#but i had to make some hard choices and i think the 9 above are a good selection of seasons/relationships

[moonstruckme]

OMGGGGGGG

the first kiss was so cute!!! perfect!! james was so sweet and gentle w her😍😭😭

can’t wait to see there dynamic from now on

Thank you gorgeous! I held onto this so I'd have something to post this last part to, hope you don't mind <3

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

James is buzzing while he makes breakfast the next morning. Golden morning light pours in through the front windows, brightening the kitchen and warming his back where he stands in front of the stove, the buttery smell of pancake batter wafting up from the pan. He’d gone to bed later than usual last night and slept hard but woke jittery, desperate to do something about the commotion in his chest. 

A run hadn’t done it, nor had replaying the previous night in his head, and now he’s convinced he won’t be able to rest until he can kiss you again. It’s your fault, really. Your little sighs, your careful touches, the way you’d tugged at the roots of his hair when he asked you to, like all this time you’d only been waiting for permission. You’ve fucked him. James will never be able to get over it. Now, all he can think about is getting more. 

He’s made more pancakes than a family of five could eat when he hears the stair creak. 

“Good morning,” he says, turning around just as you pad into the kitchen, quiet as a ghost. 

Your eyes are bleary, but they still manage to widen slightly as you take him in, along with the precarious tower of pancakes beside him. You’re in that sweatshirt he loves so much, sleeves hanging limply from your hands and hem hitting just above your knees. 

“Morning,” you say, softer than soft. 

“How’d you sleep, lovely?” 

You shrug, not quite looking at him. “Fine. You?” 

James grins. “Beautifully. You want some pancakes?” 

Your gaze goes again to the stack beside him, and he can practically see the quip brewing in your eyes. Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. Are you planning to feed an army?

“Sure,” you say in that same quiet voice. “Thanks.” 

James studies you, intrigued. “Great. C’mere, sweetheart.” 

He plates up a few pancakes, keeping one eye on you as he does. You seem disinclined to look even in his general direction, finding distractions with the stove, your plate, the weather outside. 

“How’s this?” He turns around with the plate. You take it cautiously, by the complete opposite end to avoid any possibility of making contact with his hand. James’ heart warms at the way your fingers just peek out from the sleeve of your sweatshirt to grasp the plate. He wants to kiss you until you don’t know what day it is. “Too many? Not enough?” 

“This is good.” 

“Yeah?” He doesn’t let go of the plate. He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye, but you evade him. He has a hunch that if he were to touch your face (and god, does he want to) he’d find it burning hot. “Are you alright?” 

Your eyes flit up to his for a half a second before fleeing again. You hum, the sound tense and pitchy. “Mhm.” 

“You sure?” he asks, matching your soft tone. “Don’t go getting shy on me now.” 

You look like you stop breathing. 

And ordinarily James might feel bad, but post-kiss James cannot be prevailed upon to treat you as cautiously as he ordinarily might. Unfortunately for you, your secret’s out. You’re lovely, you’d said, voice soft and breathy and mere inches from his own mouth, I like having you around. I do. I really like you. Also unfortunately for you, post-kiss James knows things. 

He slips his palm alongside your face, working his hand behind your ear and letting his fingers burrow into the hair behind it. You melt, leaning into the touch. Your eyes meet his. 

It’s grueling work to keep from smiling. “What’s wrong, angel?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, still quietly but now with more of yourself in your voice. 

“Really? Because you’re acting like we’ve just met.” 

“Don’t you—don’t things feel different to you?” You seem almost distressed, eyebrows hooking upwards just slightly, pretty eyes imploring. Your voice softens again, now more with intimacy than reticence. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk with you about.” 

James lets his smile loose, thumbing at the skin behind your ear before letting you go. “We can talk about anything you want,” he says simply, grabbing his own plate and leading you into the living room. 

You’ve got a perfectly good kitchen table but almost never use it, each preferring to eat your meals on the couch. He flops down, careful not to tip his pancakes onto the cushion as he crosses his legs underneath him like you’re at a sleepover. 

“So, have any fun dreams last night?”  

You smile. It’s as heart-stoppingly lovely as always, and James thinks his own probably doubles in magnitude in response. 

“A couple,” you admit. 

“Oh? What about?” 

Your smile goes sheepish, bottom lip slipping in between your teeth as if to impede its progress. You fork clinks against the plate as you start cutting up your pancake. 

James’ brain short-circuits. 

“You were in my dream,” he blurts. 

Your eyes flit up to his warily. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. It was one of those weird, super vivid dreams where nothing really happens, you know?” You seem to relax a bit. James douses his pancakes in syrup, starting to cut them up as he talks. “We were here, and someone had spilled something on the rug—probably Sirius, to be honest—and it made this huge stain. I’d tried to pour baking soda on it, but the whole box had collapsed and it got everywhere. We were both sitting right there scrubbing with literal toothbrushes, and I think I was worried you’d be upset with me but you were just laughing.” His heart warms at the pseudo-memory, the hazy feeling of contentment that had permeated the dream. The sound of your laugh, exactly as sweet as in real life. “Your hands were totally covered in baking soda, and the rug was ruined, but we were both laughing our heads off.” 

You’re smiling again, a small, knowing thing. “Had you said something to make us laugh?” 

“No,” he says honestly, “I think it was you.” 

James is aware that he’s barely functioning. It’s almost too much to talk and cut his pancakes at the same time while you’re looking at him like that, like he’s the loveliest thing you’ve ever seen. It makes it both a relief and a disappointment when you drop your gaze. 

“Do you think the stain might’ve been a premonition?” you ask. 

He raises his eyebrows. “How do you mean?” 

You laugh, and he’s instantly spellbound, caught somewhere between fantasy and reality. It takes him a second to realize you’re touching the edge of his plate, tipping it up. James looks down. It had been nearly falling off his lap, his pancakes cut up into tiny pieces and syrup pooled near the rim. 

You look up at him, seraphim with the morning light brightening your features and the hint of a smile playing on your lips. He thinks of how soft they’d felt on his the night before, the way they’d fallen open like welcoming him home. 

“You were almost spilling syrup onto the rug,” you say, that rare and beloved teasing lilt to your voice. “It would’ve taken more than baking soda to get that out.” 

“See?” he asks. “You know how to talk to me just fine.” 

You look surprised, then self-conscious, though not nearly as bad as when you’d come into the kitchen a few minutes ago. He covers your hand with his to keep you from going anywhere. Sets his plate on the coffee table. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your eyes are wide. “Again?” 

“Yes, again,” James laughs. “And again after that, preferably. Only if it’s okay with you.” 

You shake your head, looking something akin to bewildered. “Yeah. Yeah, please.” 

He starts to lean toward you, and you meet him halfway. Already, it’s a bit different. There’s no tentative stillness, no slow yielding. Your lips are pliant and eager, parting and closing around his like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Your fingers wind in his hair without instruction, and James responds by placing his hand in that spot you’d seemed to like it so well last night, the material of your sweatshirt soft beneath his touch. You taste like his pancakes, the syrup sweet on your tongue. 

“Keep talking to me,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your lips worshipfully, “okay?” 

Your voice is breathless. “Why?” 

“Because I like you.” He tugs at you, wanting you closer. “And I think I’ve put in the work for you to warm up to me, if it’s all the same to you.” 

You make a tiny, amused sound. “Fine,” you say. You grow bolder, kissing your way up his cheek, the top of his eyebrow, until your nose is nestled in his hair and your lips are caressing his forehead. “Consider me warmed.” 

James grins, unable to help himself. He thinks that becoming your friend didn’t go quite as he planned, but he feels as though he won in the end.

[elizabethrobertajones]

summer scions!! I absolutely love the new portraits for all their smug happy expressions. Except Y'shtola, who is not going to deign to give a camera a proper saucy look because that's silly. Urianger is smirking twice as hard on her behalf.

Glam review under the cut!

I unlocked Alphinaud first of the twins and didn't know Alisaie had a little necktie yet, so I'm deducting a point from my first impression because the sheer delight that he had a silly little necktie of some sort no matter the situation delighted me so thoroughly. Since they're still engaging in matchy twin dressing to some degree, I have to assume they either like it and won't admit it after digging in so hard, or Ameliance sent them off with cute outfits and matching backpacks, and they still don't really shop for themselves.

He's got the practical watch/compass gloves which are good for a technically proficient Sage and probably the most practical gear he's ever worn except for when he was poncho Alphy, but wearing ankle-length jeans seem like the least weather-appropriate choice of the Scions if we assume their average skin coverage is a good weathervane for the temperature in Tural. I chalk it up to teenage awkwardness.

8/10 unless he and Alisaie chose their outfits themselves, in which case it's a 9/10

I think Alisaie is the only Scion to keep a single piece of their default gear, and those are her usual gloves. She's colour-matched around it.

Because of the gloves and boots, she looks the most ready for hardcore hiking, somehow, and her matching Alphinaud with a cute button down shirt with rolled up sleeves along with that particular choice of baggier shorts (when she normally wears more form fitting shorts) do give me the closest to butch vibes it's probably likely to get for main characters. So I'm giving her an extra point I stole from Alphinaud for the lesbian vibes.

9/10 or 10/10 if she made these choices all by herself.

Everything about this cracks me up, from his portrait above to the image of him tanking open shirted once he pulls mobs.

Believe it or not, he's getting an additional point for those shoes simply because the competition in practicality in tanking is G'raha.

I had a moment of excitement when I thought the necklace was pink because that's always a cute Ryne/Minfillia thing fanartists give him with ribbons and such, but once I got zoomed in on him it was red, so I guess he's just been shopping. Although, the turquoise shorts are her eye colour and the actual large diamond shapes are secretly Mothercrystal coded in those colours, which just cracks me up that you can pick out one of the worse days of his life (Urianger's grand Warrior of Darkness plan) in his Chill Summer Beach Vibes look.

Douchebag beach bro shell bracelet as well, which really makes me double down on him and Urianger spending way too much on tourist bait along the stalls in the Famous Turali Market. The hat and sunglasses are giving him one of the Most tourist-y looks thematically reflecting how a lot of the Scion guys were just here to hang out, narratively or literally. Maybe he's trying not to get such an intense tan again, which is the only reason he's not entirely topless.

11/10 I could not stop laughing when I got him and Urianger to 100 and Beheld The Brilliance in the same moment.

Please note the raised sunglasses in Urianger's portrait, which are not the model his character uses.

I am delighted that I had been incorporating that island watch into my healer glams on both the logic you need to know your clock positionals but also they're largely the smarty pants jobs (WHM being vibes only aside - it gets its own glams :P). And here's Urianger and Alphinaud both using watches.

Now, I had a moment of being vaguely disappointed he had trousers not a skirt or something else swishy and androgynous, but then I did realise that I, a nonbinary weirdo who relates to Urianger since he made me nonbinary, have actually gone to a couple of garden parties dressed in some variation of this exact outfit of light trousers and a nice button up. Plus, the earrings are in both ears, so no "Google, which ear is the gay one?", these are just straight up cute femme dangly earrings with his favourite little dudes on.

More importantly, the colours he's repping are those of Lopporit Radio. He probably tunes in every night for his broadcasts :')

Mirrored sunglasses for the guy notorious for keeping thoughts and plans close to his chest and choosing deliberately to be enigmatic even when it serves zero purpose except for I guess gender affirming care. (The gender is Weird Bitch.)

I can't tell how I feel about those dad sandals. I suppose it depends if he's wearing them like a fashion model (brand new and clean with perfect pedicured feet) or if those are REALLY dad at the beach-like and, since I'm not a foot person, this for me is only a choice between "not off-putting" and "AURGH".

9/10 the proximity to Thancred hauls him up several points of misgivings I had, and the lopporit shout outs are killing me :')

I unlocked Y'shtola last and holy fuck I am a lesbian. I don't even recognise where those boots come from, so either a really expensive glam or something I just have not stumbled on. She has toe rings I think? And painted nails? I have no idea if the garter (?) is part of the boots glam or a custom thing as result of not recognising the boots and how much of them is normal. I feel like they customised a lot on her anyway - the back of her top has purple beads that match her staff (not dyable on the real piece)

and I think the necklace has to be part of the top instead of a separate necklace piece with the way it hangs, AND the bracelets are a glove piece with the original summer glam, but I assume they're layered with the false nails, also in the glove slot. All in all it's giving the sort of effort which is starting to creep up to what I'd expect from the modding community not the game. I mean, not THAT good but getting close. Baby steps towards what fandom can make :P

She really is god's favourite meow meow.

Anyway I can't really judge this fairly because it's really hot and I love her so I'm just going to give it 100/10 and move on. :)

how did I get a picture where Estinien looks like he's stooping to get in the frame...

The fact he has Azure Dragoon Blue Top and then Violently Nidhogg Fuchsia shorts is the colour theory that absolutely killed me. When he lights up during his burst and starts glowing pink all over his shorts are like. Taking him over like the eye once did I think.

love a guy who can embrace his past trauma and dress to match all that has passed before and all that he intends to do now (kill something large and tasty, grill it on the beach, fall asleep with a beer in hand until the waves come in and wake him up).

I gave him that wooden bracelet in the glam he has on my desktop screen so once again I'm feeling weirdly vindicated.

Other details: no ponytail despite the warm weather because he's got enough ventilation. The fact there's cactaurs on his shirt when he's on record for eating them is amazing. We should imagine he's wearing his jobstone like that pendant (since he's one of the only guys with a confirmed jobstone despite being the Guy Without A Job notoriously that one time.)

Unlike Thancred's hat and sunglasses combo, which seems fun and boisterous somehow, he seems the most walled off of all the sunglasses wearers even though he's not the most mysterious. The visor really helps make it a sort of wall. Maybe just because his terse upfront personality and somehow despite his clothes horse habits THIS amount of whimsy seems the most out of character at first glance, but he DOES look uncomfortable to me.

Somehow I find everything about this outfit excellent for his character but also like maybe he was forced into it, everyone cornering him and telling him the Scion Beach Party was a mandatory work event and he was not allowed to beg off of it and he did put some work in expressing himself but also is going to go find a much quieter corner to lurk in for the day, when not competing with Thancred (can't grill, loves it) for the barbeque (Estinien can grill, would only do it because the threat of Thancred doing it wrong is too high).

confused 7/10 mostly because I think Krile is blackmailing him and not because I don't love everything about this.

Here's how G'reenha Tia can still win -

Anyway here's the deducted point for tanking in flip flops (PERFECTLY acceptable BLM gear btw but he's Mr Versatile.)

(I joke but the main character of my novels is a flip-flop wearing menace who could and would tank in them)

Between the padlock and key necklace and the woven bracelet right after we all went feral over the Thavnarian bracelets for couples thing so recently (and Corvos is just across the water!) he's absolutely dripping cutie pie love interest coding yet again.

(Also yes I know the lock and key thing is very funny because we were introduced to him learning he was a fancy key to a big door.)

Gains a point back because the other green g'raha thing is I'm pretty sure people use this shirt glam because it kinda looks like it has weed on it.

Don't quote me on that, vibes only.

Anyway he came colour coordinated (with his original eye colour and hair colour not the bright Allagan dalamud red dye that goes with his normal outfit) so so precise and neat, like he's going to some sort of formal event, and even with flip flops he really does seem incredibly put together like the twins or Y'shtola, just for full outfit cohesiveness.

As someone who would hold G'raha's hand on the romantic gondola vibe, 10/10.

3 out of 10 and a huge cringe if you would not. He's got to stop Striving.

Hey it's the star of the show!! Adorable hairstyle out, cute plot-important earring on, and wearing her exact character colours but adorable beach wear :)

I love that she looks kind of like she went to the girls for advice and got the top from Y'shtola and the shorts from Alisaie, and she probably was very serious and stressed about getting this right even though there's no rules and no one's judging her -

oops.

Anyway the ballet shoes are adorable and go with all the cute picto spins and twirls :)

I think the strict colour scheme does speak to the slight lack of fleshing out she got so far in the story (we don't really have any real character reason that picto in particular spoke to her and this glam isn't one of the many fun takes people had on how to dress to meet that brief ). I don't think DT did more than just repeat that she's serious and sweet and trying really hard to get out of her shell and be more fun and creative and also she's been practicing dodging really hard she shouts mid-Trust combat (bless her). But ALSO getting out of the shell is really hard and she only found out everything and got some closure in the final level 100 quests so there wasn't really much to do with her after that.

This is like her First Non-Plot-Critical Whimsy Moment and losing the hood or any cat ears entirely (and there are perfectly functional cat ears to wear in game) is a good step considering we know she wears it precisely because she needed a sort of advance PR campaign to make her look cute and approachable before she opened her mouth and started bringing down the vibe (serious scary children are SO funny though and i love that for her). Having the same top as Y'shtola is a good thing for trying to make her less childish and have her trying to show that now as she takes this huge step out from the background. I mean, it still has a slight sense of her costuming herself and pushing herself out of comfort zones as she always does, but it's 100% in character so I adore it.

1000/10 because Krile is great and there's so much going on here and it's so fun when a character's whole personality is a costume and then they're like aurgh wait do I even want that??

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 9

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 10 is here.

"I think you should take off your veil now. You need to impress the princes so that one of them could take pity and marry you. Or you could try black magic-"

"Baris, I will pull your tongue out and strangle you with it if you say another word." You muttered, holding your head in your hands.

After Baris landed the "marriage bomb" on you last night, you've been stressed. Why did I have to teach Mihirmah? Why did I have to accept the bracelet? Why did I-

"You have bags under your eyes, and considering that they're the only feature visible, its not good-" You threw a pillow at him, which he dodged easily. You hadnt slept at all, how could you? You tried to figure out a plan, that didnt work. You tried to fix your time machine, that was not going to work at all without tools.

"You could be wrong." You mumbled, opening your eyes as you stared ahead. "This bracelet could be nothing but just a kind gesture. It is not a marriage proposal. You're wrong-"

Baris cut you off. "I know it seems impossible, considering how you look, even I'm surprised- but I'm never wrong, Y/n. I've worked here for more 25 years, I know what everyone thinks." You stared at him with a pinched expression.

"You have to help me, Baris."

He smiled. "Of course, you'd be lost cause else wise! I'll get the seamstress to make you some new clothes-"

"No, I meant- you have to help me escape. I cant- I dont want to get married!"

He scoffed. "Darling, we're alone right now. You can drop the "I dont wanna marry a prince and enjoy the luxuries of the world" act."

"I mean it!" You huff.

"And why is that?"

"Because-" you bit your lip. What excuse can you possibly come up with to satisfy him?

"I love someone else."

"How tragic." He said monotonously. "Love has no place in the harem. You're here to attract, serve and please the royal family." He walked closer to you, leaning down as he lowered his volume. "And I'm going to give you some advice: you better not use that excuse again, never even MUMBLE about having a lover again, not unless you want to be tortured and executed for being a traitor."

You knew what he was referring to. The harem, the concubines, the whole palace was filled with jealousy. If anyone were to hear about this, they would use it against you, conjure up such vulgar lies that the sultan will chop off your head.

"Baris I cant-"

"You dont have a choice, Y/n." He cut you off harshly. "I suggest you suck it up and pretend to be happy or else you'll be in for a hard life."

"Now, get ready. You need to teach a lesson."

-

"You look sick."

You resist rolling your eyes. "Yes, I know I'm ugly. Thank you for keeping me updated."

Mihirmah shook her head. "No, I mean you dont look well. Are you alright?"

No, I lost sleep because of you and-

"Just tired, Mihirmah. I think we've should stop here today." You watched her beam.

"Finally! Now we can celebrate!" Mihirmah clapped her hands as the servants brought in some tea and sweets. She had initially wanted to celebrate her victory from last night as soon as you came in, but you wanted to get the lesson done with so that you could leave.

"You enjoy it. You did a good job." You tried to excuse herself but she frowned.

"I did. And so did you! I mean, the way you made Mahidevran shut up! It was amazing!" She took a piece of sweet and handed it to you. "Besides, my father appreciated your efforts as well-"

You looked down at the bracelet. This was more of a death sentence than a gift.

"Mihirmah." You took off your bracelet. "I- I appreciate the sultan's gift, but I cant accept this. Its too much- its-" you mentally rolled your eyes at your next excuse. "Its above me."

She furrowed her brows. "Even if that may be the case, which its not because you fully deserve that after the showdown, you still cannot refuse or return a sultan's gift, much less one that he made himself!" She tilted her head. "What is really going on? Why do you not want the bracelet? And dont say its not to your taste, because lets face it- you probably have not seen jewels like this in your life."

Biting the inside of your cheek to prevent the insults from slipping out, you took a breath.

"I... heard that..." you took another breath. How do you say "I dont want the bracelet because I dont wanna marry any of your brothers" without sounding narcissistic. "I... I heard that there might be a different meaning behind the bracelet. That it may signify... something else."

"Which is...?" She prompted you.

You exhaled.

"That I might be considered to be... a spouse for a sehzade."

Mihirmah snorted as you looked down to conceal both your embarrassment and fear.

"I'm sorry- what did you say?" She was laughing now. You continued to look down. As long as she's laughing and not getting mad at you for even suggesting such a thing, you're fine. Besides, if she's laughing then it means that all that bullshit Baris was spewing earlier was just that- bullshit.

"You think- my father, the sultan, wants you- YOU, to marry one of his sons?" She wiped a tear away from her eye as she laughed. "That is the most ridiculous idea I've ever heard. True, father does only give handmade gifts to those he considers close, but I dont think thats true in your case, Y/n. You're just my teacher, that's all. Besides, even if you were to be considered as a potential spouse for my brothers, you have my mother and Mahivdevran standing in your way. And trust me, they're going to marry their sons to someone they like. You- they cant even tolerate you as my teacher at this point of time."

Sighing in relief, you nod. "Well, that's great to hear-"

"Wait." Mihirmah narrows her eyes at you. "If you thought that my father wanted to marry you to one of his sons, why did you want to return the bracelet? Did you- did you not want to marry my brother?"

Oh shit. "Mihirmah no-" You tried to pacify her.

But she snapped at you. "What? You think you're better than my brothers? Any of them? You'd be lucky if Mehmed or Mustafa chose you, if such a miracle does happen."

Your eyes were wide at her venomous tone. You dont know whether it was because she was protective of her brothers, or if she just really hated the idea that you would consider rejecting royalty.

A few more moments of silence went by. "You misunderstand me, sultana." You chose her title to please her. "I know of my status, and I am well aware of how... lowly I am to be a part of this family. The only reason I was returning the bracelet was because... I didnt want the harem to assume things and threaten or hurt me. I am aware that the sehzade have their favourite concubines, much better equipped to their tastes. But if they were to see this bracelet gifted by the sultan on me, they would... it would cause misunderstandings. I just wanted to avoid that."

