#Veneer agreed to serve his time...

[pilfappreciator]

Can you write about Veneer... Just, like, anything at all. I'm BEGGING. They could be headcanons, drabbles, oneshots, ANYTHING. My little gay mind can't handle it. If you don't have any ideas here are some that I have off the top of my head ^_^ (also if you could make any of these male reader I will love you forever BUT you obviously don't have to <33)

- Baking with him (but either veneer or the reader is a nightmare in the kitchen and everything goes wrong)

- Having a slumber party !! (Doing eachothers nails, hair, makeup, watching movies, just talking, possibly falling asleep in eachothers arms and being embarrassed in the morning)

- Playing hide and seek together

- CHRISTMAS WITH VENEER!!! (Decorating the house/Christmas tree, getting presents, playing out in the snow, just general festive activities:3)

- Reader who has a shit ton of stuffies and has named them all (introducing them to Veneer, cuddling, fluffy things)

- Eepy time (sleeping/cuddling hcs, shenanigans, not being able to fall asleep, weird midnight chats)

I had more but I forgot....

NAHHH UR LITERALLLY SO BASED I LOVE YOU FOR THAT!!! Veneer is literally such a criminal cuz like?? He kidnapped someone, tortured them, AND he stole your heart??? SOMEONE STOP HIM ASDKJALJSLD

Ended up combining a few of your ideas into one big concept! Hope you don't mind :3

Also heads up that this takes place before the events of Band Together took off! Just figured it'd be kinda hard to throw a sleepover when your ass is literally in prison lol

Veneer x Reader: when your favorite twink invites you to a sleepover

Includes: Male! Reader, sleepover shenanigans, fluff, slight angst, gaygaygaygay—

💎 You and Veneer would have to be INCREDIBLY close before he even considered invited you over

💎 Tbh I feel like getting invited to hangout with this guy in any way is actually? Kind of a privilage?? Like his fame is obviously a big factor in that but growing up, I doubt he had any actual friends who weren't his sister. I imagine him as kinda shy and non-confrontational as a kid, and though Velvet wasn't the BEST sibling, she never hesitated to cuss out whatever poor soul chose to pick on her brother. She's always been the one to lead and Veneer has always just followed

💎 I mean... the guy literally participated in tortue just cuz his sister told him to. He sheep coded as hell 😔

💎 So yeah, this boy probably has like zero experience when it comes to having friends who don't use him for his fame and/or are related to him by blood. Luckily you came along! Now he's actually got someone with whom he shares a genuine connection with!!

💎 Whether that connection is strictly platonic has... yet to be determined >;3c

💎 WITH THAT BEING SAID!! This guy has never once participated in a sleepover (hanging out in his sister's room doesn't count), and he's got absolutely no clue what to do ://

💎 Will conduct numerous amounts of research days in advance! And by research, I mean he's binging all his favorite chick flicks and having Krimp take notes aslkdhaljsdl

💎 FR THO!! THIS BOY IS JITTERY AS HELL WHEN THE TIME COMES TO ASK YOU OUT OVER LIKE---!

💎 "Oh heyyyy, (____)! Fancy seeing you here!"

"This... is my house?"

"R-right, right! Obviously! Um, anyway, do you like sleeping?"

"Uh."

"Also, u-uh, totally unrelated but have you ever wondered what the inside of my house looks like?"

💎 Pls just accept his invitation. If he gets any redder he might pop a blood vessel or something

💎 Heaves out the BIGGEST sigh once you say yes. He'll try to play himself off as nonchalant even though he's absolutely ecstatic, but like... the boy is literally vibrating with excitement okay, he's not fooling anyone lol

💎 Once the big day comes and you show up to his house— sorry, MANSION? Prepare yourself cuz he is most definitely giving a tour. From the indoor pool, to the outdoor pool, to the personal studio/production room, to the many walk-in closets, to a room that is literally just one big ball pit, to a heigh-ceiling hallway just lined with photos/painting of him and his sister... he is NOT afraid to show off asdkajsdlkhjf

💎 (Sidenote: don't worry about Velvet potentially intruding on the sleepover. She's agreed to step out for the day on her brother's behalf. Was definitely pretty pissy about having to vacate her own home but eventually relented... but Veneer definitely owes her for her kindness)

💎 Yknow all those cliche sleepover activities people do in movies? Yeah, you guys are doing literally all of them

💎 Such a dumbass <33

💎 NO LIKE ACTUALLY THO?? Krimp made Veneer a list of popular and totally optional things to do at a sleepover and the second he saw it, he was just like "uugh, seems like a lot of work but I GUESS I'll do it 🙄"

💎 You guys are painting your nails matching colors, doing facemasks, messing around with each others' hair— the whole shebang!! And considering this dude is rich as fuck, you just KNOW he's got nothing but all the top-of-the-line products 😤😤. Only the finest for him (and you <33)

💎 LET HIM DO YOUR MAKEUP!! I feel like he really enjoys it as a whole! Like it's probably his favorite part of getting ready for shows or just his day in general, and the only person he's done makeup for is Velvet (tho those instances were VERY rare)... but if you just? Suggest that he does yours for you?? Like just sitting back so he can do his thing, allowing him to call the shots like he rarely ever does???

💎 Literally swooning SO HARD ASLDHKALKJSJDLKJA

💎 Unfortunately the whole thing kinda backfires on him cuz: 1) you're already super cute without makeup, and 2) he knows what he's doing and could easily boost someone's looks with just some eyesliner and the right shade of lipstick

💎 He makes you look hotter, is basically what I'm getting at

💎 He's not sure if he's just done himself a huge favor or screwed himself over for the rest of the night

💎 Considering his crazy wealth and the fact he probably grew up pretty sheltered/spoiled, I doubt this boy knows anything about how a kitchen works lol. Like most of his meals were either made for him by Krimp or served at high-end hoity-toity restaurants with caviar that probably cost more than most organs sell on the black market ://

💎 So yeah, dinner is really gonna come down to you and your skill level

💎 If you know you're away around, CONGRATS!! You've just signed yourself up for cooking lessons with Veneer! And yes, the kitchen WILL end up a mess (but no worries, he'll just make Krimp clean it up). You'll definitely have to take the lead here and he's more than happy to let you do so! Just tell him what spices you need or what utensil to grab, and his ass is on it 🫡 If you wanna teach him how to knead dough or peel certain ingredients?? He won't complain (especially if said activity requires you two to be in close proximity hehe)

💎 Do NOT leave him alone in the kitchen for more than 10 seconds. You'll just return to find him trying to cut strawberries with the dull side of a knife u_u

💎 If you're also total shit in the kitchen?? No worries! Veneer may be living that high life but he's not above ordering takeout lol

💎 Remember those chick flicks I mentioned earlier? Yeah, you two are totally running a marathon of those. If you happen to have any good recs or other movies you happen to like?? He's totally willing to give them a try! Just know that if it's a scary movie… he's gonna be wrapped around you like a koala and screaming into your ear at every jumpscare

💎 He may be talentless but this boy can hit a high note if he feels he's in danger

💎 He may be different from his sister in some ways, but one attribute he shares with her is the fact that he's a TOTAL GOSSIP LIKE?? THIS BOY IS MORE THAN PREPARED TO SPILL THE TEA ON ANY GIVEN OCCASION—

💎 "Oh my gosh, did you HEAR about what happened to Nikki Mirage the other day??"

"No? Wait, who's that again?"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO--- okay, sit down so I can educate you 😤"

💎 Him and Velvet literally thrive on drama, idk what else to tell you

💎 (he might also spill some tea about his sister... nothing too incriminating, but like, a few embarrassing childhood stories couldn't hurt, right?)

💎 Late night talks are a MUST!! At some point in the night the two of you end up like... nestled under the covers of whatever fort you guys threw together... you're facing each other, heads centimeters apart as you share a pillow... whispering and giggling for no real reason...

💎 Maybe he vents a little about his insecurities and the way Velvet treats him, less like a brother and more like a shadow she can manipulate as she pleases... and maybe you grab his hand under the blanket... yknow, just to comfort him or whatever...

💎 Veneer only ever gets physical affection when he visits his parents, and even then it's just like? The bare minimum?? Pats on the head/shoulder/back, brief hugs, chaste kisses on his cheek— that kinda crap. And it's so tragic cuz this boy is literally the biggest little spoon to ever spoon. Like actually pls just hold him

💎 If he wakes up the next morning to find you laying behind him? Arms wound around his middle?? You face burried against his neck/shoulder blades/top of his head????

💎 He is not moving from that spot even after you wake up too <33

Cannibal, I absolutely ADORE YOU FOR THIS ASK!! LITERALLY SO FUN TO WRITE SAKLJASADKJSD THANK YOU SO MUCH <3333 (was originally gonna split this into two parts but was like, "nah, this ask deserves to be hella long" uwu)

Veneer redemption arc when??

[bugzbun]

The Nanny x reader p.4

One moring in the Sheffield residence as [y/n] was in the kitchen starting coffee for the morning, as they wiped their slightly damp hands on a kitchen towel, they heard Fran rush down the stairs leading into the kitchen.

Her face seemed flushed and [Y/N] looked at her with a concerned expression, slinging the towel over their shoulder.

"Miss Fine-?" [Y/n] was cut off by Frans frantic hushed yell.

"It's Mr. Sheffield's birthday!!" She exclaimed before her red painted lips turned into a slight pout. "He wasn't even going to say anything.."

Then she gasped suddenly and held onto [Y/n]'s shoulders, a wide grin on her face as she lightly shook them.

"Lets organize a surprise party to make his day special!!"

[Y/n] sighed knowing they'd probably have no say in this, but agreed anyway. Enlisting the help of the Sheffield children to make decorations and Niles tasked to keep the plan under wraps by keeping Mr Sheffield busy. 

 Maggie, assisted [Y/N] in planning the menu for the surprise feast. She shared insights into some of Mr. Sheffield's favorite dishes, and maybe a few of her own. 

As days passed and the day arrived, Fran had gathered everyone in the kitchen for a quick briefing.

The excitement in the air was palpable as Fran shared the final details of the plan.

"Remember, darlings, timing is everything. Niles, keep Mr. Sheffield engaged in that 'urgent business meeting' you concocted. The kids, you'll be in charge of leading him to the garden when the time comes."

Maggie, Brighton, and Gracie nodded eagerly, their eyes reflecting a mix of mischief and anticipation.

"[Y/N], sweetheart," Fran turned to you, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"You'll be in charge of the pièce de résistance – the birthday cake. I trust your culinary magic will make this celebration unforgettable."

With a confident nod, you accepted the responsibility, determined to create a cake that would not only tantalize taste buds but also serve as a fitting centerpiece for the surprise party

Unknown to them C.C Babcock had heard everything about the cake, and had started cooking her own plan. 

In the kitchen, [Y/N] put the finishing touches on Mr. Sheffields' birthday cake.

The layers were perfectly aligned, and the frosting was just so tempting.

As they stepped back to admire their creation, Fran entered the kitchen with a twinkle in her eye.

"Darling, that cake is a work of art! Mr. Sheffield will be absolutely thrilled."Just as Fran praised [Y/N]'s culinary masterpiece, C.C. Babcock made her entrance, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" C.C. commented, her eyes fixed on the cake. "Quite the culinary delight, [Y/N]."

Fran, ever the optimist, greeted C.C. with a friendly smile.

"C.C., my dear, we're preparing a surprise birthday party for Mr. Sheffield. You're welcome to join the celebration."

C.C. feigned surprise, masking her ulterior motives behind a veneer of congeniality.

"A surprise party, you say? How delightful! I wouldn't miss it for the world." Little did everyone know that C.C. had something up her sleeve.

She saw an opportunity to present herself in a favorable light to Mr. Sheffield by offering a culinary contribution of her own.

As the guests started to gather in the garden, the cake placed at the center of the festivities, [Y/N] couldn't shake a sense that something, was off. Unbeknownst to them, a culinary showdown between [Y/N]'s masterpiece and C.C.'s surprise creation was about to unfold.

The moment had come for the grand reveal of Mr. Sheffield's birthday surprise. The garden was adorned with decorations, and the excitement among the guests was palpable. Fran, with her signature flair. The Sheffield children eagerly awaited their cue to lead Mr. Sheffield to the garden.

 However, the tension in the air was heightened by the unexpected entrance of C.C. Babcock, holding a covered dish with a smug expression.

"Well, [Y/N], it seems we both have culinary surprises for Mr. Sheffield," C.C. remarked, her eyes flickering with mischief.

Fran, ever the peacemaker, tried to diffuse the situation. "Oh, C.C., how wonderful! The more, the merrier. Let's make this celebration unforgettable." With a sly smile, C.C. agreed.

The Sheffield children successfully led Mr. Sheffield to the garden, where the guests erupted in cheers. Mr Sheffield looked aroung on surprise then smiled, hugging his children as Fran clapped happoly next to them. 

As [Y/N] stepped forward with the birthday cake, they couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety. The guests' eyes were fixed on the masterpiece, eager to witness the grand reveal. However, C.C.'s smug demeanor hinted at a challenge that awaited.

With a dramatic flourish, [Y/N] presented the cake – a culinary work of art that reflected their passion and dedication. The layers, the sweet smell that tickled their senses, and the delicatly placed strawberries  drew admiration from the crowd.

Not to be outdone, C.C. dramatically uncovered her dish, revealing her own, not as elaboratly decorated and seemed a tad burnt. The guests, caught between [Y/N]'s impeccable cake and C.C.'s surprise, were momentarily stunned.

Mr. Sheffield, genuinely touched by the efforts of everyone, took a moment to appreciate both of them. Fran, sensing the tension, tried to lighten the mood.

"Well, Maxwell, it seems you have the privilege of enjoying two treats on your special day!"

As the guests indulged in the cakes, the verdict was clear – [Y/N]'s creation had won the hearts and taste buds of the crowd. C.C.'s surprise was, to put it simply, awful. [Y/n] and Fran had to hide their smiles as C.C tried her own creation before spitting it out and stomping off. 

The surprise birthday party continued with laughter and shared moments, and for [Y/N], they truly felt they became an integral part of the Sheffield household.

A/n: I didn't think anyone would read this, let alone like it- I just did this for fun. Thank you for reading!

[marley-manson]

Margaret's Marriage is such a good episode in general tbh. Like it has one of my fave gay lines in Hawk's fun-fact style reference to Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas. I just always enjoy how Hawkeye is portrayed as the resident expert on non-normative sexual stuff which includes anything gay, and gives the gay jokes that veneer of authenticity. Like Hawkeye is my fave because it's so easy for me to imagine him hanging out with a whole social network of other gay people, and lines like this are a big part of that vibe.

Margaret is great in it of course, I love Klinger giving her the wedding dress, I love her in triage and the OR in the dress, and Donald watching her assist in the OR but unable to handle it was a solid touch. Also her goodbye to everyone, hugging Potter first, then the rest, then hesitating with Frank, shaking his hand, and then hugging him too... honestly very sweet.

Frank in this episode was also fantastic. Hilarious as always, but also endearing in how he didn't interfere, didn't object, and finally let Margaret go. It's almost a shame that they get rid of him next ep with him having a breakdown about it because I liked Frank showing a modicum of maturity and grace here. Also there's something about Margaret taking Frank's insults about her engagement in the first scene and relaying them to Donald as something she agrees with, including full on parroting Frank as he, presumably inadvertantly, feeds her lines ("It's time to get a few things straightened out" and "time to set the date.") It's not quite Frank wanting Donald to do right by Margaret, it's more Frank finding ways to insult Donald, but it ends up serving that same purpose regardless.

At the end of the day I just find Frank and Margaret's relationship fun, hilarious, and occasionally oddly endearing lol. It's nice to see them sort of on the same side again here, in a non-evil way.

The tag was awful though lmao, like, why. Literally ends on a joke about all the dudes getting horny at the thought of Margaret and Donald fucking. Wretched.

[seawitch62]

Was it an accident?

Yandere

Word count 560

            ◇I Wonder!◇

It has been a long slow road to recovery, Lee Dong-hyuck or as I prefer to call him Haechan, has been a blessing, I mean he did shoot me but it was an accident!

Right? It was an accident!? Right!

Thoughts that were and are buried deep creep to the surface, bubbling away, chipping at the facade. He has been so apologetic and charming and sweet, downright adorable at times. Other times the sarcastic comments followed  by 'just joking!'.

Calling himself my healer, my nurse, my savior, when I suggest that he is also the one who injured me and I  would not be in this predicament if not for him, angry words fly, then he storms out.

The stunning floral arrangements consisting of Dahlias, dark spirit dahlias, the beautiful arrangements arriving every few days. The apartment flooded with these gorgeous flowers. When I  hinted there was no need for these elaborate floral bouquets so frequently, he exploded. 

"What, you don't like the flowers!?" Angry and  disgruntled, his sarcasm drips.

How did this all eventuate?

•

'Haechan formally invites  you to lunch', he always has a flair for the dramatic.

The friendship has been strained since the kiss, the unexpected kiss. Alcohol! He was drunk! He is sorry!

The veneer underneath the mask he wears, exposing hairline cracks. Taunting remarks concerning any males in my life.

Exposing their weaknesses their true agenda as he calls it. Always finding faults, like an investigative reporter hot on a story, only his news report is for an audience of one. "Open your eyes this guy is bad news" 

"Sex is all he wants!" "Player much?"

Deciding not to introduce your male friends to Haechan. The suspicious looks he gave when you told him there is no one in your life.  Then the drunken kiss.

Does he want more than to be friends? Or was it alcohol fueled?

Unease when once his company was so natural and comfortable.

Avoidance, "are you avoiding me?" 

"No of course not!"

The cool hard stare disbelieving.

He knows!

Slowly that feeling dissipated and normalcy returned. 

Kimchi and chicken was served for lunch, she muses. 

Delicious.

The conversation was light and cordial, having missed this side of Haechan it was a pleasant welcome relief. 

"I want to show you my pistol, '' he adds casually.

"Pistol?"

"My Glock" he laughs, "dirty mind much?" His laughing continues.

Explaining this is for protection.

Agreeing to the show and tell.

□

BANG.

The deafening blast accompanied by the burning excruciating agony that followed.

"You shot me!"

"Fuck"

The proceeding events are mostly a blur of images and memories.

The ambulance ride Haechan accompanying. The hospital, Emergency room, Haechan answering questions, fading in and out of consciousness.

Explaining to the Police it was an accident, no I will not be pressing charges.

Haechan is constantly at my side. 

Finally the day to be discharged, he is there,  a constant.

Bringing meals, and other needed supplies, dependency growing little by little.

How did I not see it?

Is it guilt?

The dark spirit dahlias, the mood swings, am I ungrateful as he says.

Not appreciating all he is doing?

I just want some space!

"Space? To do what?" He roared.

"Maybe I should shoot you in the other foot! See how fast you hobble away then!"His tone is low and menacing.

