#like it's honestly concerning how much she drinks- it's used to manipulate humans but.. you know... she's immune to it- so she just chugs

[silverselfshippingchaos]

yeah but. pizza dates with d.ante.

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x6 thoughts

I felt like the physical embodiment of a series of iconic reaction GIFs while watching this episode. I felt like Higgins gagging on air and right and wrong choices. As an invested, non-casual Ted Lasso viewer, I feel quite absorbed in the experience of every episode, but I’m not usually a LOUD non-casual Ted Lasso viewer. At one point last night, I shouted “This is the wackiest show ever made!” at @bristler, and that doesn’t even sound like something I would say. And by “wacky” I just meant “all the emotions are happening at once.”

This episode was absolutely great and I knew that every single Rebecca Welton feeling I have would intensify because of this episode and that is exactly what happened.

This is me bravely writing down my episode thoughts after only one viewing (just like last week) and a bad night of sleep! Copious spoilers and emotions ahead...

This show goes all in on hats! A lot of bad hats for giving bad relationship advice and making bad decisions! Feel like you’re gonna do something correctly? Just put on a bad hat, that’ll snap you right out of it. Just had a revelation that you are almost certainly in an abusive relationship? Your girlfriend is hiding in the parking lot with a terrible hat for you! (I love this show.)

Dark forest dark forest dark forest dark forest.

I truly, truly, truly do not mean this to sound judgmental of any other fan, but it’s taking everything in my power not to just type “dark forest” in the comments of every person who is outraged that LDN152 is not Ted.

Gonna get my initial thoughts on the Sam=LDN152 reveal out of the way. I honestly like this choice.

First, I like this choice because of who LDN152 isn’t. I think about how awful it would be if she’d matched with Rupert and realized she’d been manipulated by him and charmed by him all over again, and how, when she gets the same reveal the audience already has, she would end up retraumatized by having been charmed and taken in by Rupert all over again. I think about her matching with Nate (if he’d redownloaded the app) and the inadequacy of her assertiveness advice and how Nate is one of the only non-Rupert characters who’s used sexist language against her and how Nate’s insecurities would be like water trying to co-exist with the oil of Rebecca’s insecurities. Nate and Rebecca are fond of each other and seem to want to be in each other’s lives, but a romantic squishing together via dating app would set them both back lightyears. I think about her matching with Ted, a man currently on a parallel-to-Rebecca trek through a very painfully dark forest, a man swinging wildly between performative attempted wit and utter panic. A man she trusts with her professional and personal challenges. [Her challenging mother comes to town and Keeley and Ted are the people she wants with her at lunch.] Ted and Rebecca, with all their current limitations, and with all the ways the forest obscures the view, are trying to be there for each other in their real, non-romantic comedy versions of their lives, and the discomfort of matching on an app seems like the kind of thing that would make them rear back from each other instead of bringing them even closer together. It is not time. It is so profoundly not time that I would have been furious if the writers had continued the “maybe it’s Ted?” line of thought for another second longer than they did.

Second, I like this choice because of who Sam is. I know. He’s not an appropriate match for her. The power dynamics are all messed up and their ages are all wrong. But this does introduce a potentially interesting parallel between Rupert and his younger women and the scrutiny Rebecca would risk herself and Sam experiencing if she goes for it. Rebecca seems to have tried to put away her Rupert-related trauma, but the specter of Rupert is lurking, and I do see that being a good person making an ethically complicated decision with another good person is very different from being an abuser setting out to take advantage of multiple people...but there are parallels she might have to reckon with. Also, Sam is a kind person with a strong ethical center and a well-documented interest in Rebecca. He and Ted helped each other feel more at home in London during a time of deeply missing other homes, and Sam has internalized a lot of Ted’s ways of living in a way that might genuinely appeal to Rebecca even if she doesn’t fully realize why. The writers on this show don’t write messes for the sake of drama. They write messes because life is painful and complicated and also very funny. I’d be shocked if, however this Bantr thing plays out, it isn’t painful and complicated and also funny.

(I am already a little worried that whatever happens next is going to activate some very ironic fan reactions given this is a show whose thesis statement is about withholding judgment. This fear is based not on Ted Lasso-specific knowledge but on unfortunate patterns of fandom, but...you can fear the impact of racist, sexist, and ageist tropes on two beloved characters without embodying those tropes as a viewer. You can watch characters make decisions that could subject them to harmful scrutiny without performing that harm yourself.)

Ted Lasso is a fictional character who tweeted about the joy of eating out (you know...at the Crown and Anchor) the day before 2x6 launched and during 2x6 Rebecca invited him to eat out at the Crown and Anchor. (I love this show.) I am so, so, so fond of all the little lunch-y things in this episode. Ted can’t bring Henry his lunch because he’s “at work” aka living in London. Ted and Beard surprise each other with secret sandwiches on Fridays. Rebecca is overwhelmed by her mother’s visit (her mother’s performance of a harmful pattern) and wants Keeley and Ted there. The scene at the Crown and Anchor, as painful as all the divorce/separation feelings were, was also so homey and lovely in terms of these characters being friends, being at home in a place despite the very not-at-home feelings emanating from Deborah. The Bake-Off viewing! Ted being the designated driver (probably a good thing on this particular day)! Rebecca feeling discomfort but not shutting down! Also cute British pub feelings. Evidence that Rebecca has talked to her mom about Ted! About personal things about Ted!

Naaaaaaate. His bursts of confidence and insight. The pain and insecurity and anger almost literally bubbling under the surface.

I cannot say enough good things about Higgins. He’s grown so much, and his decision to be honest with Beard regarding his concerns about Jane was absolutely impeccably done. Many, many trusted people in Higgins’ life told him not to do it. They are all good people, and they were all wrong. Sometimes one human being’s honesty makes the difference for someone who is struggling, and that’s exactly what happened here. Beard truly heard Higgins. And of course he didn’t immediately break things off with Jane. But he heard Higgins, and when Jane showed up Beard’s face looked different than it ever has, and Higgins words are with him as he walks off into the night with Jane and that might save him. And Rebecca witnessed it.

And I’m so glad she witnessed Higgins’ choice in the midst of this very difficult experience of a) trying to find Ted because she knows he’s in pain and being unable to and b) watching her mother repeat a pattern that Rebecca herself was able to break. It taught me so much about Rebecca. The way she was punished (and described the experience using the language of punishment) for having an honest reaction to her mother’s decision to leave her father the first time. The way she was taught that love is conditional, that love and reconciliation are things you can purchase with gifts. The way her mother uses the language of self-help without internalizing what it would take to heal, and probably has little use for actual therapy. The way her mother drinks alcohol as a way to feel free.

I don’t even know how to think, much less write, about everything with Roy’s coaching and his image and how Ted feels about it and all the fatherhood things Jamie brings up and all the fatherhood things Ted is missing w/r/t Nate and everyone except for Rebecca taking at face value (or willfully deciding to take at face value) the idea that Ted’s panic attack is actually just him needing to go barf up a fish pie. Ted hugging his backpack in Sharon’s office. Rebecca trying to find him, and Sharon being the one who does. The words “I wanna make an appointment” being the words that conclude the episode at the exact midpoint of the planned-for show. Halfway through the middle season. The moment Ted realizes he’s never going to be okay if he doesn’t give therapy a try.

I also can’t say enough good things about the moment with the team and Sharon, the way she agrees to one drink, the way it’s clear that she adores them all. Sharon is exacting and professional without being cold and calculating, and everything she does in this episode is such a gorgeous model of assertiveness, patience, and moderation...three things Ted struggles with the most.

What a dark forest. What an excellent group of humans.

[headinthestaticsky]

The Phenomenon of the Immortal Sun: Jasper Hale x Fleur Swan, Chapter 6

None of the characters in Twilight belong to me, all rights go to Stephenie Meyer!

Authors note: I have no idea if I used these song lyrics in a previous chapter in Eclipse... I have a garbage memory.

"Stars did fall. Thunder rolled. Bugs crawled back, In their holes. The couple screamed, but it was far too late. Her jealous heart did retaliate."

Ten Cent Pistol by, The Black Keys.

Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie looked like they wanted to kill someone. Alice, Dean, Esme, and Bree all looked confused and hurt.

Rosalie inhaled deeply.

"We need to do something about those two..." Rosalie said.

"They're way out of line... Edward especially... human or not I would kill anyone who comes near Fleur." Jasper added, fury was still in his voice.

"What can you guys do he's your brother. Besides after Bella turns they were going to go live in that cabin you guys renovated for them."

"We'll need to do something, you don't need any of this right now... I'm disappointed in him." Esme said sadly.

Before I could say anything else I could hear Bella scream.

"She must've just gotten bitten." I murmured.

"Hey you're probably thirsty, your eyes are starting to turn black, let me get you something," Esme suggested.

"That'd be great thanks... Jazz, could you hand me my phone?"

"Sure, what for darlin?" Jasper said sitting next to me.

"I need to call Sam and Leah... they need to know about this too. If we keep it from them, they could consider it a threat."

Carlisle's office door swung open, Edward ran toward the front door and slammed it. Carlisle came out with an annoyed look on his face.

"He's going to be the second death of me I swear he is."

"Well Seth already knows, maybe he told Leah." Bree suggested.

"Maybe he did but it won't hurt to check." I replied. I dialed Leah's number first thinking she might be a little more understanding.

"Fleur?" I heard her ask on the other line.

"Hey, Leah... has Seth told you anything lately?" My voice trembled slightly. I heard Leah sigh before letting out a laugh.

"Yeah, Seth told me you were pregnant calm down." I heard her reply.

"Oh, so Sam knows too?"

"Yeah but he's a bit skeptical... you know how he is." Leah mumbled.

"Yeah... but what about Bella... he does know that today is her changing day, the transformation is already happening."

"The last thing he told Seth about her is that she's not our concern anymore... it's her choice to change, we can't stop it." Leah explained.

"Listen I gotta go, I'll see you soon."

"See you later." She hung up a few seconds later. I rested my head on Jasper's should and sighed in relief.

"Here Fleur, maybe this we'll make you feel a bit better," Esme said, handing me a glass.

I grasped the cup and chugged it, it was gone a few seconds later. I didn't feel much better.

"Your eyes are still black...each bag should have the exact amount of blood you need for the next few days... How about you have some more?

I gulped down another bag, it still wasn't enough.

"This isn't good." Carlisle explained, he looked puzzled.

"Ehh...why isn't that good?" I inquired

"Well, if you can never be satisfied with the amount of blood your drinking you will eventually begin to starve. You will lose your strength, and could possibly have moments of insanity." Carlisle explained.

"I can handle this... it'll be worth it for him. Besides like you said before it most likely won't be a full 9 months."

"We'll all be by your side darlin." Jasper reassured, kissing my cheek.

"I'll monitor you whenever I can, it seems they're already growing quickly." Carlisle said, gesturing down to my bump.

Over the next few weeks, my baby grew more and more, but I was beginning to get weaker. No matter how much blood I drank, nothing seemed to sedate me. The rest of the Cullens were on edge with Edward and Bella, and since Bella was finally a vampire, they couldn't trust them at all. They weren't around much but when they were Rosalie and Jasper seemingly stood guard for me. I was zoned out, laying in an armchair since I was beginning to get sick of sitting on the same couch when Esme interrupted my concentration.

"Fleur, Leah and Seth are here." She called out.

I sat up and smiled, gesturing for her to bring them in. Leah and Seth walked in carrying some wrapped boxes with them.

Esme walked in with them before giving a quick goodbye as she wanted to help Carlisle and Rosalie with collecting food for me.

"You two did not have to get me anything." I said.

"Look aunt Leah has to get my nephew something." She said a smile was on her face.

I opened the box, a stuffed wolf plushie was inside, a dreamcatcher was underneath the plushie.

"These gifts are great thank you!"

"No problem, I thought they would be nice."

"You are the only one who thinks it's a boy, everyone else thinks it's a girl."

"I trust your instincts." Leah shrugged before pulling up a chair and sitting next to me.

"So how are you Fleur?" Seth asked, he shuffled around in his place, his eyes were scanning for someone else.

"It's getting rougher now since he's growing so big but, I know it'll all be worth it in the end."

"Your eyes look really dark, aren't they suppose to be red?" Leah inquired.

"We're beginning to think he's half-vampire half-human, he has a heartbeat it's just slightly faster than usual humans. He's definitely drinking the blood I get."

"I heard what happens to vampires when they don't feed...it gets rough." Leah said rubbing my back comfortingly.

"I have my moments but, they haven't been too bad."

"Where's the rest of the Cullens?" Seth inquired.

"Hunting, Edward, and Bella don't show up much... they don't want me to have my baby. But the rest of the Cullen's are really supportive and Jasper is ecstatic about it." I rubbed my bump unconsciously.

"But how do you eat?" Leah asked, her eyebrows were furrowed.

"Carlisle and Rose get these bags of animal blood for me." I saw Leah sigh and Lean back against her seat.

"These vampires aren't so bad after all...I'm glad Seth found Bree... she seems nice." Leah smiled.

"Oh she really is, she didn't know what she was doing when she was turned... I'm glad we're able to help her."

"So... when do you think you'll give birth?"

"Carlisle said I could give birth in a week or two... It's nerve-wracking, it's so unpredictable."

"Hey, you'll be fine... I'll stay here for a bit if you need." Leah offered.

"That would be nice but, I don't want to put you through any trouble."

"It wouldn't be any trouble besides If Edward or Bella tries something... they're going to have to deal with me too."

I laughed but before I could say anything I could sense Edward and Bella coming in, but the others were still farther away.

"Great... now we got werewolves constantly coming in." Bella complained.

Seth and Leah looked up shocked.

"Bella... did you forget you were in a toxic, manipulative love triangle for a solid year with a werewolf... for a solid fucking year." I snapped back.

"Jacob doesn't talk to me anymore!" Bella roared.

"Good for him, he needs to move on." I said, Leah nodded in agreement.

"You always have to stick your opinion in don't you?" Bella said.

"Uhh... you walked in for 5 seconds are were already trying to start shit with me." I snapped, the rage in my body burned.

"Hey, don't you snap at my wife." Edward snarled, he started walking up to me slowly.

"Back off Edward." Leah warned, she seemed to feel how pissed off I was.

"Can it mutt."

"Edward... I've been starving for almost a month... don't try me."

"What can you do? You're frail, weak, impaired." Edward pushed, walking up in front of me.

"What in the fuck are you two still doing here? I mean... honestly, you both got what you wanted, Edward you got a mate, and Bella, you became immortal. If you can't stand the decisions we're all making then why don't you just leave?"

"Because we're protected, we're the feared Olympic coven... Who wouldn't want to stay here." Edward explained, he rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.

"Oh I see... you're using them, you're too unskilled to protect yourselves so why wouldn't you want to let everyone else do the work?" I said in fake shock, Leah and Seth began to chuckle.

"I'm not unskilled enough to protect myself from you." Bella smirked, joining Edward in front of me.

"...You two fucking try something I dare you because the way I've been feeling all month I fucking dare someone to mess with me. I growled standing up on my own, it was strange... it was like a new strength filled my body.

Leah came up in front of me and put an arm between us three.

"Just drop it you three... this isn't going to end well." Leah warned.

Edward smirked and then grabbed me, I quickly flipped him around and as I warned before kicked him through the glass wall.

I heard shuffling and turned around to see Leah holding Bella down with Seth helping her out. I turned back around to the window, I saw Edward lying on the ground with Dean, Alice, Esme, and Emmett looking up at me in shock. I saw Carlisle approach Edward, a deadly look was on his face.

"Damn short stack!" I heard three sets of feet running inside Jasper, Rosalie, and Bree came into the lounge room. Bree went to go help Seth and Leah with Bella.

"Darlin are you okay?" Jasper called toward me worryingly. I couldn't say anything however as that newfound strength had dissipated, and I clutched my head. Rosalie and Jasper rushed to me.

"That's it I can't stand those two anymore they have to get out of here!" Rosalie exclaimed, Jasper just nodded in agreement.

When I was sat back down in the armchair I decided to explain what happened. The rest of the Cullens came back in, Edward couldn't look me in the eyes now.

"So sweety, what happened?" Esme inquired.

"I was just sitting with Leah and Seth when Bella started complaining that Leah and Seth were here."

Bella tried to say something but Rosalie gave her a glare.

"I snapped at her I'll admit but... then Edward started coming up to me threateningly... but he then he said that he was just living with you guys because he was being protected... and long story short Edward grabbed me and I kicked him through the glass wall." I finished. I had never seen Carlisle or Esme so mad before.

"Is that true?" Carlisle inquired.

"But..."

"HE SAID IS IT TRUE!" Esme interrupted.

Edward bit down a growl before answering.

"Yes."

"You two can't come around here anymore...nor do you two belong to this coven." Carlisle demanded.

Bella gasped.

"What a second we can work something out..." She started.

"Look I'm not going to spend decades of you three fighting all the time... and personally, I'm personal want to keep the one I like." Rosalie sniped.

"Leave at once," Carlisle said.

Edward and Bella stormed out of the house and ran off. A thick silence overtook the air.

"Uh...sorry about the wall." Jasper shushed me before pulling me in for a kiss.

"You two okay?" He asked, rubbing my stomach.

"Oh yeah he's having a blast...you should've felt him, he was kicking up a storm. He's a fighter I can tell." I said smiling. Jasper curled up to me and rested his head on mine. I saw the Cullens as well as Leah and Seth glance at each other, leaving the room.

"You know, I can feel what emotions they feel," Jasper stated.

"Really? How is he feeling now?"

"They loves the sound of your voice, I can tell. They get so happy when they hear it."

I smiled fondly on my bump before rubbing it softly.

"I'm glad you love it, we both love you that's for sure..."

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 4: Glass.

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CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, wounds, implied sex work, strangulation, choking, suicide (hanging), suicidal thoughts/explicit planning, mouth whump description (bleeding, asphyxiation, choking), breathing, attempted noncon, bruises, beating, conditioning, dehumanization, noncon touching, drugs, alcohol, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, letmeknowifimissedany

August once asked what they do to me. Mouthed it, like he couldn’t stop himself from forming the words, but didn’t bother voicing it out of horror or just because he knew I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t fucking know where to begin anyway.

Probably down on my knees.

At this point, our situation boggles my mind even more than when they trained me to be silent. That was logical when you psychoanalyzed it but shit got fucked sideways when August came into the picture. It’s just senseless now, an unending labyrinth of manipulation and control. Double the captives means double the fun. I was lucky to be alone for so long. There were two others before him but never like this. In the grand scheme of things, they’re all mere drops of water in the swimming pool of my time here. It was another woman first, although I never learned her name. She seemed like a Tiffany or a Heather and was really pretty, too but never trusted me. Wouldn’t even look at me, as if I wasn’t just as much of a prisoner as her.

Poor thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something she shouldn’t have. She didn’t last long at all. Unraveled faster than you can say, “Money’s on the table.” You’d think she’d have a little more grit. I mean you hear stories and can only imagine the shit they put up with in that industry, but it was like something out of an exorcist movie. Crying hysterically, throwing herself at the walls and doors, and trying to strangle the life out of me like I was sitting on a key. They came in and intervened but not before she’d purpled my neck so I could barely breathe. That was the only time they ever took the shock collar off. She spent the next bit catatonic and then one day when they brought me back, she was dangling by her own diamond-studded jeggings from a pipe on the ceiling, toes just a few inches from the ground. Damn slow way to die. They took out the pipe.

I’ve given it a hell of a lot of thought myself. She’d obviously been trying something similar with smacking herself into the concrete walls, but that will only get you a concussion that makes it feel like you’ve gone a few rings deeper into Hell. No, thank you. My choice would be the naked lightbulb on the wall, next to the door. If I shoved it far enough down my throat before it broke, I’m pretty sure I would asphyxiate before they could do anything. The key would be to bleed enough into my bronchial tube and inhale enough shards of glass to shred my lungs a bit. A little internal bleeding down my esophagus wouldn’t hinder the cause but certainly wouldn’t be fatal on its own, never mind the risk of just cutting my tongue and mouth to ribbons if it breaks too early. In that case, I’d be fucked. That’s why Wyatt leaves it there, uncovered, even though other lightbulbs down the hallway have metal cages screwed over them. Tempting me to risk it. He also knows that, now, I’d never leave August. I feel responsible and that’s why he holds my life in his hands. The torture will never stop and August is better off with me to take care of him in whatever way I can, even if it doesn’t even come close to reparation.

—

The next guy was probably mid-thirties and built like a truck. I can’t begin to imagine what he did to wind up here. He didn’t take to captivity well either. Everything they’d put into him, he’d let out onto me. The first time, he was angling to get a sweeter kind of release than just wailing on me. I was pretzeled around one of the legs of my bed frame, while he punched and clawed at me, so hell-bent on not letting go, I was screaming my head off for help despite the collar. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Wyatt doesn’t like anyone to touch me. That went over like a lead balloon. Playing off his proclivity like somehow I had any right to decide not to be raped. Wyatt would have stopped it anyway and I could have saved myself the next few days of my bunkmate beating the living shit out of me undisturbed as long as he left it at just that. As soon as Wyatt decided I’d learned my lesson, or was sick of seeing me limping and bruised, that guy was fish food.

The second bed was empty for a long time after that even though I’m sure there were others. Wyatt has a list a mile-long of people he’d like to get his hands on for one reason or another, but I never saw them. Wyatt would still bring me out to toy with me in his usual ways. The buffoons would bring me out when he wasn’t around for entertainment but they know better than to touch me more than cursory shoves to keep me cooperating and even then, more often with their phones or other inanimate objects, rather than their hands. To them, it was endlessly entertaining to get me high out of my mind and mess with me or make me play Emma Fortyhands until I puked all over myself. I should have known Wyatt wasn’t wasting any time during this plateau of suffering. From what August says, he was here for a handful of days, maybe even two weeks, before they made us roommates. Wyatt just talked to him, drilling him for hours. He had been screening him, looking for the perfect match before binding us together in torment.

They always take me first and bring me straight to Wyatt. He likes to talk to me about what he has planned for August, trying to get a rise out of me. Like I’d be dumb enough to think that any amount of disgust or fear on my part would make a lick of difference for August. If anything, Wyatt would double it just for my reaction. Next, Wyatt makes sure I’ll make it through what he has planned for me without passing out. The humane thing would be to give me a second meal or something but instead, he gives me whatever his henchmen have lying around. An unpredictable twist added to my slow destruction. I’m lucky if it’s an energy shot or some gross drink that tastes like fruit-flavored battery acid and leaves me shaking. More often, it’s “just a bump” of something that makes my heart race and the whole session so unbearable I’m screaming in my head at the top of my lungs until I come down.

One time, he gave me a tab of acid. His favorite kind of experiment, the ultimate demonstration of his success. To no one’s surprise, I’m conditioned enough that I still didn’t speak and followed every instruction. That was, no contest, my worst day on this fucked-sideways merry-go-round. I was tripping so hard. Too slow and too fast at the same time, no distinction between myself and everything around me. Wyatt’s barbaric plan turned into a barbaric fuck-up. A small part of me understood what I had done even before I came down and when I stumbled out, I was met by silence instead of the usual dumb peanut-gallery comments. They threw me into the shower after, like always, but left me there for hours since I was still tripping. I was hysterical by the time they let me out. By some miracle, or just Wyatt perversely delaying the end, he had actually called a real doctor.

—

Today, Wyatt hands me a double shot of whiskey because it’s “cute” to watch me struggle when I’m tipsy. I knock it back in one swallow, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that frightens me. He finishes getting me ready and then smacks me on the ass to get me moving. Once I’m in the room, he starts feeding me instructions even though I already know what he wants from me today. This way, he’s in control of my every action, like he’s thinking for me, while I just focus on getting air into my lungs, fighting through the alcohol hitting my bloodstream and burning in my empty stomach. I can throw it up in the shower later if I need to. I just need to survive this.

By the time I stumble out, I’m inevitably a mess. Crying, shaking, and covered in sweat, even on the days I get the raw, straight edge experience. One of the baboons walks me to the small concrete room, empty except the industrial-looking shower head in the ceiling above the drain. The controls are on the outside of the room which is how they make sure the water is ice cold and stays on for exactly five minutes. They take the collar off and I get a bar of soap before they lock me in. It used to be orange soap bars that made my skin feel dry even wet. After that, it was green with the same problem but a stronger smell that clung to me all the time, which wasn’t half bad. Lately, it’s a white, rounder bar, that’s distinctly feminine, and leaves my skin soft, which would be concerning if I wasn’t already too balls-deep in my worst nightmare to care.

I used to dance in and out of the freezing shower while I soaped up but now I stay under the whole time. It’s the only thing that makes any damn sense anymore, the one small touch of reality in this shit storm. I stand under the frigid water and then shake and shiver once it’s turned off until the cold becomes a buzz on my skin and in my veins. Depending on the day, I wait for seconds or hours until they toss me a small, scratchy towel and clean clothes. The waiting is part of it. Not because I’m covered in goosebumps, muscles cramping so that I have to curl in on myself for heat, but because of what I know is waiting for me next.

