#snippet of the boss things

[izaanagi]

“How does it feel to have your pussy pounded down by the same dick you said you would not come within fifteen feet of? Mh, little peach?”

The words come out stumped, crumbling beneath the strength of the trusts of your boss’ pelvis, his cock balls deep into you. There is no space for any other sounds in your mouth besides the incoherent mumbling of your pussy being stretched. 

“Look at you becoming speechless as soon as you get railed. What a spectacle,” Shouei mutters, his mouth breathing on your neck, “your legs spread wide open only for me.”

The rhythm he has going in and out is steady, not fast enough to make you cum right away but not slow enough to drive you mad. As Barou readjusts, looming over you, an involuntary clench of your pussy envelops Barou’s cock for a second. The split moment is enough to make him hiss, as you tug on the disheveled tie still around his neck - his mouth missing yours by a centimeter. 

“If only I knew fucking you would make your mouth shut, I would have done this sooner.”

[marilinhazz]

I've been bedridden dying from food poisoning and writing fluff and horny prosenna all day so here's a snippet of the prosenna prost gp!au

“And now that I'm your boss, you’ll have to do as I say,” Alain grinned, a repressed laughter making its way into his words. Ayrton felt each one of them rushing his blood to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears and right to the middle of his legs —  “Uh,” he gulped and lowered his head, blinking at the ground. His mouth felt suddenly dry and he wet his lips. “I suppose so.”  Alain frowned, staring at how Ayrton’s curls didn't quite bounce where they were shorter, right at the scar on his forehead, when Ayrton ran his hand through them.  “Ayrton,” Alain got closer and Ayrton’s hands resting on top of his thighs started to sweat, as if by the command of Alain’s voice. He tried to wipe them on his blue and white overall, mortified by how the tight suit didn't hide much.  “Yes?”  “Look at me.”  Ayrton just clasped his hands in front of the half hard tent in his pants, the tips of his ears burning by now. He didn't look at Alain, wouldn't dare to like this. Not now, when the race was about to start and he needed to get out there, drive that car — Alain’s car — to the chequered flag and get Alain his points and victory just so he could flash that smile of his at Ayrton again.  Alain, however, despite being Ayrton's team principal, decided to take a dare of his own. His fingers, less calloused after retirement, raised Ayrton’s chin so he could look him in the eye, take in his dark and wide pupils and red cheeks and, after lowering his gaze a bit more, what was barely concealed by Ayrton's hands.  “You like that,” Alain whispered, tone flat with unchangeable truth. Ayrton could only close his eyes and nod, teeth chewing on his bottom lip.

[thatdeadaquarius]

THE SAGAU FANFIC ONE-SHOT WINNER IS...

🎊🎉🌿Eldritch! Reader AU🌿🎉🎊

Just a small annoucement for the winner, though I'm sure we all saw the results lol

Have a snippet, hope you enjoy!

*disclaimer: subject to change, this is a draft, no finalized version yet.

At least, you were pretty sure of where you were now. But that didn't mean it made any more sense. You hadn't recognized it at first, but the Irminsul was unmistakable after a minute of looking at it and the surrounding blue. The lights were incredible, with sparkles and stars floating up from the ground. Strange, nearly mechanical patterns flared out from its branches. The only difference between the Irminsul in-game versus the real one you see now is the rapid swelling and filling out of its trunk. As you had woken up more and more, ignoring the strange state of your body for now, it had let out weirdly nostalgic noises. Like a computer booting up, and a million other digital pings or tunes as it grew. As you tentatively reach a hand out to touch the trunk, a familiar book materializes. The dark blue pages flip to the first page instead of to the middle of the book. ...isn't this usually the really obscure "Archives" animation from the Paimon settings page? What's it doing here?? In gold writing that hovers slightly above the pages, your (presumed) stats display. The eerily familiar Genshin Impact font rapidly types itself out from left to right. /gamemode: admin *Executing... *Executing... *Loading... *Loading... *... *...Success! *Your gamemode has been changed. " Player." [ADMIN.] EXP: 1000000#%$+??? DEF: ?%@****+~?? ATTK: ??*!!%^<=+? POWERS: - ??";*&%[]\/%? - &%#@?<_++}] - ~`*(-_+}|\\!!??^& ...you decide to stop looking at your... stats, for now. Because more importantly, as you pull your hand back from the book (letting it float in place in front of the Irminsul trunk again), you notice something even more off. Your hand. It's... wrong. As you trail your eyes up your arm, you choke back a sense of panic. Sure enough, when you bring the right arm over to poke and try to smear the seemingly black paint that drenches your left arm, it too is covered in black. Your arms are pitch black. And as you attempt to touch your forearm for more answers, only to phase through it... you begin to think maybe this is not, in fact, paint. And as you realize you are hovering, instead of standing in place, you begin to think this is, in fact, the very real world of Genshin Impact. ...you decide to lay back down on the weird blue ground (?) and take a nap.

Maybe start today over.

☆

I'll be working on asks in the mean time!

But this'll be higher priority/posted soon bc I'm worried I'll forget abt it otherwise lmao

Idk if anybody cares that much, but I'll go ahead and ask just in case:

I hope you guys are having a great week, wherever you may be!

Safe Travels,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr

@yomilyy / @0rah-s / @idontknowwhatimdoingbutweball / @blackstar-gazer

(^^^ dw you'll still get tagged when the actual piece is out! :)

[its-muffin-tyme]

clockers au where scar is also hot guy and etho definitely has some sort of criminal enterprise

and someone working with/for etho has gotten into some trouble and needs some protection, but not anyone who is actively recognized as Part Of Organized Crime by those in the know, for reasons

and Etho's like "Yeah, I got you! Hold on, let me call my son and see if he's willing to talk to me"

and then he leaves and there's a hushed conversation and he's like

"Don't worry! He'll be here in 10 minutes. You're in good hands"

And then in walks freaking Hot Guy.

[[ps. this concept specifically can be used as a fic prompt ^-^]]

[vinkumakkara]

"your fave character goes to therapy" is kind of an annoying meme nowadays but i think it's a pretty good way to portray the contrast between Boss and Gat. it sounds really funny considering just what kinda game sr2 is but i think Boss has the capability to seek that kinda help once they feel bad enough, the difficult part is they need to first realize that they're feeling those things at all. srtt is basically a separate continuity but srtt Boss does canonically go to therapy even though they don't sound too impressed by it. Johnny however he wouldn't do it in a million years, he's just too inflexible to even consider it. i think Boss' character is defined by this unwavering confidence in who they are, and even if they're not necessarily all that sure of what exactly that entails - them being customizable definitely plays into it for me - they're willing to find out. but for Johnny his identity is more of a self-imposed cage where the door must be kept tightly locked. like i think he knows exactly how fucked up he feels but it doesn't matter, you just don't seek help for that shit, end of. it's easier to just continue playing the role of dumb muscle, all that wacky funny murder oughta take your mind off it

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

For the record, I haven't rewatched Helluva in... a very long time, so take my own commentary in response to your asks with a grain of salt.

That being said... if you're like me and some episodes gross you out, or you just can't or don't want to watch the vids on Viv's channel for whatever reason, I recommend Helluva Scribe! Not only have they uploaded each episode of the series to date in novel format, collected as chapters in two separate books, they also tend to add their own little fixes, adjustments and lore/scene expansions to each! It's pretty cool!

I've been catching up on stuff I've forgotten largely with the help of their books and using them as a resource for fanfic writing

[the-weeping-dawn]

'I have to ask,' Needles asked cleaving through three illithid still trying to survive with ease, 'the whole dancing naked in the moonlight thing...?' Vi's complection hid the rare time she did blush, in the early morning light, it was somewhat more apparent, the unnecessary twirl in her kills to match being the best she could do, 'At times. Yes. She understands that I'm not quite ready to take part in such rituals however.'

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Don’t Mess with My Girl

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You come home from work and you make the mistake of telling Bucky that a guy has been harassing you at work.

Warning: harassment from a male coworker

A/N: the snippets of Bucky in the Thunderbolts trailer have ignited my love for him again omfg.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky's already home when you arrive from work. You let out an exhausted sigh as you place your things on the kitchen island and kiss Bucky's cheek, "Hi, lovey."

He hums and looks at your slumped figure, "What's wrong?" he asks with furrowed brows, concern written all over his face.

"Just a rough day at work," you reply, opening up the dishwasher to grab a cup and snort as you see Bucky's metal prosthetic resting inside.

You turn back to him, "Explain," you say pointing at his arm.

He gives a sheepish grin and shrugs, "Today was a bit messy, is all." You chuckle and roll your eyes. You grab a cup from the top rack of the dishwasher and grab Bucky's arm, laying it on the counter.

"What happened today?" you ask as you fill your cup with water from the fridge.

Bucky shakes his head, "Nope. I asked you a question first," he walks over to you and cups your face with his right hand, "What's made my girl all upset?"

You groan, "A new hire, Noah. He's very...persistent."

"Persistent how?"

You shrug, "He just keeps asking me out, getting a little too close-"

"Fire him," Bucky immediately says.

You groan, "But he's a good employee!"

"Doesn't matter if he keeps harassing you."

"I wouldn't say he's harassing me..."

Bucky cocks a brow and places his hand on his hip in a very intimidating manner, "Does he get aggressive when you reject him?"

"...yes."

"Is he constantly berating you and not taking no for an answer?"

"...yeah."

"Does he scare you?"

"A little bit."

"Baby, that's harassment," he says as he walks over to his metal arm, placing it onto the notch and locking it in. He looks down and flexes his arm, "I can take care of him for you, easily. The fellas and I can grab him and-"

You immediately wave your hands and shake your head, "No, no, no. No! Don't hurt him! I'll-I'll handle it. I'll talk to Joan and let her know what's been going on."

"Good and if that doesn't stop him then, I'll pay him a visit," you give him a playful shove and he chuckles, "What? No one messes with my girl and gets away with it!"

____________________________

As soon as you got into the bookshop the next day, you immediately tell Joan of Noah's behavior. When he comes in, Joan pulled him aside to talk to him. You thought that everything would be good after that...but you were wrong.

