#another rousing speech as well

[ingravinoveritas]

Michael looking happy and adorable speaking to and receiving his own jersey from the FA Wales team today.

[clementinegreye]

safer dreams

spencer reid x feb!bau!reader ||

summary: it's not easy to keep someone safe in your nightmares, something Spencer knows all too well.

word count: 2.3k

warnings: fluff || there was only one bed || brief talks of CM themes (nothing graphic)

Exhaling slowly and processing what she could see in front of her, she let out a small huff of frustration. Her feet ached and her back felt tense from the day. The team had pinned down their current Unsub’s geographical profile which had led them on a tense chase which, had it not been for Spencer’s quick trigger finger, might have ended with her meeting a bullet.

After such an intense case the team had decided to stay the night in a local motel and hit the runway early in the morning. Hotch had insisted, they all needed a night to rest and decompress before they had to go back and meet the paperwork waiting for them in Virginia.

All she wanted was to crawl into bed and rest her muscles. But of course, nothing ever happened that smoothly. There hadn’t been enough rooms for everyone at the motel, meaning everyone had to double up. It wasn’t something they hadn’t done before, and over the phone, the motel owner had promised the rooms all had twin beds.

The day had been exhausting, and now she realised after taking in the room in front of her that she had another problem to deal with.

Spencer let the door shut behind him as he came up behind her. Letting his go bag drop to the floor with a light thud. He flexed his fingers allowing the circulation to come back to where the straps of his bag had cut it off.

‘What’s wron… Oh,’ His own eyes caught the layout of the hotel room and landed on exactly what caused his co-worker’s reaction.

The room was small, the door to the bathroom tucked into the corner to the left of the entrance, there was no room for a desk or table but they’d squeezed in a small two-seater sofa. The burgundy plush carpet radiated the warm glow from the bedside lights and cast the room in a cosy ambience. But there was a problem, clearly just a miscommunication with the booking.

One bed.

‘I’ll go back to the front desk; I swear Hotch told me the motel owner told him earlier that there were twin beds for the team.’ He knew it was simply a case of human error. A case of mixed-up keys and booking information. It really wasn’t a big deal, so why did it feel like such a big deal?

‘Spence, we knew we already had to double up, and they had a no vacancies sign.’ She sighed, allowing her feet to travel across the carpet to the other side of the room. ‘It’s fine.’

‘Maybe they gave us the wrong room, I’m sure they can swap…’ His reasoning was futile, he didn’t need to be a genius to realise there was no negotiating with a no vacancies sign. It was almost like he was trying to talk himself down from a ledge, trying to make sense in his mind the panic he was feeling rising in his chest.

‘It’s almost 2 am. If it was a mistake, I’m sure the couple who have our twin beds are fast asleep.’ She had her back to him, facing the small sofa.

She dropped her own go bag on the blush cushion and stretched her arms above her head. The movement caused her shirt to rise just enough that a sliver of her back hit the light, showing two distinct dimples at the bottom of her spine. The image caught Spencer’s eye. It was an innocent move, but his gaze felt all too intimate. With the proximity of the four walls surrounding them, and the quietness of the room it caused an irregular beat in his heart that he was certain was audible and he snapped his eyes away. He swallowed thickly, glaring at the threadbare curtains shutting out the beams of moonlight.

‘We’re the FBI.’ He spoke almost factually as if the authority of the title could force the hotel to rouse a sleeping couple and get them to move rooms, simply for the convenience of guarding his own feelings.

‘Spence. It’s fine with me if it’s fine with you.’ Her voice was quiet, tiredness lacing its way into her speech. She rubbed a hand up her forearm absentmindedly, and if Spencer was in the right mind to focus on profiling her behaviour, he might have deduced that the action was caused by nerves.

‘If what’s fine?’ He stuttered, his brain not quite working to its usual capacity when he met her tired eyes. She raised an eyebrow, almost annoyed but not quite committed enough to it.

‘The bed. We can share for one night. It’s just one night.’ His eyes held a panicked glint. She wasn’t to know that the problem wasn’t that he was going to have to share a bed with her. The problem was he was worried she’d realise exactly how much he wanted to share a bed with her. His lack of response made her uneasy. Spencer Reid was very rarely lost for words. ‘If you’re uncomfortable I can sleep on the sofa.’

‘It’s tiny, and you almost got shot today…’ He stammered, suddenly regaining control of his runaway thoughts long enough to register the lengthy silence between them. She nodded, almost shyly, and his throat closed as he realised how she’d inferred his words. ‘I’m not uncomfortable, don’t sleep on the sofa. There’s no way I can let you sleep on the sofa. There’s enough room for both of us in the bed.’

There was a pause, a shift within the room as if the atmosphere had moved. A gentle smile crept across her face, and it managed to relax Spencer. The lamplight cast a golden haze across the room and her face looked angelic in the low lighting. A breathy sigh left her lips with the force of an almost chuckle.

They settled into their respective evening routines, turning off their lights in tandem before letting sleep wash over them as gently as the ocean. 

___

Spencer jolted awake after feeling a swift kick to his shin. Panic ripped through his body as his eyes scanned the moonlit room. He couldn’t see any imminent danger and his brain fought through the fog of post-sleep confusion. His senses kicked in and he instinctively reached a hand across the bed in search of her. She was shaking, sighs and almost gasps slipping through her lips at a barely audible volume.

He held his breath while he watched her movements waiting. Her shaking continued, a strangled mix of a moan and a yelp left her throat and her arm shot out searching for something. Spencer’s heart picked up its pace, his brows furrowed in concern. He considered reaching for the light but before his sleep-drenched body could she sobbed, a garbled, purely fearful ‘no’. 

She tossed side to side so violently Spencer thought she might throw herself from the bed. Without overthinking it he sat up and leaned over her. His body halted the thrashing movements and, in her sleep, she grabbed his bicep with wincing firmness.

He held her, with gentleness and enough security that she couldn't throw herself around. One hand went to her hip the other held himself up. Her eyes shot open, sparkling in the darkness with the wetness of un-spilled tears, a scream stuck in her throat, retreating when her eyes recognised Spencer’s soft gaze above her.

‘Hey... Hey, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay.’ He breathed, hovering above her, he moved his hand from her waist to rest it at the side of her head as if to hold her in place and stop her from injuring herself. Her hand gripped his bicep loosely, the thin material of his pyjama shirt soft between the pads of her fingers. Her breathing matched the rapid beat of her heart and Spencer - without thinking - lifted his hand from the pillow to stroke the side of her face.

It was meant to be comforting, to show her that she wasn’t alone. But the gesture, in the cool pooling light of the late hour, seemed entirely too intimate. He watched as her breathing began to slow and her fear slipped out as a quiet whimper, leaving her in the quiet safety of their shared room, their shared bed.

‘I’m here…’ Spencer whispered, his hand lightly tracing the shape of her face. He felt a strange tightness in his chest as he watched her slowly find her way back to reality, her grip on his arm lessening.

His gaze lingered on her face, taking in the softness of her features in the dim light. The silence was deafening, yet comforting, a shared moment of vulnerability and intimacy in the aftermath of her nightmare. "You're safe," he reassured her, his voice barely a whisper in the quiet room.

He could smell her perfume, it mingled with the dusty smell of the motel, sweet and undeniably her. He didn't know how long they stayed like that; the seconds ticked by with no accountability. The moment felt suspended in time, her eyes went from glassy to sparkling in the pale light and he felt her relax under him. He finally pulled away, his hand lingering in the space between them for a moment before he retreated to his side of the bed, the echo of her nightmare still lingering in the quiet room.

It was Spencer’s turn for his heart to hammer in his chest. Her breathing had steadied and she shifted, hand stretching out to find Spencer's in the empty space between them. The reigniting of contact made Spencer's breath hitch in his throat. He turned to face her, but the fear in her eyes was replaced with something else. He didn't have to be a profiler to know what that look meant. It was the same look that haunted his own reflections.

At that moment, under the soft glow of the moonlight spilling through the window, Spencer thought how pretty she looked. Silence spilt between them, she swallowed gently, blinking her eyes rapidly to quell any tears building. 

‘You kept me safe.’ Her voice came out as a whisper, a kind of admission with more behind it than just the nightmare.

Her words hung in the air, a quiet acknowledgement of the intimacy of the moment. He didn’t respond, because for once he didn’t know how to. He didn’t have a statistic or fact to explain how he felt at that moment. Instead, he squeezed her hand gently, a quiet acknowledgement.

‘Do you get them often?’ He whispered, genuine concern lacing through, the warmth seeping from his chest to his fingers where if he focused, he could feel her pulse. He wasn't sure if she'd even want to talk about it.

She paused, her gaze dropping to where their hands were intertwined. 'More often than I'd like.' Her voice was barely more than a whisper, a vulnerability seeping into her words that Spencer had never heard before. He realised just how close they were in that moment. So close he could see the exact shade of her eyes and the way her brow furrowed when she felt she was being too honest. She always seemed so confident, especially at work.

Being vulnerable was not a luxury many could afford in the BAU.

'And what about you, Spencer?' she asked, her gaze meeting his again. 'Do you ever have nightmares?' It was an unexpected question, one that caught him off guard.

'Sometimes,' he admitted, the truth slipping out before he could stop it. Her fingers lightly tightened around his as if bracing for impact. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of his night terrors.

‘What are they about?’ She breathed, in a hushed way that sounded like she was almost afraid to ask.

‘You.’ His answer was faster and breathier than enunciated. As if that might take away from the confessional impact.

‘You have nightmares about me?’ She took a genuine pause, letting go of his hand and sitting up slightly so she was resting on her elbows looking down at him. He scrunched the duvet up in his now empty palm, holding himself.

‘No! Not about you. I mean, yes about you. About losing you. Like today, I thought I was going to lose you today, and without you, it’d be unbearable. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you like I do in my nightmares.’ His words were a whisper in the stillness of the night. Rambled at his usual speed as if the pace would disguise the weight of the feeling rising in his chest. It was panic, mixed with almost shame.

‘But you kept me safe.’ She stated, reaching out to unfurl his hand from the covers as if taking tension away from him like autumn takes the leaves from trees.

‘I don’t always manage to in my dreams.’ He sighed, looking up at her through his lashes. She was quite beautiful and in that second it scared him how much he cared.

"I guess we'll just have to keep each other safe, then," she murmured, a soft, genuine smile tugging at her lips. She rested a hand on his cheek and he instinctively leaned into her, as agreement settled over his features.

Spencer placed a hand atop hers as it stroked his face with more tenderness than he was sure he’d ever experienced. "I guess we will," he smiled a true and honest smile that happily made a home across his whole face. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, and she lay back down beside him, this time with no space separating them. Their hands fell to their sides, fingers instinctively finding each other and intertwining. The fear and tension of the nightmare had evaporated, leaving the quiet intimacy that the two had just shared.

Sleep began to reclaim them and they both felt safer next to each other just from the knowledge that they’d be there, ready to protect each other from whatever nightmares the future held.

[astralnymphh]

ellie trying on those pheromones perfumes ? like those sex ones 😭😭

thought abt this days ago.. guess I manifested this ask in a way!!! MDNI ✰ . . not a full smut but highly suggestive. could be a smut tho if someone asks, wink wonk.

ellie knowss she doesn't neeed a fancy elixir or a spell to woo you over any day, however. to rouse you up further than usual? now that's an experiment worth her adherence.

spritz, spritz– goes the pumps of a perfume bottle, the only perfume ellie will ever meet palm to plastic with. the only time her plender gap will ever taste the chemicals and hints of rosy luxury. now, intentionally forgetting she even puffed some of that shit on, she just relaxes. she waits. lounging upon your shared bed, attired in a tight ribbed tank that sports an eye–candy viewing of her muscles, mhh, and a pair of loose plaid boy shorts. forearms press arrant to her ribs, extending down to her pelvis– controller in hand. her eyes pore over that large television screen blaring with a multitude of hues, totally mind bent to the game she plays.

then, you roll in. languid after a full shift of working, you plop down. face to cotton, you take a whaff in of freshly washed sheets, nose smudged against the cushiony material. next, you scurry over like sludge and pulp into a sweat puddle atop your girlfriend– knee tucked between hers, crotch plane and dimpling against her firm thigh, nosedived into the angled nook of her scruff. you take another whiff, wait, where did the lovely scent of her perspiration go? all that buries a hole in your nose is something rosy, a sapid rose smell. a flare of sensations unlocks in your loins. for an aphrodisiac has aquilined your mind– and your cunt, to its rein. caught under a spell. you crisp your tone, "babe, why do you smell like a flower shop?" that, ignites the memory back in ellie. yet she fiddles innocence, husking with a chuckle, "huh, dunno' what you mean." you frown, brows declined, "m'not dumb, els, why the fuck do you smell so good. you legit never touched perfume in your life." tapping a small button, ellie pauses the game, veering her head slightly to gape at you. on comes a ridiculous question, "d'ya not like it?"

els knew what adventure she donned upon her skin the moment her knuckles bent on that perfume nozzle, she knew how it might having you purring wanton with both lips. might, cause she's definitely a tinge of skeptic. so it was no surprise when you rollicked your butt on the crests of her pelvis, forcing threadbare kisses on her gracious pink lips, flushing your knuckles of pigment as you press them into her hips– laughing like a whinnying unicorn when ellie dandles plushy volumes of your ass in her grippy digits, whacking her wrist back to land short–timed blows to ripple on the pigment plentiful cheek, no doubt sore. a playful makeout. her own hoarsey chuckles vibrate on your lips, her kisses sweeter than honeydew squeezing when she purses. you continue a giggle, struggling to peel the band of her shorts due to the applied friction pinning it down, "ellie! c'monn.. m'wanna take your shorts off–" she counters, "why baby? tell me why.." and breaks off into a chuckle as well, as her question was fraudulent. the answer lingers hard on her brain. you whine, "baaabee.. i wanna eat your pussy.." and she just muses, cooing, "ohh, you do? yeah? lick this pussy up n' make ellie cum? ohohohh~" a deeper laugh murks her melody, "think ellie really wants that baby, needs that slutty little tongue– mhmm.." she accentuates her own name with airy speech, ardent on your mid–face. her clammy hands imprinting a hot compress to your ass–crease slowly slide out and travel the rump, pressure tender as milk given when she cups your waist gently. antsy as a sex spell can make one, you slowly begin to mooch your hips down her thighs, only for her tender grip to turn– sharp, lodging you in place.

"excuse you, did i tell you t'go down there?" a picky grin pricks her cheeks, teeth bore. you reply bumbly, "but– you said– uh!" another slap enlists to your cheek, hitching a stone in your larynx. she reprimands, strictly in such a dewey smooth voice, "nuh–uh, gimme' a show first, show me how you'll play with my pussy, on yours."

(pic by me)

[forgeofthenine]

Hello There ! 👋😊

I have a request for Zevlor if it's OK...! 🖤

It may be a bit specific, so feel free to only pick the elements you like !

The general idea would be "shy!pining!Tav asks Zevlor for a lock of his hair before the final battle. "

As for the optional details, I was thinking tav would be a cleric (of Sêluné, but if you have another deity in mind, no problem!) who would enclose this lock of hair in a locket or a cameo. You'd have to have the strand of someone you love deeply and unconditionally to create a very powerful Protector spell on the caster. The 'donor' (in this case, Zevlor) doesn't have to feel the same for it to work. (even if he does feel the same of course 😉)

Bonus point if Zevlor learns of this spell AFTER the end of the story, post!canon.

Feel free to pick only what interests you or ignore this request!😚

Smooches!

Hi Beardy! I loved writing this one and the prompt was so fun!! It doesn't have Zevlor finding out and the reader is a bit less shy, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. When I have less requests I'd love to potentially write a part two for this that includes Zev figuring things out! <3

The locket of hellrider protection

All that could be felt in the room was the thick, stiff tension. Despite multiple rousing speeches, mere words couldn't drown out the sounds of the cities destruction as it collapses to rubble. The dim light in the hall reveals the worried faces of the dozens of inhabitants.

Stray rocks crunch and grind under your boot as you cross the crowded room. Weaving through Harpers and Gur, waving towards your fellow cleric of Selûne as she stands with Dame Aylin. Others smile or nod towards you, familiar tieflings all standing next to an excited owlbear that is suddenly ten times the size you remember. Finally, you make your way to the one person you wanted to see, the composed tiefling standing near the door.

He looks better than when you last saw him, no longer covered in bruising and slime after his time in the mindflayer pod. As you approach Zevlor perks up, eyes brightening as he quietly clears his throat. A small nod is sent your way as you come to stand in front of the tall tiefling.

"If it isn't my favourite paladin, you look well Zevlor." You greet, a tone of relief in your voice as you mention his looks. The tiefling really does look better, a good colour on his cheeks, his posture taller with shoulders pulled back. He looks even more attractive than you remember.

The flush on his face deepens, Zevlor breaking into a small smile at your words. "Such high praise from one so heroic. The way to Baldurs gate has been full of strife, but I'm glad to see you here." The paladins voice was raspy, the slight edge to it that's always there, and the mere sound after so long sends a shiver down your spine.

"As am I, I must admit I was worried after we last met." You can see the way his shoulders tense slightly at the memory of the Shadowlands, of the mindflayer colony. "But, I'm glad to see my worry was misplaced. Though, I do have a favour to ask, before we have to leave." Your eyes shift around the room, seeing everyone stirring and readying to leave. You're almost out of time.

Zevlor realises the same, giving you a polite nod. "Anything you'd like, I and my hellriders are at your service." His words are earnest, soft, despite the high tensions and bustle of the room. The tieflings endless composure is reassuring, even as the world falls down around you both.

"I won't ask for much, only a lock of your hair if I can." The question is still hesitant, knowing it's an intimate request. Still, despite the initial widening of his eyes and a momentarily look of shock, he pulls his hair free from its styling. It falls around his face, framing the light blush you can see in the candlelight.

"Feel free, it's the least I can do for someone that has done so much for me." Zevlor bows his head, letting you take what you'd like. The hair under your fingers is soft and thick, your fingers running through it lightly as his eyes come gently to a close. Carefully, you bring a sharp dagger up, freeing a lock of dark hair that comes to rest in your palm. It's tiny, entirely straight, but it will fulfill its purpose just as the two of you will.

