#let me know if more trigger tags are required

[diamondcitydarlin]

Just fair warning- I said on my personal post about this that I wasn't going to talk about Neil Gaiman anymore, but as it's becoming clear that him and his publishers and anyone else who makes money off of him is circling the wagons and trying to bury these allegations, as well as some fans still defending and trying to 'rationalize' this information, I feel like, actually, we need to keep talking about him (as much as I cannot stand him and feel physically disgusted now when I so much as see his face somewhere). Specifically, the fact that he's a liar, master manipulator and should not, under any circumstances, be given access to his fans like he has in the past. At the very least. (And if you need to blacklist his name or even unfollow me so as to not be triggered, I completely understand, but I will always try to tag these posts accordingly and I think it's crucial right now that the truth be put where people can see)

This post specifically is in response to those 'rationalizations' I've seen, some that have gone as far as to blame the young fans/groupies that hooked up with him for being 'golddiggers' or just making a mountain out of a molehill for something they now regret. It's not that simple, yall. (And, again, this requires some amount of completely ignoring the story about him extorting his tenant for sex under threat of eviction of her and her three young children, I'm not sure how you 'rationalize' that under the best of circumstances)

So let's be clear here. What we know is that NG has routinely, for possibly an upwards of 30 years, pulled sexual 'partners' from his fan groups, most of whom are 18-22 year old young women (though possibly younger, accounts are coming forward of 16 year olds having allegedly been inappropriately touched/flirted/propositioned by him, which ig is the age of consent in the UK but still?? 16 year olds!!). This wasn't one or two times in the course of three decades, this was a constant pattern of behavior for him and for a very insidious reason.

This isn't to try to infantilize those fans or young women/young people in general or try to suggest that they couldn't have consented to sex with an older person or famous person. In fact, the onus isn't on them at all. This is about an older guy with a lot of fame, power and wealth choosing to sleep with people that he had already conditioned to idolize him and using that power imbalance to coerce them into doing things they didn't want to.

Regardless of one's age or gender identity, it can be difficult to impossible to say 'no' to someone like that. After all, you've been 'chosen' by the chosen one, you're special and not like everyone else, and if you don't do what the popular person everyone trusts is telling you to do you could end up ostracized. Alienated. Or worse. And you know what? Gaiman knew that! He knew it when he was crafting his 'approachable dad' persona on tumblr. He knew it when he was cultivating a fandom of personality. He knew it when he was having huge meetups to try to ensnare more victims. I hate to even think it, but I'm starting to believe he knew it when he was writing children's books too.

It's been talked about again and again in separate issues, but needless to say something not being strictly illegal does not make it inherently, morally okay. It does not erase the fact that this man has been essentially grooming his fandom to feel safe meeting/speaking with him so he can coerce those he can snare into sexual acts they're not comfortable with. That is predator behavior, whether strictly 'illegal' in the eyes of a court or not (but ofc I think he should be criminally punished even if I'm not naive enough to think he actually will be, because this IS rape and rape should be criminally punished)

I'm not personally advocating for anyone to give up being in his related fandoms, but what I am personally advocating for is that people don't forget who he is and what he's capable of, especially when he tries to crawl back to where he was (I'm almost certain he will eventually, as I've said).

Again, at the very least, we need to use what little influence we do have to keep him from infiltrating fan spaces again. He should not be on tumblr yukking it up with young people, he should not be at public appearances hitting on teenagers, he should not be given the unrestricted access to fans that he's 'enjoyed' for the past 30+ years because he is not a safe person. While I wish there was more in the way of restorative justice that could be done, I think at very, very least we should do what we can to limit his proximity to people he could hurt in the future. Make sure no one forgets, because sweeping this under the rug means Gaiman gets to hurt more people.

Lastly, no one is the wrong for having been manipulated by him. Let's make that very clear. What we're NOT gonna do is blame ourselves, each other, the victims, etc, for evil acts that Gaiman chose to do himself, time and time and time again. It doesn't help the situation and it certainly doesn't protect future potential victims. We were all duped because we're human and we attach and a lot of us want to believe there are good people out there, particularly those who make art that means so much to us.

And there are. But let's also use this a teaching/learning tool about how much faith we place in famous people in the future, regardless of how 'approachable' and 'safe' they might seem. Let's remember to have a healthy suspicion of creators/famous people that are oddly immersed in fandom spaces- yes, even the ones you still currently like that seem fine, as difficult as that may seem.

At the end of the day, we don't know them or what they're capable of doing or what they might be plotting to do to us. Support victims. Amplify their voices. Don't forget.

[gingerteafairy]

Bestie I had a fun idea because I loved your Dave w Spanish thoughts! I don’t speak any Spanish past hola, but I speak French and I always thought it would be funny to get a nerdy guy like that and offer to teach him French but it’s like sex things or French kissing instead! It also reminds me of Ten Things I Hate About You hehe

¡Hola! i had to do this sorry my comfort movie mentioned!!!! cameron/bianca is my roman empire, love 'em so much. this is my opportunity to use my duolingo french. dave's ecoute chérie coded

𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆-𝒎𝒐𝒊

dave lizewski x reader

tags n warnings: language, making out, french sentences are translated. word count: 3k masterlist versão brasileira

Dave sighed, his eyes fixed on you as he walked through the school hallways once more. Your every move was mesmerizing; the lightness with which your skirt moved as you walked, the way your hair swayed gently in the wind, like a whisper of silk. He inhaled deeply, smelling the sweet perfume that left an invisible trail through the hallway, marking its presence in a way that only he seemed to notice.

“No wonder she’s the most popular girl in school.” Marty observed, noticing Dave’s lost look.

“Snap out of it, Dave. This isn’t happening.” Todd said, slamming his locker shut, trying to get Dave’s attention, who seemed lost in his own world.

“Why not? I mean, she’s single. Think I have a chance,” Dave replied without looking away, his head still leaning against the locker, watching you descend the stairs with a grace that made his heart race. “My God, look at the way her feet move, almost like they’re dancing…”

“Okay. That was gross, but hey. I heard she needs a French tutor.” Todd commented, noticing the way Dave quickly turned to him, slamming his hand against the locker with more force than necessary.

“And why didn't you tell me that before?”

“It seems like her parents want her to be perfect at everything.” Marty continued, grabbing a book from his locker as he watched Dave with a mischievous grin.

“Yeah, they’re diplomats. And French is a required language for that kind of position.” Todd added, looking at Dave with a challenge.

“It’s because they’re rich, you know? And they expect her to be fluent in everything.” Marty added, noticing the new sparkle in Dave’s eyes.

“Yeah, Dave, she’s kind of an angel here.” Marty joked, smirking and grabbing a snack before slamming the locker shut. “Completely untouched. Out of our league. Maybe out of our planet.”

“That’s bullshit, ‘cause I planned everything.” Dave stated with a cocky grin, adjusting his coat as if it were a big reveal. “I’m gonna be her tutor. Professeur Lizewski, enchanté.”

“You?” Todd laughed, looking Dave up and down. “You don’t even know what a french kiss is.”

“He’s… Todd. He never kissed anyone. Trigger.” Marty whispered, gesturing with his hand around his neck.

“Hey, I know what I need to know. I got that from my Duolingo hits.” Dave replied defensively, crossing his arms and trying to sound more confident than he felt.

“You literally ignored me on Duolingo the whole fucking year.” Todd retorted, crossing his arms in defiance.

“Because I don’t want to learn latin. Have you ever seen a girl moaning in latin? That’s for nerds like us, who never kiss anyone.” Dave replied, rolling his ankles in a nonchalant manner. “Au revoir, mon amour.”

“It’s mon ami, asshole.” Todd corrected, rolling his eyes as he playfully punched Dave in the arm.

Dave returned home, full of determination. The idea of ​​learning French quickly and effectively seemed simple, but he soon discovered that the verbs were complicated, the sentence structures baffling, and the meaning of everything seemed to slip through his fingers. But he wouldn’t let that get him down. He was willing to do anything to get closer to you.

The next morning, he went straight to school, determined to be a French tutor. After talking to a few teachers and securing his signature, Dave headed to the library, hoping for the best. Or rather, the best he could get.

“Are you the French tutor?” Your voice sounded like a sweet whisper in the air, and Dave blinked rapidly, certain that his heart had skipped a beat.

“Yes. Yeah, that’s me. You can… sit down.” He hurried over, trying to look calm as he gestured to the chair next to him. You nodded with a smile, and Dave had trouble not swallowing hard.

Up close, you were even more mesmerizing. He already knew you were beautiful, but now, feeling the weight of your presence beside him, it was as if every detail of you was sculpted by Debret, painted by Renoir, exposed in the Louvre to leave him speechless. Your skin, your gaze, even the subtle way you arranged your hair. You looked like a painting he couldn't stop admiring.

“So... how's it going to be?” You asked, your eyes fixed on him with slight anxiety, your hands resting on your lap. He could see the effort to appear confident, but he also saw the vulnerability there, and that made him even more fascinated.

“We'll start with the basics.” Dave coughed, trying to disguise his heart, which seemed to want to come out of his mouth. He adjusted his position in the chair, trying to hide his nervousness. “So, what's your biggest difficulty?”

“Can I be honest?” You asked, your shoulders tensing slightly as you prepared to say something that seemed heavy.

“Sure.” He smiled, trying not to notice the movement of your cleavage that appeared when you bent over slightly.

“I know nothing.” You confessed, the sigh that escaped your lips conveying the relief of a weight being lifted.

Dave’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. Oh, he would be your salvation. He would make this happen, even if it was the last thing he did.

“Ne pas y aller de main morte.” He murmured, leaning back in his chair with a self-assured look, a twinkle in his eye.

“What was that?” You tilted your head, your eyes curious.

“I said I’ll do my best.” He smiled, his heart racing as she looked at him with bright, impressed eyes. The hours spent on learning thirty common expressions in French were finally paying off. “Okay. Let’s start with the simplest words. Then we’ll move on to phrases like this.”

And there he was, ready to show you that, despite not being an expert in French, he was determined to be the best tutor you could have.

“Okay.” You grinned, grabbing your notebook from your bag and getting ready to write down everything Dave was about to teach.

To be honest, he had no idea what he was doing, but somehow, his reasoning was the same as when he recorded game tutorials. It was working. He began to notice the changes in your gaze, which had previously seemed lost, and was now more attentive, absorbing the words that came out of his mouth with visible interest.

But what made him most proud was seeing how you wrote everything down with your impeccable handwriting. He almost got lost in the soft strokes of your handwriting, in the detail of the ink stain that appeared on the corner of your hand, where he had accidentally touched it. He marked you. And that was good. Very good.

Classes soon became part of the routine. Twice a week, always at the same time. You were his only student, and honestly, he didn't complain one bit about it. He loved every moment alone with you, even if it was only for an hour every Tuesday and Thursday. He no longer knew if he was living for classes or anxiously awaiting Tuesdays to arrive.

"No... yeah. Wait, that's not how you write it." He said, leaning slightly closer, looking at the word you had just written. “It’s S’il vous plaît. You wrote vus.”

“Oh, shit…” You cursed under your breath, scribbling the word and correcting the mistake.

“No need to stress. You’re just getting started.” He reassured, noticing how you even improved the handwriting of the word as you corrected the mistake. “And to be honest, you’re pretty good.”

“I had the best teacher.” You praised, looking at him with a smile that made Dave’s heart beat faster. He flinched a little, realizing how close he was to you now. “You’re so patient.”

“No, I’m just… doing my job.” He shrank back further, heat rising to his face, an unmistakable blush he couldn’t hide.

“No, seriously. I know what I’m talking about.” You laughed, setting the pen aside, your eyes shining. “All the teachers my parents put me in were boring and I never learned anything. Not even a S’il vous plaît.”

“Really? That���s… terrible.” He replied, scratching the back of his head, trying to disguise his own shyness with an attempt at empathy.

“Yeah. But you’re great. I’m making great progress.” You smiled. “Can we have another class this week?”

“Another?” Dave choked, grabbing the back of his hair as if to grab onto something to steady himself. “Yeah… whenever you want. I mean… are you free tomorrow at this time?”

“No, I have piano lessons on Friday…” you replied, the disappointment veiled in your voice, as if you were disappointed about it.

“Oh, piano. Sure. Of course…” he mumbled, feeling a hint of frustration, but trying to hide it.

“But we can continue now and learn more… French.” You suggested, your hand tightening the hem of your skirt with visible nervousness, which made Dave feel even more anxious.

“What? Oh. Right. How?” He asked, not fully understanding the change in direction of the conversation.

“Have you ever French kissed?” You asked, with a mischievous smile on your face, which made Dave freeze for a moment.

“What?” He exclaimed, speaking louder than he intended, and immediately covered his mouth, remembering that they were in the library. 

He ran his hand over his face, trying to calm his heart, which seemed to want to come out of his mouth. When he looked at you again, he realized that you were also beet-red. You looked down at the floor as the embarrassment drowned you like a sea wave, before reaching out for his hand, your eyes meeting Dave’s again, a soft glow and a persistent smile.

“Do you wanna try?” You asked, your eyes lingering on his mouth before returning to his gaze, your lips slightly curved in a shy but determined smile.

“I…” Dave sighed, his gaze quickly scanning the library. There was no one around, and the area they were in was more secluded. A plus for his pathological shyness. “I will, if you want, and if it’s not… you know… uncomfortable.”

Doubt and desire were as present in his eyes as in the soft expression of your voice, and he knew, at that moment, that nothing would be the same after that simple question. You leaned forward, silencing him with your lips on his with a feather-like peck. Dave took a deep breath, tightening his fingers on the chair. You pulled away to look at him, your parted lips looking at you through your eyelashes.

“Embrasse-moi [kiss me.]” You replied, licking your lips.

“Avec plaisir[with pleasure],” He whispered, enjoying the texture of your mouth. Dave swallowed hard, raising a hand to tuck a strand of your face behind your ear.

He licked his own lips, moving closer carefully, giving you the opportunity to pull away, but you were still there, eyes closed, just waiting for him.

He closed his eyes and kissed you, parting your lips slightly and taking your lower one to suck carefully. You did the same to him and opened your mouth a little wider to introduce your tongue. Dave moaned, almost falling apart at the touch. He did the same, although he had no idea what he was doing, just following your lead.

You touched his curls, so soft like plush, resting your hand on his jaw, which moved as he deepened the kiss. Your taste was similar to your perfume, he loved it. But not as much as you loved Dave's taste. It was like chemistry, explosive and with the right ingredients.

The kiss was broken naturally, both of you looking at each other through your eyelashes, the heat between you evident that didn't need to be said. You were still close, very close. And as if calling for another round, you approached for another kiss. This time, Dave's hand was on your waist, almost at the crease of your hip. The fabric of the dress that molded your body was soft in his hands. Blessed be the design that made polyester look so good on you.

Your other hand flew over to his shoulder. It was firm, strong, rigid with work. It slid again to his collarbone, between his chest, up to his biceps, squeezing between your fingers. It was even better. Again, you pulled away. Even hotter. Burning.

And you wanted more.

Closing your eyes again, your mouth opened wider. Dave was getting the hang of it, having more courage to mark your skin and pull your lip between his teeth. Something he didn't even know he was capable of. Much less being able to know that your body was warm, with a heavenly smell that, somehow, he knew what it was. You were excited. For him.

"Excuse me, dear students." The librarian's hoarse voice brought you back to reality, like a bucket of cold water. That brief magical moment was interrupted, and the two of you pulled away instantly, wiping your mouths in a hurry, as if nothing had happened. "What do you think this place is, exactly?"

“A library, ma’am.” Dave answered quickly, lowering his head, trying to hide the wave of embarrassment that was taking over him. You, in turn, lowered your face, trying to hide the heat that was rising in your cheeks, sinking into the table.

“Well, I thought it was a motel, by the amount of sighs, moans and annoying kissing noises that were echoing around here.” She scoffed, shaking her head with an air of pure indignation. Her sharp gaze seemed to descend on you both like a blade.

“No, ma’am. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Dave promised, his voice nervous, his palm sweaty, a drop running down his temple. He tried to control the tremor that threatened to invade his voice, but the embarrassment was stronger.

“Well, I hope so.” The librarian hissed, leaning in to analyze the two of you with an appraising look, as if she was about to detect another mistake. She turned and walked away, her high heels clicking down the hallway, the sound of the chair indicating that she was sitting at her station again.

Dave let out the breath he had been holding as if he had escaped from a nightmare. He threw himself on the table, resting his head on his arms, and for a moment, it seemed like the world could go on. You turned your head, and it was impossible for him not to notice the smile that formed on your face, even with all the shame still stamped on it.

“Oh my God, I was so nervous,” You whispered, the low laugh escaping your lips, muffled by shame, but impossible to contain. “.I thought It was my last day on earth.”

“Don’t even start. You just bent down and I had to face it alone.” He whispered back, approaching you, still feeling the adrenaline of the situation.

“Mon héro.” You flirted with a disconcerting lightness, your hair falling over your face in a way that seemed to even collaborate with the little secret shared between the two of you, which made Dave smile, as if he couldn’t believe it was happening. 

“Ne pas faire d’omelette sans casser des oeufs.” He shrugged, scratching out his best French accent, trying to ease the tension.

“I think I get that one. You can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs.” You replied with a smile, your eyes shining at the pride that sparked in Dave’s eyes. He had really taught you something. That seemed… important to him.

“Je te drague là. [I’m flirting with you]” He winked, as if French was the magic key to melting away any remaining embarrassment. The surprise? It was working.

“Tu me plais. [I’m into you],” you confessed, biting your lip with a mischievous smile, the feeling of flirting in French making the conversation even more electrically charged.

“Yeah?” Dave repeated, his eyes playing with yours, completely captivated by the way you were looking at him.

You moved even closer, your bodies almost touching, and his lips so close to yours that you could feel the heat of each other. “Tu es très sexy [You’re so sexy].” You whispered kittenish, and honestly, it didn’t even need to be translated.

“Oh, don’t talk like that… S’il vous plaît. J’ai envie de toi [I want you],” he confessed, his eyes closing as he felt your fingers caressing his hair, a sly smile forming on his lips. “Je peux t’inviter à sortir? [Can I ask you out?]” He asked, his voice full of shy but intense desire.

“Oui. Je n’arrête pas de penser à toi [Yes. I can’t stop thinking about you.].” You smirked, your eyes shining with joy as you moved even closer, placing a quick peck on his lips. 

Dave closed his eyes, still feeling the taste of the kiss in the air, and when he slowly opened them, he couldn't resist. He got closer once more, returning the kiss with the same intensity, but now with the certainty that nothing would be the same.

“Where did you learn those phrases?” He asked, his eyes fixed on yours, a mixture of surprise and admiration.

“You're not the only one who learns French to flirt.” You laughed softly, teasing him with your gaze. And, in that moment, he knew that it didn't matter how imperfect your French was. He wanted to be your teacher for the rest of his life. Actually, for you to be his teacher.

[is-it-malgendering]

I'm gonna take a mental health break for a short while I think. The discussion around transandrophobia is so so important but you can't let transandrophobes ruin your mental health.

Lately, because of the lingering effects of my childhood trauma, I've been having more flashbacks to upsetting and traumatic events. Whenever I was in conflict with my abuser I was gaslit and made to feel like I couldn't trust my own opinions and thoughts because I was always told my abuser was right and I was wrong. This led to situations where I had video and audio evidence of the abuse, witnesses to the abuse and diary entries in which I talk about the abuse - but still doubting whether any of it really happened because of the influence of my abuser and the trauma response which is to defer to other people's authority on things, even if I know they're wrong.

With regards to transandrophobia - it is 100% real and something I've dealt with many times. I have direct lived experience of it. But the vitriolic hate of transgender men and mascs and the disbelief in our oppression from others can be so intense as to trigger my traumatic response. I *know* what we go through is real. I *know* my mental health is lying to me. But nevertheless, it can be so easy sometimes to feel like I should just sit down, shut up and suffer in silence.

The erasure of transmasculine issues is so cruel. It makes even the most vocal and spirited of us feel insane and gaslit for experiencing direct discrimination for our transmasculinity. It is so draining and depressing having people vehemently shut us down at every opportunity.

It's why I deleted my old blog and remade a few years back. It's why I took a several-year break from posting in this tag. The way transmasculine mental health is ignored or belittled is horrifically cruel and unacceptable. Hell - even if the worst part of transandrophobia was simply being called slurs sometimes, it would still warrant opposition and require support for transmascs. Transandrophobia though is so much bigger than that - there is no "if" about it. Transandrophobia is a horrific type of transphobia that should be taken as seriously as transmisogyny and exorsexism.

So those of us who suffer from transandrophobia should be supported, not belittled. Given space to talk about our problems, not ignored or erased.

Because even if I feel gaslit by transandrophobes - I will never give up the fight to be heard and to advocate for my community's issues and needs. Even if I have to take long mental health breaks to accomplish that, I won't be cowed. I won't be scared into submission.

But I will need rest. I'll be back before you know it, but for now - if you post about transandrophobia - good work and keep going 🫡

[whump-art-exchange]

2025 Whump Art Exchange

A tldr info sheet for the main important points can be found here. This is the full sheet.

This is an OC whump art exchange. If you are an artist you can sign up by filling out a google form found below and you will be assigned a partner at random to draw a gift for based on their requests. It works the same as a secret santa event, so keeping the person you get a secret is encouraged. At the end of the event, you will post your gift art to your blog with all of the tags required (that are stated below) and it will be reblogged on the event blog.

Sign up sheet can be found here, and the form closes on May 24th 2025, (or sooner if I get more submissions than I can handle). You will receive your partner’s information in the last week of May (probably the 27th or 28th), either in your email, DM’s, or ask box. You’ll have roughly two weeks to complete the art, and you will post the art on June 14th 2025 with all of the required tags included. If you haven't posted after a day I will check in with you to ask about your progress. 

When you post your piece tag it under #whump_art_exchange_2025, and tag @whump-art-exchange, as well as tagging the person you made the art for. I will reblog all of the finished pieces so that people can see everyone's creations. The list of tags I use can be found here.

This is a minor friendly exchange, do not submit sexual content for this event, even if you are an 18+ blog. If your blog is 18+ please check that off in the form and I will assign you appropriately.

Sign ups are open to all skill levels, and partners are assigned at random with the exception of triggers, 18+ blogs, ect. All works must be fully completed with a clear image of the art, and effort must be put into it. Do not submit AI art. 

If you are assigned a person who doesn't work for you, dm me within the first day and I will try to sort it out for you. Please only do this if it's a high risk situation such as triggering content, or a safety issue. If you are unsure, shoot me a dm at @mottinthemainpot and I will try my best to accommodate. 

If you are unable to complete your gift, or need to drop out of the event please let me know as soon as possible so that I can assign a new artist for your partner. If you need a time extension please let me know so that I know you are still participating!

Harassment, or hostility of any kind will not be tolerated and anyone doing so may be blocked or asked to leave the event. 

Inbox @whump-art-exchange or dm @mottinthemainpot if you have any additional questions.

[aventurineswife]

Hello, can I request reader x ratio and aventurine (separate) where they comfort reader who's recently had the courage to cut off an abusive/toxic friend who harassed and bullied them? If it's too angsty that's fine, I just need my copium juice, thank you :')

“Let go or be dragged”

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Comfort, Self-Worth, Toxic Friendship, Emotional Support, Healing, Encouragement, Personal Growth, Character Development, Mentorship, Self-Discovery.

Warnings: Mentions of emotional trauma, Manipulation, Abusive/toxic relationship, Potential triggering themes of toxic friendships and self-doubt.

A/N: Don't worry, it's not too angsty or anything! I have been there too 🧍‍♀️ (except no one to comfort me lol)

You sat in the study of Ratio, surrounded by shelves of books that stretched toward the heavens. The atmosphere was quiet but heavy with the weight of your emotions. You had recently made one of the hardest decisions of your life—cutting off a toxic friend who had tormented you for years. The relief was there, but so was the guilt and uncertainty.

