#secondly. ao3 is just better

[yanderenightmare]

As someone who writes horror core smut (or tries to) I'm having trouble with the "Yandre" perspective. When I try and write it out it seems cringe to me, like less of an amateur novel and more of middle school AO3. Do you have any advice on how to make it seem more realistic and less "middle school fan person"?

On Realistic Yandere

Excellent question and something I’ve also battled with!

♡ Empathy vs sympathy

You've already pinpointed the problem!

It's unrealistic.

Not everyone will agree with this, since when you take the unlikeliness out of a yandere character, it doesn’t always feel like a yandere anymore. But I think this "cringe" you're talking about stems from that—the unlikeliness of the yandere archetype in and of itself.

And by unlikeliness, I mean the whole never-ending, unexplained utter craziness of the yandere character. 

The fact is that “utter asylum craziness” doesn’t feel very realistic, firstly because it’s a personality that we never come across in real life, and secondly, because it doesn’t work in the long run. And by that, I mean it’s unlikely that an utter-asylum-crazy yandere would be able to pull off a long-term kidnapping, as he wouldn't be able to plan it and would probably get caught by the police before even touching a hair on the victim's head.

I’ve spoken about the Power of Persuasion before, but this is essentially what it’s all about. That feeling of fear you want to inspire in your readers doesn’t take root because the utter-asylum-crazy yandere, though scary, seems rather easy to trick or rather seems prone to fuck up and get caught all on his own. And other than that, the bigger issue is that the utter-asylum-crazy yandere doesn't seem real. 

Not only is he not a very convincing villain, he's not even a convincing character.

And so, don’t make him utter-asylum-crazy. Make him normal, with a fucked up view of life.

Write him as normally as you can. A crazy person doesn't do things just because he's crazy. He does things because it's natural for him to do them. Meaning, he has his reasons. Those reasons might seem unnatural to us, but they're normal to him. In other words, a crazy person doesn't acknowledge that he's crazy. He might understand that everyone else disagrees with him, but he'll argue that they just don't understand.

And so, normalize his fucked up point of view as much as you can. Even better, make your reader understand where he's coming from. Make him empathy-compatible.

By empathy-compatible, I don’t mean that your readers should have sympathy for him, but that they’re able to put themselves in his shoes and see things from his perspective, no matter how warped that perspective is. This is something authors get told a lot. Even when you have a villain—unless the villain is some distant foe we never see head-on—you have to make the villain somewhat relatable to the reader.

Again, we don’t have to feel sorry for the villain, but we should understand where he’s coming from. Empathy, not sympathy. Understanding, not compassion.

That’s the fault with the utter-asylum-crazy yandere—he has zero empathic value. No one gets his motives or his way of thinking. No one even knows what he wants or why he wants it. He’s the equivalent of an inanimate object doing something it’s not supposed to—as in, yes, it has a surprise factor, but mostly it’s just confusing and leaves your readers with questions you have no better answer than simply saying “no reason, he’s just utter-asylum-crazy”.

That’s why, and it’s fucked up to say, but the best way to make your character believable is to take notes from real life.

Real men aren’t exactly yandere, but they are way scarier in how they’re narcissistic, prideful egomaniacs who manipulate, mansplain, control, and patronize us by treating us all like needy and naive pussies-on-legs. Like, real men are so scary it’s ridiculous. We don’t need to make the yandere character utter-asylum-crazy, real-ass men are already terrifying.

So, I’d say just take inspiration from every time you’ve been in the club and feared getting gangraped by that shady group in the corner who bought you a drink, or all the stories your girlfriends have told you about their boyfriends strange and uncomfortable behaviour, or any other horror story you hear where a woman has been too scared to leave her husband even when that husband has isolated her from all her friends and family, forced her to quit her job, baby-trapped her, and treats her like his own personal slave. 

Like, you don’t need to make up any of the crazy, because believable crazy is way scarier.

♡ NIGHTMARE'S HELPDESK

[julysalad]

My Big List Of Underappreciated Tomarrymort Works On AO3.

❗This list is based solely on my own fanfiction preferences. I think all fanfiction deserves to be read and known, even if I, personally, don't include it in this list❗

As a very picky reader, I'm usually left dissatisfied with the portrayal of characters or quality of the plot even in works that have many kudos and bookmarks. I often find my attention straying from the text, even if I was interested in a work after reading summary or first chapters.

So, in this list of recommendations I will include fanfiction that, in my opinion, deserves more readers and recognition. And that is the reason why I'm setting the bar at works that have less than 5000 kudos on AO3.

I'm also not adding fanfics that fall under Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot tag on AO3 here. Firstly, because I've never seen anyone read their porn based on anyone's fic recommendations 🤷🏼‍♀️. Secondly, because I don't find myself lacking high-quality, well-written tomarrymort porn.

Works will be placed in no particular order.

More Precious than Rubies by Strange_Soulmates (T, 44K, 6/6)

Harry Potter has recently escaped from his dragon-guarded tower. So has his fellow prisoner - the dragon who was enchanted to guard him. Harry's friend is missing, however, and so he sets off to assure himself of his well-being before he finds the person responsible for imprisoning them both. Accompanied by a stranger with a familiar name, Harry finds himself with more questions than answers as he slowly learns about the customs of dragons and the history of the dragon he befriended, the fearsome Voldemort.

Fantasy AU. One of the first tomarrymort fics I've ever read and instantly loved. Very fluffy and tender work, no hurt only comfort. Harry and Tom | Voldemort are just really sweet together in this one.

The Nature of Mating by Strange_Soulmates (E, 22K, 6/6)

Ron and Hermione have spent the last year searching for their missing friend, Harry Potter. Just when they think they have finally found an answer, they're swept away themselves.

Harry Potter is tired of waiting for Tom to finish making a move, and is determined to take the last steps of their courtship himself if that's what it takes.

Voldemort? Voldemort just wishes his little pest had better taste in treasure.

Sequel to More Precious than Rubies. If you loved the first part, you'll probably love the second.

Mary Magdalene by @vashhanamichi (E, 17K, 4/?)

Based on a prompt for the Daddymort fest: when Harry tries to destroy four of Voldemort's seven Horcruxes they turn into babies instead and latch on to Harry like ducklings.

or:

SCANDAL! Young Mother Of Four Claims Dark Lord Hasn't Been Paying Child Support

The summary is self-explanatory in this one. Very enticing, very sensual work with dark themes. Mind the tags. Even though it hasn't been updated in a while I really hope it will be continued 🙏

Those Made of Lightning and Blood by A_Single_Cactus (E, 53K, 5/5)

A story in which Harry believes his soulmate bond is unreciprocated. Voldemort is his soulmate, but he's not Vodemort's. What he doesn't realize is that he's meant to speak his first words to Voldemort in a different time, not in front of the Mirror of Erised.

Time-travelling Harry AU + Soulmates AU. Falls under Tom Riddle Is His Own Warning tag (like most of the works in this list, to be honest). I really love the author's style in writing, the fanfic is a very easy read (I read it in one go).

The Reverent Son by A_Single_Cactus (E, 9K, 1/1)

When Harry decided to raise Tom Riddle as his son, he never could've imagined, one day, that the demon would want him. He never could've imagined his child growing to be a monster.

Lord, save him.

Church AU with demon!Tom. Mind the tags. Another work by the author of Those Made of Lightning and Blood. This fanfic comes close to Porn Without Plot category, but I still decided to include it because I really like this author's style.

In Your Soul is Sealed a Pleasure by mosiva (E, 22K, 2/2)

“So confident,” Voldemort murmured, “to be waiting here alone, this late at night.” He let a little menace seep into his tone.

The man merely smiled in return, cocky. “Oh, is this a bad area?” he said. “I hadn’t realised, what with the lack of streetlights and the not-so-distant screams. Silly me.”

Harry’s been sent back in time, but he’s still not worked out what it is about this specific moment that gives him the best chance to change things for the better. All he’s managed to do so far is talk to an oddly intense man in an alley and try not to get mugged.

Time-travelling Harry AU. The times of the First Wizarding War, with obsessive Voldemort and funny, charming, witty Harry.

A Light That Never Goes Out by @kippipies (M, 108K, 13/?)

Harry steals from the wrong people and finds himself left for dead with a bullet in his skull.

Except he doesn't die.

And now, he has an infamous criminal organization called the Death Eaters hot on his tail, determined to correct that mistake. Even worse, the group is led by a deranged kingpin named Voldemort, who seems to think trying to kill Harry is the best fun he's had in years.

Mafia | Mob boss AU. I've never thought I would enjoy a non-magical Harry Potter AU, because, for me, the whole point of Harry Potter is it's a magical world and a very important part of both Harry and Tom's characters. So if you're sceptical, like me, please give it a try – I promise you won't regret it. No "big strong alpha mafia boss falls in love with tiny little weak omega at first sight" in this one. An incredible story of slowly progressing obsession. The work is regularly updated.

One of my most favorite works.

What quickens me is the violence in thee by @i-dream-of-libraries (M, 16K, 6/6)

Harry is sold at auction to a man who is clearly in some kind of disguise - Lord Riddle isn't as charming as he looks, and the way he looks at Harry...

A bit of guilty pleasure fanfic for me. I just love works with dark obsessive Tom | Voldemort and a bit of old fanfic tropes...

Saving the World, One Blowjob at a Time by NixandShit (E, 13K, 1/2)

Harry goes back in time to stop everyone from dying and ends up in a weird Slytherin hierarchy and saving the world by distracting the future dark lord with sex.

Time-travelling Harry AU. This work also comes close to Porn Without Plot category, but, just like with "The Reverent Son", it has plot and I just reeeeally love the author's style in writing. So yes, I'm including it.

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 114K, 6/23)

When Harry looks at Tom, he feels overwhelmed. There is a spark that makes him hopeful, the fear that nothing he does will save Tom from himself, and the horror at what his lies might lead to.

When Tom looks at Harry, he feels nothing. Until he does, and then Harry’s world starts drowning in blood.

Time-travelling Harry AU. The work by the author of "What He Grows To Be", one of the most popular tomarrymort works on AO3 (the amount of kudos is completely deserved). The author's style is incredible, the portrayal of characters is immaculate, the plot and plot twists are one of the most well-written I've ever seen! The fanfic isn't finished, but please support the author and read it anyway!

One of my most favorite works.

Extenuating Circumstances by Origin_Of_Symmetry (M, 87K, 2/2)

“You’re really quite a delight, Harry. I can’t believe I went weeks thinking you were useless and boring.”

Somehow, unwittingly, Harry finds himself engaged to Tom Riddle.

He’s not entirely sure how that happened.

Time-travelling Harry AU. A work full of funny scenes, smart dialogue and entertaining plot! The progress of Harry and Tom's relationship is portrayed realistically, and this is one of the most important things I value in fanfics.

The Sense of Self by SpitFire97 (E, 87K, 7/7)

This is the story of Death entrapping Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort in a series of reincarnations to undo the chaos the two of them have collectively caused. It’s a story of how two adversaries tangled in fate are forced to learn about themselves and through that, about the other; of them trying to work together for a change - if only, to pursue their individual goals.

Time-travelling Harry AND Tom | Voldemort AU. The character portrayal, the plot, the relationship between Harry and Voldemort – everything is portrayed perfectly in this work. I don't usually read works that have Death as a sentient being in them, because I usually find it frustrating when Death treats Harry Potter as someone special, almost bowing to him, and sends him back in time. So if you're, like me, wary of reading such fics – rest assured that this won't be a problem in this work. Harry's MoD!status doesn't make him overpowered – he's just as powerless as Voldemort, both of them being puppets in Death's hands.

One of my most favorite works.

Yule Ball by @holaolla1 (E, 5K, 1/1)

“How do you find our first dance, Professor?” the Slytherin's voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts bringing him back to the harsh reality. He looked skeptically over to Riddle's face, a sly smile playing on the latter’s lips.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think we'll ever have another?”

“I’m sure we will,” Riddle’s smile grew wider. Harry huffed deciding not to comment. After all, if one ignores the problem long enough, the problem will eventually disappear on its own.

Professor/Student AU. A short, well-written work.

Vicious Circle by Bakuko, cyberslut404, kewpiekewpie (E, 194K, 37/?)

Harry and Hermione are transported back in time, while Tom Riddle begins his first year at Hogwarts.

Time-travelling Harry AND Hermione AU + Professor/Student AU. The work is regularly updated. I really love the plot and author's style.

One of my most favorite works.

Kisses Cursed by The_Fictionist (NR, 49K, 13/13)

Fairytale AU. Loosely inspired by Beauty and the Beast.

Some said he was once a man, cursed, and some that he sold his soul to demons and became one in turn. Others said that such evil as he could never have been human. That he was instead a nightmare, left lingering upon the earth a very long time ago.

Harry just knew it wasn't safe to walk near the Riddle House after dark.

Incredible. Just incredible. I have no other words for this masterpiece. I stayed up until 6 AM because I just couldn't put my phone down until I finished this work. This fanfic deserves to be published as a Harry Potter fan-book. The author of this work became a professional writer and, let's just say, I can see why.

One of my most favorite works.

The Devil's Playground by The_Fictionist (NR, 26K, 3/3)

AU. The Devil's Playground was the most exclusive nightclub in London, if not all of Europe. So, frankly, Harry wasn't entirely sure how he came to be bathed in its flawlessly concocted ambiance, with music pounding in his ears and an entirely delicious drink cold against his palm. But it had something to do with the deaths.

Supernatural AU. The work by the author of "Kisses Cursed" .

The Closing Of The Year by kcstories (T, 4K, 1/1)

After his divorce, Harry Potter moves in with Tom Riddle. So does his ten-year-old son Albus Severus, who tries his utmost to get used to his new surroundings and to the strange, sinister man his dad has fallen in love with.

A very fluffy, comforting work featuring post-war Harry, Tom | Voldemort and Albus Severus. I really like the budding relationship between Tom and Albus, love for Harry being a bonding point for them. All three of them are just so sweet together.

Enthralled by @obsidianpen (M, 5K, 1/1)

“Do you know what it is like, to be bitten by a vampire?”

Vampire AU. A work by the author of "No Glory", one of the most popular tomarrymort works on AO3 (and one of my most favorite fics). Very sensual, enticing and hot work.

Dulce Et Decorum Est Mori by beetaker (E, 134K, 10/10)

“Do you think he meant it?” Harry asked, once the professor was gone, tracing the gilded lettering of his own name on the letter he'd given Harry. “We're really Wizards?”

“It makes sense,” Tom shrugged, though he could hardly look away from his own letter, the proof of what he'd always known, in some pit inside himself, that he was something different from everyone around him, that he was something better. He'd believed the first priest that had told him the same thing, albeit it opposite in nature, that he was a devil. It had made sense at the time, just as this answer did. Anything that offered an explanation for his being set so apart.

“I'm glad it's both of us,” Harry said, green eyes somehow greener, the natural brightness in him turning incandescent. Tom had thought he'd known the answer for that before too, dull hours at Sunday service spent gazing at the sun illuminating stained glass portraits, thinking: angel. “I'm glad we're going together.”

“We'll always go together,” Tom said, knowing it as fact, unable to imagine anything different. Wherever he went, Harry was sure to follow. It'd been that way forever. It would surely always be that way.

Time-travelling Harry AU + Tom and Harry Grow Up Together AU. This story is Tom Riddle's POV and it's very well-written, it's an amazing study of his character, his sociopathy, his relationship with Harry. The great character portrayal+great plot combo I'm always looking for in tomarrymort work is present here. Please go read it, it has awfully little attention!

One of my most favorite works.

Keep Your Enemies Closer by @duplicitywrites (T, 3K, 1/1)

"Evans does have quite the... physical advantage," says Avery.

"We saw him tackle that enormous Hufflepuff beater during the last match," comments Lestrange. "He's mad."

"Do you think he could lift you, Tom?" asks Nott.

"Shut up, all of you," Tom says, but it's too late. He's thinking about it.

Time-travelling Harry AU. Funny, comforting work with Tom Riddle Outsmarting Himself ™.

The Marry-Harry Incident by Anna_Hopkins (G, 3K, 1/1)

"Why, is that an engagement ring you're buying, Harry? Who's the lucky witch or wizard, hm?"

Harry... panicked. "...You. It's for you."

Or: When Voldemort shows up at a Muggle department store, Harry blurts out the first explanation that comes to mind.

A funny, humorous and comforting work.

The Heir de la Mort by @rowena-rain (E, 82K, 18/?)

When Voldemort hits Harry with the Killing Curse in the Forbidden Forest, it fails yet again. Only this time, the problem is that instead of ending a life, it creates one.

“Harry Potter,” he says softly, tasting his prophesied killer’s loathsome name on his tongue. “The Boy Who Lived.” Come to die.

A pause. And then, he utters the fateful words. “Avada Kedavra.”

First, everything goes green.

Then, everything goes black.

When the Dark Lord regains consciousness, he hears before he sees, and the first thing he hears is crying. Why is there a baby crying?

Child fic, but not a fluffy, no hurt only comfort work – it has dark themes, as Voldemort is not exactly what one might call a great parent. However, the work is well-written, I like the plot and Voldemort is slowly changing as the time passes. I highly recommend this work.

In the Shadows by orphan_account (M, 5K, 1/1)

For so many years Harry had been running. Hiding. Hoping that Tom had simply forgotten him. Or, thinking that Harry was just a beta, had decided to chase someone else.

He should have known better.

Living close to knockturn alley.

Even the shadows all have eyes.

Omegaverse AU. Another guilty-pleasure fic for me, as Harry in this one is kind of damsel in distress, but sometimes I just want to read something that is predictable in a good way.

[lostintransist]

Fallen Angel | Sweet Girl

AO3

Simon’s teammates began to show up more and more in your everyday life. They didn’t just come for kisses either. Kyle began to drag you to a new coffee shop every time he came back to town. He would pay despite your instance to cover the drinks at least some of the time. He loved to talk books with you.

He introduced you to his favorite used bookstore, a magical place that seemed to go on forever. In the back of the building, he showed you a narrow staircase and enticed you to follow him down. What you found was a dim, but not dusty basement. Shelves with flopped over books and copies of National Geographic from 1920, still with the classic yellow border, dotted the space. The basement seemed to run the length of the deep building.

At one point Kyle slipped from view as you stepped into a concrete room taller than you by at least twice. When you turn around, he had disappeared. Starting to panic you focused on working your way back through the dim to the staircase.

You made a horror movie actress proud when two hands shot out of the dark to grab you. Kyle laughs as he pulls you close, dropping a kiss on your hair. He apologizes repeatedly when you start to cry.

“Fuck, I hate scary things, Kyle,” you push away from his chest.

He does not let go. Fucker uses all those muscles to keep you tight to him as he rocks back and forth and apologizes again.

“I’m so, so sorry sweet girl. I won’t do it again. Now I know that scary movies and haunted houses are out of the picture.”

“Better fucking not be in the picture. Scary movies are fine if I can laugh through them, but absolutely no haunted house. I refuse to almost catch another case,” when you pull back from his hold you pat the tear stains on his chest. Mementos to remind him not to do it again.

“You almost caught a case from a haunted house?” Kyle looks both disturbed and intrigued.

“You see, haunt actors don’t like getting hit. I mean, fair, I don’t either. I had a bad ex that dragged me to one, despite repeatedly telling him not to do it. He left me in the haunted house, and I punched out of fear. They pulled me out the side and I got stuck in the manager’s office until the police could come and sort everything out. Broke up with that bastard and caught a ride home from the officer.”

Kyle looks more and more concerned for you the longer you go on.

“But you went to a scary movie with Roach?” He sputters.

“First off we laughed through that whole movie and when the scary bits did happen he let me hide in his shoulder.” You stick a finger in his face, “And secondly why do all of you call him such a mean name? I don’t get it! Gary is a perfectly good name.”

Kyle leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of the finger you pointed at him with. You glower at him.

“It’s not a mean name sweet girl. Gary has made it out of so many impossible situations people started calling him Roach, because he’s damn near unkillable. That man could have a building dropped on him and only come out with a broken collar bone. It’s a sign of respect that he has a call sign.”

“Fine,” you narrow your eyes at him, “But I will still be calling him Gary. I don’t like bugs. Is that why all the guys call you Gaz?”

“Yep, and why Johnny is called Soap, and Simon goes by Ghost. Well, Simon goes by Ghost for a lot of reasons but a call sign is one of them.”

Wiping your hand over your face once more to remove any leftover fear you hold out your other one to Kyle.

“I feel like you owe me for making me cry.”

He takes it, sliding his fingers between yours.

“How about I buy you a book?” He cajoles.

Narrowing your eyes at him as you follow him out of the dark you counter.

“How about three?”

“Make it two and you have yourself a deal,” he tossed back a devastating smile.

“Fine. You are forgiven.”

Using your interlaced fingers Kyle pulled you close dropping a kiss on your lips.

“Good, would hate to have you mad at me, sweet girl.”

You didn’t know how to feel about the pet name but let it ride for now.

Fallen Angel Masterlist | Masterlist

[lonelyroommp3]

like sorry to be A Cunt but you can almost always tell when a singular f/f fic, or even more egregiously a popular f/f ship within a given fandom, exists primarily or even solely because of dutyfic/eat your vegetables reasons. it will be extremely obvious because of one or more of the following issues

often, it will be (subtype 1) two girls/women who scarcely or never interact, and have just been thrown together because they are The Two Most Prominent Women in a given work

sometimes it will be (subtype 2) two women who interact and may even have a compelling dynamic in canon. if you are unfamiliar with the source material you will be completely unable to tell whether a given f/f ship is subtype 1 or subtype 2 because either way they will almost invariably be written with absolutely no in universe justification for why they are together besides the looming doylist shadow of "well, they're lesbians!"

their personalities will be sanded down to the point of unrecognisability beyond vague archetypes such as "girlboss" or "soft girl" or "girl who is mean because she is in love"; any conflict faced within the story will be no more significant or high stakes than what you might find in a middling hallmark christmas movie

they usually exist as B ships in an m/m fic, with the primary purpose of acting as cute perfectly functional foils to the men who are allowed to have real conflict and problems. they will frequently be called upon in this capacity to give the men advice

when an f/f ship does get to be the primary dynamic, or even satisfy the otp: true filter on ao3, you are struck with the unshakeable impression that they would much rather be in the background of an m/m fic helping two guys get their shit together, sort of like watching a semiaquatic mammal try to gracelessly make its way across dry land

Q: but shouldn't we show this kind of bad writing more grace? after all, somebody might start out writing terrible bland eat your vegetables f/f but come to actually care about women in the process and end up writing better and less covertly misogynistic fanfiction. this is such a nice and charitable thought but i fear that this quite simply does not happen anywhere near as much as we might hope because the dutyfic f/f ship process inspires absolutely zero introspection on the part of its authors and readers

Q: most m/m fic is also based on bland archetypes that show no resemblance to canon, why aren't you complaining about that? first of all i love complaining about bad flanderised m/m fic too. secondly, people do not typically view writing or engaging with bad m/m fic as proof of your inherent moral virtue, unless it is being set up in a ship war against what many regard as fandom's ultimate evil, the het ship. but that is a conundrum for another post

Q: what happened to the "do it bad" philosophy? why can't we just let people write terrible fanfictions? well once again my issue is not people writing terrible fanfictions, it is that writing this specific type of terrible fanfiction is viewed as a moral duty, and any suggestion that you don't particularly care for a badly done f/f ship even for perfectly valid reasons is deemed tantamount to proclaiming that you are a raging misogynist, which leaves fandom trapped in a vicious cycle where we will never move past bland poorly written f/f ships because just writing an f/f ship, however terribly, however much actual misogyny and inability to view women as three dimensional beings capable of conflict and nastiness and horniness and whatever else may be baked into the fanon for a given ship, is viewed as the most progressive thing you can do in fandom

[gorbo-longstocking]

Do Not Blame the Sea | Chapter 11

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Caracalla intends to woo you on the date he has planned for tonight, but first, you need to tend to your hangover. Once the sun sets, you are his. All you have to do is find him first.

Tags: MDNI, period typical mentions of slavery, handjob, hangover, sliiiiight feederism and tickle kink stuff if you squint but it’s more just Caracalla being horny over everything, jealous Geta, Aelius being the worlds best friend, cum eating but it’s not sexy and more casual, love confessions, making out,

Word Count: 8k words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

The first thing you noticed when you pried your eyes open was the sour taste of vomit in the back of your throat. Smacking your lips, you stretched out your stiff body with a powerful groan. You had fallen asleep with one of your arms trapped under yourself. Pins and needles lanced up the limb as you tried to untangle from your sheets. When you opened your eyes, you winced, curling into a ball to block the light streaming through the windows. Your head was pounding to the beat of your heart. So, this was what a hangover was like. You understood why people complained about them as much as they did. 

“Wake up, melimelum,” A familiar voice whined from the edge of your bed. Caracalla’s high-pitched rasp did little to soothe your headache, and you covered your ears with your palms to block him out. A beat passed in blessed silence before a single exploratory digit pressed into the flesh of your hip. When you didn’t swat him away, Caracalla began to grope you with a laugh. “I have been waiting for you all morning. It seems that you needed your rest. You slept until the middle of the afternoon, and how sweet you looked while you dreamed, dulcissimus. Was it of me?”

Furiously, you scrubbed at your face and tried to piece together a response. There was so much to parse through. First of all, how did you get to your bed? If you could remember anything aside from the sinking feeling that you humiliated yourself thoroughly, it would be easier to figure out. Secondly, you had to grapple with the fact that Caracalla likely spent the past several hours watching you sleep. That was creepy to think about, even if it was a little sweet that in all his impatience, watching you was entertaining enough to keep him occupied for as long as it did. At the end of it all, though, there was only one aspect of what Caracalla said that you latched onto.

“I did not look sweet,” You grumbled as Caracalla gently pinched your flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “My mouth tastes like vomit.”

A small hum of protest rumbled in the back of your throat when he pulled away his hand. As much as you ached, his touch was a comfort you craved. Metal tapped against the back of your head and you unfurled yourself to see Caracalla holding a cup out to you. Grateful, you took it from him, taking a sip before you could think better of it.

Once the wine he gave you hit your tongue, you retched. You shoved the cup back into his hands and glared. “Water, Caracalla. I need water.”

“Water is mixed in with the wine.” Despite his argument, he handed the cup to a nearby slave who poured it out and filled it with the liquid you wanted. Your mouth felt impossibly dry simply from looking at it. When he handed the cup to you, he purposefully made sure your hands touched, his lips twitching upwards at the contact. “There is no better cure for what ails you than more wine, melimelum.” 

“Where did you receive your medical certification, Caesar,” You asked blandly after you guzzled half the glass. 

He rolled his eyes and took the cup from you. Without looking, he held it for the slave to take before he shooed him away, leaving the two of you alone. Sitting on the edge of your bed, he swung his legs onto the mattress and slotted his body against yours. Instinctively, you wrapped yourself around him, holding him close.

“Caracalla, Alga. We are alone now. I expect to hear my name on your tongue.” His face was inches from yours, forehead pressed against your own so he could gaze into the depths of your eyes. You watched his pupils flicker to your lips, his own parting slightly for his tongue to dart out. With a small laugh, you leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek, earning a frustrated huff. “Dulcissimus, you are a terrible tease.” 

“As are you,” You said with a smile. Being like this with another person made you feel a bit better, though your head still thundered. Even contact as simple as this, limbs tangled together like vines, it made your heart flutter.

Eyebrows knitting, he gave you an unamused look. “How am I teasing when you are the minx?”

Jokingly, you narrowed your eyes at him to feign annoyance. “I believed you to be courting me, but I have yet to be wooed. Why would I give in easily if you have yet to make good on your promise?” 

At your words, Caracalla grinned at you, his eyes glinting mischievously. He swiped his thumb along your cheekbone and drew you even closer. “I have great plans for tonight. It was why I was waiting for you to wake up, I have something to give you.” 