As Zevlor straightens himself, he watches you place it in your locket bearing Selûnes symbols. His eyes peer curiously as you bring the lockets chain back over your neck, the metal casing holding a piece of him close to you at all times. "Thank you, Zevlor. You... I appreciate this, so much." You tell him, bringing a hand gently to his bicep.

His own hand covers yours, so incredibly warm even through his leather gloves. "Whatever you need, whatever I can provide." He promises, the words said only for the two of you to hear. Though, even without hearing the words, there is one person in the room giving you two a knowing look. Isobel, another cleric of Selûne is aware of just what you've asked, her own locket with Aylins hair warm against her own skin.

[praisethesuuun]

this is my first time writing for him so pls be kind with me ////also, english is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistakes

Buddha x poet!reader: sweet as lollipop

Type: fluff

Warnings: swearing

“And then I punched him in the face!”

“That’s wonderful, Lord Zeus” said Y/N sitting on one of the sofas of the room. They were sitting there for hours now, but the god wanted the job done by the end of the day. Listening to him non-stop was one of the hardest things in the world, especially if he never stopped praising himself. ‘Did he even do all those things? Probably not’ thought Y/N completely exhausted. They breathed a sigh of relief when Zeus realized what time it was, kicking them out of the room and leaving him alone in the middle of the hallway.

“Narcissist bitch, what the hell do I do now?”

Well, there wasn’t usually so much fun for gods like them: art and poetry were appreciated, but everyone always preferred the strongest deities like Hercules, Zeus or Poseidon. And now Y/N was on Olympus only to write about all the “beautiful adventures” the others made, but for what? Money? A god doesn’t need it. Fame? A lot of people already worshipped them. So why…why were they suffering so much? Exactly, for nothing.

Sometimes Y/N asked themeselves why couldn’t they leave and do whatever they wanted, but everytime they realized why; everyone on Olympus has a place, a part to play, and theirs was to be there and tell the true story of the gods. Only this way would humans have spread the truth.

But, of course, their job had his perks. Like that time Y/N decided to inspire their poets to tell the story of how Ares ended up trapped in a giant vase and how he managed to stay there for days. Needless to say that everyone was laughing their ass off on Olympus when they found out; or the time Y/N and Hermes spread the rumor of Aphrodite's presumed death. She was so angry!

Walking through Valhalla they stopped in the middle of one of the many fields of flowers. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief even though their tranquility didn't last long.

“There you are!” said a voice from behind them.

“What are you doing here, Buddha?”

Y/N hated that damn god. Buddha was always trying to get on their nerves, constantly criticizing them about how they’re not able to go against Zeus and get a life. The diety of poetry growled before answering: “If you’re here to tell me how shitty I am maybe you should go somewhere else”

Buddha laughed. “Wasn’t expecting such low language for you”

Internally he was really hoping to change something in Y/N’s existance: soon there would be Ragnarok and humans would need a guide, a foretaste of the end of humanity, a refuge in art. But Zeus kept Y/N in check and wanted to avoid giving any kind of help to humans, "for fun" he said, even if it was only cruelty.

“Why don’t you do something?” he said. “There you go. Please, I’m just tired and I don’t need another one of Socrate’s like speech…damn, that guy is even worst than you…”

“Just think about it, you’re not like Zeus, you're kinder”

“I’m a god, I’m made of stone”

“You can’t be: you’re a poet” and having said this, Buddha sat down beside them. He started sucking on his lollipop, his eyes lazily watched the colorful field. His head slowly bent to one side, getting close to Y/N's ear, his voice now a whisper: “Help us go against the Heavens”

Y/N's heartbeat stopped completely and their hands started to sweat. Betrayal. Were they even able to backstab everyone? Of course they were. All the days spent writing other people's bullshit, silly minors gods’ poems, hand cramps... Buddha was offering them a chance. The poet had to think carefully: Brunhilde and Buddha were already on humanity's side, it is impossible for the other gods to do like them, so they’re on their own. But even if they accepted, what would they actually change? They are only a deity of poetry after all.

Buddha stood up, rousing them from their thoughts. "Well, if you want to join the club of assholes, give me a ring, but decide quickly. You know very well that there's no more time"

He’s right. So why not give him the answer. “I’m in”

“What? Really?”

“You heard me. Let’s go destroy the whole Olympus”

“That’s the spirit!” screamed the other god picking them up and squeezing them as hard as he could, after all, this may be his only opportunity to do so. He was scared that he had made a mistake and that he might push the other away with that sudden gesture of his, but he relaxed when he felt the grip being reciprocated. Y/N was about to get a shot of life, that thing that they never really fully got.

The poet felt so strange: nobody even dared to touch them or didn't even cared. Everyone looked at their works, not the artist: that gesture so sincere made them feel like jelly and, for the first time after literal eons, they felt at peace. The god's hands encircled their sides, while one of them caressed their back. What they were doing was dangerous, too dangerous, and Buddha began to wonder if he had made the right decision to ask the other to join his rebellion. But he knew it has to be done.

“We’re gonna make it. I promise” thought Buddha with the other still in his arms.

Time seemed to stop for a few moments, the two of them existed and that's it. Y/N was considering their choice again, yet Buddha's encouraging squeeze erased all thought from them. Fate smiled at them and they did the same.

[misscrawfords]

No sooner had Susan and her cousins left their box at the intermission than they came face to face with Miss Crawford and a gentleman exiting another box a few doors down. The gentleman was a stranger to Susan but the similarity of his appearance to the lady was such as made his identity as obvious as it was unanticipated.

Julia stopped dead and even Miss Crawford, usually so self-possessed, blushed and hesitated. Her brother too seemed struck by astonishment at the sight of the party. Only Mr. Yates, whose happy disposition did not admit of any embarrassment, was unperturbed.

“Crawford!” he boomed. “This is capital! No idea you were in the country, let alone in town! It's been years! But of course we should meet at the theatre - where else? You remember my wife, of course? And this is her cousin, Miss Price. Susan, this is the famous Mr. Crawford.”

Susan was as surprised as the others but for different reasons. This was the infamous Mr. Crawford? Her cousin had ruined herself and plunged her family into disgrace for him? Why, he was such a short and slight man! Susan was on the taller side of average for her sex but she was nevertheless unaccustomed to stand eye to eye with a man in the way she was able to with Mr. Crawford. And those expressive, dark features - so elegant and pretty on his sister - were not so attractive on the gentleman. He cut an insignificant sort of figure, especially when put next to the broad bulk of Mr. Yates, who loomed over them all in his usual way. She had only met him briefly many years ago but he had seemed taller and more impressive in her memory.

What was she to say to him? She did not desire an introduction; indeed, Yates probably ought not to have done it. She could not see Julia’s expression but her silence was speech enough. Perhaps she could cut him, she could give him the cut direct and walk straight past him with her head held high and Fanny in her heart… except of course that she did not dare.

In the event, he was the first to speak. The awkwardness and evident embarrassment of his address as well as its obvious insincerity as he reacquainted himself with Mrs. Yates and professed a delight to meet Miss Price gave Susan the courage to respond with a clear and direct look, “How do you do, Mr. Crawford? But we have met before in Portsmouth five years ago; perhaps you do not recall.”

Surprise crossed his face. “I do recall our meeting. How could I forget?”

How indeed? Later, she would think of many retorts, albeit none of them suitable to be spoken aloud. Instead she found herself asking if was enjoying the play. 

“With reservations,” he replied, his gaze never straying from hers. “And yourself, Miss Price?”

“Tolerably,” said Susan at the same time as Mr. Yates jumped in to inform them that this was Miss Price’s first ever visit to the theatre and how important it was that it was to such a wonderful production as The Distress’d Mother and had they ever seen anything so touching as Andromache’s tragic devotion?

“I find her a little too pious for my own taste,” interjected Miss Crawford. “I find myself drawn to Hermione and I cannot feel ashamed of it. But you have a very fine performance in Orestes for your first play, Miss Price. You have chosen well.”

Susan acknowledged that it was so and that she was very much looking forward to seeing him go mad in the final act. Yates declared there was no better actor anywhere in Europe and seemed on the point of anticipating the mad scene itself in the corridor when Julia finally roused herself to insist that the performance must be starting soon and hurried Susan back into the box, leaving the Crawfords behind to make of Mr. Yates’ paroxysms of dramatic enthusiasm what they would.

As for Susan, her spirit was disturbed by the meeting but she was determined that Mr. Crawford should not have any power over her - he had done quite enough damage by the Bertrams already for her to wish to give him any further satisfaction. Her attention should be devoted solely to the progress of the drama on stage before her. Nevertheless, it was strange to think that such a man should have been so captivating to both her cousins - he was not even handsome! And his address, well, there was nothing extraordinary about it. She could not understand it at all. And as for his view of the play, she could not help wondering over his reservations. What a very curious way to respond to her question which she had only asked out of politeness! Really, if he had reservations, he should at the least have said what they were! And so it was that at the end of several hours, when the play finally drew to a close, mad scene and all, having vowed that Mr. Crawford’s name should not even cross her mind, she found to her consternation she had thought of little else.

[fatehbaz]

[M]onk seals continued to live in large herds along the largely unexplored Atlantic seaboard of northwest Africa. It was not until 1434 that Portuguese explorers landed on these [supposedly] untamed coasts, and discovered thousands of monk seals. Almost immediately, an intensive and lucrative trade in skins and oil was established [...]. Constantly vying with Spain [...], Portugal was determined to increase its sphere of influence in Africa. While Spain eventually became preoccupied with Columbus’ elusive vision [...] [and] his celebrated 1492 expedition [...] Portugal’s colonial influence in Africa was reaching its height by 1500. The first expeditions to Africa’s Gold Coast were recorded for posterity by an official chronicler, Gomes de Zurara [...]. In his book [...] he relates how the Portuguese Infante [royal prince], eager [...], dispatched explorer Afonso Gonçalves Baldaya in a cargo vessel to make contact with the mysterious “moors” or “pagans” who were believed to inhabit the region (Zurara, 1437).

“But these are people, no matter how beastlike they may be,” proclaimed the Infante, “and they need to be governed... I command you to penetrate this land as far as you can and that you work in order to learn about those people, perhaps taking one captive, so that you may become acquainted with them.”

It was in “the year [...] one thousand four hundred and thirty-six” that Alfonso set sail [...]. [T]he barinel eventually reached the shores of the Gold River, the Rio de Oro, situated at the Bay of Dakhla in the western Sahara. [...] Afonso and his crew sighted their first seals. Literally thousands were suddenly in their field of vision. [...] “Upon seeing on a reef at the mouth of the river a large number of sea-wolves,” relates Gomes da Zurara, “which, according to the estimates of some, amounted to five thousand, he ordered killed those that could be killed and had their furs loaded onto the ship [...].” Despite the windfall in skins and oil, Afonso was still dissatisfied, having failed to take captive any of the elusive natives. He therefore ventured a further 50 leagues “to see if he could capture a man or at least a woman or child in order to satisfy the will of his master.” [...]

---

[In] 1437 [...] another Portuguese ship was dispatched to the Gold River to fill its hold with the furs and oil of the sea-wolves. [...] In 1441, [...] the Infante ordered his young wardrobe keeper, Antão Gonçalves, to captain a small ship and return to the Gold River. [...] “[T]he reason for this voyage, as instructed by his Lordship,” writes da Zurara, “was none other than to load that ship with a great quantity of hides and oil from those sea-wolves.” It appears to have been a lucrative undertaking. “ [...]

Antão Gonçalves had fulfilled the command of his master, his ship’s hold brimming with hides and casks, but the young man was eager to pursue his adventures rather than return home as ordered. He assembled his 21-man crew on deck, and addressed them with a rousing speech: “Friends and brothers, our cargo is complete, as you can see, so the principal aim of our mission has been accomplished, and we could well return should we wish to limit our toil…” He then proposed an adventure that would gladden the men’s hearts, providing relief from the laborious and tedious task of hunting, skinning and melting-down seals – a hunt for native slaves [...].

---

These first tentative expeditions to the Gold River paved the way for hunting on a more intensive, industrial scale, with 15th century Portuguese explorers dividing their time between lucrative massacres of seals and the equally profitable slave trade [...].

Indeed, within a few years of the sea wolf discovery, a purpose-built installation to process seal hides and oil had been constructed on Ylha de Lobos [...] in the estuary of the Rio de Oro [...]. Around Cap Barbas [...] no less than three sites once bore the name of the sea wolf [...]. [T]he [French and British] colonial plundering of the region [in the early twentieth century] [...], like [...] [Portuguese] conquest before them, were also portrayed as essentially idealistic endeavours. Just as the conquest of the Rio de Oro by massacre and slavery [...] “proves anew that the pursuit of disinterested geographical knowledge [...] were never the only motives of colonial conquest, so the slaughter [...] would today be called “rational exploitation” [...]”.

---

All text above by: William M. Johnson. “Monk Seals in Post-Classical History: The role of the Mediterranean monk seal (Monachus monachus) in European history and culture, from the fall of Rome to the 20th century.” Mededelingen 39. The Netherlands Commission for International Nature Protection. 2004. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[kharia-adarkim]

decided to write some brief graha/venka fluff

The viera woman sighed, crumpling up another sheet of paper and tossing it at an overfull wastebin. The Alliance's soldiers needed a rousing speech to bolster morale, and the Elder Seedseer herself had vouched for Venka's speechcraft and motivational capabilities, but despite her efforts, the words wouldn't come to her. Her thoughts kept drifting to her fellow scions trapped in their unnatural slumber in the Rising Stones. Thancred's collapse had already sent ripples of unease through the troops, and while Y'shtola and Urianger's condition was still known only to a privileged few, it would only be a matter of time before the truth got out.

"A walk," Venka murmured, "to clear my head." She set her quill back in its inkpot and donned a comfortable jacket. For all it's blazing daytime heat, Ala Migho's frigid nights made her miss her mothers' cozy cabin in the Twelveswood. She'd scarcely walked a block before a faint whisper caught her attention. "Who goes there?" she called out, silently cursing at herself for leaving her bow at the inn. The whispering grew louder, and horror dawned upon Venka.

"Let expanse contract, eon become instant..."

"No, no..." Venka muttered. Who would be next? One of the twins? Tataru? Krile? Suddenly, her knees became week, and Venka's vision began to blur.

"Throw wide the gates..." the voice called out, and Venka's vision went black as she collapsed onto the cobblestones.

The smell of brewing tea roused Venka from her slumber, and she quickly jolted awake. She was shocked, however, to find whe was not in Ala Migho, nor the Rising Stones, but a wholly unfamiliar room. Furthermore, she was clothed not in her pajamas and jacket, but a simple linen smock. On the other side of the room, an elezen man stood over a set of teacups. When he noticed Venka was awale, he smiled warmly.

"It seems the Exarch was right after all," he said as he brought a cup over to the confused viera. "'Brew some bergamot tea, the smell will surely wake her up' he told me. How are you feeling?" Venka glanced between the man and the teacup before cautiously accepting it and taking a sip.

"Where are we?" she asked at last, "And who are you?"

"Name's Seigmar, miss," the man replied, "and you're in the Crystarium." Venka nodded politely, taking another sip of tea to hide her confusion. She'd never heard of a Crystarium, and Siegmar didn't resemble any elezen name she'd ever heard.

"And this Exarch," she continued, "who is that?"

"Why, he's our leader, and the founder of our fair city. I'll have Captain Lyna introduce you to him once you've got a clean bill of health. Let me get you some bread." Venka continued to sip her tea as she tried to make sense of the information. It had to have been several hours at the least, owing to the bright light that filtered through the window. But where was this Crystarium located? The air wasn't half dry enough to be Ala Mhigo, nor cold enough for Coerthas, and the architecture was unlike any she'd seen before.

A few hours and a short medical examination later, a knock on the door drew Venka's attention. "This is Captain Lyna," a voice from the other side announced, "are you ready to see the Exarch?" Venka opened the door and was shocked to see another viera standing before her, donned in polished plate. "What's the matter? Still not feeling well?"

"No. I mean, yes, er-" Venka stammered, "It's just, you're..."

"Oh come on, surely you didn't think you were the only viis to have left the greatwood?" the woman answered. "Come, the Exarch wants to see you. And when you're done, I can give you a tour." She turned and began to walk down the hall, and Venka followed the viera - viis? - out of the building. They'd taken but a few steps out the front door before Venka stopped in stunned silence as the Crystal Tower loomed high in front of her. "Impressive, isn't it?" Lyna called back. "Now come on! The Exarch might be too patient for his own good, but you still shouldn't keep him waiting." Venka shook out her confusion and followed her guide up the grandiose steps, into the tower itself. After strolling down a few unsettlingly familiar corridors, they arrived at a sturdy oak door. Lyna banged on it a few times with her fist and call out, "Exarch! Your guest has arrived!"

"She may enter," a voice replied from within, "Thank you Captain." Venka's brow furrowed. Though muffled, the voice, too, was familiar to her. Her musing was interrupted by the loud clunk and creak of the door opening. Lyna gestured for her to enter, and as she did, closed the door behind her. Venka looked around at the myriad of books and strange arcane devices literring the room, until her gaze came to rest on a robed figure with a crystalline hand gripping a staff. "Though I am likely not the first to say it, let me bid you welcome to the Crystarium. I am-"

"G'raha?" Venka whispered. Were her ears decieving her? He sounded more tired than when they'd last spoken, but his voice was unmistakable even after all this time. The Exarch coughed and cleared his throat.

"I- no, no, I- I am the Crystal Exarch," he stuttered, "I'm not sure who-" he began, and was again interrupted as Venka lept across the room, tackling him to the ground in an embrace. The Exarch tried to regain his composure, then noticed the tears rolling down Venka's cheek, and her small, stifled sniffles. After a moment's hesistation, he sighed, and laid a gentle hand upon her back. "Yes," he said softly, "it's me."

