#never fails to beguile me

[hoss-bonaventure]

my favorite niche of chainshipping fanfic are those AUs where adam and lawrence both survive and adam is inexplicably living with alison and lawrence even though they’re on the brink of divorce and alison keeps being like “why is this twink here larry?” and lawrence just starts trauma-dumping. i’ve read so many fics like it and i want to continue to read fics like it. bonus points if the fic has diane treating adam like a third parent but in a step-mom way.

[ellsbclls]

Can I request something with Vi? Maybe like dating headcanons, or maybe where Vi and reader got separated after the council incident that happened but reunite after vi came a pit fighter, and once they see each other again talk a bit before making out

thank you thank you thank you thank you, angel 🥹 i had the absolute hardest time trying to choose which prompt to do, so for the time being i'm gonna word vomit about how good of a girlfriend vi would be, and then i'll work up the courage to execute such a fun and cool scenario!

𖨂 DATING VI HEADCANONS;

  ⟢ vi has always been lead by her heart and so, when she finds someone who embraces it — not for what it can be but for what it is — she lays her weapons down

  ⟢ during her shifts, she'll squirrel away at little souvenirs to bring home to you. it's not enough to just tell you about it, she needs to veil your mirror with a string of noxian banners, the emblem scratched away and embroidered with lily-shaped bolts and acrylic wire. she needs you to know that you're the first thing that comes to her mind when she sees something so tender in the face of violence. by the end of the week, your vanity is overflowing with so many little trinkets that its barely useful anymore, save for her gifts and the exhibition of them. and yet, when she slips the vein of a curling leaf into the palm of your hand, you find a sliver of space for it to live and stretch in front of the face of the mirror, listening intently while she explains how it marked the beginning of another fall with you.

  ⟢ when she finds herself close enough to you, she always tucks her head into the soft of your jaw. and not even in search of a kiss, or at the expense of her teeth. she just breathes you in, where your heartbeat lives, and rocks you back and forth, matching her rhythm the the flighty rate of it.

  ⟢ she hates to bother you with her gauze, and her dressing never cease to bother you. with how often she uses her hands, its inevitable that they will unravel, they'll tear and crease by the end of the day, but god forbid she asks you to help her. no, it won't be until you walk in on her in the bathroom, and she freezes in time — her canines snagging at the tail of a bandage roll while her other arm angles so precariously that it's almost comical. "i've got this," the words are so mangled between her teeth that you choose to ignore them. "i'm sure you do, but humor me." when you take the mantle, she can't help but notice how strong your hands are, how steady, like you're performing surgery. and in a way, you are, putting her back together the only way you know how — carefully.

  ⟢ despite her hands and how heavy they are, she touches you gently. near hesitant. her fingers sweep at the bottom of your eye when you’re drowsy, or tug at the corner of your mouth until it’s nothing but a cheesy half smile, clumsily obvious in her efforts to simply be near you. she’ll say “eyes up here, mister” when she notices how sleazy she’s making you look, but then blush into a blister when you do obey, flashing a pretty pair of doe eyes back at her, your sleazy smirk erupting into something saccharine and beguiled. she barely notices how easily you melt into her touches. so accustomed to drawing blood, to digging into the heel of her palm and restraining, that she feels giddy and drunk with the prospect of holding you and knowing you won’t falter.

  ⟢ she's also a little gross

  ⟢ well, a lot gross, actually. she’ll clean her runny nose with the bottom of her shirt, or dig it into the scruffy pink heat of her armpit and stop, letting the scent hit her tastebuds before she, without fail, shrugs it off. and whenever you catch her in the midst of doing something so gross, she’ll freeze and maintain an eerily impressive sort of eye contact with you, knowing full well that you’ll break eye contact with her before she has a chance to feel ashamed by her actions. it’s the price of growing up with brothers (+ jinx) and never paying for it.

  ⟢ in her restless hours, when you and your body lay half-hazed and dreamy, tucked into the throws and comforts of your bed, perfumed by the drowsy memory of a shower and toasted rice, she comes and crawls into the open spaces you’ve left. for her. to map out and nestle into from above the covers. when she finally finds you, as if you’re not impossibly intertwined already, she needles her arms around your back. nevermind how useless they become in the morning when the prick and pin of morning emerges. who cares? for just one selfish moment it’s just the two of you, cast to an island of quilted sands and dreams.

  ⟢ she also has a hard time saying no to you. the words come out, sure, but the actions never quite line up.

  ⟢ like one instance, early into the post-war rehabilitation efforts. most of piltover had been ravaged, a shiny metropolis brought to pieces — ivory rubble and the singing of distant songs. remarkably, the only remaining piece of infrastructure was the bridge to zaun. its made it easier for the relief efforts to come, and in droves they come — filling empty stomachs, arms aplenty with gauze and vodka, ornamenting what’s left of piltover with remnants of a zaun left unspoken for, whispers of something new and whole. and yet the only thing she hears is the hum of your voice, a gentle echo — "do you think the fish shop is still open?"

  ⟢ for you, it's simple, but to her the request is haunting. she hadn't the heart to tell you that, of the many things that zaun could not preserve, the fish shop was the first to go, and she had spent the remaining weeks finding ways to break it to you. but all fell short in comparison to just doing something about it, even if that something meant tracking the limescaled chef to the heart of zaun and requesting your order a la carte, her heavy gauntlet punctuating the request through the hardwood of his makeshift home.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Part 2 of this

👑⚔️ king Steven x knight William ⚔️👑

***

The mysterious knight does not provide any further information about his background. William only says that he himself remains hoping that one day memory will serve him better and he will be able to shed more light on where he comes from and why he was found dying on king Steven's land.

The king finds it odd, but everything is odd about the knight clad in dark armour,

Who is bathed in sunshine, whenever he loses the iron of his warlike suit.

And Steven finds the strangeness even more beguiling.

The most uncanny thing is the king's fervent desire which consumes his whole being when Steven finds himself close to the knight, or when he finds himself far from him —

The distance does not really matter. If they happen to be apart for several hours, Steven gets lost in sweetest elation — he dreams of the moment when he will see the knight again — his gaze turning hazy and thoughts unfocused. The dire necessity to always be near William, not lose a single grain of time that can be spent together, baffles the king for he has never felt anything alike.

The constant craving makes his body ache for the knight's closeness and attention, salivate in anticipation of possible pleasures.

At first, it is unclear where William stands regarding the king's intentions, for one second Steven catches the knight looking at him, desperate to hide the deep-lying longing in his abysmal eyes — and failing to do so,

The king's gaze mirrors the yearning, the two tides violently clash

However, seconds pass, and the handsome barbarian puts distance between them, as though forcing himself to do it, forcing himself to fall back to chivalrous conduct.

The king keeps the knight always by his side, they get carried away by lengthy conversations, take long walks on the sea shore and in the woods, they feast and indulge themselves in intellectual pleasures, listening to musicians and reading poetry to one another. As soon as William's wounds have healed, the two young men compete in archery and swordplay, and the virtuous king often seeks advice from knight William regarding kingdom affairs.

Eventually, neither of them — they are destined to be lovers — can escape the current. A chaste kiss brings them to heaven, and is followed by a rough and at the same time inexplicably tender embrace which turns them both to molten steel, soft and pliant,

Yet unbreakable and oh so hot to the touch.

They share the bed, and Steven ascends to wuthering heights every time he lays his hands on the knight's silk like skin. Once the dam has been broken, there is nothing chaste in the way they touch each other.

The king is blinded by passion, and so is the knight, who whispers

Tracing his fingertips over Steve's face, following the pattern of his scars

"My king, your beauty is utterly entrancing. You have spellbound me, put me to my knees."

The king cannot spend a single night without his knight, and after they satisfy their mutual hunger, he nestles his head against William's strong shoulder and slides into blissful sleep.

Needless to say, king Steven's previous engagement to princess Nancy from the neighbouring kingdom is scandalously broken off.

***

One day the king finds William in the garden looking troubled

"I must leave you for an uncertain amount of time since I have urgent business. I need to free my sister. There is a place in the mountains — a passage to the underworld where she is being held against her will by terrifying creatures."

"Your sister? .. Have you remembered your past?"

"Not all of it." The evasiveness of the knight's answer eludes king Steven. "I have been having dreams. She is calling for me."

"Then I shall accompany you in your difficult quest."

The knight wants to protest

"If I may, your majesty, this is too dangerous .."

But the king doesn't give him a chance to finish the sentence pressing his lips to William's.

Steven knows the place he is talking about — years ago he fought a creature there, the demogorgon, as people have called it.

However, the crack is now closed and there is no way to get to the underworld.

"Do not fall into despair. I know who might help us." Says Steven.

They go to the woods to pay a visit to a young witch who does not talk and leads a solitary life.

"My people wanted to banish her from the kingdom, but I insisted that she stay. However, she lives alone in the woods, only occasionally coming to Sunday market in town square."

The witch helps the two men to open the gate to the underworld.

They stand back to back, fighting with a bloodthirsty horde of strange creatures that look like dogs, and although the king is an experienced fighter, he does not fail to notice how on several occasions William bravely rushes to protect him with his shield, or sword, or his own body.

It takes a massacre to free a young woman with noble features and hair fiery like dancing flames. Her name sounds outlandish

Maxine, her brother calls her.

Steven offers her rooms in his castle, the sister and brother spend time together, and Maxine also starts to frequent the witch who lives in the woods.

One day she addresses king Steven

"There is no measure for my brother's and my own gratitude for saving first him, then me. Your heart is good and pure and .. my brother's heart is good as well. However, I feel it is my obligation to warn you. Not necessarily wishing to bring it upon your head, he still might do you harm for .. for he is haunted, haunted by .."

She wants to say more but the sound of the opening door stops words from leaving her mouth.

"I have been looking for you, king. The weather is gorgeous. The horses are ready. Should you agree, we could go for a ride in the blooming meadow." The knight suggests.

..

They make love laying amidst the tall grass and flowers which sough gently in the warm breeze sweeping over the honey meadow, and Steven forgets all that William's sister has told him.

..

In the morning when the king wakes up, he sees William sitting beside him, head down, hair cascading around his slouched shoulders.

A dark shadow runs over his impeccably handsome face as he lifts his head up, avoiding direct eye contact

"Forgive me, my lover, for my intentions, unlike my passion for you, have indeed not been entirely pure." The knight looks as if he is in physical pain, and his voice falters

With one swift motion, William puts the heavy shakles around the king's wrists.

At the same time Steven hears voices coming from the outside, the frightened cries of women and the unusual commotion.

King Steven's eyes are full of disbelief, searching William's distraught face.

Soldiers wearing black have invaded the streets of his town.

Someone must have opened the gates at night.

Betrayal.

"Why .. my love, why would you ..?"

***

Part 3

The witch in the woods is Eleven.

[thus-spoke-lo]

cw: yandere!gn!reader. use of restraints. obsessive/delusional behavior [reader]. implied extremely dubious consent. sexually suggestive. uses prompts from here. wc: 750 Yandere Minific Masterlist

“Don’t you think the seastone is a little unnecessary?” Sanji winds his body again, just as he has been for hours now, pulling against the slack you’ve left him—just enough to let him think he has a chance at freedom. But you’ve studied him, read all the newspapers, traveled to islands to hear first-hand accounts, and you know just what it will take to keep him right where you want him.

“It’s just a precaution, my love,” you coo, watching sweat bead on his forehead, his pretty blonde hair clinging to his skin. His skin is flushed, reddened from exertion, his chest heaving with panting breaths—just the way you picture it will be once he’s ravished you, devoured you, whispered your name against your skin as he fills you over and over again.

“My friends will come for me,” he says through gritted teeth as he bends and twists once more, balling his hands into fists. “My friends will come, and then you’ll regret this—I can assure of you that!”

“Careful now, mon cher—you don’t want to mess up your beautiful hands,” you chide, clucking your tongue as you stroke his skin and lean down to pry his fist open and press his slender fingers against your cheek. A shudder runs down your spine, electricity sparking in your nerves—he feels like heaven. You turn your face and kiss the palm of his hand, sticking out the tip of your tongue and running the pointed tip up along his middle finger. “I want to know how you’ll taste between my teeth, is that so wrong?”

“Maybe in another life, I’d fall in love with you, angel,” he scoffs, though you can detect a softness in his tone, a kindness towards his captor that, though probably undeserved, is deeply desired. “But it won’t happen like this.”

It’s cute how he resists, charming even. He doesn’t yet understand the kindness you’ve done for him, the way you’ve saved him from himself. All those women he’d been known to flirt with and fawn over, they could never love him the way you do, the way you will. They don’t appreciate him—not a one of them, and certainly not those beguiling harlots that he sails with. They don’t deserve the artistry of his cooking that you’ve heard so many stories about, they don’t deserve his kind heart and his giving nature, they don’t deserve him. But you—you deserve him, don’t you? You deserve a man who will throw himself at your feet and worship you, who will care for you and make sure you’re never hungry for food or love. And he’s right here in front of you, all yours for as long as you both shall live.

“Oh Sanji, you’re even more handsome than the way people describe you." He barely suppresses a grin as you lavish him with praise—it’s working just as intended, the Strawhats’ Love Cook will be wound around your finger in no time at all, dancing on the precipice of love, ready to fall for you with just the slightest push. "The pictures in the paper don’t do you an ounce of justice.”

You straddle his lap and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth as you lightly grind against him. He lets out a soft, strangled noise that you can only assume was a groan that he tried (and failed) to suppress; he may be resistant, but if there’s one thing you know about Blackleg Sanji, it’s that he can’t resist a pretty face, even if it belongs to the one who captured him and bound him in chains.

“You think you can just”—Sanji turns his head away from you and clenches his eyes shut, as if not gazing upon you will stop how his body betrays him—“just say some nice things and press your body—your warm, soft body—against me and I’ll just forgive you for what you’ve done?”

“Sanji, Sanji, Sanji—you’ll fall in love with me in due time, just like the good boy I know you are.” You lean down and bury your face in his neck, shuddering at the spice of his cologne, the subtle musk of his sweat. You gently nip at his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, and sigh as you feel him beginning to stir beneath you as his hips lift to meet yours, almost of their own accord. “You just look so delicious…and I won't stop until I’ve eaten every bite.”

[twiceeshy]

3% [Chapter 2/?]

Read and view tags on ao3.

Summary: Three percent was the chance that suppressants would fail to protect from pregnancy, if a fertile Omega had sex with an Alpha during heat. It was non-negligible, but low.

Chapter summary: Vale visits Cervera for the first time.

E, rosquez, 5k words.

[prev chapter]

--

When Marc was twenty and everything was uncomplicated, Vale had tempted fate.

It had been one of the days in the second half of the season, when they lived out of hotels instead of motorhomes and Marc often followed Vale to his room.

He always liked Vale's hotel rooms. He even preferred them to his own, though he was fussy about scents. Save for the hints of Uccio that he could have done without, the room was a light wash of Vale. It was much less imposing than Vale's motorhome where he dwelled for months on end, and less complicated by other people.

Hotels had a pleasant simplicity. Just clean air, clean sheets, and a bit of their guests. And when they fucked, or when Marc lingered long enough for his presence to sink in, his scent and Vale's would entwine perfectly. Marc would have bottled Vale's hotel room air if it were possible.

Marc was freshly showered and shirtless after a day out on track. His damp hair soaked into the pillows on the not-Vale side of the bed, and his scent was subtly catching onto Vale's clean sheets. He scrolled on his phone, catching up with family gossip until Vale emerged from his steaming bathroom.

What Marc didn't know was that Vale was a handful of days away from a rut. It would be the first one they spent together. He just laid there innocently, oblivious to the signs: the heightened possessiveness, the yearning to start a family. It was Alpha biology more than true feeling. Valentino would never really want to settle and marry, much less be tied down to the commitments of a family.

Vale came over to his side of the bed, smelling clean and crisp. His curls were frizzled in all directions. He put Marc's phone away, and leaned down to kiss him gently. Then he did something odd - he spread his warm hands across the firm musculature of Marc's exposed abdomen and pressed down with his palms. Marc's muscles tensed, though he did not complain.

"Hey, Vale?"

"Hmm, I was thinking. But I don't see how a baby can fit in here."

"A baby?" Marc echoed, perplexed.

"You know what a baby is," Vale said lightly.

"Yes," Marc said, not very sure where the conversation was going. "I'm sure it can fit," was what he settled on saying.

Vale's pupils had gone dark. There was something about it that was a little bit scary and a little bit sexy, and Marc didn't know what to do about it.

"You think so?" Vale asked. It sounded like a joke because it was so obvious, but maybe it wasn't a joke. Vale traced Marc's waistband with two fingers, always so confident and casual with his movements. He slipped them down the front. A shiver rippled down Marc's spine.

"Yeah 'course."

"And you want one?"

"Maybe when I'm your age," Marc answered, ginning cheekily to mask his discomfort.

Vale blinked the darkness away. "Ah. You are very young. It is too early."

"Yeah," Marc said, relieved that they had arrived at that conclusion. He curled his hand around the other of Vale's wrists so he would stop pressing against his stomach, and smiled at him, in a beguiling way that he'd learned would earn him another kiss. He tended to get what he wanted.

--

When Marc finally checked his texts after Laia had fallen asleep, he saw that Valentino had reacted to his daughter's foot with a heart. As he ought to, Marc supposed.

There was a missed call, just one, followed by two voice messages.

"Are you well?" went the first, barely two seconds long.

Then, "Please let me see. Is it a girl or a boy? Did you choose a name?"

Marc could have sent a text back, but he'd always disliked the disconnection. He would only type and re-type and never arrive at the right words. And he didn't like voice notes - they gave other people too much time to think.

He stepped out of his room and hit call before he could rethink his decision. The line was picked up immediately.

"Ciao Valentino," he said, injecting energy into his voice.

"Marc," Valentino said. Years must have passed since his name last escaped that mouth. Marc resisted the compulsion to hang up. This was about making sure his daughter had two parents. He had to make nice.

He answered Valentino's list of questions. "Her name is Laia. She's a girl. Yes, you can follow Alex home after the race. I'll tell him."

A silence dragged on. Marc held his phone away from his phone to see if he had disconnected, but he hadn't.

"Valentino?" he spoke again, to check.

"Yes, sorry," Valentino said. He didn't sound like himself - something close to flustered, but subdued. He was suppressing a feeling, Marc realised. It annoyed him far more than he expected.

"You're coming, right?" he asked impatiently. "I'm her mother, so I need to say this. You can't just come when you feel like it and forget her when it's not convenient. You can meet her to decide, but you're either in her life or you're not."

Valentino couldn't just send a voice note once every four months and consider it parenting, no matter how much Marc clung to them with stubborn affection. Even though Marc played his messages again and again when he couldn't sleep because he had a baby sitting on his bladder. Valentino did not dedicate himself to trying hard enough. With every second that Marc spent alone gestating their baby, it had become more evident.

There was an intake of breath on Valentino's side of the line. "I'm in her life, I'm not forgetting," he said urgently. Marc assessed that he sounded genuine. He bit back his retorts.

"You're coming, then?" he asked. If there was any mercy left in the world, he would sound less plaintive to Valentino than he did to himself.

"Yes, thank you. I-" Valentino cut himself off. In all his years, Marc had never heard him so ill-equipped to discuss his train of thought. He always had something to say - an interesting quip, anecdotes embellished to sound humorous, accusations made to rile. "Are you well? You didn't say," Valentino asked, when he spoke again.

Marc scolded his tender heart for stirring. An ounce of concern didn't mean very much in the grand scheme of things.

"I am," he said. "She was born a few days earlier than expected, so I didn't get to tell you before I had to go to the hospital. But there's no problem. She was two point five kilos. The doctor said she's a bit small, but small is okay."

"Good. Are you...I meant, are you hurt?"

Marc didn't want to read into any of this conversation.

"I'm not," he said shortly. He couldn't imagine complaining to Valentino about sore nipples and the aches in his bones and the fact that his cunt was on fire every time he needed to pee. Valentino could get so squeamish. The prospects of either sympathy or a deaf ear turned were equally uncompelling, in which case why say anything?

The conversation was essentially over, but he searched for something to say. It was his responsibility to convince Valentino to fall in love for good. He was tragically incompetent at it, as was the rest of the world.

"Do you want to see her? We can facetime, but she's sleeping, so don't say anything," he offered, grasping for something to catch him.

"Please. Thank you," Valentino said.

"Okay," Marc acceded. He opened the door to his bedroom as gently as he could, and still the sound of the knob turning was loud to his ears. He turned his camera on, confronting an unflattering thumbnail of his face before he switched to his back camera. Valentino's face stared up at him, too close to his own camera. The collar of his shirt was Yamaha blue. Did he have to attend a team function? Marc hadn't been paying attention.

He brought his phone over to the cot that occupied the space between his bed and the wall. Laia was still fast asleep. He was grateful that she had good temperament. All the nurses had told him that. She would be so easy to love. Maybe she would ensnare Valentino all on her own.

He let Valentino look at her little body, covered in warm, fluffy clothes. She laid flat on her back and her limbs were bent because she wouldn't have the strength to straighten them out until she was older. He brought the camera closer so Valentino could see her face. Her little pink head wore a hat to keep the heat, and her tiny eyes were closed.

"My mama says she's used to my voice, so I can talk," he said quietly. "She sleeps like this a lot. Everyone says she's lovely because she doesn't cry so much. It's like she's not scared of the world."

Valentino was asked to be quiet, and he kept his end of the bargain. He concentrated on Laia on his screen. Marc held his phone over his daughter, letting the brittle peace stretch on. Hidden from sight, he watched Valentino watch their daughter.

Marc's heart clawed viciously from inside his chest. He couldn't tell what drove it. Anger? Dismay at the passage of time? He realised it felt most like jealousy, but not. Something that made his heart feel too small to keep his body alive. It was unexpectedly difficult to stand still and let Valentino watch. He held his ground in silence, grateful that his face was hidden from view. Only when a good amount of time had passed did he speak again.

"I think it's time to let her rest now," he said into the speaker. He turned the camera off and stepped back out of the room, where the silence was less oppressive. His mother was cooking in the kitchen, where pots and pans and running water created a familiar soundscape.

Valentino's face still looked back at him from the screen. He looked fucking old. Marc wanted to tell him that to make his life difficult, and also because it was true. He wore solemn lines on his handsome face, and it made him come across as about fifty.

Again, he was glad that Valentino couldn't see him. It would be so easy to start a fight.

"She is very cute," Valentino said. Anyone reasonable would have said the same.

"Yeah, I know," Marc said. He waited a beat for Valentino to say something more, but they weren't good at pleasantries. He didn't know how to draw out a conversation with this polite version of Valentino who started sentences with "please" and ended them with "thank you". It was so far from his true self that it couldn't last, then who knew what would turn up?

Marc hung up. He held his phone against his chest and leaned his forehead against the cool wall in exhaustion. God help him, he didn't have a choice, but he wasn't ready to wrangle a co-parenting arrangement.

--

Several days later, Marc watched the race from home at a low volume. He had spent most of the weekend looking for Alex, who was all alone when they were meant to be there together in shared team colours. TV direction shifted to father at some point, and he grimaced when the commentators talked about him. They had been doing it all weekend- "It's his dad Julia Marquez in the box! His older son, the WORLD CHAMPION is sitting this season out due to pregnancy."

"They don't know she's already here," Roser said with amusement.

"Now I don't want to tell anyone," Marc grumbled. He thought that the ardent possessiveness had to be a warped Omega characteristic. His mother was a Beta, and she had been a little bit surprised by it.

He shook his leg restlessly, more agitated for this race than he usually was for any of his own. No matter how relentless the media swarm over his pregnancy would be, he was dying to be back out there.

They didn't have to look out for Valentino, who was perpetually on screen. He was riding as though he had something to prove. Marc wondered if it was a coincidence that he was on the podium when he had just become a father. With the way Valentino honed in on inspiration to race and the workings of Alpha chemistry and whatnot, he didn't think so.

At least he wasn't completely deadbeat. He didn't look so ancient with his helmet off either, even though post-race dehydration was supposed to add years to his appearance.

"Vale's doing well," Roser remarked. She wore her disdain clear as day, and it brought a smile to Marc's face. Family gatherings were going to be horrible.

He shrugged. "I can beat him," he said, without looking away from the TV.

Marc could beat him. He had beaten him. It made no sense to consider this, but the distinctly un-Omega thought intruded upon his mind that he could possibly eat Valentino alive if he tried hard enough, and maybe it would solve some of their problems. When Marc had been young and normal and allowed Valentino to do normal Alpha things, they had ended in disaster. Marc loved him, but Valentino was such a shit Alpha.

Look baby, Marc could tell Laia, mama ate papa so he won't have legs to run away with anymore.

He gnawed on a hangnail, then sat on his hand to stop. His absence from racing was turning him into an animal.

--

Marc went for a 10km run once the race ended, as running was a form of exercise permitted under his postnatal recovery plan. He needed to dedicate the restless energy to something or he would explode at everyone. Alex was used to his caged animal theatrics, but he feared that Valentino would cut his losses and decide to never see his own child again. He didn't like this side of Marc.

When Marc returned from the gym, he found his mother setting up the pull-out sofa bed for Valentino.

"Mama, I will do this. He's not your burden," he said. His mother had been too good to him, watching over Laia when he needed help and even whisking her away after he fed her at three in the morning so he could sleep better.

Roser brought him into an embrace. She must have had an inkling of how lonely childbirth made him feel, because she had made herself so available with tactile comfort. "It's not a burden to help you, darling," she said.

She didn't leave Marc to it on his own. They put fresh pillowcases over the cushions - Marc's, but they smelled more like fabric softener than him. Marc brought in one of his clean blankets as well, and they stretched a brand new bedsheet over the sofa bed. Marc couldn't offer a bolster. He slept with his hugged between his legs, and his own scent was...intense on it.

He stood back to stare at their handiwork in the middle of the living room. It looked perfectly hospitable, but none of it was what he wanted. He had an Alpha who was a guest instead of family. His neck was unmarked. They had a child.

--

Valentino emerged from the back of the car with a large backpack on his shoulders that night. His posture was never great to start with, but now he looked as though he was carrying a hefty boulder. It was astounding that something as momentous as Valentino Rossi visiting Marc Marquez's house came with no fanfare.

Marc stepped out from behind the front door to greet everyone.

He hugged his father first, who rubbed his back soothingly and kissed his forehead.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Marc asked.

"Father's duty," Julia said with a twinkle in his eye, and stepped into the house.

Marc gave Alex a long overdue apology for sticking him with the enemy. He was too aware of Valentino hovering next to the car, a step further away than earshot. Valentino shifted his weight from one leg to another in an uncharacteristic display of discomfort. The trip must have done a number on him.

