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thecharacterchronicler · 1 year ago

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District Girl (Part 3) || (Peacekeeper) Coriolanus Snow x Reader || Smut

Outline: Coriolanus meets you again and, as a bad thunderstorm approaches, you invite him to take shelter in your cabin…

Word count: 3’686

Warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, power imbalance, virgin female (implied) and rough explicit sex.

Author’s note: I tried to fulfill a request I received while sticking to the original idea I had for this part 3, so I hope whoever (anon) asked for it will be okay with this one being a bit rough. I promise I’ll try to write a much sweeter, more romantic, one shot of the reader losing her virginity to Coriolanus for you soon. Thanks for inspiring me with your request! 🖤 (Though I’m not sure I’ll know how to write sweet and romantic Coryo…)

((Part 1 )) - ((Part 2 ))

It had been cloudy since morning, causing the humidity in the air to rise above what Coriolanus usually deemed acceptable. It was still warm, even without a trace of sunshine, hidden behind menacing black clouds. Far in the distance, he could hear the distinctive roar of a thunderstorm approaching from the mountains, electricity almost palpable in the air.

Coriolanus didn’t enjoy sunny days either, mostly because he couldn’t get used to the uncomfortable climate of District 12, but standing between broken shacks, on a dirt road that would probably flood and turn into mud as soon as rain would start falling was a whole new kind of hell to him.

Hopefully, the party he was supposed to keep in check would end soon. It had barely started, with the two newlyweds couples returning from the justice building, gathering with their guests in a narrow space of grass between two cabins. Music was playing, but he didn’t like how wrong it sounded in his ears. People were joyfully chatting, trying to ignore the presence of peacekeepers nearby, watching them in search of an excuse to break out this gathering before it could turn sour because it somehow always turned sour in district 12… But maybe it would be the approaching storm that would put an end to the festivities first, allowing Coriolanus to go back to the barracks and have the rest of the afternoon to rest.

Standing tall, stoic, with a hand on his weapon, he watched the party unfold as some kids ran off to gather branches and burnt grass. He didn’t know the traditions for a wedding in this district but it sure seemed kind of pathetic to him. If it was his wedding, he would have made sure that it was a special day, he would have worn his best outfit and he would have made sure that his guests did too… Unlike most of the ones present today, still in their mining clothes and covered in dust. He also would have made sure that he had a proper venue where to celebrate his wedding, not a small patch of burnt grass near a row of sad cabins. And surely, he would have made sure that no storm was threatening to ruin it all.

“Hurry up or we won’t have enough time to get the fire going for the toasting.” You instructed a group of kids, as they placed a few fragile branches in your hands before running off again. You looked worried, your eyes on the black clouds in the horizon.

Coriolanus’ entire body reacted to your voice, briefly breaking his steady posture. He gazed at you, an irrepressible smirk appearing on his lips at the sight. You looked lovely. Even better than usual. Of course, you - out of all the other people - had had enough respect for the newlyweds to show up to their party wearing a nice and clean dress. The color brought out your eyes, making it all he could see for a moment. Until he lowered his gaze to your silhouette, noticing how it hugged and highlighted your lines and curves in the best way possible. It was as if the dress had been tailored for your body. Flawless.

Even if he wasn’t invited to the party and was instructed to keep his distances unless anything important occurred, he was happy to see you. He could watch you from where he kept guard, admire your beauty and make sure he memorized the contours of your body in that dress to entertain him later, when he’ll be alone in the showers. It wasn’t so bad after all.

The kids brought back another batch of branches to you and you placed them in a pile on the ground, taking a step back as a couple leaned down to light them on fire. All the guests applauded when red flames appeared, you included, as if lighting a fire was some kind of victory… Maybe it was after all, in such a humid climate.

A second couple did the same thing, starting a smaller fire next to the one slowly gaining strength and it pleased the guests just as much. Coriolanus held his breath when he saw you step up again, expecting you to follow suit on the odd tradition with a man that wouldn’t be him. You were dressed so nicely, your hair so beautifully arranged, that it finally occurred to him that it could be your wedding too.

No, he wouldn’t allow it. You were his. You had tasted him and he had tasted you, you knew each other intimately, you couldn’t belong to another man. Not anymore. Not when you could have him.

Instead of lighting a third fire, you handed both brides a loaf of bread and they proceeded to impale it on a branch, the grooms held it above the dancing flame and everyone watched as the bread slowly cooked. In the Capitol, cakes and desserts were served at weddings not… Toasts ?

He shook off his grimace of disgust. He wasn’t sure if it was because he kept being surprised by everyone’s lack of dignity in this district or if he was still slightly unsettled by the idea of you, marrying someone else.

A louder bang resounded through the street, bringing everyone’s attention to the mountains from which menacing clouds were quickly approaching. It was brief, everyone preffering to focus their attention back on the darkening bread held above the fire rather than on the weather, except for you. Coriolanus locked eyes with you, his heart strangely racing in his chest. He wanted you to notice him, but the possibility you might ignore him again, like you had a few days ago at the Hob, made him uneasy. He had showed you how good he could be to you. How lucky you should feel that you had somehow managed to catch his interest. But maybe you would provoke him again, just so that he could show you who you belong to once more.

A few very explicit images bloomed in his mind, he could be pretty creative when thinking about all the ways he could mark you as his. And as usual, it made him hard and desperate for attention.

But it seemed you weren’t going to need a reminder of his claim on you after all. You had stepped away from the party and were now walking in his direction, your pretty dress caressing the dirt road in the wake of your steps. He couldn’t help but smile at the way you grinned at him, as if you were happy to see him too.

“Are you keeping an eye on me, Coriolanus Snow ?” You asked him, playfully, stopping in front of him just slightly closer than what he would have expected.

His whole body buzzed at the sound of his name coming out of your lips. He had never told you so it must mean you had asked around about him. Maybe you had been obsessing over him as much as he obsessed over you, trying to find out who he was and how you could keep being the object of his desires.

“Always since I know how good you are at sneaking around.” He replied, with a grin. He didn’t know your name, but he would eventually. He simply couldn’t ask anyone about you, not when it might bring negative attention on him from his superiors. And what about his colleagues ? They might think that you’re an easy girl, or at least one who isn’t bothered by the peacekeepers’ uniforms and try to flirt with you - very much like Junius had - if they knew. It was better if he kept it that way for now, you’d be his little secret. “You look lovely in that dress.”

“Thank you.” You replied, seemingly a bit surprised by such a compliment. “My friends got married today.”

He nodded. That much he had gathered, even though wedding celebrations definitely looked nothing like the ones he had seen in The Capitol. He glanced to the sad party, where one couple was now eating their toasted piece of bread while others looked at them with emotion in their eyes. You followed his gaze back to where you came from.

“I’m sorry, I can’t invite you it wouldn’t be…” You started, but stopped yourself as he shook his head.

“It wouldn’t be appropriate, of course.” He finished for you, with a smile meant to reassure you that he had absolutely no desire to be invited to such events anyway.

A moment of silence went by, a bit awkwardly. He couldn’t force you on your knees and get you to suck him off right there, in front of everyone, even though there wasn’t anything he wanted more at this very moment and you couldn’t bring a peacekeeper back to the party with you, so you were both frozen with indecision, unsure of what else to do when you couldn’t put your hands - and mouths - on each other.

Despite daylight, an orange lightning illuminated the sky, fracturing the black clouds over your heads. A few seconds later, a loud bang resonated against the wooden walls of the nearby cabins, making the road under your feet tremble. Rain instantly poured down from the clouds, cold drops of water mixed with icy hail, piercing through the leaves of the trees and bouncing off of the roofs and ground.

Coriolanus left out a curse as the wedding party he was meant to keep in check dissolved, people hurrying in different directions to take shelter from the hail. If anything happened now, it would be his fault because he wouldn’t be able to tell if everyone went back to their cabins or if anything illegal took place afterwards…

You pulled him out of his thoughts by taking his hand in yours and guiding him to the nearest shack on the road, just as another lightning hit the ground, a lot closer than where the previous one did. You opened the door and pushed the peacekeeper in, closing it just as the roaring thunder reverberated through the street.

Coriolanus took in the modest house he was standing in, the few pieces of furniture and the broken window above the kitchen sink. It was about the size of his dormitory, but contained everything a house should, there even was a bed in the far corner of the room.

“You can stay here until the storm passes… If you want.” You suggested, the confidence you had been able to display during your previous encounters with him suddenly gone. Maybe because you felt awfully more vulnerable having him standing in your home rather than in a more public place. “Your clothes are wet, maybe I could hang them to dry ?”

A smirk appeared on his lips at your words and you smiled back at him, slightly blushing. He fixed his pale blue eyes on you as he slowly began unbuttoning his vest, you followed the movement of his fingers with eager eyes. He remembered how it felt when it wasn’t his buttons he was so deftly working on but you, pumping his finger deep inside the warmth his cock was so desperate to be buried in too.

He removed his vest, carefully placed his gun on the kitchen table and took off his shirt, revealing his chiseled chest and broad shoulders. He saw the way your eyes widened at the sight and liked how you couldn’t help but stare at his muscles, gaze lowering at the same speed your cheeks were gaining colors.

He opened his pants, lowered his underwear and left his erection proudly stand up from the fabric. He was hard for you, so hard it was almost unbearable, and you had barely done anything yet, apart from wearing a dress that hugged your silhouette and smile at him. It was kind of pathetic, how he probably could have come undone simply from closing his eyes and imagining his cum shooting out of his spent cock inside of you… Either buried deep in your wet pussy, either lodged down your throat while you gagged on his length, or even painting your face and chest with his cum again, the lovely sight it had been the first time still burned in his memory.

There were so many ways he wanted you. If he could have it his way, he’d probably lock you up in his dorm so that he could come back to you and fuck you mercilessly every time he felt the need to. Having you at his disposal would be such a relief for his cock - and hand. Maybe he’d finally manage to get you out of his mind if he could indulge in every fantasy he had about you, act out every scenario, test out everything he thought of, until he no longer had anything to think about to bring his cock to life at the most inconvenient times.

