#part one of many............... i am not done

[sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame]

I wrote a letter to my favorite characters and then they all came to life and came to my house and fucked me dumb?! Part 1/?

This is the most blatant wish fulfillment 2015 tumblr "oi! She doesn't bloody want you" type of fanfiction I would've fucking killed seventeen men for when I was 12. I refuse to edit this. No beta we die like men. This whole thing was inspired by this manga I feel like, if this ever did happen (and yes gods please let this somehow happen to me except maybe not with Valeria I feel like she'd start a meth lab in my house) they would all kill each other in days. We're just pretending Ellie and Dina haven't met in this universe and Owen was a comphet situation that happened yeeeears ago and Ambessa isn't dead and most of the bad things haven't happened <3. We're going to put our suspension of disbelief glasses on and have a good time today. This story works best if you read it like an obviously fake aita post. Enjoy lesbians. Also fuck ai I don't respect clanker lovers, I just like the em dash because it's perfect, and you can tear it from my cold dead hands. Dedicated to Loki, one of the gods I actually work with. Also I was 100% joking about actually wanting them to come life my mental health would TANK if I had to deal with even just one of these people in real life. Ellie's trauma alone would turn my bedroom into a therapists office daily.

Warnings: discussion of sex but no smut this time, masturbation mention, interdimensional sexting, constant threats of murder, guns, reader gets punched, reader is black, first person, the authors obvious self-insert, cursing, I def wouldn't read this at the thanksgiving table, girly reader, she/her pronouns used, and references to vaginas and tits (sorry butches and dolls, if this gets enough traction I'll write a couple other versions of it for u) , literally the most self-indulgent bullshit on earth but I know it'll be devoured

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I've always had a soft spot for the tough characters. The women who look like they take no shit, like if I mouthed off to them they could rip me in half lengthwise.

I'd spent MANY a night with my hitachi in one hand and my phone, opened to ao3, or tumblr—and once, a long, long while ago, wattpad—scrolling through a fanfic about one of my beloved characters.

Sevika. Big. Strong. Loyal as fuck. The type to sneer at the stuffed animals I have on my dresser—I don't put them on my bed cause I don't have enough space for all of them and I can't just pick favorite, that'd be so mean—one second, and have three more sat on a new shelf she built for them the next.

Ambessa. Not evil, but far from good. A woman who'd give me everything in the world and then some. Sure, she's a "warlord" and she'd most definitely have me living in a cage next to her desk, but who am I to not support women?

Abby. Gorgeous and built like a fucking tank. Full of love and a need for control I would READILY hand over to her. The softest out of anyone of my faves for sure. I could spend years cuddled up next to her on the couch, watching romcoms and making fun of each other for crying at the sad parts. And even longer making her little protein packed lunches cut into Sanrio character shapes for her to take to work after the gym.

Ellie. Full of rage and curiosity. She should've been an astronomer in a band part time. She should've spent her weekends going to Pokémon conventions, getting into arguments with kids about whether fire type or ghost type are cooler. She should've made better decisions. She should've done a lot of things. It doesn't stop me from loving her character all the same.

And finally, Valeria. Genuinely terrifying. A woman determined to get what she wants at all costs. Truly independent and full of raw intelligence and cunning. If it's between her and the bear, I'm calling the cops on behalf of the bear, cause I know I couldn't beat her in a fight. That being said, I couldn't change her. But maybe I could show her what life looks like when 'winning' isn't your only goal. Probably not though.

I've read enough about them to write a series of novels on each of them, and that day was no different.

I truly do not know what happened. None of us do. I just know that whatever it is, it was probably stupid.

I had just left out offerings for all my gods, finishing with Loki. I'd bought a bunch of pop rock chocolate bars and I already knew he'd be psyched to try one. I'd placed it on his altar, lit the candle, and out of selfishness more than anything, I started talking.

About my day, my week, my job. How tiring it'd been. I loved writing, and I was happier than I'd ever been being able to support myself with my work, but the deadlines, and the book signings, and being in the public eye albeit how negligible the amount of reach I really had was starting to get to me.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful! I do NOT want it to go away. Let me be 100% clear about that. But I just want some more time to be, you know? Or at least some more time with people who'll let me simply exist. Oh my god, it's just like in this fanfic I read the other day—" I then proceeded to recount every detail of the last few fanfics I'd read, mostly because they couldn't physically manifest in front of me and tell me to shut up.

"Maybe I should try doing some character exercises with them? It might ease my writer's block a bit."

I nodded to myself. Satisfied with my excuse to play around and avoid writing the thing I actually needed to submit before the twenty-fourth.

"Yeah. That's what I'll do. Thanks Loki, you always know how to help me with this kind of thing."

Then I stayed up until four in the morning writing letters to each of the women I listed a couple paragraphs ago.

It did help a bit, actually. Writing a letter to someone who doesn't exist really brings up some deep, uncomfortable truths.

In case you're interested, here's what I wrote. Just scroll past it if you want to get to the fun part, that's what I usually did.

"Dear Sevika,

You're most likely horribly busy. You're a councilwoman now, I'm super proud of you by the way, you've managed to defy literally every obstacle in your way in order to get to a place where you have a chance of helping your community in ways you probably never thought possible, but strived towards anyway. I really envy that about you. You're a lot stronger than me in that way.

There are many things I would change about the world I'm in if I had the tenacity you do.

(Here's where I wrote multiple paragraphs of super personal shit I absolutely refuse to put on the internet, I will put this exact same message under every other one. Sharing is NOT caring, sharing spreads disease.)

Anyway, I think of you often. I find myself wishing you were here, or that I was there. Just with each other. Wrapped in each other's embrace in a comfortable silence. Or just sat near each other even, a jazz record playing on the vinyl you insisted we buy at the thrift store near my house, reading silently while I admire the sight of you in the reading glasses I had to bully you into buying. It's so odd missing someone who's never been there.

Thank you. For existing. You've given me reason to keep going and you're literally a drawing.

All the love."

"Dear Ambessa,

God they don't make them like you anymore and for that reason I grieve every single day.

I just look at you and see such beauty. I have no doubts in my mind that my work ethic and living space would appall you, there's a pile of dirty laundry on the chair I'm supposed to be writing this letter in instead of my bed as we speak. I hope there'd be parts of me you'd see as beautiful too.

(Personal shit paragraphs, I lied about copy and pasting the message. Hi. This is fun. I might throw in one personal thing as a treat in on of these)

I feel the need to speak formally with you despite the closeness I ache for from you. Despite that, I can't help but want to take care of you. I know you're used to pampering beyond what any one person could possibly offer, but in my daydreams, we go out to dinner and I walk you to the pier, and I tell you all the stories I'm too scared to show the world.

I can't tell you how proud I would be to be yours.

Sincerely."

"Dear Abby,

Hi love. God this is weird, I should definitely be working right now instead of doing this. I don't even know what I'll do with this letter when I'm done.

I guess I'll just say that I think you're beautiful. You do so much for everyone around you when life has been anything but kind to you and I truly wish you could have the softest life possible.

I want you in my life desperately. I want to bake cookies with you on Sundays, and braid your hair for you, and have you sit and help me retiwst my hair every couple months. I'd let you pick whatever movies we watched every time as payment. I sound like a redditor. I need to go to bed.

Goodnight, lovie."

"Dear Ellie,

I hope the world is treating you well, even though I know it isn't. I guess I hope it starts to. I would love to hear some space facts or hear you play the guitar or just put on a dvd with you.

(Personal shit again, I bet you thought I'd stopped randomly, huh? This section is just about grief. I won't say towards who specifically, but that's the little glimpse you get.)

I wish you peace. God knows you've fought for it enough.

All the best."

"Dear Valeria,

God you're terrifying. I'd gladly let you ruin my life. I'm sorry this letter is so horny, it's 3am right now. I also just think you're really cool. I don't think I could figure out how to become a kingpin if there was a wikihow article on it. Honestly, there probably is.

I wonder what your hobbies are. What your life would be like. I want to crack open your skull and climb in and just see how you see the world for once.

I'd apologize for that being creepy, but I'm 100% sure you'd say something worse to me and not regret it even a little bit.

(I didn't write her any personal shit. Even thinking absolutely nothing would come of this I didn't chance it.)

I hope it's all worth it for you, in the end.

Kisses."

I didn't sign my name on any of them. Even though I knew no one would ever see them, the idea of any of the letters being read was embarassing on a primal level. The next morning, I got up and burned them in the fireplace before I got my day started.

I fed the cat, I wrote, I answered emails, I drank coffee, I even went on a little walk to the park. I sat on an old log bench and counted every bee I saw, like I always did in the summer.

I went home early, tired despite having done as much in a day as a retired ceo.

I was all but ready to sink into the couch and watch as many episodes of say yes to the dress as I could before I got started on dinner when I noticed my mailbox.

I had my normal junk mail, complete with a random magazine I'd never read but will never unsubscribe from.

And five letters.

Naturally, I called ConEdison the second I could to check for a gas leak.

Mundane before magical, always. It'd make a lot more sense that I had some kind of mental break and written letters back to myself and forgotten then whatever the fuck was in those five envelopes.

I mean how the fuck would mail even work in the last of us?

Nothing though. The gas was fine. I felt ok, but I guess everyone thinks they're ok when they're having a break from reality.

I didn't open the letters for five days. I was scared what I'd see to be completely honest.

In those five days I got three more.

Here's the gist of what they said:

"Who is this? Where do you know me from? Your name isn't familiar, I know you're not one of Babette's girls.

Keep talking. That sounded nice.

Sevika."

"Dearest,

I apologize, I'm forced to assume I'm not exactly familiar with you as you haven't shared your name, but I have to assume we've met before. I can't say I've ever had someone speak to or of me in the way you have. It's amusing.

Pick up your laundry. A clean space can't make your current state any worse, now, can it?

This is by far the strangest proposal I've ever received. But I am intrigued.

Let's see if you'd carry my name well,

You are cordially invited to the Merida estate. I am expecting your presence within the week. Please give me your current state of residence so I can send for transportation.

I'll see you soon,

Sincerely,

Ambessa."

"Hi,

Who is this? And how are you sending mail to the wlf base? No one has seen anyone leave anything at the base and this letter showed up outside. If there is a postal system somewhere I'm not aware of, I'd love to discuss it in more detail and get involved. If you're in the base, I understand you might not want to meet, but leaving for the sole purpose of leaving me a love note when you could've left it at my door is not only dangerous, but very unnecessary.

As for the content of the letter, I'm not sure what to say. Thank you, first of all. I wish I could say the same for you, but I don't know who you are.

What is retwisting? Does it have something to do with Redditor? And where are you finding movies? And ways to watch them?

Please respond to this ASAP. And if you have enough paper to send letters, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could send some as well.

I hope you had a good night's sleep.

Kind regards,

Abby."

"Who the fuck is this? How did you get this address? What the fuck do you want?

Ellie."

"I'm going to find you. Keep that attitude when we meet.

Besos."

The second two were from Ambessa, again. Basically scolding me for not replying sooner.

I wasn't going to respond.

If it was a delusion I was experiencing, it would definitely not have been smart to keep playing into it. And if, some-fucking-how, it was really happening, what was I supposed to do? Be penpals with the most mentally unstable women on different planes of existence as me?

On the other hand, the world is on fire, and the president is evil, so maybe, it'd be worth it to respond a little. Just one letter back each, I figured. Maybe apologizing for being so forward, and explaining that I didn't think anyone would see it or respond, and that I'd actually tossed the letters into a fireplace in fact (Abby was especially stunned to hear that). Maybe explaining to Ellie specifically that I physically could not attack her and I didn't want to, mostly out of being a decent human being, but partially because there was zero chance I made it out of a fight with her alive.

That one letter didn't stay alone for long.

"So you're just, sending these letters with magic? You're a witch? Like Streganonna? How do you know me?" Were Abby's most pressing questions. She also thanked me profusely for sending paper, and bandaids, gauze, neosporin, anything else i had in my first aid kit I could shove in an extra large envelope.

"Fascinating. I have to say I'm even more intrigued now, dearest. Please, tell me where you are so I can send for you." I did not want Ambessa knowing my address. Especially considering whatever curtain kept our reality's separate was obviously breaking, we didn't need an actual dictator being made aware of the current political state of the world (this also didn't last long, I ended up venting about a lot more than my own personal life to her pretty soon. She knows about every war I know about now, and we're pretty much all screwed).

"I didn't ask how you sent it. Or how you knew.

Send me more, cariño. I'll let you crack me open if I can split you in half first.

Kisses." Was all Valeria said.

Ellie stopped threatening me and started asking how I knew her. After that creepy ass letter, it felt wrong to not explain it to her. It did seem like it'd do more harm than good, but what was I supposed to do? Imagine not knowing something like this forever. If she was real it was probably a snapewives situation or something where the creator (fuck Neil, free Palestine btw, the link in my bio has links to help people out) channeled the experiences of people from an alternate universe. That made the most sense out of every other explanation I could come up with.

And it felt like it'd be wrong to only respond to Ellie...

So, I kept sending them letters. For months.

I told them about each other. That went over about as well as you expected.

Ellie and Abby didn't respond to me for weeks, with Ellie just writing back "Tell me where she is."

Sevika and Ambessa clearly had met somewhere before, and refused to elaborate on how or when. But neither of them were particularly fond of the idea of me speaking to the other.

"She couldn't give you the life I could. You'd be royalty. A goddess among men. Stop responding to her." That letter came with several pieces of jewelry that each looked like they were worth about seventeen months of my rent.

"That bitch couldn't fuck you right."

That letter came with nothing.

I sent them photos, and cassette players and tapes of my favorite songs which they were all utterly fascinated by, and supplies for Ellie and Abby. It seemed like any sized package from any store or postal service worked as a method to send stuff, even if it seemed slightly too big for the fireplace. There was never any metal or plastic residue. I tested it frequently.

The more we talked the more I started to dread the idea of the letter s suddenly stopping.

I nearly had a panic attack when Abby let me know she was going on patrol for the first time.

It freaked the both of us out when we found out the letters just showed up close to wherever she was.

I was achingly curious how it all worked, as were they. All of them tried to find more about how it worked in their own way, Valeria especially.

She took the news of being in a video game the easiest.

"I always had the feeling no one but me was real." She'd said.

After a while, and multiple promises that Valeria wouldn't blow up my home if she got the chance to, I sent them pictures of me, my house, my senior cat, who Valeria sent me 8,000 US dollars to take to the vet one day when I told her she was sick.

"I don't like seeing animals hurt. That's all. If there's any left over, spend it on something nice, and send me a photo. Don't send it to any of those other bitches or I'll kill them."

I even sent them memes I saw, that I immediately regretted because explaining memes to people who've never seen them makes you sound insane.

"I could make a better mémé." Ellie had purposefully started miswriting the word meme ever since the first time I told her how it was pronounced.

She also stood by it, and sent me a realistic picture of a dinosaur holding a flower with the words 'this is a meme' under it.

"That is better than every other meme I've seen, you're right." I framed it.

It was by this time I started fully believing it was real.

I can't draw for shit, and unless I was secretly the most talented cat burglar in the world, there was physically no way I could get the money and jewelry I'd received.

I tried to send it all back, but Valeria just sent back 16,000$ and threatened to keep doubling it if I didn't "behave".

Ambessa did similar, except she never sent cash since she knew I couldn't use Noxian currency.

She sent luxurious fabrics, jewelry, body oils that smelled shockingly close to my perfume—which she knew about, cause I sent her a piece of paper I'd rubbed a little of my perfume onto once, cause I'm a whore—and once the most beautiful ring I'd ever seen.

I knew what it probably meant, and refused to speak on it.

I didn't know what I'd say if I did.

I told them about history, Ellie and Abby about the past 22 years, to which they both felt sympathy about, but not much, considering they were living through a literal zombie apocalypse. Reasonably so.

Most of their responses on politics boiled down to "that's awful. What are you doing about it?"

To which I responded "almost nothing, I'm black and also I don't want to get shot and killed by a cop."

Ambessa and Sevika were a different story.

Neither of them were strangers to injustice, but for different reason. After a bit of prompting, they apparently even met in person, and didn't kill each other! Ambessa actually was willing to build a school in Zaun, for god knows what reason. They sent me a letter from both of them with a small, sketched drawing of the both of them sitting next to each other.

I was completely fucking baffled I'm not gonna lie.

It got dangerous fast, the letters.

I never lied to any of them about each other. I told them everything both when promoted and unprompted. I grew to consider them all friends. If not, maybe a bit more. But they were just flirty by nature, they didn't actually mean anything! They couldn't. How would a relationship with them even work?

I found out eventually. Valeria sent me a fucking filthy letter. The kind of thing you need to read sitting down.

And god, I knew it was wrong but I just wanted to make her feel an inch of what I felt for her, so I got my little camera, and I went down to the bougiest lingerie store I could find, and I bought a light pink set—her favorite color—with her money. I took a couple photos of myself in it, sprawled out in bed. Hands dangerously close to my pussy. Then I sent her the pictures as well as said worn lingerie.

"Good girl. Again." She sent it with a brand new set she'd bought for me. And I listened. Because I really really wanted to be her good girl.

I did tell everyone else. God they're so fucking gay, was that actually the catalyst for this?

I think it actually was.

It'd been one day. I was dreading the responses. I knew I wasn't cheating, but I felt something for all of them and I know they all felt the same to different extents and I didn't want to assume what was ok and what wasn't.

I spent the day emailing my editor, asking for clarification on their notes and begging them to lie to me about the date of the next deadline so I could pretend it was earlier and actually finish the third draft in time.

And something downstairs fucking exploded.

I thought it might have been my cat, for a terrifying second before I saw she'd been sleeping next to me the whole time, and had just then been woken up by the noise.

She froze for a second, the way she did whenever someone was visiting.

Then she darted out of the door, to hide somewhere until whatever terrifying thing had caused that noise went away.

Then I heard the yelling.

I fucking sprinted downstairs, running into my living room in nothing but a t shirt that just barely covered my ass I'd gotten from an ex years ago cause I didn't exactly think I'd have company.

And there they were.

They didn't look exactly the same. Noses were slightly bigger, eyes were less pigmented, bodies were somehow fucking bigger than they looked animated, and Ellie's tattoo was slightly less defined than I would've thought it was.

But it was them. All about to fucking kill each other.

Then my dumbass came in, "oh my god, oh my fucking god, please stop! Wait—" then I'd gotten punched in the face and everything went black.

I woke up like ten minutes later, no headache or anything, just a fat purple bruise and an ice pack on my face.

"You fucking murderer. You killed her."

"I did not kill her. I didn't even hit her. It was that one, Vika."

"It's Sevika."

"That's not what she called you."

"No, it's what you call me."

I sat up, grateful for the blanket someone had draped over me.

They all immediately swarmed me, Sevika stepping away from my completely wrecked fireplace that she was trying to fix.

"Darling, are you alright, how are you feeling?"

"Baby, oh my god,"

"I'm so sorry, doll, I didn't mean to, I'd never hurt you, I'd never let anyone hurt you."

"Agehnei koosnb bdhauao."

Or that's what I assumed they all said, it's all kind of a blur. They all spoke at once, reaching for parts of me and glaring at each other.

They were all covered in soot like a bunch of lesbian Santa Clauses.

I started laughing like a maniac, my swollen jaw aching a bit with the smile stretching onto my face.

"Oh...hooooh my god,"

It quickly devolved into sobs, freaking them out even more.

I started scrambling around for my phone, I remembered when I first started researching psychosis that thing where you hold up your phone camera to see if what's in front of you is real, cause the brain hasn't quite figured out how to accommodate for phone cameras when it comes to hallucinations.

I couldn't find it, until a manicured tanned hand passed it to me over my couch, "thank you," I choked out through sobs.

They were there. I took several photos. And videos. They moved and talked and they all stared at me like dogs that had just gotten finished tearing the couch apart.

"Holy shit." I managed after a few minutes of struggle filled breathing.

"Told you I'd get you." Valeria said from behind me.

I turned to her, in complete awe.

She leaned in, "you gonna try on that set for me in person, muñekita?"

A hand swiftly reached up and pushed her back, and she immediately pulled out her gun.

"NO! NO! Ok, rule, no fighting or shooting or killing in or out of my house!"

Valeria huffed, but didn't pull her piece out, so I considered it a small win.

"Ok...you're here...oh my god, you're here!" I said, about the start crying for a whole other reason now.

"If I'd known you'd be this weepy, I would've brought you tissues, dearest." Ambessa said, putting her hand on my thigh.

"Does anyone know how?"

Ambessa gave me the most predatory grin I'd ever seen.

"I made it happen. I told you I'd send for you." She said, not breaking eye contact with me as she rubbed circles along the part of flesh she'd managed to snake her way to under the blanket.

Sevika spoke, "Merdada, you didn't."

I gasped, filling in the gaps as to what she could've meant.

"Bessa..."

"What? What did she do?" Abby asked. I gasped again, feeling more and more like a hallmark movie heroine with every freckle I counted on her face.

"Oh Abby, you sound so sweet." I said, watching her face flush red.

Ellie stepped in, "she's not. She's a fucking killer's what she is."

"Ellie! Oh my god, come here."

She did and I gave her the biggest hug, enjoying her warmth and feeling utterly terrified by the fact that I could feel her rubs through her shirt.

She was pulled away by Sevika and I could tell another fight was about to break out so I moved the blanket and stood up.

"Ok, I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon—"

A series of grumbles and grimaces were immediately thrown my way, "—so can we sit and eat maybe? I'll order a pizza or something."

Everyone nodded and I opened up my phone, desperate for a reason to not make eye contact with any of them.

It didn't work, cause they all seemed insistent on putting their faces as close to my screen as humanely possible except Valeria.

"Just call, it'll come faster." Valeria said.

"I promise you it won't."

Valeria took the phone from me and promptly called the place for me.

"Any toppings?"

No one said a word. The tension in the air so thick I wasn't completely sure they could hear her over it.

"Just pepperoni. Mhmm. Ok." She said, winking at me.

"Can...can the discussion this warrants wait until after we eat?" I asked.

They all nodded, except Sevika, who promptly went back to trying to fix my fireplace, followed by Abby.

They both needed something to do with their hands, I couldn't blame them.

Ambessa spoke, firmly and swiftly. "I don't see what there is to discuss. I'm here. We are to be wed, and you will be coming back to my world with me."

"Like hell she will—"

"If it's even possible to go back, she's coming with me. Le doy dos semanas antes de que la decapiten y te lleve con ella." Valeria leaned down and whispered into my ear.