Alex spoke into Marc's ear. "Don't be sorry, I didn't talk to him the entire time," he said, with a little smirk. Marc tried to imagine, and thought that the ride back had to be stifling. It was good that Alex perpetuated cold silences better than he or Valentino ever could. There was a reason why they kept catching themselves in brief moments on civility when they couldn't stand each other.

"I'll show him in, you're free now," Marc said, squeezing his arm and letting him through.

He fixed his eyes on Valentino with a stir of emotion: challenge, trepidation, and something covetious that made his stomach turn. Seeing at him in the flesh made the intrusive thought from earlier that day seem even more ludicrous - Valentino seemed too large to eat and not very delicious, now that he was here. Marc almost did not want to burrow himself in his side to chew on him or catch the flesh of Vale's neck between his teeth, except that this wasn't true at all.

He walked over to Valentino, who looked back warily as though he did not know what to do with him. Like he had when Marc was twenty-two, even though it was Valentino himself who had changed first. Marc wanted to put down the same argument that he had always been consistent, but it would be untruthful now. He was a mother.

"If I tell you to go fuck yourself, will you stop being weird?" Marc asked.

This jolted a surprised laugh out of Valentino. "Marc," he said again, sending pinpricks of a shiver to the back of Marc's neck. "Yes. Well, fuck you too."

"I'm not so easy," Marc said, falling into banter.

From this short distance, Valentino's scent enveloped him. It wasn't as much of a turn off as their last encounter, but it sent the churning in his stomach into overdrive. The scent was wrong - too tart, too lonely. Marc's Omega hindbrain wanted to fix it. At the same time, he remembered the violent physicality of disastrous sex that he knew he could not put himself through again, no matter what. The last time had left him with a balloon-sized stomach. Even Marc had to learn from his mistakes eventually.

Meanwhile, Valentino stared at his stomach as though he could divine the meaning of life from its shape. Marc glanced down self-consciously. His shirt was loose enough to hide the imperfections.

"I'm not pregnant anymore," he said flatly.

"Yes, because you've given birth," Valentino said, pointing out an equally obvious fact. He continued to fixate his discomforting gaze where Marc had turned soft.

"Yeah," Marc said.

He found it horribly uncomfortable to be scrutinised for physical evidence of his pregnancy. To ward against Valentino's wandering eyes, he turned around.

"We're trying to get Laia used to sleeping at night, but you can still see her," he said, stepping back into the house. He didn't check if Valentino would follow, as he had nowhere else to go.

Behind them, Valentino let the door shut quietly, and for the first time, he stepped into the home Marc had grown up in.

--

Marc convinced both Valentino and himself that it was necessary for Valentino to clean up before meeting Laia. He reasoned that taking precautions against the pandemic was responsible, since infants had no resistance to germs.

While Valentino went to change into clothes that hadn't been exposed to airport elements, Marc sat on the floor next to the sofa bed and waited. Truthfully, he was aware that he was merely procrastinating, and he didn't like his own irrationality.

Valentino stepped back into the living room in fresh clothes, sans cap. He was...Marc would always find him to be the most attractive man on earth. He lacked objectivity in that sense.

"Let's go," Marc said, getting to his feet.

"Wait," Valentino said. He stooped down to undo the drawstrings of his large backpack. From within, he drew a stuffed rabbit toy and a tropical fruit hamper. "I have more things at my house. I was at the circuit already when you called."

"Don't worry, you can bring them next time," Marc said. He met Valentino's eyes. For the first time in years, and possibly ever, he thought they were on the same wavelength. He saw the depth of his own uncertainty stare back at him.

He led Valentino to his childhood bedroom. Foreboding loomed larger with every step, but he vanquished it. Everything would be fine. He'd invited Valentino over in the first place, and Valentino had shown no sign of wanting to cut and run.

It would be fine.

He hesitated at the doorway. Valentino let him take his time. "Be quiet," Marc said, just to stall for an extra moment. Then he unlatched the door gently, and stepped into the dimly-lit room.

At first, he took comfort in Laia's clean, soothing baby scent. He led Valentino over to stand by her cot, and they looked at her.

She was laid on her back in her little bee outfit, with stripes around her body and little antennae poking out from her hat. Despite his mixed feelings, Marc smiled at the sight of her. He'd made a concerted effort to dress her up as cute as possible for this day, and she was irresistible.

"Isn't she cute?" he mouthed at Valentino, but he didn't see. He was concentrating. Marc could recognise his focused expression, which he should have taken solace from.

The trepidation did not calm. He clutched the side of Laia's cot and took steadying breaths while his heart thudded an anxious rhythm. He thought he was only worried that Valentino would not stay for Laia, but he looked as though he might for the time being, and Marc still had the same feeling. The feeling that worsened the longer they stood together, the three of them as a family in a one metre radius.

It was worse than the nurses taking Laia out of his arms. He looked at her and he wanted to pick her up for himself, even though he had to let her sleep.

He could control his actions, but he could not control they way his thoughts came into his head or the way they manifested in his scent. When all of a sudden, Laia started letting out whimpering cries and Valentino turned to him in horror, Marc realised how bad his scent had turned.

"I-," he started. He could not explain. He picked Laia up and passed her over to Valentino. The action hurt like a physical wound. He couldn't snatch her back like he needed, or he would come across as the strange, possessive creature he'd become.

"You can rock her a little," he said calmly. His voice sounded loud against the agitated static in his head. Thoughtlessly, he used his hands to move Valentino's arms back and forth in demonstration.

Valentino fixed his fraught expression on Marc's face. Marc was ruining this. He'd set everything up so nicely too.

The part of Marc's brain that responded to crisis kicked in. First principle was that Laia needed a chance to establish a relationship with her father. His mind rapidly clicked through his options that would allow that result to come to fruition.

"I will let you meet her properly," Marc said. It was obvious that he needed to extract himself from the situation until he was not a disquieting influence on his daughter. He would have her for the rest of time. It would be fine.

He put on a smile and took what he hoped were normal looking steps out of the room.

--

Marc's legs took him to the garage. Once there, he flipped the lights on and began to pace. He could stop, but he felt better wearing a hole in the ground.

Gasoline, rubber and motor oil filled his nostrils, taunting him for his absence, as much as they cleared the swirl of emotion in his head. He never had uncertainty where his bikes were concerned.

It would be useful if he could untangle the mess of whatever he has just been through, but he would be the first to admit that this type of introspection didn't come naturally to him. He knew that he felt bad, that Valentino made him feel bad without doing anything, and that he wanted to hold his daughter. He didn't want to be a clingy mother, so this degree of separation was fine. Actually, he had the realisation that things shouldn't be bad, and if he could fix his scent to match his smile, everything would be peachy. Objectively, his life was much better now than over the entire course of his pregnancy, when he had to be so careful with himself.

He swung a leg over one of his bikes since it was there. This was the road one he received after finally getting his licence. He stroked his fingers over the smooth, shiny fairing. He loved that he could ride again, though it wasn't fast enough, or very thrilling.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the side mirror. He didn't know he looked liked that.

It was this way that Marc was caught - sitting fully on his bike, and leaning to the side to examine his pallor. He startled so hard that he nearly fell off when he realised he wasn't alone.

Valentino cleared his throat. "I should have known you would be here," he said.

There was no defence for Marc's position. It wasn't that weird.

He took his hands off the handlebars and croased his arms in front of his chest. "How did you find me?" he asked. Sitting on this bike, he had to angle his chin up slightly more to look at Valentino.

"Followed your scent," Valentino said. It still hung around Marc like a cloud - an unpleasant, overripe sweetness that made his own nose scrunch up.

Then Marc realised that Valentino should not have been there. "Did you leave her crying?" he asked, and shot Valentino an accusing glare. Marc had barely left for five minutes, and Valentino had already abandoned her. He scrambled to get off his bike, more clumsy than his usually was. He whacked his shin against the seat and pushed aside the pain the travelled down his calf. Stupid. Of couse he couldn't expect Valentino to learn fatherhood in an instance. Marc had so much help.

"No, she's not crying," Valentino said, halting Marc in his flurry. He carried solemnity poorly. His demeanour contrasted with the colourful band T-shirt he had on, for a group Marc didn't recognise.

He was so close that Marc could see every speck in his blue eyes; could graze his face with a finger without reaching out too far. "Come back in," Valentino said, "it's meaningless like this."

It sounded like an olive branch, or perhaps internalising lessons wasn't a part of the Marc Marquez psyche after all.

He exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Okay," he said.

--

Laia wasn't crying, but she fussed. Marc gathered her from the cot and into his arms.

He carried her back into his nest with him. It was sweet relief that after all of the chaos, she still smelled like herself.

He hummed a lullaby and rocked her gently. She was a little bit like him, as she was more at peace in motion. She had fallen asleep the day before when Roser carried her out to the living room to watch qualifying. She was perfect for the family, actually. What other newborn was so at peace with racing?

Valentino just watched. He stood by the foot of Marc's bed wordlessly, the same way he had since his arrival, scrutinising as though an alien had taken Marc's place.

"I'm the same person, you know?" Marc said in a low voice. Becoming a mother, carrying Valentino's baby to term even though he wasn't prepared, sacrificing a year of his career for family...Marc always had it in him to do that, however unwillingly. Once, Valentino must have seen that possibility too, before thinking of Marc as anything but an enemy became one bridge too far to cross.

Marc looked at him in challenge and dared him to say differently. If they weren't in the room with a baby, he'd lure him into a fight, bite his face bloody, and drag him out of his new-found reservations. He'd called Marc the devil once, but he had never seen Marc at his worst, and Marc's worst had fallen by levels after the past nine months.

"I did not know you would do this," Valentino said hoarsely. He looked tired on his feet. Marc remembered that it had been that same afternoon that he took part in a race.

The proper thing to do would have been to invite him into the nest to take a rest, and to let him sink his Alpha scent there so Laia would adapt to it in his absence. But over the past few minutes, Marc had changed his mind. He did not- could not trust Valentino. Had still not been given enough cause to believe that Valentino wanted to be here for more than a day. He couldn't even stay in the room alone with her for ten minutes.

If he really wanted, he would not let Marc monopolise their daughter without a fight. But he just stood there. Talk to me, ask to hold her, Marc implored with his eyes.

Valentino could easily start an argument like he did so well, and accuse Marc of being possessive like Marc knew he was being. Since he did not, Marc would not have to throw an opportunity at his feet and beg for him to take it. He kept where he was absolutely certain she would be wanted and loved, and did for her what he had failed to do for himself.

He drew a line. He would not let Valentino cross until he deserved it. If this was being a bad Omega, so be it.

With an unwavering glare his Alpha, he soothed Laia until she fell asleep.

[next chapter]

[i-am-countess-olivia]

May I interest you all in a short, implausible Rossier thruple ficlet?

In which James and Ann Ross devise a most unusual means of diverting Francis’ thoughts away from his failed proposal. [G-rated]

--------

“Oh Frank, your face,” Ann laughs and takes his hand. “Is it really so surprising that he told me?”

The folio of Antarctic flora streaks muddy and brown while Francis' vision blurs. He finds he cannot breathe, as if thrust out too quickly into frozen air.

“Ann,” he manages. “When?”

Ann closes the book and pats his arm. “First you must sit. You look as if you might faint.”

Impossibly small in his own paw yet steadying and firm, her hand tugs him towards the chaise. Francis sinks down, dazed like a man on the eve of his execution.

"When did he tell—" He swallows the rest, cannot meet Ann's eye.

Ann folds her hands in her lap, two snow white islands floating on a periwinkle satin sea. “A few weeks before we wed."

“You mean to say— oh, Christ. Oh God." The sharp swell of shame pitches Francis forward, over his knees. "I stood there. His best man. And you knew?"

The innocent triumph and warm breezes of that October day. The gleam of James' sword hilt, blue asters and blush pink roses, the billow of silk lace. Spoiled, dirtied, smeared with what Francis couldn't help but take—

He shoots up, spins and bows sharply from the waist, a wretched, stumbling, ridiculous display. "Lady Ross, I cannot beg forgiveness but I plead with you to allow me to stop offending you at once with my presence."

"Oh hush with all that nonsense, Frank. You will stay."

She speaks it with the same brand of quiet, insouciant command that beguiled Francis' heart to the ends of the earth. Her piercing eyes two dark marbles, mined from the same lode as his.

Just as you and I are two halves, Frank, so she and I are one being. Do you understand?

Francis sits.

"I am not offended," Ann advances in measured tones, "nor am I here to open a tribunal against you, nor is James. I find myself entirely contented with and clear on what has passed between you. Men, I know, are not the same in solitude as my own sex. And besides, I believe souls as bound up as our three should be entirely open to each other."

Francis stares disbelieving, as if her calm were a gleaming mirage. No, there must be suffering here to be unearthed. He will claw it out with his bare hands and make all good again.

"Ann, you may not grasp— there were times it happened, in the south, after— you were already betrothed—"

"I know. James detailed every episode you shared, beginning with your time under Parry. Not that many, as I understand."

Francis whispers up to God and runs a shaking hand over this mouth, through the cold damp gathered above his lip. Episodes. Twenty three to be exact, over the years. He keeps them like a small silk sachet filled with diamonds, pinned to rattle forever against his breast.

"But not since you wed," he says pathetically. "Never, in fact, on England's soil—"

Ann doesn't seem to hear him. Her hands smooth idly down her skirts, two fingers flicking at some speck. 'The shock I felt when he told me was quite brief and shallow in nature," she continues. "Upon closer examination, I discovered that this matter stirred in my heart three separate emotions. May I tell you what they were, Frank?"

Helplessly, Francis nods.

"Firstly, I was glad and gratified that James wished me to know him so completely. That he trusted me with a knowledge few could be entrusted with. Then I also felt— not pity, that is too sad a word. Rather a heartfelt sympathy towards you, Frank. I hope you didn't suffer too much, thinking you were giving him away."

He did. He does. Still now, every day.

"And the third?"

A touch of colour steals into Ann's pale cheeks. "I— asked James for the particulars—"

"Oh God," Francis whispers. "Ann. Thot. You didn't."

"—and after he related them, it comforted me to know that you comforted and pleased him when I could not, in those terrible icy wastes. But our James—" her laugh chimes for an instant like a bell— "well, you know what poetry he can make of his yarns. Now you must forgive me, Frank, but when I pictured you two, warm and close together with auroras blazing overhead—" It's the most fleeting of things, but her tongue brushes her lips and leaves a sheen behind. "I confess it warmed me too, to think of it."

Something stirs in the room, a feeling like a warm October breeze. A clock chimes, dust swirls in the light. Distant footsteps strike staccato on a flight of steps. Satin rustling, Ann shifts slightly in her seat.

Francis' face and throat have turned to flame.

“Why this now, Thot?”

Her small hands glide across the satin sea and pry Francis' hands away from his knees. They're warm and dry and clasping, an affirmation of her sincerity. How easily she touches him, it dawns on him. How easily she has always touched him, with James' casual possessiveness.

"We are both so sorry for what has occurred between you and Miss Cracroft. We have watched you suffer these last few days, we see how you cannot tear your mind away." Her eyes twinkle with a smile. "But now I suspect you won't dwell on that whole business as much. Will you, dear Frank?"

Francis feels his mouth fall open, gaping, uncouth. The cunning and kindness of it all — so like James. So like them both.

An impulse seizes him, too powerful to resist. He bends down and, with fierce, bewildered gratitude and a host of other feelings he can barely address, presses kiss after kiss to those small, warm, steady hands.

Ann welcomes him with a laugh that dies down to a sigh. “Dearest, dearest Frank. If only you knew how glad we are to have you here. What sense of wholeness you— ah, there you are."

At the change in her voice, Francis lifts up and follows the course of Ann's brightening gaze. Behind them, James leans smiling in the doorway.

"Leave a drop of that sweetness for me, old boy."

Francis’ heart darts wildly like a young fox across an Arctic shelf.

[petercapaldi-press]

THE TELEGRAPH

Peter Capaldi interview: ‘The default Doctor Who now is a kind of cosmic imp’

INTERVIEW

The actor talks about playing the Time Lord, never doing Shakespeare and releasing his debut album at the age of 63

Neil McCormick

12 November 2021 5:00am GMT

Before Peter Capaldi was an actor; long before he became celebrated as fierce civil servant Malcolm Tucker in The Thick of It or a daunting and strange Doctor in Doctor Who, he played guitar and sang in obscure Scottish punk band B-----ds from Hell. Now, at 63, Capaldi is finally about to release his debut album. “I’m not setting out to make a career change or chase my cousin Lewis up the charts,” he insists. “I’m an enthusiastic amateur having a go.”

St Christopher is a strange and beguiling piece of work, a complex slice of baroque pop-rock and ornate singer-songwriting, its widescreen productions decorated with poetic lyrics delivered with downbeat theatrical flair. “It’s largely the same stuff that was floating round my head post art school, Glasgow, circa 1979, set in neon and rain. Except I’m 40 years older.”

Sitting in a north London café, Capaldi stirs an “extra hot” latte. He’s wearing a sleek black coat over a white T-shirt, his face lean, eyes sparkling, mouth playing with a perpetual half-smile. He draws movie-star attention but blanks it out as he discusses his passion project.

“There’s a tyranny of logic about acting. Your job is to tell the story through the medium of your part as effectively as possible. But it’s somebody else’s story. I enjoy the freedom of music, you can respond to a sound or a tone or a chord and try to construct something that goes with that or against it.” Capaldi’s lyrics playfully grapple with grand themes, from the interconnectedness of everything on Atlanta Vacant Lot to the ephemeral illusions of deluded youth, on the slyly mocking Beautiful and Weird.

As a working-class child (his parents ran an ice-cream business) growing up in Glasgow in the 1960s, Capaldi was drawn to acting but didn’t feel equipped. “You go to an audition and they ask ‘what’s your Shakespearean piece?’ I’d never seen a Shakespeare play. So you’re hopeless, because there’s no uncle in the RSC [Royal Shakespeare Company], you’re not part of that world, you have nothing except a desire to have a go. So I did apply to drama school but I didn’t get in.”

A teacher encouraged him to apply to Glasgow Art School, where “music swept me away”. The B-----ds turned into the Dreamboys, with future comedian Craig Ferguson on drums. “As we were slightly pretentious art school kids, we were trying to evoke a kind of Dr Caligari dreamscape, but we just sounded like a junior branch of the Chippendales male strippers.” They soldiered on in obscurity for years. Then, while touring as support to Scottish new-wave pop band Altered Images, Capaldi was spotted by director Bill Forsyth. At 24, he found himself making his film debut opposite Burt Lancaster in Local Hero. “He [Lancaster] was fabulous. He said: ‘Kid, your instincts are terrific! Terrific! But I can’t understand a f---ing word you’re saying.’”

Capaldi with Burt Lancaster in Local Hero (1983) Credit: Alamy Stock Photo

Capaldi had a long career as, effectively, an interesting supporting actor. “You look back and go ‘Well, that was a good choice, that was a bad choice’, but really there were no choices. I had a baby and a wife and a mortgage. You’ve got to do whatever comes up.” He won an Oscar in 1995 as writer and director of the short film Franz Kafka’s It’s a Wonderful Life, but subsequent projects collapsed. “It’s a tough business. I had a very bleak period where whatever initial success I’d had had long failed. There was no work, no money coming in, Oscars had come and gone, Local Hero had come and gone, youth had come and gone. And I didn’t know how to get it back on track.”  Then, out of the blue, fellow Glaswegian Armando Iannucci asked him to be in his new sitcom, The Thick of It. “The big lesson I learnt was that you can’t control it, so stop angsting over it. But that’s easy to say now. It wasn’t easy stalking about with no money for a cup of coffee.”

It wasn’t until he was in his fifties and cast as the 12th Doctor that he achieved household-name fame. “My job was to go into work in the morning and battle Daleks. It was fabulous. You get to inhabit the skin of this charismatic, magical creature. Kids look at you and you can see their jaws drop. That’s an extraordinary position to be in.”

Yet he admits to finding the pressure of being recognised on the street quite daunting. “You have to always be positive and good-hearted. My default position is probably a bit more melancholic and reflective, but nobody wants to hear about that stuff when you’re the Doctor. I wanted to be a more distant and alien Doctor. Because that’s how I remember [first Doctor] William Hartnell, being a kid in Glasgow on dark winter nights when this strange figure with the white hair and slightly irate voice could open this portal to a magical world. The default now is a kind of cosmic imp. Which is great. But I wanted to touch the dark winter nights. I’m not sure whether the brand supports that any more, but that’s what I was interested in.”

The reign of his successor Jodie Whittaker ends next year, but Capaldi expresses no opinions on who should follow. “One of the great things about doing Doctor Who is it kind of cures you, in the nicest possible way. So I think they’re all great and I wish everybody well, but I’m done,” he laughs almost gleefully.

Capaldi as the 12th incarnation of Doctor Who Credit: BBC

The revival of his long-dormant musical career is the tale of two doctors, when Doctor Who met Dr Robert (AKA songwriter and producer Robert Howard, frontman of vintage art rockers the Blow Monkeys). The two would play guitar together at parties, and Capaldi became a fascinated observer of Dr Robert’s studio work.  Meanwhile, Capaldi’s young second cousin, Lewis Capaldi, was rising to fame as the UK’s favourite singer-songwriter. “Lewis is a proper musician, a really gifted songwriter. He’s been doing that since he was like, 11 or something. I’m very proud of him, even if I don’t really know him.”

Capaldi, who will soon be seen in the Terence Davies film Benediction, about Siegfried Sassoon, jokingly admits he still doesn’t have “a Shakespeare piece” for auditions. “Shakespearean companies have never troubled me with their interest. I know in my heart of hearts, I can act it. But once you get into a production, you are going to be up against people who have been practising the iambic pentameter for the last 30 years.” He shakes his head. “Ach, I could do it! But, you know, it’s such a palaver, they last so long, they’re always like three-and-a half hours long. I’m not bothered.”

His advice for young actors is simple. “Number one, and most important of all, learn your lines. Because if you learn your lines, you have the freedom to tell the story using everything God’s given you. Number two, hang on in there. Because the stars align, sometimes. Look at me. Sometimes you get lucky.”

Peter Capaldi’s St Christopher is out next Friday on Monks Road Records

[nasty-quillz]

Keepin' It Sleazy: Overhaul's Onahole

AO3 Mirror

Dedication: This fic it for my girl RamenAddicted

Summary: Your father owed the Shie Hassaikai a debt. A debt he failed to pay. Chisaki Kai comes to collect.

Tags: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Author chooses not to use tags

A/n: I've chosen not to use tags outside of a general Dead Dove. With that being said, if you been on my blog, you have an idea of what I write. It 100% darker than anything I've given you before. Please keep that in mind. If you can think of it and it's fucked up, it's prolly in this fic. Assume the worst

Spatchkas Overhaul is the b e s t Overhaul

Reader Visual, for Before and After

   You lay on  the cushioned bench, naked and trembling. 

Kai Chisaki stood over you, taking you in. “Look at you Y/n. So pretty as nothing more than an onahole.”

His words made you tremble harder, as tears slid  down your face.

Overhaul glowered at you, not at all moved by your tears. “There’s no point in your tears now. Your father should have paid me. Then his precious daughter wouldn’t be subjected to paying his debts.” All this was said, while he fucked your glistening asshole with a jeweled buttplug. “Everyone’s so damned incompetent lately, that I need to see to your family’s debt myself,” the yakuza said as he watched you writhe and squirm. “Honestly I don’t see how you’d think he’d come back to save you in time, he owes me thousands.”

The word was emphasized by the final push of the plug into your ass. He rubbed approvingly at a dark asscheek, before admiring the slick fat lips of your pussy. He loved watching you get wet from having your ass played with. Loved seeing the ways your body responded to being violated.

He took his thumbs and spread the lips of your pussy apart. He watched raptly as the gooey mess between your lips was revealed. Your cunt was pretty and dark and pristine. Engorged fat and twitching, untouched by anything except your toys, clit hard and sticky.

He pressed his face into your core, and slid his tongue into you in a filthy parody of a kiss. As he licked he breathed you in deeply. He sucked and savored the way you rolled across his senses, completely ignoring your pleas for him to stop.

Above him, you were crying. Little whimpers and cries filled the small room as the villain kneeled between your legs and ate your pussy.. You looked down, through blurry eyes just in time to see him pull away. A thick gooey strand of your slick and his saliva connected you and made for a perverse picture. You watched him reach down and heard the jingle of his belt being undone.

“P—Please, you can’t d—do this. Daddy said he’d bring you your money. Just give h—him more t—time, you don’t have to do this!” You tried to push yourself away from him. To save what little virtue you had left.

Kai laughed as he stood undoing his dark button up. You watched in mounting dread as he stripped himself down, until there’s nothing left but his gloves. When he peeled those off, stared you down, knowing you’d heard what his quirk allowed him to do to people.

After folding his clothes and setting them aside, he gazed at your body reverently. Greedily. As if he was finally getting his paws on a much wanted toy.

For years he’d watched you. Watched the Old Man do business with your father, and could never tear his eyes away from the beguiling quirkless daughter, he brought with him to see the boss's daughter. Even after she was gone, you were brought along out of habit. Left in Overhaul’s care time and time again.

You stood there pristine and untouchable. So perfect and unsoiled. Too good for the life your father led. Too good for him.

Despite his own OCD, he wanted to undo that. Wanted to strip you bare and leave his own less than clean fingerprints all over you. To despoil and soil your virtue until you were filthy enough to be his. 

Now as he stood before you, admiring deep  brown beautiful skin, he had finally been given everything he’d ever wanted.

He moved forward and you flinched as a warm hand slid greedily over your form. Your tears rolled faster and the soft pads of his thumbs ran over the peaked nipples. You shuddered as he focused on them, pinching and tugging on them roughly. 

Before you know it Kai’s slotted himself between your legs. The tip of his dick notched between messy lips. The sound of your sobs only served to make him twitch against you, but when you started struggling he grew irritated.

“Resisting is pointless, Y/n. You’ve been sold to the Shie Hissaikai—Sold to me.” He rocked his hips forward sliding into your hot wet folds. He savored your wetness coating his dick, dragging himself back and forth until it caught at the contracting leaking entrance of your pussy. Predatory gold locks on to teary brown.

“That means, you’ve been given to me to be my personal fleshlight. A trainable onahole to wrap around my dick. A living fuck toy, to use as I please.” 

Abruptly, he thrust forward into the gooey grip of your walls. He feels how they shudder as he fucks into you and takes delight in the punched out noise you made. He fucked you roughly, feeling every quiver and ripple of your pussy. The way you cradled him was perfection in a way his quirk could never hope to attain.

He groaned, watching your face contorted in agony and pleasure. Clearly distressed that your tormentor could make your body experience pleasure like this.

