going to the club to scare Barka in his shell a little. But since Mr. Hernandez told you not to… handle him properly, he’s out and about again. Virgil, Mr. Hernandez needs to be dealt with. He still thinks this is 2011 when people were scared of his name; as distance tests a horse’s strength, time reveals a person’s character. Mr. Hernandez was not only respected because of his last name but because he was loved. His actions these past few years have turned people against him.” He pauses his rant to take a tentative sip of his tea. And Virgil knows all too well. He understands the world they’re in but even they have certain moral codes. Mr. Hernandez has been despicable, and he worries how Sofía will react when she learns just how cruel her father can be.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Virgil? The longer he’s allowed to keep believing the illusion that he’s still top dog, the worse it gets for everyone around him. Your reputation is being muddied and the surrounding families will start going to war for territories that’s slipping from his fingers. I understand your instinct to remain loyal for the sake of the young woman, but remember, bīng bù yàn zhà.”

“Soldiers don’t hate deceit.”

Zhào nods solemnly at his contemplative translation. All is fair in war. The war might not have started yet, but they’re on the brink of it. Everyone, except the clueless man he chose to partner with, can feel it.

“We have to be smart about it, though. We cannot go for the head first. Something small to… hinder certain things.” Zhào looks up at him and quiet understanding passes between their gazes. Virgil tries to contain the quiet relief that passes through him. He can now justify his plan as strategic rather than done out of rash emotion.

“Is everything in place in case I make a decision soon?”

Zhào offers a solemn nod.

“Good.” Virgil downs the lukewarm tea in one swallow. The liquid warms his throat and chest as it glides through his body.

“How is your mother?”

Virgil’s nostrils flare. “Uncle…”

“You need to speak to her… she misses you. You have this idea that she wouldn’t be proud of the man you’ve beco-”

“And I’m right.” He clenches his fists four times rhythmically in his lap.

Zhào scoffs. “Are you forgetting she’s my sister? Despite what I do? Despite who I am? Did she keep me estranged from the family? She willingly dated your father as well. Sure, she would’ve preferred a doctor or a damn engineer but you’re a product of your environment. She knows that, we all know that. Wiring hundreds of thousands to her from secure accounts every month is not enough. She wants to see you. Bǎi shàn xiào wéi xiān.” He chastises sternly. (Among hundreds of virtues, filial piety comes first).

For the first time in a long time, Virgil feels a hunch to his shoulders. He’s ashamed.

“You’re right, Uncle. I’ll… I’ll speak to her, I just need to…”

“Yes. I know. Just promise me you will.”

Virgil gives a firm nod.

“Good. And stop by one of these days for a sparring session. Or do you think you’re better than me now?” Zhào asks with a smirk.

“Only a fool would underestimate you, uncle.”

Zhào barks a sharp laugh. “And don’t ever forget it.”

Flipping his wrist in his line of sight, Virgil eyes his Patek. “I need to get going. Hernandez wants me with him to escort them to the Ferrante’s for dinner in a few hours.” His heart thumps in a way that’s embarrassing at the thought of seeing Sofía again.

Zhào stands with him to escort him to the door of his little cramped office. The building is so unassuming and only labeled in mandarin that translates to “Zhào’s alternative medicine shop.”

They eye each other in quiet understanding. “Okay, nephew. And remember to please take care of your mind. Stop by one of these days so I can take care of you.”

“Uncle, burning herbs and acupressure to unblock chi won’t help. It didn’t help my father.”

“Because your father was already broken beyond repair when we found him. Your mother helped for a while but it wasn’t enough. He was too… damaged.” There’s a hint of melancholy in his voice.

“I might be too.”

*************

His feet take him around back before he even alerts Donavon of his presence. He doesn’t question it or think too deeply; he just allows himself to go where the air smells earthy with an underlying scent of bitter citrus. There he finds her, humming softly to herself while she fills a little basket with lemons. Her curly hair is secured on top of her head with a colourful scarf— it makes her cheekbones more prominent. Her brown skin seems to always glow along with her pretty brown eyes and moisturized pink, plump lips. Lips that he has already missed. She’s wearing a little flowy, shorts set— perfect for the summer but terrible for his self restraint. It shows too much skin and the ample curve of her hips and ass. Rational thoughts flee his mind for a moment as he marches in her direction with laser-like focus. She startles when she finally notices his presence when he’s a few feet away.

“Virgil! You scared me.”

Her pretty eyes blink up at him in wide eyed stupor as he grasps her hips, moving them in the shadow of the lemon tree. It’s reckless doing this in broad daylight, but he feels starved. Her little moan is sweet when he captures her lips in a kiss. Lemons clatter by their feet and her hands, sullied with soil reach up to grip at the lapel of his jacket. And Virgil realizes that his brain remains quiet. There’s no buzzing or the need to wipe at it until his muscles burn. Because all that matters is Sofía’s pliant little mouth and her soft skin beneath his palms as he cups her behind. She eagerly sucks his tongue into her mouth, drawing a groan from the pit of his stomach. He can feel himself harden beneath his slacks and boxers, his control is slipping fast. The way Sofía moans almost helplessly while she grinds against him doesn’t help. She’s such an eager little thing; that night she cried as she came all over his fingers while thanking him might’ve costed him a little bit of his already fragile sanity. He needs to have her fully at his mercy; he’d make her forget everything but his own name. The whisper of her touch against his growing bulge forces a heavy exhale from his flared nostrils. He allows her another two seconds to tentatively feel at him before breaking the kiss and grabbing at her wrist. Sofía looks up at him in awe.

“It’s so big.” The words seem to be blurted from her mouth in a breathless whisper.

Virgil quickly moves away from her body. Wiping at the sticky essence she left behind on his lips, he eyes the entrance of the greenhouse to ensure they’re still alone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Let me-”

He watches as Sofía, clearly panicked over something, leaves a dirty trail behind on her clothes as she wipes her hands on them in haste. Then she hurries over to brush her hands against his abdomen. It takes him a second to realize that she’s trying to get rid of the dirt she accidentally left on his clothes. His brows furrow in confusion at her frantic movements and the apologies that fall from her mouth almost desperately.

