#lost our collective mind when this was revealed

[agravain-r]

i pledge my loyalty to you 

[silverinkbottle]

Oh. You

Alright. Finished up the season, enraptured by the concept and premise. Especially with our lovely deer boi's total not mental break at the end.

HUGE SPOILERS FOR FINALE OF HAZBIN. GO WATCH THEN READ

Chapter 2 <-

Warnings: Violence. Murky employment of child-like spirits.

Alright. On to the premise of the fic AU.

Summary: Unexpected meetings with Exes are always dramatic. Meetings in Hell after a historic battle aren't an exception to the rule.

A/N: Shorter chapter, but writing the next one as we speak. Yes, more Reader powers/backstory shall be revealed. This was just a hint of it.

Radio Demon..Gone

A pause in the wave of whispers.

Defeated?

Your lips curled in quaint satisfaction. It wasn’t true. No, he was far too proud to go out like that. The cigarette in your left hand was quickly extinguished in a nearby ash tray as you slid over the familiar carriage of the metal typewriter. The melodic ding of the mechanisms as your fingers hovered over the cool keys. The pamphlet would have to be perfect as you could all but hear your boss’s ranting and raving if the ‘excitement’ of the failed extermination. The bravado of Hell’s singular Princess. That was the problem when writing propaganda, it was so much harder when imagining details instead witnessing them first. Or second hand as there was a faint ding of a bell, a small furred paw slid across a new memo over your desk as you glanced over it with little interest. 

Radio Demon. Located.

“Show me. My little rabbit.” You purred as your little messenger respectfully tipped his hat to you. Gently gripping your hand with its paws, you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the claustrophobic sensation of the endless darkness. It was how these little lost souls traveled throughout Hell, through the little pockets of forgotten realities.  Never really existing as a true Sinner or Hellborne, all but clinging to a semblance of existence instead of nothing. It’s how your ‘paper’ boys came to your service. The boys came in a collection of fur colors, blacks, browns, whites even the occasional red, all with long rabbit ears popping through tweed caps, looking smart in little vests and trousers. One key feature remained the same, their facial features were blank like a mannequin in a shop. As if unable to manifest their ‘true’ faces from their past, or was it the disjointed collection of spirits unable to enforce a singular will on the others. 

“Oh”.  Your eyes flickered around to the carnage of rubble. It was a mess, that was the gentlest way of putting it. However, there was an undeniable note of copper in the air, mingling with strangely sweet notes as you nudged at the corpse of an Exorcist in passing. Even that tap with your boot provoked further golden ichor from numerous stab wounds. 

“Don’t touch that.” You hissed quickly grabbing the paperboy’s hand to plug him away from the puddle. Who knew what would happen if it managed to somehow consume the holy blood. The gory vision of an imploded corpse passed over your mind. Or somehow the souls reviving themselves. No, it wouldn’t do as your hand tightened about the child-like figure’s wrist as the pair of you marched toward the wreckage of the radio station. 

The copper flecks in the warped into something far saltier as you unceremoniously kicked in the half-broken door. A squeak of excitement came from your servant as it was drawn to the energy lingering in the air, bouncing into the room. Paws reaching for the unseen as another loud squeal came from its’ faceless mask. A true scream like that of a small child as black blood dripped down onto the floor, followed by the corpse dissipating much to the disappointment of the predator. Alastor lazily flicked the ink-like blood from his hand as you sighed.

“You look like shit.” You said as that seemed to grab his attention from the corpse to you. Suit torn, a visibly hurt shoulder and above all, that dim smile that seemed to go even thinner with your inspection.

“Like even worse than the time with those moonshiners who gave us a bad batch after that wrong call out. Worse than-” 

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” 

His words edged with a metallic screech as you couldn’t help but laugh. His pride made it all the worse to have someone witness the great, dangerous, infamous ‘Radio Demon’ licking his wounds. 

“Making sure your ears aren’t burning, darling. The walls talk and this whole stand-off with Heaven will be all the rage on the streets. Especially about YOUR disappearance after returning so briefly for all the fanfare you stirred up. Aligning yourself with the Princess of Hell, facing Angels and aiding in some hotel. Had to come see it for myself..”

“Seems like I was a bit late for that last part. Shame.” You sighed as you jabbed a pointed finger towards the mess outside. Stepping over the corpse it was all too easy to see the little restraint remaining in the demon’s gaze as sharp nails grabbed your face.

“Don’t get pissy because I am telling YOU the truth. A nice change for once, don’t you agree?” You teased as his free hand drifted over the crimson fur of your fox ears. Your sharp canine sank down onto your lower lip to resist the urge to squeal when the gentle touch turned to a rougher tug. A thin trickle of blood drifted over Alastor’s smug expression as you had managed to cut a razor-thin line with your folding knife over his skin. His throat would be next if he didn’t release your ears as you hissed low in your throat.

“Curiosity killed the cat, dearest. Surely you know that better than most.” Alastor retorted as his gaze flicked down to your covered throat. 

“Aren’t we terribly clever.” You sneered as you took a few steps back. Even in his weakened state, you knew it was wiser to play your cards cautiously than provoke him further. Genuine surprise crossed your features as you spied to battered remains of that infernal microphone. So those rumors were true as you withdrew your little black book from your dress pocket. A snap of your fingers as an inkwell pen neatly checked off the short list. You were quick to close the book with a loud sigh as Alastor’s peering over your shoulder was less than subtle. 

“Don’t you-”

“My, my, still writing all sorts of rumors aren’t you. However, do you find the time?” Alastor mused as he flicked lazily through the pages. Irritatingly sidestepping you with each attempted grab. There wasn’t much worth in that book, but it was still beyond infuriating. Taking a deep breath, you forced a pleasant smile on your face as your fingers snapped together. There was the faintest ding of a typewriter as another small rabbit-like creature sprang from the floor, collecting the book with a quick grab. 

“I have reliable help. Which is surprisingly difficult to come by these days. Unlike some Sinners, I can’t shrink from my duties to throw a temper tantrum.” You ticked off the comments on your fingers as Alastor’s ears went flat at the petty remark. 

“Oh, I am sorry. Would you like me to embellish it a bit? A dramatic session of sulking after a bruising defeat. An outburst of egotistical pride? No. Something far more crude. A shit-fit.” You nodded to your little rabbit as its paws hastily scribbled your dictation into the notebook.

“Hilarious.”

“I prefer charming.” You deadpanned as he shook his head at you. There was an almost faint feeling of nostalgia in the air now. It was almost human as the faintest memory of you finding him sulking after a less than perfect evening show. That his beat was off, ever the perfectionist as you patted his head with gentle encouragement. Far less cruel times before the darkness began to contaminate both of you.

“You never did answer my question. What are you doing here?” Alastor quipped as he ran a fingertip over the broken top of the microphone. 

“You really think I would miss out on the potential of this?” You dramatically gestured to the carnage about you.So many stories waiting to be written as you clapped your hands together. Summoning two more paperboys as their ears quivered from side to side waiting for your word. 

“Now off you go. Don’t leave a stone unturned. I wonder if we can get some true numbers on the casualties of saintly Heaven. Now would stir up the populace.” Your pen cut through your book without a thought as if you were in the privacy of your office. Instead of that of one ex-husband who was looking more and more perturbed at your avoidance of the question.

“I’m waiting.” Alastor chirped as his fingers splayed over the wet ink, pulling the book away from you. Or at least he tried to as you were quick to jab the sharp tip of the pen into his index fingers provoking a small hiss from the demon.

“You’ll keep waiting. I’ll give you a single crumb, I didn’t come here for YOU.” You snapped as you did your best to smooth out the crinkled page. The writing itself was a smudged mess of ink as you scowled at the once crisp paper.

“Then. Why?” Alastor asked as you gently closed the book shut, slipping it into your dress pocket. Now came the difficult or was it the dangerous part? Despite your estranged relationship, he was an Overlord and you were well..You. Your connections came from the rumor mills of Hell, whispers of your paperboys hiding in the shadows and the scant bit of information from the rants of your boss.

“I was asked to inspect the battleground, sort out the truth from the gossip and exaggerations. Plus the smallest bit of curiosity-”

“About-?” Alastor mused as he cocked his head at you.

“If it was true that Angels had been slain by their own weapons. I know markets are going to flux with all that. Not to mention the apparent discovery of near comatose cannibals found on the side of the road. Complaining about being TOO full for once, it was quite-” 

“You’re chirping an all too familiar song, kit. I know you are hiding something far more than that. Now whoever could have convinced YOU to do the dirty business of finding out sources yourself.” Alastor mused as he placed a single finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“It was Vox.” 

Laughter burst from you as saw the telltale twitch of his right eye. The harsher smile over his face at the mere mention of his hated rival. The potential power vacuum or perhaps the reverse of it now that the King of Hell seemed less reclusive.

‘Now, don’t get your antlers in a knot. It wasn’t Vox, you really think I would lower myself and quality for his trash version of news? Please, darling. I do have standards.” You smirked as you smugly patted his cheek before turning on your heel to leave the wreckage of the studio.

“Now, don’t sulk for too long. I imagine that little hotel needs you now more than ever.” 

As soon as you stepped back into the air. Small papers were all but shoved in your direction. Questions, answers, comments all things to be filed away as you dove into your work. Allowing words to shove out the memories of the past. To continue forging your path in this forsaken place in your own way. With the smallest bit of leverage through blackmail, threats and a flair all your own. 

Flipping through the notes, the faintest tug on your sleeve pulled your attention from the words. A simple request. One that made you want to throw a tantrum of your own as the golden ink burned in your vision. It wasn’t a request. 

It was an order.

“Fuck me.” You hissed as you pulled a cigarette from your pocket, allowing the flame of your lighter to ignite the blissful nicotine and eat away at the fine paper. Burning the message into ash to join the rest of the wreckage around you.

You hated feeling cornered. It was an ugly feeling that made your skin crawl like a fox with its leg caught in a trap. There was bitter irony in the scenario as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. The vulpine-like features weren’t as much of a hindrance as you knew it could be for other sinners. Your ears twitched as you could hear the faint conversation outside on the street beneath your room’s window. However, it did make your emotions more expressive as you could guard your tongue, but your ears were another story when it came to harsher emotions.  Running a brush through the soft fur of your tail as you perched on the edge of your desk, quietly directing the paperboys about you. Files had to be carefully moved, copied, sent elsewhere for safekeeping and then copied again. Each copy had little fragments of the truth in it, it would be quite the task to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle if someone was desperate enough. Or stupid enough given the true owner of the content wasn’t fond of others knowing his secrets.

Hours passed in a mere blink of the eye as you sighed running your fingers over the last box of files with satisfaction. All written in ink or typed by typewriter, some called your method of recordkeeping outdated. You preferred to think of it as efficient, it was far more difficult to change dried ink than a meddlesome electronic document. Besides, your boss was pleased as long as you managed to write his dictations without the need for a pause in his rambling. Yet, given the events lately, hopefully the work would keep him bursting into your quarters late at night too often.

Clicking together the last few buttons of your tweed dress collar as the lapel was accented by a singular red rose pin, you couldn't help but admire the shine of it. Its metallic petals caught in the sunlight as you stepped out onto the busy streets.You were quick to grab the ears of the paperboys flanking you, halting them from bolting off, especially with the boxes in their hands.

“No time to dawdle, I can’t be late..” You hissed before releasing the furry ears with a nod. Others would soon follow their steps as you silently hoped your arrival wouldn’t be met with much trouble. Up to the steps of the newly refurbished, rebuilt and endorsed by the King of Hell himself, the newly improved..

Hazbin Hotel

[seullovesme]

slow dancing in the dark » irene

pairing ⥬ bae joohyun x reader

genre ⥬ angst

summary ⥬ you're in love with irene, but she's in love with someone else.

unrequited love

part 1 | part 2

you watched the girl talk so animatedly with the guy across from her. this was stupid. you should not have agreed to sit on the other side of the cafe from your best friend, who was currently on her date. she had asked you to stay in case something were to happen and of course being wrapped around her finger, you caved in and did as she asked.

it was clearly unnecessary because she was enjoying herself, and you were just sitting there like an idiot. an idiot watching the one she loves fall for a different person.

you weren't going to deny it for a second. you are in love with bae joohyun, the only woman who was ever able to increase your heart rate with a simple touch or make your head spin at the thought of her smile. she was your soulmate, someone who you knew would be there for you no matter the circumstance, your best friend. you watched her laugh at whatever that man said as if it was the funniest joke on planet earth. it made your eyes roll into the back of your head in annoyance, it could not have been that funny.

so lost in your own head, you didn't even notice their date coming to an end. joohyun stood up, the guy following after her, and she thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. it lit a fire in your stomach, the feeling of jealousy was something you were familiar with. after all, you were in love with possibly the most beautiful girl. but it was not your place to feel this way. it's not like you were her girlfriend or anything.

her date walks away with a huge smile on his slightly pink face, exiting through the main door of the cafe. you turn to your best friend who remained standing in the same spot, seeing her looking down and biting her index finger with a smile on her face as well. her smile was gorgeous, too bad she was thinking of another person as she gladly showed her pearly white teeth.

-

your eyebrows furrowed. you were lounging on joohyun's couch, mindlessly scrolling through your instagram that was ironically filled with image and pictures posted by couples. was the world playing some joke on you? you turned your phone off and put it down with a huff. how annoying.

the sound of clattering catches your attention and you stand up in a panic, making your way to the room of the other girl where the sound had came from.

"hyun, are you okay?" you ask in a worried tone as you opened the door, revealing your best friend picking up her makeup from off the floor. "ah, sorry if i disturbed you. i just dropped my makeup bag." she responded, glancing up at you once or twice in between words. you examined her figure, specifically her outfit.

"what are you so dressed up for?" you questioned. she completed collecting her items and zipped it closed before placing it back onto her vanity. she sighed in relief and grinned. " junmyeon asked for a second date and i said yes! i'm so excited to see him again after our first date. he's such a great guy and i really hope things work out between us, i've never met anyone quite like him."

at first you felt a little upset or hurt, but seeing how happy she was made it hard for you to maintain such a negative emotion. if you couldn't be happy, at least she was and if her being happy meant giving her up then you were content with your decision. hopefully he treats her like a princess, how she really deserves to be treated.

"i hope you enjoy your date joohyun-ah. i'll be heading to my place right now." you gave her a hug which caught her off guard for a split second, but she returned your comforting embrace. you closed your eyes and tried to memorize the feeling of her body against yours, and how great it felt to be so close to her. when you backed away, you looked directly into her dark brown eyes and engraved the image of them into your mind.

you thought you were being a bit over the top, but there was no way you'd be able to face her after this. not without experiencing those same butterflies you had when you were with her. she would be better off without being burdened by your feelings, and you were better off letting her go.

"i'll call you tonight like we usually do and tell you about our date when i come back home, y/n."

you nodded and turned to leave. once you reached the front door, you held the knob but the call of your name caused you to pause. "thank you for being there for me. i could have never asked for a better friend." your heart clenched at her words but you could only smile. it was just a reminder that you were just her friend.

"any time, unnie." you reply after facing her direction, seeing her stand a few feet away in a stunning red dress that you had bought her for her birthday. "let's call later?" she asked, and you nodded eagerly.

"talk to you later, hyun." you swung the door open and stepped out, closing it behind you. as you made your way to your car, you pulled out your phone and messaged a close friend that you were going to stay over for the night. after sending the text, you completely shut down your phone not planning to turn it back on later today, or maybe even for the rest of the week for that matter.

you'll probably also throw out the bouquet of red tulips you have in your car, there's no way you'll able to go with your plan and confess anytime soon anyways. not when she's found someone who makes her happier than you, it's just not possible. but her happiness over yours, right?

im contemplating on making a pt. 2 where they end up together or leaving it open like this

[fanaticsnail]

i love your sapsorrow series — even more when i read that Shanks snippet where he thought he was safe OH GOD AHAHAHA please!!!

Ah, you see. They all think they're safe from the clutches of the foul curse of Sapsorrow. Their knees shall bend, their backs shall break and their hearts will perish before her mighty claim - should they ever fail in their task to woo their intended.

(Image Source)

Sands of Time

Themes: Sir Crocodile x f!reader, reluctant bride, enemies to lovers, kidnapping trope, rake!crocodile x royal!reader, forced proximity, longing from afar, injured x caretaker, time limit to love, haunting spectre, Sapsorrow fairytale au, suggestive themes, forced/arranged marriage.

Mihawk Sapsorrow masterlist here, Shanks Sapsorrow here, Masterlist here

Sir Crocodile's intentions below the cut.

.

“What is this? A fitting gift for an apprehensive bride. I shall gift this to my intended before we wed on the morrow. Perhaps it will be near enough for her to open her legs and share her bed tonight.”

Hunched over the writing desk, half-moon glasses drawn down the bridge of his nose, sat the hulking sir crocodile. He shook his head, unsure of what commotion was going on behind the door of his darkened office. A wedding? Unlikely. 

Managing inventory, arranging wage statements and smirking at his half-composed letter to the lord of Kuraigana regarding his collection of debt; his ears pricked at a whisper of motion within the room.

“It has been found, reptile,” the echoing voice sinisterly whispered. A rumbled roar began erupting within the chasms of his chest as he released fragments of sand out to grasp the ghostly form of the witch to encase her spirit in a layer of dust. 

“I was rid of you, witch. You have no claim over me nor my soul,” he growled, prompting the spectre to unleash a wave of echoed maniacal laughter. Her voice was haunting, her tone was low and deliberate as she taunted further. 

“I was lost to you, but now found and will be placed on the finger of a bride within the hour,” she taunted, slowly raking her undead soul towards him. Strands of her hair began moving as if beneath the crashing waves of water, her sinister smile and unblinking eyes bore into the hulking man in front of her.

“What conditions have been laid to have you curse me, witch?” he asked, sitting back in his chair and removing his glasses, “I had your band stolen from me by the Don of Dressrosa, thus casting your curse onto him, not me.” He chipped the end of a thick cigar, drew it to his lips and ignited the tip with the flick of his flint. 

“To answer first: she has laid no such conditions as yet,” the spirit confessed as nonchalant as a spirit could ever be, “And to answer second,” her spectral essence passed through the desk and stood still, towering over the form of the crocodile, “My curse cannot be given twice to the same individual.”

Sir Crocodile held his breath. His usually bored and slackened jaw was now clenched firm atop his cigar. 

“What must I do, witch?” He spat, staring up into the cement eyes of the ghost of Sapsorrow as she smeared her sharpened canines down at him. As Sapsorrow began to bare another thought down onto the crocodilian man in front of her, an echoed voice rang throughout the room.

“I am not cattle to be bought with such an item, nor am I simply a broodmare to bear your spawn within my belly. You think this enough for me to share my bed on the eve of our wedding? I would never.” 

Sir Crocodile bore his eyes into the ever rising smirk of the Sapsorrow Queen in front of him, listening to the echoing words ricocheting from the chasms of his mind and reverberating in his soul.

“If you desire me to be your bride, you will have me love you with all that I am. You will earn my affection, you will slave for my adoration - but my love will be only passed onto you when I truly think you love me completely in return.”

The malicious laughter echoed throughout the room, the sands currently revealing the Sapsorrow spectre falling atop the desk, littering the papers and ornaments scattered below. 

“Make haste, Sir Crocodile,” she taunted him once more, “She is set to marry him on the morrow. That should put a damper on things, do you not you agree?”

Sir Crocodile began to shake, his shoulders stumbling below his aggression. He violently thrust his forearms down atop the desk, his balled fist of his remaining hand indenting beneath his powerful thrust, the tip of his golden hook sunk into the mahogany and encaptured it within his circlet. 

“H-How,” he began, his voice staggering as his mind caught up with the conditions laying claim to his soul, “How could someone measure that? How could someone ever dream of proving that level of blind devotion?”

“Therein lies the rub, reptile,” Sapsorrow’s echo felt further from him now, flittering up towards the ceiling akin to the smoke from his sour cigars, “You may never truly earn it, and I may yet collect the debt of your soul.” 

“You have a year,” her voice began to crack as it faded up further, “Until the sands of time pass the last grain to conclude its final hour, your form shall crack like glass and your soul will belong to me.”

-----------

Notes: I will be working on Shanks, Buggy and Sir Crocodile spinoffs once the Sapsorrow Au fic is concluded for Mihawk. If there is a gentleman you would like to see flung into this particular fairytale curse, let me know and I will aim to create it! I only have 10 rings to work with!

There are other fairytale au's in the making, if you enjoy an interpretation with your beloved characters:

@gingernut1314 is doing "The Luck Child" for Buggy

@writingmysanity is doing a "Hans My Hedgehog" interpretation for Corazon.

@sordidmusings is doing a "Three Ravens" interpretation for Sanji.

@cinnbar-bun has many a thought about the Crocodile, and I am looking forward to see what she comes up with.

Allow me to take the opportunity to thank @since-im-already-here, the "smol snail, fanatic in the making," for making me do this one. I love writing for it, and it's amazing to see how many there are of you that enjoys being whisked away with my words.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine @feral-artistry @i-am-vita

[romanoffsbish]

Sweet Nothings

Wanda Maximoff x F!R

A Torn up Masterpiece

Warnings: Self-Conscious/Deprecating R, Mean Shield Agents.

Smut: SOFT! Mommy (W), Little Dove (R), Thigh Riding (R), Fingering (R)

18+ | Minors DNI !!

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“They said the end is coming, everyone's up to something..."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

The clock flashing 12:00am was nothing short of taunting, it reminding you that you'd only made it through part of your day at Shield. There never used to be disdain in your heart for the agency, but that was back when you knew the agents around you, and when they knew you all the same. Natasha, Maria and Clint used to make the environment enjoyable. Now you hardly ever see them as they either moved on or up and left you to hold down the fort with the new, much younger crowd.

"Agent Y/L/N" this or "Miss Y/L/N" that, it didn't really matter how they addressed you, the words they spoke held hardly any respect, and the stares always rubbed you the wrong way when you would pass them in the halls.

"I just don't get it dude, how the hell did Agent Y/L/N bag a hottie like Wanda anyways?," you could hear the surrounding agents, they were either chuckling at your expense, or making grumbling noises in an obvious agreement., "There's nothing special about her at all, the little witch would be so much better with me, I'd show her what she's missing out on. I'd fu—.," your jaw clenched as you cut the asshole off with the clearing of your throat. Everyone of their bodies suddenly stiffened upon seeing you step out from around the corner., "Miss.."

With a dismissive wave of your hand the weak apologies died on Agent Marten's tongue., "Apologies will get you nowhere cadets, you're all wasting valuable company time gossiping in the halls, and about your superior mind you."