[norabrice1701]

Falling - Pt. III

A Sam Neill!Vasily Borodin (The Hunt for Red October) x Fem!Reader Fic

Mini-Series Main List

Pt. III Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including frottage and unprotected sexual intercourse); strong language; infidelity; misogynistic, controlling and abusive (emotional and physical) behavior towards reader; self-worth issues; pregnancy and infertility; heartache and loss; canonical character death

Days later, your skin still crawls from where Mikhail grabbed you in front of Vasily. His guiding touches to steer and navigate you through party crowds are hardly anything new, but the force of his grip held a possessive edge that you’d never seen before. 

Had Mikhail somehow overheard your conversation? Had you truly been so absorbed with Vasily that you lost so much sight of your surroundings? Had every long forgotten emotion for your old love been so visible on your face? 

“Are you happy?”

The question haunts you for days and weeks, as does the memory of Vasily’s face in the question’s aftermath. How would he have answered? Would he have said that yes, he is happy, after a fashion? Or would he have said that yes, he was happy once? Or would he have declared his undying love for you and say that happiness was never an option once you left his life? 

None of the responses you conjure sit well with you, and honestly, what did you expect would happen if he did answer your question in the middle of that party? The most likely scenario probably would have resulted in your tears and admission of regret, admission of how you never stopped loving him and wanted him still…

And the realization upends your life. Every time you glance around your home with Mikhail, every night as you crawl into bed beside him, every night you take dinner in near silence with him - you realize that the happiness you thought you had was simply a cheap veneer to hide what you were powerless to change. That the one thing, the one person you wanted most in this life - and still do - is not yours to be had. 

You become quite adept at hiding silent tears in your pillow during the darkest hours. 

None of it is helped when the farewell reception for the Red October is announced. The final opportunity to wish her esteemed officers all the best for the maiden voyage, hosted at the Admiral’s lavish home. 

Upon arrival, it’s more of a mansion than a home. Upon entry, it’s more of a palace than a mansion. Marble and richly furnished interiors occupy the massive floorplan. Golden light spills from large, elegant chandeliers that glitter and glisten with countless crystals. String music floats from a quartet tucked in a corner, and the parade of black tie party officials, diamond-and-fur draped women, and dapper officers complete the spectacle. 

“Yes, I cannot believe that Anastasia will soon be a university graduate.” Madam Andreyeva laments despite the proud smile on her face. “We cannot be more thrilled about her future prospects. She’s currently seeing the grandson of one of the most senior party members - but I cannot say who, of course.” 

The other two women you’re standing with chuckle their amusement and approval. You match their smiles, offering your congratulations as you finish your glass of cloyingly sweet champagne. 

“I do wish my Inessa would settle down, sooner rather than later,” Madam Belova says, words tight with frustration as she glances around. “She needs to understand that the best role she can serve for our great country is to further its legacy by marrying the right man. If only she were able to attend tonight - there are so many eligible officers here.” 

Madam Andreyeva chuckles teasingly. “I do wonder if Captain Ramius would ever consider remarrying. The death of his wife was heartbreaking, but there’s no reason a man of his stature shouldn’t consider a future proposal.” 

“I think I would consider it myself, were circumstances different.” Madam Alexeeva agrees with a mischievous grin. “Though, if my daughter were old enough, I would set her sights on Ramius’ Executive Officer.” 

Your heart thumps against your rib cage as you try to keep your face pleasantly neutral. 

“Oh, yes.” Madam Belova says with a nod as she sips her champagne. “Not only does Captain Borodin have rising prospects for his future career - he’s also quite handsome!” 

“And charming!” Madam Alexeeva adds with a wink as she leans in closer. “There’s a quiet, almost naive wit about him - a quality that makes one wonder what he is truly like with the doors closed and the lights off!”

The door closed behind you and surely, in the silence of your dormitory room, he could hear the thundering of your heart. It wasn’t just that you snuck a non-student into the building, but you’ve never had a man in your bedroom before. Let alone one that you wanted so completely.

Your heart raced as you turned back around to face him with a suddenly nervous smile. He offered a reassuring smile in return, studying you with that keenly observant gaze of his. You exhaled another eager, anxious breath and looked down to toe off your shoes. “I’m sorry it’s not much,” you said. “But at least my roommate has gone home for the weekend. I guess they think students don’t need much space.” 

“I’d say our barracks are easily the size of your building, but without individual rooms.” He stooped to remove his own shoes. “One learns to live without privacy very quickly.” 

“Is that why you’re so fearless?” You glanced back over at him in the yellow light that filtered through the windows. “You just… have nothing to hide from anyone?” 

His mouth curled with that adorable, bashful edge that you’ve come to love - because, yes, after seven months… you did love this man. “I won’t say that I ever had anything to hide, but… humans are rather adept at exploiting discomfort, unfortunately.” He fixed you with an earnest look that pinned you in place. “And that is not my intention here tonight. Despite what you said outside, nothing more, or less, needs to happen here… if you don’t want to.” 

Your heart warmed with affection and desire, matched by the arousal curling at the base of your spine. Slowly, you shook your head as your heart lodged in your throat. “No…” You breathed as you stepped closer, fixing him with all the honesty you have. “I just… h-haven’t done this before - but don’t mistake that for not wanting to. With you.”   

His eyes softened with tender understanding even as they flashed with ravenous desire. You worked a swallow down your throat as you stepped up to him, resting a hand over his heart. A trembling breath left you to feel its strong, rising beat beneath your palm as you blinked up at him through your lashes. “Have you…? Done this before?” 

He offered a slow half-nod as he raised a hand to cover yours still pressed against his chest. “Some,” his voice dropped to a velvety tone that rippled down your spine, and he leaned his forehead against yours. “Just with hands and mouths, though. Not… not fully.”

You exhaled another heavy breath as the damp ache between your legs continued to heat up, fueled by the puffs of his hot breath against your skin. “Okay…” a smile curved your lips as you nuzzled his nose and felt his strong hand settle on your waist. “At least one of us should know what we’re doing…” 

“I don’t think I would go that far, but hopefully -” 

You didn’t let him finish as you leaned in, sealing your mouth to his. You’ve talked so much and now, finally, you were done talking. You wanted the promise held in each increasingly fervent goodnight kiss. You wanted the feel of his skin on yours and his ragged breathing in your ear. You wanted his fingers to bring you to the brink and to cry his name in ecstasy. 

You sighed into the kiss as you melted beneath the warm, soft press of his lips. The hand at your waist wrapped around to the small of your back, pressing you in close. Sparks shot through you as your bodies connected, and you slid your hand from his chest to curl around the back of his neck. A moan of approval rumbled low in his throat, and your lips parted to swallow it as the kiss deepened. 

The smooth strokes of his tongue took your breath away as you clung to him, wanting only to forget where you ended and he began. You whimpered with growing need as the world narrowed to everything he offered, and you’ve never felt more alive. Parting from the kiss with a gasp, you mouthed along his jawline, teasing the tender skin. The hiss that passed his lips bolted liquid heat straight to your core before his mouth found the column of your neck.

“Oh, Vasya…” You breathed as you tilted your head to grant him better access, rewarded when he groaned his appreciation. His hips rolled teasingly forward, and you went dizzy as the hard ridge of his arousal pressed against where you wanted him most. With your last thought, you rocked your hips into his, loving how he crushed you closer and slipped a hand down to the hem of your shirt. 

With slow movements and careful steps, your shirt and bra ended up somewhere on the floor. His button-up shirt gaped open, and you couldn’t get enough of the broad, bare planes of his chest. As your mouths fused together with heated passion and your bare breasts met his skin, you dissolved to a whimpering puddle in his arms. 

His belt clanked to the floor and you fumbled the clasp of his trousers open before pulling him down to your narrow bed. Your legs spread on instinct to accommodate the fit of his hips as his weight pushed you deliciously into the mattress. Even through the layers of fabric, the hard heat of his erection made your mouth water. But when he shrugged out of his shirt and gave his hips a solid thrust forward, you didn’t recognize the cry that came from your mouth. 

“Off, off…” You panted, reluctantly pulling your hands away from his addicting expanse of skin to paw at your trousers. “Want them both off.” 

He shuddered a deep exhale, as if fighting for a last vestige of control, but he managed to lift up and accommodate the shifting fabric. As you both kicked your trousers away, your hands landed on the rounded curve of his backside to drag him back down. Even through your underwear, the heat of him burned where you so desperately ached, and blind desire clouded your last thread of sanity. 

“Zhizn moya…” He moaned against your mouth as your hips rolled together in a primal rhythm fueled by instinct and need. You arched your back to get closer, to open yourself up more and wrap a leg around his pert backside. 

“Vasya,” you sighed, nibbling his earlobe as your body continued to run away with you. “I-I want you inside me. Want to be yours.”

His answering growl spoke straight to the dripping, needy ache that he could surely feel as his hips thrust sharply against yours. A pleasured cry tore from both of your throats, echoing above your wrecked, tandem breathing in the small room. 

“God, I want that, too… more than anything,” he breathed, mouthing along your earlobe. “But I can’t… won’t risk putting you in that position.” 

And despite every taut nerve that screamed for the release that only he could give, you understood exactly what he meant. You could so easily get pregnant, and unwed mothers were still heavily frowned upon. A wave of tender love rushed through you at his thoughtfulness, and you clutched him ever closer, finding his mouth to pour out your appreciation for everything about him.  

You slid a hand between the tight press of your bellies to trace the hardened outline of him, feeling your cheeks grow hotter to touch him so intimately. His blown-wide, sapphire eyes shone with loving desire as you continued to caress him with inexpert fingers. Tentatively, you squeezed the tip of him and delighted in the answering stutter of his hips. 

Again, you gave him another gentle squeeze before drifting up to the waistline of his underwear and teasing under the elastic with eager anticipation. “Then… tell me what I can do instead.”   

“Are you alright?” A gentle hand on your forearm drags you out of the sudden rush of memory, back to the surrounding women and Madam Andreyeva’s concerned expression. “You look so flushed, as though you might faint.” 

“No, I’m… I’m alright, thank you.” Your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you look down at the empty champagne flute in your hand. “Maybe the champagne has just gone to my head… and yes, I’d say so.” You look among them, offering a hesitant, regretful smile. “If you’ll excuse me, please? I think I should go in search of some water.” 

Offering farewells, you turn from the group and exhale a deep sigh. As if the whole purpose of tonight’s party didn’t involve the one man you really didn’t want to think about, you didn’t need the conversation of gossiping hens to stir up heart-wrenching memories. Let alone to stir up thoughts about the possibility of Vasily marrying. Of Vasily taking a wife into his heart and his home and his bed… 

Your stomach rots with yearning envy even as you know it’s impossible. Divorce tarnishes both parties involved and just isn’t done. It would be far better to take a lover than suffer the shame of divorce, but there’s so much risk for a woman in your position. After all, it’s one thing for a man to take a discrete mistress, but completely another for a woman to take a lover. Even then, the thought of having Vasily in such a manner doesn’t sit well with you. He deserves so much better and so much more than that. He deserves… everything honorable and good and… 

The weight of your thoughts threatens to suffocate you, and maybe you can find Mikhail, feigning a dreadful headache. Yes, that’s exactly what you should do. If you’re able to leave now, then you won’t have to hear any more talk or risk any more heartbreaking encounters. Vasily will go to sea, and you can work to forget about him all over again. It worked once before, so why wouldn’t you be able to do it again? No matter how much the idea leaves a rotten ache in your stomach.

Abandoning your champagne flute, you move among the crowd, searching for the familiar face of your husband. But as you round a corner, you hear a hushed, familiar voice tucked against the wall.

“The chairman must understand my position.” Mikhail’s words hold a rushed, frustrated breath.

“And surely, you must understand the optics of the situation.” An unknown voice responds with caution.

“Don’t patronize me, Yuri.” Mikhail’s tone turns short and tight. “It’s well known that the chairman promotes men of stability and family, and it’s difficult to be a stable family man without a family.”

“If you want this step in your career, then you must act – sooner, rather than later.” Yuri counsels. “Have you considered taking further action?”

Mikhail sighs, heavy with irritation. “Many times. Divorce would put the nail in the coffin of my career faster than not getting this promotion, and taking a mistress is still dismissible –”

“But not unheard of.” Yuri agrees. “If a child were to come of that union, it would still bear your name – and your generosity towards both mother and child, while supporting your wife, would speak greatly to your character.”

Your stomach drops to your feet, horrified at what you’re hearing but unable to move away.

“With the right allies, of course,” Mikhail says, voice tight with the weight of consideration. “Vouching for both me and her, and making the extent of my failed marriage known despite all of my best efforts.”

Yuri hums in gentle agreement. “It does take two to make a marriage work, and if one partner is not committed, then…”

“Then, that settles it.” Mikhail sighs with the weight of a final decision made. “I’ll give her one more year to deliver – and I do mean that literally. The lack of generational legacy has held back my career for far too long now.”

Yuri chuckles salaciously. “Sounds like you’re going to have a busy next three months.”

“I will certainly give it my all even if I have to chain her to the bed and breed her like a mare. Then, even if she still fails to conceive - at least, my conscience will be clear.”

This time, Yuri’s chuckle dissolves into a low hum of agreement. “Then, you’ll know that you’ve done everything that you could.”

Mikhail hums in low agreement. “A tough job when you’re working with undisclosed, damaged goods.” He breaks off with a frustrated sigh. “For all the virtues that her parents extolled, they failed to disclose that she was poisoned – in both womb and heart.”

You throw a hand over your mouth to stifle a gasping sob. Tears burn your eyes and you have to leave, you have to get away immediately. You push through the crowd, desperately trying to hold your distress at bay until you’re alone, until you can breathe under the crushing weight in your chest.

If anyone notices you, you don’t notice them as your heels echo off the marble flooring in the grand entry hall. An opulent staircase curves towards the upper floor and a few partygoers linger along the broad railing, and you don’t hesitate. Gathering your skirt in your hand, your shoes sink into the plush carpeting as you flee upwards – someplace where Mikhail won’t find you, someplace where no one will.

An open door yields to a rich-wood paneled room lined with bookshelves. Plush furniture sits in front of a darkened fireplace and a large desk dominates the other half of the room. Perhaps it’s a study or maybe a small library, but it’s quiet and lit with a soft glow from the collection of ornate table lamps, and you close the door behind you.

The room fills with the sound of your ragged breathing, and only then you notice the tears that dampen your cheeks. Wiping at them quickly, you feebly hope that your makeup isn’t beyond repair, but at this point, does it really matter? When Mikhail says such cruel things, when his colleagues spur him on, when he discusses your intimate life so… crudely and coldly. When he threatens to devalue everything about you as a person…

You draw another trembling breath, crossing your arms against your chest as you move further into the room. Whatever are you going to do? Do you have any legal recourse? Could you even secure a lawyer? Has life with Mikhail left you completely under his power?

Another tear slides down your cheek and soaks into the carpet. Maybe after so many years of not standing up for yourself or what you want, maybe this is what you deserve. Maybe this is just… the way that life is supposed to be. Your stomach twists with heartbreaking dejection at the thought.

The soft whisper of well-oiled hinges reaches your ears, and you dart wide, fearful eyes towards the door. Your last thread of resolve crumbles when you meet Vasily’s tender, concerned blue eyes, and you hang your head. Your shoulders shake from the force of your sobs as you squeeze your eyes shut, not wanting him to see the utter failure that you’ve become. The rush of your breathing masks the sound of his sure stride, and strong, coaxing arms wrap around you. The uniform-clad plane of his chest fills your vision, and you’re powerless not to slump your forehead down to his offered shoulder.

He says nothing as he rocks you gently. No patronizing comments or false promises of a rosy outcome. He simply holds you as your tears continue to fall and your breath comes in hiccupping draws. It’s not elegant, it’s not pretty, and you should probably be humiliated by such a display, but in his arms… it’s the only safe place you’ve ever known to just be yourself.

Exhaustion sets in and your tears subside as your breathing settles out. Even then, he still just holds you comfortingly close as you breathe in his clean scent. Such a refreshing change from your cigar-smoke soaked husband. A stab of anxious unease cuts through you as you blink your eyes open against his shoulder, speaking softly. “You shouldn’t be here.”  

“And why not?” His voice is a low, whispered purr that warms you.

“If my husband finds us here… he would ruin your career.”

“How could I possibly care about that when you’re so upset?” His head shifts, resting against yours supportively as his breath brushes your hair. “I saw you leave with tears in your eyes, and I couldn’t stay away.”

Your heart clenches as you bite your lip. “Don’t… Vasya, please.” The diminutive slips out from memory as you draw your head away from his shoulder and fresh tears threaten. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His brow creases with sad concern. “How can you say that when each day is already torture? Each day that I see your undimmed beauty and tender heart just as I remember. Each day that I hear him disrespect you so publicly over private matters. Each day that I… know you’ll never be mine to love and cherish as you deserve.”

Tears wet the corners of your eyes and you quickly try to wipe them away. “We had our time together. I just… I don’t know what else to say.”

“I wanted to marry you, zhizn moya.” His mouth curves with a sad, almost sheepish smile that doesn’t fit the brave man in uniform. “And I would have if your parents hadn’t stolen you from me. Assuming you would have had me, that is.”

Your breathing trembles as your heart aches. “Of course, I would have.” You whisper the admission like it’s your last lifeline as you drown in the sea of his eyes. “And if I could today, I still would.”

His eyes brighten as he smiles with unburdened relief. He regards you with all the love that you’ve ever known from him, and if life were simple, you’d melt in his embrace under the bliss of his kiss. But an impossible chasm spans between you, and your wedding band constricts you.

“Don’t be so sad, zhizn moya.” He says softly, free from reproach or judgment. “Just knowing that’s how you still feel is… enough. I can live with that.” He sounds like a weight has lifted from his shoulders, resolved with some secret course of action as his gaze darts cautiously to the window. “Perhaps if we were free to choose our paths,” he whispers with a hint of wild conspiracy. “If this were the land of dreams, we could make it so… but that is not this place.”

It's treacherous, dangerous talk. If anyone overheard him, you would both be arrested and sentenced for treason without question. You shake your head quickly with an uneasy breath. “Don’t even think those things, Vasya.” You caution in a rushed whisper. “I can’t bear the thought of you being imprisoned or worse… I couldn’t live with that.”

“You needn’t waste your worry on me -”

“As you worry about me, so I worry about you.” You implore as he sighs and the corner of his mouth lifts. Your heart beats wildly with reckless abandon as his gaze re-connects with yours. “Isn’t that…,” you whisper, trailing off as your voice trembles. “Isn’t that what love is?”

His smile softens with fond affection. “It didn’t used to be. The first afternoon that I saw you, my only worry was that you would turn me away before I even had a chance. And when you didn’t – nothing seemed impossible.”

“Every day was something to look forward to.” You agree, your smile growing to match his. “I’ll never forget… the afternoon at the cinema, when I caught your eye in a quiet moment and you brought my hand to your lips for a kiss. The first time you kissed me, and you just… you know, I can’t even remember what film it was because I just remember how much I wanted to never stop.” Your cheeks flush – and goodness, you’re a married woman but you’re blushing like a young schoolgirl. “You’ve always been so brave to act, so unashamed to say what you want – but you never once pushed or asked for more than I was ready to give.”