When they finally let me out and lock me into the collar, it’s all I can do not to run back to our basement hole as fast as my legs will carry me to make sure August hasn’t bled out or gone into shock while they kept me from him. It’s all I care about anymore, helping him survive, making him as comfortable as possible. Honestly, it is the least I can do. It’s my fault he’s here at all, kept to be part of a set. Not to mention the heinous torture. If I had known, I would have done my damndest to kill him before it ever even started.

And I would have inhaled that fucking lightbulb immediately after.

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Taglist: @deluxewhump

[youwontlikethisblog]

Locura Mia <3

Remember when Betty clarified everything to Mario and Armando about Nicolas role in Terra Moda and general manager?

She let them know that though Nicolas did manage Terra Moda that he didn't do anything without her say and that she was still the legal representative of Terra Moda.

One: that sets aside the fear of Betty giving too much responsibilities to Nicolas for the sake of him noticing her as she clears the air that she is the one with the last say.

Two: that Nicolas has Betty blinded.

This is both Mario's and Armando's worry, they talked about it at the cocktail the night before and Betty goes to clear the air so they aren't worried or distrusting of them.

However they still decide to enact the sinister plan.

When Armando realizes that Betty potentially cares for him as more than her boss its when the guilt of hurting sets in but when he hears Betty speaking on the phone with Nicolas he decides that he will make Betty fall in love with him.

Now, I want to make it clear that Armando is not in love with Betty. He's confused about his feelings. As well that Armando is worried about Eco Moda, the future of it, and his. That's why he agrees to do that.

Later that night when Betty returns to the meeting room after having spoken to Nicolas she tells them that because she's staying to work that he{Nic] will be going to talk and deal with the lawyer and Armando gets mad at her but she explains why it's important that they do that and Mario agrees.

Then Armando tells Betty to bring him the entire bottle of whisky and she asks if he's well and that he's drinking too much which he tells her to bring it to him.

When she leaves the room Armando tells Mario that she's no longer listening to him or obeying him.

This again proves again that Armando isn't solely worried about the company as now his subconscious is the one leading as he now worries that Nicolas is taking Betty from him.

I do believe that Armando would have fallen in love with Betty regardless of Eco Moda and Terra Moda.

What we have seen so far(before Nicolas was introduced as the love interest of Betty) was Armando slowly building a friendship with Betty as he was also developing feelings for her but all of a sudden these small moments of him just simply liking to spend time with Betty at the office and letting his guard down and letting her into his personal life come crashing into a wall of realization that he isn't ready to face and when he is being forced to face it he decides to deny it. Had it not happened like that I do think he would have ended up falling in love with her in the long run.

As a writer you have to think of all the possibilities that can happen. A scene you write has different alternative endings and you always go with the best one that pushes the story and the intensity forward.

So when watching the romance begin I often wonder what could have been of that scene and where that could have lead the story. When his original secretary quit because she fell in love with him the girls told Betty that Armando was never even aware of it and that he didn't even pay attention to her, it is a fact that Armando doesn't like getting involved with the employee's of Eco Moda so we can assume that it was true. After all when Bertha mentioned that Mariana had foretold that she'd quite her job Armando didn't even look fazed by it. He had no micro expressions or reaction to that. It was as if it wasn't important to him that she quit or why.

She wasn't important to him and she didn't really matter at all as he tells Betty that if she were to leave Eco Moda he would miss her.

Armando is hella drunk here. His eyes are droopy, he can't stand straight at times and he looks like he wants to run out of there.

Betty despite her feelings is trying to keep everything professional. When Armando tells her that they should cheer for something Betty cheer's for Eco Moda, now here Armando is acting. He isn't really talking with the heart.

I often talk about Armando but I am honestly so excited to finally start talking about Betty and her complexities because this romance isn't just from Armando's perspective but Betty's too and she deserves to be talked about more.

From previous episodes we know Betty had a relationship with a guy named Miguel. We know this because when Roman asked her to go out with them for the night as a joke Betty mentioned it after her Don Hermes didn't let her go and later that night after she got stood up she wrote in her diary something that personally moved me a lot.

"When will someone give me the opportunity to give them my love?"

Most times when we're watching a romantic drama or reading one we get this trope of the main character wanting to be loved themselves. They're searching for someone to love them because they've got this idea that love is meant on what others can give you. Armando is like that. He bases love on what others can give you, just like his parents and Marcela is the exact same way however real love isn't like that at all. That's being selfish.

Real love is wanting to give yourself without expecting anything in return and that's how we see Betty show her love towards Armando but the reason why it moved me so much to hear Betty say that is because she wasn't looking for someone to love her but instead she wanted to give her love, she wanted someone to give her the chance to give all the love she knew she could give to them. Betty, our sweet and kind Betty wasn't looking to be selfish in love.

However because of the fact that she did once love someone, she gave her love to someone who didn't appreciate it and just used her Betty is traumatized. It wasn't just heartbreak that she dealt with but she dealt with a humiliation that broke down her self-esteem more, ruined her self worth and killed her.

Though Betty knows she's "ugly" to people and that because of that no man will ever notice her, she believed that her love, the love she could give, would make someone love her. She believes that real love isn't based on physical attraction but rather a deep rooted spiritual connection with someone. Betty has a very beautiful understanding of love.

So it isn't just because her parents raised her to be a decent human with morals that she is keeping things professional but as a defense mechanism.

She is keeping herself away so she won't suffer again but her emotions start to win over after Armando asks her to dance.

She leans her head closer to him, not resting it on his shoulder, and we hear her inner monologue of "I can't believe it." in a hopeful and shocked tone while Armando's inner monologue is the same words his tone is disgusted.

He is disgusted to be so close to Betty, that he is dancing with an "ugly"(I always put quotation marks when I refer to Betty as ugly because she is very gorgeous to me!) woman.

When they return to the table Betty, as a concerned employee but also someone who is secretly in love with her boss respectfully tells Armando to forgive her for not minding her business but that he's drinking too much and he has to drive.

Notice the shift in tone from Armando's voice. Before he asked Betty to dance and they were talking Armando's tone was superficial. It was manipulative but this time it's careless and he's annoyed.

Again here you can notice in the same scene that shift as he lies to Betty and tells her "I'm enjoying my drinking" he shifts to look at her so they can talk better and his emotions give way here as he says "or what is it? What's your problem, Betty?" his facial expression switches to anger as he asks her in an accusing tone "or what am I so boring?"

Betty quickly tells him no "It's not that."

"Then explain it to me. Since Calderon left all you've wanted is for us to not drink, to not dance, to not do this or that. Beatriz, tell me, am I boring guy?"

I recalled Armando talking to Marcela once(when they were going to decide whether they got married though the church or court) and he told her "It's not about me. Are you sure you want to be married to me for life? I'm a really boring guy and you know that."

Here we can tell the difference in how Armando views these two women. While with Marcela he doesn't care that he's a boring guy, he does care that Betty doesn't think of him that way.

You can argue that Armando is drunk therefore he doesn't know what he's saying but he's manipulative by nature. He can do that sober or drunk and we saw that already in the scene before he asked Betty to dance. Besides have you ever heard the saying that toddlers and drunks have one thing in common and it's that they both can piss their pants but speak the truth.

Armando is a lot more drunk than he was at the start of the night with just him and Betty.

Once again Betty reassures Armando and in a loving voice tells him No , but that she understand he is worried for the company, marcela and that he is in a place unusual for him and with company he's not used to.

Really pay attention to Armando's tone. It constantly shifts from being natural to being forced. You can pick up when he is lying and being manipulative to it being honest.

Before I continue this I want to bring a detail I've noticed that came full circle the night of the museum.

Betty often tells Armando not to explain things, that she understands him. Armando however, unlike with Marcela who he just gaslights and manipulates, with Betty he constantly wants to explain things and talk them through, but Betty telling him that he understand him holds a lot of weight in their conversations because she truly does.

Armando takes in a deep breath, squints his eyes at her, before he speaks. He's thinking of what to say to her and trying to figure her out because unlike all the other women who Armando has been with(it's not because of what he said that he didn't know how to seduce an ugly woman) Betty isn't responding to any of his advances. She continues to keep things professional and behaves like a concerned employee so naturally Armando is confused and trying to figure a way to make things work.

He agrees with her about the first thing she said but disagrees about him not being in a place he'd enjoy that he's having a good time and all of that was said in a natural tone but when he leans closer and whispers drunklike "and as for the company." He widens his eyes and tells her "I love it."

Betty's eyes grow wide and she looks at him and then around. She looks surprised but also scared.

She tells him that she thinks he should drink slower or mix his drink with water and he chuckles at that.

"You're not coordinating with what you're saying."

"What? How am I not coordinating with what I'm saying?" He has a smirk on his face and turns to look at her, making eye contact he tells her "'cause I tell you Beatriz" he switches from openly speaking to now whispering as he finishes off by saying "I enjoying being with you." he says looking around the room. This represents the actual dilema he is facing. We know he does like spending time with Betty, especially in the previous days so we know that's true but notice how he was able to talk so openly before until he had to admit that he likes spending time with her. He whispered it to her and looked around the room. He knows he's somewhere that none of his friends or people in his social circle would be in so he isn't paranoid that they'll catch him. It symbolizes his inner battle. He's embarrassed to be seen with a woman like Betty, so he denies to care for her, however he admits he enjoys her company.

Now Armando lets his guard down, you can tell that he isn't as tense however still feeling nervous, he touches his upper lip and leans forward on the table "I'mma tell you something you know." he chuckles and points to Betty's drink "there with you blackberry juice" he chuckles, he finds it endearing, he touches his lips for a micro second often seen as a sign of nervousness. He's nervous to confess this to Betty or even to say it outloud.

Betty is starting at him freaked out and girl I WOULD TOO.

"See when you started working for me, if they would've fired you then I wouldn't have cared or been affected by it but now if you left I wouldn't be able to bare being without you."the haws theme song starts to play and he crazily looks around him. He really doesn't want anyone to hear him say these things because he is embarrassed to feel this way!

Betty's expression doesn't change. She's like a deer hit with headlights.

"But it's just a matter of custom. I'm sure if I left Eco Moda and I left everything organized for the new assistant they'll accomplish-" she's interrupted by an angry Armando.

As Betty was telling him this he took a drink and then started to rub his eyebrow; self soothing.

"Nonononono! I'm not talking about another assistant. " he hisses at her. "I'm saying that you," He chuckles nervously and swiftly covers his face, smiles and says "this is incredible." he fidgets with rubbing his forehead and his tone of voice is what lets us know he is being truthful to Betty. Here Armando is nervous to confess this, not only because he is confessing it to Betty but because now he has to accept it and no longer deny that he does care about Betty. He is being vulnerable.

Do you remember when you'd talk to your crush in middle school how you'd get, especially when the conversation shifted to talking about who you liked?

Armando's behavior reminds me of that.

The literal translation of what he tells her butchers the meaning as Armando tells her "Yo estoy diciendo, es increible esto, pero usted me haria falta, me haria falta como mujer."

"What I'm saying is that you, i can't believe this, is incredible, but I would feel the absence of you, the absence of you as a woman." his tone is very truthful. It isn't like before where it shifted from lying, manipulation and being somewhat truthful. Now it's coming form the heart and we later get more examples of this.

"Um sir please don't continue drinking anymore."

"Why? Why not? I need to drink, see." He drinks from his whisky. "You know why?" he shivers, slightly coughs because of it and shakes his head. "You know why I need to drink? Because I need to, I need to get out what, get out what I have inside of me about what I feel for you." Betty again is looking at him like a deer with headlights. "This is serious don't look at me like me shocked eyes. I'm going to tell you." He slurs. "Since I found out that you have a boyfriend right-"

"But I don't have a boyfriend."

"well, well, whatever, whatever he is, I don't care." He starts to angirly point his finger on the table and with a tone that matches continues "since I found out that guy Nicolas Mora exists I began to feel like bad." He's hunched forward, leaning towards the table and then turning to Betty, his face is very expressive as he shows that what is saying is hard for him to say because it pains him "like this wimper inside of me, I felt like a discomfort that I didn't like and I reflected, I started to think." He begins to act out him reflecting. "Reflecting. Armando, what's going on with you? and I discovered that I'm jealous, I'm jealous of Nicolas Mora." his eyes are wide and lips pursed, showing that he is stressed or holding back emotion.

"Sir don't joke."Betty's voice is shaky, she looks like she's got her heart in her throat as she is leaning far from him. She is afraid of what he is telling her and on guard.

"Do I look like a clown to you?" Betty shakes her head "No right? I don't play with that, Betty. I don't play with that."

Notice the shift in his tone again. It went from being his natural voice, albit drunk and slurred but still his natural tone, to now again being raspy, it's the best way I can discribe his tone which he has whenever he is being manipulative towards anyone. Armando grabs his glass to drink from it which shows us that now he no longer is being honest.

The next sequence is Armando trying to seduce Betty. She explained that she's got nothing going on with Nicolas and tries to excuse herself but Armando tells her to stay and that she isn't going anywhere.

This is him using his power of position to keep Betty in a situation she wants to run from. It is wrong. We know this and so does the writer as we get the Jaws theme song and a creepy smile from Armando. This is intended to be this way and not to be mistaken as something romantic.

He leans in closer and tells her "You fascinate me." Betty reacts to him being so close and leans forward and puckers her lips and they kiss. Armando's reaction is him being grossed out by it.

For the comedic effect Betty opens her eyes and then faints.

What do we get from this?

Armando is a piece of ish!

Now that that's out of the way.

We see Betty struggle with what's going on. She really is scared of what Armando is doing and saying because she doesn't want to have her hopes up and she's afraid of what it entitles. She doesn't want to get hurt.

Armando as always is all over the place. One moment he is angry, the next annoyed, then grossed out, and then he is being vulnerable, honest and baring his bones and then he is being manipulative. I am personally exhausted, imagine him?

Betty wakes up and apologizes, tells him she doesn't know what what's going on and that she crossed the line. She gets up and leaves and Armando goes after her.

See unlike the women of the past, the models or whatever, Betty isn't reacting like he expects her to. She isn't flirting, fawning, getting closer to him. She is in her seat silent while he speaks, telling him to stop drinking, that he doesn't know what he's saying.

Betty runs out of that place and once outside she touches her lips and thinks to herself "He kissed me, he kissed me."

I already mentioned how someone else wrote a post about Armando and the reason he doesn't date women outside of his social circle and here, now, in this scene he is going against that. He is doing the very thing that he lectured Mario about.

He used his position of power to keep Betty there. We get a scene of Armando sitting at the table with his head down and his fist clasped together, unlike with Mario who did that to show power, Armando's body language allows us to see that he is doing it to self-sooth.

I imagine that he is processing everything but mostly feeling guilty for what he is doing. Guilty for taking advantage of Betty and following through with the plan to seduce her and then it hits him that he kissed her. He touches his lips over and over again, it doesn't seem like he's wiping his lips as he gently rubs them and repeats that he kissed her. His brows furrow and instead of having a face of disgust he shows to have a face of confusion because now he is left with the feelings that that kiss produced and left in him. As well as him realizing what he is capable of doing.

Again, Armando is aware that Betty isn't society's standard of Beauty and aware that she isn't want he imagined in his perfect woman body wise, so he is grossed out by the idea of having something physical with her because of his obsession with perfection. This doesn't mean he is grossed out by her, just the idea of her, if that makes sense.

Which I know it's hard to understand, muchless explain right now but I am tired and hungry so I will leave y'all off here.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

'Til next time :)

Ps again ignore my typos.

[szynkaaa]

I more or less watched The Boy!!! And by watching, I mean I skipped more or less through the jump scare parts because I cannot do horror movies at all. I haven’t watched one since 2015 and The Boy was like the first horror movie after five years

Full disclosure, the ONLY reason I started watching the movie was because someone posted a gif of Greta standing close to Brahms who was all sweaty and breathing heavily n I was like “oh shit who dat he hot” and here I am 

Can anyone explain the sandwich scene to me? So Greta was scared shitless and locked herself in her room, but why did Brahms make her favorite sandwich for her?

I did some digging for interviews and generally what people have been saying about the movie, took some screenshots from youtube to put my thoughts and musing together too! 

Can anyone explain the sandwich scene to me? So Greta was scared shitless and locked herself in her room, but why did Brahms make her favorite sandwich for her? 

So first of all, let’s start with a low resolution photo I found on IG of James Russell without mask:

which brings me to my first musing/thought/question? 

It’s all under the cut, very screenshot and text heavy, you can find more Brahms drawing at the bottom though  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So at the end of the movie, we are shown a Brahms with a broken mask and his face being burned, indicating that he was in fact in the fire.

I assumed first that the fire was created by the parents to fake their sons death and then he had to live hidden inside the walls? 

But I’ve also heard apparently it was Brahms who set the fire to fake his own death or maybe an eight years old kid really was trying to burn himself down?? 

My other theory is that his parents made the fire and tried to kill Brahms and it did burn him but he survived, and the parents didn’t wanna go to jail sooo to hide everything they made their son live in the walls

i mean the responsible thing would be to turn their kid in and have him treated and stuff;;; listened to a murder podcast about two cases where kids murdered enough kids and how they are doing now interesting read Brahms made me think of those two cases 

I also do not think that the previous nannies were killed. Like, c’mon. You’d report a person missing and sooner or later it would go back to the Heelshire mansion and if the body counts piles up? Can’t look good and I doubt that the Heelshire wants the police investigating them close up. 

Also, when the mom was like “He’s chosen you if you’ll have him” to Greta? Is it just me or the wording or does it sound like a marriage proposal/arrangement xD 

Brahms is a brat and he sees the people around him as his possession or to toy around. But I also do think that he has some abandonment issues but not in the sad tragic kind of way lmao. Even if he was the one controlling and manipulating his parents from behind-the-scene (quite literally I suppose?), he was still told as a kid to live in hiding and that no one can know he is alive. I don’t know much about the human brain, but I can imagine how damaging that must be to his mental growth and set him back in some way? We don’t know too much about his relationship with his parents - but I assume that he must have still loved them in his own twisted way. Can’t imagine that he would have been indifferent about his parents suicide. 

The scene before Greta manages to back out - first he uses the child voice to beg her to come back and promises he will be good. That’s his manipulating Greta, but when that doesn’t work and she tries harder to open the door, he becomes more desperate to keep her there and then completely loses his temper and threatens to kill Malcolm if she doesn’t return. I’m pretty sure homeboy would have killed him anyway. And then later when she returns and he is all heavy breathing and smelling her hair and then jumps up when she shouts Brahms? Idk I def think there is some sort of abandonment issue going on. 

I don’t think he is a child stuck in a man’s body or manchild or whatever. I think that he does know how to take care of himself - but he just chooses to manipulate people with the facade of a kid to do his bidding and cater to his needs. 

Anywhomst, but clearly Brahms is also a very manipulative and controlling person based, based on how the mother was reacting on the destroyed bedroom, she really seemed to be at the end of her wits and just breaking down with her “you promised you’d be good”. It was very heartbreaking to watch and also scary because it really makes you realize just how much power Brahms holds over them?? idk maybe it was just me.

Next point: the CGI mask  + the burns 

So according to some interviews with the director stated that at the first test streaming, people weren’t really scared of Brahms because he was too handsome so they had to slap a mask over his face. The face was done after everything was filmed. I’m thinking the face burns were also added post-production when they were adding the cgi mask. Otherwise, James would have needed to go through the makeup department for some wicked face burns and it would have been visible during the filming and test screening too? Which would imply that at first the fire was supposed to be just  a cover story that their son is dead and it was changed later

Observation/thoughts on Brahms Heelshire

Love how he stands there with his hands behind his back and then nods when Greta tells him to go under the cover

James Russell is 191cm tall. So like. Brahms is really fucking tall. But I notice that most of the time he stands with a slight hunch. Could be due to him crawling through the walls and crawling out of places that requires him to do a lot of crouching. His bed in his hideout made me really sad, I’ll get to it later. 

Since James didn’t get many lines in the ten minutes that he appeared, I do think that his eyes did all the acting. They stand out even more with the mask on, there is just this crazy look on it. I also noticed during my rewatch that he doesn’t seem to blink much or at all. 

Oh yeah, he also peeped on Greta and Malcolm making out on the bed and then cockblocked them. We been knowing that he made a Greta doll and very likely jerked off to it. We also been knowing that he very very very likely wanted to bone Greta at the goodnight kiss scene still waiting for the maskeless kiss scene gimme gimme. I also highly doubt that Brahms has much first-hand experience with kissing n stuff. High key thinking he was trying to do copy Malcolm and do what he observed lmao

When I first watched the scene, I assumed that the hole behind the mirror has always been and it’s just another one of the hidden passages Brahms to slip in and out, but now that I’m looking at the shape of the holes, it seems to me more like the mirror and brick wall were broken at the same time?? If that is the case holy shit boy is s t  r o n g. I mean, he also punched through the closet door like no big deal so really what have the parents been feeding him. 

I’m also leaning toward the fact that he ran there because Greta screamed loudly. I don’t think he was in the room as them when everything went down there, it seemed more like he heard the scream and had to nyoomed over and then punched a way through to get out of the wall. And then went on to attack Cole. He must have known that Greta wanted Cole gone, since that what she whispered to the doll before going to bed. 

Tbh, I fully expected him to murder Cole in his sleep, but Brahms wrote a warning message in blood to tell him to get out soooooo like. Cole you were warned and now you gotta live with the consequences ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Brahm’s sleeping corner

This scene was shown at the end after Greta and Malcolm escaped. We also see them briefly during the part where Greta and Malcolm are trying to find a way out and stumbled into Brahms’ hideout. I’m not sure why the rules are slapped on the walls. It seems to me that Brahms is very very very set on that the rules / routine should be followed. In the movie, he called Greta and suggested to her that she should follow the rules, to which she then started doing it.

I headcanon that that’s the routine that he grew up with as a kid and it’s just very very very very very hard to break out of it - not that he is trying to break the routine. 

I’m failing to find a good way to put my thoughts into words, but I guess the rules and routine is sort of his coping mechanism? 

I suppose if you had an OC that you ship Brahms with and want to change stuff around the house, the OC would have to very slowly introduce new rules and routines. Baby steps, yknow.

Brahms has a violin hanging there! Honestly I would be surprised if Brahms didn’t know how to play at least one instrument. The family also has an old ass piano/clavichord (?) and Brahms loves classical music soo yeah. Love me a boy who appreciates classical musical hehe

I suppose the egg boxes are there to soundproof the room more - maybe so he can play the violin? 

There’s also music sheets hung around his attics, it’s not clear on the screenshots but when you rewatch the scene and shove your face close to the screen. Some are hanging next to the violin and there are some taped on the wall next to his bed and porn too

nice to see he has a fridge and microwave, I was concerned that he wasn’t well fed and that leftovers might not be enough, but then again. Dude is 191 cm so clearly he has been drinking his milk

Didn’t take a screenshot of his vanity, but there is a crocodile magnet stuck to the mirror hehe. I do think that he shaves and stuff, otherwise his beard would be much longer??

We can see more music sheets stuck to a pillar on the right. 

Loving the christmas lights that he has hanging there above his bed. It’s cute. 

On the shelf he has a bunch of tupperware and empty bowls. Most of hte things are neatly organized. We can also see some books and a pen

There’s some sunlight streaming inside - I do hope that Brahmsy stays warm during winters.

Here we can see more of the food that he has there - there is also a sink but I didn’t snatch a screenshot of it. I think those are potatoes in the pot? Maybe he does know how to cook some basic stuff, I do wonder if he has a functioning kitchen up there. Probably not for fire safety reasons lol

Yall see that thing on the note sheet covered pillar? Ngl, that’s a whole ass aesthetic right there.

He got a few potted plants up there. Took a closer look at them and it seems like they were healthy. So he knows how to take care of plants, which is nice to know I suppose?

Yes, we all know what he was doing with the doll and what the tissue balled up tissue implies. However, has anyone noticed the size of the bed??? 

If you scroll up a bit to the screenshot of Greta seeing the doll, it looks t i n y. The make shift doll takes up more than half of the space. 

Yall. this breaks my heart. Dude is a beanstalk. I’m pretty sure the bed is from when he was a kid shoved by his parents to live inside the wall, does he have to sleep there in his adulthood too??? 

Even though Brahms strikes me as someone who probably doesn’t sleep much or during normal times, that bed must be so tiny for him. He must be sleeping with his knees bend and shit unable to stretch out :((( 

Brahms: is a psychopath that smashed the skull of a girl and very abusive tormented his parents and then Greta Me: omg he needs a bigger bed that poor thing :(((

Brahms’ DIY corner 

Ah yes, Brahm’s little DIY/creative corner. 

Homeboy got lot of animal traps, cages and taxidermies hanging around, pointing strongly toward that it’s a hobby of it? 

Also at the end where we see him fixing up the doll, we can get a better shot at his desk, and I gotta say the threads and stuff are all very nicely organized. Brahms’s table looks more organized than mine does lmao. 