When you were in the back, putting books away, Noah corners you, "Did you really have to tell Joan our business?"

You can't help but scoff at his audacity, "Well you wouldn't stop asking me out after I said no and reminding you that I have a boyfriend."

It's Noah's turn to scoff, "Oh yeah, your boyfriend," he says with air quotes, "You say you have one but you don't have him as your lockscreen and you haven't showed any pictures of him."

"He's a private person, but that's not the point! I told you 'no'! You should've stopped after that."

Noah rolls his eyes, "Oh just because someone says 'no', doesn't mean they mean it! Means they want you to try harder."

"Actually, it just means 'no' and you fuck off," a deep voice cuts in-between the confrontation between you and Noah.

Both of you turn to see Bucky standing there with a hard glare on his face.

You gulp, "Bucky, what're you doing here?"

He holds up your lunch bag, "You forgot your lunch at home," he holds it out and you rush over to him, grabbing the bag and remaining at his side.

Noah looks at Bucky with wide eyes and then at you. His face loses color as he realizes, "W-Wait, you-you're dating the White Wolf of Brooklyn?"

Bucky smirks at his nickname, "Yeah, she is. And my girl told me you wouldn't leave her alone. Sounds like even with your job on the line, you still don't seem to get the hint." He slips off his blazer, handing it off to Steve. He then starts rolling up the sleeve of his metal arm, the dim lighting of the book shop reflecting off its metal plates.

"I can definitely figure out a way to get the message through to you."

Noah stutters out a response, "N-No. Th-That's not necessary, s-sir. I-I won't bother, Y/N again, I promise."

Bucky hums, "If I see or hear you harassing my girl or anyone else, I'll make sure your body will never be found again. Scum like you don't deserve second chances, but I'm feeling a little gracious today."

Noah nods, "Thank you. I-I won't behave like that ever again."

"Good. Now apologize to Y/N," he nods to you.

Noah gulps and stutters out an apology. You simply reply with a nod and Noah scurries away.

You let out a deep breath that you didn't know you were holding. You look at Bucky, "Thanks."

He shrugs, "Anyone gives you a problem, they have to go through me," he mumbles pecking your lips.

"Y/N, do you know why Noah suddenly qui-ah," Joan turns the corner to see you and Bucky. The older woman puts her hands on her hips and gives Bucky a scolding look, "Barnes, what did you do?"

Bucky shrugs, "Just gave him a warning, ma'am. He shouldn't have been treatin' my girl like that!"

"Very true, but you know I don't condone violence in my shop."

He holds his hands up, "No violence happened, ma'am. Just a little threatenin'." Joan looks to you for confirmation and you nod.

She sighs, "Very well. Guess I need to look for another employee again."

An idea came to mind, "Actually, I know someone!"

______________

"Seriously, Y/N, I owe you one for this!" the young brunette exclaims as he follows you with a box of books in his arms.

You chuckle, "It's no problem, Peter. Besides, we both get something out of this. You're doing a much safer job like your Aunt May and Tony wanted and you get to keep an eye on me for Bucky. It's a win-win situation."

The bell above the shop's door rings and Peter immediately places the box of books down, "I got it!" he rushes to the front, "Hi, welcome to-oh! Y/N!" Peter's voice echoes through the store.

You shelf a book and head to the front, "Yeah?" you break out into a smile as you see Bucky there.

"Hey!" you approach him, giving a little wave to Steve, who stands behind him. Steve waves back, but says nothing else. You wrap your arms around Bucky and peck his lips, "What's up?"

"Had a meeting at Wanda's shop, brought some pastries for you, Joan, and the kid," he hands over the maroon pastry box with Wanda's logo on it.

"Yay! Here, Peter," you hand it off to the young man and he jaw drops, "Oh, sweet! Thanks, Mr. Barnes!" and he heads into the back to share the pastries with Joan.

Bucky places his hands on your waist, "How's he doin'?"

You chuckle, "Fine. He's very enthusiastic and a hard worker. Plus, he doesn't hit on me because he's in love with MJ."

Bucky's brows shoot up in surprise, "Jones' kid? Pft. Good luck, Parker."

You giggle and then back away, "Alright, big mob boss, I need to get back to work."

"Fine. But seriously though, you feel better? Safer?"

You nod, "I do. Thank you," you kiss his cheek and he softens, "Like I said, no one messes with my girl," he gives you a wink and wave as he exits the book shop.

[chocochiffonnn]

Dial Tragedy

➸ Pairing: Idol! Lee Heeseung x Fem! Reader

➸ Word Count: 1.5k

➸ Synopsis: Working an eight to five had you in the absence of your phone, and leaving you with a boyfriend spamming you like crazy with missed calls and messages.

➸ Warnings: Fluff, based on Heeseung's snippet on 'Dial Tragedy', a bit of kissing, the plot strays off a bit, not proofread.

➸ Author's Note: lol just a lil short release from my drafts guys! writer's block been hitting me like CRAZY. also, i refuse to believe her wouldn't call their partner this callsign lmao.

●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·●●·○·●·○·

SOMETHING ABOUT TODAY WAS STRESSFUL— dressed in piles of stress from the tedious workload, buried beneath documents and documents, all of which were due the following day.

The clock inside your lit apartment hit 7PM. Way past your official dismissal. Something you failed to realize as you left the building, simply too busy to get the hell out of there and sink into the comfort of your own couch.

So you do. You take off your feet-killing heels, removed your jacket, and practically threw yourself at the comfort of the soft mattress you’ve been dreaming of since morning.

Then you breath a long, heavy, tired sigh.

It was like a repeat. Paperworks, emails, calls, meetings, brand deals, eat, sleep, repeat. And when you get too tired the world keeps spinning and it tells you, no, it practically demands you to repeat the process you’ve grown accustomed.

You rolled your eyes, reaching towards your bag to open your phone which you had not touched since you left your apartment—

Five missed calls.

Twenty unopened message.

Fuck.

From all the the work and exhaustion you felt from today’s event, you forgot you had boyfriend. Something which you never usually forget so easily. You must’ve been worked to the bone to even let go of the thought that your boyfriend had been leaving you calls and messages.

He must have been worried sick.

Worries ebb your features as you hurriedly open your phone, only to be greeted by another incoming call by none other than the said man. You picked it up, and the first thing that you heard was his hoarse voice—

“�� Angel?”

He whispered. You smile, opening your mouth for a brief moment then closing it again.

“Heeseung, baby?”

“Why haven’t you been answering my calls and messages?”

You sigh. As much as it made you sound mean, you do love it when your boyfriend is clingy. Usually, he rarely has time to do so given his schedule of practically touring the world. But then again, it was something that you had to get used to in the midst of your relationship.

“I’m sorry, I was bombared today at work. My boss kept nagging me about some documents that were due the following day. Ugh.”

You rolled your eyes at the thought of your stupid boss.

Heeseung sighs on the other end, “have you eaten yet?”

Smiling, you bit your bottom lip to suppress the chuckle that came along your way. Despite having every reason to be upset and perhaps stubborn, Heeseung had always been one to put others first before himself. A trait which you absolutely adored about him.

“Not yet, I didn’t touch my breakfast nor lunch today.”

“Okay, well… What are you doing now?”

“I’m sitting at my sofa. I can’t even move. Enough about me, what did you do today?”

On the other end, you heard a bit of shuffling. Heeseung grunts a little. “Takeout?”

“Hmm?”

“You like takout?”

“… Yes, why?”

He goes silent on the other end. Then, your doorbell rang. Though exhausted, you pushed yourself forward and looked through the peephole only to see none other than your boyfriend, standing there, a plastic bag in hand.

He spoke on the phone,

“I got you takeout, angel.”

The same words you heard from the other end of the door. With a gasp, you swiftly opened it. Heeseung stood in full view, dressed in a pair of hoodie and sweatpants, holding up your favorite takout with a smile. His hair was a bit disheveled, eyes a bit puffy from the lack of sleep.

“Heeseung?”

“Hi.”

He steps forward, grabs your waist with his unoccupied hand, and kissed your forehead gently. Warmth spread across your stomach as you felt the heat from his body spreading across yours.

“I thought you said you were in Japan for tour.” you mumble beneath him, Heeseung continued to press little kisses on your forehead.

“Mm. We got home earlier than planned. I guess you forgot to backread the message.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I—”

He cuts you off, “it’s alright angel. Just missed you.”

Heeseung drags you a but forward, closing the door with his foot. All the while, he keeps your body close to his, not once letting go. For a minute, he stays there, and you slowly engulf your arms around his waist in a hug. Despite being pressed against his chest, Heeseung seemed comfortable with the way you were positioned.

“You’re oddly clingy today.” you muffle against his chest, he laughs, caressing your hair with his free hand. “Angel, I was worried sick. I’ve been trying to reach out since this morning, and you weren’t responding. I was performing with you at the back of my mind and everything.”

Heeseung pulls away from the hug, forming his lips into a thin line. His fingers reach out towards your cheek, squeezing it.

You groan. “Ow.”

“I can’t blame you, but I can’t help but be a bit upset, angel.”

Okay, maybe he was upset.

He plays around a bit, gently dragging your cheeks to the left, right, until eventually, Heeseung just squeezed both cheeks with one hand and kissed you abruptly. “You gotta tell me what’s up, yeah?”

You nod. Your job, perhaps in comparison to him, was much less of a loadwork. Answering calls, dealing with papers, and sitting in front of your desk for ten hours straight. While his consisted of constantly moving around, exerting his body to perform— though, Heeseung had never failed to keep you well aware of his whereabouts and things that’s been going on in his life.

“I’m sorry…” you pout, Heeseung’s little bambi eyes soften and sparkled a little. He couldn’t possibly stay mad nor upset with that face. So, he softened, smiled, and kissed you once more on those plump little lips.

“Let’s eat this takeout I got you, angel.”

“Okay…”

You weren’t budging, shoulders slumping slightly. You felt guilty, you really did.

Heeseung sighed, clasping his fingers with yours as he dragged you to your couch.

“C’mon angel. Don’t stress it out too much.”