Although you seemed a bit more reserved this time, you still had the courage to reach behind your back to unzip your pretty dress, the fabric instantly falling and pooling around your feet.

Coriolanus’ blood changed course and flew to his already stretched cock, making it even harder and twitching with impatience. What a perfect sight you were, standing in front of him in nothing but your underwear. It wasn’t a fancy set of lingerie like the girls from The Capitol usually wore but maybe it was because you weren’t a girl from The Capitol that he was so obsessed with you. You were a district girl, and he had never seen a body more beautiful than yours, even in plain underwear that didn’t even match. It was as if he had designed you himself, the shape of you perfectly tailored to his preferences, with curves and dips that drove him crazy and plump, soft, skin that haunted his sleepless nights. It left him unable to decide between his desires to ravage you or worship you.

He stepped forward and carefully pulled the straps of your bra down your shoulders. He unclasped the hooks in your back, a bit less assured than he wanted you to believe he was and, once he was able to pull your bra off, he took a step back to admire your bare chest. Perfect.

He pressed a hand to your tender flesh, excitement buzzing in his veins when he felt the soft malleability of your breast. His hands weren’t calloused like the ones of the miners you probably knew, they were soft and delicate, a clear sign of his luckier upbringing.

He leaned down to place a kiss against your neck, just so he could press his body against yours, feel your heat, the warmth of your skin radiating against his. It was the most intimate he had ever been, with you and with anyone else. He couldn’t say he disliked how it felt, but it was also terrifying. He couldn’t let himself be too vulnerable with you, not when it risked leading to feelings he really didn’t want to have for a district girl like you. He already barely could manage how badly he wanted you, how much he thought about you, day and night… What if he fell in love now ? Surely, it would ruin his life.

No, there wouldn’t be any feelings, not on his side and not on yours either. It was just sex. Really good sex. But just that.

He didn’t have to be soft with you so that you’d like him, he could just take what he needed and give you what you wanted too and call it quits. Yeah, it was a good plan. Flawless even.

He pulled your panties down with a rough motion, taking you by surprise. You barely had time to kick the crumpled fabric off of your feet when he reached for the back of your knees, lifting you up into his arms with your legs closing around his hips for support.

He took a few steps until your back was pressed against the wall. Your face was so close to his, your wet lips making it so hard for him to resist kissing them with all the depth of his passion for you.

No feelings. He reminded himself.

He pushed his hips forward, his hard cock easily gliding through your arousal. You were so ready for him. Just like you had been the other day. And this time he wasn’t going to deny himself the pleasure of being inside you. He pressed himself all the way up to your entrance, finding an unexpected resistance on the way. He heard your breath catch in your throat as he attempted to pass it, noticing the grimace on your face but since you didn’t ask him to stop, he kept trying to dive into the surprising tightness of your pussy.

He felt your hands clasping his shoulders for stability, your body writhing with discomfort at the invasion. He knew he was fairly big - bigger than the fingers he had put inside you at least - but he didn’t expect you to be so incredibly tight around him. The pressure of your walls clenching on him almost making him dizzy with the intensity of the pleasure it built in his abdomen.

Then, without a warning, you suddenly relaxed and your pussy seemed to swallow him whole, finally allowing him to fully bury himself inside of your wetness. He cursed at the sensation and you quietly cried out when he hit the deepest point possible.

You still felt tight, but you were finally giving him permission to move. He gently rocked himself, getting his cock to slide back and forth as a way to loosen you up. He was molding you to fit him. Him, and no one else.

No feelings.

He closed his eyes. He could come just from this but he wasn’t going to be selfish. Not when he wanted you to keep wanting him as much as he did. So he focused, keeping his movements slow and wide despite how fast and rough his brain urged him to go.

Suddenly, you came, digging your nails in his shoulders and whimpering against his neck, your pussy contracting around his cock, forcing him to stop his movements inside you again and stand completely still while you moaned in bliss. He was good at this, it was his second time making you reach your climax and it gave him an unreasonable amount of pride each time he achieved this. This time especially, had merely felt like work at all, you simply couldn’t take that many slow thrusts inside you. And now your cunt was contracting around him, trying to milk cum out of him like the only thing missing from your orgasm was a load of his release inside you. But he wasn’t going to give it to you, not yet. No matter how limp your body suddenly felt in his arms and how you cried out as soon as he resumed his thrusts, he was going to fuck you until he was satisfied this time.

He adjusted his grip on your body and carried you to the bed, lying you down and immediately placing himself on top of you, putting his dick back exactly where it belonged, buried deep inside you. His hands behind both of your knees, he held your legs against his hips as he pushed himself back and forth in you, on his knees while you were lying down with your head resting on your pillow. He could feel the pleasure bubbling inside him, demanding more to finally explode and allow him some relief. He was so desperate to finish, he needed to fill you up with his seed, make sure you would be his from now on. Hell, he wanted to spill everything he could inside you until he was bone dry and then, feed you every drop that might escape from your folds so that none of his release would go to waste.

He leaned forward, the weight of his body shifting and pressing yours deeper into the mattress. The bed was creaking loudly with each of his violent thrusts, menacing to break, while your cries of agonizing pleasure escaped through the broken window, mixing with the splatter of the heavy rain outside and the low rumble of thunder.

It wasnt so much the way he drove himself in and out of you, fast and without mercy, that pushed him off of the edge but the sight of you, gasping for air like you couldn’t take him anymore, crying out his name with half of your face buried in your pillow, your pretty lips forming a perfect oval as he finally groaned and released himself inside you, making you climax once more, in unison with him this time.

He filled you up, waiting until his cock was done twitching, the very last drops of cum dripping from his tip before he took it out. He needed to catch his breath now but the way you were still shaking with pleasure in front of him, beautiful as ever and claimed by him made his heart race.

Rain and hail crashed noisily on the roof of the cabin, covering the sound of your panting breaths, lightning illuminating the darkness that had filled the room every once in a while. He knew that his friends were probably waiting for him back at the barracks, that his superiors might start wondering where he was since he wasn’t on permission yet, but he couldn’t get himself to leave. Not yet. He had been dreaming, imagining, fantasizing about this moment for too long to cut it short. The way you had felt, how your body looked without any clothes on, your face when he poured his release inside you, everything had exceeded his expectations. You were truly perfect for him. And he no longer could resist kissing your lips, making sure you’d understand how obsessed he was with you.

No feelings.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

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elswhore · 2 months ago

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𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐍 𝟎𝟎𝟑

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ─ @kalan1z @ssijht @vahnilla

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ─ meeting ellie. shooting. murder. gunplay. emotional spiral. humiliation. emotional abuse. implied sexual tension. verbal abuse.

abby’s instructions were clear, get into ellie’s inner circle, prove your worth, and feed her intel.

mel, arranged the meeting, slipping you a time and place through a cryptic text on the burner phone abby gave you.

the location is a sex bar called The velvet rope, a seedy underworld hub where the city’s elite and its criminals mingle in a haze of lust and power.

the idea of meeting ellie there, in a place pulsing with decadence, makes your skin crawl, but you’re past hesitation.

you told Abby you’d do anything, and you meant it—even if it means crossing lines you never thought you would.

the bar is tucked in a forgotten corner of the city, its neon sign flickering red against the rain slicked street.

the air inside is thick with perfume, sweat, and the low thrum of bass heavy music.

dim lights cast shadows over velvet curtains and leather booths, where half dressed dancers weave through crowds of men in suits and women in glittering dresses.

you’re dressed to blend in—black jeans, a fitted top, a leather jacket mel insisted you wear to look the part.

your heart pounds as you push through the crowd, the weight of the knife strapped to your thigh a small comfort.

mel’s contact, a bouncer with a scar across his cheek, nods you toward a private room in the back, hidden behind a heavy curtain.

you step inside, and the air shifts, heavier, charged with menace.

the room is opulent, a stark contrast to the bar’s grime—a circular couch in deep red leather dominates the space, flanked by low tables littered with bottles of whiskey and ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts.

the walls are draped in black velvet, absorbing sound, making the room feel like a void.

five men sit on the couch, all in tailored suits, their faces hard and eyes cold, higher-ups in ellie’s empire.

they’re mid-conversation, their voices low and laced with arrogance, but they pause as you enter, their gazes raking over you like predators sizing up prey.

at the center of the couch, reclining with a glass of bourbon in one hand and a pistol in the other, is ellie williams.

she’s not what you expected—not a hulking warlord, but a lean, commanding figure, her auburn hair tied back in a messy ponytail, her green eyes sharp as shattered glass.

her black shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a glimpse of a tattoo snaking across her forearm, and her presence fills the room like a storm cloud.

she’s beautiful, in a dangerous, untamed way, but there’s no mistaking the lethality in her casual slouch, the way her fingers curl around the gun like it’s an extension of her.

“who’s this?” one of the men asks, a burly guy with a gold chain and a smirk, his eyes lingering on you too long.

you step forward, your voice steady despite the knot in your chest. “im c/n” you say, using the cover mel gave you. “i want in. i’ll do anything—whatever you need, legal or not. i’m good with tech, i can fight, and i don’t ask questions.”

ellie’s eyes lock onto you, and the weight of her stare is a physical thing, peeling back your layers.

she doesn’t speak at first, just tilts her head, her lips curling into a faint, predatory smirk.

the room is silent except for the muffled bass from the bar outside, and you feel the men’s eyes on you, judging, waiting for her verdict.

“anything?” ellie finally says, her voice low and rough, like gravel and smoke.

she sets her glass down and leans forward, the gun dangling loosely in her hand.

“that’s a big promise, c/n. you got any idea what ‘anything’ means in my world?”

you swallow, your pulse racing, but you hold her gaze. “im not here to play games, i can handle it.” her smirk widens, and she gestures with the gun, a lazy flick of her wrist.

“Kneel,” she says, her tone almost playful, but there’s steel beneath it.

“show me you mean it.” the command catches you off guard, but you don’t hesitate, you drop to one knee, the carpet rough against your jeans, your eyes never leaving hers.

the act feels like surrender, but it’s a calculated move—you’re here to prove yourself, to get close enough to find your dad.

the men chuckle, a low, ugly sound, and you feel their stares like knives, but ellie’s the only one who matters.