"Valeria, literally no one here speaks Spanish, I know!" I interrupted her before she could speak, "I need to learn, but duolingo costs money and is run by robots now."

"Lo hablo. Pero ella tampoco va a volver contigo. ¿Qué se supone que hará cuando te arresten? ¿Esperarte mientras te pudres en la cárcel sin dinero ni posibilidad de conseguir trabajo?" Said Abby.

"Ok, Abby speaks Spanish, no one else does can we please share what you both just said with the class?"

Valeria rolled her eyes "¿Oh? ¿Entonces ella debería ir contigo y ser comida?"

Then Abby reached for her gun.

"CAN WE PLEASE FUCKING CALM DOWN." I couldn't stop myself from shaking, "this is literally the first time I've even seen a gun in person and the five people I care about more than anyone in the world are about to kill each other can we please just take a minute?"

They didn't say anything, just stood, seething at each other.

"Thank you. Can I trust you all to not kill each other in the time it takes me to put panties on?"

Every head turned to stare at me the second I said it, which was the intended effect.

I even stretched slightly, letting my shirt hike up a bit.

"Careful, baby." Sevika said. "You're about to get yourself in trouble you can't get out of."

I am ashamed to admit I shuddered a bit.

"Maybe I want that. Be good and don't kill each other and I'll put on something that shows off my tits." I said before reaching for my tv remote and putting on the sports channel for the first time in my life, hoping whatever was on would be enough to distract them for a minute.

I tried to hold back my smile as I heard everyone but Valeria gasp as the tv turned on.

I rushed upstairs and put on my favorite nightgown. The pink one that was just long enough to be appropriate in company but fit me like a glove, and cupped my heavy tits perfectly, showing off every curve, every jiggle as I moved, every bounce I leaned into a bit more than necessary.

I overheard the surprisingly civil small talk from downstairs as Valeria filled them all in on the rules of soccer (I think?).

"So the game is actually happening right now?"

"Yes. I usually don't have time to watch it live."

"Not a great signal from the mob front?" Ellie said, jokingly.

"What exactly did she tell you?"

I came down just as the delivery guy came by, Valeria opened the door like it was her house and gave him the money in cash before I could reach for my bag.

Then she guided me by the small of my back to the couch.

And all eyes fell on me.

"Eat." Sevika said, opening the pizza box like she wasn't completely unsure how it worked.

I did. And I watched everyone visibly lower their defenses as I nibbled on a slice of pepperoni pizza. My favorite, which Valeria knew. "It's basic for a reason." I'd told her.

Ellie and Abby stared at the pizza like it'd bite them, and it'd be the best experience of their lives.

Sevika turned to them, I watched her recognize hunger on their faces.

"Fucking eat something. I'm not fixing the fireplace myself if you both pass out."

They stared at her quizzically, before I slid the box towards them.

Ellie tentatively took the first bite, hissing when it burned her tongue a bit before devouring her slice in about a minute. Abby followed suit. I just knew if she'd been born here she'd be patting the grease off with a paper towel instead of relishing in the calories the slice had, cause it'd mean she'd have enough energy to live another day.

Ambessa sneered at it. "You couldn't have gotten her something more substantial? Bread with cheese and cheap cuts of meat is what you'd spoil her with?"

"Te dispararé en el momento en que ella no esté mirando." Valeria said, earning a chuckle from Abby.

They shared a brief, soft moment where smirks melted just enough to become something close to a smile for half a second.

Everyone had eaten, and Abby had picked up the box and taken it to the recycling in the span of time it took for everyone to notice my tits were spilling out of my dress.

It was getting dark out, and the cat needed feeding. She'd hide for the rest of the night and miss getting her dose of medicine.

I told them as much, but no one moved to give me a way out.

"You know...Sevika and I talked." Ambessa said.

"Yeah? About what?" Abby said, voice low as she kept her eyes locked on chest.

Sevika rubbed her hand along the back of my neck. A gesture that should've been possessive.

"Sharing her."

[balrogballs]

I read ‘The Horses’ and it was well-written, but it made me think about a debate I had here some time ago. It’s fascinating how so many voices in fandom insist that the ‘kinslayings’ were a citizen bloodbath when there’s no evidence to say civilian died, let alone children. I’m not defending them, and I understand all three were not good events, they were tactically the wrong choice. What I don’t get is why Feanorian haters act like they’re Putin or something, when they’re not even the villains of the Silmarillion. Are you all getting some info somewhere the rest of us cannot access? 

Apologies for the delay but this ask was so “???” I just assumed it was trolling and ignored it until I was directed to actual takes on this website with names attached, fully espousing this view… some of you are really braver than I could ever be. Anyway, guess I’ll bite 🥲

OK pls know I am coming at this as someone who adores the Fëanorians. 80% of my writing is about the two triple-Michelin star kinslayers, and none of it shows them as “unsympathetic” characters. Believe me, I’m not one of the “moral purity olympics” players who decide that enjoying “problematic” characters is a ticket to fan hell. I am not a Fëanorianhater, I am a Fëanorianfucker. I would like to fuck them all. I would like to fuck them all at once in the world’s greatest golf game. Nine holes, one Ball. That aside… 

Why do you need or expect proof that civilians or children died in the kinslayings? 😭

The majority of the legendarium is written as a “history” rather than a traditional story. The main parts where “civilians” take an active role and their individual lives are extensively described are the Hobbits and The Shire, because the whole point is that they’re civilians who lead “little lives”. Everything else has to do with either royalty, warriors or scribes: even Beren, the most “area man” character in the Silmarillion, is a chieftain’s son, ie a prince. Aragorn is not a ranger, Aragorn is a king. Nearly every single named character, including the Hobbits, are named only because of and through their proximity to Greatness™️, either the Great Stories™️ or those named in or writing them. 

Anyone with any exposure to history as a discipline knows that past a certain point, it is nearly impossible to learn much about the lives of ordinary people through written history, simply because there is no written record of lives deemed not important enough to chronicle. If your continent is sinking and you want to get archival material out, you’re not going to take a copy of the Friday market schedule of Doriath. Much of what we know about daily life of civilians prior to a certain time period comes from archeological evidence, like buried villages or skeletal remains. This is, obviously, not possible with a sunken continent. The broader world of the legendarium is given in anthropological sweeps, with much to be inferred rather than seen. 

But like… is this just pointless pedantry, or do you actually think that means there were no bakers in Beleriand? 

Now, please don’t come in with “________ didn’t relinquish the Silmaril so they could actually have saved the cities had they done so”. That is completely irrelevant to the question of civilian death. You can blame whoever you want for it happening in the first place, that is your prerogative or interpretation and honestly I don’t really care: I’m just saying that the kinslayings did happen and so civilians would have died in them.

City Sacking

Now, I don’t know if the term “sacking” would apply to Alqualondë, mainly because there isn’t much point for Fëanor and co. to fuck around there once the ships are secured: the whole point was to get to Middle Earth without wasting any time. Plus, the Teleri were still kicking about there when Elwing turned up, hence I assume the city itself survived to some extent. So because I’m not sure about that one, I’ll leave it out of the “sacking” definition. However, crucially, everyone who died in Alqualondë would have been a civilian regardless of whether or not the city was sacked. The Eldar at that point were not a warring race: the whole fandom joke about Fëanor is that he invented war (as we know it). The Teleri were ship-guys and had no swords: they're the definition of civilian. Again, you can have whatever interpretation for whoever is at fault but like… come on. 

Doriath and Sirion, however, were both sacked, ie, destroyed or made obsolete: had that not been the case, there would not have been a refugee column out of Doriath, and there would have been no need for Sirion to exist as a sanctuary city. And Sirion, explicitly said to be the worst of the three, would have likely been a site of even greater mass casualty, especially considering it was a refugee city of survivors from Doriath and Gondolin, where it can be assumed that many of the actual warriors/soldiers would have perished in the actual city-sackings hence Sirion is less likely to have been a particularly militarised space. And it was also here that soldiers refused to do the killings they were commanded to: again, the inference is that the people at the other end of the sword were not equally capable/trained soldiers. You can’t have a refugee city and then pretend that its only residents were a handful of Elwing’s guards.

There is no way to sack a city without wide-scale civilian death aside from total surrender, and even then there are likely to be deaths. Even in “targeted strikes” in modern warfare, conducted with drones and surveillance systems, civilian casualties are high. Now translate that to the context of pre-modern, sword-and-arrow warfare, in which combatants are storming dense, populated settlements. Doriath and Sirion were not military barracks; they were homes, cultural centres, places with food and art and literary networks, caretakers, nurseries, and schools. The sack of a city, even if conducted “with orders” or “against leadership targets,” does not function like a surgical operation. Chaos is inevitable. Soldiers disobey, mistakes are made, rage spirals, and those least able to defend themselves are the most likely to suffer. The civilian death toll of WWII was twice the military death toll.

If we're being pedantic about what's directly written in the text… these instances were specifically referred to as kinslayings. There are battles and there are slayings. Regardless of whether or not city sacking was the original goal or whose fault it was that the soldiers entered the gates, the sacking of a city or settlement guarantees mass civilian death in the way an open battle, eg. say Nirnaeth or Dagor-lad, does not. Sure, stablehands or armourers or healers do die in the latter, but it’s still a battlefield death, and the people there are conscious of being in said battlefield situation: the Èowyn plotline in LotR engages with this directly. It’s half the plot of Game of Thrones!

And all this matters immensely in the context of the Third Kinslaying especially, because by that point the Oath has metastasised from hubristic defiance+ethnonationalist ideology to what can only be termed a generational death drive. Something does not stop being militaristic brutality just because you like the guy who did it. A tragedy is not purely symbolic just because you view it through the effect it has on the psyche of the perpetrator. Acts of war aren't aberrations of personality, they're the predictable outcome of ideology, action and circumstance. I can’t find the exact post this was on but @antlered-vixen had a really fantastic comment on how fan-reactions to certain acts of individual violence (evil bad worst) vs acts of mass violence (did it really matter/happen?) says a lot about what kind of violence they tolerate, and who they view as “people”. Also re: “we love our war criminal blorbo who did no war crimes at all”. 

Impact on Blorbo

I don’t actually mean that the Fëanorians 100% hands-downs directly killed civilians: nobody is saying Maglor went around personally sniping pub-bards (although tbh… funny 🤭). Hell, I’d even say the Fëanorians probably didn’t do much civilian-killing themselves, as commanders/lords they’re less likely to have much contact with the civilians of a sacked city, and more likely to have gone straight for the targets, eg. Dior/Nimloth/Elwing, especially as they’d have the strongest guard around them. And considering Maedhros and Maglor’s actions after Doriath and Sirion respectively, I don’t actually think either of them would have much of a stomach to directly do something like killing civilians willy-nilly, Oath or no Oath. 

However, in real life, the dirtiest work in any war is not performed directly by the military command, prime ministers or royal families: the privileged are afforded the luxury of keeping to their conscience and principles in their individual actions, whilst the bulk of the brutality is conducted by the soldiers under their command. 

The fantasy that the Fëanorian leaders could have “clean hands” is to me a very ironic denialism simply, because it flattens the very complexity that makes these characters compelling. By insisting that no civilians died, what is really being argued is that you want the moral ledger of these characters to be easier to reconcile with your own, clean ideas of “goodness” and “evil” that maps onto contemporary geopolitical events. But ethical tension is not a bug, it’s the point of the narrative. Maglor’s lamentation, Maedhros’s despair, and any redemptive gestures (eg: search for twins, taking-in of other twins) are powerful textual symbols because they failed. Because their high ideals were eaten alive by the mechanisms of power they operated within and the violence they unleashed; to insist on the mass-sanitisation of such a narrative is to neuter it.

The kinslayings themselves are rarely discussed later in the story but they're absolutely a tectonic presence throughout: the structures of grief, disunity, desires for detached sanctuaries, uneasy alliances in SA+TA Middle Earth all are downstream from the memory of mass elf-on-elf violence. They're not isolated crimes that disappear with Beleriand, they shape everything to come. And yes, obviously the text doesn’t give you a blow by blow account of the kill rate or whatever, but that is just… a feature of mythic historiography. Leveraging that ambiguity as proof of “innocence” is to misread the function of the text.

Finally, if you remove the civilian deaths from the Kinslayings, what exactly do they mean? You reduce the weight of the events to a series of annoying nobles arguing with each other over jewelry lmao. The Kinslayings absolutely matter because they are disproportionate and shattering. They are considered and planned acts of violence, not political mistakes: it could be argued maybe that Alqualondë was an act of rashness spurred on by a perceived ticking clock, which goes with most things Fëanor, but the second and third kinslayings were absolutely premeditated, considering the attempts to “treat” with the cities prior to attack. 

Literally nobody is saying every fic about the Fëanorians has to directly engage with the moral cost of the kinslayings. They can just wank each other off in the bathtub, that’s fine. I have them wank each other off in my mind more than I have them doing war. You are shadow-boxing. I have never seen anyone tell people off for, idk, writing Fëanor fingering himself as a mid-morning brain-training activity without listing the death toll at Alqualondë. Even the moral olympics about “Fëanorian fans are evil” takes a less annoying stance.

Which is to say, there is nothing inherently wrong with interpreting the Kinslayings in ways that minimise civilian harm. Fan interpretation is a necessary part of engaging with any mythos, especially one as expansive as this one. It is entirely fair to say, “I like to imagine Maglor avoided harming innocents,” or “in my reading, Maedhros tried to limit bloodshed.” That kind of emotional engagement is what gives fandom its richness etc.

What is not defensible, imo, is the claim that such interpretations are canonically substantiated, especially when they fly in the face of basic narrative logic, historical realism, and the textual purpose of the Kinslayings as moral and national cataclysms. The narrative function of the Kinslayings is to stain the oath: not just to make it emotionally costly to the oath-takers, but to demonstrate how ideology wielded as absolute justification leads to atrocity. 

To claim that there is no evidence of civilian death and therefore none occurred, is not a neutral reading; it’s as ideologically driven as “anyone who writes sympathetic portrayals of the Fëanorians is going straight to hell because they’re all big evil bad misogynists”. And that matters because once you cross the line from interpretation to assertion of textual truth, it’s less reimagining, and more revisionism. You are not just saying “this is what I like to believe,” but “this is what happened,” and using that assertion to shut down other readings. 

Put plainly: we can absolutely love the Fëanorians, and write them as regretful, confident, heroic, horny, whatever. But it is not necessary to totally erase the cost of their actions from the fan-space, especially in the fanworks of others, in order to do so. They have pointy ears. You are allowed to like them. Fictional characters do not require a clean moral ledger to be enjoyed. I beg you, get a fucking grip. 

[harukirisaki]

Why Must Love Hurt This Bad? - Part 1

—[The chrysos heirs was considered a hero by all, all except for you]—

Synopsis- • { having one of the chrysos heir being in love with you was the fantasies the ladies and perhaps the gentlemen of the Amphoreus' biggest fantasies, you used to think like that too until at one point, the fantasy becomes the reality and soon, dreams turn into nightmares}—°

Reader's gender: Gender neutral

Note: <[ Unlike what many may think, yandere is still yandere. Toxicities are bound to happen and no matter how kind and gentle someone may have been, the moment the obsession has taken over, even the kindest character can turn into abusive real quick, therefore please read at your own risk]>

Note: <[ I'm sorry if there are any mistakes in Phainon's part. I played through the story, but I wasn't able to remember every detail and thus, should you find any mistakes here. Sincerely, forgive me, I will work harder to give Phainon a much better characterization of him and of course, this too will be applied to more characters in the future]> (1/2)

Note: <[ For Anaxa's path I was trying my best to make it as logical as possible. However, I do want to make it so that it is aligned with the reader's mental state. However, I understand that I may have messed up Anaxa's part. I am sorry for that and, therefore, will try my best to make a better fic in the future. Also English is not my first language and if there are any grammar mistakes let me know in advance so that in the future I can avoid it]> (2/2)

Ft,: Anaxa, Mydei, Phainon

WARNING: emotional abuse, physical abuse, kidnapping, chained against one's will. Yandere, manipulative, hand breaking, limbs breaking, weapon used on the reader, threatening, items breaking, forced intimate touches, (no non con) reader being thrown to the wall, abusive character in general, reader's death

This is made after 3.4 please do not read it should you still haven't done the quest yet,

DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU CANNOT HANDLE ANY OF THE WARNINGS ABOVE. IF YOU READ THE POST, YOU ARE CONSENTING TO CONSUMING THE CONTENT THAT WAS GIVEN TO YOU,

The Hero Who Sacrificed The World For You

"s-stop this please ... I'm begging you..." You cried, your eyes filled with tears, and slowly you felt his gentle hand wrap around your waist. "Shh," he gently comforted you. "It's okay, I know you feel sad and I understand dear." he kissed your forehead and smiled at you warmly, his smile radiated pure joy from him like the sun, but to you... Although he was equal to the sun, it felt like he was the abyss itself. In what reality does the sun create such a bone-chilling atmosphere?

"No, no, no, please let me go!!!" You screamed at him, and he frowned, not because of annoyance but because he hates your tears, no, no, no, no.... Sometimes he does love seeing you cry, but that's when you cried out of happiness when you realized he was able to achieve victory during his journey, he loves seeing your tears when he surprises you with your beloved new home! He loves your tears when you marry him!

Everything was going so well! So why is it that now you have turned like this? Phainon signed. Perhaps it's just the stress getting to you, now that the Amphoreus is in danger... Everyone was panicking, and of course, as any normal human being, you would be nervous and scared. "It's okay my dear, it's fine... I'm here am I not?" He kissed your head and gently caressed your side face. Slowly wiping away your tears, Phainon loves your tears, but only when you are happy,

"...please, let me go... I can't... I can't do this anymore...!" You screamed at him, and Phainon shook his head. "Can't you see the chaos that is happening? I'm trying to keep you safe. Here, in our little home right here. He carried you to the sofa. "Shh... I know, it's a bit too overwhelming right now, but I promise you, dear, you will be comfortable here for the time being." Your tears had long since dried on your face. You can only look at phainon with tears in your eyes. At some point, you can't even tell what he looks like because the tears make your sight blurry. He put you down on a chair and gently pushed it to the table. He then kisses your cheek and begins to prepare food. He was too calm when the world was ending.

He looks at you and smiles. After finishing cooking, he puts down the plate for you. You look at the table with a grim face... Your heart fills with fear. You looked at him, "Please..." You begged him, one more time... Just one more time. Phainon sighed, he gently caressed your face and let out a sigh, "... Why?" You asked him, "Because we are meant to be dear," he said it with such a gentle tone you almost trust him, you closed your eyes. Your body trembles... After a few days with him, you discovered he has always been infatuated with you. Apparently, you and he were destined to be together. At least that's what he said.

"Why aren't you eating? Is the food not to your liking?" He asked. You shook your head and grabbed the spoon, "..." You scooped up the food and tasted it. "Urgh..." You can't help but let out a sigh... Phainon frowned, "Huh? You don't like the food? But you always do before," he said. "That's strange, I don't recall ever saying I like this food" you replied way too quickly. His eyes widened, and for the first time, you saw Phainon become speechless. The explosion interrupts that semi-calm atmosphere, before you can react, Phainon grabbed you and carried you out of the house.

You close your eyes, hoping that everything is a dream but you know it's not, you know that the black tide is destroying everything. Where is Phainon carrying you to?! "Phainon!!! Where are you taking me?!" He smiles at you, "somewhere safe, trust me..." He said. All you can do is just wait for his actions. At this point, it's useless to try to do anything. He jumped, and you hugged him tightly. All you can do is pray. After what felt like eternity he finally put you down. You don't know where you are, all you can do is watch as he grabs his weapon and slices the monster that tries to get to him. Perhaps it's just the survival instinct telling you to run, and just like that, you run into another hall, running from him, trying to escape from him.

That was proven to be the stupidest choice you could have made.

You felt someone grabbing your wrist and against your will, your body was turned to face him. Phainon looks at you, his gentle and smug face is gone. That makes you feel a bit better. "Why...? Why did you run away? Why can't you just stay? Again and again..." He looked at you with tears in his eyes. You frown, "You keep me with you against my will, and yet you dared to ask why I ran away?! Are you so delusional to the point you can't use logic for once?!" You yell at him, but before anything, he hugs you, and you feel wet tears falling from his eyes onto your shoulder. " I understand, my actions were unforgivable and for that i'm sorry, but you have stayed with me before right?"

"You once stayed beside me, comforting me after I got back from the battlefield, you once stayed by my side and baked some sweets to cheer me up," he says between sobs. "You once promised to stay by my side forever," he hugs you tightly, "so why can't you honour your promise? Why did you betray me? Again and again, again and again and..." He choked in his sobs, "again..." He grips your arms tightly, "I..." You were lost for words. He kisses your head and smiles. "But... Now that I've got you back, it'll be okay, we just need to fix this and then... And then we can be together,"

He grabbed you, ignored your question, and protested. You hit him, scratched at him, and even bit him. But Phainon doesn't bulge at all, he still carries you and treats you so gently as if one wrong move and you'll be shattered. You hated him... So much... You grabbed his shoulders, trying to get away, but he simply ignored your protest, as if what you were doing was nothing. And in truth? It is nothing, he doesn't even bulge at all. Soon, you and Phainon met someone, someone who resembles him a lot. You don't understand... "N-no way... Another phainon?!" Your eyes widen. Hearing your voice the other phainon turned around and smiled when he saw you, "I'm glad to meet you again love," he said.

"What? No, I ..." You looked at the phainon who carries you. Your face screams, 'tell me what's going on...' and he chuckles. He put you down, and now there are two phainon with you. "It's a shame that even in this 'loop' you still aren't gonna get your happy ending," he said. Why do his eyes become teary? Why does the phainon behind you begin to unsheathe his sword? Why? "What's happening...? Why?" You asked your voice trembling with fear, he said he loves you but-

"I don't understand... One day you just came to me and said you finally found me..." Your voice cracked revealing a pathetic sob, "and now you're gonna kill me?!" Phainon kisses your cheek, "shh, it'll be okay, my love, we will meet again, we can be together again, we can-" your patience broke, and you pushed him! In that moment of his vulnerability, Phainon wasn't able to stand still and fell to the ground. "How dare you?! First, you kidnapped me, saying you love me, then this whole thing happened, and you dragged me from the city to the house to the town to anywhere!!!" You yell at him, "But love, didn't you once say-" you looked at him-

"I NEVER MET YOU!"