As quick as it happened, and more efficient than you had ever seen him, he pulled himself away from you to retrieve a piece of paper at your bedside. You sat up, massaging your temples to quell some of the ache. He handed it to you, his face alight with barely contained pride. On the front of the papyrus, written in a hasty scrawl was ‘Dilecto, Alga.’ 

“Open it,” Caracalla encouraged with a nod. He shifted from foot to foot, his antsiness less from nerves and more from impatience. You stifled a laugh.

Slowly, you pulled open the paper to reveal what you could only assume was a map. It was a rough sketch of the palace starting from your bedroom and ending somewhere in the fields beyond the grounds. From the quick lines, you could tell that Caracalla had trouble staying focused. Still, it was more effort than he put into his imperial duties, and it was made solely for you. 

“It is a map.” 

Caracalla stepped forward to point out that, at the bottom of the paper, was a note. He didn’t seem nervous for your reaction, likely confident in his ability to make you swoon. The restlessness he exuded was barely contained excitement and affection, swelling from within him to pour around you like a blanket. “Read it aloud, melimelum. I want to hear your voice tremble.”

A few moments passed as you tried to translate the Latin in your head. To his credit, Caracalla didn’t rip the map from your hands to read it himself, though it looked like he was about to. You felt your face flush once you realized what it said, and his chest puffed out in barely contained triumph.

“‘My sweet, meet me here tonight, and I will teach you the depth of my affection,’” You read. To his growing delight, your voice shook ever so slightly. With hot cheeks, you glanced up at Caracalla, holding the map close to your chest. “You made this for me?” 

“Yes. There is much I must tell you and I cannot wait a day more. Will you meet me?” Both of you already knew the answer, though it seemed Caracalla wanted to hear you say it. 

“The gods themselves could not stop me.” 

A ring clad had reached out to give you a pleased pat on the cheek. The contact made your head spin, but the affection more than made up for it. “I knew you would agree. You are mine after all.” The possessive prospect seemed to remind him of something. His face split into jealousy as his fingers began playing with strands of your hair with gentle ministrations despite his fraught emotions. Serious now, Caracalla leaned down, his gaze steady and testing. “Did you bed my brother last night, my medicus?” 

While you barely remembered the previous night, there was no pain between your legs or ache to your body that you suspected would come from a night of passion. “No. I did not sleep with your brother.”

Caracalla’s eyes searched your face for any form of a lie before he softened, fondness leaking from his very pores. “I should not have doubted you. You are my honey, sweet only for me.” 

“Why did you think I did?” You managed to ask as Caracalla nuzzled his cheek against yours, far too reminiscent of a cat for you to keep from smiling. His red hair tickled your face, and distantly, you remembered calling him a carrot. Pursing your lips, you made an effort to store that away for later.

“My brother stole your attention from me last night, melimelum,” Caracalla whined. “You were so affectionate and cute, I barely got to bask in your presence before he tried to take you away from me.” His arms wrapped around you, squeezing you tight enough for you to wheeze. Delicate fingers buried into the fabric of your tunic — not your sleep shirt, you realized with relief. “Geta always takes away what is mine.”

There was a petulant note to his voice, though hidden under it all, was a jealous pain. This had been bothering him for a while now. In an effort to soothe him, you began to play with his hair, causing him to inhale a shuddering breath. “Geta will not take me away from you, Caracalla. Not forever, and not always. There will always be a special place in my heart that belongs only to you, no matter what happens.” 

While he didn’t relax, still tense and unconvinced, he allowed you to rock him. Caracalla leaned back to look at you, and you realized that his cheeks were wet. When you reached to wipe them dry, he grabbed your wrists and pulled your hands down to rest on his hips. His lips parted, moving in tune with quietly spoken words you couldn’t make out. 

“Not yet,” He finally said. Forcefully, he pressed his palm against your cheek and pulled back the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “Remember my patience, melimelum. Remember what I give to you alone, and no one else.” Again, his eyes flickered to your lips. With great effort, he managed to unclasp himself from you to stand. “Meet me tonight. If I am here any longer, I will ruin it all.”

“You couldn’t ruin this, Caracalla,” You tried to assure him with a small smile.

He let out a frustrated groan, running his hand down his face. “You still don’t understand what you do to me. Begone from me, medicus. I only want to see you once the sun has set.”

With that, he turned on his heel and left, slamming the door hard enough for your headache to return with a vengeance. Groaning, you massaged your temples in an effort to get the pain to lessen. Now that Caracalla was gone, you were alone with only your thoughts and your exhaustion. Despite allegedly sleeping for half the day, you could manage a few more hours if you really put your mind to it. You would rather not, though, so you heaved yourself out of bed and guzzled some more water straight from the pitcher. No one was around to judge you, anyway. 

The water sort of tasted like mud. If you didn’t know it was boiled, you would be nervous drinking it. One of, if not the, last thing you wanted was to ingest any intestinal worms. Speaking of which, you should probably check Caracalla’s and Geta’s stool for any sign of parasites. Not that it was a particularly high task on your docket, it needed to be done sooner or later. Digging through your… boyfriend’s date’s fecal matter was certainly a way to spend the afternoon. Before that, though, you needed to take care of your headache.

Somehow, you had managed quite well with herbal remedies. As much as you doubted their strength, they had their uses. Thank the gods for that, at least. You only had so much modern medicine left at your disposal, a single bottle of two hundred milligram ibuprofen that the praetorian guard confiscated when you first arrived. Perhaps, now, with your horrid headache, would be a good time to fetch it. As guilty as you felt using such a precious material on your hangover, you felt more comfortable than you did before. You could survive without it, and while you liked to have a deus ex machina in case events went awry, it wasn’t as much of a crutch as it was before. Sparing a single pill for your headache didn’t make you a bad person. 

Your nice toga was disheveled from sleeping through the night in it. While you would not be wearing it frequently, it would be nice to have in case you were invited to any more upscale events. Though, you doubted you would be. The last thing you remembered with clarity was talking to Senator Thraex. After that, it was all a series of flashes and feelings that you couldn’t bring yourself to parse through. You remembered speaking to a beautiful blonde woman whose name you couldn’t remember and a staggering amount of affection that threatened to overwhelm you. Distantly, you were rather sure you had broken something expensive. Worst of all, however, was the fact that, at some point, you remembered doing the macarena. A full body cringe made your face crumple. Better to not think about it.

Once you were in a plain tunic, a simple belt around your waist, you smoothed out the wrinkles down your front, ready to go. If you went back in time and told yourself you’d be comfortable wearing what was essentially a dress without feeling emasculated, you’d have laughed in your face. Then again, if you went back — or was it forward now? — in time and told yourself you were living in Ancient Rome, you would have become a modern sleeping beauty. Gone to sleep, never to wake up again. That way, you wouldn’t have to deal with any of this. 

The longer you spent in Rome, the better you felt. Every so often, you would be plagued by homesickness, but ultimately, the life you lived now was far better than the one you had before. So long as you focused on the bright sides, the horrifying reality that some supernatural entity plucked you from one point and dropped you at the next wouldn’t creep up on you. Into the vault it went, along with everything else you’d rather not think about right now. 

It didn’t take long for you to get to the barracks. Due to the time of day, it was practically empty, save for some napping soldiers. Everyone had gotten their assignments, seemingly eager to complete them. The only ones who would be awake at this hour was the person you were looking for now that Caracalla was off your tail. Aelius, your beacon of normalcy in the tempest that was the emperors. You wished that he had been at the party last night. At least then you would be able to have an impartial bystander who could relay what happened without humiliating you further. Sighing, you trudged deeper into the barracks to find their bunks.

Aelius found you first, more worried than excited by your presence. “My friend, you shouldn’t be here. What if the emperor catches you?” 

“I know, I know, but Caracalla said he didn’t want to see me until tonight. I believe we are safe.” You massaged at your cheeks with the pads of your fingers, somewhat anxious in the face of Aelius’ own wariness. 

With pursed lips, he raised an eyebrow. “I see. You are on a first name basis with our Caesar.” 

That caught you off guard. Unable to stop it, a rosy flush bloomed across your cheeks as you stammered a response, “I, uh— Yes, I am. Does this surprise you?”

“Eheu, not in the slightest, my friend. I would tell you to be cautious, though it seems as though you would throw that to the wind.” Before Aelius wrapped an arm around your shoulder to bring you into a side-hug, he cast a furtive glance around the barracks. 

You laughed and gave him a few fond pats between his shoulder blades. “Perhaps I have. Can you keep a secret? From even Marianus?”

Aelius visibly deflated, his features taking on a look of tired exasperation before you could speak. “I suppose I could, medicus. Now what grim happenings are you about to tell me.”

“Emperor Caracalla is—” Leaning closer, you stood on your tiptoes to reach Aelius’ ear. “— courting me tonight.”

He blinked, surprised for only a moment before his entire expression twisted into a grimace. “I am… So happy for you, my friend.” 

“You do not have to lie.” You frowned at him. 

“What am I to say? You are inviting danger to your doorstep, my friend. Courting a wild beast would be safer than Emperor Caracalla.” 

Stubbornness welled in the pit of your gut, even if you knew he was right. Your hands balled up into fists and you clenched your jaw, the desire to defend Caracalla bubbling up inside you with more force than you thought possible. “He would not hurt me.”

“I…” Aelius began, shifting from foot to foot in the face of your anger. “I did not mean to upset you. I have seen how he looks at you, and I do not know him as you do, but it is not the emperor’s wrath I am trying to warn you about.”

“Elaborate.”

“The praetorians who accompanied the emperors to the party, a handful approached me after in regards to you.”

“Do not leave me in suspense.”

“The senators and the patricians, those who are… not fond of the emperors have seen their… preference for you. That puts you in a dangerous position.” In an effort to soothe you, he placed his palm flat between your shoulder blades. You felt yourself slump.

“I— I can handle it, Aelius. I will not betray them, nor will I betray you.”

A small, concerned furrow of his brows was what you received next. His voice was soft as he spoke, “That is easier said than done, I’m afraid. There may come a time when a choice is to be made.”

“Then I will do nothing,” You stubbornly insisted.

Aelius simply shook his head. “That is a choice, my friend.”

He was right, you knew that. Still, you didn’t know what else to say. When the time came, all you could hope was that you would make the right decision and that no one would get hurt. Wishful thinking at its finest.

“Marianus will not be pleased to find out about this, will he?”

There was a sigh, then, with an arm around your shoulders, Aelius gave you a squeeze. “No, I cannot say that he will be particularly pleased to find that you are being courted by the most unstable man in the empire.”

“I shouldn’t like him as much as I do,” You murmured as you began forward, your gaze searching for a high ranking praetorian. Guilt only worsened your pounding headache. “Caracalla is not kind to you or Marianus, I should hate him. Geta too.”

Aelius turned to you, a small, playful smile curling his lips. “You are lucky I am the forgiving type, my friend.” 

A frustrated groan rumbled in the back of your throat, your footsteps slow and meandering in time with Aelius. “I don’t know why I like him so much.”

“Money? Power?” Your friend offered.

You shook your head, a tad offended. “No, it’s… He’s so earnest. I like the way he feels next to me, I like the way his teeth stick out when he smiles, I like that I’m the cause of it. He can be so sweet.” 

The more you gushed, the softer your features became. Aelius watched the change with a mix of fondness and trepidation. “Oh dear gods, medicus, you love him.”

Throwing your hands up, you felt your face burn. “I am aware! It’s so awful, Aelius. I fear my heart will make a fool of me.”

“Fool or not, you will always be my friend,” Aelius assured you with another squeeze. “Awful taste in men aside.”

A snort pulled from your throat as you knocked your shoulder against his. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

“Remember my sacrifice when your jealous emperor lover puts me on the cross.” 

“The next Jesus!” You giggled.

Instead of laughing, Aelius simply looked at you with a perplexed raise of his brow. “I am no leader of the Christian cult, but I suppose you are as strange as you are foolish. I only pray you meant that as a compliment.”

The two of you chattered mindlessly for a bit as you strolled through the barracks. Some disgruntled men glared at you from their bunks, receiving an apologetic grimace from the both of you and an effort to lower your voices in return. Admittedly, though, you weren’t looking all that hard, good company was helping to soothe your aches more than you thought. Eventually, you found who you were looking for. Awake in his bunk, sorting through wax tablets, was Atticus Gaius, a high ranking praetorian who usually worked nights. You preferred him over anyone else. He was good natured, as evidenced by his apparent friendship with Aelius, if not a little rude in his brashness. A trait that became obvious when he laid eyes on you.

“Ah, if it isn’t the emperor’s puer! He must have fucked you good last night for you to be up and about so late in the day.” Gaius stood, about halfway between the height difference of Aelius and Marianus. Not tall, but not short either. He was paler than the average Roman, with sparkling green eyes and a smile that showed off his canines. Grinning, he punched you playfully in the shoulder. “Which of our Caesarēs was it? If I liked my head, I’d ask who was the best in bed. I have my theories.” 

The only problem that came with interacting with Gaius was his crude sense of humor and the fact that, while he hardly knew you, he had a tendency to be overly friendly. You were awkward enough for it to be mildly uncomfortable, even if you didn’t dislike him. 

“Uh, neither,” You answered with a smile that was more of a grimace. “I’m not Emperor Caracalla’s boy.”

“Right,” Gaius intoned with a disbelieving smirk. “Keep your secrets, medicus. Here I was, hoping for some good gossip. Unfortunately, you are here for business rather than pleasure.” He paused for dramatic effect before barking out a laugh. “For once!”

Aelius leaned down to whisper, “I warned you, my friend. You are the talk of the empire.” 

All you could do was deflate. “Gaius, could I have that bottle of medicine that was confiscated when I first arrived?” 

Placing his hands on his hips, he regarded you intensely. For all his energy, Gaius did take his job seriously. “For what purpose?” 

“I have a headache.”

Almost instantly, he relaxed, his smile returning. “Who am I to deny you, loose man? I’d rather not have Emperor Caracalla demanding my execution because I insulted his beloved cinaedus’ soft heart.”

“I can never tell if you’re trying to insult me on purpose,” You muttered, narrowing your eyes. 

Gaius laughed and gestured for you and Aelius to follow him. “Well, without you boys, medicus, us men wouldn’t have holes to fuck. You are filled to the brim with importance!” 

He punctuated his crude joke with a laugh. You decided to ignore him from here on out. 

It wasn’t a far trek to get to where your confiscated items were being held. Now that your taser was broken, there weren’t many objects of yours to look out for anymore. After unlocking a small cabinet, Gaius tried to open the bottle by pulling off the cap. He grunted as he struggled, the child’s safety mechanism making it impossible for him to open that way. To get his attention, you tapped his shoulder and took the bottle from his hands. Gaius and Aelius watched as you pushed down and twisted, opening the bottle with ease. 

“Ha! Sorcery!” Gaius exclaimed. 

You shook your head, your smile becoming a little more genuine. “It is like this so that children cannot open it believing the contents to be sweets. Safety first!”

Aelius snorted and elbowed Gaius in the side. “It seems I was right, you are no better than a child.”

Ever the good sport, Gaius easily agreed, “I suppose you have your proof now.”

Paying neither man any mind, you dry swallowed two pills and closed the top. Gaius watched you for several seconds, appraising your condition. At first, you didn’t know what he was looking for, but when his posture loosened, you realized what it was.

“Did you think I was poisoning myself?” You asked.

Gaius shrugged. “No, but there was always the possibility. Thank you for not dying, medicus, I quite like my organs on the inside.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Anytime, soldier.”

Now, all you had to do was wait for your headache to abate and the sun to set. 

You spent the better part of the afternoon quietly watching Aelius lose at dice to Gaius before you said your goodbyes. Gaius was more Aelius’ friend than yours, and you were rather happy that he had someone other than yourself to spend his time with. With a yawn, you stretched your arms behind your head and stared out of the window. A bit of excitement welled in your chest when you saw that the sun was beginning to set. 

It was time for your date. 

First off, you had to retrieve the map Caracalla gifted you from your bedroom. To your surprise, there was the lingering scent of lavender on your pillows. You sat on the edge of your bed, your nose pressed into the plush fabric and inhaled. Caracalla had been in here, long enough for his perfume to have infected your sheets. The thought that he missed you made your head spin. You knew he was impulsive, a man ruled by his emotions. If he managed to hold himself back from seeking you out, what he had planned must be important. You would be cruel to keep him waiting any longer. 

A part of you wondered if you should doll yourself up. This was a date after all, you should look your best. Staring into the mirror, you realized you didn’t have the foggiest idea of where to begin. Five minutes passed of you frantically fixing your hair and rooting through your collection of tunics for one that could be considered classier than the one you were wearing. No dice. You hadn’t considered dressing up before now and you regretted it immensely. There was no time to bother. After running your fingers through your hair, you dabbed a bit of lavender oil onto your wrists and neck. Caracalla seemed to like when you smelled like him, so that felt like a safe bet.

It would be a stretch for you to say that you were happy with how you looked, especially in the context of a date, but you were as good as you were going to get. Map in hand, you trotted out of your bedroom and began your search for the spot Caracalla deigned to meet you.

When you had first looked at the map, you were too taken by the romanticism of the gesture to really focus on the fact that it looked like a toddler had drawn it. You recognized your bedroom, if only because it was labelled, and you were able to see that the place you were supposed to go was outside of the palace, but that was it. Which side of the grounds it was on was nearly impossible for you to decipher.

You held the piece of paper outside of a nearby window so that the setting sun could illuminate its scrawl. All it did was confuse you further. Was that an arrow or a tree? There also seemed to be roses crudely drawn in the margins, though a majority of them bled through onto the main subject, making it hard to figure out where one ended and the other began. You narrowed your eyes, trying to think like Caracalla. Surely, he would add arrows. Maybe he left roses behind to help guide you.

No, no, that would require too much foresight. The map was all you were going to get, unfortunately, and the longer you stared at it, the more you realized you may not manage to make it to the date. Caracalla would be hysterical if you stood him up. That was not something you wanted to have to deal with, not only because the guilt would drown you, but because an angry Caracalla was rather draining. You felt anxiety well in your chest. Someway, somehow, you had to get to him. Another week in the doghouse was not high on your bucket list.

“Ugh,” You muttered.

This was his fault for having the cartography skills of a five year old. Pursing your lips, you turned on your heel to head outside. Might as well circle the grounds of Palatine Hill until you found him. This was going to take forever, and you knew he had the patience of a badly trained dog. Hopefully, though, you’d get lucky and find him before he decided that you weren’t coming. 

You got maybe five steps when you ran into someone. Two thin hands steadied you by grasping your shoulders. When you looked up, there was Geta looking particularly disgruntled, his gaze distant as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Though, for some reason, they softened when he finally took you in. His cheek twitched as he fought a smirk.

“Where are you off to, Algacula?” His eyes flickered to the map in your hands and his expression hardened. That was more like the Geta you knew. “Ah, that is Caracalla’s work. Hand it here.”

“Caesar, I—” You weren’t even going to argue, but he snatched the papyrus from your hands as if you would all the same. Geta studied the back. When he saw the words ‘Dilecto, Alga,’ his grip tightened enough for the map to crinkle in his hands, though he said nothing. Once he flipped it over to look over the map, you found your voice, “Would you be willing to help me figure out where to go? Caracalla is trying to lead me somewhere and—” 

“I’m well aware what this is,” He sneered. “My brother is stargazing with you tonight.” 

A flush heated your cheeks. So that was what he had planned. You couldn’t help but feel incredibly wooed that he was able to recall how much you loved the stars. A flustered smile caused your lips to flutter. “Oh. I was unaware that was the plan. How sweet that he remembered.”

Geta’s grip tightened. “Yes, he remembered well.”

“Please be careful with that, Caesar.” Without thinking, your fingers danced over his wrist. The contact, though minute, sent a spark through your veins. For a moment, you prepared for a biting remark, only to feel your brows furrow when Geta softened. 

He looked out to the sunset as one of his fingers twisted a lock of his hair around it. “Do you remember what you said to me last night?”

A wince made your face scrunch. “I apologize, Caesar, I remember very little of the party. I hope that I did not insult you.”

A flurry of emotions passed over Geta’s features. The only one you recognized was disappointment, though it was quickly gone, replaced with the sternness you were used to. “You always insult me, Alga.” He looked at the map, then back to you, his features pinched, before he finally sighed. “Head east and crest the hill. You will find Caracalla there. It is the best place in the city to see the stars.”

“Thank you.” Not wanting to waste anymore time — each second that passed was another second that you were trusting Caracalla to stay put — you brushed past Geta, your thoughts consumed by his brother. You didn’t see the way his fist clenched, nor the regret swimming in his eyes. Before you disappeared around the corner, your curiosity got the best of you. “What did I say to you last night, Caesar?”

Geta didn’t bother to turn. “Nothing. It meant nothing.” You frowned, prepared to speak, only for him to beat you to the punch. “Go. Do not keep my brother waiting.”

For a moment, you debated on asking more. Clearly, you told Geta something serious, but, for the life of you, you couldn’t remember what it was. Deep down, creeping its way to the surface, you wanted to stay. To see that same gentle affection he had greeted you with all over again. It was familiar, and you furrowed your brows as the phantom scent of roses circled in your senses. 

Geta was right, though. You shouldn’t keep Caracalla waiting. 

“Goodnight, Caesar.”

Geta didn’t respond, preoccupied by watching the sunset and tugging on a short strand of his fiery hair. You spared him one last glance before you took off running to the spot Caracalla marked on his makeshift map. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for you to catch sight of the hill, four praetorians stationed at the bottom of it. You nodded at them and hurried up the incline, desperate to not keep Caracalla waiting any longer than you already had. Distantly, you realized, as you looked over your shoulder, that you could see Geta watching you from the window. He was far enough away that he looked less impressive and more like a speck of red. When you waved, he disappeared behind a curtain. You couldn’t help but feel a twinge of concern, only for it to be quickly stifled when you heard Caracalla’s familiar rasp.

“There you are!” He stood at the top of the hill, scowling down at you. “You kept me waiting. I should feed you to the hounds, dulcis.” 

All thoughts of Geta fell to the wayside when you saw his brother, and with a final burst of strength, you bounded the rest of the way up the hill, and into his arms. You heard him breathe deeply, wrapping his limbs around you, his grip vice-like. “Your map was awful.”

Caracalla hummed, his hand sliding down your spine to grab a handful of your backside. He sniffed you again and nosed your collarbone. “You smell like me. It is as it should be.” When your words registered, he pulled back to hit you with a scandalized glare. “I work tirelessly to create a map to our love nest and you insult it? You insult me!”

Prying yourself from his arms, you took a few steps forward to examine Caracalla’s so-called ‘love nest.’ Draped over the grass was a thick blanket, pillows set up in a circle for two people to lay. In the middle of the blanket was a plate of food, mostly fruits and sweets, betraying the fact that Caracalla had chosen the menu. At first, you believed he had set a slave to organize everything, but the closer you looked, the more obviously haphazard it became.

“Did you do this all yourself?”

Caracalla puffed out his chest, borderline preening. “I did! Is it not perfect, Alga? There is a spot for you, a spot for me, and a spot for our treats.” 

His fingers dug into your upper arms as he steered you toward the blanket. When you didn’t immediately sit, he kicked the backs of your knees, forcing you to the ground. 

“Ow!” You flipped around to glare up at him, ass firmly planted where Caracalla wanted it to be. A puff of air left his nose as his lips twitched into a smirk. “Don’t do that.”

“You are so dramatic, melimelum,” He said with a roll of his eyes. “I can do as I please.” 

Both irritated and fond, you continued to glare at him while he settled in the spot beside you, laying on his side. He gestured for you to join him, his head propped on his fist as he watched you with barely contained affection. 

“Lay down, lover,” He said. “Let me pamper you.” 

You opened your mouth to respond only to be cut off when Caracalla stuffed a pastry between your lips. His fingers delved deeper into your mouth, stroking the insides of your cheeks as he practically choked you on a honeyed danish. When he went too deep, you gagged and swatted his hand away.

“Are you trying to kill me?!” You hissed, mouth full. If this was his idea of pampering, you felt bad for his enemies. He watched you swallow with parted lips before grabbing another danish and aiming for your mouth again. A yelp left you as you rolled out of the way, only for Caracalla to crawl over the dishes and pin you to the blanket. 

He was grinning now, triumphant. “Eat up, melimelum, only the best for my beloved.”

“Caracalla, don’t you dar—” It was dumb to even speak. The second you opened your mouth, another baked good was unceremoniously plunged inside. Cheeks puffed out, you tried to swallow before he could stuff you full of another one. 

A giggle made his shoulders jump. “Adorable. You look like a chipmunk. Open wide, my love, here comes another.”

Unsure of what else to do, you did the only thing you could think of: digging your fingers into his armpits and tickling him. Instantly, his body seized as uncontrollable laughter spilled from his lips. Your fingers danced along his sides until he was loose enough for you to turn the tables on him. Flipping him over, you straddled him now as you pawed at his stomach. His face was red and his eyes had begun to water, shrieking howls belting from his throat as he flailed.

“Punishment, Caesar!” You cried with a grin.

“I’ll sh— show you punishment!” Was the only warning you got before Caracalla jabbed his fingers under your ribcage. You screamed and stopped tickling him to grab your aching side. He cackled, victorious, clambering on top of you once more. Sitting on your chest now, it was hard to breathe with his full weight on top of you. You wheezed out a breath, your lungs empty. Without a dessert this time, he dragged his thumb across your lower lip before sinking it between your teeth to press down on your tongue. Obediently, you opened your mouth, but not before petulantly narrowing your eyes at him.

“Brat,” He snarled, though his grin betrayed him no more than the tent in his tunic. “What would you do if I defiled your mouth, Alga? Degraded you like a whore under your beloved stars.” His other hand began to fist himself over his clothing, his pupils blown. “Tell me, my medicus. What would you do?”

“Swallow,” You said, still playful despite the wetness that was sure to be ruining your underwear. 

That must have been the right thing to say because Caracalla let out a high pitched whine, “Gods, it’s so tempting…”

Nervously, your hands found his hips, fingers pressing into his soft flesh. “Do you… Do you want to do that again?”

“No, melimelum, I want to try something new.” Roughly, he grabbed your wrist and dragged your palm from his hips to his bulge. You gave his cock an experimental squeeze through his tunic, earning a pleased hum. “Use your hand.”

It wasn’t an ask, but a demand, one you found yourself wanting to obey. As your fingers tentatively danced along his length, your gaze flickered to his lips. Caracalla’s grin became wolfish. 

“I want to kiss you while I touch you,” You mumbled. “May I?”

Your innocent question received a sharp laugh from Caracalla, his eyes shining in the moonlight. “Don’t ask, simply do. Experiment on me. I’ll be pliant this once.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His cock twitched under your palm. “Well, I’ll be your first.” A bit more giddy, he added, “My brother will be beside himself in envy. I’ll be your first kiss and the first cock you’ve ever touched that wasn’t your own. Courtship is simply a battle to be won!” 

His triumph was cut short by a whine when your exploratory fingers teased his sensitive tip. There was a wet spot on his tunic already. Your mind was far too focused on feeling him up, of watching Caracalla’s expressions, to truly pick up on what he was implying. Your eyebrows furrowed when he pried you off and scooted backwards so that you could sit up. His face was flushed, and he replaced his hand with his own, jerking himself in quick strokes as you settled on your knees. Once you were kneeling, Caracalla in a similar position in front of you, he guided your hand under the hem of his tunic to touch his bare flesh.

He was hot. That was the first thing you noticed. His cock was absolutely scorching and wet with precum, making it easy for your palm to glide up and down his shaft. Caracalla’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before he forced them open, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“Kiss me,” He commanded, voice breathy.

That was all you needed to surge forward and press your lips to his. 