“not bad.” she murmurs, her eyes glinting with something you can’t read—amusement, interest.

“you might just survive me.” the burly guy with the gold chain laughs, leaning back on the couch.

“she’s eager, ill give her that. bet she’d look better out of that jacket, though.” his tone is crude, his smirk leering, and the other men snicker, egging him on.

you tense, your jaw clenching, but before you can react, ellie’s gun snaps up, the barrel trained on the man’s chest.

the room goes deathly still, the laughter dying like a snuffed flame.

“say that again” she says, her voice ice cold, her finger steady on the trigger.

the man’s smirk falters, his hands raising in a placating gesture. “c’mon, ellie, i was just—” the gunshot is deafening in the enclosed space, a sharp crack that echoes off the velvet walls.

the man slumps back, a red stain blooming on his chest, his eyes wide and lifeless.

you flinch, the sound jolting through you, your breath catching as the reality hits, she killed him, just like that, for a comment.

the other men freeze, their faces pale, but ellie doesn’t blink, her expression unreadable.

she notices your flinch, her eyes flicking to you, and something shifts in her gaze—something dangerous, possessive.

“you scared, c/n?” she asks, her voice soft but laced with challenge.

without waiting for an answer, she swings the gun toward the other men, and before anyone can move, she fires again. and again. four more shots, each one precise, each one final.

the men collapse, blood pooling on the leather couch, the air thick with the metallic tang of it.

you’re frozen, your heart hammering, the room spinning as the reality of ellie’s ruthlessness sinks in.

it’s just you and her now, the private room a tomb of her making.

she stands, her movements fluid, almost casual, and steps toward you, the gun still in her hand.

you’re still kneeling, your breath shallow, the knife at your thigh useless against her.

she stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell her—bourbon, smoke, and something faintly sweet, like danger itself.

she tilts her head, studying you, then presses the barrel of the gun against your cheek, the metal cold and unyielding against your skin.

you tense, but you don’t pull away, she trails the gun slowly down your jaw, the cool steel tracing the line of your throat, sending a shiver through you that’s equal parts fear and something you refuse to name.

her eyes are locked on yours, green and piercing, searching for weakness. “you said you’d do anything” she murmurs, her voice a low drawl, her lips curling into that predatory smirk.

“let’s see how far that goes.” the gun lingers against your skin, a silent threat, but you force your voice steady.

“i meant it.” you say, your words firm despite the tremor in your chest.

“test me.” her smirk deepens, and she leans closer, the gun sliding under your chin, tilting your head up to meet her gaze.

“Oh, i will.” she whispers, and the promise in her voice is as thrilling as it is terrifying.

───────────────────────────

your first task—retrieving a drug drop from a dealer at neon pulse—went off without a hitch, thanks to

mel’s intel and your quick thinking.

you delivered the bag of product and cash by 3 a.m., earning a nod from ellie and a place in her crew.

but a nod isn’t trust, and you’re still an outsider, a new recruit with everything to prove.

today is your first day at ellie’s mansion, the nerve center of her empire.

the estate looms on the city’s outskirts, a sprawling fortress of stone and glass that screams wealth and power.

from the outside, it’s a vision—manicured lawns, marble columns, windows glinting like diamonds in the morning sun.

you expected to step into that opulence, to see the heart of ellie’s world up close, but reality is a harsh slap.

you and the other new recruits—hard-eyed men and women with rap sheets and hungry stares—are shuttled to the “other side” a cluster of low buildings tucked behind the main house, hidden by dense trees.

the contrast is stark where the mansion gleams, this area is grim, a utilitarian sprawl of concrete barracks with peeling paint, narrow cots, and flickering fluorescent lights.

the air smells of mildew and cigarette smoke, the walls scrawled with graffiti and pocked with dents.

it’s a holding pen for ellie’s grunts, the disposable cogs in her machine, and you’re one of them now.

you’re assigned a cot in a shared room, your meager belongings—a backpack with clothes and the burner phone from abby—stashed under it.

the other recruits keep to themselves, their conversations clipped, their eyes wary. you’re c/n here, a drifter with tech skills and a willingness to break laws, not the grieving daughter searching for her dad.

but every moment in this place, every glance at the mansion’s distant glow, is a reminder of your mission: get close to ellie, find information, and get out.

the day is a blur of grunt work—cleaning gear, running errands, shadowing mel as she moves between the barracks and the main house.

she’s quiet, her scarf loose around her neck, her eyes avoiding yours when you try to probe about your dad. “focus on the job” she mutters, and you bite back your frustration.

you need something concrete—records, names, anything tying ellie to your dad’s disappearance.

the mansion, with its offices and secrets, is your best bet, but access is tightly controlled.

recruits don’t wander they obey.

late in the afternoon, when the barracks are quiet and mel’s off on a cleaning job, you seize your chance.

you slip out, claiming you’re grabbing supplies, and skirt the tree line toward the main house.

the mansion’s back entrance is guarded, but you’ve watched the patrols, timed the gaps.

heart pounding, you slip through a side door left ajar for deliveries, stepping into a world of polished marble and crystal chandeliers.

the halls are wide, lined with art—dark, abstract pieces that seem to watch you—and the air is cool, scented with leather and wax.

it’s a palace, but it feels like a trap, every step echoing your intrusion.You move quickly, sticking to shadows, your sneakers silent on the floor.

you’re looking for an office, a computer, anything that might hold records of ellie’s operations, her runners, her enemies.

a door at the end of a corridor catches your eye—heavy oak, slightly ajar, light spilling from within.

you inch closer, peering inside.

it’s a study, shelves lined with books and files, a sleek laptop on a desk.

your pulse spikes—this could be it, you slip in, easing the door shut, and approach the desk, your fingers brushing the laptop’s edge.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” the voice is a whipcrack, freezing you in place.

ellie stands in the doorway, her lean frame filling the space, her green eyes are narrowed, glinting with suspicion.

she’s in a black tank top and jeans, her tattooed arm stark against the fabric, and the casualness of her stance only heightens the threat.

you straighten, forcing calm into your voice, though your heart’s a jackhammer.

“i got lost” you say, the lie flimsy but all you’ve got. “i was looking for the supply room, took a wrong turn.” ellie steps closer, shutting the door with a soft click that feels like a cell locking.

“lost” she repeats, her voice dripping with mockery “you think im stupid, c/n? tou think i don’t know every inch of this place, every rat that tries to sneak where they don’t belong?”

she circles you, her boots slow and deliberate, a predator toying with prey.

“you’re not here for supplies, you’re sniffing around, sticking your nose where it’ll get cut off.” you shake your head, your mouth dry.

“i swear, i just—”

“shut up” she snaps, stopping in front of you, close enough that you feel the heat of her anger.

“you’re new, so let me spell it out, you’re nothing here, a grunt. , nobody. you don’t wander into my house, touch my shit, and lie to my face, you think you’re slick, huh? think you can play me?”

her words hit like punches, each one sharper, meaner.

a burden. nobody.

you clench your fists, trying to hold it together, but ellie’s relentless, her voice low and venomous.

“i gave you a chance, c/n, took you in, put you to work, and this is how you repay me? sneaking like a fucking thief? you’re pathetic, you know that? a desperate little wannabe who’s gonna get herself killed because she’s too dumb to know her place.”

the cruelty in her tone, the way she looms over you, tears at your defenses.

your throat tightens, and despite your fight to stay strong, a tear slips down your cheek, then another, you hate yourself for it, hate the weakness, but the weight of her words, of your, of this whole damn week, is too much.

ellie pauses, her eyes flicking to the tears, and for a moment, something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, or something darker, like satisfaction. But she doesn’t soften.

“Crying won’t help you” she says, her voice quieter but no less cutting.

“you wanna stay in my world, you toughen up or you’re out, now get the fuck back to the barracks before i decide you’re not worth keeping.”

you wipe your face, your hands shaking, and nod, unable to speak.

you brush past her, the study’s opulence blurring through your tears, and stumble back to the barracks, her words echoing in your head.

───────────────────────────

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biblical-chronicles · 1 month ago

Text

Hired

______________________________________________________

where Noel makes sure to interview you rather thoroughly [18+]

______________________________________________________

You were perched on the edge of a sleek, rather uncomfortable couch, clutching your portfolio like a lifeline. The receptionist had offered a forced smile and a vague instruction to "wait here," before returning to her screen.

Minutes stretched into half an hour, the ticking clock not helping your anxiety. You shifted in your seat, glancing at the closed doors that led deeper into the studio building. Just as you mustered the courage to approach the desk again, a door burst open.

A man in a tailored suit hurried out, his expression a mix of guilt and urgency. "You'll be fine, Noel. Do it for me, yeah? I owe you one!" he called over his shoulder.

Behind him stood Noel, arms crossed, a scowl etched on his face. His gaze followed the man until he disappeared, then shifted to you. "You the one here for the tech position?" he asked, his voice tinged with resignation.

You nodded, caught off guard. "Yes, that's me."

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Looks like I've been roped into interviewing you. Brilliant." He gestured for you to follow. "Come on, let's get this over with."

He led you through a maze of corridors, the hum of equipment and muffled music growing louder. Finally, he opened a door to a modest studio room. "Here we are," he said, motioning for you to enter.

You stepped inside, the door closing behind you with a soft click.

Noel just gave you a look as if he was already regretting this and motioned toward the small corner of the studio where two mismatched chairs sat by a half-dead fern. You followed him in, careful not to trip over a coiled cable underfoot.

He collapsed into one of the chairs with a low grunt, legs sprawled out, arms crossed tight over his chest. You sat down opposite him, a little too stiff, trying not to look like your heart was going at full speed.

He glanced at you once, then again, slower the second time.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he said. “This ain’t me job. Interviewing people. Not really me scene.”

You nodded, but didn’t speak. Not sure if you were supposed to yet.

He sighed through his nose “But apparently today I’m HR.”

You offered the faintest smile, but he didn’t return it. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm against his bicep.

“So,” he said finally. “Why this job?”