"With all due respect, we're level 1 agents, no longer are we cadets.," you chuckled at their attempts to defend themselves., "Oh yeah?.," he stupidly nodded—as if it wasn't rhetorical., "Well I'm a Level 8, Agent Vo, my clearance is far above yours, and let's be honest here, you're not acting like anything more than cadets."

"Quite frankly Y/N, I'm not even sorry here.," you remained stoic while staring the smug looking agent down., "You will be when I get you demoted to water boy Agent Marten—or should I say Muriel since we've lost our wits on respect around here, hm?," watching the color drain from his face was indeed satisfying as you revealed his first name to all his peers., "No, we all understand, and we're very sorry."

"Interesting change of tune there Agent, but I regret to inform you that disrespecting a commanding officer gets you a months worth of additional paperwork, and a suspension from missions—camaraderie is essential here at Shield, and if any of you were paired with me I'd feel unsafe—so take this time to reevaluate your decisions on making an enemy of me."

"Miss—."

"I'm sorry, did I ask for a debate cadets?," your hardened gaze seemed to have the desired effect as all of their shoulders collectively fell, and most reluctantly shook their head., "Good, because I much prefer not having to repeat myself. Fury and Hill will issue your formal suspensions, and I'll drop all of your additional paperwork off to you after the weekend."

As swiftly as you dismissed them they were gone, your intimidating posture fell once they were out of sight too. Words hardly ever had the power to get to you, but when your very worth is constantly a question on many others minds it's hard not to give in to all the noise.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"I find myself running home to your sweet nothings—Outside, they're push and shoving."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

After dealing with the malicious agents you found yourself inside of Director Hill's office., "Long time no see Y/N/N, to what do I owe the pleasure of you slumped onto my couch, hm?," the woman laughed boisterously when she received a middle finger in response to her teasing., "Aww, I love you too pookie.," she dodged your pillow with ease as she sat down at her desk then silently observed you further. There was this obvious dullness to you that she had never seen before, and truthfully her heart broke a bit at the sight of you looking so low.

"Ria, I can't do it anymore, like I hate it here.," she nodded in understanding, she knew the cadets of today were nothing like the past sets., "I know, but I beg of you, please don't leave.," you sat up to face her with a broken smile., "You all left me first.," the raven haired woman immediately moved to sit next to you on the couch, pulling you into a side hug, and so you laid your head on her shoulder., "I'm here, and Romanoff's only a call away—I know she'd love to beat the new wave into shape—so call her."

"It's not the work Ria, they listen well enough. It's...," you take in a calming breath, deciding if the truth will set you free, or potentially harm you further., "Y/N, what did they say to you?," her eyes left no room for cowardice so with a heavy exhale you muttered the partial truth., "It wasn't to me, it was about me—behind my back but I unluckily heard it all."

Maria sat there patiently waiting for you to fill her in, and with every repeated word you were able to croak out over held back sobs she could feel her body filling with an unparalleled rage. One that she knew could only be beaten out by Wanda, the very person who you were left to questions love, all because others want her., "Wanda loves you wholly Y/N, forget the idiots that don't even know hers attempts to make you feel otherwise. That witch is all yours."

"What if they're right though? Like, what if I'm holding her back Ria? She deserves—.," Maria instantly cut your rambled fears off by burying your face into her shoulder, and moving to finish off your words., "You. She deserves you, and you my dearest friend, deserve her love.," and after she finished her arms held to you tighter as you began to quietly sob, her hold didn't relinquish either until you'd calmed.

"Go home.," you went to protest, even if some part of you came in here hoping she'd suggest just that, the other part of you didn't want to give the cadets even an ounce of pride here., "I'm not kidding Y/N, you're ahead of your work anyways, it's a forced vacation really.," you smiled at her gratefully too, hugging her tight as a silent thanks before finally leaving.

Once you left the room the woman instantly pulled out her phone., "Hey Wanda, it's Hill..."

—

When you left her office it was as if a weight was lifted off your shoulders, the pressure to be the very best agent significantly faded as you returned to your office to collect your things, but the peace was very much short lived.

"Did you hear the news?," you continued to collect your stuff, ignoring the group of giggling girls stood far too close to your office., "Turns out the Wanda Maximoff is dating the Natasha Romanoff.," one of the girls scoffed in obvious annoyance., "No, she's with Agent Y/L/N.," the original girl giggled., "For now..."

It was asinine—their claims were nothing if not unfounded, but for a brief moment you let your mind believe that there was some truth to it. Aesthetically speaking they did fit together; there's already a built in trust between them, as well as obvious love amongst one's chosen lot. Natasha and Wanda were inseparable in the field, you've even seen them work together, and you wonder if their loyalty to you hindered the potential for them to be happier together.

The need to escape was overtaking your body the more your mind gave in to the notion that Wanda was better without you, so you threw your bag over your shoulder haphazardly then made a beeline for the fire escape. No way did you intend to run into any of the people you knew here, nor did you want the cadets having the satisfaction that they were able to upset you in such ways that you couldn't finish work. Showing any sort of weakness to them would only fuel their entitlement to your peace on.

Once you stepped outside you felt a wave of relief as the fresh air traveled into your lungs. In and out, in—out; you were going to be fine. You were so out of it though that you didn't see the cruel stranger who wound up shoulder bumping you into a nearby wall. You winced harshly as your exposed skin scraped against the bricks. Looking up from the ground you saw the hustle and bustle of the New York streets, and once again you felt overwhelmed.

Your lip began to involuntarily tremble along with your hands, the need for escape had never been greater as you sprinted down the street. Ignoring the ache in your muscles the whole way as you were many miles out from yours and Wanda's shared home. There was no end in sight, your mind was running just as fast as your legs and nothing you did could stop it.

Truth be told you needed Wanda, nothing else was going to calm you down enough until you saw those beautiful green eyes of hers. They'll likely be full of concern, but if you could just see through to the love then you know your heart would settle. Sadly though, as you entered your home, falling onto the floor as your adrenaline faded and your legs gave out, you found it to be just as empty as your heart. She was at work, that much you expected, and if there's one thing you refused to do it was call her and beg her to come home to rescue you.

It took you an entire twenty minutes to crawl across the floor, then another ten to get up the stairs and finally you were in your bedroom. Reaching up you grabbed Wanda's sleep shirt from last night, you sniffed the fabric and felt relief as your body's trembling came to a stop. Your legs felt like jello when you moved to pull yourself up to your feet, staggering as you did you made your way into the bathroom where you turned the dial all the way to the left, and as soon as the water scorched your skin you broke down into a fit of unforgiving sobs.

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it...You're in the kitchen humming."

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

Stepping out of the shower was difficult, your limbs were shaky after the long time spent sobbing beneath the scalding hot streams of water. An obvious side effect of your sudden dehydration, but you managed to push through the struggle of walking as you managed to make it to and flop down onto the mattress.

Your mind was essentially fractured, broken lines of self deprecating dialogue running through it at a mile a minute with no reprieve. Still, you shut your eyes in a useless attempt to use sleep as an escape, but it too was fruitless. Thrashing about on the mattress felt more like your speed now, but just as you were about to throw said tantrum you caught a whiff of something so familiar and decadently sweet.

Wanda's triple fudge brownies...

In an instant you were on your feet, another wave of adrenaline fueled you as you quickly, but quietly made your dissent to the kitchen. The sound of soft humming was the next to reach you as you neared the bottom of the stairs, your senses were on overdrive tonight. Standing off to the side of the entryway you peered into the kitchen to see your lover with her apron on, her hair was pulled back, and a mixing bowl was expectantly sat in her hands.

"Detka, is that you?," she called out to you, her subtle way of letting you know she knew you were lurking. Her answer came in the form of you padding your way over to her, she settled her bowl down on the counter just in time to catch your distraught form in a calming hug., "Moya lyubov', you should've called me."

"Didn't want to bother you.," you mumbled into her chest, then as expected she pulled away to grip you by your shoulders., "Detka, what have I said to you countless times prior?"

"Th-that nothing comes before me, not even your Avenging, and that even if the world was burning you'd stop at nothing to get to me.," she nodded gratefully., "Exactly, you are my world Y/N, there's no point in me protecting everyone else's when yours is crumbling.," her forehead laid against yours while her hands lifted yours up to her lips for a tender kiss.

"You smell good honey.," she noted, traces of your vanilla lotion hitting her nostrils as she held your hands close to her face., "Thanks Wands...," you slowly pulled your head back, meeting her eyes full of love as you looked ahead and the sight alone was overwhelming.

"Did I smell brownies?," the witch chuckled at your silly means of deflection., "Yes, you did.," with a swift movement she dipped her finger into the batter then rose it up to your lips with a cheeky smirk, and an exaggerated wink as you swirled your tongue over the extended digit. Wanda's eyes darkened ever so slightly when you moaned, but she did her best to tamper her urges as you innocently met her gaze., "It's delicious mommy.," Fuck...

The dizzying moment only lasted for a second before the witch shifted you to sit on a stool besides the counter, then after she poured the batter into the baking pan she returned to you. Her body stood between your legs, and those oh so emotional eyes were back on you as she went to speak., "You're the best thing that ever happened to me Y/N/N, so please, I beg of you stop letting the naysayers win your mind over.," her hands shifted to cup your cheeks., "I've never loved anyone the way I have you, nor do I intend to ever love another as such."

After an intense bout of eye contact the first one to lean in was you, desperate for affection beyond the verbal, and Wanda gave you just that. Hands roamed beneath your loose fitting t-shirt in search of your perky nipples while her silky tongue delved right into your hot mouth. Whimpers of desperation reverberated from your throat, and got lost in her mouth as she continued to kiss you hard while her skilled fingers tease your sensitive nubs., "Mommy..."

Wanda nearly crumbled at how breathily you called out for her, always so desperate, but in moments like this one she forgoes teasing to the furthest degree. She's content with how worked up she got you as she slipped her thigh between your legs to find you already dripping.

"Oh my little dove, mommy's going to take such good care of you.," she promised as she slowly began to trail her lips across your flesh, her hands fell to your hips as she efficiently guided your hips movement against her thigh., "Mo-mommy please, I need more.," she flexed the muscle of her lush thigh at your pitiful request, the soft skin brushed against your clit causing your back to arch., "Mommy, oh god... I-I need to cum, please.," she bit into the skin over your racing pulse., "Let go little dove."

In an instant your head flew back as you reached that moment of unwavering ecstasy., "That's right detka.," she helped to prolong your orgasm by controlling your twitching hips., "Chase that pleasure my precious angel, you deserve to be worshipped; so beautiful."

Wanda threw her shirt that adorned your body across the kitchen when your body relaxed, then her lips found yours for a needy kiss., "Tell me what you need little dove, hm?," she gazed into your hazy eyes, a tiny smile graced your face when you could see right through her clouds of lust to the abundant wells of love., "Fingers please mommy.," she gently pecked your lips., "So well mannered detka, mommy's so proud of you for using your words too."

Wanda wrapped her arm around your waist, spinning you around until she had your upper body gently pressed into the table with your leg's widespread for her. A hoarse groan left her at the sight of your slick drenched thighs., "So pretty, you're always so perfect for me.," her nimble fingers trailed over the swell of your ass, pulling an affected moan from you when they grappled handfuls of the malleable skin on their way to their desired location—your cunt.

The woman knew you like the back of her hand, so she entered your tight hole rather roughly with two fingers, pulling them out just as fast to only slam them back in with another. She was rewarded with your wanton moans instantly, her expert fingers working you over with ease like usual, but her lips still held that tenderness you craved as they kissed over the column of your spine until stopping to place a far more firm kiss to the nape of your neck.

"Breathe moya lyubov'.," her whispers of concern didn’t go unnoticed by you as she could feel your back pressing into her as your upper body was rising rapidly, you tried to calm down, but the pleasure was immense. Wanda felt your walls fluttering around her., “M-mommy please.,” she settled a kiss to your cheek before her lips returned to marking your back up., “Let go little dove, cum for mommy.”

The timer on the oven dinged in sync with your throat scratching moans, your lover continued to work you through your orgasm, trailing kisses down your body while also using her powers to pull the brownie tray out of the oven. Tiny whimpers brought her hand to a stop, her fingers slowly slipped from within you, and she held steady eye contact with your blissed out face as she slid them in her mouth., “Divine…”

With a gentle hand she pulled you up from the table, her hands settled on your hips and in a moments time her lips were pressed to yours. There wasn’t a rush in anyone’s movements, just a hot, breathy kiss that made hearts flutter. Wanda’s arms loosely held you against her as she shared your taste with you, rewarding her with your whimpers and languid moans up until you couldn’t keep up anymore. Then while you caught your breath after she pulled back you found your lips being tapped again.

You mindlessly bit into the gooey brownie, an appreciative groan left your throat instantly., “Thanks Wands.,” she smiled softly at you., “Anything for you little dove.,” she frowned when your lip began to tremble., “Oh detka…”

Wanda’s resolve broke when your shaky hands tugged on her shirt, the moment of bliss fading as your body once again filled with sadness. She quickly snapped the fabric away, allowing you to lean into her bareness for the comfort you craved, and her strong arms held you so close so that she could sway your now crying form while humming softly into your ear.

No amount of loving you seemed to be doing the trick, Wanda's heart ached as your cruel thoughts continued to run through your mind. They were so loud, and the bulk of them made no sense, but she knows they weren't created by you, just simply adopted from the assholes who knew nothing about your relationship.

Wanda carefully carried you to the bedroom, a tray of necessities floating behind her and settling down on the bedside table as she sat down on the bed. Her jaw clenched as thoughts of yours were only increasing and infiltrating her mind, the harshness of your insecurities fully breaking her heart, and the sounds of your sobs only made her hold you tighter.

"Natasha's just a friend detka, one that adores you by the way, the woman demands updates on you every Monday—you should call her.," the witch softly began to dispel the thoughts., "I am not going anywhere; you're it for me.," her arm that was wrapped around your bare waist tightened, pulling you in even closer as if you'd disappear into thin air if she hadn't.

"I love you so much detka, with all of me, can't you see that you're everything I'll ever need?," Wanda whispered against your temple, her lips gentle as they laid soft kisses to your hairline., "I'm enough for you?," she instantly lifted your head from her shoulder., "More than enough.,” the intensity of her gaze as she spoke so softly instantly began quelling all of your fears.

A broken hum reverberated from your throat, causing the redhead to shift the both of you until your naked body laid flat atop the bed., "My goodness, those kids did a number on you my dear.," she pecked your lips gently., "Don't worry detka, I shall handle all of them myself.," you shook your head, but she only smirked., "I'm thinking I'll hang them all upside down from the ceiling by their 'tighty whities'."

The witches heart fluttered as you broke out into a hearty fit of laughter, your eyes—puffy from crying, closing as you allowed the spark of joy to completely consume you., “Wands, no.,” you choked out through your laughter and she scrunched her nose up adoringly as you tried to regain a hold on your sternness., “Y/N, yes.,” the light of your life pecked your lips a few times to spur on your giggling before she rolled off of you and propped herself up onto her side.

“I love you baby, thank you for being my rock.,” she looked to you with glossy eyes that spoke to you of her heart., “I am only being to you what you’ve been to me countless times prior Y/N.,” she settled a hand over your cheek, rubbing the damp skin lovingly., “My precious dove, you’ve brought me back from the depths of despair with your love, and you held no expectations.,” she pulled you in for a soft kiss., “It’s only fair that I extend you the same courtesy; you are not meant to hold it all in detka—let me help.”

Her thumb brushed away the reemergence of tears before she was moving to place delicate kisses all over your face, and it was when you calmed that she saw the smile on your face., “You’re all I need Wands, just you existing is enough for me.,” her eyes closed as your lips pressed into her palm, basking in the warmth that was your love before she shifted closer., “Funny, I was going to say the same to you.”

Wanda pulled your body atop of hers, your face now laying in the valley of her breasts while her hand carded through your hair., "You know.," she paused to peer down to ensure you weren't already asleep., "I used to dream of moments like these.," she smiled up as she remembered her months of silent pining., "Whenever I'd visit Shield with Natasha I'd find myself drawn to you Y/N—the most beautiful woman alive."

You snorted., "Baby, that's a bit hyperbolic.," she immediately brushed you off., "No, it's just the honest to God truth detka, you captivated me from the very start.," she smiled down at you when you shifted to your stomach, resting your chin on her abdomen as you looked up at her with curious eyes brimming with tears.

Her hands brushed the hair from your face, then the right one remained on your cheek., "And it also went way further than your looks. I'd found myself drawn to your laughter first—it was contagious, then came your kindness—goodness me Y/N/N, I'd never seen someone more considerate than you.," she sighed when she was met with disbelief in your returned gaze., "The honest point here moya lyubov', is that my dreams could never live up to the reality of what it's been like to not only love you, but to be loved back by you; this is the closest thing to paradise I'll ever get detka."

"You're too good to me Wands.," her thumb gently removed your lip from between your teeth., "No, I'm just treating you as you deserve to be treated detka. You deserve the world."

Wanda gently maneuvered your body until your face hovered hers, she pulled you down for a soft kiss that she instantly deepened, and in a moment of pure relief your mind stilled. Thoughts to the negative faded from your mind, and the witch found herself smiling into the lip lock when they phased into kinder ones, and to the ones full of giddy optimism that had her heart fluttering uncontrollably in her chest.

"I love you so much wiggly woos.," the woman then groaned as you found a way to 'ruin' the moment, but your accompanying giggling as you fell into her settled her weak annoyance., "Marry me then.," she reassured your hopes, and she chuckled when you gasped against her.

"W-Wands I—.," she allowed you a moment to stutter, then she smiled when you looked at her questioningly., "I'm serious Y/N—be my wife."

"Really?," your lip trembled as you felt her overwhelming love radiating from just the simplest of touches, and her smile., "Really.," she nodded in the affirmative., "Yes! Please!"

Wanda chuckled at your enthusiastic response, all the while her heart was beating rapidly as she hastily reached into the drawer of your bedside table and pulled out a velvet box., "This wasn't a spur of the moment decision detka, well, it kind of was but I promise it was already in the works.," she shifted you both up into sitting positions so she could showcase the diamond more efficiently, and she smirked when your eyes lit up with a bewildering shine.

"You're everything I could ever want and more detka.," she gently pecked your lips while her hands practically yanked the jewelry from the pesky box., "Now give me your pretty hand!"

The two of you shared excited high pitched giggles, rolling around the bed in all your naked glory., “We’re getting married!,” your squeals filled the little witch to the brim with joy, her nose crinkling affectionately as she watched your eyes swimming with a purity., “I’ll be right back love.,” Wanda left you with a momentary pout, coming back into the room she popped open a bottle of champagne you received from the Barton’s last Christmas with a loud agreement., “We’re getting married!!!”

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

"All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing"

—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—

“We’re getting married.,” you tiredly cheered for what appeared to be a final time before you were succumbing to your bodies exhaustion, and so your wife to be was now covering you both up with a fuzzy red blanket, and flicking the bedrooms lights off with her red tendrils.

“Goodnight Mrs. Maximoff.,” she whispered cheekily against your puffy cheek., “I love you Y/N/N, my precious little dove; my wildest dream come true, oh how I yearned for you.,” she placed a final kiss to your pouting lips, a smile instinctively rises on your sleeping face and melts her even further if that’s possible.

“Forever will never be long enough with you.,” her hand intertwined with yours as she settled into the mattress, allowing your bubble of love to warm her soul, and send her off to sleep too.

——————————

4,644 Words

🥰 Kaitlyn 😘

[6lostgirl6]

Can you do a request for me with Hannibal x Fem Reader where she starts seeing him as a patient and you reveal to him that you have kinda gray morals when it comes to murder and stuff like that and over the course of about 6 months or so you two start falling for each other but he tries to keep it professional until he can’t anymore and fires you as a patient which upsets you until he tells you why he did it (which was so he could date you)

Unexpected Romance

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

TW: slight meltdown, hints of murderous thoughts, dependence, slight angst, arguing, fighting, happy ending

You sighed, walking out of the building that once held your third psychiatrist of the month, clutching onto the white paper labeled 'referral.' It felt like a slap in the face, sitting in a comfortable office chair and spilling your deepest secrets to someone you barely knew, only for them to refer you to someone else.

'I don't know how else to help you.'

They would question you, offering you a false sense of security, yet when their prescribed medications and deeply-rooted questions did nothing, they simply lost hope in rekindling your sense of morality.

You were...beyond saving...

You slammed your car door shut, flinging the piece of paper onto your passenger seat where it lay abandoned, seemingly mocking you that it would add to your collection of your previous referrals, prescriptions, and office information. You sniffled, staring at the leather of your steering wheel. The next second, you were screaming, crying, and slamming your fist against the steering wheel as if it insulted you.

"Fuck!" You yelled, clutching your sore knuckles, staring at the bruises that were already starting to form from the force of your rage. "Fuck..."

You sniffled, staring into your rearview mirror, hastily wiping away the tears that were streaming down your face, eyes bloodshot and nose threatening to plug up from your excessive crying. You tried calming down, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Your first psychiatrist taught you about breathing exercises.

Yet, those techniques didn't stop you from the plague that invades your subconscious. The images of your family murdered, blood staining every crevice...

You shook your head before glancing over at the piece of paper, sighing to yourself as you reached over, picking it up. The name of your new therapist stared back at you, promising you of more false promises and hurt.

Dr. Lecter.

A few weeks later, you were sitting in the waiting room waiting for your first session. Well, first session with your new therapist. You were picking your nails as you watched the clock, dreading the unavoidable. The minutes were ticking by, seemingly mocking you of your adversity.

You were anxious all morning, pacing in your room, dressed and prepared only a few hours ahead of schedule. The drive was hellish, thoughts of canceling the appointment, suffering a fee and turning back haunted you. Now, you were in the waiting room with a racing heart, the pattering of the raindrops outside distracting you.

'I am beyond help...'

"Miss (L/N)?" A deep-toned voice asked.

Your head snapped, mind clearing as you faced the person that had called your name. Standing by the door, keeping it open with a charming yet polite smile upon his face, was your new and fourth psychiatrist.

Dr. Lecter

"Sorry, yeah, that's me." You said, standing from your seat but keeping your distance, you simply didn't want to barge into his office. You gave him a small smile, still feeling uncomfortable with the beginning of your session. "It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Lecter."

"Likewise." He replied, stepping to the side with the door still opened for you. "Shall we begin with our session for today?"

"Of course." You walked past him, nodding in thanks before stepping into his office, maintaining from letting out a gasp of surprise over the vastness of his office. If you hadn't known this was his office, you would have guessed it was. The room screamed elegance and filled with decor one would see in an art museum.

"You have a lovely office." You complimented, looking around the room as Dr. Lecter closed the door and walked over to his desk, picking up some papers.

"Thank you, I quite enjoy displaying decorum through interior decorating." He replied, almost in a teasing way. "I apologize that you've been waiting a few weeks before we could start. Your psychiatrist had to send your information over from previous sessions."