Ratio regarded you intently. He leaned back in his chair, his muscular frame draped in his regal attire. Despite his often blunt demeanor, his expression was uncharacteristically soft.

"I must say," he began, his deep, confident voice breaking the silence, "it's a rare thing for someone to recognize the chains that bind them, let alone summon the courage to break free. For that alone, you have my respect."

You looked up at him, a small lump forming in your throat. "It... it doesn’t feel that way. I feel like I’ve failed them somehow, like I should’ve tried harder to fix things."

Ratio scoffed lightly, though it wasn’t in mockery. "Fixing things requires cooperation from all involved, my dear. You cannot reason with those who thrive on tearing you down. They are like weeds in a garden—parasitic, draining, and utterly unrepentant. Sometimes, the most intelligent action is to prune them away so the true flowers can bloom."

"But what if I’m wrong? What if I just wasn’t good enough to make it work?" you murmured, staring down at your hands.

Ratio stood and crossed the room with purpose, his golden sandals clicking softly against the marble floor. He stopped before you, his presence commanding but oddly comforting. Gently, he tilted your chin upward so you would meet his piercing gaze.

"Listen to me carefully," he said, his tone firm yet kind. "Their cruelty was not a reflection of your worth, but of their own ignorance and inadequacy. You are not defined by their treatment of you. You are far more brilliant and capable than you give yourself credit for."

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you nodded, his words resonating deeply. Ratio released your chin and offered a small, rare smile. "You have already taken the first step in reclaiming your power. From here, the path may not be easy, but it will be worth it. And should you falter, know that you have my unwavering support."

For the first time in days, you felt a glimmer of hope. Ratio’s confidence in you was infectious, and his belief in your strength helped you begin to believe in yourself again.

The sound of distant music and the low hum of chatter filled the air as you sat on a balcony overlooking the glittering cityscape. Aventurine, the enigmatic strategist, lounged beside you. His earring swayed lightly in the evening breeze, and his ever-present enigmatic smile played on his lips.

You had just finished recounting your decision to sever ties with a friend who had bullied and manipulated you for years. Aventurine listened without interruption, his gaze sharp and unreadable. When you finally finished, he took a slow sip from his glass of sparkling wine before speaking.

"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth and laced with amusement, "aren’t you full of surprises? I always pegged you as the forgiving type, but it seems even you have your limits."

You frowned, unsure if his teasing tone was meant to comfort or mock. "It’s not like I wanted to do it. I just… couldn’t take it anymore. But now I feel like I’ve lost something, even though they were awful to me."

Aventurine leaned back in his chair, studying you with a thoughtful expression. "Losing something toxic doesn’t make it a loss, sweetheart. It’s more like cutting out a tumor—you feel the absence, sure, but in the long run, you’ll thank yourself for it."

"But it’s hard," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "What if I made the wrong choice? What if I never find someone better?"

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and unexpectedly comforting. "Oh, darling, don’t tell me you’re actually doubting yourself. You’ve got a heart big enough to fill this entire city, and a mind sharp enough to outwit even me on a good day. Trust me when I say you’re going to attract far better people into your life now that you’ve kicked the trash to the curb."

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the ache in your chest. "You make it sound so easy."

Aventurine smirked, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. "It’s not easy, but nothing worth having ever is. Life’s a gamble, sweetheart, and you just made one of the smartest bets of your life. Now it’s up to you to see it through."

He reached out, placing a hand over yours. His touch was warm, grounding you in the present. "You’ve got me in your corner, for what it’s worth. And while I can’t promise I’ll always play fair, I can promise I’ll always bet on you."

His words, laced with sincerity beneath his usual charm, brought a sense of comfort you hadn’t expected. Aventurine’s belief in you—however unconventional—was enough to remind you that you weren’t alone. And as you sat together under the glittering skyline, you felt the first flicker of hope for a brighter future.

[waynes-multiverse]

Polaris – Chapter 13

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, major angst, kidnapping, confined spaces, violence, injuries, drowning, CPR, life-and-death situations, the fluffiest ending (If any of these warnings trigger you, stay away ⚠️🫶)

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: We're here! Last part, babes 😘 Thank you guys so much for sticking with me on this one. I know it was another wild ride, but I appreciated your sweet, insightful, and funny comments throughout 🥹🤍

Ready? Don't forget to breathe 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 13: Sure And Certain

“What’s she doing?”

With a mouthful of Donno’s Special of the Day sandwich, Beau came to stand behind a whole group of people who had gathered around a laptop screen propped up on his desk.

He threw another sandwich wrapped in paper on the desk in front of Randy, who sat comfortably in his chair and nodded a ‘thank you.’ Behind him, Jenny leaned casually against the window sill with an intensely knitted brow. Cassie and Denise, on the other hand, had grabbed themselves a set of uncomfortable, worn chairs from the break room and sat on each side of Randy, staring musingly at the screen.

“I think she’s meditating,” Denise put forth.

“No, I think she’s sleeping,” Jenny said dryly.

“I don’t know…” Cassie’s brow furrowed.

Beau frowned as he stepped forward, stealing a glance at the livestream himself. You were still lying perfectly motionless on the long metal table in the middle of the room. They knew you were alive, though. They had watched you crawl up there and lie down. Sometimes, your eyes were open. Sometimes, they were closed for long periods of time.

“She’s still doing what she’s been doing for eight hours now,” Beau huffed. Honestly, he’d be more worried if it wasn’t so damn frustrating.

“Maybe the poor thing’s in shock after everything she’s been through,” Denise suggested sympathetically.

Beau hoped she wasn’t right. Seeing you give up didn’t sit well with him. He couldn’t watch you lie there alone in the cold until there was no air left anymore.

In all honesty, he had a confession to make: He’d never watched a single of Diane’s videos to the end. He knew you’d probably watched them a thousand times, but he couldn’t do it. He had watched parts of it, sure, but never the bitter end. He didn’t know how you'd done it. He always figured you were a lot stronger than him.

But maybe you’d seen something on those videos he didn’t know but had to.

“Y/N?” Randy scoffed at Denise’s proposal with conviction and shook his head. “No, she wouldn’t give up, and I doubt Turner scared her that much. She put a screwdriver in the guy, for crying out loud,” he argued his objection. “No, she’s thinking.”

Beau hated to agree with Randy but hoped to hell he was right.

“Maybe,” Cassie mused and squinted her eyes at the screen. “I think she’s staring at the light above her.”

With narrowed eyes, everyone drew in closer to the screen and observed you.

“I think Cass is right,” Jenny said and retreated to her old position, smirking.

Beau frowned anew and flailed his arms. “Why?”

Fucking Hal Turner.

He got you with a shovel, tied your hands, hauled you back to the cabin and sedated you.

You woke with a few meager slaps across your face before groggily being dragged through the woods at night on unsteady legs. You slipped in and out of consciousness a few times, but you knew Turner wasn’t strong enough to carry you, so he had to keep you awake enough to walk, but sedated enough to not fight back.

You, however, tried to memorize and plan as much as your dazed mind possibly let you. You remembered how long you’d walked from the cabin to the bunker – about thirty minutes. You knew which direction you’d walked as you’d glanced up at the stars – north. And you knew you had hiked slightly up, but not more than twelve degrees. You remembered the faint sounds of a river splashing close by.

Most importantly, you could still feel the screwdriver tucked into your sock in your left boot.

Turner hadn’t frisked you again – big mistake.

As soon as you’d reached the spot of the supposed bunker, you frowned when Turner removed a pile of leaves, moss and dirt from the forest floor and opened the metal hatch that hid underneath.

Oh, hell no…

You weren’t getting in there. If you hadn’t known it before, you surely knew it now.

You would’ve been fine with the cabin because you knew Beau and the department would eventually find it. He’d get a list of their properties and find it. Denise had been in charge of those, and she’d been meticulous.

You would’ve been fine with an above-ground bunker, or even halfway above, too. Once the team would find the cabin, they’d know Turner and you couldn’t have gone far. They’d find the blood and test it, realizing with relief that most of it wasn’t yours. They’d know you’d be in the general area, and Beau would move heaven and earth to find you.

But this thing? They’d never fucking find you here.

Roughly, Turner shoved you down the tight metal stairway, leading to a room you knew only too well from videos. Now, you were here and saw it all for real, like glimpsing behind the scenes of a movie set.

Why couldn’t it have been the Friends set in Hollywood? Instead, you had to visit Diane Newton’s arts and crafts project.

Hal Turner cut your ties – again. And you saw it as your perfect way to escape. Again.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

With your elbows and shoulders, you shoved Turner backwards and bent down, quickly retrieving the screwdriver from your boot. You spun around and thrust it straight into his left carotid artery.

He gasped a breathless sound, his eyes growing wide and white. You let go and stepped back.

You’d never killed someone before – not like this at least.

But then Turner inhaled a deep breath of air – strained, angry, fighting. And you finally understood where the phrase white-hot rage stemmed from.

The roaring Grizzly kicked you right into your bear trap injury. With a painful scream and a searing pain, you fell to your knees and clasped your wound.

He then fled up the stairs like a rat through a sewer cover, tossing the hatch shut behind him. There was the sound of a thick lock before some shuffling followed. At least he couldn’t have done a good job on covering up the entrance. Maybe they’d find you easier this way.

Better yet, you hoped Turner would succumb to his fatal injury not too far from the hatch. If they found his body close by, they could find you too, right?

At least you’d gotten the bastard…

You wanted to scream till your lungs were depleted of all oxygen, but you didn’t have enough air for a breakdown in this bunker. You took one last deep breath to ground yourself and closed your eyes.

Then, you opened them.

The bright neon light flickered above as your eyes darted around the room. The space was sparse, concrete walls peeling in places, as though even the structure was trying to escape. You didn’t want to think too much about how long you would be trapped here.

You already knew this place by heart and what would happen if you didn’t get out.

At the edge of the corner, sat a row of rusty metal lockers. Shuffling over on your good leg, you opened the shrieking door and found that the lockers held various odds and ends – tools, cans, an assortment of chemical bottles with faded labels, and a single, cracked lightbulb resting on its side.

The other victims had received these items as well but never pieced enough of it together to escape. A few drank the chemical bottles for a quicker death out of sheer desperation. While you unfortunately couldn’t solve Diane’s little riddle either, you swore to yourself poison would never be a last resort.

You’d seen those deaths – they had neither been quick nor painless.

You found a first-aid kit as well and lowered yourself to the cold ground, bandaging your ankle. As you tightened the bandage to stop the blood flow, your eyes glanced up the shelves.

Your breath hitched. In the back of your mind, a vague memory from your 7th grade science teacher stirred – something about pressure, something about triggering a chain reaction. You tried to push it away but the thought wouldn’t leave. Maybe an escape was possible after all. There were things you could use – you just needed to figure out how.

The jar of white powder caught your eye. It was too fine to be salt. The label was half-scratched off, but you could make out the word "sulfate." Next to it, a small container of copper wiring lay scattered across the shelf – tiny, thin strands coiled tightly like little snakes, their sharp ends glinting in the harsh neon light.

You pulled at your sleeves nervously, staring at the broken lightbulb once more. If you twisted it carefully, the filament inside would snap. Maybe. Then there was the sharp wire… You let the idea float in your mind for just a moment longer before shaking it off.

And there was that other thing. Something buried deeper in the corner, an oily rag, half-soaked in a pungent smell you couldn’t quite place. You made a mental note. They weren’t much, but they were something.

If you could just piece it all together…

Tiredly, you heaved yourself onto the large metal table in the middle of the room. It was harsh, cold, and uncomfortable, but it was all you had. You lied down on your back and stared at the ceiling, at the flickering neon light above you. Then, you closed your eyes again.

Think, think, think…

For hours, Beau had now stared at the grainy footage, watching your unmoving form. The neon light flickered overhead, casting long shadows against the cold, cement walls of the bunker. His hands were trembling as he gripped the armrests of his chair, his body taut with the weight of helplessness.

The others had left his office a while ago, scrambling to find a way to get you out. There was a search going on, a team of skilled rescuers turning over every stone in the general vicinity of the cabin. Beau knew you couldn’t be far from there. And still, he feared he wouldn’t find you in time.

Truthfully, he knew the only one that could get you out was you. If you just stopped lying there…

Nothing. Not even a twitch. What the hell were you thinking about?

You were alive. He knew you were, reminding himself of that fact on an hourly basis. But for all the good it did, it didn’t matter. The silence on the feed was more suffocating than any sound.

But then…

A subtle movement. A shift in the shadows, so slight that at first, he thought it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

His heart skipped.

Your fingers twitched, just enough to catch his attention. And then, slowly, agonizingly, you dragged yourself up, struggling to sit. He watched the quiet shuffle of your body across the concrete floor. You were alive. You were still fighting.

“Guys!” his gruff voice called loudly for the cavalry, but he didn’t wait for them to flood into his office.

Beau leaned forward in his chair, holding his breath. His heart hammered in his chest as you lifted your head, your eyes flicking briefly to the camera – aware. You knew he was watching.

Your movements were shaky, too weak for anything swift, but they were purposeful. You scanned the room with desperation. The broken lightbulb in the rusty locker, jagged glass fragments scattered on the shelf, caught your attention.

You reached for it.

Beau’s stomach twisted. No, don’t…

But it was too late. You pressed the sharp edge against the skin of your palm, wincing with the effort as blood began to bead at the surface. His breath hitched, fingers curling into fists at his sides. The blood flowed in slow, steady streams, painting your hand.

You didn’t flinch.

You moved with a practiced precision, grimly intent. With shaky fingers, you scooped some blood on your pointer finger and pressed the pad to the wall, your arm trembling as you began to write.

Seismograph.

Beau’s eyes locked onto the word, his brow furrowing.

Seismograph?

You were so weak. You could barely hold yourself up, and yet, you were still thinking. Still trying. Then you turned to the wall once more, collecting more blood on your finger as you struggled to form the second word.

3 hours.

You stopped then, your body slumping against the wall, too drained to write any more. You didn’t need to. The message was clear.

The feed cut to static for a brief moment, the camera buzzing with distortion, before it returned to the silent, unchanging image of your still form against the wall. But Beau wasn’t looking at you anymore.

His mind raced, blood thundering in his ears. Seismograph. 3 hours.

A tremor ran through him – an earthquake in his chest.

Seismograph. You were giving him a clue. Something seismic. A signal of some kind. His gut twisted. He was supposed to know what it meant.

3 hours. What did that mean? Three hours before something? Three hours after something?

He didn’t have time to analyze it. You were sending him a lifeline. And whatever it meant, he was going to find you.

“What’s going on?” Jenny was the first to thunder into his office, her heart beating fast in her ribcage. She came to stand behind Beau and glanced at the screen, her brow knitting at the crimson words on the concrete wall in the same way his had. “Seismograph. 3 hours,” the blonde read aloud. “What does it mean?”

Cassie stood quietly in the doorframe, listening and thinking. “What is in those lockers?”

“I don’t know. We never found a bunker before, and Diane sure as hell ain’t telling us,” Beau huffed frustratedly.

“But there are chemicals of some kind,” Jenny pointed out, squinting her eyes at the laptop.

“Maybe she’s building a bomb,” Cassie proposed.

Beau pondered the theory for a beat. Then, he nodded. “We already know the area of the bunker. We could probably find her exact location through the tremors.”

“With a seismograph,” Jenny finished the thought. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t blow herself up first.”

Beau hoped that, too. He didn’t even know you possessed bomb-making skills, but he figured you hadn’t known that fact about yourself either. This was by far not a thoroughly planned undertaking.

“Alright, get a damn seismograph here. I don’t care where you get it or what it costs. We’ve got three hours,” Beau barked his orders with a racing heart.

Your message had just bought him time, and he wasn’t going to waste it. You were still alive. He could still save you. And he wasn’t going to stop until he did.

Your breath came in short, labored gasps as you hunched over the crude metal table in the dark, sterile bunker. The faint hum of the camera feeding into the livestream echoed through the silence, the red light blinking softly as its lens captured your every movement, broadcasting your quiet panic.

You knew Beau was watching. They all probably were. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their silent judgment, their hope that this would work. They’d see the sweat glistening on your brow, the faint tremor in your hands as you worked on your little science fair project.

But it wasn’t fear that made you shake now. It was the cold certainty that time was running out.

You carefully twisted the wire around the small, makeshift device you’d cobbled together from the limited supplies at your disposal. Every movement was deliberate, every breath controlled, even as your mind raced a marathon. You lifted the device to your ear, listening for the faint click as you tightened the final screw. Done.

The one thing they had to get right was the seismic readings.

The bomb was crude – imperfect – but it was all you had. The plan was simple: blow the door open if you could, cause a seismic tremor, and hope the team could triangulate your location. They would track the explosion on the seismograph, find your coordinates, and come for you.

If you were lucky.

Maybe you should leave another message behind for him. In those hours you had lain on the table and pondered, you had thought about your escape. You had also thought about various torturous ways to kill Diane. You had celebrated your little win against Turner. But most of all, you had thought about Beau.

Simple things. The color of his pine green eyes. The smell of his leathery cologne. The sound of his hearty laugh. The warmth of his large hands. Would you ever see, hear, or feel those things again?

A tear streaked your cheek that you swiftly wiped away. Sobbing would cost you too much goddamn air. You couldn’t afford it.

You stole one last glance at the camera, your face a grim mask of resolve. Then you moved quickly, setting the device in place. You looked at the door on top of the steps – solid metal, bolted shut, impossible to open without the right tools.

Tools you didn’t have.

You hurried down the stairs and pushed the metal table onto its side, using it as a shield from the blast as you hunched down low behind it. It had been a little over three hours. It was time. With a sharp breath, you pushed the button of the remote detonator.

The explosion hit like a fist. The sound was deafening, but muffled in the confined space. Your ears rang as the shockwave slammed into you, throwing you back against the cold, unforgiving concrete wall. Your head spun, and for a moment, everything went black.

Then came the tremor.

It rippled through the ground like a violent pulse. The bunker groaned – metal creaking, concrete cracking. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you into near-total darkness, save for the dim emergency glow above the door.

And then, with a deep, bone-rattling crack, something shifted above you.

You scrambled to your feet, disoriented. What the hell was that?

A series of sharp, cracking sounds echoed from the ceiling, followed by a wet, muffled splintering. Your breath caught in your throat as a large root – gnarled and thick as a limb – suddenly pierced through the bunker’s ceiling, splintering the metal and concrete. The roots of a large tree slithered down – a slow, creeping thing – and it didn’t stop. It tore through the ceiling like it had been waiting for this moment, its jagged edges scraping against the walls.

And then – water. Cold, relentless water began pouring in, cascading through the new hole in the roof, spilling across the floor in an uncontrolled flood.

Fuck.

Your heart pounded wildly as you stumbled backward, the water already rising around your ankles, creeping steadily toward your knees. You could hear the steady drip of water splashing against the cold, metal floor, each drop sending a ripple through your chest.

The livestream camera remained on, the blinking red light still steady, but your mind was running a mile a minute – panic rising like a tidal wave. You had no time. You had to move, had to act. But the water was already rising faster than you could think. The air was thick, the walls seemed to be closing in on you, and the roots above groaned ominously as if the earth itself was about to swallow you whole.

You ran toward the door, your boots splashing through the growing puddle. But aside from causing a giant hole in the ceiling, the bomb hadn’t done enough damage to escape. The root’s tendrils were still creeping down from above, twisting around the ceiling. You could hear the scrape of it, its thick fingers reaching into the dark corners of the room.

The sound of the water filled your ears as it surged up around your waist. You stumbled, falling to one knee as the icy liquid engulfed you. Your chest tightened, panic clawing at your throat.

It was too much. The explosion, the quake, the roots, and now the rising water – everything was converging at once. A part of you knew this was it. You wouldn’t get out. They wouldn’t get here in time to save you. But a small flicker of hope was still alive in your heart.

You clutched the camera’s wire, the blinking red light still visible in the murk, as if it was the last lifeline you had left.

“Please,” you breathed, although you knew they couldn’t hear you, but your voice was barely audible over the rush of water anyways. “Please, find me.”

The woods were dense, the trees thick with fog and shadows. Beau ran through the underbrush, his boots pounding against the damp earth, the scent of pine and wet leaves filling his lungs. Sweat stung his green eyes, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he pushed his body beyond its limits. His heart thundered in his chest, not from the exertion, but from the terror building inside him, growing with each passing second.

He’d found it.

The seismograph had done its job. The tremor from the explosion had sent ripples through the earth, and in those ripples, he’d pinpointed the location. There was no time to think, no time to second-guess. He didn’t know how much time you had left, but the second the signal went off and the icy water of a nearby river had wound its way into the confined space, rising like a tide as it flooded the bunker, he’d known it could only be minutes till you took your last breath.

Beau’s mind reeled at the thought.

He stumbled over a fallen log, his eyes never leaving the ground ahead of him. He was so close. It had to be here. He had seconds to make it. He knew it had to be deep. The bunker was buried beneath the forest floor, hidden like a trap, and there was only one way in: a hatch maybe, barely visible among the trees, the earth heavy with moss and years of neglect. He had to get there – now.

He could hear the team searching all around him, crying with calls of your name that echoed through the trees. As he stared up through the tops of the towering pines, he could see the North Star twinkling brightly above him. His heart twinged. His gaze dropped and then landed on the far beam of his flashlight. Something flickered in the distance, just a few yards away from him, buried in the moss.

He stumbled back onto his feet, his trembling hands picking up a small, golden band. His chest seized.

The ring.

His ears picked up the babbling sounds of water. The river was close, only a few feet away. That had to be it. You’d left him another sign.

Grabbing his flashlight, his hands hastily searched the ground. His fingers brushed a thick patch of bramble, and then – there. His breath halted. Metal.

The hatch.

He skidded to a stop, his hands shaking as he dropped to his knees and cleared the leaves and brush away. The metal was a bit busted and bent out of shape, probably from the bomb, but the bolt that kept it tightly shut was still in tact. His fingers fumbled for the lock, every second stretching longer than the last.

“It’s here!” Beau yelled loudly, calling the others for help. “She’s here!”

His mind kept circling back to you. You were trapped down there. Trapped and drowning.

I’m coming, darlin’. Hold on.

Finally, his fingers found the latch, and with a metallic groan, the hatch creaked open.

The stench of damp earth hit him first – the cold, stagnant air of a place that had been shut off from the world for too long. His flashlight flickered as he shined it down into the narrow opening. The steps below were steep, the darkness absolute. He could hear the distant drip of water, and with it, a rising sense of urgency.

He didn’t waste time. Without a second thought, he grabbed the flashlight and began to descend, the metal of the hatch scraping against the edges of the door as he pulled it wide open. His breath caught as he stepped into the narrow stairwell.

The moment he hit the bottom, the sound of rushing water was unmistakable.

The tunnel was flooded. The water was rising fast, covering the floor in murky, black waves. The small concrete room at the base of the stairs had become a watery tomb, the level inching toward the ceiling.

He shouted your name, his voice crackling in the damp air.

But there was no answer.

Beau pushed forward, his heart in his throat, eyes scanning every inch of the flooded room. Your presence was all he could feel – your spirit, your strength, your last message. He had to find you.

A sudden thud echoed through the chamber, the faint sound of something – or someone – shifting beneath the water.

Beau’s eyes locked on the back wall of the room, where the water was thickest, swirling around a pile of debris. His mind screamed. The seconds were melting away, and he couldn’t afford to waste a single one.

The wall was crumbling under the pressure, but the thing that struck him wasn’t just the damage. It was the stillness. There was no movement. No air.

His pulse spiked as he waded through the rising water, kicking through the murk with his boots, moving faster now, hands trembling as he shoved aside debris.

Please, please, please…

And then, beneath the surface, a hand – limp, floating like a ghost. Beau lunged, his fingers brushing against your wrist, cold and unyielding.

He cried your name again, his voice hoarse with panic as he pulled you to him, cradling your body against his chest.