Your words were carefully selected to not aggravate her any further, which it didnt but they also didnt calm her down.

Mihirmah's face was still sour. "The concubines are smart enough to figure out who's a competition and who's just a mere servant. You have nothing to worry about."

The words stung but... you just bowed and took your leave instead of slapping her across the face.

Mehmed had just turned the corner when he saw you leaving Mihirmah's room with tears pooling in your eyes, the niqaab only causing them to look more prominent.

He entered Mihirmah's room, finding his sister looking angry as she gazed into space.

"Mihirmah?" He sat down beside her, noticing how she didnt immediately light up as she always did when he came. What did you do to piss her off so much?

He cupped her face to look at him. "What's wrong? Tell me."

-

You're laying in your bed, arm over your eyes as you try to think of a way out of here.

When will the time machine work again?

Its not like you can go out of the palace to get help or even tools to work on it, and you always fear that someone just may walk in on you tinkering with the machine. The only place where you can get privacy in this palace here is the dungeons, only because its dark and oh-so-daunting that it doesnt really attract people there.

There's a knock on your door. With a grunt, you get up and open the door, only to find no one there. Your room was in the harem, but it was on the upper floor, so you could see the whole area from above, including the silhouette of someone leaving the harem doors.

Normally, you wouldn't have bothered with the "door bell pranks", but you made your way down because 1. you're not familiar with what this might mean, maybe some royal summoned you and you're to follow the servant. 2. you're bored.

When you left the harem and looked to your left, spotting the back of a girl in red dress, you knew she was baiting you to follow her. So you did, turning around the corridor only to be body slammed to the wall.

3 women surround you, blocking any escape routes. They're all glaring at you, and you recognise their faces. They're the concubines.

You clear your throat. "Well? I suppose you have something to say that you couldnt say in there."

The brunette in front of you narrows her eyes. "Who do you think you are?"

"Why dont you tell me?"

Her glare intensifies. "You think you can just bat your lashes and whore yourself to the sehzade?"

"Heh?"

The raven haired girl on her right grabbed your throat and banged your head against the wall behind. "Dont play dumb! We know you're trying to marry the prince!"

The blonde on the left banged your head against the wall this time, gritting out "Stay away from sehzade Mustafa!"

"And sehzade Mehmed!" the brunette warned, repeating the same assault as the other two.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you rubbed the sore spot on the back of your head. "None of your accusations are true. Unlike you, I actually have a respectable job here-"

"We saw the bracelet! You think you can just prance around here, pretending to be this holy and pure, untainted girl while we work ourselves to the bone to get in bed?!" The brunette screamed at you, getting in your face.

You pushed her away. "First of all, I am not interested in marrying anyone. Secondly, the bracelet means nothing than a job well done. And finally- you seem to mistake your status over me. I dont work for you, or under you. So, this is for earlier-" You slapped her hard across the face, making her fall. The other two were in shock, and you took that as an opputunity to slap them too.

"Now, we're even." You huffed, adjusting your niqaab before turning on your heel to leave. You needed to slap them, not only because you need to let them know they cant bully you, but also because you needed to release some steam. It felt good, you wont lie. You may have even imagined some people's faces as you smacked them-

"Omph!" You're pushed to the ground, flipped over onto your back. You grab on to the hands that are wrapped around your neck, eyes wide as the brunette starts to choke you.

"You stupid bitch!" She screamed as you fought hard to pull her hands away. She yanked the veil off your face, smacking your cheek hard enough to scratch you with her sharp nails.

"Laira stop-" the blonde tried to pull her off you but Laira continued to beat you.

"Hand me the torch!"

"Laira-" The blonde started again but the raven haired grabbed the fire sconce off the wall and handed it to Laira.

You stared in horror as she brought the torch closer to your face, the heat radiating. She grinned manically, one hand still squeezing your throat.

"You're not even that pretty for a sehzade. Did you use black magic on them?" She clicked her tongue, while your eyes were fixated on the torch. "I guess, it wont be futile to ruin your face for guarantee."

"Please no-" she choked you harder with her man hands that you just couldnt seem to pry off, and you sort of became paralysed as the dancing flames took you back to the night in the desert, when the assassins set your tent on fire. Everything slowed down, and noise drowned out like in the movies.

Salauddin. Help-

The flames suddenly vanish from your view as Laira is thrown off you.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" The man roared behind you. Your eyes moved from the shaking concubines to your saviour.

Ibrahim pasha.

"Pasha bey-"

"Shut it. Guards! Throw them to the dungeons!" Ibrahim yelled and automatically, 4 Janisarries appeared from behind him and dragged the wailing girls away.

Ibrahim looks down at you, his eyes shifting from rage to sympathy. He crouches down and helps you sit up, his touch gentle.

"Are you alright, Hatun Y/n?" You're staring at him in a daze, your body has not recovered enough to physically react, almost on autopilot.

Say something.

"Y/n?" He asks again, his brows furrowing as his concern deepens. Why does everything sound so far, so low?

He snaps his fingers near your ear, and your brain finally reacts.

"Y-yes." You tear your gaze away, looking at the fire torch lying on the ground far from you.

Fire. Second time you were almost burnt to death.

"Come on." He helps you up, gently tugging you to follow him. A few shaky steps later, you follow him to your room.

He sat you down on the bed. "There we go." Ibrahim pasha scanned your face for any burns or injuries, noting the nail marks from the slap.

"Baris Agha!" Ibrahim called and a few seconds later, the eunuch stumbled in.

"Yes, pasha- ya Allah, what happened to-"

"Baris." Ibrahim snapped at him. "Get me bandages and healing balm. And keep quiet about this." Baris only nodded before following orders.

You cleared your throat. "I... thank you for saving me, pasha." Ibrahim smiled courteously as he sat on a chair nearby.

"It was my duty. Sultan Suleiman had asked me to keep an eye on you."

Your brows furrowed. "Why?"

Ibrahim looked at the bracelet around your wrist. "I suppose you did something to make him pleased."

He relaxed in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. "So... what happened with the concubines?"

"Misunderstanding." You said dismissively.

"And what that might be?" He prodded. When you didnt reply, he sighed. "I am the pasha, the sultan's right hand. I am supposed to know what happens in the palace."

"Its nothing of significance. You can let the girls out of the dungeon."

"I'm afraid that decision is not upto you." Ibrahim deadpanned. "If you do not wish to tell me, fine. I have other ways of finding out." He made his threat clear and began standing up.

"Wait!" You clenched your niqaab, looking at the veil in your lap. "I'll tell you, but... you cant tell anyone."

Ibrahim stared at you before nodding, sitting back down.

"There may have been a rumour... the cocncubines- they think that the bracelet, a gift from the sultan means that I am... special." You mumbled the last word.

"Special how?"

"They think... that the sultan wants me to be his... daughter-in-law. Actually, they think that I am wooing the sehzades- Mustafa and Mehmed."

"And are you?" He asks immeadiately.

"Of course not!"

"Why not? Anyone would love to marry a prince."

You scoffed. "I would never want to be a part of this family, not even as a teacher."

He raised a brow. "Hate the Ottomans?" You shake your head. "No. But I wouldn't want to be a part of it." You clicked your tongue. "Everyone in this palace is a slave. The concubines, the servants, the wives, the kids, you and me too. The wives of the sultan, they have all the luxuries one could imagine... except for the loyalty of their husband. Not to mention, they have to live in constant fear of being replaced and be in paranoia forever because everyone who is not family, is a threat to her. The kids? If you're born a boy, sure- you are immediately given a superior status, but with such power and princely status also comes with its own drawbacks. The boy will have to always be compete with his brothers, not because he wants to be the next sultan, but for survival."

In Ottoman empire, there was a common practice of fratricide- a tradition where once the next sultan is chosen, the new sultan is allowed LEGALLY to kill his brothers, stepbrothers, nephews and even female relatives (sisters included) as well, so as to get rid of any future competition or betrayal by his own family. In a nutshell, it was done to prevent civil wars.

"If you're born as a girl, then you may have a better chance of survival than your brothers, but that's still not guaranteed. Not to mention, you are raised to be married off to someone that will strengthen the royal family. Not to someone you love." Ibrahim watched you as you continued. "Its not better to be a servant either. Always being threatened, questioned about your loyalty, having to take the fall for the higher ups. The eunuchs, who think they are all high and mighty and control the court, you and I both know that their job to "protect the women of the harem" wasnt even their choice. To be forcefully castrated as children, forcefully ripped from their families, forced to serve the royals... they dont have a choice. I dont have to tell you how degrading it is to be a concubine."

"And me? How am I a slave?" Ibrahim asked.

You smiled sadly. "You know very well, and youre just trying to see how much I know. Your past is not a well kept secret, pasha." You kept quiet, and Ibrahim realised you already knew about his life.

Ibrahim, born as Orthodox Christian, was enslaved during his childhood. He and Suleiman became close friends in their youth, or perhaps forced to convert to Islam and then raised to befriend Suleiman. Suleiman appointed Ibrahim as grand vizier when he took the throne.

"How do you know?" Ibrahim's gaze was sharp. "I know a lot of things, pasha. But dont worry, I have no ill intent. If anything, I want to be as far from this life as possible. Perhaps... you could help me with that?"

He raised a brow. "I dont think that is an option for you right now." At your frown, he explained. "The safest place for a woman like you is here."

"Did you just forget that my face was almost burned off moments ago?"

He chuckled, shaking his hand. "Of course not. But you need to understand that you cannot just up and go without a word, especially after the sultan just gave you a handmade gift, and whether or not it signifies that he's considered you for one of his sons, it does mean that he considers you important. His majesty will not just accept your leave for no reason." Ibrahim leaned forward, clasping his hands. "As for your safety, you can leave that to me. I will make sure no harm befalls you again. I promise."

"But what about the sehzade? The rumours?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "If you're so concerned about that matter, then you should just avoid the princes as much as you can. Keep your niqaab on, continue your lessons with the princess and avoid interacting with people as much as you can."

Well, its not a bad suggestion. If you make yourself scarce and draw less attention to yourself, you can slip out of the palace and leave unnoticed.

"Oh, pasha?" You called him as he stood up to leave. "Can I request you not to tell about this incident to anyone?" You pointed to bruises on your face.

He grinned and nodded. "Of course. But it is not me you should be worried about talking." At your confused face, he chuckled.

"Baris Agha still hasnt returned."

-

Mihirmah and Mehmed were in your room just a few moments after Ibrahim pasha had fetched the bandages from below and treated your wounds, further confirming that Baris was spreading the news about your attack all over the palace.

"Y/n! Who did this to you?" Mihirmah traced the bruises gently as she sat beside you on the bed, while Mehmed sat in front of you, on the seat previously occupied by Ibrahim pasha- just closer this time.

"I dont know." You lied, pulling yourself away from Mihirmah's concerned touches. Oh you're still mad at her.

Your evasiveness didnt go unnoticed by her, as she dropped her hand and her mouth settled into a thin grim line.

"Why did someone attack you? What happened?" Mehmed asked, cutting the tension.

You shrugged. "I dont know." You fiddled with the niqaab in your lap. There's a big bandage on your cheeks, so while you couldnt exactly wear your veil again, you suppose in a way your face was somewhat covered?

"Probably mistook me for someone else. Or just a misunderstanding." You tried to brush this off.

"Still, it shouldnt warrant such a reaction. We should investigate-" Mehmed started but you shook your head.

"Ibrahim pasha is already looking into the matter. He'll take care of it-"

"I am the sehzade. I will look into this personally." Mehmed stated before leaving the room before anyone could stop him. Ah, to be the knight in shinning armour for a distressed damsel.

You and Mihirmah sat alone now. The air in the room was thick, the silence thicker. Mihirmah glanced at your nonchalant face, your eyes fixated on the ground, not caring how uncomfortable the silence was making the princess.

It was clear she had to break the ice.

"Y/n." She called. "Yes, sultana?" You answered, but your eyes still remained on the ground.

Sultana. Not Mihirmah, like she'd allowed you to call her, but sultana.

She pursed her lips. "I..." She paused. What is she supposed to say? Sorry? The word is as foreign to her as it is to any royal.

"I dont like the things you said this morning." She finally stated. "You shouldnt have said those things."

You resisted the urge to scoff. Is she really trying to pin this on you and make you apologise? Entitled brat-

"You're right, sultana. I was out of line. I suggest we should just stick to our lessons and avoid talking about anything else. I'll be careful not to bring up any other topic." You stated monotonously.

Mihirmah frowned. Why are you saying this? Why are you being so difficult?

"Stop it." She warned. You nodded. "As you wish, sultana. I'll arrange another Quran teacher for you." Your words only enraged her further.

"I said- stop it." She ordered but you're hell bent on making her apologise- a dream, but still. You clicked your tongue. "I suppose I'll hand in my resignation to the sultan and explain to His Majesty that it was my fault for being a useless servant who is just not capable- ow!" You finally looked at her in disbelief.

She pinched you. Mihirmah pinched your arm. Hard.

And she had the gall to glare at you, with some anger and remorse in her eyes.

"What did you do that for?" You spat, hissing as you rubbed the area she'd assaulted. There was going to be a bruise, for sure.

Her frown deepened. "You- I told you to stop, didn't I?!" You watched her trying to contain her rage, her body shaking as she tried not to wrangle you by the neck. "I- I dont want you to leave."

"But sultana-" "Mihirmah. You call me Mihirmah." She emphasised.

You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress your smile. "I am just a dispensable servant-" You jumped back when she went to pinch you again.

"Will you stop doing that?!" Your arm still hurt from her first attack. Mihirmah's nostrils flared. "Will you stop acting like a brat?!"

Your throat made a sound of disbelief. "I am acting like a brat?! Have you looked in the mirror recently?"

"Yes and I look very beautiful! Unlike your busted face!"

"Oh so you just get to insult me?" "I am not insulting you! I am DESCRIBING YOU!" She screamed as you glared at her. Mihirmah took a few deep breaths to calm down. "I am not calling you ugly, I was just referring to the bruises on your face. How did you manage to get beat up so badly? Did you not learn anything from my sparring lessons?"

"Sparring lessons? You mean the times where you would flip me on my back or throw me against the wall?" She glared at your accusation. "How is it my fault that you dont fight back?"

Mihirmah's gaze flicked the arm you were holding, the one she'd pinched. "Does it still hurt?" Her voice was much softer this time.

"Would you like me to pinch you back to demonstrate how much it hurt?" You spat back and she scoffed. "I didnt pinch you that hard. You're just sensitive." "Sure, you must only have meaty man fingers." You grumbled as she gasped and smacked your bruised arm, making you hiss.

The two of you glared at each other before Mihirmah wrapped her arms around you and looked up at you with a small pout.

"This doesnt work on me." You muttered, making her grip tighten around you.

"You know you're not a servant." Mihirmah whispered, looking up at you with puppy eyes, but only you knew the real Ronda Rousey in her.

"You're my friend, Y/n. Or the closest thing I have to a sister." "If you were planning on beating up your sister, I'm glad your parents didnt have one."

"Shut up, you're ruining the moment." Mihirmah scolded you. "I dont want you to go. I dont want you to be hurt, either. So just- I'm willing to let things go back to the way they were before this morning, if you are."

You stared down at her. You knew you were never going to get a real apology, Mihirmah was too prideful. You couldnt make her feel ashamed for her actions, or hold her responsible. So, you'll have to make do with this.

"Fine." She broke into a grin and squeezed her arms around you tightly before letting go.

"Now, tell me! Who were these girls who attacked you? I'll skin them with my daggers!" Ignoring her sociopathic tendencies, you shrugged. "I dont know, Mihirmah. I dont know who they were- I'm still new to the palace."

She hummed before her face lit up in realisation. "Wait! Baris Agha did say something about concubines. I'll ask Mehmed too when he returns with more information from Ibrahim pasha!"

-

While you are trying your best to hide the incident about your attack, unbeknownst to you, the news has spread like wildfire in the palace. A maid saw Mehmed entering Ibrahim pasha's office, and when she reported it to her friend, she then told her about how she overheard the eunuchs talking about a fight breaking out between the concubines and someone else, and then someone added that they saw Ibrahim pasha, Mehmed and Mihirmah in your room, so you were involved too. It wasnt long before this news reached Hurrem and Mahidevran, only this time it was more dramatised.

"The concubines tried to kill Hatun Y/n! It was only by pure luck that sehzade Mehmed saved her! And now her wounds are being tended to by Mihirmah sultana while sehzade Mehmed and Ibrahim pasha are punishing the concubines!" Gul, the chamber maid, told Mahidevran.

Mahidevran narrowed her eyes. "Why did they save her? She's just a teacher." The queen didnt understand why the royal children were going through such lengths to get justice for you. Fights in the harem break out all the time.

Gul fumbled with her thumbs, avoiding eye contact with her queen. Mahidevran's frown deepened. "What is it, Gul?"

"I- sultana- I just heard some rumors, its probably not even true-" "Out with it!" Mahidevran snapped.

Gul licked her lips as she spoke. "Um- I overheard that sehzade Mehmed has been... spending a lot of time with Hatun Y/n. Especially after the dinner where Mihirmah sultana recited-"

Mehmed... spending time with you? Why? If he wanted to sleep with you, he could have any girl from the harem. So why you? Why you, a Quran teacher, a conservative girl who covered herself from head to toe? Surely, Mehmed hadnt been bewitched by your physical appearance- not that you had any, in her opinion. And then Suleiman seemed to like you to, so for Mehmed to fancy you would be because-

Mahidevran's eyes widened at the sudden realisation.

"Get me Mustafa. Now!"

-

"Hatun Y/n was attacked by the concubines! Ibrahim pasha saved her and carried her unconscious form to her room!" A maid reported to Hurrem.

"Why was she attacked?" Hurrem asked, bored.

The maid hesitated to answer. "I am not sure, sultana, but the word is that the concubines were jealous of the attention Hatun Y/n was getting from sehzade Mustafa."

Mustafa? No. What possible business could you have with Mustafa? From the past week's events, Hurrem was told that you'd spend most of your time with her daughter, and only moments with Mehmed when he visited his sister.

"Mustafa isnt interested in Y/n." Hurrem stated, more to herself than to refute the maid's claims.

The girl nodded. "I'm only telling you what I heard, sultana. And... I also saw sehzade Mustafa leaving Mahidevran sultana's chambers to visit Hatun Y/n earlier today, just moments before I came here!"

Hurrem halted as she tried to make sense of the information. Mustafa was out all day because of the hunt, he wasnt supposed to return before dinner. Which means, he was fetched, likely by Mahidevran. Who probably informed him about your attack and now he went to check on you.

But why? Even at the dinner the other day, Hurrem didnt detect any sort of affection from Mustafa for you, or you from him. You both barely glanced at each other.

Maybe he's just checking in on you. That's all it is to it.

"How badly was Y/n injured?" Hurrem inquired.

"I didnt get a chance to see her yet, she's been with Mihirmah sultana since the event, but I heard that her unconscious body had to be carried by Ibrahim pasha himself! And- and that he even bandaged her up-"

"Ibrahim pasha?" Hurrem whispered to herself. What business did he have with you? He could've easily had a servant tend to your wounds, so why did he personally do it himself?

Ibrahim. Mustafa. Mahidevran. What are they upto? Hurrem knows Ibrahim doesnt like her, that he favours Mahidevran and Mustafa over her, that he wants Mustafa to be the next sultan-

Hurrem's heart sinks as she pieces it together.

"Get me Mehmed. Now!"

-

Suleiman was having dinner with his family. Both of his families- Mahidevran and Mustafa joined him tonight as well. He was happy to have them together, all well and healthy.

Except... something was off.

Suleiman's gut could sense it. The children were making small talk, his wives as well, but he could tell. There was some sort of tension.

It was Mihirmah that made him finally speak up.

"Mihirmah." He called out the girl who was playing with her food. "You've barely eaten. What's wrong?"

The room immediately fell dead silent, the attention now focusing on Mihirmah.

She smiled nervously, taking a small bite. "I'm fine, baba."

But Suleiman could see that her usual bubbling aura was somewhat depressing. "Mihirmah." He called her name more sternly, and this time, her smile faltered as she finally spilled.

"I'm just worried for Y/n."

Suleiman frowned. And when he looked at everyone else, it was clear that they knew something he wasn't aware of.

"What happened?"

-

Baris Agha was having fun riling you up. "So, you're telling me that both sehzade Mustafa and Mehmed, the two crown princes racing to be the next sultan, are visited you?" He snickered as you shot him a glare. "Can I just suggest you to remove the niqaab for the wedding-"

"Baris! Shut up!" You raged at him. "Dont think I dont know you were the one spreading the lies about-" "Lies? About what? About you being attacked? By concubines who are jealous of your- I dont know, I'm sorry what it is that these men seem to be enraptured with-"

There are hurried, intense knocks on the door. Baris opens the door as a servant stumbles in, out of breath.

"Hatun Y/n! Sultan Suleiman has summoned you! Now!" His tone signified that you're not to waste time.

"Why did he call for me?" You whisper to Baris as the two of you rush down the hallways.

"Perhaps he wants to formally ask you to marry one of his sons-" "Baris!" He grinned. "What? I have a sixth sense-" "YOU HAVE NO SENSE!" You yelled. "Have more sense than you." Baris grumbled.

"Why are you even following me? Dont you have a job?" You wanted him to stop vexing you.

He snorted. "And what? Miss out on all the fun? Besides, you know as the future sultana, you will need me-"

"I swear, as soon as I'm finished meeting the sultan, I am going to throw you off the roof."

The two of you turned the corner leading to the royal dining hall, and you bumped face first into Ibrahim pasha's back, the man catching you by the arms before you fell on your ass.

"P-pasha? What are you doing here?" You asked, backing up once you got your footing.

"Sultan sent for me. What are you doing here?" Ibrahim asked, equally confused.

"He summoned me as well. What do you think its about?" You watched the cogwheels in his mind turn and the realisation dawn on him.

"The attack earlier." He exhaled, closing his eyes as he tried to figure out his next steps. "We cant- you cant tell him the truth!"

"You want me to lie to the sultan?" He rose his brows. "Please, Ibrahim! I- I told Mihirmah and Mehmed and then Mustafa that I didnt know who the attackers were, or why they attacked me! If you tell them the truth-"

"Y/n." He grabbed your shoulders, staring into your worried eyes. "I promised to protect you, didnt I? I intend on keeping my promises."

You both entered the dining room together, bowing to the royal family sitting there.

"Y/n." You looked up at the sultan. "Is it true? Were you attacked?"

You were quiet for a few moments, resisting the urge to glance at Ibrahim to figure what to say, before nodding hesitantly.

"Y-yes, sultan." You trailed your eyes back to the ground. These people, they were warriors. They didnt have any technology back then, and they had to rely on body language to read people.