So we know he is a crafty boy. Not sure how difficult taxidermy is but I imagine it does take a lot of time to learn? Well he had all the time in the world anyway.

So yeah, that’s a wrap. Congrats if you made it to the bottom of my incoherent thoughts and ramblings, have a bonus drawing of Brahms wearing different masks: 

[waywardnewcomer]

We’ll Always Be More Than a Cast

A/N: I was watching Lemonade Mouth earlier while I was coughing my lungs out with corona and this was born. It’s cheesy but I honestly don’t care. There’s a lot of ideas in my fever dream head that I’m writing down, but I would also love some requests for marvel fics or supernatural. Both RPF and characters, an update of BIBF will be coming soon. Marvel tags anyone?

Summary: Y/N is struggling, and the cast sing her a song at karaoke to cheer her up.

Warnings: Mentions of death, some sadness and a whole lot of fluff.

Pairings: Reader x Platonic!Marvel Cast

Song: We’ll Always Be More Than a Band by Lemonade Mouth.

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist

You had only been in one MCU movie so far, and it was such a minor role you were extremely surprised when they asked you back for Civil War and that they wanted it to be a bigger role. You felt a bit intimidated being around people like Robert Downey Jr and Jeremy Renner who you looked up to immensely. It took you 2 months to get used to your castmates on The Winter Soldier, and during the press tour, you became fast friends with them all.

Being back on set and having everyone talking about how they missed their family really bummed you out. Your parents had died almost 3 years ago, and you had no other family. You were alone in the world and it was hard. You often excused yourself from conversations, went back to your trailer and cried. Being around your parent’s death anniversary things were always hard but it wasn’t something you talked about, you kept it all bottled up.

It wasn’t until Chris mentioned his nephew and Scarlett mentioned her daughter and Sebastian mentioned his parents and how they had spent their Christmas and New Year that you got upset. It made you remember your sad lonely Christmas in your apartment eating frozen pizza for dinner and drinking a lot of wine, singing carols to yourself. New years didn’t go much different. Everyone was in their own homes with their own family and friends. You kept yourself to yourself and didn’t have many friends as you had moved to New York recently.

“Sorry I left something in my trailer, I’ll meet you guys on set.” You gave a small smile and ducked from the conversation and headed to your trailer.

As soon as the door shut behind you, you let the tears flow and flopped on the couch looking at the picture of your parents on the side table. Fuck, you needed to get a hold on yourself if you were going to get through this movie.

“Well that was weird,” Scarlett commented as you left them stood outside of the craft tent, making Chris nod with a concerned look on his face.

“I’ll go speak to her, maybe something happened over Christmas?” Seb suggested quietly.

“No, you two have a fight scene to prepare for, I’ll go, I’ll text you if I need you,” Scarlett smiled at them softly and headed over to your trailer.

When she reached for your door to knock, she heard soft whimpering coming from inside your trailer. It shocked her, you’d always seemed so happy go lucky and none of them had ever seen you cry. Fuck it she thought as she grabbed your door handle and opened it, rushing into your trailer without warning.

“Oh hon,” Scarlett whispered to you as she saw your red, puffy face looking up at her in shock. “I’m here now, try to calm down.”

Scarlett took you in her arms and rubbed her hand up and down your back as you hiccupped through your sobs. You were completely embarrassed she had to see you this way.

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to be a burden for you. Please leave if you’re uncomfortable.” You mumbled to her, looking at her through your eyelashes apologetically.

“Y/N, you would never be a burden to any of us. What’s wrong? Did something happen over Christmas? Was it your family?”

“I don’t have a family,” You mumbled, more tears running down your cheeks as you looked at her shocked face.

“What do you mean? Where did you go for Christmas? New Years?” She asked almost frightened of the answer.

“My parents died almost 3 years ago, and I have no other family. Only children, their parents are dead. I’m alone. I spent it in my apartment,” You smiled sadly at her sad face.

“Y/N you should have said something, you could have come to any of our houses! You’re always welcome,” Scarlett muttered hugging you once more. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’re all big famous actors and I’m a nobody. I’m new to the whole business, I needed to navigate it myself. I’m always going to be alone in this world I need to get used to it.” You mumbled, tearing your eyes away from hers and looking at the picture of your parents.

“Y/N were still humans, and most importantly we’re still your friends, and now we’re a big family. You’re never going to be alone again I promise.”

“You don’t have to do that for me,” You mumbled softly.

“I know, but I want to. We care about you, obviously I can’t speak for the whole cast, but I can definitely speak for Evans, Stan and Mackie. Everyone else will be the exact same once you get to know them, we’re all a big happy dysfunctional family.” Scarlett smiled at you.

“Thank you, you’ll never know how much it means to me.” You whispered softly.

“Now we need to get you cheered up girly,” Scarlett smiled at you, changing the conversation which you were glad for. “Get changed, we’re having a night on the town.”

“But we have scenes to film, it’s meant to be a late one.” You said confused, knowing your call sheet ended at 2am and it was only 7:30pm.

“I’ll take care of that one. Like you said I’m a big famous actress, I can easily manipulate producers.” She smirked at you and winked making you laugh. “Get ready, I’ll be back for you in an hour.”

Once you’d had a shower, put some makeup on and into a party dress and heels you felt a lot more like yourself. You needed a night out to let loose, spend time with some friends and get to know your cast members and new friends.

“You ready?” You heard Scarlett call from around your trailer door.

You grabbed your bag and went to meet her, seeing Chris, Seb and Anthony stood at the bottom of your trailer steps.

“What are you doing here?” You asked softly smiling.

“We heard you needed cheering up, and Mackie is one of the funniest guys we know.” Chris laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“You guys didn’t have to do this you know.” You smiled as you hugged Seb and Anthony.

“But we wanted to, we all need a night out. The Russo’s can worry about scenes and that shit later,” Mackie laughed and squeezed your shoulder.

“Where are we going?” You asked them as they all smirked at you. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Karaoke time baby!” Seb shouted making you laugh as you were dragged into the car.

“I hope you all know I will not be singing until I get very very drunk.” You laughed softly, taking a sip of your cocktail you had been handed by Scarlett when you got in.

“That’s fine we have a song prepared first.” Chris smirked and smiled at you making you cock an eyebrow.

“You mean you’re having a band performance without me? Leaving me to sit here all alone?” You asked feigning shock.

“Well not all alone.” You heard a voice say behind you making you turn to face Jeremy Renner, RDJ and Paul Rudd.

“What are you guys doing here?” You asked hugging them all, clearly partly tipsy.

“We heard one of our family members needed us. It’s about time we got to know you properly.” Robert smiled at you, making you gush.

“That’s our queue,” You heard Seb say as the music changed and jumped up with Chris, Anthony and Scarlett onto the stage next to your table.

“This one’s for Y/N to prove to her she’ll always have a family with us.” Scarlett smiled at you making you tear up as you realised what song it was.

----------------- Scarlett, One of the boys, All of them, Y/N.----------------------

“I can’t pretend to know you feel, but know that I’m here and know that I’m real

Say what you want or don’t talk at all

I’m not gonna let you fall.” Scarlett and Sebastian sang.

“Reach for my hand ‘cause it’s held out for you. My shoulders are small, but you can cry on them too.

Everything changes but one thing is true, understand

We’ll always be more than a cast.” Scarlett and Chris sang with the others joining in for the last line of the chorus.

“You used to brave the world all on your own

Now we won’t let you go, go it alone

Be who you wanna be, always stand tall. I’m not gonna let you fall.” Mackie started the verse, the others joined in and Scarlett lead it into the chorus making you tear up.

“Reach for my hand ‘cause it’s held out for you. My shoulders are small, but you can cry on them too.

Everything changes but one thing is true, understand

We’ll always be more than a cast.” They sang once again, pointing at you and Chris reached his hand out for you to take.

“I never knew you could take me so far. I’ve always wanted the home that you are. The ones I need.” You sang taking Chris’ outstretched hand and stepping onto the stage, the other men behind you following suit as you all sang the last chorus with tears in your eyes.

“Reach for my hand ‘cause it’s held out for you. My shoulders are small, but you can cry on them too.

Everything changes but one thing is true, understand

We’ll always be more than a cast.” You all sang together.

“Reach for my hand ‘cause it’s held out for you. My shoulders are small, but you can cry on them too.

Everything changes but one thing is true, understand

We’ll always be more than a cast.” Scarlett sang softly, taking you into a side hug and swaying with you. She looked into your eyes during the last line and at the tears dripping down your face, wiping them softly.

You hugged all of your cast mates in a group hug as people cheered around you in the club.

“I’m so lucky to have all of you,” You mumbled into the circle, embracing the warmth it gave you. You finally had a family once more.

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[fandom-necromancer]

‘You come here often?’ ‘Well I work here.’ Part 4 

This was prompted by the lovely AO3 user LoafofCat! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 [Read complete on AO3]

‘You know, if you just wanted to see me, there would be easier ways.’ ‘Bold of you to assume I come here only to see you.’ Nines smiled looking up to Gavin, who was just untying his apron and sitting down in front of him with a coffee of his own. ‘Am I wrong then?’, the human asked and Nines huffed, letting his head fall. ‘No’, he admitted. ‘Okay, so let me get this right’, Gavin laughed. ‘I had to propose to my boss to get thirium drinks on the menu as a “costumer asked for it” and it might help us crank those numbers up, just so you could plant your ass here in your break?’ ‘It did get you more costumers though’, Nines shrugged pointing to the other tables. ‘That’s not- Nines, do you think I care about this shop? I just work here; I don’t care if… You know what? Screw it. Nice to see you, Nines.’ ‘Nice to see you too’, the android chuckled. ‘How are you?’ ‘Can’t complain. What do you have there?’

Nines looked down on the tablet in his hands. ‘Oh, just work. A case.’ ‘You are on your break and brought work?’, Gavin asked, looking at him sceptically. ‘Tina was right, you really are me just with a little less personality.’ ‘Being nice and polite doesn’t mean not having a personality. You were just an asshole.’ ‘What technically is a personality trait’, Gavin argued, taking a sip from his coffee. ‘Now come on, tell me about your case!’ Nines frowned. ‘I really can’t tell you, it’s-‘ ‘Confidential, I get it. But come on, I’m a former cop I can keep a secret. For old time’s sake.’ The android eyed Gavin and how he looked so eager to get information. It was cute in a way, how he looked in between his eyes and the tablet in his hands. Maybe that’s why Nines showed weakness and caved in.

‘Okay, but you really keep this to yourself. We are investigating a series of murders. They don’t have anything in common in regard to victims or how the deed was done or staged, but at every crime-scene we found the picture of this man.’ Nines flipped through the pictures of the different crime-scenes until he reached a few portraits. They weren’t really the kind of pictures you would expect of a cold-blooded serial-killer. Not after the few flashes of gruesome staging, Gavin caught a glimpse of as Nines had searched for these. They all portrayed a middle-aged man with a small belly you could easily get if you worked long hours in the office and were too exhausted afterwards to do sports. The pictures looked like they were ripped right out of a family photo-album. The guy was at the beach smiling at the camera with a cocktail in hand. The next one showed him in what Gavin supposed to be his home with a small dog on his lap. Then next to a ridiculously oversized barbeque grill all shiny chrome and reds.

Gavin lifted a brow at Nines. ‘Yeah, sorry Nines, but no way this is your killer.’ ‘I ruled it out as unlikely, too’, the android nodded. ‘Although you can never know with people. At the very least it’s a lead. Maybe the killer knows this man. As much as this is a lead, it is also our only link.’ Gavin shrugged, leaning back. ‘Well, why haven’t you solved it then? I mean, you can scan his face and get a name, age, address, likely even social media as creepy as they designed you and Connor. No offense there.’ Nines sighed. ‘As creepy as I might be designed, my scanner has its limits too. I can’t get a name to this man, not even an age. Scanning him just returns an error. Manual research in the police databanks also hasn’t brought up anything yet. We also can’t exactly go around asking for this man. If he is the serial killer, as unlikely as it might seem, we would only alert him.’ Gavin nodded absent-mindedly, staring at the photo, pulling the tablet closer to zoom in on some details. ‘Honestly?’, Nines said frustratedly. ‘We’re all currently waiting for the forensics to find more evidence on the bodies. It’s quite frustrating, but at the same time no one really minds if I spend a bit longer on my break with you.’

Gavin couldn’t help but let out an exaggerated ‘Awww’ at that, Nines reprimanded with an annoyed but amused look. ‘Nah, really thanks, looking at your tablet for what, ten minutes? This was already more exciting than the whole damn month. The most action I had was a drunk guy I had to escort out because everyone else was too chicken shit to risk getting vomited on.’ ‘Understandable.’ ‘Not the point. I mean, I’m happy here, I guess. It is decent money and I have more time for my cats at home. Also, maybe not being confronted with what humans are capable of is nice for a while. But I can basically feel my brain rot here.’ ‘That is also understandable’, Nines huffed. ‘Maybe search for some outside work activity? Something new to learn and keep you active mentally?’ ‘Like what? Knitting?’ ‘If you want that?’ ‘You know what? Maybe not the worst idea. I’ll see if I can find anything and when I have I will-‘

Nines never got to find out what Gavin would do afterwards, as his colleagues called him, pointing at the growing queue. The human sighed. ‘Well, my call to duty’, he announced and walked over to press a quick kiss to the android’s temple. ‘Was nice chatting with you, babe. Good luck with your case.’ ‘Yeah, you too.’

-

It was a slow Tuesday, without many costumers coming in. The rush of office workers in their break had already stormed the small shop and rushed back to their workplace and now it was mostly a few students and the regular old granny circle in the front judging people and eating cake. Living the life. Gavin had already washed the entire stack of mugs twice now and was out of work, except for manipulating the radio until his co-workers began to wonder why the last song had been so long and found him messing with the system. Then he walked around, collecting discarded newspapers and cleaning the tables while his co-worker told him she would be out for a cigarette. He nodded and continued working until a sole costumer entered. Gavin quickly rubbed the table dry and hurried over, throwing the man an extra smile just in case he wanted to complain about having to wait a few seconds. ‘What can I do for you?’ ‘I’d like a coffee, please. Medium, to go with cream but no sugar.’ ‘Coming right up.’ Gavin was already going through the motions of preparing the coffee and turned around to hand it over. ‘Anything else…’ He trailed off, as he saw the man’s face, but he seemingly hadn’t noticed his slip. ‘No, thank you, that would be all.’

Gavin watched him leave again and was trying to decide what to do next. He couldn’t just leave; he was at work after all. But he couldn’t do nothing either. Frantically he looked through the shop and, in the end, shook his head, rushing past the counter. Outside his co-worker stopped him. ‘Gavin? What are you doing?’ Gavin blinked, but came up with an excuse fast enough: ‘Dude forgot his wallet. Can you take over for a moment? Sorry!’ ‘Sure, no problem. Just hurry, he’s already behind the corner.’

Gavin did hurry. But not to run after the man, but to pull out his phone. ‘Nines? Yes, hi babe I know you are at work, shut up, this is work. Li-Listen, yes. Shut up for just a second! I’m pursuing your office killer. Ye-Yes, exactly, the beach holiday photo model with the ugliest dog I’ve seen in my life. Now will you phcking get your ass here? I will pursue him you can track my phone. Wh- come on, it can’t be that dangerous, I’m still well trained now stop worrying and move your ass!’

He had become louder than he wanted and had caused the man he wanted to follow inconspicuously to turn around. He wasn’t really unsuspicious though, dressed in the silly coffee-shop apron and shouting at someone on the phone. Trying to play it down, Gavin instead tried the open approach: ‘Hey, you forgot your wallet!’ It only caused the man to bolt. So much for being a friendly, costumer-orientated employee. Gavin pushed it all to hell, lifting up his apron and running after the man. So, he did had dirt on him. Gavin followed him down the street and used a streetlight to take the corner with more speed. A mistake he later would regret as he ran face first into a fist that definitely wasn’t human. Seeing stars, he looked up from where he had fallen against the building. The chubby man was surprisingly agile and fast, unfitting to his overall completely average looks. And Gavin saw why: The skin where the man had punched him had retracted to show stern white underneath. The man was an android? Where the hell did he get all these modifications from? Cyberlife had designed all androids to be phcking inhuman models. But maybe that had been the plan. Being as inconspicuous as possible. Remembering the brief flashes of crime-scenes that made him pale. Oh no.

‘How the hell did some barista recognise me, huh?’, the android asked, holding Gavin by the throat, his toes barely touching the ground. ‘You are all over the news!’, Gavin tried. ‘I’m not. None of my doings have even been published yet.’ ‘Well, I was a cop once.’ ‘Were you? Well, who is your contact then? If you were a cop once.’ Gavin really hoped someone would turn the corner and see this to help him. Because the way the android’s hand clenched around his throat, lack of oxygen could soon be his least concern. ‘My boyfriend, okay? But I will never tell you his name!’ ‘Your boyfriend? Alright, thank you. After I killed you, I will go to him next. See if I can’t keep this information from spreading.

The pressure on his throat became almost unbearable, as Gavin saw a flash of white behind the man. ‘I highly doubt that’, Nines voice sounded through the alley and Gavin could see the gun aimed at his head. ‘Now let him down and go.’ The android in front of Gavin cursed, but complied. ‘You are arrested for the suspected murder of three people, as well as the attempted murder of this man. Turn around, hands behind your back.’ Nines handcuffed him, reading him his rights before making the call to the station to send a car.

‘Gavin, that was extremely reckless of you.’ ‘Hey, I got your killer, right?’, Gavin croaked with a cocky grin while rubbing his throat. ‘I solved a case you would have waited weeks on before even getting close to the guy.’ ‘Oh, please, I’m the most advanced android there is. I would have gotten him.’ ‘Yeah, but it was the ex-detective they threw out to replace with you that caught him in the end.  Please, rub that into Fowler’s face for me, would you?’ ‘I most certainly won’t’, Nines stated. ‘I will emphasize your involvement in this case though, what at least should keep your employer off your ass.’ ‘Oh, what would I do without you?’ The android in Nines grip struggled against him, causing Nines to return his attention to him. ‘Urgh, get a room, you two!’ ‘Excellent idea actually. Gavin, how about after our shifts ended, we meet at my place? You know? To celebrate.’ ‘Oh, I’d love to’, Gavin grinned and winked the RK900.

The captive criminal got a glimpse of the gesture and regretted it deeply. ‘Oh, please, just kill me, would you?’

[wickedmilo]

DO BETTER | MILO & VIC

PLACE: A bar TIMING: A couple of weeks before ‘Sweet Summer Child’ SUMMARY: Milo confronts a familiar face, and Vic is forced to reconsider her values WRITING PARTNER: @natusvincere CONTENT WARNINGS: Drug abuse, alcohol, mentions of drug manipulation

Milo was having a good night. The club he was in had a respectable reputation compared to the ones he was more liable to frequent, and he was enjoying the unexpected change of pace. The atmosphere was more controlled somehow, far less chaotic than a room filled with unpredictable people using unpredictable substances. He had even enjoyed a handful of cocktails which was very much not his speed, and now, relatively buzzed, was flitting about the establishment, making friends where he could, talking people into buying rounds when they began to enjoy his company. It was a routine that worked seemingly regardless of where he was, he only wished people counted utilising his charisma as a genuine skill. As far as he was concerned, it was the only thing he was good at. Leaning back against the bar, carefully scanning the vicinity for anybody he had yet to talk to, it didn’t take him long to spot a woman sitting alone at a table beside a window. He watched her for a few minutes, intrigued by her apparent misery. It wouldn’t take a genius to read her body language and realise she was brooding, hugging a drink, lost in thought, and all but dead to the world. He considered approaching her, maybe offering her some company, but then she turned her head, and the floor seemed to fall out from underneath him.  

He gripped at the counter, his knuckles turning white as he was thrust back into memories that made his chest tight with anxiety. Waking up alone, and undead, was unlike anything else he had been through. Even now he couldn’t find a way to handle the fear, and confusion that had accompanied his first day as a vampire. Which was why it was so difficult to stay focused, to stay in the present. He could see her in the alleyway at night, remember her face as she had pulled his victim out from under him. She had thrown down the body, berated him for being obvious. And when it became clear he didn’t know what was happening, this woman, the woman only a few yards away from him, had told him what he was. Maybe he should be grateful, although she had done nothing to ease his confusion, she had given him an explanation, attempted to save the person he had inevitably murdered. But she had been apathetic, and cold. Something that was equally as difficult for him to forget. Yes, this woman had offered him help, the absolute bare minimum, but she had also left him alone to watch somebody die. To watch somebody take their final breath knowing he was responsible. He had woken up to a world he wasn’t familiar with, one he hadn’t even known was anything more than fiction, and his lifeline had offered him next to nothing. 

Blinking tears from his eyes, willing himself to stay grounded, the alcohol in his system helped as he pulled himself back, as he attempted to ignore the almost painful storm of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. He didn’t know what to do. He should leave, maybe he should leave. Did he really want anything to do with her? But a small part of him was curious. She might know about the vampire who had taken his life, she might be able to give him a name, or a description, and shit, he was desperate. Not only that, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, she had helped him. For better or for worse, she had thrown him a few crumbs when he needed them most. There had to be some good in her. Pushing away from the bar, ignoring his shaking hands, he crossed the space between them with the air of somebody about to conduct an interview. His head was spinning, but he fought to feign some composure. “Remember me?”  

Vic’s walk with Morgan had left a pit of self loathing in her stomach, and she’d been frequenting bars a lot more than normal ever since the endeavor.  Drinking, an activity she barely ever had the chance to enjoy before, numbed the pain in a sickeningly sweet way.  You could still remember what happened, you still knew you were a shitty person, but at least it didn’t feel like your insides were being ripped out because of it.  She counted the grains of salt she’d poured out at her table, moving them back and forth methodically.  Remember me?  The voice shouldn’t have been talking to her, but still, she looked up. 

She recognized him the moment she laid eyes on him, but the alcohol dulled the emotions that tried to sweep in.  Still, she remembered the event clear as day, especially since it was a night she looked back on often.  She was walking home after a shift at the silver bullet, only to be distracted by the sounds of someone being attacked in an alleyway.  And, much to her chagrin, the smell of blood.  Her stomach turned at the sight of what she saw when she arrived, and she practically threw the vampire off his victim.  He seemed confused, and she’d assumed, at first, that he was drunk- a viable explanation for his sloppiness.  When she was sure no one was around, she somehow convinced the man to stick around, assuring him that she’d help him home when really, she had already pinged their location to a hunter.  This should have been a simple payday for her, in all honesty.  But it wasn’t long before she realized the man’s confusion wasn’t due to drunkenness, but naivety, and for the first time in a while, she faltered.  It seemed someone had turned this man and then left him to his own devices, and now he was roaming the streets of White Crest even more dangerous than others of his kind. Their kind.  Somewhere in her explanation to him, a sense of empathy wiggled it’s way into her heart.  She knew what it was like to have your world ripped out from under you, how confusing and devastating it was to suddenly desire the blood that her new brain forced her to lust after.  And while she didn’t understand why, she sent another short text to the hunter before it was too late.  ‘False Alarm’. 

He would still be on his own, but at least now he knew what he was- if he developed the morality to avoid human blood, or even better, the wherewithal to leave town, then she mused she could avoid seeing him and facing the consequences of letting him go forever.  If not, a hunter was always a text away.  Devastatingly, his victim was too far gone to help.  Maybe it could serve as a lesson to him.  They were monsters, and the proof was right there in front of him.  “Learn to control yourself so you don’t do this again”, had been all she offered before she left.   

He should have left town.  Or left well enough alone.  But here he was again, approaching her as if they were old friends.  Despite the alcohol, guilt gnawed at her stomach when she thought about how many people might have already died as a result of her letting him go.  She needed to alert a hunter about him immediately, and fix her old mistakes.  More guilt came when she thought about the implications from Morgan, and the idea of innocent vampires and how many she might have hurt. “Can’t say that I do”, she said, offering him a false smile and a head tilt.  “But then, I don’t typically remember old fucks.  Remind me- did you live in the outskirts? Or was it closer to the common?”  Better get a location on him now, rather than have to search for it later.  This could be one and done, if she played her cards right. 

Ignoring the urge to join the woman in counting the salt grains on the table, Milo forced himself to hold her gaze. Of all the vampire related changes in his life, the desire to count had to be the most ridiculous. At first he had assumed Harsh was joking. That was until his roommate poured out a handful of rice and told him to look at it carefully. Alone in Harsh’s kitchen it hardly mattered, but he wasn’t about to let something as mundane as mathematics distract him now. So he laughed sharply, unable to quite process his company’s words. Did she honestly think he was a one night stand? Did she really have no recollection of finding him bloody, and terrified, curled up in an alleyway? She had to be lying, he needed her to be lying. The alternative was far too hurtful.  