When a smirk overtook his mouth, you felt disgust with yourself at ever having found the man attractive, when he was clearly a sick son of a bitch. You do your best to glare up at him, tears prickling in your eyes. Kai just raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t know why you’re angry at me, Y/n. Your ever-doting daddy’s the one who abandoned you,” he groaned as he bottomed out. “Who gave me your address so you could be taken in the night. Does it hurt knowing your daddy just threw you to the wolves to be my personal whore?”

You shook your head in denial. “D—Daddy would never  do that to me. You’re lying!”

You lay there, furious. How dare this monster try to lie on Daddy! All he ever wanted was to do right by you as a father. He was getting Overhaul his money, he’d never abandon you. Never sell you!

You were dragged from your thoughts by Kai grabbing you by the chin.

He made you look at him as he slowly dug you out. “Your sorry excuse of a father was given the tools he needed to bring me my money. Instead he hasn’t been seen for days,” he growled as he took hold of your legs and pressed them to your chest, to angle his dick so he could properly use you. “He missed the deadline and my men haven’t caught sight of him in his usual haunts. Does that sound like the behavior of a devoted and loving father?”

He spat at you, irritated. “I mean honestly. The only good thing that’s come from you, being this sheltered, is how pristine this pussy was.” He let go of a leg to smack lightly at your clit. You clenched around him and Kai moaned, as his free hand slid up your body. 

A deadly hand slid around your neck and he hastened his pace. You were driven into slow madness as the Yakuza stroked you out and pressed down on the veins around your neck. You feel his mouth latch on to your left breast and shudder at the way his tongue feels.

He latched and sucked harshly, making your back arch off the bench and into his hand. You felt lightheadedness take its hold further. 

Below Kai groaned as he sucked at you as if he could pull milk from you if he tried hard enough. He let go of your throat to resume the circles on your clit, as you lay gasping for air. Filth was whispered into your ear, as the man continued to use your body to get off.

“That’s a good fuckhole. Be good and let me dirty this pretty pussy and you’re gonna cum from it.”

You shook in his hold, lips quivering in your struggle to keep yourself from moaning, but the rest of your body couldn’t lie. The rapture of it ever present, making you come apart at the seams. And all you could do was just take it.

Take it as Kai took his pleasure from your increasingly sloppy hole.

“Your cunt’s gonna cream around me, Y/n? Gonna squeeze this nut from me, until you’ve fulfilled your purpose.” His thumb grows insistent “Cream on your new Daddy’s dick.”

You cried out at the Yakuza’s filthy words, your orgasm lancing through you in heavy waves of ecstasy. Tears rolled down your face. Whether it was in despair or pleasure, no one could tell

Kai watched you raptly. Your beautiful lewd face was all he could look at, smug in the fact that he was the only man to ever make you look like this. He only looked away to look at the creamy mess your pussy made on him as he used you, letting his orgasm overcome him. 

 It was Nirvana as his  hand sank deeply into coiling dark hair. He pulled you off the bench and dragged you to kneel at his feet. His glistening dick bounced in your face  and you flinched.

“Look at how filthy your pretty lil’ pussy is, Whore.” Yellow irises glinted in the low light of the sparse room, as he glared down at you. “Now clean it up.”

You stared at the still hard dick as it twitched and oozed with the remnants of it’s last release. It was covered in both your fluids.

He drug you forward, until your face pressed against his dick and sac. It was sticky and warm against your face and your were happy he was clean shaven there. He angles your head and you take the hint and kiss at his still full sac with quivering plump dark lips. 

He met your gaze head on and you could feel the threat in the air. “You can get to work or you can learn what it feels like being pulled apart molecule by molecule.”

Dark eyes widen in fear, but you kiss less hesitatingly at his balls, before giving them a shy lick. When Kai groaned, you took that to mean you were on the right track. You lapped up your cream from his shaft, doing your best to ignore the salty bitter taste on your tongue. You fought against the immediate urge to pull away and took the head in your mouth.

You tried to take him in slowly. To ease into it, but Kai didn’t care. 

He took you by the hair and forced your mouth wider as he slid into the wet cradle of your throat.

Panic sets in and you try to pull away, but his hand stays firm.. You choked and gagged as the Yakuza plundered your throat, desperately hitting at his strong thighs to no avail.

Above you, he savored your struggles as he worked himself to climax again. “This is something you should get used to, Y/n. Afterall, you’ll be servicing someone after me tonight.”

The blood in your veins went cold and fear ran down your spine as you struggled to look up at Kai, through his rough treatment.

The terror must have been clear in your eyes, because Kai swore and fucked your  face with new zeal.

All you could do was kneel there and struggle to breath, throat and jaw ached as the older man used you. 

After a while tears started building in your eyes and you struggled to keep them at bay with the wracking sobs that could take up no room in your already crowded throat. You kneeled there before the monster, being used as if you were his personal onahole and despite all this, your pussy throbbed from the abuse. 

You found yourself despondently wondering when it would end, when you felt the man’s dick harden impossibly, before he completely dislodged himself from your throat.

Dazed and confused you struggle to speak with your abused throat, but you’re shocked into silence by Kai’s warm cum shooting across your face.

Kai stroked his dick, until your face was glazed in him. Took in the sight with a satisfied smirk. “There we go, the last touch for our guest.”

Stiffening, you backed away, scrambling back into the wall next to the bench. Looking at it now you noticed there’s a chin-rest jutting from the wall and a hole big enough to expose the bottom part of your face. Directly above the bench.

You looked back at him as he moved to tower over you and shook in trepidation. 

The warm light shone from behind him like a bastardized halo, as he smirked down at you.

“Why must you continue to be so difficult?”

~Jump Cut~

Overhaul had you draped across the bench, head resting firmly in the chin rest. You could do nothing as his uncut dick was pressed meanly into your pussy for the second time that night. You whimpered as he filled you out and tried hard to suppress how good he felt nearly splitting you open.

But you couldn’t, as the man began slow fucking you. 

He built a slow pace to madness over the course of hours, filling your pussy and toying with the plug in your ass. It made your eyes cross as he forced pleasure on your body.

Hours later the small room was filled with a loud sloppy sound of your pussy being violated and your whimpers for Kai to stop.

The villain paid you little mind though. Just sated himself on your body. He’d come in you countless times at this point and the proof was in the fact that your lower half was a mess from your constant coupling. 

Gooey white cum made a tacky mess between you and the only thing keeping Kai’s disgust at bay, was the depravity of it all. He got to dirty something so clean. You’d been utterly untouchable  and now there he was, between your legs, pulling you apart and making you unrecognizable to the pampered princess you were at your father’s side.

There was just one more step.

At that exact moment, he heard movement from the adjourning room. He seated himself balls deep in you and stopped moving so you could hear. 

You whined high and distressed at the feel of the man filling your inexperienced pussy, before you too noticed the noise on the other side of the wall. The sound of footsteps filled the silence. Then the jostling of a belt.

You tensed and you knew the vile man above you took pleasure in watching your fear ramp up. You tensed further when you felt him lean down. His warm chest pressed against your back in a corrupted gesture of comfort, as he whispered in your ear.

“Looks like your first client is here. Now the real fun begins.”

No sooner did he say it, did the fat uncut head appear in the hole in front of you. From the angle you were at you could see the thick deep brown shaft, with thick veins running along it. It twitched where it hung pointing straight at you, oozing with pre cum. He smelled of musk and alcohol. Making you want to cringe away.

Overhaul spoke in your ear again, breath ghosting over your ear like a sick parody of a lover’s intimacy. “Be a good onahole and open up.” His bare hand caressed your throat in clear threat.

Shaking anxiously, you licked the tip of it, and felt disgust roil through you, at the man’s muffled groan. Your tongue twirled around his tip making him grunt and thrust forward. You choked, knowing that moving away could very well run up that last of your captor’s patience.The stranger fucked deeper and you struggled to swallow around him.

Kai took pity on you and gave instruction on how to pleasure the john.

“That’s it, lick the underside of it.”

“Breath through your nose when he slides into your throat.”

“That’s it. Gag on it. Listen to him moaning, he loves that.”

“Uhn uh don’t swallow it, leave it sloppy.”

Under his guidance, you had the stranger swearing and desperate.

“Goddamn, where’d they find you? Never thought I’d find  anyone who sucked my cock like this. Bet your other holes will feel better.” 

His hips moved faster as his muffled voice filtered to you from the speaker Overhaul had built into the wall. It was distorted but disturbing nonetheless. Labored breathing was loud and you shuddered to think of the liquor you might smell on his breath.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? “ His breathing became more labored and thrust harsher, the force of them making your jaw ache.“Sloppy lil’ onahole. Bet yer’ desperate to get your hole filled by Daddy’s dick.”

His voice grew strained and the rhythm of his hips disjointed, but his mouth kept running. Tears rolled down your face as you took the abuse and—

“I’m gunna dirty that pretty face  and then turn you around to force my way into that ass.” His grunting filled your ears as he did exactly that. His dick was still buried in your throat when he came. You gagged as the bitter fluid hit your pallet.

You gasped for breath when he pulled out, but your relief was short lived, when the hot deluge of the man’s cum shot across your face. You closed your eyes to hold in your disgust and tears.

You were so overwhelmed and distressed. The weight of one man hot against your back, pinning you down and battering his way into your pussy, and the taste of the revolting man in front of you on your tongue. The scent of him  in your nose.

“Look at you, Y/n. So pretty when you get used as you’re meant to.” He pulled away as the man continued to cum, taking sick satisfaction in watching the john’s cum mix with his own. When you began to shake, he angled your face better to see and the sight made his dick jump where it sat snug inside you.

Fat tears rolled down your face, mixing with the vulgar mess there and Kai groaned as he witnessed the physical manifestation of your despair join in the way he’d sullied you. It made him stroke forward, battering the tip of his dick into the squishy ring of your cervix.

Tear filled eyes crossed as you were forced to lie there and take it.

Just when you were ready to resign yourself to that fate, Kai sat you up and pulled you off his dick. He turned you around and took a moment to admire the sticky mess that connects to his length, before he set you down. You dazedly watched him lean over and touch the wall, to see the evidence of his quirk activate.

When the light dispersed, you could see an oblong looking hole where the gloryhole had been. From the shape of it, you knew what it was meant for, even before Kai manhandled his way under you and got you positioned correctly.

Correctly being  sinking down on the yakuza’s dick, while slotting your still jeweled ass into the hole, for the stranger’s access.

Hands scramble fearfully against Kai’s chest, as he held you aloft and buried himself into you repeatedly. On the other side of the wall the John toyed with the plug, fucking you with it, in counterpoint with how Kai was fucking into your pussy. It feels so good to be filled from both ends, but the way it’s happened is enough to make you sob into the chest of the man beneath you.

“Please—Don’t let him—” Your voice broke off when he pulled the plug free with a lewd pop that left you feeling empty. Big sweaty palms graped your asscheeks, keeping your winking hole exposed, as he groped you. 

 He fondled you, enjoying the way your soft flesh jiggled and shook.. “Of course a whore has an ass this fat. Fuck~” He gave it a harsh smack, causing you to cry out and clench on Overhaul’s dick. 

The man beneath you groaned, but you were quickly distracted by the feeling of something hot and wet dripping into your gaping hole.

“Nasty lil bitch,” he said after spitting on your asshole again. “Bet you can’t wait for Daddy’s dick to stretch this ass more.” His fingers followed his statement, roughly filling you with three thick digits. “Don’t worry Daddy’s gunna wreck this virgin hole. Every bastard after me is gunna be able to slide right in.”

Unbeknownst to the man playing with your ass, you clutched tightly at Overhaul’s chest, tears tracking down dark cheeks. All the while you pussy rippled around Kai as if it didn’t want him to pull out.

Kai chuckled, reveling in your misery. 

“You heard that, Y/n? Don’t you want your Daddy’s dick?” He didn’t wait for a response. Just pulled you by your hair, to make you look at him. He admired the mess of cum and tears on your face. It made him harder than he’d ever been. “Won’t it feel good to have both your holes stuffed.” He cupped your jaw in his hand, and you blearily stared into yellow eyes. The smile he gave you was small and sinister. “You’ll be a proper onahole then.”

The noise that leaves your mouth is one of distress, bone deep and tormented. You try and wrench your face from his grip, but he doesn’t let you. So you resort to clawing at his chest, still begging. Hoping still that he’ll listen to your pleas. That it’ll end with only his full violation of your body.

“Kai please! No—Daddy’s gonna come!” Your voice is a warbling, agonized whimper. “He'll bring you the money. Just don’t let him—”

Abruptly you feel the man’s fingers leave your ass. Panic lanced through your chest, but your could do nothing as the fat head of the john’s dick was smacked against your asshole. You felt as if the breath was snatched from your lungs as he slid deep into your twitching hole.

Harsh hands squeezed your cheeks as he began to fuck into you with abandon. His dick reached places you never achieved hitting with slim butt plugs and toys. He dragged across places inside you that made your mouth drop open and stars burst behind your eyes.

You stared sightlessly ahead, drool dripping from your mouth. It felt so fucking good. Too fucking good. Too wrong. These men were taking from you in ways that no one ever had and you were getting off on it!

“Aww look at you, Whore. Who would have thought you’d be this much of a butt slut? Does Daddy feel that good? Just gunna lay here and take our dicks like the obedient Onahole I know you are. Just a slick hole meant for pleasing and servicing stranger men. Go on, Y/n. Admit it.”

“N—No,” you whimpered weakly. “Daddy’s coming. He’s going to p—pay y—you!” You shook atop Kai. Shook as he and the stranger took your innocence. Used you as their personal fleshlight.

You hold onto that hope, as you lie there, forced to listen to the loud gushy mess that is your pussy and the rhythmic smack of the stranger’s hips against your plump asscheeks.

Euphoria was forced upon your body. You trembled and shivered, crying as the men inside you forced themselves on you, along with their pleasure .

And what could you do?

Enjoy it.

All you could do is let wave after wave of endorphins batter at your mental walls, all the while holding out hope that your father  will come save you and make it better. That’s the only solace you gave yourself as you laid there, by the most powerful Yakuza in the city and some random john.

You whispered it over and over, through sobbing moans as both men worked your ass and pussy over.

“Daddy’s comin’. Daddy’ll make it all better..”

That over and over until Kai notices.

He doesn’t stop fucking you. Just made you look at him, with the gentlest touch to the chin. It’s the most tender touch you’d received all night. His smile is soft as well. Not the evil one of earlier. It was the smile he’d given you when you both accompanied your fathers on business. 

The same smile he’s lured you in with.

Suddenly dread took hold of your heart and you looked up into yellow eyes.

The smugness was gone. The perverse satisfaction was gone. What stood in Chisaki Kai’s eyes now was mania, pure obsessive mania and it was focused solely on you.

“You think your precious daddy cares about you? He sold you to me. When I came to either collect my money or atomize his worthless carcass, he begged for his life. Said he had collateral, so I could be sure he paid up.” He paused, letting you digest that, before going on. “He gave me your address. Gave me the security code for the gate and alarm system.”

You were shaking in his arms now. In pleasure or denial, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care to.

“So I took you and you were safe until we reached the deadline.” He caressed your cum covered cheek as if you were the most precious thing.

“And you know the real kicker to this? When I told you my men couldn’t find your father? I lied. We found him just fine, with triple the money he owed me. He won it at the casino, can you imagine?” Overhaul paused as he looked up into puffy dark eyes, admiring how tears gathered in your water line.

“That was days ago, Y/n.” 

He watched you freeze. Watched your denial form on your lips and listened to it. Sucked it up like a sweet nectar, so he could spit poison back at you.

“He’s had the money to save you for days and has left you to my mercy.” His hips moved harsher now, fucking into you with mean determination, clearly no longer dragging out your torture.  He’d rather give into his vices.” His other hand snaked between you, to rub circles into your clit. “And oh does your Daddy have vices, Y/n.”

You tried to shake free of his grip on you, to no avail. You were forced to look into the face of your tormentor as he forced your body to comply with his perverse wants and spouted lies about your father.

“His favorite vice? Women. He buys whores left and right. Buys their time and fucks them stupid. But their pimps always have rules so he never could do what he really wanted. The only thing he loved more than fucking some filthy bitch is anonymous hook ups.” The look in his eyes is that of a predator going in for the kill and it puts your heart in your throat.

“Your Daddy liked a special brand of gloryhole. One where you got more than the regular services.” Kai paused looking at your face contort in denial and disbelief. “I received more than one report of him wetting his dick in those filthy stalls, and honestly Y/n I had enough.” 

His stroke became long. He dragged himself in and out of you, the man on the other side of the walls a perfect counterpoint to Overhaul. His grunts filtered through the speaker and you kept your denial firm in your horrified mind. 

You knew daddy’s voice and the sick bastard fucking your ass wasn’t him!

“I had my men put out word of a new elite Onahole. That serviced elite clientele with their special talents. The clientele get to pay for any number of holes and use them to their hearts desire.”

Nausea roiled through you anew. He couldn’t mean what you thought he meant. It was unthinkable. 

It was diabolical.

Yellow eyes glittered with malicious glee. Kai derived more pleasure from his plot itself than being inside you. “I knew he’d take the bait.” He continued to touch you like a lover. Gentle circles on your clit and deadly fingers holding you like you’ll break.

You meet his eyes with mounting horror as he goes on, body still falling to the attention of the villain and of…

“Now look at him. Feel him. He had everything he needed to save you. His precious baby girl. And he gave it away for a good fuck. Gave it away to ruin his daughter’s virgin hole. Tell me Y/n, does Daddy feel good? Did you like choking on your father’s dick and making him cum on your face?”

You stared at him, wide eyed and horrid. You started struggling. Struggling harder than ever. Trying without success to pull away from him—Away from your daddy’s dick! At some point you started hitting him. Beating at his chest and screaming, unintelligible and revolted.

All the while Kai watched rapturously. He finally got to see you unmade and hysterical. The look of shame and horror over taking your dark beautiful face. He gets to watch you experience true humiliation and mortification while you take his dick. 

The high of his achievement was transcendent.

“Daddy could have saved you thrice over, but instead he chose making you his favorite Onahole of the night. I hope he enjoys you. Especially after the drug my men gave him. It's a powerful aphrodisiac that increases semen production and will keep him rearing to go for hours. From the force you’re being rocked into me with, it sounds like you’re doing him proud.” 

As if on cue, the man's voice filtered through speakers.

“Shit! Daddy’s gunna cum. Be a good whore and take this nut. Take it all for Daddy.”

With that warning you felt your ass flood with cum, hot and thick and never ending. His hot seed filled you so much, he had to pull out. Spurt after spurt of stick cum landed on your ass.

Against overhaul’s chest you were a sobbing mess. 

“Please, no more! Make him stop! I don’t wan—”

Kai’s callous laugh cut you off. “Oh but Y/n, that’s not what this pussy tells me. Since your precious Daddy started fucking you, your pussy’s been trying to milk my dick all night. Besides, why stop now? You’ve already proved what type of whore you are.” 

“N—No please! I—I’m not a—w—whore,” you cried out.

Kai laughed at you again, voice going still that sweet sibilant tone. “Of course you are. You’re a whore that enjoys taking her daddy’s dick. Enjoys making your father cum. C’mon Whore, admit it.”

You shook your head in denial crying harder, but Overhaul would not be dismayed.

“You can admit it or,” He slotted his mouth next to your ear and whispered to you mockingly, like a lover. “...I could take the recording of both these rooms and release it, for all of Japan to see.”

Your mind froze in cold terror. 

The idea of all your friends and family seeing you be treated like this. Seeing your daddy use you as his personal fuck hole? It was too much. Panic and humiliation pushed you into a downward spiral. Your mind tried to make sense of a way to get past this, but nothing could justify this. Could get you past the fact that your father abandoned you and then violated you for his pleasure.

It was enough to make anyone break.

And break you did.

Like a cord pulled too taut, your will snapped.

Overhaul watched it all in vindication. With renewed joy, he rubbed insistently at your clit and watched in mounting pleasure as you moaned wantonly and fucked down into his thrusts. “What are you, Y/n?” 

The look in your eyes was that of glassy calm acceptance, as you stopped fighting, enjoying the act of getting used. Your voice was a soft whisper, “A whore that enjoys making my Daddy cum.”

Kai grinned maliciously. “Did it feel good when your father fucked you sweet virgin ass, Whore? Did you enjoy the way it felt when he came to you?”

You nodded, making your hair fall into your face.

“Wasn’t it just the best feeling,” Overhaul crooned at you as he felt his peak nearing. The way you submitted to him, got him off in a way he hadn’t known possible.

He only grew irritated when you shook your head no. 

“What do you mean no,” his asked as he fucked you at an more punishing pace. Or at least he tried but you were actively pushing into his strokes.

“You feel the best inside me,” you whined small and deliriously.”Want your cum inside me.”

Kai looked at you as if you were the second coming. He’d never imagined he’d break you like this but he ached to give you what you wanted. “God you’re going to be my perfect onahole from now on. Sweet wet pussy for me to slide into when I’m stressed. I’ll keep you kneeling at my feet, waiting to warm and service my dick.”

You moaned, riding his dick. You could feel your daddy’s cum leaking out and joining the mess gushing from your pussy. 

“Maybe I’ll use you as an incentive when my men do good. A perfect Onahole to slake their lust. After all, this pussy belongs to me, all your holes do. Look at you give it to me.”

Before you know what’s happening, Overhaul sat up and wrapped your legs around his waist. His big hand smacked your ass as he ordered you to work. “C’mon Whore, ride this dick. Take this nut out of me. Good onaholes work for their rewards.”

You moaned, as you planted your hands on his shoulders and feet on the wide bench. With great aplomb, you started bouncing up and down Kai’s dick, like it was your job. You worked his length in and out of you, adjusting your angle to hit the best spots inside you. 

It felt so good to give in. To stop fighting and crying and let the villain use you for your true purpose. You looked up and him and his intense stare made him ride harder. The loud clopclopclop of your pussy was lewd and exciting. Kai made you feel amazing. Made you drip and ripple on him.

“Fuck you feel so good, Kai. Dig me out, abuse my pussy. Use it as your cumdump,” you panted hazily. “I’m only good for what you use me for. Your living onahole.”

“That’s my good obedient hole.” His hands slide up from your hips to caress your sides, before they glide over your breasts. They were a cute little handful that filled his palm before he pinched dark brown nipples. He watched your back arch and enjoyed the way your hips hitched as you fucked him. “Don’t stop now, Whore. Keep giving me this creamy pussy. Keep fucking me until I cum. Don’t you want that. Want both your holes to be fucked sloppy and dripping with me and your farher’s cum.”

That seemed to be the right thing to say, because you started frantically riding the villain’s dick. Dark hands dug gripped his tan shoulders tighter as you fucked yourself desperately. The fat spongy head battered and bullied your pussy. Dragged against your gooey walls in a lewd staccato beat. “Yesyesyes! Gimme you cum. Need it—I need it so bad!”

Kai groaned, head falling to your shoulder as you begged him for his nut. He buried his dick in your pussy harshly and unloaded as you struggled to bounce on it, with your tits still in his grasp. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he rutted into your pussy. Glancing down he could see his dick dragging his own cum out as he fucked back into you. He let your tits go and pulled you down, snug on his still spurting dick.

“Does my pretty whore want to know a secret? The same drug  I gave your father, I took myself. I’m going to leave you pussy weeping tonight. Breed you nice and thorough. Don’t you want that, Whore. Are you excited to be so full of me, you’ll swell with it?”

You nodded vigorously, high on endorphins. 

“Good girl, now cum on this dick. Cream all over me, Whore”

It was like some unspoken thing took hold of your body. You seized up and stars burst across your vision as your orgasm finally crashed into you. Your arms hooked around Kai’s neck, as you held onto him for dear life, wailing your bliss into the stillness of the room. When it was all said and done all you could hear was blood thumping in your ears, where you laid slumped against Kai’s chest.

“What do we say, when I give you my cum, Whore?”

“T—thank you Kai,” you said weakly into his chest, as you languished in the luscious delight that was your afterglow.

Kai smiled down at you, as he moved you both back towards the gloryhole. You let him, content to be used again. 

He pulled you off his dick, ignoring the sloppy mess it made as he maneuvered your weeping center in front of the hole. You leaned into his chest and your legs were pressed flat up against the wall, pussy bare and lewdly dripping for your father’s viewing pleasure.

“Fuck no one told me, I’d have such a big slut tonight. Hope you’re excited for Daddy to slide into these sloppy seconds.” You moaned at the thought of your pussy being abused again, rolling hips forward.

“Mmph they train you real good bitch. Been trained to take Daddy’s dick.” Without warning he slapped his fat tip into the dripping lips.  “Daddy’s going to fill you up all over again.”

On your side of the wall, you moaned, clutching at Overhaul, As your daddy slid into you in one thick thrust. Your eyes cross at the feel of him. It’s like your pussy’s more sensitive than before. 

“He feels good inside, doesn't he Whore? Like you could cum again any second?” You nodded as you breathed heavily, while getting fucked for the third time that night.”

“That drug we took, changes the content of our cum. As soon as it makes contact with any of your pretty holes, it acts as an aphrodisiac for you. Your pussy and ass are going to be sensitive for the rest of the night. Every touch you experience will make you a thousand times wetter than before.” His finger grazed the sticky nub of your clit and you fought back the urge to roll into your daddy’s thrusts.

“I—Is that what h—happened? Why I c—came so hard?” Kai chuckled at the lewd hitch in your voice.

“No, I did some…rewiring with my quirk while you were  unconscious. You’ll cum on command as long as it’s me giving the order.” He abruptly drew back and popped your clit, just as your daddy sank into you balls deep. “Now cumm all over your precious daddy’s dick, Whore”

Pain and passion seared through your body and you came with a cry on dick inside you.

As you fell apart against his chest , Kai leant forward and pressed a hand to the wall. 

The section of the wall between  and around your legs fell to Overhaul and revealed the glistening face of your father, caught in orgasmic bliss, eyes closed, dark blue suit jacket and shirt open. It barely registered in your broken, horny state. You just felt the thrumming  pulse of his cum filling your over stuffed pussy.

You were made aware when he finally opened his eyes though.

“What in Sam hell! Y-Y/n?!” His eyes were horrified as he stared uncomprehendingly at you. He tracked his eyes to where you were joined and you watched him try and pull away. 

Try being the operative word.

Little did he realize when Overhaul dissolved the wall, he also formed manacles that loop from the bottom of the wall, around his ankles. He could not move.

Terror showed in his eyes and he kept trying to get away, sickly looking quickly taking over his features. What he failed to comprehend was his continued attempts to pull out of you just surmounted to him shallowly fucking you.

“Fuck Daddy,” you moaned face lewd and uncaring. “Fuck me harder.”

Your father stared down at you in trepidation. His lips quivered and he tried to form words.