Your skin was ice-cold. Your hair matted against your face, your body limp in his arms. You were unconscious – or worse.

Don’t you dare be dead. Don’t you dare.

Beau’s breath came in harsh bursts, his hands fumbling against you, trying to find any sign of life. The water was rising too fast.

He wasn’t going to lose you. Not like this.

With a single, desperate motion, he hoisted you into his arms. He didn’t stop. His feet pounded the water-soaked concrete as he bolted back toward the stairs, his lungs burning, the world blurring around him.

Get out. Get out.

He could feel the water rising behind him, flooding the room with the force of a tide. He didn’t know if the two of you would make it. He didn’t know if he could make it.

But he was going to try. He was going to fight like hell to keep you alive.

The hatch was there, just ahead, the only way out. He pushed harder, faster, as the water reached his knees, then his waist. Every breath was a battle. Every second felt like an eternity.

With one final push, he reached the top of the stairs, stumbling out into the fresh air, gasping for breath, his legs weak beneath him. He laid you on the ground, your limp body draped across the earth.

Beau’s hands were shaking as he knelt beside you. “Darlin’,” he whispered, shaking you gently.

Nothing.

Tears blurred his vision as he pressed his ear to your chest, listening for any sign of life.

A faint, fragile beat.

You were still with him.

He could barely breathe, panic threatening to swallow him whole, but he knew he had to keep it together.

He leaned over your body, his hands moving quickly. “Come on, darlin’. Come on…” His voice cracked as he positioned his hands, interlocking his fingers over your sternum. He gave two hard compressions, the sound of his palms meeting your chest too loud in the thick silence.

Still nothing. Your skin was frozen, your lips tinged blue.

His breath hitched, and he started again – one, two, three…

His heart hammered in his chest as he leaned down, pinching your nose and sealing his mouth over yours. He breathed into you, feeling the faint rise of your chest beneath him.

Please, please, don’t leave me.

He gave you another breath, then returned to the chest compressions – one, two, three…

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly, each moment more desperate than the last. His hands moved faster, his fingers slick with water and sweat as he pressed into you again and again. He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t.

He hadn’t even taken note of the crowd that had gathered around him, watching the dire spectacle.

Finally – after what felt like a lifetime – your body jerked beneath his hands. You gasped, a harsh, ragged breath, and Beau nearly collapsed in relief. He cradled your head gently, his green eyes searching your face as you coughed weakly, water spilling from your mouth.

“You’re okay. You’re okay,” he breathed into your hair, his voice thick with emotion and eyes filled with tears as he kissed your crown repeatedly, his hold tight around your body.

You opened your eyes, just a sliver at first, and then you blinked, your hand weakly reaching for his cheek before it dropped to his chest.

“Beau…” you whispered, your voice barely a breath before you let out the first few sobs and coiled against him.

“It’s alright. I’m here.”

And for the first time in days, Beau let himself breathe as he steadied your trembling frame in his embrace.

Hospitals weren’t your favorite thing in the world. In fact, you had pretty much avoided them your whole life. You’d screamed your way through your tonsils surgery when you were five. You refused to get your broken arm cast when you were fourteen. But there was one thing you had always cherished during your involuntary stays:

Pudding.

Randy was the first person that stopped by early in the morning. You didn’t know if that decision had been a collusive one, agreed upon by the whole team, but you were grateful for the visit – more grateful when he brought you your sweet treat.

Something had been going on, though, while you were locked up – you could tell. As you’d clung to Beau’s chest last night in the forest, you caught Randy in the crowd around you before he ducked his head and retreated into the shadows. Your heart broke at the sight.

Beau didn’t leave your side, though, even riding in the ambulance with you while reassuring you throughout. He held your hand tightly, but his shoulders were stiff. And when they wheeled you out of the emergency room, the doors closed in front of him. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since.

You’d only slept for about five hours, but it had been a deep slumber. You had been out like a light. But as soon as you woke, you felt the aches of your body. There wasn’t a single limb or organ that didn’t groan in pain. Your ankle was the worst, though – the doctors told you you were lucky you got to keep it by the degree of infection it had suffered. The murky water of the river surely hadn’t helped cleaning it.

Sepsis, hypothermia, drowning, and lifelong trauma were just a few of the things you had to recover from.

There was also the dissolution of your marriage – you’d finally found the right term. Not widowed, not divorced – dissolved.

Randy stayed for three hours, and you had an honest and long talk. Oddly enough, being in his presence didn’t feel strange anymore. It felt familiar.

While your brain had adjusted, your heart remained steadfast. Randy had recognized it too and conceded. When he left your bedside, you sent him a smile with tears brimming in your eyes.

A chapter closed. A song ended. But your heart was at peace.

Beau’s heart pounded furiously in his chest as he stood glued outside your hospital room. Every laugh that echoed through the door felt like a gut punch.

Randy had asked to speak to you first. Beau had granted him the request – not that it had been really up to him. But Randy had been gracious last night, and the sheriff knew it couldn’t have been easy.

Beau had arrived at the hospital around noon, only to find you and Randy were still talking. Not only talking but laughing. While his heart murmured a tiny bit, he supposed it was a good sign. Who said you had to throw plates or the occasional vase at each other?

Twenty minutes later, Randy finally exited and ran straight into Beau around the corner, who had leaned against the wall and tried to answer the many nosy questions of the group chat. He didn’t know why the hell Cassie had invited him into this one…

“Oh, hey.” Randy chuckled lightly as he bumped into Beau, eyeing him with a suspicious brow. There was the flash of a smirk on his face.

Eager, are we? Beau could read Randy thoughts, even though his former friend refrained from saying them out loud.

“Hey.” Beau’s voice was low. He swallowed thickly as he tried his hardest not to avert his gaze to the linoleum flooring. “How is she?”

“In good spirits,” Randy replied but then paused. “For now. I think the morphine’s kicking in.”

“So, uhm–”

Beau didn’t know where that sentence would end. Flat-out asking Randy how your conversation went would’ve just been pathetically nosy – and rude. His mama had raised him better than that.

“I’m going back to Houston,” Randy still answered the unasked question.

“With, uhm–” Your name hung on the tip of Beau’s tongue before he bit down, noting Randy’s shaking head.

“Don’t push it.”

“Right…” Beau smacked his lips and cleared his throat, his hand scratching the nape of his neck. “So, what about you and me, huh? I know right now’s a stretch, but maybe down the road we could grab a beer?”

Randy’s lips pursed at first – unsure. But after a beat passed, he nodded slightly. “Maybe, yeah.” He hesitated. “Hit me up if you’re ever in Houston, alright?”

“Yeah, alright.” Beau’s lips twitched to a smile of surprise, but he still wished there was more he could do, more he could offer. It didn’t feel enough. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Randy gave him a tight-lipped nod and patted him on the shoulder as he passed him. “You too.”

Beau watched Randy angle towards the elevators before exhaling a deep breath. Green eyes then drifted to your door. His heart was both elated and heavy. Questions circled in his mind.

What now?

The case was as good as over. Would you leave now? Where would you go? Beau knew your home was in Houston. Should he move back there, too? Would you even want him to? He’d broken up with you. Again. Were you still mad at him for it? He had tried to restrain himself last night, not knowing where the two of you stood. He held your hand in his, even though it was your whole body he wanted to keep holding in his arms.

You’d chosen no one. Maybe this was a day of break-ups for you.

Beau’s knuckles softly knocked on your door before he entered. Unsurely, he stood until your eyes glanced up and found his. A smile rose on your lips.

“Hey, there you are. You just missed Randy,” you said.

At a loss for words, Beau stared at you for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest. You still looked pretty rough – hooked up to IVs, your face and arms covered in bruises and cuts. But at least you were here – alive. There was some color back in your cheeks. Until a few hours ago, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get to see you again.

“Oh, uh, passed him in the hall,” Beau finally said and obnoxiously cleared his throat. “Said he was going back to Houston.”

“Yeah, he told me. I gave him my apartment,” you said, your voice a casual melody as you ignored the tension that was building between you two.

Beau’s brows shot up. “You gave him your place?”

“Least I could do. I sold his home.”

“Where are you gonna stay?”

“Oh, I don’t know yet. Guess I’m kinda homeless now. Again,” you said and hid the hint of a smile. You could see his wires were crossed.

“Hmm,” he hummed and shifted on his heels.

“Thank you,” you then said softly, trying to fight the tears that pricked your eyes. You swallowed heavily. “For saving me, you know? Bringing me back to life…”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied with a tight-lipped smile and a shake of his head, although a lump formed in the back of his throat at the haunting image of you, limb in his arms. He never wanted to see something like this again. He never wanted to feel that crippling, numbing fear ever again.

You snorted slightly at his understatement, fumbling with your fingers in your lap. “Feel like I have to. They told me you gave me CPR for three minutes straight. They said I was pretty much gone.”

“They’re exaggerating. It wasn’t that long,” he brushed off. “‘Sides, I wasn’t gonna let you die on my watch.”

“Like I said, thanks,” you reiterated and sent him a smile. “So, why are you standing so far away like I’m radioactive?”

Beau pursed his lips. “Well, you are kinda my kryptonite, darlin’.” He scratched the back of his neck, his boots still not moving closer. “Don’t really know where we stand, y’know? I mean, last time… that morning… I guess I’m tryna say I’m sorry for puttin’ you through that. So, on a scale from one to ten, how mad are you at me right now?”

“Well, if you put it like that… zero.” You grinned teasingly. “Hard to stay mad at you, considering you’ve saved my life, you know? I’m willing to forget your momentary stupidity. Well, if it really was momentary…”

“Oh, it was,” Beau confirmed, your heart expanding with a breath of relief. “Going with an insanity defense here. So… what does that mean?”

Musingly, you bit down on your lip. “I don’t know. Guess you’ll have to come closer and find out.”

Beau’s lips hiked to a wide, genuine smile for the first time in days. His feet began moving toward you.

Enjoying the warm rays of sunlight on your face, you exhaled blissfully as you sat outside the trailer, leaning comfortably back in your chair.

“There ya go – one extra black, extra strong cup of joe.” Beau handed you your favorite mug, his pine green eyes drifting to your injured leg, propped up on a wooden stool in front of you.

“Thank you,” you replied with a smile and practically inhaled the black liquid, its warmth filling you.

“How’s the ankle? That stool looks uncomfortable,” he noted, brushing his beard. His head tilted. “You need a pillow? Imma grab you one. Anything you need, darlin’. Officially retired since yesterday, you know? I’m here all day. Just say the word, and I’ll make it happen.”

Amused, you laughed a little. “I don’t need a pillow. The ankle’s fine. Just sit down next to me and enjoy the sun, will you?”

“It’s freezing.”

“I like how the snow twinkles in the sun,” you said and patted the chair next to you. With a groan, Beau sat down, wrapping his suede jacket a little tighter around himself while you sat cozily draped in the Sherpa jacket you had stolen from his closet. It was big and wide and warm and smelled heavenly like him. “‘Sides, I have a pretty nice jacket to keep me warm.” He frowned a little at you, but an amused smile twitched on his lips. “You said I should make myself comfortable – anything I wanted.”

“Didn’t think you’d raid my closet,” he huffed playfully.

“Hey, I only came here with a tiny carry-on.”

You’d been released from the hospital last night after spending a full week there. In the meantime, Beau had decided to hang up the sheriff’s hat, handing the badge off to Jenny – you’d fully agreed with the decision. You knew his heart hadn’t been in it for a while now.

He’d also asked you to move in.

And moreover, you’d finished your last reports and then handed in your resignation at the FBI. One serial killer kidnapping was enough for you. Diane had showed you where your limit was, and that was okay. You looked forward to a quiet life with the man beside you. It was its own adventure. God knows Diane’s life wouldn’t be as happy and peaceful behind bars.

Neither of you had spoken to her since your rescue. Sheriff Hoyt had handled all things on that end. By the amount of evidence they had to go through, Ted even surmised her trial wouldn’t start until three years from now. Until then, Beau and you had promised each other you wouldn’t waste another thought on her.

Well, you supposed you had to waste some thoughts on her. A big publisher from New York had already approached you about a book deal – and the money was more than good.

“Guess we’ll have to go down to Houston to get your stuff once you’re back on your feet,” Beau said.

Musingly, you scrunched your nose and hummed. “Not sure that’s necessary. It’s not gonna fit in the trailer anyways – not with your extensive closet.”

Amused, Beau pursed his lips and chuckled. He rubbed a hand through his beard. “Yeah, I was thinking about that… Maybe we should move. Get a bigger place, you know?”

“Do they make bigger Airstreams?” you murmured teasingly into your mug, cocking an eyebrow.

His tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “I was thinking more along the lines of a house. A ranch, maybe.”

“What about a houseboat?”

“Nah, that wouldn’t work with the kids. Try keeping a toddler in a life jacket all day,” Beau quipped, shaking his head. He didn’t even seem to notice what had slipped out of his mouth.

Your brow creased. “Kids?”

His wide eyes found yours, mouth opening and closing. He let out nervous breath. “Yeah, uh, something else I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Are you pregnant?” you joked and snorted into your coffee. Then, your brow furrowed. “Wait, am I? Did the doctor say something to you? Why would you smuggle tequila into my room if you knew?”

“No one’s pregnant, darlin’…” Beau laughed softly, his hand reaching out to cover your thigh. “I was just thinking maybe more a down-the-line kinda thing. In the, uh, near future, you know?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “Well, uhm, I didn’t think that was on table. We’ve never talked about it. I mean, I honestly didn’t think you’d want to…”

“Kinda gettin’ tired of people always assuming things about me,” Beau retorted with a little smirk. He squeezed your thigh. “Kids are on the table, darlin’.”

“Huh.”

Clearing his throat, Beau leaned forward in his seat. “You know, I had a little chat with Randy…”

You scoffed in surprise. “He actually told you?”

“Bigger question is, why didn’t you tell me?” Beau’s brow raised almost scoldingly. He was a pretty great dad.

“Honestly? Because it’s none of your business. That was between me and my then-late husband,” you replied with a sharpness that matched his look – there was a playfulness lying underneath, though. You both knew the other had a point. You exhaled a long sigh. “Look, that was four years ago. A lot has changed since then. I haven’t really thought about it since Randy’s funeral. Then Mexico happened. God knows we were nowhere near ready for a conversation like this…”

You gave him a shrug of your shoulders and sipped on your coffee.

“So, you don’t want kids?”

“Do you?”

Beau chuckled lightly, his fingers tapping the chair’s armrest. “Look, I’m already retiring from the job – I don’t wanna retire from life,” he said. “Sure, for a long time, I wasn’t thinking about another kid, but Emily’s almost off to college. Would be nice to feel needed again, do it all over… I don’t wanna fish every day till I drop.”

You snorted a laugh.

“So? What d’you say?”

Biting down on your lip, you glanced behind you at the Airstream. Then you found his green eyes and grinned. “Yeah, I think we’ll definitely need a bigger place. Maybe something between a houseboat and a ranch?”

Beau could barely contain his smile but played along. “And what would that be?”

It ended up being a lake house. Beau fished every morning. You watched him and the sunrise from the window as you wrote your novel.

The baby arrived by next Christmas.

THE END

I think reader would be unstoppable in an Escape Room 😂

I so hope you enjoyed this last part, loves! What a wonderful journey it's been. Thank you to every single one of you from the bottom of my heart 🤍

And PS: I do have a little future one-shot in mind for them 😉

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[minkdelovely]

love and power

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

chapter seven

“so let me show you how to touch my trigger.”

Alastor x Fem!Reader ; MDNI 18+ ; [y/n] used sparingly ; Alias in Hell is Sylvie

tags/warnings: valentino lol, semi-consensual touching ; licking ; and undressing, descriptions of repulsion, violent tearing of clothes, power dynamics, people pleasing tendencies *hopelessly devoted to you plays in the distance*, slow burn eventual: smut

word count: 3.9k

author’s note: the longest chapter to date, but i had a lot of fun with this one. valentino is a naughty, naughty overlord… ❤️‍🔥 i think this is my favorite chapter k luv u

prelude ; chapter one ; chapter two ; chapter three ; chapter four ; chapter five ; chapter six ; chapter seven ; chapter eight ; chapter nine ; chapter ten: part one ; chapter ten: part two

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Lying in bed, you lingered on the dull ache pulsing through your body; blood turning to fire in your veins as you recalled how you ended up here. A sobering worry trickled after it as you stared at the canopy above, as if it could provide an answer.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

That morning…

The couple of days that passed since Alastor broke the news of his bargain with Valentino went by without incident. It had been a nice change of pace settling back into a more familiar routine, with mornings and evenings reserved for tending to Alastor and the afternoons with your housemates. You were really beginning to look forward to your time with them now, a pleasant way to break up the monotony of work.

Your heart stuttered then, reminding you that today would be different.

You weren’t sure what Alastor had said to Charlie to get you out of the hotel today, as all he told you was that it had been handled. Thankfully she hadn’t cornered you to ask about it since you wouldn’t know what to say if she did. You knew you wouldn’t be able to lie to her, but there was definitely no way you could have told her the truth. 

Alastor had no doubt fibbed about why he required you with him for the whole day, the honest explanation simply too much of a blotch on his pride to admit to. Besides, there would be no way to avoid how he had ended up in this predicament without admitting to what you had done. Husk and Angel had kept their word and you were still so grateful that they were the only ones to see you that morning. It had even become somewhat of an inside joke between the three of you.

But the thought of Charlie finding out… Your cheeks burned with shame and you shook your head to try and clear your mind. It was handled. She didn’t know about it. That was all it needed to be.

You peaked over at Alastor’s place on the balcony, making sure he hadn’t seen you working through this as you dusted one of his many bookshelves stocked with titles you didn’t recognize. He had enjoyed teasing you about that, as if niche books about the mechanics of broadcasting and the occult should have made their way into the American education system by the time you were attending.

Mercifully he was buried in the newspaper, incoherently grumbling to himself as his fingers tore into it like it owed him a debt. Testy. And also on his third cup of coffee… not a good sign. But that was to be expected today, the edge you’ve felt building around him since the other day finally coming to a peak.

Alastor had elaborated somewhat in regard to what he meant by concessions, stating that he had to concede to Valentino’s desire to make a final decision in exchange for leaving Angel Dust out of the fray. Knowing what little pieces you did about the relationship between them, you couldn’t help but be thankful that this would be one less thing for Angel to worry about. On the other hand, it also made you increasingly nervous about what Valentino might resolve to do. 

Was Alastor worried about it, too?

Your imagination went into overdrive then, pulse crashing through you with fear of the unknown. What if he wanted to hurt you — how would he do it if he did? Angel didn’t go into the details, but it was more than possible for Valentino to be violent with you considering how he liked to treat his employees. You nearly gagged on the word just thinking it and the blatant lack of respect Valentino had towards the kept when something else came to mind.

What if he wanted to put you in one of his movies as a way of making up for Donny’s absence? Apparently he was taking a longer time than expected to heal…

If you were forced to choose, you’d opt for his brutality; a beating you could take, and there were only so many ways to accomplish the goal. But you knew the options were endless when it came to the videos Valentino produced and it filled you with a sense of dread. Not that you were a prude, but putting yourself on display like that wasn’t something you felt comfortable with even just to start. Who knows what kind of situation he’d want you in? It really could be anything.

And what would Alastor be able to do about it? Would he even have a choice… would he care?

The sudden feeling of a hand on your shoulder caused you to jump, the ghost of a scream catching in your throat as the feather duster clattered to the floor. A small but firm squeeze followed with surprising comfort, holding you steady.

“Your heartbeat is distracting,” Alastor said softly from behind you through thinly veiled irritation. It was a fact you could have done without. Did you have nothing for yourself anymore? You were about to respond when he continued. “You can retire to your room now. I’ll come by to collect you when it’s time to leave… and you’d better not change clothes.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The V Tower was an ominous place once you stood in front of it.

It had always been an eye-catching building — something you would never admit to Alastor — the array of purple, pink, and blue neon lights vivacious against the otherwise bleak and decrepit backdrop of Pentagram City. Its elegant round shape, amass of windows, and cleanliness making it striking enough to earn the title of landmark. But it was a place ever on the horizon, need never driving you to approach its doors. Until now.

Meeting here was no doubt another part of the deal, your nerves fraying at the thought of Alastor’s position. It was clear that he wished to be anywhere else, not out of fear but fury. The sharpness in his red eyes fit to kill, his smile so tight you were amazed he hadn’t shattered a fang. Even his hair seemed to stand a bit on edge. Was he really in such a bad spot that he had to concede to this much? The thought alone made your chest tight, but you were resolved to do whatever you needed to keep up your part in all of this.

A Robo Fizz emerged from the doors and approached, moving in sharp fluid movements before stopping in front of the two of you. It gave you a quick up-and-down before pivoting back to the doors, signaling for you to follow, the mechanical sound of its movements the only thing hanging in the heavy silence besides your pair of footsteps like a death knell. You passed through the bright bustling lobby, covered in posters and advertisements for various products and movies, heading straight to an eerily austere elevator which took you to the top of the building.

With a pleasant ding the elevator door opened up to golden hallway, lined with purple light fixtures and rounded archways that broke up the space between several doorways. Somehow the heart moulding at the base of each column and the upper wall managed to feel sinister rather than sweet. Despite its lavish appearance, the absence of love here was palpable. You shivered and inched closer to Alastor as you finally approached the large doorway at the end of the hall, purple adorned with an ornate golden design that was reminiscent of wings.

The Robo Fizz stood off to the side, the two women flanking the double doors opening them for you with a silent bow. Alastor placed his hand on your shoulder, slightly cupping the back of your neck, but it was all tension, no comfort.

This was it.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“Aww, you two have matching resting-creepy-face! How sweet,” Valentino cooed, glowing eyes the only thing you could make out through a plume of red smoke. His voice, dripping with a saccharine menace, was enough to distract you from the bite of Alastor’s claws. 

“Don’t push it, Valentino,” Alastor warned tightly, the static growl underneath it not quite hidden. 

The moth demon emerged from the smoke with a haughty laugh, towering over the both of you with an impressive height. So this was Valentino. It galled you to admit, but he was striking, to say the least. 

Dressed in a tight black blazer with white pants and a gold-plated heart-shaped belt, he was lavender-skinned and lean; a scarf of downy white feathers embellished with pinkish-red hearts encompassed his smug face adorned with translucent pink heart-shaped glasses rimmed in gold. His garish hat was a saving grace, something you could laugh at with Angel once you had returned to the safety of the hotel. You noticed that one of his antennae was bare, the other a blend of black and white feathers. Though it took you a moment to realize that it wasn’t a red cape, but wings cascading down to the floor behind him.

He crossed his arms — of which he had four — and sauntered toward you, his pink-fanged smile giving you a chill it was so predatory. You felt Alastor stiffen slightly next to you at the approach, but he brought you forward with him all the same. Had he not been with you, you weren’t confident that you wouldn’t have given into the instinct to flee.

With a quick movement Valentino took your hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, giving it a sloppy, wet, languid lick in what you assumed was a greeting. It took all you had not to recoil and wipe off the magenta-hued saliva, your only tether being Alastor’s presence behind you, but the silent shriek clamoring in your lungs was deafening all the same. You understood that this was all part of their game and gave yourself a reminder to maintain as brave a face as you could. More than anything, you realized, was that you really did want to make Alastor proud.

“Mmm, she’s tasty, flaco. Adorable, too — just look at those pouty lips! You’d never think she could tear out a throat by looking at her. I must say, the footage was… electrifying,” Valentino purred, leaning down to inspect you, his breath in your face smoky and sweet with tobacco. You fought to maintain eye contact but faltered, blood rushing to your face as you squirmed under his hungry gaze, drawing out another laugh from him. “And shy? How novel. What’s your name, querida?”