Gripping at her wrist, he speaks; “It’s fine, Sofía. Relax.”

“No it’s not! I know how you are with things like this. I’m so sor-”

“What do you mean?”

Sofía blinks up at him in confusion. “Um, being clean and um… immaculate is important to you? I figured you might have ocd or something closely related.”

“What?” He can’t mask the disbelief in his tone. Ocd? He figured something was wrong with him but he never gave much thought as to what exactly.

“Uh… your suits are always clean without a single wrinkle. If your jacket is off, your shirts are folded four times up each arm neatly— if they aren’t folded, you adjust the cuffs on each arm four times; you brush your hand over your hair to make sure it’s slick often and always four times; you scratch at your goatee four times; you clench your fists four times… Virgil, you’re a man working in organized crime with hand sanitizer in your cars.” She whispers the words cautiously.

“I…” Virgil eyes her unsurely. He’s not exactly sure how to reply and he’s torn between being impressed by her observation and wary of it. He doesn’t enjoy being… read.

“I could be wrong. I just googled after I noticed and…Where did the obsession with the number four come from?”

“My father. He was somewhat of a bodyguard to very important people. Someone he was assigned to protect died in his service because he shot the assassin three times but he somehow survived; tricked them all into thinking he died then killed the target anyway. I was very young but he came home almost crazed and he kept repeating to always…” He trails off, jaw clenching almost painfully.

Sofía nods; without him having to finish, she easily pieces the rest of the puzzle together.

“Why are you always wearing a suit anyway? Is it to conform to the apparent rule of this… kind of business?”

His shoulders start to relax at the change of subject. “I have a job.”

Virgil smirks a little at the way she gapes at him.

“As in… a legitimate job outside of all this?”

“Of course, Sofía. I’m not an idiot.”

“What kind of job?” Curiosity lights up her already pretty eyes.

“I own a business; it deals with…import.” He says cautiously. Sofía rolls her eyes, cocking her hips to glare at him. Fuck, the things he wants do to her for that attitude.

“Importing what?”

“Produce.” He answers truthfully.

“As in… fruits and vegetables?”

Virgil nods easily, watching as her skepticism changes to something contemplative.

“A legitimate business that explains your finances; one that also requires regular shipments coming in for you so that your goods are under less scrutiny. Perfect cover for you to smuggle your apparently ‘very special’weapons from The Netherlands with a lot less hassle.”

Virgil is not sure how many times this woman is going to surprise him but it’s now a bit concerning.

“Don’t look at me like that, the men around here don’t respect me, remember? I heard them speaking…” Virgil's eyes narrow as she licks at her lip and avoids his eyes.

“You have something else to say.” Not a question, a statement.

“They put off my dinner with Romano for three days but we’re going later. That means the arrangement isn’t off; I thought you were going to fix it.” She pouts her pretty mouth while glaring at him.

“I’m working on it, little rose. I promise.”

Virgil’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he knows without looking it’s Mr. Hernandez wondering why he’s not in his office yet.

“I need to head inside. You should too, to start getting ready for dinner later.”

****************

Sofía eyes her reflection in the mirror of her bedroom. She’s adorned with pearls and a creme coloured Chanel dress that hugs her figure all the way to the middle of her calves. Her heels are closed toe and pointed with a thin delicate strap. Modest. Ever since Sofía found out about the horrors her mother has been suffering in silence under her father’s cruel hands, she has made a point of reigning in her subtle acts of rebellion. Her fear for her mother’s safety has now taken priority over whatever else she’s feeling. Everyone is already gathered in the living room by the time she ambles down the stairs. Virgil’s eyes do a quick sweep of her from head to foot before he turns his attention back to whatever her father is saying. Sofía notes through the warmth that floods her face the way Virgil stands within the small semicircle formed. He angles his body slightly away from her father completely; he’s not showing outright disrespect by standing outside the circle and not giving his attention. But the little gesture isn’t lost on her. Raúl, Enrique, Joaquin and Galo complete the small group and she wonders if this means that Galo’s rank has changed recently. He has been more… involved lately.

“It’s decided. Celeste, you and I are riding with Raúl and Enrique. Sofía, you’re with Virgil and Galo. Joaquin will stay just behind with Juan, Sal and Mendes for extra security.” Her father says with finality before leading everyone out the house.

And if the tension between the two wasn’t obvious before, it is now. Her father always rode with Virgil. Celeste mirrors her shock but they both know better than to say anything. So quietly, they move to obey.

Sofía makes her way to the passenger side of the vehicle but she’s stopped abruptly by a gentle hold on her bare forearm.

“No. Galo rides up front.” Virgil says sternly.

Sofïa glares at him but moves to enter the backseat as he holds the door open for her. He fixes her with a look that screams ‘behave.’ The door is slammed shut with a muted thud that makes her even more annoyed as her ears start ringing. Raúl pulls out of the driveway first with Virgil right on his tail and Joaquin just behind. The ride is tense and quiet; Galo is not someone she has spent a lot of time with, so she isn’t sure what the man is like. Folding her hands in her lap, she glares at Virgil’s side profile. There’s a certain tension that’s visible on his frame even more so than usual and she wonders if it has to do with Galo being in the car.

“Can we turn the radio on?” She asks with faux sweetness dripping like honey from her voice.

“Sur-”

“No.”

Galo clears his throat as his approval is cut off by the Dutch man in the driver’s seat. Sofía hopes her stare actually scorches his skin. She watches the way he squeezes at the steering four times before turning onto the main road. Red lights from the stop sign at the intersection illuminates the inside of the vehicle; and as Sofía sits in the backseat eyeing both men up front, a sudden feeling of unease washes over her. Her heart suddenly starts beating a little too fast; she wills herself to breathe, watching the lights turn green. Just as the vehicle lurches forward, a pair of bright head lights descend upon them from the right.

“Virgil!”

Sofía’s body is flung against the door as Virgil swerves sharply to avoid being bulldozed by the matte black suv. A flurry of loud, black motorbikes suddenly appear from both sides and another black suv breaks the red light to pull in front of Raúl’s vehicle up front.

“Little rose, down.”