Eventually, the two of you reach the sofa, Heeseung carefully sat you down, ignoring the mess of your belongings everywhere. He unwraps the takeout, taking the utensils and generously giving you a piece of the food.

“Aah.” He instructs, playing around a little making airplaine noises and gesture as you giggle at his little antics. You play along, mouthing an ‘o’ as he feeds you what felt like heaven beneath your tastebuds. Heeseung saw you jolt a little, nodding aggressively at the taste of the food.

“Good bite, angel.” he mumbles, prepping another bite for you to take. Occasions like these were rare for you, barely having the time to get your boyfriend all to yourself given his schedule. There were times where you’d wish he hadn’t become an idol at all, maybe settle for a job that’s less intense. But Heeseung didn’t work that way, and the both of you knew it. He thrived in the thrill of the industry. As for you? You supported him as much as you could, knowing performing had always made him happy.

“We had a little post-tour celebration today.” Heeseung brings up, giving you another bite of the food.

“With the members?”

He nods. “They’ve been asking me about us and our relationship.”

“What did you say?”

“And… I’ve been thinking, angel— is it alright if we make this known?”

“Make what known?”

Heeseung hesitates a bit, dropping down the fork and keeping his eyes glued to you. One of his hands find a way to crawl to yours, slowly intertwining them together. “Our relationship. I’ll announce it at our next tour.”

You felt your mind buzz at the thought. To make your relationship public would practically be comparable to throwing yourself inside a lion’s den. You’d be eaten alive. Heeseung would be eaten alive. The group would be eaten alive. Their company—

Heeseung lightly flicked your forehead with his finger.

“You’re overthinking it again, angel. I’ve talked to the manager and the members about it.”

“… What did they say?”

“They asked me if I was really sure about it, the manager even scolded me–”

You lightly pushed him in the chest, “Heeseung!”

“But we’ve talked about it thoroughly. Everything, I swear. This, and us. I don’t want to keep you in the shadows, angel. It’s unfair to you.”

Heeseung gently picked up your hand that he was holding, pecking your knuckles gently. His other hand brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

“I’ve never felt that way, baby. Don’t worry about me.”

The way Heeseung’s eyes shift to concern make you soften a little. Always so kind and thoughtful.

“I want the world to know I have the prettiest girlfriend, though.”

He keeps your forehead close to his, the warmth off his body radiating to you in such a comfortable manner. It was like he always cradled you like a child, careful and considerate. It was practically second nature to him at this point.

“Is that okay, angel?”

He whispers, kissing you softly like it was the first time.

And when you nod slowly, giggling like a toddler, Heeseung simply cooed and cradled your cheeks.

“Okay. I’ll let the whole world know— that’s my girl.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ END *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Movie Week

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Male Yandere x Fem Reader, 5k words

After your accident, you wake from your coma in fragments and pieces.

There's the blackness first. A nothingness somehow deeper than sleep. Then the voices, snippets of conversation that you're too hurt and drugged to understand. And finally, in those few hours before you fully wake up, there are the dreams.

You're always running in your dreams. Bare foot, the rain pounding down. Running from something you can't see.

When you wake up, you don't remember. The feeling lingers though - that hair raising knowledge that you're being hunted.

You notice the heart rate monitor first. The constant beeping spiking straight into your head.

You groan. Open your eyes.

An IV drip, bland beige walls, a cheap watercolour painting. Voices out in the hall. Painfully bright florescent lights.

You stay perfectly still for a few seconds, feeling strange and out of place.

What happened? How long has it been? Where exactly am I?

You try sitting up. A bad idea. Your whole body is an unresponsive mess, numb and weak all at once.

"Hey, take it easy."

A palm settles on your shoulder and gently pushes you down.

"You've been through an awful lot. The last thing you need is to push yourself."

You try and focus on the stranger, your vision still murky around the edges. He's wearing a surgical mask and a baseball cap, his eyes squinted at the corners like he's smiling at you.

"Where am I?"

"Riverfate Private Medical Centre."

"Isn't that way out in the mountains?"

"Yes ma'am."

Your head hurts. So does your left leg. And your shoulder. And a dozen other places, now that you think about it. It's hard to focus.

"But I live in the city."

He raises a brow. "You don't remember?"

You shake your head. A bad idea. Pain and light lance through your skull.

You hiss and touch your temple. You're met with a thick wrapping of gauze and bandage.

"Do you remember what happened to you?"

"I...um, I think I was supposed to go out to lunch with my boss. I don't know what happened after that."

"Do you know what year it is?"

You tell him.

"Do you know who I am?"

He pulls down his mask and leans a little closer to you, his eyes searching your face. You don't recognise him at all.

He's handsome, in a clean cut sort of way. He's wearing a sweater and jeans, a pair of glasses hooked in his pocket.

"I don't think so. I don't remember you."

"Not even a little?"

You don't like the way he's looking at you. Like he's watching for the smallest twitch or stutter. Like he doesn't quite believe you.

"I'm sorry. I really don't know you."

He leans back and pulls his mask back up, but not before you see his smile.

"That's okay. I'm not offended. You've had a pretty hard knock on the head."

You figured that part out from the throbbing headache and persistent, low grade nausea. But you suppose it's nice of him to tell you.

He raises his hand and you realise he's holding the nurse call button.

"Let's get you properly checked out, yeah?"

It buzzes when he presses it and it doesn't take long for a nurse to pop his head into the room, quickly followed by a doctor.

"How long has she been awake?"

"Not long," your visitor answers, even though you assume it's been a good few minutes.

Your doctor runs you through some basic questions, her lips getting thinner with each answer.

"Post-tramuatic amnesia," she announces, "Not surprising given the nature of your injuries. Some of it will come back to you, some of it won't. For now, I want to keep an eye out for any signs of cerebral edema. Beyond that, it's just a matter of rehabilitation."

"How long until I can take her home?" the stranger asks.

She glances at him. "And you are?"

He doesn't hesitate. "Her fiancé."

You stare at him, not sure you heard him right.

"I'm engaged?"

He shoots you a look and reaches out to briefly rest his hand on yours.

"For a few months now. I'll tell you all about it later, promise."

The doctor raises her brows but doesn't comment.

"She can be discharged in a week or so, bar any complications," the nurse answers.

"Good. I want to get her home as soon as possible. Better to be in a familiar place, right baby?"

You're too overwhelmed and confused to answer him. Engaged? Really? You haven't had any long term relationships, much less had a guy get serious enough to consider marriage.

The doctor shrugs and checks her watch. "I think there are a few police officers who want to speak to the both of you. But it's better if the patient rests for a few hours. You need to take things slow, especially so soon after waking up."

She orders the nurse to give you something with a complicated sounding name, and less than fifteen minutes later you're knocked out. Drifting back into the dark of your dreams.

Your fiancé watches you until you fall asleep, his expression hidden by his mask.

The police officers are tired. You can tell, even though you're still a little out of it yourself.

"You don't know what happened? Nothing at all?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"She's injured," your fiancé snaps, "Of course she doesn't remember. Take it easy."

"What about you? Where were you when your wife was being admitted?"

"Rushing here, obviously."

"The hospital staff said they didn't contact you."

"You must have spoken to the wrong shift. I was here at three, right after they released her from surgery."

The cops sigh, shift in place. You reckon they want to be done with you as soon as possible.

"Seems pretty straight forward," one says, "It was raining heavy last night. Driver didn't see you crossing the road. A bad accident that could have gone a lot worse."

What were you doing walking in the rain at two in the morning? You don't get a chance to ask before they're already standing to leave.

One of the cops pauses at the door and points at your fiancé's mask. They briefly asked him to remove it but now it's right back in place.

"What's up with the mask?"

"I hate hospitals," he says simply. "Can't stand the smell. Or the germs."

The cop shrugs, tries to smile. "You'd hate my line of work, I can tell ya that much."

When they're gone, your fiancé comes to sit on the edge of your bed, wary of your leg in its plaster cast.

"Look what I found. I thought you lost it in the accident, but the nurses kept it aside."

He carefully takes hold of your hand and slips an engagement ring onto your finger. The metal pleasantly cool against the feverish heat of your skin.

You stare at it for a long time. Gold, with a huge rock front and centre.

You don't remember picking it out, don't remember saying yes. But it very much feels like something you'd choose. It looks perfectly at home on your finger.

"Do you like it?" he asks softly.

"Yes." You look up at him and smile, your heart fluttering and the heart rate monitor going crazy. "I love it."

"But it isn't jogging any memories?"

You shake your head.

"Well, guess we'll just have to make new ones." He doesn't sound upset at all.

You look down at his hands. He's wearing gloves, even though the AC is pleasantly warm.

"Can I see yours?"

He chuckles and tugs off his glove. He let's you take hold of his wrist without complaint, watching as you tilt his hand this way and that.

His ring is clearly a twin to yours. A simple gold band scratched a little from daily wear.

You carefully pull it off his finger. He doesn't stop you, though he does lean forward a little. It's a bit too loose on him. Needs to be sized down just a tad. Did he lose weight recently?

There's an engraving on the inside.

"Forever and a day?"

"Mm-hmm. It's what you promised me. From the moment we met."

It's cute, you have to admit.

"You gonna give it back? Afraid our engagement has a very serious no take-backsies clause."

You giggle as you pull him closer.

"We've got to do this properly, you know," you tell him. "So. Will you marry me, handsome stranger?"

He doesn't hesitate even a second.

"Yes. Right now, if I can nab a priest from the hospital chapel."

"I don't think those come with priests."

"What, not included in the comprehensive package?"

You laugh a little and slip his ring back on. It looks good on him. You wish he wouldn't keep covering it up with his gloves.

"It's the germs," he tells you when you bring it up. "And I know you're going to say hospitals are like the cleanest, most sanitised places on earth. But I swear I get sick every time I visit one."

You raise your free hand and press it against his neck, the only bit of open skin on his body. He stills. Hell, you think he stops breathing for a second or two.

"Warm. But not feverish. I think you'll be okay, big guy."

It takes him a moment to reply, his eyes fixed on your face.