[bittersweetarts]

Little Lamb - Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Chapter 9)

Aemond Targaryen x You –  Chapter 1 

Word count: 4934 words

Summary: As a maiden of a noble house, it is your duty to wed well. But how will you manage to, with a curious and possessive Prince in the picture?

WARNINGS: Violence, misogyny, dub-con (kind of)

Spotify Playlist – AO3 Page

Chapter 9: The Tempest

When you woke, you did not expect it to be at the behest of anyone other than Aemond. Normally, you are the early riser and stumble out of bed at dawn, leaving the Prince to the sheets. However, your bearings at home are a little skewed, without the songbirds to wake you, and you anticipated that if you did not wake naturally, the gaudy Prince would do the job for you, as he had a penchant for kissing and inhaling the area around your neck whenever he woke, even briefly at odd hours of the night. You did not expect though, to hear the loud knocking and the voice of your sworn knight, spoken loudly and emotionlessly through the door.

��Your Grace, one of the daughters of the House, Lady Lauryn, is stood by the door and refuses to leave.”

At the mention of your sister, you quickly rouse out Aemond’s embrace, startled to hear her name. Memories from last night flood through your eyes and embarrassment consumes your emotions. Unlike you though, the Prince is a lot more quick on his feet, and in the matter of seconds, composes himself from his wake, quickly putting his eye mask on before striding to the door, opening it slightly so as to only show his face. You remain silent, sat up on the bed, observing the scene. You then realise that while you were still fully clothed, the same could not be said for the Prince, who had only his trousers left on. As he passed, Aemond’s expression was frighteningly irritated, but you remain calm, knowing that the Prince would not be cruel to a woman carrying child.

“Good morrow your Grace – sister – We will be breaking fast soon, I suggest that the two of you get ready and join us.” Lauryn spoke loudly and nonchalantly, not giving a care about the Prince nor his standing. Perhaps Aemond was not as composed as he appeared, for he did not even manage to respond before your sister spoke loudly again, her speech directed towards you.

“Steffon and father had taken Tommen and few others to go hunting, so I just you join us soon, before they come back. Or don’t, it does not matter to me all that much really, as long as no blood gets on my dress.” Lauryn pauses for a moment, and you wonder whether she is frightened of the prince now. “… although I suggest that you both are dressed decent.” You hear the door slam and have a feeling that it was not at the Prince’s bidding.

Turning around to face you, Aemond smiles brilliantly, surprising you, as it feels odd compared to his usual sullen expression.

“I am understanding now that your obstinacy is a family trait.”

You narrow your eyes in response and raise the fur blanket against yourself, in substitute of the warm body that left you.

“Shut up.” You retort, tugging yourself under the covers, concealing your face. Then, you feel a hard body join you, and by your bloodstone pendant chain, you are pulled into yet another embrace. Before he kisses you though, you put your hands on his hard chest, holding him off.

“Are you hungry?” You ask seriously.

The one-eyed Prince’s brows cross in confusion, before a side smile appears on his face. “I am. Not for food though.” Aemond’s hand press behind your neck now, and his other slips through your dress unnoticed, until you feel it caress the naked part of your smooth inner thighs teasingly, causing your breath to hitch. This was the reaction the one-eyed Prince hoped for, as evident by his satisfied expression.

“We should get you food though.” The Prince says, as his hand continues running across your soft thighs, rendering you speechless. You still slowly shake your head though, with defiance, and grab hold of his forearm, halting his actions.

“When can we leave?” You ask, knowing that you no longer have a place at home, if you can even call it that anymore. You were grateful for the Prince’s distractions, knowing that were he not here, you would be in hysterics. Your question though only serves to sober the Prince from his euphoric state.

“We can leave now, if you wish it.” You suddenly feel a cold spread through your thighs and realise that the Prince’s hand was now around your waist, while the other now softly caressed your cheek.

“I would prefer it if you rode with me though.” On Vaghar… not just a wild beast, but one which the infamous Queen Visenya Targaryen rode during Aegon's Conquest, more than a century ago. The notion of this terrified you, but as did the idea of facing your family after yesterday evening, the latter perhaps a bit more. And the more you thought of it, the less daunting the idea of being on a war dragon was. You were still apprehensive though.

“And what of my belongings?” You ask warily, closing your eyes. You both knew that your dresses and trinkets were not what worried you, and though Aemond found it endearing, he also sought to dispel your concerns.

“Ser Landor does have to make his way to King’s Landing eventually as well.” Aemond responds smiling, running his hand across your waist in a motion. “Do not worry about Vaghar, you have me.” As he speaks, his hand tenderly cups the side of your face, and you sigh, opening your eyes to face Aemond. His expression is delicate, and his eye soft with affection.

“Before we leave, can we go somewhere? It is not far, and we can stop by the kitchens to grab something to eat.” You ask, grasping his warm hands into yours, which were cold. This only serves to confuse him, evident by his slightly furrowed brows. As you answer his silent questions, his expression softens.

“I want to go walk by the sea… it’s my favourite place in the world.”

When he nods in response, you are overjoyed and kiss him, beaming. Your joy is contagious, infecting the Prince’s bloodstream as well. It is here that Aemond realised that he would be chasing this feeling, and by consequence your happiness, for the rest of his life.

Though dressed warm, armed with a heavy wool cloak, the cool winds still sting against your cheek. It was slightly painful, but you loved the fresh breeze of Shipbreaker Bay, and treasured the feeling of the sand scuffing under your boots. You were also thankful that there was no storm, which was uncommon in this region, but the clouds still hung heavy in the dimmed sky.

As you walked along the coastline with Aemond, near the seawater, you felt completely at ease. It did not matter to you that your dress was getting ruined by the damp mud, nor the fact that you were walking with the Prince alone, unchaperoned. It was still morning, and you knew exactly where to walk to avoid people (away from Storm’s End and the mountains, and towards flatter land).

It did not really matter though. If anyone saw you alone with the Prince, what could they say? That you were the Prince’s whore? That you were no longer a maiden? That you are a disgrace to your family? It has all been said anyways, and the only one who could actually hurt you now was probably walking with you now.

The two of you walked leisurely, you admiring the view of the landscape, which was animated with the violent ocean waves and a sky which seemed to be in melancholy, meanwhile the Prince was admiring you.

Aemond Targaryen could not comprehend his compulsion with you, and has spent many sleepless nights laying with you, watching you as you slept, wondering why it was you that had summoned his obsession. Though you considered yourself plain in appearance, the one-eyed Prince found you beautiful, but so were many other ladies at court and across the lands. He wondered whether it was circumstance, simply you being there at the right moment, when his family was vulnerable and needed someone like you the most. But then why could he not let go of you, and forget about you?

Aemond did at first expect that he would bed you and forget you after, and he does enjoy a challenge. Yet countless times, he has let opportunities pass by and has restrained himself from having his way. After all, his brother, Aegon, has gotten away with committing far worse atrocities unscathed, so what would it matter if you were to become a victim of his.

Instead, Aemond found himself scavenging time in his busy day to see you, even briefly. He found himself trying to think of ways to bring a smile to your face, of which book you may enjoy and what gift was worthy of you. Instead of having his way with you, as he desired, Aemond found himself fending off countless potential suitors, and even his own brothers, who have made their interest in you beyond clear through countless lewd comments. Instead, Aemond caught himself in moments of delusion, imagining a life where the two of you would be surrounded by many young children running around… It was absurd! Aemond never cared about anyone like this, never even thought of marriage as anything other than a political tool. In his youth, Aemond did feel remorse that his older sister married someone so unworthy as the insipid Aegon and wondered what it would be like if it were him that was married to Helaena.

But to actually desire a union, to share a life with someone? No, Aemond never believed he would wish for anything such as this. The one-eyed Prince was deeply scarred by his past, and accepted that he was unworthy of love, so he opted for brutality instead. For who can hurt you if you hurt them first?

Unfortunately for him, the Seven decided to return that brutality in the form of you, a woman from a forgettable house who had a unintentionally made a family devoid of affection grow to love her.

Similarly to Aemond Targaryen, you craved deep affection. Growing up, you always felt isolated and alone despite always being around others, and instead found company in the books you read. Stories of the past, stories about affection and yearning, you found amity in it all. You hoped for a marriage which had some shared affection, and a family of your own which you would love unconditionally. But hope was not promise, which you knew all too well.

“Why are you good to me?”

You suddenly halt when you ask your question. As you did, the winds screeched around and the sand beneath your boots harshly rasped. Aemond, who had kept a respectful distance from you during the walk, stopped and turned to face you, his expression was blank. Despite having grown up in a hot climate, he did not suffer with the harsh weather here, and it actually suited his character.

“What do you mean?” His eyes furrow again in confusion. The wind blew in his hair, and some stray blonde pieces flew around his face.

“I don’t understand.” You say, stepping closer to him, keeping your hands clasped behind you.

“I don’t understand you. When we first met, you were unkind to me. Cruel. But now, you are good to me. Why?”

“I am the same as I have always been.” Aemond responds roughly, his voice devoid of tone. He knew that there was some subtle shift in his character, at least around you, and he knew that this was a weakness that he could not admit it. He did not wish to push you away, but neither was he ready to expose himself completely to you, and to others.

Exhaling, you yield, choosing not to test his patience. Instead, you take a step forward, closer to him, and reach up, to caress his face. Your fingers trace over his mask, which he insisted on keeping on, and you stay like this for a heartbeat, the only noise around you coming from the harsh sea and the roaring winds.

“We will really be wed?” You ask unsurely, frowning, as you did not believe it. You cannot understand what the Prince gains out of this, and rather loses a lot by aligning himself with you.

“You are clever, so why ask silly questions?” Aemond responds lightheartedly, smiling while looking down at you, before pressing his lips onto your hair and forehead. As he did, you could not help but shiver from his warm contact against your cool skin. Perhaps you had become accustomed to King Landin’s warm weather, because you could not help but hug the Prince around his waist, housing yourself in his warmth. The blonde gladly returned your embrace, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in tighter.

You did not know whether you actually wanted to marry the Prince, but you did want to belong somewhere, so why not to him?

“Your family cannot be happy about this,” you mumble against him. Surely, they do not approve of this match, or the idea of angering allies. You expect the Prince to pull away from you in irritation, to snap at you, but he does not.

“My family can say nothing. I have given up too much for our House, I will not give you up too.” He says solemnly, resting his chin on your head. Though he spoke with surety, your worries do not ease. Shaking his head off you, you tilt your chin up to face him.

“You do not have to give me up.” Your voice chokes as you pause for a moment, preparing yourself for what you are about to offer.

“… I can be your paramour–” Mid-sentence, the Prince’s face contorts into shock and his hands swiftly move to your shoulders, gripping you tightly. He attempts to interrupt you, but you hold your ground, continuing to speak, ranting as you do.

“Stop Aemond! I do not want to be responsible for ill will or for starting conflict. I have known Lady Floris Baratheon since she was little, and Lord Borros is a brute and unyielding. I have nothing to offer and have done nothing to deserve your affection.”

You did not realise that you began crying until you feel the stinging sensation of the harsh winds cutting against your cheek. As you breathe heavily through your nose, the Prince runs the back of his hand against your cheeks, wiping away the tears that continued spilling.

“There is no need to be dramatic,” Aemond says, smiling whilst maintaining his composure. “Borros is a greedy man, and his forgiveness can be bought. With time, your family will forgive you as well. No wars or conflict will occur because of a marriage.” Grabbing hold of your chin, the one-eyed Prince tilts your head up to kiss you, his lips warm against your own, which are cool and damp. “All that I desire is you, and it is I that is undeserving of your affection.” As Aemond speaks tenderly, you feel at a loss for words, not knowing what to say. The Prince’s callous fingers now roughly trace your open mouth, his nails scratching against your skin.

“… But like Borros, I am a greedy man. I do not care about what I do or do not deserve, and I tend to get what I want.” Staring at Aemond’s sharp violet eye, you are reminded that though you feel safe with him now, he is still a dangerous man. A dangerous man that you have realised that you have grown to care for.

Still maintaining eye contact with him, you grab hostage of the finger that is exploring around your lip, your upper teeth biting down against it, though not painfully. A familiar expression washes over the Prince, one that is carnal, and you wonder whether you had taken it too far. You did not know what you were doing anymore, and now, you have begun to act thoughtlessly. As you begin to take more of his long finger inside of your mouth, Aemond hums in disapproval and pulls away. This only serves to frustrate you further.

“Is this not what you want?” You ask exasperated, confused about his reaction. He continuously declares that he wants you, demonstrates it even, yet when you reciprocate, he retreats.

“More than anything.” Aemond responds with a sad smile. This only serves to confuse you further. Stepping forward and pressing yourself against him, you grab his face with your hands. You bring your face forward, pressing your lips against his, and the kiss is soft at first. Slowly though, you become more daring and try to coax your tongue against his. As you do, you feel your hair roughly tugged from behind, a burning sensation spreading through your scalp. Another hum of disapproval sounds against your mouth and Aemond pulls away.

“If I start, I will not stop.” Aemond speaks, still tugging on your hair. Though it hurt, you could not summon any anger for it, and stared at the Prince wide-eyed, trying to even your breathing. Unlike you though, Aemond’s stamina did not falter.

“I would love nothing more than to take you now. To fuck you senseless right here, for anyone to see. To leave so many marks on your body that others would think that you were mauled by a rabid animal.” As he spoke, you began to tremble, but not out of fear. The Prince’s face was now touching yours, and you shared each other’s breath. “To make you stare at me as I bury myself deep within you … To force your pretty little mouth to say the ugliest words.” Aemond then abruptly pulled back and let go of your hair, though he still firmly held your waist.

“I still will. Do not doubt me, my love.” Exhaling, Aemond begins slowly walking, pulling you with him. In the heat of his embrace, you completely forget how cold it is, and now the winds seem especially harsh.

“We should go. You can say goodbye to your family and have some food, then we will travel back home.”

Home. You know that by home, Aemond is referring to King’s Landing, and you realise that the capitol going to be your home now on. You can no longer call the place where you grew up as your home, nor the people who you grew up with. This thought left a bitter taste in your mouth, and you tried to ignore it.

It has been some odd hours since you left for your walk with Prince Aemond Targaryen, and returning back to Thunder Fort made you nervous. Aemond insisted that the two of you could just leave, and that Vaghar was resting on a nearby mountain, but you knew that you would never forgive yourself if you failed to say goodbye to your family due to cowardness.

What you did not expect was for some your family to be crowded at the courtyard, in a manner similar to that of your arrival. The only difference being that all of your youngest siblings were absent, and the greeting was not nearly as genial. Some servants and lower members of court hovered around, but maintained a distance.

As the Prince and you walked in, his hand still fastened to your waist, you could see the looks of concern and worry on many faces. You could also feel a shift in the Prince’s demeanour, a threatening air now present his countenance. You, on the other hand, felt incredibly uncomfortable.

In hindsight, you and the Prince probably should not have been so close to one another, and perhaps you should have been the first to greet your family. But as you approached closer to them, dread washed over you and you found yourself silent as a mouse. As the two of you approach, you immediately notice your eldest brother’s livid expression.

“Your shame has no bounds.”

Tommen spat out. As he did, you noticeably flinched, which only served to transform the Prince’s quiet threats into visible fury. The hand at your waist clenched tighter, almost hurting you.

“Say another word, and I will have your tongue, Little Lord. Make no mistake.” Aemond said maliciously.

You watch the Prince’s side profile as he spoke, his anger only scaring you more. When you turn to face Tommen, you see him open his mouth to retort, but the one-eyed Prince interrupts him before he manages to, his tone menacing.

“One more word, and I will gift your tongue to your sister.”

At the mention of you, Vaghar’s vicious growl echoed, reminding everyone present of the power the Targaryens hold. The House of the Dragon was after all not like all us other men after all. Instinctively following the scary cry, you inched closer towards Aemond, dropping your gaze to the ground.

“Sister, we have arranged a union for you,” assertively declared Steffon. Immediately, your eyes jump to him and you feel fingers dig into your waist. Before the Prince manages to respond however, you see your pregnant sister, Lauryn, elbow Steffon, demanding him to shut up.

“I would heed your sister’s advice,” the Prince warned in a menacing tone. Once again, you are at a loss for words, confused. A marriage? They found someone for me to wed?

Unfortunately, Steffon chose not to listen and continued, despite the protests of Lauryn and your Lady Mother, who also pleaded for him to stay quiet.

“No! She does not even know of this because you do not let her read our letters or to visit the Keep. It is not up to the Royal Family or a Targaryen Prince to decide the affairs of our house!”

To your brother’s credit, he did not cower when the Prince pulled away from you and briskly strode towards him in fury. As Aemond did though, you sprinted, clasping yourself around his waist and begged him to stop, in a poor attempt to hold him back. You could feel him shaking in anger, failing to maintain his composure. Similarly, Lauryn and your parents placed themselves in front of Steffon, and it was this barrier that stopped the Prince.

“Please, do say more, Lord Steffon.” Aemond spat out in a mocking manner. “In your letters, you failed to mention who this supposed suitor is, do tell – We’ll be sure to visit on our way back to King’s Landing and burn down their home, their families along with it.” This had managed to finally silence Steffon, as well as everyone else present. You could hear muffled sobbing coming from Tommen’s lady wife, who also wrapped herself around Tommen in an attempt to hold him back.

“Let’s leave.”

Your shrill voice echoes across the courtyard. You were holding the Prince tightly from behind, your hand clasped together so tightly in front of him that they ached. You feel a large hand cover yours, separating them. As this happens, you realise that the Prince was no longer shaking so violently, and you release a bated breath. The Prince then turns around to face you, but you avoid his gaze, staring at your family.

Those who remained completely silent included Tommen’s lady wife and Lauryn’s husband, Lord Brandon Stark. Patently, they saw that this was not their placed to speak. But your father? You now understand that your father has truly become a shell of who he used to be, and you wonder what has changed. Was it you and your predicament that has caused him so much grief, that has altered him so utterly?

“Let’s leave.” Aemond repeated after you, placing a firm hand on your shoulders to guide you away.