"I wish it were longer, actually." You stated halfheartedly, finally taking a seat when he gestured silently towards one of his many available chairs nearby, nodding in thanks.

"Not very fond of sessions are you, miss (L/N)?" He asked, glancing your way as he shuffled through some of your paperwork, most likely your old medications and lack of diagnoses.

"I'm not particularly fond of wasting my time talking about my issues until the person trying to help me figures out I'm just incurable." You refused to return his gaze, fiddling with your nails. "They can't figure out what's wrong with me."

"There is no such thing as being incurable, there's only being overlooked."

"How do you figure?" You asked in confusion, looking up to watch him place down the papers and take a seat across from you. You didn't like the way he refused to look away from you, it made you...fuzzy.

"I believe your experience with your previous psychiatrists are, in better terms, unfit to handle someone like you." He paused for a moment, "You need someone that is able to understand you, discover your innermost self and I'm simply a better fit."

You felt your cheeks warm slightly, glancing away and unable to understand that fuzzy feeling you were feeling in your chest. "You make it seem so undemanding." You only glanced back when he called your name.

"You, my dear, are not incurable."

You were speechless, you didn't know what else to say. Something that would make him deter him away, but nothing could cross your mind before he continued.

"You are not beyond saving."

You stared at him for a while, the words sinking into your mind and chasing away some of the doubt that has haunted you for a majority of your life. You decided, against your judgement and the aching of your heart at the risk of more pain, you would give him a chance.

You nodded, which prompted him to give you a polite smile.

Time to restart the process.

At first, it was morbid curiosity.

When Hannibal was notified that he was being referred to a fellow colleague's previous patient, he was curious, very curious. He wanted to know the reason a respected psychiatrist, with an incredible track record, couldn't help a patient for once.

Therefore, he decided he would see the person behind his fellow colleague practically being close to ripping their hair out in stress. However, he was genuinely surprised when he opened his office door and saw you sitting in the waiting room. Your timid form playing with your nails with your gaze laser-focused on the clock that you didn't even react when he stood in your presence. Yet, you were oddly polite and if Hannibal didn't read your paperwork, he would have assumed you were an ordinary girl with her own issues.

However, you were...different.

He couldn't place his finger on what it was, but you weren't like anyone else he had seen step into his office. Your profile made it seem like you were a delinquent waiting to happen. However, you were polite, respectful, and had a deep passion for the arts similar to himself. He's never met an individual who shared a multitude of common interests with him. Perhaps, he underestimated you. He certainly wasn't prepared by how pretty you were and how close you two would become and he wouldn't forget your first session. When he had the opportunity to dig deep within your center and rip out your deepest secrets about yourself, in his own space.

Your gaze was focused on the window, watching the water droplets from the rain slide down the glass, the sleeves of your sweater hiding your delicate fingers. Those slim fingers that he couldn't stop staring at. You seemed so helpless, desperate for validation for the things you were going through, and he wanted to know the root of the problem.

Perhaps then, his curiosity would dissipate and he would have an easier time letting someone like you go.

"You must tell me what you're feeling if I am to help you, Miss (L/N)." He spoke softly, crossing his fingers and catching your gaze as you turned away from the window to return your attention with him.

“I feel…” You muttered with a pause, before turning your attention to the man across from you, “like I’m a danger to myself and others because of the things I think about.”

“And what do you feel?”  He asked, voice subconsciously matching your own.

“I think about hurting people, people that I used to care about. Seeing their faces twist in pain as their life drains from their eyes.”

“How does it make you feel? Those thoughts that haunt you, you mentioned that they plague you. Is it because you’re ashamed of them?” He mentally cursed himself, allowing his growing curiosity and obsession to take hold in order to discover you.

“They do haunt me but…it’s not because I’m ashamed of them.” You avoided the intensity of his stare, staring at the loose fabric of your sweater. “I’m ashamed of them because I like the thoughts.”

He swore he felt his heart skip a beat.

It has been six months since you've become his patient and Hannibal was plagued with conflicted feelings. Over the course of six months, Hannibal began to notice the ever growing affection he held for you. The soft moments between you during the break between sessions where you both would discuss your various common interests of art, music, and food.

He never thought he would find an individual so interesting, articulate, and extremely beautiful. He could still remember your lovely smile when he presented you with one of your favorite books he happened to have in his many collections of literature. He knew that he had fallen in love with you. Something he never quite expected to happen in his entire lifetime.

However, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not when he was still continuing to be your psychiatrist.

A few days after your last session, he turned in his referral for your new psychiatrist and he prayed that you would allow him to reason with you when you find out what he has done in order to be with you properly. From your previous sessions, he knew of the abandonment you’ve feared, however, he didn’t want you feeling like he gave up on you.  

He was sitting at his desk, checking his watch as he waited for your arrival. His mind was repeatedly going through the possibilities of your reaction. Your consistent timing insisted that you would arrive any minute. He decided with a heavy sigh, that he would check the waiting room and hoped that you would accept his feelings.

You smiled to yourself, sitting in your usual spot in the corner of the waiting room. You arrived a few minutes early, yet it allowed you to have some time for yourself before you continued your session with Dr. Lecter. 

Despite the happiness you felt, you still felt a little nervous. For the past few weeks, you have realized something about yourself that you didn’t think would possibly ever happen. The fuzzy feeling that continued to tickle your mind all those months was the blossoming feeling of love. 

It left you scared, scared of the possibility of what it could do to affect the professional relationship between doctor and patient. The possibility of Dr. Lecter discovering your feelings and refusing to continue helping you. All due to the disgust of having someone like you fall for someone like him. It left you feeling defeated already, yet you will allow yourself to continue to be around him. To be around him and never letting your feelings show. 

The sound of the door opening made you stand, giving Dr. Lecter a smile which he gladly returned with a soft greeting. However, something in his face made you hesitate in replying. He seemed to have something bothering him and your heart skipped a beat. 

This couldn’t be what you think it is…

Pushing the thought from your mind, you quickly returned the greeting. 

“Afternoon, Dr. Lecter.” You said, stepping forward when he moved to the side to allow you to walk past him and into his office. “Something troubling you?”

The suit-clad man quietly closed the door, walking past you to stand near his desk, he leaned against the wood, hands perched on the surface. “We have something to discuss.” He finally said, gesturing to the recliner. 

“I think I can manage just fine standing.” You retorted, voice full of ice as your eyes hardened slightly. Your body tensed as you continued standing your ground, crossing your arms. “What’s the issue?” you asked, desperately trying to keep the hurt from your voice. 

“Please, allow me to explain myself, I do not wish for you to assume-”

“I think I’m assuming correctly, right? Just go ahead and tell me what you’re thinking.”

He sighed, glancing away, presumably gathering his thoughts. 

“I believe it is best if I am no longer your psychiatrist-” 

Crash.

Hannibal ducked when something was sent flying towards his head, resulting in a loud crash as the object practically combusted against the wall. In instinct, he was quick to cover his face with his forearm, protecting himself from getting hit directly. He was shocked for a moment, processing what occurred before hearing you rush towards him.

“How could you?!” You yelled, trying to hit him with raised fists, becoming more annoyed when your old physiatrist kept blocking your feasible attacks. “You said you wouldn’t give up on me! You fucking liar!” 

“I’ve never lied to you! Let me explain!” You couldn’t bother to see his reaction, his face expressing a mix of emotions of shock and desire. He never witnessed you become so angry before, especially at him. He found his fascination for you grew even more. “You’re only making things worse.”

“I don’t care, asshole!” You screamed, pushing him which didn’t even move him an inch as he stared down at you, gripping your forearms as you started crying. “Why are you getting rid of me!”

“You stupid girl!” Suddenly, you were pinned against the wall, gasping in shock at the warmth of Hannibal’s chest pressed against your own, your wrists pinned on each side of your head. “I only did it to be closer to you!”

“What…?” You were breathless, staring into his eyes that were full of darkness and something else you couldn’t recognize. His warm breath hitting the side of your face from his close proximity. “Then, why would you?”

Instead of answering, Hannibal simply leaned down and kissed you, warm lips pressed against your own, which quickly turned passionate. Eagerly, you returned the kiss, pressing closer to him as Hannibal let go of one of your wrists to grip the back of your head, fingers tangling into your hair. 

After a few minutes that seemed like an eternity, he slowly pulled away, gazing down at you while you tried catching your breath. 

“I’m in love with you, (Y/N).” He stated, fingers pulling away from your hair to instead delicately graze the soft skin of your cheek. “I cannot court you properly if I remain your psychiatrist.”

“Dr. Lecter, I-” Your eyes watered, ashamed of your previous behavior. 

“Hannibal, darling.” He muttered softly, stroking your cheek as he pressed his forehead against your own. “I accept you as you are and I want you to be mine, always. Will you consider that?” 

You smiled softly, sniffling as you nodded, resulting in Hannibal pulling you into a tight embrace which you gladly returned. “You already have me.” You replied. 

Spam Liking = Blocked

Taglist: Comment to be added!!

@prettywhenibleed

[breanime]

Our boy trying to sneak off to see Reader. 😉

Part One

Aemond could not get you off of his mind. He had just met you, and you consumed his every thought. He had watched you closely after your initial introduction, his eye hardly leaving your face during dinner where you sat between his sister and your mother. He had listened to your conversation intently, his heart doing flips in his chest at the sound of your laugh, the smile pulling at your pretty lips. He had held his breath when he saw you press a wine glass to your mouth and take a sip, your pink tongue swiping against your bottom lip.

He wanted to taste you.

The intensity of his focus surprised him, but he couldn't deny it's strength.

He had to have you.

It was pitch black outside when Aemond slipped out of the castle. There were guards posted outside of his door, an unusual occurrence that Aemond knew his mother had a hand in. She was a smart woman; she had seen the way he stared at you, and Aemond was sure that his mother's goal was to keep him from behaving rashly, like Aegon. But he was not Aegon.

He was much smarter.

Pulling his hood up, Aemond smirked to himself. He had spent years reading about The Red Keep, studying each and every brick, corridor, and stairwell that made up the castle. He had chased down Aegon countless times trying to sneak out, bringing his wayward brother back to his rooms for another unheeded lecture. Aemond had followed Helaena deep into the castle, in damp, dark corners of the Keep, looking after her as she hunted for some creature to add to her collection. He had trailed his uncle Daemon late at night, fascinated by the older man, watching as he unknowingly revealed secret passageways, taking mental notes of them all. Now he moved through the streets easily, undetected and unconcerned with the misplaced guards at his door. They could not keep him contained, could not keep him from his goal.

From you.

Aemond knew that you were not sleeping in the Keep tonight. Your family was to depart early in the morning, so they were staying at an inn nearer to the port, and you had accompanied them for the night to say your goodbyes. He liked that, the sense of duty you showed. It was a good quality in a person, in a partner...in a wife. As a guest of House Targaryen, Aemond was certain he knew which inn he would find you at, which inn his mother had suggested.

All he had to do was find you.

It did not take him long to reach the inn; he could smell the water of the ocean wafting on the night air, along with fire, and the smoke of a stove. It was late, but not late enough that there was no activity in the streets. There were enough people that Aemond could blend in, head down, as he contemplated his next move. Upon leaving his room and sneaking out of the castle, his only thought had been you. But now that he was here, it occurred to Aemond that he had no plan. He suddenly felt foolish, driven by emotion like some brash child, like one of his spoiled cousins. He felt like a child, and he turned, his back to the inn, wondering if this journey was a waste of time.

He almost jumped when he heard your voice behind him.

"Are you waiting for someone, my Prince?"

Aemond's eye was wide as he stared down at you. You were wearing a large cloak, protecting you from the cold of the night, and even though his surprise at seeing you, Aemond felt an irrational jealousy burn through him. He should be the one holding you close, protecting you and keeping you warm, not a piece of cloth. Even still, he swallowed it down and cleared his throat. "I am not," he answered.

"Hm," you titled your head to the side, regarding him, and that simple gesture endeared you to him even more, "Are you lost?"

Aemond felt his lips tug upwards without his order. "In my own city? I would have to be a poor excuse of a prince for such a thing to occur."

His response was met with a laugh from you, and that laugh felt like the sweetest victory he had every won. "Than what are you doing, in disguise, so far from your castle in the middle of the night?" You asked.

"What are you doing out of your room, alone, in the middle of the night?" He asked back.

Again, you laughed, and Aemond had to duck his head to hide his smile at the sound. "I saw you," you turned, pointing towards a window of the inn, illuminated by a lone candle in the windowsill, "I could not sleep, so I was watching the streets, and I noticed you here."

Aemond frowned, displeased by your discomfort. "Are your rooms not to your standards? I can call the guards to escort you back to the castle, the rooms are much more comfortable there."

"My Prince--"

"--is it your bed?"

You smirked, "Is that what you came to discuss, Prince Aemond? The comfort of my bed?"

Aemond felt his face heat up. "No--no, of course, I--"

"I am only jesting, Prince Aemond," you giggled, "I am sure you are just seeking some air."

"If that were true, I would have taken to the skies on Vhagar," he admitted, suddenly unable to look you in the face.

"I have never seen a dragon before," you said, excited, "I am told that yours is especially magnificent."

Pride bloomed in his chest, and he nodded, "She is the oldest and largest dragon living. I claimed her as a child."

"Yes," you nodded, "I know. I had heard of your bravery as a young girl, and I was always fascinated by the idea of dragon riding."

Again, his mind threatened to wander to ungentlemanly thoughts, but he contained himself, instead bolstered by the clear interest in your pretty eyes. "I can take you," he offered, "to see Vhagar. if you wish, I can even take you on a ride." His words surprised him. Never before had Aemond made such an offer, not even to his beloved sister, but with you it just felt... natural. Right. He watched, his heart soaring, as your eyes widened with wonder.

"Truly? I would much enjoy that, my--"

"--Aemond," he corrected you, "If we are to be friends, and," he glanced over at you, excited and nervous all at once, "I hope that we will be friends, you should call me by my name."

You smiled, "Aemond. Yes, of course. I would love to meet Vhagar," there was a slight breeze, and Aemond watched as you held your cloak tighter, "I would be honored to ride her."

He stepped forward, shielding you from the chill as he stared down at you. Even at night, robbed of your sleep in a new place, you were lovely. He could not take his eye off of you, nor did he want to. "It is late," he said, his voice low, "and you must rise early tomorrow to bid your family goodbye. You should return to your room," he held out his arm, "Allow me to escort you."

It took a considerable amount of his self control not to sigh happily when you put your small hand on his arm. You fit perfectly against him, and Aemond once again marveled at the thought of you as a wife--his wife--someday.

Someday soon, hopefully.

With great care, and the dignity of the prince that he was, Aemond saw you back to the inn. And even though it was only a short stroll across the street to the steps of the inn, it felt like so much more with you by his side. He faced you, his eye drinking in the sight of you, as you stepped back from him.

"Will I see you tomorrow, Aemond?" You asked, your voice soft, "After my family departs?"

He nodded. "Nothing will keep me from it," he said, and meant it.

You rewarded his obvious devotion with a smile, and it melted the one-eyed prince as surely as dragonfire would. "Then I shall see you tomorrow." You paused, considering, before you stepped forward and pressed a quick kiss to Aemond's cheek. You were still smiling when you pulled back, "Thank you for walking me back," you turned, hand on the door, before gifting him one last smile, "Goodnight, Aemond."

"Goodnight," he whispered back, chest tightening and fingers tingling, wanting so badly to grab you and hold you. He waited until he heard the lock click behind you, ensuring that no one would bother you for the remainder of the night, before taking his leave. The walk back to the Keep passed quickly; Aemond moved on instinct, his brain was full of thoughts of you and you alone. Never before had he felt so... seen, so... wanted. The way you smiled at him, the little laughs you blessed him with, the feel of your impossibly soft lips on his face--it consumed him. Not since he was a child, yearning for a dragon of his own, had Aemond felt such a strong feeling of want. He wanted you.

And so he would have you, sooner or later, he was sure of it. You would be his, just as he was already yours.

He snuck back into his room, taking a moment to smirk to himself when he noticed the guards were still posted outside, none the wiser to his little excursion. Tomorrow he would bring you to Vhagar, he would place you upon her great back, and you would know then that there is no other man for you besides Aemond. He would have you, protect you, honor and love you, for as long as he lived. As he lay in bed, heart pounding in his chest, he thought on his sister's words.

“A dragon protects what is his, and what is his knows that it belongs to a dragon.”

You were his, and if you did not love him yet, you would. He would make sure of it.

*********************************************************************

Our boy's a little bit of a yandere, but who doesn't love that? Haha, let me know what you think!

Again, requests are closed right now, I'm just going through old requests.

Tagging those of you who asked to be tagged. Also, to those of you who commented beyond "is there a Part 2" and/or reblogged the first one-- I cannot thank you enough for your support--it was overwhelming in the best way. I hope this small second drabble shows my thanks!

@just-emmaaaa @witchy-jadda @aquakris @katiekinsw @burningshewolf @arcielee @pineapplechuncks @paprikaquinn @viiistrength @my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen (I LOVE YOU) @thegreat-annamaria @faerosie @queenofshinigamis @uselessbutinteresting @klutzyfreak @ateliefloresdaprimavera @caspianobsessed @sonnensplitter @moonmaiden1996 @sarge-and-caps-princess @vhagars-dementia @prettyblondguys @aemonds-war-crime @jasonsmirrorball @archiveforsin @1800-fight-me @xceafh @allegras-sunflower @aemcndtargaryen @devynsshitposts @siriuslymooned @cinnamonbelle @tinydramatist @songtoyou (my Queen!) @lilithskywalker @underhousearrestblog @bitch-biblioklept @biblichorr @starrlet8 @jeyramarie @simpsrus00 @misunderstoodmindsblog @sagethewarriorgoddess @sarcasm-n-insomnia (love you!!!) @imconfused28 @pandalandalopalis @gotjonsa1

Disclaimer: NGL, doing these tags almost killed me, so I won't be doing a taglist again lmao (but I'm serious tho)

[hot-astrology]

The Shunned Yoni

We all know creation and birth stems from somewhere. From the most sacred gateways that nature created The womb vagina or ; the female genitalia which symbolizes generative power. The woman is delicate, graceful and loving at same time, forceful, impactful, insightful, and a creator. How can we call this realm mother earth and not think women were here first or the creators only a true creator could create and be humble while their creation becomes egotistical while claiming to be the original archetype From their mesmerizing eyes calming vice diplomatic minds soft touch hypnotic walk and seductive aura. From the spiritual abyss, every angle, precise detail was made to flow with the oceans waves, their calming nature can settle the storms, or be fierce as the storm. So much history and powers lays beneath these ripples in the sea. As the tear drops of sorrow and betrayal fall upon the blueish lake. Shunned no more, openish enters the heart, truth reveals the veil, expressiveness leads way, acceptance is here to stay.

As an active plot to pacify her & her waters, her descendants, her priestesses, her daughters, her initiates, her love, but most disrespectfully her waters. She was made as an extension, and as the image of god. She started in darkness, she is the water they poisoned. Look inside, and you'll see that you are purely her mirror, because you are her. She was demonized, and in the end turned against. Hell hath no fury like a black woman scorned.

The deepest part in you resides, this is the sacrum area. You hold future generations and civilizations within you yet they seek to destroy and disrespect you. Let there be no mistake, that you are the force and the life way past than what science can understand or comprehend. Do you remember? Do you remember your throne, and those you taught. In the end, they turned against you. Used your teachings for their new world, and white washed yours away just for a seat on your throne. There's a part of you that lays deep in the water waiting to be awakened and take back what's hers. They took the seed of life and realized they could not imitate because they did not have it within them. There will be a storm that awakens that seed, she is abrupt and comes like nothing you've ever seen before. Deep Down, we as women have been taught to hide our sexuality or that it was a bad thing. However, these days feminine sexuality has been more accepted, and broadcasted for everyone to see. In a way, this is good but also bad, because the sacredness of this has been corrupted and the true meaning is lost in ignorance.

In the womb, we grow, and develop in water for up to 10 months. Our bodies are mostly water, and the planet we live on resembles this. All Life must be formed through liquid, it is the most fertile, and feminine. Think of a plant without water, and sun, but water especially nothing will sprout. Whether it be alchemy, or astrology, the most feminine elements will be water, and earth. water is the 1st element, signifying its power. water can heal, and destroy you. The yoni is simply a portal, entering into a sea of memory, and mysteries. When we look into the mystery of outer space, galaxies, stars, plane-ts, and black holes. Then you begin to look within yourself, your own body, you see the sayings, "As above, so below" " As within, so without", and the most telling " Your body is a temple". You see the answer manifest, and replicate inside of you.

The power of the yoni, is nothing to be taken lightly, and is actually a symbol of life and death. If all women collectively agreed to stop reproducing, that would simply be the end. For this reason, there has been a demonization placed upon women whether that be our bodies, hair, features, etc.

There is such a huge attack on the water spirits right now. Looking back to the astrological take on this matter, the sign pisces is the last and final sign of the zodiac. This is a water sign. In christianity, the symbol "Vesica Pisces" is a very prominent symbol representing Jesus Christ who "walked on water." Ironically, this symbol represents a fish, and the pisces symbol is a fish. If you look closer at the shape of this symbol, you'll realize this looks similar to the vaginal canal. Pisces is known to be the yin most, and the darkness which the creator resides in. In sacred geometry, there is the flower of life and seed of life, both using the symbol vesica pisces within those shapes. Within all of this, we begin the covering up of our primordial origins, within christianity, and many modern-day religions. the presence of priestesses, goddesses, empresses, and queens have been stripped and burned away. We know by now that the source of creativity, love, and rhythm comes from depths of the darkest waters, which pure yin. So what does that say about the bible or the said authors. let alone, the books, and the most important teachings that have been taken out of the bible, and also many others. This wasn't the only crime, but while erasing her presence, they tried to take away your magic, your creativity, and use your sexuality (which is your ability to manifest, and create) for their gain. As I ponder upon this, I am compelled to question: How many chapters of HIStory are indeed tales of men, or could they be the untold stories of women masked in masculine guise...

To close this out, let your mystical minds wander.... Think about how, in Christianity, to get baptized, you are laid into the waters to be reborn or cleansed from sin. Or, how a woman's water breaks signifying life & birth, or how you couldn't survive without water for more than 2 days.... Things like these make you wonder....

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭

𝑶𝒖𝒓 𝑷𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒔: 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐳 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐮𝐳 || 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢

[thedensworld]

Lover | Kim Mingyu

Officially Dated!