His eyes widen, and you begin to ramble about how you hate him. "We never met at all! I've seen you in the poster! I heard about you from people's mouths! But before this?! I have never met you!!!" Before he can speak another word, you continue, "No, I have never cried seeing you coming back from the battlefield! I have never married you! I have never fallen for you! We have never gone on a date! Phainon! You are a stranger who claimed to be my lover and did all of this!!!!"

He stands up, just as you finish yelling, your face turns pale. Phainon's eyes are empty, and he... Chuckled? But there is no smugness or sarcasm behind it. "... Ah I see..." He took a step closer to you, you tried to run, but the second phainon grabbed your arm, making you stand still. You scream for help, but no one comes, of course, no one comes. Everybody is dead. "In this loop, I never make an effort to find you because I thought it would hurt my soul to fall for you again, but... It seems that on the brink of destruction and being able to see you still alive makes me forget about that. He gently holds your face and brings it closer to his. "I forgot that in this loop, we never met. I'm sorry, love, I truly do," he mutters the word with such a soft tone you almost forgot the blade in his hand.

"Pathetic," the second phainon said, you turn around. The second phainon begins to grab your wrist and pull you to him. "I must admit, I find him to be very commendable, in my previous loop I immediately find you and make you mine, but I suppose because slowly things start to change, all phainon becomes more self-aware..." He stops before continuing. "Few of them start to try and avoid you, to make sure they don't become obsessive. Two of the previous loops failed because you died. Those phainon immediately complete their mission in hopes of a future cycle being able to save you" You stand still not knowing what to do, "One of them actually never met you in their lifetime, when he checks, it's because in that loop you never existed at all" he gripped your wrist tightly, "and this one... It seems that he almost didn't meet you... Ah but of course fate has other plans no?"

Before you can speak a word, a gasp goes out of your mouth, and slowly your vision gets blurry, your hand touches your stomach, and instead of feeling the smooth clothing, you feel a cold blade instead. "In many cases," the second phainon started speaking, "most phainon weren't able to handle the thought of letting you alone, so now that it has come to this..." He turned his back and didn't say anything.

The phainon behind you hugs you, "I'm so sorry, I really am sorry love," he cried while hiding his face against your neck. "We will meet again," he said. His voice was shaky. The second phainon looked at you back with soft gentle eyes. "Don't worry,"

"As long as he wants it, he will always find you"

The Last Crown Prince Who Bathes In Your Love

"argh!!!" Your sight turns blurry, and for a second, you thought you would faint. But turns out the suffering had just begun. "Not bad," the cocky voice fills your ears. You look up to see the Last Prince De Guardian of Amphoreus watching over you with his yellow eyes, akin to the sun itself watching over you as if you are not a human being, No... This is no equal fight, this is a predator capturing its prey. And you know you are not the predator. Despite his cocky attitude, and prideful characteristics... He grabbed you in a gentle manner that shocked you. Looking at your wide eyes he scoffs,

"Are you shocked that I'd treated my lover well?" He asked, and you nodded. "I've always thought that the mydeimos would have been... Rougher" he smirked. "I could have treated you roughly, I could have pinned you to the ground, or maybe broken your leg so that you won't run away anymore. I could have cut off both of your arms so that these hands of yours—" he grabbed your wrist and put it against his side face. "—would never be able to attack me anymore." He looks at you, his eyes grim.

"I could have done all of that, I could have been rougher, crueller and yet... I didn't, I treated you so gently right now aren't I?" He asked you. "Yes, that is correct..." Your voice was shaky, how could you not be afraid? A chrysos heir who was known for his immortality and his brutal ways of fighting in a war is kneeling in front of you. "So tell me, what more could you want from me? Why can't you just give up and accept it?" He asked, his voice filled with contempt. You frown at him, obviously wanting to say something. But you understand that if you pushed him further, instead of getting slightly beaten, he might beat you further until you fainted or worse. Have permanent injuries.

You groan in pain when he grabs your hair, twisting it and pulling it to the back, revealing your throat. "If I wanted to, I could slice your throat now," his face gets closer to your neck, "or, I could snap your neck and have you die right now" he muttered besides your ears, your heart begins to race, "break you, torn off your limbs one by one until you no longer able to run away again" he carried you in his arms. You begin to tremble. AEON AEON AEON... You begin to pray. You remember what sins you have committed to gain this man's love. No... You can't even call this love. This is an obsession

You were scared... He's gonna take you back to that palace, the big place where he simply puts you with books that he thinks you like and some food that he knows you love. Of course from the outside it felt like a dream, you won't need to work or get any job. But at some point a human needs interaction, and you can't just deal with mydei's hot and cold attitude, sometimes he's kind, letting you scream and even hit him. After that, he'll simply put you down and leave you alone. But when he's in a bad mood...

"ARGHH!!!!" You scream when he grabs your knee and snaps it back, your eyes filled with tears and you grab whatever you can. The pillows, the bed sheet and the bed veil. The pain is unbearable; it doesn't take 5 minutes before you burst into tears, sobbing due to pain. He simply looks at you with cold eyes and leaves the room. Minutes later he returned with a physician. The one that, of course, is under his rule. Yu were trapped, forced to stay in bed for months because of your broken leg. And he even dared to say you should be grateful because he didn't snap both of your legs. You can't help but silently curse him, does he know? Of course, he knows, but somehow, this man doesn't seem to care about it unless you specifically say it yourself.

... That's how your life mostly went on, seeing him. Eating the food he provided for you, although sometimes you asked him to bring another type of food, perhaps a snack, perhaps another type of drink. But you do occasionally drink pomegranate juice with goat's milk and cheese. Does it taste good? Maybe, you usually spend your day reading a book or maybe even drawing. Can't dance because the last time you escaped through your window. Now it's sealed shut— "until you prove your loyalty, I won't let you see the sunlight," he says. You can't help but wish to just hit him until he dies at that moment.

He was terrifying when he was in a bad mood. Anything you did, you say, even the way you breathe, could trigger him. No, he doesn't hate you. His bad mood is always linked to you, it usually happens after a long period of going against his orders or simply running to another place for shelter. Of course, the place is destroyed beyond recognition, you never run after people. You know what will happen. But if he was in a bad mood with other people? Then, seeing you simply makes him feel calm; it is at this time that he is most vulnerable. This moment is where you can ask almost any exception with a few and he'll do it for you. Perhaps asking for new clothes, accessories or maybe even something expensive like jewelry will be accepted.

As savage as he was, he could also be gentle and kind. In rare moments where you and he are alone and you don't feel like fighting against him, and coincidentally he is in a good mood. He can change from 1 to 180° and sometimes it makes your head spin. No, he doesn't act 'cute' or 'cheerful' or even 'flirty', he simply acts more... Calmer, much less angrier and sometimes you joke in your head that finally, his face got a resting time after frowning for so long. But of course, such moments are rare, and sometimes you wish to ask him to keep doing it often, but you think to yourself. Is it worth it to risk triggering his wrath in hopes that he'll act much gentler?

... You opened your eyes again, this time. There was a bruise on your wrist. Sometimes, the prince hurts you. Not because of sadism, but simply because he forgets your body is not compared to his. No normal human body could be compared to his. Not unless that human was chosen or simply blessed by Aeon. He sees this as an inconvenience and sometimes even clicks his tongue when he hears you whimpering, but to you? It makes your heart feel dreadful, his normal strength during the punishment is already torturous enough... If he can forget how to be gentle with you by accident. You can't imagine what his real strength could be if he were to be truly mad with you.

... Usually, people would stay or maybe hope for an escape one day, but you, the stupid, naive, truly incapable of any thoughts, decided that another escape attempt must be made.— wait, no. This isn't your words or your thoughts. No. This is mydei's thoughts. Yes. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer. "Usually, people would stay or maybe hope for an escape one day, but you, the stupid, naive, truly incapable of any thoughts, decided that another escape attempt must be made" you gulp. "How the hell did you get away? Truly, I have underestimated you. And for that I apologize," he said, his voice eerily calm. He grabbed your left hand. "Clearly, you didn't learn." Before you could say anything—

Your eyes turned blurry, and you couldn't help but let out soft, pathetic sobs. What sins have you committed you think? What crimes have you committed to be given such harsh punishment? What sorcery have you performed to manage to make the prince fall head over heels for you? You know he loves you, and he knows you hate him. After breaking your left hand, he kissed you gently on your neck. After that, he grabs your chin and presses his lips on yours. His kiss was rough. A mix of dominance, love and obsession. You taste blood, ahh... You bit his lips. And yet he doesn't stop. No, he won't stop. Not until he got his fill. He pushed you to the bed. You can't fight. You can't do you. No...

You taste a desperation, is it from you or...him? You close your eyes. You feel tears falling on your face. Why? Why is he crying? You were the one who was suffering right now. You were the one whose limbs, hands and heart got broken multiple times. You were the one who was kidnapped and forced to live with this man. Both of you were once close friends, you remember chatting to him and sometimes even patching his injuries. You remember your happy moment together. But now? It felt like a joke. Perhaps it is, as his golden eyes met yours, you feel his gentleness. He hugs you and kisses your cheeks.

"... Don't fight me, don't run away, just stay. Let me love you" he mumbled. You looked at him. "... You won't get away, what you're doing is more harmful to yourself than it is to me," he said. "Don't go. Don't even think of escaping," he added. You don't have the strength to even talk back. You slowly drift off to sleep. You felt a gentle lip to your mouth.

"You once asked what crimes you have committed for this"

"It's simple, really"

"You stole my heart, and therefore. You must pay the price"

The Scholar's Most Precious Test Subject

The sound of a chain rattling against the floor fills the room. You look at the door, and for a second, you wonder if you can ever reach it. But it's impossible. The chain was made with the finest metal, and around your ankle, there was an ankle bracelet, as cruel as Anaxagoras is, he was kind enough to only use it on one of your legs, while the other one enjoys the freedom of not being chained. Although is that enough? While you can take another step, the chains were specifically made to be far enough for you to reach the bathroom and do whatever you need to but a few feet away from the main exit door. It felt like a joke and when you realized it, you almost broke down crying.

"Ah?" You let out a pathetic sound once the cold hands wrapped themselves around you, it was him. Anaxagoras, the chrysos heir and the most brilliant scholar. There he was, hugging you and slowly dragging you away from the main door. Unlike what many expected, the brilliant scholar was content with staying in a quite sizable yet still small apartment, of course, with you as his captive, nothing could ever make him feel unsatisfied for some time. You looked at him. "Let me go, Anaxa," you said bitterly...knowing this man won't obey or even listen to you. No, he was too into your existence, saying he needed to study you. It was scary. Anaxagoras was not someone who would joke around, at least to you.

"No," he replied, that's all. You almost screamed at him but the sight of his pistol to your head makes you back away. You sighed and let him drag you to the bed. "... Tell me, how is it legal for you to do this?" You asked him, "Legal? It doesn't matter whether this is legal or not." You frown. "How ironic, the chrysos heir was seen as the hero of Amphoreus, and yet this one here acts more like the villain than that of a hero," you glare at him. He simply stood up and put his pistol into a drawer. You flinch a bit when he extends his hand to your head. You close your eyes! He pulls your face closer and— "as expected," he said. "You'll close your eyes" he added. You open them back and look at him dumbfounded. Of course, you will close it, after many times he grabbed your hair, or even slapped you. How are you supposed to face it without closing your eyes?!

Gently, he caresses your side face and kisses your forehead. This is not new, you knew Anaxagoras, or rather... The name he hated was Anaxa. You groan when he kisses your forehead. It felt disgusting. He then walked to the kitchen and cooked dinner. Although he kidnapped you, at least he is rational enough to know that he can't just make you cook his dinner or do any chores. Of course, except for a few to make sure you don't become too 'lazy' in his words. But the truth is he is just simply making sure your body is still moving. The act of hugging you from behind sometimes leaves you confused. The main exit door was in front of you, but it seems that he always managed to go back in without alerting you at all, which is weird. You have been looking at the door for so long you wondered if he just slips out of your mind.

You looked at him and you looked at your chained ankle. "I don't understand... Why can't you just be...normal? Court me like a normal person does. Maybe then, we can still spend time together without you needing to chain me here and me being afraid of you" you mumbled to him, not too loud. Just enough so that he can hear you.

"..." He looks over the pot he had filled with water, "would you trust me if I said, I have a good reason for it?" He put the sliced vegetables inside. You looked down at the floor. "What reason could ever justify kidnapping me and chaining me here as if I were some kind of animal?" You asked him, your voice trembled with rage. He put the pot on the stove and turned it on. Sometimes you forget that this man actually eats and sleeps, seeing as he often just spends his time studying, watching over you or simply taking care of his favourite animal toy. Actually, you almost forgot this man who kidnapped you is the same one who specifically bought a Dromas doll more than he could and should have ....

But it's hard to look at his cuter side now. You sighed and silently lay down on the bed. The bed wasn't the softest but a million times better than the floor. You closed your eyes, imagining an alternate route or perhaps a timeline where you were freed of him. Just when you're about to drift off to sleep, you feel his fingers wrapped around your shoulder. "..." You look up to him. "Dinner's ready, let's go and eat" he pulls you. Too emotionally and physically exhausted you comply. You don't have the energy, to fight against his words or his hands. Sometimes you wondered... How the hell did he get back so fast? Anaxa leaves on time and always returns at the same time unless something's or in other words YOU do something that triggers him.

You sat on the chair and took a sip of water before you enjoyed the dish. After a few minutes, you finished your dinner and put the dishes into the sink. Anaxa simply walked past you and washed it. You looked at the exit door, and the chain is just enough to reach it. Somehow... A thought appeared in your mind. 'If I were just a bit taller and my hands were just a bit longer.. I could probably open the door, but of course, you've already passed the age of growing up. Anaxa's cough which makes you stop thinking about the door and turn back to him.

Your days with your captor go on as usual; you just get through the books he's giving you. Meanwhile, Anaxagoras is simply enjoying himself watching over you while hugging you from behind and looking at you from the side. You felt so powerless and in truth, you are. You could never match with someone like him. Your brain is nothing compared to his genius. Your power is nothing to his title. Your existence is nothing compared to the prodigy. So why is he doing this? Keeping you all to himself... It makes him less than a scholar, more like a...

You snap out of your thoughts and notice that he was drifting off to sleep. Just as you open your mouth, he falls asleep upon your shoulder. On a second thought, you'd take notice of the dark circle under his eyes. But you don't exactly know what he is doing to the point he gets so tired, and it's not like Anaxa was willing to speak to you about the outside exception of when you want to learn. "Anaxa..." You called out to him. He hated that nickname. He opened his eyes and he frowned. You felt a spark of joy seeing that.

"If you're sleepy, go to bed, don't fall on me. You're heavy you know?" You purposely remind him of his height and weight. It sounds a bit too cruel, doesn't it? But you don't care. Anything to make him love you less? His eyes meet yours, and before you could say anything, he whispers to you, but you don't understand and thus, can only give a nod. He then simply hugs you tighter and falls asleep. You sighed. This isn't working for sure. In the end, you lie down in bed next to your captor. He was good-looking, that is no lie, but does his appearance matter now? Obviously no.

... The next day, he leaves for work once again. And for a few minutes, you only spend your time watching the exit. There were a couple of times when you saw what was behind the door. A tree and a blue sky. You could watch the sky from the bar window, the locked balcony with bulletproof glass but you are more interested in seeing the sky behind that exit door. "Speaking of the blue sky..." You mumbled to yourself. "That room's light really looks so blue-ish, are we up in the air?" You shook your head. "No way... After all what sky has green trees right?"

You grab the knife and simply look at it. No, you once tried using a knife on the chains hoping it could free you. Only to realize the chain works as a tracker and an alarm. It woke up. And you remember how he threw you to the wall taking the breath from your chest. How his fragile-looking hands grabbed you and dragged you to the bed. He doesn't hit you but he did tie you up and simply threatened you. The scholar can be calm as much as he wants but in that moment you can tell the stress of the work, stubborn people and your act has pushed him to the limit, but you still think it's unfair how he took it out on you.

At the present time, you simply wonder if you can somehow try to escape. Maybe try not to trigger the ankle chain. But if it reaches its full length, it would alert Anaxa that you're reaching for something out of your boundary, if you try to cut it. Immediately, Anaxa will be alerted to you trying to take it off. There is no button, and the chain's head is behind a room that Anaxa refused to let you in. Of course...

Not working, not needing anything... It sounds like heaven to those folk who might be tired of their job or life responsibilities, but humans need interaction. Whether it's from a real human or online. They really need one; you can only deal with Anaxa for so long until, at some point, you just start to find him no longer appealing. You shook your head. Truth to be told you're losing hope. It's been what? Weeks, months maybe a year if you are really pushing it.

After what felt like another hour of you thinking, you turned your back and gripped the knife really tight. You don't want to die. You really don't want to, but if this is what it takes then— bam! Your shoulder was shot. Instantly you let go of that knife. Your knees fell to the floor as you gripped your shoulder tightly. You groan in pain, and as you look up, you see Anaxa standing over you. Somehow, it felt like he was the council watching over you, while you felt like the prisoner was waiting for his punishment.

He gets down on his one knee and his other hand simply grabs your hair and pulls it to the side. You let a small whimper of pain. "Foolish, utterly foolish." He said. "How-?" Your eyes widen and tears fall down. "I didn't trigger the chain...!" Your voice cracks. "You seem interested in this door..." He said. He grabbed the chain, and after that, the chain broke into pieces. "Wha—?!" Anaxa grabbed your wrist and dragged you to the exit. Countless possibilities shoot into your mind. Is he finally letting you go? Is he finally getting bored with you? Are you finally seeing the blue sky?The door opened and...

"what...?" Your eyes looked around and ... The blue ish light that you thought were the sky itself was a screen... The trees that you saw were just decorations. On a closer look the room looks childish. A poorly recreation of an 'outside' world. Anaxa closes the door, his eyes look at you cold. "Well, go on. Speak up, this is what you wanted no?" He said, his voice fills with sarcasm. "I ..." Before you could say any more word he grabbed your wrist and grips it tightly, "go on, speak it up, speak what's on your mind now. Thanked ME now, this is what you wanted right? This room, this is the room you've spent months watching from the other side...! This is the room that you've spent countless of time trying to escape the chains to get to"

You felt like a joke, face turns into red with embarrassment and anger. You couldn't even mutter a word because of how truth it is. This room is obviously fake, but perhaps... Because you were isolated for too long, even the fake feels and seems real. Feeling exhausted you fell but he caught you. "... Why must you do this? Sobs...is it fun watching me like this?" You asked him, tears were already falling down. He looks at you. "Truth to be told at first it was fun, I know what's going to happen and I was looking forward to it" he admitted.

"but at some point I started to hope you'd stop." He added. He pulls you closer. "Because I've realized if I don't stop now. You'll truly break," he mutters. Slowly he puts you down to the floor. "I closed the light, and no longer put on anything in this room" he looks at you, "but you kept going. You still think on the other side of this door there was an exit." You gripped your hands. "You tried to escape countless of times, slice the chain, try to break your own ankle, grab a pot hoping you could smash it to the pieces" your chest feels tighter. "Haven't you noticed that I never seem to come back from this door?" Your eyes widen, "wait- I swear I"

"you truly are foolish aren't you?"

"there is no path other than me,"

[avrildelrey]

~Back to You~

The one where you and AB work through things.

⟡ ݁₊ .read part 1 and part 2 here first! ⟡ ݁₊ .

🎶running back to you, you're always gonna be someone I want🎶

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

You stared at the grotto through the car door, subtly eyeing the looks the uber driver was giving you through the rearview mirror. It felt like you had been sat in the car for hours, gazing at the building but in reality it only been 30 seconds. You finally exited, feeling the man becoming antsy at your unmoving frame.

You took a deep, shaky breath before knocking on the door, hoping he was actually home. It was nearing 1 am, so you couldn't imagine where else he would be.

AB got in from the party an hour prior, trying not to think about how he had actually given you the cringe-ass letter that he wrote. God if this doesn't work, Chip was never letting him live this down. He was drifting off on the sofa, not having moved to his bed as he couldn't bring himself too. He was waiting for something, what? He wasn't sure. Before he heard a gentle knock at the door. His heart leapt, not out of fear that this could be some random stranger this late at night, but out of hope for the possibility it could be you.

He swings the door open, almost hitting himself in the process, although he had significantly sobered up from earlier on. However, staring at your face now, gave him a rush not even alcohol could produce. In fact, he was sure no drug in the world could compare to this feeling. You actually came. There you were, in all your beautiful glory. Stood there staring up at him like you had done many times before. He didn't think he could get so lucky as to experience this again. But here you were, looking as though you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, which he wasn't fond of. He was certain you had gotten more gorgeous from the last time he saw you, which was a mere 3 hours ago, bare faced and clad in your mismatched pajamas, his favourite version of you.

You felt your heart stop when you stared at AB on the other side of the door, unable to control the anxiety wracking your body, even though you had seen him earlier. It was different. More intense. For the first time since the break up, or even before then, someone was looking at you with stars in their eyes— he was looking at you with stars in his eyes. It was the first time you took notice of the way he looked at you, never having paid attention to it before, perhaps taking it for granted. You never realised you could feel the absence of a person from the lack of glittering eyes constantly pointed in your direction. You made a vow, that from now on you would appreciate the look, the same as you would the actual night sky and all the twinkly stars.

"Hi." He stammered, the breath escaping him.

"Uh, hello." You replied, awkwardly, all the words you had to say leaving your brain, instead being replaced by a pile of mush.

"Come in." AB fumbled with the doorknob, eventually moving out of the way for you to enter.

You eyed his house, not one thing had been changed apart from a few knickknacks had been added here and there. You spotted the sofa, the same one where you called it quits. You shook your head free from the thoughts, not finding any reason to think of that night anymore. You were here now, weren't you? Here to resolve and move past what happened. You needed to— needed him in your life.

"I read your letter." You admitted, turning to face his position at the door.

He paused for a second. He wasn't sure how to react, which didn't make any sense, considering that is the only reason that you would've come to see him. He was scared that you had come to tell him that it didn't matter what he said-- that there was no coming back from it, no way you could get back with him. That he had embarrassed himself for no reason. Put his heart on the line for no reason.

"Oh yeah?" He eventually responded, raising an eyebrow with a subtle smirk, hoping he hadn't fumbled the bag.

You blushed at the way he said it. You forgot how flirty he could be, you were unsure if he was even aware he was doing it half the time.

"Mhm." You hummed.