If she didn’t remember him then his pain was insignificant. The one person who bore witness to his stress, and his trauma, didn’t care enough to recollect it. “Yeah, that really isn’t how we know each other.” He muttered, unable to hold back. He felt too on edge, too uncomfortable to lean into a casual demeanour. Not to mention the thought of him taking a woman home was literally laughable. “You can’t be serious.” He eyed her for any hint she might not be telling him the truth, watching her in the hope of her body language or her facial expressions giving her away. “You know me. You have to know me.”  

Vic went on pretending that she didn’t remember the man, and as a result, didn’t care about his presence next to her anymore than she would any other asshole in the bar trying to hit on her.  Her finger rested gently on a single grain of salt, and she spun it around nonchalantly.  Internally, a million thoughts were racing through her mind. She really knew 

nothing about him other than that first night when he was nothing more than a monstrous infant.  Perhaps a one and done would be wreckless- how could she take him down if she didn’t know the way to go about it?  And then there was the issue of her conversation with Morgan, and the idea that what she did was no better than the vampires themselves- it was a ridiculous thought.  As if there were innocent, peaceful vampires.  But still, the words were there, growing and eating at her almost every second her mind was active.  On top of all of that- there were plenty of reasons to feel guilty about the way she left him that night- for one, the amount of damage he must have done as an unsired vampire could have been insurmountable, and Vic herself was to blame for letting him live. But the next reason was much deeper, and one she shut away whenever it crept into her heart- what type of person was she to leave him alone to deal with it all on his own? Scared and confused and alone.  She hated her sire, but what would have become of her without the training she’d received from her?  What type of person would she have been if she helped a vampire? 

She rolled her eyes, finally looking into his eyes reluctantly.  “Oh, right”, she said, blank faced and monotone.  She didn’t have the mental energy to put on the charm she usually did when gathering information about suspected vampires, especially not three drinks in.  “The guy from the alley?  I guess I didn’t recognize you without all the carnage.”  She blinked, shaking her head.  This was not the way to go about this, not if she wanted more information about him.  She sat up a bit straighter, clearing her throat.  “Why don’t you sit down-...I’d love to catch up.  I don’t think I even caught your name that night.” 

Not expecting the eye contact after his company had spent so long attempting to avoid it, Milo felt himself shrink under the woman’s gaze. His anger, and frustration at her supposedly being unable to remember him was quickly replaced by anxiety, and fear. She was a vampire. Not the one responsible for killing him, but a vampire all the same. For all he knew she was dangerous, and that terrified him. He was reminded of why he had been so nervous to approach her, but then she spoke again, deciding to admit she knew exactly who he was, and exactly how they had crossed paths with each other. Setting his jaw at the mention of carnage, it was becoming easier and easier to force down his guilt. He wasn’t the person to blame for what had taken place. His sire had turned him, left him alone. The blood wasn’t on his hands. He had been, and still was, the victim. If he kept reminding himself of that fact, maybe one day he might just believe it.  

“You- you want to catch up?” The words seemed to echo in his ears, they were ridiculous given the situation. Why was she talking to him like an old friend? Why was she talking to him like this wasn’t serious? Like if his heart was still beating it wouldn’t be pounding uncomfortably in his chest? “We wouldn’t need to catch up if you hadn’t left me.” He said, surprising himself with his bravery. Every instinct in him was telling him to keep his mouth shut, to be well behaved, and amicable. But he was being honest, she had to know it was the truth. He didn’t know her, he had no way of knowing why she hadn’t decided to stick around, and maybe a part of him understood he hadn’t been her responsibility. She had pulled him away from the person unlucky enough to approach him, he supposed in a vain attempt to save their life, and she had told him he was a vampire. Without that knowledge to process, without that information to contextualise his new life, how many more people might he have hurt? How was it possible she had done so little for him, and so much at the very same time? He carefully pulled out the stool opposite her, as though if he moved too quickly she might pounce on him, and hesitantly climbed up onto it. He felt far more awkward sitting down than he had standing up. “Kind of hard to catch somebody’s name when you’re busy telling them to do better.”  

Vic took a sip of her drink, never quite letting her eyes leave the vampire.  He had a lot of nerve, sitting here with an accusatory tone after she’d let him live.  She could have had a hunter there in mere moments, and the world would have been that much safer for it, too.  “What, did you want me to invite you over for tea?”, she asked, her voice biting and sarcastic.  It was a ridiculous thought.  She had done plenty, but it was typical of a vampire to not understand simple humanity and integrity.  She raised her eyebrows, daring him to challenge her.  She suppressed an eye roll as he awkwardly sat down, almost as if he suspected her to attack him.  As much as she would enjoy that, she would never- especially not in such a public venue.  Leave it to the hunters to deal with the likes of him.  “Well, I couldn’t exactly let you continue with that reckless behaviour, could I?” Her voice was nearly full charm at this point, and she was too distracted by alcohol and anger to notice how jarring the constant switch in her tone must have been.  “And here I thought you’d have been appreciative, friend.  Maybe you’re clouding what happened, in your mind.  You did seem distracted that night, after all.”  Vic shot the man a smirk, and then presented her hand for him to shake. “I’m Vic… Are you going to tell me your name?  Or am I going to have to guess?” 

Milo stayed quiet, not having an answer to the woman’s sarcastic, and obviously rhetorical question. As much as he wanted to bite back, he physically couldn’t, the words seemed to die in his throat. “It wasn’t reckless.” He countered finally, annoyed by the implication. “Reckless makes it sound like it was a choice. Somebody turned me against my will and left me to wake up alone.” Glaring at her, the sweet charismatic tone she had adopted only served to make him feel patronised, and small, but it took a surprisingly short amount of time for his demeanour to soften. She was almost right. To a degree he was grateful for the help she had offered him. “I’m not clouding anything. I know what happened.” He kept his voice firm, leaving no room for her to argue, or manipulate him into doubting himself. But his anger was gone. Suppressed, and carefully pushed to the back of his mind.  

“Anybody would be distracted.” He added, pointedly glancing down at her outstretched hand before ignoring it entirely. “My name is Milo.” He swallowed his emotion, knowing if he wasn’t careful he might burn this particular bridge. It clearly wasn’t very strong, but the woman sitting opposite him was a link to the person who had taken his life. She either knew his attacker, or she didn’t, so preserving their connection was important. Right now, given their current dynamic, he doubted she would be willing to divulge the information. Maybe one day that might change. “Look…” He shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I had no fucking idea- about any of it. I was scared, and alone, and feeling so many things I had no way of explaining. You could have done more, obviously. But you didn’t have to stop… I get that. So… do you want to start this again? I don’t be a dick to you, and you don’t be a dick to me?” 

“But it was a choice for me to help you”, Vic bit back, losing her decorum for only a moment before she forced herself to maintain her more relaxed tone.  She didn’t know why she felt so defensive, but it made her anger fiery and flammable in an outward way that she wasn’t used to.  She’d been struggling to hold her anger in a lot more than she liked, recently. 

Her gaze followed his to her hand, pulling it back slowly when he refused to take it.  “Milo”.  Milo, White Male. Under 6 feet tall.  Not too chicken shit to approach someone in a bar. “Not a name you hear often- is it short for something?”  She licked her lips as he continued, hating how much she related to those feelings of isolation and confusion.  She wanted to tell him those feelings didn’t cease to exist just because you happened to catch a sire who wanted to parade you around like a prize instead of leaving you for dead. She wanted to tell him that knowing what kind of monster you were turned into from the start didn’t clear the clouds of self hatred that inched their way into your mind.  She could have done less, too, but she stopped herself from saying as much.   

Milo’s offer of civility was rather unexpected to Vic, and she felt herself sitting up straighter, analyzing his face for any sense of deception.  “While I can’t control your perception of what constitutes a di-... one of those, I would love to start over, Milo.”  What better way to learn more information about him, right?  The quicker she knew, the easier it’d be to get a hunter on his trail.  Morgan’s optimism about vampire’s civility be damned.  

Milo let out a huff of breath, begrudgingly accepting defeat. Honestly, he was so relieved his company wasn’t being overly aggressive, or unpredictable, that his anxiety was rapidly draining away. Leaving him feeling tired, and irritable, but also maybe offering him a new perspective. Without anger clouding his judgement, without having the energy to pay attention to the emotion threatening to overwhelm him, the woman sitting opposite him became… just a woman. Somebody who had done what she could in the moment to help him, who was likely also battling her own demons. Shooting Vic a quizzical look when she began to question him on his name, he couldn’t imagine why the information was important but he shook his head. “Nope… it’s Milo for Milo. No middle name either, I guess my parents were hoping for a boring child.” They definitely didn’t get one, he thought to himself. 

Watching Vic, an unexpected smile tugging at his lips as he realised she was carefully avoiding his choice of word, he was surprised when she accepted the suggestion. Their history was incredibly brief, but complicated, and undeniably tense. Maybe a fresh start would help him to understand her motivations, as well as bring him closer to the identity of his killer. And if not… maybe he would have another vampire in his life. Somebody like him. Somebody who could relate to what he was going through. “You don’t swear?” He asked, his eyes shining. “Or is this some kind of etiquette thing? Are you going to tell me you were an upper class 19th century Lady who still doesn’t put her elbows on the table, or like… ever show her ankles?”  

“Milo for Milo, just like Vic for Vic”, Vic responded, her mouth twitching at the lie. “Nothing wrong with being boring”, she noted, sharing her genuine feelings.  “Sometimes boring is safe- physically and emotionally.”  She suppressed an eye roll at his smirk, sitting back in her chair defensively.  “I swear plenty.  Just not about such… uncouth things.”  But then, at his assumption about her origin, a small smirk grew on her own lips, surprising herself by how amused she was with just how close he was, except for the century.  “Well I’m not an animal”, she responded.  So often her pristine posture had been met with strange eyes, especially as more and more time went by, but she would not stoop herself so low as to be like the ‘youth of today’ who chewed with their mouths open and leaned over tables like dogs. 

Though she never directly confirmed or denied his assumption, she pressed on. “That’s enough about me, though. I’d much rather learn about you… are you still in contact with your family now that things are different?  Were you close to them before?”  What she was really asking was, is there anyone that would miss you, or enact revenge when you eventually went missing? Some sort of pit grew in her stomach suddenly at the thought though, making the walls feel like they were closing in.  Milo hadn’t done anything wrong- he had been turned against his will like she was and then left alone.  Was his trying to learn about her a testament to his humanity?  Her next sentence came out much shakier than the last few had.  “Have you always lived around White Crest?” 

Milo raised his eyebrows at Vic, making it clear he didn’t believe her. But he chose not to pursue the topic, it didn’t exactly feel fair when she was under no obligation to talk to him. The last thing he wanted to do was push her away. “No shit boring is safe.” He agreed offering her a half-hearted shrug. If he had grown up to be the boring son his parents were hoping for, things would have turned out very differently. For him, as well as for them. A laugh escaping him when his company decided to insist she did swear on occasion, it didn’t take away from how amusing he found her hesitation. “Uncouth?” He grinned, unable to help himself. He almost hated the fact that he was beginning to enjoy her company. “A lot of things are uncouth, it doesn’t make them bad.” If her choice of language hadn’t been enough to give her away, her reaction to his teasing made him confident his assumption had been correct. “I didn’t say you were.” He countered, trying not to dwell on the things Dani had said to him implying all vampires were animals. Less than human, abominations. Surely this woman’s dedication to etiquette was proof of just how wrong Dani was.  

His smile faltering suddenly, he pulled himself out of his thoughts only to be hit by questions he really, really didn’t want to answer. A few beats of silence passed before he was able to find his voice, the motivation to respond to such a barrage. “Why?” He demanded, an edge to his tone as he fought the urge to storm away. What right did she have to ask something so personal? Something so painful? Especially when he wasn’t prepared to face the emotion that followed the subject being raised. “I- it doesn’t matter.” He bit out, knowing his words were incredibly vague. In fact, they probably only made it easier for Vic to continue on her chosen path. He needed to say something final, something that closed this particular line of communication. “I didn’t come here to talk about my family.” That had to be enough, right? He needed that to be enough. “Born, raised, and died.” He added, hoping to distract her. “I’m guessing you aren’t from around here?”  

“Some things should just not be spoken about in public”, Vic chided, further explaining her aversion to the word she’d refused to use earlier.  “Not that they’re bad, they’re just… rude”.  It wasn’t the right word to describe it, but it was the only one she could think of, so it was what she settled on.  No, he didn’t say she was an animal, but she still wasn’t sure if the same was true for him.  Varying opinions danced in her mind, and inwardly, all she wanted to do was to scold Morgan.  If the woman hadn’t been so persistent lately, Vic wouldn’t have to question her morals so often now- it was so much easier to get her job done before.   

At the break in his otherwise seemingly calm demeanor, Vic’s eyebrows raised, watching him with equal parts curiosity and expectancy.  This sharp edge- this is what she expected from vampires.  As brief as his flash of anger was, it was entirely interesting, and something she wanted to explore even more. In the very least, she now knew he had ties here- a whole lifetime of them.  His words held an air of finality that she couldn’t press on if she wanted to get on his good side.  Instead, she let the beats of silence continue between them, revelling in the discomfort they brought as she looked over him, judging.  Despite her better judgement, she couldn’t resist commenting.  “I’ve never met someone who tries to hide things that don’t matter”, she said matter of factly, her mouth growing into a small, playful grin.   She was both amused and intrigued, but she’d leave it there, at least for now.  He seemed intent on turning the conversation back to her, something that made her considerably uncomfortable when she was chatting with other vampires. “What gave it away?” she wondered.  Not even 400 some odd years of traversing around the world could erase her accent completely, although most people tended to assume she was British, not Swedish.  “I’ve lived in White Crest for about ten years, albeit as somewhat of a recluse”, she said honestly, possibly explaining why they had never met in such a small town.   

“Well, that’s no fun.” Milo pouted, trying to imagine censoring himself, especially when he had been drinking. He couldn’t see very much to gain, but he also hadn’t lived Vic’s experiences. If it really was an important part of her past then of course she was going to hold onto that. It wasn’t his place to tell her she shouldn’t. “Okay, okay,” he raised his hands in surrender, realising the anxiety and fear that had plagued him were actually beginning to fade away. “I’ll stop being rude.” He half teased, despite intending to make good on his promise. Settling into the silence as his company seemed to observe him from where she was sitting, he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, but no longer worried. She didn’t seem like a threat, not right in this moment, at least. And he couldn’t help but wonder whether she hadn’t helped him for personal reasons, valid reasons she couldn’t bring herself to explain. For a long time he had seen her as callous, and cold. Somebody who had given him the bare minimum without any sign of empathy or consideration. Had he been wrong?  

A frown creasing his brow, his body tensed at her comment, and he tried to remind himself he wasn’t in danger. She was getting to know him, and she was being smart about it. That was all. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was trying to imply, but he felt exposed, and vulnerable under her statement. He didn’t know how to combat the way she danced around his own statement. The one that was supposed to signal the end of the discussion. “I’m not hiding anything.” He said, his voice firm as he tried not to look as small as he felt. “Do you think I’m hiding something?” If he used her own questions against her, feigned a certain level of confidence, then maybe she would stop asking them. A smile tugging at his lips as she spoke again, he was grateful for the chance to move on. “I’ve never heard an accent like yours.” He admitted. He couldn’t place it even if he wanted to, and it made him curious to know where she had been born. Where she had been raised. “You’ve been here for ten years?” He asked, searching her expression, genuinely curious. “Why stay for so long?” 

Vic, feeling done with this particular conversation, took a swig of her drink, hoping it signified the end of it.  Thankfully, he seemed to concede, but she let out a small huff of annoyance despite herself.  The silence that surrounded them now made her uncomfortable.  It was too much of an opportunity for her mind to continue to swell with anxiety and guilt, and she shifted in her seat.  “Do you come here often?”, she asked, hoping to break the silence. 

Again, Milo’s response and body language sparked interest, and she tilted her head at his inquiry.  “I think you’re working very hard to make me think you’re not hiding something”, she said, an amused smirk still playing comfortably on her lips. She was willing to drop this, at least for now, but she was incredibly intrigued at whatever Milo was keeping locked away.  “Swedish”, she admitted honestly.  For some reason, she didn’t have as much anxiety telling him as she thought she would.  Either he was a monster like she thought and he’d die soon anyway, or he was harmless like Morgan implied, and her birthplace would serve no use to him.  “But that was a long time ago.”    If she were to answer his next question honestly, she would tell him that the intel had been so good here that she never had to leave. “Why leave so soon?”, she asked to counter him.  “This life is a long one.  Especially with our...affliction.  Ten years is nothing, not in the scheme of things.” 

Milo laughed, surprised by the question after a few beats of silence passed between them. It wasn’t a laugh reserved for his friends, but it was comfortable, and it came easy to him. “I go everywhere often.” He admitted. “I can’t remember the last time I ended the night sober.” Was that true? He realised the moment the words left his mouth that he was being entirely honest. For a brief moment he saw himself from the outside, the friend everybody watched, and worried about, but it didn’t take long to brush away his concern. He was fine. It would only be a problem if he felt like he couldn’t end the night sober, right? And at this moment in time not being sober was a choice. He was definitely choosing this life. His expression hardening as Vic tilted her head, everything about the way she was looking at him felt smug. She was either reading him like an open book, or she wanted him to believe she was capable of doing so. He couldn’t figure out which.  

“Forgive me for being wary of strangers, this town kind of taught me that when it tore out my fucking throat.” He muttered. He didn’t enjoy the idea of her prying, and trying to gain information on him that he just wasn’t willing to give. Especially when he still didn’t know her. “You don’t consider yourself Swedish anymore?” He asked, distracted by her answer to his question. Did you grow out of a nationality? If you spent enough time in one country did that really mean you were willing to let another country go? “I…” He trailed off, trying to imagine ten years in the context of a person who had hundreds of years at their disposal. He was one of those people, but at the age of twenty two it was so difficult to shift his perspective. He supposed that would happen as time passed, as the people around him began to age, and die. He swallowed his emotion, annoyed for allowing his thoughts to wander. One of the only things he pointedly avoided thinking about was his new, and elongated lifespan. It was too overwhelming. Too terrifying to truly dissect. “I guess I hadn’t thought of it like that…” He admitted. “Still… it isn’t the most exciting place. Sometimes it feels like the only thing to do here is run from supernatural creatures.”  

Vic hadn’t been ending many of her nights sober lately either.  She felt like a child, in a way.  Like the teenagers she read about in books who were too wrapped up in their feelings and hormones to care about what the rest of the world thought of them.  It was easy to understand where Milo was coming from with wanting to keep hidden.  She herself had only just started to let herself come out of the woodwork by allowing a genuine connection to be formed with Morgan, and it was pretty clearly a mistake by how that was turning out.  The worst parts of her thought that all that friendship brought were moral questions and heartache.  And it wasn’t often that the best parts of her shone through.  “I didn’t say that.  Just that I lived there a long time ago. I doubt I’d recognize the town I’m from if I were to venture back. Can you consider yourself a part of a place you no longer have any connection to?”  She never intended to be genuine with Milo, but something about his gratitude and the way she kept finding herself relating to him was starting to break her down.  She thought, momentarily, that this is the exact effect she always hoped to have on the people she was manipulating.  It was jarring.  For as much as she was attempting to appear equal parts charming and intimidating, there wasn’t much left inside besides vulnerability and a wish to connect to anyone on a humanistic level.  It must have been desperation, she assured herself, that this feeling was rearing its ugly head with the type of person who mauled strangers on the side of the road.  His comment made her smirk, though, and effectively shook her out of her thoughts.  “Do you not find running from supernatural creatures exciting, Milo?” 

“You implied.” Milo insisted. He tried to imagine White Crest in a few hundred years, what it might look like if he ever returned to it. Or maybe he would never leave, the idea was both comforting, and genuinely terrifying. Did he really want a permanent connection to the town that had taken his life? Then again, did he really want to navigate a world he wasn’t familiar with? White Crest could regrettably be a comfort. He wasn’t ready to let it go. “I don’t know…” He admitted in response to Vic’s question, offering her a shrug. “Maybe? I guess it depends on you…” It wasn’t the most decisive of answers, but if there was one thing he had learned through Harsh, Eilidh, and James, it was that every single person had an entirely different perspective. Different views on death, and murder, and the supernatural world, there really was no black and white. It was never going to be that simple.  

Shooting Vic a look of disbelief when she decided to smirk at the mention of White Crest’s many dangers, it was all he could do not to scoff. How could anybody possibly find it exciting? He couldn’t seem to walk home anymore without running into a werewolf, or crossing paths with the occasional mime. “No.” He deadpanned. “Obviously not.” When he had been human, indulging in alcohol, and substances came with very clear, and predetermined risks. He knew what might happen, understood the danger he was flirting with. Now that he saw White Crest for what it was, that level of inebriation came with a myriad of risks he couldn’t possibly be aware of. And how did you prepare for that? How were you supposed to feel comfortable with that? Every single time he left the house he was rolling the dice. And even though he was getting used to the feeling, it didn’t mean he enjoyed any part of it. “Do you?” 

Vic’s eyebrows raised once more, noting, with some unexpected pride, Milo’s raise in confidence from when they first started talking.  “You presumed implication”, she responded, surprised by how much she was growing to enjoy the back and forth of their conversation.  While he once seemed like an overzealous coward, something about his demeanor was growing on her, disturbingly so. Where at first she was desperate to sic a hunter on him, there was now a hesitation in the way her fingers danced through her contacts during the moments when her attention landed on her phone.  She told herself she should wait on it- study him more to really see if he was dangerous.  That was the only reason she was sparing him, right?   “I think one day you’ll see that too many years away from a place, even one you once called home, can make it feel cold and strange.  Home becomes a strange concept, in that way.  Some people claim home is with the ones you love or with the ones that love you, but what if there is no one that fills that quota?”  Though she held eye contact with Milo, her eyes had gotten distant for a moment, lost in the strangeness that the world had become for her.  It took a table near them being cleaned up by the barback to shake her out of her thoughts, and only then did her eyes seem to snap back to Milo’s. 

“Have you always known about the dangers here?”, she wondered.  It was an interesting phenomenon, even back when she was a child, that people could so easily deny the existence of creatures who lived among them.  Was it easier for them than facing the truth of the matter?  “I find it inconvenient, if I’m being totally honest.  On a good day, it’s something to pass the time.  On a bad one, it’s a time waster.  It’s incredibly frustrating to miss an appointment because a sentient tree decided to park itself on main street.”  She rolled her eyes at the thought, still relishing the job she lost because of the incident.  Another table was being cleaned beside them, and she let out a breath, noticing that they were just about the only two left in the bar.  “It seems we’ve cleaned the place out, Milo.”  She moved around the grains of salt on the table in front of them, effectively ruining her counting for good.

Narrowing his eyes, Milo couldn’t bring himself to argue. If he denied what Vic was saying, or tried to counter it, this particular disagreement might never end. There was no wrong answer because both of them were technically right. She had implied, but he had also presumed. “Home is where the heart is.” He surprised himself by echoing something he had heard his mother say many times over. He had never once in his life stopped to consider the meaning behind her words. Feeling a strange chill wash over him, he didn’t want to imagine White Crest without the people he loved in it. Without his parents, without his friends… without Rio. “I-” He broke off, unable to insist he would make new friends, and find new loved ones. That didn’t feel true, and the idea of replacing the people he cared about almost physically hurt him. “Anywhere can be home.” He said finally, opting to be vague, to avoid addressing what Vic was making very clear. One day he would be alone. One day he wouldn’t have anybody left. Watching Vic, observing the expression on her face that was remarkably open, all things considered, he felt a spark of sympathy accompany his fear. He could worry about it until it happened, but maybe for Vic she was already there. Who had she lost? Who did she miss?  

A bitter smile tugging at his lips, he shook his head at her question, grateful for the change in subject. “I like to think if I had then I wouldn’t be sitting here.” He admitted. “I guess weird stuff used to happen, now that I’m more aware of it there’s no fucking way it wasn’t happening when I was human. I was just… oblivious, I guess. When you aren’t looking for things, sometimes you just don’t see them.” It made for some pretty decent protection, until it didn’t. Until it got him killed. A laugh escaping him, he was shocked to realise they were actually in agreement. “Yeah, no shit, it’s inconvenient.” He couldn’t seem to leave the house without running into a supernatural creature. Sometimes they needed help, sometimes they were just… there, and sometimes they wanted to kill him. There was no way to predict how an interaction might end, and how were you supposed to plan around that? Sitting up a little straighter, turning to scan the rest of the bar, Vic was right, and the quiet seemed to suddenly press in on him. He had been so lost in thought, so focused on their conversation, that he really hadn’t noticed the absence of a crowd. A familiar sense of anxiety creeping up on him now that they were alone together, he pushed himself off of his stool. Staring at the grains of salt as Vic ran her fingers through them, now that he was standing he hurried to awkwardly brush himself down. “It seems we have…” He tried to sound casual, like he wasn’t nervous to be alone in her company, but no doubt she would realise what was happening. “I- I should probably go.”  