It takes a while for her brain to properly process Virgil’s words. Time seems to slow watching as Galo fumbles with his gun in the front seat; but Virgil; Virgil moves with calm efficiency to examine the bullets in the cartridge before chambering and locking it in place.

“Sofía!”

Sofía ducks just as the first round of shots ring out. The car starts moving again as bullets thud against the bulletproof exterior. Cupping her hands over her ears, Sofía stays cramped on the floor of the backseat as chaos unfolds around her. The vehicle swerves again, this time with a hideous sound as the tires skid across asphalt. Her chest tightens painfully; she was already on the verge of hyperventilating before and now she’s sure she might pass out from the lack of oxygen. A shrill scream is torn from the pit of her belly by the sound of a gun going off. This one sounds so much closer than the others. There’s a choked off groan and the sound of something splattering in the vehicle; something warm and wet drips onto the back of her neck causing Sofía to start clawing at the skin of her chest.

“Virgil?” She calls out in a timid whisper.

“Shit. I’m okay, little rose. Keep your head down, okay, baby?”

The car swerves again before she hears the front door open and close just as quickly. Police sirens wail in the distance while the car pulls a dangerous u-turn and starts speeding. Sofía is not sure how long she stays down while he drives but she’s too scared to move. Low vibrations hum from his direction before he starts speaking.

“Yes, she’s fine. Galo was not so lucky.”

Galo… Sofía feels like heaving.

“No, I’m taking her somewhere safe. Don’t go home, go to the safe house and call more reinforcements; we need to regroup. I’ll call in 30 minutes.”

Silence stretches on for another minute after his phone call.

“Little rose, you can get up now.” He says softly.

Sofía limbs shake violently as she gingerly hauls herself off the floor and onto the leather seats. Virgil eyes are brimming with concern when they make eye contact in the overhead mirror. Keeping one hand on the steering, he reaches the other around for her to hold onto for dear life. She’s so desperate for an anchor, anything to stop the tremors that wrack her body and to slow the erratic pace of her heart.

“Don’t cry, you’re safe now.” He promises. Sofía wants to believe him but her eyes keep scanning the roads in every direction. Wherever he’s taking her, looks to be away from the city as the amount of cars on the road lessen significantly.

“My mom… is she alright?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yes. Raúl and Enrique kept them safe. I’m not sure about Joaquin and the others.”

“Galo…” she eyes the now empty front seat with something cold pitting in her chest. Galo was just there— he was alive and breathing. Hair with copious amounts of gel like he always liked to wear it. Liked. Past tense— because now he’s gone.

“I’m sorry, Sofía.”

Virgil words sound like they are coming from underwater. She can’t look away from the front seat. More specifically, the window by the front seat. There’s blood and what she’s sure is marrow splattered all over it. But that’s not what really has her attention. It’s the glass itself; still intact with only a little dent with small splinters surrounding it. The glass on all her father’s suvs are bulletproof after all. The realization makes Sofía break out in immediate cold sweat. The glass wasn’t penetrated, so Galo couldn’t have been shot from outside. He wasn’t. Swallowing thickly, Sofía slowly turns her gaze back to the overhead mirror to find Virgil already watching her. His gaze is piercing, knowing. He watched her put the pieces of the puzzle together. Sofía drops his hand like it burns, scooting away to the corner behind the passenger’s seat. His jaw clenches, now empty fist squeezing four times before he brings it back to the steering.

Sofía sobs softly before asking; “Virgil… what did you do?”

#football #black woman #football fanfic #virgil van dijk #virgil van dijk x black oc #virgil van dijk x black reader #virgil van dijk x you #virgil van dijk x reader #virgil van dijk fiction #vvd4 #kyoshiwrites

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getaapologist · 6 months ago

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The Tension and the Terror...........Part X

Pairing: Emperor Geta x OFC (extremely loosely, character is named but otherwise not described besides hair length)

Summary: Geta asks Letha to read to him.

Warnings: some dire, we-could've-just-died sex, a hint of a breeding kink if you squint, violence and blood, maybe Geta likes blood a bit too much, 18+ only.

Word Count: 3.9k

Part 10 of 15

[ Part IX ]

Series Masterlist

A/N: I don't have anything eloquent to say about this part, just that this was the first thing I wrote when I was exploring these characters. I hope you like it.

“I would’ve thought you’d be in bed by now.”

The sound of Geta’s voice startled Letha, bringing her out of the book. Geta stood in the doorway to the cozy library, his shoulders slumped, his posture slack. He was changed, wearing his robe and little else, save for his laurels. Perhaps he’d forgotten to remove them. She mirrored Geta’s tired smile and closed the book, watching him. It was late, almost an hour after she left him to talk down his brother. He should’ve just gone to bed.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s late.”

She shook her head as he approached, setting the book on the stack of others on the small table beside the couch, making space for him. He sank into the plush couch beside her, his hand falling over one of hers. He took it up, giving it a squeeze, not meeting her eyes. She squeezed his hand back, her other hand wrapping around it too.

“How is Caracalla?”

He sighed. “He is asleep. I can only hope he feels better in the morning.”

“And how are you?”

He met her eyes, his lips narrowing as he pressed them firmly together. “I wish I could tell you I still feel amazing,” he spoke, a wistful look in his eyes, “but I am conflicted.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, her heart aching for him. She would carry all his secrets, his sadness, like it was her own if he let her.

“...Can you just sit with me?” he requested. “Read to me or don’t, I just… let me sit beside you for a while.” The desperation in his eyes was intoxicating. She could serve as his distraction. He had done enough of it for her, without knowing it.

“Shall I bore you with Ovid, or…” she examined the stack beside her, leaned over the arm of the couch, “...Virgil, Geta?”

Geta felt his smile slowly returning. “Choose whichever you feel would be best.”

She took a moment, glancing at the books in her hands before making a choice, setting the other down.

Geta took that as his cue, spreading out over the couch, his back colliding with her legs as he tried to lean back. She drew her legs up to give him more room, surely he needed it more than she did. Wordlessly, he corrected her, his hands wrapping around her ankles to pull her legs back out, his touch searing her bare skin. Before she could protest, he reclined, his back pressing into her front, his head resting against her chest, a shockingly intimate position for simply reading.