Caracalla, like in all things, quickly got excited. His tongue darted out to trace your bottom lip, and you barely opened your mouth before the appendage was down your throat. In your inexperience, you found your hand faltering as you focused on tangling your tongue with his. Logically, it should have felt gross, but you found yourself pressing your thighs together with each whimper and moan Caracalla let out. One of his hands was pulling at your hair, while the other had your wrist in a death grip, forcing you to speed up your motions along the length of his cock. Though you couldn’t see it under his tunic, it felt as thick as he had promised, your thumb swiping over his foreskin. 

He pulled back, panting. “Go faster, Algacula. Like that, yes. Perfect.”

Unwilling to stop kissing him, you did as he demanded all while pressing your lips to his jaw and cheeks. Caracalla’s head was thrown back, exposing his throat, and you felt an idea form in your mind. Gently, you nipped at his neck. 

His hold on your wrist became bruising despite his laugh. “Good whores don’t bite, Alga.” 

“Sorry, Imperator,” The words left you in a quiet murmur and Caracalla groaned as he pulled your hand down to fondle his balls. 

“Feel how full they are for you, my <i>medicus</i>. Gods, I wish I was filling your ass with my seed.” He captured your lips again, tongue barging past your teeth. Pulling you closer, your knees ached despite the blanket, Caracalla jerked himself off with your hand almost violently. He spoke between fervent kisses, praise that went straight to your clit. “That’s it, good, so, so good for me.”

You clenched your thighs together, desperate for friction. For a single, terrifying moment, you felt Caracalla’s hand move from your hair to your thigh. When you flinched, his explorations ceased, moving to knead your ass instead. 

“Caracalla,” You breathed when his lips left yours. 

“Your sweet, patient Caracalla,” He murmured, smirking against you. Though he bit his lip and moaned when you massaged his cock between strokes. “I’m close.”

He moved to kiss you again, but you dodged, receiving a frustrated growl in return. 

“Kiss me more, Alga,” He demanded. 

All you did was smile. “Let me see you come undone. I love your expressions.” 

“A show is what my medicus wants? Then watch.”

Half-lidded eyes gazed into your own, his lower lip red from being worried by his top teeth. Your breath caught with each flex of his hips as he chased his high, fucking your hand. 

“I love you,” He said, a strain to his voice, though not lacking in conviction. Speeding up your hand, you felt his cock begin to swell. “I love you, Alga. Say it back. Mean it. I need to hear you say it. Give me your heart fuck— say it!”

“I love you too.” And you meant it.

With a cry, Caracalla came, coating your hand in semen with each frantic pulse of his cock. He wouldn’t let you release him — not that you would — riding out his orgasm with his eyes rolled back in his head. Finally, he slumped, face nestled in your shoulder. 

“Do you really?” Caracalla sounded small, almost vulnerable.

You pressed a kiss to his crown. “With all my heart.” 

“Gods,” He groaned. “I could fuck you right now if I wasn’t so spent. If only you would let me.”

Careful not to smear cum on his tunic, you removed your hand to stare at the thick fluid coating your fingers. You glanced at him, breathing hard with his forehead against your shoulder. When you were certain he wasn’t looking, you gave your hand a sniff. It  smelled like chlorine. Weird. Curious, your tongue darted out to taste it, only for your nose to scrunch. Eugh. Bitter.

A groan caught your attention and you turned to see Caracalla tiredly watching you, frustration evident as he brought his fist against the ground. “Damn my cock, it won’t get hard again. Damn it all!” 

“Do you have a rag?”

Cocking his head to the side, he smirked at you. “Lick it clean, melimelum.”

“… It tastes gross, Caracalla.”

Scandalized, he drew back. “No, it is nectar! My concubines can attest!”

“They are lying to you.” You held out your cum covered hand. “Here, taste.”

Disgust was his primary emotion before it gave way to tentative curiosity. Caracalla leaned forward to lick you, and, just as yours had, his nose scrunched. “Vile! Yes, a cloth is in order.” He looked around to find one and found none. “Wipe it on the blanket.”

You really didn’t want to ruin the wool, so you wiped your hand in the grass. “There. You have impregnated the earth.”

“If only you had a womb, Alga,” Caracalla mused, and you felt yourself awkwardly looking off towards the distance. “I’d fill you full with heir after heir.”

“How romantic,” You deadpanned.

“Alga.” Caracalla was serious now, moving so that his face was inches from yours. “You handle a cock like you have never touched even your own. Surely, you’ve fucked your hand at the very least.”

“I have masturbated!” You said before you could stop yourself, a flush to your cheeks. 

A flicker of disappointment crossed his features. “So you have experienced an orgasm before. A shame, I was hoping to give you your first.” Devolving into a whine, he threw his arms around you and buried his face into your chest. “When do I get to see you in ecstasy, dulcissimus. You are driving me insane with only my fantasties to satiate me.”

“One day,” You said noncommittally. Despite this, you tenderly threaded your fingers with his hair, smiling when you got a pleased purr in return. 

Caracalla grinned up at you, not put off in the least. “I cannot wait to defile you, my Vestal.”

If you were being honest with yourself — and the ache between your legs — you wanted it to happen sooner than later. You only hoped that Caracalla would like what he would find. Instead of focusing on that, however, you leaned back until you were laying, Caracalla nestled against your chest. Above you the stars glittered, and though your hand still felt a little sticky, you felt happy.

“I cannot believe my concubines lied to me, my semen is rotten,” Caracalla broke the silence with a complaint.

All you did was laugh. “They wanted to appease their emperor.”

“That is why you are my lover, Alga.” Caracalla placed his palm flat over your breast, seemingly to feel your heartbeat. When he found what he wanted, his eyes slid shut. “You do not appease me, you tell me hard truths. I have grown tired of simpering masses, all I need is my medicus.”

“Well, you have him.”

“And I will never let him go.”

You weren’t sure if Caracalla understood just how mutual that feeling was. 

A/N: Guess who!!! It’s me, Milo, back with another chapter! I had to re-read all of this fic before I got back on the horse, and, like… I am my own worst critic 100%. I got my beef with a couple of things in this fic, but ultimately, GODDAMN. Dare I say, I cooked. I get why y’all enjoy this silly little story so much, wowza…

Full disclosure, updates will probably be pretty slow. I’m at kind of, um… a deeply harrowing rough patch in my life right now with some family stuff, on top of working 40 hours a week while being a part time employee. I have this sort of evil ass writing cycle, where I cook super fast for about a month or two and then burn out for a month or two, rinse and repeat. Thank you to everyone who was patient and is still sticking with this story!! Okay, now onto some explaining.

First off, ‘Dilecto, Alga,’ while not conjugated properly because I didn’t feel like it, can be translated to ‘Beloved, Alga’ or ‘Dear, Alga.’ Basically, Caracalla is a sap. A huge, huge sap. Speaking of which, what he wanted to tell Alga on his date was that he loves them. His plan was that he was going to confess under the stars and then Alga would be like [Sparkly anime eyes] “Oh, Caracalla, I love you too! Take me, here and now!!” and then they’d have nasty, nasty sex outside. However, he got wayyyyy too horny and jumped the gun.

Funny thing about the date too, stargazing was not Caracalla’s idea. It was Geta’s, which he implies when talking to Alga. Caracalla couldn’t think of a good date idea and Geta was like “Well, here’s what I’d do…” And Caracalla stole his idea. Which he’s so normal and not livid about. They’re soooo brothers. The map, however, was a complete Caracalla original. He thought it’d be romantic! If it was Geta, he would have had a trail of rose petals lead you to him. Just an FYI.

Btw, for all Geta enjoyers, trust that he stayed up up the entire night absolutely PLAGUED with jealousy. He said he didn’t want Alga to remember his affection when they were drunk, but god, he was lying. He wants them to remember, he wants them to be his too, he wants them so bad it hurts. Miserable yearner Geta is reaching terminal velocity. Stay tuned to watch him self destruct <33

Man, again, thank you everyone for sticking around and reading. I seriously appreciate you. I do implore you to comment if you enjoyed this chapter, I’m a bit nervous to get back on the DNBTS horse, so I’d love to hear y’all’s thoughts!!! There is also the fact I am not very good at writing smut, it haunts me. How do people write 2k words of just smut? It’s seriously so impressive, I can manage 1k MAX.

I’m sorry I was gone so long, ‘tis the cycle of the me unfortunately. I’m really not sure what else to say here, just, man… Thank y’all so much.

tag list: @snazzynacho , @t6gse370 , @cherrysweets-world , @justlibra , @001mon

[heavenlyraindrops]

“ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱᴇᴅ.” | ᴋᴇɴ ꜱᴀᴛᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ { ɪɪ }

☆ Warnings: profanity, sports!photographer!reader, fem!reader, afab!reader, social media au/smau, texting, profanity, pretty unserious tbh

☆ 1.3k words | Available on: Tumblr, AO3

Seeing the notification pop up in your dms was certainly a strange, albeit pleasant surprised.

It was from his account. Your fingers shook as you tapped the screen, opening the chat.

Hey, is this [name]? I just wanted to apologize again for breaking your camera.

You stared at it, unsure how to respond. 

For one, you had no social skills, and, secondly, this was the guy who was not only a massively famous and successful athlete but also a rando you’d been taking pictures of since school. You wondered if he’d scrolled down on your account to see the numerous images of him posted from your college days. 

Its fine, you replied nonchalantly.

On the other side of the screen, Kenji was going feral. “Fuck, Mina, she seems pissed.”

Mina simply stared at him (well, not stared but you know.) and he rolled his eyes at her lack of response, turning back to his phone.

Well, I’m more than willing to replace the stuff for you, he typed out quickly.

Your phone pinged. You frowned at the text. 

If you want ig. 

Oh? My god? Who the fuck replies like that?

While you were stressing out over your disgustingly dry, and even rude reply, Kenji was falling off his couch at seeing your message on screen. He cursed, elbow twisting awkwardly as he hit the floor, but he ignored it, holding the phone up. “She hates me, Mina.”

Mina glided through the air to hover over his face. “You’ll be fine, Ken,” she said. “Perhaps you could even befriend her. You said she went to your college.”

“Are you even listening to a word I said?! She hates me.”

His phone pinged and he stared at your second message. 

Sorry, I meant only if it’s not a hassle for you. 

Relief surged through him. it’s definitely not a hassle!

Well then in that case I don’t mind.

Within a couple of days you found new equipment waiting on your doorstep. You weren’t complaining- and it was an expensive model, too. Higher quality than the one you’d had before. 

Taika nudged you knowingly. “The Ken Sato got you that?”

“The Ken Sato was the one who broke it in the first place,” you grumbled in retribution, and she rolled her eyes but didn’t retort any further. 

“Text him to tell him you got it.”

“What?”

“Come on!” She shoved your phone into your hands, and your face burned. “Look, stop trying to deny you have the hots for him and just-“

“Okay!” exasperated, you lifted a hand. “I’ll do it.”

Hey just texting to let you know the stuff arrived btw, you sent.

You certainly hadn’t expected a reply only moments later.

cool! There’s nothing wrong with it, right?

“Isn’t he, like, a famous baseball star?” You muttered as you typed out a reply. “Isn’t he supposed to be busy?”

Taika wiggled her eyebrows. “Well, I wonder what that means for you if he’s replying so quickly then!” She squealed, and you smacked her away by the shoulder. 

Nope it’s great. It’s even better than the equipment I used before actually

Three dots appeared on your screen to indicate he was typing. And then:

Yeah haha now you can take even better pictures of me, right? Judging by your earlier posts you seem to be a pretty big fan.

You froze.

Taika froze.

On the other side of the screen, on his couch, Kenji froze.

“Was that too forward?” He muttered to himself. “Oh dammit, I was trying to make a joke.”

“Oh my god, I’m so fucked,” you said to Taika, pacing the room. “He saw the pictures.”

She clicked her tongue. “They were kinda sorta public for anyone to see. You’d basically showcased your entire crush on that account.”

“He’s gonna think I’m a psycho, or a stalker or something!”

“I bet he thinks you’re adorable.”

You stopped and turned and glared at her. She flicked her head at the device clutched in your hands. 

“Text him back, [name].”

With shaking hands, you did.

Is it obvious lmao? In that case I guess so.

Typing…

His reply lit up your screen.

Can’t wait to see what picture of me you post next ;)

-

You were feeling bold. You were feeling frisky. Perhaps a little… daring.

The next day, you decided to upload the final pictures the online magazine you were photographing for had chosen onto your instagram account.

And, of course, you picked the one of Kenji as the first one.

Not long after your conversation the other day, you’d seen that he’d decided to follow you back. You wondered what that meant, its implications, but brushed it off for fear of overthinking. 

You captioned the post “These were the chosen pictures for XY Sports Magazine! Glad to have played a role in blah blah blah blah blah blah Kenji please text me again blah blah.” 

And then you threw your phone down onto the couch, and waited. 

-

Kenji almost spat his drink out when he saw your very next post, the day after your conversation, and also to see that he was the first picture. 

What even is this? Flirting? Banter? What the fuck? I’m into it?

He debated between leaving a comment or a direct message, but settled for comment. It was flashier that way. According to him. 

“Glad to see I’m your muse,” he typed, and waited for you to see it. His heart was in his throat. 

-

Of course you saw it.

And you had no idea what to reply to it.

So you simply liked it, pinned it, and hoped that it spoke enough words that you were too flustered to type. 

-

This turned into a regular thing. He’d text you, you’d post him every time you were hired at a game he played at, he’d comment, people in the replies would go feral at his appearance in your comment sections, and then you’d text him. If he ever saw you at a game, on the sidelines of the pitch- not in the stands- he’d wink at you, and fuck that bastard knows my camera’s gonna end up pointed at him for most of the game, doesn’t he? 

You wouldn’t call it a friendship that you two had- you genuinely had no idea what the fuck it was, but you sure as hell weren’t complaining. 

You were lazing around in your bed- it was barely even morning, and you had an off day yet your son of a bitch that you called an internal clock had woken you up at six, when your phone pinged. You picked it up.

Kenji: hey can I have your actual number this time?

Kenji: beats dming you here 

You: sure it’s (xxx-xxx-xxx)

Kenji: thanks.

You stared into space.

Okay, maybe this… relationship between your two needed a label put onto it. You stared back at the screen.

It probably wasn’t going to happen any time soon. 

[purplefangirl42]

Relive the Memories

Summary: Two days at the Winter Solstice Festival, years apart.

Pairing: Silco/Reader (F)

A/N: This was written as part of a gift exchange for my friend @sirenofzaun. Love you Lauren!

Tags: Slight Angst, Established Relationship, Time Skip

AO3 Link Divider by saradika-graphics

The breeze that blew through the alley chilled you down to your bones, setting off a round of shivers that made your teeth chatter. You leaned against the wall behind you and wrapped your arms around your midsection in an attempt to trap some of the remaining body heat. You should have dressed warmer, but the thin sweater you wore was one of the only warm pieces of clothing that you had. 

Why, in Janna’s name, had you agreed to meet Silco up here?

It would have been much warmer down in the Undercity. The closeness of the walls, the hot air coming from the fissures in the ground, and even Jericho’s cooking would have been ten times better than this. Up here, everything was open and exposed. This alley was the closest thing to shelter you had been able to find while you waited for Silco to join you.

Just when you were about to give up and head back home before your fingers froze off, you heard footsteps from the other end of the alley. You turned to look and saw a lanky figure that you knew well heading in your direction. He seemed to be carrying something bulky in his arms, something you couldn’t identify from this distance.

“Kept me waiting long enough,” you accused, shaking your head at him.�� “What do you have?”

“Something that I hope will help you forgive me for making you wait so long,” Silco said, lifting the large bundle. “I worked hard to get it for you, so please take that into consideration before you yell at me.”

You scowled slightly before closing the remaining distance between the two of you. Your gaze trailed up and down the thing Silco was holding, still not quite sure what it was. He lifted it higher and the bundle unfurled into its full size, nearly touching the ground.

It was a coat. A nice, long, fuzzy coat. Just looking at it made you feel a bit warmer. You reached out a hand to touch the sleeve and nearly gasped at how soft it felt. You had never gotten close to something this nice, let alone touched it. Your gaze shifted up to meet Silco’s and you tilted your head, raising your eyebrow in a questioning manner.

“Did you rob some poor Piltie lady in the street?”

Silco’s smile faltered slightly before he shook his head.

“First of all, I don’t think you can use ‘poor’ and ‘Piltie’ together in a sentence like that,” he said with a sniff. “And secondly, I acquired this for you as a gift. Worked hard to get it.”

“And by worked hard, you mean…” you started, leaving the rest of your question unspoken.

“I mean…I had Vander distract the shopkeeper while I took it off the rack and threw it out the delivery window while they weren’t looking.”

“Uh, huh,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “That’s what I thought.”

“If you don’t want it, I can give it to Felicia or Sevika. I’m sure they’d both appreciate a new coat.”

“I didn’t say that. Just wanted to know where it came from, that’s all,” you said, stepping forward. “I appreciate your ‘work’.”

You leaned in and placed a kiss on Silco’s cheek before taking the coat from him. You pulled it on and wrapped it around yourself, instantly feeling warmer as it closed around your body. Silco seemed pleased to see you wearing it, as his grin had returned in full force.

“Thank you, Silco. Not only for the coat, but for the thought that went into acquiring it for me. I really needed something like this.”

“I know,” Silco said, stepping forward to wrap his arms around your midsection beneath the coat. “I can hear your teeth chattering everytime we go scouting together. It’s not very covert if the people we’re spying on hear that.”

You laughed softly and returned his embrace, resting your head against his shoulder. 

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I’m trying not to freeze to death,” you said. “Now, could you please tell me why we needed to meet up here for you to give me this coat? Couldn’t we have met somewhere warmer?”

Silco stepped back from you a small amount and smiled, pulling on the lapels of the coat and closing it in front of you. He reached for your hand and started to pull you down the alley in the direction he had come from.

“It’s time to test out your new coat. We’re going to the Winter Solstice festival. I know you’ve always wanted to go and I was able to get us some tickets.”

“Did you work hard to get those too?” you asked.

“No comment.”

You laughed again as he pulled you along. Though you teased him about his methods, the thought behind the actions meant a great deal to you. He was always surprising you with gestures, both grand and small. This was just another thing on the list of surprises he had concocted for you in your time together.

When the pair of you reached the edge of the festival, you stopped short, bringing Silco to a halt as well. He turned to look at you with a questioning glance, his brows furrowed in slight concern. You stared at the sight before you in amazement, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Darling? Is everything alright?” Silco asked.

“Yes,” you said, your gaze switching from the festival to Silco, “everything is perfect.”

His concerned expression evaporated and a cheerful one took its place as you started moving again in the direction of the ticket gate. Silco gave the man at the entrance the tickets he had procured, and once you got the approval, pulled you through the gate. 

The sights inside the festival were even better than the glimpse you had gotten from the outside. Little twinkling lights on chains hung over the streets, swinging between poles covered in strands of gold and red tinsel. A mixture of savory and sweet smells drifted through the air, carried to your nostrils on the breeze that had previously sent a chill down your spine. You could even hear soft music playing from various places around you, its source unseen by you, which only seemed to add to the magic of the place.

“So, does it live up to your expectations?” Silco asked, diverting your attention away from the environment surrounding you.

“It’s even better than I thought it would be,” you said. “Thank you for bringing me here, Silco.”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Silco leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your temple before the pair of you continued down the path to take in all the sights the festival had to offer.

The air felt just as cold as you remembered, possibly colder if you were truly being honest with yourself. You pulled the edges of your coat together to seal in the warmth and block out the cold wind. Over the years, your nice, warm coat had worn down and didn’t quite do the job it used to when it came to keeping you warm. You could never bear to part with it and acquire a new one though. Your heart wouldn’t let you.

The festival around you didn’t seem as magical as you thought it was in the past. Things didn’t sparkle like before, the music seemed out of sync, and even the smells were a bit off. It was almost as if something was missing. The key element that solidified the magic.

You hadn’t been to the festival since the day with Silco, and that had been many years ago. After he disappeared; or died as you had heard but didn’t believe; you didn’t feel it was right to experience any kind of happiness that you had attached to him without him there beside you. You felt it would taint the memories.

You couldn’t say what had brought you to the festival on this day. Something in your gut told you that you needed to go when you saw the poster on the bridge. Maybe it was a voice inside you telling you that you needed some closure. You needed to do something to end that chapter of your life and finally move on. Perhaps this was the way to do it.

As you walked between the various stalls, you thought over your memories of the last time you had been here. Of course, you hadn’t really had the money to buy anything, but it had still been fun to look at things. You had a little money this time, but no desire to make any purchases. You didn’t even truly look at the items on the tables you passed, your gaze just glancing over vague shapes and colors as you walked along.

With such an unfocused air about you, you weren’t watching where you were walking and ran into someone. You nearly lost your balance and reached out to grab the arm of the man you had collided with to steady yourself.

“My apologies, sir. I wasn’t watching where I was walking.”

Without looking at the man, face down to hide your embarrassment, you moved to walk past him when you heard a familiar voice speak your name. You halted in your tracks, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of the voice.

“When I said I worked hard to get you that coat, I didn’t mean you had to wear it forever.”

You slowly turned in place to look at the man you assumed was talking to you. What you saw made you believe that you had hit your head when you ran into him before. The man standing before you was none other than Silco. Alive and present, wrapped in a coat with a large collar. He was older and looked different, most noticeable things being a large scar across one side of his face and an eye that was black and orange.

But it was still Silco.

You were at a loss for words. You probably looked like a fish, standing there staring at him with your mouth wide open. He seemed to understand that you were unable to speak and stepped towards you, holding out a hand.

“I’ll explain later. Right now, we can just relive the memories.”

You took his offered hand and let him pull you closer. The sensation of his touch seemed to right all the things that had seemed off before about the festival. The music regained its melody, the food smelled delicious again, and the lights seemed to shine even brighter than they had the first time.

The magic had returned.

A/N: Give this a like, comment, and reblog and let me know what you think!

[aziraphales-library]

Lost Fic #312

1. I’m looking for this fanfic. I don’t remember much about it but it was a very short one that I read years ago. Here are the two thing I remember: 1. Aziraphale and Crowley cuddling on either a couch or a tiny bed in the bookshop that can barely accommodate both of them but Crowley doesn’t mind. 2. Aziraphale keeps promising Crowley that he’s going to get a better (or bigger) bed but he keeps procrastinating. 3. The fic ends with a line that ends with the sentiment "Aziraphale could be slow, but he always kept his word". I think it may be explicit or mature but I’m not 100% sure. I’ll be forever grateful if we can find it 😭 - anon

2. Hi! I'm looking for a fic where Crowley and God are siblings and Crowley had his own "test garden" dimension in heaven where he created things like dragons and unicorns and stuff and his true form is actually a dragon, and he has his own army in heaven that still answers to him only and there is another war between the archangels on one side and God and Crowley on the other with Aziraphale as Crowleys soul mate. And I'm pretty sure it was a "Crowley was Raphael" story. And I'm pretty sure God and Crowley were a single entity before the beginning in this fic. And I can't find it anymore - @zanylawyerdeanbakery

3. Hello, so happy to have just found you! What a wonderful service you're providing, thank you! I'm looking for a specific fic, (it might've still been a WIP?), but I feel fairly certain it has disappeared/ been taken down. I hope you can prove me wrong! Rated E, human Sex Workers fic, both Aziraphale and Crowley work at a brothel each with their own assigned room they work in. They fall for each other, but the employer doesn't allow coworkers to date. The one chapter I vividly remember that sets this apart from similar fics was that a client books a threesome, and wants those two. I think the client asks to watch A&C undress each other (though that tidbit might be from a different one, not positive). Ultimately, they have the client on all 4's between them, I think Crowley is giving him anal from behind, client is giving oral to Aziraphale. Meanwhile A & C are making major eyes at each other and it's like a sex-by-proxy thing happening. After the client leaves the room, they're in dressing gowns, and they finally give in to their overwhelming attraction and kiss each other. For a very very long time (because kissing isn't allowed w/ clients and they both find it's the thing they crave the most). (This part I might be confusing with another fic, but they might also be neighbors? And they each have teenage kids. I think Adam is Crowley's little brother or adopted kid, and Pepper is Aziraphale's sister's kid who he lives with, something like that. The kids' friendship gives A&C some plausible deniability to hang out.) If you're able to find it, I'll be so grateful! (My AO3 search skills leave much to be desired!) Whether you find it or not, or answer this or not, I hope you all have a very lovely day! <3 - @laudaddysmitten

4. Hi! Im looking for a fic I read in 2023(?), I don't remember much but i know: It's set during season 2. Beelzebub is more honest with Crowley when asking about Gabriel. It's in Crowleys POV and basically a more in-depth fic about Crowleys and Aziraphales reaction to ineffable bureaucracy/boxfly. I feel like I'm going insane trying to find this, so thank you in advance! :)) - @bru1sed-apple

5. Hellooo! First I want to thank everyone here for this account, seriously, it's a blessing! Secondly, I've been looking for a fic I read, probably about a year ago but I can't seem to find it but I also don't remember a whole lot about it. It's similar to (I'd rather be) in the palm of your hand, which I read around the same time. All I remember is that Crowley made webcam videos, but I'm pretty sure that this one was a human AU because what I remember from the entire thing is that after the video was filmed, Crowley went on to take some pictures for later when everything was "still fresh" and he didn't have to fake it with coconut oil. I know that's really not a lot of information but that's all I can remember for some reason. Thank you so much in advance! - @flerken-is-not-a-cat

If you know any of these fics please include the number in your reply! Thank you :)

- Mod D

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 6

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: the clock ticks for everyone, without care for wealth, titles or power. Avis knew this but so did you, and amongst the fire that blazed inside the studio, someone was bound to get burnt.

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, torture/abuse, injuries/wounds, KKK, guns and use of guns, swearing, character death.

Authors note: First of all, I'm very sorry about what's going on in the US. I hope that the Trump administration doesn't destroy all the lovely people who live over there and don't deserve it. I wish I could help. Secondly, here you have the newest chapter. I looooooooved writing it, and had so much fun, but I must apologise for what I have done with the characters. Still, I hope that you like it and as always, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking in something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas that you might have or things that you might want to see Avis and reader do. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader for part of the story. I love you.

Chp. 1 Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5 Chp.7

Word count: 24K

Her lips tasted of blood

It was so cold. And dark. You were unsure what was going on or where you were, your body slumped on a chair, freezing under the cold air that moved from wall to wall, all across the room. With great effort, you opened your eyes, but they felt so heavy that it was hard work to simply blink, finding your surroundings blurry, the air damp against your skin, but upon better inspection, your eyes focusing on your lap and legs, you saw that there was blood staining your dress, trails of the crimson liquid dripping from scratches on your knees and wounds on your shins. It was so hard to try and catch a glimpse of the room, to move your arms, tied to the back of the chair with thick ropes, hoping you would be able to stand and observe, but you were trapped. There were no windows, and if they were they were covered up, but there was an oil lamp in a corner of the room, it’s flame dim and barely giving out any light but it helped, nonetheless. The fuzzy feeling that had taken your mind hostage seemed to be vanishing, only a thin fog floating around your thoughts, the event of the previous night broken in pieces as you tried to puzzle it all together, images of Avis sliding before your eyes, of her beautiful brown eyes, of her perfect ginger curls, but they were cut off by figures dressed in black. Who they were you did not know, but they sure as hell weren’t friendly.

As your body rose from its slumber you realised that you were completely alone, the only sound echoing in the empty room being that of your breaths, puffs of it steaming and floating in white rivulets before your eyes. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, your throat dry as if you had just spent weeks in the desert, the feeling of the rough muscle against your palate making you cringe and shiver, but you still ran it over your lips hoping to get some sort of moisture over the scratches and split lower lip. There had been a man as you had stepped out of the car, he had asked you for directions, you thought, or perhaps he had asked for the time, you could not quite remember, but his voice had sounded so familiar, so dangerous that you had not answered. Or maybe you hadn’t had the chance. All you could remember clearly was the feeling of someone watching you as you left Avis’s place. Something dripped down your neck, the sudden feeling making you jump, but it wasn’t the ghostly touch of a finger, it was far too warm, maybe even hot, scorching your skin as it left a sticky trail. You were bleeding, you thought after a moment, your brain still slow in its functions as if there was still something affecting it, the faint smell of chloroform lingering against your nose and mouth with its sweet remnants that told you, you had been drugged, though that much was to be expected. You were not one to simply let yourself be taken by strangers.