“Sylvie,” Alastor responded tersely, not giving you the chance. His grip on you now was harsh enough to bruise, no doubt channeling all of his discomfort into it. You’d suffer it for as long as you needed to, a conviction that raised an alarm somewhere deep in your mind. “Now that introductions have been made, shall we discuss your plan of action?”

Valentino smirked, blowing another waft of cigarette smoke in your direction. 

“Well, you don’t waste time, do you? Not a fan of foreplay? It can be the best part you know.” He was speaking to Alastor but kept his focus on you; impossible to miss the insinuation in his pink grin, his mind was clearly already at work with ideas. He only broke eye contact to shout, “Kitty! Bring some refreshments for our little Sylvie and keep her company. Alastor and I have business.”

The Robo Fizz, apparently called Kitty, appeared and disappeared as quickly as it had been summoned. Valentino walked toward the door, giving you one final, avid look as he passed you. You finally allowed yourself to glance up at Alastor but he was honed in on the Overlord. From what you could glimpse of his face — his jaw taut — you found yourself somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t be with them while they negotiated; though you still felt uneasy at being left to wait here in Valentino’s penthouse, knowing that when they came back it would be with your fate in their hands.

Alastor turned to you before following Valentino out, leaning down to speak quietly into your ear. “Take even a sip of whatever that creature brings you and I promise to punish you myself.”

The only thing that stopped you from objecting against the insult was a quick touch to your chin, silencing you without a word. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Valentino was sat at his desk, Alastor across from him in the tackiest chair he'd ever had the displeasure to be in.

The office was dressed to be just as gaudy as its owner and smelled intensely of tobacco and the unmistakable miasma the moth demon naturally exuded; a sickly combination of scents that made Alastor want to retch, it was such an assault on his senses. He couldn’t fucking wait to get out of here… Something about the entire building made him feel like a caged animal.

“I want her neck,” Valentino said abruptly, flicking his lighter open to smoke a fresh cigarette. He exhaled with a laugh, taking in Alastor’s intense face at the proposition. “Relaaax, flaquito! Not to eat, though that would be poetic. I just wanna taste her. She smells divine, too, it’s a shame I know you won’t trade. I’d definitely have more fun with her than you are, that’s for sure. Not having her walk around dressed like some bitch off Little House on the Prairie.”

The reference was lost on the Radio Demon, but he bristled all the same. Up until now, the only ones who had been able to smell you were himself and Hellborn (he had made this deduction after Charlie had commented on it once). He had been content with that, making him feel part of an exclusive group sharing in on something unobtainable to others. Which only made Valentino’s awareness of it that much more infuriating.

But the desire for him to taste of you… That was crossing a line.

“You’d waste this opportunity on something meager like that?” Alastor asked, feigning nonchalance as he folded his hands over his knee. It was the only thing keeping him from reaching over to throttle Valentino’s feather-covered neck. “And to think I’ve been worried these last couple days!”

Valentino chucked, low and dark, his fanged grin one of preemptive victory. “Call it what you want, but I know you like to play coy. Honestly, I was just gonna shoot her in front of you, but I’ve changed my mind. Let me have a taste and you’re free to go, charges dropped. Deal?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

You were clinging to Alastor’s arm like a lifeline, surprised but grateful that he hadn’t peeled you off of him yet. Maybe it was a consolation, maybe he was too wrung out from the day to care. Either way, you let the comfort of it sink into you like a balm.

Neither of you had spoken since you left V Tower, separately processing what took place once the men had reached an agreement. Remembering how he pulled you to the side while Valentino sipped a drink, boxing you in and speaking to you in a voice so low it felt like a tryst. The apology that couldn’t pass his lips was said with his eyes instead. But there was bitterness there, too, enough for the both of you. 

I will rectify this somehow, he said with silent words. 

You don’t need to, you silently said back.

It was the price you needed to pay for this to all finally be over, to stop seeing that look in his eye. Touching as it was, you knew he couldn’t stand it and so it gave you no pleasure. Every second that passed without resolution was another hit to his pride, which he cherished above all things. You wanted him to have that again so badly it felt like a live flame in your stomach. So you demonstrated to him how much you meant it, going to Valentino without fuss.

You could still feel the way his fingers easily undid the button of your collar, the tug of release as the zipper pulled down enough for him to pull the fabric away from your neck. He took his time with you, taunting Alastor with every small gesture. Two hands firm on your hips, the other two cupping your face, even sparing a moment to tuck back your hair. The rapturous groan that rumbled in his chest as he buried his face in your neck, breathing so deep you felt the smallest piece of your soul go with it, lost forever to Valentino like flicking a coin into a well.

How his laugh echoed in your ear at your rigidity when the tip of his tongue prodded the skin of your neck and the small shriek that jerked out of you from the shock. You could hear static with your heartbeat then, low and humming from the corner Alastor had reserved himself to; either forced to watch or refusing to leave. You couldn’t tell him not to worry, so you resolved to show him that you were okay, slowly relaxing in Valentino’s arms as his tongue and mouth explored your neck. Goosebumps prickling your skin like a million needles.

You couldn’t be sure how long you were subjected to it, the seconds seemed to pass like years. But you stood your ground and let him have his prize, which he relished with a fervor that made you feel cold. It took all you had not to run back to Alastor once it was all over, knowing that you needed to act like you still had every ounce of your dignity, not only for yourself but for your keeper whom you wished to honor.

Could he feel how protected you still felt? How repulsed you had been? 

When I closed my eyes, it wasn’t Valentino there but…

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The two of you had finally made it back to the hotel, the lobby mercifully empty as you made your way to the elevator. Alastor felt you relax against him as soon as the doors opened on your floor, as if you’d been holding your breath. He could understand the sentiment, himself just as desperate to get back to his own room.

Alastor had allowed you to hold onto him, finding an odd reassurance in the gesture, but his limit was reached. He had been simmering for the last couple days, ever since that frivolous idea came to him on his walk to Cannibal Town. The meeting with Valentino had upset him enough that he was able to push it down, but it had been relentlessly picking at his subconscious as the days passed. 

The nights were the worst, and the demon was spending more and more time in his secondary room or the radio tower just to escape the torment of your scent that permeated his suite. And just when he was managing to calm down it would be morning, and there you’d be at his door with a punctuality that was boarding sadistic. But he was doing well, holding it all back. 

Until Valentino swallowed you whole. 

Alastor vowed to never sleep again, knowing well what nightmares would come with it. Perhaps it would have been better to let that sleazy imbecile shoot you, after all. It was a sentiment he didn’t fully mean, but there was enough truth in it to sting with remorse. He could tell that you hadn’t reveled in the moth’s ministrations, but your scent betrayed the carnal nature of the act. 

In fact, that was mostly what he wished to get away from. Your arousal — heady with a dizzying warm, floral musk — had clung to you the entire way home, testing his resolve with every step. Had he been in a better mood he might have found it funny, how worked up you were. But this was onerous and persistent, and if anything, seeming to grow instead of dissipate. Blooming.

Something occurred to him then, turning his blood to ice. 

You had just pulled away, the door to your room partially open now, when you turned to look up at him with a look in your eyes he hadn’t seen before. It was so demure it felt obscene. And just like this morning, your heart was clamoring against your ribs like a sickening lullaby. The pink flush on your cheeks seeping down your neck, or was it the other way around?

Without thinking, Alastor tore the collar of your dress, the sound of ripping fabric deafening in the air between you. You began to protest but he was too riled to care as the shadow of his branch-like horns fell over you, his eyes losing the struggle against the urge to switch. He tugged at the hair near the nape of your neck, the sharp sound of your breath catching as he leaned in burning straight through to his gut, more so than the sting to this nostrils. He was right. 

Valentino had laced his pheromones onto you.

“Son of a bitch…!” he spat, nearly shoving you to the floor as he recoiled, his shadow pulling away from behind him with a hiss over his shoulder.

This was dangerous. 

“Alastor, what’s wrong?” you cried, clearly shaken as you backed up into your room; tears forming in the corner of your eyes as you took in the wild look that was no doubt on his face. Were you terrified of him now, like you had been the other night? It was a thrilling thought.

He couldn’t help but follow, slamming the door shut behind him without grace, heaving against the wildfire that was eating away at his self control. Blood in the water. That’s what it felt like, an all-consuming hunger that could only be sated with one thing. Despite himself, over these last couple days he had thought of all sorts of ways he could have you, not even the most ravaging being like this. He never could have imagined this…

I’ll fucking tear that scheming bastard apart!

Suddenly your hands were on his chest, trembling but firm; gazing up at him with eyes awash with fear and determination. You were so stubborn, foolish. Would you ever not be? You had the same look before you walked into Valentino’s arms, too.

Alastor’s hands traveled up, cupping your face and neck so easily. He held you like this… The thought was like acid to his already frayed nerves. You felt so precious, so fragile in his hold, but he feared he could no longer fight back against the tempest of desire to consume you. 

Because that’s what it was. 

He wanted you to unravel in his hands, wanted to pick at the hem of your resolve and see what came spilling out. And it would be all for him. Only for him. He wanted to relish the sounds, the smell, the taste. To take that sullen look ever-present in your face and shatter it, make it yield. The culmination of his wicked work.

“Alastor, please… let me help. Whatever it is, I’ll do it, just let me help you,” you said, barely above a whisper, your small hands now wrapped around his wrists. A single tear fell from your eye and forced itself beneath his thumb with a pleasant burn.

He squeezed his eyes closed and took a shuddering breath, willing them to return to their normal red when he opened them again; wanting to be himself as much as he could in this. Words couldn’t accomplish what he needed to convey.

So he leaned down to capture your mouth with his instead.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧     ✧     ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

UH OH, YOU SAID THE DANGEROUS THING.   SMUT NEXT CHAPTER💅🏻✨

ps: just in case anyone isn’t familiar with some of the spanish here 💖

‘flaco/flaquito’ can function as a nickname and is commonly used as a term said in jest or endearment meaning ‘skinny’ (though it can also be used as an insult lol — there’s definitely a bit of both happening here).


‘querida’ is a little more loaded, meaning various things like ‘dear, love/my love/lover, darling’ and was a more intense choice since it’s normally used in a hyper-affectionate way (i.e. towards your wife) but i thought it fit nicely here as part of valentino’s intimidation (and i imagine it’s a phrase he uses when he wants to love bomb).


sadly i am not fluent in spanish, but being part of a mexican family/household helps lol i just figured i would share so you can get more of a feel for valentino’s dialogue cuz it was really fun to write.

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis

[shininglightmentalhealthevent]

Welcome to the Shining Light Writing Event!

!Sign-up link!

Schedule and other details / explanation below (Note: This is not for any specific fandom, but writing about a fandom is allowed (hence tags))

!! Warning: This event / blog talks about, references, and deals with many sensitive mental health topics, which may be triggering to some people. Interact at your own risk. Any issues that arise from this point on are on you !!

What is this event? This is an online writing event focused on different types of mental health issues/illnesses/conditions, and how styles of writing can be used to help improve & bring awareness to them!

Who can sign up, & what are you looking for? There will not be applications, instead there are open sign ups that will close once an undecided number of people have filled it out. Anyone who is 16 or older and who writes in any style is welcome to join! Poetry, short story, anything. The word range for a typical style writing piece is 300 to 3,000 words. You can focus on an original character, fandom character, or real person in your life.

When are things happening? The Discord server will open at the end of February, and a PDF of the compiled works will be released Mid-May. See the schedule graphic above for more dates, and the schedule channel in the Discord has even more specific info.

Where is it being held? There is a Discord server, the link to which will be shared in an email.

Who is running it? @th3-dark-abyss is the head mod and organizer of this event! There is a team of five other mods helping, who will be credited as well.

Why is this event a thing anyway? Abyss (that's me) is working on their Girl Scout Gold Award! It's the highest award that a scout their age can earn; it requires 80+ service hours towards a project of their choosing that has a lasting, positive impact on a community. There have been a few hurdles, but I'm pushing through and I'd really love if you applied and/or shared the posts wherever you can!

Some Rules / Guidelines ~ We will be dealing with many sensitive topics that are very real issues. Please be kind and considerate. ~ Participating in this event is for over 16 years old only. If you are younger than 16, your sign up will be deleted immediately. (Under 16s feel free to reblog and interact though, at your own risk.) ~ Discrimination or hate of any kind will not be tolerated. ~ The point of this is to spread awareness through writing, to show how creative writing can help improve mental health and well-being, and to convey different people's unique experiences. It is not to stereotype, villainize, or put issues in boxes. ~ Do not make assumptions or state things as facts when they are not. ~ Do not discount others and their experiences just because you aren't familiar. ~ The askbox is open if you have any other questions or comments!

---

If you are having a mental health crisis and need help, contact 988 (National Mental Health Hotline). Here is a website with some help hotlines if you need to reach out for help. (I am in the US, so this is likely for my area. If this doesn't have one, let me know and I will help you find a line for your area.)

You are not alone ❤️

---

Keep your eyes out for the sign-up form, and please enjoy!!

[scoobdawgg]

12:52 am

A/N: Should I be studying for nursing school finals? Yes. Should I be cleaning? Also yes. Should I be doing a million other things that require my attention? Of courseee

But I decided I have been away wayyyy too long, and dw wicked animas will be getting another chapter soon(i alr have five chapters written i just wanna make sure my plot flows before i continue posting updates yk)

ANYWAYSSS heres my obsession with moonknight in full effect and this WILL be getting more parts too it, not chronologically but the OC x Moonboys will just have random oneshots about parts of their relationship.

With further adooo :))

Tags MDNI, 3.4k: porn w/ little plot, slight dacryphilla (if you squint hard enough) choking, praise/degredation kinks, slight gun play (again, tilt your head and squint realllly hard), Size kink, Implied relationship between OC x All three MoonBoys,belts used as restraints

“I should fucking shoot you for the bullshit you pulled, bastard.”

“You’ve got the gun in your hand loaded sweetheart, pull the trigger.” 

If you were to ask anyone else in the world what it’s like to date someone with a system, most would probably say the same thing. ‘It’s hard to tell who’s fronting sometimes and I could end up saying the wrong thing and hurt their feelings.’ A pretty standard answer if you were to ask Ara. For her, telling the different personalities apart was the easiest part of being in this relationship. Ara’s difficulties lie within the personalities themselves, and the fact that they lie within the same body, share the same face. It’s astonishing how the exact same features could look so different once a different personality takes over and fronts the body.

“Which one of you fucking idiots thought it was a good idea to piss me off like that? Couldn’t have been my sweetie Stevie, he would not dare cross that boundary with me.”

So with this dilemma, it was hard for whenever one of the personalities greatly upset Ara. She knew it wasn’t fair to the other two personalities to receive her wrath, they technically didn’t do anything wrong to her. Sure they could’ve stopped it, they could’ve taken control of the body before the third personality made that stupid decision and pissed Ara off, but she still shouldn’t blame them, should she?

The man Ara was straddling scoffed, eyes widened in shock and amusement before mockingly speaking, “‘My sweetie Stevie?’ Are you fucking joking? That motherfucker isn’t as innocent as you fucking think, how do you know it wasn’t his idea to up and flirt with the girl or the plan huh?”

“Because only you and Jake are bold and devious enough to go dry hump the bitch right in front of my fucking face like I can’t see you!” Ara was on the verge of hysterics, pressing the gun further into the man's temple as her body pressed his deeper into the floorboards beneath him, “Marc, there were a thousand other ways to get the bitch to talk but kissing her on the fucking dance floor isn’t one of them!” 

“You’re being fucking dramatic, you’re dating Steven right? Not me or Jake, so however and whatever means we use to obtain information for the mission shouldn’t matter to you at all, even if-”

“Even if what? Even if you go fuck the bitch I shouldn’t care?” Tears were pooling in the back of Ara’s eyes but she didn’t dare let them fall, she refused to let Marc know that his words hurt her as the vision of him taking another girl played over and over again in her head. 

Marc knew he was going too far, even without Steven yelling in the back of his head to stop and let him take back control of the body to fix the situation. And Jake was no better also in his head, egging both sides on, forever the antagonizer all the while saying how good Ara looks angry, straddling them with their own gun pressed against their head. While the trio didn’t agree on most things, there was no denying the way she looked at the moment, her smooth ochre skin glistening in a thin sheen of sweat, makeup slightly smudged from all the exasperated yelling she's been doing for the past hour, curls puffed out around in an afro her, seemingly forming a halo on top of her head. And her outfit for the night definitely wasn’t making it any easier for the men, the leather halter top having a deep v cut down the centre, making it very hard for them to concentrate on the loaded gun pressed to their head when they were getting such a great show from her breasts nearly spilling out the top. And not to mention the outfit was paired with a matching mini skirt and strappy heels, making her long legs stretch out for days and the skirt shaping her ass and hips just right. And with their hands around her waist they could feel this positioning causing her skirt to flip up and rise up on her thighs to the bottoms of her ass, but she was too angry to care about the entertainment she was providing for them.

“If fucking another bitch gets me the information I need for my mission then so be it,” Marc instantly regretted the words he spat back out at Ara for two reasons. One, because the gun went off right next to his head, a bullet shattering a nearby lamp, a warning shot indeed. Two, because he could see how crushed Ara looked at his words, a single tear escaping her right eye and sliding down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away. Marc was a well known liar, he had to be in order to be a mercenary and to carry out the orders his god gave him. And this wasn’t the first time he lied in Ara’s face, no. Many times before Marc was often the cause of most the problem in this four-way relationship, simply because he couldn’t accept Ara for who she was and that she truly loved and accepted him, Steven, and Jake for who they each were within the system and could love them all individually even though they shared the same body. He would often be mean to Ara, be short with her and cause petty arguments that would cause them to go weeks without speaking even when he fronted the body. But never in the past two years that all of them have been slowly building together has he gone this far to hurt her feelings.

‘That’s fucking cold pendejo and you know it’

‘Marc you bloody bastard give me back control now! You’ve hurt Ara enough, are you trying to ruin everything we’ve all worked so hard to build?’

Marc knew Jake and Steven were right, that he went way too far tonight and was completely out of line for what he had done. He knew he should’ve given the control back to Steven, to let him comfort Ara and make things right before he ruined it forever for them. Even though he knew what the right thing to do was, he couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked crying over him. This was the first time that she cried in front of him during one of their arguments, and the way the tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara and ruining her makeup, rewired Marc’s brain a little. It made him want to ruin her even more, till she was nothing more than a pretty little doll for him and his others to share and forever play with. 

“There is a lot of shit I can take from you, Marc,” Ara croaked out, voice thick with sadness as she tried to hold back her tears, “But that was my final fucking straw. Go fuck the bitch for all I care, just don’t get mad when I go and do the same.”

Here was yet another rare thing that all three men could agree on. It was that Ara was theirs and no one else’s and that it would take the other guy stepping over their dismembered corpse in order to even think of laying his filthy hands on her. In an instant Marc changed their positions, flipping Ara over and and pressing her into the floorboards beneath them, using one hand to hold both of hers above her head while the other wrapped tightly around her throat.

Marcs lips ghosted the shell of her ear, voice deep and raspy as he spoke, “If you ever let another mans hands touch my body, not even my god himself could stop the wrath that I would unleash on this fucking planet.”

Ara let out a dry laugh at his words, a great sacrifice on her end of precious air since his grip was steadily increasing around her throat, “Clearly you didn’t give a fuck about me two hours ago so why should I care about you? Same goes for Steven and Jake, they could’ve stopped you at any time, but no. They allowed you to disrespect me without a care in the fucking world so why should I give a damn about how any of you guys feel? Now get the fuck off of me so I can go find me some dick for the night since you wanted to act like a fucking bitch in heat in the club and grind on other women.”

Jake let out a low chuckle and whistled in the back of Marc's mind, ‘The mouth on this one is quite feisty, Marc. Personally, I wouldn’t let that shit slide if I was fronting.’

‘Maybe our little dove needs to be punished for how she’s acting’ Steven muttered, surprising both men in agreement with him, ‘She obviously needs a reminder of who she belongs to.’

Three times in one night the boys all agreed on one thing, it’s got to be a new record for them or something. Marc wasted no time putting their thoughts into action, smashing his lip against hers in a rough clash of teeth and tongue. He let go of her throat, though the kiss was so intense, so all consuming that she didn’t have a single spare moment to catch her breath as she felt his large hand travel down her body. Fingertips gliding down slowly, ghosting over the hardened tips of her nipples and ignoring the stiff buds and as he made his way down the valley of her abdomen down to where his waist pressed against her. His hand left her body, loosening his belt and pulling it free from around him in one go. Marc broke their kiss to change their positions again, flipping Ara onto her belly while knocking the gun out of her, it landed somewhere across the room where neither of them cared to keep track of it at the moment. 

He made a quick haste, using his belt to tie her arms behind her back, leaving an end out for him to tighten and control her movements at his will. Marc reached for the knife strapped underneath Ara’s skirt and pulled it out, using the sharp blade to quickly cut through the leather material of her skirt and top till she was left in nothing but her red lace thong and heels.

Jeers and protest bubbled through Ara’s chest, “What the fuck Marc?! Why are you cutting through my fucking clothes like that you stupid-”

Ara was abruptly cut off by a deep growl and a loud TWANG sound. Her eyes widened as she turned her gaze slightly to the right to see the knife Marc had just used right next to her head, embedded so deeply into the wooden floor board beneath them that only the handle remained sticking out of the whole 9-inch blade. 

Marc grabbed a fistful of her curls, roughly yanking her body upwards to his chest, “You’ve done enough talking, sweetheart,” he breathed against her ear, using his free hand to tug at her pert nipples causing her to yelp loudly, “Now I need you to shut the fuck up like a good little whore and take your punishment.” 

His enhanced speed and strength always took Ara by surprise, one second they were on the floor, the next they were on the bed, where she was once again face down ass up. Conveniently, she faced the large mirror in the corner of the room angled towards the bed. Ara wasn’t stupid, she knew had an audience right now and that her words likely pissed off Steven and Jake as well, and that they were watching everything Marc was about to do to her right now. A flood of heat washed over her body straight down her core, wetness pooling between her thighs and practically dripping from her core at the thought of being watched by her men.

Marc cold laugh sent shivers down Ara’s spine as she felt his heavy presence on the bed behind her, his fingers grazing her core and collecting her essence over them, “Just a little roughhousing and you’re already this wet for me? Such a naughty little whore aren’t you?”

The snarky comeback Ara had died in her throat once she looked up and made eye contact with Marc through the mirror. There was a crazed, devious look in his eyes, with a matching smirk gracing his full pink lips as he held up another belt of his, already formed into a loop with an end that he could tightened at will. He slipped it over her head and around her neck, wasting now time in using the end to tighten the belt, cutting off her airflow immediately.

“What’s the safe word, doll?”

Ara was already feeling overwhelmed, and the fact that he asked for safe word confirmation let her know that she was truly in for a long night, “K-knight!” She yelped again, getting choked on her words as she felt two of his large fingers plunge deep into her, setting a fast pace drawing out obscene moans from Ara.

“That’s a much better sound to hear from your mouth, baby, not all that cursing,” Marc taunted, using the end of the belt around her neck to jerk her head up towards the mirror, “Keep your eyes on the mirror at all times, let them see how much of a good little whore you are for us.”

It was embarrassing for Ara, how she could feel herself tightening around his fingers at those words, how her breasts felt heavy and nipples began to ache from being hard for so long without any relief or attention, “Y-yes sir.”

Marc chuckled, letting out a soft ‘good girl’ before tightening the neck belt, cutting off a good chunk of her oxygen. Not enough to suffocate her but enough to make her light headed and enter the beginning stages of wooziness as he added a third finger into her core, working her open and preparing her to take his cock. Even just his fingers made Ara feel so full, her hips snapping back on their own accord, her body wanting more and more pleasure. Marc let her body continue on with her ministrations as he put his mouth to work, trailing kisses and leaving hickeys all over her neck and down her spine. He made sure to mark his territory very well, the possessiveness in him driving him near mad with the need to claim her and make sure everyone else knew that she was his and no one else’s. 