He turned, his ear pressing into the soft fabric covering her chest, listening to her heartbeat as it raced. His hands smoothed up her now-bare legs, the dress forced up high around him. He began soft, innocent strokes back and forth over the top of her thighs, finally letting out a breath he’d been holding in since the party.

“Geta, what–”

“You offered to read to me, Letha,” he reminded her, interrupting her panicked words, looking up at her with his large chestnut eyes, “so here I am.”

All arguments died on her tongue as she stared down at him, his expression unreadable. She forced herself to look away, choosing instead to devote her attention to the book in her hands as her skin grew hot. Her nerves at an all-time high, she began to read.

She started off a bit shaky, still getting used to Geta’s closeness again, his physical touch, but soon her voice leveled out and she even let herself indulge in the way his fingers moved over her skin. If anyone saw them there, tucked away in the library together, it would be impossible to explain away.

Holding the book open in one hand, her other eventually wound into his soft copper hair, impeded by the golden laurel crown he still wore. She moved lower, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, mirroring his own pattern making.

After a few minutes he abandoned her thighs. She barely contained a sound of protest as he sat up between her legs, only really able to once she saw him lifting the beautiful crown from his head. He set it on the ledge of a bookshelf behind the couch. She didn’t have words any longer, his silent actions pulling taut a hot cord low in her belly, reminding her of their earlier encounter.

He was lying between her legs not as an Emperor, but as a man.

“I didn’t mean to distract you,” he spoke quietly, though the rise in his cheeks showed he knew what he’d done. As if on purpose. “Please, continue.”

A few heartbeats more and she did, relaxing once his hot hands returned to her thighs, her own fingers resuming their ministrations, spreading out further now that the crown lay beside him, glittering in the candlelight.

He left out a soft grunt of satisfaction, the sweet sound stoking the flames within her. It was so hard for her to focus now, the words on the page beginning to blur together as she attempted to recreate the sound in her mind.

“We can stop,” he offered, his voice barely a whisper.

She shook her head, though he couldn’t see it, and continued reading.

This book had never bored her more than it did right now.

Letha couldn’t have said when it happened, but at some point she’d fallen asleep while tucked behind the tall Emperor. Geta didn’t mind at all, also feeling the pull of Somnus on his eyelids.

They laid there together for almost an hour before the attacker stepped into the room.

Letha awoke gently, though she was immediately free from the grogginess that usually followed, sensing something off. The book had fallen to the floor from her dangling hand, rousing her. As she leaned down a bit more to collect it, she froze, her eyes landing on a pair of dark brown, almost black boots.

She followed them up as her fingers wrapped around the book, fear driving her fight or flight response as adrenaline put life back in her limbs. The blade glinted in the stranger’s hand and as he raised it, Geta began to stir against her. She felt a jolt of panic.

The stranger’s eyes left hers and darted over to watch Geta as he moved a bit, beginning to wake. Before she could warn the assassin off of what he was about to do, he lifted the blade, eager to bring it down into the slumbering Emperor.

She moved without thought, lifting the book up into the blade’s path. It sank into the bound parchment, poking through to the other side, perilously close to her palm. Relieved to see Geta so far unharmed, she twisted the book in her hands, freeing the blade from their attacker’s grip. She quickly tossed the damaged book deeper into the library. He watched it go, a bit surprised.

“Leave,” she begged him, her voice shaky. She could feel Geta grip her calf tighter in sleep and she knew she wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Whatever it took.

“Macrinus sent me here for you,” the man clarified, “This is just providence.”

The words were like ice in her veins.

He readied himself for a fight. Letha was forced to push Geta off of her and onto the floor so she could get to her feet in time to meet the assassin’s lunge.

Geta was startled awake, confused at what he was witnessing. Letha’s foot came down startlingly close to his face as she pushed back against the attacker, a loud crash sounding as he was forced into one of the many bookcases lining the walls.

Geta remembered sending the guards posted outside the door away upon his arrival and realized immediately just how stupid he’d been. He would never be safe here, in this city.

He sat up, watching her straining to topple his attacker. He couldn’t deny the rush that overtook him. She was fighting for him.

The assassin trapped one of her arms, twisting it harshly. Letha cried out, her eyes squeezed shut as the man pressed at the still-healing wound on her shoulder. It was all Geta needed to get to his feet, risking his own safety to wrap a strong arm around the man’s neck, pulling him off of Letha.

The man reached for his throat, attempting to pull Geta’s arm away, but it was futile. Geta was quite strong, he just never had to make use of his strength, was never shown how to wield it properly. The man pushed back, forcing Geta into a low table. They both crashed down through it, the narrow wooden legs splintering under their combined weight. An elbow to Geta’s ribs got him to loosen his grip and the man rolled away from him, sputtering.

Letha was on him in a flash, one of his arms trapped behind his back, pinned by the weight of her on his chest, but the other was free to reach for her, finding purchase in her hair, yanking down hard.

“Letha!” Geta shouted, holding up a sharp piece of the broken table, tossing it to her. It landed beside her and she pulled against the man’s grip to reach over for it, her fingers only barely grabbing on.

She pushed it harshly into his neck, the grip on her hair going slack immediately. Hot, traitorous blood burst out of the high-pressure vessel, splashing all over her face and neck. She leaned all of her weight onto the piece of wood, letting it sink further and further in, watching carefully for any signs of a second wind as the attacker bled out on the library floor.

Geta couldn’t breathe, the sight before him beyond his wildest dreams. His very own Tisiphone in the flesh, red blood dripping down her cheek.

Letha fell back off their attacker and crawled away, leaning up against the bottom of the couch. Geta winced as he stood, but kept his eyes on her, sinking down to the floor beside her. He watched her come down off the adrenaline, the fury slowly fading from her eyes to be replaced by fear. Uncertainty. They were safe, their attacker lying dead, but it didn’t seem to matter.

She breathed heavily, turning to Geta but not touching him, her blood-slick hands held up between them, unwilling to take hold of anything lest she stain it. She wouldn’t look up at him. Geta thought she looked a little lost, a sliver of vulnerability showing through in her silence.