And you didnt want to risk him catching you in a lie.

"Are you alright?" Suleiman's voice was much softer now. "Did you go to the infirmary?"

"I'm well now, sultan. Thank you for asking." You meekly answered. "I was saved in time, thanks to Ibrahim pasha."

Mahidevran's eyes narrowed at you. Ibrahim saved you? Of course, you'd lie about that, so that no one would suspect you and Mehmed getting close. She thought to herself.

"Ah, Ibrahim pasha." Suleiman's voice turned serious. "You were the one who saved Y/n?"

"Yes, sultan." Ibrahim confirmed.

"And you have the attackers in custody?"

"Yes, sultan."

Suleiman slammed his fist on the table, rattling everyone. "Then why the hell wasnt I informed of it?!" Ibrahim kept his head down as the sultan continued to rage. "Why does everyone seem to be aware of this matter, except me?! Answer me, Ibrahim!"

Hurrem couldnt help the smile that curled on her lips. She was glad to see Ibrahim getting in trouble, perhaps Suleiman will finally get rid of him for once and for all-

"It's my fault, your majesty!" You announced suddenly, and everyone's focus shifted to you. "I- I was- I was shaken up from the attack and I- I made the pasha stay with me. I was too scared- I didnt think I was safe- so Ibrahim pasha left to make arrangements to assure me I was safe! He was busy because of me. I'm sorry! If- if anyone should be punished, it should be me!"

You held your hands together tightly to stop them from trembling. The room fell silent at your explanation, with you and Ibrahim holding your breaths.

"Is this true, Ibrahim?" Suleiman broke the silence.

"Yes, my sultan." Ibrahim answered. "After I had saved Hatun Y/n, I wanted to assure her of her safety, so I was busy interrogating the concubines who attacked her. After they confessed, I wanted to check if anyone else in the harem had any ill intentions for Hatun Y/n, so I was engaged in checking everyone who could be a possible threat. I was on my way to inform you, but you summoned me before I could."

"Concubines? Why did they attack Y/n?" Suleiman asked, wanting to know the result of his interrogation.

Ibrahim answered without missing a beat. "They were jealous of Hatun Y/n's bracelet." You looked at him but the pasha kept his eyes ahead at the sultan. "From what I gathered, Hatun Y/n refused to give up His Majesty's handmade gift, and when she put up a fight to defend your present, she was subjected to a harsh beating and had her face almost burned."

Suleiman's eyes widened. "Burned? Because of a bracelet?"

"It was what the bracelet represented, my sultan." Ibrahim's statement made your heart sink. He better not tell him about the "daughter-in-law" theory.

"The concubines think that you... favour Y/n over them." Ibrahim's words set fire to your cheeks and you had to bite your lip to suppress the gasp you almost let out.

Ibrahim decided to change the "daughter-in-law" theory to "3rd wife/bedwarmer theory".

"What rubbish?!" Suleiman slammed his fist on the table again, and perhaps everyone in the room was silently grateful for his rage and disbelief, as it disapproved the theory and quelled any future rumours. "I only see Y/n as my daughter, nothing else! How dare they slander me like that?! How dare they hurt someone I care about?! Ibrahim, execute those wretched concubines!"

Your eyes widened at the order. Preventing their death sentence was the only reason you lied and kept this charade up. You cant risk more people dying and history changing forever because of you!

"Y-your majesty!" You fell to your knees, your voice wet. "I- I beg you- I beg you on the behalf of the concubines, please- have mercy!"

Everyone watched in surprise as you cried for mercy for... your attackers?

"You... want me to forgive them? Despite what they did to you?" Suleiman asked, watching in disbelief at your tears wetting your niqaab.

"It- it was wrong- but please, they're just- they're just young girls. They made a mistake, they shouldnt pay with their lives!" You tried to come up with better reasoning. Aha!

"Sultan, I- we are Muslims. You are a role model for Muslims all over the world right now- but you have a role model as well- someone you havent met or seen, but you follow his advices and footsteps every day. Its Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)- and- and he advices us to be forgiving and merciful." Ibrahim watched you try to persuade the king.

"On the Day of Judgement, when we beg and grovel Allah for forgiveness, would He not forgive us happily if we show mercy to His creatures? If we forgive His mankind?" You pleaded and Suleiman was touched by your words, so-much-so that he walked over to you and pulled you by your shoulders before pressing a kiss to your veiled forehead.

"You're too kind, Y/n." He whispered, before nodding at Ibrahim. "Dont kill the concubines. But find a fitting punishment for them, Ibrahim." The pasha bowed his head obediently.

"And find Y/n her personal chambers in the royal wing." Suleiman stated, making everyone surprised.

No. Room in the royal wing only meant more contact with the royals themselves. This was the last thing you needed-

"Your majesty-" He held up a hand. "Dont protest, Y/n. You were hurt because of my present and while I appreciate that you defended it, I do not wish to see you hurt. Ibrahim, find her a room and shift her there by tonight. And assign a few guards and servants to Y/n as well. I dont want her to feel unsafe again." Suleiman looked at Ibrahim with a serious expression. "I trust her in your hands, Ibrahim."

"Of course, your majesty." Ibrahim nodded.

Suleiman looked back at you, a gentle smile on his face. "I would like you to join us for dinners now." He gently pushed your back and Mahidevran immediately scooted a bit closer to Suleiman's seat and patted the space beside her... and next to Mustafa.

Hurrem glared at the blatant display of intentions- Mahidevran showed her "generosity and humbleness" by letting you sit next to her to please Suleiman, and also make you sit next to her son to get close with.

At this moment, both queens are under the impression that Suleiman wants you to be his future daughter-in-law, so both women think that the other is making her son court you because the first one to marry you will produce a heir, further legitimising the prince's claim to the throne and becoming the next sultan, especially since Suleiman views you to be the perfect, pious woman who would be the perfect mother for his grandkids.

The only difference is- Mahidevran wants you to be Mustafa's spouse, not because she thinks you're a good match for her perfect son, but because she wants to speed up Mustafa's claim to the throne. She knows Suleiman prefers Hurrem over her (Hurrem's five kids are proof of that), and since she has no child other than Mustafa, Mahidevran is at disadvantage and she needs every advantage she can get, no matter how savoury it is- like you.

Hurrem on the other hand, does not want you as her Mehmed's spouse, because you're not what she had in mind for her precious son. She wants someone soft, demure, submissive, beautiful and more importantly- someone she can control. But she also knows what game Mahidevran is playing, and since Hurrem doesnt want Mustafa trying to steal the throne from Mehmed, Hurrem will have to just- get rid of you.

-

"So... the sultan just said that outloud?" Baris ate a date from the fancy table in your brand new chambers. "He just announced that you're his "daughter" to everyone?" He heard you groan a yes from your place on the bed- face buried in the pillows.

"And Mahidevran sultana made you sit between her and sehzade Mustafa?" He heard you groan another "yes".

Baris plopped down next to you. "So you're marrying Mustafa. Huh, didnt bet on that-"

"You bet on this?" You asked miserably, finally pulling your head up. "Of course, need to make money. Unlike you, not everyone has the oppurtunity to marry into royalty-"

You smack a pillow right across his face. "If I hear you talk about marriage again, I will strangle you."

Baris rolled his eyes, fixing his hair that you'd messed up. "I dont know why you're so upset. Did you want to sit next to Mehmed instead? If so, maybe I can still win the bet-"

"I dont want either of them!" You stated frustratedly, sitting up. "Do you not get it- I dont want to be a part of royalty! They're- they're all mad! My life would be in constant threat- from jealous concubines, possessive mother-in-laws, throne hungry princes. I dont want that!"

"Is it because you want Ibrahim pasha?"

You blinked at him. What? "What?"

Baris rubbed his chin. "Oh come on, I saw the way you two looked at each other before you entered the dining room- how the pasha promised to protect you, even from the sultan's wrath."

"Are you like- fishing for anything? For fun?" You shake your head at him.

Baris gave you a look. "Really? What about you going in and lying to protect him? He didnt even say anything before you took the chance to save him."

"I saved him because it was the right thing to do! Not because I love him!" You exclaimed, throwing your hand in the air. "If this is how you think, please- PLEASE resist the urge to ever help me! I dont want a proposal coming from you just because you saved me from choking."

Baris glared at you. "First of all- I'm never going to be as blind as the sehzade when it comes to love. Secondly, you'd be lucky to have me as a husband. At least your offspring will have a chance at looking somewhat normal-" You lunged at him and put him in a chokehold while Baris grabbed at your hijaab covered head to pull you off.

Your fighting match is brought to a halt as someone knocks on the door.

Mustafa stands outside your door, surprised to see Baris looking slightly disheveled when he opened your door.

"Baris? What are you doing here?" Mustafa asked, watching the eunuch fix his collar.

"Ah sehzade! Oh I was just helping Hatun Y/n adjust to her room. Shift her things in here." Baris faked a smile.

Mustafa nodded before lowering his voice. "Is she awake?"

"Yes yes- please come in." Mustafa walked inside just as you appeared out of the wooden divider screen, adjusting your niqaab.

"Sehzade." You gave him a courtesy. "How may I help you?"

Mustafa gave you a gentle smile, his moustache quirking up handsomely. "I would like to ask you to spend the day with me tomorrow."

You froze, and you didnt dare look at Baris who you knew was sporting a smug look because you didnt want to throw your shoe at his face in front of the prince.

"I- I think I am busy with Mihrimah sultana tomorrow-"

"No, I asked her. She said she's happy to skip her lessons for tomorrow." Mustafa cut your excuse. "I'll come by after breakfast. Good night, Y/n."

-

Even though Mustafa said he'll see you after breakfast, which for royals was just an hour before noon, you were woken up by Baris at the ass crack of dawn.

"Baris! What the hell?" You glared at him when he yanked the covers off you. Baris grinned at you. "As much as I'd like to believe in beauty sleep, its so not helping in your case. Come on, you need a bath and a lot of other stuff!"

He'd brought fine silk gowns and matching niqaabs (which you insisted on wearing despite Baris voicing his displeasure).

Currently, one of the maids had just finished doing your eye makeup- which in this case was kohl, and some dried berries crushed to a fine powder to make a rouge sort of shade.

"Since your eyes may be the only thing the prince sees, we need to make them bewitching!" Baris had commented before spraying you down with a lot of perfume.

"That's enough!" You push the bottle away as you coughed at the musky, earthy perfume. "Isnt that for men?" You ask coughing.

Baris's grin only widened. "Its sehzade Mustafa's favourite attar! I had to bribe his chamber servant to tell me this. And you my darling-" He sprayed you again. "-need to smell like him so that he thinks you two are a perfect fit!"

"That is literally the stupidest thing I've heard-" your insult is cut short as your vision is blinded by Baris flipping up your veil to reveal your lower half of the face and him applying some crushed berries juice to your lips.

"Just in case you have a change of morals and want to kiss the prince." He jumped back when you tried to slap him.

Soon, Mustafa came to fetch you. You two were currently walking through the royal gardens, with you giving curt answers so that he would lose interest in you and leave you alone.

Your dismissal didnt go unnoticed by him. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"Read." You answer looking at the well cut hedges. "Have you been to the royal library?" He looks down at you, finding you gazing at the flowers. "Yes. I've already read all of the books there." In college, of course.

"All of them?" His disbelief makes you look at him. Finally. Mustafa thinks.

"Of course." You answer, offended.

"Even the royal ancestry book?" Mustafa raises a brow at you.

"Yes." Your brows furrow. "Ask me anything."

He shakes his head and chuckles. "I doubt you know more about my ancestors than me."

When he looked back at you, you were still looking at him expectantly.

"Ask me."

Mustafa's curiosity got the best of him at your determination.

"This is- this is incredible." Mustafa commented, his eyes wide as he looked at the ancestry book from where he basically quizzed you. He didnt know he was talking to a historian who had pulled all nighters for pretty much every major empire for finals.

"How did you learn all of this?" He asks you, still double checking your answers.

"Oh... I have good memory." You mutter, making him shake his head at you with an amusing smile.

"Of course, I should've figured. You're a hafidha, you're passionate for learning." And passionate for making money in trivias.

Mustafa closes the book. "So, since you've read every book in here, I suppose you must be bored?" He doesnt wait for an answer when an idea pops in his mind. "Come on, lets go."

You follow him, trying to keep up with his fast pace. "Go where?"

"To get you new books." He looks over his shoulder and gives you charming grin.

Your steps falter. New books? "We're leaving the palace?" He hums.

You havent left the palace since you came here, mostly because you havent been able to leave.

You match his pace. "Lets go!" And Mustafa finally sees you excited for the first time today.

With a few Janissaries and some disguise, you all head out into Istanbul. You're looking around the city like a kid in a candy store, only you're looking for a something or someone to help you fix your time machine.

The market comes into view along with the sound of hawkers trying to attract customers. Of course, the only shopkeeper who wasnt yelling was the blacksmith, allowing his hammer to garner the attention of serious clients.

He could be of use. If you're able to find some tools, maybe even get some metal films, you could try to spark a charge and trigger the time machine to work.

You start to take a few steps towards him when Mustafa grabs your shoulder and pulls you back to him. "Where are you going? Stay close to me. I dont want to lose you." He tells you, almost in a chiding tone, but his hands carefully pulling your robes around you said otherwise.

He lead you towards a bookshop. Mustafa nodded at you to go ahead, explore and get any book you want. He'll buy it.

While you were busy browsing, Mustafa couldnt help but steal glances at you. He didnt understand why he was doing this- he couldnt really see your face, or anything except for your eyes.

Your eyes, they were pretty but its not their beauty that really captivates him. Its the swirl of emotions in them. The mystery in them, like there's... more to you. Like you're hiding something.

Perhaps it was your mannerisms. Your dismissive nature, your tendency to not be impressed easily by their eccentricities or status, almost as if you've lived with royalty before.

Maybe he likes how different you treat him him. How you dont bend over backwards to please his family, or try to pursue him or his brothers. In fact, you almost seem to be avoiding them altogether.

You intrigue him. Badly. Amusingly. Adorably.

-

"I dont understand! Where could she have gone?" Mihirmah whined to her brother at lunch. Mehmed only raised a brow. "Who? Y/n? She might be in her room recovering from yesterday's events. She was pretty shaken up-"

"I already checked! She's not there!" Mihirmah sighed before laying her head in his lap, and he began patting her hair. "She went out with Mustafa but she still hasnt returned! Its lunch time and I planned on teaching her sword fight! For self defense, you know- so that she doesnt get beat up like last time."

Mehmed's hand stopped patting. "She's with Mustafa?"

She nodded. "Since morning!"

"Huh." Mihirmah sat up, looking at her brother puzzled.

"What? What is it?" She asked him.

"Nothing." He faked a smile, but Mihirmah knew him like the back of her hand. "Mehmed. Tell me."

"I just... dont understand why Mustafa is spending time with her." He stated, standing up to walk to the balcony. "She's your teacher. What business does Mustafa have with her?"

Mihirmah watched her brother stiffen suddenly, watched the way his jaw ticked as he looked down the balcony. She stood up and joined him, following his gaze to see what he was looking at.

Its you. And Mustafa. Finally returning to the palace, servants holding piles of books following behind you two. What's even more bizarre is to see Mustafa smiling down at you while you giggled, covering your mouth despite the niqaab, making you look even more bashful.

Even Mihirmah hadnt ever seen you so joyful, and yet here you are- laughing so gleefully with her eldest brother. Step brother.

It rubbed her off the wrong way.

"You want her?" She asked him, her voice so hollow that it made Mehmed look at her.

"What?"

Mihirmah looked at him, her eyes stern. "Do. You. Want. Her?"

Unwavering determination. Thats what he saw in his sister's face.

Say the word, and it'll be done.

Mehmed stared at her.

"Yes."

-

"I hope you had a good time." Mustafa asked you as he walked you to your chambers. You nodded. "I did. Thank you, sehzade." Despite your best attempts at dismissing him, Mustafa was very persistent at breaking down your walls. And sure, part of you giggled and pretended to be flustered at his words, you mainly acted cordial so that he may take you out of the palace more often. He was your only way out at the moment.

You both stopped outside your door, the servants walking past you to place your books inside. Mustafa looked satisfied.

"If you ever need to go outside again, feel free to come to me, Y/n." He offered, before taking out a small box from his pocket and handing it to you.

Your heart dropped. A ring? Now? This fast? No no no no no-

You opened the box and you felt life returning back to you. It was a gold broach adorned with rubies and a diamond in the center, encaged in an intricate heart pattern.

"I may not share my father's gift of handcrafting jewels, but I do happen to be skilled at acquiring precious jewels on my conquests." Mustafa informed you as he took the broach from the box and looked at you for permission before pinning it to your hijab, just below your collar bone.

You were too stunned to stop him or even turn down the gift, though Mustafa took your silence as awe.

He adjusted the broach.

"Perfect." He whispered, looking into your eyes.

You watched him leave with a grin, finally able to breathe when he was out of sight.

With a sigh, you enter your chambers, half expecting Baris to be sprawled over your bed waiting to tease you for details on your outing.

What you werent expecting was... her.

"Did you have fun?" The sultana asked, her eyes sharp. "I've been waiting for you, Y/n. Lets have a chat, hm?"

Shit.

-

"You're abnormal." Your hands stop adjusting your hijab as you glare at him through the mirror.

"What?"

Baris tilted his head. "You're abnormal." He repeated.

You turn around from the vanity and glare at him. "Is this another way of calling me ugly?"

"Tch. No, I have words for that." He shook his head. "I meant, you've been acting weird since yesterday, after you returned from your secret outing with sehzade Mustafa."

"You're imagining things." You mumble, turning back to the vanity mirror and picking up the broach Mustafa gave you.

Baris scoffed. "I am not. I may have been busy with the younger royal kids yesterday, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of you giggling and blushing when you returned with the prince." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So that means, the day went good. Something happened on the way to your chambers." He narrowed his eyes at you. "Did you kiss him?"

You whipped your head. "Baris!" He palmed his face. "Sorry, I forgot you're the religious prude. Did he kiss you?"

"No, Baris! No one kissed anyone." You began pinning the broach to your hijab, the same area where Mustafa had placed it yesterday. But you werent able to, too frustrated at the interrogation.

Baris grabbed the broach from you and pinned it in place. "So, you two didnt kiss, bought you enough books to make a you a scholar, and gifted you this broach, and you're disturbed because...?"

You frowned. "I am not disturbed. You're just reading too much into this."

"Fine, dont tell me. I'll find out on my own." You walked past him to teach your Quran lesson.

As much as you'd like to think that you're sly, Baris is right. Something did happen. After you'd returned to your room, you were met there by Mahidevran sultana.

You were reasonably scared because you thought that she's here to torture you or even kill you because you've been "seducing Mustafa" or whatever rumour Baris has spread about you.

But you were surprised when she told you that she wants you and Mustafa together, in marriage. As soon as possible. For the next half hour, Mahidevran basically told you all about the likes and dislikes of her son so that you would accustom yourself to them and then emphasised how supportive she would be of you to be her daughter-in-law. She even encouraged you to... sleep with him, she didnt say it directly but you got the meaning behind her words.

At the end of her lecture, she warned you to not spend time with Hurrem or any of her offsprings, besides Mihirmah because you are her teacher and even then told you to keep your interaction strictly formal and minimum.

When she was about to leave, she spotted the broach on your clavicle and beamed, almost proudly so. When you confirmed that Mustafa gave it to you, and started to take it off to return it to her, she stopped you and told you to wear it everyday. EVERYDAY.

"My son has given you something. You should be honoured. Cherish it." Mahidevran ordered.

The main reason you didnt tell Baris about Mahidevran and her confusing but threatening demands to court Mustafa was because of Baris's blabber mouth that couldnt hold a secret if his life depended on it.

And you have enough on your plate as it is.

You enter Mihirmah's chambers, bowing as you spot her.

"Ah! Welcome! Sit, sit!" Mihirmah pats down the seat next to her and you're slightly suspicious of her energy.

She's upto something.

You sit down beside her, opening the Quran. "I think we should start with-" She closed the book in your hands.

"In a minute. Lets talk first, hm?" She smiled at you. "How was your day off yesterday? Well rested?"

Your shoulders sag slightly. Of course, she wants to know about your day out with Mustafa. Baris probably blabbered something to spark her curiosity like this.

"Yes. A much needed break. Quite refreshing." You tell her, purposely keeping away from the details, lest she gets the wrong idea again and accuses you of whoring around your "ugly self" to her brother.

"Mmhm. Had fun with Mustafa?" Her sharp tone made you look at her.

Is she implying something?

"The prince was kind enough to get me some books." You told her cautiously, trying to ease the tension. "I think you'd like some of them-"

"Mustafa sleeps around." You blinked at her. What were you supposed to do with this unsolicited information.

"Okay...?"

She shrugged, picking up her cup of tea. "I'm just saying- he's been with a lot of women. The other day I was reading a verse from Quran where it mentioned adultery. Then I realised- thats what Mustafa is. An adulterer."

"You read Quran without me making you-"

"Mustafa is an adulterer, Y/n. Allah will not forgive him. He's doomed for hell."

"Actually, if he repents sincerely-"

"He's doomed, Y/n. Doomed." She reiterated.

"By that logic, so are most of your ancestors. I think most men, kings and princes commit adultery-"

"Mehmed doesnt." She stared at you. "He's never slept with anyone. He's a good Muslim man. Allah will be pleased with him."

What is going on here? "Um... okay. That's great news for sehzade Mehmed."

"And for you." Mihirmah announced. "You are the lucky one."

"What?"

She let out a sigh of frustration, as if she has to state the obvious. "Mehmed likes you- no, he loves you-" "Loves me?" "Shh! I'm still talking. You have caught his eye for some reason, so you should end whatever it is that you have with Mustafa and be loyal to my brother."

The room was silent, the two of you staring at each other- you, in confusion. Mihirmah, in determination.

A crow croaked outside.

"First of all, I have nothing going on with sehzade Mustafa. Secondly, Mehmed said he loves me?" You asked while trying not to show resentment.

Mihirmah scoffed. "He doesnt have to say it, I know it."

Your tension deflates to some extent. Okay, so she's just making up stuff. This can be handled.

"Mihirmah, I understand how-" you resist the urge to roll your eyes "-you may think Mehmed may be attracted to me, I am honoured, really. But I can assure you, Mehmed does not love me."

"No, I love you." Your head whips around at the sound of his voice.

Mehmed. He's standing behind you.

"Sehzade-" you begin standing up to bow to him, but he holds up a hand.

"Mihirmah's right. I love you." Mihirmah beamed proudly at standing correct.

Your eyes could only widen in horror as Mehmed sank down to sit right beside you, and with Mihirmah on your other side, you were trapped between the siblings.