You followed, understanding that you had no place here with your family anymore. As you turned you see Ser Landor standing not too far, with a hand on the sword hung on his side, his face completely neutral, no trace of sympathy or sadness at what was happening. He was not your companion after all, but you had once hoped that maybe you would find some friendship with him, since he was always around. Keeping your eyes down, you slowly walk away with the Prince, understanding that you would get no heartfelt goodbye from your family, nor even see your youngest siblings.

As the two of you, accompanied with Ser Landor, near the bridged gateway, you hear you name called out, and you abruptly turn around, much to the dismay of the Prince. Lightly trotting with a hand on her bump, you see Lauryn approach, her husband following her warily from behind. You know that it is because she is alone that Aemond loosens his grip on you, much to your surprise. You glance up at him with pleading eyes, and though his jaw is tight, the blonde nods at you, giving his approval. Letting a breath out, you pull away and swiftly sprint the small distance to her.

As the two of you reach, you wrap your arms around her, embracing her tightly. You can now feel your eyes water, but Lauryn remains composed, pulling away from you slightly, softly speaking into your ear.

“Sister, you are not alone, do not forget. Our brothers are men now and men are always controlled by their egos.”

Your sister avoids your gaze, staring behind you, at Aemond you assume. Pulling you in again, she whispers into your ear, not giving you an opportunity to respond.

“Please listen. Emissaries from Winterfell have been marching for months now and will be at King’s Landing in the coming weeks – ” You hear Aemond call your name out in an impatient tone and you unconsciously pull away from Lauryn, frowning as you stared at her. This does not faze your headstrong sister however.

“You are not alone. I do not understand your circumstance, but should you need aid, House Stark will not abandon my dearest sister.” As she speaks lowly, a tear falls and she gently wipes it away, looking at you sadly. You hear your name called out again, this time much more closely and as you turn, you come to face the Prince, who looks at you concerned.

“What did you say to her?” Aemond says fervently, slipping a rough hand around your waist pulling you to him.

“She said nothing!” You exclaim, whilst trying to choke down your sobs. You do not look at Lauryn again, but hope that she is more composed than you are. Grabbing hold of his free hand, you pull it and step away.

“Let’s go, your Grace.” You insist, but Aemond does not move, still glaring at your sister.

“Do not make me repeat myself. I have held you in high regard thus far, Lady Lauryn.” Aemond cautions in a intimidating tone. As you turn around, you see that your family has approached all of you, and Lord Brandon has come up to Lauryn, placing himself before her.

“You dare make threats to a woman with child? Have you no integrity?” The Northman declares in a deep coarse voice, brim with conviction. This only serves to silence the Prince, who you could see was deciding his course of action.

“Aemond, please – let us leave.” You beg once again, pulling on his hand. For a moment, Aemond surveys your family, making silent judgments, before turning around and pulling you by your waist, effortlessly lifting you of your feet and carrying you as if you were a bride.

Instinctively, you want to yell at Aemond for hoisting you, but when you look at the one-eyed Prince breathing heavily with his composure slipping, you opt to remain silent and to close your eyes, laying your head onto his hard chest. You can hear some protests, but they quickly disappear, as Aemond rapidly walks away. As you lay against him, you feel his chest heavily rise and fall, and you press your lips against him after few moments have passed, after feeling certain that you were far from your family.

As you sit with your thoughts, you wonder why no one cared enough to actually stop Aemond. You knew that you were being unreasonable though. What could they do? Either way you were leaving with the Prince, you knew that you had no place at your House anymore. But they were still your family. The Prince was quick to anger when it came to you, you now understood very well, so you chose to let him take you without protest, at least to protect them.

Turning up to face him, you stare at Aemond, and see him staring sharply ahead, his face tense and angular. You gently raise your right hand, to soft touch his face, tracing your fingers across his jaw. As you do, Aemond looks down at you, his face still expressionless, apart from his nostrils, which were still flaring in anger. Despite this, he is the first to break the silence. As he did, you realise how faint you had felt, and felt almost grateful that the Prince was carrying you.

“We have still some ways to go. Vaghar could not stay close to your home or Storm’s End, so she is resting on the side of one of the mountains near.” Letting out a breath, you nod, but remain silent. You know that Aemond wanted you to say something, but you did not know what to say. You had felt overwhelmed, and now you felt empty. This time, when you closed your eyes, you drifted off.

Author’s Note: Sincere apologies for taking ages with the update! I have rewritten this chapter multiple times, and if I'm being honest, I am still not entirely satisfied with it. I still hope you enjoyed it, and that you have a lovely weekend!

Also, for those that have been recommending this story in TikTok comments, thank you! I spend way too much time on that app and it feels so surreal every time I see Little Lamb mentioned, I literally have an out-of-body experience

– Chapter 10

Tags: girl-obsessed-with-things 404slayer404 moonmaiden1996 rosaryos  roseanimelover jovialfanatic wishfulwithwine missusnora maat-the-prescriptive  @let-love-bleeds-red​​ shnadaidas klutzyfreak mistalli pearlstiare nctma15 weepingfashionwritingplaid ihaveadogithink verycollectivecreator @thelibraperspective​ eddies-bat-tattoos marcs-luver kpopdistoyedmylife-blog solacestyles lonadane

[alidravana]

Congrats on 150! May I humbly request Soap/Ghost with “I’m scared?”

This one really stumped me for a while, because I couldn't see either one of them saying "I'm scared"...and then the new game came out!

So here's an extra long drabble for this prompt, with spoilers for the MW2022 game:

“Soap?  Johnny, you there?” Ghost muttered into the phone, grabbing his jacket and stepping out of the bar so he could hear better.  Soap had left the bar earlier than the rest of the group; Ghost assumed that the kid had a bit too much Scotch, he had been looking a bit green around the edges.  Half expecting the Sergeant to have fallen asleep as soon as he got back to the base, he was surprised when his phone rang, Soap’s name flashing across the screen.  

He frowned when there was no response, wondering for a moment if the Soap had hung up, but then he could hear someone breathing faintly in the background.  “Sergeant?” He said sharply, hoping that the title would rouse the younger soldier.  

“G-Ghost?  Is that…is that you?” Soap’s voice came across the call shakily.  

“Yeah mate, you’re the one who called me,” Ghost replied, rolling his eyes at the slurred speech.  Soap was more intoxicated than he had originally thought.  “Do you need something?”

Ghost pressed the phone closer to his ear in alarm as he heard a loud, hitched breath followed by a muffled sob, almost as if Soap was trying to stop himself from crying.  “Johnny, where are you?” he demanded, his concern skyrocketing as he motioned to the rest of the group who had followed him out.

Covering the mouthpiece, he whispered to Laswell about tracing the phone call, the agent nodding in response as she stepped to the side.  

“Johnny, where are you?” Ghost repeated, a bit louder this time, switching the call to speaker so the others could hear.  

“I…I’m not really sure,” Soap mumbled, his words slurring together.  His breathing was labored, a deep rattling sound coming from his chest.  Ghost frowned, worried that perhaps Soap had hidden further injuries from their last mission, but before he could ask another question, Soap spoke first.

“I’m scared,” the younger man whispered, followed by another sob.  “I th-think I was drugged…maybe in the bar?  It’s…it’s getting harder t-to move.”

Ghost exchanged a glance with Price, the older man motioning for Gaz to go back inside to investigate.  

All of sudden, they heard a bang, the all too familiar sound of a gunshot, and a responding whimper from Soap.  Footsteps were approaching, and Ghost couldn’t help but flinch as though he was the one hiding, everyone else remaining silent as well as they waited to hear what was going to happen next.

But the last word they all heard from Soap before the call ended shot chills down Ghost’s spine.  

“Graves.”

[spinningbuster98]

As bad as it may sound, it really seems to me that N!Isaac and N!Annette have both been written as Perfect Minorities™.

OG Isaac was the perpetual second one. Not incompetent by any means, but you know the deal, he was salty as hell that Hector was just a tiny bit better :P In the show, the dynamic is flipped: it's Isaac who is Dracula's special babyboy. But he is the special babyboy to such an exaggerated degree that he makes Hector's inclusion not only completely useless, but even detrimental: why would Dracula bother to hire an average Devil Forgemaster, without a shred of physical prowess, who he considers to be "a child in a man's body", and who he had to resort to lie to (Hector literally shouts in the war room that he doesn't enjoy the needless suffering Dracula is causing)... when Isaac by all means is strong, smart (allegedly), much more efficient in Forging, and 100% on board with Dracula's extermination plans to the point of being the only person Dracula can trust?

The story would improve if Hector, again, was the better Devil Forgemaster, even with his pesky morals. But we can't have that, can we? They were absolutely adamant, for whatever reason, that Isaac had to be black, despite him being probably the worst character to make black and Muslim. And black people can't be inferior, right? They can't need the help of a white person lesser POC, right? So Isaac in the show has become literally untouchable by the narrative. He gets everything he wants. He gets all the sympathy, because boohoo don't you feel bad that the guards are a bit mean to him, of course he should kill them all and turn them into monsters. He gets all the badass scenes, hell he literally gets wounded once in the whole show. He gets to be Enlightened.

And Annette... well, we talked about it plenty of times. Annette has Special God Powers. Annette gets coddled by total strangers. Annette has the right to hurt Richter where it stings the most without anyone calling her out. No one dares to point out Annette's genuine mistakes or bad behavior, even the most confrontational character after herself, Maria. Annette gets to make a Rousing Revolutionary Speech to the same French people she looks down upon. Annette gets to have the most prominent character arc, while Richter is left bumbling around and gets one (1) cool scene.

Representation in NFCV seems to be limited to three characters: 1) the narrative's darlingest babies who can do no wrong because they need to be popular on twitblr, 2) cardboard cutouts with barely a speaking line to pretend our world is more complex than it actually is, and 3) jesus christ please think more than three seconds next time.

Let's be perfectly real here:

both Isaac and Annette are the way that they are to appeal to a very specific,wide and vocal crowd on social media, the same crowd who cries for representation, by which they usually mean utterly perfect characters who can do no wrong and can easily vent their frustrations on other cast members because people, through these characters, can feel vindicated for their own frustrations. Frustrations that can be justified in a way, especially where racism is involved, but it essentially means that characters like Annette and Isaac are not really characters, but rather they are meant to be power fantasies of sorts. They're there to be black characters who are very strong and look down on the white oppressors etc. And you know what? There's nothing wrong with power fantasies, but only as long as they're written competently. Otherwise you don't really have a power fantasy. You have a weird amalgamations of Mary Sues mixed with social media discourse

This is especially blatant with Annette since, at least with Isaac, I don't think he ever uses the color of his skin as a justification for his attitude (he uses his religion but that's another can of worms).

I am almost certain that characters like these are inserted partly because it's a no-lose scenario, because you absolutely cannot criticize them without being accused of bigotry. This is made all the worse by many ACTUAL bigots chiming in and making any actual discourse impossible. I'm sure that big corpos like Netflix know this by now: create a character who's a minority who the US public cares about (I need to specify that last part because I get the feeling that people would not get nearly as uppity about, oh I dunno, Roma characters? Native American characters? Because social justice is only about those "cool" minorities that the public has been taught to think are worth it, anyone else barely even registers on the radar), write them in a way that satisfies the social media pseudo activist crowd, wait for the bigots to show up in order to easily paint any detractor as a racist, thus creating a very easy equation of "show has representation= good. Bigotry= Bad. Hate the show= You're a bigot"

I say "almost" because there's always the possibility that the guys behind the wheel genuinely think they're doing a great job

This may sound crazy, but look at all the praise they get, look at how much encouragement they get. And all this goes beyond NFCV, this sort of phenomenon is very widespread so it wouldn't surprise me if even the Deats brothers think they're masters of representation who can do no wrong because if enough people keep saying one thing without pause then you're bound to think it's the truth.

For instance I am pretty certain that Deats and the gang genuinely don't think that Alucard's threesome is not rape, or Lenore's treatment of Hector. Because they're not conventional depictions of rape and if you go ask most people on social media, hell even on the street across your own home, they'll most likely tell you the same.

I hate NFCV but what I think I hate more is the overall social climate that lead to its creation

[wisefoxluminary]

So I've been having a think about where they could take Ragnarr Vizsla in future seasons. Now that Paz is dead, I think we are set up for an interesting arc for Ragnarr for season 4 of the Mandalorian that I don't think anyone is talking about. The last time we saw Ragnarr, he was standing side by side with Axe celebrating the liberation of Mandalorian and it very well implies that he'll take in Ragnarr as his foundling as a way of honouring his father and his sacrifice. He'll become a honorary Nite Owl which means he will earn the right to walk both ways. He will embrace two sets of Mandalorian ideals and cultures and that'll help him overcome his grief for Paz and take on more of a leadership role within his Mandalorian sect. I think this has been established a lot with the way Ragnarr takes the other children inside when the nite owls first arrive in Nevarro, just like Paz when he led the other Mandalorians greeting Din and Bo. The foundlings trust him and follow his lead. Paz was a fearless warrior and I think wee little Ragnarr has what it takes to surpass him and possibly become a great leader and fighter himself. Remember the big rousing speech Paz gave in the caves, I think Ragnarr has what it takes to follow that legacy. I'm sure he would have learned a lot from Paz when he raised him and he probably became a role model for Ragnarr, someone to look up to as a leader and somewhat inspire to become later in life. With Axe's training, I'm sure Ragnarr will grow in strength and be able to defend himself if another monster tries to capture him. I think this training will shape Ragnarr into becoming a capable fighter in his clan and that will drive him into making impulsive decisions. When Bo or the other Mandalorians work together on a mission, he'll want to tag along but others will opt for him to stay out of danger because they think he'll suffer just like his dad. It's not until Din and Grogu come back that he starts to sneak onto their ship and take part in their great escapees and missions. Din doesn't scold Ragnarr, he doesn't tell him to go home, no, he sees the potential in Ragnarr and how he reminds him so much of his fallen brother. So my theory is that throughout season 4 and beyond, Ragnarr will grow into a more respectable and selfless leader like Paz who uses anger as a tool against his sworn enemies and he'll grow more confident and stronger as a result. There is so much potential for this character that can't be passed up as he has a long legacy to live up to and I want to see that explored in depth in future seasons.

[thewatercolours]

King's Quest Fic: "The Fairy" (Goblin Graham, #12)

"Gwendolyn. What are you still doing in here? Didn't you hear the guards order everyone out? Can't you hear everything creaking?"

"Um - what? Sorry?"

"Something's wrong, cousin. The castle's shaking on its foundations. Has been since early morning. Something strange here, making it go unstable all of a sudden. You didn't notice? There's... Oh my stars. Gwendolyn! Did those bricks fall while you were in here?"

"Maybe? I didn't really notice. The mirror -"

"I know, I know, you were too busy watching the mirror. I mean, look! It's taken out a quarter of the ceiling? What would you have done if it had collapsed on your head? Look, we'll take the mirror with us, but we've got to get out! Did you even hear me?"

---

Perhaps it was the rich overground air, or the long hours spent escaping, or maybe the cold was more comfortable these days. Graham drifted off as easily as any sleeper could wish. As he blinked away his last moments of consciousness, he felt vaguely that he ought to toss and turn now that he’d been told of Manny and the goblins’ siege of the castle. Insomnia felt more responsible. But exhaustion smoothed his fears away before he could wake himself to make a plan. Three quarters asleep, he snuggled deep into his cloak between the roots of a burly yew. 

Mid-dream, something roused him. He rolled onto his right side, meaning to squint at the bedside clock in the castle’s royal chamber. Instead, he found himself eye to eye with a face, glowing blue as midwinter stars. The face giggled.

Untangling himself from the cloak, Graham yelped and scrambled to sit up, back against the tree.

The person before him was close to his own goblin size, and knelt to one side of him with a starry-eyed smile. Unnaturally lithe and dainty-featured she looked, just as he had always heard wood sprites described. He could not see much of her wings, but they appeared to be coolly golden and folded neatly behind her shoulders. Tittering musically, the fairy tapped the end of his nose with one shining finger, sending specks of light he could only just make out skittering over his skin. “Well, aren’t you the wee little goblin man! How precious!”  

Half awake and wholly thunderstruck, Graham could not choke a single word from his throat.

She took hold of his long ears. They twitched away reflexively, despite her gentleness. She laughed in gleeful surprise. “Awww! Did I make you flinch? I’ll be careful. You’ve got such big, swoopy, droopy ears, haven’t you? Yes you have, yes you have,” she crooned, reaching again to stroke them.

“Who are you?” whispered Graham, but his voice was even hoarser with sleep, almost nothing like speech. She did not seem to notice.

“A sleeeepy goblin, a tuckered out little goblin,” she went on, fondly rumpling his hair. Her hands were kind, but cool to the touch, even to his strange skin. And though it was hard to tell what she was doing, it appeared that every time she made contact, her hands glowed the brighter, just for a moment. “Oh, your pupils are so big right now! Great big eyes to see in the dark. What are you doing up here in the forest? A bit lost? Or were you just too dozy to crawl downstairs to your home? Are you a tiny bit scared?” she asked as Graham made another attempt to speak up. “Don’t be frightened, little friend. I know something that might make you happy.” She spread her luminous golden wings wide, and flapped them so that gleaming dust dropped in their wake. Her grin grew broader. “See that? I’m a fairy! Yes, you know all about us, don’t you? From your games?”

Graham straightened up where he sat, and cleared his throat pointedly. “For your information -”

Enraptured, she paid no heed. “Just look at you, though.Your little tummy, and your nubby little fangs, and those little pink… freckles…” A suspicious look flashed across her face. She poked an interrogative finger at his chin and cheekbones, considerably less gently. “Not freckles,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes. “You, good sir, have holes in your skin. Or growths, maybe. That’s human flesh, that is.” She sounded positively disgusted. “Or possibly mould. Comes to much the same thing.”

He had never demanded this of anyone, but enough was enough. “You,” said Graham firmly, “will call me ‘Your Majesty.’”

The fairy leaned back, looking him over from tuft to toe. She still smiled, but her merriment had changed to mockery. “‘Your majesty,’ eh?” she drawled. “A little king, eh? Look here. I happen to know the goblin king, and you ain’t him, sugarplum.”