A modest blush dances high on his cheeks. “It is part of the wedding vows to honor my wife, and I wanted… well, to prove that to you.”

That one night you shared with him in your dormitory still burns, and your cheeks flush from the heated memory as you slowly nod. “I remember.” Your voice drops as if anything louder would make the moment less real as heat pools, low and needy in your core. “God, I wanted you so desperately… and then… on my wedding night,” your words whisper through your increasingly heavy breaths. “I wanted it to be you.” A tear falls down your cheek as you blink up at him. “I’ve only ever wanted it to be you.” 

His hand raises to cup your jaw, thumb swiping at the fallen tear before his mouth finds yours. You melt into his kiss, more tears springing to life at the overwhelming relief, at the outpouring of love in the tender embrace. His lips are just as warm and sure as you remember, and your body blooms with long dormant desire. 

You raise a hand to cover his, nuzzling into his embrace as your head tilts. He sighs against your mouth, and your tongue finds his parted lips. Arousal electrifies you as your tongues tangle, lost to everything but the touch and taste of each other. Despite everything at stake - despite the damning evidence of the moment should you both be discovered like this - none of it tears you away from him as you step closer into his embrace. 

You find the edge of his high uniform collar, caressing his tender skin with fingers that have nearly forgotten the feel of him. A whimper pitches high in your throat as his hand slides down the slope of your neck to rest with a heady, tempting promise against the junction of your shoulder. You move to your hand down to his shoulder with an encouraging squeeze, and the breath pushes from your lungs as he sweeps you up. 

The desperate ache in your core ignites tenfold as the back of your knees bump against the cushy couch. You can’t touch him enough as your mouths feverishly reconnect, and the coarse wool of his dress uniform only makes you want bare skin all the more. But if you’re truly going to steal this moment for yourself, then that luxury will have to wait. 

You coax him down with you, spreading your legs and rucking up your dress to accommodate the press of his lean hips. He moans, long and delicious, as his fingers find the soaking wet heat of you, and you tear at the catch of his belt and trousers. Panting heavily against each other’s mouth through sloppy kisses, clothing shuffles out of the way and you brace against the couch cushions. Azure fire burns in his intoxicating gaze as the hard tip of him rests against your dripping entrance for the space between breaths. He eases forward, and the thick, perfect stretch of him brings tears to your eyes as your fingers card through his hair, holding his gaze even as your eyelids flutter from the overwhelming connection. 

He trembles as he settles against you, and you hook a leg around him as you adjust to the full length of him pressed so deep. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted - and God, how can you possibly live without it now? The thought is stolen away as he draws back and rocks forward, filling you to the hilt and coaxing a whimpered cry from your lips. 

“You are heaven, zhizn moya.” He pants against your neck, and you nuzzle what skin you can reach in return - but it’s nowhere near enough. Sliding a hand around to his front, you clumsily tear at the two topmost buttons of his uniform until you can bury your face against the warm, soft skin of his throat. His hand wraps around the small of your back for better leverage, and you gasp as he shifts inside you and sighs. “Absolute heaven…”

His name falls from your lips in a litany of passion as a rhythm builds between you. You muffle your gasping cries against his skin as he touches the deepest places inside you with each strong thrust. Pleasure consumes you, hurtling you towards the blissful abyss as it robs your mind of coherent thought. You clutch the board muscles of his back - still so fit after all the years of naval service - and his quiet, serrated moans are the only sounds you want to hear for the rest of your days. 

Every muscle tenses, desperate for release as the tempo increases. He drives you ever higher, and surely, your heart will explode first. You can’t breathe for the euphoria that strangles you, and your moans pitch higher as you finally just - there. Your nails dig into the fabric of his uniform and a long, wrecked cry wells in your chest as you launch into mindless bliss. His guttural groan of answering relief sounds over the rush of blood in your ears, and you welcome the heavy weight of him as he slumps against you. 

Tears sting your eyes as you hold him close, peppering his skin with lazy kisses. You nuzzle the light mole on his right cheek as your mind floats back down to rejoin your body, along with the crushing weight of reality. Loss and heartbreak consume you as you cling to him in desperation. “D-don’t leave me,” you plead in the vulnerable moment, burying your face in his shoulder. “I don’t want to live without you anymore. Especially now – I just… can’t… I won’t.”

He sighs with weighted conflict as he nuzzles your brow, kissing you softly. “But you can… you will.”

A whimpering sob escapes you, shaking your head as you crumble. “I love you too much to let you go again.”

Another heavy sigh leaves him as he cradles you close for another stolen moment.

You snuggle against him, committing everything about this moment to memory. The contentment humming in your body, the soap-clean scent of his skin tinged with exertion, the toned weight of him, the press of him softening inside you. You never want the moment to end, and you tremble as your hands flatten against his back to crush him imploringly close. “You have to come back – promise me.” You don’t care if it’s a fair request or not as your words continue to pour forth. “He’s going to ruin me, Vasya. One way or another… I heard him plotting tonight – he’s always plotting, and now… now, he's set his sights on me and I don’t know what -” Your voice catches on a hiccupping sob.

“Not if you ruin him first.” His words whisper right in your ear and punch you in the stomach.

You turn towards him with wide eyes, tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes hold a dark, subversive edge tinged with apprehension, and your brow furrows in confusion. “I don’t understand… how could I possibly…?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “Let’s call it a parting gift, shall we?”

You shake your head, staring back at him incredulously. “No… Vasya, I still don’t – that doesn’t make sense.”

He leans in again, pressing another kiss to your brow. “It will, zhizn moya. The Red October will sail with the tide, and I must go with her…” Another almost regretful sigh passes his lips. “I cannot stay, and you cannot come with me… however much I wish for it. But if I have a chance at finding freedom, then so should you.”

You shake your head against another tender press of his lips. “I still don’t understand –”

A loud, muffled thump outside the door startles you both, and you’ve pressed your luck for too long. The intimate moment shatters as he withdraws, leaving you empty and bereft in so many ways. He turns to readjust his uniform and you wince at the sticky mess congealing between your legs. You lack anything to truly clean yourself up, and hopefully you can still salvage your underwear on a trip to the toilet. Pushing up from the couch, your muscles twinge with a pleasant ache that you hope will make the memory of this moment last for days.

A sad smile comes to your face as you watch him fasten the topmost button of his smart uniform before smoothing his hair back into place. Or, rather, attempting to. “Here…” you say softly, stepping over to him and reaching up to tame a wild lock. “It’s unfair how good you still look… and I’m not just talking about the years.” You run your eyes over the lines of his face and down the fit of his uniformed chest. “Not one disreputable wrinkle about you.” You raise your other hand, swiping at your cheek, dismayed to come away with a black streak on your fingertip. “I must look like an awful mess… God, there’ll be no hiding it.”

“You’ve been beautiful from the first moment I saw you,” he says softly. “And that hasn’t changed, even now.”

Flattered embarrassment tinges your cheeks. “No matter how charming that sounds, it won’t hide my streaked makeup. Fortunately, I think there’s enough pins and hairspray in my hair that it won’t move for another week.”

He reaches a hand up to gently wipe at your damp cheek. “Anyone who chooses to judge you will only assume that you are upset, which isn’t far from the truth. Given what you’ve told me and how I found you here…”

You sigh, troubled. “That will only put Mikhail in a foul mood. He deplores any display of weakness or vulnerability.”

“You’re only human. He can’t expect any more of you than that.”

“A human, yes, but…” you draw a trembling breath as the painful memory surfaces. “Poisoned, he said. Poisoned in both womb and heart.”

Rage flashes in Vasily’s eyes as he stares back at you in open shock. “He said that… to you?”

“No. He said it to someone else and he… didn’t know that I overhead him.”

He closes the distance, enveloping you in a comfortingly possessive embrace as your arms fold around him on instinct. His lips press against the shell of your ear as he whispers. “Then I will not feel guilty if my child grows within you.” 

A stab of anxiety shoots through you despite the warm security of his embrace. You haven’t even considered the possibility of falling pregnant with his child until now… it just… Well, if it already hasn’t happened with Mikhail, then why would it happen now? And yet... part of your heart bursts with hope.

“Let him see that not only are you not poisoned…” Vasily continues softly. “Let him also see what he will never have.” The conviction in his voice takes your breath away. “A wife who loves him.”

You turn your head to kiss him, full of the enduring love that you’ve always felt for him. He matches you with a passion that takes your breath away and breaks your heart in equal measure. There’s no hope for any sort of future with him, and the longer you stay in his arms, you can’t deny it’s the kiss of farewell. You wish you could freeze time and stay locked in this room with him… but as you part with the need to breathe, you recognize the futility of wishing for what you can never have.

You sigh with a sniffle. “We should go before we’re discovered here… we’ve taken so much time already.”

He smiles full of tender reassurance; always so brave to stay true to himself. “And even if your husband were to come through that door right now, I wouldn’t regret a minute of it.”

“Neither would I.”

He takes a long look at you, as if committing everything about you to memory as his arms fall away. “I love you, zhizn moya. No matter what happens, never doubt that.”

The air sucks out of the room as he steps away, and your stomach sours. You don’t dare let yourself watch him walk away for fear that the last thread of your strength will snap. The door whispers open and closes with a soft thud that brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes.

Sobs shake your shoulders, and you heave for breath as your chest tightens. The sting of loss strangles you as you wipe away more fallen tears and lose yourself in uncertainty.

Just where the hell do you go from here?

The next day, a letter arrives. You don’t recognize the return address of the thick envelope postmarked two days ago as you turn it over in your hands. Your heart quickens as you glance around your home, confirming that you’re alone before slicing it open.

Dearest zhizn moya,

The days number fewer and fewer until we sail, and your unanswered question stays with me.

Only with you have I ever found true happiness. That first afternoon that you allowed me to join you at your table in the teashop filled me with such fear and hope. Fear that I would misstep at any moment and turn you away; and hope that has only grown into the love I still feel for you today. While eight months was nowhere near long enough, I wouldn’t trade those days together - nor everyday without you since - for the cost of never having met you.

One way or another, I don’t expect to return from this mission. With any luck, I will have found my freedom in the land of dreams, and the thought of leaving you trapped here breaks my heart. Forgive me if this is too bold – but should you wish a chance at freedom for yourself, all you need to do is post the enclosed, sealed letter. For your own safety, the contents of the letter shall remain undisclosed, but posting it should yield some proof about the man deemed more suitable to marry you.

To this day, I still wish I had been given that honor. And while I like to think that at some point I will marry, I know that she will not be you. Life is what we make of it, so they say, and I wish only the best for you, zhizn moya. You deserve all that is good and loving in this world, and I do hope that you find it. If not with me, then whoever you decide is worthy.

All my enduring love,Vasya

Tears fill your eyes as you quickly re-read the words. With the postmark dated before the party, he couldn’t have known what would transpire that night and this… is this meant to be his goodbye in case you didn’t speak that night? Your heart breaks anew and you choke on a gasping sob. The pain of loss still aches like a raw wound in your chest, and you blink away tears as you look at the front of the sealed, mysterious envelope.

Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti

Your eyes widen, snapping out of your heartbreak as the gravity of what you hold sinks in. You don’t have the first clue what Vasily has enclosed in this letter to the KGB but, goodness… are you really ready to get involved with the KGB? Your stomach sours with anxious fear and you quickly refold his letter before taking the stairs up to your bedroom. Reaching to open the bottom drawer of your vanity, you pop the false bottom and hide it all away from the world.

Maybe someday you’ll be ready to send that letter, but too much sadness and uncertainty fills you right now to make a decision.

The corner of Vasily’s mouth lifts. “Let’s call it a parting gift, shall we?”

Is this letter what he meant? Does he have some evidence on your husband or did he uncover something unsavory? As much as your husband presents himself as a party loyalist, you wouldn’t be entirely surprised to learn that he has at least one skeleton in his closet. Don’t all politicians?

The words of Vasily’s letter continue to churn in the back of your mind, but they bring an odd sense of closure. Between everything whispered in the stolen moments of passion and written on paper in ink, you can’t ask any more of Vasily Borodin. As much as you love him and always have, your time together is well and truly over.

That doesn’t give you any further clarity in the passing days about what to do with Mikhail. Now sitting at the dinner table, you cast him a wary glance over your plates of food. He hasn’t made any reference to anything resembling the conversation that you overheard at last weekend’s party, but that doesn’t bring you any relief. If anything, you wait on baited breath for when he will act or give you an ultimatum, but so far… only silence.

“I heard something quite interesting.” He says softly, drawing you attention as he sets his knife and fork down. “The Red October sank today. Or, rather…” he pauses to dab the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “She was destroyed. By the Americans.”

Your fork clatters to your plate as your stomach plummets to your feet. A shocked gasp leaves you as your heart races. “… w-what? Why would they do that?”

“We asked them to help us sink her.” He continues with a calculated, casual air. “Captain Ramius sent a letter to Admiral Padorin, and within minutes of that letter being read, he issued orders to find and sink the Red October.”

The letters sitting your vanity upstairs flash in your mind as you work a swallow down your throat. “D-do you know what the letter said?”

Mikhail’s mouth tightens to a grim line. “They say Ramius sailed with every intention of deploying missiles and igniting World War III. But there are also far darker whispers of treason and defection.”

“I cannot stay, and you cannot come with me… however much I wish for it.” Vasily whispers against your brow. “But if I have a chance at finding freedom, then so should you.”

Tears burn your eyes, and a hand flies to your face as you choke on air. Is it true? Was Vasily sailing with his captain to start a life in the new world? Was he turning his back on the nation he so valiantly served? Or was he simply the victim of a madman? Either way, it hardly matters now if his grave is indeed at the bottom of the Atlantic.

With a shaking hand, you reach for your napkin to wipe at fallen tears as your heart rips open. Saying goodbye a second time was hard enough, but this… knowing that there was never even another possibility to see him again…? You sniffle to hide a sob as you turn away from Mikhail’s increasingly judgmental gaze.

“Why are you crying?” He asks pointedly, tone heavy with displeasure. “If that madman – or worse, a traitor – is lying dead at the bottom of the ocean, that’s the best place for him.”

“What about everyone else on board?” You choke out, again wiping at your eyes. “What about all those other innocent souls?”

A tense silence falls in the room as Mikhail’s gaze narrows with cold suspicion. “Wait, this… is this about him? That petty executive officer – what was his name…? Borodin?”

A pang shoots through your chest and you fight to keep your face from betraying your true feelings. “No – yes, just… the newest ship in the fleet and all those souls aboard, just lost so suddenly….”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He spits in plain disgust. “Borodin – what was he to you? Tell me.”

Your heart hammers as you struggle to breathe. “He - he wasn’t… at least, not anymore - ”

A loud slap against the table rattles the dishes and startles your attention. Mikhail’s eyes blaze with rage as he glares at you, hand clenching against the tabletop. “I said. Tell. Me.”

Your spine stiffens even as your voice shrinks. “I… loved him. Before marrying you.” A tear slides down your cheek as you blink. “I-it was 12 years ago, and I haven’t seen him since –”

“Then why does the news of his death upset you so?” He shrugs carelessly. “People die every day. There’s a war happening for fuck’s sake, and he was a goddamn soldier. Expendable.”

Nausea cramps your stomach. “None of the men on that vessel or in any theater of war are expendable! They all have people who love them and care about them!”

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” He seethes. “After everything I’ve given you – my name, wealth, prominence. What do you think Borodin could have given you, hmm? A sad, small apartment where you just wait for him to make you a destitute widow?”

“Happiness, Mikhail! He may spend more time at sea than on land, but together, there would be happiness. And love! Unconditional love… not just dependent on whether or not he could get me pregnant.”

His nostrils flare with indignation. “So, you’re saying that it’s my fault, hm? My fault that you remain a motherless failure?”

A wave of shame washes over you, crippling you as more tears fall. You’ve never felt like you should be a failure in that regard, but yet… You draw a trembling breath. “That’s all you’ve ever done,” you grit through clenched teeth and sniffles. “You… devalue everything about me, like I’m no better than your plaything, your puppet, who exists just to make you look good!”

“That’s exactly what you are! Don’t you understand how this game works?!” He pushes to his feet, shaking the table from the force of his motion. He drops his face to his hand with deep concern. “How much did you interact with him, hmm? Would anyone have seen you? Would anyone have any reason to suspect a scandal?”

The abrupt shift in conversation stuns you. You gape up at him. “Is that really all that you can think about right now? Is that really all that you can say?!”

“It was obvious from the first moment you two saw each other that something was there.” He waves a dismissive hand as he starts to pace in deep thought. “If I noticed it, then surely others did, too. And I will have to answer for it if anyone asks –”

“And if I told you that he made love to me in the admiral’s upstairs study –”

Mikhail storms across the room, backhanding you across the face before you can finish. Pain blooms across your cheek as you hiss through the momentary disorientation.

“Never lie to me like that again.” He snarls, eyes furious. “Even in jest, it won’t end well for you.”  He draws a deep breath as a tense silence descends.

You refuse to look up at him and you can’t find words. You hadn’t exactly meant to blurt out the truth, but he didn’t believe you anyway. No matter what you say, you come to the sinking realization that you cannot win. You will never win.

Not with Mikhail.

He glowers down at you. “We should each take some time, yes? Time to think and… calm down.” He wipes a hand across his brow. “Once we’ve both done that, we can figure out how to solve this rotten mess that you’ve created.”

His footsteps thunder through the dining room before the door to his office slams shut.

You remain frozen in your chair as your cheek stings, and you sniffle unshed tears.

Vasily’s letters burn in the forefront of your mind, and your course of action is clear.

Two days later, you feel no remorse when you cross the city to deposit the sealed envelope in a postbox.

One week later, you receive word that your husband has been arrested on suspicion of high treason. 

But your world completely upends two weeks afterwards when tender pain forms in your breasts and morning nausea begins to manifest.

Fin

[rxynherwritings7]

Fragments Of Hope - Chapter 3

note: I am making myself frustrated with this chapter... anyways, let me know what you think about it

warning: courtroom? (some people might experience how frustrating it is)

The courtroom was hushed as Tyler, his sister Diane, and their mom took their seats alongside their lawyer. The air was thick with tension as they prepared to confront one of the men responsible for the nightmare that had haunted their lives.

Their lawyer leaned in and whispered reassuringly, "We've got a strong case. Just stay calm, and we'll get through this."

As the trial kicked off, the family's eyes met the driver, who sat with an air of false innocence. The memories of that fateful day rushed back, and Tyler couldn't shake the fear that gripped him.

The lawyer stood, addressing the court, "Your Honor, the trauma this family has endured is immeasurable. We are here seeking justice for the pain inflicted upon them."

The driver's gaze shifted nervously as the family took the stand one by one. 

As the driver spun his web of deceit on the witness stand, Tyler's frustration bubbled beneath the surface. The carefully constructed veneer of composure cracked, revealing an undercurrent of rage inside of him. Unable to contain himself any longer, Tyler slammed his fist on the back of the wooden bench.

Then came the driver's turn. He began, "Your Honor, I was misled. Tom told me it was a simple favor, and I had no idea it involved harm to the children. I never would have agreed if I knew."