"I. Love. You." Mehmed repeated, his hazel eyes staring into yours.

After several moments of silence, a crow croaked again. Mihirmah nudged you to say something.

"Um-" You cleared your throat. "Ugh... thank you."

Mehmed's brows shot up in surprise while Mihirmah broke into a fit of laughter.

"Thank... you?" Mehmed asked, and you would've thought he was mad if it werent for the amused smile on his face.

Mihirmah continued to laugh, and you had to look back at her to make her stop. "I-I'm sorry, Mehmed- this was- this was just too funny. I mean, she has a prince, the next heir of the empire confess her love and all she says is "thank you"?" She said, chuckling as she wiped the tear from her eye.

Mehmed glared at her playfully. "Well, maybe she's just shy around you." Why are they talking about you like you're not right there?

Mihirmah hummed, then nodded. "Perhaps you're right. I'll leave you two lovebirds alone. I have to do something-"

"What? Why? You dont have anything to do." You stopped her from standing up. You dont want to be alone with Mehmed.

"I do!" She narrowed her eyes at you.

"Like what?"

"Like-" her eyes zeroed in on your broach. "-pretty. Mustafa gave it?"

"Yes-" you yelped as she grabbed it and pulled it off you, ripping the niqaab it was pinned with along.

"Mihirmah!" Mehmed yelled at her, his eyes stern. You could only stare at her in disbelief before turning away from Mehmed to hide your bare face now.

"Oops! I'm sorry Y/n! I'll go get you a new niqaab- this one is all torn!" She said without an ounce of remorse before leaving the room.

Mehmed shakes his head as he watched her leave, before turning his attention to you- or well, your back.

"Y/n?" He called out to you softly. "I'm sorry for Mihirmah. She... she doesnt mean you any harm. She's just- she sometimes doesnt realise how hurtful her actions can be when she's trying to help someone."

When you didnt reply, Mehmed grew slightly worried. "Y/n?" He sighed when you didnt reply. An idea popped in his head as he looked around the room before looking down.

You heard the sound of cloth ripping, your heart dropping as you assumed the worst. He wasnt going to-

Your head turned around just as Mehmed's hands encircled around your head, a red cloth blocking your view of him.

"Mehmed?" You whispered, scared. His frozen hands seemed to snap out of it and began encircling round your head, the red cloth in his grip brought closer to your face. Thats when your eyes landed on the bottom of his red shirt (kemis). It was ripped.

Mehmed had torn his shirt to make a niqaab for you.

His eyes were focused on tying the makeshift veil, securing it before they landed on you.

"Y/n?" He called your name gently again, his concern growing at the sight of tears pooling in your eyes. He softly sighed as a his hand reached up to wipe a tear that escaped your eye.

"You're that scared of me?" After a few moments, you sniffled as more tears escaped your eyes and you shook your head. "Then?" When you didnt reply, or couldnt as you continued to cry mutely, he took it as a sign that you were humiliated because of Mihirmah removing your veil.

He took a deep breath and cupped your face gingerly before pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

"My mind is occupied by you. I think about you all the time. Perhaps...I only think about you, moon." He wiped another tear with his thumb. "I love you, my moon. I fear I... I love you too much. My heart holds so much love for you, I can hardly call it my own anymore." He then kissed your teary eyes one by one.

"I know you... you dont love me yet, but one day, when you find yourself being generous, I want you to be the one holding my heart in your hands. Its yours, moon. Yours."

-

Baris waited with a few guards and servants outside Mihirmah's room, when Mehmed left the room with a satisfied smiled on his face. Baris noted the bottom of his torn shirt but before he could comment on it, Mehmed asked him where Mihirmah was.

"She went to see sehzade Mustafa. Shall I fetch her?" Mehmed waved him off, saying he'll go get her himself, after all- Mihirmah still had to finish her lesson with you.

Mehmed had just turned around the corner when you came out of the room.

"Y/n-" Baris called out to you but you sped past him, and he didnt chase after you when he saw your red eyes.

He'll tease you later, when you're not so sad. For now, he has to report the sight of this to someone.

-

Even if Mihirmah hadnt bumped into Mustafa and proudly showed off the broach he'd gifted you, the news would've still somehow made its way to him by the servants whispers.

"Oh this broach? Its pretty, isnt it?" Mihirmah smirked, showing it off to Mustafa. "Y/n gave it to me."

"She... gave it to you?" His gift. You gave it away?

She nodded. "Mmhm. She said it wasnt that precious to her, so she gave it. She was going to throw it away, but it went well with my dress so I took it."

You were going to discard his gift? Just like that?

"Mihirmah. There you are." Mehmed walked over to her. "Mustafa." He greeted his brother.

"Mehmed." He looked at his shirt. "What happened to your shirt?"

Mehmed grinned. "Nothing." He then looked at Mihirmah. "Come on, Y/n is waiting for you. I talked to her."

Mustafa could only watch the two siblings beam at each other as the taste in his mouth soured.

His broach. Torn shirt. Mehmed "talked" to you.

Mahidevran could feel her blood boil at the complaints Mustafa brought to her. Even if he didnt, the maids she'd hired to spy on you had already reported of everything they'd witnessed. You and Mehmed alone in Mihirmah's room.

Did you not understand a single word she said? Does she need to give you a more stern warning this time?

"Hurrem must've put them upto this." She muttered, before her gaze flickered to her worried son. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Dont worry, Mustafa. I will fix this. You focus on Y/n, hm? You deserve her, my lion."

So? How was it?

Part 10 is here!

[sunshine-theseus]

Fools | Kyra Cooney-Cross x ND!Reader

Words: 4.3k

Summary: no one understood your mind, until you met Kyra.

Notes: Guys I have no knowledge of how Emirates is laid out, how meeting players off the pitch works etc, so I’m completely making this shit up I’m sorry. also sorry for the super long introduction, and the shit writing, I haven’t written in months.

Warnings: mentions of abuse - not proofread. i'm so sorry if this is so shit i genuinely haven't written in months. i wanted this one to be good so bad but i just don't think it is

the person who requested this has since deactivated so i actually feel so bad that i didn't get this out while they were on here. i'm genuinely so sorry for the past like 6 months.

I always struggled with social interactions. I didn’t understand it for a long time, why I always had to smile and hug people, why I had to lie about certain things like how I thought my aunt’s bright green hat looked, why I couldn’t ramble about Star Wars or the new penguin facts I just learned.

Then there were the sounds, and lights and the way things felt. Everything had to be specific, or I couldn’t focus. Sometimes if it was bad enough that I would have a breakdown, unable to do anything. My parents tried to scold it out of me when as a kid I couldn’t eat certain foods or wear the clothes they wanted. Sometimes if they deemed it worthy, I’d be met with the flesh of a palm against my cheek or bottom.

-

When I was 12, I presented the idea that maybe I was autistic to my parents. I’d researched it at school for a social emotional learning class we had to take, and I couldn’t help but notice the similarities I found within myself. If I think about it hard enough, I can feel every burning outline of the dark red hand marks that bloomed on my skin hours after the interaction, and the burning of my eyes as my stomach rumbled, drowned out by the music rumbling through my headphones.

-

At 17 I emancipated from my parents and moved to North Watford, renting out a small studio apartment above a record shop. I completed my final year of high school, working part time in the store, building a much-desired routine. The man that owned the shop and my apartment, and his young daughter, were migrants from Cuba, and more than happy to accommodate to my needs. They even chipped in to help me pay for my autism screening after I graduated high school.

I think they were the first people I willingly hugged ever.

I stopped masking when I moved, so the daughter, Elena; 5, took a few months to understand why I didn’t like touch or loud noises and why I didn’t understand some of the jokes she said that others usually laughed at. Not that I’d had the diagnosis at that time, but she was happy to just spend time with me. Every afternoon when I came back from school and started my shift, she’d beg me for more penguin facts, asking which was my favourite penguin. In return she’d spend the 2-hour shift drawing me something, usually a penguin, to pin on my corkboard at home.

I’d then help with her homework while Camilo closed shop and posted any online orders. It was a routine I cherished deeply.

-

Now, 3 and a bit years later at 21 years old, they managed to drag me to a football game. Equipped with headphones and a couple small sensory toys, as well as a hoodie under the “Miedema” jersey, the material of which originally had me tugging and prying the shirt away from my skin.

Elena and Camilo had been big fans of Arsenal for as long as I’d known them, going to every home game, begging me to join them every week without fail. I finally caved during a break in my uni courses, with nothing to do and Elena’s birthday falling on the day of a game, there was no other choice.

The newly 9-year-old basically imploded when she saw my printed ticket stub, tucked tightly into her birthday card. I gently ruffled her hair, which had become my version of hugging her, and showed her the 3 matching red and white #11 jerseys I purchased not long ago. She’d talked a lot about this Vivianne Miedema and how she wanted to be just like her when she grew up, but she’d never gotten a jersey, or seats on the bottom tier. Today was the day.

~

“Come ooonnn I want to get to our seats!” the pinky of her left hand links with my right one as her other hand is holding her dad’s, and she’s dragging us down the lane toward the entrance.

“Slow down Pollito! We have 20 more minutes until we need to be seated.” My special schedule for the day runs through my head as I check my watch. Plenty of time as long as the crowd keeps flowing.

“I wish you didn’t learn Spanish. It’s such a silly nickname.”

“But you’re my little chicken.” I send a joking frown her way and she replies with a toothless grin.

With the abrupt end to the conversation, we arrive at the gate. Showing the stewardess our tickets to be scanned, we then head toward our seats. As Camilo and I take our seats at the very front, instead of make way to their usual seats a tier up, Elena stops and looks back and forth between us.

“There’s no way you got us these seats.” Without a word I pull the girl in between us and she begins to ramble about how excited she is to be able to see the game so close, still able to be clearly heard through my headphones I manage to slip over my ears.

~

The game is drawn 1-1 just after half time, but Arsenal is close to having the upper hand. From across the pitch, Elena spots the tall and lanky number 11, Vivianne Miedema, pulling off her fluoro yellow bib and warm up shirt and lining up next to number 32 behind the fourth official who is prepping her sign. With a couple of whacks to my arm and an aggressive point of her finger, Elena makes me and Camilo very aware of the impending entrance of her favourite player, and another really attractive girl who is very obviously wearing her socks on the wrong feet. The thought makes me squirm but a shot on goal quickly manages to take my focus.

“Who’s the one coming on with Viv? You’ve never told me about number 32.” It’s hard to take my eyes off the girl as she jumps from one foot to the other, anticipating her entrance.

“Oh that’s Kyra Cooney-Cross! She’s Australian, she transferred at the start of the season. Jonas should play her more.” I acknowledge her words with a hum and a nod before we join in cheering Viv and Kyra on.

My eyes are glued to Kyra the rest of the game. Without any knowledge of how football works, I’m left to assume she’s good with the way she dances around players and passes the ball. It was weird, but her movement was so free flowing it would not be atrocious to confuse her with a ballerina. Elegant and calculated, no hesitation.

~

“Where are we going?” my pinky is once again linked with Elena’s as I drag her and Camilo through Emirates.

“Papa where is she going? The exit is that way.”

“I have no clue chica, but I suppose we should trust her aye?” with that, the father-daughter duo track behind me.

Eventually I stop just where the opening of the tunnel leads out on to the pitch and show a lady the pass I’d been carrying around all day. She smiles and begins walking down the tunnel, waving behind her as a sign for us to follow.

“What’s going on?” Elena asks once again, but I just follow the lady onto the pitch, where multiple members of the Arsenal squad are now loitering around, obviously waiting for something, or someone. At the front of the group is Viv, and when she spots the small girl behind me her eyes light up.

“Hi! You must be Elena. We’ve heard a lot about you!” she sends the girl a smile, but Elena doesn’t make any move to continue the conversation. My head whips to her and I nearly have to laugh from how adorable she is. Her jaw has dropped open and her eyes are welling up with tears, so I ruffle her hair and bend down to her height, removing my headphones.

“What’s up buttercup?” I lightly tap her head.

“That’s really her.” she whispers to me, her eyes not leaving the Dutch woman, who lets out a chuckle.

“Yes it is.”

“How?” I tap the side of my nose at her question indicating it’s to be left a secret.

“Can I have a hug?” Viv kneels on one knee and opens her arms and Elena suddenly breaks lose from her trance and runs up to her hero.

“It’s nice to meet you liefje, I hear you’ve been a fan for a long time. And today’s your birthday. How old are you turning?”

“Nine!”

“Oh wow, you’re growing up!”

“I know, but Y/N still calls me Pollito. I’m not a little chicken.” Everyone looking on bursts out laughing as Elena frowns, and while I join them, the loud sound simply reminds me of the lack of protection on my ears.

~

Elena gets whisked off to talk and play around with Viv and some of the other girls, who seem to all have taken a genuine liking to the young girl, Camilo following to watch over them. I stand firmly on the sidelines, fidgeting with an infinity cube and trying to forget the sudden scratching of my hoodie’s tag on the back of my neck and the tightness of my socks, when a now familiar face pops in front of me.

I don’t notice her at first, my eyes are closed and I’m trying breathing patterns in hopes that the overstimulating sensations with dissipate. It’s only when I open my eyes to check on Elena that I get the shock of my life. Number 32 is just standing in front of me, staring, waiting for me to notice her. no less than a minute ago she’d been spinning Elena around and laughing with her, which I’d found alarmingly adorable, how’d she get here so fast?

She doesn’t say anything, she just smiles and waves, and I realise she must think I can’t hear her with my headphones on, which many people tend to ignore. Wow she’s much prettier up close.

“Hi, I’m Y/N” I return her smile, but don’t make any move to remove the headphones.

“I’m Kyra.” Her voice is muffled but her accent is incredible and like music to my ears.

“You played really well today.” Is she blushing? Red creeps up her neck and finds home on her round cheeks as she smiles brightly.

“Ah thanks, I try to give it my all. Hoping to prove I deserve more game time.”

“You don’t get played often?” another chuckle passes her lips and I feel my stomach tighten.

“Uh no. I take it you’re not a big football fan?”

“What gives you that idea.”

“Well rocking up to an Arsenal game with blue nails for a start.” I cock my head to the side and give her a confused look. I did a lot of research for today, there was no room for me to mess up.

“Chelsea, our biggest rivals, their colour is blue. It’s basically forbidden for an arsenal fan to wear blue to a game. Trust me, I learnt the hard way.”

I’m quick to hide my hands in the pocket at the front of my hoodie, fidgeting with my nails. How did I manage to fuck that up?

“You don’t really have to worry, just maybe keep it in mind if you ever come to another game. I hope you do by the way.” She flashes me a smile that makes me feel warm and I can’t help myself.

“You’re very pretty.” She’s about to reply when I glance down and notice her socks are still wrong.

“And I’m not sure if you know but your socks are on the wrong feet.” It’s quiet for a moment and I’m not sure if my common candour has once again overstepped. I can’t even open my mouth to apologise before she giggles.

“I knew there was something wrong. I keep doing it but no one tells me until after the game… and you’re quite beautiful yourself. If you don’t mind me saying.” My eyes continue to avoid her face as I bounce on the balls of my feet and try to refrain from shaking my hands, my most common stim.

“Thank you.”

We’re silent for a minute or so, which I don’t mind now that I’m more familiar with her. I continue to watch Elena and Camilo, who are now playing in a 5v5, Viv carrying the girl halfway down their makeshift pitch before helping her kick the ball. When her laughs echo through the stadium, joy breaking through her screams and from the yells of her dad who is playing a rather poor referee, I’m reminded of how much I love this family. I can’t help the smile on my face.

“Your sister is very adorable.” I glance to my side where Kyra now resides and contemplate telling her she isn’t my sister, but the words get stuck in my throat. If I were to say they weren’t my family after all they’ve done for me, then I’d be lying.

“Yeah. She’s basically my whole life.”

“Hey can I ask about the headphones? I mean you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want but-“

“I’m autistic. Struggle really bad with sound and other stimulants. I wear headphones to dampen sounds, especially in public. And stadiums are full of sounds.” My palms sweat a little and my breath is laboured for a moment. This is usually the part where people decide I’m a freak and never talk to me again.

“Oh cool. I totally get that, the sound thing.” That warm feeling returns. She doesn’t question anything, she just agrees.

~

Eventually the meet and greet had to end, but I manage to get a few of the girl’s numbers, including number 32’s. Something I hadn’t expected was that the team would love Elena so much that they wanted to organise season tickets and some more passes to meet up after home games. I couldn’t help but be a little proud of myself as the young girl rambled about how amazing it was to get to hang out with her idols, and the prospect of seeing them again.

~

Uni starts back up the following week, so I don’t join the two for a game for quite a while. Despite that, I find myself texting Kyra most days, a good morning and goodnight routine quickly being established. We ask each other questions about each other. ‘What did you want to be if football didn’t work out?’ ‘What made you want to study your course?’ ‘what’s your favourite thing about Australia?’.

She liked to ask me about parts of my autism every now and then. She wanted to know what things to avoid, what topics made me ramble for ages, safe foods. The only other people who had ever cared this much were Elena and Camilo. The two of which had definitely taken note of how happy I’d grown since the game.

“Who are you talking to Angelito? You haven’t smiled this big in a long time.” Camilo takes a seat beside me behind the desk of the store

There is no need to hide the blossoming relationship from him, so I turn my screen to show the messages between Kyra and I, a bold ‘No. 32’ under a very weird but unmistakable picture of the girl. He hums and smiles, lightly nudging our shoulders together.

“She likes you.”

“Pft no she doesn’t.”

“‘you’re so cute.’ ‘I really like you.’ ‘I’ll save that for when I take you on a date.’ With a winky face emoji. She literally admits she likes you. Twice.”

“I thought that was that flirty thing people do with their friends.”

“I know when people like each other.”

“How Milo?”

“I have a gift.”

“A gift hmm?” he just smiles widely down at me before taking my phone again. He begins to type something.

“What are you writing Milo? Milo!” I glance over his shoulder.

‘I really like you and would like to go on a date if you’re free.’ I’m about to scold him but three dots appear as Kyra begins typing.

“If this works you owe me an extra hour this week.”

“You are an evil schemer Camilo.” I say before squeezing his shoulder, a common sign of affection we’d developed.

‘I’d really like that. Tomorrow’s our day off if that works.’

I can’t help the squeal I let out as Camilo writes a response in confirmation.

“I’m going on a date.”

“You deserve this kiddo.”

~

Kyra and I agree on a dinner date at a restaurant I’d mentioned really enjoying a few months ago, that I hadn’t had a chance to visit since. I’d made the reservation, asking for the specific table I’d sat at the last time I came, and I’d already decided on what I was getting before I even hoped in the car to drive there.

I’d planned everything perfectly. The place, my outfit, what time I had to leave to arrive there 10 minutes before our agreed upon time. I hadn’t taken into account the car speeding through a red light and crashing into the car in the right lane beside me. Or the fact that due to the momentum I’d get caught between the 2 cars and the building on the corner of the street I was just about to turn down. No more than 15 metres from the restaurant but I’m trapped and the seatbelt is too tight and my head hurts. I’m crushed between my door and the centre console and all the sirens and ambulance lights approaching are too much and all I can do it cry.

If I could just reach my bag in the footwell of the passenger seat I could get my headphones to relieve some of the stimulation, but I can’t bend that way without my ribs screaming and whatever is poking my hip in my back making itself known.

I pray to every god I can name that I pass out, but no one hears as the jaws of life pry open my door. When were the other cars moved?

“Ma’am we have to cut you out. my colleague here is going to hold you up. Is that okay?” I don’t have any energy to say no, so I nod, waiting for some scissors to snip away at the seatbelt. Instead, I hear an electric saw whir to life.

“W- what’s the saw for?” my words are barely recognisable as they slur together.

“Ma’am everything is okay, just stay still for us okay?”

The sawing is over quicker than it begun, and the paramedics make an effort to move me as carefully as they can onto the stretcher, then into the ambulance. I make no move to complain about how the neck brace is itchy and feels suffocating.

A minute passes and through the newly developed ringing in my ears, I hear someone calling my name. they sound so far away but when I open my eyes again, Kyra is standing above me, next to the paramedic who’s hooking me up to monitors,

“Do you know this lady ma’am?” she asks me as I stare up at the girl I was meant to be on a date with.

“Yeah she’s my girlfriend.” A voice in the back of my head is worried that maybe that will freak Kyra out, but I know they won’t let her ride with me if we don’t have some close connection and for some reason friend does not cross my mind.

They allow her to take the extra seat beside me and she loops her pinky with mine. She keeps glancing down toward my stomach and taking deep breaths as we make our way down the streets of London. I try to see what she’s looking at but the brace doesn’t allow me to look that far down.

“You’re going to be okay.” She whispers as they roll me out of the ambulance, and she manages to quickly kiss me before I’m gone from view.

~

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but when I wake up there is a sterile white light beaming down on me and I have to instantly close my eyes. I’m quick to take note of the horrible feeling of the hospital gown I definitely wasn’t in when I’d gone under.

“Papa! She’s awake!” I let out a groan at the yell but and quick to smile once the voice registers in my head.

“Pollito.” My voice is no more than a whisper, hoarse and dry.

“Hey Angelito. How are you feeling.”

“Horrible. The light’s too bright and the gown is so itchy.” Neither Elena nor Camilo leave my side, but the light is off within seconds.

“I more meant physically. You were hit pretty hard.” The screeching of tyres, the smell of burnt rubber, the flashing lights, all rush back to me. So does the pain.

“Now that you mention it. What’s the damage?” it’s meant as a joke but I’m trying not to cry.

“3 broken ribs, 2 fractured, a torn vastus lateralis in your thigh, a lot of muscle damage in your back. It’s going to be a lot of physical therapy kiddo.” The thought has bile rising in my throat.

“Fuck me.”

“It’s okay, we’re going to be here the whole way. All of us.” By now I could know the voice in a crowd of people.

I turn my head and there she is. Kyra is sat in one of the uncomfortable hospital seats with her hand on top of mine.

“If it’s okay with you, Camilo, me and some of the arsenal girls are going to sort out a schedule to take turns helping you with PT. Viv was really hoping she could give some tips considering how long she spent doing PT.”

“That sounds perfect. But please tell me one of you has my pyjamas. I need to get out of this gown.”

~

There was no lie in how difficult rehab was. I had an hour appointment at the hospital every day and additional work at home that Milo, Kyra and some of the arsenal girls happily helped with. The hardest hurdle was amount of physical touch that was required. My physical therapist, Jordan, always made sure I knew when she needed to touch my leg or something, but that did very little to sooth the feeling that crawled beneath my skin. She was able to dim the fluorescent white lights and allowed me to wear my headphone which did help a small amount.