As you tried to move your body to the right a sharp pain coursed through your entire arm, making you whimper miserably under the shadows of the room, the sound echoing against the walls mockingly, reminding you that it was only you and your scattered memories. Trying to move it again to assess the damage done you felt the pain radiating from your shoulder all the way to your fingertips, realising after a moment that it could have been dislocated in the struggle. Yes, you had fought against that man, you remembered now. He had grabbed your arm, and you had pushed him, but his grip had been too strong and after scratching his cheek he had slapped you, splitting your lip. You could not recall the words he had spoken to you, but you were pretty sure that Avis’s name had come out of that disgusting mouth of his at some point, the stench of alcohol and cheap cigars hitting you suddenly. There was a pounding feeling on the left side of your head, like a bad headache that was about to start leaving a dull pressure behind your eyes that you could not get rid of, noticing the same warm stickiness that was running down your neck, on your hair. He must have hit you, but why or how was a blank space in the records of your mind?

You could feel every inch of your body battered and bruised, probably black and blue if you could get just a little bit more of light but it was impossible to move. Maybe the chair was too heavy, or bolted to the floor, or perhaps your body just didn’t have the strength to try and stand, your feet bare over the freezing, rough tiles. From your throat a cough erupted, like a bomb going off inside your head, chest convulsing for a few moments, lungs practically begging for air against your bruised ribs. Every cell in your body hurt, like fire spreading through your limbs bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. This attack left you drained, gasping for air and forcing your eyes to close as the light-headedness overtook you again, slamming you to the ground, if you had been able to stand. You just felt so weak, so useless, but in the back of your mind you could only think about how thankful you were that it was you in this room and not Avis. You would have destroyed the entire country to find her if she had been in your exact same predicament, and as much as you wanted to get out of there, to be free and never see that man again, you did not want her to get involved, to put herself in harms ways. If they had done this to you, you could not imagine what they would be willing to do to her.

There was a sound reverberating in the distance, a noise getting closer and closer with each passing second. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat hitting on a bruise or a scratch, bringing out silent whimpers, but you didn’t dare make a sound, impending dread building rapidly all over your body, your head moving from side to side to try and locate the door. They were footsteps, the soles of either brand new shoes or refurbished ones stomping over the dirty dark tiles, outside of this room, in a corridor probably, you thought, hands turning into fists as if that could protect you. Foolish move. Behind your back metal screeched sharply, like nails raking over a blackboard continuously until the heavy door banged against the wall. There was silence then, you could not even hear the person breathing, but you did smell a strong male perfume, perhaps an aftershave of sandalwood, a pungent smell of cheap cigars overtaking your senses as it floated in your direction. It was him.

Lurking in the shadows, watching like a hunter, like an animal that was about to feast on the carcass of some poor creature, his eyes raked over your battered body. They were hard, triumphant under the light of the dying flame. He had no desire to move, not yet, he thrived in the way your head moved slowly from side to side trying to see him, on the way your frame trembled in fear and terror, eyes wide and frantic. He had the upper hand now, he thought, drinking in the way your blood dripped down your legs and bare arms, crimson tears splashing over the ground in an ever-growing puddle, a punishment for you. And her. Overstepping, and crossing lines that had been clearly established long ago always brought consequences, no matter how much money or fame one had; a well-placed bullet could end it all in an instant. But he wasn’t that sort of guy, he preferred to see their downfall, to watch them crawl like the useless creatures they were, always under the soles of his shoes, dependent and ever so weak. He loved to push women to the ground and to remind them where they stood in the pyramid of life, next to the cockroaches and the cripples of society. He felt so powerful having you right there, terrified of only his shadow, basking in all the things he could do with you to achieve his purpose, his goal in this life. 

One step towards you and your entire body froze on the spot. Another step and you could almost feel his depraved smile against your skin. Another step and the heat of his body was barely a foot from yours, the tension in every muscle crossing the line of torture, reopening wounds, and making thin trails of blood run over your porcelain skin. He was stalking you, preparing himself for the kill, you thought, your breaths so hurried that you feared you might hyperventilate and then his hand landed on your injured shoulder and your world stopped turning as pain radiated all the way down to your fingers and stomach, breaths hitched in your lungs. If you had been in the right state of mind, you would have felt his calloused hand, the crack on his skin and dry palm, but you could not focus, your mind hazy and foggy under the daggers that were piercing every inch of your flesh. He had you right where he wanted you. Weak, pathetic, and probably willing to talk now. He had left that part of the job to another fool who that had failed miserably, so he had to do away with him and come down to finish the job himself. He hated having to get his hands dirty but how delicious it was to watch all those poor people give in to his bloodied hands before the last shot was delivered, their lifeless bodies dripping onto the ground like puppets that had served their purpose and could now be discarded. Better than a glass of champagne after a good dinner. His hot breath caressed your ear in fake gentleness, deep, dangerous words slipping from his lips.

-Will you tell me what I want?

Someone had asked you that, you could remember a young voice shaking as he asked that, but you didn’t know what he meant. You knew nothing, nothing. He must have thought that your silence meant no, and without caring about how painful it might be he pulled your head back, hairs ripping from your scalp, another miserable whimper escaping from your parted and broken lips. The angle didn’t let you see his face fully, and the dim light only made the shadows that danced over his face deeper, darkening his heartless eyes, those sky-blue eyes that hid a merciless soul, that showed the truth of this man as if they were a cover to protect the real him. The murderer, the kidnapper, the one who pulled the trigger at the end of the day. Tears stung your puffy red eyes, gathering at the corners as you held his gaze. There, on his cheek, were the scratches you had inflicted on him the previous night, deep, but no longer bleeding, a sign that he had been almost knocked of his feet by you, a mistake he would not allow to happen again. He would rip your head of your shoulders with his bare hands if he let you overstep like that again, although he was pretty sure it would not happen. You were pretty tied up at the moment.

-Don’t make me play the bad guy. Just tell me what I want, and you’ll be out of here in no time.

-I… I don’t know… - you could not deliver the words, your throat dry, raw from the chloroform and the lack of hydration, your head bent so far back that you feared your muscles might snap from around your shoulders.

-Yes, you do. Do you think us so stupid, so blind that we wouldn’t know what you and that whore have been up to? Avis has not been as careful as she thought, flaunting her affair with you around the entirety of Hollywood.

-We are not…

-Don’t lie to me Y/N! – he yanked your head so hard and so fast that your heart skipped a beat as the chair moved under your body, your feet leaving the feeling of the cold ground behind as he tilted you back, keeping your entire body from slamming onto the floor by holding onto your hair. The tears could not be stopped, falling slowly down your cheeks, making the salty crystal liquid red as they ran over the gash on your cheek, over the splatters of dried blood that were sprinkled over your flesh. – I have seen it with my own eyes. You and she are two depraved creatures that should be put down to protect our children from such disgusting behaviours and to preserve the values of our nation. But you are more valuable to me alive. For now. So, tell me, what would you be willing to do to make sure I don’t put a bullet between her eyebrows?

-Don’t hurt her. Please. I’ll do anything, anything at all.

-See? It’s not so difficult to cooperate with me. – the chair was pushed back on all four legs, making your body bounce painfully, his hand releasing your hair with a relieved sigh escaping your lungs. His footsteps were hard as he came around you, pulling a chair from the furthest corner, the metal scratching the ground so loudly that you had to turn your head away from the sound, the dull ache that had been in your head developing into a proper headache that pulsated deep inside your skull. He placed the piece of furniture before you and sat, arms resting over his knees, legs spread, and face hidden by the dark. The flame had died, leaving you completely at the mercy of his predatory eyes, glowing amongst the shadows. – Start talking.

-What… what do you want to know?

Across Hollywood, the screeching of wheels over the asphalt rumbled as Avis’s driver sped through the streets. A fucking cross burning in her front yard. She was beyond livid, furious at the audacity of this cunts to invade her home and threaten her and her daughter like that. She had been in such hysterics all throughout the night that Claire had to give her some Valium to calm her fury enough so she could sleep. But the effects were long gone, and the rage was once more coursing through her veins. The car turned right, meeting a mob of angry people with signs that said that the production of Meg had to be stopped, that it was immoral what they were doing, and that they had to boycott it and the studio. Fucking bunch of imbeciles, Avis thought, eye narrow as she stared coldly at all those jerks through the car window, their screams and insults sliding off her back as if they were nothing. She would not be cowered down by strangers. They didn’t mean shit to her, words could not harm her, burning crosses, though, that was a whole different matter. The car moved slowly among the people until it managed to cross the gates, the voices vanishing in the distance as soon as they were through and stationed in the parking lot. The image of the flames was engraved in her mind, keeping her still in the back seat of her car for a moment too long.

It was a warning, a wake-up call for her and everyone involved in that film, she knew this, and to a certain extent, she did not care what happened to her. She had taken this risk, she was responsible for it, but if something happened to Claire, she would destroy entire families and bloodlines if she had the chance. She might have not been a good mother, but she was trying now, and the bond that she had formed with her girl meant everything. She was not willing to put her in any kind of danger. The driver held the door open, waiting for her to step out under the warm sun of Los Angeles, looking discreetly at the zoned-out eyes of his boss. Gently the old man cleared his throat which earned him a glare from Avis as she was woken up from her musings, but he was not intimidated, he had been present for the entire conversation she had had with her daughter about her safety and whether she should stay somewhere else until the entire situation cleared up; he knew what had occurred. Avis grabbed her purse with a furious grip, knuckles white at the strength with which she holding the accessory, and got out of the car, her entire frame held high as her steps stomped hard against the concrete ground. She would have to call on a meeting and inform Dick and Ellen about it, maybe Henry and a couple more people, but she was not willing to get the rest of the cast involved in such matters unless it was strictly necessary.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the spot where you usually parked your car was empty, that feeling that you should have stayed with her that night returning along with a sense of dread that made her stomach turn. No, she would not have wanted you to see the gift those bastards had left her. The halls were filled with chatter, but it wasn’t the usual nonsensical conversations she heard every day; words were full of fear, of worry, fragments about Molotov cocktails and fires reaching her ears. It surprised her how fast this news had travelled, she had expected to not hear a thing about it until later in the day, which made her wonder if this had not been an attack aimed only at her and Claire. She was beginning to believe this was bigger than she had anticipated. Standing in the lift she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the image of the flames burning, scorching right before her, replaying in her mind on a loop. These people were beyond dangerous, they would go to extremes to achieve their purpose, and she wasn’t sure if she could face this. She was angry, furious, burning with rage, but would that be enough? Was the film worth losing everything else? The doubts she had had when it had still been Peg seemed like child’s play compared to all this, to the now that she was involved in. The doors chimed as the lift doors opened, her heels stepping over the carpeted hallway as she made her way to her office, rehearsing what she was going to say to Miss Stinton without giving too much away, but the words never made it out. Those big doors were open, Ellen sitting on the couch with her hands clasped neatly on her lap, Dick and Henry pacing up and down the room.

-Avis! – the blond woman was the first one to acknowledge her, turning her body nervously to face her friend, the writhing intensifying over her blue skirt. There was a veil of worry over her eyes, like a scared child who needed the comfort of her parents, who needed her friends to assure her that things would be alright, and no one would get hurt. An impossible mission, Avis thought. This might only be the beginning.

-What’s going on? Why are you all here?

-Things have escalated.

-Escalated? Dick? – the gravity of the situation implied by his words sent a shiver down Avis’s spine, her feet carrying her towards her desk so she could leave her purse over the dark wood, hands working on her ginger curls to unpin her hat. She was being deliberately slow, her back to them, doubting if she would not collapse under the pressure of it all. Because something told her that he wasn’t talking about the mob outside. She had expected problems, setbacks, and boycotts, but never had she considered the true extent of what these people might do.

-Camille and Archie have been targeted. A burning cross was left in Camille’s front yard, and they threw what we think was some sort of Molotov cocktail through Archie’s window. The whole place could have burnt down but thankfully it didn’t. These people are moving, Avis, and they are not being subtle about it

-Supposing it is who we think it is.

-Don’t give me that bullshit again, Henry. You know as much as everyone in this room that there’s only one group that gets something out of terrorising us. They’ve been against Meg since day one, boycotting our films, and being extremely vocal about how immoral it is. We all know how dangerous they are. You can’t tell me you haven’t heard stories about them and about how ugly things get if they don’t get their way.

-I’m not saying that it’s not them, Mr. Samuels, but do we have enough proof to say that it was them and not some random anti-black group? No one else in the production of Meg has come forth about something similar happening to them.

-Yes, we do. – Avis felt ice instead of blood pumping from her heart, leaving her body cold against the edge of the desk. This wasn’t just about who was in the film, it was about the studio as well. Turning to face her colleagues was a herculean task at most, legs unresponsive as she held onto the desk to the best of her abilities, dread glazing her eyes as they moved between the three people standing before her. – I was going to call you for a meeting to tell you, but I had someone break into my property last night and leave a burning cross in my front yard.

-What?!

-Claire woke me up saying that the house was on fire, so I grabbed her and went to the front door to get out and that’s when we saw it. There was no message, no threatening letter, nothing, just the cross.

-This is what I mean, Henry! It’s the fucking KKK! No one else would dare leave a fucking cross on fire at the Amberg residence!

-Calm down Dick. – Ellen’s demure and calm personality was always trying to reduce the tension of every encounter, every fight, but it was proving to be rather difficult as her own shoulders tensed in worry, her eyes not leaving Avis’s frame. This was big, it wasn’t just a prank or a game of some random revolutionary group, this was a full threat to everyone. It had moved from being dangerous for her and Claire to being a constant guillotine hovering over everyone’s head in this studio.

-How can I? We might be next; our families might already be on the list!

-Dick, stop! – Avi’s raised hand seemed to serve as a brake for Dick’s rant, forcing him to stop in his tracks and face her. She needed to get the facts straight before moving into step two of this plan she was making up on the spot. – Hold your horses there for a moment and tell me, are Camille and Archie alright?

-Yes. They were a bit shaken but nothing else happened. They called the authorities to have both items removed.

-Alright. You and Ellen haven’t been threatened, have you? No phone calls or strange letters in the mail? Odd visitors or strangers near your homes?

-Nothing of the sort, no. For now anyway.

-Okay. Then the question we all need to be asking ourselves is what are going to do about Meg?

-We can’t cancel it, Mrs. Amberg!

-This are people’s lives, Henry, it’s not a game!

-So, we just give them what they want? Lose all the money we’ve invested and have this reputation for being cowards for years to come?!

-I’m not risking my daughter’s life for a film!

-This is not about the film Mrs. Amberg! It’s about dignity, it’s about fighting back and not letting them walk all over us!

-I must agree with Henry, Avis. They don’t care about the film; they just don’t want a black woman to play the lead. This was never about whether the script was immoral or not, it was bout you green-lighting it and casting Camille. They can’t stand it when women “step out of line”.

-This might only be the beginning, Dick. Is it really worth it? Are we ready to face the consequences?

-You’ve seen it, Avis. Do you think it’s worth fighting for?

She supposed it all came down to that. The story was good, the scenes that were already in post-production were amazing, and it had the potential to be nominated for a fucking Oscar if it carried on like that. It was an amazing film. But it wasn’t just about the art; she knew they were right, it was never about breaking the Hays code or making an indecent film, it was because she was in charge, and she was doing exactly what Ace would have refused to do. She had been pushed aside over and over since birth all because she didn’t have a penis in between her legs, but that didn’t make her less good at her fucking job. She had power now, she could break rules and set new limits, and she could do whatever she wanted in her studio. Was she going to back down now? Was she really going to let these white men take it all from her, from Camille, and from every other woman who was willing to break out of the mold? No fucking way. This would be her life’s work, this might be the only chance to do something that could change lives, that could set a course for a new way of making films. She was too fucking tired of being in the shadows of men and she would not stand for it anymore. They wanted to leave burning crosses in her front yard? Let them. She would have the firefighters on speed dial. No more sitting down to let them do what they desired. There was defiance in her stance, her feet firmly on the floor as she stepped away from the desk and towards Ellen and Dick, palms pressed against the back of the couch, eyes glued to the man in question.

-Are Camille and Archie willing to continue?

-Yes. They said they were used to this sort of thing, Archie even mentioned a time when he saw his uncle being pulled from his bed and hanged from a tree in front of his house. They are scared, frightened even, but they are not surprised about it, and they are willing to carry on.

-These picketings and riots will continue every day until production is finished as well, it’s simply a fact, we all know it, Mrs. Amberg. So as a producer…

-Keep “producer” in quotes. – Henry was walking behind Avis on a loop, his shoes almost leaving a circular mark over the carpet as he moved his hands in front of his chest, emphasising his words even more. Dick’s jab barely made the younger man flinch as he carried on with his speech.

-So as a producer, I must ask, how are we going to make sure that we can continue?

-I can offer them bungalows until the film is done, but if they refuse to leave their homes, which let’s be honest, I wouldn’t do either unless I want to come back to a mount of ashes, I will pay for extra security at everyone’s place.

-This will cost the studio more money than what the budget can afford, Mrs. Amberg.

-Then I will pay for it from my own pocket. We all want this film, don’t we? And our leading cast is willing to carry on? Then we are not backing down. We are making a statement. I will not be bullied.

Fire burnt in her eyes, determination and strength seeping from every pore in her body. Henry was taken aback by how harsh and real her words sounded, but Ellen and Dick simply smiled as they shared a knowing look. There was the fisty Avis they had been looking for, the fiery woman they all knew and needed to fight this. She was a storm, a force of nature that could not be stopped, would not be stopped, and it was no matter what life threw her way, she would get up and carry on. There was rage inside her, an anger at the audacity of these people, but it wasn’t for herself anymore; these kids were good people, they were doing their jobs, things that they loved and meant something to them, they did not deserve to live lives like this. They shouldn’t have to know what the fear of being pulled out of one’s bed and shot should feel like, they shouldn’t have to worry about setting foot out in the streets only to be arrested for having done nothing, to get entire police stations chasing them because some white person called about a “dangerous figure” in their pristine rich neighbourhood. No human should have to know the fear of death as soon as they take their first breath. If the KKK were so ready to pull stunts like this using groups like the American Colonization Society to cover their asses, she was ready to fight back as well. Meg was her baby, and she wasn’t going to let anyone destroy all the hard work she had put into this. She was going to make history you had told her; she was doing what no one else had the balls to do; she wasn’t going to disappoint you. With hands as fists over the leather of the couch she locked eyes with Dick.

-Go down to the set and tell them of our decision. If we want to stay within budget, we can’t afford slip-ups. We must stay on schedule.

Without so much as a nod, he left the room, beaming with pride, followed closely by Henry, the voice of the younger man reaching Avis’s ears as he retorted to Dick about not letting him call himself a producer. They were like children, bickering over the stupidest things. Ellen was the only person left, watching the way Avis rubbed her fingertips and pulled at the hem of her jacket while her eyes still lingered by the doors, a nervous habit the blond knew far too well. There was something else rummaging in that mind of hers, Ellen could see it in her deep doe eyes that flickered from side to side, on the way the ginger bit her lower lip, curiosity peeking through the craziness of the situation. Avis didn’t even get the chance to tell her friend to stay, she had already stood and closed the doors in less than five seconds, making her way back to the couch to sit in front of her, the redhead playing with the stitches that held the leather together. She wasn’t sure why she wanted her to be there, she just knew that she would be the only that could understand these feelings. There was something wrong that no one was seeing, and it unnerved her beyond belif. Something was practically screaming at her from the back of her mind that you should have stayed with her last night, clawing at her heart, the hair on the back of her neck standing every time she left the sensation washing over her. It was as if there was imminent danger in her future and she could not see which way it was coming from.

-Is Claire okay?

-Yeah. She was obviously scared at first but once the fire was out and the police left a couple of boys by the gates she calmed down.

-And you?

-You want an honest answer?

-You know I do, Avis.

-I’m shitting bricks. I hardly slept last night. – it was far too early in the morning for this, but she needed a drink. Maybe the alcohol would make all these feelings diminish their intensity, perhaps even numb her enough that she would be able to carry on with this shit of a day. Ever since you had left, your tender smile still lingering in her mind like the remnants of a sweet wine, everything had gone wrong, and she felt that deep down, she should have known something like this was coming. With tired steps Avis made her way to the table in the furthest corner, eyeing each bottle with practiced care but leaving the shakers on the side as she could not be bothered with the hassle of making a martini. She poured herself a glass of scotch instead, the amber liquid falling gently inside the glass, letting the initial burn bathe her throat before settling in her stomach with a deep sigh, finally building up the courage to face Ellen. - I just can’t wrap my head around how people can do this sort of thing. I thought things would change after the war, but everything’s the same. We are still being persecuted and objectified; black people are still being murdered on the streets, and we think that it’s normal. It isn’t! It shouldn’t be, Ellen.

-Believe me, I understand better than anyone what you mean.

-Are we doing the right thing? They’ve come for Camille, Archie and me, but we can handle it, what if they targeted someone like Jack? Or Ernie?

-Don’t get ahead of yourself. You are already working on it, and I’m sure that as soon as these people see that their little stunt hasn’t worked, they will stop.

-I hope you are right. Ace would drop dead on the spot if he knew about what’s going on. – she could almost see his disapproving glares and disgusted smirks, making her feel so small, so insignificant. But she also knew that as macho as he always acted, he wouldn’t have the strength to put up with all of this, he wouldn’t fight for what was right, he would simply shut it all down and bow down to all those bastards trying to intimidate him. She was far from that sort of woman, even if the doubts took hold of her every chance they got, after all, people’s lives were at stake here, not just a film and a budget.

-But he isn’t here, dear, you are. This is your studio.

-Which means I’m responsible for everyone under this roof and I’ll be dammed if I let some man-child throw a hissy fit on my doorstep. Next time I’ll shove those crosses up their asses, mark my words, Ellen.

-Oh, I can totally see you doing that. – she patted the seat next to her, the leather cold under her palm, but her smile warm and inviting. Avis didn’t protest, simply made her way to the appointed spot and let herself fall as gracefully as possible with the glass still in her hand, taking a sip once she was settled. Ellen’s expression had changed slightly, observing her friend with a raised eyebrow and a coy smile on her lips, the fear and worry that had previously overtaken her eyes, now pushed to the back. She had been caught, Avis thought. Of course, her best friend would find out about her affair, but maybe she could play it safe and keep you to herself for a bit longer, although it would be a hard task. Thinking about you brought a light blush to her cheeks, calming her racing thoughts and pressured feelings somewhat. - So… why aren’t you telling me to go back to work? What little secret are you hiding from me?

-I’m not hiding anything.

-Really? So, if I ask why Y/N came to work the other day wearing your black shawl, you are going to tell me that it was because she was cold and you simply lent it to her the night before?

-It’s not like that, Ellen. – here she was, with a screaming mob outside and fire dangling above her head and the only thing that she cared about was making sure you were not defamed in front of her. You had never been a one-night stand or some means for her to achieve an orgasm. You were everything to her; the moon, the sun, the stars, the air that she breathed, and the land she walked upon. Avis’s eyes were stern when she lifted them from the amber liquid in her glass to stare at Ellen’s endless blue ones. - She’s not like the boys from the gas station.

-But you like her.

-I do, but most importantly, she likes me back. We have… something special. She makes me feel like I matter, as if I’m human and therefore deserving of love and recognition. When I’m with her I’m a million dollars all in brand-new twenties.

-Oh, my Lord. Avis Amberg, you are in love! – that wasn’t news to her, but hearing it from someone else made her heart skip a beat, a giddy smile painting her lips. It was strange to have another person voice it so plainly, it made it so real, but the again, it was. She was madly and utterly in love with you.

-I know it’s wrong, to a certain extent, since I’m married, but everything’s just so perfect when I’m with her.

-Oh, this is wonderful! - what? Avis’s eyes were wide in surprise, the left corner of her mouth lifting in a lopsided smile as she stared dumbfounded at Ellen. It wasn’t that Ellen didn’t know about all the conquests that she carried under her belt, but somehow, she had expected her to defend the values of her marriage to Ace a bit more, but she hadn’t even tried. And that simple fact and the genuine smile that she was giving her lifted a weight of her shoulders that she hadn’t known was crushing her. – She’s a lovely girl, and she clearly is doing you a world of good. Oh, Avis, I would love to ask her to come up here to gossip about it all, but she hasn’t arrived yet.

-Y/N is not here yet?

-No. I thought it was odd, since she’s always so punctual, in her chair at seven sharp, and she always informs me if she has an appointment or if she’s feeling ill, but I had too much on my mind this morning to think about it for too long. – all the joy and warmth of this little moment was wiped out in under a second, her words cutting sharply and making that nagging and disconcerting feeling of dread rise to the surface like foam exploding from a champagne bottle. She noticed the change in her friend’s demeanour, the way her eyes unfocused for a moment, lost in a world of their own as her stance became sharp, tense under the touch of Ellen’s slender fingers on her arm. - Avis?

-She accompanied me home last night, but she didn’t stay. I heard her car drive off.

-I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she forgot to tell me about an appointment, or something came up.

-No. I had this feeling last night, I still have it now, that she should have stayed. It wasn’t because I would miss her, it was just this visceral need to keep her safe with me, as if I could protect her. – she placed the glass on the coffee table, the scotch nearly spilling over the rim and onto her pale hand. - Something’s wrong. It’s like there’s this danger right in front of me that I can’t see, and it’s somehow related to her.

-Calm down, Avis. I’m sure that all this is brought on by the circumstances and she’s in fact fine.

-You don’t understand Ellen. I felt it in my bones, in my soul that she needed to stay, that something would go wrong if she left, and I still let her walk away. What if she’s had an accident or has gone missing?

-Missing? I wouldn’t quite say that being late for work qualifies a person as missing. You are letting your thoughts get the better of you. Y/N might be at home, and you are just worrying over nothing.

-But what if she isn’t? After last night can you blame me for wondering if she’s alright?

-I suppose not. Maybe you can send someone down to her address, check it out.

-Yes, I think that would work.

She rushed to her feet, hands shaking. If something had happened to you, she would blame herself for all eternity, the image of your car smoking, crashed against a lamppost or falling down a bridge, exploding into a million pieces passing through her mind, making her heart race against her ribs. The palms of her hands were sweaty as she pulled the doors open once more, eyes landing on Miss Stinton instantly, her feet stumbling slightly as she made her way to the woman’s desk. Ellen had stood from her spot on the couch, but didn’t follow, she merely rounded the piece of furniture and headed for the window, waiting for Avis to finish her conversation with her secretary. She could not say that your tardiness wasn’t strange, but she wouldn’t go the extent of saying that you were missing, not really, but her friend seemed so sure, so worried and scared that she was doubting her own reassurances. Everything about this day was beginning to look like a macabre play and they were all performing it against their will. Someone was bound to get hurt sooner rather than later. The shrill sound of the phone ringing inside the office interrupted her train of thought, and after glancing towards Avis who was writing something down on a piece of paper while talking hurriedly, Miss Stinton nodding her head solemnly, Ellen walked quickly to pick it up. There was silence for a moment on the other side of the line.

-Mrs. Amberg’s office, how may I help you?

-Did Avis like the present we left in her garden last night? – her blood ran cold. A man’s voice spoke to her, words distorted as if a cloth was covering the bottom part of the handset, a mocking tone lacing them, deep and rumbling. They raked at her spine, freezing her on the spot without a clue what to do, what to say, but he knew she was still there, her breathing sharp and hurried against the black phone. It was them, that was the only thing clear in her mind, but them calling was most definitely a bad sign that there was something else going on. Maybe they had overlooked a detail, and it had led to this, Ellen could not be sure.