"Thanks. Feels good when you say it."

You smile at him, your cheeks tingling.

"You flirt."

He catches your wrist when you start to pull away. You can't be sure, but you think he's smiling.

"Only with you, baby. Only ever with you."

Recovery is a long process, and one that continues even after you get discharged. Your doctor is diligent in monitoring you, and tyrannical in making sure you play all the memory and card games recommended for rehabilitation.

They annoy you at first. Kids games, almost. Remember where the apple is and match it to the other apple. Shuffle the cards and remember where each one goes.

But it's not long before you realise exactly how important it is that you get better at them.

Your brain is awfully slow, never focusing on one thing for more than a few minutes. Your recall isn't nearly as good as it was. You get headaches whenever you think too hard on the blank spaces where your memories ought to be.

Your fiancé watches you from the edge of your bed as you lay out your cards and then lay them out again. He doesn't help you, not even when you get so frustrated you want to hit something.

He just lays a hand on your thigh or your calf and tells you to take your time, that you'll get it right eventually.

You get used to having him around. Find yourself looking forward to seeing him every morning.

The day that you're scheduled to be discharged, he shows up with a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers and a basket packed tight with your favourite chocolate.

"How did you know?" you squeal, your nose buried in the petals.

He laughs and runs a hand through your hair, careful of your stitches.

"You're my wife to be, baby. I know everything there is to know about you."

When he helps you into your wheelchair he presses a kiss against your temple.

"Are you ready to go home?"

You ought to be hesitant. Ought to wonder a bit more about the man with your ring on his finger. But in the confusion of waking and the rush of being around him, it doesn't occur to you at all.

"Absolutely. Rescue me from these awful beige walls, my handsome knight."

He laughs and kisses your cheek.

"As you wish, my lady love."

The discharge papers are a thick stack, and by the time you're done signing, your fingers ache. His name isn't anywhere to be seen, except for as the emergency contact.

"We still haven't updated our health insurance," he explains. You shrug and hand the papers back to reception, glad to finally be going home.

It's only when you're in his Jeep and driving further into the mountains that you think to ask where home actually is.

He tells you the address and laughs when you stare at him.

"Did I not mention it? We moved a few months ago, after you quit your job."

"But I love work. I find it hard to believe I left."

He hums quietly. "I think you'll understand when we get home."

Home. When he says it, you can't help but think of your apartment in the city.

It's coming back to you in bits and pieces. The security guard at the door, the long week spent picking out and assembling furniture when you first moved in, the scramble to get ready for a night out in your cramped bathroom.

You don't remember your fiancé though. No matter how hard you try.

The drive up to his house (yours too, try and remember that) is much longer than you expect. You doze off at some point, and when he wakes you the last bit of sunlight is fading into dusk.

The house is huge. The windows already blazing light, the front door standing open for you. It's all wood and stone, with pretty French doors.

You don't recognise any of it. 

"Is it only us out here?"

"Yep. Pretty big place for just the two of us, but you like the quiet. Here, put your arms around me. The gravel will just get in the way of your wheelchair."

"You're going to carry me in?"

He grins at you, half his face in shadow.

"Just like I did on our first night."

He pulls you out of the car and you curl your arms just a little tighter around his neck. No need. He's much stronger than he looks, walking all the way to the door without once loosening his grip on you.

He pauses on the threshold.

"Welcome home, baby."

He carries you into the house, the picture perfect husband to be. It makes your stomach flutter and your cheeks burn. How the hell did you manage to snag a man like him?

"We'll save the tour for tomorrow, yeah? I think it's best we get you to bed."

You nod against his chest. Tired in the bone weary way that comes from medication wearing off and pain setting in.

He takes you to the master bedroom - a sprawling, wood panelled room with a huge fireplace and a balcony that looks out on the trees.

"You should see the view in winter," he murmurs as he sets you down. "White and sky as far as the eye can see."

You're hurting, true. But there's a heat coiling through you wherever his touch lingers. A husband to be... doesn't that mean a wedding night too?

"I can think of better things to do in here than look at the trees," you say softly.

He tilts his head. "And what would those be?"

You still have your arms hooked around his neck. You pull him closer to you, until his hands come to rest on the bed.

"Is this where we celebrated our first night as an engaged couple?"

He freezes up and then nods.

"And did we enjoy it?"

"Yes," he answers, breathless.

"Not fair that only one of us remembers it, is it?"

Your brush your lips against his. Not exactly a kiss, but very close.

He stops breathing.

You let go of his neck and rest your palms on his cheeks. It's a little strange seeing him without the mask, and a little strange to be touching him so intimately. But he's spent almost every waking hour taking care of you. Has been nothing but sweet and gentle. Doesn't that deserve a proper thank you?

"Love?"

He pulls in a sharp breath and pushes you down onto the bed. Crawls on top of you, his knees on either side of your waist.

You laugh, breathless.

"Oooh, didn't think you were so pent up," you tease.

He doesn't answer you. Just drops his head to your neck and buries his nose in your hair.

You heart is going a mile a minute. Your whole body feels electric. Doc said to take it easy but what else is a girl supposed to do when her man is so handsome and so unbearably close?

You run your hands through his hair. He makes a small, choked sort of noise and brings his palms up to cup your face.

"I love you."

A mix of desperation and want. He straightens up, fisting the duvet on either side of your head.

"I love you," he says again.

You smile, reach up to brush your knuckles against his cheek.

"I think I'm falling in love with you, too."

He moves forward and the moonlight catches in his eyes.

You freeze.

That look. That hungry, scorching look...

Adrenaline rips through you and your jerk up, pushing yourself backwards.

He almost falls off the bed, catching the frame at the last second.

"Baby? What's wrong?"

He follows you and you almost scream.

"Baby?"

He stills, one hand reaching for you.

"I don't... I don't know. Just... just give me a minute."

What the hell was that?

It's like your body remembered something your mind couldn't. Threw you right back into a moment where you were terrified, where your heart was racing and a scream was being stifled in your throat.

He reaches for you again and you jerk away without thinking.

You don't want to be touched. Not by him, not by anyone. Not while that awful half memory is still running through your synapses.

"I'm sorry. Can we take a rain check, please? I'm not ready."

He doesn't answer immediately. He drags his eyes down your body, the same searching way he did when you first woke up. Trying to find something in your eyes, in your posture.

"Fine," he manages. "Rain check."

He pushes himself off the bed, his entire body stiff.

"I'm going to take a shower."

He doesn't wait for you to answer.

You pull your knees to your chest and try to tell yourself that it's nothing to worry about. Your brain was rattled loose, of course there's going to be sparks firing in the wrong cylinders for awhile. These strange reactions don't mean anything.

You have no reason to freak out like this. Your fiancé has been nothing short of perfect.

You tell yourself that, but you still flinch when he climbs into bed with you.

You pretend to be asleep when he slings an arm around your waist and pulls you against him. He buries his nose in your hair, sighs like a man coming home at long last.

"It's going to be okay, baby. You and I will be just fine. I'll make sure of it."

He's long gone when you wake up. The sun is slanting across your pillow and you give up on going back to sleep.

He left your wheelchair next to you, and after a few false starts, you manage to haul yourself in. You're still wary of putting too much pressure on your injured leg, and you flinch when an accidental knock sends a sharp pain lancing through your ankle.

Ouch. Not so easy when your man isn't around to hold you. If you needed yet another reminder, the dull throb in your ankle serves just fine.

Whatever happened last night, you still need him.

You take your time exploring the bedroom, opening all the drawers you can reach. Your clothes are neatly packed away, your heels lined up on the floor of the cupboard. Your books are sitting on the shelves, complete with all the knick knacks you've collected over the years.

There's a picture of you and your fiancé on the nightstand. He's got his arm around your waist and you've got your head tilted back to look at him. It's cute. And something about the way he holds you makes you feel warm and safe.

The room door is the only thing that gives you trouble. It's heavy, and difficult to swing open from your wheelchair.

You fiddle with the handle for a few minutes before finally giving up and calling for your fiancé.

You worry that he might not hear you through the wood, but a few minutes later your hear his footsteps.

He swings the door open and smiles at you.

"There she is. How did you sleep, gorgeous?"

"Okay. Was the door locked?"

He shrugs and fiddles with the latch.

"I don't think so. But it does tend to stick sometimes."

He leans down to kiss your cheek. "Don't worry about it, baby. I'm here to save you."

He makes you breakfast, and in the bright light of day its easy to forget the way he looked at you last night.

Easy to relax and laugh at his jokes and admire the way his forearms flex when he works.

You forget about your worries until lunch time rolls around.

He's chopping vegetables for a salad, the light bouncing off the knife. You aren't sure why it catches your attention - maybe you're just attracted to shiny things - but it has no trouble holding it.

There's something in the way he holds his knife that makes the back of your neck prickle. Makes some long dead gut instinct stir.

"Love?"

"Hmm?"

You aren't sure what you're going to ask until the words are already spilling out.

"I hate to be a bother, but do you think you'll be able to run to town later? I want to make my mum's chocolate mousse and I need a few ingredients. I'm really craving it."

He raises a brow. "Y'know, I've never tried it. You kept promising to make it, but work always got in the way."

"You promised to marry me without trying my chocolate mousse? Terrible oversight. The sort of thing that leads to divorce."

He winks at you. "I had some other sort of dessert in mind when I proposed."

He locks the front door before he leaves, and waves at you before he drives off.

You give it five minutes before you start searching. Enough time to make sure he isn't turning back.

You aren't sure what you're looking for - you just want something to jog your memory. A smell, the angle of the sun on the tiles, a picture or two. Whatever it takes to explain why your body is afraid of a man who's given you no cause to fear.

Most of the rooms are locked. That bothers you. Why would you need locked doors in your own house?

It's his study that seems the most promising. But his laptop is encrypted and you give up after five failed attempts at cracking his password. His desk drawers don't yield much beyond discarded receipts and half empty pens.

Well, until the last one.

It's locked, but after a few minutes of searching, you're rewarded with a key. Taped to the underside of the desk, totally out of sight and reach unless you're in a wheelchair.