Kyra basically moved into my room above the shop. Milo insisted he could do all the work of getting me around the house and the shop, but we knew he couldn’t while maintaining the shop and looking after Elena. Elena tried her best to help by making me breakfast. She gathered pre-made versions of my safe breakfast food and carefully place them separately on a plate, with a glass of orange juice every morning. After the first week she realised I’d be in a wheelchair and struggling to move around much for much longer than she thought, so she quickly gave up on that idea and began making me penguin drawings at school.

I’d adapted to having Kyra around much quicker than I expected to. When I moved in at 17, it took me months to get used to the layout and the fact that I was alone, despite Camilo and Elena living in the house across the road. I adapted to Kyra’s presence within weeks.

After the second week we’d decided it was easier to share the bed rather than her sleeping on the couch, which had been the biggest change. I struggled with it the first few nights. I had a sleep routine that was already disrupted by the injuries, now I had to take another person into account. But she was so warm, and I felt so safe in her arms. Whenever I woke up from a nightmare about the crash, she grabbed me an iced tea and my headphones and would ramble about whatever interests she had recently developed or whatever was happening at training.

It was in the second month things took a more serious turn. Well serious for our relationship. I was sitting at the table chopping the vegetables for dinner while she begins cooking, when I took a minute to just look at her. The warm lighting softened her features, her quiet humming to whatever song was playing carried throughout the room, the smile that seemed to never leave her face sat perfectly on her lips as she listened to me ramble about the newly discovered yellow king penguin. She was so radiant and attentive, and she was never annoyed at me when I was overstimulated or wanted to infodump. She was seemingly unaffected by my rehab and most importantly unaffected by my autism. After a life full of negative interactions and losing people because of one thing I couldn’t control, I’d found a family and a partner who embraced me.

I didn’t realise I was crying until she turned and asked me what was wrong.

“I’m just grateful.”

“For what?”

“You, Milo, Elena. I love you all so much.” I didn’t realise I’d said it really. I was just being candid, as I always was.

“You love me?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation even as it dawned on me.

“Well, I love you too.” There is a split second between the end of her sentence and the meeting of our lips in a kiss.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” I ask as we pull away.

“Wait- I thought- when you called me your girlfriend on the ambulance I kind of took that as you asking me to be your girlfriend.” She begins laughing.

“What? This whole time I’ve been nervous about actually asking you and you already thought I had?” I can’t help but join her laugh.

“We’re such fools.” She whispers, and we kiss again.

I'll always be a fool for her.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart, Chapter 9, Human!Alastor x Married!Reader

Chapter Trigger Warnings: graphic depictions of domestic abuse, rape and suicidal ideation hinted on, time period appropriate racism.

AN: Listen- see those warnings above? I fuckin mean it. If you're not in the right headspace or you need to walk away for a bit, do so. This shouldn't need stating but I will anyway, Laurence is a terrible man and his views are not that of my own.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers!

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Streets, shops, and houses passed by in a silent blur. The radio was off and the rumble of the engine was the closest thing to music you had to focus on. That and the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of Laurence’s fingers against the wheel. 

Dread churned in your stomach, raising bile that you had no choice but to swallow down. Laurence wouldn’t like it if you vomited in his car. He would like it even less if you asked him to stop for you to do it on the side of the road. It wouldn’t look good. It wasn’t ladylike. 

It would just make things worse for you, anyway. 

Reaching forward, you switched on the radio. Anything to drown out the deafening silence. Alastor’s voice filled the car, chipper and full of life. He was mid sentence, speaking on the latest body found just outside of town. How could he sound so alive while speaking of the dead?

Laurence reached over and switched the radio off, turning the knob with so much force it was surprising he hadn’t ripped it from the console. The only sounds he would allow you were the steady thumping of one finger after the other hitting the wheel and the rumble of the car, it seemed.

The paper around the flowers crinkled as you pulled them tighter against your chest. When was the last time someone else had gotten you flowers? Laurence used to, back when you were courting but had it happened since the day you wed? 

Now that you thought about it, you didn’t think it had. You would buy yourself flowers occasionally. They made the house look and smell good so you justified the expense to yourself when you made the purchase, but no one else ever seemed to gift them to you. 

But Alastor? Not only did he give you flowers, but ones he had picked himself. He braved a thorny rosebush to select blooms for you. It was wrong, the way the action made your heart beat faster. All the flowers were was a token of his thanks for a dinner, nothing more. A societal act of propriety. Part of the typical song and dance of acquaintanceship with your husband. 

He felt nothing more for you than that. If he did, it didn’t matter, anyway. You were married. There was no changing that. It was nothing but the fleeting daydream of a silly girl. 

You walked carefully up the walk, trying hard not to shuffle. Laurence stalked behind you, a looming shadow of darkness and promise. The rattling of his keys in the door hurt your ears. Perhaps it was the sound of your pounding heart that was causing the pain as you stepped inside. 

Terror ran through you as you stood in the bright hallway. It looked too welcoming for what you knew was coming. Dust floated through the air, kicked up by the movement of air and highlighted by the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. 

After taking a deep breath, you turned to him in the entryway just in time to see the dark storm in his eyes as he latched the door shut and flipped the lock. The look he gave had you stepping back slowly, eyes on him as if backing away from a predator. 

Your voice wavered as you said, “I should put these in some water.” 

Before you had even made it two steps, Laurence’s hand was on your shoulder. All you could do was let out a gasp as he ripped the flowers from your hands. There was no time to mourn their loss as the back of the hand he held them in struck across your face while he threw the flowers you had been so touched to receive. 

Petals fluttered through the air as the bundle of flowers struck the wall. They bounced back at you, a cruel joke as you fell to the floor. 

It was one of those strange things your mind locks away, a memory replayed in the deepest of sleeps. Pretty deep red rose petals fluttering through the bright sunlight of your entry, dancing with the dust on their journey to the floor.

Piercing ringing shot through your head with a spike of pain hot on its heels. Your shoulder hit the ground as your neck screamed in pain. The floor was cold and hard under you. Ladies didn’t lay on the floor so you pushed yourself up as best you could, leaning against the wall for support. 

“Did you suck his dick?” Laurence roars as his hand fists in your hair, ripping you back off the wall before you could find your feet. 

“No!” you cried out, tears gathering in your eyes from the pain. The taste of blood filled your mouth, though you hadn’t actually noticed the pain of your lip splitting. “Laurence, I didn’t! I swear!”

His fist rammed into your side hard, knocking the air out of your lungs. If not for his hand in your hair, you would have doubled over from the pain of it. 

“Wrap your pretty little lips around his knob like a dirty whore?!” Laurence shook you while he shouted in your face. 

“I didn’t,” you pleaded as Laurence drug you deeper into the house. “I swear! I didn’t do anything!” 

“Did you like the taste of his dirty black cock?” 

You were stumbling, clinging to his hand wrapped around your hair. Tripping over your own feet, you tumbled to the floor. His pace didn’t slow as he dragged you along by your hair. You could do nothing but crawl, desperate to keep up as you tried and failed to get feet under you until he threw you against the stairs. 

Reaching up with trembling hands, you wiped under your nose. Your fingers came back bloody. The split in your lip throbbed now and to top it off, his blows had your nose flowing freely once again. 

“Stand up.” Laurence demanded, towering over you. 

When you didn’t move fast enough, his strong hand wrapped around your arm in a bruising grip. Laurence yanked you to your feet, not bothering to steady you when your foot slipped off the stair. 

“Useless whore,” balling his fist up, he slammed his knuckles into your side once, then twice. On the third strike, you thought could hear the crunch of ribs more than you could feel it. 

Was that the sound of bones breaking? 

You coughed, blood splattering from your lips in a fine mist. Laurence’s face scrunched up in disgust as he threw you away from him like you were little more than a piece of rubbish. Pain flailed in your pinky as it bent too far back when you hit the stairs again. 

Rolling onto your side, you cradled the hand to your chest as gasping sobs tried to rip from your chest. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. You just wanted it over. If it was over, the pain would stop. 

“Get up the stairs.” There was no room for argument in Laurence’s voice. 

Turning onto your knees and hand, you pushed yourself to your feet. Staggering, hunched over and swaying, you took a few steps. Reaching out, your fingertips grazing the stairs ahead of you, you prepared to catch yourself should your balance fail. 

“Hurry up,” His foot landed on your upper back as you just got a good pace going, upsetting your balance. 

Curling your back, you did everything you could to keep your torso from hitting the stairs. In doing so, you sacrificed everything else. Your face came down hard on the edge of the stair, pain throbbing through your temple as you turned your head to protect your already bleeding nose. As you slid back down a step, your shins scraped against stairs and smeared blood droplets from your lip and nose. 

Groaning, you forced yourself back up. You had to hurry. If you didn’t, he would be more angry. You had to hurry. Faster. Faster. Move faster or it’ll be worse. 

You were going as fast as you could and had nearly made it to the top of the stairs before his hand grabbed your hair again. Tripping, you again supported your weight by your scalp in the absence of having your legs under you. 

Your feet scraped against the floor as Laurance pulled you along. The door rattled in its frame as he slammed it open. His grip relented as he shoved you into your bedroom. Tears ran down your cheeks, mixing with blood to drip off your chin. 

“Please,” you whimpered, voice muffled and nasally because of the clotting blood in your sinuses. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” 

A strong slap across your face silenced you, sending you back. Instead of the hard floor, you landed on half on the edge of the bed and that was worse. Laurence’s hands were on your legs, shoving you where he wanted you. 

Hands pulled at your dress, bunching the skirt of your dress up your thighs. You wanted to push him away. You wanted to kick. You wanted to scream. Instead, you focused on not choking on the blood clots as you took gasping breaths. 

He ripped your underwear off you, not caring about the way the fabric burned against your skin. Pulling, yanking, shoving, his hands forced you to turn, chest against the bed and legs dangling over the edge, bent in half. The sound of his belt clinking was nearly lost to the ringing in your ears, yet still sent icy dread through your body. 

His hands spread you as he kicked your legs apart. As he spat on you, you buried your head into the blankets. Then you felt it, the burning tip of him as he forced himself inside, not sparing a thought to how it felt like he ripped you in the process. 

Would he make you bleed there tonight, too?

“You’re mine,” Laurence seethed as his hips met your flesh. “You belong to me.”

You wanted to bite the bedding to stifle your cries, but when you tried, you quickly found yourself unable to breathe. Tears blurred your vision as he moved above you, ripping you, violating you. 

In your heart, you knew you were in this position because of Alastor and yet, when you closed your eyes, it was his face you saw. His smile comforted you as pain you well knew spread through you. 

When your eyes opened, you were face down on the ugly green blankets, smears of red blood looking brown and dirty against the backdrop. With your eyes opened, your husband was taking his pleasure from your body while calling you names you dared not even think about. 

But when you closed your eyes, you were back in the radio station listening to Alastor talk as he walked at your pace through the halls. His voice filled your ears.

Alastor wouldn’t treat a woman like this. Alastor wouldn’t rape a woman. You didn’t know how you knew it, but you did. 

Laurence threw a nightgown at your unmoving form. You watched it flutter onto the bed, a ghost of silk and lace that would feel good against your skin, but you only twitched a fingertip. 

You could feel the wetness running down your legs. Blood. Seed. You didn’t know which. Probably both. You needed to get up and clean it up, wipe your face and get changed. 

How much time had you lost? You could tell from where the shadows sat and the warm light that the sun was setting. It was after dinner time. You were not hungry. If anything, you felt like vomiting, but that wasn’t what ladies did after seeing to their wifely duty. 

An apple landed on the bed. You hadn’t seen Laurence leave, let alone return or throw it at you until it bounced in front of your face. With every blink of your eyes, you tried to fight back the fog and get your bearings. 

“I’m going out,” was the only thing Laurence said before walking out the room once again. 

You didn’t move as his heavy footsteps echoed down the stairs. He walked across the living room and you listened to the door open. It shut with a slam, then the car roared to life out front. The sound of the engine faded and your fingers twitched again. 

You needed to get up. You needed to clean up. You were a mess. 

And eventually you did because there was no other choice. Ladies didn’t fail to clean up the mess their husbands made. 

You spent ten minutes trying to line the tincture bottle up with the stain on the counter as the fog set in. You’d taken three drops, more than you’d typically dare, but tonight, you needed it. Mechanically, you popped aspirin and wiped up the blood from your body, though it hardly felt like you that did it. Fingers trembled and knees knocked together. 

You filled the glass kept on the counter with water and limped into the bedroom, not caring that you were naked. Cold air covered your damp skin in gooseflesh. Tears fell from your eyes, but you hardly noticed them. There were things you needed to take care of. 

Your skin was red in places from how you scrubbed, but you couldn’t stomach the thought of running a bath. It would take too long. Tomorrow, you decided, you would wash away the feeling of his hands tomorrow. Tonight, the tincture would take the feeling away. It would take all the feelings away, all the pain away, at least for a little while. 

After slipping the nightgown over your head, you shuffled to Laurence’s side of the bed with a small bag of crackers and a cup of water in hand. Laurence wasn’t neat about how he kept his drawer, but it was easy enough to find the pocket knife he kept inside. 

Sitting on the bed, you slowly whittled the peel from the apple. You were not hungry, but you knew in time you would be. It was better to eat now when the fog was thickest than try to eat later, when your jaw would surely be screaming in pain. 

It hurt to open your mouth, but you managed just wide enough to slip pieces of cracker between cracked lips. You poured a little water in and waited, letting the cracker become mush before working to swallow it. You followed it with small chunks of apple, swallowed whole. 

Until the apple was gone, you repeated this process, sipping water between tiny bites to help wash them down. 

Once finished, you stashed the wax paper the crackers had been wrapped in back inside your drawer to reuse later. You let the apple core fall from the window, trusting some wildlife would take it and the peel off. It was a slow hobble to the bathroom to wash the knife, dry it and toss it back into the drawer. 

You didn’t have the energy to wrestle the blankets back. Instead, you collapsed onto them, hating the way the bed smelled like him, but knowing your body needed every bit of softness in its broken state. 

Tomorrow you would clean the blood on the stairs. Tomorrow you would clean the bloody blanket. 

Your dreams were filled with the same fog the tincture brought you while you were awake. Brown eyes floated in your mind. A warm chuckle surrounded you, wrapping around you like a blanket. The radio played as you cooked alongside a tall man with fluffy brown hair. 

A blink. A shift. Fog blew in and then you were dancing. When was the last time you had danced? It felt like forever ago. It had to have been a lifetime ago. Your wedding day, perhaps?

“Nonsense,” his warm voice washed over you, answering your thoughts. “We dance every night. Have since we met.” 

“You’re not my husband?” 

“I’m not?” Kind brown eyes, so warm, widened with shock before he laughed. “But is he?” 

Your mind swam in and out of sleep as night gave way to morning light. Birds sang their greeting to the day as you groaned. Death had not come for you in the night’s darkness, but part of you wished it had. That part of you whispered a little louder each morning after a bad light with Laurence. 

You blinked one eye open, forcing it to focus. The other eye was little more than a slit. Blood flaked off your skin. In the night, the bleeding had resumed, but you were not sure from where yet. 

Everything hurt. From your ankles that had twisted as you tumbled and fell to the scalp atop your head where your hair had supported the weight of your whole body.

You were no stranger to beatings, but this was by far one of the worst. Laurence had never been that angry with you before. Part of you was surprised he hadn’t killed you. Part of you wished he had. 

Such thoughts were sinful. You needed to be thankful for the gift of life. It was a gift from God above. You struggled to care as your body screamed. 

The house was silent. There was no sign of the man you called husband as you looked around. Moaning, gasping shallow breaths through broken lips, you forced yourself to your feet. 

Morning sun and the absence of Laurence’s car in front of the house greeted you. People walked along the sidewalk as if it was any other day. For them, you guessed, it was. They did not know the horrors that hid within the pretty blue house halfway down the street.

That was just as well. You couldn’t pretend right now. Shuffling, stumbling, limping. There was no real word to describe your gait as you did all of those things at the same time while you made your way to the bathroom. 

You spared the tub a glance but decided against it. There was no chance you’d be able to get out of the tub even if you managed to get in. It would be a while yet before you could wash away what was done to you. 

You took a few more pills before picking up the tincture bottle. It sang to you, calling in a voice that promised sweet relief from the pain and the thoughts both. Instead of taking the top off, you painstakingly returned it to its place. 

Pain was a useful tool. Pain would keep you from overdoing it. Pain would help you heal. 

The mirror revealed a woman that looked nothing like you. Yet, you wondered if under your skin and fake smiles, this is what you had spent the last few years of your marriage looking like. Perhaps this was your face, hidden from the world and yourself. This was the face of the woman Laurence had made you.

Filling the sink basin with water, you grabbed a towel and set to work carefully mopping up blood. The water turned pink with each dip of the bloody rag. You avoided looking at your hand, your stiff little finger didn’t seem to work right and any attempt to use it shot pain up your arm. 

That needed to be dealt with, but you didn’t know how to even go about it. That was a later problem. First, you needed to pull yourself together. 

Looking away from the woman in the mirror and her broken, battered face, you began the shuffle down the hall. Your hand braced you against the wall. Every breath you took sent pain through your ribs. You wanted to not breathe at all anymore, but that wasn’t an option. 

Gripping the railing, you carefully lowered yourself down the first step. Your hips and thighs screamed at you. It felt like rust had settled in your joints. The next step was just as painful. Your foot missed the third step, sending you crashing down. 

The only thing that had saved you was your hand on the railing, slowing your fall before it slipped free, only to catch you again as it wrapped around a bannister. Pain exploded through your chest, radiating everywhere. 

Vision faded to black as you struggled to pull a breath. 

How long did you lay on the stairs? 

When you opened your eyes, you saw the wooden steps. The railing rose out of your line of sight. On the steps were little red circles. Reaching out, you ran your fingertips over blood.

Not fresh. No, this was evidence of the prior night. Tears swam in your vision as you cried. Each painful sob felt like it could end your life and you hoped it would. 

Sinning again. The Lord wouldn’t give you a burden you could not carry, you told yourself. Be stronger. Be enough and rise above. 

Closing your eyes, you saw warm brown eyes. Maybe you’d cry yourself to sleep on the stairs and return to a dreamland where Laurence wasn’t the man your family had married you off to. Maybe sleep would claim you and take you to a world where you danced with Alastor instead. 

Tag list in the comments Next? Masterlist

[bettyfrommars]

Death Becomes Us

Part 9: Heads Will Roll

vampire!eddie x supernatural!reader

MASTERLIST PLAYLIST

18+ONLY, vampires, werewolves, mention of witches and ghouls, a pet demobat, a car accident, no smut in this, but definitely next chapter (the kind of non-dream vampire sex you've been so patiently waiting for), reader is taken.

summary: There's a new monster in town, and you are their target. An unlikely trio decides to join forces to get you back. The character Jareth in this is meant to be Jamie Campbell Bower.

word count: 3.6k

author's note: I almost put this on hiatus, but I need to find out how it ends, for my sanity, and I would be more than pleased if some of you wanted to ride it out with me, only a bit more to go. This is not as long as I initially intended, but the next part needs to be all one piece, so I had to split it up. Much love, hope you enjoy.

This chapter takes place right where part 8 left off

“Excuse me?” You balked, looking Jareth up and down there in the alleyway behind Main Vein. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Who did he think he was? 

A thousand year old vampire, probably.  Stronger and faster than Eddie or any vampire you’d met so far.

Jareth smoothed a thick strand of blonde hair behind his ear.  “That’s the problem you see. I wasn’t asking.”

A fog settled in among the cold, winter darkness, crowding in like doom.  Your eyes darted from side to side, trying to understand what you were up against.  Was Jareth alone? Where were those finicky “powers” when you needed them? Even if the superhuman strength you’d been touched with made an appearance, could you take on a vampire?

Did you have a choice?

But then, a wave of fear burned like thorns in your chest and your voice cracked.  “Is Eddie okay?  Did something happen to—-?”

The smile that spread across Jareth’s face was condescending.  “No harm has befallen your trailer park Romeo.  Not at my hand, for that matter.”

Not sure how to feel about that answer, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder and took the first step away from him, on the way to your hearse.  

“Tsktsk,” he had black gloves on to match his long, leather coat.  “Now, I don’t want to take you by force, but I will if you give me no choice.”

You met his eyes with a defiant softness that made him realize, not for the first time, why Munson was clearly so enamored with you. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Truthfully, I haven’t decided what to do with you yet,” he wet his top lip with the tip of his tongue, making eyes at the blood pumping in your throat.  “But I wouldn’t mind a taste.”

 You shrugged away from him. “Why should I go with you?”

“Because I said so,” he arched his brows, and then leaned forward. “And because I’ve had word that there’s a Ghoul in town looking for you.  I’m only interested in your safety.”

You glared at him.  “You’re only interested in yourself.”

“Feisty, I like it. Now, come on, this way,” he inclined his head.

You took a few steps and then stopped short.  “Wait, a ghoul?”

“Servants to the regional monster government, yes,” he said, like everyone should know that already.

You thought about Steve, waiting for you at the bookstore.  You thought about Bela waiting for you to let her out for her nightly fly.  

“How long will I be gone?”

“Until my people can figure out what the ghoul wants from you.”

“Why are you protecting me?” You shuffled in front of him.  

Jareth sniffed, unable to meet your gaze.  “On that note, I am not entirely sure,” he stepped a bit closer then, making you shuffle a step back.  “Call it curiosity, perhaps. You fascinate me, and very little keeps my interest these days.”

When his stare finally locked onto yours, you tried not to show fear under the laser focus of his natural intensity.  

You slipped into the passenger seat of his Porsche, smelling the leather and expensive cologne, and waited for him to get in beside you.  Just as he was about to start the engine, there was a loud bang and crash from above, like something heavy dropped hard and fast onto the roof of his car.

You couldn’t help the scream you let out, peeking up to see that there was, indeed, a dent caving in the metal as if a boulder had crashed into it. A figure leapt to the ground, landing in a crouch between the headlights.

Jareth’s lips peeled away from his teeth with a growl at the sight of Eddie standing there.

Eddie swiped his hair away from his face, expresion softening when he locked eyes with you. He cocked his head and mouthed the question, “are you okay?” 

You were just about to click your seatbelt on, but you threw it off with a thwack against the window and stepped out of the vehicle, ignoring Jareth’s protests.

Eddie’s mind raced. He’d been wanting to talk to you about the not so subtle layers of vampire etiquette, but the time was never right.  Then he was parking another stolen car in the bay at the chop shop and he’d felt your discomfort, the spike in your adrenaline.  Without any vampire claim on you, your blood and your body were fair game to others.  If he could make the claim that you were his, the rest of them would have to stay away.  Even the older, stronger ones like Jareth.  