-Would… would you hold for a moment, please? – she did not wait for a response, even though she wasn’t certain she would get one. With eyes wides, she turned her body around, almost as if the world was suddenly happening around her in slow motion, knuckles white as she held hard onto the receiver. - Avis! – the woman was talking still with Miss Stinton, dismissing her call with the wave of her hand before returning her attention to something displayed on her secretary’s desk. God dammit Avis, this was far more important! Fear and anger were beginning to spread like wildfire through her limbs, overtaking the numbness and shock. - AVIS!

-What?!

-This is for you. 

She would have huffed and retorted at her friend if the sight of her pale face had not made all sorts of alarms go off in her head. The way she was holding the phone, as if her life depended on it, the fear dressing her features, made her hands tremble, her heart racing against her ribs so hard that she thought she might bruise them. There had been a slight waver to her friend’s words as she had spoken them that had brought goosebumps up all over her skin in worry. She was usually so well spoken, perfect dictation and tone lacing everything she said; this was wrong. Avis’s steps were slow, unsure at first, but Ellen’s stance did not falter, if only it got worse as she began to shake, forcing her movements to become faster, clumsier as well over the carpet. On the other side of the receiver, the man puffed his chest, his patience running thin. He had half a mind to hang up, but he could not lose the opportunity to threaten and bargain with the woman he so wanted to crush into dust. The longer this went on for, the higher the chance of them getting caught, and he could not afford such a thing to happen. He needed the girl alive until he got what he wanted, and he wasn’t planning on keeping her around past this evening. Avis’s perfectly manicured hand stretched out, palm upright to receive the phone, the plastic making contact with her skin as Ellen handed it to her, the blond rushing to cover her mouth as the other woman removed her earring before pressing the handset against her ear.

-Hello?

-You don’t seem to be a fan of fire, are you Avis? – the insolence of this man! To call her and mock her like this, filled her entire being with fury, eyes narrow and hard, locked onto Ellen’s figure but without actually seeing her. How fucking dare he! She could almost feel the way he was smiling as he addressed her, as if he held the upper hand during this conversation. He knew perfectly well that this little stunt had caused an uproar, and that she had not appreciated it in the slightest, but to call her at the office when the cable girls had every strict orders to not let any unsolicited numbers through meant this wasn’t a simple inquiry about her health, per se. Even through the cloth he was clearly using to disguise himself, Avis could hear the sounds of cars in the distance, random honks breaking the otherwise silent air around this man. She bit back with all the rage she could muster, making her words sharp, as if they could draw out blood.

-Who’s this?!

-Oh, please, do I need an introduction? I thought that my little present had been enough, but maybe I was wrong.

-Who are you?! What do you want?!

-Now, now, there’s no rush. No need to become so emotional, my dear woman. Did you like the cross? It was made out of the best wood.

-You think that a thing like that can scare me?! Well, you are wrong. I have put up with worse shit than that.

-I suspected as much. You can be so stubborn Avis. That’s why I have taken the liberty of doing something special for you. – her head was cold, ice in her veins at the sound of his words. They were dangerous, spoken in such a low deep voice that a shiver of terror ran down her back. This was it; she could feel it in her bones, the dread she had been holding onto all night spreading to every cell, from the top of her head to the tip of her fingers and toes, horror overtaking the rage that had glazed her eyes. She could see the danger she had been running away from standing before her in a dark cloak that hid its features, a sharp dagger in its hand waiting to rip her to shreds. He had caught up with her at last. Ellen’s heart dropped to her stomach the instant she saw the shift in Avis’s entire demeanour, needing to place a hand over the desk to keep herself upright as all colour drained from her friend’s face. And then those cursed words slipped out of his lips and the world crumbled around Avis. - You did not say how pretty she looks when unconscious.

-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

-So temperamental. I simply made sure to have an incentive so you would cooperate. What are you willing to do to make sure I don’t hurt this pretty young thing you seem so taken with, Avis? Would you kill? Would you die?

-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER! – she was panicking, she could not describe it any other way. Her heart was two seconds away from bursting in anger and fear, making her breaths so hurried that even though air was going through them she felt as if there was no oxygen reaching her brain. They had taken you! They couldn’t be sure she would do what they desired after threatening part of the cast and her own daughter, so they had kidnapped you. Every fibre of her being was screaming in agony at the thought of you being locked somewhere, in the dark, rats scurrying through the corners of the room while you cried and begged for help, beaten and bruised. Her heart almost bled through her clothes as she imagined your broken voice calling her name.

-I won’t if you comply with my requests.

-You think you can call me and make demands?! Who the hell do you think you are?!

-Careful, Avis, are you sure you are in a position to anger me and deny me my every wish? My finger can slip so easily and pull the trigger of my gun. – her breath hitched in her lungs, the grip on the phone so strong that she felt as if the plastic could shatter in between her fingers. She had to calm down, she couldn’t let her temper cloud her mind and risk your safety, as much as she hated being threatened and bullied. His words had left no room for hope of your release unless she complied, knowing that if he didn’t get what he wanted, he would kill you without mercy and dump your body somewhere for bears or wild dogs to eat. After a moment of resolution, she spoke again, voice quieter, levelled.

-What are your requests?!

-I knew you would understand. I want you to cancel the production of Meg for good, and to take all the rolls of film, every single scene you have, to the forest close to Hollywood station. And don’t even think of pulling any sort of tricks on me and leave some other film instead, because I will know, Avis, and I won’t hesitate to send you the girl’s head all wrapped up in tissue paper.

-If you lay a hand on her, I swear I will find you and destroy you.

-How will you achieve that when you don’t even know who I am? – he was right, she had no idea how to find him, who he was, or where he was calling from. He could be all across the country for all she knew, having used puppets to frighten them and kidnap you with the dark of the night as their cover. His words left a bitter taste on her tongue, but she could find no retort to his statement. In the background the whistle of a train echoed loudly, the sound of its wheels screeching over the tracks for a few seconds before it vanished into the distance, overpowering the silence that had otherwise been in the background throughout the entire conversation. Wherever this man was he had means of escape, she thought, but it all slipped to the back of her mind as he carried on talking. - Don’t play the hero Avis, it doesn’t suit you. Back to business. I also want you to write a binding contract handing the direction of the studio to an unknown party. Leave the name of the new owner blank but sign the document.

-I refuse to do that. One thing it’s the film and another very different is to hand out the entire company to a stranger.

-Does the studio mean more to you than Y/N? Is that what you are saying? Maybe I misinterpreted your actions, and you don’t care enough about her to save her. Makes killing her a much easier task for me.

-NO! DON’T!

-Then leave the document along with the rolls where I said before twelve, and she’ll find her merry way back to you before the day is over.

-Let me talk with her first.

-Why do people always ask for the same thing? It’s as if you don’t trust me.

-Of course, I don’t you fucking psychopath!

-Now, Avis, don’t insult me. I have half a mind to chop one or two of Y/N’s fingers to show you how a lady should behave.

-Please, don’t hurt her, just… - if only she could hear your voice, make sure you were alive, she would push through, no matter what she had to do. Just a chance to talk with you so she could make a choice between what was right and what was easy. This agony that had taken her heart hostage was suffocating, forming a lump in her throat as she fought to keep her voice as steady as possible, slow so he wouldn’t think she was begging more than she already was. - just let me talk with her.

-I suppose I can grant you that. Alright. – there was a ruffling sound on the line, followed by the scratching of something metallic over rough ground, probably cement Avis thought, before it all stopped and the voice of the man reached her ears, the cloth gone from the handset. It sounded familiar, deep, with a gentle tilt around certain letters. She was sure she had heard it before, but it was too far away for her to pinpoint exactly who it belonged to; maybe she was wrong altogether and she was simply trying to find someone to blame all this for that wasn’t herself. - Here, say hello to your mistress.

-Avis? – if she had been shot straight through the heart it would have hurt less. You sounded so weak, so scared and she could do nothing to ease your pain and fears. Tears were pooling on the corner of her eyes, blurring her vision and making Ellen’s shaky form hardly a shape, just blobs of blue tones. The blond was barely holding on as it was, hand on her chest as if that could help her galloping heart slow down.

-Y/N! Oh, God, are you okay? Can you tell me where you are? I shouldn’t have let you leave last night. It’s all my fault.

-Avis, listen to me. Don’t give him shit. You finish that film and show it to the world, and you make sure that everyone knows what these jerks did to try and stop it, what it took. I don’t care if I never make it out of this room; I will die for your chance to fuck them over, and I’ll do it proudly. Just don’t give in. Ever.

-You bitch! – flesh collided with flesh, resonating against the walls of the prison he was keeping you in. The slap had left a sting on your cheek, making your wounds bleed again, dripping hot crimson blood over what once was porcelain skin, now black and blue. She could not get it out of her mind, the sound of your pain, the angry voice of this man, echoing in Avis’s head. It felt as if she had been the one hit, shot over and over without giving her the chance to protect herself, her heart being ripped out of her chest, killing her as a whimper made its way out of your mouth, miserable in the silence that should have accompanied you, but he was moving, maybe circling you, his footsteps hard against the ground. Calling out your name was an involuntary reflex that slipped from her red lips.

-Y/N!

-Don’t look for me, Avis! Don’t let them win! I LOVE YOU!

-Y/N! Y/N!

The line went dead. It didn’t matter how many times she slammed the plunger not a sound came through, your voice the last thing remaining in her ears. It was agony to know that she had put you in harm’s way unknowingly, that your life depended on one single choice that happened to be the most important and most difficult she could make in her life. She did not know whether she wanted to cry or scream, this pain that was clawing at her heart was so raw and profound that it was snatching the air out of her lungs. She had had you in her hands and she had let you slip through her fingers. This was her fault, everything her own stupid fault! If Ellen had not held onto Avis’s upper arms the woman would have collapsed onto the floor, the strength the blond possessed managing to sit her on the couch, the receiver dangling from the desk, forgotten as bitter, sorrowful tears finally broke through Avis’s eyelashes and began to fall. They burnt the same scorching fire she had felt coming from the cross. But the clock was ticking, seconds were passing, minutes following close by and your life hung by a deadline that she had to meet if she wanted you safe. But your words bounce against her skull, making the mental pain so physical that her limbs ached in anguish. “Don’t look for me”. Through her blurry vision, she locked eyes with Ellen, grief lacing her every word.

-Go find Dick. Now.

 Your head was pounding as your eyes blinked open, the semi-unconscious state you were still in making the pain so distant around your body. It was as if you were floating outside of it, but it was short-lived. The world around you swayed from side to side, in circles that made you dizzy, as the confusion of what had happened twirled like rivulets around your many thoughts, snippets of the conversation floating senselessly in your mind as your eyes tried to refocus on the room. It was still the same, dark and gloomy, drops of condensation falling in a steady rhythm from some corner or other, the musty damp smell assaulting your nose along with the metallic stench you were bathed in. Nothing had changed except for the flame that was now burning bright in the oil lantern, allowing you to see the figure of the man sitting opposite your place in the middle of the room, the shadows still hiding his face from you. You did not need to see him to know that he was angry. The simple action of turning your head to observe the floor left you close to unconsciousness again, a sharp pain coming from your temple down to your neck rendering you useless, weak before his predatory eyes. Why had he hit you? You could feel the leftover sting on your manhandled skin, but could not make sense of the why, of anything that was going on in your head, frustrating and disconcerting you as you found yourself as lost as when you had first woken up in here. If only you could calm yourself enough so the pieces of your abused mind could fall into place.

Without warning the man stood, his body towering over yours, the previously bloodied clothes long gone, replaced by a pristine brown suit, but there was one thing wrong. His left shoe was stained in your blood. Of course, you had told Avis not to listen to him and he had got angry, hitting you on the side of your head with his foot after he had slammed the phone against the ground. Little pieces of beige plastic were still scattered on the floor you saw, in between puddles of your own blood, the stains dark against the dirty grey concrete. Everything was falling into place. The conversation, what had happened in front of your building last night, the punches and pushes as he asked you question after question and you didn’t give him the answer he was so looking for. He was running out of time and was becoming increasingly furious at your lack of cooperation, his steps getting closer to you with each passing second. To say that you weren’t scared would have been a lie, the terror spreading all over your body, inch by inch, but you were also determined to succeed in your endeavour. Avis had to finish the film and show the world that the KKK held no power over them, no matter how many threats and blood was spilt, the people had to fight for freedom. If you had to die to achieve it, so be it. At least you had got the chance to tell her that you loved her.

And that simple action made his blood boil; it was clear in his hard cold eyes. They shone so bright amongst the shadows, lies dressed in sky blue to lure you in before he could deliver the final blow. Sweat ran down your arms, beads forming on your forehead that fell in slow motion over your cheeks, from the tip of your nose and fell over the scrapes on your legs, stinging, but you didn’t make a sound. Not this time. His fingers ghosted over your injured shoulder, the heat emanating from him contrasting with how cold you felt, his hand moving up to your neck, but he never actually touched you. Perhaps he didn’t wish to stain his expensive shirt, you thought bitterly. He kept circling you, watching your staggering breaths, a quiet hissing sound breaking from inside you with each puff of air, drinking in the way your body shook even if he wasn’t touching you, harming you in any way, not that he didn’t desire to crush that pretty skull of yours under his shoe. The need to win was overly intoxicating to him, like a drug that was speeding through his system, pumping adrenaline up to his brain. He needed to win, he would ensure he took the studio from her, and the instant that happened, no black person would set foot inside his domains. He would handle Ace when the time came. He was giving you his back, shoulder square, as he observed the flame before he turned around and grabbed your face roughly, a yelp mixing with a painful whimper as the pads of his fingers dug deep over your wounds. The pain blurred your vision as tears gathered behind closed eyelids.

-You think you are so clever, playing this game that you can’t win. Why did you even bother to give her false hope? I will get what I want even if I end up with two dead bodies in my hands.

-All that ego and self-assuredness might come back to bite you in the ass… sir.

His hand released your face, relief washing through every cell in your body, but it was short-lived. Square on the chest his foot made contact with your flesh, the hard sole leaving a bloody imprint on the fabric of your dress. There was no air in your lungs, only agony that spread like wildfire all along your ribs and sternum preventing you from breathing, miserably gasping in failed attempts to get this torture to end. In slow motion, your body tilted back, and it wasn’t until your arms collided against the cold, hard ground, crushing them under the weight of your body and the back of the chair that you realised he had not only hit you, but pushed you as well. From your raw throat, a scream tore through the abused cords, saliva mixing with blood in your mouth as the sound echoed against the bare walls. You had never in your entire life felt something like this, the way your bones seemed to be made out of glass, breaking and shattering all around you, your skin ripping and falling off your body, muscles melting in the scorching white fire that enfolded you, organs failing at doing the most mundane of tasks. The blow could not kill you but if he decided to end your misery now you would have considered it an ounce of mercy that this heartless son of a bitch was willing to give you. But alas he thrived in making you feel like a piece of dirt in his eyes, and he had no intention of destroying you. Not yet anyway. He squatted and bent until his face was inches from yours, a maddening smile on his thin lips as your eyes battled against the spasms that tormented your body, focusing after a moment, finally able to see his features under the flickering light of the flame.

-Remember that your life is not the only one at stake here, Y/N. You failed to tell me how to end her, so now I’m obligated to go and ensure that Avis does what told, making me lose precious time. I do not like being played with and I do not wish for things to get any messier, it takes so much work to clean up after, so be a good girl and stay put and quiet. – it could not be. He had been around you and Avis for years, his glances and discriminatory words floating around the studio as if he was addressing the state of the stock market, and neither of you hadn’t suspected a thing, but of course, it had to be him, no one else gained something from making so much noise about this entire situation. It had made no sense, but laying here now, your body broken and bleeding in despair, mind foggy and dizzy as the pain still rippled through your veins, you realised that everything that had led up to this moment, that first instant that had sparked it all, had been staring at you from the very beginning. You should have seen it coming, you thought, his breath stinking of alcohol and those dammed cigars that you despised so much, but he had played his cards too well, hiding in plain sight. No one would have thought it could have reached this point. Coming to stand to his full height he observed you manically, eyes almost twitching as he assessed you, thinking about what he could do with you before his shoe collided with your head again and the world turned black. Perhaps next time he knocked you unconscious you would not wake up, he thought gleefully, a trickle of your blood falling from your nose onto the concrete. – Well, no one is going to hear you now for sure.

On the wall the clock ticked, marking each passing second as a companion to Avis’s steps over the carpet, a constant rhythm that grated on her nerves as the anguish that had overtaken her senses clouded her mind. The skin around her nails was bitten, broken and in some areas bleeding slowly around the bright red of her nails, stains of her lipstick marking the spots where her mouth had made contact with her fingers, anxiety bringing forth a habit she had tried to quit since little. Every thought was a turmoil of emotions and actions that left her confused, unsteady on her feet, pacing up and down her office while Dick and Henry argued over this and that, background noise to her. She could not get your voice out of her mind, the way the pain laced every word, the way she could hear the rawness of your throat and the whizzing of your breathing against the receiver. It was like a dagger was slicing through her chest with every passing second, digging deeper and deeper, staining her clothes in sticky hot blood, dripping from her hands in agony as the conversation replied in her mind with no chance of escape. She had never meant for any of this to happen, to put you in harm’s way like this when the only thing her heart desired was to simply be with you. She should have known that Meg would bring consequences of this calibre, she should have been prepared, and yet she was caught completely off guard by it all, cursing her own existence as the sound of your pleading but determined words banged against her skull. The touch of a gentle pair of hands on top of her shoulders forced her to halt her train of thought, turning her head slightly to the right to see Ellen’s kind eyes staring back at hers.  

-Why don’t you sit down? You are going to wear a hole in the carpet with all this pacing.

She was right. The constant motion all over her office was not doing anything at calming her nerves, she wasn’t even paying attention to what Dick was saying, ideas and questions that flew over her head and never received an answer. She could not afford to let her mind get lost in her grief, she had to push it all aside and find a way. She could not lose you; it would kill her. The blond’s tender touch and warm smile made it easy for Avis to turn her body away from the doors, walking in between the coffee table and the couch until Ellen pushed her slowly against the leather, letting her body fall over the cushions. It was a beautiful contrast to the battlefield inside this room the way that her friend’s voice never rose in volume, never berated her or asked things of her that Avis knew she could not give, it was as if two polar opposites were residing inside this office and she was caught in between them, the compassion that exuded from Ellen’s body with each movement she made, settling herself beside the ginger on the couch and the tumultuous and loud atmosphere that surrounded the two men, like a fire that was sure to consume her if she got too close. Her brown eyes watched them all, but her ears could not pick up words or sentences, only the rage that poured out of Dick and the nonchalant air that came from Henry’s uncaring eyes. He didn’t understand, he didn’t know Y/N like they did, like she did; to him, she was just a name with no face that he would not cry about at the end of the day. And that single thought fuelled the fire that had stood dormant in her chest, exactly what she had needed to spring into action, the previous hazy world around her now moving at the speed of light, eyes locked furiously on the two males that still ranted before her.

-We can’t just let that man get what he wants! This film is far too important, you’ve said it a thousand times, Dick!

-That was before a woman’s life was on the line! We can’t just simply say no to his demands and let him kill her! For God’s sake Henry, think a little!

-I am thinking, you are the one who’s letting his emotions fill your argument! If we give him the film and the studio what guarantees us that that girl won’t be killed anyway?!

-Nothing, but that doesn’t mean that we have to abandon her! We can’t just give up! What do we do, Henry, don’t put up a fight and try to make a deal? Or reach an agreement so a woman won’t fucking die?!

-We listen to her! The girl told us not to give into his demands, isn’t that right Mrs. Amberg? – everyone’s eyes were on her, waiting, breaths held. The girl is really what he addressed you as? It’s that what he thought of you, that you were just some random girl the studio had hired? You had a name, you were not just a number on a long list of paychecks that had to be delivered at the end of the month, and she refused to let him forget it. With a deep sigh, Avis finally spoke for what seemed like the first time in hours.

-Y/N said to make the film, to show it to the world.

-See?

-But we won’t.

-What?! – she closed her eyes at the sound of his raised voice, grimacing at the sound for a moment. She understood that this was his big opportunity, that this film would put him out there as a producer and cancel it meant going back to the position he had all his life, but she couldn’t quite comprehend why he was so adamant about continuing when everyone else seemed to understand that the best thing was to halt it all, maybe even to end it here and now, that this wasn’t just a threat and a menacing phone call. A woman had a gun to her head for all she knew. His unwillingness to see that this was the right choice unnerved and angered Avis, but she tried her best to keep her voice steady and neutral.

-I don’t care about how much this fucking movie might change the world or help the minorities. That was the main argument before, but not now. I am not willing to lose her for something that will end up picking up dust on a shelf once theatres either stop showing it or refuse to do it in the first place.

-You can’t be serious! We’ll lose all the money we’ve invested, all the money that we’ve given to those magazines to cover up for your indiscretions. Everything down the drain when this girl told us to carry on! This is insane!

-No! What’s insane is how willing you are to throw her under the bus! This is a person we are talking about, a fucking human being that means the entire fucking universe to me! I don’t care how many rolls of film get burnt, or if the entire building collapses as long as we get her out of wherever that psychopath has her!

-And the studio? Do we hand that to him on a silver platter as well? What would Mr. Amberg say if he woke up and saw that his life’s work was in the hands of some stranger?!

-BUT HE’S NOT HERE! THIS IS MY STUDIO AND I HAVE THE LAST WORD! – the glass of scotch she had left on the table shook under the force with which she slammed her fist over the wood, creaking slightly where her hand was resting. She was fucking exhausted of everyone bringing up her husband any chance they got. She was in charge now, not him, and she couldn’t give less of a fuck about what he would do or not do! She was not going to let anyone get killed for a fucking film, no matter how important it may be! She was Avis fucking Amberg, not some random clerk from a shop, and she would be dammed fi she was going to let anyone tell her what to do and then hit her with the “What would Ace say” card when things didn’t go their way. This was her choice to make, and only hers, and she had already made up her mind about the whole situation he instant that man had phoned. If henry didn’t like it, he could quit and cry about it in his own fucking house like the child he seemed to be. Inside the room silence filled every crack and crevice, the only sound that could be heard being Avis’s angry hurried breaths and the ticking of the clock, a constant reminder that the longer this argument took the closer you were to Death. Dick could not even bring himself to speak, shock clear in his face at Avis’s sudden outburst while Henry’s words rang in his head like a broken record. This was such a mess.   

-So that’s it? You were so willing to carry on and now… puff… we bend over the desk and let them fuck us?! And here I thought that you would change things Avis. What a fool I was.

-Why can’t you understand, Henry, that this is no longer about the studio or the film? This is a personal vendetta against all of us, against me, and Y/N doesn’t deserve to die because of it.

-Except that she clearly stated she would take one for the team and protect you, the studio, and Meg. You told us she said to not look for her, that she would die proudly if it meant inching closer to destroying these people. Do you really want to risk everyone and everything for her!?

-Henry. – Ellen’s voice held none of the warmth she had used with Avis, quite the opposite. Her tone was a warning one, as if she was giving him the chance to retract himself and leave it all be before he said something he would regret, but he could not stop now that he had began to pour all his frustrations out. He might get fired for this, he thought, but he had to protect his interests, his own future and that of the studio, even if it meant standing up to Avis and Dick.

-No, Ellen. Her life is not the only one hanging on by a thread! Archie and Camille could have been easily murdered. Hell, you and your daughter could have been shot in the middle of the night while in bed, Avis! If we give up now, if we give in, the world will still be the same, with its injustices, its reign of terror and fear, with no chance of fixing that which we have broken in the first place. Nothing will have changed, and the girl might still die.

-Enough, Henry! I wouldn’t do it; I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but this is personal now.

-God, Avis, you are being unreasonable! If this is all just a vendetta against you and not just a persecution for breaking the Hays Code, who even would gain something by doing all this, huh, tell me?! Who would want to kidnap her and make such demands?!

-Someone from the studio.

Dick’s words echoed in the room for a few seconds, ringing curiously inside her head before a commotion in the hallway made it fall to the back of everyone’s mind. Miss Stinton voice reached their ears, distressed, struggling hard to keep someone away from the office, but it was a lost battle, and with a huff and the sound of her back colliding with the edge of the desk, Lon’s figure crossed the threshold as if he owned the place, briefcase in hand and that look of superiority bathing his features. God, not him, Avis thought. She could not deal with him right now. He would start talking all his bullshit, making them lose precious time, trying to convince her of doing things his way as if that was the only logical option, and she really didn’t want to lose her temper and tell him anything about what was going on with Y/N. She could almost see him using that information to berate her and act like the entitled son of a bitch he was. Her hand still laid on the table in a fist, but her eyes didn’t land on it, they observed the liquid amber that was still left in the glass, a rim of the spilled drink surrounding it, probably staining the wood already. In frustration she picked it up and took a sip, her body partially turned away from him since Henry was standing before her big desk, opposite the doors.

-Don’t get up.

-I won’t. – her eyes rolled of their own accord, his voice already grating on her nerves as his feet firmly planted over the edge of the carpet, standing before them as he tried to make himself seem taller, bigger. Did he think he stood a chance of cowering Avis down by using that macho act? Dick had to give it to him if he truly thought he could. He supposed that being delusional could be an acquired skill after so many years of being a cunt.

-In light of recent events I’ve come to inform you that production on Meg must be halted.

-Didn’t I fire you weeks ago? - The fucking cheek he had to use that condescending tone in her own office!  

-You don’t have that power. I work for Mr. Amberg.

-That is out of line. – Dick stepped in like a spring, getting closer to the man in hopes of stopping him from heading the way he knew he was heading. The air was thick with tension, hot air swaying in between them as Avis’s frame became straighter on her spot, the grip on her glass so hard that Ellen was nearly counting the seconds it would take to shatter.

-Refusing to shut this picture down is out of line. Mrs. Amberg leaves me no option but to take legal action.

That was it! She had put up with him for years, smiling politely at his comments, swallowing her pride each time he jabbed at her lack of a job or power, laughing at her with his smirks and stabbing words about Ace’s affairs. She had been a lady and had taken it all for the sake of the studio, of her husband’s reputation. He was a cruel, perverted man, that much became clear when he had tried to get his way with you at the New Year’s Eve party, but after Ace’s heart attack he had become so full of himself, as if the world owed him and he could get whatever he wanted with just one word. He had tried his best to wear her down enough that she would quit, and she had considered it once or twice, but for him to come here when she was already furious enough about everything that was going on and tell her that he was taking this to a fucking judge! She couldn’t do whatever she fucking desired in her own fucking studio?! The glass in her hand was slammed onto the table once more, the scotch dripping off the rim as she stood in fury, Ellen’s hands stretching to grab her, but to no avail; she was too far away.

-This is my studio.

-I recognise that this is emotional for you. With all that’s been happening, you are not thinking clearly.

-Oh. – he was trying to play a game of fake sympathy, she noticed, the term emotional tilting slightly as he said it, almost mockingly. Two could play at that. Lulling her head gently to the side she smiled sweetly at him, lacing her every word with a fake kindness and sugary tone, dripping thickly like honey over his entire body, purposely tripping him. - A woman makes a decision and suddenly she’s irrational.