Vic didn’t easily back down from an argument.  She enjoyed arguing, in a way.  Perhaps because it provided some break up to an otherwise monotonous social life, or maybe it was just that having control over a situation with another person felt deliciously powerful.  It was only slightly disappointing that Milo eventually relented.  It was interesting to watch him process what she’d been forced to centuries ago- that life being ripped from you was only really a portion of the tragedies that came with being a blood sucker.  “Anywhere can be hell”, she countered, because it was important that he knew. 

“Fair enough” she responded, a small smirk growing to rest on her lips.  “I think most people are wilfully ignorant- yourself included, apparently.  It’s easier for them to ignore the truth because the alternative is too terrifying for most people to face.”  Still, it wasn’t her job to warn the average human about the dangers out there- just to protect them from the blood suckers when she could.  She had gone through a stint, early on after she’d killed her sire, where she tried desperately to warn humans of all the dangers they were missing- the ones that sat right in front of them, ready to attack.  It didn’t end well, and so she stopped trying rather abruptly.  She stayed in her chair, calm and cool as Milo anxiously stood up, fiddling side to side like a nervous teenager.  “You should”, she agreed, resting her chin on her hand.  “Stay out of trouble, Milo.” 

As she watched him scurry out of the bar, she genuinely hoped he would.  Because it became clear rather quickly that Morgan was right: getting to know people before turning them in definitely made sending them to their death a lot harder.

[tragicallywicked]

THE FIRST RAIN

[ CHAPTER EIGHT ]

Words: 29,726 Genre: Romance/Drama Rated: Mature Pairing: Alice + Jasper Summary: What happened to Alice and Jasper when their paths first crossed in that stormy night in Philadelphia? What were the trails they rode in two years before joining the Cullen clan? It all began on that first rainy day, she had been waiting for him long enough, and he was finding what he had been blindly searching for.

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The scent of moist grass bore the entire forest when the tempest inched down in the area their cabin was located; humming of birds an overpowering sound over the thin drops still falling from the trees. All was peaceful, so still and quiet after a storm. It was likewise the most vulnerable of times, for it was when predators struck.

Alice and Jasper, the deadliest two in those woods, sped through the trees side by side, tracking their prey. She located hers first, taking a turn Jasper wasn't anticipating. He understood she had to do her thing to quell the hunger hounding her ever since their conversation about the slip.

Jasper wasn't exactly hungry, but he followed Alice's advice and feeding anyway. Because he felt satiated—and on some level even stuffed with blood—he wasn't quartering all that effort. Jasper did snatch a bear that had been at clear range and fed from it until he couldn't anymore. Alice was a few meters from him, and he observed when she raced to another quarry, jumping a second creature.

He felt overwhelmed from the bear and sat to wait for his mate to finish up. While there, Jasper examined Alice in her element, ambushing the animal and snapping its head before she could feed from it. He considered how humane it was that she was killing it before feeding, so it wouldn't suffer. It made Jasper wonder if she had the same means when feeding from humans.

Alice would make an extraordinary hunter, in his opinion. For a vampire who had a forthcoming all on her own, misplaced in eternity, she grasped a lot. Had she been tutored, Alice would have made an impressive soldier as well—not that it was a fate Jasper coveted for her. Jasper desired to keep her away from any kind of confrontation.

Patrolling her so closely, that sweet angel she was, Jasper could understand all the appeal of spending immortality with that woman. Admittedly, he didn't quite see himself walking away from her—even in the brief time they had been together. But if there was something Jasper knew was that circumstances, and people, could change—particularly when one had eternity. He knew the emotions they shared were noble, serious, and real. Jasper had spent too long of a time in an uproar; he couldn't be positive of  what  that sublime sensation was. He'd been accustomed to different types of love; if this was it, there was still a lot to be determined about it. But then again, they had time—something humans lacked. 

When Alice joined him, Jasper beamed, extending a hand for her to follow him at the top of the rock, overseeing the forest. She rested beside him silently.

 "Only one bear?" Alice commented after a moment, noticing the animal not too far from them.

 "I'm still feeling quite full," he explained with a faint smile.

 "It's natural. When you begin feeling hungry again, we should positively hunt right away," Alice encouraged. The twist on Jasper's expression made her glare in more seriousness. "What is it?"

 He shook his head, deciding to trail it off, but her eyes were resolute. "I'm still adjusting to the  tang . It's nothing, honestly."

 "It's different, I know." Alice pulled her legs up toward her chest, resting her chin on her knees as she contemplated the sky.

 "Can I admit something?"

 She deduced his eyes had been on her as she signed after shifting to find his gaze. Although Jasper assumed she knew, it came as a shock to Alice when he spoke. "I don't particularly enjoy the diet."

 "Oh."

 "I thought you would know." Jasper abruptly stared, baffled.

 "Well, it's not so much of a decision but rather an inclination. I probably had no time to see if you only just decided to tell me," Alice explained, and he nodded, confirming her suspicion. "Why don't you like it?"

 Jasper immediately sensed the sign of disappointment that Alice was striving to conceal from him. As they spent time together, she had been reading more and more into his gifts. Being an empath, Jasper had learned feelings weren't set in stone—like Alice's visions, they could change and be changed. The culmination between him and Maria had explicitly been how great she became on manipulating him. The contrast was his previous partner never sought to hide things to  spare  him, which he could tell was what Alice was doing now.

 The idea of disappointing her troubled Jasper; he hesitated thinking about his response to that puzzle. "You have to admit it's distasteful, especially compared with what I've been used to."

 Alice nods, to that much she could recognize. It wasn't as lascivious as drinking from humans, but she preferred it over the baggage that came with slaughter.

 "And I did just feed from one or two," Jasper reminded.

 "I guess you're not wrong."

 "Yet, you're disappointed." Usually, he'd divert from the topic, but Jasper carried on. He cared about Alice; he desired things to strive between them. He had seen with eternity that it took effort for relationships to endure, not just physical attraction—to which they had in abundance.

 "I'm not."

 "Alice." He peered at her, brow raised and a delightful grin.

 "I know, I know. You feel  everything ." Her annoyed huffing told Jasper maybe Alice did want to escape the conversation, but he didn't cave. "I hoped this was more natural to you as it was for me. I'm not blaming you," she was quick to clarify, glancing up at him. "I don't relish on your suffering."

 "I'm not."

 Alice had difficulty hiding her shock.

 "It does pain me when it's occurring, afterward not so much. It's our primary drive we're fighting against here, after all," he reminded her. Alice felt genuinely bothered this time, he missed the moment it had flipped, but he sure caught the emotion later.

 Alice had to remind herself she was sentencing Jasper for a  future him  that she had seen, one that would not come to be if Alice kept ramming his boundaries. She knew the consequence of that; it wasn't a pleasant one. Her aid would be crucial to him and to them.

 With that in mind and the wave of reassurance charging toward her, Alice gave Jasper a brief nod.

 "I guess I pushed you too hard, too fast, I'm sorry," Alice said. He wasn't expecting an apology, so Jasper just signed. "Maybe we can come up with a different plan. If you still crave to feed from humans every other time, we could make the shift smoother."

 "Looking the other way would upset you." Jasper didn't question; he somehow knew that to be inevitable. "That is the last thing I want to do."

 "It wouldn't—Well, all right, maybe a little. But it would also help you, I can  see  it. And in the long run, that will be important," Alice explained as she sat up straight, hand stretching to hold his. "And that is  all  that I want, Jazz."

 She had seen him through so much twinge, an avalanche of torturous agony, now Alice wished that he could have a more peaceful existence. Preferably by her side.

 Back in the cabin, Alice busied with arranging the bedroom. She had seen the deliveries arrive in a few minutes, and having the area unblocked would have them out flying. It wasn't so much worry for Jasper being around them—as she planned to send him off when they arrived—Alice wanted to get this finished and fixed; their life ordered and following on track.

 Jasper sat nearby, reading a book about the first war, when her eyes shot up and halted. He faded off her sight, and all too fast, Alice saw big and bloody eyes. She wasn't positive who they belonged to, but they were liquid fresh, glistering with death. It uttered her panic immediately, agonized over what Jasper was bound to do.  Was she judging him, though?  Alive thought to herself, h ow  could she know it was him if all she'd seen were eyes, vivid and sharp red.

 Squinting back to her senses, she focused on Jasper, now standing in front of her. A guarding arm around her and the other squeezing her hand. She vaguely caught his voice in the background, as if it calling her from a distance and not right next to her ear.

 "What did you see?" he insisted. "Alice. What did you see?"

 Alice understood his distress was over her alarm when he sent a surge of serenity toward her.

 "It's nothing." Alice shook her head softly and fixed a smile over at Jasper, who frowned, unconvinced. "I'm not sure yet. It was a swift flash." That much was true. Alice had no notion what it implied or why it had shown up to her, but it did, and the concern was indisputable.

 "Why did it disturb you so much?"

 She lamented, inclining up to peck his lips. "Sometimes they simply do, don't agonize about it too much," Alice promises, and Jasper nods.

 Resuming her clean up, Alice ventured to occupy Jasper's attention with small chatting. She had great ideas for their bedroom. The larger frame arriving would eat up some of the space, but Alice still wished to make it homey.

 Jasper had joined in assisting her and proposed that they get rid of the nightstands—there wasn't really a point when they didn't truly sleep. He'd argued they could store the items there in the office next door, since he didn't actually have that many things to keep.

 "We'll get you books and memorabilia and trinkets," Alice said sweetly, skipping to meet him on the other side of the room; her arms enveloped around his neck; nose nuzzling his cheek when he hoisted her off the floor.

 "I don't need any of those." His tone was soft, planting a peck on her lips when he turned his face to her, praising the delicacy in her beauty. All he needed was there, his whole world.

 "Well, there must be  something  we can get you, Major Whitlock." She grinned, smoothing her lips to his again.

 "I did enjoy that game we played the other day."

 "Chess?" Alice raised a brow, but she wasn't really surprised. She'd had many visions of Jasper and their future brother Emmett, both men sitting across from each other in a light and open living room, an elaborate game of chess in front of them.

 "It's very strategic. I like the nature of it," Jasper explained and Alice nodded rapidly.

 "We could get a nice set, something that—" Alice couldn't finish her words as another strong vision clouded her senses.

  There were two bodies on the floor, looking lifeless, drained of all blood. The soft pink of the cheeks had disappeared to give place to a mauve, almost pale purple on their faces. The two men had their throats completely dilacerated, the only last specks that remained of blood smeared across their necks.

  A sloppy affair, the way their flesh had been pierced. Positively done by  someone  with greed and lack of control—almost as a feral newborn damage in their naive frenzy. It was gruesome; the desperation petrified in their eyes said too much of the pain they had endured.

  Alice felt hunger in her vision, of whoever had done it. The intensity of the emotion so palpable felt almost as if it was her own.

  Her eyes shifted from the bodies to the shadow standing out the light, but before she could discern the face of the predator, she was back to her senses.

 "Alice." Jasper was shaking her now—because he didn't think she could get more startled and pale, but it seemed the  nightmare  drained the rest of life off her. When he was so worried, it was arduous to stay focused and not wave all his concern, and she slumped in the feeling of his fear for a second, for she too was in thorough desperation.

 "What's happening, Alice?" He yanked back the worry to expand tranquillity, and Alice was finally able to breathe, staring at him with a frown.

 "I saw two men… Dead… Here." She was working to make up what had happened and  how  it occurred.

 Jasper was about to protest and hold her back in the present, but her eyes drifted off again in search of answers.

 "Tell me, what do you see?" He directed this time, an arm still clutching her steady, and his emotions still flooding sheer peace.

 Alice focused.

  The men were nothing but a pile of flesh now, on top of each other, tossed there already dead. A figure crawled in the corner, but it was too dark; she couldn't see their face. Instead, she searched the men, inspected their faces.

 "They're older…" She whispered quietly, eyes still on the sight.

 "Very well. Do we know them?"

 "I can't tell—"

  She couldn't see them too well, their frightened petrification and mutilation of the throats making them look disfigured, nearly unrecognizable. Alice inspected the wounds closely. They seemed different, like they had been done by various vampires—or at separate times.

 "The bites are different. One is bigger, sloppier," she told him.

 "What else is there?" Jasper continued to guide her through, his fingers smoothing down her spine as other relaxing strings caught her perfectly.

  Alice could sense the headache building, having to seek for the minor details in a vision that felt so terrifying. She stared closer at the bodies, trying to get any evidence of who they could be. Then a voice, in the vision, hindered her investigation.

  "We have to go, we must leave," a female voice called out.

  "We'll deal with this," the male voice sounded firm. When Alice peered around for the source, she saw it coming from outside. Like a voyer of the conversation, Alice approached the front door with care—as if the people in the vision could see her.

  There was a vase, one of her favorite, shattered near the door, and a pool of blood. She assumed the source of it all, working to resolve the puzzle.

  "Last time, nothing happened," the man said.

  "Not this time."

  "What have you seen, Alice?"

  She saw herself and Jasper outside, both with their backs to the door, where she watched the vision roll out.

  "Please trust me, we can't stay, Jazz. At least not for long."

  "We'll fix this. I'm sorry—"

  "Don't. It's all right."

 Alice allowed out a breath, looking at Jasper when the vision vanished, and she faded back.

 "I think you killed them," she said with a lump on her throat.

 Jasper drew back almost instantly, and she felt the pain dripping from him. Desperate to comfort him, Alice reached out for his hand, not allowing Jasper to get distant now. It hadn't happened, and she always believed things could be prevented—even when the vision looked so solid.

 "Jazz."

 "Perhaps I should go."

 "No!" Alice pleaded, tugging him toward her. He reacted to her need for his presence, steadily sinking into her pull with a nod. He wouldn't go; he wanted to stay  and not kill . "Maybe we can still change it."

 Jasper agreed, waiting for her frown to relax. Alice searched the visions again, looking back into the images that had shown up, for details she could have missed; his hands were on her again, soothing and protecting.

 "Tell me what you find," Jasper encouraged quietly into her ear.

  Jasper pulled back from her and nodded, briefly leaning in to peck her forehead.

  "I'll be out back," he proposed encouragingly. He would be far, but just enough so that he could calm her down still. Jasper was gone in seconds. Alice strolled to the door, opening to greet the two men with the brightest smile, feeling the waves Jasper was still conveying her way.

  "Good afternoon, Miss," one of the men, the one that had aided her at the store, greeted. He bowed softly, still clearly mesmerized by her appearances, like all people were. The other one, a taller guy with not much of a patience, smiled briefly but also did give Alice a second look.

  "Afternoon," Alice inclined her head briefly and made space for the frame.

  "Where should we put it?"

  The men eyed the narrow steps with painful gazes and Alice swung her head instantly. She wanted them out of there as fast as possible anyhow.

  "You may leave it here. My husband can get it upstairs later. We're still fixing some things there," Alice explained casually.

  They were quick to nod, and the taller one handed Alice a paper to sign. She scribbled far too quickly, not minding it too much. Alice turned around on her ankles after she was given a copy and the movement accidentally knocked down a vase. Typically she would have sped to save it, but in the humans' presence, she let the object drop to the floor and shred to pieces.

 She came back too quickly with a gasp and looked up at Jasper.

 "It's the delivery!"

 On queue, the doorbell rang on their house, and Alice watched, helplessly, the entire vision unfold in her mind just a millisecond before it all occurred.

  Everything happened extremely fast. The smaller guy reached for the vase pieces and so did Alice.

  "Oh please, don't worry about that." Alice dismissed, attempting to collect the remains on her own, but the man was persistent.

  "It's all right, Miss!"

  In a very brief second, he captured a crack with too much enthusiasm, unbeknownst to him that his excitement to help would be his downfall. The cut was deep enough to quickly pool blood on his hand; for Alice's eyes to grow black just as fast. The animal in her awoke and all the delicacy and the self-restraint in her wouldn't be enough to hold it back—like that time she had murdered her work friend or the time before where a late night walker didn't stand a chance.

  She wasn't Alice anymore. She was nothing but a vampire—eager for human blood—when she snapped the short man's neck, and her teeth carved his jugular. The warmth of the blood undertook her entire body, satisfying a thirst of  far too long . When her eyes opened up again, they darted up to the taller man, abruptly terrified by the turn of events. He would scream, but Jasper emerged in front of him before Alice could reach her next pray.

  The feral beast hissed at her mate.

  "I'll take him, the other is still alive and he'll turn if you don't finish him," Jasper said coldly, strategic. Only then Alice grew aware of the grunts of agony.

  She briefly saw Jasper snap the other man out before she returned to her victim.

  When there was no more life to down, Alice stood up, mouth dripping with blood and her eyes two piercing rubies.

[tardytothepardy]

My Review of "A Court of Silver Flames" (because it's too long for Goodreads)

~`,Spoiler-free summary/review idk,`~

In "A Court of Silver Flames", the story centers around two characters that were previously in the "A Court of Thorns and Roses" series, Cassian and Nesta. As far as I can tell, this story takes place about a year after "A Court of Frost and Starlight", where Nesta is in a bad mental state. To cope with the events in "A Court of War and Ruin", she has taken to excessive drinking and sleeping with random people. The members of the Inner Court allowed her to do this for a while, but as the book begins, it is made clear that they won't let her do that anymore. It is decided that she will be taken to the House of Wind, along with Cassian and Azriel, so she can be separated from everything and heal. The reasoning behind putting Nesta in the House of Wind is that the only ways anyone can easily go to or leave the house is by flying or winnowing, neither of which are things she can do. There is a set of 10,000 stairs that she can take, but seeing as they are 10,000 stairs, it's pretty difficult.

Throughout the story, Nesta is forced to come to terms with her difficult memories and her powers, which she has pushed away in an effort to retain as much of her prior humanity as she can. It is soon revealed that her powers are connected to three ancient magical items, collectively called the "Dread Trove", and Nesta is tasked to find as many as she can to keep Briallyn, one of the human queens, who has a similar connection to the items, from obtaining them and wielding powers that could completely destroy the world.

While all of this is going on, it is revealed that Feyre is pregnant. It isn't all happy news, however, because it seems that complications (of the deadly variety) have become known, and no one knows what to do to save her (let alone herself because she's not even aware of it hooray Rice Hand you're doing fabulously).

I think as a whole, one thing that this book struggled with is pacing. For the majority of the book, I didn't feel that the characters were actively trying to stop The Bad Guys, it almost felt that they took action every so often, as if they randomly remembered that these events are happening. Most of the book is focused on the development of the relationship between Cassian and Nesta, and everything else falls around that, which would be fine if the other events were of a smaller scale, like planning a party or something (idk lmao), rather than the fate of literally the <i>entire world</i>, both the Fae and human world. A lot of the things that happened in this book seemed like they were resolved within the last 50 pages of the book, one after another, it just felt odd.

(spoilers for the entire book below the "keep reading"!)

~`,Spoilers from here on out,`~

So like I said in the beginning, it starts with Nesta in her house. It's from Cassian's point of view, so I got to endure two things that really fucking irritated me: first was where she was living. It was a similar line of thought from the "ACOFAS" description, that Velaris doesn't have slums, but if it did have a slum, Nesta would be living in it. But it doesn't have slums, but this place is still icky. Cassian acknowledges that he's stayed in worse, but this place is still icky, yucky, blecky, and gross. Second thing that irritated me was when he first saw her. He describes her as having "long bare legs, an elegant sweep of hips, tapered waist--too damn thin--and full, inviting breasts that were at odds with the new, sharp angles of her body" (10). She was thin, very thin, but not her boobs. Nope, those badonks were still (somehow) plenty large. This might be the fault of me trying to understand Fae bodies by comparing them to human bodies, but I simply do not understand how that is supposed to work. Boobs are made of fats and tissues, if you're losing weight, you're gonna lose boob. Whatever.

Cassian proceeds to take Nesta to one of (apparently 5. Rice Hand and Feyre have five houses, why) Feyre's houses, where it is soon made clear that an intervention is being staged. This has to be one of the worse ones out there, because oh my fucking god everyone is so goddamn hostile towards Nesta. Amren and Nesta were previously friendly, then they had an unresolved (and unexplained) falling out, and now holy shit Amren is constantly baiting Nesta, making snide remarks. Rice Hand seems to be offended by Nesta simply because she doesn't like him or Feyre, like I don't get why he's so aggressive towards her (and that shit continues for the majority of the book it's so annoying), but somehow everyone there is surprised when Nesta is aggressive, that she throws insults, that she's rude.

Anyway, after Nesta is toted to the House, she instantly tries to find a way out, and that's when the 10,000 stairs come in. (Tangent, in the book it says that the stairs are about a foot tall each. 10,000, 1 foot tall stairs. That would mean the House of Wind is at least 10,000ft tall, but seeing as the House has multiple levels, it's even taller than that. This building is so goddamn tall, did Maas even think about that? It's nonsensical! Anyway) She tries to go down them, but she fails miserably. She's underweight, I wouldn't be surprised if she's malnourished, she's in no state to climb down 10,000 stairs.

So that's where the training comes in. Cassian takes her to Windhaven, an Illyrian camp (place thing idk), to train, but she just refuses. After 3 days of her not doing anything, Cassian is ready to throw in the towel (I thought,,, I would think that since he's had to discipline out-of-line soldiers before he'd do better than 3 fucking days but whatever), but then he remembers what she's said about it all three of those times, that she's not gonna do it in front of everyone (because if you didn't remember, the Illyrians are massively sexist and so of course no one has anything better to do than gather round to see some random woman attempt to train but whatever), so he just has her train within the House. One top of the House, it seems. I don't know how big this House is supposed to be, but the roof at least would have to be huge to allow for multiple people to train and work out, spaced out evenly, and not be at risk for falling off. But he has her train there, issue resolved.

What is this training, you may ask? It's just basic stuff, like stretching, balance, strength training, and eventually grappling with so much sexual tension you can barely see your hand in front of your face (it's like a fog as far as I'm concerned), casual stuff.

Along with this training, Nesta is also assigned to work in the library, which is also a sort of refuge or something for a bunch of priestesses who have survived various forms of abuse or assault. It's one big safe space that also has old ass books. Sounds great. She has to work there for six hours, I believe, everyday, along with the training, and at the library she meets someone named Gwyn. Gwyn is a priestess, she's been there for a little while (it doesn't actually say how long, now that I think about it) and fun fact, she's a quarter river nymph. The person she works under is shown using that fact as an insult, but only once, because then Nesta lets her eyes go silver, which freaks them out, and then Gwyn doesn't have to deal with it anymore.

Speaking of silver eyeballs, let's talk about her powers. What are they, how do they work? What are the limits of her powers, etc.? It's not really stated, beyond vague stuff of her powers being derived from something ancient, before the Fae's time, and that she's really powerful. At one point in the book when Rice Hand had to go into her mind (she was having night terrors), he described her powers as "pure death". On one occasion as she was trying to go down the 10,000 steps (which is a recurring thing throughout the whole book), she fell partway down and when she caught herself, she saw that she somehow burned her handprint into the stone. At another point when she's a good way into her training, she's punching something and it is later shown that she again burned through the wood (it was a piece of wood wrapped in cloth which sounds like an absolute delight to punch for a sustained period of time), but somehow the burn mark was cold? Much later in the book she literally un-alives someone, like she didn't kill them, she regressed their age so much that they were un-alive. (She basically hit the "undo" button on their life) Additionally, since her powers that she got from the Cauldron have connected her to the "Dread Trove" items, she is able to find them very easily and use them without issue. With all this information, it's still not clear as to what the limits to her power are. I suppose she is the limitation, because she could choose to use her power to gather the items of the "Dread Trove" and use them to manipulate worlds and time and fucking death itself, but she doesn't. And honestly I'm not sure how I feel about that, I'm kinda iffy on the idea of a character having seemingly unlimited power (especially when they only use it a handful of times, if at all), but I suppose it doesn't really matter because by the end of the story, she gives back most of her power to the Cauldron anyway, so any questions about that are just,,, thrown to the wind.

The characters in this story were a pretty mixed bag. I can say full-heartedly that I did not like Rhysand (there, I said his actual name instead of Rice Hand, Rice Hand is funnier to me). I don't think I've ever particularly liked him, he was too smarmy for my liking, and then when we got a look into his mind courtesy of ACOFAS, all I got out of it was that whatever is going on in his head does not match his outwardly appearance and demeanor whatsoever. (On the outside, he seems like he'd be the one to smirk a lot, probably use lots of sarcasm, on the inside it seems like if someone said "boobs" he'd start laughing uncontrollably. Like, it's weird. Idk what was going on in that book, it was weird.) But in this book, I did not like him, from the beginning. He was so hostile, so aggressive towards Nesta, at any given moment. I don't know if he had any sympathy at all for her situation, because he certainly didn't act like it. At anything Nesta would do, he would push back.

For example, when Gwyn decided to join Nesta in her training, Rice Hand said in her mind to not do anything (in the book, he said, "You are to treat Gwyn with kindness and respect." (pg. 304)), and the whole thing angers me for two reasons, the first being that Nesta's kindness was the reason that Gwyn was there in the first place. Which leads to the second reason, that it seems that Rice Hand is so convinced that Nesta is an unlikable person that she couldn't have possibly made friends (or at least friendly acquaintances) during her time at the House and working in the library.