Eddie went around to your side of the Porsche and met you there, searching your face to see if you’d been hurt. 

“Where did you…how did you?” You stammered. 

He came to your side, so close that his hand brushed the back of yours.  He was breathing heavily, staring at your lips, aching to touch your cheek, to kiss you.

Jareth slammed his car door. “You’re going to pay for the repair, Munson,” he sneered, taking stock of the obvious dent made from his landing.

Eddie licked his lips and moved his jaw as if he were about to say something to you, but then his face tensed when he turned to Jareth. 

“You need to know that she is mine,” his throat dried up when he caught the side glance of your head swiveling to get a better look at the words that were coming out of his mouth. Fully expecting to have you cut him off and disagree, he continued.  “I claim her as my mate.”

Your first urge was to challenge the sentiment, but Eddie pinched the side of your hand and pulsed there a few times to let you in on his intentions.  

“Is this true?” Jareth’s stare bore into you.

You decided to trust your friendly neighbor. “Um, yes, I’m with him,” you were sure that any and all lies would be instantly detected, but the truth was, you didn’t mind saying it.  

“Well, that is unfortunate,” Jareth cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, I advise you to come with me.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie took his chance and snatched your hand in his.  You liked the feel of it, so you let him. “Where are you taking her?”

Jareth’s eyelids fluttered as if he were bored to death. “If you must know, there is a Ghoul named Brenner in town who's been asking questions about your…mate.” He bit the final word out sarcastically.  

At the mention of Brenner’s name, Eddie stiffened. It was familiar to him, more familiar than he wanted to admit. He shifted uneasily to interlace his fingers with yours.

“And a witch, a very powerful one,” Jareth confirmed.  “Possibly even a necromancer.”

You weren’t certain what that meant, but realization seemed to dawn on Eddie’s face. 

You turned to get a good look at Eddie, to search his eyes as if he had the perfect answer for how you should answer that, but his milk chocolate orbs only mirrored your search for answers.

There was also something else behind his eyes, a type of silent pleading that you couldn’t put your finger on.

The truth was, you had no idea you were special.  Not even after that day back in your hometown when you were able to push a man out of the way and stop a moving truck with your bare hands so that it would not crush the both of you.  He’d been going way too fast, about to run a stop sign.  The driver told people your eyes were all white, void of iris or pupil, and there were two indentations left in the metal grill where your hands had been.  

Your father had not explained the weight of your new gifts before he passed.  You liked to think that he hadn’t known, how could he? 

While you’d stood there talking, the fog had grown more substantial, it had weight and texture, so much so that you had to squint to see Jareth on the other side of the car.

“Wait,” Jareth held his hand up, squinting into the haze around him.  “Did you hear that?”

No mistaking, there it was again, a whooshing noise, along with the soft timber of chanting voices.  

You watched in horror as Jareth’s body seized, trembling where he stood as if being controlled by puppet strings, eyes rolling back in his head.  His jaw went slack and his head bent back.

Someone or something was controlling him, possessing his body.

“What is happening?” You gasped, clinging to Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie was already on the move, pulling you toward him to take you into his arms and run. “But I don’t want to wait to find out.”

But he wasn’t fast enough

You felt his body go rigid, too, hand falling limp in your grasp

You turned to find him in a similar state; eyes quivering back into his head, body stiff and vibrating as if he were caught in the grip of some strange, upright sleep paralysis.  

“Eddie, no!” You cried, reaching up to take his face in your hand. Every muscle in his body was tense and his breathing shallow.  

“Eddie, you’re scaring me!” You choked on your fear, tugging at his arm.

But then there came another sound, one that made your blood run cold.

“I control the dead,” a soft, feminine voice said.  “And it just so happens that your sweetheart and his friend are no longer living, if you hadn’t noticed.”

You spun around in a circle, seeing no one.  “Who are you? What do you want?”

She appeared to you then, like a vision.  Long, ebony hair and a dark purple velvet cape, her sharp green eyes were familiar to you in a way you didn’t understand.   

“I want you, Dove,” she said with a sly grin.

The woman said something else, in language you didn’t recognize, and she blew some type of dust into your face from the palm of her hand. 

You were able to let out the first part of a scream for help before your knees buckled and you were falling into an inky abyss.

—----

Since you were late, Steve was on his way over from the bookstore to check on you when he heard your broken, shrill cry.

He called your name and started to jog, peering in through the blanket of fog that was finally beginning to dissipate.  

He vaulted over the hood of one of the cars, pouncing into the street just in time to see the SUV with the tinted windows speed away from the curb, tires squealing.

“Hey!” With a growl, and a red glow to his eyes, he ripped his clothes off as he ran, turning into wolf form along the way.  He was sleek and dark gray, so fast and agile, wearing the night like a cloak.

He chased the vehicle into the night, eventually keeping pace with it through the forest, no matter how much it picked up speed.

—-----

In the shadows of an abandoned building near the tracks with broken out windows and a crumbling roof, Eddie gave a few tight blinks of his eyes; they felt dry and itchy, like someone had thrown salt in them.  There were slabs of broken concrete and a metal beam in front of him from the half-demolished structure.  The air smelled like rat feces and urine, and he was seated on the ground with his hands behind his back.

He shifted to test the strength of his restraints and hissed in pain as the silver chain around his neck and wrists burned him, making a sizzling noise like eggs in a frying pan.

“It’s no use,” the deep voice behind him said.

“Jareth?” Eddie turned his head and cringed in pain again.

Both of them were secured to a thick, cement pillar, facing away from each other.

“Are we alone?”

“As far as I can tell,” Jareth said in his typical, monotone voice. 

“What the hell was that?”

“The witch I warned you about would be my guess,” Jareth returned flatly. “And if you hadn’t slowed us down, we might have had a chance to escape her.”

Eddie went silent, trying to concentrate on the magic force that connected him to you through the sharing of each other’s blood, but he couldn’t hear you…couldn’t feel you, and that worried him more than anything.  

“What is she going to do with her?”

“I am ancient, but I am not a psychic,” Jareth drolled. 

Just then, a huge wolf with red eyes leapt through the gaping hole on the side of the building and trotted over to them, panting, huge tongue lolling out of its mouth of jagged teeth.  Both Eddie and Jareth bared their fangs as the beast closed in on them, sniffing the air as it went. 

Steve morphed back into his human form then, and stood before them completely naked.

Eddie retracted his fangs and tried to look anywhere but at the package on the new arrival. “Jesus christ, put that thing away, man.”

“Where is she?” Steve looked around at the empty expanse, trying to get a glimpse of you.  “I can’t smell her anymore.”

“That’s because she’s not here, you mongrel,” Jareth sighed, annoyed. 

“Did you see where they went?” Chain link welts formed on Eddie’s neck.  “The ones who brought us here?”

Steve worked his jaw, angry with himself.  “I kept up for as long as I could, but then I lost them on the freeway and had to find the scent again.”

Eddie threw his head back against the concrete pillar with a curse.

“Well?” Jareth interrupted the moment of silence. “You could help us out of these restraints if you wanted to make yourself useful.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Steve gave him a glare, his breath like smoke in the frozen air.  “Or I could just leave you to rot.”

“I will spend the rest of my immortal life making you regret that decision—” Jareth’s voice began to raise.

“Enough,” Eddie grunted. “We will be stronger in numbers,” his eyes met Steve’s with a sincere urgency. “She’s in danger.”

“We’ll need to find shelter before dawn,” Jareth reminded him. He looked up at the opening in the concrete with a view of the stars.  In a few hours, the sun would turn them to ashes.  “Or we will perish.”

Steve tucked his chin, willing to set aside his loathing of fangers long enough to get you back, and squatted down to get to work unraveling the massive chain that pinned the two vampires together.  

—----

You could feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness, or whatever type of spell they had you under, watching the lights from the freeway cut by through half lidded eyes. Inside, you were screaming at yourself to move, to wake up.  

Propped up in the back seat, seatbelt across your lap, your forehead against the window.  You couldn’t see the person driving, but in the passenger seat was the woman with long black hair.  Every time your eyelids fluttered open on an inhale, she was watching you over her shoulder.  

“Dr. Brenner will be pleased,” a man’s voice said, possibly from behind the wheel.  “Why he is so desperate to have her, I will never know.”

“He wants her because she is the only one of her kind,” the woman gave a sarcastic cough of a laugh, as if your value should be obvious.  “Reanimated tissue fused with gamma radiation and witch magic?  If he could bottle her strength and regeneration capabilities, he'd be unstoppable.”

“The vampire boyfriend, is he going to be a problem?” the driver asked.

You drifted awake to see the woman’s profile, stoic in the moonlight.

“They’ll be dead by the time the sun comes up,” she sniffed.  “For all the bragging they do about immortality, all it takes is a bit of silver and sunlight to eliminate them.”

Your heart rate picked up, alarms going off inside of you.  A scream caught in your throat but wasn’t able to form a complete sound.  

Something clicked in your brain, and a shift began to take place.

Electricity buzzed under your skin, licking all of your nerves and cells awake.

A change was happening.  

The driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror.  “You sure we don’t have to worry about her waking up?”

The woman scoffed.  “She’ll be out for at least another hour, and then she’s Brenner’s problem.  I didn’t just put any old spell on her, that one could put down a team of elephants.’

There was nothing but the sound of tires on the pavement for a few seconds and then the SUV swerved and the man behind the wheel cursed.

“What the hell was that?” He huffed, struggling to get back into his lane. Something huge had swooped down from the sky in front of them, something with the wings of a bat and legs like an octopus.  

Headlights came toward the window and someone honked for them to move out of the way. 

“I didn’t think there were any demobats on this side,” the woman mused, wondering if that was what she saw, or if her eyes were playing tricks on hre.  “They hate humans.”

There came the sound of scratching on the roof

SCRTCH SCRITCH SCRITCH

And then an animalistic yowl, like the caw of a prehistoric bird.

Bela dove again, but this time, she attached herself to the windshield, obscuring the driver’s view of the road.  

He swerved again, tires catching in the loose gravel of the median, and she flew off the glass.

“Don’t you have any magic to get rid of this thing?” The guy whined.

“I can’t control demobats, no one outside of the Upside Down can.”

“When that fucker comes around front again, I’m gunning it.  Splatter the thing all over the road.”

Behind them, you moaned, brow furrowed, fingers clawing at nothing.  Your muscles throbbed like they were being pulled apart.  

Bela flew into the side window opposite you with a thump, making a spiderweb crack and the glass, and then she rammed at it again.  

“This fucking thing is gonna get in here,” the man spat.

“Just drive faster you moron! It can’t keep up with us.”

He yanked the wheel, pulling the vehicle to the side to try and hit her, but she was already in the air and off again. 

You rolled back in your seat as the speed increased with a jolt, and for a moment, there was peace.

The driver checked the rearview mirror again.  “I think we lost it,” his attention snapped to the woman with the inky black locks.  “What the fuck was that about?”

She was mid-shrug in response to his question when Bela charged the windshield, landing with enough force again to splinter the glass.

This time, there was no wiggle room when he swerved as a semi truck was barreling down on them in the opposite direction, blaring its horn.

The SUV jerked right, tires catching at the lip of a dry irrigation ditch, and then they rolled.  There was the sound of shattering glass and the sickening crunch of twisted metal while the two in the front seat let out shrill screams.

And then everything was quiet.  

—-------

Back at Eddie’s trailer, Jareth paced outside while Eddie found Steve something to wear.  

“These good enough? I think they’ll fit,” he tossed a few things on the couch. Eddie changed out of his leather and slipped on a black hoodie, in case he needed to hide his hair and be in disguise for some reason. 

Still in his birthday suit, ass on full display, Steve’s expression was bitchy as he pinched the material to lift it up for a better look.

“A ratty jean vest?” Steve raised a brow.

Eddie popped a cigarette between his lips, crinkling up the empty soft pack of Camel’s in his hand.  “Sorry the maid hasn’t come to do laundry today, Princess. Those are the only two things I have that are clean.  Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” Steve rolled his eyes. The jeans he was borrowing had ripped holes in the knees and the shoes were white Reebok high tops.  “I’m usually able to plan better when I shift,” he mumbled, stepping into the pant legs, gently tucking his cock inside to avoid the teeth of the zipper.

Once they’d been freed from the restraints at the abandoned building, Eddie hotwired a cement mixer from a nearby construction site, and then they swung by downtown to see if any of the clothes Steve had worn earlier were salvageable in the street, but they’d been obliterated like a bomb went off. 

“Just do me a favor and take that off before you bust out of it in another transformation, cool?”

Eddie turned away to take a drag from his smoke while Steve inspected the patches on the battle jacket with a frown.

And that was when it happened.

Like the ringing of a phone in his head

A spasm in his chest

He could feel you calling to him

“This is it,” he screwed his eyes shut, trying to zero in on the emotions you were radiating. 

“This is what?” Steve stood in front of the mirror under the clock, adjusting the collar of the vest and raking a hand through his hair.

Eddie’s eyes snapped open, tip of his tongue resting between his lips.  He sprang behind Steve on his way to the door, clapping him on the shoulder.  “It’s showtime.”

-----

thank you so much for reading xoxox

------

Taglist: @trixyvixx@sllooney@writinginthetwilight@sidthedollface2@atomickaratel8dy @probablyin-bed @kiyastrf94@briamunson92 @joannamuns9n @jasminelafleur @@bellalillyrose @dashingdeb16 @alba8688 @corrodeddeadlydoll@brassreign@likedovesinthewnd @ilovetaquitosmmm @skrzydlak@onegirlmanytales@angietherose@probablyin-bed@reidsbtch@moonbeamsandmayhem@eddiesxangel@hideoutside@secretdryrose@nailbatanddungeon@thorfemmes@corkadymu@kellsck@mrsjellymunson@poofyloofy @dream-a-little-nightmare

[sporadicthingcollection]

A Day in the Life (Buggy the Clown x F!Reader)

Summary: The days are never dull with a baby on board. Pairing: LA!Buggy the Clown x F!Reader Rating: 🌶 Explicit 🌶 Word Count: ~3.2k Warnings: Infants in very mild peril, cunnilingus, PiV sex A/N: daddy buggy my beloved

---

4:41

Keeda’s fussing before the sun’s even up. And then you start fussing as soon as Keeda starts fussing.

“Your kid’s awake,” you grumble into his back.

Buggy has no choice but to fuss back. “Before dawn, he’s your kid.” You nudge him with your foot. He huffs. “I’m comfy, bitch. Get 'im yourself.”

You do not appreciate how comfortable he is. You knee his ass with each word -- not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. “You. Are. A. Chop Chop man.”

...Yeah, alright, that's fair. Detaching his head and arms, he floats himself over to the crib.

Any other child would be concerned if their father’s disembodied head hovered above them, but Keeda’s never known any different. His grumbles turn to happy babbles, his chubby little face lighting up like the moon.

“Mornin’, ya li’l rugrat,” he says with a smile. “Starting on your bullshit early today, huh?”

He slips his hands under the boy’s arms and lifts him up and over to the bed. He's getting heavier, maybe about as much as a decent-sized cannonball. Makes sense, given his parents’ heights. 

His parts rejoin the rest of him and he lays back down, placing the baby on his chest. He's still not too big for that, at least.

You roll over — more of an aggressive flop, really — and tuck yourself up under his arm. “Hey, bug.”

"Hi, dear," Buggy replies.

You rest your head on his shoulder as you lay your hand on your son's back, rubbing in small circles. Keeda lets out a happy coo, his little fingers curling as he reaches out to you.

You take his hand and stroke it with your thumb. "Back to sleep, sweet baby," you mumble, already halfway there. "Back to sleep..."

Buggy waits for your breathing to even out and for Keeda to go still before he lays his head against yours.

———

9:03

"Son of a bitch!"

Buggy watches as you pitch the jar of baby food and spoon over the deck railing. "First you wake me up, then you pee on me, and now you won't eat!” You jam your finger into Keeda's face. “Why are you being such a little fucker today?!"

The boy giggles, kicking his legs and smearing his breakfast around. He's got your laugh, but that little hater attitude couldn't have come from anybody but his father.

Buggy's just glad it's not his turn to feed him. "Food's supposed to go in his mouth, ya know."

You flip him off without even looking at him. Keeda waggles his fingers like he's trying to mimic you, but he doesn't quite have the motor control down yet.

“I'm gonna go get a new jar,” you grumble. “Make sure he doesn't spontaneously combust or some shit.”

You slink off without waiting for confirmation. Buggy's not worried. You'll cool off in no time. And he gets to watch your ass as you walk away.

He turns his full attention to Keeda. He picks the boy up into his arms. “You really wanna piss your mom off?” he asks. The boy babbles in what he decides is a yes. “Give her hair a yank. She spent all morning on it and it'll drive her nuts.”

He knows Keeda shouldn't be able to understand him, but there's a sparkle of recognition in those big dark eyes as he reaches a little hand out to touch the hair peeking out from under Buggy’s bandana.

He knows grabby fingers when he sees them. He angles his head away. This does not deter Keeda, but merely changes his target.

And now for the most confusing emotion he's ever had. There's the usual agitation that comes from someone noticing... it... but it's Keeda. He's never mocked it or thought it odd or asked questions. He just thinks his daddy's neat.

He can't help the slight smile as he lets Keeda touch his face.

———

9:50

Richie’s liked Keeda from day one. He’s always smelling him and headbutting him and gently pawing him. Mohji thinks it's because he's trying to scent-mark the kid.

“Should I do something?” Buggy asks quietly.

Mohji shrugs. “He's laughing, isn't he? Richie wouldn't hurt a fly.”

Keeda giggles as Richie presses his nose against his head, gently sniffing. Richie lets out a pleased chuffle as he rubs his whiskers along Keeda’s face.

Mohji crosses his arms. “He doesn't do that to me,” he mutters.

“I’ll dunk you in tuna oil, if you want,” Buggy says. “He'll be all over you.”

“I think I'll pass--” Disgust turns to horror as Mohji blanches. “Oh shit!” 

Buggy whirls around. Richie has Keeda in his mouth. Completely in his mouth. Richie is a big lion and Keeda is a small baby.

Panic grips him. He's never actually had to fight a lion before, but it looks like that's what he's gonna have to do. You're gonna kill him anyways, so might as well go out in style--

Richie deposits Keeda at Buggy’s feet. The boy looks no worse for wear, if not a little confused and covered in kitty drool. The overgrown house cat looks very pleased with himself for taking a few years off of Buggy’s life.

Buggy glowers at Mohji. Mohji avoids eye contact and tries to shrink into his hoodie.

———

10:15

Well, after that, baby needs a bath. Fortunately, the giant soup pot in the galley is the perfect size for a little guy like Keeda.

Buggy hums an aimless tune as he rubs the shampoo into Keeda's hair. It's dark and thick like yours -- not to mention long. Kid’s hair grows faster than the rest of him.

He scoops up a fingerful of bubbles, then gently boops Keeda's little nose. The boy’s face scrunches up, and he goes cross-eyed as he grumbles.

An intrusive thought takes root. He chuckles to himself as he smooths Keeda's hair upwards. “Look, babe. Mohawk.”

“Keep the suds out of his eyes,” you warn from the doorway. 

He rolls his eyes. “I'm not gonna let him drown, ya know. You don't have to hover.”

You smile that narrow little smile of yours. “I like watching my boys.”

Buggy's chest tightens. How can one expression, one quirk of your lips, one flash of teeth make his stomach backflip? His breath catch? His cheeks burn?

A splash of sudsy water rushes up to hit him in the face. Seems the kid’s discovered volume displacement. He regrets going with a full beat this morning. Between the splashed water and the heat in his cheeks, this makeup is gonna melt right off.

———

12:24

Dropping an ear in Keeda's crib while he napped was a brilliant idea. Amazing, even. Buggy can be off doing Hot Dad Shit but still come running at the first sign of trouble.

And then the baby found it and it became less of a good idea.

"C'mon, give it back." He reaches for the ear, but Keeda shifts just out of reach, clutching it to his chest. Given the boy's grip strength, he can't just yank it out of his hands without ripping cartilage.

Buggy hears Keeda's heartbeat thumping as he slumps against the edge of the crib. "What the hell could you possibly want with an ear?"

Keeda looks him dead in the eyes. Slowly, slowly, slowly, he brings the ear to his mouth.

Buggy has never moved faster in his life. He shoots his hand off and claps it over Keeda's mouth. You were right, he is being a little fucker today.

Keeda's muffled whines catch your attention, and you stick your head into the cabin. "Having trouble, Captain?" you ask with a smirk.

"Your son's being a dick."

The smirk grows into a smile. "He gets it from his father."

———

14:21

As Captain, sometimes one must spring into action and help secure a loose cannon threatening to smash the hull. For that reason, Buggy appreciates his crew’s tolerance of having a baby shoved into their arms at barely a moment’s notice. Alvida, especially. He’s never known her to like kids, let alone infants, but she seems to make an exception for little Keeda. Sometimes he thinks she makes up reasons just to hold him for a bit.

She's smiling a big, cheesy smile at him as he returns from his heroics. The kid gazes up at her with his enormous eyes, returning the grin. Alvida then sticks out her tongue. Keeda does the same. She blows a raspberry, and Keeda giggles.

“Having fun with Auntie ‘Vida?” he asks.

“Time of his life.” She makes an angry face. Keeda's mouth screws up into a grumpy frown. “It's crazy how much he looks like you. Especially considering he doesn't have your--”

Her mouth shuts so hard and so suddenly that her teeth click.

Buggy keeps his voice low and even. “Doesn't have my what?”

Alvida blinks. “Hair. I was gonna say hair.”

...you know what? Acceptable.

“Eh, I'm just glad he's got ten fingers and ten toes.” He ignores the relief on her face as he takes his boy back. “His mom’s prettier anyways.”

———

15:46

You don't need a detached ear to know when your son is crying. Somehow, you know. You can be down in the bilge and you'll hear his whining from the top deck.

"What's going on?" you ask as you come up on deck.

Buggy watches as Keeda flops over onto his belly, thrashing his limbs and wailing. "He's mad because I won't load him into the cannon."

Keeda pauses in his fit as sees you, then lets out a bwuuuuuuuh and continues. He looks very much like a fresh fish as he flails around.

You watch him for a moment, then look at Buggy. A silly little glint sparkles in your eyes, the one that you have when you get a bad idea. The same one he saw during that first kiss you shared together.

“He would fit in a Buggy Ball shell,” he says.

You stare at him a moment longer, then shake your head. “We shouldn't.” Keeda lets out a wail that makes you flinch. “But we could.”

After a few moments, the boy runs out of steam, lying there like a dead bird on a beach and whimpering pathetically.