“Letha,” Geta spoke, his voice full of worry for her. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his hands gripping her forearms as he checked for wounds that might have been made before he’d woken up on the floor.

All she could do was shake her head.

“Good,” he breathed, relieved. He studied her as she calmed down, still avoiding his eyes.

“Did you hit your head?” she finally asked, her eyes meeting his.

“No,” he answered.

“Okay,” she whispered, eyes once again filling with worry.

Every bit of him was screaming to kiss her, to reward her for protecting him without a second thought. His hands moved to her face, lifting it. She closed her eyes in comfort, letting out a sigh. It was the only sign he needed.

He leaned down, his lips finding hers, kissing her as gently as he could. He could taste the iron splashed across her skin, its presence a reminder of what she had done for him, her willingness to protect him, but also her violence. He could still vividly picture her fingers curling over the lip of that chestplate, had dreams about it. He couldn’t deny the way it still affected him.

They should be out, seeking the Praetorians. He should be furious, questioning how this was allowed to happen, calling on Tegula at this late hour. He should be checking on his brother–

Her bloody hands squeezed his wrists and he could feel the slick of it transferring onto him. All other concerns were washed away.

He got on his knees, bringing her up with him, their mouths never disconnecting. Her touches grew more desperate, her hands smoothing up to find purchase in his hair, at his neck. He let his own hands fall away, one wrapping around her waist, the other hefting her thigh up as he moved her into his lap, propped up by the bottom of the couch behind her.

She moved against him, releasing his mouth with a gasp as she felt him beneath her, his hard length hardly hidden by the thin material of his robe. He felt dazed as she pulled it open, baring his chest and shoulders to her, as well as his aching cock.

He inhaled sharply as she experimentally rolled her hips against his, sliding herself against him with intention. It took all his strength to not buck up into her right then. Her skirts had already been pushed up around her waist by their movements, no barrier between them any longer. Her eyes moved up from where they met to check if this was okay, if he wanted her to continue.

Yes, yes he did.

He smothered her unspoken question with his lips, one of his hands diving down between them to prepare her for him. She let out a gasp that morphed into a sob at the feeling of his large fingers exploring her. She was used to her own touch, soft and teasing. His fingers created molten metal wherever they touched, currently circling that pleasurable place his mouth had been attached to earlier–

“Thank you,” he breathed into her skin, a finger sliding into her tight warmth, eliciting a gasp from her as she squeezed his bare shoulder.

“Geta,” she moaned, nails digging in.

He soothed her, his warm brown eyes staring up through hers and into her soul, his finger still torturously passing in and out of her. He watched her eyelids flutter as he added a second finger, her slick coating making it too easy to get carried away. She let her eyes fall shut as she bit her lip between her teeth, her hips moving on their own to try to relieve the pressure he was creating between her thighs.

She was beautiful beneath the streak of drying blood, her small sounds driving him mad. He leaned up and captured her swollen lips with his, his tongue delving deep as his thumb drew unintelligible patterns over her most sensitive spot. He wanted them to melt together into one. He wanted this forever. There was no alternative he was willing to consider. He would make it so.

He felt her clench around his fingers and withdrew them immediately, needing to be inside, to give in to what he wanted so desperately. She whined into his mouth and he stifled the rush of lust that filled him at her reaction. She had a hold on him, her touch met with real love as he looked in her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide and she appeared as if she’d had a few dozen ships of wine from his cup. He felt drunk too, whether it was off the violence he’d witnessed up close or her, he couldn’t say.

“I need you,” she admitted, her fingers finding the nape of his neck, pressing her forehead down to his.

He was powerless to resist her. His Venus. She had been distilled into this form, just for him. Sent to him by way of divine intervention. There was no other explanation for how he caved to her, would put himself in danger for her. Felt love for her.

He reached down and lifted her hips, using the couch for support as he passed his tip through her slick folds, using her wetness to coat himself before he pushed up into her, a blade finding its sheath.

She sucked in a ragged breath, her bloodied hands finding his cheeks as she acclimated to the presence of him buried so deep. She nodded to him, burying her face in his neck as she urged him to move with a gentle roll of her hips, forcing them both to gasp.

He knew she’d been so close a moment ago, and he knew he wouldn’t last, not long enough for what she deserved. But he hoped desperately that there would be more chances to come together like this.

He withdrew and pushed right back inside her, moving painfully slowly, her moans strangled against the blood-streaked skin of his neck.

Letha wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she met his next thrust with one of her own. She wondered if this was Elysium. Maybe the assassin had been successful and she’d never know the pain of dying, only this.

She could stay wrapped up in Geta forever. Now that they had joined, she would never let them unjoin. He could hold council here on the floor of the library, indecent, the both of them bare for all to see.

She could hardly breathe as he made good on all his threats, his teasing glances, his stray hands. Seeing him this way filled her with a new appreciation for the cocky Emperor. One she was hesitant to put words to. For all she knew, this one moment would finally satisfy him. The mystery would be gone and he would move on to the next shiny, flitting thing. She knew she would never move from this place, this moment.

But even deeper still, part of her knew this was important to him, too. She didn’t know exactly when, but she’d come into possession of a piece of him. A sliver of his trust. She just wished desperately that she didn’t have to betray it.

“Letha,” he panted, his cheek pressed to hers, “I need to–”

A flush passed over her as she realized what his words meant. As she started to lift herself off him, his grip pulled her back down, his look desperate.

“Stay,” he breathed.

She nodded, bringing their mouths back together. She moaned into him as his fingers returned between them, rubbing gentle swirls, urging her on. Her walls clenched around him, forcing a grunt from his throat, her release so tantalizingly close.

“With me,” he whispered, begging. She listened, the idea of what he was asking of her all she needed before she began seizing up around him. Rhythmic contractions pulled at him as white hot heat pulsed through her, forcing her eyes shut as she moaned into his skin, body trembling in his arms.

She heard him grunting, his breathing erratic as he bucked up into her, a soft warmth filling her as he finished, his forehead falling to her uninjured shoulder.

In the silence she became aware of sweat running down her spine, the undersides of her thighs, could feel it under her hands as they smoothed over his skin, smearing new stains over his shoulders. She crushed his cheek to her chest. She didn’t want to give him up to the world. Just a minute longer.