You swallowed. “I’ve been doing freelance tech stuff for a bit. Mostly live gigs. Smaller studio setups. I studied it properly, audio engineering, looking to collect more meaningful work experience.”

He nodded once, eyes on you, like he was weighing that against something in his head.

“And what — you reckon you’ve got the ears for it? The touch?”

“I think so.”

“Think so?” He leaned his head back against the wall, gaze still fixed. “Hope so. Can’t be half-arsed in here. One buzz on a mic and most the divs here start flipping tables.”

You didn't know if it was supposed to be a joke, but smiled anyway, trying to ignore the way your palms felt a bit damp against your knees.

His eyes drifted, not rudely, just steady. You felt them flick to your hands for a beat too long before snapping back to your face.

“And what are you like under pressure?”

You hesitated.

He didn’t blink.

“I can handle it,” you said, quieter than you meant to.

He raised one eyebrow like he didn’t quite buy it.

The room had gone still again. The hum of the equipment in the walls felt louder in the silence. You shifted in your seat. His foot tapped once against the scuffed floor and stopped.

You weren’t looking at him, not really, but you could feel the weight of his stare.

Then, without warning, he stood up. Sharp motion. His chair creaked under the shift.

You blinked up at him.

“Alright,” he muttered, stretching his arms once before letting them fall to his sides. “Enough waffle. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He jerked his head toward the console.

You stood too quickly, bumping your knee on the edge of the table. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth twitched like he clocked it.

You followed him to the board, pulse in your ears.

He didn’t touch you, didn’t even stand that close.

But you could still feel the heat of him beside you as he reached past you, fingers brushing a toggle.

“What’s this?”

You couldn't even properly look at him before answering, too afraid of your voice failing you. “EQ strip. Four-band. High-pass here.”

He said nothing. Just stood there.

You tried not to glance. Tried not to think about how close he was, or how loud your heartbeat felt in your neck.

He flicked another switch. Closer this time.

“And that?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Talkback mic. Routes to the booth.”

Still nothing. No comment. No hum of agreement. Just the sound of your own breath and the soft mechanical whir of the studio around you.

He moved again, slowly, quiet footsteps on the worn floor, close enough now that you were hyper-aware of where he might end up if he took one more step. His hand slid across the desk, steady, fingers dragging absently over a strip of tape marked with notes.

He didn't speak again for a while. Just watched.

You adjusted the routing, said something about line level versus mic input, couldn’t quite remember how you phrased it. He didn’t correct you. Just stood there, still, like he had all the time in the world.

The silence started to itch. Your leg bounced once, then stilled. You shifted your weight — not much, just enough to feel like you were doing something.

He finally stepped forward and leaned slightly to the side, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body, though he didn’t touch you. Just leaned in and pointed at another knob on the console.

“Preamp gain,” you said, before he could ask properly. Your voice came out smaller than you meant. “Input level.”

He stayed where he was.

You stared forward, blinked hard once.

Your palms felt damp, but you weren’t about to wipe them on your jeans. You held them together, knuckles pressed tight. Anything to keep still.

Then, finally:

“Alright.” he said, like a verdict.

You didn’t even notice him move after that, but his presence was suddenly right behind you. You could feel the heat from his body close enough to make your skin prickle.

His breath brushed the edge of your ear, soft but unmistakable.

“What’s this button do?” he asked. You could feel his words against your neck, the way they made you shiver involuntarily.

Your fingers were unsteady on the console as you forced yourself to look at the dial he was pointing to, willing your brain to remember the answer.

“Low-pass filter,” you whispered, trying to push the words out clearly, but they sounded weaker than you intended. Your throat was tight.

A breath of approval, a soft hum, followed by a whisper in your ear. “Good.”

It felt like a reward, but it hit your skin differently, sending a hot wave down your spine that made your legs feel a little shaky beneath you.

His hand moved, his fingers brushing lightly across your shoulder, and your whole body jolted. You hadn’t realized how much you were anticipating his touch until you felt the lightness of it against your skin. You tried to ignore the heat flooding your face, the way your pulse had already jumped too high.

“Next,” he said, his voice quieter, but his proximity making it feel like he was right in your ear.

His finger moved to another dial, and you instinctively followed the motion with your gaze. But you couldn’t focus. Not with him leaning in so close again.

"Compression," you breathed out, your voice even weaker now.

He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the edge of your ear as he murmured, "Good."

You shifted slightly, your hands moving nervously over the console, as you looked back at him.

Yet you couldn't even get a word out, as he just grabbed your chin and tilted it slowly, just enough to pull your attention back to the board in front of you.

You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry.

“What’s this?” His question was almost nonchalant, his voice nothing more than a murmur against the curve of your neck, just close enough that you couldn’t ignore it.

You couldn’t even think. Your mind was empty except for his voice, his presence, the weight of him right behind you.

He waited. He let the silence drag on, stretching out between the two of you. His eyes never left yours, a quiet challenge flickering in their depths.

“Go on,” he urged, soft but firm. “Answer.”

You weren’t sure if you could. The words were stuck in your throat, and every part of you felt like it was burning under his stare. But finally, your mouth opened, and the answer slipped out.

“Reverb unit.”

There was another beat of silence, and then Noel’s lips curled into a slow smile, just enough to let you know he had you right where he wanted you.

“Good,” he murmured.

Noel moved back again, but not far enough to let you feel like you could breathe. Just a few paces back, arms crossed, one hip cocked lazily against the edge of the rack cabinet. Watching you.

“Sit,” he said finally, nodding toward the chair at the console.

You moved without argument.

He stepped forward and dropped back into the other chair beside you.

“Back to it,” he said, like he hadn’t just wrecked your composure. “I’ve still got questions.”

You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or fold in on yourself. He didn’t seem to care either way.

“Routing,” he said flatly. “You’ve got drums in one room, bass in another. Tell me how you’d set up the sends.”

You inhaled. Focused. Tried to.

“Separate submixes,” you said quietly. “Drums through a bus with pre-fader sends. Bass isolated with DI and room mic blend.”

He made a small noise. Approval, maybe.

Then his hand slid over to your thigh.

You froze.

Not completely. But enough.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look. Just traced a slow, thoughtful line along the inside seam of your jeans. Fingers pressing just enough to be felt.

“And what if the kick’s bleeding into the snare mic?” he asked, voice steady. “What’s your fix love?”

You tried to breathe around the bloom of heat crawling up your neck.

“Gate the snare,” you said. “Or… move the kick mic. Change the polar pattern.”

His fingers curved. Just slightly. Like he was rewarding you.

“That’s it,” he murmured.

Then, like it was nothing, he popped the button on your jeans.

Your breath stuttered.

“Need to know how you think under pressure,” he said, voice gone low. “That alright with you?”

You nodded.

The zipper came down with a quiet hiss.

And then his hand slid inside.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted metal.

Noel still didn’t look at you. Just leaned in, adjusted a knob absently on the board with his other hand.

His fingers were already slipping under the waistband of your underwear, dragging the fabric down just enough to bare skin, his ring providing a cool sensation.

“You still answering questions,” he said, “or am I wasting me time?”

You swallowed.

“N–No. I’m ready.”

“Good.” His fingers pressed lower, parted your folds gently. “Let’s see what you can remember now.”

The first touch was maddening — just the pad of one finger circling slow, cruel. Not giving you what you needed. Just letting you know he could.

“What’s your go-to mic for vocals?” he asked.

You blinked, trying to focus past the heat flaring across your skin.

“U87,” you managed. “Or a Shure SM7B if—”

A second finger slipped through your folds, sliding slick over sensitive nerves.

“If what?” he prompted.

“If… it’s a rougher vocal. Or… male.”

He smirked at that.

“Male, yeah?” His voice dipped.

You couldn’t speak. Not when his fingers slid deeper — slowly entering you — his palm pressing flush against you as his thumb dragged up to circle your clit.

“Fuck—” you gasped.

“Language,” he muttered against your neck, lips grazing just under your ear. “You want more, you earn it.”

He didn’t move for a breathless moment, letting you squirm on his hand, your hips twitching upward without meaning to.

“What’s your fix for latency?” he asked.

You could barely think.

“Buffer size,” you choked out. “Too big—lag. Too small—glitches.”

Your thighs tensed, breath shuddering out like it was punched from your chest.

“Good girl.” he whispered.

He continued his almost rhythmic movements. Fingers curling just right, thumb rubbing little maddening circles that made it impossible to keep your eyes open. You were melting into the chair, legs spread, mouth open and breath coming in broken waves.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “You know this one.”

You didn’t even hear the question, only registering his voice, the motion of his hand, the way your body was climbing higher with every stroke. Every flick.

You felt him shift closer, his free hand reaching to adjust a gain knob like this was just another afternoon session. Like you weren’t dripping on his fingers.

He brought his mouth close again, lips barely brushing your cheek.

“How many inputs can you run on a standard 8-bus console?”

“Sixteen,” you whispered. “With pairing—thirty-two.”

He hummed, pleased.

His fingers moved faster. Deeper.

The world broke apart.

You moaned, sharp, involuntary. One hand flying to grip the console, the other to his wrist, not to stop him, but to hold onto anything.

“You’re close,” he murmured. “Can feel it. Don’t hold back on me now, yeah love?”

It rolled through you then, sudden and hot, like all the tension had pooled in your spine and snapped forward all at once. Your body convulsed around his hand, legs trembling, breath gone to static.

He didn’t stop. Not right away. Slowed only when your hips began to twitch from sensitivity, then pulled his fingers out with slow reverence.

You sagged in the chair, half-breathless, eyes fluttering open to find him watching you.

He stood, wiping his fingers on the thigh of his jeans, then leaning forward to tap the console lightly.

“Levels are still good,” he said, like none of it had happened. “Consider yourself hired.”