He gave a quick nod before moving over to the sofa, patting the spot next to him for you to sit.

You gently took a seat but unlike the log earlier, where you both were touching thighs and brushing arms, you left as much room between you both as you could on the tiny sofa.

"Did you write me an essay analysis or somethin'" He joked, giving you a soft, handsome smile.

"M'yeah I did. Grammar could use some work." You tutted.

He chuckled, unsure what to say next, but appreciating you could still joke with him. That was a good sign, right?

"No, I, uh, really appreciated it, appreciated what you said." You said, earnestly.

"Good, I'm glad." He replied, rubbing his hands together and looking deeply into your eyes.

You felt slightly intimated with the way he was sat, legs spread, leant slightly forward, with his face unmoving turned towards you. You were leant against the back of the sofa trying to appear casual and confident, you were anything but that.

"As I'm sure you can imagine I started crying after the second line, cheeky bastard," you started, deciding it was your turn to be completely honest. "I started crying and then I started laughing cause it's you and you got me feeling all these big emotions at the same time and I hate you for it. But god, AB, god do I love you and your attempts at romance. As much as you hurt me, pissed me off, I never stopped loving you, I don't think I ever could."

He went to say something but you cut him off, continuing your spiel.

"Anyway I came here to talk to you, well, I mean, obviously. But like I think I want to give it another go, or like, anything really. But as long as you're in my life and of course acting like I'm an actual person and not part of the fuckin' furniture or something." You said sheepishly.

He let out a laugh, before nodding, "of course I want to be in your life, I wouldn't have written you that if I didn't. I'd do anything to have ya back. Genuinely anything. I love you so much it actually makes me feel a bit ill." He admitted, rubbing his stomach for dramatic affect.

You slapped his arm in response to his dramatics, feeling yourself becoming more comfortable and beyond elated at hearing how much he loved you.

"So, what do you want to do?" He asked, proping his left foot up on his right leg, leaning back into the sofa, stretching his arm out along the back of it. Due to the size of him, his arm ended up behind your head. It took all of his resistance not to reach out and starting playing with your hair.

"Well I want to be with you." He made a move towards you but you put your hands up to stop him, "buttt we have to take it slow. I can't just jump right back into things, not after how I was feeling, how you were treating me." You said, standing firm, trying your hardest not to fall into his arms.

I mean you were feeling incredibly tired and he looked so comfy, you knew how comfy he was to cuddle-- how warm he was, but you couldn't allow yourself to fold fully. Not yet at least. Despite how large he looked next to you, how beyond hot he was. Pure sex appeal. God, now you were thinking about how much you wanted to jump his bones.

"I fully get that. We can go however fast or slow you want, s'just please don't say friends. Anything but friends." He replied, slightly distressed.

"Strangers?" You joked.

He gave you a look of warning, one which you laughed softly at.

"No, I'm joking. I say we keep it casual to begin with, you know- what was the word you used? Ah, yes, woo each other again."

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, looking away from you for a second, embarrassed by your teasing before answering you, "casual? Okay, I can do casual, sure."

You nodded in response, staring deep into his eyes, imagining there were probably sparkles in yours too.

"Is it casual of me to ask you to stay the night?" He asked cheekily, but he was being dead serious. He wanted nothing more than for you to join him in his bed, he missed the warmth you brought, the warmth you brought in every aspect of his life, and of course having you pressed against him wouldn't hurt. Well it would actually. He's been sporting a semi ever since the moment he saw you for the first time at the barbecue.

"I mean..." You replied hesitantly.

"I can sleep in the spare room, s'fine. Don't want you catching an uber this late, I mean to be honest there probably aren't any around coming to the village. So that means ya have to stay." He smiled playfully.

"Right, okay." You chuckled, "you really pleaded your case there."

He laughed too. You both felt everything settle back into place, the invisible wall between you both starting to crack and crumble into pieces.

"Bed time?" He questioned after catching you stifling a yawn.

You stood up, moving out the way for him so he could squeeze through the gap between the coffee table and the sofa. He padded over to the kitchen before turning to you.

"D'ya want a drink or anythin', water?" He asked.

You nodded your head, "please." You paused for a second, "if you were a good host, you would've asked as soon as I walked in." You teased.

"Well I weren't expecting any guests at this hour. Ya took me by surprise, my bad." He ribbed, doing his weird American accent you had missed.

He handed you a mug of water, taking notice of how it was your favourite one. You couldn't believe he still had it. He caught you eyeing it, looking away bashfully. Neither of you acknowledged it out loud.

You trailed after him towards his bedroom, he was thankful that it was decently tidy in there.

"Okay, well, good night Y/N." He said, hanging onto the door knob, lingering for a moment.

"Sleep tight, Alfie."

He flashed a smile before shutting the door. You turned off the lights, crawling into his bed, the same side you always used to sleep in.

But sleep didn't come to you as quickly as you thought it would, instead you were left staring up at the ceiling, surrounded by the intense smell of him. It was everywhere and you loved it.

You never would've thought getting an invite to a barbecue would ever lead to this, especially as the only reason you came was because you thought he wouldn't be there. Oh how glad you were that he came.

Sleep didn't come to AB either. His whole body humming with electricity because you were currently laid in his bed and he wasn't there with you. He knew he was in for a long night of tossing and turning until the morning came and he could be with you again. He wracked his brain for reasons and excuses to keep you with him all day tomorrow. At the minute, he had nothing, hopefully tomorrow, in the heat of the moment he would blurt something out that made you stay. But right now, he desperately wanted to crawl into bed next to you and cling to you all night, but that wasn't casual. He was sure it was more creepy than anything.

You felt as though you had been laid there for hours before enough was enough. For the second time tonight, you ripped the duvet covers off you and stormed to AB's spare bedroom. You didn't give yourself time to second guess what you were doing or consider the fact he could be asleep. Rather you opened his door and moved to stand in his eye line.

He looked slightly alarmed, "everything okay?" He asked concerned, thinking something had happened.

"No." You replied.

He sat up, feeling slightly frantic at your one word answer.

"Wha' is it?"

"What are we doing?" You questioned.

"Sleeping?" He said dumbly, knowing it would wind you up.

You took a deep breath at him being purposefully difficult, "do you want to come to bed or not?"

"Say less girl." He basically cheered, flying up from his seated position.

He was hot on your heels, breathing down your neck, you turned to look up at him, surprised by how close he was, "no funny business." You pointed a finger at his chest.

"Me? Never." He held his hands up in mock defence, giving you a cheeky grin.

You didn't say anything else, simply crawling into bed, scooting over to your side.

AB didn't leave any time to waste, the second he was laid down he pulled you straight into his chest, barely leaving you any room to breathe.

You couldn't resist, curling into him, bathing in his warmth and listening to his steady heart beat.

"This isn't very casual." You murmured, afraid to speak any louder and break the spell that had cloaked itself around you both.

"Shut up." He responded, pinching your side before rubbing up and down gently.

"We'll start from tomorrow then." You wound him up further.

"Fuck your casual." He huffed.

"AB!" You exclaimed, hitting his chest.

"Respectfully." He opened one eye to peek at you.

You tutted.

He couldn't keep himself from bending down and sponging a kiss to your forehead. You gently closed your eyes at the action, feeling butterflies swarm your stomach.

"Go to sleep." He whispered against your hair.

You gently placed a kiss to his clothed chest, feeling him squeezing you tighter at the gesture.

You both felt the final pieces of the wall disintegrate into dust and now everything was in its right place. Your lives were now tilted onto their correct axis' and everything became brighter.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

and here it is the final part! I hope you all loved. sorry it took so long but thank you for your patience. will start working on the requests now! But please continue to send in more

love and kisses, Avril xx

tags: @jakevwebber @madsclarkey @charli123456789

[lavenderangell]

hi lavender 🪻it’s amber here~ and i just wanted to tell you the cutest little story about how i popped into the void and came out with a basket full of dreams come true 🎀

sooo~ one night, everything felt a bit too much. i was tired of chasing and scripting and trying to be the perfect manifestor with the perfect routine and the perfect playlist but after reading your posts i remembered something so sweet and simple: i'm god. teehee~

i stopped everything. i got into bed with my fluffy pink blanket and whispered to myself, “it’s already mine. everything i want is already mine.” and then i let go. i just melted into the truth like a marshmallow in hot cocoa ☕️💕

and then poof! ✨ i was in the void. i don’t even know how to explain it… it was like i blinked and the world disappeared. no thoughts. no noise. just me. the real me. the sugary sparkly eternal me 🍬💖 all i did was affirm that i am living my dream life✨️

and when i opened my eyes, everything changed like a fairy wave of frosting magic

here’s everything i got, gumdrop~ 🎀🍭💌

•my dream home with big sunny windows, pastel curtains, and the fluffiest pillows ever

•a luxury closet filled with designer clothes, shoes, bags, and glittery accessories

•the cutest pink convertible with a custom plate that says “voidbaby”

•my perfect face. smooth, glowy, symmetrical, doll-like 💖

•clear glowing skin (like glass dipped in moonlight)

•long, shiny hair that never gets tangled ✨

•my dream height and ideal body proportions

•being naturally photogenic in every single picture

•a bank account that literally never goes down no matter what i buy

•generational wealth for my entire family tree 🌳💸

•my soulmate. gorgeous, sweet, and madly in love with me forever

•random strangers complimenting me daily like i’m a movie star 💫

•dream friend group who uplifts me and spoils me

•automatic straight A's and instant success in every class i take

•luxury vacations whenever i feel like it. paris, tokyo, venice, bora bora 🌍💼

•my own successful business that thrives effortlessly

•glowing health for me and my loved ones

•being super lucky. everything always works out for me magically 🍀

•getting free stuff all the time just for being cute

•perfect reputation. everyone adores me

•no more anxiety or negative thoughts. just sparkles in my brain ✨

•full void access anytime i want like it's my secret garden 💗🌸

and soooo much more that my little heart can’t even list 💞 the best part? i didn’t do anything. i just decided. i said “it’s mine,” and the universe said “yes, sugar.”

but wait~ before i wrap this up in a sparkly bow... i need to say this 🥺🌷

i wouldn’t have even known how magical and powerful i am if it weren’t for your blog 💜 oh my, it’s like a whole other realm. the moment i started reading your posts, something just clicked. i felt seen and understood.

when i dmed you during one of my worst moments, you were so gentle and warm and wise. not once did you talk down to me. you reminded me that i’ve always been god, that i’ve always had the power, and that everything is already mine. i don’t think i would’ve entered the void without your love and support. like genuinely, you changed my life 🥺

there is no other blog like lavender’s. i don’t care what anyone says 💫

so thank you, lavender. thank you for creating your magical kingdom, for whispering truth through every post, and for being there when i needed a little light in the dark 🕯️💕

because of you, amber is living the softest, sparkliest, dream ever 🌈🦢🩰

with twirls and glitter,

amber ☁️🌷🌈

Amber my baby ❤️

This made me tear up a little. I’m seriously smiling like a proud mama right now. I remember when you first messaged me, you were so sweet even when you were going through a lot. Now look at you!!! Living your dream life because it's the most natural thing in the world 💖

I’m so happy you remembered who you are. I hope you know that your story is going to inspire so many others to drop the fear and just know it’s already done.

Thank you for your kind words. It was all you. I'm glad i could help, I’ll always be your biggest cheerleader 🫶🏽

[twistedinthreads]

It's Gonna Be Alright, I Did My Time

Clark Kent x Reader, past!Lex Luthor x Reader

summary: it may be a bad idea to run back to your ex, but making good decisions has never really been your strong suit.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: lex luthor, allusions to abuse although it's not really that prominent, reader has a bruise but it's not from someone else, clark doesn't curse, but reader curses a lot! argument, brief alcohol mention, reader is in tech & worked at luthorcorp, no use of y/n, reader is not described in any way. I intended for them to be fem, but can also be read as gender neutral.

a/n: omg hi! I am so nervous to post this... but fuck it. I was cleaning the other day and listening to ttpd on vinyl and this idea popped into my head. Hope I've done it and these characters justice. obviously inspired by taylor swift's fresh out the slammer. thinking of a part two but not sure... first time writing for clark (and first time writing in like a year) so I am nervous but this man has charmed me deeply!!! divider by @cursed-carmine. if you enjoyed this, make sure to throw out a like or a reblog! I love feedback <3

This is a bad idea. Maybe the worst you’ve ever had. No, definitely the worst you’ve ever had. 

The rain soaks through your clothes, settling inside of your bones. It’s a weary and chilled night in the city, the sun already hidden behind the skyline, taking any semblance of warmth along with it. 

Your mind races with all the things you could say, but nothing quite forms a coherent thought. And even if it did, there’s nothing you could say that would make up for anything that you did, how you went about it all. No matter how many laps you did around this in your brain, the correct verbiage just never showed.

And it surely isn’t going to show now, either, not when you stand outside his building, fingers hovering over the buzzer as you decide whether or not you’re going to press it or chicken out. 

Your watch says it’s only seven. He should still be awake. Maybe. But maybe he’s not even home. Maybe he’s out defeating some intergalactic threat. Maybe he’s out with Lois. Lois would be good for him. She’s maybe the smartest person you’ve ever known. And stunning. And can be soft when she wants to be.

You close your eyes and press the button. His voice is like salve on a wound, warm and comforting and instantly shocking away the sting.

“Hello?” It’s deep and warm. 

“Uh, hi. It’s me.” You bite your lip, teeth cracking together as you shiver in the rain.

There’s a pause, and then, “I’ll be down in a minute.” And it’s not like you can tell if he’s angry or not; Clark rarely ever gets angry, but there’s a hint of hesitance in his voice. Maybe even hurt. Hurt that you caused, a wound that wouldn’t close up.

Seeing him again nearly steals the breath from your lungs. Hardened features soften as he sees you shaking. He grabs your hand, pulls you inside. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know where else to go, I—“ He nearly steals your breath again when he gently removes your soaked-through jacket.

“You’re freezing,” he declares, big hands covering your right one. “Come on.”

He leads the way up the stairs. You still know which ones make a grating creak sound when you step on them just right, still remember which one has a big grease stain on the tacky red carpet, still remember which door is his (it’s the one with the scratch from the floor all the way up to the doorknob). You could probably find your way with your eyes closed. He opens it, holds it for you. Motions with his big arm to come in.

And you do. “Clark, I’m so sorry. I just… Like I said, I didn’t know where else to go, and I kinda just… ended up here.” You bite your lip, lipstick most definitely transfers from your lip to your teeth, though that’s the least of your worries. Do I tell him? He’ll inevitably ask.

“Lex kicked me out,” You blurt out plainly. “Well… I quit. And then we, uh, broke up. Or something like that. I don’t know. There was a lot of yelling, and he threw something at me, I don’t even know what-“ you ramble, eyes darting around the space. Searching for something to ground you. Or maybe something to convince you to leave. Clark studies you, doesn’t interrupt. Just studiously listens. “I got really scared and so I ran. And I’m totally fucking insane so I ended up here.” You take a deep breath. 

“I’m a total asshole,” your eyes widen. “Oh my God. I should not be here right now.”

“Hey,” the softness in his words surprises you. His hand reaches out, hangs in the space between you. “It’s okay. It’s fine. Just slow down.” He sits down on the couch. Motions for you to do the same, though you’re frozen in place, standing in his doorway with rain dripping onto the hardwood.

“I’m sorry.” You run a hand through soaked hair, wet and cold against your palm. “I know that I’m not a good person, and that you’d be a fucking crazy person to forgive me. I know that.” There’s something unspoken there. A plea. Prove me wrong. He stands again, moves closer.

“You’re hurt,” His finger reaches out, goosebumps rising on your flesh as they so gently run just under the angry bruise on your cheekbone. He disregards your words, only focused on the discolored skin on your face. “Did he do this to you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I hit my face on a door.” You chuckle, though it’s nervous, uneven. “That fucker has terrible aim.” The joke doesn’t land, thuds to the floor in grandiose fashion. Clark just stares, features hardened and concerned. “Whatever he threw at me, he missed. I think it was a pencil. Don’t know what damage he thought that would do-“ you ramble, realizing how quickly the words are spilling out. You stop abruptly.

And though he should hate you, because you hate you for what you did, he moves out of view and you hear the creak of a freezer door open. Soon enough, he’s back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a dish towel. “Hold this on your face. Let me go get you some dry clothes.”

“Clark,” you start, guilt creeping in once more. “You don’t have to. I should go.”

“No.” Clark says firmly, turning back to you for a brief moment. “I’m not letting you go back outside in this weather.” His crystalline gaze flickers to his couch, and then back to you. 

You sigh, holding the peas to your bruised face, the shiner on your eye stinging just a little as the cold makes contact with your marred skin. 

When he comes back, he’s holding a pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt. Your old t-shirt, one you’d searched for in your closet for months. The Mighty Crabjoys. Your beloved tour tee that you thought was maybe just buried in your closet. “I- is that?”

“You left it here, and I never got a chance to give it back.” He says, a tiny boyish smile on his face. There’s a tinge of sadness to it, a hint of regret, or nostalgia, or maybe resentment. 

When he holds the clothes out to you, you hesitate, but then take them gingerly from his hands. He points you in the direction of the bathroom, then chuckles, realizing you know his apartment inside and out. 

As you emerge, you see him sitting on the couch, elbows resting on his thighs. 

“I’ll take the couch tonight, you can take my bed,” He declares. 

“Clark, no, seriously. It’s fine.” You shake your head. “I’ll just drop the clothes off tomorrow or something-“

“You’re not leaving,” The words are sharp, but not unkind. “Do you realize how dangerous he is? What he has the power to do?” You watch him, feet in concrete, as he stays on the couch and you stand against the wall. 

“He did threaten to trap me in a pocket universe…” you mumble.

“See?” He points a finger. “What’s stopping him from showing up at your apartment tonight and taking you?”

He has a point. Lex that could have someone killed with the snap of a finger, Lex that could ruin your reputation with one flick of his wrist. Yes, Lex Luthor could trap you in his pocket universe prison, just like his other exes. 

Lex’s voice still rings in your ears. The way he’d screamed like a goddamn manchild, the way he’d thrown that shit at you as you gathered your things and ran out of the office. The way he’d threatened you. Not a new phenomenon, but this time was the final straw. And now, you’re here, being shown kindness that you do not deserve, standing in the middle of the man you truly love’s apartment.

Life with Lex was complicated; one fight into another, which spurred him into fits and you into a dark corner, fighting just to crawl out of bed in the morning. It was like living in a padded cell, no glimpses of sunlight for weeks until he decided to be kind to you, if only for a few hours. It kept you around, and he knew that. 

Clark, though? Clark is sunshine and peace, and your heart plummets to your stomach when you realize that you’re already feeling restored in his presence, the broken pieces mending themselves back together at the sight of his kind eyes and his pretty face.

The champagne was expensive. More than you could afford, if you’re being honest. But not for much longer. There’s copious amounts of takeout on the table, little white containers from the Asian fusion place around the corner that you both like. You’re giddy with pride and excitement, and when Clark walks through the door, glasses askew, you grin. 

“Hi, honey!” You grin excitedly. 

“What’s all this?” Clark grins, shrugging off his coat to reveal his white dress shirt pushed up past his elbows. 

“We’re celebrating,” You say giddily, prancing around the table over to him, wrapping your arms around him, playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I got the job!”

It’s almost like his face falls immediately. “That’s great, honey.” But there’s not a shred of excitement or truth in his words. 

“You’re angry,” your face falls too, staring up at him with big eyes. You’d been preparing for this reaction, of course. A conversation had taken place earlier that month, after the first interview. His opinion was clear, he’d made it known. His jaw is set, a quiet but palpable anger there. “I know he sucks. I know. But I can barely pay rent where I am now. It’s a $30,000 salary increase. Do you know how huge that is?” 

There’s a desperation in your voice. Don’t think I’m a bad person. Please understand why I’m doing this. 

“I just expected more of you,” Clark shakes his head. “Throwing away your morals to work for Lex Luthor?” His fist is quietly clenched at his side. He makes no move to raise it, just keeps it there, trying to steel himself. 

“Clark-“ you pause, head dropping as you move away from him, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s a job. Plenty of people work for questionable companies…”

“Doesn’t make it right,” he shakes his head, and your heart shatters when you look up and see the hurt in his eyes, the way he’s clenching his fist. “This is a bad idea.”

“So, what? You expect me to just keep working for this startup that barely pays me what I’m worth? That doesn’t recognize that I’m talented? That I can do so much more than they think I can? Lex Luthor wants me, and whether you like it or not, Clark, that’s a big fucking deal!”

He throws his hands in the air in something like surrender. “There’s a million other tech companies in this city. Why not them?” The way he raises his voice rattles you, surprises you, nestles itself inside your skin.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me, Clark?” You shake your head, letting out an incredulous laugh, though on the inside, you know he’s right. “Why do you always have to do this morally superior bullshit?”

“Because it’s wrong! Everything they stand for. Everything Lex stands for. Everything you’re going to stand for by working there.”

“I’m trying to explain myself to you,” you huff, sitting down on a wooden dining chair. “It’s not because I want to. It’s because I need to. And if you don’t understand that, maybe you should go.”

And he does. Walks out the door without a word, just a huff. No protest. No attempt at patching it up.

You pour the champagne down the sink after he leaves.

His bed is spacious. It’s comfortable, with soft sheets that smell like him, and a plush mattress that is somehow way better than yours. It’s just like you remember; a cocoon of comfort and memories. Your head on his shoulder late at night, breathless kisses and promises whispered into each other’s panting mouths; little moments play on a film reel behind your eyes.

The sounds of the city drone outside; drunk people yelling after a night out at the bars, taxi cabs beeping their horns. There’s a streetlight under his window, and the soft glow seeps into the corner of his bedroom. 

Your eyes stay wide open. Not like they could close, not with the thought of your psychopathic ex-boyfriend and boss possibly on your tail. And so you stare up at the ceiling, fingers gripping at the comforter. The alarm clock on his nightstand reads 1:18, but it feels much later, the loneliness of late nights creeping in, made more unbearable by the fact that the love of your life is just in the next room, probably sleeping soundly, dreaming of puppies or his parents back in Kansas. 

At 1:52, it becomes unbearable. Gingerly pulling the covers off of you, your bare feet hit the carpet, and you stand on shaky legs. The door squeals on its hinges when you open it; it’s always done that, and you smile a little to yourself. You’d told him to use some WD40 on that. Sounds like he never did. 