Following that remark, Nesta noted that it seemed that Rice Hand didn't particularly like the fact that she and Cassian were a thing, which also ticks me off. Am I a huge fan of Cassian and Nesta being together? They're fine, but it's again that idea that she couldn't have possibly warmed up to someone that she has to be around the majority of the time, and maybe someone that doesn't default their mentality of her as "whatever she's doing, it's wrong/bad". To give credit to Cassian, he did figure out that Rice Hand said something to her and chided him for doing so. He actually caught Rice Hand doing it a few more times within the book and got after him about it those times, which is nice.

But that's not the only reason why I specifically did not like Rice Hand in this book. There's another thing he did which I feel is so much worse than what he did or said to Nesta. That thing would be that he kept information about Feyre from Feyre, specifically about her own pregnancy. Now, I said in the beginning that she had a troubled pregnancy. Basically, her baby had wings, but her body wouldn't be able to safely deliver the baby because of those wings. Before you ask "Hey, doesn't Feyre have shape-shifting powers?" or "What about a c-section?", Maas tucked away those easy solutions by saying that Madja, the person overseeing Feyre's pregnancy, told her that shape-shifting might put the baby at risk for more complications, and as far as the c-section thing goes, they just uh, they just haven't seemed to figure out how to do that. These Fae people live for hundreds of years and no one has ever figured out how to properly do a c-section, I guess. Additionally, it seems that Illyrian wings are particularly special, compared to the wings of the other two groups of winged Fae, Seraphim and Peregyrn, because whereas the wings of the Seraphims or Peregryns can move, allowing for an easier birth, apparently (for some fucking reason) Illyrian wings are bony? Like, in utero, they're already bony and difficult to move, which is where all those complications come in.

He told none of this to Feyre. All she knew about her own pregnancy, was that there might be some complications, she didn't know that there was a gigantic mortality rate with pregnancies like this, nothing like that. He purposely kept this information from her, it seems that the whole fucking Inner Court voted on it, or some shit. When Feyre was told of this whole thing from Nesta, Amren said it was to protect Feyre, to keep her from getting stressed or scared, which could worsen things further. But I counter that Amren, with this: How fucking scared do you think Feyre would have been, when she was in labor and everything, and things were rapidly spiraling out of control? She would have been terrified! Don't you think that would've affected something, because I fucking think it would have! Was there ever any intent to tell her about this, or did all of them just decide to never tell her?

The reason why Nesta told Feyre about it was to hurt her, initially, but it was also because she found out that the Inner Court had made a decision about her, personally, because she had accidentally made more "Dread Trove" items by imbuing her power in three swords that she made while at a blacksmith. She found out (via Cassian's absolutely terrible way of bringing up the swords she made) that they were planning to take them away (or something, I don't specifically remember), and that's when she went to Amren's place and demanded more information. When Feyre was brought to intervene, Nesta told Feyre what Cassian had told her (despite the fact that he was totally supposed to keep that a secret but whatever dude). Feyre was shocked, understandably, but she wasn't angry at Nesta for that, and I can't tell you how happy I was about that, I am so happy that Feyre wasn't angry at Nesta for telling her about this. She actually was angry at the other people for deciding to keep this information from her. I just,, I'm really happy that she wasn't angry at Nesta. Everyone else, on the other hand, was fucking pissed at her, including Rice Hand. He was absolutely livid, but the funny thing is, that I don't give a shit, honestly. He should have never kept that a secret in the first place.

I think as a whole, his behavior is explained away because "his mate is pregnant", so I guess he has full clearance to be obnoxious and aggressive and withhold information without the knowledge of all parties involved. What happened to always giving Feyre a choice, Rhysand? What happened to that? Did she only get a choice when you decided to give her one? Because that is certainly what this felt like.

Another thing that Rice Hand did that I would place in between his bullshit against Nesta and his bullshit against Feyre, is another thing that he did to Feyre. So, back in ACOTAR, I believe, when Feyre was still with Tamlin, Tamlin infamously trapped Feyre in a huge magical bubble, where she couldn't leave Tamlin's house. Everyone agreed that that wasn't the best thing for Tamlin to do, and Tamlin's punishment was completely equal to the evils he committed, one-hundred percent. (Not really, now he's stuck in his beast form, roaming the Spring Court in a state of anger and pain. Sympathy for him is quite the commodity in the books.) But what does any of this have to do with Rice Hand? Well, he basically did the same thing to Feyre, except rather than being stuck in a building, the shield is on her, and it's so strong that even her friends can't touch her without being hit by the shield. And when she's asked about it, Feyre just says that Rice Hand learned how to make shields from Helion, the High Lord of the Summer Court, and like,,,, is testing them out on her?? And we're all supposed to think this is fine? The shield is so intense that they can't even smell her (which is a thing, in this series. Fae people can smell other people, they have scents, idk man I'm just going with it), so effectively he's masking her entire existence, and no one has a problem with it. It's weird. It's not as bad as the pregnancy thing, but it's still not great.

I suppose since I'm talking about characters, I should talk about Cassian and Nesta, seeing as they did totally, undeniably become a Thing in this book. Idk how to really go about it, honestly. For the majority of the book, at least one of them was sure that the other didn't like them, or that they weren't deserving to be with the other, so that was fun. I don't particularly remember when, but at some point they both just,,, decided? to have casual sex, that it meant nothing (when it did, in fact, mean something), and it was like,,, a way of distancing themselves from the other. That is particularly the case with Nesta, who felt guilty for constantly pushing Cassian away at basically every turn. Apparently her attention was caught on him from like,,, the first time that she even saw him, way back when she and Elain were still human, in their cottage. She didn't love him or anything, but it was a Notice.

Despite that Notice, she still pushed him away, as I said, because she just didn't feel like she was good enough. Over the course of the book, Nesta quickly became ashamed of the life she had been living since being put in the Cauldron, which was all the drinking and sex (and that's it? Like, a lot of people in this book made it out to be this whole thing but I think that's basically all she did. Part of me feels like the main reason the Inner Court was so bothered by it in the first place was that she was billing it to them, who really wouldn't even notice the money spent anyway, given how much money they seem to have but whatever), and this was another thing that caused her to push away. (And then violently yo-yo back it was incredible) She also has been harboring a fuck ton of guilt over her father's death, which I think was something I worried about after reading ACOFAS? Idk, but it wasn't terrible. She acknowledged that she couldn't really do anything, that it was all over before she could move, but the main reason she felt so horrible about it, was because all this time, since her mother's death (and kinda before it?), she had been mean towards her father, constantly snubbing him, acting with disdain, etc., but during the war (in ACOWAR, it's so helpfully acronymed), he came to help with a fleet of ships, and the one he was on, he named after her. It showed that, despite all that she had said and done to him for all these years, he still loved her, and she felt that she didn't deserve that.

She felt guilty about what had happened to Elain, and felt angry that she wasn't able to do more. Her relationship with Elain kinda soured at a point, because it went from Elain being the withdrawn, sallow, underfed and distant one, to her being that, except with Elain, she would just sit in a chair in an empty room and wallow in her own misery, whereas Nesta used other aforementioned ways to try to forget. Throughout a lot of this book, Nesta and Elain are at each other's throats, and they did, apparently, make up, but I don't know when. For how much of the book is spent about them being at odds with each other, there's an odd lack of them actually making up with each other and settling all that. It's weird.

As a whole though, the center of Nesta's issues stem from the fact that she feels helpless. As she put it, all these things happened to her, she didn't do anything about it. She didn't (in most cases, couldn't) do anything to get herself out of those situations. She felt she lacked agency, in essence. I believe that is mostly why she acted the way she did, because then she could control how others felt about her. The other reason why she acted the way she did, is that her mother trained her to do so.

When her family was still rich (and their mother was still alive), Nesta was trained to be absolutely vicious in the ballroom. She knew how to win people over with small gestures or expressions, and how to read people with a glance. She also knew how to dance, ridiculously well it seems. There is a point in the story when, to make sure that Eris, a member of the Autumn Court that they had been using for information, was still friendly with them, she was chosen to dance with him, to make sure that the Night Court was still in his favor. So, she danced with him. By the end of it, Eris apparently wanted to marry her, and you can fucking imagine how pissed Cassian was about that (I do think that at this point in the book, Nesta and Cassian were most assuredly a Thing, whether either of them acknowledged it or not), but the whole point of it was to show that Nesta was really in tune with music, and that she knows exactly how to meddle in the politics to win in her favor.

Her mother raised Elain to be a perfect princess, to be married off to someone with lots of money. Her mother raised Nesta to be powerful (but, from Nesta's own thoughts, she remembers asking her mother if she was going to marry a person the same way Elain was, but her mother didn't respond). As for Feyre, Nesta says that their mother seemed to mostly forget or avoid Feyre, because she wasn't quite right or something. I'm not sure.

There is a little thing where Nesta thinks of herself as a caged beast stuffed in a pretty dress, because she remembers that she's always had to restrain herself to make sure that nothing went wrong. When her mental health declines, it is equated to wolves encroaching her space, snarling her doubts and fears, and how she used to deafen them using people or alcohol. It wasn't ever enough, but it's what she did.

One thing that did help with the wolves was something she learned from Gwyn, called Mind Stilling (cough cough it's just meditation cough wheeze), a practice used by an extinct group of female warriors called Valkyries. (Yup, just like the Old Norse Valkyries.) Throughout this book, Nesta, Gwyn, and another Illyrian woman named Emerie (along with a few others but they basically only are present in theory) all trained with Cassian (and Azriel, he showed up later on, just in case Maas thought you forgot about him) to become the new Valkyries. It turns out that Cassian knew of them, I think most of the Inner Court knew them or at least knew of them (which is what happens when you're over five hundred fucking years old jfc) before they died in battle. There are a couple portions of this book that are mostly just training montages, with added notes of "it would have taken forever to build muscles as a human, but being Fae meant that Nesta could get stronger much faster", just in case you thought that 3 training montages was a lil too fast.

All this training does culminate into something by the end of the book, almost literally. I feel like a lot of this book is just watching Cassian and Nesta bounce off one another (in more ways than one lmao), and then Maas at some point realized, "Oh shit I have to actually make these things mean something!" and so the payoff for all the training, so to speak, and Feyre's pregnancy are both resolved by the end of the book, just barely.

The training thing is resolved by Gwyn, Emerie, and Nesta (in that order, it was specified that Nesta took like, three days after Emerie and Gwyn to complete her training because she was so busy probably staring at Cassian and thinking about... stuff. That's basically what both of them were doing for a healthy portion of this 700+ page tome) cutting a white silk ribbon that was tied up to a pole. I guess the idea was that if they are able to cut a piece of ribbon fluttering in the wind, they have mastery over themselves and their weapons. Personally, I get it. Ribbons are evasive as fuck and will gain enough sentience to move away from you just enough so you can't grab them. I know for certain that I would not be able to do this.

Now, I've mentioned Emerie a few times now, who is she? During the three or so days at the Illyrian camp, Nesta comes to know an Illyrian woman named Emerie. She's a shopkeeper in the village, and she likes keeping her store neat. Her family doesn't like that she owns the shop, and wants it to be carried over to one of her relatives. One of the times that Nesta visits her, one of Emerie's cousins is there, spewing stupid nonsense about how she can't run a store on her own. (He ends up dying, in case you were wondering.) She seems like a pretty interesting character, and she and Nesta bond over their shared interests in books, and that they've both been through some shit. In Emerie's case, her wings were clipped, so she can't fly. It is(or was?) a practice that was(is?) pretty common in Illyrian society, because clearly no one wants the wamen flyin around, who else is gonna do the cookin and cleanin and child rearin? Emerie ends up joining Nesta and Gwyn in training, with her main motivation similar to Nesta's: that she never wants to feel or be powerless again.

I've talked about the training a few times now, and I've mentioned how it led to something, without saying what it leads to, so I'll say it here: it leads to the Blood Rite, which is an Illyrian coming-of-age sorta thing, where the participants (typically the male Illyrians, like I said they just can't have the wamen beating them at anything it'd hurt their wittle egos) are put in this forest and they are tasked to scale a mountain (at least one) within a week, and fight off any monsters trying to eat them, or opponents trying to beat them. It's pretty common for people to die in these.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie landed themselves in this Blood Rite by being kidnapped, that's apparently how the participants are put in the Rite. There was something unusual about this one, however, in that someone (I think it turned out to be someone under the control of Briallyn) planted weapons all over the forest, which isn't allowed. Something that also isn't allowed in the Rite is magic, so the magic that Nesta has become accustomed to and now has a decent relationship with, is gone. Cool.

In the process of getting up the mountain, Gwyn nearly dies, she got shot in the leg by an arrow, and Emerie nearly drowns in a river. Nesta nearly gets stabbed by Emerie's cousin, the same guy who showed up in her shop that one time, but then he gets killed. Woohoo, violence!

Right as Nesta is fighting with Emerie's cousin, Cassian shows up, which is surprising because he wouldn't normally be able to be there: if outside forces help a participant get through the Blood Rite, it is then considered invalid, and both the participant and the outside person are promptly killed (Woohoo, violence!). Turns out that he's under the control of Briallyn, who shows up as well. She orders Cassian to kill Nesta (because of course), and rather than stab her, he stabs himself. This is when the un-aliving thing happens that I mentioned earlier. Nesta was so caught up in the rage and stress of being in the Rite, then the sheer fury of what was going on, and it was an instance of her mind going, "I will not let this happen to me" and so she slammed the "undo" button on Briallyn's existence. (Woohoo, violence!) All is well though, because apparently Cassian did not, in fact, stab himself.

All is not well though, because as this whole thing ends, Feyre's pregnancy issues begin. I won't go over in detail because I've already talked about it earlier, but basically she went into labor way too early, and things have only gotten worse. She's bleeding out, everyone is certain that she will die. And thanks to the fact that, in ACOWAR, Feyre and Rice Hand made a vow that, if one dies, the other will, there's also the risk that Rice Hand will die, and since the baby is so premature, so will the baby. So there are three lives at risk, and no one knows what the fuck to do about any of it.

Except Nesta. Well, she doesn't really know what to do, but she's trying something. She takes the items of the "Dread Trove" (remember those?) and she uses them to pause time, right before death (kinda like pausing right before your Sim's death to save your game), and pleads with the powers in the objects and within herself, to show her how to save Feyre and the baby, and she will give her powers back to the Cauldron from which she took them. The powers are basically like "k lol", and she saves Feyre and the baby (his name is Nyx, which is just,,, it's so fantasy fiction omfg), and she tells Cassian later that she also altered her fucking body so that it can carry an Illyrian baby. Has she, at literally any point in the series, let alone this book, ever even thought she wanted a child? Nope, but everyone gotta have babies. (I get that people change their minds, and Nesta seems to have a fuck ton of time ahead of her to think about it, but idk it just kinda came up out of nowhere. How about beginning research into situations like that and maybe learn how to safely perform a c-section, in this case, so that future situations don't turn out as they seem to have previously. Nesta fixing her own body won't affect the who-knows-how-many other people who might get into this situation. Then again, it's not on her to solve everyone's problems,,, idk man)

Rrrrighttt at the end of the book, it mentions that Cassian and Nesta are going to have a mating ceremony, which for all intents and purposes, might as well be a wedding they talk about it like a wedding some of the practices and traditions are reminiscent of a wedding, it's a wedding. But for some reason, they don't actually have the ceremony in this book, even though I imagine Maas could've totally done it. What's another few pages in a 700+ page book, right? So I imagine that the ceremony might come up again in the next book, because Something is going to happen then. I have no idea what that Something is going to be, but that's my guess.

I don't think I have many issues with this book in particular, it's more with just the series as a whole. I just have a lot of questions with this series, and I got even more questions from this book. Most of my questions circulate around the powers of the characters within the Inner Court, such as how does literally everyone's powers work?? Throughout this book, it kept referring to Cassian's magic, that he wears a bunch of thingies (they're called Siphons but they'll always be thingies to me) to contain that magic, but it never actually says what his magic is. As far as I can tell, there are like,, idk how to describe it but like kinda threads?? of magic, I guess, that come from his Siphons, but other than that it's just that he,,, punch? He fight good? I really don't know. From what I can gather, his abilities could stem from his life rather than any magic he has. (I think that could actually be more interesting, him not having any magic, and kinda lend another reason as to why so many fucking people in this book shit on him for being the way he is. They all throw "Prince of Bastards" or some similar title at him, as if he's the only bastard to have ever existed in Prythian like, bad guys, please come up with more insults. Call him a shithead or something like be creative I'm really not feeling it)

With Nesta, it also does a poor job of explaining her magic, it's just repeated that it's old, it's ancient, it's from another time, a time before the Fae, a time long forgotten, but like, bro, what is it. I guess I'll never know. Elain's power, which also stems from the Cauldron, is barely mentioned in this book, aside from them saying that it's either gone away, or gone dormant, so she's treated as though she has no powers (that is, whenever she actually shows up in the book. Elain is just,,, rarely in the series. What is she doing at any given time the world may never know).

I don't really think that Maas understands how many stairs 10,000 stairs would be. I don't think she gets how long 500 years would be, and what you would even be doing for the majority of that time. I don't think she has a scale for how much power she has flung at her characters, to the point of it all being nonsensical. Everyone has so much power, we're told that Rice Hand has a ridiculous amount of power, somehow Feyre has double his power, but Amren had even more power, but Nesta has even more power than that and it's just,,, can I please have a frame of reference because I simply do not understand. I don't think she even has much of an explanation for the powers she has given her characters, and two examples I can immediately think of are Mor and Azriel. Mor's powers have simply been stated as "truth", but have we ever seen her use that power? What the fuck does that even mean, does she have a freakin lasso of truth or some shit like I don't understand. Then with Azriel, he got some kind of shadow magic thing going on, but like even within the story, the characters don't seem to understand how it works. Even the people that have known Azriel basically their entire lives (Rice Hand and Cassian) don't understand it. So how the fuck am I suppose to understand?

I'm just going to end it here because jfc this thing is so long, it's 10 pages long in Google Docs, and I heavily doubt anyone is going to read this far. If you have, much thanks! To clarify, I do like the series (to some extent) I just,, I have a lot of questions. So many, I couldn't fit them in here because they didn't really have any answers in the books (any of them, as far as I'm aware). Idk. How do people write conclusions? It's beyond me. Agh, anyway, thanks for reading this.

[angryhausfrau-writes]

I Travel Troubled Oceans: Chapter 15 - Meditations Two! Electric Boogaloo

There's something to be said for having a home to come back to at the end of the day. Especially when Charles is coming home battered and bloody and with his blood singing in his veins, “You're still alive, motherfucker. You're still alive.”

Because against all odds, he is still alive. And it's starting to feel like he's going to stay that way for a while. Like he isn't just dancing on a knife's edge where a single misstep gets him dead. And the steps more and more complex everyday, til he's jigging for his life to the devil's tune, too caught up in the steps to ever stop cuz if he stops he's dead. And he ain't quite ready to end it all – not just yet, not without a good reason.

So he'd smoked up – from a bong, from a crack pipe – and tried to forget for just a little while that he is where he is (the boneyard) and that he's living how he's living. Just a tiny misstep from dying.

And it's fine. He's got a crew, to help catch and steady him, just as he's there to catch and steady them. Make sure there's at least a little margin of error in the dance. Make sure there's a guy rope tying them together. Keeping them all balanced on that blade – or all falling together.

But the thing about living that way is that it ain't really living. Charles had never known anything else but this, so it feels like a life. But all it is is being dead and not realizing it yet.

Or maybe he had realized, just a little. Been able to catch tiny glimpses of another way of living through the cracked and dirty glass separating him from the living. Able to see out into the real world, with its real people. People who were safe and clean and happy and free.

And Charles had hated them.

Hated them for having what he could never have. Hated them for living when he was just dying slow. Hated them for being free – for having the ability to make choices about what kind of life they lived when he can't choose, not even between living and dying, not really.

And Charles got bitter. Spiteful. Angry. He'd fought back the only way he could. Telling himself that they were weak. That he was strong.

Look at how coddled they are. How loved. He'd never needed any of that shit to survive. He'd toughened up, and they could stand to do the same, the fucking pansies.

So it had become a kind of mantra. Rules to live by, in a world where he's half dead already.

Loving things makes you weak. Loving things makes you vulnerable. And out on the streets, vulnerable means dead. Better to love nothing and be free than to chain yourself to worthless comforts. Better to love nothing than to chain yourself to vulnerabilities.

So Charles had loved nothing. Not even his crew. His crew who'd feared and respected him as he'd respected and occasionally feared them. But there's no place for love – not there on the streets and not with the kind of people he'd invited into his crew – into himself. Strong people. Fierce people. Fighters.

And then Charles had fallen in love with Eleanor Guthry. Or he'd though the had, anyway. Eleanor might not actually be capable of that emotion. And even if she is, she certainly wasn't in love with Charles, making the whole relationship just a touch one-sided. And that was before she got him sent away for that two-stretch. The bitch.

Because that's the thing about Eleanor, the thing that had originally attracted Charles to her. She's a monumental bitch. Ruthless and callous and cold. Just like him.

Equals.

And she'd played the part of fellow gang boss well. Acting tough. Acting like she could understand the life of someone like him. Like she could care about street trash like him.

But it had all been a not-particularly-well-constructed facade.

She'd only put up with Charles for what he could get her – money and thrills and respect from the street. As soon as his usefulness was gone, he'd been disposable.

And Eleanor herself. Well...

She was no gang boss. She was not strong, not in the ways that mattered on the streets and not in the ways Charles has learned are strong in the world of elitist fucks he lives in now. No. Eleanor had been coddled. She'd been safe and spoiled and pampered by everyone she'd ever come in contact with. Completely divorced from the consequences of her actions – at least until Max had taken a go at her.

Max who's another lover scorned and tossed aside when Eleanor grew bored. Which means the justice is just fucking poetic really. And Charles is so fucking glad he'd gotten to be part of Max's revenge. Gotten to see Eleanor toppled from her marble pedestal. Gotten to be the one to send her crashing down to shatter on the streets with all the other gutter trash.

But he's also glad he got to be part of Max's revenge cuz it means he's part of the con she's running now. The con that involves a fancy house and fancy clothes. And safety – real safety.

When he'd gone away for that two-stretch, Charles had chafed under the pointless rules, the petty tyranny of the guards. The lack of humanity – from the guards and from the other prisoners.

But he'd had three hots and a cot and nobody'd fucked with him, not even the most sadistic guards, not after he'd threatened – and committed – enough violence to make his point. His point that he was the toughest motherfucker around and they'd better take that into account going forward.

And, since he didn't know any better – hadn't ever experienced anything else – he'd thought that was safety. He'd thought that was freedom from fear. And it had just confirmed his belief that you couldn't have safety without giving up the freedoms that made life – even a half-life on the streets – worth living.

And then he'd gotten out, gotten back to the streets. Back to Jack running the crew and Max planning the cons. Just in time for the rug to be pulled out from under him – for him to get shoved into the kind of life he'd always derided, always sneered at. The life of soft, safe, spoiled fucks with no drive in them to ever achieve anything. So used to the gilded cage that they'd never walk out, even if the door was left open for them.

He'd chafed at the idea at first. Remnants of his mantra echoing in his head. Love nothing. Care for nothing. Cuz then it can't be taken away. Only then are you free.

Plus, he'd been pissed as hell at Jack for manipulating him into this shit. Cuz he knew – he knew – Charles'd fight it tooth and nail if he'd approached it honestly, democratically. But Jack's always been a slippery fucker. Charles can't honestly say he'd expected any different from him – though Anne's easy acquiescence to the plan had surprised him, Jack's machinations or no.

But Charles is man enough to admit when he's been beaten. So he'd gone along with the plan. Dolled himself up in designer togs. Submitted to Mary's ridiculous social media campaign. Insinuated himself into a circle of shallow, self-obsessed, backstabbing aristocrats. And all for a plan he hadn't really believed in.

But Jack's the captain of their little crew. His word is law. So now Charles is living like one of those rich fuckers. And as it turns out, the half-life he'd been living out on the streets wasn't even close to the real thing. Jail just a pale imitation of what safety could mean.

Cuz it turns out that when you're rich, you can have the food and clothes and safety. But you also have the freedom to do whatever the fuck you want. The freedom to live.

That's the big fucking secret. The thing they don't want you to know, cuz you'd burn the whole fucking city down if you knew about the caviar at breakfast eaten off of an ivory spoon. About the champagne filling the Jacuzzi of a penthouse hotel suite with enough gilt to make the Church green with envy. About the blood and spend and filth on your hands – just what it takes to get you that multi-million dollar view, that corner office.

When you're that kind of rich, you can do whatever the fuck you want. No rules, no laws affect you. The little people – the normal people - don't matter at all. They're worth about as much consideration as a bug on the sidewalk – noticed, reviled, and then immediately forgotten.

Charles and Max and Anne and Jack, they're all rich enough they can live like that. No regard for anyone's rules but their own. No concern for anyone but themselves. Content to live cut off from all consequences, surrounded by splendor. Never having to face the grit and the grime of the streets again if they don't want to.