He could tell she was close to coming, he could hear it in how frequent and more high pitched her moans were becoming, how she tightened around his fingers, simultaneously pushing him out and sucking him back in. His restraint was waning, he knew he would last much longer before needed to sink in her heat and feel those tight velvety walls wrapped around his cock.

Roughly he pulled his fingers out of her core, a loud whine escaping Ara as he worked quickly to free his aching cock out of his pants, “Now you know the rules sweetheart, you can only come on my cock after you’ve properly begged for it. Don’t go making your punishment worse and break that rule now.” 

Ara babbled incoherent pleas, deepening her arch and pushing her hips back against Marcs as she could feel the fat tip of his large cock drag up and down her folds, mercilessly teasing her while coating him with her slick, “P-please sir, I promise I will be a good girl for you just please me sir pretty please-”

One brutal thrust cuts off Aras pleas and steals whatever air was left in her lungs. He gave no time for the woman to adjust to the large intrusion as he set a fast and unforgiving pace. All you could hear ringing throughout the room was skin slapping, her cries, and his grunts as Marc ruthlessly took her over and over. He used his weight to his advantage, pressing her further into the mattress, one hand holding onto both loose ends of the belts and tightening them at will. The other gripped her, practically palming her scalp as he pressed the side of her face into the mattress while making sure she kept her gaze on the mirror. She could not see Steven or Jake, no, only those three had the privilege of seeing each other through mirrors. But she knew they were there, watching and waiting for their turns to ruin her as well.

Marc was too deep for Ara to handle, he was hitting spots that only he seemed to know about and could magically find. She could barely handle it, the deep thrusts, the lewd noises her cunt was making, the belt around her neck constantly loosening and tightening, playing a cruel game of breathing with her. The feeling of his hard body on top of hers, using her and pushing her past her limits, it was all too much. Still, she matched him thrust for thrust, chasing that building pressure in her core waiting for euphoria to overtake her entire being.

“M-marc, sir can I please come? Pretty please sir I need it, I need to come around your cock you feel so good inside me please~” she begged, she could feel that she was moments away from exploding around him.

Ara’s pleas were like music to Marcs ears, the most beautiful symphony in the world only meant for him to hear, “Go ahead and come baby, I’m right behind you.”

Ara let out one last cry, body shaking as she felt her pussy ripple in waves around Marc’s cock. Moments later Marc’s hips sputtered, giving one last hard thrust before spilling his seed deep inside Ara’s womb, filling her channel to the brim. Ara felt like she was in another world, her mind completely shattered and gone as she felt the belt loosen around her neck and slip off her head, Marc’s lips immediately coming down on her to kiss and soothe the marks left ingrained to her skin. 

Marc gently pulled out of her, and audibly ‘pop’ could be heard as he slid out her folds and took a moment to admire the sight before him. Ara, covered in sweat and his bite marks, eyes glaze over with a fucked out look on her face, tears staining her cheeks, arms still tied behind her back, his cum thick and leaking out her gaping hole. There was no better sight on earth, no amount of artwork that could be considered more beautiful than the woman laying before him.

Marc adjusted her position, turning her over and cradling her in his arms, using one hand to cup her face and wipe away the tears, “Are you ok sweetheart?”

Ara took a few minutes to respond, slowly coming down from her high and just enjoying being in her man's arms, “That depends, do you plan on sleeping with another bitch anytime soon?”

Even with her relaxed tone and calm expression, Marc could hear the spite in her words and see the anger she held in her eyes, “I am sorry for doing what I did back at the club. You’re right, I could’ve done a million other things to have gotten what I needed. And I’m sorry for what I said to you, I never meant a word of it at all.”

Ara hummed, burying her face in Marc's neck before replying, “Oh I know you’re sorry. I knew it when I shot the gun and saw the panicked look in your eyes, you can’t hide everything from me, Marc Spector.”

Marc scoffed, rolling his eyes while tightening his hold around her, “Really now? If you knew I was sorry then, why did you go and make those threats hmm?”

“Because it’s fun getting you all riled up, it makes for one hell of a good scene don’t you think?” Ara giggled before gesturing to her arms behind her, “Now do you think you could untie me?”

“Oh sweetheart, I wasn’t the only one you fired up,” Marc kissed her lips feverishly as his eyes rolled back and his body jolted, a telltale sign another personality has taken over, “Now love I think it’s my turn to deliver your punishment now, innit? I guess sweetie Stevie has to show you he isn’t so sweet now is it?”

[lottielovelace]

die prinzessin

(PLATONIC könig & sister!reader)

summary: So... turns out your mystery half-brother is a giant Austrian special forces operator. What now? (Catching up on two decades of sibling bonding, that's what)

originally posted on ao3 (wordcount: main version 3.1k)

Rating: T

Relationships: Platonic König & Reader, König/Horangi

Ao3 Tags: Brother-Sister Relationships / Sibling Bonding / Long Lost/Secret Relatives / reader is konig's half sister / Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (reader has scars implied to be from SH but it's ultimately left up to interpretation) / Deutsch | German / Author speaks German (as a second language) / Historical References / reading the prior installment is recommended but not required

this is a part of a series

Notes:

Possible triggers: - König teaches MC to shoot. No violence, but he gives her semi-detailed instructions on how to handle a sniper rifle. - MC talks about past mental health struggles, and König notices old scars of her. These are implied to be from SH, but I tried to leave it open-ended for anyone who doesn't want that in their reading. - König implied to have previously experienced homophobia.

Prior context: I recommend reading the previous installment in the series, but if you really don't wanna here are the truly crucial parts: Your name is Elisabeth "Elise" Linh Veidt, a medical student. You were kidnapped to serve as hostage for a half-brother (König) you've never met before, who ended up rescuing you. There's more, but it's not directly tied to this fic so I'll leave it unspoiled in case you do become interested in reading the first work in the series. I do not use Y/N. I sometimes do use "Elise" & other specific details (you'll see why it's unavoidable in this fic) but I try to—when possible—keep things vague so you can freely project onto her (ex: using "your hair" instead of "your dark hair").

About the German: I speak German as a second language. I like to assess my skill level as "I know what Genitive is, but I don't always remember to use it." As Hochdeutsch-speaking foreign civilian, my speech patterns/vocabulary are going to be pretty similar to Elise's but very different to König, a native Austrian and a hardened soldier. I tried translate as accurately as possible (lots of LEO usage), but besides maybe a "servus" or two, I made and will make no attempt to mimic the Austrian dialect because it's frankly a lost cause for me. That being said, if you are a native speaker and notice any grammatical/syntactical mistakes (or even any sentences where you go "he would not fucking say that" [ex: a term being super formal or old fashioned] please let me know!

About the legibility: This is the primary iteration of the fic. If the German really does make it impossible to read, here's a version devoid of foreign language, but if possible, I highly recommend reading this version for the fullest experience. This version is the most proofread edition and even if you don't speak the language there was linguistic nuances you can still pick up on. If there are any cultural references you don't get, I have an explanation post linked at the bottom. (also available here)

"Können wir jetzt sprechen?” [ Can we speak now? ]

“Fast,” [ Almost ], your brother answered as he continued to guide you through the complex’s winding halls. His refusal to answer questions until your surroundings were secure made the flight over to the KorTac base feel endless.

Finally he stopped at a door-lined hallway. Approaching the second on the left, he punched a combination into its keypad. It swung open, revealing a modest bedroom.

“Großes Bett” [ Big bed ], you noted. His cot was large, even for someone of his rank.

“Ich habe ein Verzicht erhalten” [ I got a waiver ], he lazily indicated at his height. You were once again reminded of your stark height difference.

You looked at him—or at least what you could see of him with the mask—again. Drawing from your bio classes, you knew you shared 25% of your DNA. Clearly none of it manifested in height. Your father had been tall, but even at his peak he was nowhere near as lofty as your brother.

“Deine Mutter muss riesig sein.” [ Your mother must be giant .]

“Sie war.” [ She was. ]

You mentally winced. Way to get off on the wrong foot.

“Meine Mutter ist auch verstorben. Früher dieses Jahres.” [ My mother also passed. Earlier this year. ]

“Entschuldigung.” [ My condolences ].

“Du weißt, dass unser Vater schon ein paar Jahren gestorben ist.” [ You know that our father died a few years ago. ]

You really hoped you weren’t the one to break the news to him.

“Ja, ich weiß. Wir haben einen Brief bekommen.” [ Yes, I know. We received a letter .]

“Gut.” [ Good .]

“Dein Name ist Elisabeth, ja?” [ Your name is Elisabeth, correct? ]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ]

You’re not surprised he knows. There’s gotta be a file on you somewhere packed with everything you’ve ever even sniffed at.

“Magst du deinen Namen?” [ Do you like your name? ]

“Wie bitte?” [ Pardon? ]

“Benutzen Sie Elisabeth oder etwas anderes?" [ Do you go by Elisabeth or something else? ]

“Elise. Und du musst nicht ‘Sie’ benutzen. Wir sind Blut.” [ Elise. And you don’t need to be so formal. We’re blood .] A beat passed. “Wie heißt du?” [ And you? What is your name? ]

“Jeder nennt mich König.” [ Everyone calls me König. ]

“König? Ist das nicht ein wenig dramatisch?” [ King? Isn’t that a bit dramatic? ]

“Wenn du so groß wie ich bin, gibt es keinen Raum für Subtilität. Auch mag ich Geburtsnamens nicht.” [ When you’re as big as me, there is no room for subtlety. Plus I’m not the biggest fan of my birth name. ]

“Darf ich fragen?” [ May I ask? ]

“Ludwig.”

“Ludwig? Wie der König? Der Verrückte?” [ Ludwig? Like the king? The mad one? ]

“Genau. Ich mag es nicht, aber möchte es noch würdigen.” [ Exactly. I don’t like it, but I do enjoy paying tribute to it in my own way.]

“Elisabeth und Ludwig. Unser Vater mochte die Wittelsbacher, ja?” [ Elisabeth and Ludwig. Our father had a fondness for the Wittelsbachers. ]

“Wenn ich der Märchenkönig bin und du die Sisi bist, bist du Kaiserin?” [ If I’m the Fairy Tale King, and you’re Sisi… wouldn’t that make you the Empress? ]

“Dann wäre ich dir überlegen.” [ I would outrank you then. ]

“Gefällt dir das als mögliches Rufzeichen?” [ Would you like that as a callsign? ]

“Was? Kaiserin? Muss ich wirklich einen?” [ What, Empress? Do I even need one? ]

“Ja. Es würde mir ein Stein vom Herzen fallen. Dein Name ist kostbar. Verrate es nicht. Zumindest nicht hier.” [ I think so. It would ease my mind. Your name is a precious thing, I don’t want you to give it away. At least not while you’re on base. ]

Your stomach twisted.

“Du hast mir gesagt, dass dieser Ort sicher sei.” [ I thought you said this place was safe. ]

“Ja voll. Aber jeder kann mithören und hacken.” [ It is. But anyone can tap into radio comms or steal files .]

“Was meinst du damit?” [ What are you implying? ]

“Es ist zusätzlicher Schutz. Bitte. Es könnte irgendetwas. Ich brauche nur, dass du eines hast.” [ It’s an extra barrier of protection. Please. You can pick whatever it is, I just want you to have one. ]

You thought about it for a moment.

“Ich möchte nicht ‘Kaiserin’ sein. Das ist zu viel Macht und Anstrengung. Die Kaiserkrone hat die echte Sisi erwürgen.” [ I don’t want to be ‘Empress’. That’s too much power and pressure. The imperial crown strangled the original Sisi, after all. ]

A smile bloomed on your face.

“Vielleicht zulasse ich ‘Prinzessin’.” [ I might be amenable to ‘Princess’ though. ]

“Prinzessin? Ich kann damit leben. Sinn für kurz?” [ Princess? I can work with that. Sinn (meaning sense/reason/mind) for short? ]

You nodded with deep gravitas, “Einer von uns muss die Intelligenz sein.” [ Someone needs to be the brains around here. ]

Something about the faux-seriousness in your tone made the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter.

The moment is so beautiful, you almost don’t want to ruin it with the question you know you have to ask. Something ancient, the spirit of Orpheus or Pandora perhaps, urges you to look.

“Darf ich über der Maske fragen?” [ Can I ask about the mask? ]

He paused for a moment, hesitant. Then quietly he spoke:

“Ich kann es ausziehen. Du bist Familie.” [ I can take it off. For you. You’re family, after all. ]

There’s a reluctance in his voice that made your heart twinge.

“Du musst nicht wenn du nicht willst.” [ You don’t have to if you don’t want to. ]

“Nein.” [ No. ] This time his voice seems more resolved, “Ich möchte.” [ I want to. ]

He pulled off his hood. His face was ruddy, but it worked well with his light hair and eyes. You two both looked so similar yet so different.

“Du hast alle guten Gene geerbt,” [ You clearly got all the good genes, ] you joked.

He turned his head bashfully, accidentally revealing his battered side profile.

“Deine arme Nase! Was passiert?” [ Your poor nose! What happened to it? ]

“Zebrochen. Ein paarmal. Bisschen verwickelt medizinische Hilfe zu erkriegen wenn du deinem Gesicht verheimlichst.” [ Broke it. A few times. Bit hard to get medical attention when you refuse to show your face. ]

“Nächste Mal einfach ruf mich. Ich habe dein Gesicht schön gesehen.” [ Next time just come to me. I’ve already seen your face. ]

“Mit Verlaub zu sagen, wie viel kannst du hilf mit helfen?” [ No offense, but how much can you help? ]

“Ja leider. Was weiß ich?” [ You’re right. What do I know? ] you bit back. “Ich habe nur noch ein Viertel vom Medschule übrig.” [ I’m only a quarter out from graduating med school. ]

“Soll das ein Scherz sein?” [ You’re joking. ]

“Das war nicht im Bericht?” [ That didn’t make it into the file? ]

“Nein. Wann ist der Abschluss?” [ No. When’s graduation? ]

You tensed. He was beaming with pride. You hated to ruin it with the ugly truth.

“Ich weiß nicht ob ich graduiere.” [ I don’t know if I will graduate. ]

“Warum? Hast du schulische Probleme?” [ Why? Are you having troubles at school? ]

“Sozusagen. Meine Noten sind gut, aber heuer versuchte ich zu ausscheiden. Sie ließen mich nicht, so nahm ich Gewaltkur.” [ Sort of? My grades are fine but… I tried to drop out earlier this year. They wouldn’t let me so I took more… drastic measures. ]

König’s eyes drifted to your scars.

“Sie sind alt.” [ They’re old, ] you reassured. “Und danach dem ganze Entführungquatch, ich bin entschlossen zu überleben. Vetrau mir. Deshalb möchte ich nicht zurückkehren. Ich möchte leben, nicht in Schule sorgen.” [ Plus after the whole kidnapping ordeal, I’m more determined to live than ever. Trust me. That’s why I don’t want to go back. I want to live, not suffer more in school. ]

Your brother looked at you disapprovingly, “Du musst zurückgehen.” [ You need to go back. ]

“Kann ich einfach hier bleiben? Bei dir? Ich könnte Medizinerin sein.” [ Can’t I just stay here with you? I could be a medic. ]

"Medizinische Arbeit ist nicht leicht.” [ Being a medic is hard work. ]

“Fleiß ist kein fremd.” [ I’m no stranger to hard work.]

“Du wärst ein bessere Medizinerin, wenn du Schule fertigbringst.” [ You’d be a better medic if you finished school. ]

You stared at him with arms crossed, unyielding.

He tried again, “Wenn du dein Medizinstudium abschließt kannst du hier arbeiten. Und du erhältst eine besondere Belohnung von mir.” [ Look, if you graduate you can work here full time—and I’ll ensure you get a special reward. ]

“Was?” [ What? ]

“Eine Überraschung. Du wirst es schön wissen.” [ It’s a surprise. I won’t tell you. Yet. ]

You pursed your lips. Clearly this wasn’t an argument you were going to win.

“In Ordnung. Aber lass mich länger bleiben. Ich möchte dich kennenlernen.” [ Fine. But let me stay a little longer. I want to get to know you.]

“Natürlich.” [ Of course. ]

The tension dissipated.

“Du hast gesagt das du lasst Medical dein Gesicht nicht sehen. Erlaubst du irgendjemand?” [ You said you don’t let medical see your face. Do you let anyone else? ]

Your brother flushed. He really was quite pink under the hood.

“Einer.” [ One person .]

You mentally rolled up your sleeves. You had over two decades of little sister pestering to make up for.

“Echt?” [ Oh really? ]

“Ein Freund.” [ A friend. ]

“Ein Freund oder dein Freund?” [ A friend or your boyfriend? ]

“Ich liebe ihn.” [ I love him. ]

“Gefühl er gleichartig?” [ And does he feel the same?]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ]

“Na ja, ich muss sehen, ob er gut genug für dich ist.” [ Hmm. I’ll have to see if he’s good enough for you. ] 

He slumped in relief. With a jolt you realized he was afraid of you… rejecting him. For what? Being in a relationship with another man? No, you of all people would never do that. You silently resolved to make sure he would never have to fear that ever again.

“Du kannst ihn heute Abend in der Kantine begegen.” [ You can meet him in the mess hall tonight. ]

----------

The mess hall is awash with activity. Even here amongst allies and coworkers, people gave König a wide berth.

“Welcher ist er?” [ Which one is he? ]

König pointed to a man sitting alone at a table.

“Dieser.” [ That one. ]

“Noch ein Maskenträger? Bisschen narzisstisch, ja?” [ Another mask? Bit narcissistic of you, isn’t it?]

You felt your brother roll his eyes under his hood. The sitting man’s head jerked up at the sound of his heavy footsteps. His mask already pulled up over his mouth to eat, the man broke out into a brilliant smile.

“Das ist der Horangi.” [ This is Horangi. ] König introduced. “Klarname Kim Hong-jin.” [ Real name Kim Hong-jin. ]

“Sprecht er Deutsch?” [ Does he speak German? ]

“Ja.” [ Yes. ] Horangi responded. “Er war mein Lehrer. So wurden wir unzertrennlich. Du bist seine Schwester, ja?” [ He has been my tutor. It’s actually how we got close. You’re his sister, right? ]

“Richtig.” [ Yes. ]

“Does she speak English?” Horangi asked your brother, switching languages. You knew it was just a way to test your skills, but it irked you.

“I’m American.”

“Just because you’re American doesn’t mean you speak English. I don’t even know if half the stuff that comes out of Graves’ mouth even qualifies as human speech.”

“Graves?” you looked to your brother for explanation.

“Er ist—wie sagt man das? Yee-haw?” [ He is… how do you say it? Yee-haw? ]

“Südstaatler?” [ Southern? ]

“Geneau.” [ Exactly. ]

You crossed your arms and gave Horangi a final thorough look-over.

“I approve under one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Teach me how to fight. It’s great that I was able to meet my brother but I do not want a repeat of the kidnapping.”

Horangi cocked his head, “Wouldn’t you want to learn from your brother?”

“There are plenty of things I want to learn from him. This is not one of them. Based on size alone, we’re going to have very different strategies. I’m sure he’s a great fighter, but I have a feeling that using his technique with my frame would be… lackluster. No offense.”

“Kein Problem.” [ None taken. ]

“Very well,” Horangi relented. If this was all it took to be on the good side of his in-laws, it was a small price to pay. “I expect to see you at 7 sharp. I won’t go easy on you.”

“Perfect.”

----------

Horangi’s right. It’s not easy, but slowly and steadily—and with no small amount of tears and blood—you managed to win Horangi’s respect (and a nice set of abs).

About a week in, he makes a suggestion. You two were on a water break, your brother was sitting nearby. König had taken to watching your sparring, occasionally commentating or tagging in.

“Du verbesserst!” [ You’re improving! ] the Austrian complimented brightly.

“Und ich habe gar nichts mit es zu tun.” [ And I had absolutely nothing to do with the matter, ] Horangi muttered with mock resentment.

“Unsinn, du bist immer ein prima Lehrer.” [Nonsense, you are an excellent teacher.] König apologized with a kiss.

“Wirklich! Vielen Dank.” [ Definitely, thank you so much! ] you corroborated.

Horangi shifted. Even in training, he still wore the mask—at least while in the base’s general gym. He was more lackadaisical about it in private. Your “family dinners” with him and König had given you a good look at both of their faces. 

You’d become well versed in his facial reactions. Even with his face covered you could feel his devilish smile.

“자기야, du solltest ihr deine erste Liebe vorstellen.” [You know babe, you should introduce her to your first love.]

Your head snapped to your brother. Sans Horangi, you were probably the person on base who he felt most comfortable talking about his past with, but even then it sometimes felt like pulling teeth. You quickly learned to treasure any lore you gleaned.

“Was? Warum habe ich noch nie von das gehört?” [ What? How have I not heard of this before? ]

König raised his hands in defense.

“Das stimmt nicht. Er verhohnepipelt mich.” [ It’s not like that. He’s making fun of me. ]

“Wer ist diese erste Liebe dann?” [ Who is this first love then? ]

“Scharfschützen.” [ Sniping, ] he replied bashfully.

----------

After much cajoling, you finally got König to teach you to snipe. You had a good feeling about it. You always had a steady hand and good hand-eye coordination. Before the kidnapping, you’d even been looking into specializing in surgery (though now—whenever you’d return—you’d be taking a hard turn into emergency medicine and the other subjects required for a combat medic). Plus maybe it ran in the family.

You met at the shooting range one early morning. Horangi had recently been deployed and your brother needed to stop stressing about it.

“Ich wollte ein Heckenschütze sein.” [ I wanted to be a sniper, ] he explained as he showed you the mechanics. The assembly of the gun soundtracked his words with rhythmic clicking.

“Du bist ein Insertionsspezialist, ja? Was passiert?” [ You’re an insertion specialist, right? What happened? ]

“Zu groß. Das wird kein Problem für dich.” [ Too tall. That won’t be an issue for you. ]

You crossed your arms. Cheap shot. König didn’t notice your disapproval, eyes now trained on the target.

“Auch ich zappele.” [ And I fidget .]

“Ich habe dein Scharfschießen gesehen. Du hast eine feste Hand.” [ I’ve seen you shoot. You have a steady hand. ]

“Hände kann ich ruhen. Alles anderes, nicht so viel. Problematisch, wenn man unauffindbar sein muss. Erinnern: Drück, nicht zieh.” [ I can keep my hands steady. The rest of me, not so much. A slight issue when trying to be undetectable. Remember, squeeze don’t pull. ]

BANG

Bullseye.

“Du bist dran.” [ Your turn. ]

You approached the marked spot. This seemed so much easier before you felt the gun in your hands and witnessed your brother’s expertise first hand.

“Hol drei tief Atemzüge. Großer letzter Ausatmen. Das ist der Moment. Beacht Folgemaßnahmen, Rückstoß ist eine knifflige, besonders bei deiner Größe.” [ Take three deep breaths. Big exhale on the last. That’s when you want to shoot. And remember to follow through, recoil can be a bitch, especially at your size. ]

Even with your nervousness, you still found it in yourself to retort.

“Nennst du mich kurz?” [ Are you calling me short? ]

“Für mich seid ihr alle kurz. Das ist nichts speziell. Schussbereit!” [ You’re all short to me. There’s nothing special about that. Position! ]

The gun was heavy, but thanks to your work with Horangi not unbearable.

One.

Two.

Three. 

Even watching your brother’s demonstration hadn’t prepared you for just how loud the gunshot was.

You flinched. Hard.

The bullet went left, landing in the dirt with a small puff.

“Scheiße.” [ Shit. ]

“Gute Form. Ohne dein Zucken, wurdest du ins Schwarze treffen. Du musst nur an dem Krach passen. Probier es noch mal.” [ Good form. If it wasn’t for the flinch you would’ve got it dead on. You just need to get used to the noise. Try again. ]

You were still rattled, but your brother’s confidence in you steadied your hands.

You knew you could do it, you just had to…

Eins.

Zwei.