-No, no, That’s not… I didn’t mean to…

-Yes, you did! You waltz in here whenever you desire to remind me that you are there, always watching. – every step was meticulously planned, slow in execution, but it made him visibly shake as the gap between them became less and less. Yes, Lon, fear me, she thought, you will all know who I am, soon enough. -By the time you get your ducks in a row for our little date in court, my picture will be in the can. – anger glazed his eyes, fingers twitching around his briefcase, but he didn’t raise a hand to her, no matter how much he desired to. Avis’s triumphant smile was almost too much for him, the way she thrived in her victory, but he could not let his temper get the best of him; no, she had made her choice, and he would abide by her wishes. No one in the room moved, no one dared speak as the tension built higher, close to a breaking point. Her big brown eyes raked over his face wishing she could photograph and frame his expression, taking notice of an injury on his cheek, as if he had been scratched, the wounds fresh and reddened over his pale skin but she didn’t care much for it. It was the sudden change in his features that disturbed her, the way his eyes turned darker, manic almost, as if he had got exactly what he wanted from her, opening a door for him that she could not see. The dread that had accompanied her all morning spiked as his semblance obscured, almost as if she could smell danger in the air, but before it all sank in, he was gone in a wind whirl of brown, the flaps of his jacket ruffling as he walked down the hallway. - See you in court, Lon!

Henry’s smile could have lit up the entire building, no, the whole city, as she watched Lon leave before turning her body around. Ellen and Dick stared at the door for a few moments, shocked, the latter with his arms crossed over his chest in offense, before their eyes moved and settled on Avis’s form. She hoped this little stunt would keep him off her back for some time. There were too many things she had to worry about, and she couldn’t deal with him knocking on her door every five minutes to demand things from her.

-So, we are doing it? – oh, well, fuck. She sighed deeply, a hand travelling to her forehead to rub the skin as this pressure began to build behind her eyes, a headache developing. Her words had been clear as day, there was no room for mistakes or misunderstandings, no wonder the man had seemed so happy. She hated to burst his bubble, but it was obvious that she had misstepped, and needed to retreat back to what the conversation had been before Lon had so unexpectedly barged in.

-No, Henry, we are not doing it, I already told you this. The film is going to be cancelled.

-Then why the hell did you say that to Mr. Silver?!

-To get him off my case! You’ve seen him, you know how he behaves when he’s in here. I was not going to miss the chance to shut him up and get him off my back before he found out about the kidnapping as well. We can’t afford to lose more time than what we’ve already lost with this stupid argument!

-It’s not stupid! The studio has invested too much in Meg to just destroy it!

-And I have invested too much in what I have with Y/N to betray her and let her die! What would you do if the love of your life had a gun to her head, Henry? Would you let the executioner pull the trigger without putting up a fight? Wouldn’t you do anything to save them even if it hurt to give in?

-I… I… - he didn’t know what to answer to that. Avis’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, making them look so big but so broken that something inside him seemed to crack. His mind had been so clouded by the ambition, the need to prove that the film could become his first great work, that he was worth the title of producer, that it had blinded him. They were right, a roll of film wasn’t worth the murder of innocent people, though he had to admit that hearing Avis declare herself before them all without caring about the open doors was not something he had imagined would ever happen. No one like Avis would ever do something of this sort unless her heart was involved somehow. The back of his knees hit the armrest of the couch, his body sitting on it gently as with his hands he rubbed his face before threading his fingers through his hair in defeat. Giving his back to the room he did not see how Ellen had stood and taken Avis by her hands, steading the woman, nor the way Dick rubbed her back and whispered to her in an attempt to calm her racing heart, one single tear rolling down her cheek. – I don’t know what I would do.

-You would try to find out who did it, - her voice was stern, hard in the delivery of each word, as if she was throwing them at Henry, but upon noticing his defeated stance her voice became gentler, though it didn’t lose that anger that seemed to be part of her at this point. She was just so tired. - but we don’t have that kind of time now, so you simply give them what they want.

-And even if we had time we wouldn’t even know where to start. Who is he? How does he know so much? Why is he doing all this?

-I already told you. -Dick moved away from both women, pouring himself a drink before heading back to the couch, glass resting on top of the leather after taking a sip. - It’s someone from the studio; there’s no other possibility.

-If that is so…

-Let me explain myself first, Ellen. – the woman nodded her head to let him continue, dropping the other woman’s hands to sit herself down after she had pointed at the couch with her head and her friend had shaken hers politely. After so many years Avis had realised that she could think better when she was in motion, her feet moving from side to side as she listened intently to what Dick had to say. Henry had perked up as well, looking over his shoulder. – It has to be someone who knows what’s going on with Ace, otherwise, they would not risk asking Avis to hand out the studio just like that. True that this doesn’t mean that they work here, but during the phone call that man said that he would know if we gave him the wrong film. He must have some way of watching it and some way of checking that we don’t have Meg anymore. Someone inside this building has access to the necessary equipment and to the vaults where the rolls as stored, but it can’t be some boy from the canteen or some script reader. The only logical answer that I can find is that the person who has Y/N and left those crosses is someone close to us who will gain everything he’s ever wanted by getting you, Avis, to cancel Meg and give him the company.    

-That doesn’t leave that many people. Most of the crew working on the film don’t possess enough wit and power to even consider pulling such a stunt, so that leaves, us and Ace’s boys. We can’t consider some of our business partners because they haven’t called to inquire about any of this yet, so they might not know, besides, what would they do with a studio when they are lawyers and finance people?

With her eyes cast down towards the floor, she could not help feeling that Dick was right, that the answer was right in front of them, as if something was preventing her from figuring it all out, a piece of the puzzle missing from her sight and yet so close. The pads of her fingertips patted her lower lip, her left hand on her hip as she paced over the carpet with slow steps letting his words sink into her brain. If Dick was right and it was someone they knew, they might have given this man information willingly, from deep secrets about the studio to loopholes that they were using to make films at lesser costs, not to mention all the personal things they might have shared. And in all that she was not counting what Ace might have said to this unknown man. But the clock was still ticking, and they had to gather the film, and inform everyone that the picture was cancelled all while she still had to write a contract that some solicitor was willing to sign, twelve o’clock getting closer and closer faster than she wanted. The carpet was of a light beige tone, and it complemented the dark wood of the room beautifully, but that harmonious balance of colours was disturbed by a stain in the shape of a shoe. She grunted in disgust, crouching to get a better look at it, noticing that although it was dark there was a certain reddish tone to it. Her heart hammered against her ribs as with trembling hands the finger that had been around her hip touched the substance, wet on her skin.

It was recent. Coming to stand all the chatter that had filled the office dropped into a silence so deep that she could have heard a pin drop, curious looks falling on her body.  Under the light of day that was coming from the window her fingers shone with a deep ruby tone, and upon sniffing the thick liquid her nose picked up the strong metallic essence that she knew so well. There was a blood stain on her carpet. In shock she took a couple of steps back, the emotion written all over her face as she kept her hand at a distance from her body. Dick and Henry took notice of the way Avis was holding herself and rushed to ask what was wrong, but she could not find the words to say it, simply pointing with crimson fingers at the stain. Oh, God, she had someone’s blood on her skin! Her frame shook, rushing to take a handkerchief out of her pocket and wipe her fingers as clean as she could. Her mind was working overtime now, thinking of who could have stepped in here with stained shoes, noting that neither Dick nor Henry’s were dirty in the slightest, but the footprint was clearly that of a man and the only other person that had set foot in this room all morning had been…

There was a spark in her synapsis, as if two loose cables had finally met. Of course, she knew what was behind all this, he had never been quiet about how much he hated her and how much he had wanted her out of his way, but to think he would reach this point to get what he wanted? She had suspected he was part of the KKK ever since he had voiced his disagreement at Ace hiring black people at the studio, the threats and disappearances that would happen soon after her husband dismissed his “worries”. It had been happening for years, and no one had taken notice because it hadn’t affected them, but he was escalating things now, and he wasn’t being subtle or quiet about it. In her head she replayed the entire conversation she had just had with him, analysing every detail, from the way he had carried himself to the delivery of each word, looking for anything that could confirm it was him and that she was not in the wrong here. His entire behaviour had turned so dark and dangerous after she had told him she was going to carry on with the film, a reaction she had not expected in the slightest when she was used to temper tantrums like him bursting out of the room or threats that he would speak to Ace. That entire act he had put on just now was that of a completely different person. Her body was shaking, remembering the way his tongue had tilted slightly when he had said the word “emotional”, the exact same way the voice on the phone had tilted his, and as the realisation sank in, she felt her knees grow weak and her legs give up on her, her body falling on top of the couch cushions.

She had been so sure she had heard that voice somewhere before, that she knew the man it belonged to, but to become aware that the person she had heard when the cloth had been removed from the receiver was him felt like a bucket of freezing water had been poured over her head. Everything and everyone were absolutely blurry around her, like the world was speeding while she remained still, frozen in time with her eyes glued to the redness she had not been able to wipe from her fingers. He had played her, and she had fallen straight into his trap. She had been an absolute fool to think that he had been treating her this way out of spite because Ace hadn’t left him in charge, when it was obvious he had been working slowly on this whole thing for years, gaining more power with each conversation he had with her husband until he had found the perfect opportunity to strike. With her out of the way, Meg cancelled and him as head of the studio, he only had one obstacle left that he could conveniently get rid of with one simple chat with Ace’s doctor. He had been meticulous, organizing and planning every step down to a t, but at the same time he had been messy, perhaps he had begun to get nervous and that had caused him to slip up, the simple detail of a stain on her carpet exactly where he had stood moments ago, shattering his perfectly crafted cover up.

 There was no doubt in her mind. The cross was but a warning that something worse was coming, and as Dick and Henry pointed at the floor and told Ellen in serious voices that it was blood, the blond woman nearly fainting on the spot, Avis felt the weight of the words crushing her. He had your blood on his shoes, she had your blood on her fingers, wet and sticky over her skin. It was cold to the touch, yes, but it was recent, just like the scratches on his cheeks, meaning she might still have the chance and time to find you before the appointed time and in extent to not have to give in to this man’s demands. Without thinking about it twice she jumped off the couch, the sound making both men turn their heads away from the floor to look at the fury that burnt Avis’s whole body.

-I know who’s doing all this. – their expectant eyes bore holes into her body, but she didn’t care. Her hands had turned into fists, knuckles white while her face became red with rage, every word she said next spat with as much venom as she could muster from deep within her. – It’s been Lon fucking Silver all along.

-What? Are you sure, Avis? That’s a very serious actuation.

-I have never been so sure of anything in my life, Dick. That son of a bitch has my girlfriend somewhere in this city and I’m going to find her! I don’t care what it takes, but that man won’t see the light of day if I have a say in it. – she was going to fight this until her last breath, for you, for herself, for everyone in the studio and for her right to do whatever she desired in her own fucking house! She was even fighting for Ace at this point, regardless of the life they had had together, she wasn’t going to lose everything he had fought so hard to create to a man that had threatened their daughter. With her hand digging hard into the younger man’s arm she locked eyes with him. - Henry, I need you to find me a list of properties under Lon’s name, can you do that?

-I know a guy who owes me. Give me fifteen minutes and I can give you the homes of his parents and cousins as well.

-Get to it, then. – her steps were determined, hard against the floor, and she did not stop walking until she was standing behind her dark wooden desk, Henry dialling an unknown number. The sun shone from the window opposite the door, bright beams breaking through the glass and bathing her in the hot light, but she did not feel it. The rage and fury that was coursing through her veins and that consumed her every cell could match the fire of every star in the universe, her palms firmly pressed against the table as her eyes lifted forward to look at Ellen and Dick, their expressions serious. - Avis Amberg has just entered the playing field.

A droplet of water fell from the ceiling, its crystal surface reflecting the light of the flame as it flew slowly through the air. Another one followed soon after, it’s gentle surface tense as it fell. And another, all freezing to the touch, sliding easily down to the floor. The tapping rhythm danced around your ears, a comforting sound although, as your mind began to wake up, the feeling wasn’t so, slimy water running over your cheek, making it past your lips without touching them, but only barely. It didn’t feel as if you had been unconscious for too long this time, maybe your body was getting used to it, but soon it would reach a point from which you would not return. The light of the flame flickered in senseless shapes through your still-closed eyelids, casting shadows that you didn’t want to face. He might be hiding among them. But everything was quiet around you, there was no sign that he was still in the room or somewhere in the vicinity, only your ragged breathing and the tapping of the water droplets breaking the deafening silence. You could not decide if you preferred it this way. Trying to move brought on a wave of agony that sliced through every muscle and bone in your body, forcing you to stop what little you had done to catch your breath as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You felt weak, useless, and knowing that he had gone to talk with Avis, left a void of despair and worry that threatened to consume you, and you just didn’t have the strength to fight the dark. But as you turned your head, hissing at the way your shoulder and neck throbbed you saw it. Sunshine was coming through the ajar door.

Against your bruised ribs your heart raced, battling against your sternum for release as your eyes locked onto a ray of hope. He must have accidentally left it like that when he left. You didn’t know how long it would take him to get to the studio and back, but if you could get on your feet, you might have the chance to at least make out into the street or wherever you were. It might be your one and only chance, no matter the pain. The chair you were tied to proved to be a most inconvenient obstacle, but the knots that held the ropes in place around your wrists were too strong for you to try and release your hands from, so you would have to make do. Turning your body onto your right side would be the best option, you thought, even though that was the side where your dislocated shoulder was; a small price to pay for freedom. The first attempt left you panting and still on your back, cursing at the heaviness that had gathered in your limbs, but you weren’t going to give up. With your feet flat against the ground, or as flat as you could get them, and using your palms and elbows for leverage, you pushed against the concrete, your core contracting hard as you made use of your abs to give yourself the last needed thrust, meeting cold dirty floor against your cheek, your arm squashed under your bodyweight. Yes! But the victory was only in your mind for a second or two before a hot white fire spread from the tips of your fingers to the top of your head, making tears run down your cheeks in anguish and pain. The feeling left you completely drained, a scream wanting to escape from your chapped and bloodied lips, but you couldn’t draw any attention to yourself; you still weren’t sure he wasn’t around somewhere, and had to be very careful, which also meant quiet.

After a few moments of catching your breath, a dull pressure building underneath your lungs, the pain began to subside enough for your eyes to focus on the door. It was right there, maybe three or four feet from you, if you could only get up, the worst part would be over. You hadn’t noticed the way you were rolling in puddles of your own blood, the movements careless as they made wounds that had stopped bleeding hours ago begin to seep crimson hot liquid over your ruined dress and purple skin. The taste of metal was beginning to overwhelm your tongue as you swallowed what little saliva you were producing, reducing the soreness and dryness of your throat a little. Laying on your side you realised you wouldn’t be able to stand this way, your arm unable to be used as leverage, but your mind was working overtime against an invisible clock and the idea of laying on your front and trying to kneel didn’t seem so stupid after thinking about it for a moment. You wouldn’t be losing anything by trying. Slowly you pressed the side of your chest onto the ground, releasing your arm from under your body, and practically let the weight of the chair finish turning you around. This step had been the easiest of them all, but you could not stay like this for too long. As much as you needed the rest, the metal would end up crushing you, so after sending a prayer up to the heavens, your feet lay flat on the ground. The posture was weird, to say the least, but you weren’t being photographed by the New York Times, the only thing that mattered was getting your legs to cooperate and push your body into a sitting position, from then on standing would be child’s play.

But the chair pushed you back onto the concrete again and again, and the frustration and anger were beginning to rush through your body like lava, burning everything in its path. You had come so far, you finally had the life you had always wanted with the woman you had always dreamt of; you weren’t willing to let it all end like this, with a quick “I love you” screamed through a telephone without knowing if she was alright, if your death would even mean something to the world. It would not end this way! Adrenaline coursed through your veins and in a burst of anger, tears running down your bloodied cheeks, your legs pushed your entire body weight until they burnt, the pressure and pain in your stomach as you lifted yourself nearly making you vomit but alas you were sitting on the fucking chair facing the door through grunts and hurried pants. Your entire frame was shaking but you knew that if you stopped to breathe and calm yourself you were risking not being able to leave. The way your knees buckled as you stood, the chair forcing you to bend so you would be able to walk, nearly sent you back to the floor, but you would not allow it, and with each trembling step, the door came closer and closer until finally your eyes were able to make out a corridor bathed in warm sunlight through the crack. You could do it, if your foot slipped in between the door and the frame you might be able to push it open, but it was heavier than you thought, and the minutes passed as your legs bled and shook, your heart beating faster than ever.

You had come so far; you could not let some fucking door win. It screeched, the sound leaving a ringing in your ears, your knees and feet pushing it until at last you were able to get your left shoulder to help, delivering one final jab that allowed the hallway to come into view. The sudden burst of light inside the room forced your eyes to close for an instant, blinking slowly to adjust to it all. The walls were old, bare, except for the peeling wallpaper that left wooden beams exposed to the thick air that floated around you. The ceiling had cracks, plaster covered in black mold, and spots that marked heavy water damage, but the thing that your eyes searched for was right at the other end. A white door with a worn brass knob. Relief washed over you as through the glass you saw green trees, the pine scent almost reaching your nostrils, a weak but genuine smile creeping up on the corners of your lips. Taking one step, your bare feet felt the scratchiness of the old worn carpet, fragments of plaster and wood under your toes, but it didn’t matter. Another step and the door to a bathroom appeared to your right, tiles damaged and shattered in the darkness of the windowless room. And just as you were about to take a third step, the door less than six feet from you, the figure of a man covered the glass on the door, his brown suit visible through the cracks on the transparent glazing. Eyes watched in terror as the knob turned, and with a squeak, followed by a loud screech, you came face to face with him. For a split-second worry had covered his features, as if he had been deep in thought, but upon seeing you standing there, clearly trying to escape, it all became rage and fury, his hands slamming the door behind him as he removed his jacket. Your legs hardly responded as you tried to back away from him, but even if they had he was taller and gaining on you faster than you had anticipated, hands ready to grab you by the throat, his eyes manically wide while yours were filled with horror.  The sound of your terrified “NO!” echoed throughout the forest.

But your love never heard it. Your pleas and tears never reached Avis, no matter how loud they were, she remained deaf to the noise that echoed miles away. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel it. Her heart jumped in her chest, a strange tingling spreading all throughout her body that told her they were running out of time, almost as if she could sense your pain and agony through her own blood, feel the danger you were in. The clock on the wall kept ticking with each passing second, and she was still no closer to finding you than before she had figured out who was doing all this, the dread beginning to cloud her judgment. She had half a mind to take her car and drive all along the train tracks until she found something, however little it may be that could take her to you.

-Why is it taking so long?! Henry!

-Avis, please, let the boy do his job.

The way her hands were holding onto the edge of the desk should have made the wood shatter, fingers purple and white, her eyes remaining glued to the younger man as he wrote on a notepad while talking to some guy called Jonathan. It had been a little bit over fifteen minutes, and the appointed time to meet Lon was barely an hour away. She needed to figure out where you were, and she needed to do it now! Ellen tried to sooth her, but her hands rubbing circles on the other woman’s hand served no purpose other than to make Avis even more anxious, wishing she would stop. Dick on the other hand knew better than to try and be comforting, he simply waited on the side, nursing his glass of gin, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. Every nod from Henry, every twitch of his upper lip as his hands travelled over the paper before him, told a different story that Dick was reading. Henry was a resourceful man, he could not deny it, but he wondered how it had come to be so, why so many people owed him favours, and why he was always so ready for the payback that would soon follow.   

-Make sure that no one finds out about this. See you around, John– placing the receiver back in place, Henry stood from the chair with a triumphant smile on his face, dangling the pad in his hand as if he was holding onto a fucking Oscar. Avis tried to grab it, but he pulled it back, the woman about to bark at him only to see Dick making his way towards the boy and taking it, eyes reading the addresses provided. The young man didn’t bother asking for it back, even if she was murdering him with her eyes. –Lon has three houses here in Hollywood, one near his office, another near the studio, that apparently, he’s been furnishing lately, and another that he’s renting to some couple from Missouri that’s close to Santa Monica Boulevard.   

-None of those places have train stations or train tracks near them! I know what I heard, and I know I’m not wrong. It’s him! He must be using someone else’s place.

-If you let me finish, – she gave him a hard glare but let him continue, nevertheless. This was still an opportunity for him, she knew that she would owe him in the future, and she wouldn’t be able to say no to whatever he demanded, but if it saved your life, she would do it, as frustrating as it would be. She hated debts, and Henry could be a snake when he wanted to, a fact he was both aware and proud of. - John told me that Lon’s parents bought a property, about fifteen years ago, perhaps a mile south of Hollywood Station. It was supposed to be a retirements home, but they never remodelled it, so it’s been sitting there half-demolished since they signed the deed.   

-Where exactly? -she could recall Ace having a map of the city somewhere around his desk. He had shown it to her several times when they had discussed possible placements for their house before they had decided to buy and then renovate, or when arguing about which hotels to consider when housing foreign actors or producers. Her hands pulled drawer after drawer open, rummaging through contracts and scripts that she should have thrown away weeks ago, pens and pencil stabbing her fingers as she crumpled the papers underneath them. There were rubber bands and staplers, along with clips and other nonsense, scattered in between ink bottles that she threw onto the desk carelessly in her attempt to find the goddam thing. But it was Ellen, after Avis had squatted to open a drawer, removing about three folders and causing the documents to nearly spill onto the floor, who saw the colourful corner of a leaflet and quickly pulled on it. It read “Map of Hollywood City” in big bold white letters, and she hurriedly laid it on top of everything else while exclaiming that she had found it. At the sound Avis’s hand slammed the drawer closed and pulled herself to her full height, helping the blond unfold the huge map. All four of them hovered over the desk, but it was Henry’s hands the only ones who moved over the laminated paper.

-The train Station is right here. – he pointed at a mark close to the lower left corner. -If we travel down east for a mile or so, we get to “Ruben’s Road”. So, if we head south for maybe half a mile, about six hundred feet from the train tracks, we should find a house. Exactly in this spot. – his thin fingers hovered over the drawing of a house, alone on the edge of the woods with cursive blue writing underneath that read “Silver Cottage”. It had to be there; her eyes could not find a single other mark, all throughout the forest’s edge, that was close enough to the tracks that might make the train sound as loudly as she had heard it through the phone, and that could suggest another possible area he could have taken you to. Lifting her gaze, she smiled at Henry, but only briefly before her entire demeanour became cold, determine to get to the end of the line with this matter, her deep brown eyes filled with anticipation and resolve as they fell onto the other man’s frame. His face was concentrated on the plan ahead.

-Gather the boys, Dick, and meet me at the cottage. – she could count on him to have her back. He knew his way around guns, he had fought in the First World War; she trusted him with her life, and yours for that matter. It was a surprise though to see Henry following him out of the office so willingly, so ready to fight, but then again if everything went according to plan the film wouldn’t be cancelled and he wouldn’t lose his position as a producer. This was business for him still, but she couldn’t find it in her racing heart to care. Just as they were rounding the corner Avis raised her voice, making sure they heard her before turning all her attention back to the map. - And make sure they don’t go empty-handed!

-Wait a moment, Avis. Shouldn’t we call the police about this?

-Do you think that someone like Lon wouldn’t have friends in the Police Department, Ellen? – if she took 10th street from her house and swerved around Victoria park to go down Marie Avenues, she could get down to the station in less than five minutes, her fingers tracing the journey over the paper. - If we call, we might risk telling them about what we know, and for our plan to get to him in the first place. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to kill Y/N, and we might spend hours waiting to hear good news when in fact they’ve done nothing but cover up for him. – her eyes lifted from the desk to look at the blond, her hands trying to fold the map the best she could. - I understand that this might be too much for you, but I’m not going to sit and wait.

-But this is dangerous. We’ve never done something like this before.

-Which is why I’m giving you the choice of coming with me or staying. You don’t have to get involved more than you already are, but you are my friend, and I know that you care about Y/N, as well. I don’t want to do this alone.

Avis’s palm lay outstretched before Ellen. Rage seeped from every pore of the ginger’s body, to be fair she hadn’t felt anything else all morning, and that was fuelling most of the adrenaline that was to be blamed for what was going on, but she was also terrified, absolutely terror-stricken and she feared that the moment she got to the house, she would be left petrified in her seat, unable to do anything but hear your screams. She needed Ellen to hold her together until the very end. To say that the blond wasn’t conflicted would be an understatement, but she knew Avis, and the woman never asked for help; too proud, too hurt to do so most of the time, but knowing that even without wording it that way, she was simply asking her to be there, meant the world to Ellen. Avis had been there for her when her husband had passed, they had shared countless conversations, and evenings at each other’s place. They had cried and laughed and got absolutely smashed once or twice without a care in the world. They were sisters even if they didn’t share the same blood, and that was far more important to her than what Lon might do. She couldn’t abandon her friend now that she needed her. Her hands were sweaty, but she took Avis’s in hers, squeezing hard, a small tender smile ghosting her thin lips.

A weight had been lifted of the ginger’s shoulders, the way her entire frame breathed in relief at the feeling of Ellen’s palm on hers, speaking more than a thousand words could ever do. Now that they were on the same line, Avis grabbed her purse and walked out of the office with quick steps, pulling on Ellen’s hand. The blond was smart though and held onto the map, just in case, before letting herself be dragged along. Miss Stinton protested about meetings and what not, but neither of them listened as they rushed to the lift, the doors conveniently opening just as Avis pressed the button, wishing the contraption would move faster to the ground floor. Ace didn’t keep guns at the studio, he used to say that he liked to keep that sort of thing at home, where he might actually need them, and she had hated that so viscerally that she had thought about getting rid of them more than once and more than twice just to spite him. Now, as doors of the lift chimed open, she was glad she hadn’t, letting go of Ellen’s hand to take the keys to her Cadillac out of her purse, the blond pushing the doors open for the other woman to step through. She knew exactly which of the several models Ace kept at the mansion she was going to choose to face Lon, and she just happened to be handy with it.

She might not look like it, but when she had been little her father had taught her how to shoot, and she had been fucking brilliant, she just didn’t get into the habit of using them as she grew older. The car was intact, waiting patiently for her at the parking lot, and as both ladies settled on their respective seats, Avis saw Jack rushing to one of the other buildings through the rearview mirror, his countenance serious. Dick would have them all ready by the time she was out of the house. Turning the engine on and pulling out of the parking lot she stepped on the gas, the mob that was still gathered outside by the gates having to rush to the sides so as not to get run over, though she didn’t think it would be much of a loss. Ellen, the poor woman held onto the door, sliding over the leather whenever Avis made a turn or took a corner, wondering if she had made the right choice, but it was too late to back down now, the only thing she could see in her friends being fire. Swerving on her street, the car nearly landing on two of its wheels at the corner, Avis practically burst through the gates of her house, the old Mr. Breaton pushing them open as fast as his legs would allow all while Ellen screamed at her to be more careful or she would get them both killed. Bit overdramatic, it wasn’t as if she was driving down the freeway at 80 mph or something like that. Pulling on the hand break hard once the car was stationed before her front door, Avis worked quickly on getting out, looking for her keys, telling Ellen to wait for her and that she would only be a minute.

Like magic Gertie opened the doors, just at the right moment as well, the woman having heard the commotion and fearing that something like the nightly incident might be occurring again, but it was only her employer. Her perfectly coiffed hair was in slight disarray, a curl falling gently on the side of her head, bouncing with each rushed step she took towards her husband’s office, the wooden doors slamming against the walls. The sound didn’t bother her, but it did make Gertie jump on the spot, as her employer quickly pulled a small key from the first drawer on the left of Ace’s oak desk and hurriedly used it on a trunk under the windowsill. It was a beautiful work of art, in the words of her deceased father, and right now she could understand why. Her husband was not one to hunt, but he did like to have the necessary equipment, and the newest member of his collection was a gorgeous Ithaca shotgun, model 37 to be exact, that had never been shot since its purchase. Picking it up and feeling the heaviness of the weapon, she thought that getting rid of Lon might be a perfect way to christen, the comb and forearm, made out of a beautiful dark wood, smooth under the touch of her fingertips.     