Eventually she was able to lift her head and meet his eyes, finding tenderness there.

He spoke first.

“You saved me, again,” he smiled, his voice low, fatigued. “The scale of your eventual celebration grows each day, Letha.”

His jest filled her heart and she couldn’t hold back her own smile. “I don’t need a celebration. You’ve been so good to me.”

“Are you happy here?” His words were loaded with meaning. She could see him searching her eyes for an answer.

“Very.”

The answer comforted him, more than he would ever let on. “Good.”

He squeezed her hip, shifting slightly beneath her. He tried to get up but she grabbed at his leg, trying to keep him close. She didn’t want it to end.

The sound of armor clinking and boots stomping filled the hall outside the room, shattering their sanctuary. There wasn’t time to extricate himself from her, so he simply did his best to cover her bare lower half with his own body, her chest still covered by her bloodied dress.

“Emperor, are you hurt? We heard…”

The Praetorians took in the scene, the shattered furniture, the dead man on the floor across the room. Books and scrolls toppled from shelves. Their Emperor bare as the day he was born, kneeling on the floor in front of a couch, looking over his shoulder, another sitting before him, a woman, with blood on her cheek–

“Avert your eyes,” Geta instructed. They obeyed immediately.

“Emperor, are you hurt?”

“I am fine,” he insisted, his tone sharp. “Find out who paid this man. Interrogate the whole Senate, if you must.”

“Yes, Emperor,” the guard bowed, careful to keep his eyes off the woman in Geta’s lap.

“And get out!” Geta shouted, waving them off.

They wasted no time, two of them bending low to drag the assassin out of the room as the rest of them quickly made their exit.

Geta sighed, his eyes meeting hers, the tender moment shattered. “I can draw us a bath,” he offered.

“Us?” Letha questioned, a cautious smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

Geta lifted an eyebrow, keeping his smile hidden. “Do you think I’m letting you out of my sight now?”

The notion filled her with a nervous excitement. She would take all she could get. “Okay,” she agreed, eager to scrub her skin. And Geta’s, she thought, noticing all the smears of blood over his shoulders, his neck, his arms. Her doing.

As she moved to try to stand, she winced, going slack in his lap. “I… I might need you to help me up,” she admitted, embarrassed.

“Already making demands of your Emperor, hmm?” At his teasing, Letha looked over to where he’d laid his laurels. He followed her eyes. “Come on,” he urged, lifting her up off his lap. She pushed off from the couch, allowing him to move out from under her.

Geta stood, his long legs and narrow waist on display as he reached down for Letha, helping her to her feet. It was a lot for her to take in, but she looked away quickly so he couldn’t accuse her of staring.

“Are you okay?” he asked, watching her for signs her legs might give out. She nodded, avoiding looking at him. Satisfied she was stable, he picked his robe up off the ground, throwing it on and holding it closed. He took a moment to pull some of her dress back down, ensuring she was covered.

“We should check on Caracalla,” she suggested.

“It’s on the way to the baths.”

Letha assumed he was already planning to check in, even before she asked. Of course he was.

“Can you hold on to this for me?”

At his question Letha turned, looking up at him. He held the golden laurel crown in his hands and set it reverently on her head, his hands falling to his sides once he was done placing it.

It meant nothing, she told herself. It’s just a symbol, a symbol of a kingdom she wasn’t a part of. But she was, wasn’t she? She was here. There wasn’t exactly anything to return to, even if she wanted to.

And here was this man, treating her well, looking out for her. Offering to slay a man responsible for so much direct harm in her life. Placing a crown atop her head, and looking down at her as if he meant forever.

Gods, it stung.

“Geta, I need to tell you something,” she spoke, her heart pounding.

“Let’s check that my brother is sleeping soundly first.”

His smile was so pure, so pleasant. How could she shatter his worldview now?

The morning. She could tell him in the morning. Just enjoy the rest of the night before it all gets ripped away.

[ Part XI ]

#emperor geta x ofc #emperor geta x reader #gladiator ii x reader #gladiator 2 x reader #emperor geta #joseph quinn x reader

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szaryherbatnik · 4 months ago

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GUYS. WHATS EVERYONE *DREAM* AVANTRIS PLUSHIE. ANY CHARACTER. PC NPC. TELL ME.

#this is different than “who is your favorite character” btw #like i wouldnt want a human virgil plush the bird one is perf #i already have a jericho plush tbh #id love a sarnax one!!!!!!!!#legends of avantris

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shiftythrifting · 4 months ago

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Tabletop fountains, plush creature, and BATIM sweatpants. TX.

#thrifting #thrift finds #shiftythrifting #fountains #decor #plush #batim #pants #admin virgil’s finds

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tastic-in-its-finest · 4 months ago

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Frew Up

Summary: When you're barely a teenager and a small child helplessly relies on you. Basically Janus taking care of a sick Virgil.

Word Count: 1363

Warnings/Tags: a LOT of mentioning of throwing up/vomiting, slight mention of spiders

Ao3

…

“...I frew up…” a small voice mumbled and croaked by the doorway.

Deceit grudged open his eyes, what does a side need to do to get some sleep, his body completely ready to succumb to sleep again. But since his body is facing the doorway, he could see the tiny spiderling shaking slightly in the darkness, clenching a large spider plush, dead silent and scared, looking to him for help.

“It's ok, Anxiety. Come here,” he grudges and pushes down any frustration for being woken up so early, or late as Anxiety waddles over cautiously. The little guy looked exhausted, his eye bags larger with redness over them.

“Where did you throw up?” He sighs.

“I don't wanna talk about it,” he hugs the plush closely.

“Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?”

He taps his fingers, “...maybe.”

…

“Stay here. If you feel sick, go to the toilet,” Dee whispered as he led Virgil into the yellow bathroom. The bright light stinged his squinting eyes, rubbing the crust from them.

Was Dee going to leave him here all night, is he going to sleep in the bathtub? He can barely sleep on the couch so he probably won’t get to sleep in a tub. What if he needed to throw up again and couldn't reach the toilet in time? Would he have a blanket or shiver all night???