Diane couldn't suppress a skeptical scoff then murmurs to herself. "He expects us to believe that? He knew exactly what he was doing."

The driver smirked subtly, a sly confidence in his eyes. "I assure you, I was a pawn in Tom's twisted game. He manipulated me just like he did his own family."

Diane shot this time, "You conveniently forget to mention your history with Tom. You two met in prison, where he was serving time for abusing his wife and kids. Your alliance isn't as innocent as you want everyone to believe."

"Diane, we need to let the lawyer handle this." Carmen was as desperate and enraged as her children. 

The driver's smirk widened, aware that the truth was his advantage. "I've paid my dues for past mistakes. This was not my doing. Tom played me."

The courtroom buzzed with tension as the conflicting narratives unfolded. Diane locked eyes with the driver, recognizing the malicious satisfaction in his expression.

As the trial continued, Tyler struggled to contain his anger, a seething frustration simmering beneath the surface. The courtroom, now on edge, bore witness to a family torn between seeking justice and battling the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume them.

In a final blow, the judge rendered a verdict that fell short of true justice. The driver would face some fees and damages, a resolution that left the family feeling betrayed by a system unable to fully comprehend the depth of their suffering.

As they emerged from the courtroom, the heavy air of disappointment clung to them like an invisible shroud. Tyler, Diane, and Carmen exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and anger. In the distance, Andrew stood waiting, having received permission from Tyler to join them.

Andrew approached with a keen awareness of the situation. He could immediately sense the disappointment in their eyes. With a heavy heart, he acknowledged the gravity of the moment. "I'm sorry, guys. It didn't work out the way you wanted," he said, his voice tinged with regret.

Without waiting for a response, he moved first to his mom, Carmen, engulfing her in a tight embrace. "I wish I could've done more," he murmured softly, the words a mixture of apology and reassurance. Carmen squeezed him back, grateful for his support.

Turning to Diane, Andrew could see the frustration etched on her face. He reached out and pulled her into a comforting hug. "We'll figure this out, Di. We always do," he whispered, trying to inject a bit of hope into the somber moment.

Finally, he turned to Tyler, his best friend and confidant. The frustration weighed heavily on Tyler's shoulders. Andrew offered a pat on the back, a silent gesture of solidarity between the two friends. No words were needed; they understood each other's pain and disappointment.

The group stood there for a moment, a silent bond connecting them through the challenges they faced. Despite the setback, Andrew's presence brought a touch of solace, a reminder that they were not alone in navigating the difficult path ahead.

As they decided to head home together, Tyler suggested, "Why don't you come with us, Andrew?"

Andrew hesitated for a moment, gauging the sincerity in Tyler's eyes. The weight of the unsuccessful trial hung heavy on his shoulders, and he didn't want to burden his best friend's family further. But Carmen, sensing his uncertainty, chimed in, "We'd be glad to have you. It's been too long since we caught up, and I'm sure Ty could use the company."

Tyler offered a small smile, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond they shared. With a nod, Andrew agreed, "Alright, I'll come."

The car ride to their apartment was a mix of subdued conversation and contemplative silence. The city buzzed outside the windows, indifferent to the struggles within the vehicle. Carmen, seated in the front, occasionally glanced back at Andrew, offering a reassuring smile as if to say, "You're part of this family too."

Upon arrival, the apartment building loomed tall, its exterior giving no indication of the emotional turmoil within its walls. They entered, and the familiar scent of home embraced them. Carmen led the way, her heels echoing in the hallway as they approached their unit.

Once inside, the atmosphere shifted. The living room, adorned with memories old and new, became a sanctuary for shared struggles. Carmen gestured towards the seating area, inviting Andrew to make himself at home. Diane, still grappling with the aftermath of the court proceedings, found solace in a corner of the room, lost in her own thoughts.

As they settled, Carmen's warmth prevailed. "So, Andrew, tell us how you've been. How are your studies at the nursing school?" She perched on the edge of an armchair, her eyes reflecting genuine interest.

Andrew shared the challenges and victories of his academic journey, the demanding nature of nursing school, and the delicate balance of family life. Carmen listened attentively, interjecting with motherly advice and anecdotes from her own past.

"You're like a second son to me, Andrew," Carmen confessed, her gaze filled with maternal affection. "I miss the times when you and Tyler were inseparable. Those sleepovers were the highlight of our weekends."

A wave of nostalgia washed over them, the shared memories of laughter and camaraderie intertwining with the present struggles. Diane, still withdrawn, looked on, her emotions hidden behind a veil of contemplation.

After some time, Diane excused herself from the gathering. "It's not that I don't like y'all, but I need some time to process things. I hope you understand." The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging in the air.

"Of course, Di," Tyler assured her, a mixture of understanding and concern in his eyes. "Take all the time you need."

As Diane retreated to the solitude of her thoughts, the remaining trio continued their conversation, the day's events a backdrop to the shared bond that had weathered both joy and sorrow.

Later, as the afternoon sun cast warm hues across the cityscape visible from the apartment window, Tyler and Andrew found themselves in the bedroom. The air in the room felt charged with unspoken words, the events of the day echoing in their minds.

"I can't believe how things went in court today," Tyler sighed, sinking into a chair.

Andrew, perched on the edge of the bed, ran a hand through his hair, the disbelief still fresh in his mind. "It's surreal, Ty. I never thought it would turn out like this."

They shared a moment of quiet reflection, the city's distant hum providing a backdrop to their thoughts. Andrew, feeling the need for fresh air, approached the window overlooking the city skyline.

"Man, I forgot you have a nice view from here," he remarked, gazing out at the urban expanse below.

Tyler, joining him by the window, nodded. "Yeah, it's better at night. The city lights, you know?"

A subtle shift in the conversation occurred, the transition from the heaviness of the day to a moment of shared nostalgia. Andrew leaned against the windowsill, looking out at the city that had witnessed their shared laughter and the weight of their struggles.

"I don't doubt that," Andrew replied, his voice a blend of wistfulness and disbelief.

The day had taken unexpected turns, revealing the fragility of plans and the resilience of bonds. As they stood together, overlooking the city that held their intertwined pasts and uncertain futures, Tyler asserted, "We'll get through it together."

"Always," Andrew agreed, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The challenges ahead loomed, but in the quiet assurance of their friendship, they found a source of strength that transcended the uncertainties of the present.

As evening settled, the aroma of Carmen's cooking filled the apartment. Pots and pans clinked in the kitchen as she prepared a meal, a gesture of comfort amid the day's challenges. Andrew, knowing he had to return home, stood by the door, ready to bid farewell.

"You sure you can't stay for dinner?" Carmen insisted, stirring a pot on the stove.

"I appreciate it, Carmen, but I really should get going," Andrew replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

Carmen, undeterred, filled a container with a generous portion of the home-cooked meal. "At least take some food for you and your family. It's the least I can do."

Gratitude filled Andrew's eyes as he accepted the container. "Thank you, Carmen. This means a lot."

They embraced once more, a silent understanding passing between them. "Keep going with nursing, Andrew. You're destined for great things," Carmen encouraged.

"I will, Carmen. Take care," Andrew replied, a mix of determination and appreciation in his voice.

"Goodbye, sweetheart. And give my regards to your family," Carmen said, watching him leave with a warmth that extended beyond the boundaries of their shared history.

Tyler, waiting in the car, greeted Andrew with a grin. "Ready ?"

"Yup," Andrew replied, settling into the passenger seat.

As they drove through the city, Andrew couldn't resist teasing his friend. "Hey, is your sister single?"

Tyler shot him a deadpan look. "Ask me that question again, and you'll continue your way home alone in the rain."

Andrew burst into laughter, the levity a welcome relief from the day's tension. The banter continued until they reached Andrew's home, where he bid farewell to Tyler and headed inside, the container of food in hand.

Meanwhile, Tyler, on his way back home, decided to stop at a nearby gas station to refuel. As he stood by the pump, a motorbike pulled up, and the rider began removing their helmet. Tyler, looking through the car window, squinted as recognition dawned. When the helmet came off, revealing a familiar face, the air crackled with suspense.

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[latristereina]

Foreign ambassadors and court observers of the day considered Isabella a beautiful woman. Like her Visigoth ancestors who had invaded Spain from the northern German territories a thousand years earlier, Isabella was a strawberry blonde—coloring especially admired in Castile because of its relative rarity.

Isabella's finely chiseled face and lively expression gave her a "comely aspect" that was not soon forgotten. One courtier even remarked that she was "the handsomest lady I ever beheld." According to her court secretary and historian of her reign, Fernando del Pulgar, Isabella was of medium height, "well formed in her person and the proportion of her limbs...very fair and blond: her eyes between green and blue, her look gracious and honest...her well-shaped face...beautiful and happy."

While such accolades sound like court flattery, all commentators agree that Isabella was "the most gracious in her manners." Whether beautiful or not, Isabella's youthful vitality, gentleness, and personal charisma made her extremely attractive to all who beheld her.

- Nancy Rubin Stuart, Isabella of Castile: The First Renaissance Queen

By then, Isabel had shown herself decisive, indeed resolute to the point of intransigence, and very serious, if with a gift for irony; she gave her trust sparingly but when she did, wholeheartedly.

- Peggy K. Liss, Isabel the Queen: Life and Times

Subsequent descriptions of Ferdinand verify that the prince was a vigorous and charming young man, who, if not exactly handsome by twentieth-century standards, was nevertheless quite attractive. An anonymous court historian later noted that Ferdinand had "marvelously beautiful, large slightly slanted eyes, thin eyebrows, a sharp nose that fit the shape and size of his face," a slightly full, sensual mouth and lips that were "often laughing." Although Ferdinand seems to have had a slight cast in his left eye, he had an attractive face framed by a high forehead. His well-shaped legs and an average height body were "most appropriate to elegant suits and the finest clothes." Ferdinand was also an athlete, "a great rider of the bridle and the jennet, and a great lance thrower and other activities which he performed with a great skill and a grace." The future king, Pulgar later observed, was also an excellent horseman who "jousted with ease and with so much skill that no one in his kingdom did it better...an avid sportsman and a man of good effort and much activity in war."

Ferdinand, like Isabella, was a compassionate individual who "felt sympathy for miserable people in unfortunate situations." Naturally affable and gregarious, he had a "singular grace, to wit, that all who spoke with him at once loved him and wished to serve him." Yet, despite his charm, Ferdinand was seemingly unflappable, a man in whom "neither anger nor pleasure could alter...very much." His personal habits were similarly conservative and he exercised "moderation in food and drink."

If little else, the quarrel enabled Isabella to discover a new side to her husband, a willful streak Ferdinand would subsequently hide from the world under a veneer of congeniality. But at seventeen Ferdinand was still a brash and unformed youth, who "wore the joy of his heart on his face." Although the prince had been "educated in the school of dissimulation" by his father Juan, he had not yet acquired the self-control that would subsequently enable him to "sacrifice his passions, and sometimes, indeed his principles, to his interests." Only gradually would Ferdinand develop the diplomatic skills that Machiavelli later used as a model for his depiction of the shrewdly opportunistic Renaissance prince.

- Nancy Rubin Stuart, Isabella of Castile: The First Renaissance Queen

[lichfucker]

i would love to hear about why all of the ted lasso characters would fail survivor but especially rebecca

hhh ALL of them... okay the vast majority of the players can be explained away with just "physical prowess enough to make them a threat in individual challenges but dumb as bricks and would not be able to strategize themselves out of a bad spot"

this is abt to get long lmao so I'm putting individual ppl under the cut

nate is the most obvious first boot I honestly feel bad about it. bumbling, socially awkward, has NO idea how to assert himself without being an asshole about it (in the rare instances when he does assert himself at all), and even if he's smart enough to be a great strategist (which he absolutely IS), he can't convey it well enough to convince his tribe to overlook his (probable) lack of challenge ability. most of the time, people don't want to draw harsh lines in the sand on the very first vote so they can pretend everyone's getting along and still friends, so nate would be a sort of freebie vote that it'd be easy to agree on.

beard is too much of a follower. what ted says to dr sharon abt him is, "that man has had many lives, many masters." he's very comfortable being led by people with stronger personalities, and even when he disagrees with their calls he will still execute them like a perfect little lackey. the thing about beard is that I think he'd go VERY far in a season of survivor! I think he could EASILY make it all the way to the end! but I just don't think he can WIN. he's genius-level intelligent and SO strategically savvy, but more than that he is fiercely loyal. he'll attach himself to the right person (or the wrong person, as it were), and even if he is whispering in that person's ear all the way through, he would be TOO content to let them take all the credit, he wouldn't push back against them if they disagree with his plans and make a lesser move instead (the whole beginning of 'beard after hours' is him berating himself for not standing up and making the hard calls even when he knew they'd be better), he wouldn't turn around and slit that person's throat at the end to further his own game, and he would make himself socially impenetrable to everyone else. nobody could get close to him, nobody could like or understand him, he'd probably be seen as good collateral if the opposition couldn't strike directly at whomever beard works with, and if he DOES make it to final tribal, I think he'd have a very difficult time convincing the jury that he deserves the credit and the limelight. he wants to win, I just don't think he believes he deserves to.

ted and roy actually would have the exact same problem, which is "physically and strategically competent, but so FUCKING ANNOYING to live with that they get booted for the sake of tribal quality of life." roy would isolate himself socially with his aggression, and ted...

ted is the antithesis of what a "good survivor player" ought to be, which I actually think could work to his advantage in a number of ways? like I think more typical players would find him incredibly unpredictable because he's sharp enough to see what the best moves are, but generous and self-sacrificing enough not to make them. like, there's a reason he's a coach and not a player. there's a reason he says that he doesn't measure success in wins and losses. if he could survive the first few votes, his social game would be AMAZING-- the entire first season of the show is about him wearing rebecca down through the sheer magnitude of his friendship! lesser survivor players would be so endeared to him that they couldn't fathom voting him off, but they're the ones who are getting picked off in his stead. moderately savvy survivor players would not trust a single word out of ted lasso's mouth; there's no fucking way a man can be this kind and this sincere, not on survivor, it's just not possible, he must be plotting something MASSIVE, we have to strike first before he gets his chance. and the truly brilliant survivor players would realize that he IS genuine, he IS sincere, he IS loyal and giving to his core, and that's DANGEROUS. you can't let someone like that make it to the end or they'll take your million dollars. best to shut it down at the jump.

and above all that, I just think that ted... ted would thrive in the pre-merge, in the tribal portion of the game, he's SO team-oriented, but post-merge, in the individual game... perhaps if he had a solid alliance he could also feel that way about, then it might suit his temperament, but ultimately I think he just. wouldn't want it badly enough. I just think the significant majority of people would be vastly more self-interested than ted would be, so they'd take the shot first.

higgins is an interesting midpoint between all three of nate, beard, and ted, in that he's a henchman through and through even when he disagrees with his boss, he's a pushover who'd be seen as a liability in physical challenges in the early game, and he's off-puttingly friendly and polite to the point that nobody would trust that he's being sincere even though he absolutely is. early boot, maybe second or third.

maybe it's just because I've got cook islands on the brain, but jamie (esp season 1 jamie but like. season 2 as well lmao) would play A LOT like early ozzy. an arrogant wonder-boy who's good at everything (did you know there's literally a survivor casting archetype called the "amazing ace"?), with a heart-wrenching underdog story (playing for richmond, that is), an absolute beast in challenges, a huge threat but always immune, he'd win his way to the end but ultimately be beaten out in final tribal by someone smart enough to have dragged him along as their meat shield the whole game.

and as for rebecca... g-d. this one I think hurts me the most because she has everything going for her, she doesn't have a single one of the problems I've listed for anyone else, but I do genuinely believe that rebecca still loses. she's strong and she's smart and she's assertive and she's ruthless and she's sociable and she's a great liar and she's ambitious and she's ADAPTIBLE (she immediately bounces back after not getting the sun to run the photo of ted and keeley and comes up with an alternate plan that will still serve her own endgame, and by g-d being able to roll with the punches and change course is the single most important thing a survivor player can do), but rebecca still loses.

even if we set aside the fact that survivor on the whole is not particularly kind to women over 40... season 1 rebecca, especially early season 1 rebecca, is spite-motivated to the point of self-destruction. she will set her sights on one target and she will be relentless in her effort to get that person out and it'll make her so myopic that she won't see her own end coming immediately afterwards. nobody on that tribe wants to be her next victim-- better get rid of her once she's proven what she's capable of.

she's also dreadfully insecure in the wake of her divorce and when her polished veneer cracks enough to let it show (how many days of being rained on do we think it'll take for her to slip? my guess is five), some people will see it as the vulnerability that finally allows them to connect with her on a human level, while others will see it as a threatening endgame storyline and an exploitable weakness.

there are some juries, particularly old-school juries, that wouldn't vote for her in the end purely based on the fact that a million dollars is just a drop in the bucket to a woman like rebecca mannion welton. that would be a real shame, and a disservice to the game she would have had to play just to make it that far.

what's more likely than that, though, in my opinion, is that rebecca... loses the drive to win. I think that somewhere along the way survivor stops being a game that she is playing, stops being a competition, and instead becomes a journey of personal growth through adversity. I think she, like ted, stops measuring her success in wins and losses. I think she proves herself more capable and resilient than she ever thought she could be, and that is worth more to her than the money or the title of sole survivor, and she stops fighting for it. and maybe the jury admires that, and gives it to her anyway, rewards her transformation. or maybe they don't. maybe they view it as a concession, a forfeit. but I'm not certain that that moment of revelation happens at the final tribal council. I think it happens just before. I think it happens after the final immunity challenge, and she tearfully and valiantly allows herself to be voted out just inches from the finish line. I think rebecca is the fallen angel of the season, and she goes off to the jury with her head held high, which is nice, and so very noble of her, and the fans would be DYING to have her play again but she wouldn't, because she'll have gotten everything she could have wanted out of her survivor experience, and she doesn't need the crown on top of it.

I think rebecca COULD win. she just WON'T.

[aregebidan]

the nice one

Or: A small (1.6k) pile of angst featuring a darker take on the two eldest Feanorians, based on the popular fanon that Maglor is only known as “nice” because he’s good at propaganda and my own Discord Maglor headcanon.

tw: mentions of blood and torture

“Maglor?”

“Hmm?” he says, never taking his eyes off the worn parchment. The ink has smudged, the corners of the scroll damp and ragged from being carried through the battle, but the writing has somehow managed to survive both the clash of blades and the fell songs of the golden one. Now, safe in Himring, he must copy it down before some other danger strikes the precious notes. 

The act also serves to calm him, drawing him into the familiar scratching rhythm of quill and ink, all delicate lines and quiet chords in the air that speak of peace safety honor. He is loath to separate himself from it, this piece of home, and so he does not make any further reply until his brother calls for him again: “Maglor.”

He should have noticed straight away: the way Maedhros stopped just outside the threshold of his new chamber instead of coming in, his awkward stance and slight shuffling, the fact that he called him by his Sindarin name instead of Kano or brother.