“I’ve met him too,” said Graham with dignity, squaring his narrow shoulders. “I am the King of Daventry.”

A flicker of doubt passed over her, but she regained herself a moment later. “I don’t keep up much with politics, but even I know the king of Daventry is your standard, garden-variety human. Now, you,” she leaned in again and began connecting the dots on his face with her finger, “are just a goblin with human pimples. Ugh! They’re warm!”

He brushed her arm aside, frowning. “Look, I don’t particularly care if you believe me,” he said, mind whirring, “but if you don’t quit touching my face…” What could he say? “… you’re gonna be going home with spots yourself.”

The fairy recoiled, and turned from blue to something slightly closer to violet. “It’s catching?” she shrieked.

“Like a fishing line,” said Graham brightly. “Take the warning where I didn’t.”

The fairy backed off further and rubbed her hands off her sides, but there still seemed something unconvinced in her. “You’re very well-spoken for a goblin,” she said slowly. “Why did you say you’re the King of Daventry?”

“Because I am. I’m under a spell of sorts.”

“A spell. Oho.” She stroked her chin. “Well, that’s easier to check up on, isn’t it? All right, cupcake, on your feet.”  

“Oh, but my -”

Graham’s body parted ways with the forest floor. He rose three feet into the air, and tilted into a standing position despite himself. His dark hair billowed out as though he were underwater. Even his clothing did not drape in the ordinary way. His green wrists stuck out of his sleeve cuffs without the fabric touching them. His satin-trimmed cloak followed his trajectory up into the air, and then wandered gently and randomly like cream on a hot drink. “Hey!” he cried, throwing himself forward, hoping he could dive back to the ground. But he only found himself turning the slowest of slow-motion somersaults in the air. Head over heels he spun, groping for anything solid, but the fairy had lifted him into the middle of the clearing. Nothing met his grasp.

As he turned right way up, he came face to face with the fairy. She tapped his nose again, with just enough force that he lost momentum and didn’t fall into another somersault. “You know you go cross-eyed when I boop your nose?” She crossed her own eyes exaggeratedly. “Adorbs.”

He had no intention of using his claws on her, but this couldn’t go on. He glared and held up a warning finger. “I’m gonna have to ask you to put me down right this second, or this is going to be a diplomatic incident under Daventry Decree 90983.”  

“Yes, yes, that sounds fun. But now, let’s have a better look at you.” She twirled her finger playfully.

A mellow warmth kindled in Graham’s core, kind as hot soup and a blanket when you’ve just come in from the cold. It fanned out through him to the tips of his overlong toes and gnarled, spindly fingers. His eyes widened in shock, and he gasped. Gentle as fog melting off a window, his claws flattened and pulled back into themselves, and his fingertips softened into tender pink skin. 

The forest quieted. His vision dimmed, and the luminescent greens and purples of the night faded into a largely detail-less darkness.

Then he found himself laughing giddily as he changed and changed. He could hardly see a thing, but oh stars, could he feel it! He threw out his arms above his head as though he had just woken up, and stretched. Never had it felt so rewarding, for his arms actually stretched along with him. He could feel his spine and legs doing the same as that warmth spread through every inch of him. Meanwhile, his hands and bare feet shrank, growing less supple but so wonderfully familiar. And yet, remarkable in their unfamiliarity too. He flexed his goblin hand, and then his human hand, which hadn’t deserved that name in so long, marvelling at how new the sensation of closing his own fingers felt after only a few weeks. It all seemed so much more real than anything had since his transformation began. There was a clarity and quickness in his head that made him wonder how much his mind had been damped till now.

And his face, his face which he hardly ever dared touch, thawed into its true self. He ran his fine fingers over his great big nose, his cheeks, his eyelashes.  He knew every line. His fingers came away from his eyes wet with tears. He couldn’t help but smile through them, a smile full of the greatest gratitude he had known in his life. “Thank you,” he murmured, turning to the fairy, hardly able to see her through the mist in his eyes. “Thank you!”

His real voice.

She nodded, smiling wryly. “Well, I guess you are human.” Casually, she snapped her fingers.

Almost instantly, Graham’s whole body reverted. His arms and legs snapped back like stretchy putty released, and he lost half his height. His skin shuddered, rippling and goosebumping. The sensation was something like plunging into a freezing pool through a layer of algae. The warmth inside him extinguished. Then green, and claws, and long, floppy ears flattening against his neck. He plopped to the ground, landing gracelessly on his bottom. 

He hardly processed the jolt his ankle took when he made impact, or the forest’s restored brightness. She had turned him back. Back into a goblin. “What?” he growled, rounding on her and shaking with sudden fury. “Didn’t you see? Couldn’t you tell? I wanted to be myself again! I thought you were helping me!”

“Aww,” the fairy jeered, crouching down to the ground with him and tilting her head to one side. “Are we having a tantrum? Is that the king or the goblin side coming out, I wonder?”

“Turn me back,” he said sternly, stumbling to his feet. “I need to be human. My kingdom’s under attack as we speak. They need me.”

She rose and patted his cheek. Her touch only made him aware that his skin had curdled again. “Take it from me,” she said. “As a human, you’re not much to write home about. Better stick with the twitchy ears, little guy. You’re cute as a button.”

With a surge of ferocity, Graham snarled and shoved her backward. She squeaked and tripped over her own feet into a tall patch of bracken. He started forward angrily, unsure of anything but that he would make her understand the gravity of his situation. But with its customary unfortunate timing, his ankle buckled, and he sank to one knee, wincing and sucking his teeth to keep from snarling further. The voice of reason surfaced. Keep your head. Don’t give in to that side. Anything but that.

The fairy sat up and stared, her jaw hanging open. “Oh. Oh. Did I do that?” There was a long pause as they pulled themselves together. Then the first note of sympathy since her realization that he was human entered her voice. “I see you have a bad foot. Do you… do you want me to put you back up in the air a while longer?” “I’m fine. I’ll just sit down,” said Graham, leveling his voice and grabbing at a branch to support himself. He nearly pitched over. It was a flimsy evergreen, and it wobbled in his hand.

The fairy chewed her lip uncomfortably, and her hands glowed again, though he hadn’t seen her touch anything. “Okay.” 

In a moment, he was steady again. The same unseen power carried his legs out from under him. “None of that now!” he shouted, but he need not have worried. The magic set him down carefully in a seated position, propped up against a generous oak, and his foot elevated on a mossy stone.  

She settled herself on the farthest side of the clearing from him, folding her hands in her lap. “I don’t like seeing a little goblin hurting,” she mumbled, hanging her head and sounding a bit ashamed. “Even if they’re actually a human king.” She spoke more slowly. “I won’t touch your foot if you don’t want me to, but I’d like to make this better, if you’ll let me. I mean, not magically. But I could find food, or a change of bandages, or something.”

Graham took a deep breath, and pushed away the sneering, angry remarks he could have made. “I… am grateful you want to help me,” he said carefully. “But you would help me and my people a lot more if you worried less about my foot and more about the spell I’m under. You’ve already shown me it’s easy for you to break it. So…”

Yet again, she interrupted him, twiddling her thumbs and shaking her head with a doleful smile. “I think you’ve jumped to conclusions here, um… What’s your name?”

“Graham.”

“Graham. Mine’s Orri. Yeah. So, I didn’t break any spell just now. I just took a quick peek at your real form. It’s a pretty basic magical maneuver, and it doesn’t actually change anything.”

“Well, it certainly felt real,” Graham said, rubbing his ears.

“I guess it would. But it would have undone itself in a few seconds anyway. It’s just a peeling back of the magic for a moment to get a glimpse. It’s not a transformation.” Orri looked up and met his gaze with a disheartened shrug. “I couldn’t turn you into a human if I wanted to - not without a wish, and those are, um, pretty serious.”

“A wish?” Graham stiffened, and he stared at her fixedly. “You mean you could grant a wish?”

Orri heaved a sigh that was more sincere than anything she had said thus far. “Full truth here for a second? I’ve never done wishes before, exactly. Humans aren’t really my thing, if you couldn’t guess. I mean, technically I could probably do it. But it’s messy. Messy for you, messy for me. And give me another ten minutes and I won’t feel so bad about hurting your foot, and I’ll just be mad at you again for not being a real goblin.” 

Something crinkled in the corner of her eye. A new light came over her features, literally, and traveled all the way to the ends of her hair. “I mean, I suppose I could make you into a real goblin. That’s loads easier than going the other way ‘round, and it wouldn’t take a wish!” Orri's enthusiasm grew with every word. She practically bounced up and down where she sat.“Oh man. Oh man, I could totally handle that! We’ll just sand down your mind a bit, make a few simplifications …”

“Oh, no, no! That won’t be necessary,” stammered Graham. He forced himself to stay calm, trying to pull her back to her more collected state. “Er, ouch, my foot, my poor foot!”

But Orri  was back in full swing, already leaping into his personal space again. “Oh Graham, that would solve everything! Just a few tweaks in that little head of yours, and no more sad king. Your mother taught you all your nursery rhymes and fairy tales when you were a boy, I hope?”

“M-my sister, actually,  but that’s -”

“Then you’re ready! You’d be so happy. I mean, you could still be a little grumpypants if you wanted to. It’s not like they don’t get mad sometimes. But most of the time, they just act out stories, and make costumes and stuff. Not a care in the world.” Her fingers began to glow an intense white, and she wiggled them playfully in his direction. “Why don’t you just give me your hands, and I can - ”

In spite of his resolve to stay even-keeled, Graham started crawling backwards, crab style, trying to put the oak between himself and Orri. “Oh, I’m sure being a goblin is a real barrel of laughs, but um, I can probably help my kingdom better with my mind intact. So let’s just reroute and-” 

He cried out as she leapt, making a deft grab for his hand. Even before they made contact he could feel power surging from her fingertips like static, connecting with his.  Something vital in him wanted to grab hold of her hand and draw that energy in. But he wrenched himself away in a side roll, panting nervously as he came to a halt lying on his front. He tucked his hands under his stomach as she fluttered down beside him, the blue-white of her skin more intense than the fullest moon. Again, the instinct to use his claws came, but not only would that set him further down the goblinification track, probably, it would only give her access to his hands.

She clicked her tongue consolingly. “You know, little friend, your mind’s already changing to match your body. I took a peek at what you really are, remember?  You don’t have a duty anymore. That’s for humans. You couldn’t help your kingdom for much longer, anyway. Just give me your hands now. It’s just the human side of you being stubborn.” She prodded his side with her foot.

Graham swallowed and dug his fingertips into the patch of soft earth beneath him. “But if I can help them even for a bit, I’ve got to go for it. You said you technically could grant wishes. Can’t we try that first? Nothing to lose, right?” This felt utterly ridiculous, to fight a fairy by lying flat on the ground. But what choice did he have? To this overenthusiastic sprite, he was more or less just a cuddly puppy who was going to the vet’s, whatever he might think about the matter. What would he do if she flew him up in the air again, and he couldn’t hide his hands anymore? Play the world’s highest stakes game of ninja slap until she caught him?

Orri hunched over, and whispered in his enormous ear. “Graham, I don’t have ideas I can be proud of very often,” she said, almost confidingly.  “Just let me have this.” Then she seized his ear, and twisted it where it attached to his head.

“Augh!” It was more than he could stand. He didn’t have much understanding of goblin biology, but he did know that twist was about ten times more painful than he would have expected. Before he could think, he pawed wildly to yank his ear out of her reach, to pry her fingers free.

Her hand clasped his. She didn’t seem to care about the claws. She just held on tight, and twined her fingers through his. He felt the magic lock on to him.

Graham’s thoughts windchimed off each other, too fleeting to follow. His head grew light. She pulled him to his feet. The ground seemed to shake underfoot, but all that felt faraway. Everything outside himself was irrelevant, because it felt like his mind was turning inside out. Something surfaced in his head. Something dauntingly clever and complicated and warm and royal red, and everything in him knew it didn’t belong here in his head. He had to get rid of it now before it could struggle. But it hung on awfully hard as he tried to reject it. But here was something else, edging it out, filling his mind. Yes. Something. Pushing it out for him. Something… good. Something yes. Yes, yes. Something something something rum-tee-tum-tee-tum, yes yes yes. Oho, filling up the corners. Hehehehehehehehe! Yes yes yes!

And then ow! Ow! Hand gone. No more hand! No more yes! Rage! Not fair! Ow! Whack you! Whack you! Someone grabbing. Someone pulling him away. No more magic. Turning it all outside in again. Everything spilling over again. Maybe a touch of nausea - in his mind? If that made sense? Nothing made sense, but it was coming back. His feet weren’t touching the ground, but neither was he floating this time. There were huge, pudgy arms lifting him up. No, not arms. Gigantic fingers. 

Clarity shot through him. Olfie had him in his careful grasp, and the forest clearing below was a good twenty feet beneath him. Even with dark vision, Graham couldn’t see Orri anywhere. He craned his head back to look up at the bridge troll’s honest, hideous face. “Olfie!” he cried, overwhelmed with relief. “Oh, Olfie!” Olfie smiled, not without concern, lifting him up to look at him straight on. “You okay, King Goosie? Saw you were havin’ some fairy trouble down there. Did she try something?”

“No, I’m good.” Graham said, his chest still tense with stress but trying to let it go. His head bobbled on his neck and the world swam a bit, but fixing his eyes on Olfie’s face gave him a point of reference to stabilize from. “I think you didn’t arrive a moment too soon, though! Is she - did you see where she went?”

“Disappeared as soon as I got a hold on you.”

“Praise the consultations.” Graham muttered as Olfie propped him up in his palm. “I mean the consolati- no, the constellations. Sorry. She tried to mess with my head, and I might still be coming back from it.”

Olfie nodded, about as sagely as a troll could. “Gotta watch out for them. Always pulling tricks. One time they got Pillare thinking she was croissant, and you don’t want to hear how that went down at the meeting. Glad it’s all okay for you. So, I went and got them like you said. You ready for this?”

Graham tried to collect his disoriented thoughts. “You went and got who, now?”

“You told me to get them,” said Olfie. And before Graham could ask any further questions, the troll brought his two hands together - the palm where Graham leaned against his fingers, and the other - where to Graham’s astonishment, sat two of his royal guards, cross-legged in full uniform. Numbers One and Two. 

Number One gasped.

[densesindealer]

Neo World: Pacification Project, Chapter Two

Hello again! @thelewdpokemanik and I are back, more than pleased, to bring you another part of our story! We've really been having fun writing this and I hope we can keep our updates pretty evenly spaced.

As always you can still find this story on AO3 here.

So without further ado, we hope you all enjoy!

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Chapter Two: Devoted to Hope

This entire situation felt almost unreal, though bizarre as it was, it still wasn’t unbelievable for someone like him, unlike for his classmates. His life had been anything but ordinary. He could keep his calm in these kinds of situations. His classmates, on the other hand, yelled and fought, proclaiming their disbelief one moment and their despair the next. Afraid, angry, resigned…hopeless. All of it disgusted him, in truth. That damnable two-toned bear, his plan to have them all kill each other- It was repulsive. It wasn’t fostering hope, only a twisted malediction, Monokuma’s mad craving of despair.

Even though the black and white bear had managed to defeat their supposed protector, their field trip advisor, he still backed away after their encounter, letting the students stew in his words about their new lives. Though Nagito noted that the bear seemed to be backing down oddly, as though something about his encounter with Usami caused him to retreat even in supposed victory.

The yelling of his fellow classmates grew tiring, and he tuned most of them out. Their hopelessness made his skin crawl, but he supposed he understood. He didn’t quite ignore all of them though. Byakuya was the stand out, the exception. He took the time to space out his thoughts before he spoke, and when he did, his words carried weight.

It was a rousing speech if he was being honest, one above what Nagito expected when looking upon the faces of his classmates.

The affluent progeny preached of trust first and foremost, coming together because not doing so would be giving Monokuma exactly what he wanted. The bear sought to make them uneasy, distrusting, prime candidates to fall into the trap of committing a murder.

He wanted them to despair.

What truly stood out to him about Byakuya’s speech was what his mind usually focused itself on. The underlying sentiment of something greater, something to be cherished. 

Hope.

It made him giddy to even think about. However small the flame may burn within the others, someone else besides himself knew the wonders hope could bring them. At the very least, he knew when it was needed, though if you asked Nagito, he would always say it was a necessity. 

The rest of his speech barely landed on his ears, not that it truly needed to, just one small word, one small theme and his brain was running with it. Of course this was what was needed. Hope. It’s what this must have been made for, this killing game, this design for despair.

It was all made for one purpose, to bring out hope from the depths of despair.

He needed to thank Byakuya at some point, if not for him his thoughts would be amiss. He wouldn’t know how he could bring his classmates hope. Now? Well, now it was as simple as it could possibly be, just waiting for a golden opportunity. Oh yes, this would all be perfect. They’d all know of Hope and they’d understand his love for that glorious feeling.

Even if they needed to overcome immense despair to get there.

He was so lost in his own thoughts, he barely noticed when the others began to break away. The lucky student didn’t contribute to their conversations about the possibility of one of them being responsible for this. It didn’t matter who did it, they would deserve his thanks too, for an opportunity to show so many people, his betters in all ways that mattered, the joys of his beloved hope. That would be better than anything he could have ever dreamed of.

The chance to show those who were so much more deserving of their talents, of their ultimate titles what true hope felt like? The thought made him giddy. He couldn’t help himself, even if he’d wanted to. A small chuckle escaped his lips.

“Uh… You doing okay there?” Hajime stood in front of him, a wide-eyed look on his plain face.

Ah, the boy was nervous around him. He must have made for quite the sight.

“I’m fine, it’s just a lot to take in.” It wasn’t truly a lie. It was a lot to take in, this chance he had. One he intended to make the most of.

“Yeah, to think this would happen… It’s just… It doesn’t make any sense.” Hajime seemed more at ease speaking to him, strange for the quick suspicion from not even a minute before.

Nagito didn’t really care. Of all the students here, Hajime was the one he favored the least. He didn’t know his own talent, and Nagito would have doubted he had one if not for his admission into Hope’s Peak Academy. Still he supposed he was an Ultimate, so perhaps it was too harsh an assessment when compared to himself.