But that's the thing. It ain't about having fancy cars or fancy clothes or a fancy house.

Sure, it's fun to ride around in a limo. Fun to wear ridiculous outfits that cost more than most people make in a fortnight, hideous and tacky and camp, because you can afford to. Fun to live in a mansion with more rooms than they know what to do with.

But that's not the thing that makes him free. That's not the thing that makes this living.

It's the smaller things. The quieter things.

Things like having a place to return to at the end of a long day. A place to rest. A place where he can rest, without worrying someone'll try for him. Without having to put up a facade of power, of ruthlessness.

Charles had mocked Flint for his domesticity once. For his desire for the finer things – well, finer for them, anyway.

But there is something comforting in having a favorite mug in the cabinet of your kitchen. Of having tea to drink out of it, breakfast to eat along side it. To have people around you who you can dare to care about because you're not just clinging to survival – you're living.

People you can do things like sitting out in the garden with, having a tea party like some kind of posh fucker. And people you can trust to patch you up after a night at the underground boxing ring, instead of licking your wounds all alone in the dark.

Because Charles has never felt stronger than the morning he stood in the bathroom with Jack wiping the blood away from his face with a posh hand towel. Berating him for coming home in this state. Begrudging in his ministrations. But his hands were gentle. And worry lurked behind his eyes.

And Charles had realized that Jack cares for him. Anne cares for him. His crew care for him. Care rather than fear.

And Charles cares for them in turn. Can care for them. And that is safety. That is strength that can never be taken away.

Even if they were to lose everything tomorrow, all the money and the house and the whole con going up in fucking smoke, that can't be taken away. Charles knows now what it is to be strong. Strong in a way that even the rich fuckers who they're conning can never be. He knows what it means to be free.

Because the rich aren't free.

They might look free. They might act free. But they've chained themselves inside a new kind of prison, one they made for themselves. Because the thing holding them back, the thing keeping them weak, keeping them civilized, is shame.

The idle gossip of their neighbors. The scandal that can ruin them as easily as it had ruined Eleanor and Woodes Rogers. The fear of offending the wrong other rich fuck and ending up “penniless” and on the streets – or, shudder, a lower-middle-class neighborhood.

That fear, that shame, is what keeps the rich from being free.

But Charles has been penniless on the streets, and he survived. Charles has been low and nearly dead and he'd lived. He isn't tied to the money and the disgusting excess and the whole fucking pretend pageantry of nobility.

And the thing about Charles - about Jack and Anne and Max and Mary - is that they don't really feel shame.

[tellywoodtrash]

immj2 09.10.20 lb

lol, lemme preface this by telling you what i know about the show from my out-of-context insta-viewing:

kabir sends his gf riddhima in to spy on vansh RAISINGHANIA (naam ka wazan check karein ji. kaafi hi bhaari-bharkam, just like the fake baritone the actor playing the character is being forced to put on.) vansh is some kinda shady, but idk WHAT SPECIFIC KIND of shady..... like is he just your garden-variety-evil-capitalist-ala-ambani-bezos, or is he into shit like drug smuggling and human/organ trafficking???? no one knows. maybe a little bit of both. but kabir’s a COP, and we all know that those fuckers are the shadiest shits around (#ACAB) so yeah, true to type, kabir shadyyyyyyyy. he’s actually the secret illegitimate son of vansh’s stepmom and together they wanna ruin vansh and take all his monies. so anyway, kabir sends in riddhima, who’s just a whole special brand of dumbass, but also extraordinarily determined in the way only tellywood heroines are. so she’s basically sticking her nose everywhere that doesn’t belong and being a pain in the ass of literally everyone in the show, including her own (coz she seems to get injured in novel and entertaining ways in every second episode.) kabir ultimately manipulates her into marrying vansh, while vansh has apparently married her KNOWING that she’s a spy and is probably playing the long game to see who her puppet-master is. long story short, heterosexuality is too potent a force and the Stupid Spy Girl and Gangsta Guy are currently slowly giving in to the Feelz™, despite missing that one-little-teensy-weensy-who-even-needs-it-in-a-real-relationship thing. y’know, that little thing called, idk, i think it’s called “TRUST” or some such strange unheard-of concept.

oh, in between all this there’s also some bizarre plot about some ex of vansh’s called ragini, who’s dead??? missing? idk. kabir is real interested in that and wants to jail vansh for it, but we’ve long forgotten about ragini by this point #RIPSis anyway, there’s some kinda statue of her’s in the attic or some shit, coz vansh is some kinda modern day gender-reversed medusa who turns women who cross him into statues??? idk man, idk. so riddhima is pretty much in constant danger of being statue-d.

also vansh has a requisite irritating famiy in tow, that he’s burdened with being in charge of (coz no rest for the unfortunate eldest son who lives in this godforksaken mansion, be that an oberoi or a raisinghania) feat: a dadi who is well-meaning, but as annoying as the one in IB was, constantly spouting platitudes about how vansh and Spy Girl trooooooly lurrrrrrrrrrve each other *kissy noises*; some chachi/chacha who are all “HEY WHY DOES HE GET TO BE THE BOSS, WE WANT CONTROL OF THE CRORE-ON KA BIJNESS TOO”, some very fake kanji-eyed siblings/cousins who are supreme bitches, and ofc one (1) normal sibling who is sweet but really does nothing around here. oh and there’s his right hand man/bff too, who seems to be not 100% (maybe just 83%?) incompetent like everyone else. that poor sod just got suckered into marrying Kanji Aankhon Waali Bitch Sister, who is pregnant with some total rando’s baby, and is just an all-round asshole to Riddhima/Right Hand Man, because “ugh, yeh do kaudi ke middle class naukar log, cheeeeee.”

ok now that the sasta, not-at-all-useful recap has been done, LET’S GET INTO THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

———————————————————————

the chachi is screaming her goddamn headdddd off coz her room is on fire. ofc it is. when has anything good ever happened in this manhoos house of horrors.

lmao the kanji eyed cousin has like 3% concern that his mom will be fried like a taaza jalebi. he's literally sauntering luxuriously towards his mom's room jaise park mein tehel raha ho.

chachi's screaming is getting on my nerves. aunty you're wasting valuable oxygen this way.  

riddhima is behind some secret box that aryan and chachi stashed in the room.

THESE PPL ARE SO CHILL ABOUT A WHOLE ROOM ON FIRE (note: it’s shivaay's room in IB) and they're just hanging out in the living room (which if you’ll remember, IS ATTACHED TO THE ROOM THAT WAS SHIVAAY’S) as if fire doesnt have a tendency to y'know..........  SPREAD RAPIDLY.

riddhima is fighting with the bloody fireman saying ki i need to save the box. #priorities

aaaaaaand the fireman is kabir, who has come to haath maarofy on Box of Secrets.

and we know this coz he did a DRAMAAAAAAAAATIC reveal by taking off his mask. in a room FULLY ON FIRE. idhar non-flaming rooms mein bhi ab mask nikaalna danger ho gaya hai, and this guy justtttttttttt dgaf. tum jaison ki wajaah se hi we can't bloody stop the spread.

my god this house has been decorated soooooooo fucking tackily. never thought the oberois would be the classy ones.

shady saasumaa and riddhima stinkeye-ing each other over a bowl of shehed. lol, what even. truly some "rasode mein kaun tha" lvl of politics.

oh ho, saasumaa and kabir lagaaofied the aag.

saasumaa gloating over the fact that riddhima will now never get her hands on Box of Secrets.

flashback time: hahahahaha KABIR LITERALLY LOBBED A MOLOTOV COCKTAIL INTO THE ROOM AND CHACHI DIDN'T EVEN FUCKING HEAR IT OR ANYTHING. lmao everyone in this show is a dumbass. how blissful life must be with just one (1) working brain cell.

riddhima runs into flaming room. ofc now we will have a prolonged sequence where kabir tries to keep his identity and riddhima being the dheent that she is, will give chase.

please note, that not even 48 hours ago, this woman walked barefoot on a bed of coals AND a hallway full of broken glass. AND NOW SHE'S RUNNING FULL SPEED BEHIND KABIR AS IF SHE’S PT USHA. SIS, TUMHARE PAIR HAIN KI KYA HAIN? YOU'RE LONG OVERDUE FOR AN INTENSE PEDICURE AFTER THIS WEEK.

and ofc, he got into a getaway car and made it away.

yeh lo, iss beech mein dadi behosh. ouff.

whooooooooops, dadi has some weird blue nishaan on her neck.

LMAO KABIR SHOT AT RIDDHIMA WITH A POISON BULLET OR SYRINGE OR SOME SHIT, WHICH HIT DADI INSTEAD. LMAO MAN THIS SHOW. IT'S SO FUCKING DUMB, I LOVE IT.

some more stinkeye politics between saas bahu.

bahu is passive-aggressively giving saasumaa roses to congratulate her on winning this round.

riddhima is dheent!max. she's like kuch bhi ho, i'll find the secret anyway and your victory will witherrrrrrr awayyyyyyyy like these flowerssssss and you will be left with the thorns that will prick youuuuuuuu!!!!!!!

LMAO SAAS IS FULLY ROLLING HER EYES AT RIDDHIMA'S DRAMATIC ASS #SAME

just looking at helly's ears is making my ears hurt like a bitch. 

hey riddhima, have you ever thought that maybe this secret child of hers is NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS?????? like honestly, the entitlement desis have to know the workings of other ppl’s wombs.

lol dumbass mummyji crumpled the flowers in her hand and played right into riddhima's stupid kaante waala metaphor. #ramMilayiJodi

hero ko covid hai toh ainvayi ke phone calls se kaam chalaana pad raha hai.

the dude left his house for literally the first time in months and the place is on fire and dadi got shot in the neck with poison. and the wife doesn't think she should tell him so that he doesn't become "pareshaan". sure, this seems like a dude who'll take this kinda thing real light when he finds out later.

(hint: he’s not. he’s a crazed, overprotective weirdo about his family. sound familiar?????)

this guy's dialogue delivery is so dodgy. idk what it is, it just seems so affected.

that plus the ainvayi ka editing just showing him in some random car (clearly from the earlier eps)  is just adding to the jankiness of the scene.

husband dude seems to know wifey's quirks quite well. kinda cute, kinda creepy. 

lol kal tak toh yeh banda itna romantic nahi tha. like he had a smooth moment here and there, but he was mostly real awkward and robotic and unsure how to handle These Strange New Feelings™. now he’s spouting cheesyass lines about being able to see the one who is special to you with dil ki aankhein and idk what.

who are these people who like SHARING their room with another person? #unrealistic

but i also i get you, riddhima. he was pretty much the only thing worth looking at in this room, coz the rest of it is so damn fugggggg. this room should be the one set on fire.

dang, some steamy scenes between them in the flashbacks. ouff abhi jaake episodes dhundne padenge. coz #tharkiTTisTharki

riddhima doing dadi seva. boooooooooring.

ofc dadi ki sui is always atkofied on playing cupid for pota, taaki she can score some par-pota/potis.

riddhima ki best friend ka happy birthday hai.

riddhima is like a lottttt has happened in my life, can't really tell you over a call. yup, that’s for sure. 

ok apparently sejal who said she’s in dubai now is NOT in dubai?? she's just up and flew to mumbai to "surprise" riddhima...... on HER OWN birthday? #doesNotCompute

lmao kabir's annoyance with mummy's useless glass of water. WHY DO MOMS THINK EVERYTHING CAN BE SOLVED WITH DRINKING MORE WATER?!?!?!!

now he's yelling at mom about how she's ruined everything. sure. blame the only one who's actually doing shit around here, while you sit on your ass in this room, glaring and growling like a hangry bear.

some menacing dialogue about how he needs to thikaane lagaaofy riddhima's hosh.

which has been overheard by bff sejal, who went and dropped a showpiece from shock. cool. so she gonna die. bye sejal, hardly got to know ya!

sejal being here doesn’t even make sense. she thought he was a PT teacher. then why did she show up here at his police waala office? also how did she connect the dots about the whole damn story with like 0.04% context that she got from what she overheard? kuchhhhhhh bhi.

[gravityfissure]

All Good Things End : Deirdre & Otto

Summary: Deirdre summons her mushroom husband for his final sacrifice. TW: Blood, Injury, Mushroom Manipulation PARTIES: @deathduty & Otto

"We're all gathered here today to witness a truly beautiful event: the death of Otto." Deirdre, host, waved her ceremonial toaster around. The rest of the fae in attendance, mostly pixies and leprechauns, lifted—or attempted to lift—their own toasters. She'd forgotten what the toasters were supposed to represent exactly, other than their triumph and humanity's inferiority, but most things usually represented that. She turned to her husband, and smirked at him. She recalled their dalliance in the cemetery, their wedding in the woods and the escapades that followed. She was almost sad to be rid of him now. He was, perhaps, the funnest human she'd ever ensnared. Out of fondness, or nostalgia, or something else entirely, she gestured to him and her gaze softened. "Do you have anything you'd like to say, Otto? You're allowed some words before you die." The pixies gasped in unison; it was customary to get the humans to be as silent as possible, during these things—their voices were largely annoying. Deirdre shook her head and quickly explained to them, "Otto is my guest, and my human. He represents me, too. I want him to speak." And so she allowed it.

How the hell had this become his life? It was a thought that crossed his mind rather often and one that crossed his mind right now as he made his way up to the spot that Deirdre had ordered him to come along to. She’d instructed him to clean up, wear a nice nose piercing (for he’d gotten a selection from the store with his punishment) explaining the black steel ring that pierced his right nostril and not tell anyone about what he was doing. Things had not been good of late. Whatever the hell had happened at the bar, the fact he’d been forced to live as nothing more than a mundane human. Wash the dishes. Brush his hair. Empty the trash. No snap of his fingers and things took care of themselves. Worry had kept him up for several nights, waiting for any hint of it to come back. It had to come back didn’t it? Hells there was no way this could be his life. No way he could live without the essence of his very being. The toll was clear, even with the effort he’d taken to make himself look presentable.

Admittedly a loophole he’d found in that instruction was that he hadn’t been told not to tell anyone where he was going, explaining the google-maps pin he’d dropped Mercy, Jane and Cece for good measure. If someone did need to do corpse collection… Well, at least they had a start on where to find him he supposed. The phone had been tucked away and forgotten as the new ceremony began. Different this time and Otto truly wasn’t sure what to expect he couldn’t see any knives that Deirdre had claimed to be fond of in the past so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. The myriad of thoughts running through his mind was distracting, and when he was finally invited to speak and say someone Otto was at a loss for words; a rare occurrence on any normal day. “I guess-- Actually yeah, are there drinks? I’m way too sober for this shit,” maybe he could stall for a bit, though a drink also didn’t sound like a bad idea either right now. “Honestly, I’d kill for a cocktail before I kick the bucket… It’s a personal nightmare to go out stone cold sober ‘cause that’s absolutely not what my life’s about.”

“Drinks?” Deirdre glanced around, regarding the fae in attendance. “Did we bring drinks?” The fae murmured to each other, pixies fluttered about until a leprechaun hobbled forward, offering solem clicks and whistles of disappointment. She turned to Otto. “No drinks.” Which was suddenly very unfortunate, because she was craving some too. “But I like your spirit, Otto! Is that all the last words you have to offer? Usually the humans start begging now. They tell me all about how much money they can offer, about any children or lovers. They get very desperate, I love to see it on their faces.” She turned to Otto, smiling. He seemed...okay, strangely enough. Not that Deirdre was any expert on reading human’s facial expressions, they all looked mostly the same, and were too ugly to pay attention to. But this man, fun and carefree, gave her no sobbing or begging. Suddenly, she boiled with anger. “BEG FOR YOUR LIFE!” She threw her toaster down at his feet, snarling. “GIVE US ENTERTAINMENT! You think this is a game, human? I gathered my friends here to watch something good, and your smart quips are getting us—“ a Leprechaun whistles at her. Deirdre snapped around. He swished a half-empty bottle of wine. “Never mind, I’m being informed we do have some drinks.” She took the bottle and offered it to Otto. “Here, now you can die slightly tipsy.”

“Oh come on,” he protested at the shakes of multiple little heads in every direction “I thought this was meant to be a celebration of your totalitarian toaster termination techniques on full unadulterated display… That you guys knew how to party.” The clarification that normally this was the point people started begging for their lives was met with a twist of his mouth and mildly distasteful look. “Well, I mean I can’t really do that because I don’t have any of those things. Kids suck they’re so whiny and really who has the commitment for a partner when people just end up letting you down in the end, you know?” he glanced at a wizened old leprechaun who seemed to mull on this statement and nod in agreement before taking a puff on his pipe “see? This dude, he gets it.” It’s so much effort for so little reward.” Perhaps now was not the time for philosophical questioning but it was what came to mind. - if it’s a time for confession guess there’s no better time to say thanks for the motorcycle I conned you into buying for me. Really was swell of you.” But any further smartass remarks were put on hold as he dodged the toaster lobbed in his general direction and found his knees giving out as he threw himself on the floor against his will. “No- NO PLEASE!” tears welled unbidden to his eyes as he clasped at Deirdre’s boots the sobs rising against his will “I’LL DO ANYTHING, I’LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING YOU WANT! PLEASE JUST-- DON’T KILL ME! IT’S NOT A GAME! I SWEAR. PLEASE I-” he hiccuped, swallowing air “ Pleasepleaseplease.” The sobbing at her feet continued despite the profference of booze for the command to stop had not yet been given.

Deirdre frowned as Otto spoke, she reached a hand out to lay gingerly on his shoulder. “Otto...are you sad and lonely?” The fae looked at her pointedly. She flushed and withdrew both her concern and her hand, but thought to elaborate. “Having a partner is great. I love my girlfriend. I don’t believe people let you down always, sometimes they surprise you.” The leprechaun clicked his disagreement, and Deirdre waved the conversation away. “You conned me into buying you a motorcycle?” She thought about it, and expected anger or pride to come to her. Anger for the audacity of a human to think to trick her, and pride that her subordinate had tried at all. Mostly she was just...disappointed. “Why didn’t you con me out of more than just a motorcycle?” She asked, “I mean, I have the money to give you more. What’s a motorcycle worth? Like a measly few thousand dollars?” It was good then, that he started to beg, and her mood lifted. “Yes, you pathetic urchin.” She hissed and snapped her feet away from him. “I think we’re good to begin now, don’t you?” She smiled and turned to her fellow fae, careful to keep herself out of the ring again. “Stop your begging and be quiet, Otto. Now it’s time--” The pixies struggled to play their flute, leaving the air with a discordant whittling that stung Deirdre’s ears. A leprechaun banged his toaster to create a drum beat, as horrible as it was earnest. Deirdre hissed again and picked Otto off the floor and shoved him into the circle. “Go impale yourself on the tree branch there.” She pointed at the one that had been sharpened for this purpose. “Take your time though, I do like a slow death. And you may do whatever you like before you’re impaled, so long as you stay in the circle, and it doesn’t take too long.” She waved her hand in the air. “Or if I find it boring.”

Otto’s eyes widened for a moment before he laughed, well and truly laughed deeply at the notion. “Oh hells, me? Lonely? No. Lonely’s pathetic, I’m definitely not pathetic.” But then again, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder. Would anyone ever notice? Would Mercy, Cece or anyone else in his rather truncated list of acquaintances even bother to come out and look for him? “Sure did, was fun watching you bend over backwards to save your friend’s face. Can’t say it worked but it was fun to watch either way.”

But then the wet mud was soaking into his knees, immaculate nails clawing for purchase on Deirdre’s shoe that soon retracted leaving him falling facefirst into a pile of moss. As the urge to beg rescinded, he lay there for a moment gathering what little remained of his dignity and pushed himself up to his feet. Spotting the leprechaun nearby about to drain the wine he snatched the bottle out of its tiny hands and gulped it down, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Deirdre was speaking again though and the horrible irony of everything he’d been told dawned on him.

You’re not dead.

It was this thought that drifted through his mind as Otto walked with purposeful steps towards the sharpened bark. A haze of strange determination silencing all questions or thoughts that this was wrong. That he needed to run. No matter how much his mind screamed, rending itself apart.

The sharpened tip pierced the soft flesh of his abdomen, a slow progression as steps faltered and blood began to trickle in a cascade, staining the front of his shirt. A second and third followed, and as the crimson rivulets flowed their course twin tears glistened in hazel eyes. The dawning revelation of a truth Otto had always denied.

Perhaps he was lonely indeed.

Too late to do anything about it now though.

Delight spread across the fae like wildfire, infectious and brighter the longer it burned. Deirdre watched curiously. She waited for the same delight to reach her. And she waited. And she watched, and she waited. And yet, the only feeling that entered her as she watched Otto impale himself was something cold, and then sharp; something she wouldn’t dare put a name to. Emma’s eyes flashed in her mind, the look of desperation that gleamed there, and the hope that sat on her lips that Deirdre might free her. She couldn’t see Otto’s face now, and she felt all the better for it. “Stop,” she told him, “stop that. S-stop doing that.” Her command was barely a whisper above the din of celebration, fae poured into the circle, ready to party--dancing progressed around Otto’s limp body, and the music grew louder and further away from any pleasurable tune. The mushroom drums in her own head grew silent, and she left to watch the fae as an outsider to their delight. Once, she had been a child peeking from behind old trees, watching the fae with their wings and wondering when it would be her turn to be like them. The feeling she had chased for so long fluttered around her, it was cheered on by the congratulatory clicks and whistles of the leprechauns, but it could not find her heart. An organ she had long since suspected she’d lost sometime ago, some many deaths before.

She turned her back to Otto, to the mushrooms and fae surrounding him, and she walked. “I want to be good,” she told the trees as she stumbled around them. “I want to be good.” She willed the feeling to reach her. She willed herself to feel anything at all. But where she fell to the ground, staring at her unstained hands, she found nothing.

Nothing inside of her.

Eventually Otto reached a point that his feet could no longer find purchase enough to continue walking. Or perhaps it was simply the gradual weakening that came with the blood-loss. Blood-loss that left him feeling cold and tired. Tired in a way that was bone deep. There was no method to question on his lips to implore them to stop and let him go so that he might live his life. The feelings that swirled in his chest were those of anguish and an aching loneliness for which words were inadequate to describe. Loneliness he'd laughed so heartily at not five minutes prior. So maybe Deirdre was right. Perhaps he was… But too little too late.

I thought this was meant to hurt less. It always sounded like it would hurt less .

Where the voice in his mind came from he couldn’t rightly say. No warm embrace, no bright light or whatever the hell you were meant to get if this truly was the end. Just empty darkness. Even as he reached for his magic, gone since that night at the bar. Just an echo, but that’s all he was now wasn’t he? An echo of what he should’ve been. The breath rattled in his throat, life slipping away in the trickle of his lifesblood as the cold grasp of darkness coiled tighter around him; his life served forth by fate's own servant to the overture of cheerful clicks and whistles.

Perhaps someone will remember me.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

4&5

Reposting without fear/threat/mention of noncon, please note all of the other CWs before for each part. Happy to answer questions or help with censoring.

4.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, wounds, implied sex work, strangulation, choking, suicide (hanging), suicidal thoughts/explicit planning, mouth whump description (bleeding, asphyxiation, choking), breathing, bruises, beating, conditioning, dehumanization, noncon touching (non sexual), drugs, alcohol, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker,

August once asked what they do to me. Mouthed it, like he couldn’t stop himself from forming the words, but didn’t bother voicing it out of horror or just because he knew I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t fucking know where to begin anyway.

Probably down on my knees.

At this point, our situation boggles my mind even more than when they trained me to be silent. That was logical when you psychoanalyzed it but shit got fucked sideways when August came into the picture. It’s just senseless now, an unending labyrinth of manipulation and control. Double the captives means double the fun. I was lucky to be alone for so long. There were two others before him but never like this. In the grand scheme of things, they’re all mere drops of water in the swimming pool of my time here. It was another woman first, although I never learned her name. She seemed like a Tiffany or a Heather and was really pretty, too but never trusted me. Wouldn’t even look at me, as if I wasn’t just as much of a prisoner as her.

Poor thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something she shouldn’t have. She didn’t last long at all. Unraveled faster than you can say, “Money’s on the table.” You’d think she’d have a little more grit. I mean you hear stories and can only imagine the shit they put up with in that industry, but it was like something out of an exorcist movie. Crying hysterically, throwing herself at the walls and doors, and trying to strangle the life out of me like I was sitting on a key. They came in and intervened but not before she’d purpled my neck so I could barely breathe. That was the only time they ever took the shock collar off. She spent the next bit catatonic and then one day when they brought me back, she was dangling by her own diamond-studded jeggings from a pipe on the ceiling, toes just a few inches from the ground. Damn slow way to die. They took out the pipe.