But it is past midnight, and they are both exhausted by the loss of the Gap, so he expects nothing out of the ordinary when he turns around and gives Maedhros his full attention. “What is it?”

Maedhros shifts, again, and he finally realizes something is wrong and puts down his quill. “Are they attacking us again?” 

“No...” 

“Well, then.” Maglor pitches his voice lower, tries to speak as clearly as possible. He hasn’t used his “King-Regent voice,” as the Ambarussa call it, in years, but he senses Maedhros needs someone else to be responsible now. “Tell me what you need me for.” 

His brother fairly squirms. The only candle in the room flashes in Maedhros’ eyes, making him flinch, and Maglor reaches over to put it out, pulling back his hair with the other hand. Having it loose in the dark would bring back memories of... well. Suffice it to say it is not an option, especially on the bad days.

“We took some-” Maedhros’ jaw clenches, seemingly involuntarily. Maglor watches, concerned but strangely fascinated with this rare loss of control. For a moment he just looks like Maitimo-Nelyo again, frustrated with his brothers’ antics and able to express it. 

That is, until the next words make it past his throat. “We took several of the orcs captive. I need you to make them talk.” 

Maglor stills and glances up at his brother again, a tall shadow against the well-lit corridor outside. His brow is twisted in an emotion none would ever expect to see on a kinslayer, and it makes him look young again. Pity.

Make them talk. The others would not put it this way: they would say break them, or question them, or when Maedhros was away break them in, like a new weapon. But break him and question him further, then is what Thauron said in the pits of Angband, as far as Maglor could tell from his brother’s feverish sleep-talk in those dreadful few months after his rescue. 

Maedhros, he realizes with a jolt, still considers himself to be in danger of becoming like his captors. The mental image slithers in- Maedhros standing over the orc prisoners, comparing himself to them, seeing some warped reflection of his stupid, beautiful self in them, avoiding the best decisions for their sake- and he is reaching for his swords before he knows it, pausing only at the stricken look on his brother’s face. 

“Kano.” 

Ah, it’s Kano now, is it, now that you have been reminded of what I am. He pulls back the words- even he has enough sense to keep that particular thought in his head- and smooths down his tunic as calmly as possible, if only to stop making fists. 

“You may question them yourself, brother,” he says curtly. “You captured them, therefore they will fear you the more.”

Maedhros lets out a sudden, harsh laugh and takes a few more steps into the chamber. There you are, son of Fëanor. I have missed you. “You of all people should know that can easily be remedied.”

It hurts, how eager his heart becomes at these words. He shoves any more treacherous thoughts aside and lets some of this indignation into his next words, punctuating them with the kind of wild gesture that he thought he had left behind with the rest of his adolescence. “It is not my job to torture these prisoners at your beck and call-”

“So you admit it is torture?” Maedhros’ voice rises. “If you knew what this means for me, why in Arda would you want-”

“You have done plenty worse!” 

“Nothing is worse to me.” 

“They are the Dark One’s servants, not his foes- they are not as you are! I am trying to help you understand that, Nelyo-”

“And I,” Maedhros snaps, “am trying to do you a favor.”

Maglor freezes mid-gesture. Moonlight streams in through the window, showing the satisfaction and shame mingled on his brother’s face, and he has the absurd urge to slam the door shut, as if someone could be listening in on them at this hour. 

“You go too far,” he whispers, hearing the terror in his own voice. It has been centuries since they agreed never to speak of this again; is Maedhros so sympathetic to his captives that he is ready to break his word to his own brother?

“I go this far because I am concerned for you, because you are not the only one who worries,” Maedhros retorts. “I have heard the tales of your fight with the golden beast.”

Maglor spits out a curse and ducks his head; the weight of Maedhros’ most disappointed stare is too much for any single elf to bear, oath-bound and insane or no. “They were not meant to tell you…” 

“Your people spoke of darkness and sounds of death.” Maedhros advances in small, careful steps, aiming his words like the Ambarussa aim their arrows. “How long will it be until your veneer breaks again, brother? How many have you convinced that your false face is your true self, now? The kind one, the nice one, the soft one, the only one here with a conscience. What would they say if they could see you for yourself?”

Maglor finds that his eyes are suddenly stinging. “I do have a conscience.”

“And it only comes out at the worst possible moments.” The shadow of Nelyo comes into Maedhros’ face again as he reaches out to push back Maglor’s hair with his left hand, loving and brutally honest in equal measure. “I do not know much of what happened to you at Alqualondë, but I know that it pains you to keep it locked in after a battle. I do not want to see you hurt, brother. I cannot say that is the only reason I avoided speaking to the prisoners, but it is by far the most important.”

Ah, so they are getting to the heart of the matter now. Alqualondë. 

Alqualondë, where he had used his music as a weapon for the first time, half mad with the ease with which his voice flowed, his darkest thoughts translating perfectly into the realm of sound. Alqualondë, where the bodies were piled high and the crimson color of the blood on his swords had matched the blood from his own throat, dry and torn up by the first battle-song he had ever dared bring to life. 

They had all died and come back in some way during that first battle, but something else had come back with Makalaurë, something cruel and sharp-toothed and hungry that Maedhros couldn’t stand to come near in these first terrible months after Angamandi. 

The Discord, he had called it, the song of the enemy. The very essence of him, carried on his own voice.

And Maglor, deep in denial, had built up his reputation, only to ruin it by facing the golden one.

He has to fight to keep himself in the present; the memories have grown too strong now, hissing in his ears, burrowing into the cracks in his mind. “You are trying to distract me.” 

His brother’s face is unflinchingly understanding, as frightened by their many hard truths as the Calacirya may be by a summer wind. “I am trying to help.” 

It is easy, so easy to yield when he puts it that way. Maglor inhales slowly and feels the walls of his mind come down, letting the beat of fire-blood-ruin and the cold notes of his swords wash away all other thoughts like waves smoothing out the sand of a beach. The moon has hidden itself again; he looks up from the floor and absently notes that his hands have grown paler, and the ache in his throat has disappeared. 

“We will speak of this again soon, brother.”

Maedhros tenses at the sound of his real voice, and a last pang of guilt lodges in his heart before it is swept away again. His brother knew that was coming; he is not to blame for his fear. 

The prisoners’ fear, on the other hand… 

He sighs, thrilled and embarrassed at himself in equal parts, and takes up one of his swords, letting the tip of the blade scrape against the floor as he heads out. “Tell your guards to go to sleep. You don’t need them anymore.”

His brother calls him again, softly, but he refuses to bring Lady Nerdanel into this mess by answering to the name she gave to her son; instead he merely raises his free hand and turns a corner, putting Maedhros and the ink and parchment behind him. 

If anything, he means to find out what they call the beast from the Gap. Perhaps he can repay him for his people’s pain if they should ever cross paths again.

[theseshipsshallsail]

The harsh glow of the paralume on the bedside cabinet is enough to aggravate his grumbling headache, and Elio’s been tracing idle patterns above Oliver’s heart for several silent minutes when a snatch of poetry drifts from his lips.

“I dreamed that I died,” he whispers, and blunt nails dig into his waist as Oliver jerks out of a doze. “That I felt the cold close to me; and all that was left of my life was contained in your presence. Your mouth was the daylight and dark of my world, your skin, the republic I shaped for myself with my kisses.” Reaching up, he walks his fingers over Oliver’s face to his chin - a feather-light imitation of that day at the berm. “Straightway, the books of the world were all ended, all friendships, all treasures restlessly cramming the vaults, the diaphanous house that we built for a lifetime together all ceased to exist, till nothing remained but your eyes.” 

The only eyes he cares about are red-rimmed underneath the fan of Oliver’s lashes, and Elio feels a grim satisfaction when he grazes his thumb across his cheekbone, observing him without filter or veneer. His disquiet spreads as he imagines his solitary life going forward - the one that must be his, not theirs - and when Oliver lets out a tremulous breath, it’s all he can do not to mirror him.

“That’s -” he begins, then breaks off, clearly struggling.

“Neruda.”    

“It’s beautiful.”  

Elio nods. “Seemed appropriate,” he says, as Oliver enfolds him in his arms. 

He doesn’t know what’s worse. The thought of one day being consigned to a fond reminiscence. Some tshatshke to gather dust in the annals of Oliver’s subconscious. Or the false indifference of a treacherous future meeting. The genial handshakes. The pats on the back. The bonhomie that served them both so well when Oliver first set foot on Italian soil. 

It’s inconceivable that it should end like this. That their bodies - having shared every intimate secret possible - will have to settle for casual acquaintance. They’re on the cusp of a potential everything, but hurtling towards an actual nothing, and as the wall clock continues to tick it's brutal countdown, Elio wants to toss it, smash it: bury it like a tell-tale heart.

“The things you say…”

“I’m sorry. I told myself I wouldn’t -”

“It’s okay.” 

It’s not. And they both know it. 

Oliver’s stubble is rough where he nestles into the crook of his neck, and Elio welcomes the faint abrasion as he holds on for dear life, clutches him as though he’s the last handhold at the edge of an abyss.

“Tell me something else I don’t know,” Oliver murmurs, and Elio scoffs.

“Cieli… there’s a rope with no end.” 

“About you, you little shit.” Oliver pokes him in the ribs. “Something simple. Something no one else knows.”

“How can I?” Elio asks. “You’ve already seen all there is of me.” Easing back, he nuzzles his forehead along Oliver’s bicep. “Va bene. This then. I wanted it to be you.”

“That’s hardly a secret.”

“The internship,” Elio explains, picturing the muvi star Polaroid attached to this year's application forms. “I made sure they picked you.” 

He can’t help but wonder what turns his life might have taken if someone else had stepped out of that taxi, instead. If the Elio he could’ve been was happier in his traviamento, discovering things that he himself had missed out on, and now might never know. Or if he was miserable in turn. Grieving in absentia. Showered by the ashes of something he wouldn’t even realise was ablaze in the first place.

“What would you do with them? Those ten extra minutes?” he asks, harkening back to their earlier conversation, and Oliver sighs, drawing him into a lazy kiss. 

“This,” he replies, licking at his cupid’s bow - nibbling, teasing - until Elio moans, melting within his embrace. 

“Just that?” 

“Just that, he says.”

Elio stays quiet as Oliver guides him over, legs sliding his thighs apart to blanket him with his larger frame. Their lips move together - languorous and hypnotic - and even with their fingers knotted in each other’s hair the kiss remains unhurried. Searching. Tongues probe, but don’t dip. Teeth scrape, but don’t bite. And merde, he’s lost - in him, them, this - addicted to each soft groan Oliver feeds him as he arches in blatant need. 

“You are so precious to me,” Oliver tells him, each kiss growing bolder, more insistent. “Never doubt that. Never say you didn’t know...”

The tenderness of his actions is a brittle contrast to his words, and despite his closed eyelids, Elio can feel him watching him. Taking in his flushed brow and swollen mouth. The click of his throat when he swallows. The trembling in his digits as so much promise slips through them like silken ribbons. And Elio wants him to watch. To memorise. To curse the fates themselves for having spun them a glimpse of heaven, only to sever their fragile threads without pity or reproach.

“Let us continue living for the beauty of our own creation,” Oliver murmurs in his ear, and Elio’s hands start to wander in a bid to clear his consciousness of all else but him. 

The man who will always be his brother and friend. 

His husband and lover. 

His one true self.

It’s a pointless task, he’ll admit, as a frenzied tattoo pounds at his temple. Like ripping off a sticking plaster slowly in hopes of avoiding the sting. Time cares nothing for the doomed fancies of innamorato, and the thought of what’s to come hovers like the blackest of storm clouds. Desperation strains beneath Elio’s skin even as he glories in the weight of Oliver’s body, but the roiling mass in his belly grows ever bigger. Nausea sweeps through him - like being doused in a frigid wave - and the bitter apprehension leaves him aching. Wheezing. Like his breath is caught in his chest, and he can’t do anything about it but wait until something splinters. 

“Elio?”

That something turns out to be him.

“Arrêter...” he whimpers, pushing against Oliver’s sternum until he can sit up. “I can’t do this.”

“Sweetheart -” 

The simple endearment sends him reeling, and Elio convulses, eyes burning as he launches himself to the side of the mattress. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, hugging his knees to his chin. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Shouldn’t have what?” Oliver asks, reaching for him, and it’s anathema not to reach back.

“Fermare! Don’t!” Elio cries, scrambling to his feet. “It’s too much. If you touch me right now I’ll -” Stricken, he scrunches a hand at his nape, dreading the slick, metallic surge of a nosebleed as Oliver’s arm falls limply to his lap. “I love you,” he says, spitting his confession like gunfire. “I’m completely in love with you. And I don’t care what that makes me. Because if I’m sick and twisted, then so are you!”

“Elio -”

“This isn’t some game for me.” His voice goes up an octave as his tears spill free. “It isn’t. It’s more than that!”

“Hey! Hey, shh…” Oliver closes the distance urgently, ignoring his feeble protests to gather him near, raining words of inadequate comfort into his curls. “Elio, come on... it’s alright,” he soothes, rocking him to-and-fro. “I believe you. I do.”

“I don’t want it to end,” he sobs, redolent of that afternoon in a dust-moted attic. The air ripe with the scent of peaches and misspent arousal. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You won't,” Oliver says, as Elio chokes his grief out into his shoulder. “You won’t. Not completely. We’ll keep in touch, okay? Letters. Phone calls...” 

Mere crumbs compared to the banquet they’ve enjoyed. “Don’t make promises you can't keep.”

“I’m not. I won’t.” Oliver cradles the back of his head to raise it. “I miss you already and you’re right here in front of me. You’re not the only one who couldn’t stand the silence.”

“Je déteste ça...”

“It’s not fair,” Oliver agrees, hushed, deliberate. “You deserve so much more than I can give you. But if this is my speak or die moment, then so be it. And please forgive me. Because I love you, too.”

“I’d almost prefer you didn’t,” Elio whispers, and Oliver flinches like he’s been struck. “Fanculo. I didn’t mean that!” he rushes to amend. “But I’d rather suffer the pain of a wounded ego, than lie in an empty bed, knowing I have nothing to blame it on but circumstance.”

“I’d rather you not suffer either way.” 

“I know you wouldn’t,” Elio says, as Oliver’s own tears gather like dew on his eyelashes. But it was always going to happen, wasn’t it? It’s a cruel game they’ve played, the two of them, and now they’re both paying the ferryman for passage to what comes next. “You tried to be good, remember?” 

Oliver looks at him askance. “You don’t think this is good?”

“It’s better than good,” Elio tells him, thumbs caressing the undersides of his wrists. “You’re a good man, Oliver.”

“How can I be?” He’s pressed so close Elio can feel the trapped breaths rattling in his lungs. “I’d steal you away if I could. Bring you home to New York with me. Wake up with you every morning. Sleep beside you every night.”

“Then do it.” Elio’s relief is tainted by inevitability. “Take me with you,” he pleads, as Oliver combs a hand through his fringe. 

“You’d give up everything? For me?” 

“For you?” Elio leans back, searching his face. "No, mio caro. For us.”

But Oliver is undeterred. “You could have anything you want in this world,” he murmurs, which comes as little solace when what Elio wants is him. “Your life is just getting started. In so many ways. You should be free to experience it all beyond restraint. College. Music...” His mask slips temporarily. “...love.”

Elio scowls. “Say what you really mean, then. That you want me to move on. Replace you!”

“Of course I don’t!” Oliver replies, eyes fierce. “I’m much too selfish for that. Can’t you see I’d like nothing more than to be by your side? Watch you flourish? Celebrate your triumphs? But you’re seventeen, Elio. And that matters. Even if you don’t think it does. There’s no limit to how bright your star could shine without all this to dim it.”

“This?” It’s practically sibilant. “You still think you’re going to mess me up, don’t you?” Elio demands, and when Oliver doesn’t deny it, he shoves him in exasperation. “You once asked if there was anything I didn’t know, so what makes you think I’m incapable of making such choices for myself?” 

“Elio…”

“And if you say I’m too young again, I swear I’ll -”

“You’re not exactly helping your case, here.”

“Fuck my case!” Elio growls, spinning on his heel. Wishing he could offer more. Commit something. “Those aren't reasons. They’re excuses.”

“They’re facts.”

“There are no facts, only interpretations,” Elio argues, folding his arms as he glares out the window. “My age doesn’t matter, Oliver. We do. You and I. And when I graduate -”

“Twelve months is a long time, my friend.”

“Too long for you to wait, you mean?” He tries to keep his features neutral when he turns back around, already fearing the answer. “Long enough for you to give up before we’ve even begun. To convince yourself I’m just some stupid -”

“Don’t.” Oliver’s tone stops him dead in his tracks. “Don’t you ever call yourself that again. You, Elio Perlman, are exceptional.” Unlike him, Oliver’s tears are silent as they crest over his cheeks. “When have I ever given you the impression I’m not in complete awe of you? That I don’t feel privileged - humbled - by everything you’ve chosen to give me?”

“When have I?” Elio yells, knowing his shameful treatment of Marzia suggests otherwise. “You stand there, plotting out my future as if our being together will rob me of something, when the only thing you’ll deprive me of is yourself.”

“And what of your own ambitions?” Oliver asks calmly, not rising to the bait despite a disgruntled shout from the other side of the hotel’s too-thin walls. “I saw the brochures in your bookcase. The Conservatoire de Paris? The Giuseppe Verdi in Milan?”

“Bien sûr! The one’s gathering dust on a bottom shelf. Captivating reading, I’m sure.” Elio’s fingers itch for a cigarette. “Did you not see the Berklee prospectus on my desk? The one I’ve actually bookmarked? The one I requested back in April?”

A pause. “Boston?” 

Elio steels his nerve. “Juilliard, too. Assuming they’d have me.” 

“You…” The look on Oliver’s face is half lost, half questioning. “Why on earth wouldn’t they?”

“Have you seen their acceptance rates?”

“And what?” Oliver seems offended on his behalf. “You don’t think your talent is enough?” 

“Seven percent is tough competition.” Elio shrugs, attempting nonchalance. “But the best person I know just said I’m exceptional. So.”

For a slow, drawn-out second, neither of them blink - fitting, really, when Elio’s never felt more seen - but something softens in Oliver’s expression as he takes three steps closer. “I want this to work,” he mutters, as if only now believing it’s possible. “Trust me, I do. There’s just so much standing in our way.”

“Big results require big ambitions,” Elio tells him, and Oliver snorts in disbelief. 

“You’re citing my manuscript?” 

“Arrogante. I’m quoting Heraclitus. Or would you prefer I go back to verse? Alfredo clearly has enough of them.” 

“Please don’t,” Oliver murmurs. “If you start in on San Clemente I’ll never be able to -”

Able to what, he doesn’t dare ask. 

This lengthy goodbye is excruciating, so Elio tamps down on his emotions, making a shrine at his very foundations. Knowing that whatever comes next, wherever this path might lead, however many layers he builds up around them, the memories will mold and shape him much like the basilica within this venerable city.

“Se l’amore,” he whispers, skimming his fingertips along the curve of Oliver’s jaw.