Hajime may not have remembered his talent, but whatever it was, it surely couldn’t have made the boy as useless as his own.

“Do… Do you think someone might really consider murder?” His concern was still evident, seeking comfort from the same person who’d been his crutch since they’d first arrived here.

“Of course not! You need to have faith in your classmates, Hajime!” Nagito answered quickly, the words rolling off his tongue with ease. 

That was a particularly cruel lie, he supposed, but it was in that cruelty that he would hopefully find the strength to grow, and prove he was worthy of his title of Ultimate. 

The boy wouldn’t understand if Nagito told him the truth anyway. There was no doubt someone was planning a murder. Hajime just so happened to be talking to them. The when, why and who still remained a mystery, even to him, but he knew it would come to him in time. After all, luck was on his side, as it always had been.

With Hajime reasonably cowed, his questions ceased, and thankfully he left to find the others. Ah, Nagito was alone now, well properly alone anyways. The Ultimates must have all spread out while he had been preoccupied.

That was good. It gave him time to think, to plan, to look around. He did need a foundation for a murder if he wanted any chance of showing them the treasure that was hope.

He wandered around the first island, the only one they had access to. The others were guarded by those threatening machines Monokuma called monobeasts. His options were rather limited by that, but it wasn’t necessarily a problem. He would simply have to use this adversity to help him come up with an even more despondent murder. 

The lucky student was careful to avoid any prolonged interactions with many of the other students. They had better people to spend their time on than wasting it on him. That didn’t mean he didn’t keep an eye on them, however. It was important to learn enough about them to foster their hope as much as he could whilst he was around.

Not to mention he needed a target, someone that provided less than everyone else. The runt of the litter that would help the others grow stronger.

The Rocketpunch Market was filled to the brim with mostly useless items, a disappointment to be sure, but not a problem nonetheless.  He needed tact, a mystery to his crime, the items in the supermarket would be more fit for a hands-on approach. How could they overcome their despair if the answer was right in front of them? There wouldn’t be a journey, no obstacles to overcome. That was where hope flourished, in the face of overwhelming odds. When no avenues seemed to lead to an answer, when the night seemed the darkest, only then would hope shine through!

He wondered idly if Monokuma already knew what he was planning, if he was watching him, thinking he’d already fallen into despair. 

If he was, he’d sorely misunderstood the lucky student’s intent.

The next few locations he visited were somehow even less useful than the supermarket. The airport was empty of anything other than planes missing their engines, the ranch devoid of anything other than Gundham and the animals he had apparently taken a quick liking to. 

At least the beach had something that caught his attention. Shaped like a coconut tree in its concept, but it was far from it. It was called the MonoMono Machine, clearly a machine full of prize capsules, with a slot for coins. It intrigued him, especially given his talent, but lacking anything to use with the machine it was merely something of interest to note.

“Well that’s not beary fair!” Monokuma cried out, jumping out from wherever it had been hiding, and already Nagito wished for this interaction to end.

“What do you want?” He could never sound this irritated with an Ultimate, but this monster focused on despair- It was everything Nagito hated in one bear-shaped package.

“Oh, only what any other bear would want. Violent deaths, supreme chaos, the loving embrace of sweet, sweet despair~” The bear’s voice was as sickeningly sweet as his first appearance only a few hours ago, but something seemed strange. A slight twitching of his ears, a dimming of his mechanical eye as he spoke that seemed almost involuntary. Was he malfunctioning?

“Though right now, I’m here to help! Be grateful for your teacher’s kindness, you brat!” Even with an offer of supposed aid, his voice still made Nagito’s insides twist in disgust.

Before he could even utter a word, Monokuma thrust out one of his paws, a handful of copper coins resting upon it.

“These, my dearest- well, not quite- lucky student, are Monocoins!”

“For the prize machine, then?” Nagito barely wished to speak more than he had to, at least not with this two-toned monstrosity.

“Not just any prize machine! It's the MonoMono Machine!” Monokuma insisted, making Nagito grimace, before carefully reaching out, and plucking the coins out of the bear’s hand.

Without a second thought, he wiped his hands on his pants, to cleanse them of any of the filth that may have tarnished them from Monokuma’s despair-laden paws.

Nagito held up a coin to his eye, turning it so it could catch the bright light of the moon, revealing the engraved visage of the despairful bear upon it. Truly hopeless. “So…”

“Soooooo, it’s the most amazing machine anyone could ever dream of! All you need to do is put in a few Monocoins, and anything you could ever hope for may be waiting for you in one of those pods!”

Nagito blinked despite himself. “Anything?”

“Yep, correctamundo! You hit the nail on the head! Anything at all!”

“Even-”

“Yes, even a way off this island, a one-way ticket to your own freedom!” Monokuma answered eagerly, completely missing what Nagito was actually about to ask, though from the eager glint in his mechanical eye…

Maybe the Mono-Mono Machine could actually give him something to help him plan a murder, and Monokuma understood more than he let on.

It didn’t matter, in truth. No matter what Monokuma thought, wanted, or planned. 

Hope would win out in the end. Nagito was certain of it.

“I see.” He finally settled on, making Monokuma stomp his foot childishly.

“‘I see’? That’s it!? I give you a beary generous donation, a chance of escape and the only response I get is an ‘I see?’ You ungrateful little-”

Whatever tirade Monokuma decided to go on afterward fell on deaf ears, being tuned out in favor of not having to listen to him drone on. Instead, the lucky student shifted his attention to the MonoMono Machine. Even though he loathed accepting help from such a despair-fueled creature, Nagito deposited the few coins Monokuma had given him in the slot and spun the handle.

The machine lit up, and began playing obnoxiously loud music. It was far too much if you asked him. The lights were too bright, too garish and the music was almost as grating as Monokuma’s voice, which was fitting given it was named after him. A, thankfully, short few seconds passed before the slot at the bottom of the tree opened and out came a capsule. Then a second came soon after, he must have been luc- a third followed suit, and perhaps it only took a single coin to-

“Wowie! That’s super duper ultra mega rare right there! That’s the big jackpot, three prize pods for the price of one is the biggest prize you can get!” Monokuma was almost standing on top of him, his words reverberating in his ear. It was his luck then. Though, if it meant Monokuma getting so up-close and personal, perhaps it was bad luck rather than good.

Not that he should have been surprised. While he liked to think hope defined him well, his luck was a constant presence in his life too.

Once more ignoring the bear, much to its chagrin, he popped open a capsule, which made a surprisingly satisfying sound. Probably not enough to justify sitting through that light show again, but still-

Oh? “A can of glowing paint?” Nagito said out loud, pleasantly surprised. This was surprisingly practical. His earlier thought came back to him as he read the information on the metallic can. A ray of hope shining through the night, hm?

Well, if the first capsule was a success, he might as well check the other two. Two more pleasant pops, and two more capsules were opened, which contained a notebook and a pen respectively. Again, surprisingly practical. He flipped the notebook open, testing out the pen on the inside for a moment, and watched as it wrote neatly a few words, before pausing.

Nagito looked around him for a moment, dreading having to speak with it, but he needed at least some form of an answer to his question.

“How exactly, would one get more coins for this?” Monokuma gave him a devilish grin in response. Hm, odd to be able to use that word to describe the smile of a plushie-like bear.

“Upupupu, piqued your interest, did I? Well, it’s quite simple really, just bear with me here! They’re all over this place, I hid ‘em all over when all of you were busy with Monomi’s trashy romance plot!” A simple question, answered in such a drawn out manner… He was beginning to hate Monokuma for more than just his love of despair.

He hummed for a moment, contemplating his next choices, before deciding this was enough time with the monochrome animatronic. He looked over his shoulder, back toward Hotel Mirai, debating his options.

Well, he hadn’t gotten this far by ignoring his luck, had he? Maybe he could come back to the machine if need be. He just needed to find some of those coins laying about to use it again. Even if that meant dealing with the migraine-inducing lightshow and that god-awful racket that was supposed to pass as music. 

For now, however, Nagito began making his way back to the Hotel, some basis of a plan forming in his mind, but it was still a work in progress. At least for now, he could grab something quick to fuel himself, and work out the other details as he ate in the safety of his room.

But, before he could reach his cottage, after passing a rather excitable Teruteru in the kitchen and Chiaki focused intensely on whatever game she was playing in the hotel lobby, his eye caught on something. A rather innocuous building. It wasn’t being used, and he remembered Monomi warding Hajime and himself away because it was in a state of disrepair. Maybe… Another piece of the puzzle was slowly coming together in his mind.

If he’d been warned away, it was likely everyone else had been as well. If he was lucky, nobody would think to walk into the old hotel building, and he’d be entirely free from prying eyes. If push came to shove, he would simply be able to say he was exploring the building because Monomi had made it seem so suspicious. 

Glancing around as quickly as he could while staying discreet, he cracked open the door of the building and slipped inside, certain nobody was around to see him. Well, Monomi certainly had been correct about the building being dirty. The ground was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the ceilings were littered in cobwebs. Why have the building here in the first place if they would just let it wither away like this?

He let out a breath, noticing how even the air felt heavy to take in, but as he continued to trek onward and explore, a gracious smile crossed his face. He was thankful Monomi had seen fit to ward anyone who thought of entering this building away. It made his plan nearly perfect.

A location where nobody would have had the time to learn the layout? The warning itself was a decent safeguard now that everybody was on edge thanks to Monokuma’s announcement of this killing game. Of course, he had luck on his side. Maybe a few more trips to the MonoMono Machine once he’d managed to scrounge up what coins he could find and he would be all set to achieve his goal.

Though it may have been a bit too early for that.

Nagito knew he could always lure someone here to act as his stepping stone towards a larger goal and strike away from everyone else, but that would hardly do. He needed something bigger, something better. In the darkness of the old hotel, inspiration struck. What he needed was a party, or at the very least, the perception of one. 

He already knew who would be trusted enough to be able to gather his classmates for him, and he’d already shown he sought to protect everyone else. Byakuya couldn’t be his target, but he would certainly be a great deal of help in bringing one to him. It was finally connecting, what needed to be done, and in the silence of the rundown halls, he let himself laugh. The path forward seemed so clear! This was exactly what he had to do.

Not for himself, but for his classmates, for their hope. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Walking away from Byakuya’s bungalow in the early hours of the morning, before anyone was liable to wake up, Nagito felt his plan was rather exceptional. The letter had been a nice touch, his luck from that garish machine paying off. Truthfully, his plan relied on quite a large amount of luck, though relying on that had never been a weak point of his. 

There wasn’t much else he could do at the moment. The first dominoes were in place, and the rest couldn’t come until much later. Thus, he settled on the most logical option, creating a backup plan, just in case he had miscalculated in his initial approach. While the letter should work well enough to cause Byakuya to gather the rest of their class, there was no real guarantee anybody would care to listen. That would bring a whole host of problems to his initial plan if it occurred, so it was better to be safe than sorry.

He pat his pockets idly, just to make sure he hadn’t managed to misplace them. Monocoins. He’d found quite a large amount of them over the course of the night, so many that he doubted anybody else cared to look for them. Not that it mattered, it was actually quite fortunate that nobody would want to use the machine. It gave him better odds to find something that could prove useful.

Nagito opted to move silently, or at least as quietly as one could with an exorbitant amount of change bouncing around in their pockets. He didn’t particularly fear waking anyone, but should anyone else be up and about, he certainly wouldn’t want to gain their attention. He strolled down to the beach, and, having failed to run into anyone, it was likely they were all still fast asleep. Like this, he didn’t have to worry about the sounds of the MonoMono Machine attracting any attention.

He fished around in his pockets for a few moments, trying to take a few coins in hand, enough to spin the machine a few times. Had it always looked like this? It seemed, well, different, for lack of a better word. He reasoned that it was the work of the early morning light making it appear taller than before. It was unlikely that Monokuma would bother with changing the height of the machine when it didn’t serve any functional purpose, other than perhaps making whoever used it feel small and insignificant.

Well, now that he thought about it, that did seem to be a very Monokuma-esque thing to do.

Regardless of his thoughts on the matter, the machine seemed just as harmless as it had been the previous day. He could say he was hoping he would get lucky with his capsules, but when had he ever been anything but lucky? A few coins went into the slot, and he braced himself for what was undoubtedly the worst-

What?

Did…did it always sound like this? Those lights weren’t the same either, right? Was it Monokuma’s lingering presence that had made them so unbearable the last time he had used it?

He had no reasonable explanation for what was happening, Monokuma wouldn’t have changed all of this just because one person was put off by it. That didn’t even fit the despair-hungry bear’s entire motivation. That only left him begging the question of why, how it had changed, it was…almost pleasant now.

The lights, instead of being a garish mix of black, white and red, were now a significantly milder tone. Shades of pink were littered about in the lights, with the occasional contrast of a baby blue light to break up its monotony. He wouldn’t say it was the most gorgeous appearance the MonoMono Machine could have, but it was certainly an improvement from what it had been.

The music itself was surprisingly toned down as well, not nearly as loud, and certainly not as mind-numbing. Softer than expected, yet somehow it complimented the lights well enough that he couldn’t say he minded. At least his trip here wouldn’t be excruciating. This wasn’t a change the lucky student had expected, but it was certainly not unwelcome.

He was so focused on the changes to the machine he hardly noticed when his prize capsule fell from the slot, only catching on when the music stopped and the lights went out. 

It wasn’t that important to wonder why it changed, he had a larger goal here.

Nagito swiftly reached out, grasping the capsule in his hands. He already felt his luck paying off and it wasn’t even opened yet. A single pop, was that different too? No, it sounded just as pleasant as it had before, so at least that hadn’t changed. 

Though perhaps he shouldn’t have thought he was going to be lucky on his first attempt; this reward screamed useless, at least for the purpose of his goals. Out of the capsule, his hands grasped a singular earring, missing its other half. This couldn’t even be used well as a gift to a classmate.

He supposed it was fair that he would receive something he couldn’t make use of on his first spin of the day; he did, after all, earn three rewards that all proved to have a purpose in one go the previous day. Well, it wasn’t a problem, he had more than enough Monocoins to spare.

Another few coins went in the slot, another twist of the machine’s handle. Anticipation filled him, surely it would be better this time. As he waited, he couldn’t stop himself from observing the changes once more. They were actually pretty nice, if nothing else. The lights, the more he studied them, were soothing and the music was extremely calming. This was more akin to what he felt Monomi would have put on the islands rather than Monokuma.

He tried not to dwell on either, but the dulcet tones it provided were admittedly catchy and hard to ignore. They were a pleasant sound you’d have a hard time finding on the island.

Oh. 

The machine’s reward had come out again and he hadn’t been paying attention. Why did he care so much if one of the animatronics had changed the machine’s appearance? It’s not like it was going to disrupt his chance to help his plan along.

He didn’t hesitate to reach out once more, and with another pop, still the most pleasant part of this process if you asked him, he had his reward in hand.

Another earring. How…invigorating.

It matched the first, so at least he had a proper pair now, and, he supposed of all possibilities, a pair of earrings someone else may like as a gift wasn’t the worst outcome. Perhaps it wasn’t bad luck, though he doubted he’d have the time to ever find who would wish to receive them. They weren’t simple, per se, they would hang down past the ears, and the insignia on them held no real meaning to him, but he supposed the hearts on them might be to someone else’s taste.

If anything, he was almost certain Ibuki would at least try them out. He knew she had enough piercings to at least test them out before tossing them. Sonia may take them too, if only because she would feel bad turning down a gift, likely not wanting to insult what was a new custom she didn’t understand. For now though, he stowed them away, feeling them land heavily in his empty pocket.

More coins, a third spin, his eyes following those lights, and that soft music drifting into his mind. He almost wished the music was a bit louder, he wanted to hear more of it. No complaints about the lights, they were perfectly bright and absolutely eye-catching.

They weren’t truly a problem as they were, chasing out any lingering thoughts about the earrings, and letting him focus on what was truly important.

Yes!

His capsule popped out, and he found himself more excited than he had for the previous two. Surely this one would be good, and even if it wasn’t, the way those prize pods popped was a delightful enough sound that it served as a reward of its own.

The lucky student deftly reached out for the pod, and didn’t pause for even a moment before he opened it. The pop of it made his brain tingle for just a moment, a smile gracing his face despite himself, and he eagerly looked toward his reward. 

It wasn’t immediately obvious to him what this was. An unassuming, closed disc-like shape. Taking notice of the small clasp, he pressed whatever he had received open. What greeted him was the sight of a white haired boy, who’s gray eyes peered hazily back at him.

Ah, a compact mirror.

Nagito stared at his own reflection for a few moments longer, watching himself blink once, and then twice, before shaking his head and closing it. Well, it wasn’t completely useless like the, the- earrings, but he wasn’t exactly certain how he could use a compact mirror either, except for what he’d just done. Still, he carefully put the mirror away in a pocket of his coat, and turned his attention back toward the machine.

This one was going to be the one, he could feel it. This one was where his luck would start to turn around. Another handful of coins in the slot, a quick turn of the handle, and-

That delightful music immediately flooded his ears and drowned out the sounds of the waves crashing onto the shore of the beach. The machine once more lit up and drew in his attention, the soft shades of pink and the baby blue lights rotating around peacefully. They certainly did wonders to focus Nagito’s mind.

Yes! Yes! Yes!

His reward came out, and he couldn’t help the animated excitement that flooded his body. There wasn’t a motion wasted between the capsule coming out of the machine and his hands shooting out to collect it. The ever present pop of the prize pod made him let out a wistful sigh, it was definitely the most pleasurable part of this. He carefully dumped the contents of the capsule into his waiting hands.

At first he struggled to wrap his mind around what this was even supposed to be, yet it spoke to him more than either of the earrings did. He turned it over in his grip, noting the small metal chain dangling from one of its ends, and the buckle that allowed you to adjust it. It was almost like a small…um…belt? Yeah! Like a belt.

Ohhhh, it was a collar! How didn’t he notice right away!

He wanted to say it was useless…but…even if it was just a bit feminine, it did look really appealing, and he wanted to use at least one of his rewards. He’d earned them after all, so why shouldn’t he?