Score.

The drawer is stuffed to bursting and it takes you a while to work it open. When you finally succeed, you're met with a stack of meaningless papers. Names and places you don't recognise.

You try to bite back your relief. Don't get too happy too soon. There might still be - if not skeletons - bones in the closets.

You shuffle through the pages without finding anything suspicious. You're about to put them back when you notice the phone.

It's tossed at the very back of the drawer with a few other odds and ends. You dig them out, not sure what you're looking at.

A man's ID. Neither the name nor the picture bear any resemblance to your fiancé. You don't recognise the owner.

Odd, but not insanely so. Maybe he's just holding onto it for someone.

A leather bracelet, with a metal band attached. You flip it over to read the engraving.

Forever and a day.

Still not suspicious, you tell yourself. You don't wear every piece of jewellery you own. It's crazy to expect your man to.

It's only when you power the phone on that you run out of excuses.

The wallpaper is a copy of the framed picture in your bedroom upstairs.

Except it isn't your fiancé that's holding you.

You breath catches in your throat. The man from the ID, his dimples showing as he smiles at you.

The phone isn't locked but you're not sure where to start. There isn't any signal, and when you scroll through the call log you don't recognise any of the names or numbers.

Pictures then. Those ought to clear things up.

They don't. The gallery is messy, but it isn't hard to find the pictures of you. There are hundreds.

Casual pictures of the two of you hanging out - kissing this stranger on the cheek and doing mud masks together. Corporate shots from work conferences - the two almost always next to each other.

You scroll and scroll, a widow into a life you don't remember.

The man is wearing a ring in some of the most recent pics. The same simple gold band your fiancé has.

He's wearing the bracelet too. That promise - forever and a day - pressed against his pulse.

You can't hear your own thoughts over the pounding of your heart. If this stranger is your fiancé, then who the hell was in bed with you last night?

"Baby. What are you doing?"

You whirl to face the door, your wheelchair shrieking against the tile.

Your fiancé (is he really?) is standing in the doorway, his eyes on the phone still clutched to your chest.

"How did you find that?"

You don't answer him. When he takes a step into the room, you back away.

He stops, watches you with his hands raised, palms up like he's calming at animal.

"Who the hell are you?"

Your voice isn't strong, but it's strident. Rough with the edges of panic.

He flinches. "It's not what you think."

"What else could it possibly be? You lied to me. Why?"

A thousand little things are clicking into place. Small mysteries that don't seem quite so harmless with the full picture laid out in front of you.

You have to dig your voice out of your throat before you manage to speak.

"You're not really scared of germs, are you?"

He looks at you for a long time. The sweet, kind, caring man who isn't at all who he claims to be. 

"No," he says at last, "I didn't wear the gloves or the mask because of the germs."

You try again, somehow more caustic.

"Tell me who you really are. Don't I deserve that much?"

"I'm the man you're meant to marry. What else matters?"

You grab the sides of your wheelchair, fulling intending to push yourself past him. Let him explain his story to the detectives and the district attorney. You want no part of it.

He jerks forward on instinct.

You blink and he closes the gap between the two of you. Slaps a hand over your mouth before you can scream.

God, how does he move so fast? You remember the hard muscles you felt when he hugged you to his chest last night. He might look harmless on the surface, but you're quickly realising the depths of his strength.

You twist your free hand in his shirt to shove him off but it's useless - you don't have any leverage at all. Your wheelchair rolls backwards until it's pinned against his desk.

He sighs and pulls the phone out of your hand.

You watch helplessly as he scrolls through the gallery, deleting one picture after the other.

"This is just a bit of silliness, baby. A little lapse in judgement. Your mind isn't what it used to be, you can't trust everything you see."

Whatever you try to say is muffled by his hand.

He sighs again and looks up at you, smiles in that prince charming way.

"Don't freak out, okay? This is exactly how things are meant to go. You and I were always endgame, baby. You just... forgot."

Your head is starting to ache. That same sharp, splitting pain you felt when you first woke up. His cologne is different today. Something woody and deep that makes your stomach churn. It's familiar, though you can't remember ever smelling it before.

He shuts the phone off and shoves it in his back pocket, his attention back on you.

His eyes have that awful glint to them again.

You think back to you hospital discharge - his name isn't anywhere on your papers. He's unrecognisable on camera with his mask and his hat. He's a ghost, as far as the investigation goes.

If there's an investigation at all.

As far as the authorities are concerned, you're safe at home with your fiancé. Your friends from the city (do you even have any? It's been so long since the last clear memory) probably assume you're on some incredible honeymoon with no cell service. No one knows where you are. 

He tilts his head and runs his free hand down the column of your throat.

"We just need to jog your memory, that's all. You'll calm down once you realise exactly what happened."

His hand falls from your throat to your jeans, his thumb stroking half circles against your inner thigh.

"You were always meant to be mine, baby. That's what you told me, the night you asked me to kill your fiancé. You promised me it would be just the two of us, for forever and a day."

Day 1 - Fear (1996)

Day 2 - Secret Obsession (2019)

Day 3 - Hush (2016)

Day 4 - The Perfect Guy (2015)

Day 5 - The Boy Next Door (2015)

Day 6 - The Invisible Man (2020)

Day 7 - Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

Taglist: @jsprien213 @trolleri-trollera @mel-vaz

[tadc-harlequin-au]

"Greetings. Please, do enjoy your read, with the official Masterpost of..."

The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin AU!

Looking for this AU's game counterpart? You can go to The Souls-like AU Masterpost for that!

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INTRO ANIMATIC:

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The long-awaited official masterpost of the Harlequin AU is now here! You'll find everything there is to know about the AU, all in here.

Please note that all of it is still a WIP! And this is NOT an RP blog! ══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

CHARACTER ROSTERS & DESC.!

Main Cast:

Supporting Cast:

"The names have the link to the full character biography attached to them. Please note that some aspects of it are still incomplete, (or may even be outdated) for story purposes."

Pomni, The Last Harlequin: |•| Caine, The Puppetmaster:

Coming soon!

Ragatha, The Artifact Collector |•| Jax, The Mischievous Trickster

Lady Gangle, The Bashful Slithery Chronicler:

Z, The No-nonsense Housesmith:

Kingr, The Helpful King:

BOSS ROSTERS, OFFICIAL STORY/LORE SNIPPETS, NON-CANON TIDBITS and FAQs BELOW THE CUT!

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BOSS ROSTERS:

The Lady of Forgotten Memories |•| The Skirmish General |•| The Last Formidable, Imposing Structure |•| The Mischievous Trickster Automaton |•| The Maddened Princess of the Theater |•| Bladed Beast of Steel and Shadows |•| The Pierrot of the Carnival Funhouse |•| The Celestial Twin Entertainers |•| Bandits of the Confectionary Highlands |•| Former Warden of the Labyrinth |•| Overlooker of the Confectionary Highlands |•| The Abstraction |•| Duchess of the Mildenhall Cliff's edge House |•| Proud Queen of the Gatherers |•| The Patriarch of Puppets |•|

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OFFICIAL STORY:

"Thrilling Order Of The Hunt" comic |•| Stalemate (fic) |•| Touch-Starved (Post-boss!Ragatha)

OFFICIAL LORE SNIPPETS:

The Charmer, The Catalyst and The Inventor |•| Memory#1 |•|

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OFFICIAL ARTWORKS:

Coming soon!

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LORE-RELATED ASKS:

You can go here for that!

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NON-CANON:

"Come Back To Me." (showtime, ao3) |•| Cade, The Miracle star (Showtime fankid) |•| Anya, The Little sensitive Poppet (Jesterdoll fankid) |•| The Lady of Forgotten Memories' defeat |•| Who Broke It (Harlequin AU edition) |•| The Hole (Harlequin AU edition) |•| "Chandelier" fanart (fanfic, suggestive ⚠️) |•| Morning routines |•| ⚠️The Puppetmaster's Trophy Harlequin (dark themes, nihilistic/no happy ending)⚠️ |•|

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FAQs!

"Now, what exactly is 'The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin' AU?"

Well I'm glad you asked! The Marvelous Mechanical Harlequin, or "Harlequin AU" for short, is a grimdark sci-fantasy story about "Puppets", whom are soul-infused robots, trying to regain their lost humanity in a broken world.

It follows Pomni, a short-tempered Combat Harlequin, as she explores the city of Circuits with the aid of Caine, The Puppetmaster.

However, as the story progresses, Pomni not only realizes that there's more to the grand scheme of things as she explores more and more, she also uncovers The Puppetmaster's story, and what secrets he may be hiding.

"How do the boss fights go down in the story?"

Action-packed, fast paced, involves a lot of dying on Pomni's part.

Even though this is inspired by a Souls-like, the boss fights go down more so like a mixture between Cuphead, Shadow of the Colossus, and God of War (2018/Raganarok). Mostly God of War.

"Are there going to be canon ships in this AU?"

Yes! The AU is very Showtime (Caine x Pomni) centric, and some of the story aspects of the AU are heavily surrounded on that. There is a bit of Jesterdoll (Pomni x Ragatha) in it, too.

Aside from these canon ships, all is fair game. The Puppets don't have ages seeing as to how they are robots (and were already adults prior to their conversion), so the possibilities are endless.

"Can I make fanarts/fanfics/make original content for your AU?"

Why, of course you can! In fact, I would REALLY love to see it, as long as it complies with my personal boundaries below. So don't be afraid to tag this blog, or @iamespecter in your posts if you want me to see it!

"What are the boundaries of the AU?"

Go wild! The AU's rating is pretty mature, if it wasn't obvious already for it's grimdark genre.

However... I would like to ask that if you would like to make something dark even for my standards for this AU (i.e non-con or dark kinks), all I ask is that you don't show it to me. I personally do not like it, and do not vibe with it.

"What are your thoughts about NSFW surrounding the AU?"

Suggestive content and NSFW is allowed! I am an adult, and I personally enjoy them. (I think I'll make a blog for the more... spicy things.)

Even I make suggestive content for this AU.