To your surprise, his eyes are open too, and he sits up when he sees you. “Uh… it’s kinda lonely in there,” you point to the bedroom awkwardly. He just stares, head tilted. “Will you just stop being stubborn and sleep in the fucking bed with me?” 

That gets a lopsided, sleepy grin on his face for just a moment. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” A little mischievous. 

“And what if I said I don’t care if it is or not?” He’s still not swayed, at least it doesn’t seem like he is on the surface, but his fingers twitch on his knees. “Clark.” You move to sit on the opposite end of the couch, trying not to make him uncomfortable, keeping your distance just in case. He’s trying not to move closer. It’s like you’re Kryptonite in human form, the one thing he should stay away from. But he can’t. 

You sigh. “I’m sorry. I wanted to call you. So many times. But Lex monitored my phone, so I couldn’t. I made a huge mistake. I did. And I think I knew it from that night, I was just too stubborn to admit it. The moment you walked out, I knew I’d fucked everything up, like I always do. I shouldn’t have taken the job. I know that now.”

“You were just doing what you thought was right,” he says softly. “I can’t fault you for that. I wasn’t really a stand-up guy that night either.”

“But you were right,” you say, moving closer, the two of you like magnets being pulled together. “And I was wrong. I was an idiot. An idiot to not only work for him, but to be with him. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And all the things I said and did to fuck it all up. With him… it was just grey. With you, it was like… it was like bursting technicolor. As stupid as it sounds.

“I stopped feeling things,” you shake your head, looking down at your hands in your lap. “Just turned off my emotions to deal with it all. That way it didn’t hurt so much. Being with Lex… it was like being in fucking prison. Or the hospital. I don’t know. It was a moment of temporary insanity or poor judgment or whatever you want to call it. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. And I understand if you never want to see me again, but I-“ 

He calmly puts his hands on your face, covering you with warmth, careful not to touch the black and blue skin under your eye. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I hurt you,” Your eyebrow furrows, and he reaches his thumb up to wipe away the worry lines. “I hurt you and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that.”

“It’s okay.” Is all he says, his other thumb gently stroking the apple of your cheek. “It’s okay, now. Okay?”

“Clark-“ you protest. “You can’t seriously forgive me this easily. Not after what I did to you.”

“I am, though,” there’s a tiny smile on his face. “I’m forgiving you. I did a long time ago.” 

“I’m sorry,” you’ve worn the words out by now, but you still feel like you haven’t said it enough, until his nose is knocking against yours and he breathily chuckles.

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” he shakes his head, and when he kisses you, the world stops.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

Charlotte’s Web: Dinosaurs and Drawings

Agatha Harkness x fem!reader

Word count: 3,955

Content warning(s): MDNI; Very light domestic NSFW

Summary: Summer is coming to a close and school is right around the corner. After being back together for a month, there’s one thing left to make yours and Agatha’s relationship official: tell your daughter that Agatha is her mother.

A/N: Hello! I’ve gotten quite a few requests to make a second part, so here it is. I might make this into a little series, so if you have any ideas for future chapters, feel free to request them!!! I've officially moved out of Miami and am now on my way back home! Miami was cool, but I'm dying to go back to my college town and get drunk with my friends, especially since I'm finally going back to school. Anyway, classes start on the 20th, so hopefully I'll be able to pump out a couple fics by then! Also I'm currently in the process of making my taglist, so if you've submitted your user on the form, dw you're added!!

Tip Jar of hearts💕

Masterlist

Part 1

The morning before the first day of school is met with a bright sunrise. When your eyes flutter open, you’re met with an arm slung over your waist and a dried spot of drool on your pillowcase. 

When you look behind you, Agatha is still fast asleep. You turn over to face her, nuzzling into her neck and falling back asleep.

The next time you’re woken up is by Agatha herself as she kisses your cheeks. You laugh quietly, still groggy from sleep, and when she finally kisses you on the lips, you hold her there for just a few more seconds. 

“Morning,” you mumble.

Agatha kisses you again. “Good morning.”

You stretch, groaning as Agatha’s arms wrap around you. “What should we do for breakfast?” you ask, eyes closing again.

“I have an idea,” Agatha says, and you can hear that suggestive lilt in her voice.

As her kisses trail further down your neck, you open your eyes and glance at her, chuckling. “That’s a really good idea, but I have a five-year-old who’s gonna come running in within the next hour begging for chocolate chip, Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes.”

“And she’ll get them too,” Agatha laughs, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

You sigh, “She will.”

The kitchen is soaked in morning light. The stained glass windows above the French doors cast a vast array of colors on the wood floors, bleeding onto the green cabinets and white countertops, while sun catchers that Charlotte made dot the walls with sun spots. 

You stand at the stove, spooning pancake batter into a hot buttered pan, and behind you, Agatha sits at the table with a mug of coffee.

“Have I ever told you that you have a really nice ass?” 

When you turn your head, Agatha’s grin is sly and cocky, and when she raises her eyebrows you can feel your cheeks heat up. 

“Many times, actually,” you say, turning back to the stove to flip a pancake.

You’re spooning the last of the batter into the pan when Charlotte gets downstairs. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Agatha chuckles as she climbs onto a chair.

Charlotte rubs her eyes. “Hi,” she mumbles.

“Do you want chocolate chips or blueberries?” you ask her, glancing back to see her. 

Her eyes are still heavy with sleep and her hair is a frizzy, tangled mess. She sits beside Agatha quietly, fidgeting with the hem of her nightgown, and she yawns widely. “Can I have both?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “You can have both.” 

You disperse the chocolate chips and blueberries evenly and when the pancake is done, you cut it up into bite-sized pieces. As requested, they’re placed on her favorite plate–the one shaped like a pig–and once everyone’s plate is made, you take your seat across from Agatha.

“What are we doing today?” Charlotte asks, shoveling another bite of pancake into her mouth.

“Your teacher sent out a list of the stuff you need for school,” you say. “So, we’re gonna go buy some supplies and a couple new outfits, and then we’ll go out to dinner after.”

“Can Agatha come?” she gasps, eyes lighting up.

You nod, smiling. “If she wants to.”

The rest of the morning is slow. While you and Agatha clean the kitchen, Charlotte sits in the living room with the cat and a coloring book while the tv plays quietly in the background. 

“Should we tell her today?” Agatha asks quietly, putting leftover pancakes into a plastic baggie. 

You sigh as you rinse off used dishes. “Might as well. It has to come out sooner or later. Besides, parent-teacher night is next Friday and I’d like you to be there for that.”

Agatha pauses. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you shrug. “Why not? You are a parent, right?”

Agatha attempts to play off her reaction as cool, as if she’s been here this whole time. “Yeah…Right…I’d love to go.”

As you drive, your eyes dart to the rear-view mirror every few seconds. Charlotte’s car seat is in your direct line of sight and you can see her tiny hands dancing the even smaller dinosaur toys on the edge of the window. She lets out quiet growls and roars, following them with panicked “Oh no!”s as she makes them run off. 

Beside you, Agatha snickers to herself at the sight, shaking her head before sighing and looking over at you. 

“I showed her Jurassic Park a few nights ago,” you chuckle. “I didn’t want to–I thought it’d give her nightmares and she’d be sleeping in my bed for the next few weeks. But she insisted, and now she wants to be Ellie when she grows up.”

“At least she has goals,” she shrugs. 

In the store, Charlotte holds your hand tightly as Agatha looks through the list. 

“Okay,” Agatha sighs. “It looks like she needs a folder, glue sticks, number two pencils, and crayons. Wow, five-year-olds have it good.”

Charlotte’s eyes light up when she sees the pack of glitter crayons. “Mama, these ones have glitter in them!” she gasps, stretching her arm out to point at them. “Can I have those ones? Please!”

“Okay, but you’re getting a pack of regular crayons too,” you say, throwing both packs into the cart as Agatha crosses them off the list. 

A green folder with dinosaurs on it is dropped into the shopping cart by Charlotte. Number two pencils follow, and glue sticks after. In the backpack section, she has a bout of indecisiveness.

Every dinosaur backpack turns out to be her favorite: the blue one with dinosaur skulls, the red one with a T. Rex, the purple one with velociraptors. And she finally settles on the green one with herbivorous dinosaurs and its matching lunchbox.

“The plant-eaters are my favorite,” Charlotte pipes, marveling at the lunchbox as she walks beside the cart. “I’m gonna put all of my toys in here.”

“Or you could put your lunch in there,” Agatha suggests.

Charlotte sighs as you approach the register and begin piling the items onto the belt. “But where would I put my dinosaurs?”

“You know what,” Agatha says, “that is a really good point, sweetie.”

Clothes have never been an easy topic with you and your daughter. Everything was always too tight or too loose, too itchy or too hot–if there’s one thing your daughter inherited from you, it’s your sensory issues.

After landing on some outfits that she deemed acceptable, your promise of dinner is fulfilled. Agatha chooses a “family-friendly-classy-sportsbar” as she puts it–to which you respond with, “Agatha, this is an Applebee’s.”

The host at the door greets you warmly and takes you to the booth. Charlotte climbs into the corner, dragging Agatha in with her and clutching on tightly to one of her dinosaur toys. After getting situated, menus are distributed, and the smell of wax is pungent when the tiny pack of kids crayons is opened.

“What do you want to drink, honey?” you ask her, looking over your own menu.

Charlotte drags the red crayon through the maze on the kids menu. “Can I have apple juice?” she asks. “And…chicken tenders?”

With drink and appetizer orders in, you spend the time waiting watching the two most important people in your life. You don’t say anything, simply watching their interactions, and watching how similar they are.

“Are you excited for school?” Agatha asks quietly, leaning in close to help Charlotte with the word-search. 

Charlotte nods, very focused on the task at hand. “Mhm.”

“What are you most excited for?” 

“I dunno, everything.” Charlotte shrugs, and her words are filled with a layer of exasperation, as if saying ‘Stop talking to me, I’m busy.’

Agatha looks up at you, and when you meet her eyes you can’t help but giggle.

The evening is spent with last minute loads of laundry, baths, and preparing for the next day. When you follow Charlotte downstairs, her hair wet and freshly combed, you see Agatha in the kitchen. 

Your heart swells when you see the open lunchbox and her spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread. As Charlotte runs off to the living room, you stay exactly where you are, watching. She puts a generous amount of jelly on the bread–extra jelly, just as Charlotte likes it–and proceeds to press a heart-shaped cookie-cutter into the center.

“Whatcha doin’?” you ask, trying to hold back a smile as you walk further into the kitchen.

“Making Charlotte’s lunch for tomorrow,” she says simply–as if it’s not the most wonderful thing you’ve seen. 

She hands you a piece of excess sandwich when you step beside her. You smile, taking it and eating it in one bite. “What else did you pack for her?”

“Some celery and peanut butter, Goldfish, and a piece of chocolate,” Agatha says, eating a scrap of peanut butter and jelly.

You can’t help but smile, and you hate that you’re tearing up. “I love you.”

“Mama, can me and the cat have ice cream?” Charlotte comes barreling in, standing on her tippy-toes as she clings to the cabinet with one hand while the other is occupied with a toy brachiosaurus.

“You and the cat?” you repeat as you open the freezer and get the pint out. “Sweetheart, I told you last time. The cat isn’t allowed to have ice cream.”

Charlotte huffs. “Fine. Just me then. Can I eat on the couch?”

You hesitate, because usually you’d say no. But then you look at Agatha, because you know that you both still need to tell her. “Yeah, honey. You can eat on the couch. But just this once.”

After she runs back to the living room with a cheer, Agatha finishes packing the lunch box and you put the ice cream away. You close your eyes briefly and sigh, feeling Agatha’s hand on your back. “You ready?” you ask.

“Yep.”

With the bowl in hand, you walk to the living room where the TV plays Jurassic Park and Charlotte sits on the couch with a dinosaur coloring book and her new glitter crayons. When she sees the ice cream, the coloring book is completely forgotten. 

“So, we need to talk to you about something,” you say as you and Agatha take a seat with her in between you two. 

“Did I do something?” Charlotte asks, and you can see the panic in her eyes.

“Oh, my gosh, no!” you say quickly. Your hand brushes through her hair reassuringly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise.”

“Is it about school?”

“No,” you say, looking at Agatha to help you. 

“What’s it about?”

You sigh. “Do you remember last year when you asked why some of the kids in your daycare class had dads and you didn’t?” She nods and takes a bite of ice cream. “And we talked about how families look different for everyone and that some kids don’t have a dad, and that’s okay.”

You have no idea how to go about this, and in the end, you decide to rip the bandage off. “Agatha is your mom.”

You can see the confusion consume your daughter’s face and she looks between the two of you. “But I thought I was in your tummy.”

“You were,” you say. “But, you know how I said we’re different from some people? Well, we don’t need dads to have babies like some of them do.”

“Like the dinosaurs in the movie?” Charlotte asks.

Agatha snorts. “Kind of like that, yeah.”

“So…I have two moms now?” Charlotte looks up at Agatha. “Are you living with us?”

“Eventually,” Agatha says. “Things take time, but eventually, yes.”

“Really?” Charlotte asks, and her eyes light up when Agatha nods. “Do I call you ‘mom’ now?”

“You can if you want,” Agatha smiles. “But you don’t have to.”

Charlotte asks non-stop questions and for each one, Agatha answers with a smile–even if the question caught her off guard. 

“Will you be here to say bye before school?” she asks, and this question almost punches you in the gut.

Agatha’s eyes melt and her hand brushes through the wet mess of Charlotte’s brown hair. “Yeah, honey, of course.”

It isn’t you who puts Charlotte to bed tonight. No, just like the first night Agatha came back into your lives, Charlotte is curled up in a ball in her pink bed while Agatha reads a chapter of Charlotte’s current book to her. 

Charlotte falls asleep before Agatha’s finished, and when she notices, she can’t help but smile. Agatha closes the book and sets it on the nightstand before tucking the covers around her shoulders and leaving her with a kiss on her head.

__________

Charlotte yawns widely when you put her plate of Mickey Mouse-shaped pancakes in front of her.

“Thank you,” she mumbles as you kiss her on the head.

Agatha’s downstairs shortly after, kissing Charlotte on the head and greeting you with a kiss on the lips. 

“There’s coffee in the pot and an omelet in the pan for you,” you say.

You can see her eyes grow dark and she sighs, grinning as she pulls you in by the waist. “Oh, you spoil me, my love.”

Giggles bounce off the walls as you lay out Charlotte’s clothes for today. When you look in the bathroom, she stands at the sink, elevated by a step stool as Agatha dutch braids her hair. She listens intently while Charlotte regales her with a story of what she dreamed about through a mouth full of toothpaste. 

“I didn’t know you could braid,” you say, leaning against the doorframe. 

Agatha chuckles. “There are lots of things you’ve yet to discover.”

“How exciting,” you muse. “In that case, you can handle that mess on shower nights.” As Agatha continues braiding, you go around the bathroom picking up dirty clothes and towels that have fallen. “Hurry up, though. We’ve gotta leave at eight-forty.” 

Charlotte leaps down the stairs in her pigtail braids and light-up sneakers. She jumps from the second step and lands with a loud thud and her skirt bouncing around her knees before she dashes to the door.

“Come on, let’s go!” she whines as she retrieves her bookbag from the coat closet. It’s almost comical how much of her back the bag covers, but still, she smiles brightly as Agatha helps her slip it on. 

“Alright, just a couple more minutes,” you assure her, handing her the matching lunchbox. “I wanna take some pictures.”

Charlotte drops her head back and sighs. “Fine.”

She stands in front of the door with a smile and a death grip on her lunchbox handle, and she can barely stay still with how excited she is. 

“Wait!” After one picture her hand reaches out for Agatha. “Take one with me.”

You watch Agatha crouch down to Charlotte’s level. In a move that makes your heart jump and puts a lump in your throat, Charlotte immediately lunges at her with a hug and Agatha laughs. Her arms wrap around Charlotte and the camera on your phone shutters. 

During the ride to school, Charlotte insists on bringing her favorite dinosaur plushes in the car, and she insists on buckling them into the two empty passenger seats next to her. 

“They have to stay buckled in, Mama!” she says as you help her out of the car and onto the sidewalk. “It’s not safe. They have to be buckled.”

“I promise, they’ll stay buckled in,” you reassure her. “Your dinosaurs will be there to see you after school.”

Charlotte sighs. “Okay.”

She holds your hand tightly as you and Agatha walk her inside. You can feel her grip tighten, the same grip that she has when you walk into the doctor’s office or the dentist’s. But she remains brave–she stands tall, and carries the same confidence that Agatha always has. 

In front of the classroom door, you and Agatha both crouch to her level. Your hands fix the collar of her dress in an attempt to ease your own anxieties. “Okay, honey, you ready? Got your brave face on?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles.

You smile and place a kiss on her cheek. “Good. Have an amazing day. I love you so much.” You hug her tightly. “We’ll be back at three-thirty to pick you up and you can tell us all about your day.”

Charlotte nods and then without warning she jumps into Agatha’s arms, almost sending her tumbling back. But Agatha laughs, and holds her tightly, and a quiet, “I love you,” is muttered into her hair.

Agatha makes eye contact with you and you can see tears threatening to break. She hugs her tighter and mumbles with a kiss to her head, “I love you too, sweetheart.”

The day goes by agonizingly slow–and it’s quiet. Too quiet. You hate it.

You run errands with Agatha (and the dinosaurs in the back seat). You get lunch. You get home and unload the groceries. You get distracted and make out heavily. You end up throwing away a container of accidentally melted ice cream. 

By three-thirty, you’re aching to hold your daughter again, but your anxieties of how her day went take over and as you drive, Agatha’s hand rests on your thigh.

“Honey, it’s okay,” she says softly, hand running up and down your thigh as you wait in the pick-up line.

“But what if it isn’t?” you huff. “School was practically hell for me. I don’t want the same experience for her.”

“I’m afraid you can’t control that outcome, my dear,” she chuckles, and then her attention is drawn to the school doors. “Look, there she is.”

Charlotte hops down the stairs, holding her teacher’s hand and clearly talking very fast.

“Oh, god, she’s holding her teacher’s hand,” you sigh, your leg starting to bounce up and down and your hand holding Agatha’s tightly. 

“It’s okay,” Agatha says steadily, and gets out. “I don’t think she’s in a bad mood, hon. She’s skipping.”

Charlotte’s face lights up when she sees you and Agatha. She lets go of her teacher’s hand without hesitation and almost sprints toward Agatha, who lifts her up and gathers her in her arms.

“I missed you,” Charlotte chirps.

Agatha boops her nose and smiles. “I missed you too.” She opens the rear passenger door and sets her down. “Come on, your dinosaurs are waiting and so is a bowl of ice cream.”

The drive home is nothing but Charlotte giving a very animated recap on her day. 

“A girl, Reagan, liked my backpack and lunchbox!” she beams. “And at lunch she let me have a piece of her candy!”

When she gets out of the car, she bursts through the front door and drops her backpack in the living room, still going on about her day.

“And then, we did handwriting in our notebooks,” she says, completely bubbly as she climbs onto a chair at the kitchen table. “And Miss Trinity said I was really good at reading and writing!” You place a bowl of ice cream in front of her, and she doesn’t stop talking as she starts eating. “We started learning addition and I needed help a bit but Miss Trinity said I did good—Oh!” 

She drops her spoon and slips off the chair, running into the living room and digging through her backpack. Charlotte comes running back in with a piece of paper in her hand and she climbs back onto the chair. “We had drawing time!” 

When she puts the paper down on the table, you almost stop breathing and you can hear Agatha’s quiet gasp. Three stick figures, two of them big and one small, are drawn in crayon. The smaller one is purple, along with one of the taller ones, and the third is orange. And surrounding the three stick figures is a meadow with trees and dinosaurs…and the cat beside the shorter of the three stick figures. 

And in bold, pink crayon writing at the bottom, it says:

MOMMIES ME AND SOCKS

“It’s us!” she beams, and goes back to eating her ice cream.

Agatha is completely speechless, but still, she manages to get out a quiet, “You made this?” There’s awe in her voice and Charlotte nods. Agatha rounds the table and leans down to place a kiss on her head. “I love it. We’re gonna keep it forever.”

By nine o’clock, Charlotte is tucked into bed. Agatha finishes packing her lunchbox as you uncork a bottle of red and pour two glasses. On the kitchen island, the crayon drawing of the three of you sits there, just begging to get ruined by a puddle of water from the sink. So, instead of waiting for it to happen, you grab it and pin it to the fridge with a ‘C’ shaped magnet. 

Agatha’s hands wind around your waist and pull you in close. She kisses up and down your neck and sighs, “I really do love that drawing.”

“Me too,” you mumble. Your head leans back to kiss her properly and when you turn around, you reach behind her to grab your glass of wine. “I love you,” you sigh, and take a sip from the glass. 

Agatha leans in, voice low and hands on your hips as she backs you into the counter. “I love you too,” she mumbles, and kisses you lightly.

She kisses you again and again and when you pull away you sigh contentedly. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, no,” Agatha huffs, taking your wine glass and drinking from it. “That’s not good.”

“I was thinking about when you’d move in,” you say. “You’re here pretty often, and I’m sure Señor Scratchy would like a friend.”

Agatha hums and hands your glass back to you. Her hands rest on the counter, boxing you in with no way no way out. “Actually, I was thinking that you two could move in with me.”

“Oh? And why’s that?”

“Well,” she shrugs, “it’s a bigger house, bigger rooms, bigger backyard–”

“You just love talking about size, don’t you?” you grin.

Agatha chuckles. “There’s more than two bedrooms, so if we have guests…or if our bedroom habits come with more than one consequence–”

“Agatha!” you gasp, and let out shocked laughter as you take a sip of wine. “Oh, my god!”

“What?” she shrugs. “I’m just saying, this house is very small. And in the end, we’ll end up needing a bigger space.”

You think about it–the three of you together, the possibility of more kids, waking up with a bunny sniffing your ear and a cat in between your legs, driving to school, going to work, running around in the backyard, teaching Charlotte how to properly use her magic.

“Well a kid or two more could definitely wait a few years,” you say, swirling your glass and stuttering out a laugh. “And you’re right–with the way we are, it’ll probably happen again.” You eye her and purse your lips as she grins, but you sigh, finally relinquishing. “Okay, yeah, fine. We should probably be in a bigger house.”

“That’s right,” she says, voice low and raspy. “Bigger house, bigger rooms, bigger bed…” Her lips trail up and down your neck as you smile and set your glass down on the counter.

As you stand in the kitchen and let her untie your robe, you can’t help but think about how everything’s worked out, even if it didn’t feel like it would in the beginning.