A tissue wipes a dribble of vomit from his chin, blink blink, oh, Deceit's cleaning Virgil's mouth. There was still vomit leftover on his jacket as he wiped his mouth after– puking… he didn't know what else to do. Until he remembered there was a side down the hall he could talk to, which, took a lot of effort to muster the courage to wake Dee up. Dee always liked sleeping so Virgil didn’t want to make him mad by waking him up.

Deceit threw away the wipe, offering his gloved hands.

“Don't worry I'll take care of her,” Virgil looks down to his spider plush, Lila. His voice sounds smooth, sweet, caring that Virgil doesn't have a second thought about holding her out as she's cradled then put to the side. With two extra arms, Deceit asks to lift his jacket, he does and it's folded neat and with care- but he can tell Deceit is avoiding to touch little bits he left there.

He's left in a t-shirt, leaving his arms naked and goosebumps to travel up his spine. Virgil tries to warm them up the best he can without his warm, fuzzy, and huge jacket but he can only do so much.

…

“I'll be right back,” Anxiety pouted, yet didn't seem to fully disagree, so Deceit took the short window he had to put the jacket in the washer, hand scrub the plush with warm water and soap, drying her quickly but quietly so Vee wasn't alerted Deceit's water boarding his toy.

It wasn't a surprising guess to think Virge launched his dinner out in his room down the hall. Even with the door slightly cracked open, the pungent smell of stomach acid wafted as he walked by, plugging his nose and swallowing his bile.

Unluckily, the vomit is in the purple bed, on a very unfortunate spot. Located right over the comforter, popping on the black sheets, and slightly somehow the pillows. He sighs swiping and trashing away the big chucks with disgust. With a little vinegar, shake of baking soda, and a used rag, he scrubs away the stains. Scooping the comforter, unfolding the sheets, removing pillow cases, cramming into the washer.

He grabs another one of Anxiety's hoodies– a clean gray striped one from the closet. Not his favorite but the kid can't be picky at the moment.

By now, Lila is dry, if not slightly wet but Deceit furiously towel dries her till she's deemed dry enough for Anxiety to cuddle up with her again.

When he got back to the bathroom, Anxiety's staring at the inside of the toilet.

“I did it again…”

“In the toilet this time?”

“The toilet.”

Good, he thought to himself, less cleaning, helping dress Anxiety with a content expression, the kid happy to be a little warmer. Then springing to life when he shows him a clean Lila. But he frowns again.

“Do I sleep there tonight?” He pointed to the tub.

“God no Anxiety, you're not an animal,” Deceit didn't mean to say so harshly, but Anxiety has been around him enough to understand that.

He sulked as Deceit gathered a few things into the living room.

Fluffing one of his pillows onto the couch and sliding a warm blanket, Deceit presents a bed, “There,” Anxiety fiddles with his fingers, looking a little disappointed at the bed. Somethings missing, “Do you need me to read a story for you?”

“Can.. um, can I sleep somewhere else?”

“Where else?”

“Not on the couch,” he shyly taps his feet, “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Deceit has a confused expression, “What's possibly wrong with the couch?” Anxiety looked regretful he'd even asked, ready to take back what he said. Oh, he raised his eyebrows, it probably has nothing to do with the couch.

“Forget I said that. Of course you can Anxiety… you should have just said so.” Before he needed to dismantle his bed.

Dismantling aside, the pillow is secure under his arm, handing the blanket to Anxiety.

He fluffs his pillows to be extra comfortable. Anxiety wordlessly watching until Deceit scoops him up into a big hold, “Deeee, put me down,” he whines, pushing his face away with as much force his little hand could manage.

“How can I when you're just so huggable??” He launches him onto the bed, a few giggles out of him as his face is buried in the soft pillow.

Deceit crawls in bed, mindful of the tiny lump fidgeting next to him waiting until he's settled to wrap himself in a fuzzy purple blanket, wildly contrasting the yellow decor.

Deceit ruffles Anxiety's hair, slightly combing through the small black strands. The little side sighed and yawned into the blanket, his eyes lidded.

When Deceit sees the kid barely able to stay awake after only a few seconds, he summons himself a water and stops the combing. As Deceit reaches for the lamp, he feels an urgent tug on his sleeve, “Can the light be on tonight?” Deceit raised his brow, “For the monsters,” his already mumbly voice is muffled by Lila. No doubt one of Morality’s or Creativity’s stories scared him. They never knew how sensitive he was.

“I'm sorry,” Anxiety mumbles. Deceit didn't realize he made a face with Virge mistaking his anger for him. Deceit immediately patted his head, shoving down his negative feelings.

“Shh, it's alright Anxiety,” he smiles, “The monsters aren't real.”

He could immediately tell Anxiety tensed, “How do you know?”

“I don't leave the light on and no monsters have attacked me yet.”

Anxiety squinted. Why did Morality have to make the kid doubt him?

“I promise, ok?”

Anxiety didn't buy it.

Fine, you win Morality, “Ok, I’ll leave the light on all night. No monsters will ever get you when I'm around Anni.”

Anxiety blinked, and finally he eased into the blankets, “You're sure?”

“Mhm, I'll make sure nothing harms you,” he ruffles his hair again because he can’t help himself, it’s like petting a cat, then lets Anni lay more comfortably on the pillow.

“Can you stop me from throwing up?”

… “Uh, no.”

“Cause i’ hurts.”

“I bet Anxiety.” Deceit fully enveloped himself in the covers, mindful to not stretch out too much to disturb Anxiety. Who is surely but shortly falling asleep.

“Mmm goodnight Dee, I hope the monsters don't get you.” Anxiety nuzzled and fully settled.

“Goodnight… Anxiety.”

Deceit struggled to fall asleep, now with the light, but somehow he managed. He heard Anxiety's small breaths and mumblings as he drifted, which made him feel lighter knowing the side is sleeping soundly without waking up terrified from a nightmare, or the need to vomit.

He was going to have to talk to Morality later though, he thought, before succumbing to sleep.