HOWEVER! Please tag it properly with "cw suggestive", "tw suggestive", "tw nsft" and various other tags for people who do not wish to see them, or are minors. I can't keep track of everything try as I might, so it'll be up to you to be a decent person, which I know you will be.

"I don't like showtime, but I find your AU interesting. Will that be a problem?"

For you, it might be. The story leans heavily around Pomni and Caine's relationship as a whole, and I'm sorry. I'm just really soft about them.

"Will this be anything like the original TADC?"

Yesss...? And no...? It takes a lot of creative liberty and inspirations from various medias.

⚠️ This masterpost is still under construction! Please excuse the technical difficulties. ⚠️

In the meantime, I hope you had a fun read nonetheless! Things will get updated overtime. - Ziku/IAmESpecter

[gb-patch]

GB Patch Games: Response About Sensitivity Reader

[Some of you might not have heard of this happening, but I wanted to address it across the board]

Hey everyone,

I want to make a post about the screenshots of comments from one of our sensitivity readers. The situation is that neither me or Rose want people to feel uncomfortable with Our Life: Now & Forever, but Rose hasn’t done anything terribly wrong and isn’t going to be punished.

The comment about OL MCs wasn’t meant to be genuine hatred towards all male players/MCs of OL. Rose wrote a reply about it-

"Hi everyone! This is Rose, I want to address the male MC comment since it was taken wildly out of context and without the lengthy discussion that was after it. I don't hate male MCs, in fact far from it, male MCs are integral to the story in OL:NF as female and trans MCs are. I think the relationship they could potentially have with Qiu could be a great asset in my opinion as they figure out their gender alongside the MC. The discussion itself was about how I noticed players were sticking to heteronormative norms by shipping Tamarack with a man purely out of societal norms than it was genuine thought into the characters and how I personally wished there was more sapphic relationships with Tamarack or just Tamarack with trans characters as a sapphic trans person myself. I didn't mean to offend anyone by it as no one but my friends who understood what I legitimately meant behind my message and it definitely wasn't meant to be seen seriously. I am sorry regardless to anyone I have offended and I love your male MCs regardless."

And most of the comments were about me. I’ve seen screenshots of the full conversations and they’re not as harsh as the cropped snippets made them out to be. It was longer discussions about not including Derek in any base game Moments for no good reason and not having any plus-sized love interests in OL1 because I was afraid players wouldn’t accept it. That’s not a lie, it’s what I decided for the game I created, and it is ridiculous of me. I’m the one who should be feeling embarrassed over how OL1 will forever be that way, not the people who remember that I did that. I’m not perfect and Rose actually cares more about the players than making me feel like I am flawless.

I also don’t want to tone police an employee venting about their boss in private, on their own time. Both the OL games deal with personal, important topics. This is sensitive work, and it can bring up frustrations. Sometimes people do use harsh words among friends, but they wouldn’t ever say it to a person seriously and directly.

I understand if you wouldn’t want to see anyone speak badly of a dev you like, but I promise it’s not a point of contention between me and Rose. I don’t feel mistreated in anyway. Rose genuinely cares about the Our Life series, and that’s why they get fed up with me over certain parts of the game.

Rose has never been unkind or unreasonable to me when working on the project, and their advice is detailed and well-explained. They do care about the game and want it to avoid having content that upsets people because of my own ignorance/shortcomings.

This being shared publicly from a private server is targeting Rose and seems to be a continuation of things that have happened before this. I don’t want this to continue happening. If you do still have concerns over the one comment about the community, you can let me know. But again, I don’t want people being mistrustful of Rose on my behalf for comments about me in conversations with missing context.

Do not send angry messages to Rose about any of this. We’ll do our best so that OL2 will be better than I was before. Thank you to everyone who reads this and participates in the community!

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Mafia AU

Recently, my mind has been held hostage by the idea of Tim going undercover as Caroline Hill and falling for Danny like there's no tomorrow. Misunderstandings, identity shenanigans, shady deals and sketchy business, guns, illegal labs and experiments, action and romance, the whole package.

Which is why — can I get a drumroll, please — I'm making a thing!

Crime Scene Do Not Cross by corkinavoid on ao3

Also, the tag #cork writes mafia on this blog

Because one platform is somehow not enough since the thing includes moodboard, aesthetics, playlists/soundtracks, long pieces of written text and little snippets, text message screenshots, memes and whatever else I come up with.

Speaking of,

there's a moodboard for the whole work.

The main ship is Dead Tired (look at the moodboard, it has Danny's vibes on the left and Tim's on the right, I'm kind of proud of that), but Anger Management is going to be happening there as well. Also, I have redeemed Vlad the mafia boss, Sam the badass witch, Dani the unrestrained chaotic little princess, some family drama, some vigilante drama, a lot of identity porn and more.

Welcome aboard to my new hyperfixation ride, people, I hope you like it!

–○–

The whole thing was inspired by:

@chubby-p1nk and their Caroline Hill art

'The Cleaning Lady' show

various other shows and movies, including 'Found', 'FBI', 'Mr. & Mrs. Smith' (both the movie and the show), 'Code Black', 'Lift'

I am also uncertain of how long my motivation will last, so expect sporadic updates on everything.

[saintslewis]

𝐌𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐀 | 𝐍𝐇 + 𝐋𝐇

— small snippet.

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x fem!oc; nadia hamilton

summary: the hamiltons are taking over the met gala

settings: October 2024 in New York

saint’s team radio 🪩: i’m back! :D this is one of many but i fear I got TOO excited today about the met gala news lmaoo. this’ll be set in the future with a few lil clues that I’ll add. maybe you’ll figure it out? 🤭 edit: met gala is in a fewwww dayssss!

pls like, comment and reblog!

taglist is down below! lmk if you’d like to be added

renaissance masterlist

-

NEW YORK

“Okay, I understand the bob is iconic but are you telling me she’s had it for her whole life?” Nadia kept her manicured hand on her face, trying to find something to fiddle with.

“Yes, she has. You asked me to ask her and it’s been, like, her thing.” Lewis spoke, his eyes darting between his wife and the road. His left hand seated on Nadia’s thigh as the car was cruising through the streets with the driver being just beyond the partition.

Taking a bit of a breath, she continued playing with her nails as the driver swiftly drove. The music was soft and the car was quiet despite the busy background of New York City just outside the tinted windows. The empty plastic cup of matcha sat in the cup holder next to her, the grassy vanilla taste had not calmed her down in the slightest since leaving their penthouse all dolled up.

“I don’t even think I charged my phone all the way, damn it.” Nadia murmured to herself, her leg bouncing ever so slightly and blaming it on the bumpy ride whenever Lewis asked. “Nads, everything will be okay, I promise. I know this is a massive opportunity for the both of us and…stuff. Look, when you’re saying your speech, just stare right at me. Just like we practiced.” He spoke softly, reassuring her with a rub of her knuckles by his thumb.

She sighed and leaned back against the soft leather, looking out into the scenery of the city. Self doubt flooded through her veins as the seconds ticked by and they were reaching closer and closer to the Met museum. The warmth of Lewis’ hand was all she could use to ground herself in the moment as she closed her eyes. He rubbed her knuckles once again, his thumb glazing over the boulder of a ring on her finger.

Nadia took a moment to take a breath, not yet opening her eyes. “I’m meant for this…right? I-I mean, everything in my life leading up to this very moment has been unconventional to say the least.” She started, feeling her stomach sink at her own words forming in her head.

“You know I hate talking about her, Lewis.” Nadia spoke with a gritty tone, moving the hair in front of her eyes but they kept falling into place as that was the intended hairstyle. “Then let’s not talk about her. She’s not co-directing the Met Gala, you are. She doesn’t even know what’s going on in your life and that’s exactly how you wanted it.” Lewis said his words with such clarity that almost every bitter feeling in her body had vanished.

She finally lifted her head, blinking the minuscule amount of tears that were forming away and grounded herself in that very moment, as the car began to slow down in the almost private entrance to the museum. “You’re right.” Nadia nodded to herself, indirectly hyping herself up.

“I’m always right.” Lewis jabbed, getting out his side of the car to lightly jog to his wife’s side, helping her out of the suv as her rene cavolloi’s hit the new york gravel in a quiet step. “ ‘Always’ is pushin’ it. You almost wore teal blue socks today.” Nadia chuckled with a jab of her own.

“C’mon, they weren’t that bad. They were warm.” He defended his case with a slight wheeze to his laughter, making Nadia roll her eyes at him.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, bud.”

-

Was she overdressed? Perhaps. But nothing said Nadia Hamilton other than overdressing for an occasion. Plus that dress needed to be shown off despite its very neutral colour.

The table she was sitting at was quite literally filled with her bosses and her husband. Even though Nadia never really glorified Anna Wintour in any sense, it was still slightly overwhelming seeing the woman who’s job was destined to be hers one day. Her approach was anything but ordinary but then again, nothing was ever normal in Nadia’s life.

Months in advance before this lovely event, Nadia had visited the Louis Vuitton headquarters in Paris to oversee anything that needed her attention. When taking her much needed lunch break, she had bumped into the equally as small sunglass wearing critic who had invited her to lunch without ever meeting her and offered her the role of Co-Director for the met gala.

Insane.

Nadia had watched as Lewis gave his speech. Poised and elegant as he spoke, captivating the audience with his simple words and awe for the overall theme for the biggest night in fashion. He had done exceptionally well, shaking a few hands along the way to sit next to his wife once again.

Lewis’ heart in pride after hearing his wife begin her speech, drawing in every member of the crowd with her words whilst sprinkling humour in between. This was her stage. This was exactly where she was supposed to be. The glow in her skin had said more than enough, solidifying herself into the fashion world.

The world isn’t ready for what they would witness of the first Monday of May but they would know how incredibly proud Lewis is of Nadia and he would chant his praises to her until his voice went hoarse.

-

“Okay but Anna, what on earth are you talking about?” Nadia asked informally, the phone miraculously balancing between her ear and shoulder as she held the bowl for her brownie mixture.

“Nadia, dear. It has taken me some time to think over it but I would love for you to lead this entire photoshoot for the Met Issue for May. It’s a rather astounding amount of talent to be working with but I’d like for you to work with everyone and not just Lewis.” The older women rambled on the phone doing god knows what.