Finally Overhaul chose to break the stalemate. He gently extricated himself from underneath you and got up. He stood in all his nude glory, not a care in the world. Tan skin glistened with sweat under low light, as the yakuza leaned against the adjacent wall, arms folded.

“Okamura Kenji, so nice of you to join us. My men told me you finally paid back your debt. With extra at that. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t after the deadline for your daughter’s safety.” Kai raised an eyebrow as he took in the sight before him, focusing mostly on your beautifully dark skin and petite frame in the warm light. His dick that hung heavy between his legs gave a healthy twitch. “Though I can’t see anyone here finding fault with your callous treatment now. Tell me, did you enjoy making your daughter your personal Onahole?”

Kai felt his amusement rise when the man’s expression became irate.

“You sick fuck! How could you—Could you—My daughter—” Kenji’s voice broke off, as he turned to the side and looked as if he were ready to retch.  

“Your daughter huh? After you’ve cum in every fuckable orifice she has? After you offered her up on a silver platter to lose yourself in gambling and women, you still think you have a daughter?”

Kenji looked stricken, recoiling. He looked down at you, trying his best not to look at where you wrapped around his dick. He held back a retch as he fought back tear

“Why are you crying? Doesn’t Y/n feel good squeezing around you. Left her good and creamy just for you.” 

Kenji shook his head in silent denial, as if he could deny where he had his dick for the past hour. Where it still was. With choppy breaths he tried pleading “P—Please just—Just let us go. You have your money. “Lemme t—take my daughter and—”

He was cut off by Overhaul’s abrupt laugh. 

“I think you’ve taken your daughter enough, Okumura, don’t you agree.”

Kenji opened his mouth to respond to that horrible statement, but a wave of need overtook him. Without his permission, his hips thrust forward, sickened by the way you moan out “daddy”.

“Oh there’s that pesky drug you took to prolong your fun!” The villain gave you an insincere smile, that was more like a baring of teeth. “It pains me to say you’re going to be like this all night.” His eyes flick down to where you’re fucking yourself on your father. “And so will she. You and I fed her enough of our drug filled cum, that she’s going to be insatiable. But that’s alright.” 

He walked over to where your head rested on the bench. His dick hovered in next to your face and without hesitation you turned your head to kiss at the peaking head, as it dripped onto the floor. Kai smeared his leaking dick across your lips like a perverse parody of lipgloss.

“Good Whore, lick it up. Uh huh now take it in your mouth.” His voice cut off in a moan as you swallowed his dick down. He looked back to Kenji and through his pleasure. “You raised such a good onahole, Okumura.” He thrust forward groaning at the feeling of your choking throat contracting around him.

He looked down and caressed your bottom lip where it wrapped the base of his dick, before looking back at your father. “But you would know that, wouldn’t you? I know her pussy must be driving you mad.” 

Kenji made a noise as if he were in physical pain, but that didn't stop his body from moving. Didn’t stop the way he moaned as he failed to resist the effect of the drug. Stop him from grasping your thighs  and fucking into you with renewed lust.

Below him, you were having the time of your life. You felt no shame, or fear. Just the want to fulfill your purpose. To be a pretty sentient hole for your Kai. To service him and whoever he deemed worthy. You already did it— were still doing it and it was euphoria never ending.

He said you were to let daddy use you and you couldn’t even find fault with it. Not when he fucked you like this. Not when his dick— the dick that made you— was pilfering its way into your gooey center. Violating a threshold it was never meant to enter and making you cry and gasp in pleasure, around where Kai’s dick lodged in your throat.

You looked to the side to see daddy’s face and only found it in yourself to be mildly confused at the tears streaming down his face.

He looks torn between enjoying the quivering clutch of your pussy around his fat dick and the act of fucking you. Your brow creases. He didn’t have an issue before, why bother caring now, that you willingly spread yourself for him?

Overhaul noticed your distraction and wasn’t letting it slide. He pressed a thumb to your brown to massage the frown away, as he pulled out. He ignored the whine you let out and spoke.

“Why does my pretty whore seem so distraught? Is getting  fucked from both ends not good enough?” His hands made their way down to your tits to pinch deep brown nipples making you moan loudly.

“Mmph daddy’s upset.” You say it with an edge of irritation and Overhaul had to hold back a laugh as he looked up to your father’s crying face. “Does that upset you, Whore?”

He twisted your nipples until you arch upwards, rolling your hips into your father’s. You both let out a whine. One lustful and the other distressed.

He relished in the debauchery in front of him before he asked again. “Well, Y/n?”

You pulled yourself from your sex induced delirium as you looked at the two men. “He won’t fuck me like before,” you say low and ragged. “He fucked me so good earlier, when he thought I was a random whore he p— paid for.” Your voice was getting choked up. Something was making you sad, but you couldn’t grasp what.  “A— Am I not good enough when it’s not a random hole? Is t—that w—why you— The—reason you left—” Your voice cut off when Kai flicked at your nipples, but the tears were filling those lustful eyes regardless.

“Kai however was eating up the spectacle he orchestrated. “Don’t stop now, Whore. Tell your Daddy what he did to you—What he’s doing.” 

You looked up at him, still trying to resist the urge to pound your pussy. Tears rolled down his face and a heavy sheen of sweat could be seen. His button up was pushed further open to reveal your name tattooed over his heart. He looked so agonized as you looked him in the eye.

As you looked at him, face covered in his and Overhaul’s cum, lips puffy from being wrapped around his dick. From him face fucking you, like the good hole you were. You lick at a drop that made it to the corner of your mouth and it left messy white fluid decorating your lips.

Your dark eyes were lust blown and fucked out as you spoke. 

“You violated me, Daddy.”

Kenji lets out a punched out noise, sorrowful and ashamed. He can’t stop though, the drug forced him forward. Made him need your gooey cunt wrapped around his dick. 

“You left me Daddy. I wasn’t good enough to keep, but I was good enough for you to use my pussy. To swallow your cum and to bounce my ass up and down your dick”

You were saying such horrible things, but you were moaning as you did. Like you were reliving the trauma, but as if it were your greatest fantasy. Kenji couldn’t fathom it. Hated having to try at all. You were never meant to be here!

But he couldn’t focus! The drug made it impossible. All he could gain any hold on was the want to fuck. The need to. He wanted to grip your thighs and turn your pussy out. 

“I’m a monster,” Kenji thought through tears.

“I can’t stop,” was the last thing he thought as the sob finally broke from his throat.

His hand gripped where your thighs met your hips and pounded your pussy with aggrieved remorse. 

You whined at his rough handling, still recalling his treatment with relish. 

“You raped me daddy, don’t stop now.” It was said desperately and whorishly, pussy fluttering and pulling him in a sick imitation of comfort.

Tears streamed down his face as he apologized for his sins. “I’m sorry! God Babygirl. Daddy’s so fucking sorry.”

As he lunged down for your, Overhaul leaned over and took down the rest of the wall. Nothing separated you two anymore and he found himself wondering if Kenji would realized he could pull out.

He realized he was too far gone, when he stepped forward and the force of his momentum pushed you up the bench. He lumbered on, wrapping dark thighs around his waist and moving big dark hands to pull you into his rhythm. 

You were crying, but it was clearly in bliss as you begged and egged Kenji on.

“Please don’t stop! Fuck me Daddy, fuck my whore pussy!” Your eyes rolled back and your pussy held onto him rapaciously.

He watched you with dismay, but rocked his hips forward to feel you contract and gush around him. He looked at your face and found the expression of pure desire there. He shut his eyes to block it out. So the fucked out expression of his daughter didn’t haunt his nightmares. For a moment he closed his eyes and just felt. 

Kai was having none of that though. 

He came back to you, and you thought he was going to shove his dick in your mouth, but he didn’t. He moved to straddle your face. His dick and balls dragged over your face and you relished in the musky masculine scent, as you licked and kissed at his sac. You sucked it into your mouth and lapped at his balls until Kai deemed it suitable.

He pulled back and Overhaul recomposed the bench to where your head hung over the edge. Without hesitation he fed you his dick in one choking slide.

The sound of your gagging drew your father’s attention and he opened his eyes to see the young man balls deep in your mouth, fucking you upside down.

Kai looked back at your father and grinned like the cat that got the cream. “You didn’t think you’d get to have all the fun, did you Kenji?” 

“Y—You sick sonavabitch,” he groaned and he grew closer to his release.

Kai just laugh as he began fucking your throat.

Below you were having the time of your life. 

Two of your holes were filled and the other was getting smacked with Daddy’s heavy balls as you leaked his cum all over them. Daddy’s thick dick stretched and stroked your pussy. It felt so damn good to be this full and his tip kissed at your cervix on each cant of his hips. You just wished you could look at the deluge of cum decorating his dick as he pulled out. You knew the sight must be filthy.

But Kai was filling your throat. The heavy weight of his dick pressed down on your tongue in an almost therapeutic way. On each backstroke you twirled your tongue around the head and pressed it under the foreskin in a teasing circle, before he slid home to your esophagus. 

His balls covered your nose and you couldn’t hold back your fervor as he slowly took air from you with the salacious assault. It made you dizzy and enthusiastic in your frenzy. Made you work your throat around him. Work to swallow and gulp ardently.

His gasps and growl above you made your need for the men exploiting your body, voracious. 

There was nothing but pleasure and ecstasy and bliss as they manipulated your body for their benefit. And you enjoyed it. Your sound of pleasure came from both ends as your mews around Kai were heard by both drugged men and the loud needy sound of your pussy filled both their ears.

It went on for what felt like eternity and you could feel both men tense inside of you. At some point Kai and your daddy found their way to your tits and clit. 

Kenji had a hand working your messy bud over as he worked to fill you with another load, while his mouth worked your left nipple. You writhed as he nipped and sucked at it. Meanwhile Kai flicked and twisted the other and he languidly took his pleasure from your sweet abused throat.

Your orgasm had been building for ages and you could feel it hovering just out of your reach. You whined and squirmed trying to encourage them to get you there faster.

Though Kai didn’t need to be told.

“Look at you, Y/n. So desperate to nut on Daddy’s dick. Forlorn for the feeling of his cum, spilling out this used pussy.” He plucked at your abused nipple, gasping as your throat rippled around him. “Or maybe you just want me to nut in your mouth again. Want my cum painting this pretty face again.”

You made a wet yearning sound that Kai deemed good enough.

“Then cum, Y/n. If you want that, cum wrapped around your precious Daddy’s dick. Make him nut in that pretty pussy again. Maybe this time he’ll knock you up.”

Your body went off like a live wire. You arched off the bench, choking as you felt your body seize. You let out a euphoric scream, or you would have had Kai’s twitch cumming dick not occupied your throat. You swallowed as much of him as you could.

As you came you felt your daddy’s rhythm stutter as he buried himself in your shuddering pussy and reveled in the spasm and grip of abused walls. He sobbed around your tit and wet messy fingers grasping your hip for dear life.

You choked and cried as you came, basking in the feeling of being nothing but a mindless onahole for the men above you. Wave after wave of pleasure racked your body and you luxuriated in it..

Finally the men inside you, stopped cumming and pulled out. Distantly you could hear Kenji sobbing, but you ignored it in lieu of looking down at your exploited body.  

You’re taken by surprise as your once flat stomach is now rounded like you’re pregnant. You groan as you attempt to shift your weight, but Kai puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you. You try to make sense at what you’re looking at, but your mind’s hazy in the post orgasmic afterglow.

You dazedly looked up to where Kai stood to the right of you. The tan man leaned down and picked you up in a bridal carry, cradling you against his chest.

It catches your father’s attention.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re taking her?! Put her down you fucking bastard!”

At the sound of his raised voice, Shie Hassakai members entered through a door you hadn’t noticed, and moved towards Kenji. They grabbed him, and pulled him kicking and screaming towards the door.

You watched them go, still in your detached afterglow, until Kai tucked your face into his chest.

“Time to get my favorite whore cleaned up. Isn’t that right Y/n?”

You hummed, nuzzling into his chest. He was warm and firm and comforting. Afterall, you belonged to him, of course he’d take proper care of you.

As you walked away towards the wall, Kai put his hand against it and it opened to reveal a narrow hallway. Just as he walked through the threshold, a loud gunshot rang out from the direction the yakuza took Kenji. Kai looked down at you, but you hadn’t even flinched, just burrowed deeper in his chest.

He smirked, walking down the dark corridor. 

You were finally his. 

His pretty well trained Whore.

[askstormscall]

Upon safely reaching the island’s shore, the pair shed their forms to their true form. Feeling relieved, both Lugias stretched their wings, checking to see if everything was intact. While she missed the flowy dress, she would always prefer the radiance of her feathers above all else. 

Mo’o held their gifts carefully. “I will place them somewhere safe.” 

As she swam away, Mariko’s gaze lingered on her departing figure. “I have to thank Mo’o for taking us out tonight.”

“So do I,” Raiden replied. 

The words of the Magi, of the Goomy were pressed deep in her thoughts. Her brother seemed lost in his thoughts as well, his eyes elsewhere. “Brother, I want to be as perfect as you are but I don’t think I ever could,” she started slowly to gauge his reaction. 

Horrified, Raiden shook his head. “Why would you ever think that, Mariko?!”

“You’re strong! I want to be as strong as you are! I want to be as brave as you are! You have always protected me but why can I not do the same for you?!” 

“I never want you to be in the same position as I!” He shouted. “I want you to be safe. I want you to be free.”

“This.” She swept her wing over the shores, “This isn’t freedom, brother. I feel… stuck. I want to do more. I enjoyed it when we traveled from island to island and saw the world. I want to be like you when you chased away the dangers.” Her brother was relentless, a pillar that refused to be toppled over by violent storms. She too wanted to rise and be a pillar as her brother.

I hope you aren’t envious of me… 

“Not once was I envious of you, sister,” he said. He looked her straight in the eyes, unwavering. “How could I be? You were safe beneath her wings while I was forced to fend for myself.” A difficult time in the young Lugia’s life. He was only fortunate that his father had taught him the skills to do so. “Your safety was all that ever mattered to me. But I see what she has done to you. She made you feel as if you were inadequate. I failed my promise to our father. To keep you safe, even from her.” He hissed at the end, a twitch to his tail. “Brother…” She knew not to say. For all these years he had always acted as a protector between them. This evening was the first of many moons since she had seen him relax his guard. She didn’t know of this promise. She clenched her jaw. She still knew very little of the exchanges between her brother and father. She always knew they were close but she was kept a distance by the warding wing of her mother. “You needn’t concern yourself with the likes of them,” Mother’s words cooed in her ears. A sweet voice, a swiping brush of the tail to corral the young Lugia to the shore as she watched her brother and father play in the open waters. “We must practice on your lovely voice. I see you have a gift like no other like my mother’s! You need to develop it further.” A look of longing from the young Lugia. 

If only she were wiser back then to hear the beguiling notes in Mother’s voice. The venomous murmurs when it comes to her brother. She would only recoil and shy away from the idea of Mother ever thinking such a thing. Of course, she loved him. What kind of mother could not? But as she remembered, Mother always condescendingly spoke of her son. Was any of it remotely positive? It was always a sharp note of disdain that would cut deep. 

“Wasting his time with the Lapras again.” A sneer. “Why is he not harnessing his gift? Where is the discipline?” A covetous look towards her daughter. “I will not have him tarnishing her.” 

She lowered her head, “It was my fault…,” she croaked. “I should have seen it.” Tears trickled down her face. “You were always alone in this, weren’t you?”  Her heart broke at the thought of him enduring this alone. 

“Mariko, please,” Raiden said, voice pained. “You don’t need to cry for me. I did it because I wanted to.” His ever-fragile little sister. His gaze grew shuttered.

“Don’t tell me that!” She bumped her head against his, startling him. “Because who did?! Mother-” 

His expression grew dark. “She is no mother of mine. I don’t know how much you remember from back then but to call her that would give her more respect than she deserves.” 

—

A piercing look of disdain. With a large sweep of her tail, she whipped him aside and away from his dear sister. Keep away from her, unspoken words from a mother who rejected him when he wanted nothing more than to be accepted. Pleading sounds for a young Lugia to play and show the sparkling waters to his younger sibling. 

He was forced to retreat to the shallows, chasing the fish through the coral reefs; the only place he felt safe, at home. 

“Surely father was there for you.”

Raiden looked out towards the sea, his attention on the waves washing against the shore. “When he could, Mariko. Not always.” He understood Father’s responsibilities but it never made the ordeals any less painful to deal with. He struggled to understand. Why did Father allow this? 

Deep impressions in the Elder Lugia’s eyes, “You are young, my son. When you are older, I hope to take you and your sister away from here but you are still too small. You both are. It is not safe with my strength alone.”

With his might, it should have been enough. He closed his eyes. How wrong I was to think that, he thought. 

“...It’s been so long since I have seen him, Raiden,” Mariko spoke, quietly. “I sometimes wonder if he is still out there.” 

“Do not say that,” he snapped. He struggled to rein his tone, nudging his sister softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t mean it,” she whispered, doing the same. “At night, sometimes I hear you calling to him.” A forlorn sound, containing hope and prayers. There was a pause before she spoke again, “Will you consider what I said earlier? I want to see what this region has for us.”

“I will try.”  Already his gut went against him, wanting to ensure she stayed. But he could see what this meant. A cage and he was no warden. The door should always open for her. 

“Brother,” her voice cut through his thoughts. “Will you sing with me tonight? Mo’o wants me to perform the song but… I was hoping if you would add your voice to mine?”

A blink. “My voice has nothing to add to yours,” he said. It was a bitter pill he was forced to swallow at a young age. He lacked the healing ability that… Asami coveted. “It might hinder the song,” he whispered. 

She puffed out her cheeks. “Nonsense! What if I say you will ease the burden?” A look of concern from Raiden. He always knew the song of healing would take a bit from her. No matter how much she tried to shrug it off, she often basked in the sun to rejuvenate herself.

“If it will help you,” he was quick to say and she smiled so bright it almost chased the night away. 

A chorus pierced through the night. A symphony of broaching storms in harmony with a promise of the sun breaking through the horizon. A perfect melding that caused the waves to surge and the new life to break across the sand.

Thank you, brother...

You're welcome, Mariko...

Artist: https://x.com/sacrednanners?t=AxfenDib0nllgL9xrIymFw&s=09

[feathersandpen]

you know what?

i’m tired.

i’m tired of fans acting like they have the right to have these super harsh opinions about the personal lives of the actors from their favorite shows.

i’m tired for the actors too, having to read horrible stuff about themselves online, written by people who don’t even stop to think for a second about what they’re saying. or who they’re saying it about.

i get the disappointment.

really, i do.

we all witnessed a beautiful story last year.

and yeah, it’s kind of a bummer how things turned out.

but at the end of the day? we’re still talking about real people here. no matter how famous they are.

i’m not gonna lie, after the SAGs, i struggled too.

i stayed stuck in that little shipper bubble for a while.

but honestly?

i think we need to accept that we don’t understand everything about this story.

there are things we’ll just never know.

what we saw, what we still see when Luke and Nic are together…

maybe it’s just too complicated to be fully understood by eyes that are way too far outside of it.

i’ve decided to be happy for nicola.

because that’s what she deserves.

i’ve decided not to judge the way she lives her life, because honestly? i have zero right to do that.

and honestly?

i kinda like jake.

he seems to share a lot of the same values that made me admire nicola so much — especially when it comes to her social and political activism.

and yeah, like i’ve said before…

i still think there was a timing issue.

like the greatest poet of our time says : the Goddess of timing once found us beguiling

and if that’s true, if there really was something there but the timing was just off —

then having a bunch of fans constantly dragging them back to a story that maybe never even had a real chance…

that’s gotta be rough.

so yeah.

i’m choosing to be happy for her.

because if that famous Goddess failed them in this story, i’m just happy that nicola is finally able to take back control of her own journey.

i’ll always have that little “what could’ve been” thought tucked away somewhere.

but honestly?

let’s just collectively be happy for people who are happy.

[lizzybeth1986]

Drake and Kiara: When You're Fucking Racist

Series - TRR's Alternative LIs - The "Romances" that Didn't Happen

Previous - Hana and Madeleine: When You Reward Your Favourite Bully with One of Her Victims

A/N: Again, apologies for the length. There was a LOT to unpack in this one!! I'm really, really not going to be nice to Drake here. It was harrowing to go through a lot of these scenes again and I honestly don't have the patience or inclination to sugarcoat any of it.

CW: Mentions of gun violence and minimization of trauma. Mentions of racist fan vitriol towards a black character. Examination of the Jezebel stereotype.

Whenever I think about how unhinged the hatred towards Kiara (and especially towards Kiara's attraction to Drake) was, a specific edit comes to mind.

On the surface, it looks quite simple. Kiara in a white wedding dress, Drake right next to her in his blue formal suit. Both of them are smiling at the viewer. The background is a beautiful forest, and the entire picture is bathed in a lovely, muted sepia tone. A sweet, simple wedding scene.

The caption underneath this edit?

Classify under things no one asked for.

Kiara's dream come true!

The tags read "#i barf a little looking at this" and "#i must post to share the suffering". You find out in the comments that the OP created this edit inspired by one of the many fics where Kiara was Drake's stalker, and intended to make her creepy and deranged (but ultimately failed).

The comments are...tbh, things that this fandom has long since normalized and shrugged at when it comes to Drake stans. Multiple puke-face emojis. Multiple gifs signaling disgust. One stan even equates the ship name (Driara) to the word diarrhoea.

"She looks very stalkeresque and white "I drugged Drake so he's marrying me" wedding ready!"

"Well it's close to Halloween so we should expect scary shit"

"THAT is why I made that bitch my Maid of Honor...so she got the message LOUD AND CLEAR...it ain't NEVER gonna happen honey" (right below a barfing gif)

I wish I could say this example of Kiara hatred was the worst of the lot, or even the only one. It wasn't. I'm not sure even an entire essay would be adequate space to explore the sheer levels of vitriol, hatred and double standards dumped on this one character.

Until now, we've seen examples of alternative LIs that were treated with respect. With adulation. Often with kid gloves in case we hurt their poor lill fee-fees. Up until now, no matter what an alternative LI may have done, the LI matched with them wasn't allowed to treat them badly, nor was the MC able to get away with hurting them without punishment.

But in this series, Kiara was, is, and will always be an anomaly.

The Jezebel Stereotype

In most media, black women in particular tend to be subjected to a variety of stereotypes that often have serious, real-world implications. The Mammy, the Sapphire (that over time evolved to what we now know as the "Angry Black Woman" stereotype) and the Jezebel, being the most prominent ones among them. In this essay, I will be focusing specifically on the last.

An article in the Black Then website explains the definition and history of the trope this: "The portrayal of black women as lascivious by nature is an enduring stereotype. The descriptive words associated with this stereotype are singular in their focus: seductive, alluring, worldly, beguiling, tempting, and lewd. Historically, white women, as a category, were portrayed as models of self-respect, self-control, and modesty – even sexual purity, but black women were often portrayed as innately promiscuous, even predatory. This depiction of black women is signified by the name Jezebel."

So it isn't altogether uncommon to see stories where black women are juxtaposed against "pure", "innocent" white/white-passing women, and viewed as lesser. PB hasn't exactly escaped these stereotypes in their stories either - though there are a variety of characters and character types, we can't deny that there was a time when a black woman was made the antagonist, often in ways that were meant to measure her up to the MC/another white woman to her detriment.

(VoS screenshots from the HIMEME YouTube channel, ACOR screenshots from Vika Avey's YouTube channel)

Two very prominent examples of PB using this trope are Scarlett from VoS, and Xanthe from ACOR. There are other black women who serve as antagonists but in a more professional space, but these two particularly are measured on their attractiveness, sex appeal and "purity" in the narrative in comparison to either the MC, or someone close to them.

In VoS, Scarlett Emerson and Kate O'Malley are the sisters of the two male LIs (Grant and Flynn), but their treatment couldn't be any more different. Scarlett's role in the book is pretty short-lived. She's very prominent in the first half of the book as Kate's potential MOH who secretly hates her, before it's revealed in Ch 5 that Tanner was cheating on Kate with her (and that she'd loved him since she was a child). Notably, in that very scene, the MC places most of the blame on Scarlett (rather than on Tanner for choosing to betray his fiancée) by labelling the act as her seduction of him.

Thereafter she is either only mentioned, or has blink-and-you-miss-it appearances in one or two chapters. We see her in the "memory" portion of the bonus scene, but we are never shown what her future is like (even as minor characters like Miss Harleney get one!). Her bonus scene shows us how her bracelet ended up on Tanner's boat, and it is an uncomfortable scene to get through. Tanner berates Scarlett for having sex with him a week before his wedding, but it is she who points out that he asked her to come there! Yet the MC and others view her as the temptress who "seduced" Tanner, as if the man had no mind of his own.

The narrative often juxtaposes her with Kate, the pure, innocent, sweet fiancée (and she actually is! No pretence there) and the fandom lapped it up. There were many demands for Kate to be upgraded to LI status, which eventually resulted in PB allowing us to marry her if we chose. As I mentioned earlier, both Scarlett and Kate are sisters to two of our LIs - but one is made an LI, while no one bothers to even imagine what the other's future entails.

An even worse fate greets that of Xanthe, the sole female antagonist in ACOR. The slut-shaming and disgust over her overt sexuality is far more blatant here. And it is extremely ironic for Xanthe to be viewed in this way, because the MC herself is a courtesan and uses wiles to get men to do her bidding. While Xanthe herself is not perfect by any means - she is depicted as xenophobic and callous, going as far as to mock Syphax when he is sent away to a possible death as a gladiator - the MC's targeting of her goes beyond just her "righteous indignation" and develops into a form of hypocrisy. She has no qualms mocking Xanthe for her direct approach or her skimpy red dress (even though the MC herself wears a skimpy red dress and can seduce a man in a temple not too long after).

The end Xanthe meets is horrific in its implications - the black matron of her scholae (who began by promising the MC herself that "you need do nothing against your will") sends her away to sexual slavery in Sicily, while the black man who was one of the few bastions of morality in the book, escorts her, smiling, to the ship that will take her there. As far as the narrative is concerned, the end was well-deserved...even though PB has had no issues allowing white women to do far worse without any punishment.

We cannot view what ACOR did with Xanthe in isolation. They had built up to it early on - from the MC's reactions towards her, her patrons' dismissiveness of her, the MC's LIs' viewing her with derision and zero respect. The MC - despite her own unscrupulousness - is viewed as the "noble whore" to Xanthe, yet it is clear on even a surface read that there is not much difference between the two women.

The Jezebel stereotype, ultimately, is about dehumanizing the black woman it focuses on, so that her actions and choices are viewed as deviant from what is "normal" - feeding into either responses of disgust and derision, or a desire to objectify her. To some readers, it makes whatever awful or comparatively unfair end they meet, more palatable. Scarlett and Xanthe are not viewed as people by the narrative - especially not the way the MC of their books or even white female antagonists are. No one cares for their backstories, coos over their losses, wonders if they are okay. When they meet their inevitable end, the characters and so many in the fandom alike just shrug and move along.