#gasp a sanders sides fanfic in this economy??#sanders sides #virgil sanders #janus sanders #kid virgil #kid janus #platonic anxceit #anxceit #fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #fanfic #one shot #tw vomit #tw spiders #tw throwing up #this is one of my favorites that ive written :)

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gordonthegreatesttracy · 2 years ago

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@drileyf @cg29 @mrmustachious @tbirds @soniabigcheese @janetm74 @katblu42 @nourelle-tracy @alexthefly @ak47stylegirl @m-calculus

VACAY! Time for our big annual pilgrimage to the MotoGP! We had a blast 😁

Look at all the cool riders we met!

I met Rory Skinner, Virgil met Aleix Espargaro, Scott met Maverick Vinales, Alan met Darryn Binder and John met Augusto Fernandez!

And now we are in our tent - Parker jr said it counts as camping as it’s on a holiday site! Tomorrow it’s time for free practise 😁

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #gordon tracy #sea bean #plush life #team sea bean #the adventures of the sea bean #virgil tracy #scott tracy #alan tracy #john tracy #thunderbirds on tour

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the-space-jesus · 11 days ago

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♪Ride The Cyclone première today...♪

I can't believe we've come so far, and I'm very excited (and nervous) to play as Ricky Potts in our production of Ride The Cyclone. We've been working on this for almost a year now (the casting started somewhere in August last year I believe?) and I can't believe we've come so far! I'm so thankful for all the moments we've shared and I hope we don't make too much mistakes.

To celebrate this, I've decided to share a few unique and awesome parts of our musical. What I haven't mentioned is that we have our own choreo for all of the songs that our director made.

We have not one but TWO Karnaks! Personally I think this is a genius idea. Since our Karnaks are not an animatronic, if it had been only one he'd have to just stare into everybody's soul and be bored when he didn't have text or we were performing a song. But now, there's two, and not only does that split the huge amount of text Karnak has in half, but the two have a very fun dynamic and interact with eachother throughout the entire musical.

We have an extra role who is briefly introduced but mostly helps with decor, props and singing. Her name is Rosalynn (Rosa Lynn?? It's been a while since I've seen the script printed out XD) and she died at the same fair a few years before the choir kids. Karnak explains how she decided to help them instead of going to the afterlife or "something lame like that" (please lmk if any of you guys want to see Karnak's monologue about her). As an extra, she's super helpful to us and often picks up our props after we're done using them and also helps the Karnaks die.

In WTWN everyone first leaves the stage like "wtf is this girl yapping about", then come back with POMPOMS! We're supposed to be her cheerleaders, fake smiles and all and we use them throughout our choreo.

In Noel's Lament, the background dancers (us) all have beautiful fancy fans that fit the old-fashioned French vibes! Once again, they're used in the choreo. Everyone has different colors. Mischa has blue (vibes), Ocean has red (vibes), Jane has white (it's a blank color and fits her color scheme), Ricky has purple (vibes again) and Constance has black (she's like Ocean's shadow).

In the 2016 slime tutorial (I think?) there appears a picture of Noel working at Taco Bell to which he responds "What is that?" and the whole scene continues and all. Since we don't have a projector (RIP Talia we originally wanted to cast a real person as Talia and project her), the Mariachi band who are all dressed with Mexican attributes and Mexican flags but aren't on stage yet (I believe it consists of Virgil, Rosalynn and Mischa) THROW A BUNCH OF BURRITOS AT NOEL. Not real burritos thank God that would be such a mess to clean up every time and also a waste of food. They throw a few crochet burritos (made by our Ocean) and a few plush burritos at him. That scene is very funny and it's become an inside joke to say "burrito!" And throw something soft at our Noel and he also often jokes that he now has a fear of Mexican cuisine.

In Talia, the guys except Mischa (Ricky and Noel) dance moves inspired by traditional Russian dance (and Rasputin...) which I find very cool since I'm Slavic I got to have say in it the funny thing is both me and Noel are Slavic so we know how to do this VERY WELL.

In the rest scene with Ricky and Jane, where Ricky wishes "Savannah" a happy birthday, he gives her one of his hairclips. You see, Ricky has four red star hairclips in his hair for the entire musical. He gives one of them to her as a gift. She at first has no clue what to do with it and tries to eat it until Ricky puts it in her hair. THE SPACEDOLLSSHSHSJS this is actually such a cute detail I love it I don't remember who came up with it though. In that same scene Ricky sits on a little rocking horse instead of a box.

We actually have a lot of background stuff happening! It's kindof boring to just have everyone standing completely still in a line when somebody else talks, so our characters occassionally improvise and talk to eachother, lean against the walls or sit somewhere. Of course, we don't do it too much else it would distract from what the vocal point of the scene is supposed to be. We have a few ones that are kind of scripted?? Like Mischa giving Ricky a high five after he says "Porno is magical" or Constance comforting Noel after he gets upset at his catchphrase.

There's a lot of purple and light in our posters, as well as some yellow safety tape. Idk I just thought that was really cool.

SABM is just generally very cursed, I have to speedrun putting on glittery suspenders and a glittery bowtie overall glitter is very prominent in our version there's also a few blow-up discoballs and everyone wears cat ears and a cat tail except for Ricky, I wear a cat hood quite similar to the one he has in the 2016 slime tutorial. At "FOR THEY'RE AT WAR WITH CANINE!" I burst through a silver curtain.

We have a CYCLONE SEAT™! When everyone is getting seated the Karnaks guide one (un)lucky person to the Cyclone Seat™. This seat is referenced a few times throughout the musical like "Count Dogulous that sonofabitch *points directly at cyclone Seat*" or "Don't be a dick! *Cyclone seat illuminated*", etc.

I can't explain our decor here but I personally think it's super cool and all together looks amazing and defininetely gives abandoned warehouse vibes. Our Karnaks have a little house that's COVERED with posters and stickers (it has everything, from show posters of other shows our cast has been in to Latin homework to a little cat Jane Meow I drew and stuck on yesterday) and they do have their little fortune telling ball aswell as a little sign to earn people of the high voltage. We have some Virgil-themed decorations, and some fair/circus themed decorations and loads of references to the show. It's GREAT!!

That's all I can think of right now, I might add some more later. Anyways, time to go to our last rehearsal before the premiere...

#ray yaps #rtc musical #rtc #ride the cyclone #ride the cyclone musical

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