Anna Wintour’s words made Nadia stop in her tracks. She could barely envision herself walking up the Met steps yet she would have to direct an entire photoshoot? “Um..would I have to dress every single one of them or?” She questioned, placing everything back on the kitchen counter and adjusting her neck as it started to pain.

“Oh no, darling. That would be far too treacherous for you, seeing as you still have to deal with your own outfit for the day. Tell me, how many people are on your table?” Anna inquired, sounding more upbeat than usual. “Maybe 10 people? It’s all confirmed but my mind is all jumbled.” Nadia sighed out, barely noticing that she wiped her stained hand on her white shirt.

“Very well then…I shall let you be on your way and we shall keep in touch.” The older woman said her goodbyes and hung up.

And on her way Nadia was. The poor girl has never been more stressed out in her entire life than this very moment. Thank God Lewis knew how to work the camera and knew not to mess up his outfit as he manoeuvred around with his prop cane. She couldn’t even focus on how dapper he looked and how he was the very essence of Black Dandyism.

Everyone on the Vogue set could see the worry lines forming on Nadia’s forehead, the US Vogue team constantly missing basic instructions while the talent waited to be directed. Nadia held a laptop on Zoom majority of the photo shoot, trying to make grown adults do their job and they had done extremely well in the very end.

After a couple of hours after photos and interviews, Lewis quietly stepped into the dressing room, seeing Nadia sprawled out on the couch. “Hi sweetheart,” He basically cooed as he bent his knees to plant a light kiss on her forehead. She sprawled out of her sleep as she slowly opened her eyes.

“I was out like a fucking light, wasn’t I?” She groaned, stretching her limbs and turning to face Lewis, her hand instinctively moving to scratch his stubble a bit. “Yeah, today was rough on you but we’re going home now, okay?” He spoke softly to her, now kneeling on one knee to be within her eye level.

“Home?” She lightly repeated, her tone light and almost…needy. Lewis knew that she was slowly letting go and letting her emotions take over because of her exhaustion.

“Yes, home, baby. How does a nice bath sound? I could even order the butter chicken dish you like from the curry house few roads down from us.” He suggested, moving any little hairs from her face as he was close enough for their breaths to mingle.

Nadia simply nodded, her head falling onto Lewis’ shoulder with a gentle thump and he softly smiled. “There’s my girl. Let’s get you home, baby.” Lewis praised, careful to not move her head but managed to make them both stand up so he could guide her to the car.

“I need to burn those teal socks of yours, man.” Nadia murmured, glancing at the floor but still remembered the same pair of socks from months ago.

“Whatever you say, princess.” Lewis chuckled, circling his arm around her waist as they made their way out the dressing room and into the parking lot.

saint’s notes!: like i said just a small small thing 🤭 hope you enjoyed! i was gonna add his vogue shoot but i am SO tired 😭

taglist: @mauvecherie-writes @goodgyalgonebadd @purplelewlew @lewismcqueen @muglermami @simplyyalika @queenshikongo3 @httpsserene @yeea-nah @lewisroscoelove @gg-trini @nichmeddar @greedyjudge2 @sunfairyy @saturnville @henneseyhoe

[beenbaanbuun]

it begins - opposites attract universe

a small snippet from back when darling was nothing more than a sugar baby :)

——————————————————————————-

“you look—”

“tired? miserable?” you cut hongjoong off as you toss yourself down on the rug that the man had noticed you’d taken quite a liking to. honestly before you came he was wondering whether he should move it to one of the unused guest rooms; it is quite an old thing, after all. upon seeing how much you adore it however, he can’t quite bring himself to shuffle it even an inch to the side. he knows his husband is inclined to agree…

“i was going to say overworked, but i suppose tired and miserable works too,” he chuckles lowly. something about you has him doing that so often, finding himself amused by you even when you’re not in the room. there have been so many late night recently, just him and seonghwa lay together sharing stories of how you’d brightened their day.

“well if i look overworked it’s my bosses fault,” you lift an arm to shield your face from hongjoong’s watchful gaze, but even with that extra layer of protection you can feel him staring at you with that an unfamiliar look in his eyes. he’s been looking at you like that an awful lot recently; seonghwa too.

you wonder if they know that the way they watch you has changed? eyes shifting from lust to something strange that, if you didn’t know any better, you might muddle up with adoration. each time you catch it you have to scold yourself a little, warning yourself to not let your heart swell too much. you’re here on nothing more than a business arrangement; your company for their rewards. at the end of the day, that’s all this is.

but as you shift your arm just enough for you to peek at the suited man, you find yourself realising that this moment is worth more than anything they could give you. the money, the clothes; none of adds up to more than the sight of hongjoong staring down at you with such a bright smile on his face. a smile that you know you caused.

maybe that’s why you still have your job, despite the fact that you haven’t needed it for a while, or why you still wear all your old tatty clothes from before you met them on that fateful night in the club. maybe this whole thing has nothing to do with the money at all.

maybe it never has.

“that’s a pretty dress, lamb,” you hear a second voice enter the room, a pretty pair of black stockings passing briefly through your periphery. knowing seonghwa, they’re thigh high with little lacy details in his thigh, far too high up to be revealed without pushing the hem of his skirt up. “although i must admit, i don’t recall ever buying you anything so long…”

it’s a pointed comment, letting you know that he’s well aware of the fact that you’re not adorning any of the clothes they’ve provided for you. he means nothing by it, and you’re well aware of that fact, but you still can’t help yourself from sighing at his words.

“i can’t wear any of the clothes you buy me to work,” you reply, “i don’t want a trip to HR just because mommy and daddy insist on me showing every inch of skin i have.”

and perhaps that was the wrong this to say because as seonghwa sits down gracefully next to hongjoong, he lets out a little dismissive scoff. as you let you gaze shift from hongjoong’s face to his? you notice that his expression matches the sentiment of the sound. fed up and dismissive, but not angry. never angry.

“and how is work, little lamb,” his words are sharp, “i heard you telling hongjoong you felt—what were the words you used? ah yes, tired and miserable. good day then?”

“seonghwa—”

“what?” he interrupts, “am i not allowed to speak your mind on issues that concern me? tell me, lamb,” he leans forward, elbows on knees and knuckles digging into his cheek, “should i not worry about what our darling does with her spare time?”

you freeze, not entirely sure of the meaning of the cadence of his voice or the words that it speaks. he’s always called you his, or theirs—after all, that’s what they pay you to be. never before has he said those words so possessively, though.

“cara mia,” hongjoong warns; something that you’ve never witnessed him do with seonghwa before. the taller man takes no notice of him, though, his eyes firmly rested on you.

“tell me, lamb,” he purrs dangerously, like a lion about to pounce upon its prey, “what are you here for if you’re not going to make use of our gifts? you are our sugar baby; why do you keep returning here if you don’t want to accept our part of the deal?”

your body sits up on its own; an automatic reaction to the uncomfortable tension that sits over the room like a heavy fog. you know the answer to seonghwa’s question, as you fear he does, but you daren’t say it. once it’s out in the open, there’s no taking it back. maybe that would be a good thing, to finally have your feelings out there, your soul lay bare for them. with seonghwa’s expression do unreadable, and hongjoong’s turning to worry, you’re not so sure.

“seonghwa—”

“tell me,” he cuts you off, “because if you don’t, then darling, i’m not sure i’ll be able to live with this uncertainty.”

oh.

is this it then? you either tell them that you feel more than you should or this whole thing is off? for all you know, they might call it off once they hear what you say. they might kick you out, scolding you for growing feelings where there clearly shouldn’t be any. they might roll their eyes and dismiss you as if you’re nothing but dirt on the bottom of your shoe before telling you that this arrangement won’t work anymore.

perhaps more than that, though, is the possibility of them ignoring it. acknowledging your feelings and moving on as though nothing has changed when in reality, everything has. before you thought you could make it through this with those feelings kept a secret, but if they’re going to be out in the open, then you’re not so sure. after all, a rejection is closure, ignorance is not.

“i enjoy your company,” you say, hoping it’s vague enough to satisfy his curiosity. he narrows his eyes and you can tell it’s not.

“you can enjoy our company and still take our gifts,” he says, voice short and impatient, “the two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

you take in a shuddery breath and you can’t lie, part of you is tempted to crawl closer to them just to satisfy your nerves. everything seems okay when you’re bundled up in their arms.

“seong—”

“lamb,” he snaps, “please, just tell me whatever it is that you think you cannot. even if it’s not what we want to hear, i can assure you that nothing bad with happen,” a manicured hand with nails as red as blood reaches forward to catch your chin. you melt into feeling, even the slightest of touch being enough to make things seem just a little better. “you’re far too special for us to allow anything bad to happen to you.”

and just like that, your walls come crumbling to the floor. you shuffle closer to the pair, desperate for something more. you get that something in the form of hongjoong’s hand in your hair. he scrapes his nails against your scalp, humming appreciatively when you melt against the touch, eyes fluttering closed and lips parting. seonghwa, despite his desperation, can’t help but take the opportunity to trace your lower lip with his thumb, tugging it back just before you can resume your usual habit of taking it into your mouth and suckling upon it.

“nothing bad,” hongjoong repeats his husband’s words.

“your company,” you say, voice quiet and breathy as the touch of your two sugar-parents melt you down to nothing, “it means more to me than the gifts ever did. i can go without the clothes and the money, i—” you stop yourself, unsure whether you should let the next few words slip from your tongue. in the end, you know that you’ll have to, but perhaps you can relish in these few seconds in which your secret actually remains just that; a secret.

“you?” seonghwa urges, his hand flattening out against your cheek to stroke it. “what about you, lamb?”

you take a second, maybe two, to build yourself up for the plunge. it feels as though you’re stood on a pier, staring into the murky depths below. your don’t know what’s beneath the water, but what you do know is that seonghwa and hongjoong are already down there. they’re waiting for you to jump; to join them in the only abyss. you want to take that leap, even if you have no clue how deep the water really is. perhaps you will hit something and break your legs, but as you stare into seonghwa’s eyes you realise that they were telling the truth. nothing bad will happen when they’re there to catch you.