You can’t help but think about Agatha, with her wandering hands and soft kisses. Her warm embrace and how she’s loved the both of you unconditionally, even if the situation was thrust upon her in a moment’s notice. 

You can’t help but think about how happy you are in this domestic bliss, and how you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cyberneticrevolt]

Busy - Law x reader

Synopsis: You realize that you may not be as important to Law as you thought Warnings: angst(not a lot tho),hints at a toxiclaw, Insecure Reader A/N: This is my first fic and I am very excited to start writing more. I've never been much of a writer but the more I read the more I want to write so... Here I am! Feedback is always welcome!(constructive please(>﹏<))I hope you enjoy-`♡´- W/C: 600

It's 10pm You're lying on your side falling in and out sleeping in Law’s personal room. The room is unusually cold and so is the other side of the bed, Law's side. He has been working later than usual these past few days leaving you neglected and needy but he's not the only one who has been working more than usual. The whole crew has been busier lately with the influx of sea kings in the area leaving you and the rest of the mechanics working overtime. Naturally the captain of the ship had to handle the paperwork of ordering new parts and adjusting the budget. So here you are now waiting for your love to join you in bed. You decide to give him grace given the current predicament and wait another hour or so. 

It's now 11:32 and you're feeling restless. You decide it's time for him to be done with his work, so you put on your robe and walk to his office door giving it two gentle knocks “law?”

“Hm” his voice low and gravel, you push open the door and see him hunched over his desk scribbling on a page only acknowledging you with his voice. “What?”

You take a deep breath trying not to take too much offense for the way he barely acknowledged you, as if you weren’t the love of his life(you are… aren’t you?). “Well I was gonna ask you to come to bed. You know it's just been so long since we've spent some quality time together…alone” you whispered the last word in a honey laced tone looking at him with lidded eyes. Finally he looks up pen in hand and gives you a hard look clearly asking ‘are you serious’. You roll your eyes mirroring the same look he was giving you and both stare at each other for a minute until you finally break contact and give a huff. “Ugh, fine was just asking” you slouch against the doorframe with a pouty look on your face.”You know just as well as I do the benefits of a full 8hrs ”.

“I’ll just sleep in late tomorrow and-”

“You know good and well you're not doing that" giving him a knowing look.

By the look on his face this did not appear to persuade him but he sighs and relents "it'll just be a few more minutes, an hour at most, I just need to wrap up some loose ends and I'll be in bed. I promise.” 

And there it is, saying anything to pacify you and your needs. Making you feel incredibly guilty for asking anything of him. You know it will be the same in the end he’ll just fall asleep at his desk, wake up and pretend nothing happened like he didn’t make you a promise. Having you recycle the same excuses in your head.‘he is under a lot of pressure after all it's not easy being the ship's captain and a doctor’, 'he’s probably just tired—he always puts everyone else first,’, 'he doesn’t mean to ignore me, he just forgets to take care of himself, too.’. But no matter how many times you spin it, the silence still stings. And deep down, you’re starting to wonder if all these reasons are just ways to avoid the truth that maybe, just maybe, you’re no longer a priority to him. You sign and quietly shut the door and trudge to your own sleeping chambers with the rest of the mechanics knowing this is how it always ends. But you'd rather sleep in the company of someone than by yourself.

[steverogers1991]

4x10 (part 2)

"You're retiring? You're 12" absolutely correct sir

"Chef Carmen is doing us a favour cuz we could really use that salary" ooooo ouch

I love that Richie asks Syd to stay when she can tell the convo is shifting to Mikey and she feels like she shouldn't be there, their friendship is maybe one of the best parts of this show it is magnificent, he knows he needs her to be there because she will check him, she will hold him back, she will support him...and she does exactly that

Richie is so pained when Carmy says he was at Mikey's funeral that he confronts him directly, he can't do it any other way, but Carmy's hold on Richie's neck is firm but still loving, because he sees Richie's anger, and he knows it's valid, but he is saying "I love you and I'm sorry" I AM CRYING PLEASE

I came to a realization after watching this scene.....Carmy has always dealt with pain and trauma by immersing himself in his work, putting his head down, refusing to talk, say anything of substance, just moving forward but not addressing it....Richie on the other hand has always dealt with his with his words, he throws words back at you, he snipes, he jokes, he is sarcastic and stops dealing with it by talking about everything but what's bothering him...JAW acts with his face, and EMB acts with his gestures and words

We sort of see them swap roles here....you can see Richie's emotions more on his face, and Carmy's emotions more through his words and what's he's saying...they're both struggling, and Richie is having a hard time thinking before he speaks, but he is trying because he can see that it took a lot out of Carmy to say what he said, so he's stopping himself from speaking before thinking, which is how he normally operates

"She was just saying this thing about how we were trying to deal, me, you, Sug...." "Stop, who is she" Syd: *looks unsure and called out* "Me, I am she" "Oh okay. Continue." THIS SCENE HAS NO RIGHT TO BE THIS FUNNY WHAT THE HECK RICHIE WHY IS HE SO GODDAMN HILARIOUS and how Syd looks so deer-in-headlights, I see why The Bear is categorized as a comedy now, it's a gross understatement but this show is so funny in so many ways and this is peak comedy in it

Richie's long pause after Carmen says "I didn't realize how you lost somebody too", rubbing his hand on his forehead, it looks like he's gearing up to take a punch because being real with Carmen without it being a screaming match is something he has not done in a long time, I feel his discomfort and his indecision so viscerally in this scene...and how his voice goes down an octave before he says "I feel like you resented me"

"You were inside my family" oh baby Carmy, he knows that his biggest regret is not feeling like he knew the people who raised him while Richie did, but despite all that loving Richie so much for being there for his family when he couldn't do it

He does not blame Richie for what happened to Mikey at all, the way he tears up when he tells Richie he didn't fail

"Stop that you don't fucking smoke" "***** who cares right now" I CACKLED SO GODDAMN HARD SYDNEY OHMYGOD HOW ARE THE WRITERS DOING THIS WHILE MY HEART IS ALSO SHATTERING FOR THEM PLEASE

Richie was always part of the family and he saw the flip side, they loved Carmen even though he wasn't around and he hated it because he was around and still wasn't family like Carmen was and he also hated that he loved and missed Carmen just like the rest of them did....AAA the love between these two literally knows no end and they have never admitted it to each other before this

RICHIE BUYING FRENCH LAUNDRY AND HESITATING BEFORE HE ADMITS IT he has loved you forever Carmen

Richie saying "How do I know that? Because we got you right" to Syd...SYDNEY YOU ARE BRILLIANT AND EVERYONE SEES IT BUT YOU

I cannot read Carmy's tone or face when Syd says she wants Richie on the agreement...I think I sense some possessiveness but mostly like she gave him an epiphany he never had and with every second in the scene he gets more and more sure that this is EXACTLY what the restaurant needs, you can see it as soon as they pan to his face and his "You got it" couldn't be more sure

"I don't want to be the ambassador of St Paddy's Day" - RICHIE YOU FOOL YOU ARE FANTASTIC AT WHAT YOU DO

Him continuously nodding and his voice catching and then looking determined and saying "it's a fucking honour" Richard you deserve the world, thank you Sydney Adamu for letting us see Richard get something he has always deserved, a real part in this family

Sugar coming out and looking unsure with every second, and as soon as Richue tells her what's happening she says nothing and just jumps on Carm and continues to cry as she hugs him....that is a real sister's heartbreak and love and acceptance of her brother finally taking a step to heal himself

Also Carm is looking at Syd when Sugar asks him if it's true and the way he is looking at her....oh god, HOW WAS I SO BLIND FOR 3 GODDAMN SEASONS

The shot of the dark kitchen and with the clock at 1:11 and then panning at the end to the countdown timer that you can hear right from that first shot of the kitchen which gets louder every second is so fucking powerful

I also just realized that the ending song in the credits of this episode is a sped up/more upbeat version of the same slow song playing when Sydney makes the scallop dish in 4x03 as Carmy watches HELLO THE CREATORS OF THIS SHOW ARE FUCKING WITH US

EMB, JAW, AE....take a goddamn bow. They deserve every Emmy just for this episode. I will throw hands if they don't get one. Shattered. Destroyed. I have no conclusions. This show has left me unsure of how I want it to go too. Season 5 needs to come yesterday. Please. How do I wait till 2026

[starlost-starkid]

We need to think more about each other in disability spaces.

I attended an event a while ago that was so incredibly upsetting, provoking and disappointing. Not until now have I been able to process and write it down. Prepare for a long and angry post.

What I attended was an event that was labeled "for disabled queer people", and frequently used the term "crip". I am physically disabled and a wheelchair user, and I was so excited for this event since disabled people of all kind are so overlooked in queer spaces (and all spaces really) but I was met with an intense unwelcoming atmosphere. It was labeled as accessibility adapted, but the only thing done to the space was an addition of a table filled with stim toys (which yes, is good for those who need it, but doesn't make the space nearly accessible enough). The room was not wheelchair accessible since the event organizer had entirely filled it up with regular chairs, and didn't even attempt to help my friend and I to move some of them so we could take part of the workshop. Another attendee had to help us instead. Nothing was done to be accessible by potential attendees with vision or hearing-related disabilities. And ALL the able-bodied event-leader talked about was autism and some ADHD. Not even other neurodivergent conditions. Not one single mention except from the attendees. There are so many neurodivergent conditions aside from autism and ADHD that are never talked about or as widely accepted which is a huge issue. I do not have a lesser accepted or known neurodivergency so I will let those who have speak on that (feel fre to rb if you've had similiar experiences!) since I do not want to step over any lines.

Now, this could have been labeled as a "queer autistic" space and it would all be fine, because it's also super important to talk about (I am autistic as well), but if it's marketed as being for all disabled queer people, and all the event organizer talks about is autism and blatantly ignores other disabilities that is a huge problem. She actively ignored every point that me and my friend made during the discussion parts, and derailed every conversation about living with a physical disability to be about autism and her able-bodied experience. When talking about accessibility people ACTUALLY said that accessibility for the physically disabled is not an important topic to talk about because we apparently already have the help we need (i.e. mobility aids and ramps) and that people talk "too much about it". WHICH IS NOT EVEN TRUE! Every kind of accessibility is so important to talk about, and not one single space i've been to has been completely accessibility-friendly. This space wasn't even accessible to many autistic people with higher support needs for goodness sake! The host appeared to be actively uncomfortable by the attendance of the few of us who were physically disabled. But whats even more shocking is that she during the presentation cited the actual research in crip theory by one of the most prolific activists and researchers in the field of physical disability in my country, and ONLY talked about it in the context of autism and ADHD. Incredibly important hard work and research was blatantly misconstrued to fit a mold. The word crip was used in the wrong context and when we called that out we were shamed for it. YOU CAN'T RECLAIM A SLUR THAT WAS NEVER USED FOR YOU.

During all of this, something that was talked about a lot was community, which feels so hypocritical and self-centered when a majority of disabled folks were actively ignored. This is something that happens all the time. But we can not organize and actually make societal impact if we do not help each other out and consider that there are more than your type of disability in this world. This is my experience, and it's sadly a very common one. Long live cripple punk.

[historicallyaccuratecheese]

There is no One True Girl: A Deltarune Theory (MAJOR SPOILERS FOR ALL OF THE GAME SO FAR)

PART 1: INTERPRETATION

One of the most contentious topics in the Deltarune fandom since the release of Chapters 3 and 4 has been the prophecy provided to us in the latter, or more specifically...this prophecy about the second hero.

And it's pretty easy to see why. After all, up until now we've been led to believe that Susie is the second hero of legend, and yet there are many aspects of this depiction of that hero (particularly the use of a sword) that suggest she isn't supposed to be here. Instead, the girl may be someone ELSE, with the most popular prediction from what I've seen being Noelle.

Now, what's MY stance on this debate? Do I think that Susie is going against the rules by being here instead of someone else? Well...no...but also yes? Basically, I am of the belief that the prophecy is not nearly as strict about the identity of the girl (along with most other participants in the story it has written) as the characters have been led to believe. As such, Susie is not necessarily breaking the rules by being as involved as she is...however, she may still be an obstacle in the way of someone else's plan.

This is my first time really making anything about Deltarune on this blog, so I may very well get things wrong here and there, and a lot of what I talk about will be up to subjective interpretation, but I feel satisfied with the research I've done and kind of just...want to share my perspective on things. Even if I make counters to arguments that others have made, I'm really not trying to put anyone else down, nor am I attempting to "solve Deltarune" or anything (I think to do so after the newest chapters completely destroyed my expectations would be the definition of hubris), but this is just one of many ways I think things could play out, and any counterpoints I do make are more for the sake of validating my own theory than proving anyone else "objectively wrong".

This theory will delve into how the prophecy works and how it can be "subverted", the machinations of the various conspirators manipulating things behind the scenes (who I'll just be calling the "Knight crew" for simplicity's sake), where certain aspects of the narrative could potentially go in both the normal and weird route, and a little bit about the origins of the prophecy at the end for good measure.

It's also a VERY long one, which is rather on brand for me, so I've decided to split it into four parts, albeit the fourth part will be more of a bonus that covers topics that are only semi-related to the core argument of this theory, but still something I wanted to talk about anyways.

I'd also like to give credit to a theory written by @justdeltarunethings, which can be found as their pinned post (at least as of the time I'm writing this lol.) Their theory ultimately talks about very different subject matter than mine and comes to some conclusions regarding those topics that are very different from my own, but their views surrounding the prophecy in particular are extremely similar to how I've come to see it, and I would not be making some of the points I'm about to make if I hadn't heard it from them first, so I'd encourage people to give that a read if they haven't already, as it's very well made. :).

Anyways...this could get pretty long, and depending on how late I stay up writing this it could also go down some deep rabbit holes, so uh... buckle up!

Before I dive into any other topic, it's important to establish just...how I think the prophecy even works on a broad level, and to do that, we're going to need to examine the words of the character in Deltarune who is the most consistently correct in what he says; Gerson "Old Man" Boom.

So, I'm sure that anyone reading this has caught onto the fact that basically every dark world we've visited so far (with the arguable exception of Castle Town) have been based on forms of entertainment that allow for escapism, like the internet, TV, etc. Chapter 4's dark world (which I'll be referring to as "The Sanctuary" for the sake of a catch-all term) is a bit less on-the-nose with how it continues this trend, in part due to the fact that the society and history within the dark world is less of a primary focus than in other chapters, but I would still argue that 'writing' is the main theme here (albeit it's not just fictional literature, but also things like religious scripture and musical notation.)

And Gerson, despite not even being a Darkner originally, is one of the clearest examples of this, being the author of a renowned high fantasy series that seems to have heavily influenced the Sanctuary's aesthetics and way of life for it's residents. Throughout the chapter, Gerson grants us various insights into his philosophies surrounding the art of writing stories, and how authors and audiences alike should engage with them. He also shares a very insightful way of looking at the prophecy with the fun gang; that being to not focus on it too hard that they neglect to forge their own path in order to achieve a more favourable outcome.

Now, considering that Lord of the Hammer is BASED on the prophecy, I think it's reasonable to assume that any views Gerson expresses on one of them can apply to the other, and given just how much the game wants both the player and the fun gang to take his words seriously, I feel like his views can grant us further insight into how the prophecy actually works.

Essentially, this is just a long-winded way of saying that Gerson values INTERPRETATION of stories above all else. Whether he's talking about his own creation or an ancient handbook of destiny that had an entire religion formed around it, this guy is the biggest advocate for the importance of media literacy and personal engagement with written works I think I've ever seen. His existence in the game is single-handedly destroying the notion that Toby Fox hates it when people theorise about tiny little details he never really intended to matter, and it grinds my gears so much that some people continue to get mad at theorists "on his behalf" despite that.

He smashes the glass tapestries not because he's completely opposed to the prophecy (he says it himself that believing in it here and there is beneficial as it can inspire hope, and I think it would be unreasonable to hold complete disdain for something that grants a method for saving the world from complete destruction while also being as morally upstanding as he is), but rather because he believes that taking it at face value will prevent the fun gang from seeing any alternative options that may help them achieve a better ending than whatever the prophecy grants.

And then there's the most blatant example of him sharing his ideologies of interpretation, where he says that he believes "Stories can be retold. They can be changed", IN DIRECT REFERENCE to how Lord of the Hammer re-interpreted the prophecy, and then subsequently had itself re-interpreted by Dragon Blazers. Despite being a famous author himself, Gerson strongly believes that the author's intended meaning when creating their story should not be taken as gospel if not made overt, (I...might not apply that line of thinking to this analysis of Deltarune itself, but theorizing about how an unfinished story may go in the future kind of requires us to try and get into the author's head at least a little bit, because otherwise we have no way of discerning what any given detail might be trying to imply, so...I'll make an exception here, sorry Gerson), and that how the audience interprets the story in front of them is just as, if not more important, and can completely alter the meaning of the author's words from what was initially intended when those words were written on the page. Basically, the literally dead author character is a believer in the "death of the author" principle. Wow.

So with all of that being said...what happens when we apply Gerson's philosophies regarding literary analysis at large to the story detailed by the prophecy? Well, simply put, it leads to the conclusion that the prophecy only has control over what is directly stated within it. It doesn't matter if its creator wanted to imply much more than what we see, because if they weren't explicit about what they wanted in the magical floating glass text, then it is up to the interpretation of the characters as to what any of the vaguer aspects of the script even means, and they can follow that script however they choose by finding loopholes and wiggle room.

The reason the prophecy is so vague in so many parts (e.g., what the "Ring of Heaven's Call" even IS) isn't just for the sake of keeping the player guessing, but because it's actually just THAT vague in-universe. In fact, I think it's entirely possible that this isn't a scenario where the creator even wanted the prophecy to be ultra-specific about the most minute of details, and they deliberately wrote it in a super vague way out of curiosity for how people would interpret and subsequently enact it, but...I'll get more into what that might mean at the end of this theory.

The fun gang...might just not be able to "break" the prophecy. There may very well be no method of making what it says completely invalid. But at the same time, I think that they might be overestimating just how set-in-stone everything it says is, and that the solution isn't to destroy it or overpower it, but rather to OUTSMART it, to get creative and interpret its words in a way that differs from the obvious conclusion.

And thankfully, I have more proof for this being how the prophecy works than just Gerson's philosophy. I think we've already seen the fun gang do exactly this, even if they didn't intend to! A lot of people have already drawn attention to this, but I think it's important to have a more clear-cut example as evidence instead of just conjecture based on one character's perception of fate, so I'm bringing it up anyway. This example is, of course:

Tenna's prophecy. Now, this prophecy is not incorrect whatsoever. That Lord of Screens really WAS cleaved red by blade. But...imagine for a second that you somehow stumbled upon this prior to the ending of Chapter 3. What would you think upon seeing this? Well, that Tenna would die, of course! But the thing is...while that can still happen if you haven't recruited everyone in TV World, it's obviously possible to completely prevent that from happening. Namely, the two things that prevent it are your decision to recruit everyone, an aspect of the story that is ultimately in your hands and not those of the prophecy, and Susie patching him up, and well...even if I'm about to argue that she works as the second hero just fine and isn't breaking the prophecy by being here, it's impossible to deny that the idea of going against the rules and taking matters into her own hands is like...her schtick at this point.

It's not as if what this prophecy describes didn't come to pass or was completely subverted, just that...Kris, Susie, and Ralsei were able to make it pass on their OWN terms, and ultimately, the obvious meaning of the prophecy was kind of just...entirely invalidated by their own actions; actions that were not predetermined by destiny, but not against it by technicality either.

We obviously do not know what the "final tragedy" at the end of the prophecy is yet, and I'm not really here to discuss that, but whatever it is...I think it'll be a scenario where the terror that Susie and Ralsei feel towards it at the end of Chapter 4 is more of a gut reaction, and that if they take the time to look at whatever it says from a different angle, they'll find a way to gain a happy ending without doing something that leads to a massive upheaval of the laws of fate.

I...guess I might as well mention before anyone brings it up that...there is a possible instance where the prophecy has just been straight up denied, and that's the one which proclaims "THE QUEEN'S CHARIOT CANNOT BE STOPPED", presumably in reference to Queen's car. Now, assuming this one is past the point of being applied to some other event that has yet to come, then...yes, it is true that it doesn't line up with what we see in Chapter 2, as her car is stopped by a traffic jam.

This is definitely an interesting topic, but...it's not especially relevant to this theory oddly enough? If this discrepancy implies anything, I think it's either suggesting that the Annoying Dog is a literal deity that exists above the rules of the prophecy (as it presumably started the traffic jam), or more likely, that our meeting with Spamton was somehow not only not written in the prophecy, but actively goes against it, which is...honestly pretty on-brand for him. However, I feel like this probably has more to do with shadow crystals and the strange powers they grant than anything else, so...that might just be a theory for another time.

Regardless, there is one last aspect of the prophecy at large that I think is important to draw attention to in order to understand the one about the girl, that being how the prophecy refers to all of the people who play a part in it. Because with the exception of Jockington (which once again, is a topic for another time and...in his case probably another person as I don't know if I have it in me to write a theory about his role in this under the assumption I'll be taken seriously, and I believe it says more about him than it does anything else), no one in the prophecy is ever referred to directly by name. It's always a title instead, like "The Lord of Screens", "The Pointy-Headed Boy", or "The Prince", as opposed to just "Tenna", "Lancer" and "Ralsei".

And if we analyse this recurring detail under the assumption that the prophecy only has complete control over what it describes in explicit detail, I find this to be....uh....(do not say very very interesting do NOT say it)....really, really intriguing. Because, this should imply that the prophecy...isn't actually that strict about which specific people play a part in it. I think it's beneficial to almost look at this as a sort of...casting call for actors that are needed to play parts. Like, in the case of the third hero, the prophecy isn't necessarily looking for "Ralsei", but just "a prince alone in deepest dark", which if not for the fact that he fits "the pointy-headed boy who says "toothpaste" and then "boy"" better, would've arguably worked just as well for Lancer. This...might not be the best example as I do think there's a solid chance Ralsei was created for the sake of being the third hero, but that doesn't necessarily need to have been by the same person who made the prophecy, and like...whatever, you get my point right?!

Actually, on the topic of Lancer, there is one other aspect of the prophecy's specificity that I think needs to be acknowledged, and that is the pictures underneath each piece of text. Because while, like I said, the prophecy never refers to people by name outside of Jockington, it DOES tend to have images depicting the people it's talking about. Generally, these images are still pretty vague in terms of who they're depicting (with the heroes being pretty noteworthy examples of this)...but there are exceptions to this rule, namely Lancer and Asgore.