Drei.

There was no dust cloud this time. Only the noise of the round hitting something solid and your brother’s exhilarated whoop as he took you in his arms.

----------

Saying goodbye was rough. Both König and Horangi joined you on the ride to the airport, wanting to prolong goodbyes for as long as possible.

“Bis bald.” [ See you soon. ]

When your flight finally touched down and you returned to finish med school, it was with a few training bruises, an even steadier finger, and a determination to help your new family the only way you knew how.

An explanation of König & Reader's full names and the historical references behind them

[mirnilop]

𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓋𝒾𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 ˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ wally darling

⚠ tags: sfw, mob au, yandere!wally, gn!singer!reader, power imbalance, discussions of violence

♡ synopsis: you’d be surprised how many fans you accrue as a small-time lounge singer. while this is usually a good thing, one of yours happens to rule half the city, so he isn’t exactly receptive to the word “no”.

♡ word count: 5,310

⛧ﾐ‧*･ﾟ the following content may be triggering to some. please proceed with caution! ･ﾟ*‧ミ⛧

a/n: hello!! ₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎ goshh, my very first post on this acc!! i haven’t posted fanfic in a hot minute but i’m suuuper excited to get back into it!! 💞 i have sooo many wips for this fandom, it was difficult to choose which one to finish first! credit to @/clownsuu for creating the au and for the lovely art!! i tweaked the concept a wee bit so that it takes place in a roger rabbit-esque world where puppets and humans live together unharmoniously (with a jessica rabbit inspired reader ofc >v>). it was a lot of fun trying to marry wally's canon personality with a Scary Mob Boss (*´ 艸`) i can't wait to post more!! what are y'all's favourite aus? let me know!! ･*･:≡(　ε:)

There’s a rose on your vanity.

The sight of it snuffs out your high spirits, irritation igniting in its place– and it was such a good day, too! You and the girls were perfectly in sync for your entire performance, bolstered by the unusually affable audience; you even rewarded them with a sneak peek of new material, which made them go wild!

Dreams of stomping it beneath your heel stew in your head as you drop it in the faience vase at the rim of the mirror, where a crinkled, beige-tipped rose droops against the rim. Why not break the vase too? An idea that’s crossed your mind too many times, and while it gets harder to resist with each flower, you endure it. They’re presents, after all, and you doubt your admirer would take kindly to the news that you’ve trashed them. You’re certain one of his minions would obtain the evidence, if not witness you do it; you can’t pinpoint the extent to which they survey you, but the crawling sensation of eyes on your back crops up often, and obviously they have no problem barging into your dressing room to play delivery service.

Sighing, you comb through your rolling rack to pick a suitable outfit to change into. Most of the articles hanging are also gifts, but you’ve made sure to keep some of your own hard-earned clothes here out of sheer spite. A burgundy cashmere number has just slipped into your grasp when the door bursts open.

“How’s that for a show?! And what a great crowd, a whole buncha dolls! Or– well, puppets– and humans! Hahaha!”

Lottie skips in with her usual energy, the bell on her collar jingling alongside the clack of her Mary Janes. You hate that their manager mandates the bells as a part of their costumes, as if puppets being treated like second-class citizens wasn’t enough. “You wanna make money or not? It’s part of the appeal! You know, Mary Had A Little Lamb and all that!” is what he told you after one of your countless tirades regarding his treatment of them, but the sleazy smirk wrapped around his cheap cigarette allowed you to read between the lines. As much as you despise that man, it’s not your business to judge the trio for staying contracted with him. Mottie’s recalled to you how difficult it was to hire a manager at all, and you suppose you have to (begrudgingly) thank him for bringing them into your life, since he’s the one who bagged them the backup singer gig.

A swell of color in your peripheral lets you know that she’s come near, but you don’t bother diverting attention from your search. This is such a common occurrence between you two that pleasantries are no longer required.

“And they were mighty generous with the tips! So me and the gals was thinking we should go somewhere to… celebrate…”

Hearing her trail off, you turn to find her staring at the new rose, her once-perky ears fallen limp. You click your tongue, remorse prickling your heart, though you’ve done nothing wrong.

“I’ll be alright, Lottie. Here,” You grab a wad of bills from your personal tip jar and fold them into her hand. “You take your sisters somewhere nice, my treat. As an apology for having to skip out tonight.”

When she doesn’t move from her spot, merely pouting at you with big, glistening eyes full of concern, you swaddle her in a hug. Fleecy strands of shell pink hair tickle your nose as she nestles her snout into your shoulder, squeezing you like a lifebuoy. Having her in your arms is a vital reminder as to why you continue to put up with everything. Lottie, Dottie and Mottie are your beloved friends– your family when you had none– and you are willing to do whatever is necessary to build a life with them.

“Are ya sure?”

“Positive. And if that bug gives you even a whiff of trouble, you come get me right away, got it?”

She laughs, the sound a balm to the ache of your worries. “He never gives us any trouble– n’fact, I haven’t heard ‘im say a single word!”

“Good. At least one of them has manners. Now go have fun!”

After a few more hugs and a promise to relay your apology to her sisters, she trots towards the entrance. Halfway through it, she pauses.

“Promise ya’ll play nice?”

An involuntary grimace twists your face, which you smooth immediately.

“I was planning on it,” you concede, earning an exhale of relief from Lottie.

“Thanks. Honestly, I’m kinda worried...” She leans against the doorframe, gaze trained on the checkered floor. “I see more and more of that Napoleon-wannabe’s goons lately. Do ya think he’s gettin’ antsy? It’s been real quiet since that incident with Dorelaine.”

Ah, the incident. It happened a handful of months ago; he refused to go into specifics, but what you’ve gathered from his gnomic recount and various news stories is that their rival organization– led by Ronald Dorelaine, a human man– planted explosives somewhere important, racking up thousands in damages and dismembering several puppets, left to be mended with those horrific stitches. You didn’t receive another rose until several weeks afterwards.

“I can’t be sure,” you admit. “He doesn’t tell me much about the goings-on of the ‘family’, not that I care to know. But I noticed he’s been more wound up lately… maybe they’re going to retaliate?”

A visible shudder travels through Lottie, and she tosses her head as if to ward off the gravity of your predicament. It was easier to ignore the implications when there wasn’t an active turf battle.

“You’re right, we should stay as far as we can from that nasty business. Wear the red, then. To butter ‘im up a little.” She offers you a conflicted half-smile, most likely holding herself back from proposing a makeover, before sidling out the door.

Glowering, you follow the advice, shucking your tight, shimmering stage outfit for the cozy cashmere you were eyeing before. Like I need to be reminded of his favorite color. I’ve practically lived in red since I met him. It inexplicably fits like a glove, as do all of the clothes you've been bestowed; for the sake of your sanity, you prevent yourself from delving too far into that subject.

As you fix the little bits of your appearance that got mussed up during your performance, you can’t help but contemplate hiding in your room until morning, even though you know it wouldn’t work– and you’d have to pay for a broken front door. Once every speck of lint has been removed and your ensemble is flawless, you steel your resolve with a hard look in the mirror. If things go south, at least you’ll make a gorgeous open casket.

You step into your shoes and out of the dressing room, swiping your bag and a matching hat from the plethora that dangle on knobs affixed to the wall along the way. The haze that eternally permeates the lounge envelops you as you walk, no longer springing tears to your eyes like it did so long ago, when you were a starry-eyed fledgling. Upon entering the foyer, you call out to the owner, Gene, who’s counting the register behind the bar.

“Hey, I’m heading out!”

“Geez, you’re in a hurry! Got a hot date or what?”

“Something like that,” you breathe, your nerves relighting tenfold now that you’re so close to the outside.

“Ahh, I getcha.” His amusement is clear, construing an innuendo within your words that is absolutely not there, but you’d rather die than clarify. “You did a great job today, you deserve it!”

Somehow, your admirer has managed to limbo directly under Gene’s nose; thus far he’s made no indication that he’s aware he has a very important patron. For a moment, you observe him, and see how he absentmindedly rubs the pocket of his button-up– where a polaroid of his two children is safely tucked away– and you decide that it’s probably for the best.

“Thanks, Gene. Have a good one.”

“You too!”

His reply barely reaches you as you cross the threshold from the comfort of your work into the cold, pensive night. A luckier soul may have suffered a fright when greeted with the colossal figure standing below the street light, carved with shadow, but it’s a familiar sight to you now. An inconspicuous black car is parked behind him.

“Hi Howdy.”

“Evening, Mx.” He bows slightly, whisking open the sleek passenger door which you reluctantly slide inside.

“I wish you’d stop calling me that. I do have a name.” It’s true. Being addressed formally by such an important figure imbues you a with a sick feeling, like he’s won, and you’ve already been initiated into this fucked up institution.

Though he waits for you to finish speaking before shutting you in, he doesn’t grace you with a response; not that you were expecting one. In all the times he’s escorted you to these duress-dates, as you’ve taken to calling them, he’s remained stoic to a mechanical degree, acknowledging your presence and nothing more. Thrashing, crying, screaming– you’ve tried everything to escape, and have never elicited a reaction more severe than that of a tired parent handling a tantrum. If you resist, he simply manhandles you. It’s hardly a fair match, with him having 4 arms and several feet of height on you, so you opt to reserve your energy for dealing with his headache of a boss.

When he hauls his many limbs onto the driver’s seat, the car lurches, too small to accommodate a puppet of his stature; he has to hunch forward to see the windshield, antennae pushed flat. You lean back and vacantly turn towards the window, wondering if cars big enough for someone like him to drive comfortably even exist while the engine rumbles to life.

The umbrous cityscape passes you by, inklings of humans and puppets flashing in and out of the darkness like ghosts. Thick boughs of red and green tinsel are strung across a few lamp posts, but by the end of the season they’ll all be covered. Dottie’s already triple checked that you and her sisters have one day of the annual Christmas market off, even though you strike the same deal with Gene every year; the four of you get Saturday, then he gets Sunday to take his family. It’s one of your favorite times of the year, if only because you get to experience the aura of wonder that enlivens Lottie when the first snow falls, Mottie’s timid wheedling to attend The Nutcracker, and Dottie’s alphabetically-organized checklist of fun winter activities.

Those cheerful thoughts are wiped away as Howdy turns into a private garage attached to a sleek, angular skyscraper. He parks in the spot nearest to the entrance, the first in a row of spaces labeled with metal “Reserved for Staff” signs, and circles the car to let you out. The sensation of him gingerly lifting you comes with no alarm; he always assists you up the concrete stairs leading to the elevator, as if you’re so physically inept you can’t handle 3 tiny steps. You assume his needless precaution is for the same reason he hasn’t beaten you yet despite defying him so often: boss’s orders.

With a reedy knell, the elevator glides open, and Howdy signals for you to go ahead. Once you’re both inside, he inserts a key and presses the button for the uppermost level. Expecting a noiseless ride, you tune into the low muzak emitting from the speakers, which makes you miss the first time he calls you.

“Mx.”

Startled, you swivel towards him. His steadfast profile is unreadable.

“Boss doesn’t know you’ve opposed him so vehemently in the past. Please keep that in mind tonight.”

The entrance broaches before you can interrogate him as to what the hell he means, granting you entry to a luxury penthouse laved in gold, ivory, and– of course– red. A glimmering chandelier suspends from the ornamental ceiling, bathing the antique furniture in an amber glow. If you hadn’t just ridden up the elevator, you would have assumed such a lavish drawing room belonged to an old mansion.

It’s something straight out of a romance novel, except instead of a chiseled, broody Italian, it’s a short puppet sitting at the marble-topped dining table. He lounges at the head in a slate blue silk suit with its jacket buttoned to the top; an honor seemingly reserved solely for you, because it’s the only way you’ve seen him wear it, despite street tales describing the way it billows from his shoulders as he stalks the town. Revealed by its plunged neckline is the collar of a white dress shirt embossed with rainbow pinstripes, and a red ascot neatly tied and pulled askant around his throat.

Wally Darling, in the felt: kingpin of The Neighborhood, and resident thorn in your side.

When you arrive, he rises to meet you, dismissing Howdy with a pointed glance; you’ve learned that the relationship between a crime lord and his loyal bandog transcends language. You watch him as he leaves through a pair of swinging doors to the left, his cryptic advice-slash-warning heavy on your mind.

And so, you find yourself alone with the most dangerous man in the city– puppet or otherwise.

“Good evening, dearest. I hope my gift found you well.”

The concept of personal space might as well be Greek to Wally, since he hasn’t once respected it from the day you had the misfortune of making his acquaintance. He crowds so close that you have to crane your neck to see his face, the heat emanating from him eliciting shivers in your chill-soaked body.

“Yes, thank you. It was quite a lively night,” you chirp, wielding a civil smile.

Although the contours of his wispy, coiffed curls only reach your ribs, he extends his arm to you, which you take with such a featherlight hold that you barely brush his sleeve. Rather than leading you to the dining table like you expected, you’re guided towards a small lounge area to the side, the crackling croon of Billie Holiday wafting over from a refurbished stereo console in the corner. Oh, great. He’s feeling sentimental.

“Would you indulge me with a dance before dinner?”

Don't have much of a choice, do I?

“I’d love to.”

Dancing with Wally is funny, in an ironic sort of way; it certainly caught you off guard the first time he asked. When you envision dancing with a powerful, deadly mobster, you think of being swept away, wrapped snugly by strong arms and a dastardly smirk, or perhaps something more courtly, like a waltz steered by a polite hand on your waist. Turns out both versions are incorrect.

Muscle memory ushers your arms open, and Wally falls into the space in between them– literally. Slack against you, his full weight is heftier than his height would imply, but not physically uncomfortable– emotionally and morally, however, are another story. An air of pure peace washes over him as his cheek nuzzles the underside of your chest, arms limp at his sides; you swear you even hear a little trill. Your face burns, but you say nothing as you begin to sway faintly to the beat, tracing a loop with your feet as you traipse along. Wally follows easily, tethered by the reluctant cage of your embrace.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

The query is felt more than heard, his gentle monotone muffled by the downy fabric of your garb. You huff softly to yourself, rustling a few gel-slick strands atop his pompadour.

“How could I forget?”

The day the infamous Mr. Darling appeared in your club, his two largest henchmen in tow, is burned into your brain like a regrettable tattoo; Gene was off, so you were covering entertainment for the night while the sisters managed the bar and floor. As you were singing the very song playing now, you detected a curious hush that had overtaken the throng of guests, and strained to cut through the stage glare and cigarette fog to locate the cause. Tracking the audience, who were all regarding the bar with varying amounts of subtlety, you nearly dropped the microphone when you saw the broad blue back of Barnaby B. Beagle, someone you’d only heard of in gossip. He gesticulated as he spoke boisterously to poor Mottie, who was as white as a sheet behind the counter. Situated a slight ways away was Howdy Pillar, who stood as motionless as a statue with both sets of forelimbs fastened behind him.

And then you noticed him. A puppet no more than 4 feet tall, but whose oppressive presence commanded full attention. He paid no mind to the (one-sided) conversation between his colleague and your friend– no, he was staring right at you. Boring into you so acutely that you felt pinned, compelled somehow to continue singing until the final note trickled away.

As if a spell had been broken, you leapt from the platform and scurried to Mottie, who stayed petrified even when you tried to covertly nudge her to the side. How avidly you wished a fissure would open beneath their shoes and swallow them whole; but, armed with years of appeasing difficult and sordid customers, you spoke.

“Evening, fellas. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

Barnaby, who had stopped talking when you rounded the bar, bellowed a laugh.

“Fellas?! Is that any way to greet the boss and I?"

He tilted forward with menacing glee, propped up by furry elbows as his claws scraped the laminate countertop. Each of his fangs were as big as your nose.

"Dontcha know who we are, toots? Or do ya just need a refresher on respect?"

The acrid smoke from his cigar blew directly into your face, making spikes of anger bubble in your belly as you choked back a cough. Just when you felt composed enough to reply, a surprisingly mellow voice chimed in.

"It's alright, Barnaby."

The shock slacking his jaw mirrored yours, although you hid it under a mask of cool indifference. You dared a glance at Mr. Darling, but the pressure of his peer chased your gaze back to Barnaby, who grumbled as he straightened back up. It was difficult to stay trained on his good eye, but you soldiered on. Fear was not something you could afford to show, and you knew you'd crumble if you peeked at the fabled gaping socket that he stapled open himself.

"I don't suppose you're Gene Clifton, aged 54, father of two, owner of this joint?" He joked, recovered from the flub.

"No, sir, but my banker would sure be happy if I was. Can I take down a message?"

"A message! I love this bird!" Snickering cruelly, he waved a flippant paw. "Y'should try that material on stage sometime, might bring ya more customers than the singing bit."

You sucked a sharp inhale up your nose. Serenity now.

"See, here's the problem. This is family territory, and in return for our protection, we charge a teensy fee. Now, we ain't unreasonable– we've sent ole Gene a few letters. And what’s our thanks for such humble hospitality? Zilch."

Oh dear. Gene doesn't bother investigating any mail the lounge receives before tossing it because it’s typically adverts. He definitely would've noted The Neighborhood's seal if he did. Regardless, the frank abuse of power only fanned your annoyance, obscuring your better judgment.

"What protection? I don't recall seeing any of your members patrolling outside. Besides, we didn’t ask for protection."

Mottie snapped towards you, looking as though she might faint. The corner of Barnaby's mouth twitched skyward, like he was hoping you'd argue, but his boss beat him to the punch.

"We can reach an agreement, I’m sure. I'd hate to see a family establishment go under, especially when they have such lovely entertainment."

Apparently Wally was so smitten that he'd accept your company in lieu of money, and so the agreement (if you can even call it that, since you were coerced) was this– whenever a rose was delivered to you, you'd attend a rendezvous with him. When you returned to your dressing room later that evening, you discovered the first gift of several: your vase.

“I knew because of your eyes.”

The floral wallpaper in front of you shifts back into focus, Wally’s voice shaking you from your recollection.

“Pardon?”

“That night, you drew me in; I couldn’t concentrate on anything else, least of all a petty protection tax. And I knew I had to have you when I met your eyes.” He sounds dreamy, reminiscing as you were before, though his framing of events is worlds apart from your own; he recalls a destined encounter with his future partner, whereas you mark it the day your wings were clipped for good.

“They shone like stars, even through the smog.”

It’s only after he’s finished that you realize you’ve stopped moving, wrapped in an intimate hug like true lovers. A strange mix of pride and disgust floods you at the compliment, stomach flip-flopping rapidly.

He untangles from you, receding so that only your hands remain connected. The newfound distance eases some of your tension, but to your horror, you find yourself mourning the loss of the husky scent of his cologne. Loath as you are to admit it, the bastard smells amazing: a dark, leathery swirl of apples and saffron that you’d buy out if someone turned it into a candle.

“Let’s not delay any longer. You must be starving.”

True to his gentlemanly veneer, he seats you at the table before settling himself. You don’t see him call, but a server emerges immediately from the doors through which Howdy left with a tray of appetizers.

There are two graces you award Wally Darling: his excellent taste in cologne, and his staff’s Michelen-quality fare. Though they adopt the four courses typical of fine dining, the dishes are more grounded, toeing the border between grandma and Gordon Ramsay perfectly. Truthfully, you’re not even sure what to categorize it as; virtually everything is transfigured into a jello, pie, or salad, harkening back to the post-war cookbooks you used to gawk at as a child in your late mother’s library. The yellowed pictures in those books appeared extremely unappetizing, but somehow The Neighborhood makes it work.

It could be because of an illusive member named Poppy, one of the 7 who make up Wally’s illustrious inner circle. She’s scarcely seen due to her fretful and skittish nature, but Wally lauds her cooking and baking skills, regaling you in the past with plenty of kitchen mishaps that occurred when she tried to decompress by experimenting with recipes and was interrupted by their more excitable comrades. If you remember correctly, he once told you that most of the menus in rotation were created by her.

The nature of these duress-dates is wholly dependent on Wally’s mood– if he’s happy, then he’ll gladly chat your ear off about frivolous happenings in his and his friends’ private lives, though he takes care to be shrewd with any details that dive too deep into the murky underbelly lying just below. If he’s unhappy, then they can be utterly unbearable; his mere existence puts you on edge, so it’s exponentially worse when he’s out of sorts, tone curt and glare fierce.

Thankfully, he’s amiable tonight. The first 3 courses march on without incident, and painless conversation flows between the two of you, even if he does most of the talking– you’re not exactly eager to share more than you have to. It’s when the server presents dessert that things go awry.

“Say, how are those triplets you work with doing?” Wally says, spooning at the Bananas Foster. “I haven’t had the pleasure of catching a performance since our mishap a while back. So much paperwork, so little time, you know how it is.”

The mention of both your friends and the aforementioned Dorelaine incident have you bristling reflexively, but you do your best to tamp it down.

“They’re well, overall. Sometimes it’s difficult for them– their manager’s a real piece of work, and we get all types at the lounge.”

“I see…”

He lets out a long “hmmmm”, like he’s reflecting on this information.

“My family has also come upon hard times. It can be… trying, sometimes, to guide my children. Especially now, when we are under unjust attack.” He confesses, wistfully resting his chin on a thread-scarred palm. “Every family requires a head, but what is a head without a neck?”

Unjust my ass. Still, the weird metaphor confuses you.

“A neck?”

At that, his catlike grin only grows. What is he talking about?

“Yes, a neck; that is, someone who supports the head. I care for my family, so it’s only right I am cared for in return, wouldn’t you say?”

Though the phrasing is puzzling, you’re fairly confident you can infer what he’s purposefully dangling in front of you, and oh, it makes your stomach plummet. Sweat breaks out underneath your suddenly-sweltering outfit; it's as if you've been tied to a railroad and have managed to divert the train through pure will for a year, but now it's steamrolling square for you. The anxiety of impending doom renders you mute, unable to piece together a coherent thought.

Taking your silence in stride, Wally leans forward, intense as he grasps your hand in both of his own. The yellow fuzz does nothing to help how clammy you feel.

“What I mean to say is, I think that it’s time to settle down."

No.

“Wh– what? Settle down how?”

“To get married, silly.”

You’re unable to help the gasp that escapes you. No, no, no!

“Get married? You mean– to me?!”

“Of course. I’ve been courting you all this time, haven’t I?”

You sputter, and he rubs your hand as if to soothe you. His many gold rings gleam under the chandelier, teasing a glimpse of your fate.

“I know in the beginning you weren’t receptive to the idea of this life, but I've shown you that I can provide for you better than anyone else.”

Your expression must betray your surprise, because he chuckles– a slow, stilted sound that sends gooseflesh blooming across your skin.

“You thought I didn’t know? Howdy may not have reported it– which I’ll rectify in due time– but I have eyes everywhere, dear. You’re quite the talented actor, though.”

That trademark simper melts into something beguiling; he cradles you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held.

“I love you, and I will take care of you, as I ask you to do for me. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”

An inviting facade of genuine affection, so ardent that you almost want to believe it. Wouldn’t that be the easiest path to take? To surrender to the hand that feeds, because where it strangles others, it caresses you sweetly? It’s more tempting than you’d ever divulge, because underneath the armor of aplomb you've so carefully forged, you're exhausted. This burden has been yours alone to bear– and what a bear it is, because if you mess up, the people you love could be injured, or worse. So much worse.

Perhaps sensing an opening, Wally continues.

“Be reasonable. The family welcomes you with open arms! Haven’t you missed having a family?"

The words stab you right through the heart, and your waning resolve springs back tenfold by the fury that ruddies your vision. When you rip your hand away, he makes no move to stop you.

"My friends are my family. I don’t want anyone else, especially not murderers!” You snarl. “You kill people– and torture and maim them! How can you expect me to accept this?!"

"All in a day's work when cleaning up the city, unfortunately," Wally hums. "I wish we didn't have to resort to such things, but you must understand. As it is, puppets are treated as less than, and hardship runs rampant for both humans and puppets alike. You’ve experienced these firsthand.” With the elegance of a master conman, he touches his chest in mock respire. “All we wish to do is provide a safe haven for those in need– somewhere to rest your bones, enjoy a hot meal, and where everyone accepts you as their own. A home.”