How does a character like Kiara fit into this? Her smarts and linguistic talents are her most prominent traits, and while she does have feelings for Drake, she never really acts out-of-pocket towards him (more on this later). So at least from what we see in canon, there's very little about her that seems to apply to the Jezebel stereotype. Yet, the fandom is not only inclined, but eager, to view her as one. Kiara's feelings have been viewed in a far more predatory light, perhaps more often than any other female character in the series. Why is this so?

A response I have often seen - on reddit, on Kiara's wiki page, at times on Tumblr too - is how there is a "certain something" about Kiara that people "just don't like". Many players who prefer Penelope to her are often very aware of what she has done, but still insist they like her far more than they do Kiara. On a reddit thread about questioning the logic of having Kiara and Penelope as options for the MC's MOH in TRR3, certain players commented thus:

"I don't know why, I just dislike her a lot. Penelope is fine to me, but Kiara irritates me." (said commenter is an Aerin stan)

"I liked Penelope, I thought she was nice. But Kiara got on my nerves."

In her book, The Sisters Are Alright, Tamara Winfrey Harris makes an eye-opening (to me at least!) observation about how misogynoir works:

"Misogynoir, abetted by dehumanizing caricature, is like water. It fills its vessel, taking many forms, and then overflows, creeping unnoticed into the cracks of things, rotting the foundation. It spreads a belief in Black women’s inherent wrongness." (Italics mine).

Now of course, if I were to ask the current fandom, they would come up with a range of reasons. Some that emerged from fandom myths and became more popular than the truth in time, some from PB's excessive pandering to players that hated her. But the root of it all is in a certain "je ne sais quoi" that makes her automatically unappealing, resulting in those readers leaning towards misreading or misremembering her scenes, misrepresenting her motives, or watering down the impact of worse actions from whiter women. It results in a group of writers (who have thus far gone to the extent of retconning the worst of a white woman's actions just to make her look good) leaning into such readings, even when they're not true.

TRR1 Kiara: Pragmatic Courtier or Backstabbing Snake?

"Kiara is fake", "Kiara is a snob", "Kiara is self-serving", "Kiara promised to be friends with us but dropped us like a hot potato the moment we became unpopular". These are some of the most enduring takes about Kiara in the past few years, and readers who say this usually bring up a vague recollection of TRR1 and 2 as proof. Mostly that "Kiara was our friend" in the first book, and left us hanging at the beginning of TRR2.

Is that reading based in fact, though? Let's take a look at TRR1!Kiara and find out.

We are introduced to Kiara (along with Penelope, and standing next to Hana) in TRR3 when we meet Liam's other suitors. Olivia introduces each woman differently, and the descriptor she uses for Kiara is that she is the "daughter of a diplomat and fluent in ten languages" (note: Kiara never boasts of her linguistic skill, Olivia does. Nor are there any scenes of her looking down on anyone who doesn't speak her mother tongue French, unless of course you accidentally ask her to sleep with you).

Both she and Penelope note immediately that the MC doesn't quite fit in - if the MC questions the women about being allies with Olivia, a woman who calls them "harpies", they view that as an overreaction. When the MC tells the ladies at the Derby about getting lost, Kiara finds her tardiness and inability to fit in, a sign that she cannot keep up with the competition. Until the chapters in Lythikos, Kiara's and Penelope's characterizations are almost interchangeable, personality-wise. It is likely the team envisioned them more as European nobility rather than specifically Cordonian (based on Olivia's introductions), and they are both depicted as poised, refined and aware of their place in court.

It's in Lythikos that Kiara, at least, begins to show a more distinct personality (for Penelope it's after the Regatta). Unlike the rest of the court, who watches Olivia's unwanted kiss on Liam with either mild shock or disinterest, Kiara is angered by what she sees as a very obvious power-play - which gives the MC the opening she needs to gain an alliance.

Now this "alliance" scene of Kiara's is interesting, for two reasons. One is that fandom often uses this scene to establish her "double standards" in TRR2, claiming that Kiara opted to be friends with the MC. Yet nowhere in the scene does the MC or Kiara ever suggest a friendship with each other - they both agree to an alliance. Furthermore, this is an arrangement that benefits the MC more - there isn't exactly anything she contributes (or is expected to contribute) to Kiara from her end. Kiara's promise is that she will put in a good word in the MC's favour, and she upholds that promise throughout the social season.

Another is that among the courtiers, Kiara herself is the first person to identify and respond to the MC's potential if she shows it at the Derby and the tea party (though Hana is also a courtier, I view her strictly as an LI in this context - since her support is by default and is founded on a more emotional basis). Not many nay notice this, but there is a distinction between how Kiara responds to an MC in a successful play vs a failplay...in a way that none of the other suitors do. Take note of the screenshots below:

The top two pictures in this collage are dialogues that feature by default. The bottom two, however, are dependent on branch-coding. They only appear IF the MC has managed to win the approval of the King, the Queen and the press. If you don't succeed in the same, she will not mention your performance in the social season at all, nor will she say anything about the value of your alliance.

That is a far bigger deal than most players of this series realize. It means that Kiara has been watching us closely, and has understood our potential over the course of just three court events. Only two other characters are shown tracking our progress this way: Bertrand (who is our sponsor, so he has to keep track) and Queen Regina (who can guess already her stepson's feelings for the MC, which automatically makes her a person of interest). For Kiara to understand the MC's capabilities, and to openly admit she has potential this early in the competition - it takes a high level of rationality, honesty and pragmatism to come to such a conclusion. Unlike Olivia (who lashes out in jealousy at the MC), Penelope (who has to be told why exactly it's good to have allies), and Madeleine (who dismisses us as competition until it's too late), Kiara actually views the MC with a discerning, impartial eye and an objective approach.

So on the surface, it appears as if Kiara is written by a team that likes her! You could almost be convinced that they thought she was cool but were forced to pander to "crazy Drake stans" in their writing later (which is an argument I have heard often). After all, she's established as beautiful, skilled, smart and observant. You wouldn't do that for a character you don't like, right?

But even as early as TRR1, a disdain for Kiara creeps in from the writing that you rarely see for any of the others.

This is especially apparent when you look at how Kiara's proficiency with language is spoken about. It is supposed to be her most visible skill - Olivia identifies her by it, we see her peppering her English sentences with French words (of course, many may argue that she doesn't exactly sound like an actual French person...but let's remember that her writers aren't exactly very used to the language themselves or interested in doing extra research for authenticity!). As we approach the end of the first book, there are at least two dialogue options that result in people doubting her abilities or mocking her for speaking only English and French most of the time.

In TRR1 Ch 16, Madeleine optionally speaks to the MC over phone (believing her to be a reporter taking her interview) about her thoughts on Kiara. Kiara's tendency to speak mostly in French and English is supposed to be a sign that she "exaggerates her accomplishments". Mind you, this is from the same woman who claims to be the best choice for Cordonia despite her poor strategies and her antagonizing potential allies during the engagement tour (TRR2); who complains if the MC doesn't compliment her for mediocre work as a press sec (TRR3). The MC can also choose to diss Kiara in a similar way, treating Kiara like she is a circus performer and her skills as if they are meant for the MC's entertainment. The only solace I could derive from this dumpster fire of a dialogue option, was that Kiara managed to shut the MC up with her multilingual response.

No other time are we allowed to call a courtier's abilities and skills into question. The MC accepts on faith that Olivia is a badass with great fighting skills. Same with Penelope's ability as a seamstress. The MC is never even allowed to have legitimate complaints about Madeleine's work as press sec, besides maybe that she could "be a little nicer". So the fact that the writers not only have other characters doubt Kiara's talent, but also allow people to mock her about it in all three books...is really something.

Another possible indicator of this disdain is the fact that Kiara is the only suitor who never gets a chance to actually interact with Liam on-screen. Even Penelope, a fellow minor character, can approach and talk to him twice...and her gift to him is shown in Ch 18 whereas Kiara's and Hana's aren't. Despite the fact that Kiara is a potential suitor, the story never allows her to interact with Liam. She doesn't exactly have any interactions with Drake in this book either, but honestly nor does any other couple have much time together besides Liam and Olivia.

Drake and Kiara hardly seemed to be a possibility back in TRR1. Drake himself didn't seem to associate with anyone besides the MC and the group in the first book (and even with the group his interactions were infrequent). Kiara herself doesn't have many scenes that aren't related to the court or to the competition, even once she is no longer participating. The closest she comes to any sort of association besides Penelope, is a friendship with Hana that begins sometime before the Fox Hunt. Drake and Kiara never actually have any scenes together, or interactions, or references. It is likely that the idea to pair them up was entirely a Book 2 thing.

On a fandom level, neither Kiara or Penelope garnered much attention or fan reactions. They weren't noticed much, nor did you see their scenes too often. Probably that is why it was so damn easy to remember Kiara's entire equation with the MC wrong. Why certain stans of the book were able to get away with misrepresenting the relationship between her and the MC in TRR1, to hate on her in TRR2. I will not deny, though, that certain dialogue choices from PB (like "I thought we were friends!" in the Fydelia scene) may have had a hand in those beliefs becoming the "truth".

TRR2 Kiara - Pragmatic Courtier or Backstabbing Snake (Part 2)

I plan to get into the way the Drake and Kiara angle is framed in canon, but before that it's important to tackle that one elephant in the room - Kiara telling the MC the alliance is over. Because very often, people used this scene (coupled with their misinterpretations of Book 1) as their "justification" to hate her. Often, people would choose the ruder options (such as the Christmas card dialogue) and assume that Kiara was rude by default, rather than as a consequence of the MC's behaviour towards her.

Kiara and Penelope are the first to express surprise at the MC's return (and their reactions are shown as representative of the rest of the court). Kiara in fact is shocked that the MC dared to return (which is kinda warranted! Several people in these early chapters view that as a risky move, a gamble that could backfire on her. That's why Bertrand gets her a press secretary). Their scene with the MC immediately follows the MC's conversation with Liam and Madeleine (and mind you, in the option where the MC can tell her she was set up, Madeleine herself voices disbelief of the same. Conveniently, this is never used as a reason to hate her). Both women let the MC know of their change in status, and therefore the change in their relationship with her.

What gets missed overall, is that Kiara is a lady-in-waiting (which is an actual role with specific duties) to Madeleine, which means her loyalty now has to lie with this woman whether she likes it or not. For her to even agree to approach the MC and explain the situation, is a risk. In at least two dialogue options in this scene, she tells the MC straight-up that they will be in trouble if they're even seen talking to her (this becomes a moot point by Ch4, mostly because Madeleine herself is shown talking to the MC and allowing her into conversations in public, once Hana arrives).

Penelope is often viewed in a better light in this scene because of her obvious friendliness and her sadness at no longer being the MC's friend, but once you have the reveal of her being a traitor, her behaviour in this scene seems wildly disingenuous, and I'm surprised more people didn't call her a fake when the reveal came out. She had to know the allegations against the MC were fake when she rushed to hug her, having been an integral part of that fabrication. It makes her lament when she's caught, in the failplay, ("I can't do anything right. You were never supposed to find out!") that much more chilling. She is eager to have the benefit of the MC's friendship and emotional support, without ever being honest about her role in smearing her reputation.

The other was that - no matter what you may choose to think of this scene - Kiara was placing herself at risk to let the MC know it was over. Approaching the MC was the right thing to do, but what is never spoken about is the fact that it was also a brave thing to do. Rather than ghost the pariah of the court and never give an explanation, she tells her honestly what the situation is, and strives to protect her impulsive friend (who could get both of them in trouble) at the same time.

When you view Kiara's actions from that lens - when you look at the facts - suddenly the claims that Kiara was "fake", "a flip-flopper", "a backstabber", "unscrupulous and self-serving", sound pretty hollow.

TRR2: The Drake x Kiara "Romance" Begins...and So Does the Vitriol

So...an interesting thing about the general reaction to Kiara in the early chapters of TRR2. I was new to the fandom when this book was released. There was an annoyance at Kiara when the first chapter came out, but to my surprise it didn't exactly become full-blown hatred until she started showing an interest in Drake in Ch 3.

This book is often used as a reference by Drake stans when they speak of Kiara as an obsessed, stalker-type, sex-hungry woman - often in contrast to their "pure", "innocent" MCs. Basically...the Jezebel. But the five scenes we see of this ship in the book itself tell a completely different story:

1. Drake Helps Kiara Lift A Heavy Beam (TRR2 Ch 3)

Chapter 3 is perhaps the first time we see an indication of Kiara's attraction to Drake on a physical level. The scene takes place at the barn raising, but only if we choose to stay with Drake over Hana for the barn raising activities. Kiara shows up in a rather pitiable state - her friend Penelope abandoned her for thirty whole minutes, leaving her to lift incredibly heavy beams alone. Drake helps Kiara and mildly chides her for not asking for his help, and Kiara stares at his bare chest, mesmerized.

She isn't exactly alone in this - the MC herself ogles at his bare chest at one point (if we go by the lines in the narrative that read "his muscles glisten in the sunlight" which is def from the MC's PoV). This scene was meant as fanservice for stans who wanted to drool over Drake's physique for a bit, and belatedly build up an alternative (at least for all three male LIs, they were trying to do this in TRR2).

The MC can either point out Kiara's obvious attraction towards Drake, or suspect her of being part of the plot. This will not be the last time the MC or the group will view her with suspicion, with little to no basis in fact. In the option that calls attention to Kiara's attraction to Drake, she is shown covertly sneaking a second look at him. Drake is shown with a visible discomfort at even the idea that Kiara could like him, one that only the MC notices considering she is working in proximity with him.

The reaction to this was instantaneous from several Drake x MC shippers. One or two glances at Drake's chest was enough for Drake stans to begin typing posts in capslock, screaming "BACK OFF KIARA HE'S MINE". The excuses given at the time were that the MC didn't get much opportunity to romance him (Drake was trying to refrain from kissing her in Ch 2 because he felt guilty), and largely-inaccurate judgements of Kiara's character. Jealousy of this kind is sometimes seen as the norm when you have a popular ship and a third angle is created, but this was about to take form in some...very disturbing ways in later chapters.

2. Kiara was Once Savannah's Friend/Kiara's long-standing crush on Drake (Ch 4)

A misconception I often see in the fandom (particularly in relation to how Kiara's feelings for Drake aren't given the same level of consideration that Olivia's for Liam is) is that Olivia's are "more genuine", and Kiara's are "mere lust" or "only physical" and this is probably why she's not given as much respect as Olivia was. Even though, tbh, Kiara was far, far more respectful of Drake and his personal space, than Olivia was of Liam in TRR1.

Leaving aside the obvious problems with that train of thought (viewing sexual feelings as "lesser" just because they're not rooted in some intense emotion), this is not even true, and the first part of the Driara garden party scene is proof enough. Kiara says, straight up, that Drake had been "such a good friend to [Liam]. It's part of why I always liked you." (Bold mine). If the MC voices doubts about this (likely incorporated for readers who would question it as a retcon...and it was a retcon since they didn't interact in TRR1), Kiara tells her that she doesn't wear her heart on her sleeve, which actually matches her practical approach to most things. In fact just a few scenes earlier, when the MC questioned her about wanting a husband (when she'd mentioned earlier about wanting to join the ministry), Kiara informs her that it would never hurt to have both. So it makes sense for her character if she's someone who kept her feelings for Drake a secret, especially while in a competition for winning the Crown Prince's hand. But we cannot, in any honest capacity, claim that Kiara's feelings for Drake weren't deep enough, or lasting enough, or genuine enough. At least based on the evidence we have.

Another point this scene brings up is Kiara's friendship towards Savannah. Up until this point, the only people who did reference her were Olivia, Drake and Maxwell - and Olivia's mockery of especially seemed to imply that the ladies of the court weren't very nice to her. Kiara's account is very different from this, and actually quite affectionate ("she was one of us", "she was coming along so well in learning French"). It's not the closest friendship, but Kiara did care enough to tutor her in the language and clearly missed her. It is possible that this scene was positioned to both build up to the alternative romance and foreshadow Savannah's presence in Paris. There is a lot more that could have been done with this angle, but perhaps that is a discussion for another section.

3. Never-Have-I-Ever (Ch 9)

This is a small option in a drinking game - the MC can get to say "never have I ever had a crush on Kiara", and loses, because Drake says she isn't his type (ironically he claims he isn't her type in the next chapter). It's interesting that he does consider her as not as bad as some of the others in that group.

3. Flirting with Drake in Paris (Ch 10)

For five chapters, we don't see any more hints of this romance. We see Drake in plenty, and we see quite a bit of Kiara. But none of it shows them together.

Kiara's scene with Drake at the tea party, is in some ways a continuation of his diamond scene with Savannah. He knows now where his sister is and what her big secret was, but this scene is where he realises how little he actually knew about her, if even her "noblewoman friend" knew she had intentions to go to Paris and he, her brother, didn't. This scene also takes place at what I call a "rest period" in the story - the group has just come out of a high-intensity altercation with Bastien, and it is one chapter before the major reveal about Constantine. So the MC can relax a little, some of the loose ends of previous stories can be tied up, and we get a vibe check on at least two alternative ships.

Drake is rather civil to Kiara in this conversation, mostly because he's trying to get information about his sister out of her. There isn't much he contributes besides this - it doesn't seem to matter much to him that Kiara was a rare friend among the court to Savannah (tho TRR3 would later retcon this), and when she talks about herself he doesn't pay much attention. Kiara does make an attempt at a light flirtation which goes largely unnoticed.

The MC's response when she first sees them goes three ways - a neutral comment about the petit-fours, a "matchmake-y" comment that points to them that they "look cozy", and a "jealous" comment about interrupting them. The third one especially results in Drake inadvertently confirming he doesn't think of Kiara in a romantic light, and Kiara appearing disappointed. Remember, at this point she doesn't see much evidence that Drake and the MC romancing him are an item.

The follow-up conversation with Drake, too, follows along similar lines. The neutral comment just asks him about the information he gathered from Kiara, the "matchmake-y" one points out she has feelings for Drake and the "jealous" one is... something.

The third response is very obviously crafted for the more possessive Drake stans to get satisfaction from dissing Kiara, perhaps in a more aggressive way than the Maxwell stans could. While the Maxwell MC can pass an insult or two to discourage Penelope, the Drake MC will go as far as to tell him he belongs only to her, and can threaten to "push her into the petit-fours".

Ironically, this scene follows a scene with Olivia about her lingering feelings for Liam - and Olivia's grief, the MC's clear sympathy and Liam's concern for Olivia are all by default. There is a certain level of sensitivity the Liam MC is required to have for Olivia that is never once expected of the Drake MC, and that plays out in very dangerous ways in the next book.

This scene, again, brought forth rather violent reactions, and in fact the language of the MC's responses itself seemed to encourage that kind of response. A poster later compiled an entire set of these responses ranging from mocking, to "back off, Kiara!" to straight up demands for murder (I couldn't link to this post because the names of the people involved were included in it, but I do have quite a few of those screenshots for reference).

After this point, you don't see any more scenes where Kiara actively flirts. In fact for most of the second half you see her and Penelope very rarely. So it does feel really wild in retrospect that "obsessed Kiara" became such a popular interpretation, after one checking-out scene, one flirtation and one rather sweet and genuine compliment of him as a person.

4. Pranking Kiara (Ch 17)

A pattern you would have noticed by now is that there is a bit of a mean streak in Drake for Kiara that is either very dominant or latent, based on whether the MC tries to encourage him, or shows jealousy towards her.

And this isn't necessarily an indicator that he can never be interested in Kiara. A distrust for nobility is almost a norm for him at this point, and let's not forget that Drake's first few interactions with the MC too didn't exactly leave her with the best impression of him either. Kiara initially being on Madeleine's side at the beginning of the story could be a factor in some level of disdain too. Such complications could - in a good story - add layers to a potential romance in the future if that was the direction the writing was going for.

Around the MC who doesn't mind them as a pair, he shows a small sliver of an inclination towards Kiara herself. His response if the MC points out that Kiara was flirting with him (Ch 10) is that he doesn't believe he is Kiara's type, not the other way around. In this scene, a drunk Drake who is encouraged to write a "nice note" to her as a prank, can write "your hair is pretty and your French is totally not stupid". Both of these lines present a sign of a possibility that a romance could happen. His behaviour when an MC casually hints at this possibility, is of someone who may like this woman deep down, but show it in very strange ways (akin to the age-old metaphor of the "boy who pulls the pigtails of the girl he has a crush on"). They wouldn't have even needed to show his responses in this way if they weren't trying to hint at a possibility.

His response to a "jealous" MC is to delightedly bask in her possessiveness of him, and to go hand-in-glove with her as she insults or suggests violence on Kiara in any way. Now one could perhaps headcanon this as a behaviour that comes from being unused to female attention focused on him, coupled with his affection for the MC - but when you take into account his behaviour towards Kiara herself in TRR3 as well, there seems to be a blatant lack of consideration or compassion towards her as a human being. Compare this, again, to the way Liam's behaviour towards Olivia is written in canon, and interpreted by the fandom. Liam is expected to be kind to her, even if he's clueless about her feelings or if she is harming him (eg. Even when she kisses him, he cares enough to opt for a reaction that will not publicly humiliate Olivia).

Not so for Drake. He is very happy to follow in the MC's lead, even in hurting Kiara. And in this scene, he pretty much kickstarts it with the suggestion of a prank.

Drake knows where Kiara's room is (thanks to a nameplate on the door, and the familiarity of the hallway, which he likes for the view outside) and wants to prank her. The MC can either accept or refuse. If she accepts, there is one nice option, and two distinctly mean-spirited ones. The first proposes to mess up her book organizational system, and the narrative describes the attempt as "ruining any semblance of order to Kiara's bookshelves". These are materials she likely requires for her career as an aspiring diplomat, or even books she uses to update herself on the world. But to this MC and Drake, her work and interests are little more than a joke.

The second one is not only aggressively mean - it also is an attempt to ruin her personal space with her personal items. Going by the array of haircare the narrative mentions, maintaining her hair is very important to Kiara (I am not equipped enough to speak about black women and their relationship with their hair, but this option did make me very uncomfortable, because of the little I've seen on how essential regular haircare and good products can be for many black women). Not only does the MC suggest using all that product to render Kiara's bed practically unusable, she also insists Drake waste the full bottle of said product. Because, yknow. "It's a prank. Go big or go home". Drake has one moment where he tries to be less mean in this option (when he attempts to use less of her hairspray), but the moment the MC encourages him towards a crueller direction he does not hesitate. In fact, when the MC first suggests this option, he regards her with something approaching awe, and praises her as "an evil genius".

There's a mean streak in Drake here no matter which option you choose. If you do go for the nicer one, he complains at first that it's not exactly a prank and in fact does claim that they "could still put glitter in her cupboard" as an alternative prank. But the other two options encourage the player to give full vent to whatever underlying frustration/enmity/hatred one could possibly have against Kiara, goading a drunk Drake to be merciless towards the things in her room, in her absence.

Maybe, perhaps, one could just view this as a "fun vent" for the "possessive stans". It allowed the Drake MC and her LI the chance to gang up on her, mock her and cause her discomfort through things that were clearly important to her, treat her like the butt of their joke, and get away with it. When you encourage that kind of hatred with your writing, it can go into some very dark, disturbing places. And it did, especially in TRR3.

The overall response to this scene didn't show much, since it was just one small sequence in a larger scene - and most of the focus was on the heartfelt bonding between Drake and the MC when he takes her to his "special hideout" and his reveal about his motives behind calling the MC by her surname.

Many Drake stans, however, took note of this specific section, and took their interpretations in a completely different direction. Questions were asked about why Drake knew about Kiara's room - completely ignoring that he frequented the hallway regardless for its view and her nameplate is literally placed outside her door - and several fans suspected the two to be involved in an affair just on the basis of him knowing where her room was. These suspicions, again, would crop up from the fandom in a more dramatic way in TRR3.

5. Drinks at Homecoming Ball (Ch 19)

This scene takes place in the finale, just before Kiara and Penelope apologize jointly to the MC for their comments in the beer garden.

Drake is, quite predictably, at the bar in this scene. In some ways one could draw a parallel between this one and the "bar" scene between him and the MC in TRR1 - the only differences being that the two were alone in the first, and that he and the MC are free to romance each other now. However this time, the two ladies of the court could also communicate with him about drinks, and he could use his knowledge of alcohol to guess their preferences.

The scene with Kiara is, again, written to be both a possible sign of familiarity and a diss (mostly the second, I think). With Penelope he just vaguely mentions cocktails and focuses on the decoration for the drink - with Kiara he is able to name the specific wine even though in TRR3 he has no idea what tannins are. There are ways one could envision that as a sign that he notices more about Kiara than he lets on.

The diss, of course, comes with his claim that no matter how top-shelf the wine is, it will still always be "old grape juice" (which is a very strange thing to say because most alcohols are fermented from basic ingredients be it fruit or grains - where did he think his high-quality whiskey that he regularly carries around in his personal flask came from??).

Kiara's attempt to impress him is pretty obvious, but the diss isn't something that weighs too much on her mind. There are less indicators here of a dejection if he brushes her aside, unlike the scene in Ch 10 - she just looks a bit surprised he could guess the exact drink she wanted. Kiara in this scene is more likely to shift gears to something more important. In this case, that is apologizing to the MC for what she views as poor behaviour that sprung up under the influence of alcohol, and offering her an olive branch (the specific apology is for her asking the MC if she came to gloat, not for telling her the alliance was over at the beginning of the tour. In that scene specifically she feels she has nothing to apologise for, and I'm inclined to agree for the reasons I stated in that section).

The overall pattern for this ship seems to indicate that it's...kinda there in case the MC doesn't want to pick Drake, but I always feel like they focused a lot more on the jealousy options and didn't spend enough time to see what a possible relationship could look like. They do claim later that Kiara's affections were supposed to be one-sided, but the buildup at least seemed to indicate some small baseline of interest from Drake's end, even if shown in some rather bizarre ways. However, because there seems to be very little respect for this character already, having the MC threaten violence and having her and Drake overreact over what were essentially harmless interactions from Kiara's end really does indicate that the writers didn't mind taking potshots at her whenever they felt like it. Like I've said before, the trashfire that was Kiara's treatment in TRR3 didn't develop overnight.

Smart, Skilled...Disliked?: Kiara and the Writing Team in TRR3

On 25th Sept 2023, PB released a two-chapter series on Storyloom called "Choices Secrets", which involved at least three writers (Andrew, Kara and Chelsa) talking about ideas and plots and backstories that didn't make it to the released book. In one section, Kara Loo speaks specifically about the ending of TRR2:

According to this account, the original idea was to kill off Olivia and possibly use that as a segue into the Nevrakis plot of the book, since her aunt and Justin were the real villains at the end of the series. When they decided to keep her alive in the series, Kara mentions finding "more members of your group get injured, like Drake".