Buggy scoops him into his arms and brushes the tears away. "Can't load ya up, li'l man, but wanna see it go..." He pops his hands off and splays his fingers in front of Keeda's face, popping them apart at the knuckles. "...ka-boom?"

Keeda's agitation melts away like an ice cube in Hell, replaced with wide-eyed wonder. You take him and sit on a crate, covering his ears. You give Buggy a nod.

He grins. He points at a pair of idling crewmen -- the artillery boys, fortunately. "Ready piece!" he barks. “And make it snappy! My kid’s in the audience!”

Buggy appreciates how they trip over themselves rushing to the cannon. He really is lucky that his crew likes his kid half as much as he does.  Even if they “kidnap” him sometimes and hide him in the crew quarters to dote on him and to stress his parents out.

In moments, the Buggy Ball is loaded, the powder set, and the artillerymen stand at attention, waiting to light the fuse.

He holds his fist up. "Aim!"

The cannon is already in place, but he pauses for dramatic effect. A quick glance at Keeda's wide eyes and your little smile confirms it's working. 

He gives you both a little wink  "Fire!"

With a bang and a whistle, the shell flies up into the air. A safe distance away, it explodes into a shower of smoky crimson streaks.

They reflect nicely in your smiling eyes as Keeda squeals in delight.

———

19:02

Buggy sticks his tongue out. "Blah."

Keeda sticks his tongue out. "Blelck."

He puffs his cheeks out. Keeda puffs his cheeks out. He puckers his lips. Keeda puckers his lips.

He opens his mouth. "Ah."

Keeda opens his mouth as wide as he can, showing off his little pink gums. "Ah!"

Buggy jams the spoon in there before Keeda can even react. Blinking in surprise, he swallows, even licking some stray banana mush from his lips.

You watch, slumped across the table with your chin in your hand. "How are you so good at that?"

"Clown to clown communication. Sounds like this." He puts the spoon down and, squishing Keeda's cheeks, affects a croaky voice. "’Feed me. Feed meeee.’"

Your laugh your lovely seagull laugh and his heart flutters like a hummingbird.

———

20:50

“Don’t wake him up,” you warn as you open the door to the main cabin.

"I know, I know." He separates himself at the waist. “Floating, see? Shock absorber.”

Keeda snuffles and twitches. You both freeze, praying that he doesn’t wake up. He does not, and you relax.

You side eye him as he crosses the room, not letting up until he lays the boy down into the crib. You slip Mr Toucan in next to Keeda and pull the blanket up around him.

"Sweet dreams, li’l bug," you say.

"I'm not going to bed yet." You glower at him and he grins. That's never going to get old.

You tiptoe out with him close behind. He leaves his ear on the table, just in case.

The door clicks shut, and you both let out your held breaths. You hold your fist out and he knocks his knuckles against yours.

“Good job this time, Dad,” you say.

“I can be subtle when I want to be.” He drapes his arm around your shoulders. "Y’know, I was thinking..."

The breeze tousles your glossy hair so artfully. "Was wondering where the smoke was coming from."

He pulls you in closer, his hand wandering to the top of your thigh. You've been bitching about baby weight, but to him? You've never looked better. "Was thinking... Wanna make another?"

You give him a smirk that makes his cock twitch. You cross your muscular arms and it turns into a pulse. "Weird way to ask to go bareback."

"No, I mean it,” he says. "He looks like you and I want one that looks like me. Balance it out."

You breathe in sharply. The mischief in your eyes fades, replaced with thoughtfulness. You duck out from under his arm to saunter away. “Sell me on it.”

He follows. “What's cuter than one Keeda? Two Keedas,” he says. “Especially if it's a girl. Built-in double act. And I've got the perfect name for a girl.”

“Yeah?”

He gives you a big stupid grin. “Buggetta.”

You stare at him a moment, then crack a smile and make that glorious, glorious snnnrk noise. “Absolutely not.”

“To the name or to another kid? Because I'm fine with Buggy Junior if it's a boy--”

“Over my dead body we name a kid that.”

"Alright. Fine." He grabs your hips and pushes you against the deck railing. "Guess I'll just fuck you 'til you're knocked up again anyways and we can improvise."

You suck in a breath. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips. He goes in for a kiss, but you duck beneath his arms.

“Catch me and you can do whatever you want with me,” you say before taking off.

He sprints after you.

———

21:24

He wanted to be romantic. He wanted to be cool and suave and sweet for you. You, light of his life and his hard-won prize. You, his partner in crime and mother of his child. You deserve nothing less than the sultriest, slowest, languidest of lovemaking, full of sweet nothings whispered breathlessly into your thighs.

Unfortunately, just looking at you makes his cock leak and if he doesn't strip you down and fill you up as soon as possible, he's gonna make a mess of his last clean pair of underwear.

So that's how you ended up pinned between him and a crate in the cargo hold, moaning like a bitch in heat as he ruts into you. He's lucky you like it like that.

“Harder!” you spit.

He grunts into your shoulder as he snaps his hips. His tongue is busy taste-testing that sweet sweet clit of yours.

You let out a long, guttural groan. “Less talking, more -- ah, ff--!”

He must have hit something nice, because your back arches and your pussy flutters around his cock, squeezing it tight and making him damn near black out.

He hates this stupid condom. Hates it, hates it, hates it. Hates how he can't feel your warmth, your slick, your soft, satin walls as they clench. Hates how he can't fill you up with his cum, painting those lovely walls a pearly, sticky white. Hates how he can't fuck another baby into you.

...unless. Unless he's lucky and it breaks. Or if it's just a piece of cheap shit not worth the paper box it came out of.

Oh yes. Oh, then he'd be lucky. Then he'd get what he wants. He'd get you pregnant. Again. You’d be all soft around the edges and glowing like a full, terracotta moon with hair as glossy as a fresh tube of lipstick.

His hips stutter. Yes yes yes yes yes--!

He grips your hips tight as he thrusts into you, not stopping until his balls are drained and his cock is limp. He flops against you, burying his face in your minty, citrusy, cinnamon-y hair.

“I love you,” he mumbles.

He can hear the smile in your voice. “Love you too, Bugs.”

———

00:57

Sad little whimpers in his ear distract him from his carousing with the crew. You're significantly more fucked up than he is and on round eight of a three-round game of cards, so he slips away without disturbing you.

Keeda is sleeping when he enters his cabin, but the little twitches and whimpers suggest it’s not a restful one.

He tickles the bottom of his foot -- his teeny tiny little foot -- and the boy wakes with a start. He starts to cry, only to falter as he sees his father, his lip quivering and his eyes watering. 

Buggy scoops the boy into his arms. “Shh,” he says. “Daddy's here. Don't worry.”

He strokes his fingers through the boy’s hair. Keeda coos like a dove, trying to burrow his face into his chest. Failing in that endeavor, he peers up at Buggy with those enormous eyes.

Somewhere, deep in his heart, Buggy knows that all the treasure in the world couldn't match the feeling of holding his son in his arms. And that all the praise and all the applause would be nothing compared to the way you smile at him like you have a secret to keep.

But why settle for just two people when he could have the adoration of them all?

He sits down on the bed, propped up against the headboard, cradling the boy close. “You're gonna be a prince someday,” he whispers. “A little pirate prince. Daddy’s gonna be king and they’re gonna love you as much as him.”

Keeda exhales heavily, letting out a soft peep as he goes limp. His eyes drift closed.

Buggy is suddenly very aware of how tired he is. He lays back into the pillows. “Go to sleep,” he murmurs. “Go to sleep...”

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

[otterloreart]

someone on MLPTP asked for Lil' Litters puppies/kittens so I've been attempting them in the background.

More information about these sculpts (aka down the rabbit hole) after cut

The coloration of the models in my shots were based off the My Little Puppy "Pretty Poodle" family, but models were reused for other sets

For example, Sweet Spaniel family had the "blue poodle" model but a unique sitting spaniel, although it looks like the proportions + ears are the same as the other two

And then the next release had the "Funtime Spaniels" set which had the same poses but was more colorful, and also the puppies with the other "mom dog" sculpts:

The website Toysisters, where I got the above photos, mentioned that the entire second line of My Little Puppies is hard to find so I looked them up and

This was the only My Little Puppy 2nd year release I could find and its a single figure for $75.

Also in the 1980s hasbro purchased the rights to a Barbie competitor (originally made in the UK) called Sindy and reused some of the pet molds in pajama party packs:

And this one also sells for a lot and isn't really available in many places

I don't bring up the prices, btw, as a critique of vintage toy collecting or anything. I don't make these models because I think people should just make new ones all the time. I /like/ that we're preserving old toys.

Rather, I hope my sculpts are used for collectors who have part of a collection and can't find a real vintage one, or people who think it is sweet and want to make a custom one (like they could do their dog or just a fun new thing). It's just for fun and not a replacement

I think what really disappoints me about all the lil'litters characters is they don't have the colorful marks like the ponies. If you didn't know, the original pony marks were made to imitate the marks on an appaloosa horse

And to me, while they aren't the only reason the ponies did well, they're definitely one of the things that makes them unique, like the carebears stomachs or strawberry shortcakes' fruit hat

Like they made a dalmation dog and they didn't even give it like... heart shaped spots. Huge missed opportunity there imo.

Also they did the siamese in reverse dark-light colors and iut looks like a fox. Siamese cats don't work this way, they gotta be darker around the tips for a reason.

Hasbro did release a line called Little Pretty that had a similar conceit, but I find the sculpt of the toys... underwhelming. They look more like Proto-Littlest Pet Shop to me than My Little Ponies:

The one on the left is supposed to be a dog and I only figured that out because she has no ears, just hair...

I much prefer the Lil Litters sculpts, they look more detailed and unique to me, and more similar to the OG MLPs

the My Little Kitty / Lil Litters were actually released concurrently with the Little Pretty line, both around 1990, so the discrepancy in artstyle feels really weird. but also it's just such a weird choice to create two similar looking brands to me? I don't... get it.

This was also year 9 of my little pony so the brand was going wild with the ponies and its interesting to me how plain and early-years the dogs+cats were in comparison

they were giving the ponies neon colors, false eyelashes and built in pockets and decided that their other animal lines would just be... different colors.

anyways my send-off is here are the first releases of lil litters:

[longbobmckenzie]

THTH2 Episodes 1-3 Thoughts!

Eeeek it's THTH2 (Too Hot to Handle the game) time!! Last season fizzled out halfway through but based on the first few episodes of season 2, I've got hopes that this one will be better!

First of all, it's 15 episodes as opposed to 10 - there's room for development (and more bombshells/dumpings!)

There's more customization! I feel like it's improved, although others have said they had a harder time with it. I'm not a huge fan of the hairstyles and outfits we've been given so far, but we'll get more

In the initial episodes, there are 5 friends and only 4 LIs - that might be a little disappointing at first (especially since the friends are all hot - URGH I want Santiago!!), but this actually fixes some of the problems with the first season

More non-romanceable characters is a good thing because it means there will be more storylines besides MC/LI and Jada/Justin/Carter

A lot of us started to hate Jada after a while because she kept popping up and we were forced to be friends with her. Having more friends is a good thing because we'll be able to talk to more people instead of just one person. I'm hoping there will be some branching involved where some scenes are dependent on who your highest relationship is with, but we'll see!

Less LIs is fine for the reasons above - sure there's less choice up front, but with next to no branching in S1, every route was the same, and there were only 3 couples at the end. It didn't make sense. Plus...

We're already getting at least one bombshell next week! It's highly likely they'll be LI(s), and no doubt there will be more people incoming

In Season 1, all the LIs had hard-ons for MC even when MC didn't show them any interest - so far that doesn't seem to be the case, and I love that. It was weird that 9 people were obsessed with us, honestly. This time, our choices matter more

They're already setting up a love triangle! It makes so much more sense to have a LT early on when everyone's new rather than force it with a bombshell we don't even like midway through the season

The characters so far seem to have more personality traits than just whatever their jobs/interests are. Hopefully I'm not speaking too soon, and there is definitely still some of that, but I feel like I've already had deeper chats with them. And they ask about us too, and we can define a bit more of a personality for ourselves

More under the cut...

I picked Antoine so far (love a Canadian hockey player!!). He's basically an upgraded (yes, I said it) version of Theo (the art style is slightly improved - the smiles aren't as creepy this time!). I wasn't a Theo girlie but so far I'm vibing with Antoine

I was a Liam girlie, but Liam 2.0 (Wesley) doesn't have quite the same appeal. He's still hot, but Idk, he's not my Liam

There's a fun Antoine glitch (not sure if any of the other characters have it) where he's fully naked. It's pretty funny

I've already broken a bunch of rules, mwahaha!

The list of achievements this season is interesting 👀 There's an achievement for getting eliminated, which I will definitely be trying to do. And stuff about the others trusting us (probably a way to earn back money)

They still have the "beach hut" confessionals, but I feel like those episodes are shorter, which is great because they could be a drag on replays before, or when you just want to get to the next episode

Santiago is my boy, I'm loving the representation with him. I'm curious if we'll ever get a chance to get our hands on him even without romance, because we do have a flirty vibe and I would absolutely jump at that chance!

Overall, I'm excited to see how this goes! It does seem like they've taken our feedback so far, the initial episodes felt a lot like last season but that's not at all a bad thing - last season started off great, and this one has too. I do think this season has better potential overall and my fingers are crossed that it delivers

[welcometololaland]

911 lone star tag game

thank you @tellmegoodbye for creating this tag and for tagging me 💜 sorry it took me so long to get to it. thanks also to @lemonlyman-dotcom @rmd-writes @liminalmemories21 @freneticfloetry

@chicgeekgirl89 @thisbuildinghasfeelings for the tags and @howtosingit and @captain-gillian mentioning my name, unfortunately for you i have taken that as a tag.

When did you first start watching Lone Star? Who or what introduced you to the show?

someone (it may have been @three-drink-amy) was yelling about the proposal in a group chat somewhere and i was stuck at home, injured, completely unable to walk, miserable and hating life...so I opened a YouTube video to see what the fuss was about. and then i watched all 3 seasons over the next 2 days.

Which season is your favorite?

three

Who is your favorite character? (Bonus: If you answered TK or Carlos, who is your favorite besides them?)

if you'd asked me a year ago, i might have had a different answer, but now (after over a year of almost exclusively writing carlos), i think it has to be him. i just think that i understand carlos a lot better than i used to. aside from tarlos...it's a hard toss up between grace and paul.

Top five episodes. Go!

you don't write 9 fics about push unless you really love push, so it's 3 x 04 every day for me. i'm actually sick for the pilot (1 x 01). i love a good origin story. my three others would be 3 x 13, 3 x 07 and a fight to the death between 3 x 18 for the proposal and 4 x 16 for soulmates.

If you could pick any character to be given a "begins" episode, who would it be and what would that episode look like?

i think the logical choice is nancy, because we really don't know a lot about her. the more she is on the screen the more i am starting to really enjoy her as a character and i'd like to know more. i'm also obsessed with getting as much reyes family backstory as i can. i'm CONVINCED tia lucy has to turn up somewhere. i need to meet that queen.

What is a scenario or storyline that you would like to see in season 5?

total cop out answer for me - i have no hopes because every time i start clowning i get the fear i might curse it. i'm just here for the ride, kids.

What do you think is going on in this still?

see answer above - i think the obvious answer is something about gabriel's death/the murder investigation but i'm not counting my chickens before they hatch or whatever the saying is. (also, they could def be trolling us and it's some scene in which tk is hangry and carlos is calling up the pizza place around the corner to ask where their order is because it's been 50 minutes and how long does a pizza really take?)

We all know about the elusive 5x05 spicy scene that has been teased, so what is your prediction for how it could possibly top 1x02?

it's no secret that i prefer sexy scenes when there's more at stake - a frantic hook up is hot but i prefer anything with feelings upon feelings upon feelings. so i hope whatever it is, it's emotional.

Where was the Tarlos honeymoon in your mind?

i wrote a whole fic about it, so it's hard to go against my own narrative. but i assume somewhere in texas. it definitely wasn't the under the tuscan sun remake carlos had apparently been dreaming about (but i hope they get there one day).

Shoutout one of your favorite fan creations.

there's actually too many to mention, and somehow even though i've only been in this fandom for coming up two years, i feel like i'm a relic 😂 i have so many personal favourites that have come across my dash (a lot of them due to fic/fandom rec friday which i miss with all my heart). but i do want to say that if you create for this fandom in any capacity, whether that is art, fic, gifs, vids, metas etc., your creations are such a gift. every single one adds something that the fandom didn't have before and makes us as a collective all the richer 💜 also, i think it's important to acknowledge the importance of the members of the fandom who are readers or beta readers, or even casual observers. everyone i've come across on this site or in the ao3 comments or discord has such unique experiences and personalities and adds so much flavour to this fandom! so thank you for being here! and thanks to @tellmegoodbye again for giving me an excuse to just ramble on about that.

an open tag because i'm very late, but if you haven't participated, please consider this a tag for you 💜

[therulerofallpotatos]

Hannigram Fic Rec List

In no particular order, some hannigram fics I recommend

This is in response to @cassyglenn 's post from a few hours ago I just saw.

So Delicate the Bones by unrealshrike

Summary:

After her father's unsolved disappearance, sixteen-year-old Adeline finds herself at the mercy of a new school, serial killers, FBI agents, and an unorthodox psychiatrist. Meanwhile, Hannibal wants to provide Will with a child after the fatal incident at the Hobbs’ home, and who better than his opportune new patient?

Chp 26/26 Word Count: 177,096 Words

So Delicate the Bones is one of those special fics in this fandom that introduces an original character into the main cast that is both genuinely interesting on their own and fits in with the established ensemble seamlessly. The story is riveting and I was sucked into it almost immediately. I highly recommend this. My bookmark notes (which I design specifically for me) were: An absolute epic of a novel. Adeline/Addie/Del

The Voices and the Shadows by darlinghogwarts, MaddyHughes, and slashyrogue

Summary:

“The Chesapeake Ripper? The serial killer? That's a grisly thing to find at the bottom of a drink. Most people say oblivion ...or possibly sex.” Hannibal sips his wine again. “Why are you thinking about a murderer on your birthday, Will? Is it part of your degree?”   “He is a part of my degree by my own choice. My supervisor didn’t approve, but…” He sighs. “I insisted.” AU where Will—a Masters student studying the Chesapeake Ripper—gets drunk on his birthday and meets an intriguing man at the bar.

Chp 36/36 Word Count: 114,625

My personal bookmark note that I wrote in 2017 when I made this bookmark: The sweetest slowest most infuriating and beautiful burn you will ever experience.

In all honesty I read this in high school when I first started reading Hannibal fanfiction. I might've even read this before watching the show. That said, I don't make a note like that lightly. I only ever write notes like these when I want to remind a me years in the future why I bookmarked something in the first place. Some of the best novels I've read were a handful of fics that I'd make that note for. I know that this enthralled me, sucked me in. I was invested. I was glued to it for days. If this were another fandom, I might expect for it to hit softer if I were to reread it now, but Hannigram in particular has a habit of hitting just as hard at 25 years old as it did at 17 years old.

Light Up the Torches by HigherMagic

Summary:

"We need to find out who this rogue agent is," Sutcliffe says. "Right now, I think it would be fair to assume they're one of ours or our allies', since only our enemies are being killed." Hannibal nods. "Hold briefings with all your captains," he tells them. "I want no stone unturned. Tell them that whoever is doing this will not come to harm; I would very much like to meet them."

Chp 1/1 Word Count: 7,197

My bookmark note was: Oh fuck yes

It must have been delightful. I know myself well enough to know this is just a good time to be had.

The Living Doll by Anna_Jay

Summary:

Will is aware of what he's getting himself into when he buys the dreaded Doll House. Because of the cursed doll, no one has been able to stay longer than a month. He doesn't mind. Perhaps death would be kind after everything he's been through. Over the next few days Will finds himself attached to the strange doll he's named Hannibal. After all, it is just a doll. Right?

Part 2/3 Chp 9/9 Word Count: 35,675

The Living Doll is a 3 part series in which part 2 is the bulk of the story. The link above is for the series so you can easily start at the beginning. This is hands down one of my favorite fics. Ever. Like across all fandoms. actually no. it's one of my favorite novellas I've ever read period. I actually wrote my own haunted ball joint doll fic for a completely different fandom because of this fic's inspiration (it is nowhere near as good but I can share it if you're interested I suppose. It's still a very different story). It's creepy. It's romantic. It's intense and classic. It could easily get picked up by Blumhouse Productions and make a very good movie out of it. If you read anything on this list, read this.

Darling, Don't Be So Shy by murdergatsby

Summary: Will is a paranormal investigator with a special gift. Hannibal is a demon swelling with boredom. Their meeting was supposed to lead to a simple exorcism, but Will has a nasty habit of getting attached.

Chp 13/13 Word Count: 34,571

This was also one of my first Hannigram fics I read back in high school. I adored this fic. I'm a big fan of haunting each other/possession/melding each other into one type dynamics and their distinct dynamic in this story drew me in like a moth to a flame. i read it more than once and saved it here for safekeeping. I will likely reread it after finishing this list.

How to Save a Life (The Cannibal-Friendly Handbook) by KittenDiamore

Summary:

There’s a man looking up at Will, who has clearly been distracted from - Oh. Throwing limbs into the river. Human limbs. Lovely, he thinks sarcastically. Then he thinks it again because it actually is kind of lovely. The man looks confident. At ease with what he is. He’s kinda hot, too. Or: Will tries to jump off a bridge but ends up offering himself up to a cannibalistic serial killer...as you do.

Chp 1/1 Word Count: 3,463

For a shorter rec, this is a delightful little one-shot with a different first meeting (I love different first meeting fics). Delightful premise. Delightful follow through. Had this in my bookmarks for years as well.

There is also one more fic I was expecting to find in my bookmarks and now am going to ask anyone to help me find because it isn't there. There was a series that I read early on (probably 2017) that was about Hannibal who had a 10yo son at the time of the show. The story evolved into a series that was about that son and it deserved to be. It was one of those special projects where an original character naturally stole the show and we were reading to see where his story would take him more than anything else. These were novels and they were epic and I would love to get my hands on it again. This child was cunning and devoted to his father and his own personal ambitions. Any help finding this fic and any fics similar to it would be extremely welcome.

Oh! and a link to my bookmarks as well because there are more fics there. I just listed the ones that stood out the most/that I remembered enough to write my own spiel about them. I have not actually read every single fic I've marked, but even those are interesting enough that I saved them for later.

[mash4077confessions]

Headcanons for Mulcahy coming up! With more to follow. Sadly there is a text limit on tumblr or I'd do this in one fell swoop.

Here we go!