Lover Series🖤🌼

Pairing: Idol!Mingyu x Fashion Editor!Reader (ft. Joshua)

Genre: Romance, Angst, Humour, Series

________________________________________

A memory from last week continued to linger in Kim Mingyu's mind. Well, he might have forgotten some details after consuming three and a half bottles of soju, which was his limit. But the fact that he woke up in a hotel room that wasn't his own, shirtless, with you soundly asleep on his arm, was etched into his memory. There was a glimmer of hope when he woke up that morning, finding you beside him, though your baby blue shirt you still wore in your sleep had him slightly disappointed. He had wished for something significant to have happened, a step towards reconciling with you. However, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret that he had hoped for anything other than a genuine, sober reconnection – the kind he truly wanted.

But that was best forgotten for now.

Let's shift our focus to the pivotal moment when you finally mustered the courage to confess your feelings for him. That night stood out as a beacon of light in Mingyu's otherwise busy week. Amidst his hectic work schedule and mounting stress, your presence added a layer of complexity to his thoughts. He wouldn't necessarily say that you were the cause of his stress, but you certainly had him contemplating more than ever before. Since the day you two reconnected after all those years apart, he had found it nearly impossible to stop thinking about you and the emotions that had never truly ceased since their inception. The truth was, he hadn't dated anyone since he met you. And he struggled to pinpoint the reason behind it. Why had he become so irrevocably attached to you?

Your confession from that night continued to play on a loop in his mind. He could vividly recall the excitement that had surged through his veins upon hearing your words, "I also have that feeling, Mingyu. The one you feel.." In that moment, he felt as if he were soaring, carried away to the stars. He had been waiting for that very moment for what felt like an eternity – and it had taken merely three bottles of soju and a dose of honesty for you to reveal your feelings. Mingyu wondered why he had waited so long to hear those words.

In moments of introspection, he pondered this question. Lost in thought, he hardly noticed when his hairstylist posed a question to him. Tonight, he was set to meet you once again. An excitement brewed within him, fueled by the anticipation of encountering you. He knew you would be occupied with the fashion show, but your affirmative response to his text asking, "Are you attending the after party?" provided enough hope to keep his optimism alive throughout the event.

Y/n: Yeah, gotta gain all those blood, sweat, and tears that have already been spent...

He had chosen to wear one of Mrs. Gia's summer/spring collection from the previous year to the fashion show. His attire exuded a natural charm, and his confidence radiated effortlessly. As he entered the venue, the flashing of cameras and the attention from the media greeted him. Among the throng of unfamiliar faces, he was relieved to spot his friend Yugyeom from GOT7. At least, he had a companion to help him navigate his desire to see you.

Wandering his gaze around the venue wasn't a novel practice for Mingyu; he had been doing so since the moment he reconnected with you. Learning about the meticulous preparation that went into orchestrating a fashion show had made him appreciate the efforts of those working behind the scenes even more. While most people focused on the guests and models — besides the clothes, Mingyu had learned to notice the intricate web of creativity that interconnected various elements – concept, visuals, and production – to create a mesmerizing show.

Amidst this thought process, Kim Mingyu's attention was captivated by your presence at the front of the house. Clad in all black, a headset covering your ears, you seemed to effortlessly command the chaos. Your lips moved in sync with your directions, conveyed through the microphone of your headphones. A smile formed on Mingyu's lips as he watched you assume your position, poised and ready to guide the show he was about to witness.

Ironically, the show itself was a blur for Mingyu that night. He found himself captivated not by the runway, but by your charismatic presence as you orchestrated the entire event. Instead of the nervousness he had anticipated, he observed you relishing in your role, moving to the rhythm of the music while directing your team through the microphone. In the midst of all this, you radiated an ethereal glow that drew his gaze.

*

The after party was a lively affair, and it became even more enjoyable the moment you stepped into the venue, accompanied by your colleagues. Yugyeom playfully nudged Mingyu, having noticed his intent stare.

"Why the fixed gaze on Director Y/n?" Yugyeom's question caught Mingyu off guard, revealing that his friend was acquainted with you.

Yugyeom went on to explain that he had worked with you on several occasions during his time in Paris. By chance, his manager had been your college classmate. Mingyu inquired about your personality, and Yugyeom's response left him satisfied. You were described as intriguing and captivating, possessing a youthful maturity that had enabled you to ascend to such a significant position at a young age.

"Why the sudden interest, Kim Mingyu? Do you have a crush on her? Need a wingman?" Yugyeom's playful tone evoked laughter from Mingyu. Little did he know that Yugyeom's jest was closer to the truth than he realized.

If only Kim Mingyu could reveal to Yugyeom that you felt the same way about him.

*

"Congratulations!" Mingyu's simple words were met with a warm smile from you, acknowledging his sentiment. In a playful jest, you graciously nodded as if you had just single-handedly averted a war – the type of nod that subtly exuded your awesomeness. The clink of your liquor-filled glasses echoed the sentiment, a cheerful toast to the moment.

Seated on barstools next to each other, you and Mingyu turned your attention to the bustling crowd. With a mirrored movement, you both faced the scene. "Do you recognize anyone aside from Kim Yugyeom?" you inquired, gesturing towards the throng.

Mingyu nodded confidently. "Almost everyone," he replied, his gaze shifting to meet yours.

"Quite the network you've built," you remarked, acknowledging his impressive ability to connect with a wide array of people within the industry. Mingyu returned your compliment with an appreciative smile. Curious to hear your side, he posed the same question to you.

Your head shook slowly in response. "I recall having worked with a few of them, but I doubt they remember me. I'm not exactly memorable," you said with a light laugh.

Mingyu's lips curled playfully, and he nudged your side. "Are you sure about that?" he asked, his tone suggesting otherwise.

With a mockingly skeptical glance, you eyed him up and down before rolling your eyes, followed by a soft chuckle. "What I mean is, I tend to stay in the background. No one really pays us much attention – not that we're seeking it. I just believe that those working behind the scenes deserve more recognition than they get, although we do get paid," you added with a laugh.

As you spoke, the cadence of your words, the passion in your eyes as you shared your thoughts and opinions, succeeded in captivating Mingyu's attention. Your intelligence and charisma never failed to divert his gaze. Your conversation was engaging, your brilliance shining through, and he found himself distracted by your presence. Mingyu was aware that it wasn't the most opportune time for such thoughts, but he couldn't help but wish to hold you close, to kiss you in that very moment. Swiftly snapping out of his reverie, he redirected his focus to your words.

"Wanna leave this place?" Mingyu suddenly interjected, interrupting your conversation. The gentle touch of his hand landing on yours halted your words, your eyes locking onto his gaze. You took a moment to contemplate his proposal, your gaze momentarily flickering to your colleagues on the opposite side of the venue. Signaling him to wait, you quickly sent a text to your personal assistant before nodding and rising from the barstool.

Guiding your steps, Mingyu led you towards the exit. A signal to his manager, a halted taxi, and he gestured for you to get in first. An unusual sense of comfort and trust settled within you – a sense you rarely experienced with strangers, and certainly not this quickly. While your relationship had been progressing positively since last week, it wasn't typical for you to be so at ease and trusting with someone. Mingyu mentioned a location unfamiliar to you, leveraging your trust to lead you wherever he had in mind.

"Is it far?" you inquired as you settled into the cab, observing him. He nodded in response.

"I have my car with me," you noted nonchalantly, prompting a facepalm from Mingyu, who was stifling his laughter. Chuckling along with him, you wondered why you had opted for a cab when you had your own vehicle.

"It's fine. We were drinking anyway," Mingyu replied, attempting to rationalize your decision.

Silence settled between you two momentarily before he softly uttered, "You must be tired," while patting his shoulder, implying that you could lean on him for support. Shaking your head, you offered a smile, but he insisted, tapping his shoulder more firmly until you relented, leaning into the spot he indicated.

"Rest. I'll wake you when we arrive."

Unexpectedly, it was the depth of rest you experienced, and you were roused by a gentle tap on your arm. The motionless cab indicated that you had reached your destination. Blinking in confusion, you surveyed your surroundings, greeted by the sight of a beach, its entrance adorned with the words 'Blue's Sanpo.'

You and Mingyu had arrived in Sanpo, a location three hours away from where you had started. A mixture of confusion and amusement colored your expression, which elicited a shrug from Mingyu. Taking your hand in his, he guided you forward. It seemed that neither of you had anticipated the spontaneity of this moment. The attire you both wore was sufficient to shield you from the evening sea breeze. Mingyu kicked off his expensive shoes, and you followed suit, sprinting towards the water with the exuberance of a child. Mingyu's eyes gleamed with adoration as he watched you, his smile widening when your gaze met his, your expression is a testament to your approval of his choice.

Side by side on the sandy shore, you and Mingyu turned your attention to the local fishermen, immersed in their labor on the sea. The ethereal beauty of their boat's lights created a captivating spectacle, adorning the waters like jewels. The ambiance was picturesque, a canvas painted by the lights dancing on the waves, announcing the arrival of fall.

"Y/n," Mingyu's voice broke the gentle rhythm of the night.

You shifted your focus to him, responding to his beckon. This night was reminiscent of a movie scene, an intimate tableau of the two of you sitting in companionable silence on the beach. Words were unnecessary as you reveled in the tranquility of the moment, relishing each other's mere presence. Anticipation hung in the air, and you could feel the warmth of his breath in the small gap between you. Gradually, he inched closer, a silent question on his lips. "May I?" he whispered.

His inquiry caught your breath, leaving you in contemplation. After a beat, you nodded, giving him permission. Without delay, he bridged the gap between you two, closing the distance. The kiss that followed was deliberate and tender, an embrace of intimacy. The backdrop of crashing waves and the chirping of crickets contributed to the symphony of the night. Every touch of his hand against your skin, every sweep of his lips against yours, resonated deeply. The sea air, laden with a hint of chill, only heightened the sensory experience.

The kiss came to an end, both of you withdrawing as you took a deep, shared breath. Opening your eyes, you found Mingyu gazing at you, his eyes filled with depth and unspoken emotions. A chuckle bubbled forth from both of you, as though you were momentarily transported back to a different reality, where such intimate exchanges were a thing of whimsy. His arm extended towards your shoulder, urging you to draw closer, an unspoken need that your body instinctively answered. Leaning into him, you rested naturally against his side, your attention still focused on the captivating tableau before you.

And then, his voice, soft and tremulous, broke the silence. "Please, be my girlfriend," his words hung in the air, a question and a plea, simultaneously vulnerable and filled with earnest desire.

*

Pledis Entertainment's Announcement: Seventeen's Mingyu Reveals Non-Celebrity Girlfriend

On December 29th, Pledis Entertainment released an official statement disclosing that Kim Mingyu, a member of the global boy group Seventeen, is currently in a relationship with a non-celebrity. The news was met with a mix of surprise and support from fans. At the same time, Mingyu took to Weverse to share his sentiments with Carats, Seventeen's dedicated fanbase. Here is the message:

"Hello, Carats! This is Seventeen's Mingyu.

I want to take a moment to express my gratitude for your unwavering support and love throughout all our ups and downs.

Though I haven't had the chance to greet each and every one of you properly, please know that I always hold good thoughts for all of us.

I'm so thankful to Carat for loving and supporting both Seventeen and me.

Moving forward, I promise to work even harder on creating music and delivering great performances.

Thanks to your positive energy, I've been fortunate to encounter only good people.

I hope that Carat can experience the same positivity.

My wish is for us to continue sharing positivity and love only.

Always with love, Carat 💎"

[aurora-daily]

AURORA in an interview for Ticketmaster via Amroth | April 6th, 2024

In April 2022, AURORA read a letter that changed her life. It was co-written by indigenous activists, titled ‘We Are the Earth’, and called for a revolution: a collective response to global warming – to “heal the land”. They described being connected to the land “through our hearts”, and the earth as “the heart that pulsates within us.”

The letter led AURORA to consider a question: what happened to the heart? “Everything we do is about greed, about money, about mass consumption, about capitalism,” she says, blue wide-eyed and flooded with feeling. “There’s war everywhere, countries under water, flowers in Antarctica. We are ruining our land, mistreating our animals, our clothing, and each other. We have stopped leading from the heart.”

And so 27-year-old Norwegian art-pop superstar AURORA began studying books on human anatomy. She wanted to understand when and why Western culture lost touch with the deeper purpose of our most vital organ.

“The ancient Greeks thought the heart was the portal to spiritual divinity, that it represented the interconnectedness of the world,” she says. “But then Aristotle comes along and says, ‘the heart is a pump’. Then Plato says, ‘the heart makes blood’. Then another guy says, ‘the heart filters the blood’. And so bit by bit, it became purely functional. We had misinterpreted its whole meaning.”

The letter also resonated with AURORA on a more personal level. In 2022, she released her chart-topping last album, The Gods We Can Touch, which saw her complete a sold out UK headline tour, including at BST Hyde Park alongside Adele. With over a million album sales and 2.6 billion streams, and her inaugural The Gods We Can Touch book selling 14,000 copies (while signed copies sold out in less than an hour), AURORA was at her professional peak. Yet at the same time she experienced something painful that split her in two. She sensed a disconnect between her mind and heart. “It made me understand women in a way I hadn’t before. It made me understand how evil hides behind the nicest of faces.”

AURORA’s fourth album, What Happened to the Heart?, is a journey from weakness to strength, from self-destruction to self-healing. Of reuniting a fractured self. “It’s actually the most personal and cathartic album I have ever written,” she says quietly, as if the realisation had only just come to her.

‘Some Type of Skin’, a dark slice of electro-pop, reveals the conflict at the album’s core. “When you’re vulnerable, anything that brushes up against you makes you bleed,” she says. “But you need to go into battle, you need to build some type of skin.” In the song, AURORA cries: “Hit me hard where I am soft… should my heart reveal itself to be more than a muscle? Or a fist covered in blood?”

To build her armour, AURORA decided to throw herself into chaos. “Usually I am very careful, very reasonable” she says. “But for once I wanted to experience what it felt to be unreasonable. I needed to be destructive.” So she gave herself a year, while she was touring ‘The Gods We Can Touch’, to throw herself into life hard and fast. “A lot of alcohol, very little sleep, a lot of fun,” she smiles, a little wistfully. She went ice swimming and hurled things in rage rooms. “It was painful, but I was building skin.”

The chaos extended to the writing process. “I had a rule: I could only write in unsafe spaces, I needed to be rootless.” That meant no forests, where AURORA had spent much of her childhood in Bergen, Norway – a solitary safe haven away from those who made her “feel alien”. These “unsafe spaces” were loud, full of people, “strange smells, noises…anywhere where I could feel observed”.

AURORA travelled all over the word, meeting with women she describes as modern day philosophers, “women with true knowledge”. In particular, three female tribe leaders in Colombia, Brazil and Argentina. “There is wisdom in their indigenous values. These women live in the modern world just like us, but they still choose to live with kindness.”

She was inspired by their feminine power. “Men have been leading us for thousands of years and look where that has got us. We need change, and women have had everything figured out from the very beginning of time. We were the first timekeepers, we could track the seasons inside our own bodies.” She grins cheekily. “I would be scared of us too, if I were a man.”

Feminine strength inspired 'The Gods We Can Touch' – fighting against internal shame and societal judgement of the female body – and it is no less present here. Above the throbbing techno of 'Starvation', produced by German Nicolas Rebscher, who also worked on her debut EP 'Running With the Wolves', AURORA mourns the depletion of the human spirit as a result of technological invasion that is particularly threatening to women. “Our souls are starving, because AI is taking over; art is being replaced by computers,” she says, gravely. “And women, our consent, is being exploited, as it always has been, from porn to deep fakes.”

The act of mourning is integral to What Happened to the Heart? As AURORA says, “I’ve been thinking a lot about funerals, and in the music people used to deal with death”. She drew on buried grief for loved ones, as well mourning her former self.

“In Norway there is a culture of repression. I suppressed something for so long, and became infected by it,” she says, with a deep sigh. “So once I began to properly address my past, I realised that a lot of things I remembered were very different from how I imagined. And I had to accept that I have to change to move on. I am not the same as I was". She adds, firmly: "I have to learn how to work with this body, in this mind, as they are now.”

This mourning led to a kind of holy communion between AURORA's heart and mind for the first time. “I spent a lot of time drinking wine alone, speaking out loud, my heart and mind finally in conversation.” She would record these conversations and later transcribe them as fodder for her songs, such as ‘The Dark Dresses Lightly’, a haunting folkloric melody over an urgent drum pattern, which imagines the heart and the mind as two characters sitting at a table, drinking together – you can even hear the glasses clinking in the production.

AURORA leans forward conspiratorially. “So the heart says, ‘Okay, now, we've gone too long without communicating. Tonight, we're going to get drunk, go deep into this shit, and explode on each other’.” The song is the album’s turning point, AURORA adds, “when all the ugly has come out, and you can kind of hear me having an orgasm because getting everything out is so delicious, and the healing can truly begin.”

These imaginary exchanges felt so visceral to AURORA that she would sometimes paint them; the heart and mind in a sword duel, “splattering all over each other”, she says, her face lighting up with mischievous delight.

It’s a viscerality mirrored by the album’s production: a thrumming, primal force that confronts the almost ecclesiastical purity of AURORA’s own vocals. “It reflects this idea of the body falling apart, and being glued back together by something inhuman.” This discord is brought to life by “beautiful old synthesisers” that AURORA found all over the world, including with previous collaborator Tom Rowlands of The Chemical Brothers. “I got him to puke all over the song ‘My Body is Not Mine’ with his old modular synths” she says, which, fittingly, “had a mind of their own.”  

Despite the thematic and sonic darkness of the album, AURORA wanted to maintain a certain playfulness. “A very random, very intuitive,” way of producing. She collaborated with some of her favourite Norwegian artists and producers, from Ane Brun on ‘My Name’, to Matias Tellez on ‘Invisible Wounds’. On some tracks she plays the drums, a fiddle player and a traditional Chinese Pipa player were brought in, and some songs contain a “beautiful mandolin from the 60s”, she says, smiling, picking up an imaginary bow as she loses herself in the memory. There is even a disco song, ‘Do You Feel?’, produced by longtime collaborator Magnus Skylstad and sure to be a club-banger and chart hit. “It makes no sense, I have no idea why it’s on the album,” AURORA laughs, like a tinkling bell. “But my sister was born in the 80s and I was kind of thinking about her. And I liked the idea of having a song that made no sense.”

Not all these songs are a product of chaos, however. The first and the last songs of the album, ‘The Echo of My Shadow’ and ‘Invisible Wounds’, were written in the quiet. “In my living room, where it was safe. They came directly from my solitude.” And with this quiet comes hope: “We both need to/Tend to the invisible wounds,” AURORA sings, a call to action for herself, to the listener, and to the world, to rupture with this malignant state of inertia, to fight back, to heal. “We need to stop this sense of global denial. We need to blow up, because it’s important, sometimes, to explode. Explosion is vital for change, to put the heart back into politics.” She smiles, and says, in the softest tone: “I think what we need... is a small riot.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Eden's Heir, chapter 3.

A Way Out

Words: 6219

Summary: You're not on Earth, and that truth is as devastating as it is implausible. You have to get out of this Void. But there's only one demon who can offer an exit. Unfortunately for you, there's also a certain Horseman who' deems it necessary to keep you close, for curiosity's sake.

----

There is very little dignity in fear.

When allowed to fester, even the tiniest pinch of it will start to bulge and swell inside you until it’s too large to be contained by the churning walls of your stomach. So, instead, it spreads through your bloodstream, eating up the space inside you like an infection as it strips away reason, humanity, and even hope.

Especially hope.

You’re not proud that the unexpected knowledge of your true whereabouts sends you into an immediate downward spiral of terror, but in the absence of any better ideas, you think it’s at least a little justified that you promptly stagger away from the otherworldly beings, drop to your backside on the cold, hard ground, gather your knees to your chest and proceed to come apart right there in front of an honest-to-goodness demon, and two Horsemen of the Apocalypse…

You’d always heard that wedding days are enormously stressful, but this is just ridiculous.

You’ve retreated to the precarious edge of Vulgrim’s plateau, not close enough that you’re worried about accidentally toppling over into the misty void, but at least far enough from War, Strife and the leery merchant that at least a diminutive fraction of your unease is lifted.

The blood on your arm has already dried to dark, crackling flakes, and it’s through unseeing, bulging eyes that you stare at the raised line of flesh wrapped in an arc over your forearm.

There’s one startling realisation plaguing your mind more emphatically than any other.

This isn’t Earth. This isn’t Earth.

A whirling onslaught of fresh, new terrors start to haunt you, terrors you’ve never even had to think about until now. You can’t find a voice for all the questions that clutter your mind. And you don’t pay much attention to the set of watchful, amber eyes that have remained glued to you ever since you stumbled dazedly over to the fringe of the floating platform.

Strife is abuzz with questions of his own, questions he’d readily bombard you with were it not for the vacant stare you’re currently aiming at the wound his brother left across your delicate flesh.

Grimacing, the older Nephilim twists himself sideways, keeping one eye on you and the other on War and the demon, both of whom seem more eager than Strife to turn the conversation back to other matters. Namely, business.

“Now then,” Vulgrim announces, clicking the tips of his long, curved claws together in eager anticipation, “I think it’s safe to assume you boys haven’t come here just to have me confirm the identity of this lost, little human…”

War’s lip curls unpleasantly, as if the mere act of even speaking to the merchant turns his stomach. Vehement, he growls, “Our work doesn’t concern you, demon.”

But Vulgrim, ever discerning, simply draws his mouth upwards to reveal the gleaming maw of fangs that sit crookedly behind his lips – a mocking reflection of War’s sneer.

“Oh, but it must,” the demon drawls knowingly, “Why else would you be here?”

War’s expression further twists as if he’s tasting poison on his tongue, and Strife has to stifle a smirk.

Drawing himself up a little closer to the demon’s height, War bites out, “Samael sent us here…” Trailing off to look Vulgrim up and down, he narrows his eyes and adds, “Maybe it was to collect your head.”

Far from threatened however, the conniving demon merely raises a single, slender finger and wags it back and forth in a manner that sets War’s teeth on edge.

“Ah ah ah~” he admonishes, “Careful, Horseman… Show the right temperament and I can be of… service to you. But first, you must be of service to me.”

Strife has to resist the urge to throw his head back and groan. He probably ought to have seen this coming a mile off.

Can’t spend five minutes in the presence of a demon without them angling for a favour…

War, it seems, has also cottoned on to the merchant’s less than subtle hint.

The Horseman’s armoured shoulders almost double in size as he bristles angrily, spitting, “The Council does not negotiate with demons. If you try to take advantage of them-“

“-And by extension, us-!” Strife chimes in.

“-Then there will be consequences.”

His latest threat complete, War narrows his ice-blue glare up at the hovering demon, who, to his dismay, only barks out a dark, mocking laugh and spreads his gangling arms out wide, as if to invite the Horseman to carry out the Council’s apparent ‘consequences.’