There was no ammunition inside it, a safety precaution she had demanded Ace follow, but the box of bullets was right there, in the right bottom corner. Grabbing it she was making her way out the doors when her eyes caught a glimpse of the revolver. What they were going to do was dangerous, and Ellen wasn’t one to have weapons in her purse, so she picked it up just to be safe. Gertie had asked once what was happening and after not receiving an answer retreated to the kitchen, but the sight of Avis with a shotgun wasn’t a usual occurrence in that house, filling her up with worry. Rushing back to the front doors and slamming them close with her foot, to the best extent she could, she sat back inside her Cadillac, the engine still running, and handed everything to Ellen as she shifted into first gear and once again sped down her road towards 10th street just as she had planned back at the studio. The blond’s eyes could have popped out of her skull from how side they were looking at the weapons.  

-Oh my God, Avis! You are not planning on going in there with two guns, are you?!

-Of course not! I need both hands for the shotgun, the revolver is for you.

-What?! I don’t know how to use it!

-I know, and I most certainly hope you don’t have to, but I can’t let you go without protection. We don’t know if it’s going to be just Lon or if there’s going to be twenty men in there, I need to know that you’ll be somehow safe. Just trust me, Ellen.

What other option did she have?! This was all insane, but when didn’t things turn crazy where the KKK was involved? The journey to the Station was just as crazy as the one to her house, but now Ellen had no way of holding onto the door so she wouldn’t slide from side to side, the boxes of ammunition slipping from her fingers every few seconds. The grip Avis had on the steering wheel left her knuckles white, painfully digging into the stiches. She knew she was right; she was sure that’s where that slimy son of a bitch had you, but she could not help the doubts that assaulted her mind. If she was wrong, the real culprit would still be roaming free without any of them being even an inch closer to finding out who he was, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you once he found out she hadn’t answered any of his demands. She had no way of confirming any of it except for a gut feeling, a hunch. She hoped it was enough. At this time in the morning, the roads weren’t as empty as she had hoped for, and a couple of times cars honked as she manoeuvred and cut them off, but she couldn’t give two fucks. Approaching the station, the paths made out of cobblestones caused the car to rise and fall with each little bump, though they only had to suffer it for a minute or two, until they could head East near the gates. Avis was more careful in this part of the journey, knowing that the suspension of her car didn’t do well on roads like this one, a fact Ellen was most appreciative of, wondering just how dishevelled she looked.

It was a secondary road the one that appeared to head East, a dirty path that lifted a cloud of dust as the car drove over it. Henry had said for a mile and then she had to turn south. She felt a pressure on her chest, her breaths fast now that she was lifting her foot off the accelerator, controlling the vehicle as it moved over the rocks and stones that graced the ground under her car. Every beat of her heart felt as if rocks were falling over her shoulders, weighing her down, worry and fear overtaking part of the fury she was feeling, but she would carry on, there was no other option but for you to make it out alive. The car began to slow down as Avis’s thoughts took over, knowing that she should have put up a bigger fight last night, that she should have convinced you to stay no matter what you had said but honesty and respect were the bases of your relationship, and she hadn’t wanted to pressure you. It would have been easier if she had behaved like a bitch and had held onto you, not caring what you said or what you desired, just followed her instinct. If you died, she would never stop blaming herself. Ever. Turning South for half a mile, both ladies held their breaths as the trees began to separate more and more from each other, bringing forth a clearing where a broken-down fence circled the area where the house should be. This was it; they thought. Avis hadn’t reached the end of the road when she was turning the engine off and pulling on the hand brake, Ellen glancing her way with a questioning look.

-We’ll have to walk; I don’t want him to know we are here.

-Shouldn’t we wait for Dick and the others?

-We might not have that kind of time. We’ll check out the premises and if there’s no sign of people, or at least no sign of them being too many, we’ll go in.

-Are you sure, Avis? They might be armed as well.

-We only get one life, one chance at doing what matters, and I’m not letting her die. You can stay in the car if you’d rather wait for Dick. I would understand.

-No. I’m not letting you do this on your own. You are my friend, maybe even a sister, I’m not ditching you now.

Words hurt the same way a dagger slicing through one’s flesh could, but when said in all honestly, love and compromise enfolding them like a blanket, they could act as balm for a broken heart, soothing doubts and worries that were clearly overtaking Avis’s mind. No matter the outcome, she wouldn’t face it alone. Her hand squeezed Ellen’s softly, a kind smile painting her lips as a thank you, maybe as a farewell should they not make it, the other woman returning it just as tenderly. Determined to bring this all to an end, Avis opened her door and stepped out into the forest, her heels crushing twigs and seeds as she rounded the hood to open Ellen’s, picking up the shotgun and the bullets to let her slip out of her seat. She was not heading down the path without a loaded gun, and neither was her friend, but the blond didn’t seem to think it was necessary and she had to shoot out a hand to hold her still, handing her the revolver ammunition. Loading a shotgun was relatively easy, at least with this model. Avis only had to push the ammunition into the receiver until she heard a click before pushing the next bullet in and so on until the barrel was full, ready for her to pump the gun. Ellen didn’t think it was that simple, struggling for a few moments to open the loading gate of the revolver, but soon enough she figured out how the weapon worked, or at least the basics, and just as Avis had finished pushing the last bullet inside her weapon, Ellen was done cocking hers.

Their movements over the grass were meticulous, delivered in a perfect dance of careful steps and quiet whispers, Avis ahead. The edge of the forest got closer and closer, not a sound in the warm air around them, not even birds flying over their heads. That was already a bad sign. Coming up to the last line of trees Avis got the first glimpse at the house, perhaps about sixty feet away, and in her most humble opinion it was a miracle it was still standing. The roof had caved in by the falling of a branch, most of the windows were shattered, and the beams and insulation were out for the elements to affect them. In truth, it was the perfect spot to bring someone to; not a soul would dare set foot in that hazard of a house. The garden, overgrown with weeds, showed no signs of anyone having come to visit in years, except for the car that was now parked on the side, a black Lincoln that she knew for a fact belonged to Lon. They crossed the ruined fenced, plants crushed under their shoes until the set foot on an overworn stone path that led to the front door, the glass glazing shattered, missing some pieces that were probably lost through the yellow weeds. Each breath Avis took was held in her lungs for longer than was necessary, her heart beating so hard and fast that she could hear her blood pumping in her ears, hands slightly clammy around the comb and the forearm of her shotgun, muzzle pointing down at the ground. Her entire world could change in less than a second the instant she walked through that door, but she didn’t know if she could do it. She couldn’t hear a sound, that might mean you were…

Ellen’s hand did it for her. With surprised eyes Avis stared as her friend pushed it open, not a squeak or scratch coming from the old wood, a small win for them as their presence remained unknown. The ginger’s heel was the first thing to come into contact with the inside of the house, the musky odour of a closed-up home and ever-growing mold overwhelming her senses, but she pushed through. Each step was quiet, almost tippytoeing over the dirty carpet, taking in the state of the property as her ears perked up, capturing a faint noise, like a whimper. Upon hearing this she stood still, holding up her hand for Ellen to halt her movements as well, hardy breathing in hopes of hearing it again. Yes, there was a whimper coming from some room ahead, and she knew it was you who was making it. She could recognise your voice even if her head was underwater. She stopped being careful right then, her steps hard against the creaking wood as she came to terms with the fact that there was no one else in that house except for you and maybe Lon. Ellen tried to warn her with hushed words but to no avail; Avis was seeing red. Close to the end of the hallway was the entrance to a bathroom and a bit further down a metal door that was completely shut, but even through the thick material she could hear the voice of a man saying that he was going to gut you open, your whines and pleas quietly sounding in the background. Over her dead fucking body! Pointing the muzzle towards the lock, Avis pumped it hard and without warning pulled the trigger. It was as if a bomb had gone off, a scream escaping Ellen at the sudden noise, but it had served its purpose, and the door was now slightly open. Pushing it with her foot Avis came face to face with your battered body on the floor, a chair lying in a corner, and Lon standing over you with a cane raised in the air, his small beady eyes watching her with a terrified veil falling over them.

-Ding Dong, motherfucker. – she pumped her shotgun to make her point clear to him.

-What…? How…?

-Shut up! Drop the cane and take one step away from Y/N or I swear to everything in this fucking universe that I’ll blow your head off.  – squatting slowly to the ground, he left the weapon on the concrete, raising his arms high in the air before doing what told, his back barely two feet away from the damp wall. His eyes never left her form, terror making him shake on his spot. – You thought you could play me? You don’t know who you are messing with.

-Please, Avis…

-Do I need to repeat myself?! SHUT UP! I don’t care about your excuses; I don’t care for anything you might have to say. You dug your grave, Lon; I think I’ll put you in it.

-Avis, Dick is here.

-Don’t move an inch, Lon. I’m feeling trigger-happy. – Avis turned her head to the doorway, purposely refusing to look at you in fear that your state might make her buckle in her resolution to end him, that it might make her weak for a moment and he would take the opportunity to fight her for the gun. Ellen’s eyes weren’t on her though, and that made her heart clench in grief at the thought of how you might look, but she remained strong and addressed the blond. – Go get him and take Y/N out to the car. – the woman, as petite as she was, run fast even in high heels. As Avis’s eyes returned to Lon, she saw the splatters of blood that stained his shirt, the way his hands were bathed in the crimson liquid, dripping down his arms and staining his cuffs. She was finding it increasingly difficult to not kill him right there and then. – You thought you were so smart that I wouldn’t find out? You messed with my family, I would have figured out it was you in the end, no matter how long it would have taken.

-You don’t understand.

-I don’t understand?! You kidnapped an innocent woman, beat her close to death, lied to my face, and you still think you are in a position to tell me I don’t understand?! Who do you think you are?!

He remained silent, trembling against the wall. He had been caught; he couldn’t get out of this one. What had happened? He had never failed before, he had never made a mistake and yet here he was, with a gun to his head for the first time since joining the group. He was supposed to be the one threatening and intimidating people, not her, he was supposed to be the superior being, how had she outsmarted him?! Dick and Ellen rushed down the corridor and quickly made their way inside the room past Avis, picking you up as gently as they could. Your entire world had shrunk to the size of your broken body, nothing that was going on around you being registered by your abused mind anymore, the only thing you could feel and think about was the agony you were in. Caring hands lifted you off the cold floor and for an instant you wondered if your time had come, angels taking you to the heavens. You wanted to see their kind faces, you didn’t want to die with the sight of Lon engraved in your head, but upon cracking them open, the action exhausting, you saw two people you knew very well, and then in the background was her. Avis was alright, she wasn’t hurt in any way, her face perfect still with her rosy cheeks and plump red lips, those big deep brown eyes turning to look at you, filled with rage that wasn’t yours to worry about. A lopsided smile broke from your lips at the sight of your love, every horrible thing that he had done to you vanishing into the ether as you let the love that filled her eyes wrap around you. Everything would be alright now, was your last thought before the world turned black. Ellen and Dick did their job and took you out of the house and into Avis’s Cadillac, checking your pulse. Avis did not move from her spot though.

-How does it feel to be cornered Lon? Do you like the way fear can overtake one’s mind this quickly?

-How?

-You made a mistake, as simple as that. You thought you were being so careful, so meticulous. I must admit you almost had me there, but like always, I’m one step ahead.

-This is not over. I might not have succeeded this time, but I sure as Hell will the next one.

-You think you are going to have a next one? Not a chance. You tried to destroy my and my husband’s entire work; you terrified my daughter and nearly killed my girlfriend. How can you still think you will have a next time?

-Because we always win. – he jumped towards her, his hands raised to grab her weapon, but she was quick, and the trigger just felt so soft under her finger. The sound of the bullet ejecting from the gun echoed inside the room as well as the outside of the house, heads lifting in worry at it, but Avis was completely uninjured. Lon, though, he was holding onto his shattered leg, screaming in agony as blood and shards of bone fell over the dirty ground, his body colliding heavily against the concrete.

-Not today, you son of a bitch. I have worked too fucking hard for everything that I have, and I won’t let you or anyone take it from me. So better get used to the idea of Meg, because I will invest every ounce of my time and money to make it the best film in the fucking world. And Archie and Camille will be on contract until my very last day as head of the studio. Because it’s mine, not yours. Mine.

-Ace… won’t let you…

-Ace will fire you, if not kill you himself, the moment he finds out about your little stunt. You don’t know who you’ve messed with, but I will make sure you don’t forget. I’ve got friends too Lon, and they are not happy about this at all.

-You can’t… Ahhhh…

-I can’t what, Lon? Kill you? Speak up!

-He won’t… believe you. He’s never cared.

-That might be so, but he will believe Dick. And his daughter. You see? I’m always one step ahead. Any last words? – she was growing tired of this whole conversation, as thriving and delicious as it was to have him under her thumb like this. She pumped the shotgun again, the last bullet she had inside the weapon, drinking in the way his eyes filled with terror, mumbling quickly, pleading to her.

-Wait, wait! Please!

-Being this emotional is not letting you think clearly, Lon. There is no room for mercy in me, there never was and there never will be.

-Please, don’t! I could… help you… I could do something…

-Don’t beg, it doesn’t suit you. I don’t want anything that you might have to offer; that boat sailed the moment you kidnapped Y/N. You are lucky I’ve let you live this long. You don’t know how much I wanted to put a bullet through your eyebrows the instant I set foot in here, but I didn’t want Y/N to suffer anymore. But now that it’s only us I can do what I desire the most. I hope you get what you deserve in Hell. - In a cloud of smoke, the last bullet pierced through the air, until it lodged itself in the middle of his chest, blood pouring over his white shirt by the pint, thin trickles running down his nose and from the corners of his mouth. He spat and gurgled, trying to cover up his wound with his hands, but it was futile. She held her head high and took in the way the light seemed to be dimming in his eyes. – Remember this, Lon. I’m Avis fucking Amberg and I just beat you at your own game.

It was over, at last. Adrenaline rushed through her entire body at the speed of light, the exhilaration that came with a job well done, mixing with the unexpected wave of guilt and terror at what she had done. Her steps as she walked down the hallway were unsteady, clumsy over the debris that had accumulated over the years, and for a moment, she had to stop and hold herself up by placing a hand on the crumbling wall. She felt sick to her stomach, her entire frame shaking as the noises he had been making turned into silence, a wave of cold air coming through the broken windows. She had never, in her entire life considered herself to be a violent woman. Yes, she was temperamental, but she had never raised a hand to a single soul, not even to Claire when she had been little and misbehaved, and to have the image of a dead man, a man she had killed, engraved in her mind was like a punch to her gut. She had never wanted this, she wasn’t like this, but the most primeval part of herself, the part that needed to ensure the safety of her family, had taken over not thinking about the consequences, just that she needed to find you and protect you. Part of her mind was telling her that she should have handled it differently, she was an orator, not a gangster, but the other half, the louder one, was telling her she had done the right thing, that she had to kill him. She couldn’t risk letting him go, even if he was injured, thinking that the matter was closed only for everything to happen again in a few months’ time. With him gone no one would hurt them anymore, all the threats would be empty words, and the studio would carry on as if nothing had happened. It had to be done, she kept thinking to herself, you would never be safe otherwise and that simple fact lessened the burden of her actions. Actions that she swore to the Heavens and herself she would never repeat again. With one last glance towards the metal door, she carried on walking down the hallway and out into the warm midday sun. Ellen ran to meet her, wrapping her arms around her body in a strong hug. She hadn’t realised how much she needed that until she felt her breath shaking as a lump formed in her throat, preventing her from speaking, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. The blond held her for a minute or so, feeling Avis’s trembling limbs trying to wrap themselves around her small waist in search of comfort. Hearing the shots all the way from in between the trees, had had her losing her mind, Dick holding her in place and telling her that you needed her more than Avis did to prevent her from running back to the house. But she had anyway, and just at the right time to see her walking out of there without a scratch on her body.

The relief was monumental. But there was a more pressing matter to attend to, and the blond was quick in dragging Avis back to her car, Dick’s and Ernie’s parked right behind it. He really had brought the cavalry, Avis thought. The world had crumbled when she had first heard your voice through the phone, now it had combusted and turned into ashes as she laid eyes on your poor battered body. There was not an inch that wasn’t purple or injured in some way, your once beautiful dress now drenched in red. She felt faint, and her knees didn’t support her weight at the sight of you, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and it clawed at her heart so deeply that tears began to fall down her cheeks, the shotgun lying over the grass beside the car, forgotten. Nothing in her entire life had ever hurt like this. These feelings were crushing her, deafening, muting and blinding her in a never-ending wave of sorrow and anguish that was taking hold of her. She had caused this, you were lying here shattered to pieces because of her, and it was that thought the one that she couldn’t get over. With her hand pushing your hair gently off your face, she touched your still-soft flesh, but it was colder under her fingertips. God, she could not bear to lose you. Dick’s voice came from behind her, reaching her ears in slow motion as she cried over your unconscious frame, tears falling and losing themselves among your locks of hair.

-She’s still alive, but she needs a hospital, Avis.

[blarefordaglare]

Capitalism In Hyrule (Or in other words: Chain plays monopoly)

Technically this was supposed to be posted Sunday... so SURPRISE! Based off of this lovely art by @whomst-dve

Read on AO3 here

--

As far as Wind can tell, this was not a normal evening. For two reasons.

First off, they finally had the luxury of stopping by an inn. Of course he wanted to complain about how sleeping on the cold, muddy ground twisted his spine beyond recognition, but he still stood straight. He also used up his weekly allowance of 10 lies. In one day. 

And secondly, he also witnessed his brothers discover Board Games for the first time. In the past, he held a strong opinion they should be renamed to bored games; he witnessed Aryll take one-minute-too-long turns, and the tense silence, called contemplation, crawled into his skin every time. His knees would lock every minute, as he prayed his consciousness would slip, and as a result he’d achieve the luxury of skipping family time. Sorry, Grandma. 

Noticing his thoughts wander, he resumed his observation of the game. Zeldopoly, a classic in his home, was laid across the large wooden table. Bills of rupees, surprisingly not gems, were either haphazardly scattered on the floor, or clutched in a tenacious grip. The sailor could feel the tension of the game rise, pieces practically being slammed onto the board instead of moved.

By the time Legend rolled the dice, the fun game turned to war. 

GO TO JAIL was written in bold, blocky letters. The veteran’s piece covered the tip of the ‘J’, before the captain helpfully moved it to the opposite side of the board. Wind didn’t know what language the other was speaking, but the tone sounded furious. He was surprised the game board didn’t combust into flames then and there. Sky slipped out of his chair, muttering some lame excuse about getting a drink of water. 

“That’s rough, buddy.” Twilight calmly wormed the dice out of the veteran’s white-knuckled grip, and tossed them onto the board. A one and a two stared at him. The light in his eyes dimmed, and Wind could hear the rancher’s heart crack.

“But I wanted Epona…” 

He refused to even pick up one of the Empty Bottle cards. 

The Hero of Time clapped his hands, enforcing the game to continue. It was Sky’s turn now, if Wind had been paying attention correctly. 

The traveler looked around before resting a fist under his chin,“Where’d Sky go?” 

The sailor took this opportunity to butt into the game, “Water. I can play in his place!” If only he chose to play the game as well; he felt stupid for refusing to play originally. 

“No. You’d win.” Time rolled his eyes. Of course this game would make the old man turn competitive, “If we’re counting, it’s the champion’s turn.” 

The champion in question had his face smushed into the table. Twilight poked his shoulder, but there was no response. Wind came to the conclusion that he was either dead, in the process of crashing out, or asleep. Whatever it was, he was slowing down the game. Do better Wild. 

“So do we auction his stuff off?” 

“Legend!” 

… 

Hyrule rolled a twelve. Perfect move. He made two hundred rupees, giving him just enough to afford a Great Deku Tree. That’s what would have happened, if he didn’t land on the Door Fee.

“Yay…” He remarked. Legend cackled. 

…

Time landed on LonLon Ranch, and bought it without hesitation, death glaring at his descendant. Twilight strangled his own cash in response. As the old man stole a handful of money from the bank, Wind noted to never let him be a banker again. 

…

Sky returned just as Warriors rolled a two, which would land him at Hyrule Castle. Four, fanned behind a colorful array of the paper-rupees, dropped his jaw. Legend owned the Temple of Time. If the captain bought the castle, then he would essentially ruin the veteran’s chance at winning–

The blonde man’s fists slammed against the table, “I’ll buy it!” 

“No!” Legend screamed in whistle tones. Wind could hear the wolves bark outside. 

Warriors grinned, “I’ll consider auctioning it… maybe.” His piece was still on the King of Red Lions, and the veteran knew he was still salty about paying a measly twenty-five rupees. Still having the dice in hand, he started lifting up each bill, examining it, before counting out loud. 

“One… two… three…” his vowels were elongated to the point where he was singing them. Why did the captain have so many single rupees? The Hero of Time and his descendant didn’t blink as the minutes passed, the only sound that could be heard was the counting, “A… hundred… and… three~…” 

If Sky had his imaginary glass of water on the table, it would have dropped from the force of Legend’s fist. Wind could hear the wood crack as the adventurer spat, “Move your stupid piece already!” Four glanced between the two heroes, giggling to himself at the drama. Wind couldn’t blame him, for he was invested as well. Sky was still standing at a slight distance from the conversation, his body practically boiling at the tension, “Uh… isn’t it my turn?”

Not even Twilight, with ears that could hear the softest of pitches, heard him above Legend’s breathing. 

The captain batted his eyes, “I was just counting my money…” he scrunched his nose, and his eyebrows creased; soon his expression turned from innocent to teasing. “Can’t you be patient?” 

Big mistake, Wars. Big mistake. 

Legend heaved out a laugh, banging his fists onto the wood once more. The entire room shook– They should have made him take off all his power rings and bracelets before the game. “Oh, you want patience?” his face was red, knees bent as if preparing to pounce, “I’ll show you patience!”

The noise woke the champion up, before quickly knocking him back out as the table flipped. Thank goodness for Time’s quick reflexes– there would be hero pancakes if he didn’t pull the captain and Wind away in time. 

Yup, definitely take away power items. 

“You did this! Now give me that card!”

“For what? You ruined the game!” 

Four took one glance at the mess, and facepalmed. The brothers continued their fight. 

“This is all your fault! Your stupid counting ruined everything!” Legend yanked the captain’s scarf, before knocking him to the ground. 

“Why you little–” 

Warriors tripped the veteran, causing him to topple to the floor as well. 

Zeldopoly, as it turns out, is very fun.

[amostimprobabledream]

Sweet talk & Switchblades (Delinquent!Grimmjow x Reader) - Part Two

Also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/65163163

To say your day started out shitty was an understatement.

Firstly, you’d somehow lost your work pass. You weren’t sure exactly when it had happened – you’d practically torn your living room apart when you got home in a desperate attempt to find it, but no dice. You were positive you’d had it in your hand when you were headed to work that Monday, stuffed hastily into your pocket at you hurried out the door. Could it have fallen out on your way to work? Or on the train? You didn’t know why it would suddenly happen when you’d carried it in your pocket before, but either way, it was gone.

Secondly, the bitch receptionist at work had been on a total power trip about it. She acted like she wasn’t sure if you really did work at Kuroi, even though you’d been a journalist there for two years. You’d had to go through a whole rigamarole of explaining that no, you didn’t know where your pass was and yes, you’d already checked your bag/pockets/etc for it and yes, it was rather urgent you got a replacement, you fucking bitch.

Okay, you didn’t say that last part out loud. But you sure as fuck were thinking it – and it was probably written all over your face, judging by the way she smirked at you as she clacked importantly on her outdated desktop.

“Do try not to lose this one, won’t you?” the receptionist drawled, handing you a generic grey lanyard. You gave a tight smile, imagining her coffee spilling all over her keyboard to make yourself feel better.

Right now, you were using a goddamn guest pass – one that only got you through certain doors, but your colleagues had to let you through some of the others in the building.

You snorted, irritably. A guest. Ridiculous. And worse still, a guest was exactly what you often felt like at your job. Despite the fact you knew you were just as capable as everyone else, every day it seemed you were given cause to doubt yourself.

You hadn’t been given any serious work to do in a while, you just got fluffy puff pieces that went to the back of the paper, if they even got printed at all. (Also, being asked to make an immeasurable amount of coffee for people, usually higher-ups who were too high and mighty to do themselves, which you did until even the smell of coffee was starting to piss you off, so you ‘accidentally’ jammed the machine one day after getting heartily sick of being treated like a waitress. It got fixed within a day, obviously, but after that people stopped asking you to ‘fetch me a cup, would you?’ Little victories.)

Sometimes, you honestly didn’t know why you tried.

You tried to give yourself multiple pep-talks, telling yourself that this was just what the working world looked like and hotshot journalists who burst into the scenes with some kind of magical nose for stories was the stuff of TV shows, or at least, must be highly unusual. You were operating in mundane, boring reality and it wasn’t always glamorous. You’d worked hard to get where you were, it was just a matter of sticking things out until they got better.

Unsurprisingly, this did very little to motivate you or cheer you up at all.

And that afternoon, life had another curveball to throw at you.

You were just leaving the office for lunch. You tried not to clock-watch at work but it was difficult sometimes when you were having an interminably slow day, especially if your supervisor was lurking around in the background, peering at people’s screens, nosy and annoying as always.

You wanted to get away, stretch your legs, maybe sit in a trendy little sushi bar and read a book or scroll on your phone. Maybe some funny videos of a cat knocking stuff off a shelf would cheer you up. So, you headed downtown with no particular restaurant in mind, muttering under your breath as you went through all the assorted crap you had to do that afternoon-

A hand shot out of the alleyway you passed and yanked, damn nearly pulling you off your feet and your shoulder knocked into a rock-solid, warm chest. Your adrenaline spiked, going from zero to a hundred in a split second, and you were about to cry out when a hand clamped around your mouth, and a familiar, deep voice spoke into your ear;

“Don’t make a sound.”

~

Your heart pounded so hard in your chest you feared it might punch its way through your ribs. The hand was locked around your jaw, anticipating that you might try to bite. Wise choice.

You knew that voice. You’d been playing it over and over in your brain since you sat down on the train that morning, after your encounter with them. With Grimmjow.

The name had rolled in your mouth, dark and smooth. On the train, people had either been looking at their phones or reading the paper if they were older, but you - you had been staring off into space, lost in a reverie. Those electric blue eyes, the deep timbre of his voice…he almost didn’t seem like he could be a real person. A phantom born of a fevered, frustrated imagination. But he’d been very real when he approached you, got all up in your space, so close you could have reached out and put your palm flat against his chest if you’d wanted to. That warm, well-defined, muscular chest…

And now, here he was again, like your stray thoughts had summoned him to you, like chanting the name of a ghost three times into a mirror. Except this time, there was no wide-open street, no grinning hangers-on and, most importantly, no security cameras to be the all-seeing eye to temper his actions. He could do what he wanted and both of you knew it. One of his silver rings pressed against your cheek, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat of his palm.

Distantly, once you had a moment to adjust to what was going on, you could hear the wail of sirens, and they were steadily growing louder. Grimmjow scoffed and shifted further back into the alleyway, using the darkness to his advantage, dragging you with him. Your sensible shoes skittered pointlessly along the cracked concrete, your hands gripping his arm, but even though you sank your fingernails into the back of his hand, he barely even reacted.

“Now,” Grimmjow said in a more businesslike tone, one which brooked no argument. “I’m gonna let go, and you’re not going to scream. If you scream, you’ll regret it. Nod if you understand.”

You nodded quickly, desperate for him to let go, your instincts screaming at you to put space between yourself and a dangerous stranger. You could smell the sharp, smoky scent of his cologne and something vaguely metallic, and it was messing with your head. It was like the entire world had shrunk down to this tiny space and it was only occupied by the two of you – possibly soon to be one.

He gave a rough, mocking bark of laughter and let you go, roughly, and the forward momentum of your straining to break free of his hold sent you nearly stumbling into the opposite wall, littered with graffiti in glaring neon. Immediately, you scrambled away and spin around, still able to feel the phantom imprint of his fingers squeezing your face.