Carefully unbuckling his gift, he slipped it around his neck, making sure not to make it too tight and allowing it to rest comfortably on his skin. He opened up the mirror he’d received earlier to look himself over, and beamed. The deep black of the collar contrasted with his pale skin and white hair wonderfully. Though, he paused for a moment in his admiration of his new accessory. His adam's apple seemed almost imperceptible, was it even still there? No, that wouldn’t make sense, the collar must have just done a good job of hiding it.

He was overthinking it, probably just a trip of his perception, especially given he’d never worn a…no…hadn’t he always been…? Idly, he scratched at his chest, a frown pulling at his features as he tried to think about it, before shaking his worries away. Whatever, it didn’t really matter. The gorgeous collar was on and his concerns were quieted, leaving him free to focus on what really mattered.

Fifth time had to be the charm. That was the umm… the saying, right? It probably shouldn’t have been difficult to remember, but he found that it was a strain to think about. Well, he shouldn’t be focusing on something pointless like that anyway. Not when this wonderful machine was right in front of him!

He barely even thought about the act of slotting the coins, that wasn’t what he needed to focus on. It was what came after that always struck him more, that always grabbed his attention.

Oh…yes…that was it…

The music drifted to his ears, and he felt his entire body slump in relaxation. Those pesky thoughts from before faded away, and he felt more at ease than ever before. No worries, just the velvety tones of the machine, where all of his attention ought to-

No! That couldn’t be right! He couldn’t just focus on that, what the hell was he thinking!? There was no way he could just listen to those sounds as if it was all that mattered!

Not when those utterly astounding lights were there to accompany them! It would be unthinkable to give all his attention to the music when those pinks and blues were right there to remind him of their presence. They were begging to be looked at, and he couldn’t ignore their plea. 

He wouldn’t even say he wanted to, why would he when they made such a…um…such a…

The words felt like they wouldn’t form through the thick cloud in his mind. He could barely remember what he’d even been getting at. Well if he’d forgotten, it probably wasn’t important. Not like the music, the lights, the-

Pop

He hadn’t even noticed he’d grab the prize capsule, but how could he even dream of ignoring that delicious sound. That fuzzy feeling that lit up in his brain, navigating the fog, all to reward him for opening it up, just for listening.

The items inside fell into his hands with a lively giggle, this wasn’t a bad reward at all. It was confusing at first, trying to focus on what he’d received, but it only took a few moments to realize what it was. 

It’s…it’s um…one of those…make-up sets?

He’d seen girls use them before, but he wasn’t quite sure if that was what they were called. It was just a small bag of varied cosmetics, most of which he could confidently say weren’t familiar to him.

Delicately rummaging around in the bag, he tried to think of what use it could serve him. Worrying his lip in contemplation, he pulled out a tube of lipstick. It had very pretty deep jade coloring to it, and he had to admit that it was eye-catching. It wasn’t something he would use himself, but…

His mind drifted off for a moment, failing to actually come up with a conclusion to that line of thought, and his eyes briefly left the item in his hands to look back at the machine that had so generously donated this to him. It was a gift, wasn’t it? He couldn’t just give it away. 

More than that, it was a reward he had earned. He couldn’t just throw away something he had worked so hard to gain. Not when it was the MonoMono Machine that had given it to him.

The warring thoughts quelled, Nagito knew what was needed. He twisted the bottom of the tube, cautious not to damage it with clumsy movements, lest he destroy his hard-earned gift. His nails clicked gently against the plastic as he did, making him blink for a moment. When was the last time he trimmed them? Well, they didn’t actually look so out of place, instead complimenting his delicate fingers. He had more important things to worry about anyway. He pressed the tube to his lips, ready to at least try it for himself and-

Heavenly.

It was the only word that he could think of that could even remotely begin to describe the sensation. The tube had only touched his lips for a moment but his body was immediately awash in abject delight. It felt extraordinary, mind-numbingly blissful, and he barely even recognized the fact he somehow knew how to put it on.

That was such a silly notion, it made it sound like he’d just learned the skill. How would he not know how to apply his makeup if he wore it every day?

He couldn’t help the giddy shaking of his fingers as he moved them back into the bag, eager to try the rest of his gifts. Simple black mascara that was no less appealing, deep jade eyeliner to match his lipstick which he applied in thick, curled wings that made his eyes pop.

Pop.

Wasn’t that such a delightful word to think of? It was almost enough to distract him from the last item in his cosmetics bag. A bottle of black nail polish, a change from the more facially targeted items from before. Not that he really cared about that, it was still an important part of his look.

With hands as dainty as his, he always needed a way to make them stand out. He was thankful that this was in his bag, part of his reward, because he really couldn’t remember what he had done with his other bottles. Or at least, that was probably the reason he hadn’t worn any this morning, right? He scratched at his chest for a moment before he applied the nail polish, no sense in ruining his work because he had an itch before his nails had dried. 

With delicate strokes, he slowly painted his nails, and felt immediate relief in the wow factor he always longed for. The deep coloring of the black polish stood out just as he wanted when contrasting his pale skin. He blew on each of his nails for a moment, just to hopefully help his nails set, he certainly didn’t want their shine or beauty to fade.

His chest was getting irritated again, he really hated this shirt. The material always felt loose and everytime it brushed against his rather large chest he felt the urge to scratch at himself. Wait…was that…did that seem right? Were his…were his…his, like, uh… What were those again? 

Nagito stared down at himself for a moment longer before shaking his head. Either way, his stupid shirt didn’t fit, and he hated it.

His coat wasn’t much better. The faded green wasn’t exactly a welcome color, and the material felt ratty and aged. Maybe he’d see if he could borrow something from another student. That could come later though, he had bigger concerns.

He’d spent so much time relishing in his reward that he had taken his attention away from the machine. That just wouldn’t do, not at all. Taking just a few moments to check over his nails to make sure they were properly dry, he reached a hand into his pocket to fish out more coins for the machines.

The lights came back, and he blinked dumbly up at them, they seemed almost…bri…bri…brighter now? They were just so pretty that it was hard to even think of what he had wanted to say. The only thing missing was the-

The music returned and an unrepentant squeal left his lips in his excitement to let it flood into his mind. It was…was…um…like louder now? God it was so hard to think of words when those pretty lights kept distracting him and that delicious music made his head go blissfully numb.

He couldn’t help but let a blissful moan escape his lips at the wonderful treatment from the music and lights. It made him feel feminine, and that made him giggle vapidly. Feminine was such a cute word, it made him feel all warm and fuzzy.

Hehe Yay!

This was her…his? Yeah…um…his right? Whatever, it was the best part! The caps…capsa…capsu…the little thingie that made that-

Uhhh…

The moan ended his train of thought as the pod made that wonderful pop that left his knees buckling. The experience was just so pleasurable that he couldn’t help himself from enjoying it. The pops always managed to seep into his brain, even through the blissful haze the music and lights always left for him, just to make sure he knew he was being rewarded. 

My reward!

See! She…no…um…he knew the pops were the best part! They always brought him rewards, even if it was hard to remember that under the delight of the machine’s other features. Her…his…fingers reached out and grabbed the gift, a large pod for her, a bigger reward for him to enjoy! 

God he could barely even see what he received, his unruly hair was getting in his eyes. While she’d never…he’d never minded that it cascaded down to the small of his back, even if it was an untamed mess of waves and curls, the fact it was in his face was so aggravating! He tried his best to part his hair as neatly as he could with most of it to one side. This was so much better! Now she could see properly and everybody could see his pretty makeup.

This must have been the most lucky gift yet! He’d just been complaining about how he needed to get some new clothes and the machine was rewarding her more than ever! Their colors were absolutely gorgeous, and they matched his makeup so well!

Carefully unfolding them, she sucked in a giddy breath and squealed! This hoodie was utterly perfect, it wasn’t as long as his old one and it was the same color as his lipstick! It would make his collar pop, she just knew it! What really caught his attention was the design on the right side of it. It was a gorgeous maroon vine that stood out against the green of the rest of the hoodie. 

The vine started on the sleeve, where her bicep would be when he put it on, and looped over the shoulder down towards the center where the zipper line was. He just wanted to put it on right away but he couldn’t! Not when he hadn’t even checked his other gift yet! 

At first it seemed so simple, just a normal white shirt, but oh, how wrong he was for thinking that. Turning it around a soft gasp slid past her lips, how could she have called this simple? It matched his sweater down to the design, the vine coming from its right side to land over its left side. His eyes couldn’t help but trace the vine, watching every curl and loop until it came to a stop forming a delightfully elegant heart.

His breath hitched as she finally saw the words, in stylized calligraphy, lodged inside of the heart. 

‘Good Girl’

The words bounced around in his mind. His mind? Why did that feel so wrong…he…wasn’t he a…? Was he? The notion felt so wrong, so heavy. Holding on to the thought was a strain. It didn’t make sense and it left him feeling dizzy. Why would the shirt have something like this written on it?

‘Good Girl’

Her eyes had drifted back down to the writing in a daze. Why would the shirt have something like this written on it? The answer felt so obvious now. Just like the fuzzy-feeling pops, it was to remind her of the important things.

Not the silly notion of being a boy, those kinds of thoughts made her dizzy. The words were just helping her remember that she didn’t need to be thinking such stupid things. Reminding her of what mattered, the truth, what she was and always had been.

‘Good Girl’

The words were in front of her eyes again and she giggled vapidly. That was right, a good girl, that’s what she was. That was what she was meant to be, not some stupid boy, just a perfectly good girl. The realization made her giddy and her body tingle, her legs shaking at the thought. 

If thinking of what she was, felt this good, how would it feel if she said it? If she announced to the world that she finally realized that she was meant to be a good girl? She had to try it, just once for her own curiosity.

“Good girl.”

The words rolled off her tongue, leaving a heady taste behind them as they did, and her eyes fluttered, a jolt in her lower belly shooting up into her brain and making her gasp.

“I’m- I’m a good girl.” She repeated, and the words were like a thunderbolt, shooting through her. Her legs shook for a moment, weakened for a brief beat of ecstasy that Nagito wished would last so much longer.

Thankfully, she knew exactly how to make it so.

“I’m a good girl~” She repeated again, and whined high in her throat as she did, her eyes screwing shut as her brain lit up like a christmas tree, before dimming further than before. Her heart was beating like mad in her chest, as if trying to break out of its cage through her ribs, and her hand came to rest on it for a moment, only to find a hardened nipple beneath her fingers.

Instinctually, she pinched it, and gasped. Another jolt of pleasure shocked her brain, but she wasn’t satisfied with just this.

“I’m a good girl!” She cried, her hand groping her heaving tit, and her legs collapsed underneath her, though she barely noticed. No, her mind was already chasing the next hit.

“I’m a good girl! I’m a good girl~” She moaned, her free hand pulling at the hem of her pants, almost ripping the button off as she did. She needed to feel even more pleasure. She needed to jack-

Her fingers found her moistened slit, and she moaned as they easily dipped inside. Her earlier thought melted away in pleasure.

“I’m a good girl!” She cried, again and again on the beach, mauling one of her tits and fingering herself desperately, but it was as if there was a ceiling to her pleasure, a cap she just couldn’t breach through no matter how loudly she cried, or how wet she got.

So unfair! Unjust! Nagito was being a good girl, she deserved to cum! She whined, her back arching as she lifted her shirt to grab at her tit directly, only to freeze as her eyes landed on the chain resting there.

The chain leading up to her collar.

Shakily, Nagito grabbed hold of it, the metal feeling cold, and oh-so-strong between her weak fingers. She pulled at it lightly, and her brain melted as she felt her collar being tugged.

Her pleasure-drunk brain tried to make sense of it all. The collar, the makeup, the shirt-

Nagito’s masturbation redoubled in effort as she panted, her eyes staring out into nothing, or perhaps something only she could see.

None of it was for her.

No, those weren’t gifts for her.

She moaned aloud as she pulled at her chain again, letting herself crash into the sand without resistance.

No, those were all for someone else.

Someone to use her.

Someone to own her.

She was a gift for them.

She couldn’t just be a good girl on her own. No, she was someone’s good girl~

Nagito’s eyes rolled for a moment as her fingers flicked at her clit.

“I-I’m a good girl for my master!” She cried in ecstasy, the revelation so profound it wasn’t even washed away by the tidal wave of pleasure that lay waste to everything else in her mind as she came, almost violently.

Her back arched as she loudly announced her pleasure, her loyalty to her master, her discovery of her true place in life-

When she came down from the high of her pleasure, panting and out of breath, she took a moment to try and collect her thoughts, fleeting as they were. Her thighs were soaked in her own juices, and her pants were practically useless now, not that she minded the loss all that much.

With a gasp she lurched forward. She’d nearly forgotten about her gift from her master! She’d be so lost in her own world of pleasure that she’d forgotten to put on the outfit he’d prepared for her. 

Nagito hurriedly collected the clothes she had so thoughtlessly dropped in her pursuit of pleasure and rushed to replace the disgusting garments she was wearing. She only took a moment to wistfully sigh at the symbol on her shirt before draping over herself. It fit perfectly, as expected, clinging to the curves of her chest, leaving enough cleavage in view to let her master know she was always available. It cut off at her midriff, leaving a tantalizing portion of her pale skin visible, just to entice him further. She could almost feel her master’s words through the ink, branding her bare skin. It felt incredible~

The hoodie slipped on with ease, and was as comfortable as she could have dreamed it would be. Of course it was, her master wouldn’t have given it to her otherwise. It hung just to the hem of her pants, which would work well if she ever wished to put herself on display, it wouldn’t cover her from view.

Though thinking back to her pants, she realized they didn’t fit with the rest of her outfit at all, and she was almost thankful they were ruined. Now at least, she’d have the chance to find something prettier to dress herself in, something that would compliment her outfit and make sure her master knew she was a good slutty girl for him~

Maybe the Rocketpunch Market would have some, or something she could borrow from one of the other girls? She didn’t know where she was going to find-

Oh…she was so stupid! The answer was right in front of her.

She let out an airheaded giggle as her eyes traced the machine that started all of this. How had she ever forgotten it, her master must have put it here just for her to use it. No wonder nobody else ever collected any of those coins, they were obviously for her.

Knowing her master had never steered her wrong, she collected the last of her coins from her discarded pants’ pocket, enough for one last spin of the machine, and trusted her luck. No…her silly talent didn’t matter, she trusted her master to reward her. Good girls got the best rewards, and she’d been getting them all.

The machine lit up, its familiar colors a welcome sight, and the rhythmic music returned. She couldn’t help but hum along to its catchy tune as she tapped her fingers against her bare thighs, patiently waiting for her master’s choice. After a few moments, the slot opened and out came the last capsule she could afford.

She carefully opened the capsule and-

Pop!

She moaned whorishly at the sound, her brain going fuzzy, and she felt the urge to show herself off. Her master was asking…no, demanding she do so with the sound. She resisted the urge despite herself, her master wasn’t here right now, it was just reminding her of her place, what she would need to do in the future.

Nagito shook away the pleasurable feeling, even though she wished she could live in its bliss for the rest of her life. She carefully took out the items from the capsule, and sighed happily. Her master didn’t let her down, she knew he wouldn’t.

Her hands grasped at the items carefully, she couldn’t damage a reward from her master, a good girl treated his gifts with respect and love. A pair of lacy jade panties were the first thing she took note of, matching her sweater and her makeup. Not that it mattered much when it came to her sweater; she’d only want to be seen in them when the hoodie, not to mention the rest of her clothes were off, and preferably for her master’s pleasure.

A simple pair of black thigh highs were next, followed by a short black skirt that looked like it would barely go past the pair of panties she had received. Finally a pair of black mary janes to replace her shoes. This was the perfect way to complete her look and she relished in the rewards.

She took a moment to peek around her surroundings to make sure nobody was around to see her. She quickly took off her shoes, stripped off her bottoms and those garish boxers she had been wearing, dropping them in a pile before sliding on the panties and her new skirt as quickly as she could without damaging them.

Once more she checked around her and let out a sigh of relief when it was evident nobody was nearby. She didn’t want to go around letting anybody see her like that, no that was a sight for her master’s eyes only. Finally she slid her new thigh highs up her legs, savoring the way they felt as she did, and then slid on her shoes.

Nagito paused then, taking a moment to appreciate the feel of her new clothes on her body. She finally felt complete, felt that everything was just as it should be. She knew her place, and she finally reflected that for everyone else to see. More importantly, for her master to appreciate. She reflected who she was deep in her soul, the perfect appearance for a good girl like her.

The thought still made her sigh in pleasure, and she felt a familiar urge building up the more she repeated the words. Now though, she was free to seek that feeling whenever, and wherever she wanted, until her master came for her.

With that thought happily lodged in the forefront of her mind, she scooped up her previous clothing, if only to prevent the rule about littering from making a fuss, and collected her empty capsules with them. Humming a familiar melody to herself, she made her way back to her room, sparing the machine that her master had made for her one last glance.

Everything was as it should have been.

No more thoughts about…whatever it was she had been doing yesterday.

No more worries, no more stress, no more planning.

Well, maybe a little planning…after all those capsules gave her a really good idea when she thought about their sound, and they could be a reward in their own way.

She stepped into her room and let out a happy sigh. Good girls deserved rewards, and she had a lot of time to thoroughly reward herself.

Pop! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ It was with her fingers buried deep in her core that the doorbell to her cottage rang. She let out an aggravated groan. She’d been so close and someone just had to come and ruin it! Huffing to herself and wiping off her fingers, she stood up, just in time for the doorbell to ring again.

She heard it the first time, and now it was even more annoying. Swinging open the door she was greeted by the sight of Hajime at her doorstep, his finger primed to press the bell again.

He didn’t say anything, just stared at her, and she realized she must have looked quite the sight. Her clothes were ruffled and her hair was more wild than usual, her skin had an unusual shine to it, coated in sweat. How long had she been lost in the throes of her own pleasure? Did she miss the morning announcement? 

“S…sorry I didn’t mean to wake you.” Really? He finally mustered up the courage to speak and he thought she’d been asleep?

“What did you need?” She tried her best to keep any venom from her tongue and his interruption, not like he could have known what she was doing before he’d arrived.