“Se l’amore,” he repeats, just as hushed, then slants him an uncertain smile. “Can I kiss you?”  

He’d chosen him well, his Oliver, and Elio’s own smile is reluctant as he recognises the request for what it is. A bookend of sorts: first and last. 

He’s surprised, therefore, when Oliver uncurls his fingers and lays them flat in his palm. “I love these hands,” he says, lifting them to his lips. Reverent, he sucks at the pale skin of his wrist, tracing the blue of his veins with a pointed tongue before turning his attention to his knuckles. “I love these freckles,” he continues, causing Elio’s breath to hitch when he angles his chin up, kissing the constellation beside his nose. “I love your tenacity…” Elio offers his mouth, and true to form, Oliver kisses that too. “I love your chutzpah... I love -”

His voice breaks, and Elio’s heart joins it as Oliver glances at the clock. “How much time do we have?”    

“Not enough.” Oliver presses their foreheads together. “Never enough.” 

It sounds like acceptance. Like a challenge. Like you’ll kill me if you stop.

They’ll always have this summer - in a perfect world, perhaps it could be summer forever - so Elio meets Oliver’s gaze unflinchingly as he unbuttons his shirt, letting the emerald green garment fall carelessly to the floor.

Sand is spilling quickly from the confines of their personal hourglass, but minutes, hours, decades would be insufficient.

They have a lifetime’s worth of love between them, and only a short while left in which to share it.  

[thefreakydeaky]

Call Out My Name

Part Six Title: A Lonely Night

Characters: Negan, Reader, The Saviors,The Wives

Summary: You belonged to him.Try as you might to pretend indifference, Negan’s very presence has awakened feelings in you that you believed had died with the old world.Is the ruthless King of the Sanctuary still human enough to fall in love?

Warnings: Language, Canon Typical Negan BS, Diet Dr.Angst

Word Count: 2,145

“Can I trust you, Y/n?” He asked as you lay together after.

“Yes, you can.”

“I don’t know how to say it...”

Your eyebrows rose.

“You? At a loss for words? I don’t believe it.”

Negan chuckled dryly.

“I don’t know how to say it nicely.”He amended, his tongue poked out to wet his lip as he tried to find the right words.

“Do you remember what I said to you about my position as a leader?”

You shook your head ‘no’.

“It’s precarious.I work damn hard to make sure my people are taken care of and to make sure that everyone knows not to fuck with me.As I’m sure you have realized, I like to be on top.”

“Mhmm..”

“Sometimes that means I have to bash in a few heads. Sometimes it means I have to take a new wife, but I’d say I have everything I could want within reason. Wouldn’t you?”

You nodded in agreement.

“So imagine my surprise, when I go out to do some head bashing and find that despite all i have there is one thing I not only want, but need...You.” His expression softened as he gazed into your eyes. “The moment I saw you, I recognized you as my other self. That’s why I did it. That’s why I called you my wife without asking.We were made for each other. I can’t explain how I know, I just know, Y/n.”

You blinked back tears, overwhelmed by the unmistakeable ring of truth his confession held. You looked back up to find him watching your face wearily.

“How can I be sure you won’t think how I feel about you is a weakness?”

You laced your fingers with his.

“You aren’t weak.Neither am I.We have both put survival above everything else.”

He winced.

“Hell, that isn’t reassuring in the least.”

You smiled apologetically.

“What I’m getting at is, if you’re open to it, we could try putting each other first and survival second.You know, the way relationships were pre-walker?”

“And what would you know about that, hmm?”

“I was in a relationship back when.”

“What, some high school sweetheart bullshit?” He sighed, incredulity in his voice.

“No.” You turned onto your belly. “I was in a serious relationship with an older man.”

“Were you now?”

“I was.”

“What was he like?” Negan pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Do you really wanna know?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

You smirked at the envy in his eyes.

“He was...fifteen or so years older than me.”

“Mhmm.”

You carded your fingers through Negan’s hair.

“He had pretty blue eyes and a very nice smile.”

“What did he do?”

“He was a policeman.”

“A cop? You were dating a cop?” His brow furrowed.

“Is that surprising?” You grinned.

“It is.” He grumbled. “Did you love ‘um.”

“It was complicated, but I did love him. Then we broke up, the world changed for the worse,and I had bigger things to worry about than him.”

Negan mulled on that for a moment.

"I ever tell you I was married before the world went to shit?"

Try as he might to hide behind a veneer of nonchalance, you sensed some dark emotions beneath the act.

"Not very successfully, but she meant a great deal to me."

You nodded.

"I was shit at showing it, but I'm sure you know a thing or two about that."He grimaced.

Negan looked into your eyes. In the depths of his gaze you could see a sorrow so intense, it made your heart ache with compassion.

“Do you think we could make it if we tried?” He asked too casually.

“Yes, I reckon we could.” You kissed the back of his hand.

You felt so filled with warmth you could burst.

Negan kissed the corner of your mouth lovingly.

“You have my whole heart, Y/n.”

He took you into his arms.

"Until my last breath."

Feeling safer than you had in years, you snuggled into his embrace and reveled in the wonder of being loved.

Staring out of the window did nothing to improve his mood.Lighting flashed in a black as midnight sky at eleven o'clock in the morning.

"What's the plan?"Negan asked the room at large, taking a seat at the head of the table.

His lieutenants sat in a make shift conference room, looking worse for the wear from the battle with Alexandria.

Dwight tapped the back end of a switch blade on the table, seemingly deep in thought.Regina sat arms crossed over her chest glaring at Dwight's hands.The minutes ticked by quietly. Negan's already strained patience was growing thin.Gavin tilted his chair back and sighed.

“There's nothing left for us to do, 'cept kill them all."Simon concluded.

“Dwight?" Negan posed wearily.

"We don't need to kill all them people to get them in line.We just have to kill the right ones."

Negan narrowed his eyes at him.

"The right people, meaning who? Rick Grimes?"

“Grimes, The Widow, and The Ki- “ Dwight grimaced. “Ezekiel.” He amended apologetically.

“Hmm..." Their leader scratched at his chin, in contemplation.

"We'll put 'em on a platform, make it bloody, make sure they all see it happen." Dwight's gruff voice provided.

"I like the way you think, Dwight." Negan responded at last."Si, how long you need to get this set up?"

A blood thirsty grin broke out on Simon's face.

"We'll be ready by morning." He replied.

To the Saviors Simon directed a gung-ho,“Let's go to work."

Mean while, back at the doll house, boredom and gloom drove the wives to the parlor.

"We could play a game?"Tanya suggested.

Amber emitted a petulant huff in response and continued flipping through a beat up issue of Vogue

"We can play a drinking game."Sherri suggested.

“A drinking game?"You repeated uncertainly.

"We are all adults here, we're stuck 'till Negan says otherwise."Tanya pointed out.

"We might as well."Amber intoned, tossing her magazine aside.

You glanced uncertainly at Sherri.For a moment you considered declining, but much to their surprise, you agreed.

"Okay, What are we playing?"

Frankie sat up in her chair, with sudden interest.

“Never have I ever!”Sherri and Tanya said in unison.

You swallowed in an attempt to soothe your suddenly dry throat.This was a disaster waiting to happen.

Amber took it upon herself to serve each person in the room a generous shot of vodka.

“The way it works is, we take turns asking a question.Well sort of a question sort a not.”Sherri hedged.

“If it’s my turn I’d say something like, Never have I ever...smoked a joint.”

“Bullshit.”Frankie laughed.

“If you have smoked a joint you do a shot.If you haven't, you don’t.It’s fun.Trust me.” Sherri’s enthusiastic grin was a little scary.

You had never seen her smile before today.You eyed her skeptically, but didn’t back out.

“Why don’t we go from youngest to oldest?”You suggested.

Amber went around the room handing out the generous glasses she had poured to each of you.

“Go on then.”Sherri encouraged Frankie.

“Alright, never have I ever...given a blowjob.”

“Ha! That’s a cheat! We all know He loves getting head.”Tanya chuckled.

“Is not!”

You all took a shot.

Amber went around the room refilling the glasses.

As the game went on, you slowly began to relax.The questions were invasive at times, but no one had caused any trouble so far.

“Never have I ever”Tanya began, “been tied up during sex.”

“Ugh Tanya!”Amber exclaimed in disgust.

Sherri’s eyes were fixed on you.

She is so damn nosey. You frowned, but you were a good sport and drank just the same. To your surprise, so did Frankie.

You shared a knowing look then burst out laughing.Sherri was not amused.

“Never have I ever been to Texas?”Amber tried.

You shook your head.

“Never have I ever kissed another girl.”You threw out eyeing each of them in turn.

Frankie, Tanya, and You all took another shot.

“Really, Y/n?”Amber’s eyes went wide with curiosity.

“Oh, come on don’t act so shocked.It’s the freakin" apocalypse.”Frankie scoffed.

“Alright alright, never have I ever been eaten out by Negan.” Sherri said smoothly.

You cringed at the obvious ploy.

Tanya,Sherri, and Frankie each took a shot.

You could feel them all scrutinizing you.You and Amber were the odd ones out. You refused to rise to the bait.What happened between you and Negan was none of their business.

“Amber” Sherri prompted when she remained quiet for too long.

“Oh, uh, yes. Never have I ever..” She wracked her brain trying to come up with something, but came up empty. “Never have I ever had a three some??”

“Booooo!” a sloppy drunk Frankie complained.”We already asked that one.”

“Right right...”

“How about never have I eveeer, had a sexual fantasy about a Savior.” Frankie suggested.

Tanya blushed fiercely and took the shot.

The look on Amber’s face was bleak.

“Never have I ever been to Canada.”Sherri said quickly changing the subject.

No one drank.You felt bad for Amber.You had forgotten that some of these girls used to be in relationships with the men that were now Saviors.

Tanya smirked at you.

“Never have I ever, had sex with Negan in the middle of the day.”She said much too chipper for your liking.

“Just Negan?”

“Yes.”

You knew what she meant to find out, but you refused to go there with her. You didn’t take the shot.

Her brown eyes blazed into yours.She and Sherri drank simultaneously.

“Never have I ever lied to my husband.”You deadpanned to remind them that you were in this together.

Every one of them drank.

“Never have I ever had a sex related injury.”

Sherri stared at Tanya when she didn't drink.

“Taanyaa”

“Sherriii” Tanya mocked good naturedly.

“You have.”She insisted.

Tanya winced and took the shot. Embarrassed and hoping no one would ask the million dollar question.

“Okay, but how??”Frankie asked.

Tanya covered her blushing face in her hands.

“Damn it Sherri.”

“She was with Simon on a free pass day.”

Frankie rolled her eyes.”You know how that goes”

Sherri raised an eyebrow. “Not all of us do.”

"He gets a little...gymnastic." Tanya admitted, blushing.

“Never have I ever wanted to fuck Simon.” Amber singsonged.

“It’s not even your turn!” Tanya winced and took the shot.

You were feeling so warm and buzzing hard.You unthinkingly took the shot along with Tanya and Frankie.

“Simon?” Sherri’s voice was filled with judgement.

“Surprised?”

“Not even a little.” She sniffed.

“Anyone ever tell you, you’re awful judgmental for a woman in a polygamist marriage?” You snarked.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.You act pretty high and mighty for someone who sucks the same cock the rest of us do.”

“I’m not like you.” She hissed venomously.”I didn’t fucking choose this!”

“And you think I did?”Amber stood, swaying drunkly.

“Not you.” Sherri’s voice lost it’s venom. “But the rest of you did.”

“You’re so wrong for thinkin’ that and even worse for sayin’ it!” Tanya’s eyes filled with tears.

“Sherri, You’ve been talking down to me ever since I got here.” You spoke louder than you intended to.

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m not the one with the problem.”

“You sure as shit act like it.”

You threw your glass in her general direction. It pelted her in the shoulder and rolled onto the floor.

“Bitch if you’re feelin’ froggy go ahead and fuckin’ jump.”

The double doors burst wide open.

“What in the hell is going on in here?” Negan thundered looking around the room with an irritated scowl.

No one moved.Sherri’s fury was still apparent in her expression.You wondered how long he’d been listening.

“Explain.Now.” He demanded picking on Tanya who hadn’t said a thing.

“W-well...We were drinking and playing some stupid game. About sex.”Her eyes darted between you and Sherri.

“A sex game?” Negan repeated, disbelief in his tone.

“Yupp. Not a one of us’s been to Canada and Y/n kissed a girl, Now Sherri thinks we’re all a buncha sluts.” Amber hiccuped.

Negan took a steadying breath and stared down each of you in turn.

“Well I’ll be damned." He scrutinized Amber's slight swaying figure and shook his head. "Sweetheart, you are trashed!I’m cuttin’ you off.”

Negan took the bottle of vodka from her. From the look on her face, she had forgotten she was holding it.

“I’ll get you some water.” Frankie nodded decisively and tried to shake off her buzz.

She swayed a little on her way to the sink.

“So what I’m gettin’ here is, you all got wasted and started swapping stories about sex with me?”

You didn’t know what to say.You were, despite Sherri being an asshat, feeling pretty good right about now.

“You are around each other all day every freakin’ day and the subject has never come up before?” He asked with feigned interest.”I don’t know if I should take that as an insult or a compliment.”

Finally got a taste of his own medicine.

You snickered.

“What’s so funny over there,Y/n?”

Uh-oh no pet names.Daddy is maaad.

The ridiculous thought made you chuckle and soon you were emitting peels of laughter so infectious that Tanya started laughing too.

“You cut that shit out!It is not fucking funny.” He shifted his weight, brought lucille onto his shoulder, then licked his lips. “I don’t like drama.”

Sherri rolled her eyes.

“Coulda fooled me.” Amber jibed under her breath.

You mashed your lips together to hold back your smile.

“What did you just say?”

Amber shook her head.

You batted your lashes at him.

His nostrils flared like he could smell the insubordination.

“Wow I am havin’ a damn hard time rememberin’ why I thought keeping so many women around was a good idea.”

“Cause you expected a nonstop orgy?” You suggested. “Ya reap what ya sew, Babe.”

“What the ever loving fuck?” A pained look crossed his face.

“I mean,” Your languid gaze swept the room. “It isn’t right, but I get it.” You shrugged.

“That’s enough. I don’t have the patience to deal with all of you at once.Every one of you to your bedrooms! I don’t want to hear one peep out of you for the rest of the day.”

“Sure thing, Daddy.” The corners of your lips quirked into an almost grin as you stood and headed for your room.

“Smart ass.” He grumbled following behind you.

[officialleotolstoy]

I've always wanted to ask this: what exactly do you dislike about the epilogue? I see a lot of people hating on it but to me it's (well, *they're*) not only integral to the core of war and peace but the first epilogue is one of my favourite parts of the book 💀

Sorry for the delay, this ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while because I wanted to take the time to come up with a good response! Also I’m not citing the quotes in any official format because I’m lazy

I talked about it a bit here too: https://officialleotolstoy.tumblr.com/post/638413454780383233/so-im-reading-wp-and-ive-just-reached-the

Part of the reason the epilogue is awful is because it’s so sad but in a way that isn’t consistent with the book thus far. I could accept it if War and Peace was meant to be a tragedy, if there was some acknowledgement that this is not a good ending for anyone but that’s just how life is. However, Tolstoy pretends at some points that life is almost idyllic for the characters, and then goes on to contradict himself. The overall impression is that the characters have a veneer of happiness, but if you examine it closer it falls apart. That’s encapsulated in this quote from the first epilogue: “[Marya’s] face shone with a smile, but at the same time she sighed, and her profound gaze showed a quiet sadness. As if, besides the happiness she experienced, there was another happiness, unattainable in this life, which she involuntarily remembered at this moment.” (page 1153). There isn’t much commentary on the overall situation, nor is there a consistent description of whether or not it’s a good ending for the characters. Obviously, most things aren’t entirely “good” or “bad” and there will be bits of both, especially in a novel as realistic about life as War and Peace is. The problem is that book seems to be trying to convince us that it’s a good thing, but doesn’t actually show us much good happening. It ends up feeling dissonant and cheap.

I also think certain things are just out of character. The one that sticks out to me most is that Marya cares for her own kids more than she does for Nikolushka, to the point where he’s largely ignored. I find it hard to believe that Marya, who has practically raised Nikolushka and takes great satisfaction in caring for people, would just toss him aside as soon as she had biological kids. Another offender is the way Pierre and Natasha’s relationship ends up. The crux of it is that Natasha becomes apathetic. Her entire character (save the time when she fell into a depression following the failed elopement) has been about exuberance and life. That was what drew Andrei to her in the first place. Even the book notes that this is an abrupt and shocking change. “Everyone who had known Natasha before her marriage was surprised at the change that had taken place in her.” (page 1154). This change isn’t quite so bad because it’s actually acknowledged in the narrative as something odd, but it’s still not a great choice. Of course it’s possible that Natasha underwent great changes after her marriage, but these changes serve no larger purpose in the book. After spending over 1100 pages crafting this vibrant lifelike woman, it seems stupid to turn her character on its head entirely in the last 50 pages of the book. He doesn’t use this to make much useful commentary on society or the institutions that led to this change in Natasha either. It’s been speculated that he let his own ideas of what a perfect wife should be shape Epilogue Natasha to a degree that is out of character for her, and I agree with that.

I do think Pierre’s reaction to their marriage is at least somewhat in character, but it’s still terribly sad. He hates himself so much that he submits entirely to Natasha and lets her drive everything he does. Pierre has a lot of issues with self- worth and purpose throughout the book. It would have been very rewarding to see him work through those and come out stronger. We don’t get that at all. Instead, he stays “under his wife’s heel” and the only sense of self-worth he ever finds is after seven years he thinks he cannot be bad because Natasha and he share good qualities. The relationship is very unhealthy. Again, that is a fine thing to have happen on principle, but it is an odd choice to finally get two of the protagonists, who are shown to love and care for each other, married and then make their relationship Like That. Pierre idolizes Natasha, claiming that “only what was truly good was reflected in his wife; all that was not entirely good was rejected.” (page 1157). Natasha elevates Pierre in almost the same way, putting his percieved wants ahead of everything else in the world (while at the same time holding an odd amount of power over him and his behavior).

Part of it is definitely personal bias - I just don’t like a lot of what happens. I feel a little cheated out of a happy ending for the characters I’ve spent over a thousand pages caring about. But overall, the issue I have with the epilogue isn’t just that “bad things happen to the characters”, it’s that said bad things aren’t explored enough (or in some cases, even acknowledged as negative things). There’s little justification for what happens in terms of crafting a satisfying and coherent narrative.

[imagine-loki]

Hidden Strength

TITLE: Hidden Strength CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 2/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki is sent to Midgard to atone for his actions during the Battle of New York.  He finds that one of his new housemates was disabled during the battle.

RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS:  This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name.  Also on AO3 here

Kat crossed her arms over her chest and gave the god a stern look.  It was stupid to antagonize the god, especially when he was being a villain.  She doubted the cell could actually contain him unless he actually wanted to be there, but that was a pet theory at the moment.  She also sensed that he would appreciate the sass and teasing and that keeping the god of mischief entertained would keep the chaos down to a minimum.