1) Something this character is truly proud of? Mulcahy is most proud of himself, when others are proud of him. That said there are a few things that he does take pride in that others might not necessarily notice or appreciate. -His garden. Mulcahy was taught how to grow all kinds of fruits, vegetables, herbs, and flowers by his mother. With so many kids, it was cheaper to grow a lot of their food in the backyard. Mulcahy always had a green thumb; even in Korea. That's why the creamed corn fiasco really hit him so hard. He loves watching as the plants he tends to flourish, even in such terrible soil. Mulcahy also 100% talks/sings to his plants while he's out tending to them. -As a featherweight boxer, he had many great wins. A few fights he still plays over in his head...especially when he's really tempted to wallop somebody (i.e Winchester and Frank). -His personal hygiene. His nails are always neatly trimmed. No hang nails to be seen. Mulcahy also moisturizes. He bathes very frequently. He also does some manscaping. It all comes from the idea of "cleanliness is next to godliness". It makes him feel good and keeps him all fresh faced. -Mulcahy is very proud that he was selected to be a chaplin in the army. It's not really something people think too much about when they're around him, but there (at least were in the 50s) are some rigorous steps a priest make to be selected to go to one of these Mash units. It's part of why becoming a captain was so important to him.

2) Who they want to please the most? For a time, Mulcahy desperately wanted to please his father; to get him both figuratively and literally off his back. It was never going to happen. So then Mulcahy decided to do everything he could to please his mother, and that was also not to be, but it felt more attainable. She would praise him, and then slip in a bit of a passive aggressive remark, so he never really had a completely safe spot to be.

As an adult, he tries to please his friends, and anyone "above him". He's still searching for the unattainable.

9) What calms them when they are upset?Depends on what he's upset about. Talking things out could be useful; provided he feels like he has someone to talk to. Prayer is another comfort he uses. He'll also beat the hell out of his punching bag. Worst comes to worst, he'll have a good cry, hidden off in some place where no one will see or hear him. Poetry can be a comfort for him too, sometimes. Something that resonates deep inside him.

12) How they sleep? He sleeps on his back. I don't know how, but he does. Having had to share a bed with his 5 older brothers, he learned how to sleep anywhere. That tiny, hard army cot is nothing new for him. He gets into his comfortable position and he doesn't move. So weird.

16) Their sexuality? I've said it before and I'll say it again; he is demisexual biromantic. He's definitely been attracted to men before, but he also is attracted to women. The key here being that these attractions don't really become sexual interest, unless he feels very emotionally close to that person. In a way, it's fortunate for him. He's not allowed by the church to have romantic/sexual relationships and because of that same career choice, he's isolated himself from a lot of opportunities to gain these deep emotional connections that would be necessary for him to have that sexual attraction towards people. In a way it's kinda perfect.

That said, if anyone cares, I have NSFW headcanons for Mulcahy as well 😏

19) When they feel safest? Mulcahy feels safest when with friends and far away from shelling. Or when back in Philadelphia, either near Kathy or just in the upper loft of his home church, when all is quiet and the sun is coming through the stained glass windows. But truth be told, he's never really felt completely safe. There's always an unease buried deep inside him. A left over from childhood, where he wonders when the ax will fall.

[aydaptic]

Sorry if you've already answered this before but I'm new to the fandom and I found your account through your web-comic and I was wondering what is it about Gavin that you like so much? Why is he one of your favourite characters in dbh? (I've noticed that he isn't much of a fan-favourite in this fandom 😔)

This'll be a long post, but you asked (...and I'll happily answer!) I'll add some descriptions for context. At the top of my head, I can think of 21 reasons why I like his canon equivalent.

1. He's charismatic

Gav gives off an energy that makes it easy to hang onto his every word. I can quote all his lines by heart and I like listening to Neil Newbon (in this specific role) talk. I remember some of Kamski's lines as well -- also mo-capped/voice acted by Newbon -- but Kamski doesn't have nearly as much charisma as Gav does.

2. He's expressive

Ppl who 'talk with their hands' are more charismatic. Gav is all over the place in the break room if you stick around. Hand gestures capture people's attention as they emphasize what is being said.

3. He doesn't think androids are alive (...so in his eyes, the way he treats them isn't wrong)

"Could always try roughin' it up a little. After all... it's not human." - Gavin Reed, The Interrogation

That means he wouldn't rough up a human suspect. This alone justifies his unpleasant attitude towards androids. Hank -- who treated Connor way worse than Gav ever did -- changed his mind. Nothing says Gav can't do the same.

If Alexa suddenly said she was alive, the vast majority wouldn't take it seriously (if any at all.)

4. He's sarcastic

"Congratulations on last night, very impressive." - Gavin Reed, Waiting For Hank...

5. He has dark humor

6. He looks down on people that pay for s*x

Quote above. You don't call someone a "pervert" if you agree with their actions. The Eden Club, in particular, is immoral AF... bc those androids don't have a choice. Gav doesn't care about them being androids, but he still looks down on the guy who paid money to get laid, and I applaud Gav for that. Especially when said guy also had a wife and kids.

7. He has valid concerns about androids taking jobs

Anyone who says differently is either in denial, uninformed, or never had a job they were scared to get fired from. There's already been an uproar about ChatGPT and that's nothing compared to how advanced Detroit: Become Human androids are. The unemployment rate in this game is 37% -- higher than it was during the Great Depression and C*VID -- and androids are the main cause.

I've seen a lot of ppl ask this question:

Q: Why not just buy an android and have them do your job for you, then? You get the money anyway bc it's your android!

A: Bc, believe it or not, the vast majority of men want to work. This is a strange concept to grasp for a lot of ppl. I admire Gav for being one of those men who wants to do it themselves. Letting someone else do your job is taking the easy way out.

8. He's a hard worker

Gallery: "...Ruthlessly ambitious, Reed will do anything to advance his career, even if it means treading on other peoples’ toes."

9. He's ambitious

See the quote above.

10. He doesn't sleep well

This isn't just a headcanon. He has literal bags under his eyes. Just knowing he doesn't sleep well already has me asking, "why?" It's interesting.

11. He puts his feet on the table

After Connor interacts with him in the break room, Gav will go to his desk and do this. I'll go into detail about why this contributes to my liking his character in the very last point.

12. He calls Hank out on his alcoholism

As much as most of us love Hank, he's not in a good space mentally. Showing up drunk/hungover to work should not be tolerated. It not only puts coworkers, but also civilians, at risk. Hank should be in therapy instead of working at the DPD until he gets his life sorted out.

13. He calls Fowler out for giving Hank special treatment

"You won't get away with it this time." - Gavin Reed, The Interrogation (after Hank pulls a literal gun on a human coworker AKA Gav)

So Gav has brought it up to Fowler before and is about to do it again. Ties into the point above. What Hank does -- like assaulting a literal FBI agent -- shouldn't be tolerated.

14. He's a control freak

I gravitate towards ppl and characters who take charge. Those who like being in control and know what they're doing. I'm a control freak myself, but I'd prefer to let someone else take the reins as long as I agree with their methods. I like it when ppl know what they want and act on it. Gav does both.

15. He's protective of his coworkers

I was unsure whether or not to add this as I guess it can be seen as a subjective theory and not an objective fact.

Gav only ever steps in with the gun in The Interrogation when Con uses aggressive force on Chris Miller by tearing him away from the deviant. Con did this after disobeying Gav 3 times. So yeah. Gav is justified for stepping in. Hank, on the other hand, isn't justified for pulling a gun on a human coworker. I see this scene as Gav protecting Chris from Con who is showing signs of deviancy.

16. He can't wink

Endearing.

17. He pouts a lot

Again, endearing.

18. He swears like a sneezing kitten

Same as the two points above.

19. He doesn't like Connor

I don't like Con, either. Yeah. We exist. Personality types like Con's "let's be friends" attitude and constant positivity pisses me off. Before anyone comments that the player decides Con's personality... no. Only to an extent. There are several instances where the player has no say whatsoever. Some of Con's pre-determined responses annoy me.

20. He has great fashion

Big fan of leather jackets.

21. I like him bc I'm a narcissist at times

He's essentially the male equivalent of me to the T. I'm only an asshole internally, though. We love (or hate) characters we relate to. I relate to every single point except 17 and 18 on this list.

There you go :)

His OOC fanon equivalent has a huge fanbase -- especially on Twitter/X and Tumblr turning him into a blushing teenage girl -- but it seems like I'm the only person who can't stand that OOC portrayal of him. That said, I adore his canon equivalent in all his asshole glory.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Australian & New Zealand Author Showcase No 20 – Luke Arnold

February 9, 2024 by Charlie Cavendish

An idea squeezed into my head in 2023, after seeing so many of the book community gathering at conventions across the US and UK. And once my FOMO subsided, I got to thinking about who might be gathered together if we had similar conventions closer to home. Pending the master planning required to arrange a massive convention, I thought the next best thing might be to run an Australian & New Zealand author showcase. So, I sent out the call, with the only prerequisite for participating being the author had to have been born in either country or currently live there.

Its now 2024 and the Aussie / New Zealand Author Showcase is gathering steam again. Just when I thought it was over even more talent has emerged, at this rate its threatening to become year long event! I will continue to post their individual showcases at regular intervals. So hopefully you will enjoy these interactions with some very talented people. Please be sure to check out their work, sign up to their newsletters and follow them on their social media of choice. I make no apologies for any damage inflicted to your TBR’s!

Showcase No 20 finds me chatting with very talented Luke Arnold. Luke is the award-winning actor from projects such as Black Sails, Glitch and Never Tear Us Apart: The Untold Story of INXS as well as the author of The Fetch Phillips Archives; a series of fantastical detective stories which has third instalments to date.

Do you feel that being an Aussie / Kiwi (or residing there) influences your writing?

Absolutely. I didn’t leave Australia until I was in my twenties so, for better or worse, I was brought up with a distinctly Australian outlook. It’s something that can be easily mischaracterised and also requires some distance to properly understand. Being both a young and old country, we’re still finding ourselves, experiencing growing pains, and struggling with our identity.

At the same time, isolation and an abundance of natural resources means a lot of us are able to benefit from a high quality of life without working as hard as we’d need to in many other places in the world. I think a lot of Aussies know this in their bones, and it makes us nervous of “rocking the boat” for fear that we might lose the advantages we have.

This aversion to change has some embarrassing repercussions on relationships between European Australians and Australia’s First Nations People, as well as our treatment of immigrants and asylum seekers.

We have a different kind of national identity to other western countries like the USA or Britain. We’re still trying to play the underdog – the little colony down under that punches above its weight – but that persona no longer fits us the way it used to. These themes seep into all my work.

Fetch Phillips may have the outward appearance of a classic American hard-boiled hero, but he has an Australian heart. He’s someone who feels separate, a bit ignorant, reticent to become a leader, and happy to defer to those he sees as being older and more experienced. He values being humble and self-effacing, but there is safety in that identity.

It allows him to shirk responsibility and hide in the shadows, even when it should be his moment to step forward. He’s a man who didn’t grow up when he was supposed to and is struggling to come of age too late. I feel like Australia is going through the same thing.

What are some of the challenges being located so far away from the rest of the world, do have any tips for overcoming these?

When I was first trying to get published, I was lucky in that I was already working overseas and had some profile from my acting career. That’s a clear advantage I don’t take lightly. Though I’d always wanted to write, the thing that pushed me to finish my first manuscript was a desire to spend more time at home. My acting career was reaching a point where every job was in a different city, and I wanted to know that I could keep working creatively without needing to get on a plane. There are numerous advantages to being creative in Australia.

One thing that is easily overlooked is that we have more safety nets that some other countries. I really notice this when I’m in the US. It’s terrifying to have no money in America. Of course, cost of living is going up everywhere, but I still think there are more ways to find a balanced life in Australia where you can keep a roof over your head and be creative at the same time. Yes, it’s a smaller market and it can be hard to break out overseas, but if the goal is to live a creative life where you do the thing you love without panicking that someone’s going to kick you out on the street, this is one of the best places in the world to establish yourself.

Personally, I know I couldn’t have survived as a young actor long enough to build my career without the support systems that Australia offers.

3. How do you go about establishing connections in the book community? (any tips / suggestions)

I’m terrible at this. My first two novels came out in 2020 when we were all locked inside, and I’ve only met a handful of other authors in person. So of course, social media is a huge asset.

I mostly rely on creatives I’ve known for a long time. Every couple of weeks, I catch up with an author friend, Steven Lochran, I’ve known since high school, and we read each other’s stuff and discuss what we’re working on. I have a number of other people, some writers some not, who I use as beta readers when they have the time.

Finding your own colleagues that you trust and feel comfortable to share your work with is more important than trying to network your way onto tables with notable people in the industry. If you do good work, then that will happen naturally.

4. Do you have a favourite character to write? And conversely are there any of your characters that are the more of a struggle?

Fetch is fun because he still surprises me. There’s a lot of me in him, and he’s dumb enough that I can stuff my own fears and ideas into his head and have him try and make sense of things. It’s always harder when I have to write someone more intelligent – someone who might have the answers he seeks – because then I need to get ahead of my own pondering and come to some conclusions. Perhaps that’s why everyone is fallible in my world, and even those who seem to have the answers will likely fall to pieces before the end of the story.

5. So aliens finally reveal themselves to us and your work is presented to them as example of what humanity has to offer, what do you hope they will take away from this intergalactic exchange?

I hope they’d see that we’re flawed, confused, vulnerable little things, and yet we keep trying to be better. Individually and collectively. My books are noir in tone, but the point isn’t to say that we’re all broken and corrupt. It’s about celebrating the way we keep trying to be good, even in the face of terrible darkness. Even when we’ve made mistakes that should he unforgivable. Even when the pressure – both without and within – feels like it’s going to crush us. Hopefully, if they’re looking at the state of things right now, it might help them see that we’re not completely lost.

6. Tell us something about yourself that not many people know?

In this relentlessly online world, it’s hard to think of something that isn’t already out there. So I’m trying to think of something obscure. Maybe I’ll share that I play a bit of Beat Saber in VR and I’m determined get to the top of the leader board for Billie Eilish’s Happier Than Ever (normal difficulty). I’m broken the top 100 but I’m gunning for a top ten spot.

What would you say is the best thing about being an author and the worst?

The best thing is that your work is all yours. There are very few creative endeavours out there where you can give so much of your internal world to another person. While our editors and publishers are integral, it’s not the same collaboration as making a film or playing a song with a band. This is all you.

The worst thing is that your work is all yours. You can get feedback and guidance, but it’s only your name on the cover. You must write every word, alone, without anyone encouraging you or sharing the load. Every time I write a book, I’m struck by what a monumental act of faith it is. One word after the other, day after day, for months, hoping that by the end it will be at all interesting to anyone else. Some days I can’t write a text to someone without crumbling under self-doubt, but then I have to find the motivation to pump out a few thousand words of fiction.

And at the end of it all, when someone else enjoys the finished product, they will also be alone, somewhere far away, playing out the story in their own head, and you’ll be completely oblivious to how it’s making them feel. It requires a level of self-belief that is easier to summon some days more than others.

8. Any other Aussie / Kiwi creatives you’d like to give a shout out for? (let’s spread the love)

I’m embarrassed to say that my reading really dropped off over the last year, but if you want some more noir, this time with a sci-fi twist, the 36 Streets by T.R.Napper’s is a fantastic cyberpunk story set in future Vietnam.

And I finally jumped into Maria Lewis’s The Rose Daughter and am bloody loving it.

9. What’s your favourite quote or passage from one of your books?

Shit. The ones I love one day, I cringe at the next. The chapters about Fetch’s love interest, Amari, in The Last Smile in Sunder City still hold a special place for me though. They were the first pieces I felt confident sharing with other people.

There’s a part where Fetch just lists the days they spent together. As the series continues, I have to keep returning to it to make sure that if I allude to an encounter between Fetch and Amari, it’s related to one of the occasions included in that list. It’s simple, and Fetch doesn’t include much emotion or embellishment, but every time I go back to it, that tragic romantic melancholy gets back under my skin.

9. What’s your favourite quote or passage from one of your books?

Shit. The ones I love one day, I cringe at the next. The chapters about Fetch’s love interest, Amari, in The Last Smile in Sunder City still hold a special place for me though. They were the first pieces I felt confident sharing with other people.

There’s a part where Fetch just lists the days they spent together. As the series continues, I have to keep returning to it to make sure that if I allude to an encounter between Fetch and Amari, it’s related to one of the occasions included in that list. It’s simple, and Fetch doesn’t include much emotion or embellishment, but every time I go back to it, that tragic romantic melancholy gets back under my skin.

10. What can you say about your current project or what you are planning next?

The fourth instalment of The Fetch Phillips Archives is in the editing phase, and I’m really excited to get it in people’s hands. I’ve enjoyed the fact that Fetch has not yet lived up to being either a hard-boiled detective or a fantasy hero. His guilt, self-doubt, and insecurity have taken his investigations (and in some cases the plot of the books) off the rails. That was always intentional, and I found that journey interesting to write, but Book 4 is a different beast. Fetch is still a problematic guy, but he’s put himself together enough to tackle his next case with more determination. So, for the first time, we have a more focused narrative revolving around a single string of murders. There are a lot of rewarding moments in this one for readers who were hoping Fetch might eventually catch a break.

But it’s still noir, so don’t except all sunshine and roses. Just a mystery where the main character isn’t getting in his own way quite so much.

Bonus Question:  Lastly Vegemite* yes or no?

Absolutely. Thin layer with plenty of butter. It’s not something I crave when I’m away from home but get me back in the Aussie bush and I’ll be searching for a jar in no time.

* An iconic dark salty spread that (most) Australians slap on toast for breakfast (NB explanation for the rest of the world)

Author Bio:

Luke Arnold was born in Australia and has spent the last decade acting his way around the world, playing iconic roles such as Long John Silver in the Emmy-winning Black Sails, Martin Scarsden in the screen adaptation of Chris Hammer’s Scrublands, and his award-winning turn as Michael Hutchence in the INXS mini-series Never Tear Us Apart. When he isn’t performing, Luke is a screenwriter, director and novelist.

He has published three books in The Fetch Phillips Archives, with the fourth instalment on the way. He performs the audiobooks for all his works, and The Last Smile in Sunder City was nominated for Best Fantasy at the 2021 Audie Awards.

Book/ Series Links

Social Media Links

@longlukearnold on Insta, X, and TikTok

Source: FanFi Addict

[sreppub]

please tell us all of your floor plan gripes bc SAME

THANK YOU!!!

Before we begin:

i'm sure the original artist was just having fun with it. i am also having fun!

there's absolutely no shame in liking this design and using it for inspiration as is!

honestly once i had some dinner and did some yoga, i lost my interest in ranting about something silly but it seems like a lot of writers were excited to have a visual reference, so maybe this will be interesting to - someone? 😂

inspired by one of my favourite blogs of all time: @/mcmansionhell

Important

I do appreciate that the fireplaces line up. 🔥

this plan was never meant to be in scale, nor does it include all the practical things like washrooms, closets, and stairs. be honest, would you care about these things in your silly batman comic? :P

I tried not to dwell on practicalities, but on things that I think do matter for a "set" and creating scenes. Is all. At a Wayne gala, is it easy or hard for child Tim to stumble into the library and meet Jason? What absolutely floors reporter Clark Kent when he comes inside the house, and what nooks and crannies does Brucie drag him into to make out? What's Alfred's day like?

Main Floor, Basement, Exterior

As mentioned by several others, one (1) half-bathroom for the entire first and basement floors. Interesting choice.

Weird afterthought facade

Clapboard. How is this not full gorgeous masonry.

Disappointing tiny foyer. Double height space, excellent opportunity for a feature staircase with a wraparound mezzanine, and the only thing up above is a tiny elevator lobby. There is NO space in this foyer for 9 year old Dickie to destroy a chandelier in.

That private study gotta be stuffy and dark with no windows. It better be because the clock batcave entrance is behind it, unmarked on the plan for secrecy.

The entrance to the huge mega parlor is so tight and small because of that stair 😫

My understanding of a parlour is a sitting room, no? Pour parler? Even a large parlour should be cozy and sized intimately, like... couches and a bar for a dozen people, max. I don't spend a lot of times in houses with parlours, so I could be wrong.

All of the hosting rooms clustered together makes sense. Then there's the dining room. "30-45" people need to shuffle through the tiny foyer to be seated for dinner.

Dining room so fuckin far from the kitchen

Little Jason Todd needs walk all the way from his bedroom in Siberia to the foyer stairs, make a U-turn, walk through the creepy echoey empty parlor and down the creepy echoey empty ballroom stairs to get to the library. this is discrimination.

Getting to the pool is super inconvenient from the residential level lol. Or anywhere really

Dr Wayne's Office, sure. Rather large for a single doctor, but maybe he had reception, storage, multiple suites, staff?

The hallways would feel like hamster tubes lol. Maybe old houses are just like that idk

There's no family-sized kitchen, dining room, den.... Just the big party ones.

You can fit three laundromats in that laundry room

Second Floor

Secretary's office? For what? And why on the residential floor? My best guess (I know little about old timey manors) is a touchdown office for administrative staff and guests - accountants, lawyers, Wayne Enterprises/Foundation staff... no idea.

It's cool that the residential level has a mezzanine overlooking the parlor, but feels... small.

These bedrooms are stupidly big. I could give benefit of the doubt and assume the bedrooms include unmarked ensuites, a study, whatever; but not when it explicitly says Jason has a twin bed and a desk. That room is bigger than my comfortable 2BR apartment.

Crazy long "Main Bath" (and again, not enough for five rooms). Although I suppose Dick doesn't have to share it with Jason for very long...

There are staff areas, but no staff residences. The oversized guest suites?? Or... perhaps they have to commute to change Bruce's linens? (yes, it's only Alfred now, but like. When the Ancestral Waynes lived here.)

The attic was renovated later into Bruce's living space. Presumably Guest Bed #1 was the former Master Bedroom? maybe?

Third Floor

Bruce renovated this himself so i’m allowed to roast him for it

Three balconies??? Three???? And they're ALL absurdly sized. Bruce is pale like a ghost. They are only for being dropped off by superman and kissing him goodnight.

Private video library?? He has a couple Blockbuster's worths of surveillance tapes or something?

The path for guests to go to that meeting room is so long and so winding and they have to walk though the residential spaces???

Future expansion with storage?????? For WHAT Bruce??????

The elevators don't go up here?????

Okay imagine this. Tiny Dickie has a nightmare. If there’s anything I learned from fanfic, he’s going to find Bruce’s room and sneak into his bed for crying and cuddles. If he can fucking make it there.

I think Bruce just finishes some renovations on the attic and then he accidentally adopts a child who goes fucking missing for a DAY because he went looking for Bruce one night and got LOST, and then Bruce moves back down to the family wing

Conclusion

Pinterest boards, man, i love pin boards so much