“Your Council has no power here,” Vulgrim drones, eyes as sharp as a whetted blade, “This realm is mine, and therefore subject to my rules. If anything were to happen to me, it would certainly prove tragic for you. You’d be trapped here in the void. For all of eternity.”

Strife’s trigger finger twitches of its own accord. He loathes that the demon has a point.

Just then, from the corner of his gaze, the eagle-eyed Horseman catches the rapid movement of your head snapping upright.

Curious as to what’s drawn you from your catatonic state, Strife swivels his helm in your direction, perking up when he sees you clambering awkwardly to your feet, struggling to move your puffy skirts aside.

He’d welcome you back to the present, but your stare is fixed with disconcerting precision on the demon floating behind him.

“Wait, wait a second,” you fumble out in a rush, taking a single, daring step closer, your cheeks still glistening with tears, “What did you say? Y-You’re the only one who can get me out of here?”

The mention of an exit… The hint of an escape…

A tiny flutter of hope drifts free of your soul and you latch onto it with greedy hands, like a child snatching at a butterfly, desperate.

It’s the only force in the world that could lure you closer to the titanic Horseman and their implausible acquaintance. That first, tentative step turns into several more, though you’re quick to freeze in place when three pairs of eyes flick in your direction, sending a rush of adrenaline racing up your spine.

You’ve never felt more like prey in your life.

The demon’s stare especially unnerves you. It seems to eat right into you like acid, hungry and all-consuming. His mouthful of teeth holds your focus as he lifts blackened lips into what you can only assume is a terrible grin.

“Now do I have your attention?” he asks smugly, tossing his gaze back over to the Horsemen, neither of whom give you the impression that they’re as hopeful about the latest revelation as you are.

After a moment, War bunches his hands into fists and tears his eyes from you, turning to glare down the merchant instead. Strife’s attention, however, remains locked on you for a further second before he too throws a dark look up at the grinning Vulgrim.

A shaky breath gushes past your lips once you’re no longer in their sights. It feels as though you’ve just been released from a cast of stone. For just a moment, you spare an absent thought to those Greeks of ancient myth who stared down the legendary gorgon, Medusa. You think you might finally understand, at least a little, what such a fate must have been like. The power of a predator’s gaze is not to be underestimated; it seems.

Vulgrim is still leering right back at the Horsemen with an awfully superior smirk plastered across his cragged jaws, a look that has Strife’s jaw clenching.

“Patience ain’t my brother’s thing,” he growls, “Or mine, now that I think about it… So, whatever point you’re trying to make, make it.”

The demon’s smirk shrinks at the curt tone, but nonetheless, he inclines his head and begins to explain. “Fine. The Lords of Hell are forever in conflict,” he says, “They seek power. Control… Lucifer and Samael most of all…”

You can’t help yourself from jumping in with an embarrassing squeak of alarm. “Lucifer!?” you parrot, once again earning their attention, “A-As in, like, the Devil? Satan!?”

In the span of a second, Strife’s irritation at Vulgrim lifts to make way for amusement at your interruption. “You know another Lucifer?” he quips, grinning down at you from behind his visor, “Big guy won’t be happy someone’s tryin’ to steal his thunder.”

A wave of anxious heat surges up the back of your neck and you throw a hand up to curl trembling fingers around a fistful of hair. “Oh my god!” you blurt, chest heaving, “Is this Hell!? Am I in Hell right now!?”

In response, Strife lets out a rough snort whilst Vulgrim merely offers you a shake of his great, ghastly head. “I’m afraid not,” the demon laments, casting a morose glance at the void surrounding his lonely plateau, “Sadly, Hell is several planes south of this one.”

For several, arduous seconds, you can do nothing but stare up at him in incredulous silence as your brain chugs along slowly, attempting to wrestle with the bombshell that not only does the Devil purportedly exist, but so too does Hell itself. You’re looking right at a demon, after all. It would stand to reason that a place of perdition exists too.

In contrast to the magnitude of the knowledge you’ve just been made privy to, a thin, rasping, “What?” is all that creaks out of your throat.

The question is answered by a low huff from War, who fixes you in his stern glower and rumbles, “This does not concern you, human.”

Gulping, you retreat a step back, almost tripping over your dress in the process as your eyes flit up to the broadsword strapped across the behemoth’s back. Your mouth dries at the very fresh memory of what he’d done to you the last time he paid you any attention.

Unbeknownst to you, Strife’s ears twitch at the click of your heeled shoes on the stone, and the catch in your breath.

Folding a pair of heavily armoured arms across his sizeable chest, he too takes a step away from War before ambling sideways, parking himself stubbornly between you and his brother like a living, breathing blockade.  “Hey, come on. Lay off,” he retorts, jutting the chin of his helm out at War, “She’s just as lost here as we are.”

Just like that, the younger Nephilim’s expression shifts, his hardened expression lifting to a quizzical look that he aims at his brother, as if even he hadn’t expected Strife to come to your defence.

Still, despite his surprise, he’s quick to recover his wits.

You, in the meantime, can only stare agape at the armoured expanse of a back suddenly standing in your way.

“We are not lost,” War insists, furrowing his brow, “We’ve just been waylaid.”

“On the contrary, Horseman…” Vulgrim’s slimy tone encourages War’s expression to darken even further. Raising a slender finger into the air, the demon continues, “You are both precisely where you need to be.”

With a quiet scoff, Strife shifts his weight onto the opposite leg, throwing Vulgrim a nasty glare. “Figures you’d know more than you’ve been letting on…”

You almost jump a mile when War gnashes his teeth at the merchant and booms, “Out with it! You know why we were sent here. I demand that you tell us!”

“Demand…” Vulgrim clicks his tongue derisively, but after a moment, he concedes to heave his shoulders into a shrug and rolls his green eyes towards the foggy void above him. “Oh, very well,” he sighs, “Samael sent you here because he has learned that Lucifer is attempting something… unexpected.”

The mention of the latter’s name nearly sends you scampering back to whimper at the edge of the abyss.

Plainly oblivious to the nausea churning in your guts, Vulgrim continues, “He is extending a hand to his enemies, Horsemen. Offering something very desirable in exchange for their…. cooperation.”

“And Moloch is one of those enemies,” Strife hedges, though his tone indicates that it’s far from a question.

Suddenly, Vuglrim drifts backwards, a move that has you ducking into the shadow of the metal titan standing with his back to you, but the demon pays your flinch no mind, simply folding his lanky arms across his chest and cocking a sly grin down at Strife.

“Ah, nothing in the world is without cost,” he tells the Horseman, voice dripping with pompous bile, “If you wish to know more, we must enter into an agreement. You recall that I asked you for a favour?”

Now, up until today, you’d been of the entirely sane opinion that demons only existed in the pages of story books, or behind the screens of televisions and computers. But if there’s one thing you’ve learned from pop culture that could apply here, it’s that striking a deal with a demon would be about as sensible as sticking your head into the jaws of a starving bear.

The Horsemen, it appears, share the very same sentiment.

Strife tilts his helm to send a hostile glare up at Vulgrim, and you could swear you hear something that sounds so much like thunder rumbling away inside his chest.

Even still, War’s objection is far louder than his brother’s.

Peeking around Strife’s side, you observe as the larger Horseman’s entire body goes taut and rigid with sudden animosity, and he begins peeling his lips apart to bare a set of gleaming, white teeth. The animosity, though it isn’t directed at you, still draws the blood away from the surface of your skin, leaving you several shades paler than your typical complexion.

Vulgrim, in contrast, either doesn’t notice the dramatic shift in their demeanour, or he simply doesn’t care.

Bold as brass, he presses on. “A precious artifact has been stolen from me,” he laments with a roll of his wrist, “I sought Samael’s assistance in the matter, but…” Trailing off, he regards the pair of bristling behemoths with a glint in his sharp, green eyes. “Perhaps,” he adds thoughtfully, “You could recover it.”

Dead silence pervades the void for a long, awfully uncomfortable length of time whilst you send fleeting glances between each of the Horsemen, up to the horned demon, and back again.

“Know what?” Strife pipes up without warning, dropping a hand to rest casually on the barrel of a pistol, “At this point, I’m more interested in killing you than helping you…”

Such a nonplussed hint at murder throws your heart up into your throat, and you blanch, gaping incredulously at the spiked, black hair jutting from the Horseman’s helm.

You’re starting to deduce that Vulgrim must be used to such threats. How else could he stare down a man with a gun that size without flinching?

“That would profit neither of us,” he deadpans. Then, raising his voice to an enticing lilt, he adds, “It’ll be worth your while~!”

Strife’s shoulders jump with a sceptical grunt.

“It’s true!” Vulgrim retorts, “I give you my word.”

“Oh! Your word?” Strife echoes sarcastically, “Well, why didn’t you say so! We’ll do it!”

Blinking, the demon quirks a brow ridge. “Really?”

“Sure!”

Everyone, yourself included, stares at Strife in silence for a time, each of you expecting him to throw his head back with a laugh and tell Vulgrim that he’s joking. But as the seconds tick by in which Strife merely peers up at the demon without a word, you start to get the impression that he is not, in fact, joking.

After it becomes clear that his brother isn’t about to rescind his offer to actually help the merchant, War bodily whirls about to face him and scoffs, “You can’t be serious?”

Strife’s metal shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. “Look at where we are, War,” he mutters, swinging his mask in an arc to take in the void around you, “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

Cowering behind him, you nervously cast a glance around his elbow again to see War’s face screw up beneath his crimson hood, ice-blue gaze flitting sideways to throw a look out at the darkness beyond the platform. With each passing second, you see his eyebrows knit closer and closer together, forming a solid line of white hair upon his strong forehead.

Though he’s loathe to admit it, War can see the sense in his brother’s words.

If they are to leave this place and continue their mission for the Charred Council, they’ll need the help of a demon to do it.

Spitting a Nephilim curse that would have Death reprimanding him with a smack around the head, War snatches his glare to the opposite side of the plateau, steadfastly refusing to meet Strife’s eye.

Sensing the Horseman’s acquiescence, Vulgrim’s toothy maw stretches into a too-wide smile, showing off fangs that glint like knives when they catch the murky light.

“Hah,” he declares triumphantly, “I will provide a serpent hold for travel.”

“A serpent hole?” you whisper under your breath.

You’ve heard of worm holes before, but serpent holes?

Frankly, you find it hard to conjure up the effort to actually care what kind of holes he’ll be providing.

If this ‘serpent hole’ means a way out of this place and back to that drab, terrifying church, you’ll take it.

“Well, all right.” Strife declares suddenly, and before you can move, the massive, metal man steps to one side, revealing you in full to the eyes of his brother and the demon. “Vague mission. Unknown dangers. Undetermined reward… What’s not to love?”

In response, War grunts, and then, to your dismay, his gaze lands on you, and you’re once again rendered stuck, pinned beneath the heavy weight of his preternatural glare.

Even with a demon hovering close by, it’s War’s attention that leaves you feeling the most exposed. The fresh, pink scar on your arm begins to itch.

“What are we to do with this human?” he mutters to Strife, who plants his hands on his hips and tilts his helm at you, not unlike how an inquisitive bird peers at something shiny.

“Just a suggestion,” Vulgrim cuts in eagerly, “You could leave her here.”

Letting out a fierce gasp at his words, you recoil from the salivating demon as if you expect him to pounce at any moment.

“Yeah, no,” Strife retorts for you, “Nice try. But that ain’t happening.”

Somehow, War’s perpetual frown manages to grow even more severe as he snaps, “You’re not suggesting we take her with us?”

You have to admit, you concur with the hooded giant. You’re not a fan of Strife’s idea either, even if it does mean getting out of this god-forsaken ‘void.’

Exhaling roughly through his nose, Strife hunches his massive shoulders and replies, “Why not?”

“Because this human is none of our concern!”

“So… what? You’d rather just leave her to be eaten by tall, dark and gruesome over here?”

Vulgrim hums a note of disdain as Strife jerks his chin in his direction.

Staring at his brother, War’s expression turns calculating, reminiscent of the way he looks over battleplans and strategies before a fight. “You’re being awfully insistent about this.”

“Oh, come on, War!“ Strife groans, slumping his shoulders and throwing his head back dramatically, "You’re not even a little curious? Don’t you wanna know what we were fighting for? This human is one of the reasons the Charred Council ordered us to murder our-!”

“-Do not dwell on the past, brother,” the enormous Horseman suddenly cuts him off, his nostrils flaring wide as he scowls down at his sibling, a warning hidden just beyond bared teeth, “The Charred Council gave us new orders. They are all you should be concerned about.” Throwing you a suspicious glare, he adds, “This… human is a distraction we cannot afford.”

“Hmph.” Eyes narrowed to razor-thin slits, Strife folds his arms petulantly across his silver chest and mutters, “Sounds like a distraction is exactly what you’re lookin’ for.”

Leather bracers strain with an ominous creak as War’s fists clench slowly at his sides. “What was that?” he challenges.

Giving his shoulders a nonchalant shrug, Strife just flaps a hand at his brother, as if to casually waft away the larger Horseman’s aggression, “Nothin’. Nothin’…”

Growling, War snaps his head towards Vulgrim, who has done little else but hover nearby with his eyes trained eagerly on the brothers and their quarrel, looking thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.

“Are you waiting for an invitation, demon!?” he snaps, “Summon a portal.”

Blowing out a hefty sigh, Vulgrim throws his hands up compliantly and swivels around in midair until he’s facing the centre of his raised dais, grumbling incomprehensibly under his breath as his wings give an agitated little flutter.

Impatient, War simply huffs, growing still when the back of his neck begins to prickle. There are eyes upon him that aren’t his brother’s.

With a sudden shift, the Horseman twists his head sideways and anchors it in your direction, subjecting you to an undeserved glare from beneath the lip of his hood.

Choking on a gasp, you drop your eyes to the floor near your feet quick as a flash. You’re so focused on not meeting the gaze of the crimson-clad giant that you fail to notice his brother boring a hole into the side of your head, regarding you with a pensive expression.

Obviously, leaving you here isn’t an option. Not least because frankly, he has way too many questions.

But he needs War on his side.

So, breathing a sigh, he raises his head to meet his brother’s eye and tries a different approach. “What about the Balance?”

And just like that, War’s body goes tense at his brother’s soft question. The haunting, blue stare you’ve found yourself caught up in starts to falter, drifting away from the pink scar running over your arm and moving towards the older Horseman. “Strife…” he begins tiredly.

There are very few beings in the Universe who could claim to know War as well as his brother. But one doesn’t have to know War deeper than surface level to see that honour and duty are among the youngest Horseman’s chief principals.

“The Council said Lucifer’s plotting humanity’s downfall as we speak…” Strife continues, unhurried.

Blinking rapidly, you forget your terror of War for a second and throw your head up again to blurt, “I- He- He’s what?”

“And these little guys-“ Strife jerks the chin of his helm at you, staring hard at the younger Nephilim. “-Are integral to the Balance.”

He doesn’t miss how War’s lips tighten into a thin, displeased line.

‘Gotcha.’

Though he knows his brother would have no way of seeing it behind his helm, Strife holds back the triumphant little smirk that tries to angle across his mouth. Just to be safe.

“You’d protect humanity,” he presses, knowing full-well that something is about to go ‘clunk’ in his brother’s mind, “But not a human?”

Lo and behold, no sooner has he asked the question than War’s steely countenance drops by a fraction – A fraction so negligible that only the sharpest eyes would be able to spot it.

It just so happens that Strife has the sharpest eyes in the Universe.

By his own claim, sure. But still.

“I don’t know what’s more concerning,” War grunts, shaking his hooded head, “The fact that you listened to what the Council said. Or the fact that you actually have a point.”

Strife stares hard at his brother for a long moment whilst you give them both a look of abject horror, pulse jumping in your temple.

“Woah,” the older Nephilim utters at last, “Did you just admit that I have a point…? Can I get that in writing?”

Slipping his eyes shut, the largest Horseman inhales deeply through his nose and exhales a breath in a noisy rush through his gritted teeth. “We’ll take her,” he concedes at last.

Straightening his back, Strife innocently asks, “What?”

“We’ll take her.”

You’d probably throw up at the declaration if you weren’t so irrationally concerned about staining the wedding dress.

Eyes as cold as tundra frost turn their attention onto you.

Fittingly, you feel the blood in your veins turn to ice.

“Human,” he growls, “You’re coming with us.”

“I-I don’t… want to…?” you croak weakly.

Slinging his chin sideways, Strife asks, “You’d rather stay here with this guy?”

With an audible gulp, you throw a glance at Vulgrim, only to find his gleaming, green eyes peering down at you hungrily.

 Recoiling, you pull a face and send a beseeching, watery plea to the Horseman. “I-I just want to get out of here.”

“There, see?” Strife exclaims, jabbing a thumb down at you and grinning up at his brother, “She wants to come with us.”

Aghast, you immediately start to sputter, “That is absolutely not what I meant!” The courage it takes for you to return your gaze to the looming demon is astronomical. Raising a trembling hand, you gesture floppily at him and add, “He said he can make a -a snake hole for you guys! Can’t he make one for me as well?”

“It’s serpent hole,” Vulgrim corrects with a tut, still turned towards the centre of his platform, yet he spares you a glance over his sinewy shoulder, ebony horns shimmering in the sickly light.

 “Whatever!” you screech, panicked at the mere fact that he’s addressing you, “Just pick a hole, open it, and let me go home! Please!”

“Ha!” Strife barks.

Struck by the sudden urge to scold his brother - though not quite understanding why - War shoots a scathing glare at Strife before returning his attention to you again. “The only ones with the power to send you to Earth are the Charred Council,” he explains.

“Then take me to them!” you try to demand, but the squeak of your voice is frustratingly prevalent. You imagine you’re no more intimidating to these beings than a mouse is to a lion.

“Listen.”

You leap out of your skin, literally clutching your pearl necklace as Strife speaks and shifts about on his feet to face you.

“Let me tell you something right now,” he says, “There are exactly two ways to get a summoning from the Charred Council.”

Taking a heavy step towards you, he raises the first two fingers of his right hand, counting them off as he starts to explain, “The first, is if they have a new mission for us.” He drops his middle finger, wagging his remaining digit at you. “And the second, is if we finish a current mission. And seeing as we’ve just started this one…” Trailing off, he tips his chin down, peering at you expectantly, observing in silence as your expression slowly begins to crumple.

‘Shit… Can all humans pull that face?’ he grimaces to himself, ‘Might be more powerful than they look.’

In the end, War puts words to what you’ve just realised.

“We will not be summoned to the Council until our mission here is complete,” he grunts.

The weight of his words drops into your stomach, sending the whole organ plummeting down into your shoes. Wringing your hands, your thumb brushes over an abnormal band of metal resting at the base of your third finger.

Wetting your lips, you lower your eyes to the sizeable diamond engagement ring sitting prettily on your left hand. Ever so briefly, you’re struck by a memory, of the first time you showed your father the ring that Cain had given you. You almost had to call the nurse into his hospital room because he laughed so damn hard and nearly tore out his drip.

‘He trying to marry you or buy you?’ he’d wheezed after a raucous guffaw, clutching your hand with skeletal fingers, his knuckles so swollen and arthritic, the only thing you could bear to do was look away. The guilt of averting your eyes haunted you until you fell asleep that same night.

You have to clench your eyes shut with vicious force to banish the memory. You can’t think of him right now, laying there, all alone with a tube in his arm and the grimmest of prospects waiting just a few weeks down the line.

“H-how long will it take to finish your mission?” you bleat, feeling the suffocating fist of helplessness closing around your heart.

You have to get back…

“Dunno,” Strife shrugs, “Depends how much more demon bullshit we gotta take care of… Though considering recent events… I’m not hopeful for a quick resolution.”

“But I need to go home!” you bleat, twisting your fingers around a handful of your dress’s tulle, “You don’t understand – Dad’s last chemo appointment is tomorrow, a-and I’m supposed to be getting married, like… like right now!”

“I have no idea what you just said, but it all sounds very important. Which is all the more reason to get this show on the road.” Turning to face the demon behind him, Strife claps his palms together twice and barks, “Hey, Vulgrim. Serpent hole. C’mon, look lively!”

The merchant sneers, grumbling as faces the centre of his platform once more, spreading out his palms.

You give a start when a pulse of… something sours the taste of the air around you, turning dry, musty breaths into thick and acrid gulps that seem to slide across your tongue with each inhale. Instinctively, you cover your mouth.

Wind whips your veil up into a flurry of white fabric. With a graceful whirl, it blows forwards and you have to throw a hand up to catch it, sweeping it back away from your face as you stare agog at the spectacle forming in front of you.

In a word… it’s… beautiful.

In a lot of words, it’s also incredibly bright and shit-inducingly scary. It isn’t natural to see magic, not outside of a children’s birthday party or a heavily edited video online. Your eyes take it all in – the circle of azure light that swirls to life in the ground before you. Where there was once a patch of dull, grey stone, now there’s a pool – not of water, but of something that moves and flows just like it.

Your mouth hangs open as Vulgrim lowers his arms and drifts back with a beat of his vestigial wings, away from the serpent hole.

“It’s all yours, Horsemen,” he declares, bowing with a grandiose sweep of his hand, “Oh, but before you go – Do be careful. The keeper of my artefact will be, ah… less than pleased to see you.”

“No one is ever pleased to see us,” Strife grumbles, wincing at the bitter undertone that shines through just a little too brightly for his liking. Clearing his throat, he gruffly adds, “That’s kind of the idea.”

They’re Horsemen now. Dreaded enforcers of the Charred Council… Hated. Despised.

“War?” Strife brusquely addresses the larger Horseman, gesturing towards you with a jerk of his head.

Throwing his brother a heated glare, War takes a begrudging, booming step in your direction, quaking the ground beneath your feet.

You’re nearly sent toppling ass over teakettle in your haste to back-peddle away from the armoured behemoth, launching your hands out in front of you and blurting, “Woah, woah, woah! Hang on a moment!”

You very nearly faint on the spot when, against all odds, the Horseman actually pauses midstride, a single, ivory brow quirking to peer at you expectantly. You’d have thought that nothing short of a tank could make someone his size hesitate.

Sliding his gaze smoothly between the two of you, Strife has the gall to tip his helm to one side and ask, “What’s the matter, Princess?”

‘Princess’ indeed. If he wasn’t the size of a skyscraper, you’d have half a mind to smack him with your bag. As it is, you doubt the satisfaction of striking him would be worth the painful death that’d surely follow such an insult.

“I’m… I’m not going anywhere with him.” You point accusingly at War instead, though you swiftly drop your finger after he gives it a look that suggests he’d like to cut it off.

“Oh, come on, he’s not as bad as he looks,” Strife prods encouragingly, “Is this about your arm?”

Incredulous, you gape up at the Horseman for a moment before pursing your lips with a shrug, as if to compose yourself. “No, actually, I just don’t particularly like his attitude- YES OF COURSE IT’S ABOUT MY FUCKING ARM!”