______________________________________________________

I am back ya lot !!

hope you liked it, also actual audio engineers please excuse any jarring mistakes, this is all quickly googled knowledge here x

so glad to be scribbling away again xx

#oasis x reader #oasis one shots #britpop x reader #britpop fanfiction #britpop x f!reader #oasis band #noel gallagher x reader #oasis fanfiction #noel gallagher x you #noel gallagher x f!reader #noel gallagher x y/n #noel gallagher fanfiction #noel gallagher x reader smut #noel gallagher x f!reader smut #oasis fic #britpop fanfic #britpop smut #britpop x you #britpop x reader smut

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m1zisu4 · 1 month ago

Text

on sua and speaking, ivan and class, and ivansua similarities

furthering my analysis on ivansua in a continuation of this post, where i talk about ivan's answers in their interview with andromeda media regarding their status as outstanding students

sua speaks comparatively little. ivan's long (thorough maybe...) responses are largely informed by his struggle to assimilate from the slums into unsha's life for him. he uses his interview as an opportunity to position himself as an archetypal success story. if you work hard, show deference, and practice correct behavior, you will be rewarded. by contrast, sua's responses are not tailored this way.

sua is trained to speak minimally. she is the youngest of seven (?) human pets, and nigeh's favorite daughter. she maintains this status by making herself into a perfect, empty doll—no desires, no dreams, no purpose outside of service to her mother. in her relationship with nigeh, she speaks only when she's made to (which means her self-advocacy skills are abysmal, something reflected in her relationship with her sisters, who bully her and push her around). speaking only when "necessary" is a behavior she internalizes as essential to survival, and something she replicates across her personal and professional relationships.

this particular answer highlights the difference(s) between ivansua's perspectives

ivan breaks down his studying methodology step-by-step. he clearly provides an ideal answer for the interviewer. it's almost comically perfect, the exact type of thing someone would want to hear from an outstanding student. ivan plays this role well. his analytical skills empower him to adapt to any circumstance and legitimize himself in an academic context.

however, sua answers with icy precision. the formula for success isn't complicated for her, it's a matter of observation and obedience. like her life with nigeh and her sisters, nothing was about sua's desires, or her personal aspirations, or her own goals. they were about following instructions, "memorizing" what was to be done and completing it without complaint or complication. vivinos has highlighted sua's "weak" mental state and inner darkness while qmeng has emphasized her aggression. it's important to square the two by acknowledging how sua has been subjugated by her family (as well as how it impacts her attitude and actions) AND the ways in which her agentive behaviors change her life, and mizi's.

ivansua are very similar. their survival depends on negotiating their power through participation in a system designed against their mental, physical, and emotional wellbeing. they are in stark contrast to mizi and till, who are more obviously deviant and openly rebel in some form or another, and who are not capable of or willing to perform this manipulation (which is why ivansua are drawn to them)

i wanted to highlight this part because they're discussing their respective fixations:

firstly, it's no surprise that the class ivan is the most confident in is music appreciation. the more he understands something, the more useful it becomes to him, and the more secure he feels.

more importantly, mizi's "deviance" (or academic struggles) requires that sua support her. this fosters their closeness. mizi's failures create a need for sua, which sua is eager to fill. by answering this way, she characterizes herself as kind and helpful. but she also hints at her and mizi's dependence on each other. it also highlights sua's "emptiness"—she does not have a favorite class, or one she's most confident in because she's developed a unique interest in a particular subject, or one that she herself had struggled with. her best class is the one that mizi needs help with. sua prioritizes mizi above all.

the order of these questions are also interesting to me. ivan doesn't anticipate that sua will be this open. as soon as she alludes to mizi, he takes it as license to mention till. prior to this answer, he talks mostly about his own affairs and is congenial. but here, he breaks the facade and says something surprisingly rude. there's a note of fascination in his tone. till's deviance—his rebellion, his ferocity, his disruptive habits, his indomintable spirit—separate him completely from ivan. he can't understand till, which stokes his all-consuming obsession with him. when sua says "yes, i think so," all i can imagine is her side-eyeing him like "get a grip."

#alnst sua #alnst analysis #mizisua #ivantill #ivansua #they're my skrunklies

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legendary-69420 · 6 months ago

Text

Fashion, Flirtation, and Frenemies

Chapter 6

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

Mark Spencer was a man of many contradictions. One of the most striking was his complete indifference to his appearance. He lived in hoodies—oversized, comfortable, and utterly unassuming. Yet, somehow, he managed to look like he belonged on the cover of a high-fashion magazine even in his most relaxed attire. His messy hair, chiseled features, and an effortless aura of confidence made sure of that.

But when Mark decided to clean up… Good Lord.

It was a bright afternoon during a PR event at the Ferrari headquarters. The team was preparing for interviews and photo shoots, and as always, Mark had kept to himself, absorbed in something on his iPad. He entered the room quietly, wearing a white turtleneck that clung to his frame, paired with tailored trousers. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal a sleek, expensive watch. His hair, messy in a calculated way, framed his face perfectly, while the sharp lines of his freshly trimmed beard accentuated his jawline. Spectacles perched on his nose added a touch of intellectual charm, and his pout—unintentionally adorable as he concentrated on the stats on his screen—made it impossible to look away.

The room fell silent as heads turned.

Even the most focused team members found themselves distracted. A PR representative stumbled over her words, forgetting the next instruction, while Charles Leclerc, seated in the corner, froze mid-sip of his espresso. His eyes narrowed, scanning Mark from head to toe. It wasn’t the first time Mark had caught everyone off guard with his looks, but it was the first time Charles felt a growing, unexplainable ache in his chest.

Charles muttered under his breath, “He doesn’t even try.” ______________________________________________________________

It was the Texas Grand Prix, and Mark couldn’t have looked more out of place—or more irresistible—if he tried. From the moment he stepped out of the car, it was clear that he had fully embraced the Texas vibe, leaving fans—especially those in the paddock—completely speechless.

Mark had donned a cowboy hat, the wide brim casting a shadow over his eyes, giving him an air of mystery. His shirt, an open-collared, loosely tucked Western button-down, clung just enough to hint at the strong muscles underneath, but it was the tight, well-worn jeans that had everyone’s attention. They fit him perfectly, hugging every curve and contour, and for once, Mark didn’t even try to hide the fact that they put his “ass-ets” on full display. The leather boots he wore clicked with every step, making him look like he had just walked straight out of a country music video—and everyone was here for it.

But what truly made the look was his accent. Mark’s usual multilingual charm took on a sultry, southern edge as he greeted everyone with a soft, “Howdy, y’all.” The contrast between his usual European elegance and this rugged Texan persona made his fans weak in the knees.

Charles couldn’t help but steal glances at him. The way the light caught Mark’s features, his jawline sharp and his chest—oh God, his chest—barely contained by the tight shirt, made Charles’ stomach twist in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Mark was more than just the rookie Ferrari driver, he was… a force.

______________________________________________________________

A few days later, the drivers planned a dinner together—a rare moment to unwind amidst their hectic schedules. The group gathered in the hotel lobby, dressed in casual but stylish attire. Charles, ever the gentleman, wore a smart blazer over a casual shirt. He stood chatting with Lando and Carlos when the elevator doors opened.

And there he was.

Mark stepped out dressed in an all-black suit that seemed tailored to perfection. The fabric hugged his broad shoulders and tapered down to his long legs. A faint hint of his cologne—a dangerously intoxicating blend of musk and cedar—lingered in the air as he passed. His hair was slightly slicked back, accentuating the sharpness of his features, and a subtle smirk played on his lips as he adjusted his cufflinks.

He looked like he had walked straight out of a mafia drama, the kind where he’d play the enigmatic and dangerously hot boss. Conversations around the lobby hushed. Even Lando, known for his endless jokes, muttered a quiet “Bloody hell? Is he here for dinner or is he here to kill us all?”

Charles swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around the glass of wine in his hand. He couldn’t deny it anymore—Mark Spencer had a way of commanding attention without even trying, and it was driving Charles to the brink.

As Mark made his way toward the group, he could feel every pair of eyes on him. It wasn’t just the drivers who were mesmerized—fans across the world were reacting to his sudden sartorial change. Social media erupted with enthusiasm.

Fan Reactions:

*"I was NOT prepared for this level of hotness from Mark Spencer. That suit? *chef’s kiss* #FerrariFashion #MarkIsKillingIt"*

"Okay, but did anyone else feel like Mark just walked out of a mafia movie? What’s next, a dramatic action scene?? #NewFavoriteLook"

"The way he just casually owns that look? That’s the kind of swagger we need in F1. 👏👏👏 #MarkSpencer #StyleIcon"

"Mark is serving us the *exact* amount of hotness we need in 2024. Someone please tell me how to pull off a turtleneck like that. #F1FashionKing"

"I’m not even mad that Charles Leclerc’s in the background—Mark is absolutely stealing the show right now. #Unbothered"

The attention didn’t stop there. As the evening wore on, Mark couldn’t help but notice Charles stealing glances at him. It was subtle—almost too subtle—but Mark had learned to read Charles by now. There was something in the way his gaze lingered just a bit too long, and it made Mark’s heart race. But he was determined not to acknowledge the growing tension.

Dinner passed in a blur of laughs and lighthearted chatter, though there was an undeniable energy that hung between Mark and Charles. Eventually, the group headed back to the hotel.

In the elevator, the air was thick with unspoken words. Charles and Mark stood side by side, their proximity almost unbearable. The faint sound of the elevator’s hum was the only thing filling the silence.

Finally, Charles broke the quiet. "You know," he began casually, "you clean up way too well."

Mark raised an eyebrow, glancing over at him. "What, you’re not used to seeing me in something other than a hoodie?"

Charles smirked, his fingers drumming lightly against his arm. “Yeah, but this… this is something else.”

Mark chuckled softly, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “What, you worried I’ll steal your spotlight?”

Charles looked away, clearly flustered. But Mark, ever the tease, leaned closer. “Don’t worry, Charles. You’ll always be the pretty one.” He said it with a playful grin, but the words hung in the air longer than necessary.

Before Charles could respond, Mark’s finger accidentally brushed against Charles’ hand, the briefest touch sending an unexpected shock through both of them. It was enough to make Mark pause and meet Charles’ gaze. The playful smile on his lips faltered slightly, and Charles didn’t look away.