“What is your master plan Earth?” She countered his question she didn’t want to answer with a question he didn’t want to answer.  That was only fair.  

Loki laughed and his smirk only grew.  He was amused and was taking the bait.  That was definitely a good sign and fit in with Kat’s plan.  Nat let her take the lead, though it was strange for the younger Romanoff to do.  Loki was interested in Kat and seemed to be more willing to open up for her.  “You may be interesting, kitten, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be spilling such secrets so easily,” he told her, still clearly amused and enjoying this conversation. 

Kat giggled and shrugged, looking nonchalant.  “It was worth a try,” she replied innocently.  She had the innocent act down pat.  Nat could never quite pull it off, but her younger sister was a natural.  Just as Kat didn’t pull off the seductive thing very well.  She took a seat in the chair right on the other side of the glass from Loki.  He smirked and mirrored her, sitting on the built-in slab that served as a bed in the cell.  “So, what shall we discuss instead?” 

“How did you obtain magic powered by the Tesseract, kitten?” Loki asked.  He wasn’t dropping that question anytime soon, it seemed.  

Kat wasn’t exactly surprised that he knew where her magic came from.  Especially with how powerful both he and that staff of his were.  The staff resonated with Kat for some reason.  It resonated with her power, though she didn’t understand why.  What did the Tesseract and Loki’s scepter have in common?

She grinned at him.  He’d fallen into the conversation where she wanted him.  “And why would I tell you that?” She asked far too innocently.  

Loki inclined his head, an acknowledgment that she had him where she wanted him.  He wasn’t stupid.  He was a genius according to all the charts she’d seen on the matter.  His smirk remained in place and Kat could see from the glint in his eyes that he was enjoying this banter immensely.  “How about an exchange of information, then, kitten?” He asked, his voice still that stupidly seductive purr.  He knew exactly the effect he had on women and Kat wasn’t excluded from that in any way, shape, or form.  “Sound fair?”

She was on the job, though, and was trying to keep her emotions out of it.  Loki was a villain, for Pete’s sake.  He was actively trying to take over the Earth.  Granted, Kat was pretty sure it wasn’t of his own volition.  She gave him an adorable grin.  She couldn’t help that she liked this man.  Liked his wit and cleverness.  “Sounds fair,” she agreed.  “And to answer your question, I was experimented on in the Red Room. I assume Agent Barton told you about that?” He’d insinuated that Barton had told him everything.  

He inclined his head in agreement.  “So you were experimented on…” he commented contemplatively.  Kat could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he considered all the implications.  “How did they manage to give a Midgardian magic?” He asked, looked up at Kat again. 

Kat returned his smirk with one of her own.  “You owe me information before you get more questions,” she reminded him of their bargain.  If she read him right, he would keep to his bargains. 

Loki inclined his head again with a soft chuckle.  He liked this Romanoff.  She was definitely interesting and had intrigued him. “Very well.  Your question then?” He held up a hand to stop her before she blurted out something.  “And you are not allowed to begin with what my master plan is.  That would ruin all of the fun.” Loki was definitely concerned with finding the fun in whatever situation he found himself in. 

Kat laughed. “You’re no fun,” she teased. She was keeping up the lighthearted conversation, keeping him open and talking with her.  “What are you hoping to accomplish by letting yourself be captured?“ she asked him after a moment of thought.  She’d seen the footage of his battle with Cap.  She’d analyzed it and realized quickly that he’d let himself be brought here.  So he clearly had a reason.  The question was why he would let himself be captured.  

“To cause a little bit of mischief, kitten,” he replied with a Cheshire Cat grin that clearly said that he was giving a smart-ass non-answer.  

Kat rolled her eyes. "I’m not sure that qualifies as an answer,” she teased. “But I’ll give you your answer anyway.  The facility I was at worked with a program with Hydra.  They were trying to recreate the serum used on Captain America.  They also had possession of the Tesseract at the time, which is what they used on me to give me my powers,” she explained to him.  It wasn’t a secret.  It was in her file and the team knew that she had immense powers because of the Tesseract.  

Loki leaned in closer, eager to learn more.  “You contain magic gifted to you by the Tesseract?” He demanded.  The blue in his eyes intensified when he mentioned the Tesseract.  The mention of the other infinity stone, of his prize, sparking his interest.  

Kat nodded. “Yes, I did" she replied easily.  “Why are you so interested in it?” Her eyes flashed Tesseract blue for a moment, confirming that she did have the power of the stone running through her veins.

Loki moved and pressed his hand against the glass as if that would get him closer to the girl.  “I have to have it. I….”  He shook his head, his eyes haunted and pained.  All of him looked injured, like he was recovering from torture.  “That is a question I cannot answer, kitten,”

Kat frowned, but saw the pain in his eyes and didn’t press any more on that part “Cannot?  Is someone else in control?” she asked gently, open, inviting him to tell her.  Nat used sex appeal to get her answers, Kat clearly had different methods.  She was open, inviting, innocent.  

Loki looked away and said nothing for a long moment.  He tried to hide his flinch of pain from the Other yelling in his mind.  Kat caught it, though.  She was observant and caught everything. “No. I am in control. I want a throne, to be seen as better than my imbecile brother,” he replied snobbishly, stubbornly. 

Kat tilted her head, considering his words and his body language.  She stood and gave him a dismissive look.  “This arrangement isn’t going to work if you aren’t giving truthful answers,” she said cooly. 

“Stop asking questions I can’t answer, Midgardian,” Loki snarled at her, losing his veneer of propriety and teasing.  His hands had curled into fists at the pain he failed to hide. 

She didn’t like seeing him in pain, not when it was so obvious and not when he was clearly being mind-controlled and used.  She was sure of it then.  "So what can you tell me?” She asked him gently. 

“That none of you will win this fight,” he growled as he looked up again at her.  The blue in his eyes was much brighter then.  “The Chitari will come. There is nothing you can do to stop it,”

“Even Barton?  What are you planning to do with him?” Nat asked, trying to get them back on topic, back to talking about Barton and Loki’s plans.  

Loki tilted his head and gave her a malicious smirk.  “Is this love, Agent Romanoff?”

“Love is for children,” Nat said firmly.  “I owe him a debt”

Loki backed gracefully to his seat again and lifted his hands, indicating she should continue. He took his seat. “Tell me,”

Nat licked her lips and paused a moment before she spoke again. “Before I worked for SHIELD… I, uh, well, I made a name for myself,“ Nat explained as she took a seat.  "I have a specific skill set, and I didn’t care who I used it for.  Or on.  I got on SHIELD’s radar in a bad way. Agent Barton was sent to kill me.  He made a different call.  And later, together, we got Kat’ya out from under Hydra’s control and from the facility where she was kept,” she only included Kat in this explanation because she knew Loki would ask. 

“And what will you do if I vow to spare him?”

“Not let you out,” Nat replied with a shrug of her shoulder. 

Loki was clearly back in his element, back in his game.  His grin return.  “No, but I like this.  Your world in the balance and you bargain for one man. 

“Regimes fall every day.  I tend not to weep over that.  I’m Russian,” she shrugged again.  “Or I was,”

“And what are you now?” Loki asked, curious over both these Romanoffs, though still mostly on the younger one.  The one with the curious magic. 

 “It’s really not that complicated.  I’ve got red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out,” Nat had stood again, crossing her arms over her chest.  Kat watched the pair, silent and observing, analyzing as ever.  

“Can you?” Loki asked, his voice soft and sensual.  “Can you wipe out that much red? Dreykov’s daughter, Sao Paulo, the hospital fire?  Barton told me everything.  Your ledger is dripping.  It’s gushing red,” he stood again and approached the wall of the cell.  “And you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself  will change anything?” He sneered.   “This is the basest sentimentality.  This is a child at prayer,” his words were coming faster, more heated as he spoke.  Kat’s eyes widened at the change in the man she’d been bantering with.  “Pathetic!” He went on without pause.   “You lie and kill You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!” He slammed the wall of the cell and Nat flinched.  “I won’t touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you! Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear! And when he’ll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I’ll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!”

Nat turned away, convincingly looking afraid or at least upset, flinching away from him.  "You’re a monster,” she said in a small, horrified voice. 

Kat looked just as horrified in the change in the troubled, tortured god. 

Loki chuckled, his abnormal blue eyes shining bright.  “No. You brought the monster,”

Nat turned back to him with a smirk, completely poised and showing her distraught had just been an act.  “So Banner, that’s your play,” she said and turned to head out.  She turned back and offered him another smirk.  “Thank you, for your cooperation," 

Kat got to her feet as well to slip back into the shadows and slip out while Loki was still gaping open-mouthed at being tricked, staggered and confused and trying to figure out how he’d lost both Romanoffs, and more importantly, the kitten with the Tesseract’s powers. 

[bbnibini]

PSISLY: An Obey Me!CYOA – sixty-five🔖

A foreboding feeling won’t disappear from your heart all throughout class. The seat beside you was empty (Satan was still busy with his investigations with Lucifer), Levi was preoccupied with too many things to be confided anything with—apparently, Asmodeus was too, as he had taken it upon himself to “salvage” Levi’s “disaster of a party”, not knowing that it was not even a real person’s birthday in the first place. Simeon seemed amused at the contrasting personalities’ exchanges, and only intervened when voices were raised and Luke started crying when a binder hit him on the head from the heat of their arguments. Mammon was with Solomon, arguing over some magic formulae that he hadn’t quite mastered yet. Beel had been sweet and thoughtful, but you had a feeling that he wasn’t acting like himself lately. In contrast, his twin didn’t seem to have any worry in the world as he slept through most of his classes.

It was…too normal? No, that’s not quite the right word for it. Rather, it felt like they’re (sans Mammon) pretending that everything was fine, and whatever they were hiding, they’d rather not tell you. Disconcerting perhaps? You did know that now wasn’t the right time to ask anything. Despite your wariness however, nothing can ever prepare you for what happened once you went back in Lamentation. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

…and by you, of course it meant everyone else, including the Purgatory Hall residents and Royal Castle residents. What were they all doing here? What's with the tense atmosphere? 

"Over here." Satan called your name and patted the seat beside him on the large dining table. One would mistake the gathering as something more ceremonious, but there were no food displays nor feasts or speeches to toast to—only a forlorn Beelzebub who voiced out similar concerns to his drowsy twin on the other side of the table.

It was Lord Diavolo's voice that commanded silence in the dining hall. Whatever veneer of normalcy was now shed, and you began to feel the familiar uneasiness again. 

"It'll be fine." Or so had Satan told you while Lord Diavolo made opening introductions about the issue at hand. Words such as brainwashing and poisonous herb came to light, supplemented by Lucifer, Barbatos and Solomon's observations. All three admitted to being part of a secret investigation team and caused arguments from the uninformed for a while, until the Demon Prince quelled their unrest by the finality of his words…or rather, his warnings. 

"This is a serious matter. Their life is in danger, and so are their family's and friends'. For the sake of their safety, if you are ever involved in the concerned incidents, I implore you to present yourself and explain your reasons."

Belphegor didn't seem amused by the implications of the Demon Prince's words, and made such dissatisfactions clear with his retort: "Are you saying one of us tried to kill them? Do you have any evidence for your baseless accusations?" 

"Woah, what the fuck? Why would we ever do that?! Why would we ever harm our human?” Mammon echoed Belphegor’s offense and retorted in the same fashion.

"That's how I reacted like at first, so I did a little research of my own." Satan replied. 

Lucifer sighed deeply and looked at you as if telling you not to ask any details about your lover's findings, or how he went about obtaining them. You felt your heart tighten. Just what was Satan up to while he was gone? 

"A generous (read: relented to his little brother's whims) source gave me a sample of the same poison used on the tin: a banned item. Needless to say, this person knows exactly what they're doing. I'd even go far as to say that they know about their birth origins and their connection to us seven."

"Why so?" 

"I'm glad you asked, Your Highness. Every one of you must have a copy of my findings on your leftmost side. If you would turn to the seventh page—"

"...?!"

A delicious herb hides endless possibilities to an imaginative spellcaster. The potency of its effects when refined properly can serve as a catalyst for the most powerful spells. However, human mages wishing to seek its power must proceed with caution, as in certain doses…

Satan held your hand very tightly as he noticed you rest your back against the seat. 

You heard him say "You can do this," as you read aloud, and even repeated those comforting words as you strained your ears to listen to everyone's feedback. However much you tried to listen in though, you can only think grim thoughts. 

How can you…exactly make sense of this? That what? 

1.  Someone is absolutely trying to kill you. They even went so far as to use brainwashing to erase your existence to your important people in the human world. 

2.  They are aware that you're Lilith's descendant. Which makes sense why Lord Diavolo suspected everyone in the very room you're in right now(as it is a well-guarded secret). 

3.  The killer used an herb lethal to humans in certain doses, but an effective enough of a spell catalyst so that they can finish off the job in case you didn't consume enough. 

4.  The killer used a charm spell to brainwash his victims. 

5.  The killer is aware that demons are resistant to certain spells.

6.  Your fallen angel blood will resist succumbing to the charm spell, but it cannot counter the herb's effects. Meaning, either you succumb to the poison or you will be in so much pain as your angel blood rejects the spell casted with the herb.|

7.  The killer really really wants you dead. 

"Wait a moment." In your cacophony of thoughts, an unexpected voice silenced the clamorous room. However, his gold and silver eyes didn't meet with yours. Instead, his attention was on the Demon Prince. 

"What is the connection of the remaining two items to this, Diavolo? I only heard about the cookie tin being poisoned."

"It makes sense since I only asked Barbatos to commission you to make the antidote. No, these two gifts aren't connected at all. Ah. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

I'm sorry!" Diavolo looked at you in concern as he called your name. "I didn't mean to make you distraught!”

Diavolo's apology caused everyone else to be calmer. A wave of apologies soon followed.

"Sorry we got carried away." you heard from Belphegor's side of the table, followed by Asmo's and Beel's concerned inquiries that you reassured with hopeful (albeit forced) smiles. 

You felt Satan’s hand squeeze yours, only realising how cold and sweaty your palms were when you met eyes briefly. You turned to the next person who called your name.

"I apologise for my oversight. Have you calmed down a bit?" Lucifer followed, along with Simeon's and Barbatos' own inquiries which you reassured yet again with smiles. Your other hand squeezed Luke's own, feeling it trembling like yours. Knowing you're not the only one scared with all the revelations was reassuring in an unsettling way. 

The little angel’s, “I’m okay! I have to be strong for the both of us!” wasn’t very convincing with how he stumbled upon his own words, but his intent and his meaning reached you and you were thankful just for that.

"I overestimated you. I'm sorry." Said Satan who kissed your threaded hands and you shook your head.

"You're right though. I need to hear this. I have all of you, I'm not afraid."

Regret registered in his features. You heard him sigh.

"You can be afraid." He apologised again. "You have the luxury to, with everyone here worrying about you."

He did make you feel better. You find yourself laughing a bit at how obvious his words were to you now. Everyone cared for you, you couldn’t help but think. You wanted to return their kindness in some way or another, even if it meant lying to your own feelings and twisting the truth for their own peace of mind.

"This is just…a lot of things to take in. Even the thought that one of you--" 

"Do you really think it's one of us?" 

You shook your head. 

"Because it's not. You'll see. Everything will be fine."

Was it? Will it? Everyone seems to be trying to make it seem that way, so you'd like to at least believe it for their sake.

Your name was called again, this time by the Demon Prince who was leading the flow of the conversation. The apologetic look on his face stayed even with your assurances, and he seemed hell-bent (pun not intended) to make amends with you.

“This is my own oversight, I’m sorry. I should have been more thoughtful.”

You smiled and shook your head. “I’m fine, Lord Diavolo.”

He pondered on your words for a bit, letting out an almost inaudible hum. “This wouldn’t do at all. I have offended not only you, but Belphegor and Mammon with my own baseless assumptions. I did not mean to accuse anyone, but it was clear that my words have caused both fear and offense.”

Belphegor looked like he had something to say, but Lucifer stopped him from talking prematurely. Lucifer exchanged looks with Barbatos, and the demon butler started to speak upon exchanging nods with him.

“It is most gracious of you, milord to acknowledge your lack of delicacy. There is a time and place for candour, as well as amelioration.”

“Barbatos…”

The demon butler noticed your stares and smiled gently at you. “Might I suggest an open forum? An opportunity for everyone in this very room to tell the truth for the sake of their safety?  I would expect our precious human exchange student to also be truthful of their feelings, if possible.”

“Truthfulness? What a splendid suggestion.” Solomon said from the other side of the room. “Perhaps an elaboration on this truthfulness would be helpful on leading this suggestion into fruition.”

“Hm? Wouldn’t that just be similar to interrogations in mystery novels?” (Satan)

“That’s a fun way of doing it, I suppose.” (Solomon)

“Like D*tective C*nan?”

“Levi…” You shook your head repeatedly at your best friend as you noticed Lucifer’s deathly glares directed at him. Thankfully, he noticed immediately and was able to keep his fanboying in check.

“I agree.” Simeon added. “If it means it would maintain peace in this room and clear everyone’s doubts with each other, I do think it’s the best solution.”

“What do you think, Lucifer?” Solomon consulted his other “coworker”, and the eldest sibling sighed in relent. “It’s not like we have much of a choice. Leaving this room while still doubting each other wouldn’t be good for all of us, especially them.”

The first few minutes of the “open forum” had a lot of dead airs and awkward starts. Simeon encouraged a couple of unenthused demons to sit on the floor, all huddled up to each other to “promote intimacy and trust”, but all it earned him were overgrown groans and griping fitting to that of rebellious teens going through their middle school phase. A little problem with the whole huddling situation also surfaced when two unmistakably…large adult demons by the names of Beelzebub and Diavolo had exhibited visible discomfort on trying to conform with their peer’s original, cross-legged positions. Thankfully, a compromise was met and they were now seated more comfortably with their knees bundled up.

Each person who had to explain their side were made to go to the centre of the circle to “tell their own truth”, while the rest followed up with questions once they were done saying their piece.

The first to go forward was Barbatos, the original suggester. He seated calmly at the centre and started speaking once he was prompted.

“As all of you are already aware, Lucifer, Solomon and I are working closely with each other in secret to protect them. We have kept this from all of you in fear that it will only make everyone worry. I apologise for not considering all of your feelings.”

“Did you write the letter?” Satan asked and Barbatos shook his head. “No. I did not send the bouquet either. However, I confess. I was the one who sent the tin of cookies.”

!!!

Barbatos understood everyone’s apprehension and calmly continued his sentence. “Lucifer can attest for me that the cookies were not poisoned when I made it for them. He was with me when I have been baking the sweets for them and a few of our guests in the Castle.”

Lucifer confirmed Barbatos’ statements at his own turn. “They had expressed interest on the cookies before, so Barbatos included their share on the batch he had made for Diavolo’s guests that day. If he had poisoned Diavolo’s equally human guests, they would have all been dead by now.”

That makes sense. Besides, the real killer wouldn’t suggest such a disadvantageous method such as an open forum to put them on the spot.