You abruptly stand up, feeling like you’re wound so taut that you could erupt at any moment. The mahogany chair behind you tips over from the force, striking the floor with a leaden thud, though the sound is deafened by the blood rushing in your ears.

“Bullshit! You don’t have to start a gang to combat discrimination or help suffering people! Maybe that spiel works on the poor saps you trick into doing your dirty work, but it won’t work on me. The answer is no.”

All is still for a moment as you struggle to calm your heaving breaths, trembling and locked in a quiet stalemate with Wally, who’s as relaxed as ever. Your attention flits from his right eye to where the left would be, if not for the lesion carved from a notch above his eyelid to an inch below, giving the illusion that what lies beneath is impaled.

Oh shit.

The magnitude of what just transpired comes crashing down as your adrenaline flushes out. After playing it safe for months– stomaching unwanted exorbitant gifts, being tailed by his employees, and rousted to innumerous “dates”– you just rejected Wally Darling in the most aggressive way possible. So you do the only thing that might garner you a chance to make it out of this alive: run.

You’re halfway across the room when 4 thick arms suddenly wrangle and force you to halt, a scream ripping itself from your throat out of fear. Can this motherfucker teleport now?! How the hell did he get here so fast?? Thrashing, you throw your head back to search Howdy’s face, desperate for an ounce of the sympathy he’d offered in the elevator, but it is in vain; his stony visage is impenetrable, as though it had never wavered.

“How about you sleep on it, hm? Think about all of your options. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to those little lambs when their adorable shepherd isn’t around to protect them.”

Delicate fingers cup your jaw, making you freeze as Wally stretches up to plant a faux-kiss on your cheek, complete with a small “mwah!”. You scowl daggers at him as he collects your hat from where it flew to the floor, dusts it off, and lovingly places it back on your head before giving you a few pats.

“Aw, don’t be that way, darling. I truly meant what I said; you have beautiful eyes. I can hardly wait to try one on.”

With a snap, you’re hauled over Howdy’s back and spirited out of the room, presumably to be transported to wherever you’ll be staying. Hopefully not Wally’s quarters.

It’s all too much; you feel like you’re trapped in a nightmare. How else did you expect this to end? You’re not sure. With all of the awful things he’s done, forcing you into marriage is not beyond him. You just thought you’d have more time: to plan, to save up enough money to take the girls and race to the hills.

Tears gather on your waterlines, and the minute your mouth wobbles, they spill ceaselessly. Full-bodied sobs wrack you, the pain of Howdy’s shoulder jutting into your midsection compounding the profound ache of sorrow. All this time, you’ve been trying to fight, but there was no fight to be had; it ended the moment his eyes found yours across the lounge that day.

[nabi-unveiled]

Nabi Notices (April 15, 2025)

Too many all-night work sessions in a row meant I ran out of energy early last week and skated on fumes until Sunday.

What little energy I had leftover I used to make a list of characters that had also run out of spoons. Feel free to add to that list. It was very much just the characters off the top of my head.

I also had fun doing tag dives into shows I enjoyed in the past. Going forward I may still do an occasional tag dive on a low energy day, but I'll probably add those to queue.

The Things I Noticed This Week:

My watch pattern also reflected this lack of energy. Anything that would typically be a long-form post (like Heesu in Class 2 ) got pushed to the side. Anything that might require a high level of mental processing (like When Life Gives You Tangerines) got pushed aside until at least Sunday. Shows that required no thinking were my bread and butter this week. I also did a lot of rewatches of scenes I had enjoyed recently....just because.

Despite all that, I still managed to take in some new things.

Fabulous Fit

Top Form has great fits. It has had great fits in every episode. I've particularly enjoyed Jin's outfits and when Akin wore Jin's clothes. However, the show has always taken another category in my weekly posts so I typically don't talk about the fits. But this week, Akin's outfit in the smoking shoot was divine. I loved everything about it. I only wish I had gotten a better full body shot.

As a runner up, I also liked this casual fit in Fight for You. I'd definitely wear it - particularly the jeans.

Side note: I find it interesting that both Fight for You and Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist are doing this smaller box, old TV style framing for their flashbacks.

Fascinating Find

I'm partway through Episode 3 of Love for Love's Sake (no spoilers please). But the posts for ep 1 & 2 have triggered some fun discussions. In particular, @dropthedemiurge let me know that pizza bread would be sweet which was fascinating. I had always assumed it was like garlic knots with some toppings kneaded in.

Now being sweet doesn't necessarily mean it would be unappealing to me. I do live in a community where jello is called "salad" on a regular basis.

But it did prompt a big recipe search to try to figure out if I could make the dish at home and test it out. DIY pizza, cheese bread, etc. are regulars in our household rotation anyways. I found all kinds of recipes...some with mayonnaise, some with corn. I kept getting recipes for sausage ppang, and I couldn't figure out if they're the same thing, variations of the same thing or completely different. Again, it was a low energy week. Brain capacity was limited. Eventually, my mini sous chef picked a recipe for sausage ppang that we'll try sometime soon. It may not be pizza bread, but it still looked yummy.

Fantastic Frame

If someone had paid better attention when building Jin Hwan's pinboard in Business as Usual, the info I learned researching the pinboard might have been the fascinating find this week.

But they included pictures from a company with a well-known hallmark that as best as I can tell wouldn't have existed 8+ years ago. Only slightly annoyed 🙄, because that means the smaller details can't be trusted in this show. And in a show relying on partial viewpoints and flashbacks, I WANT to trust the small details.

It's okay though, because the show did give me this scene as a beautiful location for a shared meal.

I love that this feels like their private space, and they have soft light shining on them throughout the scene. It's warm and cozy. Based on the preview, it looks like we're getting more scenes from this location. So yay for that!

Fun Fluorish

I was informed by @dribs-and-drabbles that there's a steamy bookcase scene later on in Cooking Crush. I had only watched the first two episodes of that show before life got chaotic and it fell to the wayside. But I picked it back up so I can enjoy the bookcase scene as intended. I restarted at episode 1 since it had been a hot minute.

The little animations and cartoon moments were a delight this week. It was just the kind of light-hearted fun I needed.

It was a nice touch that Chef had similar stickers on his locker.

Favorite Fragment

For me to consider something a "favorite fragment", it means the line either needs to strike me hard enough when watching to take particular note OR it needs to get stuck in my head.

Most of the shows I watched this week, even ones I really enjoyed, did not have lines like that. Or I was too tired to take note if they did. The exception - When Life Gives You Tangerines. The dialogue in that show ALWAYS hits. However, it hits so hard and so often that I have decided not to include it in these weekly posts. The dialogue in that show deserves its own post....sometime down the road.

So what did I choose this week? I'm cheating. I picked the book quote from Pride and Prejudice that Mark read in My Golden Blood.

"I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun."

Because that's my truth on SO many different levels.

My Queue for the Coming Week:

As always, it's really up to whim and fancy. There will always be things that I watch that are NOT on this list.

I know I'll watch:

Top Form (Ep 6)

Business as Usual (Ep 3)

Things I'll most likely watch:

Love for Love's Sake (Finish Ep 3; Ep 4)

Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist (Ep 4)

When Life Gives You Tangerines (Ep 5)

I'm also hoping to catch up with my writing on Heesu in Class 2 so that I can watch ep 5/6. I think I'm just going to be behind everyone on that one.

[lace-coffin]

Hello 🤗 I was wondering what kinda rules do you think Asa would have set for one of his pets? I imagine he'd be really particular about them giving him respect and being submissive, but do you think he has a concrete set of written rules or more of a general guideline of what he expects. Idk of that made sense lol.

What rules does Asa have for his pet/SO? (NSFW)

Asa Emory x gn!Reader

Trigger warning for power/bdsm dynamics and general Asa Emory things.

Requests are open!

This is a super fun ask omg! I love love love talking abt what kind of dom Asa is so I’m so happy with this request!

Honourifics- honourifics are always to be used when addressing or replying to asa. Sir, master are used regularly. If you really want to rile him up then daddy or Mister work prefect, the perversity of it doing something animalistic to him. Calling Asa God or “my God” will draw out his more sadistic egotistical side, tell him how you’re only committed to him, your life is in his hands and you’re nothing but the ground beneath him. Lave over his heavy leather boots in worship.

Collars and marking- collars are worn daily, taken off at night so you can sleep comfortably and not risk choking (he wants to be the one doing the choking ; ) ) if you’re uncomfortable with a full collar then a daytime collar can be worn, usually a chain of some sort with your name tag and return information on it. “Cricket, property of The Collection, if lost return to Asa Emory”

Respect- disrespect will not be tolerated, talking back or lashing out will end in punishment, it depends how severe the offence was. Ignoring him or muttering a rude comment under your breath might earn you a single slap to the ass to correct you in the moment. Having a smart mouth the whole day will have worse consequences and may require a scene to be planned and negotiated prior.

Scenes - your BDSM relationship with Asa is a 24/7 dynamic, this means all the planning and communication comes with it. You use the traffic light system, green for good/continue, yellow for slow down or take a break and red for stop. Asa would never do anything you don’t want or consent to, he may be strict and domineering but your safety is key to him. If your mouth is restrained or you’re not feeling up to speaking in sub space then there are non-verbal safe words in place for you to use.

Clothing and inspections - all clothing is to be approved by asa before you get ready for the day, you can either pick out an outfit on your own and have it approved or let your master choose one and lay it out on the bed ready for you. He’s more than happy to aid you in getting dressed, loving the sense of dependancy you show him.

Bodily inspections are done once a week, Asa prides himself on keeping you in the best physical health he can, this doesn’t end at just an ordinary checkup however. Slipping on his latex gloves (unless ur allergic!) and prying your holes open, delving his fingers into you as your squirm against them under the guise of checking you’re healthy. Filthily commentating the entire time. “Look at that pretty pink hole, stretched open all for me”

Scheduled meals and bedtimes - Asa likes routine and can get antsy when running behind (totally not me projecting my autism onto him) this transfers over to your routine too. Lunch and dinner (and dessert < 3) are served at the same time every day, asa expects you to be ready and waiting at the table. A strike will be added to your chart if your late. Three strikes and a punishment will be given. Sir will decided where you dine everyday, if you’ll be joining him at the table or eating on the floor from a personalised bowl. Breakfast isn’t at a set time, he knows the amount of sleep you get/need will fluctuate so he’s happy to let you sleep in until you feel ready to get up.

Bedtime is usually also at a set time, around 1 am, he knows you’re not a child and won’t make you sleep early but still wants you in bed at a reasonable time, usually ushering you into bed at 12 and giving you an hour to read or to watch videos. Usually you either share a bed with asa or sleep in your kennel/cage, sometimes in a combination of the two you sleep at the foot of the bed.

Language- Asa discourages the use of swearing but he won’t punish you for it, he might give you a stern look but that’s the extent of it.

Chastity - your sir has a dainty key hanging on a chain around his neck at all times, your body is his as is your sexual pleasure and your genitals. Chastity devices are worn until he decides it’s time to play, attempts at touching will result in punishment, he does however like the desperate look on your face as you rut against the fabric of the sofa like a pathetic mutt in heat. He won’t let you know that though. Sometimes he’ll bring you to the edge of orgasm, panting and whining as your body shakes, only to remove his hand/cock or toy and slide the device back on. The pitiful cries and “it’s not fair”s from you after are even more beautiful than seeing you cum in his mind. Don’t lash out or act out after otherwise the time spent without release will be extended just to spite you.

Relating back to food and drink Asa expects you to drink a minimum of 500ml of water or juice a day, he knows 1-2 litres is unrealistic and doesn’t want you needing to pee constantly. He’s happy as long as your hydrated, if you have particularly bad days with fatigue or depression he’ll help you drink by bringing the straw to your mouth as he holds you. Medication needs to be taken at the correct time, both your alarm clock and Asa’s watch has an alarm set on it so you don’t miss it.

Whilst Asa can be sadistic most of his rules are for your wellbeing along side your obedience, only wanting the best for you whilst you’re under his control.

I hope u like this!! Was literally so fun to write! I love this chunky bug man and ungodly amount <3

[max1461]

I think something is wrong with me that they don't understand yet. To be honest. Or something is wrong that they do understand but it's causing problems that they don't understand. This post is seeking advice from anyone who can provide it.

Uh @transgenderer tagging you because you've had good thoughts on these things. Let me know if you would like me to stop tagging you in personal matters. Also @cadaversconsumer because I think it's you who was interested in my brain? Feel free to just marvel at my bad brain.

Ok, so, there is context to my current brain problems that I haven't fully explained. But it requires(?) some backstory. Basically, upon the advent of the pandemic in 2020, I got very depressed and anxious for life reasons. For about three years I was in a very weird, poor mental state. Bad OCD, very depressed, very anxious. Not able to leave the house or work due to how bad the OCD was. During this time I kind of... hunkered down, tried to put everything out of my mind, and just focus on getting through each day. Even listening to music was too emotionally overwhelming, and would trigger an anxiety/OCD fit. All I could do was try to eat, try to sleep, and think "somehow, this will get better eventually". Oh, and post. I was posting constantly (often nonsense, this is the origin of my shitposts), that's when my blog got popular. Posting was the only thing external to my mind that I could think about without sort of freaking out.

Although this was brought on by life events, it was all so intense that I can't discount a neurological component. I felt... like my brain was constantly full of electricity, that I was constantly hyper-activated in some deep way. Like even deeper than fight-or-flight. Well, as I said, like I was full of electricity. At the worst of it, I would pace around and do OCD compulsions (various movements and stuff) for 8-12 hours a day; I would only stop when I got so tired I fell asleep, sleep for 2 or 3 hours, I would start doing the OCD compulsions again in my dreams and wake up already doing them. Then go for another 8-12 hour stint and fall asleep again. Sometimes I would get it under control for half an hour or something, which I would use for eating. When it was less bad, it was more like 4-6 hours dispersed throughout the day, and I was still hyper anxious even when it wasn't actively happening. This lasted from early 2020 through the end of 2022, about 3 years.

Right, during this time of never leaving the house or doing anything, I kind of felt like I forgot how to... be a person. My mind was so wrapped up in "surviving" that I uh just, yeah, forgot how to be a person. I remember when I made my grad school attempt (which did not go well), at the end of 2022 when things were starting to clear up, I still felt so fatigued that I would lay in made for hours TOTALLY MOTIONLESS, I mean, still like a corpse. Even the idea of moving my arms a little felt exhausting. It took me another roughly two years to slowly start to feel like a person again.

After all this happened, my memories of uh, anything other than the weird life I had been living were very faint. I could hardly recall what life was like before. I knew all the factual stuff but it felt like a dream. I often found myself, in 2023 and 2024, straining to remember. And I do mean straining, it was like I was exerting myself to uh, push a faint memory into my vision again. It worked, and I started to remember what life was like before, but the more I did it the more exertion it took, until I was literally straining my whole body and squeezing in order to remember pre-pandemic memories. I would often get this feeling of pressure behind my eyes, that had actually started to hurt. At a certain point, maybe mid 2024, it had started to actively make my eyes tired. I made a post about it on here. It had given me eye strain, and even passively remembering these things (which would now happen, because I had sufficiently jogged my memory) would give me pain between/behind my eyes and generally feel kind of weird. The memories became harder to "look directly at" in my mind, even when I wasn't straining, because they would just give me automatic eye pain. I figured "I should stop straining like that, the memories will still be there, but this is kinda hurting me".

One way or another, I then found myself at the dentist. Uh. The whole deal is I was super anxious, and for reasons I won't go into, almost reflexively started straining in the manner described above. This is when they were giving me the anesthetic. I tried to stop straining, but it's like I couldn't, something was numb and I was stuck in the "pressure behind eyes" mode. Then I felt a... pop? A very gentle pop, and, hey, that's how I ended up in my current state. Mind running, uh, hyper emotionally, like all my memories are playing out vividly all the time and I can't stop them, but I also can't look straight at them. And my friends and so on from pre-pandemic don't feel like real people, it feels like their mental "profile pictures" have been deleted from my mind, and all this shit I've been posting about.

Oh! And for a few days after the dentist, I had these huge, HUGE dark circles under my eyes, like fucking purple. For almost a week.

Anyway, I was diagnosed with temporal lobe epilepsy and trigeminal nerve damage (cause parts of my face are numb), and that's where I am today. But forgive me if I think maybe something else is going on? I've explained all this shit to doctors and parents but they kind of dismiss it; I think it's kind of important though.

Uh, I guess the main piece of advice I'm curious if anyone can give me is: what type of doctor would I go to to look into the eye shit? It really feels like the eye shit is central. Mental experiences were already coupled to weird eye shit before my bad dentist trip. Uh. Nobody takes me seriously but I think the eye shit is central. But also just uh... anyone heard of anything like this before? Anyone have a reference point I can turn to?

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

The catalysts

Claire and Shapiro play the same role in the Sydcarmy dynamic.

Showing them by contrast who they really wanna be with.

In other words: Trigger them. Be catalysts of change. This can obviously take many forms, but they will all end up having the same final result. Help the characters see what needs to change and then, they will use their own free wills to make those changes or not.

Whilst for Carmy Claire is the “healer” 👩‍⚕️ (no wonder she’s a Dr.) that is supposed to remind him how to love and be loved, or better yet, how to re-signify trauma so it doesn’t limit him anymore. More about her here 🔗

Shapiro, on the other hand, is the “wild card” 🃏for Syd.

Let me explain: A wild card “substitutes” any other card in the deck and you can use it (or not) as you please. And if you do choose to use it, gives you an opportunity to change the game, not necessarily winning it, but alter that hand. You have to use it wisely and in some hands is preferably not to use it at all actually, because you may end up wasting chances or getting over confident, etc. The joker is not by any means a guarantee of victory but a resource to be used when we are not dealt a good hand and it entails its risks. It can cause more harm than good. Or not. It’s a wild card. You never know…

The catch is that Shapiro can’t substitute The Bear for obvious reasons, I won’t even go there and Claire can’t fix/heal someone whose trauma is precisely triggered by her.

Why do you think that Carmy hit rock bottom while dating her and right after their breakup? The guy is raw, his wound is open.

So, Syd and Carmy, once their respective catalysts have served their catalystic purposes have to do the rest of the hard work. Make a choice, compromise, stick to it and face the consequences of such choice. This requires free will, hence: The “options” so they can exercise it, time and courage. Only in that way the change will come for both of them. It's a classic redemption arc.

What change will come? We don’t know yet. Yes we do ❤️

Bonus track: Luca, the bringer of light, is Carmy’s HEALED version. He was able to resignify his trauma already.

Luca is another catalyst for Syd that is supposed to shed light on what she truly wants and who she wants it from, the difference between Shapiro's role and Luca's is that Luca is a limited offer whereas Shapiro is offering her FOREVER (or at least unlimited).

I'd also dare to bet that with Luca there's a potential attraction there and with Shapiro, it's all business. In her case it's split. She can't find all she wants in just one guy. Except...

We all know who combines both for Syd and she's beginning to realize that too.

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

👑The girl in the silver dress👑New version

Aemond x reader

Tags: Fluffish, royalty, modernroyalty, theselection

Cool devider credits: firefly graphics

🔷Summary: You are invited to become a selected girl for Prince Jacaerys's selection. You never thought you would fall for his uncle, prince Aemond instead.

🔷Author's note: Based on the books by Kiera Cass, but reading them is not required.

🔷Wordcount :5393

🔷Warnings: It is not a very dark or triggering fic. If you found something that upsets you, however let me know ill change the warnings

The life you had before the palace was as a child’s coloring book before growing up. You didn't bother about crossing over the lines, no one told you to stop adding hats to the animals you coloured in, or to stop using so much pink and glitters. There was no line you could cross, no scissors wrapped in papers who could cut you open without you realizing.

All of that changed for better or worse when you were selected for the Selection of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon or as he would soon be known under his ruling name, King Jacaerys Velyaron. 

You never thought you would be selected. There are strict laws that only noble ladies from the minor houses can join the month-to-a-year-long competition where the Seven Kingdoms are introduced to his future bride. 

It is more than a beauty pageant. The skills of each bride are tested. The selection does not require mere Valyrian blood or beauty alone anymore. It has become a deadly game full of manipulation, lies, tricks, schemes and plots. Things you know nothing of.

Your house is not as grand as Baratheon, or as rich as Lannister, your house…It has always been decent. Your parents sheltered you from court life and tried giving you a normal life, as normal as one could have with your titles. And now, it all would change

You sit in the dining room of the royal castle, known as the Red Keep. The castle has survived multiple wars, sieges, treasons and deaths long before any of its current inhabitants graced this world, and many more would follow before you all are bones.

In front of you is a silver plate with a spoon, a fork, a knife and a glass. You never knew you cutted your food wrong or that you lean that much with your elbows on a table until your princess training began. 

It is all so terribly confusing. There are 35 girls here, and they want the same as you do. They want to be the one for Prince Jacaerys. They want to sit next to him at official functions and parties, they want one day to be his love, to continue his legacy and perhaps more than Jace, they want this glamorous life. 

You tell yourself that this uneasy feeling, that you don’t quite belong here, will fade. It has to. These girls are all from higher noble houses and used to courtly manners and training. Of course you will be a bit out of place at first. 

A gorgeous black-haired girl with a clear stag necklace with diamonds speaks up, rising from her chair as if she is already proclaimed queen. She turns to the woman who is tasked with guiding and teaching you all how to behave accordingly as the consort of the king. That lady is called Lady Aemma Arryn, yet you may refer to her as Lady Aemma or Lady Arryn. 

The girl’s voice has a slight accent from the Stormlands. ‘’When will we meet the royal family?’’ You believe her name is Floris, but you are not sure. You become slightly worried by her question, as you are in no state of preparation to meet anyone or anything royal at all.

Your teacher sighs, annoyed by this question. ‘’Patience, girls. I won’t introduce you to any royal. Some of you can curtsy but others would fall flat on their faces.’’ She doesn't even glance in your direction. So why do you feel as if she speaks directly about you?

Floris nods to that with a sweet smile, her eyes blinking rapidly. ‘’That would be embarrassing.’’ She says, eying the girls around the table, including you. You pretend to be too busy with your glass to notice.

Lady Aemma smiles. ‘’Yes it would.’’ She says, with a thinly veiled laugh. ‘’For you it would be.’’ She adds with a charming smile.

A few girls giggle delighted by this spectacle and amazing comeback. Floris becomes furious and you fear that for now, Lady Aemma has made an enemy. ‘’Ladies, focus. Remember: You are always one step away from a scandal.’’ The grand doors of the dining room open.

35 heads turn at the same time, taking in the mysterious visitors. It is two young adult males, both dressed in black, with each a motorcycle helmet under their arms. One is slightly taller yet the smaller one stands out the most thanks to his cheekish, boyish and almost taunting grin. 

Nervous chatter erupts among most girls, as they already seem to know who these two men are. You wonder if one of these two men is Jacaerys. The smaller one speaks, and despite the distance between you and him he speaks as if he is sitting right next to you, almost purring in your ear and sending shivers down your spine. ‘’I didn’t know the royal harem had been invited already.’’ 

You are offended by his comment and frown. The selection is not a harem. One girl will be chosen. One. This is nothing like a harem. The taller man remains silent, his expression unreadable as a book in a foreign language you only heard in a dream.

Lady Aemma smiles and for a moment you believe her. You believe she is happy to see both. Until the corners of her mouth slightly begin to hang in displeasure or perhaps pure disgust when she greets the man.

‘’Prince Aegon.’’ You slowly lift your elbows again from the table, quickly sitting straight. ‘’Forgive me, you nor your brother were expected back so quickly.’’ Aegon, or rather prince Aegon approaches the long table with 35 young women that stare at him as if he is a statue that has come to life.