I’ve given it a hell of a lot of thought myself. She’d obviously been trying something similar with smacking herself into the concrete walls, but that will only get you a concussion that makes it feel like you’ve gone a few rings deeper into Hell. No, thank you. My choice would be the naked lightbulb on the wall, next to the door. If I shoved it far enough down my throat before it broke, I’m pretty sure I would asphyxiate before they could do anything. The key would be to bleed enough into my bronchial tube and inhale enough shards of glass to shred my lungs a bit. A little internal bleeding down my esophagus wouldn’t hinder the cause but certainly wouldn’t be fatal on its own, never mind the risk of just cutting my tongue and mouth to ribbons if it breaks too early. In that case, I’d be fucked. That’s why Wyatt leaves it there, uncovered, even though other lightbulbs down the hallway have metal cages screwed over them. Tempting me to risk it. He also knows that, now, I’d never leave August. I feel responsible and that’s why he holds my life in his hands. The torture will never stop and August is better off with me to take care of him in whatever way I can, even if it doesn’t even come close to reparation.

—

The next guy was probably mid-thirties and built like a truck. I can’t begin to imagine what he did to wind up here. He didn’t take to captivity well either. Everything they’d put into him, he’d let out onto me. The first time, I was pretzeled around one of the legs of my bed frame, while he punched and clawed at me, so hell-bent on not letting go, I was screaming my head off for help despite the collar. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Wyatt doesn’t like anyone to touch me. That went over like a lead balloon. Playing off his proclivity like somehow I had any right to decide not to be beaten. Wyatt would have stopped it anyway and I could have saved myself the next few days of my bunkmate beating the living shit out of me undisturbed as long as he left it at just that. As soon as Wyatt decided I’d learned my lesson, or was sick of seeing me limping and bruised, that guy was fish food.

The second bed was empty for a long time after that even though I’m sure there were others. Wyatt has a list a mile-long of people he’d like to get his hands on for one reason or another, but I never saw them. Wyatt would still bring me out to toy with me in his usual ways. The buffoons would bring me out when he wasn’t around for entertainment but they know better than to touch me more than cursory shoves to keep me cooperating and even then, more often with their phones or other inanimate objects, rather than their hands. To them, it was endlessly entertaining to get me high out of my mind and mess with me or make me play Emma Fortyhands until I puked all over myself. I should have known Wyatt wasn’t wasting any time during this plateau of suffering. From what August says, he was here for a handful of days, maybe even two weeks, before they made us roommates. Wyatt just talked to him, drilling him for hours. He had been screening him, looking for the perfect match before binding us together in torment.

They always take me first and bring me straight to Wyatt. He likes to talk to me about what he has planned for August, trying to get a rise out of me. Like I’d be dumb enough to think that any amount of disgust or fear on my part would make a lick of difference for August. If anything, Wyatt would double it just for my reaction. Next, Wyatt makes sure I’ll make it through what he has planned for me without passing out. The humane thing would be to give me a second meal or something but instead, he gives me whatever his henchmen have lying around. An unpredictable twist added to my slow destruction. I’m lucky if it’s an energy shot or some gross drink that tastes like fruit-flavored battery acid and leaves me shaking. More often, it’s “just a bump” of something that makes my heart race and the whole session so unbearable I’m screaming in my head at the top of my lungs until I come down.

One time, he gave me a tab of acid. His favorite kind of experiment, the ultimate demonstration of his success. To no one’s surprise, I’m conditioned enough that I still didn’t speak and followed every instruction. That was, no contest, my worst day on this fucked-sideways merry-go-round. I was tripping so hard. Too slow and too fast at the same time, no distinction between myself and everything around me. Wyatt’s barbaric plan turned into a barbaric fuck-up. A small part of me understood what I had done even before I came down and when I stumbled out, I was met by silence instead of the usual dumb peanut-gallery comments. They threw me into the shower after, like always, but left me there for hours since I was still tripping. I was hysterical by the time they let me out. By some miracle, or just Wyatt perversely delaying the end, he had actually called a real doctor.

—

Today, Wyatt hands me a double shot of whiskey because it’s “cute” to watch me struggle when I’m tipsy. I knock it back in one swallow, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that frightens me. He finishes getting me ready and then smacks me on the ass to get me moving. Once I’m in the room, he starts feeding me instructions even though I already know what he wants from me today. This way, he’s in control of my every action, like he’s thinking for me, while I just focus on getting air into my lungs, fighting through the alcohol hitting my bloodstream and burning in my empty stomach. I can throw it up in the shower later if I need to. I just need to survive this.

By the time I stumble out, I’m inevitably a mess. Crying, shaking, and covered in sweat, even on the days I get the raw, straight edge experience. One of the baboons walks me to the small concrete room, empty except the industrial-looking shower head in the ceiling above the drain. The controls are on the outside of the room which is how they make sure the water is ice cold and stays on for exactly five minutes. They take the collar off and I get a bar of soap before they lock me in. It used to be orange soap bars that made my skin feel dry even wet. After that, it was green with the same problem but a stronger smell that clung to me all the time, which wasn’t half bad. Lately, it’s a white, rounder bar, that’s distinctly feminine, and leaves my skin soft, which would be concerning if I wasn’t already too balls-deep in my worst nightmare to care.

I used to dance in and out of the freezing shower while I soaped up but now I stay under the whole time. It’s the only thing that makes any damn sense anymore, the one small touch of reality in this shit storm. I stand under the frigid water and then shake and shiver once it’s turned off until the cold becomes a buzz on my skin and in my veins. Depending on the day, I wait for seconds or hours until they toss me a small, scratchy towel and clean clothes. The waiting is part of it. Not because I’m covered in goosebumps, muscles cramping so that I have to curl in on myself for heat, but because of what I know is waiting for me next.

When they finally let me out and lock me into the collar, it’s all I can do not to run back to our basement hole as fast as my legs will carry me to make sure August hasn’t bled out or gone into shock while they kept me from him. It’s all I care about anymore, helping him survive, making him as comfortable as possible. Honestly, it is the least I can do. It’s my fault he’s here at all, kept to be part of a set. Not to mention the heinous torture. If I had known, I would have done my damndest to kill him before it ever even started

And I would have inhaled that fucking lightbulb immediately after.

5.

CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, conditioning, dehumanization, electrocution, shock collar, being watched, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, possessive whumper, whumpee as caretaker, letmeknowifimissedany

He looks young, too young, like the kind of barely-adult who’s still carrying around a duct tape wallet they made themselves in high school. Maybe old enough to have graduated from college, but still doing whatever he can to delay wearing a tie behind a desk for the rest of his life. Even if that means working at a job that doesn’t even require a diploma so long as he can still surf on weekdays before work. Considering grad school just to avoid working a forty-hour week and his parents will pay for it anyway.

“Hey, I’m August,” he says, giving me a confident smile and holding out his hand as he towers over me.

I back into the wall, shake my head and wonder if I’ll get a warning shock even though I dodged his handshake. None comes, but I don’t take it as an invitation. Those don’t exist in this universe.

“It’s okay, Honey. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, tilting his head to the side so his bangs clear off his eye and backing away to sit on the bed with his hands held up.

God, he’s like a poster boy for Division One lacrosse. All tan, lithe muscle, white teeth, and that stupid, floppy hair. He looks out of place not wearing some bullshit nautical motif printed chino shorts with a collared shirt tucked in—probably a polo. The type to drive his Audi (his mom’s old car) into the seedy part of the city to buy pot but he’ll 'never smoke before a game.' Christ, what was this dipshit doing mixed up with Wyatt?

I push off the wall, staying out of arms reach, and go sit on my bed across from him. I pull my legs up off the floor for good measure and settle into staring him down. He better not try anything.

He looks around the room again before returning his gaze to me. “I’m not really sure what the etiquette is here. Should I make small talk and ask you where you grew up?” he asks, sounding as much like a tool as he looks.

No, Jackass, you should keep your fucking mouth shut so I don’t wind up paying for your uninspired commentary.

“Can’t really tell what the weather is like with no windows,” he comments.

Please stop talking. Don’t you dare start—

“Honestly, it’s not as bad as I thought. I was terrified when they first—”

The electricity zips through me, tensing every muscle.

A warning buzz, the lowest setting, but still strong enough that I have to catch my breath after. I keep it soft and quiet always careful not to double-dip by being loud. “Seen, not heard, Pretty Thing,” is what Wyatt had said, years ago, when he introduced me to my new constant companion. Sound activated and remote-controlled with several levels of intensity for all your everyday sadistic needs. The first week was an awful cycle of fuck ups. They were constantly shocking me with the remote. I’d cry out, only to be shocked by the human-bark-collar feature and wind up trying to claw it off, which would get me a third shock. Each time, the voltage increasing, over and over, until I’d pass out.

He’s paled at the sight of me. “Uh, you okay, Sweetheart?” His voice is lower, softer, like it was before when he said he wouldn’t hurt me.

I glare at him. No, Fuckface, I’m the unlucky, unwitting barometer for the class. I just got electrocuted because you started talking about a no-no subject.

I consider putting a finger to my lips to tell him to shutthehellup even though I know I’ll get a shock for the gesture. If I do it with my middle finger, will they shock me twice for killing two birds with one stone? Is it worth it anyway?

I look at the camera.

I’m sure Wyatt is watching. He lives for this. He watches every time his henchmen toy with me, too, even though that usually happens when he’s busy or away, so it’s on a recording. He loves watching me be as he made me. Pushing, testing, and dissecting his intrinsic control in different contexts. I know he loves correcting me, for the thrill of it, but it’s always with a hint of disappointment because perfection is what that twisted motherfucker is chasing.

August—shit, what a name—follows my gaze and must be noticing the camera for the first time because he swallows audibly and looks back at me with wide eyes.

This one’s going to fold like a lawn chair. He’ll be unhinged the first time they hurt him. By the looks of him, that hasn’t happened yet, which is a bad sign for sure. Hopefully, he gets that this isn’t open mic night, but he still looks anxiously confused. It’s not like I can pull down the top of my shirt to show him the collar either. That will get me a top-notch, skip all the low gears and jump straight to the chip-my-teeth, muscles-sore-for-hours, flooring-it kind of shock. Although, if I pass out, he’ll probably can it.

“I—” He stops, shakes his head, and drops it into his hands. Whispers, “Oh, man,” under his breath.

Idiot. What did you think this was? A chance to network?

I watch him try to collect himself. He’s raking through his auburn hair one hand at a time while he keeps his head hung. He might be the same age as me. I have no idea what year it is. Time flies when you’re having imprisoned in a windowless basement. August looks like he’s just been hit by reality.

Damn, kid. Don’t fall apart yet.

I rise to get him a drink of water before he completely loses it.

He watches me out of the corner of his eye but doesn’t lift his head until I’m holding the cup out beside him. He sniffles and wipes his face with the back of his hand pathetically before taking the little paper cup.

“Thanks, Angel,” he says huskily.

Drop the pet names, you’re not a southern grandma. I refrain from rolling my eyes. That one is a grey area. Sometimes Wyatt thinks it’s funny, other times, not so much. I go back to my bed and hug my legs to my chest so I can rest my chin on my knees.

August tosses back the water like it’s a shot and then leans over to put the cup on top of the cabinet. He scoots back so he’s leaning on the wall and fiddles with a paracord bracelet on his wrist. I’m surprised they let him keep that. He’s clearly not wearing his own clothes, just some cut-off sweatpants, and a plain white t-shirt. Either that or they abducted him in his pajamas.

He’s quiet until the light shuts off a little while later.

“What’s going on?” he asks. He must have stood up because a second later he walks into the foot of my bed. “Ow, sorry, I can’t see.”

No shit, Numb Nuts. Go sit back down before you hurt yourself.

He finally does and when my eyes adjust, I see that he’s lying down, but facing me with his head propped up on one hand. “I guess if you’re not freaking out, this must be normal. Does this mean it’s night? I was hoping we’d get to eat something. Did you eat already? I haven’t eaten today. I think it’s been—”

It’s too dark for him to see my reaction when they shock me. Assholes. It’s not going to work to stop his chatting unless he sees the consequences of his topic choice for himself.

“—a few days since I got here, but I don’t know for sure. I’ve been in—”

Another shock, stronger than the last. Fuck me, he’s not going to stop talking.

“—basement rooms the whole time, but it hasn’t been that bad. All they ever did was—”

I’m having trouble fully catching my breath with how fast these are coming, the voltage ramping up each time. God, just go to sleep, please.

“—ask me a whole lot of questions. It reminded me of my college admissions interview but more like a—”

Holy hell does it hurt. It’s been a while since I was reprimanded up to this level. I’m not stupid or brazen enough to fuck up twice in a row anymore, let alone four times. There are tears running down my face. I guess this is more about telling me not to listen. If I block my ears will they stop? Probably not and that’s way too close to touching the collar anyway.

“—personality quiz. I guess that’s over now. I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

Stopstopstopstop.

“—next but I’m happy to have some company. Although, I guess you don’t talk much…”

Breathe, Emma, justfuckingbreathe. I do it through clenched teeth. My face is wet with tears and snot from the last two. I never have figured out if the duration of the shocks increases as the voltage does or if it just takes my body longer to recover. I can barely hear August ask if I’m okay over the sound of my pulse hammering in my head and my own breathing. Fuck. Get it together before you give yourself the shock that knocks you out.

Something taps me in the arm. I open my eyes as I shove myself back into the wall. August quickly steps away from the edge of my bed.

Ohmygod, Dumbass. Did you just touch me? Can’t give me a goddamn minute? I hold my breath but nothing happens.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, Baby,” August repeats in a whisper, “I just brought you some water.” He holds out the cup, staying a full arms-length away, fingers gripping the top like a claw. He must have tapped the bottom of it against my elbow if they haven’t shocked me. It wasn’t his hand after all.

I exhale and carefully take the water by the bottom, trying not to shake so much that it spills.

He moves away, slowly, keeping his hands out at his sides again like I’m holding him at gunpoint. “I’m sorry,” he says, so softly I almost don’t hear it.

He thinks I was emotionally upset by his monologue. If only you knew, buddy. At least he won’t do it again or mention anything similar.

Eventually, he falls asleep and I’m thankful for the silence. Wyatt and his goonies talk to me plenty but it’s different when someone is expecting me to answer, and then I can’t. I stay up as long as I can because once I’m sleeping, I get shocked on a timer. Thankfully just with the lowest setting, but I’m not in any rush to feel it again. Sometimes, I swear it's every twenty minutes. Wyatt intentionally varies it. Snapping me back to my jacked-beyond-belief reality so I don’t ever forget it. As if my dreams haven’t also bowed to Wyatt’s will, but he knows that, of course.

He likes me better on my toes.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

[jetsetlife138]

Imaginary - Chapter 5

Rating: Mature for this chapter, but Explicit in future chapters

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Summary: A mysterious device throws you into the animated world of Hazbin Hotel. Once an average human living in a three-dimensional world, you’re now transformed into a two-dimensional human that has been cast into Hell. Pentagram City’s residents are curious and most harbor ill-will towards you. Charlie and the staff of the Happy Hotel take you in and offer you protection while they try and figure out how to return you to your world. That is… until you come across a certain Radio Demon with different intentions. Chapter Warnings: Manipulation 

Previous Chapters: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

It had been five days since your arrival in Hell and you were no closer to finding a way home than you were when you had first arrived. Charlie and the rest of the hotel staff were being as helpful as they could be, but it wasn’t easy running an entire hotel rehabilitation center on top of trying to find a way back to an alternate dimension. There was also the small fact that Charlie was the Princess of Hell and had regal duties to attend to on top of everything else. Still, you were grateful for whatever help they could provide.

Their methods of research were bizarre and not at all what you were expecting. The hotel had its very own library, filled with enough books to last you a lifetime of reading. Charlie had shown you sections of books based on travel, magic, and other strange things that were not the norm in your dimension. However, because magic was so common here, it was difficult to narrow down exactly what powerful source had brought you into Hell. The possibilities were endless.

Since you really didn’t know where to begin, you skimmed through a bunch of books to see if anything stuck out to you or jogged your memory. By day five, your head hurt, you were exhausted, and you felt utterly defeated. It felt like you hadn’t made any progress. 

However, it wasn’t all bad. The others kept you company while you read, though some more reluctantly than others. Oftentimes they assisted with sifting through the mess of books themselves. If you were being honest, sometimes having them around was more of a disturbance than an actual helpful resource, but it was a welcome distraction to ease the stress of the situation.

Charlie would randomly burst into song about whatever chapter she was reading about. Vaggie would make noises of disgust and complain about the grotesque history of Hell. Husk pretended to read through the books, when in actuality he would use the time to drink booze undisturbed and would eventually fall asleep, snoring loudly. Niffty, whom you had finally had a chance to meet, could never stay still long enough to read, and instead would start cleaning. Angel Dust just wouldn’t shut up about his sex life. 

Surprisingly, the only person who didn’t drive you crazy was Alastor. He had no problems sitting calmly with you and reading in silence. He wasn’t so much interested in the magic portion of the books as he was in the torture and carnage-filled sections. He was an enigma. 

Late one afternoon, the two of you were seated next to each other on the couch in the library. He was captivated by a book in another language with what seemed to be a sacrificial cow on the cover while you were reading about magical portals for the umpteenth time. 

No longer able to concentrate due to frustration, fatigue, and boredom, you closed the book and looked up at the Radio Demon. His normally taut and wide smile was relaxed into a closed-mouthed grin as he sat, relishing in whatever gruesome thing he was reading about from the twisted book in his hands.

Unaware of your staring, he failed to notice your gaze rising to the top of his head where two little antlers stood prominently next to two tufts of hair. “I can’t tell if that’s just the way your hair is styled, or if those are actually your ears,” you found yourself blurting out, focused on the pointed, furry shapes on top of his head. 

His crimson eyes flickered to you, seemingly unfazed by the interruption, though he remained eerily silent.

Nodding towards the top of his head for emphasis, you pressed further. “So? Which is it?”

“Curious little thing, aren’t we?” he mocked in a sickly sweet tone, baring his teeth in another smile. “Why do such things concern you?” 

Pursing your lips slightly and shrugging your shoulders, you replied, “Like you said… curiosity.” He released a short burst of laughter before turning his attention back to his book, not bothering to answer your question.

Unable to stop yourself, you asked, “Can I touch them?”

The look he gave you sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes flashed in what you could only assume was anger. For one brief moment, the corners of his mouth turned down into a scowl before it was quickly replaced with another toothy smile. “I don’t much care for that,” he answered, his heated gaze still focused on you. 

“You don’t much care for what? ...To be touched? You don’t like to be touched?” you found yourself babbling and repeating yourself, bemused by his statement. 

His lip curled slightly as he digested your words. “No. I do not.” 

Your face flushed with embarrassment as you looked down at your lap. What kind of person asks someone if you can just outright touch them? How intrusive, especially considering he apparently had an affliction with personal contact from other people, which honestly confused you after having recalled how many times you had seen him pressing himself against others. The past five days had allowed you to observe the strange residents inhabiting the hotel. While Charlie and Vaggie seemed to make the majority of decisions, Alastor seemed eerily quiet. He had kept his distance from you for the most part, which you assumed was either due to Charlie asking him nicely not to scare you off or Vaggie threatening to execute him like the badass that she was. He had an intriguing air about him in that he cared little for the opinions of others and simply did as he pleased. The demon seemed pretty docile in comparison to what you had seen the day he entered your mind, but you didn’t forget what he could quickly become at the drop of a hat. As much as you hated to admit it, he interested you the most out of anyone else. 

A few moments of uncomfortable silence passed between the two of you as you chewed your lip and drummed your fingers along the arm of the couch awkwardly. Not long after, Alastor relieved an annoyed sigh before he murmured, “Go on, then.” 

“What?”

Closing his book with a sharp snap , he set it down beside him, folding his hands together and turning to address you. “If it will satiate your incessant need to know what lays atop my head, you may touch me.”

Instead of immediately jumping at the chance, you resisted. “Um… that’s okay. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable just because I apparently have no sense of boundaries.”

“Darling,” he drawled, clearly amused by your reluctance. “You won’t get this opportunity again. Touch me.” 

His wording caused an involuntary hitch in your breath. You hesitated only for a moment, not wanting to miss out on what was clearly an exclusive invitation, which he didn’t often allow. His eyes fell to your mouth as you bit your bottom lip, causing him to smirk at your unease.

Quickly giving in, you sat up and kneeled on the sofa to get better access. Slowly, you reached for his head, careful to avoid the sharp tips of his antlers. 

Finally, your fingers came into contact with the top of his head. What you felt was difficult to describe. You never really thought about what animated hair would feel like. It felt very similar to actual hair, which mystified you. On top of that, his hair had an odd texture to it; wiry but soft, like actual fur, which made sense considering he was a zoomorphic being.

The intensity of his gaze felt hot against your skin as you continued to explore his mane, running your hand up along the part you were most curious about. The tall mounds on his head seemed to be a mix of ears and also hair. There weren’t any openings like a typical ear would have, but they were too stiff to be just hair.

“I still don’t know what these are,” you admitted, more to yourself than to him.

“Perhaps their purpose is simply to mystify. I was just drawn this way, I suppose,” he jested, playing off of your animation accusations. It was a concept that you had to explain to the hotel inhabitants over and over again.  Alastor was able to understand it more only because he had seen what your actual world looked like inside of your head. 

Ignoring his jab, you couldn’t stop yourself from continuing to explore the top of his head. You began to rub tenderly at a spot near the base of his ears. He then closed his eyes as your fingers worked against him. At first, you thought his eyes were closed due to disgust until you had noticed a low hum from deep in his throat. It sounded like an electrical current, but you soon determined that it had to be his own demonic version of a purr. Okay, that was fucking adorable.

“Very… peculiar,” you declared, finally retracting your hand and sitting back on the couch. 

“Are you satisfied, my dear?” he inquired with a subtle underlying meaning underneath.

“Not really,” you answered promptly. “But I’m not going to pet your head again, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

His grin widened as he chuckled, which sounded more like static feedback than an actual laugh.

Just as you were about to return to your book, he chimed, “My turn.”

Puzzled, you asked, “Uh.. for what?” 

“It’s only fair, don’t you think? You fondled me, now I get to inspect you. A little tit for tat, hmm?” 

Gawking at him, you tried to find the words to convey your panicked emotions at that moment. “Fondled?! I didn’t… I… I don’t… what?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “No reason to be nervous, sweetheart. I mean you no harm.”

His words of comfort only made you more anxious as you watched him lift himself from the couch and into a standing position. He then extended his arm and offered his hand for you to take with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Your hand was noticeably shaking as you rested it in his, allowing him to grasp it tightly as he pulled you from the couch and onto your wobbly legs. What was happening? Why was he making you so nervous? He had even told you before that if he wanted to hurt you, he would have done so by now. He hadn’t shown any prior aggression towards you, and he had been nothing but docile for the past few days. Why were you suddenly so nervous? 

Interrupting your internal turmoil, the demon stepped closer, bringing you back to the situation at hand rather than letting you get lost in your thoughts. His eyes flickered across your body from your head to your feet, his smile widening even further.

He then gently grasped a bit of your hair and twirled it slowly around his fingers, seemingly fascinated by its movement. Once he was finished, he stepped behind you. Instead of following him, you stood still, your nerves locking up your joints and preventing you from moving.

The tip of his finger rested along your right shoulder before he slowly dragged it across your back onto your left shoulder. The action caused your entire body to tremble, giving you goosebumps. 

“Calm yourself,” he whispered in your ear, making you even more nervous.

Returning to your line of view, he was once again in front of you. Swallowing thickly, you narrowed your eyes as his hands gripped your hips, bringing you closer. He then trailed a slender finger along your collarbone, down to your sternum and to the top of your breasts. 

His piercing red eyes shot up to gauge your reaction, but you managed to keep your expression neutral and your breathing even as he smirked and continued to explore.

Guiding the palms of his hands alongside your breasts, he used his thumb to lightly brush over your hardened peaks, not bothering to linger before moving on. “Quite fascinating,” he huffed, clearly enamored with you.

Were you seriously letting this thing touch your breasts? Why couldn’t you move? Why were you stuck like a deer in the headlights? Punch him! Kick him! Do something!

Unaware of your inner turmoil, he continued to grace his gloved hands further and lower until one of his hands abruptly cupped your sex, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Slapping his hand away, you barked, “That’s enough.” Narrowing his eyes, he seemed positively giddy, which infuriated you even more. “Something the matter, dear?” “You’re crazier than I thought if you think groping my crotch is the equivalent of touching your ears!” “My, my,” he scolded disapprovingly. “Such crude language is not very becoming of a precious thing like yourself. Your request was quite an intimate one. It’s only fair that it should be met with one of equal fervor, wouldn’t you agree?” “No! I would absolutely not agree! You’re delusional!” 

Cackling, he snapped his fingers and his staff appeared next to him, which he used to balance on as he eyed you with an amused expression. “I assure you, my dear. I have no nefarious intent with your body. Merely your mind.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” you barked back, simultaneously embarrassed and insulted. 

He took a step closer to you, placing a finger under your chin to lift your face to meet his, which he seemed to like to do often to signify his power over you. Your initial reaction was to smack it away, but his gaze held you captive as you hung onto every word that he said. “It means, my dear girl… that you’re mine.”

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