Now, I have seen some people suggest that these images are more indicative of how the Sanctuary's creators interpret the scripture, and therefore do not matter as much as the text. This is because the church in the light world is stated to not have any pictures of the prophecy, and because only the text is directly stated to not warp when viewed through the lens of a shadow crystal.

This would...certainly give me less strawman arguments to counter, and I think works fine in the cases of the first and third sanctuaries, given that how much the Knight knows, or just...what is going on in their head is a pretty open book, but with that being said...I'm not that convinced.

This is mostly because, if this were true, then why does the prophecy about the first hero in the Second Sanctuary depict something that Susie has absolutely zero knowledge of, despite it being a dark world of her creation? Better yet, why do the prophecies we first see in the Second Sanctuary remain consistent in their imagery when they re-appear in the third? I think the reason the prophecy appears in the Sanctuary at large is just because it's the dark reflection of the church, and I don't think you can argue that the images reflect how the church-goers interpret the prophecy, since they are explicitly stated to not have images of it, have never met Lancer if their names aren't Kris and Susie, and if they genuinely thought Asgore had a role to play in it, I imagine they'd be more hesitant to act the way they do towards him.

So...yeah, I do think these images are just...a part of the prophecy, and likely have similar if not identical levels of influence over it to that of the words. That influence doesn't neccessarily need to be "the person or thing we're talking about looks like this", because last I checked Kris was not literally a soul and two arms, but I think it needs to be at least somewhat representative of the accompanying text's subject matter. But even then, I think it's entirely possible that much like the words, the images can also be interpreted in different ways by different people. Well...ok, I think the picture of Lancer is pretty hard to interpret, but...even though I do find it curious how the prophecy only draws attention to a small aspect of his pretty significant role in the story, which might suggest that most of what he does is purely out of free will, and that the reason why Ralsei is so weirdly cold to him at times is because he kind of just expected him to be a minor comic-relief character and oh my GOD CARD KINGDOM WILL BE SO RELEVANT YOU GUYS I SWEAR TO GOD-...uh...yeah this one is still pretty jokey in nature, and if anything, the idea that Lancer's intended level of significance to the prophecy is so small makes me think that it's creator would care less about leaving the role of "pointy-headed boy" open to multiple outcomes for who gets it, so I'm just gonna take this as the opportunity to draw my "I wouldn't worry about it" card...kind of.

But then on the other hand...we have this one:

Most people here have taken Asgore himself to be the "Flower Man" in this prophecy, and more specifically, assume that he will be the ruler of a dark world inside Flower King during Chapter 5, and that the "trapped in asylum" part refers to either his dynamic with Carol, how the darkners of his world may treat him, or both. And...yeah, I can totally get behind this! I might question the notion of us fighting Asgore if he's not...possessed by an IMAGE_FRIEND inside him or something, but this is a completely logical assumption to make with the information we've been given!

However, unlike with Lancer's prophecy, which leaves very little wiggle room for who the Pointy-Headed Boy is, I'd argue that this one is much more up to interpretation, even if only for the fact that...we don't have Chapter 5 at the moment, so most speculation is ultimately pretty open. But aside from that...maybe the flower man is actually a really important darkner based on a flower! The "trapped by asylum" bit could refer to how they're treated by Asgore, and would fit quite nicely with the image beneath the text.

Am I saying this is more likely than the flower man being Asgore? No, either option is equally possible in my eyes! The point I'm trying to make here is that even if the image is clearly depicting Asgore, it's still vague enough for them to be someone else instead, and thus, I consider this image to be another example of the prophecy being interpretable. In short, I think that much like the text, the images can be viewed and therefore manifested in reality in a variety of ways. Some are easier to find alternate interpretations to than others, but ultimately, I think the same principles I've applied to the text in the prophecy can apply here as well.

...And last, was the girl. At last, was the girl. That's basically just a nerdy way of saying that I'm finally at the main point of...this part of the theory, good lord. So, for a very brief recap of what I've just laid out:

The prophecy is written (likely deliberately) in a way that is very vague and indirect, which allows anyone who decides to get involved with it to interpret it whenever something is not explicit in its meaning, and they can subsequently steer it in a direction that they find preferable wherever there is wiggle room.

This also means that, with one bearded exception for some god damn reason, and...maybe also Lancer(?), no specific individual is necessarily destined to be a part of the prophecy. Instead, since the prophecy only refers to people with titles, it is more like the prophecy is seeking out people with specific qualities to play the various parts in itself, and it doesn't care who those people are as long as they meet the requirements. So with all of that finally established...what does this mean for The Girl?

If we look at this prophecy while taking into account the interpretation of how the prophecy at large functions that I've outlined, it becomes clear just how...not specific whatsoever it is? To start off, we have the requirements needed to fit the role of the second hero, those being "girl" and "hope crossed on heart". One of those is...obviously not difficult to come across by any stretch of the imagination, and the other is INCREDIBLY abstract , and could mean so many different things for so many different people. And as of Chapter 4's ending...Susie clearly identifies herself as both of these things. Sure, she only says she has "hope crossed on her heart" AFTER seeing this prophecy, but to assume that doesn't come from a genuine place that is reflective of her arc thus far and strong emotions regarding everything she's been through would be...antithetical to the themes of her character if I'm putting it lightly.

So by all means, Susie fits the writing here perfectly. Sure, that's not exactly the hardest thing to do, but still. So then, what about the image? Again, it's quite vague, and I can see why people interpret aspects of it as being more Noelle-like. The spikes coming from the back could be angel-wings, and the top part could be her hood. Obviously she has antlers, but if we ever see her wearing her hood and the sprite doesn't show them, then...this line of thinking could still work.

But that being said, I don't think it's at all unreasonable to claim these details could also be perceived as representative of Susie's hair and snout at the same time. The ONLY thing here that might suggest the girl cannot be Susie is, as many have pointed out, the sword, as while Susie has never wielded a sword, Noelle...also technically HASN'T, but hacking the game reveals she can use the Jingle Blade and the Black Shard, and she'll almost certainly re-join the party at some point in the future.

Now, how do I plan to adjust this potential hole in my argument? Well...uh...look, I definitely do have ideas as to how this can work with what I'm suggesting here, but...I'm going to need you to wait a little bit before I explain how, as it's more based on hypotheticals about what could happen in future chapters, rather than any inherent laws of Deltarune's world, and...I'm gonna need to cover some more subject matter before I can get to that. So for now, I'm just going to ask you to suspend your disbelief for the time being, but I PROMISE that I will cross that bridge when I come to it.

...Ok I lied. Yeah so uh...I'm editing this part in after I've already written a bit further ahead, and I do still have some interpretations of what the deal with this sword could be to share in a later part, but there is one possible explanation for how the presence of this sword can co-exist with Susie being the girl that I just came up with, and that doesn't require a whole deep dive into other subject matter before I can get to it.

So, during the fight against Gerson, he urges Susie to pick up "a white pen called hope" in order to face the coming trials and tribulations on her journey, before she proclaims that her weapon is more like a hairbrush. This is referencing the fact that pens and pencils manifest as swords in the dark world, while brushes manifest as axes.

Now Gerson, of course, is ultimately supportive of Susie's declaration, as it's an example of her being true to herself and existing outside of her supposedly predetermined role in the grand scheme of things. This honestly might be further evidence against the idea that Susie would ever pick up a sword, but that's not the point I'm trying to make.

The point I'm trying to make is that we now have a comparison between hope and a pen, and by extension, hope and a sword. And ultimately, Susie still comes to view herself as a person with "hope crossed on her heart." As such, I think that you could interpret the sword seen in the prophecy about the Girl in a more metaphorical sense, and it would still fit Susie very well, even if she never comes to actively wield a sword. I may circle back around to this idea, either to expand upon it or provide alternative interpretations on what the sword in the prophecy may represent, but for now, I think this is a suitable justification for why I think Susie can still be the second hero despite the sword.

Other than all of that, I would like to suggest that the Girl wielding a sword is...not the best evidence for her being Noelle? Like, it's more than what Susie has going for her if we're talking about the state of the world at the moment, sure, but swords are not Noelle's primary weapon, rings are, so to me, it feels kind of weird for her to be SYMBOLISED with swords if she is destined to be the girl, which as I've already made clear, I don't believe is even how the prophecy works to begin with. If anything, Noelle's weapon choices point more towards her being a candidate for...whatevereth this thing is.

...Especially since there's a clear dichotomy between this and the "Tail of Hell", the latter of which many believe to be Friend, who seems to have some sort of connection to Noelle...but all of this is probably a discussion for another time. It's also worth noting that the two swords she can wield have specific connections to her beyond just what type of weapon they are. The Jingle Blade is just her pencil, and the Black Shard...look, I'm going to try my best to avoid talking about the absolute chaos that is the Knight's identity over the course of this theory, but to keep it brief, it doesn't take a genius to notice that Noelle is STRONGLY connected to them in some way or another.

Ultimately I don't think these details really matter THAT much for the sake of this theory, I mean, assuming the sword HAS to be representative of the girl's primary weapon of choice is a subjective interpretation in its own right, but I thought I might as well mention it just because it came to mind.

Basically, what I'm getting at here is that...there is no clear definitive answer as to who "The Girl" even is. Whoever made the prophecy does not seem to have a specific individual in mind for the role, and even if they do, the fact they didn't make their desire clear in the prophecy itself (I'm assuming the glass is the original place where the prophecy was first written given its magical properties and potential connections to Shadow Crystals, the latter of which is a whole beast of its own) means that even if the girl isn't who they intended, they don't get to proclaim them as the "wrong choice" as long as they fit the criteria, as authorial intent does not give them full power over their creation.

Could Noelle be The Girl? Well, if we're talking about that in the sense of "does she have the potential to become worthy of that title", then yes! In fact, while I'll explain my reasoning for this in a later part, I actually think it's possible that the identity of the girl has yet to be set in stone at this point in the narrative, and she could potentially take the title from Susie before either of them are officially deemed as the holder of the title later on. But she isn't DESTINED to be the girl, and Susie, while also not destined in her own right, isn't breaking the rules by playing the role of the girl thus far.

Her arrival in the dark world was probably not destined, yes, but she still functions just fine as the second hero, because she still meets all of the required criteria. In fact, part of why I wanted to make this theory in the first place, and by extension argue against the notion that Susie is literally incapable of ever being the girl, is because I don't like the idea that Susie's presence alone has just completely invalidated the prophecy, and it's been broken since Chapter 1.

Not only do I feel like this would remove a lot of the stakes and pressure associated with the prophecy, but I think it takes away from what makes Susie so compelling in the discussion of Deltarune's themes of freedom, and what makes her as free as she is. That being...the fact that she's just some guy who showed up. Like, Kris has the Soul, Noelle has the angel motifs and the weird route, Ralsei is...Ralsei, but Susie? She's just authentically herself, she isn't bound by her circumstances (...at least on a cosmic horror destiny level, her home life and troubled past are a different story but that's not the point I'm trying to make right now), and this is because she's just...allowed to be a regular person.

If it turned out that Susie just...had willpower so strong that she defied the entire system of fate in Deltarune's world...I mean, I'd be rooting for her, "Susie Rulez" and all that, but I think it would take away from what makes her such an inspiring symbol of freedom, as it would require her to have enough inherent strength to have been overpowering god since the beginning.

And you might argue that Susie becoming the second hero would constrict her, but I believe that's entirely dependent on how she approaches it, and that she'll find a way to still be free despite playing a role. To use the actor comparison once again; Susie might be given a role to play, and she'll have to do certain things to effectively play it, but the role is thankfully not very strict in what it requires of her, and as such, she'll have a lot of control over how she plays it.

To elaborate a bit more on what I mean, look at Ralsei. It's highly likely that this guy has had his role of the third hero since his inception, and a big reason for that is because he starts out as little more than his role. His character arc is evidently one of learning to be a person outside of his so-called "purpose". So then we have Susie, who's relationship with Ralsei might just be the most blatant example of narrative and thematic foils ever conceived. Taking that into account, how might her relationship with her role contrast with his?

It's simple. While he turns himself into a person beyond his role, Susie takes advantage of the vagueness of her role, and transforms it into something that doesn't constrict her, but REPRESENTS her. Ralsei was born with his role, but if Susie becomes the girl, it'll be something she EARNED, an idea made even more clear by how the prophecy about the Prince describes him prior to the story's events, while the Girl's describes the person she becomes after a lot of development.

I don't think that Susie is literally so strong that she just completely invalidates the prophecy's existence and all of the stakes that come with it. I feel like if that was the case, it would honestly make her, and by extension the entire game's messages of freedom less inspiring, as the average person can't just topple the rules and restrictions of life with a growth mindset alone.

But I do think that she's strong enough to make the prophecy happen on her own terms. Even if she has to play a specific role, the sheer ingenuity of "Susie's Idea" (uh...as in her general creativity and tendency to question the norm, not as in her throwing her friends at opponents) will be enough for her to interpret the prophecy in a way crafty enough to achieve a happy ending, and gain her and those she holds dear enough freedom to "face danger head on"....much like Gerson said she'd have to do in a fight where the whole gimmick was her being stuck in place.

Ok, before I wrap this up, I just wanted to address something quickly, and that is this prophecy about the Girl which has an image of Rude Buster (or at least, that's what it's called in the files.)

Uh...I think the same principle that I applied to the prophecy at large still applies here? Probably? Ultimately it's nigh impossible to tell how seriously we're supposed to take the names of specific assets in the files, obviously ones labeled with "IMAGE" and "DEVICE" seem to be pretty important, but it's entirely possible that this asset is only called Rude Buster because that's the most obvious interpretation to make upon seeing it, even though on an in-universe level, it could be interpreted by the characters as something else should Susie not claim the title of The Girl in the long run (which as I said earlier, is a possibility I will cover in a later part.)

But that being said, it's just as likely that this is labeled as rude buster because that is just...what it is, and it cannot be anything else. So if that's the case and the game was to go in a direction where Noelle becomes the girl, then uh...I don't know, Noelle learns Rude Buster, and then we fight Carol in Chapter 6 and she uses a version of Dual Buster with Susie called Yuri Buster. Yeah...this isn't really something I can come up with an answer for that fully satisfies me, but I don't think the existence of this prophecy completely invalidates this entire theory, and that's good enough for me.

And...that's basically it for this part of the theory! To sum it up, I don't think that Susie, Noelle, or really anyone is destined to be the girl, but I also don't think there's anything stopping either of them from earning that role either. I also think that Susie being the girl can co-exist with her thematic role as a symbol of freedom and forging your own ending, and that she has the power to turn the title of the second hero from something that controls her, and into something that reflects her instead.

But that being said...this is far from the end of this theory in its entirety. Because while I disagree with the notion that Susie is defying the prophecy itself, and by extension its creator, by being here instead of Noelle...she might still be defying someone else by doing that. I think it's very likely that the Fun Gang is not the only group who will try to enact the prophecy in a way that benefits them. I think there are other individuals who are trying to do the same for their own purposes, and have been doing so since before the game began.

Individuals who want specific people to claim specific titles within the prophecy, with the three heroes being the most important ones. People who have been actively trying to force Noelle into becoming the second hero through various manipulations, who will continue to do so as the narrative progresses, and who may even succeed if I'm right in assuming that the Girl has yet to be officially chosen. People who are probably not very happy about Susie taking Noelle's chances of becoming The Girl. And I think the clearest example of this comes from the one, the only, Calloween Holiday.

....what, why are you looking at me like that?

Anyways, that's all for now! If you've managed to make it to the end of this, thank you so so much for reading! The theorising part of the Deltarune fandom is...quite intimidating to me at times, so I really hope that even if your opinions and interpretations differ from mine, you still had a good time enjoying what I had to say :).

In the next part, I plan to discuss what the Knight crew might be trying to do in relation to the prophecy, unpack at least a little bit about what their plan was with creating the Sanctuary and the Titan, talk about how my interpretation of the way the prophecy functions may apply to Kris, Noelle, and briefly Ralsei, and why I think it's likely that the identity of the Girl has yet to be officially determined forever.

I'm hoping to have the second part done pretty soon, and I'll update this post with a link to it when it's done, so keep an eye out if you're interested! :) <3

[phantombegruvia]

SFTH MURDER MYSTERY - PART 25 [JOHN JACOB POV]

MASTERPOST

*CW for talk of death and blood

[BATCAVE - 00:00]

John Jacob McAllister listened to the distant bongs of a clocktower. Twelve, all together, signalling midnight. Wayne had said that they would be able to leave the manor at midnight, John wanted to believe him.

“It's.. over?” He breathed, “we can just.. leave now?”

Helter just stared at the black screen-thing that Wayne had been talking to them through just moments prior, “I don't know,” he sighed, “we can't trust him, he brought us here knowing what would happen. He's part of the problem too, he's just as bad as Tracey, or Rumpled or André Beetroot-”

“We can at least go up and see,” John tried to persuade him, “there won't be any harm done to us if we do.. probably.”

Ethel was trying to wake Margaery up from whatever trance she was in by slapping her and shouting in her face, “wake up, old lady!”

Margaery rapidly blinked, before turning to Ethel, offended, “I am not old, you cheeky shit.” She then slapped Ethel back. She shoved Ethel off her and stood up from the chair.

Helter pinched the bridge of his nose, “fine, let's get out of here.”

Margaery looked confused, “we need to find the log-in for the-”

“Yeah, no, we don't,” Helter shrugged, “you missed a lot.. but TLDR; Wayne knew about the murders because of some time travel stuff, and now the doors are open.”

“Right, okay,” Margaery looked confused, understandably. John still couldn't wrap his head around whatever the hell just happened.

Helter started heading towards the staircase, John, and the other two, followed close behind.

[WAYNE MANOR LOBBY - 00:23]

Lo and behold, the shutters were up, the door now visible. It was bittersweet in a way, John thought as he descended down the stairs (ignoring the chandelier and the child's body underneath), that he got to leave when so many others did.

He knew he would always keep them in his thoughts. But, it would be weird, if he ever did get home, he would be grieving people that didn't exist in his time, or hadn't existed for a long while.

He managed to avoid the blood on the floor as he made his way to the door, to his liberation. Helter was ahead of him, just by a wee bit, his hand just grazed the handle, and he was about to open the door-

“I'll be just a minute!” Margaery shouted, practically jumping over the blood, and into the drawing room.

[WAYNE MANOR DRAWING ROOM - 00:28]

John followed her, admittedly curious as to what she was going to do. He watched her rush towards the fireplace, picking up one of the pure gold candlesticks off the mantle piece.

“Margaery?”

She locked eyes with him, but didn't say anything. She held her palm up to the wick of the candle, and, without warning, there was a small flame.

She sighed. She crouched down, and held the flame to the corner of the rug, and the rug set aflame, she got up with haste, “I'm going to suggest we run now, dear, c’mon.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room.

John didn't know why she was in a rush, the flame wouldn't spread to the entire house, but then he remembered Wayne's warning at the end of his message. And Margaery now evidently had access to her magic again, so he pieced two and two together.

[WAYNE MANOR LOBBY - 00:30]

Margaery shoved Helter out of the way, resulting in a surprised shout. She opened the door, and pulled John out of it.

[WAYNE MANOR DRIVE - 00:30]

John was immediately hit with the smell of wet grass, he figured it had been raining, but it smelled like freedom. The clock tower in the distance chimed, and John had a bittersweet smile on his face.

He was out, and alive.

Helter had to physically drag Ethel out, and as soon as they were, the entire manor set aflame.

“I might have overdone it,” Margaery admitted, she had a sad smile on her face, her eyes watered ever-so slightly.

“We're out,” Helter breathed, “oh my god! We're alive!” He celebrated, and John joined him. Helter held his hand up, and John stared at it, unsure what to do. Helter caught his confusion, “it's a high five, you just clap my hand.”

John high fived him.

The four turned back to the burning building. They felt the heat, and John idly registered a fifth person joining them.

“Is there a mister McAllister here?” The new person said, and John seethed, he knew that voice.

So did everyone else, Helter and Margaery let out twin groans, Ethel squealed with excitement.

“I need to know if John is here-”

“I am,” he faced André.

“Oh! I didn't recognise you, you look a lot more.. disheveled than when I last saw you,” the man smiled, he leaned in to whisper in John's ear, “can we like.. go now? I don't like those guys much.”

John stepped backwards, to get André back out of his personal space, “er, just give me a minute.” (He was going home! He was going to see Angelina again!)

He turned around, and said his goodbyes to the group, he got sincere byes from both Helter and Margaery, but nothing from Ethel, who was making ‘snow’ angels in the mud.

He pulled from Margaery's hug, which was the best hug he'd ever had - it was so warm, but that might just be the fire.

John sighed, before nodding at André. The time traveller grabbed his arm, shouting, “here we go!”

And, John blinked.

[ROLAND HOUSE - 12:00]

[1895]

John was alone when he opened his eyes. It took a while for him to register his surroundings, but when he did, he recognised it immediately.

In front of him was a door, his door. He opened it with haste, before rushing into the living room, where his darling wife sat, reading a book.

Angelina looked up, “oh, sweetheart, you're back already!”

His eyes welled up with tears, before he rushed to hold her, she let out a noise of surprise, before letting out a gentle giggle. Her arms wrapped around his smaller-than-her’s frame.

He knew, when he first married her, that he would never take her for granted. But now after tonight, he swore that he never would.

To her, that night wouldn't happen until long after they both were dead. But to him, he lived it, and he would never forget it. The people who died would live on through him, 130 years in the past.

There were people who never got to do what he got to do; go home.

He thought about Juliet, he didn't know much about her (he never got the chance to know her), but she probably had somebody waiting at home for her.

He thought about Poppy, he idly remembered her saying something about her close relationship with her father and sheep. He thought about the little plaid cloth that would never find its way back to the sheep it belonged to.

He thought about Tarquin, and how he would be finally reunited with his soulmate, even if it was through death.

He thought about Amanda and Esmeralda, and how they never truly got to know each other. He wished they could've met before the event, something might have arisen.

He thought about Tracey who was roped into being the bad guy. She had let it slip that she had a best friend, he wondered what she would think if she ever found out about what Tracey did.

He thought about Derek, he never saw his body, but Derek had told him that he was planning his marriage. He thought about Derek's fiancé, who would never get to hold Derek again.

He didn't want to think about Rumpled, everything was his fault. But, he couldn't help but feel remorse for him, nobody deserved to die in that manor, not even him.