And then, without thinking, Charles leaned in, his lips brushing against Mark’s for a brief moment. It wasn’t a deep kiss—nothing more than a spark of electricity—but it was enough to send both their hearts racing. When they pulled apart, neither of them knew what to say.

Mark’s expression was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed something softer, something that wasn’t there before.

“Well,” he murmured, breaking the silence, “that’s certainly one way to say goodnight.”

Charles, still flushed, muttered a quiet, “Yeah, sure.”

As Mark stepped off the elevator first, he shot Charles one last look, his smirk wide and knowing. “Sleep well, Charles,” he said with a wink.

Charles, stunned, could only manage a small nod.

This was a new kind of tension—one that neither of them was ready for, but one they couldn’t ignore any longer. ______________________________________________________________

(dividers by @anitalenia , @bunnysrph , @omi-resources )

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aylacavebear · 5 months ago

Text

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Epilogue

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 1600

Warnings: Dean being Dean, Fluff - LOTS - get the tissues.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Epilogue

In the days that followed, Dean moved his belongings into your home. He didn’t have much—just a few duffel bags, a couple of sentimental keepsakes, and his favorite tools—but each item he unpacked added a little more of him to the space. The house began to feel less like just your home and more like your shared home.

You worked together to make room for his things, clearing out two drawers in your dresser and rearranging your closet to fit his flannels and worn leather jacket. Dean was helping in his own way, teasing your body every chance he got, promises to christen every surface of the house as the two of you had in the bunker.

On one of those afternoons, there was an unexpected knock at the door. When you opened it, a man in a sleek, tailored suit stood on the porch, holding a small electronic device and a large envelope. Dean was instantly by your side, his arm around your waist the moment he felt your unease.

“This is for you. Please sign here,” the man said in a clipped, official tone, extending the device toward you.

You hesitated momentarily, puzzled, but signed your name as instructed and handed the device back to him. He passed you the large, official envelope without another word and left. “That was weird,” you muttered, absentmindedly closing the door.

Curiosity outweighed caution as you sat down on the couch with Dean beside you, his arm still resting protectively around you. You tore open the envelope, pulling out a stack of papers covered in dense legal jargon.

Dean leaned over your shoulder as you scanned through the pages, your brows furrowing in concentration. “What’s it say?” he asked, his hand lightly rubbing your lower back. “It’s about the premonition I had the day after your birthday,” you murmured, reading one of the pages. “Apparently, it led to the arrest of someone named Chuck Shirley.” Neither of you knew who that was, so you continued scanning the pages, more interested in what it said about Cole, and it didn’t take you long to find it.

Your pulse quickened as you read over the page and found the details of his situation. “Cole is in lockdown, and so is that other guy from that premonition. Says here, his name is Gordon Walker,” you read, Dean’s hand on your lower back, keeping you both grounded.

They were the papers Missouri said would come. Papers detailing that it really, truly, was over. Utter relief washed over you, but it was overwhelming, causing tears to well up and spill down your cheeks. Dean didn’t hesitate, pulling you into his arms as the documents slipped from your hands and onto the coffee table.

“I got you, Sweetheart,” he murmured softly against your hair.

Ellen had held a celebration at the bar, and everyone came. Dean only knew about it being a celebration of everything being over, having conspiratorial plans of his own. Everyone else knew of both, but you only knew about the surprise party.

The drinks flowed while the music played over the speakers. Laughter filled the corner of the bar as everyone caught up. Sam and Jessica were even there, having flown in from Cali two days earlier, for Dean’s surprise party. Dean knew it was coming but figured it would be over the coming weekend.

The feeling of being around family again, without the fear that had weighed you down for so long, was refreshing. You were able to keep that bubble up to keep their emotions out while keeping the connection between you and Dean open. Seeing him smiling, laughing, and just completely relaxed brought warmth to your heart.

A half-hour into the celebration, Mary followed Ellen into the kitchen, your eyes following them with a knowing look. You didn’t need to feel their emotions to know what was coming. A moment later, they reappeared, carrying a cake aglow with candles. Jo killed the lights, then rallied everyone in the bar to sing Happy Birthday.

The crowd’s voices swelled, a slightly off-key but enthusiastic chorus filling the room as the two women walked the cake through the bar and then set it in front of him. You squeezed his hand, a gentle reassurance that you were right there, noticing the way his cheeks flushed a faint pink. Sam and Benny both had smirks as they sang along, belting out the lyrics with exaggerated enthusiasm.

As the song came to an end, Mary looked down at her son, nothing but pride in her eyes, mirroring her husband's sitting nearby. “Make a wish, birthday boy,” she whispered softly, leaving a motherly kiss on the top of his head.

Dean looked over at you, that sweet, tender smile adorning his lips. “I don’t know what to wish for. I already have everything I’ve ever wanted,” he admitted, but his words were soft as his gaze never left yours.

“I’m sure you can think of something,” you told him in a soft whisper, squeezing his hand again as a smirk began tugging at his lips.

He looked back at the cake, watching the candlelight flicker for a moment. Then he looked up at his brother, who had been sitting across from him. Sam gave him a small nod before Dean blew out the candles.

“What’d you wish for?” Benny piped up, grinning.

Dean didn’t say a word. Instead, he shifted in his seat toward you, slowly slipping from his chair and down on one knee before you could process what was happening. “I know we haven’t been together long, but you’re my home, my peace, and I want to spend every day of my life being that for you.” his words were soft, steady, and full of emotion as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box.

The bar went completely silent save for Thank You by Led Zeppelin, playing in the background, which Jo had put on, just for this moment. Dean slowly opened the box, his green eyes still locked with yours. “Will you marry me, Y/N?” he asked, that boyish grin you adored spreading across his face as tears began slipping down your cheeks.

He had planned on waiting, wanting to take you someplace fancy, wine, and dine you. But tonight, in this moment, with everyone he cared about surrounding him, it just felt right. There was no stopping the tears of joy as they fell freely, and all you could do was nod your head. The words had caught in your throat, the overwhelming joy moving through the bond in waves. Yes, repeating in your mind, earning a quiet chuckle from him as he slipped the ring on your finger.

As Dean stood and pulled you into his arms, you noticed the glistening in his eyes, the entire bar erupted in cheers. Mary and Ellen were dabbing at their eyes, both overcome with happiness. Ellen, your aunt and the closest thing you’d ever had to a mother, looked prouder than you’d ever seen her.

Dean’s arms tightened around you as he pressed his lips to your ear. “Told you I had everything I’ve ever wanted,” he murmured, his voice low and full of love. “And now, you made my birthday wish come true.”

The rest of the night passed in a blur of laughter, love, and the kind of joy that only comes from being surrounded by family. Dean never left your side, his hand either entwined with yours or resting comfortably on your back as if to anchor you both in the moment.

As the celebration wore on, the crowd began to thin. One by one, your friends and family trickled out with warm hugs and heartfelt goodbyes, their faces glowing with shared happiness. Before long, it was just you, Dean, the guys from the garage, and Sam. Ellen, Jo, and Ash tidied things up to prepare for closing time. Dean’s arm slid around your waist as your eyes met, the bar now mostly quiet except for the faint rhythm of some random song playing from the jukebox. “So,” he said after a beat, his voice warm and teasing, “think we’ve got time to start christening the house tonight?”

You laughed, swatting his chest playfully. The guys grinned, already picking up on the undertone of his words. “Only if you think you can keep up, Winchester.”

His grin widened, his eyes twinkling with that mischievous spark you loved so much. “Sweetheart, keeping up with you isn’t the question,” he drawled, implying things that made your breath hitch and your lips part as you let out a slow breath.

Dean took full advantage of your momentary distraction, leaning down to capture your lips in a slow, lingering kiss, sealing the promise of everything still to come. The guys erupted into cheers and whistles, clearly enjoying the show, but neither of you paid them any attention, getting lost in each other for a few moments longer.

“Get a room!” Sam hollered with exaggerated exasperation, his voice cutting through the moment and making you both laugh too hard to continue.

You leaned your head against Dean’s chest, letting out a content sigh. “That’s my cue boys. See you in a couple days at the garage,” Dean said, his tone light, but his focus entirely on you. As the two of you stepped out into the cool night air, hand in hand, the stars above seemed impossibly bright. The future stretched ahead of you, unwritten and full of hope, but one thing was certain—no matter what came next, you’d face it together.

----------------------------------------- A/N: Thank you for coming along the journey this story took us all on. It isn't how I had originally seen it in my mind, and it is FAR longer. I love it, though. All of your comments, hearts, and reblogs have meant so much to me during writing this, even more so when I had writer's block.

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charmandabear · 7 months ago

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Office Hours: you can rent the space inside my mind (1/16)

Pairing: Astarion/named f!Tav Rating: explicit Word Count: 4k Chapter tags/warnings: vaginal masturbation, imagined face sitting, pegging, vague femdom (full list on ao3)

Summary:

After bickering with her about Shakespeare's better plays and rudely interrupting her meeting with her student, Rosalind can't get that stupid Ancunín out of her head.

She's hereeeeeeeee!!!!!! A several months long project, but she's all done, which means that (hopefully) I'll be regularly releasing chapters once a week. I received so much direct and indirect support on this, but I want to give a special shout out to Nyx ( @editing-by-night ) for being such a patient and dedicated editor.

Next chapter ~ Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist Office Hours playlist on Spotify

There’s something about him that rubs Rosalind the wrong way. It could be his arrogance, or the condescending way he peers over his glasses. It might be the overpriced cashmere turtlenecks that hug his figure perfectly or the stupid silver earrings adorning his stupid pointy ears. But every time he opens his pretty little mouth, she can feel a snarl growing deep in her throat.

When she first started her position as the Classical Acting professor at Baldur’s Gate University, Rosalind was shocked to learn that the English and Theatre departments share a main office. She’s heard of Theatre and Music departments sharing an office, or even universities where Theatre and Dance have merged into a single department. But Theatre and English? It feels insulting, honestly. English PhDs are some of the snobbiest people she’s ever met, and they always speak to her like she’s a child. Is it because they’re unimpressed by her MFA, as though it makes her less deserving of her position? Who knows. But Astarion Ancunín is no different.