Grimmjow watched you with a faintly amused expression, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, standing with a typical delinquent slouch, yet he still loomed over you – it wasn’t just the height, it was the confidence. He looked like the kind of guy who would respond to the world knocking him down by spitting, getting up and kicking it in the balls.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Is it like, a thing you do to just grab random women out of nowhere?!” you hissed at him. “I should scream!”

“You’re not that stupid.” Grimmjow replied, his tone matter of fact, almost bored, and raised his eyebrows. “Are you?”

No. You weren’t. And though you knew it was a ridiculous thing to admit, your interest was piqued. If this were something as simple as a mugging or worse, he wouldn’t be bothering to stop and talk to you beforehand.

Grimmjow wanted something from you and it was your natural instinct to chase a story – you had to know what it was.

Grimmjow dug a hand into his pocket and slowly pulled it free, holding it up to your eye level and opening his fist. From it, a familiar piece of blue plastic dangled from a strap. Your eyes widened.

“How did you-?!”

You swatted for the lanyard, but he was anticipating you’d do that and his reflexes were lightning-quick – he yanked it out of reach like a schoolyard bully, a taunting smirk on his face.

“Ah-ah.” Grimmjow said, swaying it in front of you and enjoying the way your face scrunched in frustration. “You’ll get this back, sweetheart – but first, you’re gonna do a little favour for me.”

You snorted, folding your arms – you were not going to entertain him by reacting how he wanted you to…anymore.

“And why the hell do you think I would do you a favour over just getting my pass back? It’s not irreplaceable.” You said in a snide tone. “Not worth the trouble.”

“Yeah? Why’d you jump for it, then?” he asked.

Your mouth worked for a moment, and you scowled. For a delinquent, he was annoyingly perceptive, for from the thug who only knew how to hit first and ask questions later (or not at all). It was like he could see what you were thinking before you’d had time to say or do anything. Perhaps it was some instinct he’d honed from a rough life, feeling people out and acting accordingly before they could get the jump on you.

Despite your annoyance, a grudging flicker of respect sparked in your chest.

Before you could decide that being inconvenienced by your missing pass was worth standing in a grimy little alleyway talking to a guy like him, Grimmjow thankfully decided to cut to the chase.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” He said, rolling his eyes. He pulled a lighter and a battered pack of cigarettes out of his jeans. “I’m not askin’ you to hide a goddamn body.”

That was the first example that came to mind? You thought, raising your eyebrows.

“I just need to lie low for a couple of hours.” Grimmjow gave a casual shrug, lighting up a cig, cupping a hand around the lighter to protect it from the breeze flowing between the two buildings. “Until the fucking cops leave.”

Alarm bells were going off in your head – did he seriously think that was worth getting your stupid lanyard back?

“You’re out of your mind.” You said flatly, your heart picking up the pace as his expression shifted into a frown. “I’m not hiding you from the police! What did you even do to have someone call them? I’d be an accessory to a crime, probably.”

“Fuck’s sake.” He growled.

You hated how good he sounded when he did that, his voice going all throaty. He lifted an arm and pulled back the sleeve of his leather jacket.

Blood shone darkly on his wrist, from a wound on his forearm. It was hard to tell how deep it was in the poor lighting, but it was smudged along his wrist, and the smell of it made you suck in a breath.

“What happened?” you asked.

“It was just a fight, alright? Nobody’s fucking dead, if that’s what you’re so damn worried about.” He snapped, going to pull his sleeve down again. “But I ain’t spending all night in a fucking holding cell just because some cop wants to feel like he’s worth a damn by hauling me in.”

You made a face, but you had to concede what he was saying made sense – if it was something as serious as a death, it wouldn’t be just a couple of police cars, there’d be ambulances, helicopters, and way more of a commotion to catch a supposed cold-blooded killer running around amongst the ordinary citizens. Plus, he’d have way more blood on him in that case – not just a nick on his arm. He took a drag on his cigarette, staring you down as he impatiently awaited an answer.

You ran your tongue over your teeth in thought. You didn’t know why he’d come to you, except he had some small leverage over you, but this could be turned to your advantage, if you were smart about it.

After all, didn’t they say the best journalists went out looking for the story?

“Fine, I’ll help you.” You said, pointing a finger at him. “But in exchange, I want more than a fucking lanyard out of it.”

Grimmjow’s eyes travelled up and down your body, slowly, and you resisted the urge to cross your arms over your chest as his gaze took you in, like he was re-evaluating you. Despite the fact he didn’t have his cronies or his motorbike with him now, the feeling you’d gotten before – like standing near him contained its own electrical current – didn’t ebb in the slightest.

“Oh?” he drawled, smoke spewing from between his lips, a grin spreading across his face and standing this close to him, it was hard not to notice how very white and sharp those teeth were. “And what might that be?”

You swallowed, keeping your expression determined, even though there was a little voice in the back of your head asking if you were sure you knew what you were doing.

“I want to interview you.”

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

I’ve been hearing/reading folks doubting themselves. As fanfic authors. As fanfic readers. Being afraid to put themselves out there. And you shouldn’t! You’re awesome!

But I’ve been there; I get it. So let me see if I can help:

“What if what I write is bad?”

It’s almost undoubtedly not as bad as you think it is, first of all.

Secondly, writing “badly” is better than not writing and is an inescapable and important step in being a writer.

Every fanfic writer to ever write has (accurately or not) thought their work was bad at some point and been afraid to share it. Yes, even your favorite one. Yes, even that one with a bajillion kudos and being offered first-borns in the comments.

“What if no one likes it?”

If you find an idea interesting or compelling or funny or sweet or heart-wrenching, I’ll bet someone else does too. But you can’t find them if they don’t know you exist, so write/share the thing so they can find you!

“My fic stat ratios are bad; people must hate my fic/my fic must be bad.”

The stats on AO3 are both a blessing and a curse, but they are absolutely not indicators of quality for a whole host of reasons (I actually have a whole post in draft on just that topic). There are multiple reasons your hits/kudos/comments numbers could look like they do that have nothing to do with the quality of your fic or its reception by those that read it.

“I really like this fic, but I don’t want to annoy the author.”

You won’t. I promise. If we didn’t want readers to engage with us, we wouldn’t post our work; I can write and read my stuff with far less effort if I don’t post it, honestly. We love comments and kudos and reblogs and messages and all that. If an author doesn’t want comments, they can just turn that feature off.

“I would comment, but I’m afraid I’ll come off as weird.”

Friend, we are all weird here. Join us! It’s fun!

You’re awesome. Your contributions are valuable. I believe in you.

And if you need a boost, let me know. I’ve been informed I’m a decent cheerleader. ☺️

[cdroloisms]

always absolutely fucking hilarious when sbiers in their self-righteous need to assert themselves as better than everyone else in the same way they've done since 2020 even when they're apparently 'out of the fandom' and consider the whole thing cringe and dead (skill issue, methinks) go all um acktually no one cared abt any of the lore except for c!sbi. like well for one thing i don't know of a c!sbi personally speaking i'd like for you to point out to me where character sleepy boys inc ever like, existed, because it certainly wasn't in any dream smp i watched like is there even a single moment where the four of them interact together alone??? and secondly, it's always reeeeeeally obvious when they mean this as a diss on The Other Side Of The Fandom (read, dream team and co) when two-thirds of the dream team just did nawt have any interest in being part of the 'main characters' in the first place and would much rather do their own thing and roleplay in ways that wouldn't get picked apart for ages on twitter dot com, and the other member of the dream team played a character so integral to the lore that even c!inniters will often name him before they name their own goddamn guy because they cannot keep his name out of their mouths (see, the meme i saw like literally just yesterday that boiled down to me, after learning the dream smp lore: i need to kill c!dream). like bro yall are c!inniters you're not fooling anyone you think that the entire story revolves around this one teenager being abused and then completely ignore the months of abuse that was shown on screen for us before exile. "c!sbi" like cmon now guys the ao3 pages are like, right there, we all know who ends up being the villain for ur sbi fanfic that has its foundations in a dynamic that literally never existed in canon.

like "no one cared about anyone's lore except for wilbur and tommy--" well yes they were in fact some of the main fucking characters. imagine someone going up to you and going "well no one cared about the lore in the star wars original trilogy except for luke and leia" like damn really?? (now imagine this same person trying to convince you that darth vader's role was unimportant, actually.) like yeah the dream smp involved a lot of separate storylines and each of those storylines might've had their own "main cast" of characters but i'm also not blind bro, the story that started at the start of the fucking server and the start of the fucking lore was ABSOLUTELY the "wilbur-dream-tommy" triangle that is, in fact, the story that the l'manburg revolution was built on and the story that remains the throughline literally until tommy and dream have their confrontation with a nuke coming down over their heads, something that the characters themselves acknowledge with the repetition of the idea of tommy and tubbo against dream. LIKE ALKJSDFKJSADF yeah bro there were main characters in the tommy-dream-wilbur story an that's also the story that people tended to be invested in in the beginning, to the point where even other self-contained stories in the dream smp absolutely referenced and emulated it (cough cough, las nevadas). like, why are we acting like it's at all groundbreaking for people to be invested in THEEE fucking story the one that first started to exist because at the time basically no one else was part of The Roleplaying Trio and then slowly got padded out and developed as the server developed more and more into the lore server?

and it's the fact that none of these people, too, would deny that they care about ex. c!schlatt in manberg, right, or c!quackity in relation to c!wilbur's deal, etc etc whatever. like breaking news you gaf about The Story as a dream smp fan wow am i supposed to be like, surprised. do you want a medal. LIKE LKJASDJF

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU pt 56

part 1 | part 55 | ao3

March

"Steve, honey," Claudia calls from the living room, where he can hear her shuffling around to get her things ready for work — the rustle of a jacket, the clink of keys against her thermos. "Do you need anything before you go?"

"I'm fine, Ma!" Steve answers.

And he is. He is fine. It’s been three weeks, and Steve is fine! He has a date tonight with a girl he doesn’t care about, and he's gonna cheer on Lucas at the championship game, and the other day at work he got a fifty cent per hour raise. And sure, his nightmares are worse than ever and his head aches all the time, and he’s had some weirdly persistent sinus infection or some shit going on, but he only teared up once this week while jerking off to thoughts of Eddie, so.

All in all, not bad.

He shoves a plain bagel in his mouth and rushes to leave the house; passes Claudia on the way out, who's now rapping her knuckles impatiently against Dustin’s door and asking, “Dusty, what’s going on in there? You’re gonna be late!" to which Dustin replies with a panicked shriek: “DON’T COME IN, I’M NAKED!”

Jesus Christ. "Deafen my other ear, why don't you?" Steve mutters under his breath.

He throws Ma a parting wave and heads out to pick up Robin so he can take her to school before his shift starts. She looks nicer than usual, and she won’t stop reapplying her mascara, and by the time Object of My Desire starts playing on the radio Steve is practically begging her to just suck it up and end this will-they-won’t-they thing with Vickie because it’s been months of obvious flirting and Robin still won’t make a move.

“I listen to you, and now look at me!” he argues, as if the handful of pointless dates he’s used to distract himself from Eddie are anything to look at. “Boom. Back in business.“

“Mm,” she objects, a little ‘you’re so full of shit’ frown on her face. “Not the same thing.”

Don’t say it, you bitch, don’t even—

“You ask out a girl and she says no…”

Oh, thank fuck. Steve sags in relief and licks the corner of his mouth as he listens to her rant, grateful that she’s just working the small town homophobia angle and very graciously not pointing out how half-hearted and sad his attempts to move on with his life have been. It’s a small mercy he repays by rambling about girls and boobies and girls who definitely like boobies until she scowls so hard at him that she smudges her mascara and has to apply another coat.

—

Dustin calls the store some time around lunch. Asks if Steve wants to sub in for Lucas at tonight’s Hellfire campaign, which, first of all, fuck you — he’s been helping Lucas practice for months now, he’s not about to miss this game — and secondly:

“What, to hang out with you and Eddie the Freak Munson?” he asks, idly playing with a slinky. “Uh, yeah. I’ll pass.”

"Dude."

"What?"

"You can’t just call him names because you’re pissed at him! That’s not cool!”

Steve rolls his eyes and tugs the slinky so hard it flops off the counter’s edge.

“Look,” Dustin says, his voice dipping into that low and slow and trustworthy thing that makes Steve want to snap the kid’s non-existent collarbones. “I know you won’t tell me what happened, but whatever it was, he’s sorry, okay? He’s really, really sorry. And he asks me about you, like, every day; if I didn’t know any better I’d swear he was in love with you or something.” Steve chokes on his own spit, and Dustin just keeps going; steps right over Steve’s corpse to continue his impassioned plea. “Besides, friends forgive each other! Right, Steve?”

Goddammit. Steve really regrets saying those exact words in that exact order the last time Lucas and Dustin had a fight. “Man, you can’t just use my own brotherly advice against me.”

“I can, and I will.” Wow. What a little shit. “Seriously, dude, come on! How many times do I have to pass on his apology messages before you just talk to him?”

How many times? How many times?

Steve doesn’t know.

He just knows he’s not ready; knows that as soon as he talks to Eddie, it’ll make it all real. It’ll be over for good. Whatever words they exchange next will get etched into the headstone of the thing they briefly had. He opens his mouth to say something, to try and make sense of the vortex in his head, but all he gets for the effort is a fresh migraine coming on.

He’s saved from answering by the doorbell’s chime. “I got some customers,” he says over Dustin's squawk of protest. “Gotta call you back, bye.”

—

part 57

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[yayakoishii]

sleep it off | Ace x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Genre/Tags: Fluff, Light Angst, Slight NSFW at the start and end, Suggestive, Established Relationship, kinda crack/silly

Summary: Ace falls asleep in the middle of your first time having sex together.

A/n: I have had this idea for a while but, there were multiple factors I had to consider before I wrote it. So, fair warning, I have no clue how actual narcolepsy works. It would be best if you read this as a silly fic based on his gag. Secondly, I have never written sex or sex adjacent scenes so, really sorry if this is awkward ;-; Other than that, I hope you enjoy reading this !!

also available on ao3!

"You better fuck me hard, commander," you whispered into Ace's ear. His grip under your thighs tightened at the words and he lightly growled, holding you even closer against him. You tightened your arms around his neck when he started walking back to his room with you in his arms. "Fuck, Ace, that's…"

You trailed off, cheeks burning at how hot it was that Ace could pick you up like you weighed nothing. Like yes, you knew he had to be crazy strong considering he's the second division commander, but having him actually pick you up was enough to give you butterflies in the stomach. Even the wolf whistles and jeers behind you only fuelled to make you flush harder, the arousal pooling in your gut.

Ace slammed the door shut with his foot when you finally reached and up close, you could make out his pupils dilated with lust as he gently placed you on the bed. You crawled backwards to give him space and Ace immediately hovered over you on all fours, trapping you underneath him.

"You don't know how long I've waited to have you underneath me like this," he looked equally flushed. In fact, Ace's eyes seemed to have a quality to them that said that he couldn't quite believe he actually had you.

"Mm, I think I have an idea," you teased him, hand reaching up to card through the bottom most hair.

"You will be the death of me," he groaned and sat up, straddling your waist just so that his weight wasn't on you. "Don't you think it's unfair that I'm the only one who's half naked here?"

"You're always half naked, though?" You laughed even as you removed the form fitting top you had worn solely for the purpose of enticing Ace into having sex with you. "Not that I'm complaining. It's just my luck that I get blessed by the sight of your abs every day without having to do anything for it."

"Returning the favour every now and then seems like a fair deal," Ace's eyes were trained on your body intensely. It made you squirm and blush harder but you focused on throwing your shirt over to the chair a distance away. (You missed but that was a problem for later, right?) "God, you are beautiful."

Without waiting for a response (not that you had one other than to feel pleased at his words), Ace dived right at your neck, pressing open, wet kisses at the juncture of your neck and shoulders. Every part of him was so much warmer and hotter than you expected and it felt like his lips were leaving a trail of fire. You keened at the feeling, back arching as he marked the way down to your chest and over the nipples.

"Ace–" you exhaled shakily, fingers automatically tightening in his hair. He went lower and lower, down your stomach and then suddenly, you felt him drop on top of you. His weight trapped your legs, his face poking into your stomach. The sudden sensation startled you and you propped yourself up on your elbows to look at Ace. "Ace?"

To your surprise, he had fallen asleep. Of course, you were aware of Ace's sudden bouts of sleep and found them endearing at times, but right now, you could only stare at his calm, sleeping face for all of two seconds before you burst into giggles.

He really fell asleep in the middle of your first time. You smiled softly at him as you scrambled to pull him up and settled him beside you in his bed. Although someone else might have been upset, you were too in love with this fiery idiot to not find it cute and hilarious. You gently pressed a kiss on top of his forehead and leaned over to turn off the light after you put on your shirt.

Curling up next to Ace's warm body, you fell asleep.

•

When you woke up, the bed was empty. It was just you and the crumpled up sheets that you had thrown off yourself after Ace made you sweat all night with his insanely high body heat. You sleepily sat up and looked around but it looked like Ace had already left.

He was a division commander, so he was busy a lot of the time. You didn't think too much about it and trudged back to your room and freshened up with a nice bath. It was normal to even miss him at breakfasts sometimes so you didn't realise until half the day had passed that Ace was avoiding you.

Unbeknownst to you, Ace had woken up and remembered what happened last night. He was mortified and embarrassed and didn't know how to face you after that. He fell asleep in the middle of sex?!! How could he have fallen asleep in the middle of the one thing he had wanted to do so desperately for months now? And you had even gone all out yesterday, dressing to seduce him (not that you needed it, but it sure had helped speed things up) so for him to fall asleep like that… You must be so upset with him!

Ace just ran out and started on his work, avoiding everyone else as much as he could. The other commanders were giving him suggestive looks or asking him how it was and all Ace could stammer out were nervous lies. There was no way he could let anyone find out what had actually happened. They would never let him live it down.

Of course, he already knew that he couldn't hide it forever. After all, you were definitely upset with him and might even break-up with him and then everyone would know what had happened the night before. And then Ace would have to jump off the Moby Dick in mortification and also as an apology to you.

"You're not being very subtle," Marco's comment made Ace freeze. The two of them were currently going through some data compiled by the recent investigation team. Outside, the sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon. "Did something happen with (y/n)?"

"Uh, no, why would you think that?" Ace didn't think he was this bad at lying. Maybe he was just terrible when it came to things related to you. Even he knew that his nervous smile at Marco wasn't convincing anyone, not even himself.

"Avoiding your lover after you finally have sex with them, for one," Marco said pointedly without looking up, "is a sure sign that something's not right. What is it? Was it bad? Did you have a fight?"

"I kinda wish it was that," Ace admitted, giving up on the papers in front of him and also on trying to hide what happened. Marco could see through him a bit too much.

"That bad?" Marco finally looked up with a raised eyebrow. "I'm curious what could make you say that but, regardless of whether you want to tell me or not, I'd say you better figure it out soon. (Y/n) is looking really upset, you know."

"I…" Ace sighed and buried his face in his hands. You were the best thing to happen to him. He had liked you for so, so long and when you accepted his confession (that had been a complete disaster too, what with a bar set on fire, his bloody knuckles and the bloody tooth you had found in your hair), it had felt a lot like a dream. You liked him back too and said yes even though he fucked up the confession. But now he had gone and fucked up again. You deserved better than all this, right? "I need to fix this. But I don't know if I can, or how to even."

"You could start by apologising for whatever you did wrong," Marco suggested.

"How do you know it was my mistake?" Ace pouted. Marco just smiled in amusement as he looked back to his papers again.

"Doesn't take a genius to figure out it wasn't (y/n)," he answered. "An apology and your honest feelings would help. I don't know anyone who would accept and forgive you as easily and quickly as (y/n) does."

Ace sat there in silence for a few seconds, thinking over the words. You deserved better, yes, but all that meant was that he had to better himself. It's not like he would just give you up. After all that time he had spent on trying to get you to like him back, he sure as hell wasn't giving you up without fighting for it. He would beg on his knees if that's what you needed, but he would get you to stay.

"Um, Marco?" Your voice startled Ace and his head snapped towards the door where you were standing nervously. "Could I borrow Ace for a few minutes?"

"Of course," the first division commander flashed you an easy smile. "Just make sure he comes back. He still has quite a bit to finish."

"I'll do it," Ace grumbled as he got up. You had come to him. You had made the first move. A part of him was sure that you were going to suggest a break-up but he told himself that he was jumping to conclusions. You wouldn't do that… right? "Let's go to my room to talk?"

"I was going to suggest that," you smiled weakly at Ace. The two of you walked in awkward silence; it was so unnatural and Ace hated it. Your relationship stood on the basis of your friendship and the ease with which you treated each other.

Once inside the room, Ace closed the door behind him and gestured for you to sit on his bed. You did so and Ace settled down next to you. Silence rang in the room for a few more seconds.

"Did–"

"Are–"

The two of you abruptly cut-off.

"You go first," Ace said hurriedly. You worried your lower lip between your teeth before you spoke again.

"Did I do something wrong?" Your voice was small. Ace had never heard you speak in such an unsure manner. You were fidgeting, playing with your fingers nervously. "You've been avoiding me all day, Ace…"

"I'm…!" Ace reddened in embarrassment. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned to face you properly before he spoke. "I'm the one who made a mistake. I have been avoiding you out of embarrassment but, you deserve better than that. You deserve a proper apology for last night–"

"Apology?" You were confused. "For last night?"

"Yeah, I," Ace was confused by your confusion. Weren't you upset with him?

"There's nothing you need to apologise for last night, though?" You tilted your head in question. "An apology for avoiding me today would make sense but… why are you apologising for yesterday?"

"Aren't… you upset?" Ace flushed, looking down at his own lap. "That I fell asleep in the middle of our… y'know."

There was silence for a few seconds before you burst out laughing. Ace looked up in surprise, finding you laughing through watery eyes.

"You thought I was upset about that?" You were giggling and Ace didn't really understand it but it didn't look like you were upset about it. "Here I was, worried that I did something wrong and that you didn't want me anymore and you were avoiding me because you thought I was upset you fell asleep?"

"So, you aren't upset?" Ace asked, bewildered at your reaction. You beamed at him and shook your head then folded up your legs to inch closer to him. You straddled him and sat yourself on his lap and Ace automatically wrapped his arms around you so that you wouldn't fall.

"Why would I be upset, silly?" You smiled at him, eyes soft and full of love. "I admit that it was shocking but it honestly just made me laugh. It was unexpected but it's nothing so bad that you need to hide from me, Portgas D. Ace. I knew what I was signing up for when we started dating. Honestly, I'm just glad you fall asleep in moments like these instead of on the battlefield."

"Hey!" Ace weakly protested but it died down the moment you cupped his cheeks in your palms and kissed the tip of his nose. You were smiling so happily at him and suddenly, all his embarrassment and mortification from before felt silly. "Does this mean I get a second chance to prove myself?"

"I wouldn't be against a redo of last night," you trailed a finger down his chest as you spoke, "but don't you have some work to finish, commander–oof!"

Ace didn't wait to hear you finish speaking before he toppled you onto your back, his frame hovering over yours just like last night. You didn't resist and pulled him in for a kiss. Only after a few minutes of making out did you look up at him slyly, flush and with spit-slicked cherry red lips.

"I guess it can wait for later, hm?"

°•❀•°

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[mandalhoerian]

Gosh I wish you made such big analize about Xavier and Sylus, sometimes I feel so dumb that I can't read so good behind the lines. 😭😭😭

HEY NO CMON NOW NO NEED TO DISCREDIT YOURSELF LIKE THAT!!!! First of all, this is an ongoing game and story, think of it like an incomplete ao3 fic you have theories for. There are HUUGE gaps in there that will be filled later and until then, they are left to the interpretation of the player. It's only natural, there's SO MUCH stuff and lore out there to be consumed, which are often non-linear that it makes things confusing on purpose. It's all about feeding us crumbs about what's coming, of course we get lost!!

Secondly, I made the rafayel analysis because it confused the lights out of me with the constant nagging feeling that I was missing something and that's why I didn't understand most things and wanted to get my thoughts straight. Like the ebb day theories floating out there as to why he was Like That, why he said the things he did out of nowhere and randomly like "what if i take from you will you leave me?" after the topic was JUST about sceneries and the love and art burns me talk after YET AGAIN another art talk about inspiration in pain. I had whiplash over whiplash and felt the need to dive deep into intertidal zone.

It's not like that with Sylus and Xavier (and Zayne's) cards. At least for me. All of them are fairly self-contained compared to his, I feel like. And I'm sure other people have discussed this already, much better than I can as well -- especially Sylus, but I'll put my two cents in for a general review of both their memorias!

Xavier is experiencing negative emotions such as jealousy FOR THE FIRST TIME with MC. He doesn't know how to process these feelings which are allowed to be nurtured in a safe environment when that wasn't the case before in his life. They manifest in temper bursts that stem from a life of being forced to be emotionally blank. He wasn't allowed to be a child or freedom for himself and his thoughts and feelings and wants, so he starts behaving in a childish way -- it's something he's surprised about as well. This happens when you feel safe with a person that those repressed parts begin to open up and you start being yourself more with them. It's sad when you think about it, as cute as it is coming from Xavier. MC is so understanding of him and finding him being "expressive" more as a really positive thing. She's an amazing partner -- because let's face it, if this behavior came from a man in real life, it would be so annoying. Xavier isn't like those other men though, his jealousy doesn't come from a need to control or possess, a place of distrust, projection or disregard of personal boundaries. It's cute because it's followed by healthy communication to allow Xavier to process and grow and open up more, it doesn't threaten the relationship. This is just my interpretation, aside from the context of their previous lives together (the desire to monopolize now that he finally is with her) and this being Xavier's possibly last year on earth that gives a "i've got so little time left and i don't want to waste it" stuff.

And Sylus is. Well. There's a lot in there. The theme here is "their first time", and it's not limited to sleeping together, in my opinon. Theirs is a burgeoning relationship compared to the other "established" relationships. They're new to each other. We even see domesticity from them in MC's house for the first time, though it is a result of Sylus's Onychinus life making an introduction in their relationship as something that has to be legitimately talked about eventually. MC wants to come along with him and know more but Sylus hides a lot from her to keep her safe and separate from him, and yes it's his business and MC doesn't push (the mutual respect is insane here), but it's affecting their time together. Not that MC sees this as a problem because she's always ready to throw down (AND does lock in and gets one step ahead of him).

I read this as MC's first time finally letting him in and her desires/feelings for him that she asked him to stay and kept making the moves when it had all been him before. Her feelings are growing. And you can see how much it pleases him and makes him happy, he was waiting for this -- for MC to voluntarily want him and be honest with him. That's all Sylus wants. He can see into what she wants, and sure yeah he knows, but her outwardly voicing them to him is a different story altogether. It shows she trusts him, and that's important to Sylus.

She was mostly closed off and withdrawn from him emotionally because they have this dynamic that started off hostile that turned into teasing and provoking where she sees being vulnerable with him as a weakness that would be embarrassing. It's a budding relationship, remember? No couple is all in & open with each other right from the beginning, it comes later. And Sylus is a dominant man (not domineering, that's a different word) and I think MC doesn't like being weak next to someone like him, and she perceives a power imbalance there unconsciously even though Sylus wants her to be open so bad and rely on him more and give her everything she wants and needs.

So it's HUUUUUGE that they showed Sylus intertwine their hands together when he had to FORCE IT before. MC is finally receiving him with open arms and you can see he's delighted. It's so romantic first of all, but mans is hungry, BUT HE'S ALSO SO TENDER AND LOVING !!! GOOD FOR YOU SYLUS GET IT. I love this for him and that he felt safe enough to sleep even though he's nocturnal. Or she sucked the soul right out of his dick and knocked him out cold 😭 the sex was so astronomically soul ascending i guess LMFAO

Again, I'm sorry if I got anything wrong. These are just my thoughts, and they are surface level!