“As for my own accounts, I was not aware of any letters or bouquets until the investigation team began our operations. I did put a note on their locker to summon them in my office. Judging from their absence, however…it must have remained to be seen.”

“Was it a blue sticky note with their name on it?”

Lucifer’s eyes widened as he turned to the Demon Prince. “How—”

“Oh, it was at my own batch of cookies for some reason.”

Lucifer sighed, realisation finally dawning on him. “Mrs. DeVille must have misunderstood my orders.”

“She’s a well-meaning woman, however misguided. I apologise on her behalf.” Barbatos bowed his head. “It is my own incompetence as her superior to have overlooked her capabilities.”

“Mrs. DeVille?”

Barbatos nodded at you. “Yes. She had been a servant at the Castle dating back to Young Master’s great grandfather. She’s one of our most loyal retainers.” There had been an apologetic look on his face as he continued to explain. “Her seniority precedes most of us in the Castle.”

“So she’s really old?”

“Belphie! You shouldn’t call a woman old!” Asmo scolded.

“But that’s what she is. OLD. Senile even. Isn’t that kind of servant just a burden to keep?”

“Belphegor.” Lucifer warned, causing the youngest to roll his eyes and mutter out a whatever under his breath in irreverence.

“The fault lies with me, and not with Mrs. DeVille. In any way, that matter has already passed. Whose turn is it in the hot seat this time?”

Asmo raised his hand, letting out a cheery “Me!” as he sat cross-legged in the centre. Contrary to the dreary atmosphere, the Avatar of Lust’s laid-back cheer offered comfort in the tense atmosphere. You briefly wondered if Asmo intended for that to happen, as the demon was rather perceptive if he wasn’t so hung up with himself.

“I mean, I didn’t write anything nor send anything, but don’t you think those sorts of romantic gestures suit me? I almost wish I were the one who sent both!”

…or so he says. Lucifer had been an effective buffer on Asmo’s foreboding tirades about love and beauty. Soon, Levi’s, Beel’s, Simeon’s and Luke’s turns came, all reiterations of the same tune of “It wasn’t me”, which freed them of any suspicions:

“You had a locker?” Was Beel’s innocent inquiry; his cluelessness a testament to your apprehension with his twin after…that. Of course, the situation has changed now, but it was too late for you to tell them—rather, it had completely slipped your mind.

Once Levi’s turn came, you both exchanged a conspiratory nod. "If I would give you any gift, I would just send it to you, not your locker." Levi shrugged. "Besides, we were always together. Sneak attacks like that aren't my thing." That was true. Any energy he'd have for scheming was better spent on his beloved strategy games. 

“I didn’t send it. I was busy helping Luke out with his homework around that time, I think?” Simeon’s alibi was confirmed by the younger angel who had not only matching alibis with the angel, but also with their human companion.

“Solomon also helped us out a bit before meeting up with Asmodeus that morning.”

Solomon had a vague smile on his face as he looked over at you, noticing your stares.

“We weren’t aware of the cookies being poisoned at that point. However, Lucifer had suspicions that something wasn’t right when Barbatos made his usual reports to the human world.” He explained.

Lucifer nodded. “Right. When I saw you sharing them with everyone in Lamentation, the cookies were already compromised. It didn’t look the same as what they had been before Barbatos sent them to you.”

“So that’s why you wanted my advice on the charm spell…Mhm. I did meet with Solomon that morning after my spa appointment.” Asmo said. “Well, anyway! That’s that. Solomon, dear~ It’s your turn!”

Solomon sat himself on the centre in the same manner as everyone else and nodded. “What Luke and Asmo said were true. I was with both of them around that time. They have pretty much explained everything for me.”

“Even so, I would imagine hearing your innocence from your own lips is more reassuring than second opinions.” Barbatos said. The sorcerer smiled back. “Ah, but of course. Around that time, I was already working on the antidote for the poison your men have traced on their friends and family.”

“Ahh, I can confirm that as well. We have personally requested for his assistance.” Lucifer reassured. “Whose turn is it next?”

Satan raised his hand. Wordlessly, he sat in the centre and stated his alibi. “I did not send the bouquet, but I did give them a single carnation to cheer them up. I have noticed a tin of cookies in the locker then, but paid it no mind. I thought it was there to begin with.”

“So the cookies were sent first, then the flower? You mean to say there was no bouquet nor love letter yet when you placed your gift on their locker?”

“None to my knowledge.” Satan answered the curious Demon Prince. “Seeing as it seems like not everyone knows where the locker is located, is it correct to assume that the letter and bouquet sender is someone close to them?”

Levi vehemently shook his head once heads turned to him... “W-why would I send anything that embarrassing?!”

…then at Mammon, who jolted from his seat.

“Come to think of it, Mammon had been reaaaalllllyyyy quiet all this time. Suspicious.” Satan frowned.

The colour started leaving Mammon’s face as everyone turned their eyes at him.

His saviour, however bitter and resentful for Satan’s revelation interrupted the accusing party’s inquiries to him by speaking out of his turn. “Did you not tell Beel and I about where it was on purpose?”

You turned to Belphegor, interrupted before you can even speak.

“No. This isn’t about Beel at all. It’s about me, isn’t it? After all, deep down…you resent me, don’t you?”

“Belphie, I—”

"Me? Send anything in your locker? You didn't even tell me where it is!" The hurt in Belphie's tone made you realise how you had inadvertently hurt someone again due to your negligence. You wondered if your flustered apologies were ever heard. Then again, you'd rather for them not to. He doesn’t deserve a half-assed one at all. 

The door slammed shut as the youngest left the room, and as you attempted to chase after him, Beelzebub held a hand above your shoulder and shook his head.

“He needs some time alone. He left because he didn’t have anything nice to say right now.” As he saw you shook your head, he gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“But—”

“Belphie’s not mad at you,” Beel reassured you. “He’s mad at himself.”

“It completely slipped my mind. So much has happened and…”

“Ahh. He understands that deep down, but he needs some time. I’ll talk to him if you want.”

“Thanks, Beel.” You tilted your head at the taller demon as you caught him holding back on his words. “Is there anything else you need to tell me?” Beel seemed really deep in thought so you assumed he was thinking carefully on his words. However, he said no.

“It isn’t my truth to tell.” He spoke cryptically as he shook his head. “No, please forget I said anything.”

You didn’t forget. But you felt like it wasn’t the time to ask him right now so you went back to your spot. Your eyes wandered to the shut door a few times with only Satan’s reassuring gaze quelling your anxieties and doubts.

By the time you came back, it was already Lord Diavolo’s turn. You can tell that he was more cheerful than usual; perhaps to ease the sour mood that filled the room with Belphegor walking out.

"No letter or bouquet could be enough to show you how important you are to Devildom! To me! I'd like to host a parade in your honour if I could!"

...You saw a pained smile from his competent butler and close friend and you could only offer your silent condolences. Satan had to be placated with sneaky kisses to his lips when no one was looking to quell his pouting. You thought Levi had noticed, for he rolled his eyes at both of you in disgust. 

After a few more discussions, your mysterious letter sender finally revealed himself…you just didn't expect the person who sent it. Mammon's face looked like he had been through hell and back as he realised the gravity of the situation as well as the weight of his actions. With a face paler than usual, he approached you and bowed his head. 

"I'm sorry!" 

Along with his apologies was a clumsy explanation of his reasons. You felt like it was not the time to pry any further, so you told him to come closer so you could share some whispered words for him in embrace. "Let's talk later." Everyone else seemed puzzled at your brief exchange, but after assuring everyone that you're fine, they were able to move on to the other issue at hand: the bouquet sender. 

Mammon was very adamant on his insistence that he was not the original sender. Even with the investigation team's confirmations of its harmlessness, no one came forward. 

"It could be any demon in RAD, couldn't it? They're quite popular among some circles…of the non-gourmet variety, mind you!" Asmo then mentioned some names that Satan helpfully collated in his notebook. Close-eyed smiles and all, he insisted to be given a detailed list of all of them for investigative purposes. Thankfully, you were able to stop him before any more names on the list were ever written. 

Beelzebub approached you again after the open forum concluded. The meeting hadn’t ended yet, however. Lucifer was giving some closing remarks, explaining how the human world investigations were progressing in more detail and answering inquiries (mostly Satan’s) about its progress.

“I lied. There is something I want to tell you earlier. I’m sorry.”

Okay? You were really confused now. “What is it?”

He looked intently at you as he spoke, carrying finality in his words. “The letter may be harmless but, I feel like no one else should see it.”

“Beel, you’re starting to scare me.”

Beel didn’t seem like his usual self. It felt like something was burdening him. When he realised how he was making you feel, he seemed genuinely apologetic and even awkwardly patted your head. “I didn’t mean to do that. I…just have a really bad feeling.”

Feeling?

“A gut feeling,” he explained. “Like something bad is going to happen if someone else gets their hands on your letter. Even Mammon.”

“Why would something bad happen to the original sender? Aren’t the letter and flowers harmless?” You remembered Barbatos and the others saying so.

“Yeah. Maybe I’m just overthinking this. Sorry for worrying you,”

Beel’s instincts to these sorts of things are razor sharp. You recalled Belphie telling you that his intuition had saved him countless of times, especially when he was still working as a soldier in heaven. The very fact that it bothered him enough to tell you about it must mean that it was really bad. So despite his words, you decided to listen to him. You decided to give Barbatos the letter after the meeting: it’s better safe than sorry.

When you went back to your seat, you saw that it was currently occupied by a teasing Asmo who was poking your more-than-friends demon on his cheek. “Cheer him up, won’t you? His whole thought process is absurd! And that’s coming from ME!”

“Absurd? What’s this about, Satan?”

You saw him cover Asmo’s smirking mouth as he explained himself.  “He says I’m being overdramatic.”

“About what?” Satan’s cheeks dusted a lovely pink upon your inquiry, and Asmo had this expression on his face that BEGGED you to ask. And you being an enabler, humoured him. You couldn’t help it! Satan WAS adorable right now!

“…” Satan hesitated at first, until the whisper of his words grew louder as you repeated your questions.

“I was wondering if the bouquet sender would be able to sway your heart if he ever comes forward…

.

.

.

.

.

S-stop laughing! This is a genuine concern, all right?!”

Pfft!

“That’s a Mammon thing to say, Satan. I didn’t expect that.”

“Oh god, you JUST had to open your mouth, didn’t you Asmo?” You saw Satan cover his red-stained face with his hands in embarrassment. Unfortunately, his red ears couldn’t be hidden so easily.

This adorable, adorable man! You wrapped your arms around him and hugged the hell out of him. He’s so cute! (A complete contrast to the profanities coming out of his mouth right now, that’s for sure.)

“Solooooomoooon~ Satan is being meannnnn~!” And the instigator of all of this had now fled the scene, able to be caught by the human he was in a pact with as he pretended to faint.

“What’s this all about?”

You laughed nervously as you saw your fellow human was stuck in the same awkward position as you. “Asmo was teasing Satan about the flower sender stealing me away from him.”

“Hahaha! That’s cute. So the Avatar of Wrath is also an Avatar of Envy?”

You saw Satan glare at the sorcerer as you were in embrace. He was like a temperamental cat—but since he was in a grumpy mood right now, you decided to hold back on the teasing. Solomon seemed to read the mood too, and aimed to placate rather than go about his usual wise cracks.

“I don’t see the problem though?” Solomon asked, unfazed.

“What do you mean by that?” Asked Satan who had now exacted his “revenge” on his brother by a pinch on his cheek. A small yelp let out from Asmo as he attempted to do the same.

His smile never wavered as he held Asmo in his arms. “Well if you think about it, didn’t you find the real flower sender already? Satan is the only flower sender that matters to you. So, I don’t see why or how a mere reveal would change your feelings for each other if that were ever to happen.”

Satan seemed surprised at Solomon’s sensible answer. “I never thought of it that way.”

The sorcerer laughed a little as he continued speaking. “Sometimes, obvious little things like that slip our minds because the person we love is so close to us. Your feelings for each other is your own truth—a truth that only the two of you can know on your own. No matter how you arrive to that truth, whether it all started with lies or misunderstandings, the love that blossomed from those lies will never be lies.”

“Is that speaking from experience, oh wise one?”

“I’ll leave that to your imagination~” Wait. What does he mean by that? You couldn’t really tell with this man, sadly.  And you didn’t get to ask anymore as he had been called by Lucifer to wrap up. Your attention immediately focused on the more important things.

“More important things”= A cute, pouting Satan♡

“So you’re worried I’ll fall in love with someone else?”

“Shut up…”

“I’m happy you’re worried though. I love you, Satan♡” You sneaked a kiss on his lips, which your temperamental cat boy shyly accepted.

The investigations continued to take place in your remaining days in RAD. However, the mysterious bouquet sender never came forward. Perhaps Solomon was right. It didn’t really matter anymore if the real sender would be found. Even if he would come forward and confess his feelings to you one day, you were sure that your heart would only ever be with Satan. That realisation however, would definitely cause heartaches to anyone else. You trusted Beel’s gut and gave Barbatos the letter immediately, so when Mammon finally talked to you about his letter, he wasn’t able to see it anymore. You weren’t stupid. You knew why he sent it, but you weren’t smart enough to know how to properly reject someone. Perhaps both of you knew what was going to happen as you remained silent in your room and never initiated conversation with each other once he entered the room. It was…awkward. And suffocating. Which was weird because it was just Mammon. He was one of the demons closest to you, yet he felt so far away now. Even his gaze was equally far away. Mammon’s fingers were fumbling with a thimble he found next to your bed—a failed attempt at cross stitching that you were too stubborn to give up on. You saw him marvelling over your botchy needlework, his thumbs feeling the rough and uneven bumps of thread. “This is one ugly cat,” His half-hearted insult was welcome in the unsettling silence, rising a laugh out of you as you agreed with his opinion. “I really wanted to do something for Satan. Maybe I should have thought of something else.”

“You really like my brother, don’t you?” There was no accusation in his tone, just mere curiosity. You nodded immediately and it caused him to laugh a little. “Can’t help but notice since you’re all over each other.”

“Sorry…”

“What are ye sorry for?” He playfully ruffled your head as he smiled. “I should be the one saying sorry.

.

.

.

.

.

No matter my excuse, I shouldn’t have tried to steal what’s important to ya.”

“But you didn’t know—“

“Are you kidding me right now? Why the heck are you defending me, idiot human!” Despite his words, he spoke in a fond tone. When you gave him permission to embrace you, he wrapped his arms around you and sighed in relief. “It’s easy to like you if you act like this, you know? But…you don’t have to like everyone who likes you, idiiiiot.”

“Mammon…”

“Listen, the Great Me was never rejected! You simply blew your chance! I’m such a catch, you know that?”

“Yeah…”

“You’re gonna regret ever letting me go.”

“Oh, I will!”

“It’d be more convincing if you aren’t laughing!”

Well, he was laughing too. So, who really is clowning himself right now?

“You’re thinking about something realllyyyy rude right now, aren’t you?”

Gasp. “You can tell?”

“Seriously?” He sighed and pinched your cheek. “Well whatever. Listen...I think you deserve to know the truth.”

His tone had changed now; from playful to solemn. The kindness in his touch remained. “Remember that little girl in the human world I was taking care of?”

“Yeah.” So it was true? Asmo said he was joking, but…could his brothers really know what’s going on in Mammon’s private life? There was an absence of mirth in his tone, as if he was exhausted and sad—you never saw that look on Mammon before so you didn’t know how to react. You could only listen in silence.

“…that little girl is really sick right now. She needs a huge operation soon if she…” He bit his lip and continued. “...she’s too young to die. And I can’t let her…not if I can do anything about it.”

“Aren’t the witches taking care of her?”

“Yeah. But…I shoulder her financially. Can’t really do all that when I’m dead broke.” He looked almost ashamed to admit it. “So I resorted to stealin’, even if I know I shouldn’t, especially to you. I thought you would understand if I tell ya. But…a part of me still thinks this ain’t right.”

“Mammon…”

“I can’t tell the others. They’d think I’m full of shit. Haha. Well, I am.”

“Only most of the time.”

“Shaddup! Hahhh…what do you think I should do?”

What should you say? You weren’t expecting he had such profound reasons. It certainly explained his desperation. However, you weren’t financially capable enough to say in confidence that you can help. You gave him permission to sell your bouquet, but even he admitted that it would only be enough to sustain the little girl for a short amount of time. Should you tell Lucifer? Would Mammon be okay with that?

“Not really the best time to ask advice from you, huh? Not when someone’s trying to kill you and all.”

You smiled a little in his clumsy attempts to comfort you. Shaking your head, you returned his hug with a squeeze. “I’ll help you figure something out at least.”

“You would?”

“Yeah! But there’s a catch!”

Mammon laughed and pinched your cheek at your attempts for negotiation. “Okay, fine. What’s the catch?”

With a closed-eyed smile, you placed a finger on your lips as you stated your conditions. “Ruri-chan’s birthday party would be livelier with you around. Won’t you reconsider attending, oh Great One?”

[ You have unlocked new chatrooms in MEMORIA 7. ]

💌Read Part 1

💌Read Part 2

💌continue to next scenario

💌 tag request: @krussyfed, @lilliansstuff , @cupsof-tea

[leftenantcolonels]

other characters

lady caroline loftus: noblewoman, heiress, and salonnière. the only daughter of a notable politician and keenly attuned to politics herself. well-educated, pretty, witty, and interested in intrigues to a worrying degree. frederick’s wife and thomas’ lover.

princess amelia von regenstein: frederick’s younger sister by nearly a decade. unruly and willful much like her elder brother, whom she was sent to live with after the death of their mother. marries thomas in 1814 at her brother’s urging.

wilhelm von drechsell: young hanoverian nobleman serving as a junior cavalry officer under frederick’s command in the king’s german legion. overly eager and with still romanticized conceptions of war. his mother was reluctant to send him off to the peninsula and asked frederick to look out for her son, which he unwisely agreed to.

lord james brougham: thomas’ younger cousin and junior infantry officer in the coldstream guards. on the road to major scandal and disgrace, his father thought to put him in the army to temper his character and to avoid the further tarnishing of the family’s reputation.

mary dirom, lady houlsyke: a former actress who married into nobility, but despite her origins, she is well admired by society for her graces. she would become one of frederick’s closest confidants and something of a maternal figure for him in lieu of his actual mother.

sir francis alington: seemingly minor british diplomat in portugal then russia. has an unofficial involvement in british intelligence affairs in the peninsula. careless of the consequences of his self-proclaimed necessary actions, he hides this under a veneer of gentility and civility of questionable truthfulness at times. formerly involved with frederick, earning him thomas’ ire.

prince andreas von regenstein: the youngest of three brothers and frederick’s uncle. a member of the privy council of hanover, where he uses his influence to discreetly steer his nephew away from any ruinous consequences of his actions. hardly a forceful man, and is reluctant towards any outward show of character or will.

george brougham, duke of penrith: thomas’ uncle. ever mindful of his family’s reputation, he solves many of his problems by sending them off to the army— regardless of their feelings about it.