Interestingly, Kara referred to "members" in the plural, and Drake is the only person from the core group to get shot. So it's just as possible that the choice to have Bastien, Justin/Anton and Kiara sustain injuries, was made once they decided to do away with the storyline about Olivia's death.

Olivia got spared because her writers cared for her. Kiara was likely one of the people injured in her stead, and probably the only one out of them (except for the one who was the main villain) who wasn't getting a prominent scene that focused on her being a survivor of the attack until some readers protested (the entire intro of TRR3 was dedicated to Drake recieving tender care from the MC, Bastien gets showered with concern and care from Constantine, Liam and optionally the MC. The MC comes to the estate, makes a perfunctory mention of the injury once and proceeds to emotionally blackmail Kiara into joining the tour. Let's not even talk about Lythikos. That shit warranted its own essay). No matter how much you downplay the situation, the truth is that Kiara got grievously hurt in a terrorist attack and her writers didn't think it was important enough to address.

I often wondered in the beginning, why Kiara was chosen for this. A close friend at the time theorized that perhaps it was done to ensure Madeleine would become our press secretary, because there was no way the MC would be considering her for this position if someone less hostile (like Kiara) was around. Another wondered if we might get opportunities to address palace security through the experiences of the survivors. Being a Drake x Kiara supporter at least by the end of TRR2, I wondered whether it was a coincidence that they both were injured at the same ball, and the possibility of the two bonding over such a painful experience.

Well. Boy was I about to be disappointed.

Because why did Kiara have to be so badly injured, if it was going to amount to nothing? If they weren't even going to address it in her own home? If - after even players who didn't care much for her, noticed the silence around that attack - the best you could offer was a scene that followed the MC and her friends suspecting the victim of this attack??

Had I looked at Kiara's narrative treatment (from TRR1 onwards) closer back then, perhaps I wouldn't have expected so much. It would have occurred to me that maybe they hurt Kiara the most, because they cared for her the least. Kiara is viewed as smart, poised, talented. Madeleine even calls her "one of the more competant courtiers" at some point. But that doesn't always mean that the team that writes her deems her worthy of respect.

For one, the writers tend to lean more into fandom perceptions of her in this book, rather than looking at their own canon. Kiara being a snob is not canon - that is ridiculous considering that she was such good friends with Savannah, and her support of the MC when she fits in well. Kiara acting like her linguistic skill makes her better than anyone else isn't canon either - nor is she obliged to speak in all ten languages on a loop just for the MC's or Maxwell Beaumont's entertainment. Kiara being perpetually mean to her best friend is inaccurate at best - she is often frustrated by Penelope, sure, but she spends far time and energy helping her than anyone else in that court.

Yet the narrative gives both these statements as dialogue options for the MC, where she can bitch about Kiara...but somehow only ever allows the same MC to be nice and caring and loving to Penelope - never once reminding her of the hell she'd put the MC through in the past. And because the fandom expected the Kiara-Penelope friendship to focus only on Penelope, PB got away with having Kiara's "best friend" stay conveniently silent as the MC berated her in her own home. The narrative even threw Kiara under the bus in TRR3 Ch 16, in order to make Madeleine look better in Hana's memories of the TRR2 bachelorette, claiming falsely that Kiara shouted at Penelope so much while drunk, that the latter was brought to tears. There is way more energy spent in painting an inaccurate and negative portrait of Kiara, than there is in showing the truth.

For another, the way the courtiers' and their parents' agreement to join the tour is coded...is extremely suspicious. When you compare both a successful and a failplay, you will find that all the parents have the chance to reject the MC's proposal to join the tour...except for one. Kiara's father, Hakim. In a failplay where you purposely do all the wrong things...out of the entire group of people who are still doubtful about supporting you, only Kiara and Hakim join your tour by default, without any expectation of a reward (Madeleine demands her own department after the wedding). They will be a part of it no matter what you do, no matter your failures, no matter how badly you treat them.

Hakim may have joined mainly to confront his old friend the King, but he still stays on even after Constantine dies. The writers made sure to branch-code things in a way that Kiara and Hakim could never drop out even if the MC was awful to Kiara, and never once acknowledged what it must take for them to do that. After Kiara herself had been fucking stabbed!!!!

Joelle, Kiara's mother, and Ezekiel, Kiara's brother, can reject the offer if they aren't impressed with the MC, but out of these two characters only one is viewed with respect - the one they were going to pair up with Penelope.

The narrative doesn't mind letting the MC mock Joelle for her passionate support of the arts if she doesn't win her approval, and her insistence that it is the sign of a thriving kingdom...and they make her sound petulant and churlish in response to that mockery. This despite the fact that in a successful route, she says one of the most profound political statements in the books:

"Hakim and I don't just want Cordonia to remain stable and peaceful. Those are blessings, naturallement, but our kingdom can do so much more than just survive."

In contrast, when you look at the same failplay, Emmeline and Landon are treated with far more respect from the narrative, even though Hakim and Joelle's plans for the country would benefit Cordonia as a whole. Drake looks up to Penelope's parents as an inspiration, especially if he's going to become a duke. Meanwhile Hakim actually acknowledges Drake and his bravery in a way that none of the other dukes and duchesses did, and Drake never gives a shit.

Emmeline can accuse the MC of not taking their situation seriously, if she does a bad job at the polo match, and the MC only has the grace to look contrite rather than lash out at her. Landon himself is never judged for coddling his daughter the way he does. Their focus on Portavira rather than the country is respected, and the MC not meeting their demands is viewed as her weakness, not an overreaction from their end. They never get the snarky responses Joelle gets, where the MC can outright call her "a handful" in front of her own husband.

And then there is the matter of how PB deals with the problems of all the court ladies.

(Screenshots from the Skylia YouTube Channel)

The period of the Unity Tour isn't exactly an easy time for anyone. The LIs each deal with their own shit, and the ladies of the court themselves have their own reasons for being reluctant to return. The entire point of this tour is to address their specific concerns as well as that of their families', because without the courtiers themselves we wouldn't have as strong a court.

In Madeleine's case, we have to talk to her through a diamond scene and then educate her mother on her ways of mourning lost opportunities, among other things. In Penelope's case we are required to give her complete protection and emotional security, for her to even bother joining the tour (there is branch coding where she can refuse to be a part of the tour at all). Even for Olivia - who is already an ally - the diamond scene encourages us to stand up to her aunt, by letting Olivia know that it is valid for her to lean on others for support without being considered weak.

But for Kiara? The best we can come up with, while in her duchy, is some version of - "You're smart. You'd know that if you left now, people will say bad things about Cordonia and then it would be your fault". You either manipulate her, or insult her as being a useless excuse of a diplomat. As I mentioned in another essay, Kiara's comfort is a non-factor. The gap between the care we were expected to give to Madeleine and Penelope, and what we deign to give Kiara in Castelserraillan (which is...well...nothing), is massive. And this gap would only increase - not reduce - in the books to come.

It might seem a bit irrelevant to talk about this, especially when this essay is about Drake and Kiara. But it's important to take note of this inherent disdain the writers had towards this one character - and people close to her. Because it is only too easy to pretend that the writers "got scared of the crazy stans".

Of course the stans had a huge, huge role in this. Of course their vitriol and racism succeeded in bringing about (what I consider) one of the most disgusting dialogue options in this series...or perhaps in any series. But I doubt those "crazy stans" would have gotten this far, without a team that didn't mind being cruel to Kiara.

When the Fandom and Canon are both Heartless: Drake and Kiara in TRR3

As I've mentioned in previous essays in this series, playthrough divergences truly begin in TRR3 (eg. While the playthroughs acknowledge who you chose as endgame by end-TRR2, you can still access diamond scenes through a small tweak that allows you to romance other LIs). And whichever LI didn't get engaged with the MC had indications of a new romantic possibility coming up. These were scenes you wouldn't find in your own playthrough with that LI as your fiancé/e.

Kiara doesn't appear in TRR3 until Ch 7, when the entourage comes to her estate Castelserraillan. There aren't a lot of Drake and Kiara scenes themselves, and I will get into why, section by section.

1. Kiara Greets the Group at Castelserraillan (TRR3 Ch 7)

Many Drake stans - once they found their MCs engaged to Drake in TRR2 - seemed to be practically giddy at the prospect of showing off their newly-engaged status to Kiara, and hurting her through the news. They were perhaps more excited about this than their upcoming wedding.

Well, they got that chance in Ch 7. In every other playthrough, she still holds the same feelings for Drake, and compliments his suit as Drake awkwardly fails to meet her eye. In his specific playthrough, Drake defiantly shows off his relationship with the MC, and Kiara shows a slight wistfulness before she forces herself to be normal then wishes the happy couple well. You'd think that would be enough to satisfy the stans who had been baying for her blood all of the previous book.

A throwaway line about Drake knowing where Kiara's room was, had already raised the heckles of a whole bunch of his stans. Kiara's "wistful look" in her first TRR3 scene somehow added fuel to that fire. Suddenly, you got to see a raging torrent of posts demanding to know if Drake had had an affair with Kiara. Fanfic had already been written about Drake cheating on the MC with Kiara by this point - and some of those headcanons and fanfic hinged on making Drake the innocent/vulnerable one, taken advantage of by this sexy, obsessed woman who would be either a danger to him or would be juxtaposed with the "pure", "virginal", "perfect" MC. Drake would never be the problem here, and none of the stans screaming over the possibility of Drake sleeping with Kiara would dream of blaming him for it. No, Kiara was predatory, Kiara was obsessed, if anything happened between them it would be likely Kiara's fault.

This is where it's important to note, again, that none of the more obvious signs of the "Jezebel" stereotype seem to be used in canon for Kiara. While cruel in her own way, the TRR MC doesn't exactly slut shame her or believe Drake will be unfaithful to her, Kiara isn't accused of seducing (or even trying to seduce) anyone, and she actually places respectful personal boundaries for herself in her attraction to Drake, that she never crosses. She may indulge in a light flirtation with him, try to impress him or simply talk to him - but you will never catch her forcing her sexual attention on him like Olivia did with Liam. Yet in popular fanlore, even Olivia's feelings were often cast in a far more noble light in contrast to Kiara's.

In her essay, The "Offending" Breast of Janet Jackson: Public Discourse Surrounding the Jackson/Timberlake Performance at Super Bowl XXXVIII, Dr Shannon. L Holland explores the historical and contemporary uses of the Jezebel stereotype in depictions of Black women in popular culture and discourse, especially in contrast to white masculinity (which in these contexts, is often viewed as innocent and blameless - and much of the blame lies with the Jezebel figure). The "Jezebel" stereotype "has come to symbolize both a malign, cunning sexual object and an autonomous, liberated sexual agent" - she is at once an independent sexual being making her own choices, and someone who is "incapable" of reining in her sexual appetite...and is therefore often depicted as not only a threat to the "purer" (and often "whiter" or "lighter skinned") woman, but also dangerous for whoever she is "obsessed" with. And we see this time and again in the discourse around Kiara - the fanfic that depicts her in a range of scenarios (stalker, obsessed lover, abusive girlfriend who will break a bottle over Drake's head, at times even descending into murderer to get the man she wants). Which is how we wound up in a position where Kiara even breathing the same air as Drake was viewed as a threat.

It didn't matter that he was flaunting his love for the Drake MC in that playthrough to send a message to Kiara, or that he stayed silent with the others as his wife badgered her into joining the tour. It didn't even matter that Kiara never got a diamond scene the way the two other women did, despite being the most harmed among the ladies. What mattered was that Kiara existed. Her damn existence was the threat.

2. Cheering for Drake's Victory (Ch 10)

Ch 9 of TRR3 was released to players on April 27th, 2018. Immediately after, a mid-book hiatus was announced, mostly to work on some new art (very possibly the red pandas), work on the wedding, and make changes (such as shifting diamond scenes from character-centric ones to LI specific - they'd already started making changes to LI diamond scenes). The book would return 2 months later, in June.

In a livestream before the hiatus ended, the writers had made it very painfully clear that Kiara's feelings for Drake was one-sided. And by that I mean they really emphasized on the one-sidedness of her affection, almost as if to reassure the panicking stans. This would manifest in any future interactions between the two - both in Drake's single and engaged playthroughs - and any hope that such a pairing would even be hinted at was over. But there was one variation that the team had perhaps neglected to edit out.

A small one-word depiction of Kiara cheering Drake when he wins his duel against Neville, joining his friends to praise him. It really isn't much - just Kiara saying "bravo!" before Savannah rushes up to hug him, which is replaced by a scene of Drake himself going up to the MC and passionately kissing her in his own playthrough. What is definitely striking about this depiction is that Kiara was clubbed with his close friends and his sister, rather than the second group of people that largely represented the larger court (Rashad and Queen Regina) who offer their congratulations.

Given the way the writers wrote any remaining interactions between Drake and Kiara, and the fact that this small appearance doesn't really amount to anything, it is possible that this variation was part of an earlier draft that involved other hints, that the writers failed to notice when they put up Ch 10. If they had, I'm pretty certain it wouldn't have stayed in the book.

3. Leaving Court + Wedding Conversations

Remember how I kept stating in this essay that the narrative was going to take their enthusiastic pandering of the "possessive stans" end of the fandom, to some dark, disturbing places? Well, here we are.

Tbh, the writers could have just stopped showing any interactions between the two, or given Kiara another boyfriend if their aim was simply to show that Drake and Kiara would never be endgame. They had done that with Maxwell and Penelope already...oh. I forgot. They actually wanted us to care for Penelope.

Up until this point, Drake's mean streak re: Kiara was present, but not really as obvious as it gets here. PB takes that cruelty several steps further in these two chapters, starting with Ch 11. Ch 11 was fanservice to the people who shouted abuses and "joked" about killing Kiara in every chance they could get. Ch 12 showed this sentiment at its worst, covered it up with enough fluff so it would be harder for people who liked Kiara to notice...and let those players get away with it.

In Ch 11, Kiara approaches the MC and her group to inform them that she is withdrawing from the tour. Drake is the first to respond to this, remaking at the suddenness of the departure. The MC can speculate on a couple of things, ranging from sympathy (that she might be afraid), selfishness (that she is "bailing out" on the MC) and suspicion (that she is hiding something).

In all three options, a pensive Hana expresses sympathy and encourages the group to "reach out". In all three options, Drake will only view Kiara as a suspect.

Mind you - according to Ch 12, Drake is saying this knowing Kiara was injured at Homecoming Ball...and knowing exactly which weapon she was injured with. Aware that she has gone through an event as traumatic as that (if we go by his "just one step at a time" monologue to Kiara), better aware than most how it would feel...he still opts to act like her motives should be suspicious.

This is further emphasized in the Drake playthrough, through the armory scene that the MC takes with Maxwell.

As I've mentioned in the post on this scene, it is divided into three halves. The first half deals with whoever the MC rejected (either Liam, or Drake in Liam's playthrough). The third is buildup to Lucretia's plans to usurp the throne. The second is supposed to be about the excitement among the members of the court for the wedding, and of course as the only people who come for the tour by default (and Madeleine is already taken for the first scene), Kiara and Hakim are used for this scene!

I will only focus on the Drake version of this scene today. There are a few things you notice straight off the bat:

1. Since this is Drake's playthrough, the narrative seems to do away completely with any lingering feelings Kiara may have had are done away with. In this scene she is quite happy about Drake's wedding - in fact, practically chipper. Literally nothing about her behaviour here serves as a reminder that she once had feelings for him.

2. Drake's response to Kiara attending his wedding ties in pretty well with his earlier default suspicion of her. Unlike Hana who is surprised but also happy that Kiara is attending, he seems to voice it as a doubt or a question. While that makes sense and there is continuity, it's pretty awful that he is allowed to suspect her like this and feel no remorse when the truth about her is revealed.

3. Now as I said in the post, this scene is meant to be a buildup to Drake's ice-palace scene. He speaks about wanting a private, country-style wedding in a natural place there, and Kiara's gentle teasing in this scene is supposed to be an indicator of how much he dislikes the usual fanfare. Okay. Fair enough. You're uncomfortable with the fancy decorations and the insane planning, fine.

4. But it's Drake's attitude towards Kiara in this scene that leaves a bad taste in the mouth (unless you were one of those Drake stans that liked to threaten murder on this character ig). The narrative really went out of their way to make him sound uncommonly angry with her, just for asking about his wedding. He angrily hisses at her to keep her voice down the moment she asks about the wedding, and then lashes out the moment she teases him about his love for the MC and his reluctance to be very public about it in that context. Of course, people who either liked Drake or hated Kiara would downplay this scene - either blaming Kiara for not magically knowing his likes or dislikes, or acting like Drake's behaviour in this scene is no big deal.

And his explanation in the ice palace scene really doesn't cut it as a reason for why he should be this pissed off at Kiara's excitement. There is no real bitterness or resentment tied in with the fancy trappings that are mentioned in that specific scene - it's just that he likes simplicity better. If Kiara doesn't know him well enough to understand that - it's because he has never properly talked to her. She made attempts to converse whenever she could. You can claim he never owed her a conversation - but in that case she doesn't owe him a complete understanding of his wants either. He could have just politely answered the question and changed the subject, or quickly took his leave.

He is well-versed enough in court etiquette by this point that he could have managed to sound civil enough. That he could have made a quick, polite exit. But no, he gave her the kind of anger that one reserves for someone who is kicking a puppy or stealing candy from a child, instead. And it was Kiara's grace that allowed her to view that awful behaviour in a more positive light.

It's pretty clear this scene - and to some extent the framing of the next - was made specifically for those Drake stans who were screaming and throwing tantrums about a possible affair. It was to highlight that there was no way Drake could ever return Kiara's feelings - and the only way they could do that was by making sure he treated her as rudely and inhumanely as possible.

I didn't think it could get any worse than this, when I saw this version of the scene...but then I saw Ch 12.

The Talk

If you were to speak just about fandom reactions to this scene...the responses to Kiara chronicling her trauma after Homecoming Ball, were pretty positive. Plenty chose the middle option "You're suffering from the trauma of the event. You need help", and cooed over Drake's touching little monologue about "taking it one day at a time".

I admit at the time I was fooled too. But one thing did niggle at me as I played both this option, and the "understandably cautious" one (I would later understand that the latter was not very good either - it has a thin veneer of "validating" Kiara's feelings, but it still has the MC and Drake expecting her to put their needs before her own safety and sanity).

Drake was reassuring to an extent in both options, sure. But why were his responses so different? Why was his answer to Kiara so closely tied to whatever point the MC was making, rather than independent of it? After all, he was the one who should be able to better relate to Kiara - wouldn't he have thoughts of his own here? If the MC chose that horrible final option, Drake would correct her and comfort Kiara instead, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he???

It was only when I (reluctantly) pressed that third option ("not as driven as I thought you were") that I understood what Drake's role in this scene was.

He wasn't going to be there for Kiara. He wasn't even sympathetic to her! It wasn't even going to be about two traumatized people connecting over their trauma. Drake was a puppet. He was there to parrot whatever garbage came out of the MC's mouth.

Because in the third - and most horrific - option, the MC is allowed to minimize Kiara's trauma, and mock her ambitions in the face of what she has just gone through. Drake is allowed to agree with her ("sometimes ambassadors have to work in dangerous areas"). Kiara is forced by the same narrative to find value in these words.

And all of this, stems from a scenario where Drake and the MC go in suspecting this woman from the jump. Where Maxwell is happy to make jokes about her being a suspect. Where the only two decent people in this group - Liam and Hana - are conveniently written out of the scene, ensuring that these ghouls can act the way they want around Kiara, and get away with it.

Not once is Kiara herself ever allowed to know that the group suspected her by default, nor is she allowed to go through with her intention to leave court. The very roots of this scene are rotten.

Very often, when this scene in particular is addressed, not many people actually address Drake's behaviour here - or in the previous chapter. Stans will vaguely, and conveniently, blame the group as a whole rather than their favourites. Such a tactic allows them to never name the specific people or specific actions, and therefore the main people involved in speaking to Kiara the way they did never have to be held accountable. This is particularly relevant in the case of Drake.

It was Drake's idea to interrogate her. He was the one constantly harping about her "suspicious behaviour". He was the one aware of what happened to her yet chose to think of her as shady. He was the one who should have known better, yet was absolutely game to minimize her trauma or engage in emotional blackmail. And neither he nor the MC came out of this conversation feeling anything resembling remorse. Because, apparently, they never did anything wrong.

They got what they wanted. At best, Drake and the MC manipulated this woman (again) into returning to their court. At worst, they badgered and bullied her into that decision. Either way, she was going to return, and the narrative was going to pretend that the MC and Drake were great people for making it happen.

I have heard some justifications over the years for Drake's behaviour here. One is that he "tends to act like an asshole to everyone". Another is that Kiara is a noble so he was never going to see her in a positive light. Which is hilarious to me, honestly, because in the same book you have Drake reassure Penelope - the woman who had made the MC the target of a reputation-ending scandal - and comfort her when she sees Madeleine. If this was really about the chip on the shoulder he had for nobility, why was he so kind to Penelope? And if Penelope's mental health warranted a change in mindset and behaviour from Drake's end, why was Kiara not worthy of that as well?

The truth is this. Drake was allowed to express his mean streak to a black woman, bully a black woman (the pranks), lash out at a black woman (the conversation at the Lythikos Ball), suspect a black woman, and finally minimize her trauma if the Duchess he had a crush on wanted to. While being overly protective and chivalrous to the white woman who actually did harm her. No matter what way you spin it, that is what Drake's behaviour - especially in TRR3 - is.

The way the team trampled over this "pairing" post that miniscule hint in TRR3 Ch 7, would make a rampaging elephant look like a ballerina in comparison. They wanted to make it clear after the hiatus that Drake x Kiara would never happen, in any eventuality, in any future, in any universe. And no matter how much we pin this on "crazy stans" (who do hold some responsibility for sure, for their own veiled racism), it's a fact that the writing team was comfortable doing this. They had already found other ways to pile disrespect on their sole recurring black female character - what was a little more?

TRH and Beyond: Taking Away What Was Left of Kiara's Remaining Fanbase

Given all the narrative back-and-forth and shadiness, I'd have to say the end Kiara got in TRR3 was comparatively...decent. Not great...not exactly satisfying...decent.

Her fighting off the assassins at the boutique ("not again...not again!!") was the highlight of that scene. In Hana's playthrough, Kiara was her MOH by default, and the lines the MC could give if you chose her in other playthroughs was pretty sweet. At the end of the book, her father would make Kiara his heir, after her older brother Ezekiel abdicated. There were still things I was always going to hate (such as the fact that we could lie about "having Kiara's back" - we absolutely did not) about the aftermath, but all in all as a fan...I could maybe envision a fairly happy ending for her with what we got.

The next series, The Royal Heir, would debut on June 2019, almost a year after TRR3's own debut. This would be the first series that would go completely LI-divergent, spanning four books. It started out as an attempt to envision the future (and pasts) of the main characters, as well as tie loose ends...but descended into an incoherent, retconning mess with each book.

Kiara doesn't feature much in Book 1, but is pretty prominent in certain chapters like Ch 7 (Savannah's bachelorette), Savannah's wedding, and the Apple Ball in the finale. You'll often find a marked difference between the way she is looked at for most of the book, and how the MC speaks to her in TRH1's finale.

Savannah's bachelorette, for instance, features all the ladies of the court in Texas, with new "country" looks and engaging with Texan culture. Here, too, you see a sign of PB leaning into popular perceptions of Kiara rather than remembering their own writing, when we see how Savannah praises the MC by default but has very little to say about her former friend Kiara. Since Savannah's return to court in TRR3, the team seemed to have forgotten that other ladies of the court weren't very nice to her, and Kiara was the only one concerned for her. They have Olivia act sweet and caring towards Savannah in both TRR3 Ch 17 and TRH1 Ch 7, conveniently forgetting the insults she piled upon Drake's sister in the first book. Savannah never has to talk about Kiara's friendship at all, other than a teasing comment hinting at her French lessons. Savannah was never expected to have any gratitude or affection towards Kiara even though she was the only woman who cared about her in court before she left.

An interesting thing to note in the diamond scene of the bachelorette is the way the courtly ladies' previous/current "romances" are framed. Kiara's, in particular, warrants a lot of discussion. Unlike Olivia (who can address her feelings for Liam regardless of playthrough, if asked, and can actually show some level of resentment towards him for not picking her), Kiara's feelings are addressed only if the MC isn't married to Drake. If she is, Kiara mentions a fondness for "rugged, down-to-earth men" (which the MC and Penelope perceive to mean hunky and muscular), and avoids mentioning his name at all.

There are two very interesting things to note about this sequence. One is the pattern of how, and how far, are Olivia and Kiara are allowed to address their feelings for these men. Not only is Olivia allowed to be open about her feelings and her bitterness (despite Liam actually romancing her in TRR3!), the narrative demands our respect for her position and plight. The Liam MC lauds her honesty and her decision to move ahead, unfazed even by her anger for something Liam didn't even owe her. In contrast, in the Drake playthrough, the writing makes sure Kiara never mentions him by name. And not only that, when the MC and Penelope tease her about her romantic preference, she is shown to stammer and seems downright afraid of the MC.

The fact that there is such a gap in how Olivia and Kiara are allowed to act about the men they love, and the fact that this gap was normalized so much in fandom discourse that it didn't even warrant a discussion, tells us plenty about the fandom too. The fandom position has almost always been that Liam owes Olivia love, appreciation, kindness. And that Drake owes Kiara nothing, not even common human decency. Which is why the fandom wants Liam punished for the high crime of not loving Olivia back. Which is why Drake is allowed to treat Kiara like an irritating pest at his best, and like utter garbage at his worst...and almost no one so much as bats an eyelid.

Since most of the story of TRH1 seemed to revolve around the ranch, the ladies of the court made minimal appearances and most of those were in keeping with patterns established in TRR3 (except for maybe Olivia's spy scenes). Some of their parents - too - feature in Royal Council scenes: Godfrey and Landon are part of this council and are seen during the MC's announcement - no one from Kiara's family, besides her brother Ezekiel who is dating Penelope, make any appearances in this book. Towards the end of the book, however, you suddenly find a scene or two where the narrative is suddenly, and inexplicably, syrupy sweet to Kiara:

(Screenshots from the Skylia YouTube Channel. 1-5 are from Ch 18, during the council meeting. 7-10 are also from Ch 18, at the start of the ball. The last two are from the finale as buildup for the pregnancy photoshoot)

There are indications of Kiara's diplomacy and good advice in other parts of the book too (such as her suggestions for dealing with the foreign royals at the baby shower) but never were the praise and compliments as obvious as they were in the last two chapters of TRH1. Kiara was given a quippy dialogue to spout at Godfrey, who would later be revealed as the murderer of Queen Eleanor. All three of the MC's dialogue options in response would praise Kiara by default (a rarity). King Bradshaw would shower her with compliments too about her talent and expertise. And when Kiara approached us with an offer for a pregnancy photoshoot, the MC could cheerfully say "for you, Kiara? Of course!" as if they'd been bffs from the beginning.