John let out an incredibly shaky sigh, before muttering into Angelina's chest, “I missed you.”

She stroked his hair, “I missed you, too, love.”

part 24 << part 25 >> epilogue MASTERPOST

[robynostornwyn]

“You know, he would never want to cause you pain.”

The voice startled Osk. She turned to find the Viis guard from the Exarch’s chambers leaning against the wall behind her. Had she followed after when Osk had stormed off?

“The Exarch, I mean. Despite what you may think, he cares deeply about all of his people, especially Robyn and the others he has brought through the rift—and you are no exception. I am sure he feels terrible about causing you so much hurt. He is just doing what he must to try and save both our worlds.”

“I didn’t think they had told anyone so much of what was really going on.”

“Well, they haven’t told me directly. But they do tend to forget that I am in the room, so I’ve put a lot of it together. Not that I really understand the specifics, mind, but I have gathered the basics.”

For some reason that actually put Osk at ease. She went and leaned against the wall next to the white haired woman.

“Well that makes two of us. Master Matoy—I mean Y’shtola—had explained some of it to me over the years, but it all seems just so...big and beyond imagining. And I…I just can’t help but feel like this is not where I’m supposed to be.”

“You mean your kid, don’t you.”

Osk nodded. “If the world is ending, it terrifies me to think that she may have to face it alone. All of this is…I don’t think I have much of anything to contribute to saving the world.”

Both women stood in silence, watching the bustle of life in the Crystarium below. Eventually the other woman stood up and faced Osk directly.

“I’m Lyna by the way.”

That surprised as chuckle out of Osk, and she took Lyna’s outstretched hand into her own.

“Osk.”

“Osk, I don’t think you are here by just chance. We all have our part to play and I look forward to see what yours turns out to be.”

The rain continued to poor over the now quiet battlefield as Osk made her rounds, tending to any soldiers she could find who needed her help. Eventually she came across Lyna, battered and bloody and resting against a wall.

“Oh. I did not see you there. Is there something you need?”

She was going to be a stubborn patient, Osk could already tell. But from the way she was holding herself, one no less in need her attention.

“No, no, I'm fine. How are you feeling?”

“Injuries are part and parcel of battle. While there's breath in my lungs, I shall see my duties done. Please, there are others who need your attention far more than I.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve already seen to your people and helped where I could. Those needing more care are already being moved to the Crystarium.”

Lyna seemed to interpret that more as a status report rather than reason to allow Osk to take a look at her own injuries. She pushed herself up to standing, trying to hide the way she winced at the movement.

“You saved a great many lives today. Thank you. Unfortunately, this war is far from over. We must replenish our ranks and shore up our defenses before they attack again. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Osk watched her take a handful of steps before her knee fully gave out and she collapsed to the ground once again. Osk rushed to her side but hesitated to start healing her when Lyna spoke, her voice cracking with emotion.

“I…am fine…Completely…and utterly…fine! Better than fine! Hale and hearty and still alive to mourn those who are not. Who I failed to protect when they needed me most.

"We've come so far─so godsdamned far! I could have sworn the end was in sight. And now… Now they will never see it.”

Osk gently laid her hand on Lyna’s side. Not to heal, but as a silent comfort as she looked for words. Before she found them, Vauthry’s voice boomed from an airship flying over head. But his haughty words meant to cause despair or uncertainty had the opposite effect…seeming to steel the resolve of those around them.

“Please, Lyna, let me help you. Let me do my part so that you can do yours. As you said, this war is far from over.”

Lyna nodded and Osk got to work.

“You know, I’m surprised you stayed behind.”

Osk looked up from the bandages she was preparing as Lyna approached and gave her a smile.

“After the sin eater attack, the chirurgeons have needed all the help they can get. Besides, I’m far more useful here than getting in the way of Minfilia’s plan. Whatever it is they are doing, they don’t need another person to look after.”

“I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who has no idea what it is they are doing.”

That made Osk laugh, which in turn made Lyna grin.

“Regardless, I am told you have been working yourself ragged. It would not due to have Robyn return and find her sister collapsed from exhaustion. You should take a break and at least to eat something.”

Osk raised an eyebrow as she looked at her. “A bold statement coming from you.”

“I know, I know. I am far better at taking care of others than I am myself. Something I suspect you understand?”

“Fair enough. How about this, I will take a break for lunch if you will join me. I would like to get to know the woman underneath the mantle of the captain of the guard.”

“Oh would you now? I guess that is a fair trade.”

~

Later some of the guard would whisper about how their Captain spent hours chatting with the blue haired stranger. Some would even say they heard her laughing, but surely they were mistaken.

The celebration was in full swing when Lyna found Osk sitting at a table alone in the Wandering Stairs. She stopped to grab a pair of drinks from the bar and made her way over to the young healer.

“You know, it is a shame for such a beautiful woman to spend such a beautiful night drinking alone.”

Osk laughed as she accepted the drink being handed to her.

“Maybe I was just waiting for you to finally make your way over here to share one with me.”

“Well, in that case I am sorry it took me so long. Though it did allow me to find out what your part to play was in this grand story, assuming Alphinaud’s tipsy overtures are to be believed.”

“Oh goodness, what story is he spreading around?”

“Just that you kept them all up and fighting when they would have been otherwise killed. It sounds like in the end, while Robyn may hold the victory, it was you who saved the day. Perhaps your time here has been worth it after all.”

“You know, there are other reasons my time here has been worth it, too…” Osk said, a little shyly, as she put her hand over Lyna’s.

“Would you like to get out of here? Find someplace more quiet?”

“I would love that.”

“I have to admit, I didn’t think I would find you down here.”

Lyna looked up and smiled when she saw Osk approaching where she sat by the canals in the Hortorium.

“This is one of my more favored places to take a break and think. Would you like to sit with me for a moment?”

Osk took Lyna’s offered hand and settled on the floor beside her.

“It is beautiful down here, the inner workings of this city are truly remarkable.”

“I am sorry for leaving you this morning without a word. I was already later than I would have liked to be when I woke, and you looked far too peaceful to disturb.”

“No, I know you have duties to see to. And I was more exhausted than I think I realized, I don’t think I have ever slept so late. Though maybe the softness of your bed contributed to that, too.”

Lyna blushed a bit and looked down at the flower in her hands that she had been fiddling with.

“I enjoyed last night, very much. It has been a long time…well I guess its been a long time since I’ve had enough hope for the future to even consider…what I mean to say is thank you.”

She turned to Osk, and with a small smile threaded the flower into Osk’s hair. Osk caught her hand as she pulled away to admire her handiwork.

“Now that the world has been saved, you will probably be leaving soon to go back to your world, your life. But I want you to know how happy I am that I have had this time with you.”

“Well, I’m not leaving quite yet, if you don’t mind I would like to spend a bit more time with you.”

“With me or with my soft bed?”

“Ha! Both if you are willing. You truly are a remarkable woman, Lyna. Your kindness and companionship have touched my heart in ways I honestly wasn’t sure was possible anymore, and I know I will treasure what time we have had.”

“I guess we better make the best of it.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

couldn't finish your most recent work. s too well done. i cried a little. I was on t for about a year. now, i'm not sure who I am or who I want to be. what's real expression and what's performance. I guess the most important thing is having people who will love and accept you no matter what you are. sorry for oversharing ig. love your stuff

I'm sorry you're struggling, bud. My only piece of advice is to not change who you are and what you love doing during your transition. As a trans man, your femininity does not have to disappear, and your masculinity can take many shapes and sizes. The line between expression and performance is literally "what makes me feel good", so it's trial and error. There are 50 y.o. men I know still working out their masculinity as a separate thing from the toxicity of their fathers.

The point of transition is to become comfortable, or as comfortable as you can be within the realms of what your life will allow, not to leave one box to cram yourself into another, be that a box created by the heteros or a box created by the rainbow coalition. For some, it's an opportunity to open certain boxes they kept chained shut because they were always told they weren't allowed, or were too uncomfortable due to dysphoria. There will be certain trade offs you might want to make to exist in a hostile world. That is fine and you don't owe anyone visibility.

You don't need labels, you don't need to define yourself, you don't need to place a pin on the "identity map" at the precise location that represents you. You are you. The only thing you owe society is kindness, nothing else.

The big lie is that T will fix everything. It doesn't. There are wounds caused by dysphoria and by the way you've been treated all your life that you need to actively work on, and give yourself grace for. It's a journey, a marathon, not a switch or a quick 100m sprint. If you've transitioned late, there are parts of yourself you need to learn to be neutral about. Neutral is fine. You don't have to love every part of yourself because that is exhausting.

But what you do need to know is that you are valuable, with or without a romantic partner, you're worth loving as you, that good people do exist, that unfortunately people do have genital preferences but that doesn't make you any less of a man, because people also have height, hair, eye colour, weight, teeth, preferences. Such is life. The world is imperfect, and so are you. And that's ok.

[sawmaw]

Saw I just wanted to say that I reread your stuff fairly often- I'm in desperate need of more sub tweels in my life. I keep imagining what a part 2 to the break in story would be and there's so many ways it could go. Did you ever think about what would happen next after Floyd is caught?

THANK YOUUU IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY STUFF!!

ouuu part 2 for the break-in has been on the to-do list for like 2 years i am the worst procrastinator known to man it’s horrible. one of the main things i get stuck on is whether i wanna go for an edging/denial or an overstimulation approach. i mean, the reader’s gonna be mean either way but it’s hard to decide which direction.

another thing is if i want floyd to be resistant or completely all for whatever happens. like do i want the reader to be fucked up or do i want him to be fucked up…….much to think about……..maybe i’ll flip a coin or do a poll to pick these or something.

the edging + resistant approach miiiight possibly be the meanest pick. maybe you use the shirt to tie his hands, maybe you make fun of him the whole time, maybe you use one of your vibrators on him. i’ve seen a few of my friends talk about panty gags a couple times so maybe you can do something like that. but anyway. edging is particularly rude because he was already forced to edge himself once (when you caught him at the end), so doing that over and over again would be the quickest way to get tears. i imagine the first few times he begs not to make him cum, which eventually turns into sobbing about how much it hurts, it’s so sensitive, just let him cum and be done with it because he’s really sorry, he swears!!

now overstimulation + resistant could begin relatively similar (bindings, gag, possibly a toy if you’re getting down to a beat that funky). if i do this one, i want the reader to be a more bratty dom ykwim. i usually write the reader to be kind of blunt and irritated, but i Do think brat doms are fun. you taunt him the entire time, snicker at his writhing and squirming, “if you don’t want it, why’re you so hard?”. maybe you put a piece of clothing over his face before stripping just so he can’t see you, wrists tied behind his back so he can’t touch you, mouth gagged so he can’t beg for you to cut it out. you can make him cum with your hand, a toy, by riding him (even all three!), and then you do it again and again and again. Every time he cries, you answer with, “??what, i thought you wanted/liked to cum?”

edging + unresistant would be interesting i think. maybe upon catching him, you tell him to just keep going and he happily obliges. you make him look you in the eyes and tell you exactly what he was thinking about, everything he was fantasizing about you. each time his cock starts twitching and his eyes flutter, you tell him to take his hand off. breaking into your dorm and messing with your things deserves no reward. maybe you refuse to touch him and call him every name in the book while he pumps himself for you, he’ll whine and complain but his stupid grin never falters regardless of the insults.

overstimulation + unresistant might be something kind of like my older fics. the moment you touch him you get, “i knew you liked me, shrimpy!” and then he’s on you in an instant. something i thought of a while ago was that maybe after making him cum a few times and you’re both exhausted, you still tell him to get up keep fucking you. his legs are wobbly and his thrusts are uncoordinated, but he keeps going despite the overexertion. maybe this will have some overstimulation for you as well, i dunno. i’m getting mind controlled.

bohemian yapsody over here sorry.Sorry. anyway maybe i will dwell on these a lil more because there really Are so many ways part 2 could go. also sorry i haven’t posted in a month i was in the shower

[thundergirl007-writes]

Product Development Pitch

Here's something I had some fun with :D set in @thebirdfantasy's evil!Virgil AU, here's an insight into how we... un-Virgil-d the Tracy!

POV: Dr Alfred Slepfield, head researcher.

Dr Slepfield recieves an important client, and decides to show him the progress of his research...

Cw's: creepy unsettling captor POV, facility whump, science/medical whump (kinda), referenced/implied torture, sleep deprivation, dehumanisation/depersonalisation.

“Doctor Slepfield.”

The voice on the intercom called out, and the good doctor dutifully looked up from the neatly arranged paperwork in front of him to see the projection of his PA outside his office looking up at him.

“Yes, Ms Glenfield?”

“A Mr Gaat has arrived to see you, Doctor. He does not have an appointment in your calendar.”

Mr Gaat. The Doctor sighed and hoped it was not completely obvious to his PA why this was.

“Send him through, Ms Glenfield.”

There is no keeping a man like Mr Gaat waiting.

Not when he's such a key figure in this facility’s research funding.

The door to the office opened and the PA invited the gentleman inside. A tall, bald man with sharp cheeks and a sharper stare stepped inside. His dark silk suit glistened against the light yet blended in amongst the mahogany walls on either side of the door. A man the good Doctor has known for only a year, yet with all he has done for him, he knows that this relationship ends with either his death or his own.

He was rather hoping that it will be many, many mutually beneficial years before that happens.

Despite the name of Mr Gaat, the Doctor knew that it was an alias, for extremely wanted criminals are not normally permitted to invest in projects like this one. No, the Doctor was not stupid, even if he did care who he was or how he acquired his fortunes. This man was known to the GDF by another name.

The Hood.

Yet the Doctor knew better than to address him as such.

The good Doctor rose from his desk and wore his best smile on his face, one he’s spent years perfecting when dealing with businessmen, since convincing wealthy people to part with their money is an art few possess and yet is so horrifically necessary to stay afloat in the science world.

“Mr Gaat. So good to see you again, sir. How is everything?” he walks around the desk and holds a hand out for him to shake.

A gesture he does not return.

“Spare me the pleasantries, Doctor. You know why I am here.”

Ah yes. The Board of the Foundation for Research into Alzheimers, Dementia and Other Deteriorative Conditions had been informed of this particular investor’s lack of patience and wanted the good Doctor to step in and prove that everything was on track - and provide some additional reasons to continue funding them, whilst he was at it.

“Yes, well. Your support in our research has been invaluable, I think you’ll be impressed with our progress.”

“I hope so, for your sake, Doctor.”

The journey from the office to the lab isn't a long one, but there is such a stark difference between the dark yet warm, welcoming environment of the upstairs offices and the starkly clinical and bright cellars where our research is conducted.

“The latest drug has been a phenomenal success,” the good Doctor explains as he straightens out his lab coat, “our subjects are responding very well to them, exhibiting changes in behavior a lot quicker than previously -”

“Doctor, I am not a patient man,” he sternly interrupted, “I do not appreciate your efforts to draw out suspense. I want to see the fruits of your research. Otherwise you will find me a very unhappy investor.”

“If you insist, Mr Gaat.”

Pulling out the ring of keys from his belt loop, he unlocks the first door into the… private areas. As much as the Foundation for Research into Alzheimers, Dementia and Other Deteriorative Conditions has advanced into the modern age with technologically advanced locks and facial scanners, there truly is nothing quite like an idiotic, foolproof lock and key.

Beyond this first gate is an armed guard, who watches the both of them carefully as the door is closed and locked behind them.

“You'll forgive me for our security measures, Mr Gaat,” he explains, making his way to the bio scan at the other side of the antechamber, “utmost care must be taken with our line of work.”

The man simply grunted in the affirmative as he waited for the second door to be unloacked.

A few seconds later and they're through. The hustle and bustle of the upper levels replaced with an eerie silence, save for distant footsteps.

The walls are stark white with no features on any of them. Absolutely no recognisable markings on any, even the door he closes behind them. No windows. No signs. No numbers. Not even colour. Just a black door and a white wall. Can't risk any escapees figuring out where to go.

They’ve never had an escapee, in large part because of this overabundance of caution.

These first few doors are to the staffing areas, the chemical storage room, and a few laboratories that develop the drugs we work with.

Beyond these doors are testing chambers. Each of them have their own control room, and five isolation cells under their control. Not a sound is heard out of any of them, the soundproofing is state of the art. And that's a good thing too, quite a lot of the acquisitions like to create a scene.

We have room for 50 cells down here, but currently, only a fraction are in use. This is what Mr Gaat's future investments will provide for.

And the good Doctor knows exactly what will help him secure years of funding from this man.

“Our newest acquisition may be of some interest to you,” leading him through the fifth door on the left, the guest raises an eyebrow at the comment.

The colleagues of the good Doctor within the lab all turn to look at me as we enter, before silently turning around and focusing on their work. They know not to be intrusive with questions whilst he is with such a valued client.

In the control room are the relevant documents and histories of every subject brought into these cells in specific. These subjects are all quite far into their treatment, and do not need as much guidance as the ones further down the corridor.

Reaching out, he pulls the file for Subject 22-031, and passes it to the guest, “here you are. The file for Subject 22-031.”

He makes my way to the empty computer and started tapping away at the keys, bringing up the video feed for Subject 22-031.

“The occupant of this cell.”

Said occupant is in a sorry state. Its hands are restrained high above its head with thick manacles. Its head lolled down, limply sagging in its restraints. The Subject is shirtless and only wearing black shorts for what little modesty we allow it to have. Dark hair matted and sweaty, skin pale and clammy with bruises dotted around like a painting on a canvas, yet methodically applied for maximum effect. A thick, heavy collar is tied tightly around its neck, the soreness clearly visible beneath.

If it wasn't so sleep deprived one would be able to see those umber eyes that spent so long defying the treatment we were providing.

The esteemed guest is staring at the figure on the screen, which he takes as the cue to begin.

“Brought in three months ago, and is at a stage of its conditioning where its mental walls are breaking down, making it very susceptible to any new ideas. A malleable mind like this means that we can train it into behaviours we want to see it perform."

The good Doctor lifts up the cap over a yellow button and presses it down.

Suddenly the Subject on the screen jolts to life, muscles spasming in the harsh restraints. A cry out is audible, as it is looking around its harsh, empty white cell, its face looking up at the one way glass in front of it.

Pain radiating from its features, the Subject's eye areas are a deep red amongst its pale complexion.

A shock collar is a remarkable tool to keep the Subjects in a submissive state.

“Previously it was under a heavy dose of Mexatonin, which kept it confused for an extended period of time, thus allowing this transformation to the state you see it in now.”

The Doctor left the live feed on screen 1, and using screen 2, was able to pull up the logs from last week, not long after the transition to this stage.

The same Subject, restrained in the same way, except a thick black blindfold over its eyes. The video shows a white-coated researcher making their way inside alongside someone else. The Subject tries to speak, asking who is there, but all this accomplishes is the black-clad figure to land a harsh punch to the stomach, winding it. The researcher repeats the main focus for this stage of the process.

You will not speak unless spoken to.

“In addition to the drugs, we have been forced to use physical punishments, mainly in an attempt to teach it to speak only when spoken to. The subject had an unfortunate habit of trying to speak to my researchers. But we think we have reached the sweet spot, as it were, where it will not speak unless addressed directly”

The glance the Doctor is able to steal from the honorable Mr Gaat is one that makes him very excited. He seems enraptured with the process, and this is good. It’s something the Doctor can use. Something to sink his teeth in to.

And like a vampire, suck the money out of him to keep this racket going.

The Doctor has had quite a few parties interested in the results of this process, but Mr Gaat is by far the most powerful, most influencial, the richest by miles.

Even a fraction of his money would set them up for years. Not to mention the profits from the end products being sold to other wealthy individuals.

Oh yes, this was going to go wonderfully in his favour.

“Sleep deprivation?” he nods at the live feed, where the Subject is already trying to go back to sleep in their restraints.

He nods down at the button, and Mr Gaat does the honour of pressing the same one he did.

Sending powerful shocks into his body once more.

Mr Gaat is most pleased with this, the smile on his face is one that shows he is taking some joy out of this experience. A far cry from the stern man who seemed very ready to deal with him earlier.

“And what do you address him as?” he asks as he leans back away from the screen, the figure trembling from all the pain.

The Doctor simply gestures to the folder. “Its designation is Subject 22-031, but for ease, my researchers simply call it 031.”

He chuckles in response, murmuring something just loud enough for the Doctor to hear, “oh how far he has fallen…”

The Doctor can practically feel the thrill in the air at the prospect of such a happy investor. The board will no doubt be pleased with all this.

All the same. It's almost like Mr Gaat is familiar with this Subject, or rather, who it was before.

The Doctor only gave a passing glance to the Subject’s previous identity because he really did not care to learn who they were. It didn't matter anymore.

What did matter is what they will become.

“I must say, Doctor,” Mr Gaat began, turning back to face him, “all of this is very promising. I would certainly like to see this one through to the end of his training, how about a little demonstration?"

"A demonstration of what it can do when fully trained?” he asked “Well, it of course isn't there yet, but -"

"I completely understand, Doctor. I want to see what you're doing to him now. He's strung up in there waiting, what do you do to him now?"

The Doctor knows exactly what he wants to see.

And he will oblige his honoured guest.

A quick buzz into the pager and barely a minute later, a tall, muscular individual enters the room the same way they all did. Clad entirely in black, a mask covering the lower half of its face, its steely silver eyes staring at its Master.

The Doctor gestures to the new arrival, "Mr Gaat, this is Subject 22-014. It’s already been out on a few successful missions. You may have heard of the assassination of the Swedish Banker in Morocco? Well, that was their handiwork."

And what a spectacular job it did. But a key part of its downtime between jobs is to assist in the training of the new Subjects, which helps to keep its skills sharp.

He raised an eyebrow, "well, she doesn't look like much."

"Just you wait and see, sir," the good Doctor turns from the esteemed Mr Gaat over to the more professional Subject, “go to 22-031’s cell and await my instructions.”

It wordlessly nods, silently moving through the control room, opening the bolted doors, and then unlocking the cell to Subject 22-031.

The figure in the video stirs at the sound.

The Doctor presses the intercom in that cell. “Subject 22-031. Wake up. Time for training.”

Subject 22-031’s legs were trembling beneath them. Shaking their head as 22-014 entered the room and sealed the door behind them, simply standing there, not even having to move to get such a startled physical response from the sleep deprived 22-031.

"N...no..." it calls out, yet no one in this entire building holds any weight to what it has to say any longer.

“Silence, 22-031,” the Doctor sternly orders, “You will not speak unless spoken to.”