 “He healed it up afterwards!” Strife replies brightly, as though you’re both having a friendly debate about the weather. If anything, judging by the upward curve of his luminous eyes and his jocular tone of voice, you’d almost wager that he’s actually enjoying your little back and forth.

One of your eyelids twitches, and you have to take a moment to think of something coherent to say, but when you open your mouth, the only word that leaps out is an incredulous, “What!?”

“And besides,” Strife breezes over you as if you’d never spoken, “I’m sure he’s very sorry. Right, big man?”

Pressing your lips together dubiously, you follow Strife’s pointed gaze up to his brother, who leers back at you with his stony face set like a dark thundercloud, his chest quaking around a resonant rumble.

You can’t imagine this beast has ever apologised for anything in his life - if he’s even had the inclination to.

Trying to swallow past a lump of nerves, you glower mistrustfully at the handle of the broadsword jutting over War’s shoulder, and declare, “He can be as sorry as he likes, but he is not putting me on his shoulder!”

Pursing his lips, Strife blows out a whistle, lifting a hand to scratch idly at his jagged, ebony hair. “Well,” he shrugs, “You’re comin’ with us either way. So… You wanna step through the portal yourself, or what?”

“… Hard. Pass.”

“Oh…” His gaze darts to the ground before he flicks it up to you again, one eye squinted halfway shut. “You sure?”

“Am I sure I don’t want to be carried through a mystical worm hole by the same brute who nearly cut my arm off not five minutes ago?” you clarify, subconsciously cradling the aforementioned appendage in your opposite palm, “Yes. I’m sure.”

Something of a standoff ensues between you and Strife, the latter of whom squints down at you for several, perturbing seconds, his hand still clasping the back of his neck. Another few beats pass, measured by the steady ‘thump,’ ‘thump,’ ‘thump,’ of your heart pounding in your ears.

Sadly, the relative peace only lasts another second when Strife allows his hand flop back to his side, raising one, silver shoulder into a shrug and announcing, “All right, suit yourself!”

“Suit my-wah!?”

Without warning, the Horseman takes a sudden, lurching step towards you, and before you can back-peddle clumsily out of range, two enormous, metal hands launch out to catch you around the waist, fingers spread widely enough to envelop your heaving ribs.

Struck by a sense of déjà vu, you waste no time in bunching your hands into fists and slamming them furiously down on top of Strife’s gauntlets, succeeding at nothing beyond hurting the heels of your palms. All the same, you dig right down into the bottom of your own, personal well and manage to scoop out enough drops of courage to holler, “Don’t you dare!”  

With the same effort you’d use to lift a porcelain doll, Strife simply hoists you up into the air – still kicking and flailing – and slings you over his armoured shoulder. You land with a hard jolt of pain, followed by a yelp when something sharp jabs into your stomach.

“Should’a gone with War if you wanted a comfier ride.” The Horseman curls a cumbersome arm across the seat of your dress, pressing down the layered tulle and securing you in place much like his brother had not too long ago.

“You can’t do this!” you shout, “This is-! I mean, i-it’s kidnapping!”

Strife barks out a sharp laugh as he steps up beside his brother, and together, they peer down into the blue, swirling vortex that roars with dark and ancient energies, beckoning them in.

“Kidnapping?” he parrots, deliberately jostling you on his shoulder to get a squeak out of you, “Nah, nah, nah. If anything, this is a rescue. You don’t wanna know what Vulgrim’d do to your soul if we left you here.”

Half draped over the titan’s spine, you twist your neck to the side and meet the eerie merchant’s emerald gaze. Perturbingly, you can’t quite tell if he’s grinning at you, or if he’s displaying his thrawn fangs in threat.

You shudder, and that terrible, insincere smile stretches wider.

“Ironically, she may be in less danger here than she will be in whatever demon-infested pit he’s sending us to…” War points out.

“Eh, probably.” Raising a boot into the air, Strife takes one, long stride forwards into the portal, feeling the ground fall away below his feet as his matter begins slipping towards another plane of existence. Before he disappears entirely however, he twists his helm over a shoulder to catch your wild-eyed stare, throwing you a lopsided wink once he meets it.

“But comin’ with us is gonna be way more fun.”

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

William Rex Chapter 16

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Several police officers appeared at Mr. Brian's signal and drew their handguns.

Policeman: "Miss Kate...right? You seem to be very close with Sir Rex."

Policeman: "Tell us what you know about him. We will protect you.. We are not going to do anything bad, just come with us."

Kate: "Mm..."

The shiny gun was pointed at me as if trying to figure out if I am William's ally or a victim.

I got down on my knees next to the fallen Mr. Brian.

(If I resist, it might be a problem for the Crown?)

(No...if we don't get caught, the police can't find out who we are. The Crown should never be revealed)

(If I leave now...I'm not sure if I'll get another chance to convince Mr. Brian again...!)

Jude: "Ahh, you seem to have got us all confused. We don't know anything about Rex or whatever."

Ellis: "We're here....for our collection."

Policeman: "These guys are useless. But I heard this woman talking about Sir Rex."

Policeman: "We are not convinced by your reasoning...."

Policeman: "I judge you guys also to be associated with Sir Rex. If you don't want to be killed here, come with us."

Jude: "Haa.....this is why I hate the police."

Mr. Jude gave Ellis his signal and Ellis instantly moved.

Policeman: "Stand back!"

Ellis: "It's not safe to fire in such a small space."

Policeman: "Argh!?"

Policeman: "Nn..What the hell!? My hand...!"

Ellis easily leaps overhead and touches the heads of the police officers.

One after the other, the wrists were detained and the officers dropped their guns and panicked.

Mr. Jude responds to the officer who barely avoids Ellis's hand.

While I was watching the situation with a bated breath---I heard a sharp voice.

Policeman: "Mr. Brian! Get that woman!"

(Eh!?)

Brian: "...!"

When I turned around, Mr. Brian had raised his upper body and was reaching towards me with his still bound hands.

(No---)

Kate: "Ouch!"

I tried to wriggle out of the way, but Mr. Brian caught me by the hair.

Brian: "...Got you!"

Kate: "Nn....Let go!"

Brian: "No, I won't let you go. Come with us. You have to wake up and go back to your normal life... you're being deceived!"

Kate: "I'm not being deceived...!"

The more I try to get away, the more tightly he pulls me by the hair.

Brian: "You'll regret it one day! There's no way you can be happy with someone like that....!"

------Options-------

There is no such thing.

That's for me to decide.

I don't think so.

--------

Kate: "That's for me to decide...!"

Brian: "I'm trying to help you!"

(I won't be able to get him to listen to me calmly anymore)

(Let's get away from here and now and wait for another chance to convince him)

(Even if I get caught, I'm sure Mr. Jude and Ellis can make an escape....)

(I'm sure I will be detained at the police station, and then I could persuade Mr. Brian)

(But if that happens, we may not even be able to get the slightest information about where William is and what he is doing)

(I'm not going to let that happen)

The frustration of being drawn closer and closer to an opponent you can't match and the frustration of being driven to the edge of your heart.

(This hand, I have to shake it off. I don't know what to do or how to----)

That's when something came to my mind.

Kate: "....!"

A hard, cold touches my fingertips that had been shoved into my pocket.

A moment later, I gripped it tightly---I couldn't afford to be lost.

Brian: "Nn!? What the?"

 ｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

Brian: "Nn!? What the?"

As soon as I took out the knife, I cut off the chunk of my hair, he was grabbing.

Brian: "...!!"

I quickly backed away before Mr. Brian could reach out to me again.

Kate: "Haa....Ha...!"

Brian: "....Why...Why did you do that? ....Why would you go this far?"

Kate: "....I know you're worried about me."

Kate: "...But I'm sorry."

He was stunned for a second...but then mumbled.

Brian: ".... Grimsley."

Kate: "Eh...?"

Brian: "The head of the Privy Council's Secretarial Section, Grimsley."

(Privy Council's head....Grimsley...that's it...!)

Kate: "Was he the one who led you to that mansion?"

Brian: "....Yes."

The next moment, the tip of a leather shoe sunk into Mr. Brian's belly.

Brian: "Arghh!?"

Jude: "And he dared to call the police on us....looks like he has no hopes of waking up tomorrow, huh?"

Kate: "Please stop! He just told me the name of the person who gave him information!"

Jude: "Huh? He did?"

When he looked down with disdain at the sobbing Mr. Brian, Mr. Jude sniggered.

Jude: "Looks like your life is saved for now, I guess."

Looking around, the brawl in the post office had somehow been under control.

The officers were all lying on the floor with their hands restrained as if they were praying together.

Kate: ".....Did you kill them?"

Jude: "You idiot."

Jude: "You're just another Count Rex fanatic, who tried to intimidate a newspaper reporter."

Jude: "Then we just happened to come to collect a debt and they got the wrong idea...what's the need of killing them?"

(....I see. If they pursue you, you have that excuse)

(On the other hand, killing them would be like a confession to something you're guilty of)

Jude: "I just put them to sleep. They won't be waking up for another 3 hours."

('Putting people to sleep'.....is that Mr. Jude's ability?)

(I think I understand what Victor meant when he said it was easy to clean up afterwards)

Ellis: "Jude, I've checked everything. No one's hiding and no one has escaped."

Jude: "Good. Then we're done here."

Ellis: "Mm....'now, we're done."

Brian: "Ah!? M-My hands...I can move my hands now...."

The police officer's restrains were also lifted, perhaps signalling that we're actually done here.

I was amazed by Mr. Jude and Ellis's teamwork, but I couldn't just sit back and take it easy.

Kate: "Let's get out of here. We also need to hide Mr. Brian."

Jude: "Huh!?"

Brian: "....!"

Kate: "If they find out that you have leaked info about them, you risk retaliation as a traitor."

Ellia: "Oh I see. But if that happens,he wouldn't be able to correct his article."

Jude: "Then how about making him write it here and now and get done with this?"

Kate: "Whether or not you write an article is another matter than protecting Mr. Brian."

Kate: "I want the article to be corrected...but I don't mean to put Mr. Brian in danger."

Kate: "Just as I came here to see and feel with my own eyes and to help William."

Kate: "Mr. Brian is free to believe and act on what he sees and feels."

Kate: "So I don't hold it against you. Mr. Brian....and I can't leave you alone knowing that you will be in danger."

Kate: "If that happened....William would be sad."

Brian: "..........."

Jude: "Haa, there you go being nice to the person who almost grabbed you."

Brian: "....Miss Kate, thank you. ...But I can't just hide like this."

Kate: "What do you mean....?"

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Brian: "To decide whether or not to write a correction article...."

Brian: "I have to be sure...I have to make sure that where I'm standing is justice!"

Mr. Brian's eyes were looking straight at me with a different, calm light.

Brian: "I will definitely contact you again. So for now, please let me go."

Ellis: "....What do you wanna do, Miss Kate?"

(I feel like Mr. Brian really got my story)

(And now he's trying to make sure if it's true or not)

(He will be convinced about the Marquis's death and will correct the article on that basis....)

(It's all up to you, Mr. Brian. It's a gamble to let him go at this point)

(But...if we take away his freedom here, we are crushing even the slightest hope we have)

I take one deep breath.

Kate: "....Understood. I'll be waiting."

Brian: "....Thank you."

I prayed for his back as he melted away into the thick fog and disappeared.

Jude: "Tsk....What if he contacted you later and said 'I can't do it'?"

Kate: "Then I will try to persuade him again and again."

(It's okay. I believe that I voiced my thoughts and delivered them and that it wasn't in vain....let's just hope and wait)

(First, we need to tell everyone in the Crown who's behind this)

.............

After returning to the castle.

(....Something's not right)

It was early in the morning before the sky was even white, but the lights were on and the air was buzzing with a sense of restlessness.

Ellis: "Did something happen?"

I feel a similar stirring as I did a few days ago when William left the castle, and I involuntarily run quickly to the dining room where I hear people's voice.

.........

Kate: "We're back."

Liam: "Miss Kate! Thank god you're safe...!"

(Everyone in the Crown is here again. Did something happen to William....!?)

Victor: "Welcome back, you guys. How did it go?"

(Yes, let's calm down first and give the report)

Jude: "The name of the mastermind was easily spelt out. Grimsley of the Privy Council."

Victor: "....Grimsley, huh..I see."

Kate: "Also about the article correction...we were able to convince Mr. Brian."

Kate: "Now we just have to wait and trust that Mr. Brian will find out the truth."

Ellis: "Also, the police ambushed us and we got into a bit of a scuffle."

Elbert: "About the police....well..."

Master Elbert, who was sitting in his chair, muttered anxiously.

Alphonse: "Good for you, Kate. If you'd been caught, you'd have been tortured in the Tower of London too."

Kate: "Tower of London...?"

When I asked back, unable to follow the sudden topic, Harrison tossed the paper onto the dinner table.

Harrison: "Citizens who were connected to Count Rex are arrested and being held in the Tower of London."

Harrison: "They are being severely tortured and forced to confess to Will's whereabouts and his complicity in the crime."

Kate: "What....!?"

Harrison: "This is the list of the prisoners."

Kate: "How did you get this list?"

Harrison: "....Is that important? Look here. Do any of these names look familiar?"

(Fawcett...James...these are...)

Kate: "....I've seen them interacting with William."

Some of them are from the tea party, special wards in this hospital, and on the street corners.

It was the names of people who he had once set free.

Elbert: "....Never before has the Privy Council taken such drastic measures."

Elbert: "With this uproar, they want to crush Will."

Elbert: "In a way....they're trying to piss Will off, by trampling on their freedoms, which Will hates the most."

Ellis: "It's cruel to torture innocent people for it."

Roger: "Cruel, sure, but certain. Because I don't think Will is going to sit this one out."

(Capturing innocent civilians to provoke and lure them out...for sure that makes sense)

(But something...something feels uncomfortable)

Kate: ".....How do the tower guards and prison guards plan to counteract and capture William's abilities?"

Liam: "Eh?"

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Kate: "Tower guards and prison guards who trample on the freedom of innocent citizens are 'evil' to William."

Kate: "William would not hesitate to use force or take a life if it was against 'evil'!"

Kate: "I don't see it being easy to catch him."

Liam: "....Indeed."

Kate: "Plus, what will happen after they capture William....?"

Kate: "If they want William to be judged by 'justice', you need to judge him under the law, but...."

-----FLASBACK----

Wiliam: "At the time, I learned of the existence of the 'butterfly' the organisation was already beyond judicial scrutiny."

William: "In this country, the House of Nobles is the highest court. If the legislators collude, it is easy to cover it up."

----FLASHBACK ENDS-----

Kate: "There are legislators in the courtroom who have been caught up in the wrongdoing of the 'evil that cannot be judged by law' that William has been trying to bring before the court."

Kate: "I don't think William will be silently judged by them."

Alphonse: "Fufu...it's certainly going to be a bloodbath the moment he is invited into the courtroom."

Alphonse: "The defeat of clean 'justice' and the breakdown of order. A development the Privy Council loathes."

Kate: "I don't see how the Privy Council could not have foreseen that."

Kate: "No prison officer or judge with a charge against William could kill him.

Kate: "That said, the people on the Privy Council themselves are not willing to get their hands dirty."

Kate: "So how do they intend to bring William to justice....?"

A bad feeling stirs in my head and forms one.

William: "...What do you think?"

(Maybe...no, I don't think so....but...)

Kate: "....Is it possible that they are trying....to get innocent people they have captured to kill him....?"

Liam: "Eh....?"

Alphonse: "Oh, I see. With a script like that, it makes sense for a cat to go a little overboard with an innocent prisoner."

Alphonse: "The prisoners are used as bait to frighten Mr. William. At the same time, they instill hostility towards Mr. William in the prisoner!"

Alphonse: " 'It's all William's fault. We were deceived by him. We lost our family, job, honor, and happiness.' "

Alphonse: " 'If you want to hate him, hate him. Well, here he comes. Look. The guards are getting killed one by one. He's a bloodthirsty murderous maniac.' "

Alphonse: "If you don't want to judged, prove you're not on his side. Come on. I've got the knife right here."

Alphonse: "---Well, it's not a bad plot. I'll be interested to see Mr. William's reaction if that's the case."

Roger: "....Whether it's what Al just told us or not, it's not impossible."

(If I could guess, William must have assumed it too)

(Still, the William I know is the one who chooses to go to...Tower of London)

(William will never allow the freedom of his loved ones to be trampled on)

At the hands of the innocent, executed in the Tower of London as a major sinner....Would that be the destruction he wants?

Jude: "You've been yammering on and on about the Crown going to the Tower of London."

Jude: "If you go in there in this situation, that's exactly what the Privy Council wants you to do, it's suicide."

Victor: "...Right. Jude is right. I cannot move the Crown in Her Majesty's name."

Victor: "Everyone should be as quiet as possible so that they don't realise what's going on....okay?"

(....Certainly not the same as a secret meeting with a newspaper reporter)

(If you go to the Tower of London, you'll be jumping into the enemy's hands)

I try to swallow what Mr. Jude and Victor said, but I can't shake off this bad feeling.

(---Anyway, I'll think about what I can do for now)

Elbert: "..................."

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As dusk approached, the sound of the rain beating against the windows, joined with the merciless ticking of the clock.

After returning to my room early in the morning. I spent half of a day thinking it through.

I stare at the closed door of my room with quiet determination.

"I will rescue the innocent prisoners before William does. I will have to negotiate with Victor for that."

It was the best solution I could come up with and the best I could do at the moment.

(There may be less than a 1% chance of William being harmed as I speculated)

(Conversely, William may want that 1% chance to be dead)

(However....)

(I, for one, cannot allow that to happen)

The breathlessness that has haunted me when I thought of my fate had now vanished without a trace.

At that moment when I cut off my hair with the knife William gave me, it was like I cut off my hesitation along with it.

Far from a sense of helplessness and guilt----only my selfish joy is in my heart.

(If William is going to be hurt. I want to do everything I can to protect---even if it's a 1% chance)

(Because if I don't...I won't be able to be my own master)

I don't want to go back to being the one cowering in front of a closed door, killing my heart.

(William...)

----FLASHBACK----

William: "Because I like to see people act as their own masters."

Kate: "Act as their own masters....?"

William: "It's about facing your desires, being prepared to accept the consequences, and following through."

William: "There's a lot of fear involved in wanting to do what you want and having to pick and choose among so many options."

William: "Whether happiness awaits you or misfortune awaits you...."

William: "You can't blame anyone for the consequences of the choices you make and want to make."

William: "......That's why the moment you're about to step out is so beautiful."

----FLASHBACK ENDS----

(If you saw me now, would you laugh and say I'm beautiful?)

(I am no longer trapped by what my heart doesn't want me to 'have to accept' my destiny of destruction)

(I want to protect...William, no matter what contract I sign and what I have to offer in return)

I want to be true to my desire to do so.

(William, my freedom is not compromised by my love for you)

(Because I'm probably the freest I've ever been in my life)

I put my hand on the doorknob.

What I am about to cross is the last line that William was not willing to let me step over.

With cruel kindness, I let go of the contraindicated lie.

----"Come, come"

I thought I heard an inviting voice from behind the door.

"You knew from the start"

"From the moment you heard that piano that night, everything that has ever happened...has been for you."

"You weren't wrong."

"That very night"

"You could have even left the mail and walked away"

"And yet, you couldn't stop."

"His piano melodies were just too irresistible."

"Because you fell in love with that horrible, beautiful tone."

(That's why I've come this far. My heart chose it)

(Crossing this line means)

The voice from the other side of the door has been echoing in my head for some time now.

(I don't care what anyone calls a way of life that I don't call misery)

I am my master because I am the only one who can decide what's best for me.

Chapter 17

[itstimetodrew]

Deep dive into a very minor, very niche Spider-Man topic time!

The subject…WHO IS THAT WOMAN??? 🤨

It’s not crucial to the plot, and it’s not a mind-blowing theory, I just like gathering up little background details and connecting them. :)

DISCLAIMER: While obviously the Spider-Man movies are inspired by and based on the comics, I treat the movies as their own thing because tbh...I am not reading all that. It’s Movie Universe Time!

So indeed the 2002 Spider-Man movie does have a lot of cool tidbits that give extra information on characters. Sometimes it’s very subtle, sometimes it’s more overt! So we begin our journey to discover the Mystery Woman here:

95% of the words are actual Character Lore(!), with only the last paragraph copy-pasted, but Today's Focus is one particular section at the bottom of the 2nd column:

"His personal life has not been nearly as successful as his business life. Married only once, to the artist Caroline Mulder, he was divorced after ten years of what was said to have been a singularly strained and unhappy [...]"

3 whole pieces of Mystery Woman information! Her name is Caroline Mulder, an artist ("the artist" implies she's well-known at least in NYC), and they were married for 10 years before divorcing. That gives the portraits in the mansion more context, very likely that Caroline painted them.

Caroline’s impact on the story is also stated by an executive producer in a behind the scenes book when discussing how characters are developed:

"Here's a man raising his son alone—there must be a tragic story with his wife. She must have left him! Does Harry remind him of her? Does he love his boy or hate him?"

Harry does have an interest in art like his mom. In Spider-Man 3 we see him painting a still life in his spare time, after post-traumatic amnesia ironically leaves him happier than ever before. He's forgotten many details of the negative things in his life and instead enjoys reliving childhood activities and memories. It's possible painting was a passion of his when he was younger, similar to how he discusses writing a play for MJ and playing basketball with Peter during high school, but gradually became disconnected from or was pressured to drop.

Knowing the marriage lasted for 10 years helps narrow down a few things, like that the divorce probably wasn't recent. But that’s assuming he was born during the time they were married, meaning Harry could have been 10 at most. Whether Caroline is still alive also isn't clear-cut...in the movie, at least. In the novelization for the 3rd movie, Peter confirms Harry is an orphan after Norman dies. The novelizations and movie details don't always line up 1:1, so it's left open imo. I feel like the paper would have mentioned her passing if she had died but...choose your own route of angst! (And wow would that add a whole new layer of awful to Norman’s misogynistic “advice” about women to Harry if he’s shit-talking his dead ex-wife.)

If Caroline is alive that opens a new batch of questions about where she went. Do they have any sort of shared custody situation? Doubtful, as Caroline seems to be totally cut out of the picture and only exists in the story via possessions. But if the marriage ended bitterly, and some years ago, why is her art and her collections present at all? Her portrait makes sense to keep, as it's revealed in the sequel to be the cover for a hidden safe.

(That's another fun symbol, hiding treasures behind a loved one's image. A place for safety and precious things, hidden from public view.) Other pieces of art seen around the house raise more questions about sentimentality. If Norman hated any reminder of his ex-wife, why keep her work? Why keep it for so long and have it displayed prominently?