He went silent again, and his eyes carefully raked over her form. Her face quickly twisted up in disgust as she traced his eyes to her bust.

“Hey! Someone like you doesn’t have the right to check me out!” The disdain must have been evident in her words because his eyes quickly shot back to hers.

“Sorry…Byakuya wanted all of us to get together, guess he needed to say something.” He wisely chose to address his original reason for coming instead of trying to defend his misstep.

“Sure, I’ll be there in a bit, let me just fix up my makeup.” The lucky student didn’t give the boy a chance to respond before she shut the door on him, preventing his roaming eyes from seeing any more of her.

She needed a moment to calm herself once she had closed the entrance to her cottage. Who the hell did he think he was, staring at her like that! She didn’t look like this for him to appreciate, this was all for her master. Someone like Hajime would never understand that he paled in comparison. 

Nagito stopped her train of thought before it could go any further, and took a deep breath. It seemed her earlier act would have to wait until later to be resumed, so she made her way towards her room’s dresser, fetching her cosmetic bag. She drew her compact mirror from her pocket and began to touch up her makeup. She needed to look her best.

She knew her master was watching, somewhere, at least she had hope that he could see her, even now.

When she was certain her appearance was the best she could possibly make it, she once more opened the door to her cottage and stepped out to make her way towards Hotel Mirai. 

The lucky student hoped Byakuya’s message would be quick. This was all such a hassle, but she doubted there was any avoiding it. Though she did wonder what he wanted with all of them, she had better, more pleasurable things to be doing. She would just have to go and see, and then she could get back to doing something worthwhile. 

Dreaming of her master, and being a good girl for him. That was her purpose, after all.

[kjack89]

for the wrapped thing: enjoltaire and uuuh 96?

96. "The Best is Yet to Come" by Sheppard.

A little modern AU, developing relationship E/R NYE comfort.

Enjolras knocked briskly on Grantaire’s door and waited what he deemed an appropriate amount of time before supplementing his knock by calling, “Grantaire?”

“Come in,” Grantaire shouted back, and Enjolras let himself into Grantaire’s apartment. 

His initial scan of the place – cramped and messy as usual – did not reveal its occupant, and he opened his mouth to shout for Grantaire again when he finally spotted him, lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

Enjolras frowned. “What are you doing?”

Grantaire made no effort to sit up. “Lying on my bed,” he said, in what he clearly thought was a helpful way.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I can see that,” he said, with a bite of impatience. “But, uh, why?”

Grantaire made a motion that could have been a shrug, were he sitting upright. “Because.”

“Illuminating,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire lifted his head just enough to scowl at him. “If you came here just to mock me—”

Despite himself, Enjolras held up his hands defensively. “I didn’t,” he said, even though he couldn’t help but add, half under his breath, “Though after all the times you’ve showed up somewhere just to mock me…”

He had hoped to make Grantaire laugh, but Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker before he laid his head back down against the bed. “So why did you come here?”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “Your absence was conspicuous.”

“My– Oh.” Grantaire’s voice was flat. “The New Year’s Eve party.”

Enjolras nodded, frowning slightly at Grantaire’s lack of enthusiasm – or really any emotion whatsoever. “What can I say, it’s not the same without you,” he said, which had the benefit of being another thing to get Grantaire to smile and also the truth.

Once again, Grantaire’s expression didn’t change. “Normally it falls on Joly or Bossuet to come get me when my absence has been noticed.”

“Normally,” Enjolras agreed.

For the first time, Grantaire half sat up, propping himself up on an elbow, his curiosity clearly getting the better of him. “So why’d you volunteer?”

“Who says I didn’t draw the short straw?” Enjolras asked innocently. When Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed. “Fine. Honestly, it’s because everyone else seemed to think we were better off just leaving you alone, that if you didn’t want to be there, we shouldn’t make you.”

A stubborn note crept into his voice, and clearly despite his best efforts, a small smile twitched at the corners of Grantaire’s mouth. “And you weren’t going to stand for that.”

“No.”

Grantaire’s smile disappeared and he shook his head slowly. “Well, if you’ve come here to make a big, rousing speech, you can save it. I mean, I appreciate the gesture, and the schlep, but…”

He trailed off and Enjolras frowned again before prompting, “But?”

“But 2022 was a long shitty year that followed on the heels of a longer, shittier 2021,” Grantaire said, something sharp and bitter in his voice, “which, of course, capped off the longest, shittiest year of 2020. So I just…” He sighed, flopping back against the bed and staring up at the ceiling. “The thought of toasting and cheering 2023, which shows absolutely zero sign of being different than the preceding 3 years…I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He sounded unusually bleak, even for his more maudlin moods. “I just don’t have it in me to pretend that the best is yet to come when it sure as hell feels like we left the best behind somewhere.”

“So instead you’re lying on your bed, staring up at the ceiling,” Enjolras said, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“And feeling sorry for myself, can’t forget that,” Grantaire said.

Enjolras hesitated for just a moment before nodding decisively. “Ok.”

He crossed to Grantaire’s bed and plopped down beside him. “What are you doing?” Grantaire practically squawked, rolling onto his side.

“Lying down next to you,” Enjolras said, as if it was obvious.

Judging by the look Grantaire gave him, it wasn’t. “But – why?”

“Because,” Enjolras said, tempted to leave it at that if only to give Grantaire a taste of how infuriating he could on occasion be, but he took pity on him and elaborated, “You’re not fully wrong. The world is a shitty place and sometimes you have to do what you have to do to survive.”

Grantaire blinked. “So no rousing speech, then.”

Enjolras lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “If I thought it would help…”

“That’s never stopped you before,” Grantaire said with a snort.

“Sure it has,” Enjolras said, rolling over onto his side. “Because most of the time when I’m giving rousing speeches, you’re not my target audience.” Grantaire didn’t look convinced and Enjolras sighed, figuring if he couldn’t give one of his trademark speeches, he could at least offer Grantaire a tiny bit of honesty. “Look, I don’t believe the world will magically get better on its own. I believe it takes a lot of hard work by a lot of very dedicated people to even inch in the right direction. And as much as I believe that it is work absolutely worth doing, I also know that sometimes you have to tap out, and take a break. Because the only way to do the work is by being able to do the work.”

A smile again played across Grantaire’s lips. “You know that, huh?”

Enjolras smiled as well, his slightly rueful. “Well, I’m trying to learn it, at least.” He rolled onto his back, the motion as stubborn as he could make it. “So if you want to lie here and stay at the ceiling, I will lie with you because facing the shit the world throws at you is always at least a little bit easier when you’ve got someone with you.” He glanced sideways at Grantaire. “Of course, if you’d rather be alone, just say the word.”

“No, I don’t,” Grantaire said quietly. They lay together in silence for a long moment before Grantaire added, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras said.

There was another long stretch of silence before Grantaire sighed and rolled over to face Enjolras. “I think…” he started, a little hesitantly, “maybe I can make an appearance at the party. Though I can’t promise I won’t bring the mood down.”

“If you want,” Enjolras said noncommittally, though he couldn’t help but add, “But for what it’s worth, I think everyone will be happy enough to see you that it’ll make up for any mood-killing you do.”

Grantaire made a face. “Well, we’ll see about that.”

Enjolras laughed lightly as he sat up, cracking his neck before standing. Grantaire sat up slowly as well and Enjolras turned to glance back at him. “Oh, and Grantaire?”

“Yeah?” Grantaire said, not looking up from tying his shoelaces.

“I can’t promise the best is yet to come,” Enjolras said quietly, and Grantaire’s eyes flew to his. “I could give you a lot of platitudes about the night being darkest before the dawn, or what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, or whatever, but you and I both know those are bullshit.”

Grantaire cracked a smile. “I don’t know, I always found something strangely inspirational in the saying ‘even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise’.”

“Really?” Enjolras asked, surprised.

He deserved the eye roll and admonishment Grantaire gave him. “Enjolras.”

“Yeah, that one’s on me,” Enjolras said with a laugh. He paused and wet his lips before continuing, “But look, what I can tell you, in all sincerity and at full risk of making a fool of myself, I’d have a really hard time believing the best was still to come if you weren’t there.”

Grantaire stared up at him. “There, like, at the party, or…?”

It was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’d like it noted for the record that I was trying to be serious,” he said, a little gruffly.

“I know,” Grantaire said, his own voice just a little too soft in the wake of the joke he’d made. “Thank you, again.”

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras said. Then, desperate to change the subject, he added with a sort of forced cheeriness, “Now let’s go before they send a search party after us.”

Grantaire glanced at the clock. “It’s almost midnight. I think our friends know better than that.”

Enjolras hoped that the dim light hid the fact that he blushed, just slightly, and he hoped Grantaire took it for what it was worth that he didn’t try to pretend like he didn’t know what Grantaire was implying. “And for what it’s worth,” Grantaire added as he stood, deliberately casual, “you’re a pretty big part of my best as well, whether past, present, or yet to come.”

Enjolras’s flush deepened. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Grantaire said, giving him a crooked smile, and he hesitated for just a moment before holding his hand out to him. “C’mon. We got a midnight to catch.”

And Enjolras didn’t hesitate before slipping his hand into Grantaire’s and following him outside.

[danversxluthor]

The Super Blues (Pt 2) -- REWRITE

Kara and Lena meant to talk to Lori the morning after the parent teacher conference, but once again life got in the way. Supergirl was needed at a massive industrial fire near the wharf and Lena was called in for an emergency board meeting on a critical therapeutic acquisition. Their parents’ temporary absence wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and neither of the Luthor-Danvers kids were surprised or offended by it. The girls simply went about their days getting ready and then heading off to yet another day of school. 

As the week went on, more Supergirl emergencies sprung up and the acquisition discussion turned into multiple days of intense negotiations to seemingly no avail. As much as Lena and Kara were concerned about Lori and wanted to talk to her, they just couldn’t seem to find the ideal time. Alex was even helping out by driving El to and from her speech therapy, which also served the purpose of checking up on Lori.

Finally, Thursday morning rolled around, and the outside world seemed to quiet down. Kara took the opportunity to make her famous blueberry pancakes before her girls were up and getting ready for school. While Kara cooked, Lena made sure the girls were up and moving. To no surprise, Ellie was already dressed and packed up for school. 

“Good morning sweetheart” Lena greeted from the doorway. El went to wave but corrected herself seeing her mom’s raised eyebrow.

“‘Morn-ing” El greeted, “can you sign my per-per-miss-ion form?” El asked handing out the piece of paper. 

Lena quickly read through the form. “Oh, the science museum, that's wonderful El. Of course.” Lena signs her name and notes the date in her smartphone. “Now get downstairs before Jeju eats all the pancakes by herself.” And with that, El was off. 

Lori has never been a morning person and has always put up a fight to get out of bed, especially on a school day. 

Knock knock

Lena waits, not hearing any movement or seeing any lights flicker on under the doorway. 

“Lori…” Lena calls before knocking yet again. “Lori, come on sweetheart, it's time to get up for school.” Lena waits again, but after hearing no movement, she opens the door to find Lori curled up under the covers looking like a lump on the bed. After flicking on the lights, Lena makes her way over to the bed and sits gently, slowly peeling back the covers. 

“Lori, it's time to get up baby.” Lena rubs her hand up and down her daughters back slowly rousing Lori from her sleep. Lori curls in on herself further and smooshes her face into her pillow to hide from the uninvited light.

“Come on Lor, you don't want to be late for school.” Lori grumbles and starts to roll out of bed, her golden hair a complete mess. Lena kisses Lori on the forehead and walks out to give her daughter some privacy to get ready for the day.

“Oh, and better hurry, Jeju made her famous pancakes.” Lena calls from the hallway. Despite sleeping for over nine hours the teen is still exhausted. Lori makes her way to the bathroom to try and salvage some sort of acceptable look for the day. She’s glad for the school uniform - one less thing to think about. Lori pulls her unruly golden hair into a messy bun and washes her face. She looks over at the makeup but doesn’t have the energy to make the effort. Who really cares anyway. As long as she doesn't stand out she’s fine. 

El has finished her fifth pancake by the time Lori makes her way down the stairs. 

“Morning Lor,” Kara calls out, “how many pancakes for you?” 

“I don’t know, whatever's left I guess,” Lori pours herself a large thermos of black coffee and sits next to El. She sips at her coffee knowing well enough that no amount of caffeine can bring her out of the exhaustion. 

“How are the pancakes kiddo?” Kara calls over her shoulder as she goes about cleaning the dishes. After receiving no response, she tries again. “Lori, how are the pancakes? I didn’t burn them, did I?” And still no answer. 

Lena looks up from her tablet to see Lori staring out the window, tired eyes unfocused. Kara and Lena share a concerned look. El goes to get Lori’s attention, but Lena smoothly intercepts her. 

“Ellie, why don’t you get your book bag and shoes ready.” Lena suggests, eyes not leaving Lori. El, sensing something else far more serious is going on, quickly makes her exit. 

“Lori,” Lena says as she takes El’s seat and slowly brushes her hand against Lori’s shoulder. Kara has now stopped washing the dishes and is looking across the island at her eldest. The touch seems to have brought Lori back to the kitchen. 

“Hmm?” Lori’s eyes refocus and her gaze meets her Jeju’s across the island. “What was that?” Lori asks in a monotone. 

“Are you feeling ok, Lor?” Kara asks. 

“Yeah, just a bit tired I guess.” Lori explains as she picks up her fork and starts cutting the pancakes in front of her. She isn’t really hungry though, just doesn’t want to see Jeju's concerned face anymore. Lori knows she’s not fine, she knows she is more than just tired, but she doesn’t know what she is. And how can she possibly put something so minor on her parents who are already so overstretched. No, Lori knows she has to hold it together. 

“Do you want to stay home today?” Lena asks in a soft tone. “I can stay with you. My schedule is completely empty, so it would be just you and me. We can stay in and cuddle and watch movies or we could sneak out for lunch, maybe even see Aunt Alex?” Lori continues to push around the pancakes on her plate, half listening to her mom. 

“I’m fine. El and I should probably get going.” Lori leaves the cut up but uneaten pancakes on her plate and she starts getting up from the counter.

“Ok, Lori, but you can always call us from school if you need to come home and rest,” Kara comments. Alex had reported to Kara that Lori barely left her room during the week. Kara didn’t know what to make of this. Lori was looking rather pale and warn down. 

“Sure thing, Jeju,” Lori assured, trying to sound livelier to ease her parents' obvious concern. 

“We’re just worried and we love you. You can come to us with anything.” Lena says. 

“I promise I’m totally fine,” Lori says assures her parents again, this timing adding a small smirk, but the look on her moms’ faces tell her they’re not convinced. Lori walks briskly out of the kitchen to avoid any further caring remarks that just make her feel worse and worse about being an unnecessary burden. A few seconds later, Ellie sneaks through the kitchen after her sister. 

—

“Kelly, I have no idea what to do,” Lena says in exasperation. “She isn’t talking to us. She didn’t even want to stay home from school. She’s barely eating. At least she’s keeping up with school, but that's always been a walk in the park for her. What do we do?” Both Kara and Lena were in Lena’s office talking with Kelly on speaker phone. After this morning, the pair knew that it wasn’t as easy ask talking to Lori, especially when Lori had no interest in talking to them.

“You’re right to be concerned, and you’re doing the right thing by trying to talk it out.” Kelly reassures the pair. “Ultimately, Lori has to be open up on her own. Sometimes that's hard, especially for a teenager. Keep letting her know you’re here for her no matter how hard she pushes you away. It's also probably best to keep an eye on her. I know you both have difficult schedules, but to the extent at least one of you can be around in the morning or after school when the kids are home, that would be helpful.” 

“I know you told me not to, but I went on webMD and did some digging on team mental health. And... do you think she might have an eating disorder or hurt herself or…” Kara asks, swallowing her words hard. Lena squeezes her wife’s hand, dreading the thought that Lori would resort to such a thing. 

“Lori is in a unique and volatile phase of life. Teen hormones and emotions are in constant flux, it’s difficult to say what's going on without having more information.” Kelly explains. “WebMD can be a great resource, Kara, but it can lead to some quick and often misleading conclusions. For right now, just keep an eye on Lori and make sure she’s eating enough, bathing, sleeping, etc. and, Kara, maybe take a break from webMD.”

“Thank you, Kelly. We really appreciate you taking the time out of your schedule.” Lena says as she rubs her temples. 

“Anytime. I’m always happy to help. Love you both.” 

“Thanks again Kel. Love you.” 

---

As the school day went on, Lori was feeling more and more out of it. She felt guilty for being so short with her moms this morning and annoyed at herself for worrying them. Lori made it to lunch and was out behind the gym, when she realized the bell had already rung for next period. 

Despite already being late, Lori didn’t move. She stayed staring up at the sky wondering what it would be like to just disappear. She could do it. She could leave. She could get away from everything. So, Lori got up, feeling far removed from everything around her and started walking. Not back into the school, but out into the city. She walked a block without being stopped and then another and another. Before she knew it, she was across town and headed over the bridge. She couldn’t feel her legs and barely noticed her surroundings. She just kept walking. 

—

“Ma’am, the schools on the line for you,” Liz, Lena’s new assistant, called in. 

“Thank you, Liz, please patch them through.” Lena was already preparing to pack up, guessing that Lori finally took them up on the offer to stay home for the day. 

“This is Lena,” she answered in her typical business tone.

“Mrs. Luthor-Danvers, hello, this is Principal Higgins from National City Prep. I’m sorry to call you at work, but it seems Lori has not checked into her past two classes.” The message is far from what Lena anticipated and her heart rate starts to pick up. 

“She hasn’t checked in? Is her car in the lot?” Lena questions as Kara lands on her balcony having sensed the spike in heart rate. 

“Her car is still here at the school. Our security team has reviewed footage and she didn’t leave from either of the main school entrances. We’ll keep an eye out for her and call with any updates.”

“Thank you.” Lena says before hanging up the phone and grabbing onto Kara like her life depends on it and letting her tears fall. 

“We’re going to find her Lee, I promise.” Kara holds her wife.

TO BE CONTINUED...