There isn't any obvious reason why we saw this sudden change, but I can make an educated guess or two. A pattern that commonly emerges with attempts to address something that would benefit Kiara, is that the writers often only do it when enough people complain; that was how we got the horrible Lythikos sequence. Midway through TRH1, I managed to put up an essay exploring Kiara's treatment (centered around the Lythikos sequence in TRR3 Ch 12) in comparison to Penelope's and Madeleine's. It did not receive an immediate fandom wide response, but several readers did come away from that essay feeling like Kiara really got the short end of the stick, compared to all the other court ladies. I'm not sure whether that essay had a direct impact, but those three scenes PB added to the finale chapters do make me wonder. Was the team trying to prove to the fandom that they did like Kiara and wouldn't personally sabotage her, either for their own enjoyment or to pander to a section of the fandom?

If they did, then that plan didn't last beyond these two chapters.

Another possibility of course was to give Kiara something slightly positive before they did her dirty - again - in TRH2 and 3. Because in those two books, they managed to first make her - along with the rest of the council - party to a vote (that everyone was involved in, including the LIs!) that would later prove detrimental for the country. They would then have her be the only heir involved in the notorious Coventus Nobilis, which ensured that anyone who wanted to hate Kiara could tie her to her vote in favour of Bartie Sr, without ever asking any further questions. This was a far more successful attempt, because most of the fandom already believed the misconceptions of Kiara's characterization to be truth, and these storylines simply added fuel to the fire.

Kiara's biggest supporters tended to be a section of the Liam fandom, as well as wlw stans who tended to like most of the courtly women. Having her vote for Bartie at the end of TRH2, and her explanations in TRH3 about the "MC's ruling style" (which was really canon's way of making sure she did more a silent diss on Liam) was written specifically to place a serious dent among her fans who liked Liam. And sadly, it worked in part. Because even if one considered Kiara's thoughts on "reactive ruling" accurate, it was a fact that the nobility (she included) would have to be blaming Liam for something that the entire Council voted for, and that Liam and his friends fixed on their own.

Making Kiara the lone person to voice this argument, made her a target in this fandom. I mean, people were ready to praise Madeleine and speak of her as loyal (eagerly ignoring that she was actively involved in the child's kidnapping if you didn't coddle her enough), and badmouth Kiara in the same breath, claiming that Kiara wasn't worth forgiving and people should just get over Madeleine's deeds in the past.

This resurgence of hate didn't just erupt out of nowhere. Once they finished spending two chapters on two-second compliments to Kiara, PB reverted in the next two books to some of their usual patterns with her. For instance, remember how I mentioned that PB had an obsession with never letting Kiara and Liam interact? In TRH, they repeated this pattern, but with the Heir. The only scene Kiara has where she can so much as touch the heir is in the last part of TRH3, if you choose for Kiara to read to her. Penelope is regularly allowed to hold her even though she has often placed this child in dangerous situations (on one occasion, Kiara herself had to stop her) - even Madeleine is given an entire babysitting scene to win her favour. But Kiara is the only lady of the court who is made to stay away or care for the child from a distance.

Kiara's family (besides Zeke, and just because he is Penelope's fiance/husband) is subject to disrespect in this book too. Hakim and Joelle were both conspicuously absent from the pregnancy announcement presscon in TRH1 (where Landon, Godfrey and Bartie Sr somehow featured!!), and future books would either retcon the family or force them to do things the other families didn't have to do. In TRH2, the MC takes a tour of the Great Houses with her newborn daughter, and each house is expected to pledge loyalty to her and the crown in different ways. Hakim is written as "bending to his knees" for the child. This is something only Adeleide and Madeleine - whose house, might I remind you, are considered the house of traitors at this point - have to do. Landon and Emmeline are never expected to express their loyalty to this extent.

In TRH3, the narrative callously pushes the Therons under the bus to make the Ebrim family's reluctance to help the MC make sense - the Therons are now "traditionalists" who frown upon scandals and may not allow Zeke to marry Penelope on the account of her past annulled marriage (this makes no sense when you take a closer look at the Therons themselves in TRR3 - they're a far more balanced, far more progressive family than any of the other Great Houses. They even took Zeke's abdication well!). Furthermore, you'll notice that the framing of Penelope's past with Guy is worlds apart from the disdain the narrative shows for the Therons during the flower festival. It is notable that in the latter, the black women are depicted very negatively - Kiara is shown unable to manage her own competition, Joelle is depicted as pompous and incapable of losing gracefully, Drake gets to take sarcastic potshots at Lerato for trying to charm the MC into voting for her and Drake into convincing her to vote. Meanwhile white people like Landon and Marguerite are presented in a just as humourous but less mocking light (eg. Landon moving his table courteously before flipping it in the flashback).

Even into TRF (Ch12), the narrative gives us choices where we can stand up to people criticizing Landon and Emmeline's parenting ("Duke Landon and his wife raised a kind, generous daughter..."). We are allowed to be far less critical of the Ebrims overall, we are allowed to be more charitable even in the dialogue options for suspecting Landon than we are of Kiara (think of how Maxwell can suspect that Kiara was planning to betray us all along). At the end of the Flower Festival, Kiara is made to appear contrite as the MC can choose to either demand she make this right before the latter can forgive her, or indicate that she never will. Ironically, a Penelope who can choose her fancy wedding over the safety of the MC's child never has to face words that harsh.

You will also notice if you look more closely, that the narrative continues to frame events surrounding Penelope and Kiara in opposing ways. Penelope is perpetually viewed as a victim, and Kiara constantly as a suspect.

We are expected to support Penelope, and to mistrust Kiara. And even though Kiara's feelings had long since become a thing of the past, Drake still maintains his animosity towards her and her family. And like everything else, it is so normalized at this point that you barely even notice it anymore.

In TRH2, Drake is allowed to tar all nobles with the same brush because of Godfrey's actions. Though his statement about the nobility ("We can't trust any of them to have Liam's back...not unless it's in their own selfish interests") is about the entire nobility, it is striking that he says this just before they go to Castelserraillan. The Therons are also the only noble family that Drake makes sarcastic comments about (in reference to Liam informing us that their province is a trade hub, Drake quips that "they are going to want to trade babies with us"). These snide comments he rarely makes about other noble families, and serves as a sharp contrast to how he treats the Ebrims (during Penelope's wedding festivities, he is unnaturally invested in Penelope getting a happy ending with Ezekiel). We can't even claim that his behaviour towards Kiara is in line with his disdain for nobles, because Penelope is proof that he is perfectly capable of showing compassion to most of them!

TRH3 ends with Kiara doing an apology tour of sorts - diplomatic missions aimed at improving Cordonia's international relations. TRF finds almost all the ladies of the court - even Olivia - in very minimal roles, as the focus shifts to the Via Imperii. Still, the narrative makes more references to Penelope than to Kiara, to the extent that the epilogue ends on both the MC and Penelope celebrating their pregnancies (Penelope's first and the MC's second) together.

Overall, you will find that the narrative repeated certain patterns with Kiara - the tendency to find her suspicious, purposely limiting scenes with important characters like Liam (TRR) and the heir (TRH) while the white courtiers get almost unlimited access, the discrepancies in expectations for her vs other ladies (eg. Madeleine is hailed for being "good" even though that is solely dependent on how you treat her. Kiara is largely ignored whenever she does help, and attacked when she is written to support the enemy). Drake - even as a former alternative to her, who should have gotten over whatever nonsense beef he'd had with her earlier - is allowed to make snide remarks about her home and family.

It's pretty clear they could do this because they could get away with it... because most of the fandom made it so easy for them to get away with it.

Fandom

When I look back at how the perception of Kiara in the fandom progressed over the years, I find it half-amusing, half-sad how much of it is rooted more in fanlore, and how little in actual fact. And this is something you couldn't just pin on "crazy Drake stans" - they were the biggest promoters of these lies and misconceptions, sure, but normally analytical, commonsense readers often believed that Kiara was fake and a snob and awful to Penelope too.

I get some of it, given the timing of Kiara and Penelope's scene at the beginning of TRR2. It takes place at a low point in the MC's story, a time when she isn't even sure the LIs want to support her. Coupled with that is the lasting image of Penelope hugging you and complaining about Madeleine, making you feel like she's more willing to give you a sliver of solidarity. Coupled with that, is Olivia's newfound popularity in the fandom - once she emerges in Ch 5 of that book, fans believed they found their wildcard who would stand by them in complete solidarity among the ladies of the court (did they ignore Hana's already massive contributions to the investigation? Yes they did. Yes they did). Madeleine herself is shown giving quotable quotes about female solidarity and Tariq's guilt in TRR2 Ch 7, which - coupled with Justin's high praise of her - made people want to find things to like about her too. Penelope's own betrayal was overshadowed by an expectation to support a person with serious mental health struggles.

Kiara's the only one who doesn't get such backstories or explanations. So at least in the heat of the moment, in reading those chapters between weekly gaps, it makes sense that a false impression of her got somewhat solidified.

But when you build your interpretations out of lies and misinterpretations, how does it become so valid that even the writers bend to it and prefer to show that?

Every fandom has its "crazy stans". And this instance wouldn't be the first or last time they are pandered to. But when the same stans get backed up by the "saner", more commonsense members of fandom; when even neutral readers promote versions of a story without actually looking at the scenes in question - that's when a fandom is in danger of turning a "headcanon" into canon.

Kiara being a horrible friend to Penelope wasn't canon. Kiara being a snob was not canon. Kiara being creepy towards Drake wasn't canon either. Especially when you take the fandom response to Olivia's forced kiss on Liam into account.

And that brings me to another point. I had been asked once why I felt the need to compare Kiara to the other ladies in my defenses of her. It's important, when we speak of the kind of hate Kiara received, to understand how a lot of flaws that the entire court has (eg classism) is often pinned onto a lone person, and how several white female characters could get away with worse behaviour while Kiara alone was slammed for harmless interactions.

This is most apparent when you look at how Olivia's violation of Liam's consent is perceived, vs Kiara's harmless flirtation with Drake in TRR2. Which woman had fans foaming at the mouth and wanting to kill her? Which woman was given dozens and dozens of fanfic and content that depicted her as creepy, desperate, downright obsessed with their man? Which woman got the "oh well, he doesn't owe her anything 🤷🏽‍♀️" vs a "he doesn't love her back?? WHAT AN INSENSITIVE ASSHOLE!!1111"?

Perhaps this Olivia/Kiara comparison is where the fandom's tendency to cast Kiara into the Jezebel stereotype is the most visible. Kiara's very act of talking to Drake sometimes is registered as a threat to those stans, and it reflects in the way they speak of her, the way they speak of their MC's own relationship with Drake in association with her (eg. the number of posts rejoicing at the thought of showing off their "engaged to Drake" status at Kiara's estate), the way they're allowed to dehumanize her and villify her (eg. The edit I mentioned at the beginning). This is often encouraged by their friends who are fans of other characters, and you can see that in sharp contrast, Olivia - despite her actions in Book 1 and her resentment of Liam for not loving her back in other books - is still often viewed with sympathy and respect. Her feelings - still viewed as genuine, even pure. To the point where PB eventually allows Olivia to constantly address her feelings about the MC's and Liam's relationship, while forcing Kiara to not even utter Drake's name in his playthrough.

But you see this with other characters, and in other contexts too. Particularly how Madeleine can be duplicitous, hypocritical, and power-hungry, and it's Kiara who is called these things despite her actual honesty in canon. Madeleine can get away with actually helping Bartie Sr kidnap the MC's daughter in TRH3 without a murmur, in the same fandom where people can curse Kiara for voting for Bartie Sr "to take the child away" (despite her telling the MC and spouse that she was promised they would have custody of the child, therefore the claim that she "voted to take the child away from their parent" is inaccurate).

You saw some of these discrepancies in how Penelope and Kiara were spoken about too - Penelope's crime in TRR2 was considered easily forgiveable, while Kiara's innocence is constantly called into question. Kiara was often viewed negatively for what the fandom perceived as "meanness" to Penelope (when it was in fact Kiara worrying about how Penelope would fare when she wasn't around) while Penelope herself was never expected to be a good friend to Kiara. An interesting thing to note about the fandom response to Penelope and Kiara showed that often when posters wanted to hate on Penelope, she and Kiara would be clubbed together, almost as a unit. This was especially prevalent in TRH3. It was easy to express hatred for Kiara independently, but most posts that showed a dislike for Penelope (besides from specific Kiara stans) would often tie her with Kiara, as if there wasn't much to hate about her otherwise.

It is important to line up whatever hate Kiara gets with the responses to the other women - especially in the face of what the latter are allowed to get away with. In doing so, you get a better sense of what is allowed for a certain subset of women, and what isn't allowed or permitted for black women specifically.

Often, the fans who would not hesitate to call her alone fake, opportunistic and creepy were WOC, and there have been cases where some would use their identity as WOC to shield themselves from the criticism concerning their vitriol. It would often descend into "I don't hate her because she is black, I hate her because {insert inaccurate/false/convoluted justification here}". It didn't matter that much of this information wasn't based in fact, or had a heavy bias that they never applied to anyone else. It only mattered that because they were WOC, somehow that meant that they couldn't possibly be racist. That their unfounded hatred for Kiara had to be legitimate. As if there was no chance that someone who was WOC couldn't be antiblack too. I mean, the ultimate proof of this could be found in TRR itself - the two head writers of the TRR/H/F series' are Asian women - who have a pattern of liking mean (white) women, and who didn't mind throwing the black woman and her black family in their story repeatedly under the bus, who didn't mind minimizing and retconning the abuse and childhood trauma that the darker-skinned Asian woman in their story went through.

Overall, it is possible that the fandom did take some of their cues (for their impression of Kiara) from the inherent disdain found in canon itself. But many of them also misinterpreted several things about Kiara, then didn't bother to revisit those biases with a critical eye, or even try to see if they were wrong. And that baseless hatred fed the already-existing disdain that Kiara's own writers had towards her. Resulting in the kind of horrific, racist garbage that we got to see in TRR3, and the constant attempts in canon to pull her down in TRH.

Did Drake and Kiara Ever Have A Chance?

There have been various opinions - from both Kiara fans and haters - for why a Driara ship would never work. He hates nobles, she won't like his disdain for art and culture, he likes the simpler life, she's a snob...so on and so forth. Many people will agree it's not a great ship, but of course with differing opinions on why.

I, however, often wondered at possible scenarios where such a pairing could work. The magic of shipping is often that you can play around with personalities and pair almost anyone, and find enough reasons to explain why they would tick. And in Drake and Kiara's case, personally, I do feel like it's a complicated question to answer - primarily because I feel like the authorial intent at the beginning may have been very, very different to what finally happened in Drake's story.

A lot of Drake's early writing focused on the reasons behind his mistrust of the court and his tendency to view the people he loves who are part of it (eg. Liam and later the group) as anomalies. There are two ways you could take such a story in TRR2 - you could either get him to admit to the flaws in his own thinking (thereby providing a more nuanced insight) and allow him to grow from there, or you could just have him double down on his biases and never change beyond the superficial. The team of TRR - esp the head writers, Kara and Jen who were both v fond of him - definitely seemed to go in the latter direction.

Drake's prediction in Coney Island does indicate that he should let go of the past, and I honestly feel like the sequences where he learned about Maxwell straining House Beaumont's finances to help her, and Kiara and Savannah's friendship, could have been turning points for him if the writers weren't so obsessed with proving him right all the time - even when he was supposed to be wrong. Maxwell and Kiara, in their own ways, were proof that not every noble was the same, nor would every noble treat the commoners around them all the same way. However, the narrative trampled all over this possibility in TRR2 Ch 9, where Drake could optionally claim that the Beaumont brothers (among others) were "just looking out for themselves, no matter the consequences", or later when the narrative had Savannah be grateful to him for breaking her confidence to Bertrand, and have Maxwell try to earn his forgiveness in Ch 12 rather than the other way around. It allowed Drake to be selective about the nobles he admired or defended, while still free to treat certain others like garbage.

I could easily envision a Driara pairing for most of TRR2. I could even see it as potentially salvageable in certain parts of TRR3. But the moment they had Drake readily suspect her, the moment the team thought it would be okay for Drake to even suggest minimizing her trauma...that option was no longer worth seeing. Not for Drake, but for Kiara. Drake would have to be the worst possible guy I could find for her, in such a scenario.

But I could see potential in a storyline that had Drake understand that some of these people weren't the monsters he so desperately wanted them to be. In one where he could hear about Kiara's friendship with his sister, and learn about a whole new side of her. One where he maybe felt insecure ("I'm not her type") and could be reassured by a woman who had likely held a torch for him since they were teens/young adults. One where they could reach out to each other in their pain and trauma, and find solace. One where Drake knew that the family he may be marrying into would respect him, and his father too. There were possibilities there.

It would still take more work - his mean streak for one would need to be reduced by more than a half. A lot of it, of course, was kept for the Drake stans, but it really doesn't add much to Drake's character besides making him a mean-spirited, hypocritical bitch who only targets the lone black woman this way (and Olivia occasionally, if she goads him). If the narrative did want to keep a characterization where Drake acts weird around the girl he likes, they could - but that story would need a lot more work to be palatable.

All of this is to say that regardless of personal bias, there were possibilities there. There was a sliver of potential. And if they wanted to let go of that potential midway, they didn't have to go about that the way they finally did. They could have just worked on creating another love interest for her. They managed to create a brother for her overnight just so Penelope could have a boyfriend; they could have easily done the same for Kiara.

Multiple factors went down that explain why the Driara ship didn't take off. But many of them boil down to one specific root cause - the white women (whether they caused actual harm or not) needed to be protected, needed to be cherished. The black woman who dared to ask for the same things from their pet LI, would be viewed as a threat, a villain, a creep...just for breathing in his direction.

And her writers cared so little, that they took the fanon perception for her and stamped it onto their canon, like it was the truth.

They didn't do any of this for the woman who forced a kiss on a prominent LI. They didn't do this on the woman who betrayed the MC and set her up for assault. They didn't do this to the woman who bullied the lone female LI, and swore to continue doing so till she broke.

They did this for the one woman who was fairly innocent of most of these crimes, actually respected the LI and treated him well.

They did this because they could get away with it. Because they were confident that the fandom they wrote the story for, would let them get away with it. And tragically...they were right.

--

Resources I used to learn about the Jezebel stereotype:

The "Offending" Breast of Janet Jackson: Public Discourse Surrounding the Jackson/Timberlake Performance at Super Bowl XXXVIII by Dr Shannon Holland

Janet Jackson, Justin Timberlake, the Jezebel and white masculinity by Khadija Mbowe (I actually got the recommendation for the first paper from this video essay).

From Mammy to Jezebel: The Portrayal of Black Women in American Cinema from the BlackThen website

[sims-half-crazy]

Viscountess Gorsewell secured a highly coveted invitation from Lady Nancy Laandgrab. Lady Nancy, daughter of the Marquess of Berrington, had married beneath her—but it was said that Geoffrey Laandgrab was so rich the Marquess couldn’t bring himself to object when he offered for Nancy’s hand. It was the season's inaugural event and attended by all walks of life. Geoffrey's business dealings were so vast that it pleased him when his wife included a wide array of guests at their parties. One never knew where the next fortune was to be made, after all.

Peg had been prepped with all this information and bade to remember it, lest she embarrass herself—or worse, Lady Alaina. Peg was not usually nervous or prone to jitters, but tonight she was definitely feeling out of her element. Her mother had befriended several ladies of note and was at ease in this environment. How Peg admired her mother’s chameleon ways!

The dancing was to begin shortly. Brierwell Manor, the home of the Laandgrabs, was a large edifice just outside Ravenwood proper. It loomed over the town square, and the ballroom—while not overly large—felt enormous. There were bodies everywhere, it seemed. Peg fumbled with her dance card. Did she have any dances lined up? She was sure she did, but her mind had gone to mush.

Get it together.

A hand extended and lightly caught her fingers. Startled out of her internal panic, Peg looked up and found herself face-to-face with the viscount’s younger brother, Nathaniel.

“Miss Margaret, I believe I’ve claimed this dance.”

His manner bordered on the absurd, but Peg was quickly discovering that the English were quite strict—and a bit ridiculous—about their traditions. She smiled at his bowed head, half-wondering if his top hat might topple off or bop her in the face.

As the dance began, Nathaniel pulled her into a perfect dancing posture and noticed her quirked smile.

“I’m so glad I’ve brought a smile to your lips. You did look rather like a fish out of water a moment ago.”

“I was a fish out of water a moment ago, but I’ve recovered,” she replied. “I daresay, I’m not used to all this formality and rigor. I’m simultaneously enjoying the observation of English tradition and humored by it.”

He eased her into the next steps of the dance, which, to Peg’s relief, were not too dissimilar from the country dances she’d attended back home.

“I shall do my best not to take offense at your very American perspective. Clearly your time in the wilds of California has warped your mind.”

He said it not unkindly, but Peg couldn’t tell if he was being serious or teasing.

“I pride myself on being able to read people, but you I find confounding. In truth, I can’t tell if you’re poking fun at me or being perfectly earnest.”

He moved her into the next steps of the dance effortlessly, and Peg found herself relaxing.

“Are you so worldly that you’ve experienced it all and determined the English ways to be superior?”

Nathaniel laughed, and while Peg enjoyed the sound, she had the impression he didn’t do it often. The lines that appeared on his face weren’t deeply worn.

“You’re quick. My dear sister warned me about you. She despairs that you’ll make a grand match, but she also knows the ton will be alight with interest. You’ll be popular despite yourself, and your wit will soon be known. Be careful— not all Englishmen are as charming and easygoing as I. I find your manner delightfully refreshing, though.”

Peg beamed up at him, if only to disarm him. Her smile wasn’t practiced, but it was genuine. Nathaniel’s gaze faltered for a brief second before he recovered. She wondered what he had been thinking but chose to focus on his lack of answer instead.

“You failed to answer my question. Are you not up to the task?” she asked, sweetly enough to pass for beguiling. Years of being an older sister to a prickly younger brother had their consequences.

“I am eager to oblige your nosy question,” Nathaniel teased.

Peg donned a playfully affronted expression.

“I am neither worldly nor experienced,” he continued. “I have read untold volumes of tomes and based my opinions on the writings of others.”

“Are they all English authors?”

Nathaniel had expected that to be the end of it—but her retort caught him off guard.

“They are. Should they not be?”

“How are you going to acquire a proper worldly view by only reading English authors? I would’ve thought that someone so well read would have a broader library than that.”

She hadn’t said it unkindly—just as a matter of fact, as obvious as the nose on his face.

“I will repent,” he said, feigning penitence. “You’re right. My readings have left me short-sighted. Are there any authors I should read to gain a more well-rounded view?”

“I don’t know your tastes, but you could start with the obvious,” she said, nose scrunching slightly as she failed to suppress a bubble of laughter. “You could try an American author.”

Nathaniel pulled a face of mock horror and joined her in laughter.

“That is just too far, Miss Margaret. I don’t know how they raise proper young misses in America, but they are not so well-armed here. Your tongue could be a rapier!”

They danced for a few moments in companionable silence before he continued.

“The ton is definitely not ready for you. You speak as if you know everything already—are you an older sister?”

She grinned, full of pride.

“I am. I’m a very good older sister. Or rather, I’m very good at being one. You’d probably commiserate well with my younger brother, Julius. He’s forever complaining about the sound advice I give him.”

“Hmm, older siblings do love to expound their knowledge to no end. I shall side with Julius forever now. We have an enemy in common, after all—older siblings.”

He said the last bit conspiratorially, and Peg found herself laughing again. Some of the other dancers turned, curious as to what the pair found so amusing. But as the dance came to an end, Peg felt a twinge of disappointment.

She had thoroughly enjoyed her time with Nathaniel.

[corruptedcaps]

The Descent

"Maybe if I put on her magic ponytail, I can find out where she hid our project," Matilda said, an almost entranced glint in her eyes as she played with the stolen strand of hair. The once long and flowing ponytail now lay coiled on her palm, its aura of power palpable even to the touch.

The hair had came from Vicky, their long time tormentor. She had been taunting them about how she had stolen their science project and was going to use it for herself. So engrossed in her taunting that she failed to see the stairs she tripped down. Matilda and Sarah were the only ones around and rushed to help her.

However as she they got to the bottom of the stairs they were both shocked to see a very different Vicky laying unconscious there. She was chubbier, blotchier and in different clothes but it was definitely still her. Weirder still was her long blonde ponytail was laying beside her perfectly detached.

As the ambulance arrived, Matilda quickly pocketed the ponytail into her bag, knowing something was special about it. Now after hours of discussion she was convinced it held some sort of magic properties.

Sarah shot her a skeptical look, her eyebrows knitting together. "Are you sure about this, Matilda? What if it changes you too?"

Matilda's determination shone through her apprehension. "We've suffered enough, Sarah. Vicky has tormented us for far too long. This ponytail might be the key to ending her reign of terror and retrieving our science project."

With a deep breath, Matilda gingerly placed the ponytail atop her head. She was about to try and find away to attach it in place when suddenly she felt it wrap around her own hair. An electrifying surge coursed through her, making her feel both exhilarated and oddly connected to something beyond herself.

However, looking in the mirror she found herself slightly saddened not to see her appearance differ at all. If anything the long blond ponytail looked kind of dumb coming out of her brown shoulder length hair.

“Well? Anything?” Sarah asked.

“No? But maybe I just need to concentrate.” Matilda said as she closed her eyes. She focused on Vicky mind becoming a canvas on which snippets of Vicky's past painted themselves in vivid colors.

Images flashed before Matilda's eyes: Vicky's sinister grins, her malicious delight in causing pain, and the twisted pleasure she took in their suffering. Matilda saw the stolen science project, hidden away in a place she recognized, the school’s supply closet in the basement. When the torrent of memories subsided, Matilda blinked, feeling a mix of emotions swirling within her.

Opening her eyes, Matilda faced Sarah with newfound resolve. "I know where it is."

As they made their way towards the closet at the other end of school, a strange voice began to creep into Matilda's head. It was a voice dripping with praise, like honeyed words that tickled her thoughts. "Matilda," it whispered, "you've freed me from Vicky's grasp. I'm glad to be with you now, my new host."