I will not let this derail into A Norman Post (it would not end I could not stop) SO my personal take is that it’s probably a mixture of some longing for the past, but mostly spite. Keeping the art is a reminder that while he lost her, he also won. What was hers is now his (son included). Which may factor into why we don’t see Caroline involved with the family at all. Either she didn’t want to be, or she was prevented from doing so. Honestly it would not be surprising to cut all ties, as I do not think many would want to test their luck in a legal battle against a vindictive person who holds a massive amount of money and potential life-ruining influence.

I could also talk about Harry forever but in short I think these details make him more interesting. It's another angle as to why he seems so conflicted and avoidant about family issues, to the point he physically distances himself from them whenever possible. He might have had a strong connection with his mother, but it likely wasn't something he could talk about without Norman taking it as a personal betrayal. Still, he's surrounded by memories of her and keeps his own mementos nearby.

^ There's a photo of her in the apartment he and Peter share, the same image as the portrait (on the middle shelf to the left 🔍). Interestingly, like the portraits, the photos of his parents are kept apart. But here his mom is given more focus on a higher shelf.

Despite the work that went into backstory creation, multiple photographs, and a painted portrait, I haven’t been able to find who "played" the role of Caroline. It would be neat! But it’s also just cool to see how background details offer glimpses of a larger story if you want to look for them. :)

[vulpes-fennec]

Throne Room Shenanigans

Tumblr prompt request: Hey Viffy, can you write a Jassa (Jurian and Vassa) NSFW fic where Jurian and Vassa hook up on her throne?  

Read: AO3 | Warnings: SMUT

“General Jurian has arrived.” Queen Vassa of Scythia straightened up on her throne and smoothed her red hair just as the heavy wooden doors swung open. 

General Jurian swaggered into her throne room with the carelessness of a man who had seen it all. A thin coat of chain-mail hung over his wrinkled white shirt, his brown trousers tucked into riding boots caked with mud. The stubble that faintly shadowed his chiseled face paled in comparison to the darkness in his eyes.

He bowed at the base of the dias, the chestnut brown hair hanging limply and just barely skating the tops of his shoulders. It seemed the only thing General Jurian took care of was the heavy sword strapped to his side, with its sapphire-encrusted pommel shining, the leather sheath clean and pristine. 

Vassa’s mind parsed through the possibilities of why General Jurian would seek her out, especially when he’d discussed the matters of the mystical Cauldron, the Made female Feyre Archeron, and the looming prospect of war with the council of queens two weeks ago. 

Perhaps this was another one of those political games, where the King of Hybern tried to sow distrust amongst the queens by implying favor and doling “confidential” information to one over another. Well, Vassa wasn’t the type to fall for silly tricks. And she didn’t trust Jurian one bit. 

The young queen schooled her expression into one of neutrality, folding her hands primly in her lap, as she asked, “what brings you here today, General Jurian?” 

“I came to report on the status of the Wall.” Jurian straightened with a gleam in his green-brown eyes, reminiscent of rabid animals. “Your Majesty,” he added with emphasis. 

“Is the news so pressing that you could not be bothered to freshen up?” Vassa reminded herself to exhale the breath she’d been holding.

Jurian shrugged irreverently. “I did not realize you cared so much about appearances. With your lands bordering the Wall, I figured my news is of more importance to you than my appearance.” A brief pause. “Your Majesty.”

Vassa bristled at his subtle display of disrespect. They squared off, blazing sapphire eyes meeting darkened brown ones. There was no humanity, no emotion in Jurian’s gaze. The Cauldron may have resurrected him, but perhaps it swallowed his soul in the process. Or maybe a man like Jurian didn’t have a soul to begin with, having lost it on the battlefields centuries ago.  

Vassa was usually calm and collected when dealing with troublesome men, but something about Jurian’s smirking face put her on edge.

“Everybody out,” she barked without breaking Jurian’s stare. 

“But Your Majesty—” the court steward began, casting a dubious glance at the Mad General. 

“My conversation with the general is confidential.” Vassa’s voice was firm. Jurian’s smirk only deepened as he lazily blinked, looking very much like a smug fat cat. Courtiers, emissaries, and scholars scuttled out of the room. She waited for the door to swing shut before ordering, “tell me the real reason why you’re here.” 

Jurian shrugged again. Ragged and strange the general may be, but he was also handsome in a devilish, unhinged sort of way. “Reconnaissance reveals an increasing number of holes and cracks in the Wall. Think of all the Fae creatures sneaking into your lands, killing young children and ransacking villages—” 

“I am perfectly aware of that, thank you.” Vassa interrupted him. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

The general took two steps closer, taunting her with his silence. He was clearly fickle and unstable, unlike her advisors who danced around her feelings and shuffling their lives around her whims. 

“And I suppose the proposed solution is for your King to obtain our half of the Book of Breathings to ‘restore’ the very Wall he sought to tear down centuries ago?” Vassa demanded, making no attempt to hide her feelings about the King of Hybern.

“Would you rather the Night Court steal it from you by force?” Jurian raised an eyebrow. 

“I remain unconvinced that your new master wouldn’t resort to far worse tactics to get what he wants.” Vassa’s lips twisted in a scowl. “Remind me why you decided to switch sides again?”

Jurian’s expression was maddeningly blase, even with Vassa implying he was Hybern’s pet. “There are greater threats than the fae, Your Majesty. Perhaps you may have heard of the death gods. The Bone Carver? Stryga? Koschei?” 

“They are but legends.”

The general tutted, shaking his head as if Vassa was an ignorant child. “Stryga and Koschei are rallying their power, ready to tear this world into pieces to slake their hunger for the living. With the full Book of Breathings, the King of Hybern can banish them back to their realm.”

“Mmmm I’d rather deal with a few death gods than let the King of Hybern have full control over the Book of Breathings.” Vassa’s chest tightened in her corset when Jurian ambled up the steps, close enough for her to make out the small scars on his jaw, his eyebrow, and cheekbone. She could have sworn Jurian’s gaze lingered on the swell of her lush breasts, an act that made her clench her thighs together.  

“And the Bone Carver?” she asked, a little more breathlessly than usual. 

Jurian’s dark eyes snapped back up to her face. “The Bone Carver resides on the island prison, which is controlled by none other than the Night Court,” he answered. “The most powerful High Lord in Prythian, with the Made female as his mate…who knows what they’ll use him for? Their ambition has no bounds…and I know this from personal experience.”

“If my history lessons serve me well, weren’t you and High Lord Rhysand fighting on the same side during the Great War? His ambition that you deride…I’m sure it came in handy when you were fighting for the humans,” Vassa replied smoothly.

Jurian still did not rise to the bait. Did not even blink at her reference to the hero he once was. 

“Rhysand is not the High Lord his father was,” Jurian sniffed, his face bland. Only his hand gripping the pommel of his sword tightly was any indication of the turbulent emotions simmering underneath. “He was Amarantha’s whore Under the Mountain. Did her bidding, helped her exact terror over his fellow Fae. For fifty damn years.” 

Well, little did Jurian know that a correspondence had come for the Mortal Queens last week. The very letter, written in elegant script, was a message beseeching the Mortal Queens to meet at the Archeron manor. From High Lord Rhysand and Feyre Archeron. 

While her fellow queens scoffed at the letter’s contents, Vassa kept the folded letter, dissecting the phrases and message. Her gut instinct had served her well as a young ruler. And her gut instinct told her that Rhysand and Feyre were genuine. Vassa had yet to meet Rhysand but…

“Perhaps he had his reasons,” she murmured evenly, thinking back to his letter. 

Jurian snorted. “You sure love defending a male who would mist you without a second thought.” 

“I could say the same about you and the King of Hybern,” Vassa snapped. 

Jurian shot forward faster than she could blink, one arm bracing against the edges of her throne. Vassa’s back pressed against the velvet cushion, her soft manicured hands gripping the armrest as Jurian leaned over her.

“The King of Hybern,” he hissed, “is simply a means to an end. And I would not expect you to understand my reasons.” 

The queen shivered. The general was utterly feral, with his lips pulled back in a half-snarl. If the Cauldron had recreated his likeness with accuracy, then this was exactly the sort of cruel beauty that would seduce a Fae tyrant. Was she no better than Clythia, lusting over General Jurian like this? Would she meet the same doomed fate?

“If that is all you have to offer, then I regret to inform you, General, that the news you have traveled so far to bring has not changed my mind,” Vassa said dismissively. Everything was too intimate, from the strands of chestnut hair hanging in front of the rugged face that loomed over hers, to the pounding of her heart in her ears. 

She needed to get things under control. This was her throne room, her court. 

Jurian’s eyes narrowed as she licked her plump lips. Vassa preened with some satisfaction knowing that he wanted her just as well.  

“Then what do you want, Your Majesty?” Jurian’s rough fingers tilted Vassa’s chin up. Only the Mad General would be so bold as to initiate touching the queen. It lacked complete propriety, the trembling of Jurian’s bracing arm and restraint in his green-brown eyes the only indication of Jurian holding himself back. 

“Your loyalty.” A conflict flashed across Jurian’s face, too quick for Vassa to consider its implications. It was impossible to think straight when his strangely pretty mouth was so close to hers. 

“I cannot give you that,” he whispered roughly. Vassa thought about her fellow queens, the fate of her realm, her future as a leader…it was too much for a 26-year old to handle sometimes. 

“Then give me a distraction.” Vassa hooked her fingers over the edge of his belt, dragging him closer. He smelled like smoky ashes, like soft leather. Hell be damned, the mythical general was almost close enough to taste. 

Jurian stiffened, as if realizing just how improper things had become. “You are a queen,” he said, more to himself than to her, “not some common whore.” 

Vassa reeled slightly from shock. Men were usually falling over themselves to sleep with her. She had offered herself up to the general, and he had the gall to spurn her? 

“Scared, general? Or perhaps you’re rusty after five hundred years as an eyeball,” Vassa scoffed. “I’m sure it takes time to retrain your bodily functions after so long.”  

Jurian’s eyes blazed at her challenge. Seconds later, his mouth closed over hers in a fervent kiss. He was bold and unapologetic, applying just the right amount of pressure against her lips that left Vassa wanting more, more, more. A blazing sensation rippled down Vassa’s body, turning on every nerve, every inch of skin. 

“Not—mmh—bad…for your first—ahh—kiss,” Vassa taunted, barely able to get a word in between Jurian’s repeated kisses. “After—nghh—five hundred years.” She swallowed a moan when his tongue brushed against hers. He was a little clumsy, but his enthusiasm certainly made up for it. 

Jurian’s warm hands wasted no time pushing up her skirts, searching for a way to undo the stockings that clung to her legs. His mouth barely left hers, leaving hot, trembling breaths panting between kisses.

There was a loud ripping sound as Jurian pulled her stockings down in haste and tore them clean down the middle. “Be quiet,” Vassa hissed, tensing up before guards came bursting through the door. But nothing else stirred. 

“Lift your legs up,” Jurian gritted out. “Let me admire your pretty pussy.” 

Vassa huffed loudly at his insolent demand but obliged, hooking her calves over the armrests of her throne, the tattered bits of stocking bunched at her ankles, the gown draped between her knees barely covering her nether regions. Jurian promptly remedied that by pushing her dress up, up, and up. Cool air brushed against her bare skin, channeling attention to the pulse fluttering between her thighs.

The look of reverence on Jurian’s face as he knelt on the floor before her was that of a supplicant priest in a temple. But he was no priest. He was mad and conniving. He was currently running his hands along the brown skin of her legs. He was an arrogant man. He was now slipping her underwear off her hips. He belonged to the gray area between immortal and mortal— 

And Vassa wanted him. 

A gentle finger slid along Vassa’s drenched slit, so unlike the hasty, rough movements from earlier. She drew a quick intake of breath when Jurian slipped the finger in one knuckle deep. Moaned when it continued to sink into her until he could go no further.

“Do you like this, Your Majesty?” Jurian smirked as he withdrew his finger and pushed in again. Vassa refused to answer, biting her bottom lip and trying to breathe evenly through her nose. Her sapphire glare only seemed to deepen the burning desire in his eyes. 

Jurian added a second finger, and she nearly cried out. “I can tell you do, with your walls tightening up whenever I withdraw. It’s almost like they’re trying to keep my fingers in.” 

“Shut the hell up and do your job,” Vassa whispered, a tense edge in her voice. Her legs trembled in the compromising position, from the strain of their spread and the risky situation.

“Feisty, feisty,” Jurian clicked his tongue. “What would your court say if it saw you like this?” His fingers curled up, tapping a sensitive spot deep within her and eliciting a shaky moan from Vassa’s lips. “Do you spread your legs for any emissary that comes your way? Or am I special?” 

No way in hell would she let this cocky bastard know he was special.  

“Are you always this talkative in bed?” Vassa panted out, trying to adopt a lazy drawl to her voice. “Or are you simply biding time because you don’t know what to do with a naked woman in front of you?”

Jurian’s smile turned lupine. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m only getting started,” he replied sarcastically. It only took one flick of his tongue for Vassa to arch her back. Two swipes, for her to buck her hips into Jurian’s face, her own cheeks blushing furiously at the wanton gesture.

Jurian’s groan, one of a man starved, vibrated against her inner thighs. Each stroke with the hot, flat muscle of his tongue buoyed her onto greater heights of pleasure. The stubble along his jaw chafed her skin, adding just the right amount of roughness. 

Vassa ran her hands through his hair, savoring its softness. The only sounds in the great hall were Jurian devouring her and her heavy breathing. Vassa had never stooped to this level of baseness before. But all rational thoughts eddied away when Jurian made another loud appreciative sound.  

“Fuck.” Jurian’s hands curled under her thighs, pulling Vassa closer. She slumped low, this new angle bringing the tip of Jurian’s nose into contact with her clit. The general’s nose brushed against her sensitive bud with each sweep of his expert tongue, compounding the tension in Vassa’s core. 

She clapped a hand over her mouth as she came, muffling her soft cries. Vassa threw her head back, undulating her hips, chasing the final trickles of pleasure. Meanwhile, Jurian was unashamedly lapping up her wetness, sucking gently on her clit (and causing Vassa to whimper at the overstimulation) before giving her pussy one last kiss.

Jurian’s strong hands readjusted Vassa’s legs and skirt, propping her relaxed body up into a straighter position. He wore a pensive expression on his face as he rose, one that was significantly less haggard than before. 

When he caught Vassa staring, the deranged expression snapped back into place. Jurian licked her residual slick off his lips. “A meal fit for a general,” he tossed her way. 

“Cad,” Vassa growled, feeling her walls slide up. Her cheeks were burning, nonetheless, as Jurian leaned in. 

She thought he meant to kiss her, or tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, but instead, he whispered, “be careful of the other queens.” 

His voice was imperceptibly low. “They desire the Cauldron, seeking its life-giving waters for themselves only.” 

“You are a damn traitor,” she replied coldly, remembering all at once that she was supposed to be wary of him. “Why should I trust you?”

The general drew away, those green-brown eyes regarding her with the most human expression she’d seen in months. As if you know anything about me, they seemed to say. Vassa’s gut twisted, conflicted between the intimate moment they’d shared and her rational half. 

“Your crown is lopsided, Your Majesty.” He grinned crookedly before adjusting the skewed gold circlet on her head. 

Jurian turned around and sauntered off without another glance back. As she stared at his retreating form, Vassa clasped her hands together in her lap. Hoping—no, praying—to some higher being that Jurian had some good, some humanity, left in him after 500 years. 

Perhaps the pleasure was addling her brain. This was the wishful thinking of a hapless fool.

[sheloves-toomuch]

The Spawn and the Siren

Chapter 5: Down by the River

NSFW 18+, explicit content, mentions of violence

Astarion finally orchestrates his plan with the siren, but Zeno was a complication he didn't see coming. This chapter reveals flashbacks to their early meetings, confessions, and game-related plot spoilers. Flashbacks and inner monologue are written in italics.

As the days passed following their surprise encounter with the devil Raphael, it was clear to the others that something within Zenosyne had changed. She spent more time gazing off into the distance absentmindedly, thinking to herself quietly, often unblinking. Her thoughts were perpetually elsewhere, and she seemed always unbound to the present moment. Her face seemed pained now and again as she seemed to sift through her thoughts one by one, as though she were being presented with uncomfortable realizations each time she would retreat into her own mind.

In truth, she was coming to many harrowing realizations by the minute. The company she had kept before she lost her memory spoke volumes to her character. The butler, Sceleritas Vel and his eagerness to please and encourage her bloodthirsty wants- and the sly and scheming Raphael- son of Mephistopheles himself. He was the prince that had haunted her visions within the mirror, and the prince that Ethel had threatened to offer her up to in her magical slumber.

“Copper for your thoughts, Zeno?” Karlach asked finally, trying with careful words to coax Zenosyne out of her silent musings. She poked at the fire where they all sat, encircling the embers that snapped and licked towards the night sky.

Zenosyne inhaled sharply at her own name, and let out a long, deep sigh.

“That devil, Raphael. He was the one Ethel spoke of- the one she said she might get a pretty sum from had she revealed my whereabouts to him… and he seemed very… familiar with me, to say the least when he brought us into his sanctum for a moment there.”

“It’s no question that devils collect souls like trinkets. He clearly has been wanting yours for some time.” Wyll offered up.

“I don’t know if he wants my soul- or if I even have one.” Zenosyne muttered sharply.

“Well, of course you have a soul!” Shadowheart laughed uncomfortably, her eyes darting between Wyll and Zenosyne. Shadowheart’s voice was always sweet to hear- and that put a little tension into Zeno’s mind, although she could never understand why that was. “You may be a rare creature but I don’t see why not.”

Zeno stayed quiet, leaving a heavy silence in the air that held them all captive.

“I killed that bard, didn’t I?” She finally said, and in that moment everyone wished that the silence had remained. An uneasy shift settled across the party. Wyll adjusting his seat by the fire, Lae’zel sitting more upright than before, Astarion’s ears perking up slightly but noticeably. Gale’s brow furrowed at her words, and he was the next to interject into the uneasiness-

“Yes, you did. You’ve slain an innocent in our own camp, but it’s evident that there is something else that’s battling for your soul within your body. I won’t say that I’m altogether comfortable with what happened with Alfira, but it provides some semblance of reassurance to know that you clearly had no intentions of killing her that night.”

Zeno’s mind went wild with all the anxieties of their journey thus far. They were so kind, they were so accepting, so helpful and she hated them for it, in a way. She loved them all and she hated that she had nothing to hate them for. She knew so little about herself, but she did know that she wasn’t good.

“I didn’t just kill her, either. Did I?” Zeno challenged, her chest heaving with warm breath that threatened to bring forth tears. She hadn’t. There was a cloud of evil that covered the camp from that day forward. Alfira’s blood still stained their consciousness. It crept everywhere- visions of her eyeless skull and empty torso seeping into their nightmares. “There’s so much brutality in me. Even in my softness there’s whispers of death.”

“There’s brutality in all of us right now.” Shadowheart said, “We will find out what it is that haunts you.” She encouraged. Did she even believe her own words?

Zeno stood up and rolled her shoulders to ease the tension in her long-hunched body. She let her gaze fall briefly on Astarion- and flashes of memories jumped into her electric mind. The sting of her wounded neck throbbed. She’d been all too generous to help out the vampire who she saw as an understanding equal. Night after night he had made his way over to her tent to quietly drink from her. His small sighs of contentment would leave her quaking whenever he let himself get carried away in his nightly indulgence- but he hadn’t ever gone any further than that. She felt a desire to help him from the moment he had told her he was a monster, like her. Even more so when he had told her he was not afraid of her. She had to show him she was not afraid of him, either.

The confession that he quietly whispered to her the day after he first tasted her blood had left her breathless.

"I've... had this condition for two centuries. But, truth be told... you were my first." He said. His words went from careful and slow to rushed. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking away.

"Come now, do you really think I'd believe that after 200 years?" Zeno had teased, certain that he was telling her yet another beautiful lie to leave her mesmerized by him. She was always afraid he was telling her beautiful lies.

"It's true. In all these years I've only ever fed on beasts and... drinking the blood of a thinking creature was never permitted under Cazador."

He spat the name of his former master, the cruel vampire that had sired him into this world of endless night. Zeno had quietly nodded, afraid that she had offended him. The look on his face said that he did not want to share this, but he kept going. In his mind, he was battling with the pull between speaking his haunted truth and the fear that dragged him down at the thought of letting her in. Nobody, not even the other spawn that Cazador had called his family had heard him speak like this.

“I think I’ll go lay in the river.” She said, her hair still damp from the last time she had retreated past the camp to lie in the rushing blue waters by the Emerald Grove. For some time the ground crunched with leaves and grass beneath her sandals as she listened to the call of the rushing waters on the rocks, urging her forward to the loud river she found refuge in. It’s cold, crashing waves shocked her to the core- it kept her mind sharp.

She heard nothing else, though, for as sharp as she was, she couldn’t hear the rogue that was stalking in the shadows. She threw off her shoes, only to hear Astarion clear his throat to politely make his presence known to her before she went any further.

She turned to see him there, emerging from the trees. His white ruffled linen shirt was slightly open, the peaks and valleys of his unnaturally pale chest glowed in the moonlight that danced off the water in a delicate pattern. It gave off a light blue halo of light around him that seemed to illuminate his pallor all too well. All these thoughts were dancing around in her head as he approached with care.

“Evening, siren.” He said sensually. He waited for her response, expecting more from her than the nod he got in reply. Seeing her by the water reminded him of the old book, The Blushing Mermaid. A trashy novel, if there ever was one. It was a favorite among lonely hearts.

Zeno’s thoughts were always haunted by him. He knew she couldn’t hide her excitement whenever he would sit close by, saying something clever to her in hopes of getting her to respond. Sometimes, he even brushed a thumb over the most sensitive skin of her wrist as he passed by her- once, even, gently reaching out to touch the curve of her bare waist as she fell behind the party in their trek. That touch still ghosted over her skin now.

“If you want to be alone, I can go.” He offered.

“No.” She said, pointedly. “Stay. You can jump in if you want.”

She tossed off her skirt, and the weave of beads that remained covering her body. She let her long hair down from it’s perch atop her head to fall in waves at her waist, the deep green curls blending in effortlessly with her surroundings in the night. She stepped into the river, finally. Goosebumps rose over her flesh as she waded in, either from the icy water at night or from the thought that Astarion was right behind her- and she let her siren form manifest once again.

“Is it safe to follow a siren into the river at her behest?” Astarion teased, his eyes darkening at his shameless flirting. Nevertheless, he kicked off his boots while keeping his eyes locked on hers. The ruffles of his shirt soon brushing over his silver curls as he pulled it swiftly over his head.

“Not quite a behest- more of an offer… and for you, it is safe.” She replied with a small smile, barely perceptible.