“i don’t think i can go without you,” you mutter, “and i think that’s been the case since the very beginning.”

“without us?” seonghwa asks as if the statement isn’t clear as day. what more could he want from you? “you mean to say that this isn’t what we thought it was?”

“well, it was still sugaring,” you try to appease him. he simply shakes his head with a smile.

“but if we’re in it for your company, and you’re in it for ours,” seonghwa breaks eye contact with you for just a moment or so. there’s an almost giddy look on his face as he glances towards the man he married and it remains once his eyes are back on you, “is this not just a relationship? are you not just ours?”

you suppose he has a point.

“is that what you want me to be?” you ask.

“more than anything, dove,” hongjoong replies, “is that what you want to be?”

“yes,” it’s a simple answer, but it says all you need to say, “more than anything.”

[cosmalumi]

A summary of the rest of the story:

This is late, but better late than never I suppose. I've been asked a couple of times over the years to post the rest of the story, but I never knew how to go about writing it up, so here we go Chapter 3

This was the last one I had a proper script for. I guess partially 4? There was a snippet with Twilight and Spike figuring out how to find element bearers but I dunno if it made much sense. The script here is a bit rough and probably needed some refinement, but it gets the point across. The following are the last pages I worked on, two of which were never posted.

[START SCRIPT] He gives a short laugh. “Sorry about that! Nice to meet’cha. Name’s Nox. I hope those restraints aren’t too tight. You might be a prisoner, but there’s no need for you to be uncomfortable here.”

“…” Fluttershy glares at him.

Wow that’s actually a really great impression of my boss… You’re not related to Brass are you?

I guess you’re not the talkative type huh? That's alright, I can do it for you. How’s about we start with a name?

"Says here you’re Fluttershy. Only child of Cloud Cover and Posey who were prominent figures of the Velvet Carnation Movement until their untimely deaths ten years ago during the Ponyville fire, leading to you dropping out of Cloudsdale flight school. Currently you live in a cottage on the outskirts of New Ponyville and run an animal caretaking service.” Fluttershy is shocked, and he’s grinning “Pretty spooky, huh? The crown’s got eyes and ears everywhere… But it looks like few places are escaping us… saaay… the hiding places of your Red Sun friends?”

Fluttershy raises an eyebrow.

“Look, I get it. You don’t trust me or anypony in the castle for that matter, but you’re here on charges of attempted regicide and that means you’re on a fast track to a short rope. But I know you’re just another pony that’s been twisted by the Red Sun. If you work with us-

“I’ll never work for Nightmare Moon!” She blurts out angrily.

“But you’ll follow the Red Sun? Do you even know what kind of things they do? Because they certainly aren’t the heroes some ponies make them out to be.

“All they want is an Equestria where ponies can live in peace-” “Peace?”He places several photos on the table. ”Blood rituals, bombings of public gathering places, foalnapping and ransoming ponies to fund their activities.” Fluttershy's face is concerned. “Remember the wild weather that destroyed the harvest in Tall Tale last fall? Well the Red Sun’s goons stole the relief supplies our Queen sent. They were alright with leaving thousands to starve.

“Even if that were the case, I didn’t want to do what I did, but someone had to stand up to her. She’s nothing more than a big bully and I couldn’t sit around anymore and watch her hurt more innocent ponies. I had to try, and If that means this is my last day on Gaia, then so be it. New Fluttershy isn’t a coward!” “That’s quite noble of you. Ponies that selfless are hard to come by… which is why I don’t want to see you go down for this. Tell me who helped plan the attack and the Crown won’t press charges. I’ll make it so you never stepped hoof in Canterlot. You could go on with your life… Go back to your cottage… back to your pet.” Slides forward picture of angel. [PAGE BREAK] Fluttershy is thinking of Angel and other animals from back home. "I can’t do that. They helped put my life back together. I won’t let you hurt them. “Would they do the same for you though? I mean… they didn’t come for you when you got captured. They don’t care about YOU, they cared about what you could do FOR them.” “What and you care?” “Fluttershy, I just want to give you your life back. The way I see it, a cult took advantage of a young troubled mare and made you do things you'd never think to do otherwise. If the Red Sun was willing to sacrifice someone as kind as you, who else would they be willing to throw away for their selfish goals?” “They’re not like that…” She looks a bit more unsure this time. [PAGE BREAK] All I ask in return for your freedom is a name. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for the ones that care for you and would like to see you again. Take some time to think about it. He gets up and leaves. Fluttershy looks down pensively. [PAGE BREAK]

Nox exits. “That went well! Wanna grab a bite, Sabre? I’m thinking sandwiches-- Something with peanut butter. Crunchy, obviously. Crystal Sabre is there, looking at Nox, exasperated. She points at him accusingly. “I told you that wasn’t going to go anywhere. You should have let me interrogate her. “Look, until Brass gets back, I have to fill in for her, and that means I’m stuck with a mountain of paperwork. I even had to get up for that emergency meeting this morning! Let me have a little fun! Besides, I have a feeling it wasn’t all for nothing. “The Red Sun’s never been this bold before…What do you think changed?” Fluttershy says through the intercom window thingy “I want to talk to Rainbow Dash!” “…Who?”

[END SCRIPT]

In the end, I got too scared of the idea of backlash from one of my OCs being mean to Fluttershy ^^;; I recognize that it may not have been the case, but after how much hate I got for killing off a random guard, younger me got too scared to stick to this script and I flip flopped between redoing it or leaving it. I came to love the characters I had originally made for the sole purpose of filling cabinet roles. I struggled bring myself to make one of them the antagonist in an interaction with someone as beloved as Fluttershy. I ended up putting off the decision long enough that I lost interest in continuing the story though. This script was not the main reason I lost interest in the story, but it was a factor. My original points stand, and I don't regret deciding to let this comic go so I could branch out.

A chunk I wrote with Twilight: Sunset shimmer was a failed magician that was previously in Night's employ Twilight actually would have talked about here in this chunk: [START SCRIPT] “We know the elements are all part of a system. If they’re inactive, the bond is still there, it’s just faint, like how on a map you might not see a road between a town and Canterlot, but there has to be one because duh, all roads lead to Canterlot. We have pieces of the system and if we can isolate that link between the pieces, we could follow the link from one element back to the others. All we need to do is fine tune Rarity’s gem finding spell so instead of the beacon being any old gem, it’s whatever is on the other side of the link. Spike: “Wouldn’t the mages before you already have tried something like that? Twi: “Well the last one, Sunset or something, (Frowny scrunchy face), destroyed all of the notes from previous experiments so we’re pretty much starting from scratch, but even if they did, we have something they didn’t! A working element!” [END SCRIPT]

Night burned through so many young and eager mages trying to get what she wanted. Once they weren't useful, they got dumped.

Rest of it:

The big bad evil was going to be the guard Fenix who is actually a body hopping spirit of an alicorn from the ancient alicorn empire before it got decimated in the Alicorn-Draconequus wars. The alicorns had purged themselves of their "darkness" and went on a crusade to bring greatness and order to the rest of Gaia. The last of the Draconequus sacrificed themselves to break the alicorns into the three/four pony tribes--essentially exterminating both races. One of the newly minted unicorns had been in the Empress's inner council and refused to die quietly like the others. Since then, he's been taking over other unicorns' bodies as a way of living forever because he's scared of death (Unicorns because he wasn't sure if non-unicorns could do the necessary magic to prolong his life). That's why Fenix's personality changed when his buddy died in the flashback told by his cousin (The hopping usually kills original person. The original Fenix is gone, there's just the rogue soul now. The previous body was going to die, so he jumped ship before it did). The changeling comment by his cousin was meant to be a diversion.

The entity in Fenix's body had been around for thousands of years, just living a regular life. Ever since the rise of the two sisters, he attached himself to their leadership, usually hanging around as a soldier/guard of some kind, because he still believes in the Alicorns' right to rule and wants to help with bringing glory to Equestria and serve the greater good--the Alicorns and the ideals they choose to rule by.

Fenix had been fine living as just a guard, even under Nightmare Moon. Witnessing her uncertainty and paranoia--how the country was being divided by Night's poor leadership in recent years (especially after the whole assassin and Quake dying)--he became disillusioned by Night's rule and would go on to lead a rebellion against her by plotting to take the Elements of Harmony for himself, hopping into the body of the Red Sun Rebellion's Leader- Sunset Shimmer, then eventually hopping into Celestia to become Solar Flare/Daybreaker or Evil Celestia or whatever. The Elements of Harmony were actually ancient alicorn weapons of mass destruction. The enchantment that made them had mutated over the millennia, becoming something completely new, but contact with the soul of an alicorn of old would have ignited something. Not exactly a reset, but they would have recognized one of their original users and their original purpose.

Night is actually the darkness (a shade) that had been purged from the Alicorn Empress in the old days. It gained a will of it's own over years and forged a pact with Luna to help her take over the kingdom. She didn't remember who she was, only fragments because she was all the parts of the Empress that were deemed impure/bad. They were fine being partner rulers for a while, but then an offhanded comment led to Ponyville being burned to the ground by zealots in the Queen's name 15 or so years ago --this had been to destroy the Velvet Carnation Movement which had been a peaceful group advocating for democracy instead of monarchies--and they'd been feuding ever since and only recently made up in the comic.

Night would have freed Celestia from the Sun of her own volition to try to appease the population and show that she is a good ruler and stop all the talk of rebellion. She wanted to use her as a political puppet. Celestia would have been on a short leash.

Night would have died at the end of the comic, sacrificing herself to put an end to the old empire once and for all by holding down evil Celestia as they both get blasted by the Friendship Elements beam. The old ways were wrong, it was time to stop clinging onto the past--Celestia and Luna are left to make up and rebuild Equestria.

There was definitely a lot of middle stuff that I never figured out, but I did like the story. It just grew increasingly clear that it wasn't something I could ever finish.

Here are some of the alicorn designs I never got around to showing:

I feels quite nice to finally have it all out there.