Matilda's steps faltered as a conflicted expression played across her face, unnoticed by Sarah. The voice seemed to resonate within her, an eerie echo that sent a shiver down her spine. Yet, there was an odd allure to it, like a promise of power and recognition she had never known before.

"I've watched you suffer at Vicky's hands, and now that you hold my essence, you're destined for greatness," the voice continued, its tones beguiling. A faint smile tugged at the corners of Matilda's lips as she soaked in the praise. Her nails seemed to subtly lengthen and shine with a newfound luster. "Together, we shall ascend to new heights, and you will become the new queen here."

A mixture of fascination and dread welled up inside Matilda. The voice's seductive promise of power was tempting, and a part of her reveled in the attention it bestowed upon her. She found herself absentmindedly stroking the ponytail lovingly, her fingers entwining with its strands, as she considered the dark promise it held.

As they continued on their descent to the basement, Matilda didn’t notice the subtle changes in her appearance. Her lips seemed plumper, her breasts a touch fuller, radiating an alluring charm she hadn't possessed before. It was as if the essence of the ponytail was altering her, physically and mentally.

As they finally reached the closet, Matilda found herself distracted by images and memories the hair was showing her. Vicky hadn’t been the only host to the hair and Matilda was captivated by the wicked images she was seeing. So much so that it took her a second to realize that Sarah was asking her a question through her haze. "So where in this mess is our project? Matilda? Matilda, are you alright?"

Matilda's eyes snapped open, her gaze locking onto Sarah's worried expression. Irritation surged within her, the grip of the voice's influence making her responses sharper than she intended. "I'm fine, Sarah. Just give me some space and go look for the project," she said in an unexpectedly bossy tone, "I'll stay here and delve further into the memories of the ponytail. Maybe there's something we missed."

While Sarah walked off slightly worried about her friend, Matilda closed her eyes, focusing on the ponytail's essence. In reality she knew exactly where the project was in the room but she wanted to to experience more of the ponytail’s memories. They were intoxicating. Each one showcasing Vicky's malevolent actions. To her surprise, Matilda found herself immersed in the scenes, a strange sense of delight bubbling up within her as she witnessed Vicky's cruelty.

Then, something shifted. Matilda saw herself in Vicky's place, commanding a group of loyal girls who followed her every command. They tormented others with glee, reveling in their power over those weaker than them. Matilda experienced the rush of control, the thrill of manipulation, and a dark satisfaction as her victims trembled before her.

“This could be you…. Popular. Beautiful. Powerful.” The ponytail hissed in her mind.

With each memory, Matilda's posture subtly changed, her shoulders straightening with a newfound confidence. Her once fair complexion took on a warm, tanned glow, and her makeup seemed to apply itself perfectly, accentuating her features in ways she had never managed before. As she absorbed the memories and physical changes, Matilda continued to stroke the ponytail, feeling an intimate connection to its power and allure.

The voice's promise of becoming the new queen of mean resonated more deeply now, as the lines between Matilda and the malevolent force blurred further. The temptation of power, beauty, and control tugged at her very being, threatening to consume her completely.

But something was stopping her from truly giving in. A lone face of worry appeared in her mind’s eye. Sarah. What would Sarah think of her if she went down this path? Sarah had been her only friend through their hard years of high school. They would graduate soon and they were going to be roommates at college. She couldn’t throw that all away. Could she?

"Sarah doesn't really care about you. She's always held you back, made you weak," the voice whispered seductively. Matilda found herself nodding in hesitant agreement. "With my power, you will rise above her, she will be nothing more than an ant to you."

As the voice's words wormed their way into her thoughts, a subtle grin betrayed the internal struggle. Sarah's presence, once comforting, now seemed like an obstacle. The voice's seductive promises fueled a growing resentment towards her friend, amplifying the allure of power and the desire for domination.

As Matilda continued to stroke the ponytail, her body underwent more extreme changes. Her tits swelled, straining against her clothing, which suddenly shifted to become short and revealing. Her long brown boring hair had been absorbed into the ponytail, causing it to grow long and blonde. Her lips plumped even further, and a sultry aura seemed to emanate from her very being, transforming her appearance into one of undeniable sexiness.

In the midst of Matilda's changes, Sarah's diligent search bore fruit. She let out a triumphant exclamation. But Matilda's attention was elsewhere as Sarah’s squeal caused her to open her eyes. A nearby mirror caught her attention, and she saw for the first time the changes the ponytail had bestowed upon her. She gazed in wonder at her altered appearance – her posture, her tanned complexion, her enhanced beauty. A wicked smile crept across her lips as she admired her reflection, her newfound look intoxicating.

"Matilda, look I found it! Oh my god, what happened to you?" Sarah's initially excited but then worrisome voice broke through, as she approached Matilda with the project in hand.

Without a second thought, Matilda's gaze snapped from her reflection to Sarah's outstretched hands holding the project. A cruel laugh bubbled up from within her, the voice's influence fueling her darker impulses. With a swift and deliberate motion, Matilda knocked the project out of Sarah's hands, the beakers and carefully constructed model shattering on the ground.

Sarah looked at Matilda in shock, her eyes wide and hurt. "Matilda, what... why?"

Matilda's lips curled into a cold smirk, her gaze unwavering. "Why should I care about some stupid science project, Sarah? It's time for you to realize my new station.”

The words, dripping with malice, hung heavy in the air. Matilda reveled in the twisted satisfaction of asserting dominance, fueled by the voice's encouragement and the newfound beauty that seemed to amplify her confidence. As Sarah stood there, stunned and betrayed, Matilda's descent into the depths of darkness seemed almost complete.

Sarah's shock quickly transformed into desperation. "Matilda, it's the ponytail, you have to take it off! It's turning you evil!"

Matilda's laughter echoed through the tense air, chilling in its newfound cruelty. "Oh, Sarah, I thought you were the smart one of us two. I know exactly what it's doing to me, and I love it."

Sarah's eyes brimmed with tears as she pleaded, "Please, Matilda, you're not yourself. You're letting it control you."

Matilda's smirk deepened, and her voice took on an eerie, almost mocking tone. "Matilda is dead, loser and I’m in control. You're looking at the new queen of the school now – Mercedes."

The transformation in Matilda was complete. Her once gentle nature had been consumed by the dark temptations of the ponytail's power. Her eyes gleamed with a sinister glint, her beauty now a reflection of the malevolent force that had taken hold. The voice's influence had reshaped her into something unrecognizable, a twisted echo of the girl who had once been bullied. Now she held all the cards.

A WEEK LATER

A week had passed since the transformation, and the school seemed like a different place. Mercedes had swiftly filled the void left by Vicky's absence. She radiated a commanding presence, her newfound beauty and malevolence drawing in Vicky’s old clique. Cruelty had become her currency, popularity her domain.

Sarah watched from the sidelines, heart heavy with a mix of sadness and shock. Mercedes was unrecognizable, her every move calculated to assert dominance. The voice's influence had turned her into a ruthless queen, and Sarah was now just another pawn in her game.

To Mercedes, Sarah meant nothing more than a tool to be used. She forced Sarah to do her homework, create a new science project, and cater to her whims. The once unbreakable bond between friends had been severed, replaced by Mercedes' insatiable thirst for control.

“Hurry up nerd, I don’t have all day to wait for you to finish this dumb project. My hawt boyfriend Chad is waiting and I don’t like to keep my man waiting.” She said with a cruel smirk as Sarah worked tirelessly, her heart aching for the loss of her friend and the darkness that now ruled her. The school had a new ruler, and Sarah was left to navigate the cruel reality of the queen of mean who had once been Matilda.

[rjalker]

The Salesman, by Waldo T. Boyd. From If Worlds of Science Fiction, March 1953.

__

Salesman's Guide, Rule 2: The modern 1995 customer who enters Tracy's Department Store is not always right, but as far as you are concerned, he is.

The little green cue light blinked three times. Trevor Anson arranged his tie at just the nattily precise angle, waved his hand before a hidden lighting-effect switch in the smooth marble pillar at the entrance to the display room, and faced the elevator. This would be a "green light" customer—a first-time prospect, and three blinks indicated a very difficult individual. Anson quickly practiced his most beguiling smile.

"Welcome to Tracy's Roboid Department," he said, enthusiastically, as the elevator doors slid open. His practiced smile was just right.

He quickly noted the man's conservative dress, the flaming red tie. Aggressive type, Anson decided. A shock of red hair that didn't want to lie down hinted that he was stubborn as well.

"Heard you've got a sale on robots," Red-tie said, challengingly, as he stepped aside for his wife.

The woman who stepped off the elevator smiled, showing a lovely dimple, and Anson beamed on her. The tiny flake of a hat perched atop her auburn hair reminded Anson of the comb on a Rhode Island Red.

"Not robots, sir," Anson corrected diplomatically. "The Plasti-Cast Roboid is not exactly a robot."

"Well, anyhow, trot one out, and let's see what it looks like. Millicent will never be satisfied until she's seen one of the things." He glared dramatically in the general direction of his wife, who pretended not to notice.

Anson led them into the Gray Room. He mentally went over the applicable rule: Rule 23; Always introduce the marked-down merchandise first. It may provide the customer with an incentive for buying something better.

"These are last year's models," he said, with just the right flavor of distaste in his voice. "Of course, you may expect a slight reduction ... a small percentage...."

Red-tie was muttering. "Damned mechanical things, full of wheels and wires. What's to keep 'em from running amok and killing us all!"

"But dear, they don't have wheels anymore," protested the woman, timidly. Her face was pretty, Anson decided, but it was obvious that the man would be the deciding factor in this sale.

He made a mental note: Rule 31: Pick the individual of a family group who seems to hold the deciding voice, and SELL! He remembered a portion of a sales talk he had memorized a few days before, and took it up, almost chanting:

"... our Roboids are grown, much as crystals are grown, in great vats in New Chicago. A Plasti-Cast Roboid is guaranteed...."

"A fat chance we'd have of collecting the guarantee if we were chopped into mincemeat," Red-tie interrupted, shuddering slightly as the implication of his own words hit him.

Anson felt a moment of panic as he failed to remember an applicable rule from the Salesman's Guide, but it formed in his mind at the last moment: Rule 18: Never argue with a customer—change the subject.

"Why don't you come with me to the Green Room?" he asked. "The very latest models are on display." He walked slowly at first, then more quickly as the couple allowed themselves to be led. He slid his hand near a hidden switch in the archway, and floodlights came on just as they entered.

The woman uttered a little squeal of delight at the sight of a very handsome figure dressed in a cutaway, standing in an attitude of service.

"Oh!" she breathed dreamily. "He would make such a wonderful butler."

"Well, wind him up and let's see what he'll do," growled the man, his face florid in the colored light of the Green Room.

"I'm so very sorry," Anson said, slightly flustered, remembering that this was always the crucial moment in a sale. "The Roboid cannot be activated for demonstration purposes."

"What?" roared Red-tie, incredulously. "Do you mean to say you want me to buy the damned thing without knowing whether it ticks or not?"

Anson tried desperately to remember the best rule for such an answer, but failed. He plunged desperately into his own explanation.

"You see, our Roboids are matched to your family personality at the time of purchase, and activated then. We cannot erase a personality once it has been transferred to their sensitive minds." He saw the disbelieving smirk on the man's mouth and felt that the sale was indeed lost. But he plunged on, desperately.

"They're very economical. They don't require any upkeep, like food. When they become tired they will sit or lie down near an electric outlet and plug in a power cord, and in a few minutes they are as rested and tireless as...."

"Bosh!" Red-tie retorted. "I've heard enough. Come, Millicent, we still have time to try Bonn's new Helio-rotor. At least they'll give us a demonstration."

Anson escorted them to the Magna-lift. He felt better as he recalled the last rule in the Guide, the one that seemed to cover the situation so well: Rule 50: If they balk because of the no-demonstration rule, let them go. They will be back when they have seen one of their friends with a Plasti-Cast Roboid.

"Good-bye, Sir; Madam," Anson said wearily, as the Magna-lift doors closed. "Come again soon."

He breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator cage dropped them from sight. A salesman, who had been standing by, spoke to Anson.

"People are such dears at times, aren't they?" he said. "However, it's time for your rest period. I'll take over now."

"Thank you so much," Anson replied tiredly.

He walked to a tiny room at the far end of the great showroom and closed the door. He stretched wearily out on a low, folding cot, the only piece of furniture, and reached for a tiny black power cord hanging nearby.

Deftly he plugged it into the socket under his armpit, and breathed deeply, relaxedly.

"Yes," he chanted softly, drifting off to sleep, "people are such dears sometimes."

[missyblogs]

Under the Old Light Pole

It was late on a Sunday night, early in February. The air was a kind of cold that chilled your bones as the villain huffed. He tried, at first to grip the sole light pole on the street.

"That SportaFLOP thought HE could stop ME, Robbie Rotten? with a little grease? Ha! I'll show that do-gooder REAL elbow grease and set a trap for the ENTIRE TOWN! That'll teach THEM for watching sports on a Sunday!" He grimaced. Sports! on the laziest day of the week! Superbowl schmuperbowl, the villain didn't care if it was the Olympics, one did not disrupt the sanctity of rest with that dreadful active business! With a dialogue fitting only the most cartoonish of men, Robbie set to work- pushing and groaning as he tried, and then failed, to topple over the light pole.

"I see, you're playing hard to get are you?" He uttered menacingly. "Fine fine I guess I will JUST have to dismantle you the old fashioned way" It was that chain of events that found him clutching the lamp for dear life. He was almost certain he was going to become the Billboard Guy for real this time when the sound of rap reached his ears. Ice blue eyes widened comically when they landed on a strange and beautiful face across the street. Inexplicably, this stranger had set up a booth on the back of the town dump truck and was hard at work curating the most disruptive and provocative playlist he had ever heard. At almost midnight! At once two conflicting thoughts ran through his head. Why hadn't HE thought of that?

and more confusingly How had he not noticed a townie as good looking as him, and why did that cute little smile set his heart racing as they danced away to a rhythm of their own design? It took only that moment for Robbie to fall- both physically and metaphorically- with a startled yelp. "Oh hey there be careful!" The world's most perfect voice reached his ears immediately as he was greeted not with the sight of his arch nemesis coming to an obnoxious and unwanted rescue, but the very welcome sight of this emerald clad newcomer racing to his side. The thought of their undivided attention hit him with a strange sense of giddiness and pride harder than his impact with the ground. The reason was something the villain would unpack later, or preferably never. "They grease those after 8 where I come from. You gotta be real careful with your grip."

The advice came with an outstretched hand. Robbie almost refused, but something about the way the pretty DJ flashed him an inviting smile melted aaaall the bravado away and with a nervous swallow, he took the beguiling stranger's offer. "I-I uh- ... Thank you." He replied curtly as he accepted their help. His legs nearly turned to jelly at the lightning that shot down his spine and filled his stomach with butterflies as his palm met theirs. It had all the qualities he somehow never knew he loved, a perfect fit in his. "Go birds. This your first win?" The tone in their voice was laced with something lighthearted, like a joke only they knew the punchline to. Normally it would have put him on edge but there was something friendly about this perfect stranger that turned his nerves to molten goo. They weren't here to lecture him for his rotten plan. For whatever reason, they didn't question him at all and the thought made his heart flutter.

"Yeah I uh I- uh yeah it is" He flashed them a nervous smile and the fact that their hands still connected seemed to be lost on them both as the DJ stood there with that blasted smile. A smile meant for him. "Well that makes two of us then, congratulations!... for probably the first time in both our lives" The casual way they rolled their eyes nearly took his breath away. The newcomer swung their joined hands playfully as they continued. "You know, climbing these is a Superbowl tradition back home" "Oh- oh really?" His heart fluttered as he slipped his hand out of theirs. "And what kind of tradition is that?" "An Emerald City tradition" The DJ folded their arms behind their back and the villain couldn't help but think about how adorable they looked as they swayed. "City of Brotherly Love reeeeally knows how to party" The look in their glittering eyes under the soft warmth of the lamp light both captivated him and spoke of a certain mischief. By the end of the night, the villain found himself and his new best friend chanting the lyrics of his new favorite song through the street, waking the town up one house at a time as they carted off their surprisingly easily won prize- one disconnected lamp lost he fully intended to use as a road block later. Apparently that was Emerald City tradition too.

[mlm-writer]

The Pastry Prince CH2: "Yes, I like..." (Sion x Riku)

Also available on AO3

Masterlist with all chapters

The journey to Mokpo only took a week and in that time, he was surrounded by all sorts of tutors teaching him how to act and behave. The king nearly threw him overboard when he learned Riku never learned how to read. As if commoners are known for reading. As if they even have the time to indulge in such things.

The journey was arduous. Every waking hour was spent learning how to dance, how to use a fork - which was apparently something Riku did wrong -, how to walk, how to talk, how to address everyone. He even had to learn how to speak Mokpo’s language without sounding like a fisherman. Riku even continued these studies in the carriage across Mokpo to the capital city. In the total of three weeks that he was travelling, Riku learned basic etiquette and his dancing was above satisfactory. Most importantly, by the time the palace of Mokpo appeared at the horizon, Riku could read common words very slowly. Riku agonised over the book his reading tutor gave him. The book was supposed to be for children, but Riku’s head hurt from reading after just one page. The plan was destined to fail. Whatever princess he was about to marry, she would know in no time that Riku was nothing but a peasant, a simpleton, a commoner who cannot even read. While his eyes were glued to the pages, he missed the passing scenery of Mokpo. He missed the blur of dark brown wood, pearly white stone and grey clay tiles. He did not even look up when the cobbled stone path through the city shook the carriage, nor when the alluring scent of the local cuisine wafted inside. 

No, none of that was observed as Riku was wallowing in his failures. Only the king managed to make his eyes look away from the book. The greying man cleared his throat. “There is one more thing you need to know.” Riku narrowed his eyes at the man he despised. “You are not marrying the princess of Mokpo. There is no princess. You are marrying the prince.” 

“Excuse me, what?” Riku’s immediate reaction was confusion. He had imagined himself with a princess all this time. The idea of having to conceive a child with this mystery princess had filled him with dread. All this time, he was marrying a man? He tried to not make his relief too obvious. 

“It does not change your task! Remember what I will do to your mother if you fail.” Riku bit his tongue and schooled his face into a respectable gaze. He agreed politely and went back to trying to get in some last-minute reading practice. 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

Sion’s heart was pounding in his throat. The carriage from Fukui just arrived in the city and in a few minutes, his future husband would be walking through those doors in the throne room. As luck would have it, the king of Mokpo had an unmarried son and Sion could not help but wonder what he was like. The princes of Fukui were rumoured to be strong and fearless like their father. It made Sion imagine his husband as a big burly man with a rugged face. He internally grimaced at the image he conjured up in his head. A man was a man, but he was not looking forward to spending his life with a beefcake. 

Then the doors opened and Sion straightened his back. First to come through were two royal guards of Fukui. Sion noted how their armour showed exemplary craftsmanship. The details on the crest were immaculate. It was quite ironic how the lineage of large, powerful men was represented by a cute little squirrel. After the guards, an old man walked in. His frame was huge; the way he walked demanded respect. There was no doubt who this man was. He was adorned with fine textiles and beguiling jewels. The lines on his face gave him a stern look that instilled the seed of fear somewhere deep within Sion, but the prince refused to water it. The appearance of the king of Fukui promised nothing good for Sion. 

Then, behind the man, a young man walked in and Sion’s breath caught in his throat. How could a man like that have such a cute son? The boy looked so innocent, like a young white bunny. His aura was pure and gentle. He looked uncomfortable. Sion wanted nothing but to change that and find out what this captivating young prince looked like with a smile. When the prince of Fukui greeted Sion and his family, Sion almost forgot to bow. Mesmerised by the foreign beauty, he couldn’t stop his feet from moving, stepping closer to the young prince. When he got closer, the other prince bowed his head down. Sion took his hand and gave it a kiss like he would do to a princess. “I am Prince Sion,” he introduced himself in the language of Fukui, awaiting to hear this beauty’s voice, to learn his name. 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

Riku’s heart was racing as he entered the opulent throne room. He felt so out of place. There was a sea between him and his comfort zone. The clothes of royals always looked so beautiful, but Riku was very displeased to find out they were also very uncomfortable. He followed after his ‘father’ and stood next to him as they greeted the royal family of Mokpo. Riku was so focussed on his etiquette that he failed to notice his financé until the man started walking closer. 

Time seemed to slow as the prince of Mokpo approached him. He was extremely handsome. He looked reliable and well-educated. Why was he still walking closer? How close was he planning on being? Riku could not hold the gaze of this handsome prince and looked down to avoid eye contact. His heart nearly burst through his ribcage when he felt soft lips against his knuckles. Prince Sion introduced himself graciously in Riku’s language and he tried to return the favour. “I’m Riku. I mean… Prince Riku… of Fukui.” Riku stumbled through his introduction, eyes cast down and a red blush spreading across his cheeks. His pronunciation was awful, but no one commented on it. The perks of being a prince, he presumed. 

“Prince Riku, if it pleases you, you may call me Sion and I shall call you Riku.” Riku could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He agreed to those terms, butterflies in his stomach everytime the handsome prince said his name. It was clear that Prince Sion was not a native speaker, but he was easy to understand. Riku’s mind felt like a fuzzy cloud as the prince stood right in front of him and their parents were discussing the wedding. The queen then suggested that Sion showed Riku his room, to which the prince agreed. Riku dreaded being alone with him. How was he supposed to act normal? To keep up the appearance of being a regular prince? 

The two men walked side by side without a word. Riku already lost track of the layout of the palace. Sion led the way to an extravagant guestroom. Riku looked around curiously. His fingers felt fabrics he had never even seen before. On the table there was a selection of extremely exotic fruits… well they may be native to Mokpo, but they were exotic to him. He paused in front of a mural of birds in a gorgeous landscape. 

“Riku, do you like art?” “Yes, I like art.”

Riku was glad Prince Sion chose to speak to him in Riku’s native tongue. The baker boy then looked out the window, smiling when he saw he had a view of the garden. It was filled with flowers in every colour imaginable and some he had never thought existed. 

“Riku, do you like flowers?” “Yes, I like flowers.”

Then he finally sat down and eyed the fruit. Sion smiled and took the small knife off the table. He started cutting the fruit without a word. He put the bite-size pieces on a plate and offered Riku the fruit. Riku smiled and thanked Sion, before taking a piece. He outright moaned at the sweet flavours exploding in his mouth. Never had he had the pleasure of tasting this before.

“Riku, do you like fruit?” “Yes, I like fruit.”

The conversation kind of ended there. They sat in silence, eating the fruit and letting their eyes wander between the window and the wall mural. Whenever their eyes met in the middle, they paused for a moment, just to look away again. After a while, Sion got up. 

“Riku, do you like books?” “Yes, I like books.”

Like hell he did, but the answer was out of his mouth, before he could think about it. Sion gestured for him to follow and Riku sheepishly did so. Another few breathtaking hallways and Sion opened the doors to a huge library. Riku gasped, taking in the enormity of the room where bookshelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling. “We got everything here. What do you like to read?”

Riku panicked and said the first thing that came to mind when he thought of what a prince would read. “I read historical books.” Sion led Riku to the section of the royal library where they kept the books on Mokpo’s history. Riku pretended to browse the shelf, but all the spines had titles in Mokpo’s language. While he could speak it a little, he could not read it at all. Heck, he could not even read in his own language. He picked a book and when he turned to Sion, he saw the man was holding what looked like a stack of bound newsletters. The two princes made their way to the comfortable seating area in the library and sat down with their reading material. Riku was glancing at Sion from behind the book he picked. Sometimes he flipped a page to keep up the pretense that he was reading. This was horrible. Out of all things, why did the prince have to take him to a library? 

𓆩:*¨༺✧ ♛ ✧༻¨*:𓆪

The king of Fukui left the next day, telling Riku he would return for the wedding. Until then, he had to convince the royal family of Mokpo that he was a good and respectable husband. After he departed, Riku had lunch with the entire royal family. The king and queen asked him all these questions, but unlike Sion, they only spoke to him in their native tongue. Riku stumbled through the conversation, glad he could blame the language barrier for the long thinking times. When the king and queen appeared to be satisfied with his hobbies of reading, looking at art and walks in nature, Sion’s brother finally spoke up. He did speak in Riku’s language. 

“Forgive me for being straight forward, but for the sake of my brother, I have to ask.” Doyoung’s stare was intense and Riku felt like he had turned up to lunch without pants. “Do you prefer the company of men or women?” Riku sighed in relief when it turned out to be a question he could answer truthfully. 

“Women are delightful, but I am afraid I could never love one like I could love a man.” 

Doyoung appeared very satisfied with the answer. His wife then grinned. “Do you think you could love Sion?” Her question brought immediate protest from Sion himself in the form of choking on his food and coughing very loudly right after. Ironically, the king and Prince Doyoung had the exact same reaction to the question. “Oh come on, he is such a handsome prince, isn’t he?” Princess Joy pushed. Riku did not want to answer that. Fortunately for him, little Sakuya got distressed by the commotion his mother’s question caused. The little boy threw a spoonful of applesauce across the table and it ended right on Riku’s chest. It was the perfect opportunity to excuse himself to clean up and also get out of answering the question. 

Later that day, Sion took Riku on a walk through the royal gardens. They walked awkwardly side by side. Riku sometimes pointed at a flower and asked for the name in Sion’s language. Sion started doing it too after a while, but Riku had the feeling the prince already knew the names of all the flowers in the garden in both their languages. He often had to confess he had not seen such a flower in Fukui, followed by the lie that he thought it may be native to Mokpo only. 

After the gardens, they spend their time in the library. Sion apparently really liked reading. However, Riku had no choice but to stare at the pictureless books in a language he could not read. He couldn't even guess what Sion was reading, since he could read neither the back of those bound papers nor the contents of them. He just hoped Sion wasn't going to quiz him on any Mokpo history. The façade went on like that for about a week, where prince Sion would attend to his duties in the mornings, they would go on outings in the afternoon and they would end their days in the library reading - or in Riku’s case ‘reading’. They did not speak much, but all their exchanges of words were in a mixture of both Sion’s and Riku’s language. Riku thought he was doing pretty well as a prince, until that one day in the library. 

“Riku…” Riku nearly jumped out of his seat when Sion spoke his name softly and yet full of concern. He slowly looked up from his book at the handsome prince. “You are…” Riku felt his heart race when Sion squinted at the book in his hands. Did he pick a weird one? He didn't know what the cover said. It had a horse. He thought it was about the history of horses. What if it was about eating horse? Did the prince now think Riku wanted to eat a horse? “I believe you are holding the book upside down…”

This was it. This was how Sion would find out and his mother is going to die because of him. Riku clutched the book. “Am I?” He softly inquired, mind filling with the dread of never seeing his mother again and thick tears rolled down his eyes. “I’m… I'm sorry,” he sobbed.