Her eyes continued to wander now. It was rare to see him like this- as far as she could tell he wasn’t so vulnerable with the others, despite the occasional flirt at Shadowheart now and again. It echoed in her already troubled mind. She had a feeling that she was the object of his interest in this moment, at least.

He walked slowly, carefully over to the spot where she had entered the water, standing ankle deep for a moment. His icy cold skin found the water to be temperate. Yet, the look on his face betrayed his reservations about coming any further.

“Running water is new for you, I know.” She acknowledged, proving to him that she was ever vigilant to his needs. The sunlight and the rushing waters were all a newly bestowed gift to the ancient vampire, thanks to the power of the tadpoles.

“Trust me?” She reached out with a gentle hand that dripped with the glistening diamonds of water.

“I, ah, wouldn’t mind just…” He leaned up against one of the wet boulders, perching one leg up slightly onto it. “Getting used to it slowly. As I admire you in your natural habitat.”

She let her hand fall with clear disappointment, but let him stand there, nonetheless. She tried to busy herself with swimming back and forth, gently diving down now and again beneath the surface- her back followed by the glimmering curve of her elegant tail. The dark green scales blended seamlessly in with her long hair, and with the lapping waves that kissed her skin. Sometimes she would bring something back up with her, laying them on the boulder that Astarion was propped up against, at his feet- as if worshiping his quiet presence with her. She put a shiny, opalescent oyster shell by his feet, and held it closely to his skin.

“That’s your color, I think.” She said, looking up with big, round eyes that he knew spelled trouble. For anyone else, at least. It was the first time that she allowed herself to fully make her feelings known. He knew, of course, already. It was plain to see she was wrapped tightly around his little finger by now.

“Is it really?” He teased, letting her elaborate some more. Instead, he was left waiting for a moment. If it weren’t for his keen and amplified senses he would never have heard the quickening of her pulse- the pace of her heartbeat now matching the hum of the crickets that sang mating calls into the night. But he did hear it, and in that moment he knew that he had won at this game already. He was finally safe with the siren, and her bloodthirsty vigor would protect him just as he had planned. Even with this security, he found himself thinking more about how he wasn’t the only one she coquettishly teased.

She’s a siren, she lures them in. It’s in her nature, he thought, each time she would playfully splash Gale as she washed clothes in the river or reached out to grab Shadowheart’s wrist and pull her under the waves with a light, airy laugh. He remembered one night they had all been camped out by the waters, and she wrapped her arms around Shadowheart from behind- claiming she was chilly and needed warmth. Shadowheart had laughed, obliging her, and they were playfully floating around for some time. It had been then that week he had decided to speak up himself.

“Shadowheart… Such a dark name for such a beautiful flower.” He had said as they were passing through a blighted, empty village.

“Please try not to look so closely at my neck when you say that, Astarion.” She’d replied flippantly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Zenosyne look back, and observe their faces- trying to pick up a clue as to what the nature of their little flirt really entailed.

Zenosyne broke his reminiscence in an instant when she took in a gentle breath, and leaned forward to his ankles. She looked at him with those doe-like eyes again, and slowly closing them, she reached her warm lips to the inside of his ankle- a gentle kiss at first along his freezing skin.

Oh, that’s why her heart’s beating so fast. She’s ready to take the next step, he thought.

She let a few feather light kisses trail along his ankle, then, a small nip at the drops of water that fell back into the river from his skin. She lifted her eyes up again, waiting now for him to say something- anything- to give her an idea what was going on in that breathtakingly beautiful head of his. He remained quiet, just as she had. The only thing she could tell was from the way he stared, a coy smile played at his lips as he looked down at her. She sat up a little, pushing her long hair back behind her, out of the way of her bare chest.

She’s making a show of it too, he noted.

“Another offering at your altar, then?” She said, finally, placing the open-faced shell back at his feet. “Would you grace me a little further, tonight, by joining me in the river?”

He chuckled darkly, not because he was playing along anymore- but because he couldn’t help himself any longer. He knew he was handsome- hells, he knew just how alluring he could be thanks to years of perfecting his approach. It was the fact that her words seemed to be of genuine adoration and not the drunken proclamations of love he was used to hearing each night in the city streets that broke his defenses.

She loved him, he thought.

I love him, she thought.

He finally stepped carefully into the waters- his fear of the current still evident despite his attempts at masking his trepidation. She reached out both arms to grab his shoulders, steadying him for a moment before she helped him lower himself in. He let out a long breath that he didn’t know he had been holding.

“That’s it.” She quietly encouraged, just above a whisper. She let her hands trail just over his chest, both palms resting there for some time as he let the new sensations of the river water wash over him. With time, she let them fall and rise- sliding across his skin suggestively as she watched his eyes dart between hers.

“Are you hungry?” She asked.

His eyes widened for a brief moment.

“Very much so.” He whispered, now letting a low grunt escape his lips. He turned his gaze to the already bruised spot on her neck he had grown accustomed to.

She wrapped her tail around his waist, and the flowery thin ends of her fins popped up beside him in the water. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her warmth. She shivered in the cold water and in his icy touch. Together, they left her trembling.

His feeding on her had always been polite- he never did more than drink from her.

You’re a gods damned fool. You’ve been letting yourself drink from her and now you think you’ll can do this without getting too close? You’re getting too close…

…and with a surprisingly shaky gasp he bit down without hesitation.

You’re getting too close.

He kissed the spot he had bitten, enveloping her in his arms and keeping her quiet. He pulled her in tightly and squeezed her closer as he lapped up her blood. He let the sound of his tongue pierce her ears and his little low sighs of approval sing to her.

You’re getting too close.

He buried his nose into the crook of her neck, and she curled even closer into his tight grasp. Were it anyone else, she would feel so very threatened by his suffocating hold. He kept her from moving a muscle- and she sighed into it.

You’re getting too close.

He quieted the nagging voice in his head by rolling her over onto her back, both of them half submerged in the rushing waters. The slow grind of his hips into hers was hidden under the water- and the way her tail twitched underneath him.

He got his fill and broke his connection with her all at once. He stared down at her eager face- blinking away the drops of water that fell from his silvery locks into her face. She panted, expectantly. He found himself gasping in rhythm with her.

Hells, you’ve really gone and done it now. You’re in too deep. You’ve given too much.

Astarion let his lips crash into hers, finally, the weeks of tension finding respite here and now. He let the metallic taste on his tongue ease into hers, then let it explore with careful precision for the very first time. The siren didn’t seem to know just how to match his passionate kisses. She was at a loss, for once. She melted into him. Her tail melted away, and her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, her knees and legs just breaking the surface of the water they laid in. She let him take the lead- her bold advances suddenly disappearing.

Astarion’s mind reeled,

She probably drowns them before she gets this far. You’re a gods damned fool. Dammit.  

Berating himself mentally over and over again, he let his hands wander lower to her waist as his lips continued to collide in a gentle dance with hers. His eyes finally locked into her gaze and he asked,

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” She cried out with no hesitation. “Please. Plea-”

He quieted her calls with his kisses, hungrily seeking more of her until he found himself beyond salvation. The voice that held him back all night was finally quiet- acquiescing to defeat. She was so warm beneath him- not that this was new to him- he always noticed just how warm living bodies were when entangled with his… but never did he get the rush of adrenaline he did in that moment when he finally allowed himself to let go and make love to her. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was excited at the idea- tantalized by it even.

As her hips reached upwards to meet his- to accept his love and his passion, she whimpered and gasped. The stars were reflected in her wet eyes- and they grasped at each other wherever they could. Their arms and legs were a tangled mess, and she pulled playfully at his wet hair. Her gentle tugs and cries were the motivation, the guidance he needed to explore her body further.

“Oh, my love- I”

Zenosyne cried out louder now, her inability to contain herself any longer was apparent. It had been difficult, for the very first time, to keep his climax at bay.

“Go on-” He whispered, but his voice trembled.

“Go on, siren.” He tried to speak again, regaining his composure and asserting his calm and sweet dominance. He looked deep into her eyes, trying to keep her focus on him alone. “I have you. I won’t let you g-”

“I- I love you!” She screamed, throwing her head back, crying out in ecstasy. Her hips stuttered, and her thighs shook beneath his tight grip. The night sky blended into an ocean of lights as she closed her eyes, letting herself feel every beautiful sensation that she could find in his hasty ministrations.

Her confession was carefully timed- and she knew it would be a risk. She knew she couldn’t just say it at any moment and get away with it. But she wanted him to hear it- and to know that she meant every word she uttered. No kind word she had said to him went unpunished by his casual flippancy, so she cried out in the only way she knew how- by baring her soul naked in front of him and parting the veil that stood between them. She cried it out again-

“I love you!”

I love you.

Each time she said it he faltered. He became dizzy with want and his chest ached with the realization that washed over him. She loved him. She loved him. He couldn’t say it back- not yet. Not even at the height of his untamed pleasure, when he cried her name into her ears like sweet nothings- he couldn’t say it just yet...

They both fell limp onto the ground, still holding on to one another- still joined together intimately. They lay like that for some time, just letting the waters pass them by. Astarion rested his head on her chest, listening to her heartbeat. It was racing, racing, until finally it slowed down to a more steady rhythm. His pointed ear twitched beneath her gentle touches, and he found himself sinking into a trance as she hummed a sweet melody. Her face was towards the stars, tracing the colorful clouds of astral dust that swirled in the endless cosmos above. His eyes closed, he pulled her wrist close to his lips and nestled a few chaste kisses to her sensitive skin.

“You don’t have to say it in return, if you can’t.” She whispered. His kisses stopped a moment- and his eyes opened. He didn’t turn to look up at her, but she felt his lashes flutter against her chest.

“I’d wait forever, you know, if that’s what it took.” she said, still gently stroking the shell of his pale ear atop her chest.

Oh what a fool you are, Zeno. He thought to himself, Run away from me, gods, please! Tell me you can’t do this anymore… Tell me you hate me, even… tell me anything but that.

[rearranged-fanfic]

Chapter-By-Chapter Part 1; The Prologue - Unfinished Painting

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*Spoilers Below*

This fic starts off incredibly melancholy. let's properly set the tone, shall we?

"When death strikes, it’s sometimes a long, slow cut.  And sometimes, it’s swift as the blink of an eye.  It does so efficiently, without remorse, and without discernment.  We all die, in the end."

This is the opening paragraph, the reader's first impression of the story and of our protagonist. We cut to Reader-chan (our Reader Avatar) in the hospital directly after her mother's death. There's a sense of shock and upset, but ultimately, resignation.

We know from the story that her mom had been sick for a while.

 "It wasn’t sudden, nor was it unexpected.  Mom had been sick for a very, very long time."

"Mom’s death had been a slow cut, festering over months and months until it was long overdue."

This is something she's been preparing for quite some time now. But there's still the undercurrent that she's not dealing well. You'll notice that she has no support structure; there are no others in the hospital with her.

Reader-chan is very much alone. She has few friends, and most of her family is distant or has since passed on.

"I was nineteen when I was made an orphan."

"After Dad had died unexpectedly from COVID complications..."

"And then [the younger sister] become an adult.  And she’d left me behind without a backwards glance."

I know you're thinking, 'Author-san', why would you give us such a depressing start? This is so sad'. And, primarily, it's to ease the transition when Reader-chan transmigrates to the JJK world. If she'd have had a family who loved her and supported her, would she have wanted to stay in her new world - which, in this story, is portrayed in an incredibly dark way? For me? I'd say not. I'd claw and scrape and scream to get back to my family, hot fictional men be damned.

When isekai stories have protagonists that just go 'this is my life now', it really tanks my immersion. Especially when they're supposed to be serious dramas. Comedies are a little less glaring, because there's a suspension of disbelief that allows me to excuse more. But dramas? Oh boy, if you have family in your old world, you'd miss them too.

So, her losses before the start of the main story justify her lack of desire to return home - because it is something she struggles with in the first few chapters. Not only that, but it also reinforces her mental strength. She lost her dad and mom within a few years of each other and her sister is globe-trotting, so what could I possibly throw at her that's comparatively worse?

A character that has less to lose or less to return to is easier to manipulate emotionally for the author. There are less hangups, less connections to keep in mind, and less loose ends to tie up when the isekai inevitably ends.

Not only that, but the grief she experiences gives readers an immediate point of connection with her. Most everybody can identify with the loss of a loved one. Whether it's a parent, grandparent, or sibling that has passed away or simply lost touch, that sort of mental anguish resonates with humanity on an intrinsic level. We, as the readers, see her pain and understand it.

And we want to see her pick herself back up and move on from this.

We go from the hospital to her apartment, where she unpacks the last of her mother's belongings.

Reader-chan reveals that she'd been taking care of her mother before her death, for some unknown amount of time. And, in doing so, had let her own life fall by the wayside.

"I’d been able to see my ribs at one point, and my collar bones had become pronounced in the v-necks of my shirts."

"I’d neglected other things, too."

"An easel and canvas lay covered in the corner of the room, doing little more than collecting dust. [...] My book collection was little more than decoration at this point, too."

"I’d just lost my job. [...] I’d gotten fired for taking care of her."

"I wasn’t exactly qualified to do anything else, since I’d dropped out of college [to take care of her mother]."

Things like her health, career, future goals, hobbies, and interests were all discarded. Reader-chan, in dedicating her life to her mom, had completely derailed it.

This is the characterization we get of Reader-chan: she's toxically altruistic. Reader-chan is an incredibly kind person. She's hard-working, fiercely loyal, and selfless. This is to set up not only her desire to save those around her, but her own personal conflict within the story itself.

She can easily be viewed as a doormat, letting others take advantage of her. She bends under pressure, gives pieces of herself with terrifyingly little asked in return, and is unconcerned about her own wellbeing. Which is... very much not okay.

Despite this, we see that she's surprisingly resilient when faced with seemingly-insurmountable odds.

"And I resolved that I was going to go back into the store and talk to my boss"

"I could’ve started doing murals for the businesses in town again. [...] I could’ve paint windows for offices or the brickwork facades downtown, or done commissions for smaller pieces [to pay for her expenses]."

Reader-chan almost immediately starts to make plans to get back up onto her own two feet. Which shows that she's mature for her age, and able to deal appropriately with setbacks as they come. She's also not prone to getting overwhelmed and giving up.

Cut away again, and we find her in the parking lot of her old job, intent on talking to her boss to get it back. And she's trying in vain to get a hold of her distant sister.

She leaves a voicemail, to no avail. And for the first time, we see her truly angry...

"Snapping in anger, gripped the phone so hard that the fragile class façade threatened to break.  Part of me hoped it would, that spiderweb cracks overtook it and the screen shattered in my grasp.  So I’d lose her number and never have to call her again.  Then I’d never have to see her again, either."

... and her immediate regret.

"I’d never see her again, just like Dad.  Just like Mom."

"Was that what I really wanted?  … Maybe not."

Because, despite the fact that her sister left her behind, she still very much loves her. And, if she cuts her sister loose, she really will be all alone.

I included a strained sibling relationship because, initially, I wanted there to be something that Reader-chan would be conflicted about. Should she rekindle her relationship with her sister - forgive, forget, and move on? Or should she hold a grudge in her heart, even if it leaves her miserable?

When she gets isekai'd, the conflict becomes: should she put forth the effort return home to her sister, knowing that their relationship is only hanging by a thread, or resign herself to her fate in her new universe?

We catch a glimpse of fandom. We know that Reader-chan enjoys a myriad of media, but that it's fallen by the wayside in recent months.

"Only a few manga volumes had been touched, when I’d take them to the hospital to read with Mom; she’d liked looking at the pictures."

"On the rearview mirror, little chibis of my favorite anime characters hang and jingle together."

I made eye contact with tiny Tsunade from Naruto [...] the blindfolded gaze of Gojo [...] next to Levi Ackerman.

So we know that she has a keen interest in manga, specifically, judging from her collection and from the characters she keeps in her car.

After getting off the phone, frustrated and angry with her sister, she attempts to calm herself down by reading through her curated stories page. Which leads to this:

"And I saw a headline titled 'JJK: Fan-Favorite Character Killed in Battle', with a picture of Sukuna next to it."

"Out of curiosity, I clicked on the article and scrolled down, looking for the manga panels in question."

"Because it wasn’t Sukuna dead.  Gojo Satoru had been bisected, cut clean through, and left in a pool of his own blood."

Reader-chan reacts like this:

"“Th-that’s not possible, right?”  I inhaled through my nose.  Out through my mouth.  Trying to calm myself."

"I stared at [the tiny Gojo keychain] for a bit, and yanked his chain off the mirror, tossing him into the back seat where I couldn’t look at him anymore.  Then I pressed my face into the backs of my hands and screamed at the top of my lungs."

"Because the universe was so fucking funny that it had to play some sort of cosmic joke on me.  Because Gege killing off that character just had to happen now!"

Up until now, we've seen her handle everything with a surprising amount of grace. We can tell that she's deeply upset by the loss of her mother, sure, but she's putting on quite the brave face. Or maybe she's simply too shocked to be anguished. yeah... definitely the second option.

"I watched the doctors rush around like I was a thousand miles away, observed from outside of my body as they tried in vain to bring [her mother] back from beyond the threshold."

 "I went about my motions like I was piloting myself remotely."

"Even as I unpacked her stuff, I didn’t cry. I was just… empty, I guess.  Too tired, or maybe too shocked."

"I still didn’t cry.  Not when my whole world was collapsing around me."

But the moment she reads about Gojo's death, it acts as the metaphorical straw. And she's the camel.

"Unable to help myself, I laughed.  I laughed so hard that my shoulders shook.  And I laughed so hard that the laughs turned to sobs, and then to wails."

"I cried."

"It was ugly, and violent, and so stupid. [...] I cried for what felt like hours."

Initially, I was kind of wary of putting this chapter out into the world because of this moment. Because, yeah, her mom died, but she's going to cry over an anime character? That's the criticism I honestly expected.

"I was an idiot, losing it over some fake guy when I couldn’t even shed a tear for the woman who’d raised me.  And though I tried to stop, the waterworks kept coming and coming and coming."

But it makes sense in my mind, because we humans displace our emotions all the time. We get irrationally angry or sad at things and take our emotions out on them. Have a bad day at work? Get mad and kill something on a videogame. Upset? Watch a sad movie and cry about it.

I do this with 'The Fox and The Hound' all the time! I'll put it on and just weep until my eyes and head hurt. And, man, does it feel good! Like, on the days when my emotions are going haywire, like when I'm on my period, I just want to vent.

Gojo's death isn't what makes her sad enough to finally cry, but it gives her the perfect outlet for her emotions. It's a way for her to finally experience the emotional devastation of losing her mom without touching on the raw wound itself. It's a catharsis that she so desperately needs.

Crying really does help her. Sometimes, all you need is a good breakdown to realign your axis.

"And, little by little, I came back to myself."

"In the aftermath, there was a bit of clarity, of peace.  The buildup and the release of pressure. [...] Weight lifted off my shoulders and I felt a levity that I hadn’t in months. [...] I felt like I could breathe again.  Like my lungs were expanding properly and my heart was beating in my chest instead of my throat."

"Turns out that crying is good for you; who’d have guessed?"

After she cries, she picks herself back up and resolves to push forward. Starting with getting her job back, then ending with possibly rekindling a relationship with her sister.

This is one of my favorite parts of this little chapter because it perfectly encapsulates the whole vibe of 'post-nut clarity'... but for sobbing like a crazy person, obviously. Like, we all have that moment after we cry where everything just sorta clicks into place.

Reader-chan, for a solid moment, is standing tall. And she's putting her own emotions and needs first.

She calls her sister, getting out of her car. And while she's leaving a voicemail, she finally meets her fate.

"But I never got to finish my ultimatum.  The screeching of tires cut me off as I whirled around just in time to see the grill of a large truck barreling toward me.  And then there was the sickening crunch of bones breaking and somebody screaming."

This is where the isekai truly begins. Because when she dies, she winds up in a black void. And this void is where the next chapter opens.

We have a callback to our first paragraph.

"When death strikes, it’s sometimes a long, slow cut.  And sometimes, it’s swift as the blink of an eye.  It does so efficiently, without remorse, and without discernment.  We all die, in the end."

Keen observers may also notice that prior to being run down, the story is in past tense. Everything past getting struck is in present tense. This is to reinforce the idea that Reader's old universe and life are permanently 'was', while her new world and life permanently 'are'. A little bit of author psychology for you guys.

There's also one of my favorite side stories ever in this: 'The Saga of The Shopping Cart'!

"I scowled when one person pushed their empty cart into another parking spot instead of the cart return.  Idiot."

"A gust of wind blew the loose shopping cart in front of me, and I let it cross before making my way towards the building." 

"Because that shopping cart had blown onto the road, in front of a vehicle going way too fast. [...] And in a bid to avoid hitting it, the driver had cranked their wheel.  And hit me instead."

I love this introduction chapter, because I feel like it gives us a solid foundation for Reader-chan. We immediately know what her motivations are, how she reacts in the worst situations, and whether or not we'll personally identify with her during the series. It also sets the tone really well, in my opinion: dark and sad with a shining glimmer of hope on the horizon.

The title, 'Unfinished Painting', is a reference to both her neglected work in her apartment and to her life being cut short before she can be fully realized.

"Every morning, I gave [the easel with her painting] a nasty side eye, wondering when I’d just get rid of the stupid thing.  Maybe it’d be good to start fresh on a new piece."

"I [..] crossed over to where my easel had remained untouched [...] The painting on the canvas was half-finished, a work-in-progress that’d never quite made “progress”.  It was an ambitious landscape painting: colorful sunrise breaking over the Colorado Rocky Mountains, with clouds encircling the highest peaks and rays caressing the jagged edges of the cliff faces.  It’d been detailed, almost obsessively so, and vivid."

"I traced the edges of the painting fondly.  It was supposed to be my best work yet.  And it had been.  For a time."

The parallels become even clearer when digging into the color symbolism of red paint.

"[..] in a fit of rage, I’d thrown an entire tube of red paint at [the painting].  Crimson splatters dot the scenic mountains like blood spray."

"All the hopes and dreams inside my head smear across the pavement like paint spatters on a canvas.  Just a red, red stain."

But, there's also the implication that death isn't the end. That she can take this and make it better.

"The painting wasn’t necessarily ruined; I could still restore it if I worked hard."

"Maybe it’d be good to start fresh on a new piece.  If I ever found inspiration to draw or paint, anyway." 

When we consider that 'The painting' is acting as a parallel for her life, it essentially changes this to mean 'My life isn't necessarily ruined; I could still restore it if I worked hard.' And 'Maybe it'd be good to start anew. If I ever found the inspiration to live, anyway.'

Which all points to the idea that a fresh start is, perhaps, a good thing?

All-in-all, I'm super happy with how this turned out. Of course, that could just be my own personal bias, since I wrote it. Who can say?