“Hope, would you mind making twelve copies of pages 219-255 when you get a chance?” Rosalind hands the administrative assistant the heavy book. “You can leave them in my mailbox, I’ll pick them up later.” Hope opens the book to the instructed page.

“Oh, Much Ado About Nothing! I love that one!” she squeals with delight. “That Beatrice and Benedick are so perfect for one another,” she sighs, stroking the Complete Works lovingly. Her almost childlike joy at the play makes Rosalind smile.

“They are, they’re just a strict upgrade from Kate and Petruchio,” she agrees, leaning forward on the counter in front of Hope’s desk.

“How tragic that his writing in Taming is better.” Rosalind snaps her eyes to where Ancunín is walking in checking something on his phone. He doesn’t even look up as he inserts himself into their conversation. Rosalind grits her teeth to stop a snide remark from weaseling its way out. He slides his phone back into the pocket of his well-tailored emerald green trousers and looks up at Hope, bypassing Rosalind completely.

“Good morning, Hope darling, how are you today?” He sweeps over to her and takes her hand in his, planting a kiss on her knuckles. Gods he’s fucking insufferable. Not to mention unprofessional. Hope, however, blushes and giggles like a schoolgirl.

“I’m very well, Dr. Ancunín, and yourself?” Her voice jumps up several pitches.

“Leagues better now that I’ve been blessed with your presence,” he coos at her, voice positively saccharine. It takes every ounce of Rosalind’s patience to keep from rolling her eyes.

“Dr. Ancunín, you silly little mouse, you can’t say that!” A bright flush crosses Hope’s freckled cheeks. She closes the Complete Works and starts playing with her red braid nervously. “Tell me, then, why is the writing in Taming of the Shrew better?”

“Well the dialogue is sharper, for one. The banter between Kate and Petruchio in Act II scene i may be some of his cleverest.” He takes a cloth out of his shirt pocket and uses it to clean his glasses. “But moreover Shakespeare was at the very start of his career when he wrote it. A budding young writer at the height of the English Renaissance, he had some awfully big shoes to fill: Christopher Marlowe, John Lyly, and the like.” His gaze briefly touches on Rosalind while he puts his glasses on. Then he looks back at Hope as he continues, “Much Ado, however, he wrote more towards the middle of his career. Still brilliant, of course, but he had much less to prove.”

Rosalind bristles as she tries to not audibly groan at his pretentiousness. “He had strengths as a writer other than just his wit, though,” she interjects. “The characterization of Beatrice and Benedick is significantly stronger than Kate and Petruchio. Not to mention it’s, you know, not an abusive relationship.” She bites her tongue to keep herself from getting too heated. She’s gotten into far too many arguments with male academics on this exact subject and she doesn’t have time to get into another one.

Ancunín moves his gaze over to Rosalind — for an instant she thinks he steals a quick glance at her chest and she stands abruptly. Fucking pig. A smug smile touches his lips before morphing into something more cordial. “That is correct, yes. Are you starting your study of the play with your students?”

Rosalind shifts uncomfortably under his piercing red gaze. “Yes, it’s a great way for them to practice switching between verse and prose,” she responds coolly, as though she’s bracing herself for an attack.

“Well of course, some of the best prose of his career.” He glances down at the volume on Hope’s desk and his eyebrows raise, peering over the top of his round glasses. “Going with the Bevington, hmm? Interesting. I’m more of a Norton man, myself.” He runs a manicured finger along the binding as Rosalind bites her tongue so hard she can taste blood. Is he really patronizing her over her choice of edition of Shakespeare’s Complete Works? Of course he is, he’s an English scholar.

“The Norton is a great tool dramaturgically, but the Bevington is a much better resource for actors, so, yes.” Her voice is steady but there’s an undeniable venom in it. Can he tell how much he’s bothering her? Probably, he’s almost certainly getting enjoyment out of riling her up. His little smirk would seem to suggest it, at least.

“Well certainly, and who knows acting resources better than our resident classical acting expert?” he intones, voice still dripping with honey. Rosalind narrows her eyes at him, unsure if he’s taking another jab at her degree. Hope hides a giggle behind her hand.

“Look at you two, practically a real life Beatrice and Benedick,” she sings, and this time Rosalind can’t hide her grimace.

“Well, as much as I enjoy standing around and debating the merit of various editions of the Complete Works, I’m about to be late for a meeting. Hope, thank you so much, I’ll be back later to pick up those copies. Dr. Ancunín,” she turns towards him with a snide smile and he looks back at her innocently. “A pleasure, as always.” She grabs her papers and walks out of the office, feeling the heat of his gaze boring into the back of her head as she leaves.

***

There was a time when Rosalind enjoyed season selection. But now it’s just a tedious process where no one can agree and everyone somehow ends up with shows they hate. To make it worse, the department chair tries to turn it into a fun little game every year.

“Now then, I want everyone to take a stack of index cards and write down your suggested plays and/or musicals. Be sure to include the name, playwright or playwrights, and a short summary.” Volo enthusiastically hands out stacks of colorful index cards to everyone on the season selection committee. Everyone begins to write down their suggestions, but Rosalind can’t keep her mind from wandering.

Something about Hope comparing her and Ancunín to Beatrice and Benedick is really getting under her skin. Maybe because if he wasn’t such a pretentious asshole, she feels like they might get along fairly well. His assessment that Shakespeare was trying to prove himself at the beginning of his career is brilliant, but why did he need to say it in the most obnoxious way possible?

She thinks back on the first time she met him. She had just started working at BGU and was in the middle of teaching a Beginner Acting class. The students were circled up playing Zip Zap Zop and suddenly there was a knock on the studio door. Rosalind stepped out of the circle and opened the door and the sight of him knocked the wind out of her. A tall, lithe, handsome elf with perfectly windswept silver hair, a baby blue button down with the first few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up, and tight navy blue trousers.

She could immediately feel the blood rushing to her face.

“Dr. Geddarm told me he hired a new professor of Shakespeare, so I thought it fitting to introduce myself.” He flashed a devastating smile and stuck out his hand. Rosalind shook it in a daze. “Astarion Ancunín, professor of Renaissance Literature.”

“Oh, hi, nice to meet you,” she squeaked out, embarrassed by the way her voice cracked. “I’m, um, Rosalind Tavlin,” she adds quickly, then curses internally — he already knows that, clearly.

“I believe my office is just down the corridor from yours, so please don’t hesitate to stop by if you have any questions, whether about the university or, well, Renaissance Literature.” And then he giggled, an oddly whimsical sound for someone who otherwise seemed so refined. Rosalind blinked, trying to figure out if he had just insulted her or not.

“I will, thanks,” she responded, trying to scramble out of the stupor he left her in. She closed the door and turned back to her students, feeling incredibly self-conscious about how bright red her cheeks were. She stepped off to the side to take a deep sip from her water bottle before re-entering the circle. “Alright, let’s do a quick shake down and then we’ll start.”

“Rosalind?” Volo’s voice breaks through her memory and she blinks to bring herself back to the stuffy classroom. He’s collecting everyone’s index cards and she realizes that she hasn’t written down a single suggestion.

“Oh, sorry, I’m just a little out of it today,” she excuses lamely. “I’ll have more ideas next time, I promise.” He raises his eyebrow suspiciously but moves on to collect the rest of the index cards.

***

Rosalind returns to her office to see one of her sophomore students hovering outside the closed door.

“I’m so sorry, Thaniel, I had a meeting that ran long. Come on in,” she says hurriedly, unlocking the door and quickly setting her things down. He sits in the teal club chair across from her desk, dropping his overfull backpack onto the floor beside it. “So, Hamlet, that’s ambitious! I think it’s a good choice for you, but it’ll be a lot of work. Do you have your copy with the scansion?”

He nods and unzips his backpack, rifling through an absurd number of papers. He pulls out a well worn single sheet of paper with printed lines of the monologue and his pencil scratches above each line indicating stressed and unstressed syllables.

“Yeah, this is good, it looks like you’ve gotten most of it,” she says as she looks over the marks. “So what is it you’re having an issue with?”

“I still don’t think I fully understand what he’s saying, and I know you said how important that is,” he says nervously.

“For sure, I can guarantee all of the bad Shakespeare you’ve seen has been because the actors had no idea what they were saying. Have you used the Lexicon?” Thaniel looks off to the side, embarrassed.

“No, I don’t really get how that works either,” he says, an air of chagrin creeping into his voice.

“No worries, it takes practice. Here, we’ll do a few lines together. So first off, ‘To be or not to be,’ that’s a line we hear a lot in pop culture, but do you know what he’s actually contemplating?” Thaniel shakes his head. “He’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it for him to continue being, or you know, living.” Rosalind hands him his paper back and pulls a copy of Hamlet off her bookshelf, quickly flipping it open to Act III Scene 1.

“So when he says, ‘To take arms against a sea of troubles/And by opposing, end them,’ What’s ‘them’ referring to?”

“The sea of troubles?”

“Right, and what does he mean by that?” Rosalind waits patiently while the gears in Thaniel’s head turn.

“Is it like… the sea of troubles, like everything going on? And he wants to end them, by… taking arms? What does that mean?”

“To take arms, like armory, so to fight.”

“Oh! He’s thinking about killing himself?” Thaniel’s eyes light up, a stark contrast to the dark material they’re discussing.

“Precisely. So even though you might know what each of these words mean individually, you should look all of them up in the Lexicon to get a better understanding of their context. But you’re right, he’s trying to figure out if it’s better to suffer through all of the things that make life shitty, or to take his fate into his own hands and, well, end them.” Rosalind stands to grab the Lexicon off her bookshelf when a voice pipes up from the doorway.

“That’s not exactly what he’s saying, you know.”

She grabs the shelf to keep herself from tearing the book in half. She plasters a strained smile on her face as she turns around to face him. “Dr. Ancunín, thank you for gracing us with your presence. Care to elaborate?”

He’s leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, face in shadows. Rosalind’s office is unusually dark because of the storm outside, and so the bright fluorescents in the hallway give him an almost ethereal halo effect.