Aegon takes no offense. ‘’It is no matter, Lady Aemma.’’ He makes sure to put a little extra effort on the lady word. ‘’You are getting old, after all.’’ Lady Aemma turns her head so he can’t see her scowl, very subtly before looking at the selected girls again.

She speaks to you all. ‘’Girls, this is Prince Aegon, and Prince Aemond. Please stand up for them, and make a curtsy as is custom.’’ You all stand up before following her orders, making a curtsy or a bow.

Aegon seems to enjoy the attention when his brother remains in the background, unaware of your gaze slowly shifting from Aegon's eyes to his own. When he finally notices your gaze, he scowls. Your smile dies and you turn your gaze to the glass in front of you. Aemond and Aegon leave soon after that, having caused quite the uproar among the selected.

The girl a few chairs away from you speaks, her blue and gorgeous dress reveals she is from either the Arryn, or perhaps a Velyaron. ‘’Is Jace just as pretty as them?’’ She wonders, her voice a little sigh of a girl slowly falling in love.

Lady Aemma scowls at her, before insulting the girl. ‘’Prince Jacaerys to you, and have some self-respect and decorum.’’ A few girls giggle, but you don’t join this time as you take in the sad smile of the girl, clearly embarrassed. 

Two months in the selection and you feel less like a failure every passing day. One day, when you are busy practicing the dance of the dragons, Lady Aemma returns from her walk. Several girls who have been practicing break up their dances, but you and your partner keep engaged in the dance. The girl was shy at first, keeping her movements stiff and ungracious, but after your encouraging smile and jokes about how you look like a parrot when you dance, she has loosened up and dances as if she is the most free and spirited girl out there. Her name is Maris. You and Maris smoothly glide over the dance floor, leaving jealous eyes behind. Not jealousy aimed at you, but at Maris or the bond you two have. Lady Aemma quietly walks over, her hands folded in front of her blue dress when she takes in the movements you and Maris make, faithful to the waltz.

She smiles, nodding in slight approval. You are shocked and you can tell that Maris is too. ‘’Good, especially you, Lady Baratheon. You are a natural.’’ To you, she does not utter a word but gives you a warning glare before turning her head to the other girls. You and Maris finally break up your dance so you can listen to what Lady Aemma has to say.

She sighs, deeply and very unbecoming of a lady, before speaking. ‘’Ladies, it is with great displeasure and my greatest fear that I must admit to myself, and you all, as adults, that you are finally ready to meet what could become your future family in law, as well his royal highness, prince Jacaerys Velyaron.’’ You hear Maris gasp, as well as other girls who giggle and mutter excitedly. Lady Aemma glares at one girl who lets out an excited cheer. ‘’Do not make me regret this.’’ She warns the girl in particular. 

That evening, you are prepared to meet the royal family. You are put in a silver coloured dress with transparent sleeves,  befitting your house colors. The other girls are dressed as well, each in another dress with a different model. When the selection started you all were giving a tailor, a handmaiden, a team of make-up artists and dressmakers. 

You would be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t nervous to meet the royal family. They have a reputation for being intense people. They dislike outsiders joining their royal private circle, and for centuries banned people for even joining theirs. Now the rules have changed, and you are prepared for your meeting, hearing other girls talk with their teams.

Lady Floris Baratheon wears a dark black with gold gown, sleeveless with a huge diamond choker. Again, it would be a lie if you wouldn’t admit she wears it very well. She orders her maids to tighten her corset even more, before her small feet glide into her dark black heels.

You hear sniffs beside you, and turn your head to a gorgeous blonde crying girl in a red gown. Her make-up artist sighs. ‘’I can’t work like this. The girl keeps crying and it ruins the eyeliner I put on her.’’ Is he heartless? You feel conflicted as you take in her big puffy red eyes. She is upset.

The dressmaker does her best to comfort the girl, but fails miserably because of her annoyed glare and her tight pressed lips. ‘’You are ruining everything we worked so hard for with your tears.’’ She warns the girl. 

That only makes the girl feel even more terrible. ‘’I don’t know. What if he hates this? What if he hates me?’’  Your chest tightens as you become worried about that too.

A woman with her gorgeous silver locks high up on a knot in the Valyrian style, approaches the girl, gently taking her hands into her own. ‘’He doesn’t know you, he can’t hate you yet.’’ She tells the girl, who slowly calms down because of this act of sincere genuine kindness. That is all she needed.

The girl continues giving her advice as you listen in on them, feeling terrible that you do so. ‘’Jacaerys is very kind, and takes his role and the selection very seriously. He will have a small talk with all of us. Just be yourself, Jace likes that the most.’’ She finally notices you listening in. Instead of glaring or snapping at you, she smiles. ‘’You look beautiful. Silver is your color.’’

You are speechless. The girl she helped, is not. ‘’Thank you, Lady Baela. You’re always very kind to me.’’ She sniffs. ‘’If my face wasn’t full of snot and ruined make-up, I’d hug you.’’ 

Lady Baela smiles, yet beams at the compliment before taking the girl’s hand. After Baela has cleaned her face for her, and put on a fresh layer of much less expressive make-up, she takes the girl by her hand. ‘’I’m simply speaking my truth, lady Dyana. Come, we’ll go in together. I met the royal family before. They are actually very nice.’’

Floris snaps her head to Baela, taking in her dark blue puffy gown as she scoffs, clearly hating the seahorses that are embroidered on it. ‘’Where the hell would a girl like you met the royals before?’’ She asks, her voice clearly jealous.

Baela smiles, sweetly. ‘’Be careful, Lady Floris. Green clashes with black.’’ She walks with Dyana to the people by the doors, to let them know they are ready. You smile, faintly until you notice Floris approaching you.

She takes in your plain silver dress. ‘’You’re the nameless girl.’’ That is one way to greet you.

You shrug. ‘’What if I am?’’

Floris sighs, deeply as if you are just stupid before giving you some friendly advice meant as a threat. ‘’Just don’t bother, dear. A prince like Jace wants a girl with a house, banners, and good men to fight his wars.’’

You might suck at dancing, at court manners, public speaking, but the history and the books? That is something you excel at. You turn your head. ‘’Lady Floris. Perhaps if you spent as much time with your nose in a book as you did making others feel miserable, you would know that the last time the Seven Kingdoms had a war was hundreds of years ago. I suggest you spent more time reading, no man likes a girl that can’t keep up with him.’’ A few girls overhear and giggle among themselves, as Floris becomes a dark shade of red. You let her be, before telling the crew you are ready as well.

You are let in at the same time as Dyana. You take a moment to take in the grand chandelier, dangling from the ceiling, the polished marble tiles and the buffet tables with delicious sweets and glasses of champagne. The curtains that cover the tall windows are in a red color with dark black details, and you hear a faint orchestra play an upbeat tune as the selected are paraded to the royal family. 

You feel like you don’t belong here at all, suddenly. You and Dyana both approach the royal family. You will curtsy to every member, and when he has the time, Prince Jacaerys will formally meet his selected, making a conversation of about 3 minutes with every girl. You feel nervous, so you wonder how Lady Dyana  is feeling. She must feel even worse. She is close to crying again. You wait for her to catch your glance. She finally looks at you, a little nervous and worried.

You wink at her, causing her to giggle loudly. The royals snap their heads in her direction, but Jace’s lips curl into an approving smile, before grinning back. Dyana makes a deep, beautiful curtsy for Jacaerys. He speaks to her, smiling as well, before likely asking what she was laughing about. Dyana nods to your direction and Jace follows her gaze to you. Jace nods as if he thanks you, before taking off with Dyana.

Your hand is grabbed and you are tugged out of the line by Lady Aemma. You smell her intense parfum as you are dragged to the side. ‘’I had hoped you learned by now.’’ She sighs, almost disappointed in you. She turns her body so she can look at you.

You blink, confused. ‘’Had learned what, Lady Aemma?’’ You ask, your voice soft. ‘’Dyana seemed nervous-’’

She grabs your shoulders, breaking protocol. ‘’These girls are not your friends, Y/N. They would throw you from the towers so they can hold Jace’s hand when he takes in your corpse. Every girl is here for herself. You should be too.’’ She warns you, but you are not angry. Just upset.  Deep down, you know very well she is right. ‘’You are a sweet, genuine girl with a kind, gentle heart. It won’t lead you anywhere with this family. Take it from me. Kind girls, finish last.’’ She looks at King Viserys when speaking. ‘’If they reach the finish at all, that is.’’ You heard Floris once tell a story that Lady Aemma was a Queen once, but that Viserys degraded her because she could not deliver him a healthy child. Others say that Alicent used her dark magic on the king, breaking their relationship. So you don’t really know if there is truth to those rumors, and if so, how much truth.

‘’Come, Jacaerys is occupied, but the other members of the family must be greeted.’’ She takes you with her, walking you to the other members of the very well dressed royal family. ‘’May I present, Lady Y/N?’’ Princess Regent Rhaenyra is the first to address you.

Her dress takes your breath away, it is a dark black gown with red and golden details, but on her back are dragon wings. You drop in a low respectful curtsy before lowering your gaze. The princess smiles, approvingly before telling you to rise with a nod. ‘’My. Your dress is by far the simplest, but still the most beautiful out here. You must share your tailor with me.’’ She rambles excitedly. ‘’I love the little sparkles.’’ She seems like a sweet kind woman. You don’t understand why the media calls her cruel. ‘’And I saw what you did for your fellow selected. You have taken my interest, I don’t doubt you’ll hold Jacaerys soon as well.’’

You are brought before the king next, King Viserys. Aemma does not speak a single word, but you drop into another curtsy. The king speaks, and you worry for madness coming out. But it is far from madness. It is plain, true, as clear as a piece of well forged glass. ‘’It is a wonderful day, seeing a common girl grace the halls with the posture and decorum of a true born royal. Your kindness with the girl did not go unnoticed.’’ He speaks very kindly and you almost feel as if you are back at home again. He nods to Dyana who is now dancing with Jacaerys, in the waltz you practiced, not a care in the world. ‘’A ruler must have a kind heart, that beats for her people.’’

You are shocked and honored by his compliments. ‘’Y-your majesty, King Viserys. Your words honor me.’’ You speak, your voice touched by his kindness. 

A sharp but elegant voice cuts in, interrupting you, protocol and the reality is brought back in. ‘’May I cut in?’’ A beautiful red haired woman in a dark green gown with sharp spikes smiles at you, and you know she is Queen Alicent.

Viserys nods, smiling as you gulp silently. ‘’Of course, dear. This is her majesty, Queen Alicent Hightower.’’ You make another deep curtsy, and you can’t understand why she is called a witch or worse in the media sometimes.

Alicent smiles at Aemma. Aemma smiles back, unchallenged. You can read rivalry and hatred in both their eyes. Until Alicent speaks. ‘’Surely your flock needs help? I’ll take over for you. She only needs to meet my sons and the little princes.’’ The flock, being selected girls. You feel insulted and a little frightened when Alicent takes you with her, not giving Aemma a chance to save you. She walks you to the two young adult men, no longer in leather and jeans, but in suit and tie. They look extraordinarily handsome, for sure. But you are not here for them.

Prince Aegon sighs, muttering to his brother how bored he is. Prince Aemond does not even respond, having his hands folded on the back of his suit jacket, and his good eye is aimed at you, and you alone as a bee in trance of a blooming flower. Aegon even waves his hand in front of Aemond’s good working eye, before Aemond snaps at him, likely telling him to behave. You find it wondrous how he is the youngest, yet act as the eldest.

Alicent presents you to her sons. ‘’Aemond, Aegon…’’ She glares at the latter, warning him with that. ‘’This is Lady Y/n.’’ You dip in another curtsy, smiling at both royals who do nothing to even acknowledge your existence. 

The silence is painfully awkward as Alicent leaves. You speak, your voice soft and sincere. ‘’I am honored.’’

The eldest prince scoffs, putting his hands in the pockets of his pants. ‘’I imagine you would be.’’ You try to find your tongue, to say something sharp and witty but all that comes out is a very soft:

‘’Pardon?’’

Aegon laughs, gesturing around him. ‘’We are royalty, you are like a peasant. We are the lions, you are our gazelle.’’ You feel nauseous at that description, as if he can rip you to shreds. 

You turn your head to the other prince who remains silent. The prince follows your gaze. ‘’Don’t talk to my brother, he is not very talkative. Unless you like to talk about ancient Dornish statues, or banter on endless debates about historic battles.’’ You would much rather be getting a drink, then to be in the crossfire between those two.

Aemond hisses, clearly a bit embarrassed in his rough voice. ‘’Aegon.’’

You see an opening. And so you take it. ‘’I quite like Dornish statues. My father is the patron of art conversionship in Sunspear.’’ Aegon bristles, scoffing when sipping his drink when Aemond looks at you as if he only sees you now for the first time. He sees the real you, for the first time.  ‘’You do? You don’t…’’ He clears his throat. ‘’Find it boring?’’

Your father has been patron of persevering Dornish and other foreign cultural works, protecting it from greedy graverobbers and folks who think other people’s cultures belong in their own house. He makes sure the local museums display it, earn money from it and profit from it but most of all: That Dornish aritfacts remain in Dorne. Your dad does admirable work, some would call it boring, perhaps. But how else can you learn from history, if you don’t cherish and protect it?

Your words come blurting out, before you can stop them, quoting your father. ‘’Only a soul with little imagination would find history boring.’’ Aegon stops sipping his drink, looking at you with newfound interest. But Aemond has become absolutely silent, a smile on his pink soft lips.

You forgot yourself for a brief moment. These men are above you. ‘’I-..’’

The younger prince talks, his rough but soft voice leaving his mouth. ‘’I concur.’’ He nods, even. ‘’What is your favorite piece?’’ He brings his champagne glass to his lips before taking a sip.

You watch, before answering the question. ‘’It’s a cliche, but Nymeria’s statues, the ones that have been constructed by her family.’’ You tell him, with a dismissive little laugh.

The prince does not agree with you. ‘’Is it a cliche, or is it a classic?’’ You are dumbstruck at that comment, feeling all your wit leave your body. He smiles, reassuring that he does not find your interests stupid. And that is something no one else did before. He in fact, takes the bait and asks you things. ‘’The one’s at Sunspear or the one’s at Dornegarden? Of course, a lot of smaller statues have been build all over Dorne to honor her.’’ You are impressed by his knowledge.

You nod. Dornegarden is on your bucket list. ‘’Dornegarden’s are my favorite. The statues are so immensely huge, as if she is a goddess looking down at you.’’ You describe it the way your father described it to you.

Beyond his shyness you can see a small smile appearing, gentle as a first snowflake in november. ‘’Ah, I can see why you like her. She was clever, fierce and beautiful too.’’ You blush, unintended. 

You know it is polite to ask, but part of you is dying to know. ‘’And yours?’’ Aemond opens his mouth but sadly, the pig that is his brother interrupts, ruining this precious moment and shutting Aemond up.

Aegon grins. ‘’He has a fascination for everything depressing, doomed and disastrous.’’ You try to think of a specific name that comes to mind. Isn’t all history depressing, dooming and disastrous, in certain ways? 

‘’Oryn.’’ Aemond mumbles, quietly.

You hear it perfectly. If he were in a crowd of thousand screaming men, you would hear it just as clear. ‘’Oryn?’’ You find that an interesting intriguing choice.

Aemond nods, his silver hair going up and down.‘’Yeah.’’

‘’I like his statues.’’ You tell him. His temple was destroyed by his usurper, the king’s brother, when Oryn was cut in pieces. The foul king took Oryn’s wife as well.

The prince takes a bigger sip of his champagne, his body language suddenly tense and clearly distressed. ‘’You don’t have to lie to me. I know no one really gives a fuck about him.’’ He mutters as if he hates himself for caring as much as he does.

You step closer to the prince before speaking your truth. ‘’I’m not lying, his story is a tragedy but it doesn’t mean that the story isn’t worth telling. It has betrayal, brotherly love, devotion and romance. How can you not love it?’’ You bring out your smartphone from your handbag, showing Aemond a few photo’s your father sent on his recent travels. ‘’They found his grave recently. My dad was there when they cut the rock open.’’ Aemond’s mood changes back from sullen to excited, to impressed, yet still reserved.

‘’No way.’’ He murmurs, looking at the little screen as if it’s a diamond. ‘’Your father leads the expedition?’’ He sounds impressed, and you blush.

You know the Dornish would never. Too long, Westerosi grave robbers from the Crownlands have taken Dornish artifacts. ‘’No, the Dornish lead it themselves. Father simply is invited, because he protects the art faithfully. The Dornish have closed him in their hearts.’’ 

Aemond understands that, still his eyes are glued to your phone, taking in every detail on the dark photo. ‘’Oh, yes, of course.’’

He mutters to himself.‘’Where did they even find this?’’

You tell what your father told you. ‘’A farmer found it. Apparently his son was playing and saw a crack in a rock. They rolled the rock away, revealing a cave. Inside the cave, there was his tomb.’’ The rest of the world seems to fade when you and Aemond talk, the worries and fears of not fitting in miles away.

He grins, smiling, letting out a little chuckle. ‘’I love that. I doubt his brother knew of it. His supporters must have made it, after Oryn was slain.’’ His brother would be Prince Razar, the brother of Prince Oryn, and Princess Farya.

He is an Oryn supporter, so perhaps he likes to hear this as well. ‘’Dad says they found traces of Queen Farya. Flowers were left. They withered, but they are testing the remains. They think they already know it are Dornish daisies.’’ You tell him.

The simple grin he lets out does something to your heart. ‘’Her favorite, according to many poems out of that time.’’ 

You nod. ‘’Yes, exactly.’’

Aemond becomes a little more serious, still rambling on, happy to finally have found someone, anyone that listens. ‘’Do you think that she was even allowed to visit her brother’s grave? Or out of the palace?’’

You think deeply before speaking. You avoid his gaze. ‘’Perhaps in secret? When people are meant to be together…’’

He answers without missing a moment. ‘’They will find a way.’’ You smile at one another, both lost in each other’s eyes.

He breaks eye-contact, nodding to the phone. ‘’This is certainly amazing. Thank you for showing me this.’’

You take back your phone, putting it in the handbag. ‘’Have you ever been in Dorne, my Prince?’’ You wonder. Aemond seems to slightly blush.

He nods. ‘’Yes, many times. I go as often as my duties allow me.’’ You inwardly sigh, delighted. That must be so wonderful.

The prince then turns to look at you. ‘’And you?’’

You shrug, a little playing with your handbag.‘’It’s a heartwish of mine.’’ You confess.

Aegon makes a strange sound, startling you as if he is about to puke any moment. ‘’Give me a fucking bucket.’’ he comments, grumpily you both ignored him for so long. You feel embarrassed and mocked.

Aemond’s smile dies and he is back to hiding his emotions. ‘’Aegon, perhaps you can go get a drink?’’ He suggest, sweetly. Aegon nods, taking off. Once Aegon is gone, he turns to you. ‘’I apologize for him. We had such a lovely conversation and now its ruined.’’ You nod, but part of you is worried the conversation isn’t allowed. 

You try to give him some advice, though. ‘’Don’t be. He is your brother, but you don’t control him.’’

He seems dumbstruck by those words, staring at his empty champagne glass. ‘’Hm. I’ve been apologizing for his behavior before I was old enough to walk.’’ He mutters.

You smile, faking a bit of a stern glare causing him to chuckle. ‘’Well, maybe you should stop apologizing.’’ You mean it. He is not responsible for Aegon.

The prince nods, as if you have given him a lot to think about. ‘’Maybe I should.’’

You notice the Prince, Jacaerys has joined you, listening in with his hands folded on his back. You notice the seahorse pin on his chest.‘’Ahum.’’

You dip in a curtsy. ‘’Your highness.’’

Jacaerys ignores you, staring at prince Aemond. ‘’Uncle.’’

‘’Nephew.’’

You notice another rivalry, unfolding right before your eyes. You wish to leave, right now.

Jacaerys speaks, his voice taunting but soft. ‘’Thank you for keeping Lady Y/n occupied when I spoke to the other ladies. It is her turn now, however.’’ Aemond lifts his chin as if he wants to speak, but changes his mind.

‘’Of course.’’ And with that, he lets you go. You turn on your heel, walking back to Aemond. ‘’It is always nice to talk with someone about history.’’ You thank him with that and smile. He doesn't smile. He does not even glance at you, anymore.

All you get is a vague, disinterested ‘’Hm.’’

The prince takes you with him, walking to the buffet before offering you a glass of champagne. ‘’Did he hurt you?’’

He casually asks between filling the glasses. 

You are confused. ‘’Who?’’

He shrugs, as if it's obvious. ‘’Aemond?’’

You become even more confused. ‘’No?’’

Jace leans in a little closer. ‘’You must know, it is inappropriate for any selected to have another lover. It can lead to disqualification or worse, punishment.’’ He warns you, kindly of that. You know he does not mean to harm or threaten you.

You nod, thankful but you do want to clear things up.‘’I didn’t know that. But Prince Aemond and me only talked about Dornish statues.’’ Not very romantic, so why does your heart beat so fast?

Jacaerys scoff. ‘’Statues?’’ You can see that Aemond is likely the only history buff in his family. That must be lonely.

You smile, telling him the same thing you told Aemond. ‘’Yes, in Sunspear-’’

But this time, you get a deep sigh before Jace even rolls his eyes. ‘’Don’t you want to talk about something more exciting?’’ He suggests. 

You feel as if you have been hit in the face. You feel rejected and foolish. ‘’Like what?’’

He shrugs. ‘’Most girls tell me of their house, or their horses.’’ Their horses? You hear yourself think, and its not a pleasant thought. How…dull? And all of them? You bet that Floris told them to bring it up.

You repeat after him. ‘’Horses?’’

‘’You don’t like horses?’’ He asks. Horses terrify you.

‘’I don’t dislike them.’’ You say and it's the truth. Horses are beautiful from a distance. You just don't want to ride them. Or talk about them. ‘’I don’t like talking about horses. I don’t want to have dull meaningless conversation with you.’’

Jace straightens his back. ‘’That is part of your job, should you become my queen.’’ You feel your lips hang in a sorrowful line and for the first time you wonder if this is what you really want.

Jace notices your mood change quickly. ‘’But it's alright. We can talk about something else too. What is your favorite sweet?’’

You nod, accepting his attempts at winning your heart.  ‘’I like cupcakes.’’ Jacaerys takes a chocolate cupcake for you from the impressive cake stand, looking at it very briefly, inspecting it before handing it to you. ‘’These are my favorites. I have yet to taste anything else that taste as good as these.’’ That sounds promising. You clumsily bite the cupcake off, tasting the surprisingly good white chocolate filling. It tastes as good as he said it would, and your argument from earlier vanishes as snow that is basked in sunrays. ‘’It is really good.’’ You say, licking your fingers off when you think no one is watching. Jacaerys is amused by your actions, before slyly doing the same. 

Jacaerys seems a bit nervous, before he sighs after you both have finished your cupcakes. ‘’I’m sorry for being a little mean about Aemond earlier. I’ve been hearing disturbing news about him and his brother. I don’t see you girls as my cattle or my livestock, but I do feel responsible. You are here under my roof, for me. You put up with etiquette and court rules for me, the very least I can do, is protect you from men that want to harm you.’’ You notice your gaze swift between Jace and Aemond, who is now talking with an unknown silver-haired woman in a luscious green gown. That must be Helaena.

You feel foolish you even entertained the prince that long, or talked with them. ‘’Do you think Aemond is that malicious?’’You wonder.

Jace does not need long to answer that question. ‘’I know he is. They both are. If you are important to me, he wants to destroy you.’’ You find that a little extreme but Jace’s stern glare tells you there is nothing funny about this. ‘’Just be careful, Y/N. That’s all I ask.’’ And you nod, obedient as a good girl would. But your gaze kept stealing peaks at the forbidden prince, however.

This is part one, for now.

I hope you all liked it

Its different than what i usually write.

Reblogs/comments are welcome!:))