“It’s a common misconception that Hamlet is contemplating suicide here. Life and death, sure, but ‘to take arms’ isn’t metaphorical, it’s literal. He’s contemplating dying as a result of killing Claudius, not taking his own life,” he says, almost sounding bored. Rosalind slams the Lexicon down on her desk, causing Thaniel to jump slightly.

“How can that possibly be true?” she spits, trying desperately to keep her voice from shaking. “He says ‘to take arms against a sea of troubles.’ He’s using the active voice, deciding whether or not to continue his life or end it. To be or not to be. It’s the first line in the monologue. He’s not talking about the consequences of killing Claudius.” She knows that she doesn’t sound nearly as eloquent as him, and it’s pissing her off. He shrugs nonchalantly.

“You’re oversimplifying it, it’s exceedingly more complicated than that. The whole soliloquy is filled with war imagery. He’s at war with himself, the part of him that wants to kill Claudius and the part of him that is afraid to die.” He pushes himself off the door frame and steps back into the hallway. “But apologies, please don’t let me interrupt your instruction.” And like that he’s off, leaving Rosalind to stew in silence. Thaniel looks up at her and looks back at the doorway where he stood.

“Should I…” he starts, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand, sighing heavily before answering.

“Dr. Ancunín comes at analysis from a very different angle as an English academic. He’s more interested in the words on the page and gives little to no consideration as to how they might translate to performance. But,” she sighs again, loath to give him any credit, “it’s a valid interpretation. We can go down that route, if you want, or we can look at it through this lens.” Thaniel chews his lip while he considers his options.

“I think what you said makes more sense, the suicide bit,” he finally decides.

“I agree, especially since that was your first instinct, and it’s important to listen to those,” she smiles at her student, swallowing the burning hatred for Ancunín threatening to bubble over. “Let’s go over how to use the Lexicon again.” She opens the book and flips through it, looking for the entry for ‘slings.’

***

Rosalind drops off her bag and tosses her keys into a bowl on the counter. This day has been fucking exhausting. She unzips her boots and places them neatly atop the shoe rack, stretching and curling her toes for relief. She hangs up her wet coat and shakes rain from her blue and purple hair, silently cursing the need to restyle it. Her eyes dart between the refrigerator, wherein resides a bottle of white wine, and the bathroom door, contemplating how good a hot bath would feel. Both? Both is good.

She pours herself a generous glass of Riesling, taking a gulp before heading to the bathroom to undress. She peels off her sweater followed by her tights and skirt, shivering as goosebumps traverse her skin in a wave. It’s one of those late-Hammer storms where everything is just slush and ice, and the damp cold penetrates Rosalind’s bones. She unhooks her bra and her breasts fall free, her nipples almost painfully hard. She hangs up her clothes to dry and sits naked on the edge of the tub, sipping her wine as the bath fills.

Fucking Ancunín.

She’s a little alarmed by how much he got under her skin today. Normally she doesn’t think twice about him, save maybe the one or two times she has the misfortune of passing him in the hallway.

Why did Hope have to compare them to Beatrice and Benedick? If anything they’re much more like Kate and Petruchio, and Rosalind refuses to let that asshole break her.

And ugh all that nonsense about “To be or not to be.” Rosalind doesn’t even particularly like Hamlet that much, so she’s mostly annoyed that his interpretation is, well, good. His read actually makes Hamlet an interesting character instead of just a cowardly incel romanticizing suicide.

She turns off the faucet and slides into the bath, hissing slightly as the hot water flows over her chilled skin. She leans back and settles herself comfortably in an attempt to relax. Without prompting, Ancunín worms his way back into her thoughts. Hmmph. She takes a gulp of wine to try to wash away the taste of the unpleasant image.

Well… not entirely unpleasant. He’s a good looking man, she’d be a fool to deny it. But gods he’s so smug. She thinks about the way he caressed the Complete Works with his red painted nails. As though he thinks he’s making some sort of bold feminist statement being a man who paints his nails. Ugh. Rosalind leans her head against the edge of the tub, trying to focus her thoughts elsewhere. He’s not about to monopolize her precious time again, and when he’s not even present, no less.

But there he is, in her mind, crimson eyes looking over the top of those metal frame glasses that she’s, like, 99% sure he doesn’t actually need to see. She takes another swig of wine to drown out his stupid face. With his stupid cheekbones. And his dumb fucking earrings that she wants to take between her teeth and—

Nine hells, what is wrong with you? It’s the wine, clearly, she’s been drinking too quickly and isn’t thinking straight. She grabs her phone and opens Spotify, letting her daily mix play through the bluetooth speaker on the counter.

Now Playing: Hatefuck by The Bravery.

If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them? If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?

By all of the fucking gods, seriously? She growls at the growing heat between her legs. Between putting off dinner and chugging her wine, her head is swimming. She groans audibly; she might be better off getting it out of her system if it’s going to be this pervasive. The wine glass hits the tub edge with a clank as she angrily puts it down and sinks into the water up to her chin. She’s satiating a purely physical need, nothing else.

Nevertheless, Rosalind still shivers as she slips her hand between her legs, lightly running her finger up her slit. She can picture his face, looking down at her through those glasses — those infuriating glasses — and her lips flutter. She wonders what he looks like under those sweaters. He’s so thin, but his clothes fit incredibly well. It’s not hard to imagine a chiseled body underneath. She spreads her legs further to let the warm water tickle her folds.

His silvery curls would look so good between her legs, slender fingers wrapped around her thick thighs while he laps her up. At least then he’d shut up. A gentle moan escapes her throat as she runs her middle finger along her inner lips, pretending it’s his tongue. He could look up at her, those red eyes boring into her while sucks on her clit. She imagines herself grabbing hold of those perfect locks, yanking on them to control where he goes, fucking his face while he groans into her pussy, happy to just be along for the ride.

She moves her other hand up to her breast and starts teasing her already hard nipple. She massages around its peak, pulling it under the water and feeling his soft lips around it. She gives it a gentle tug and groans as though he gave it a little nip.

She imagines sitting on his pretty face, his pointed ears flushed and hair a mess. Her hips buck into her hand as they might on top of him and her toes curl. She makes gentle circles around her clit, thinking of all the other uses for his silver tongue. She whines and squirms at the sensations of heat radiating through her body. She slips a finger inside and hisses as she can see those pale digits entering her cunt. She gyrates on her hand, curling her finger upwards and gasping, his imaginary eyes looking up at her through those long lashes and a smirk playing across his imaginary lips.

“Are you ready for more of me, darling?” She can hear his velvety purr in her ear.

“Yes, gods yes,” she replies breathlessly into the cold bathroom air. She slides another finger in and feels that delicious stretch. The ghost of him moans, coming undone at the sight of her. She delights in the prospect of leaving him speechless, for once. She whimpers under her own touch, wanting more, wanting to feel him fuck her.

She reaches over the edge of the tub and grabs her box of waterproof toys. She frantically sifts through the collection of dildos, trying to find the right one. Here. It’s long and svelte like the rest of him, but bright shimmery purple. She suctions it to the bottom of the tub and hovers above it on her knees. It sways lightly in the water, tip of it teasing her pussy just like she’d love to do to him.

Gods, what she wouldn’t do to see him beg for her cunt. To reduce him to a babbling mess, pleading to let him inside her. Her breath quickens at the mental image of him whining needily beneath her as she teases his cock mercilessly. He’d still wait patiently, of course, he wouldn’t dare disobey, but oh he’d be so desperate for her to satisfy him. She sinks down onto the dildo and her groan of pleasure mirrors what she wants to hear from him.

She begins to slide herself on the purple dick, feeling its ridges glide against the walls of her cunt as she continues to finger her clit. She imagines her hand splayed across his chest, her black nails standing in contrast against his pale skin. She claws at the bottom of the tub as she increases her pace, desperate to see the raised pink skin that her nails leave behind. The fingers on her clit speed up as well, and she can feel herself getting close.

“Oh gods, Astarion, don’t stop,” the words tumble from her mouth unbidden. She will absolutely hate herself for that later, but right now all that matters is her ecstasy. She bounces atop the dildo, disregarding the water that splashes over the side of the tub as she chases her finish. Her moans increase in pitch and fervor as the various images of him in all sorts of positions flash through her mind. Between her thighs, sitting on his face, riding his dick, even fucking pegging him from behind while she milks his cock in her hand, his cum dribbling down her wrist.

“Fuck, Astarion!” She cries out his name as she crashes over the edge, her walls clenching around the dildo and her vision growing starry. Her orgasm reverberates throughout her whole body as she rides it out, legs shaking and pussy pulsing. Eventually, her movement slows and the water gently sways around her. She looks down at her hand, milky juices swirling in the now tepid tub water.

Shit.

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dragonmama76 · 2 years ago

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Eddie and Corroded Coffin are back in Indy for the last stop on their first national tour. It’s been a whirlwind and they are grateful to have a night off at home before their last concert. Even though they are physically exhausted, no one wants to sit in the hotel. Gareth calls down the desk and asks the concierge to suggest some up and coming places they might take in a show and a list is sent up right away. Looking it over, they decide on Greener Pastures which has a drag cabaret. The concierge made a note that it was a new break out hit with a wildly talented headliner.

Fame will get you everywhere, so their manager, Chrissy, calls the club to make sure they won’t be standing in line to get in and they are assured that they will be able to slip in before the official opening of the night.

Robin Buckley generally loves her job as the weekend floor manager at Greener Pastures. Even though in real life she is still a bit socially awkward, here she plays her part with ease. Dressed in a fashionable, tailored suit with her hair slicked back and some heavy eye makeup she has a confidence that she fervently wished she could carry into her personal life. But when she gets the call from the manager of Corroded Coffin she can feel the facade slipping a bit. Assuring her that getting them in quickly and quietly is no problem, her brain starts to go into overdrive. But this is her job and she knows how to execute. First stop is the doorman. “Harry, we have some VIPs coming in soon. You know Corroded Coffin? Well we are hosting all four of them tonight. Please walkie me when their car pulls up and go ahead and let them in right away.” “Sure thing, Rob!” Harry replies, nodding agreeably. Second stop is her lead waitress. Robin instructs her to sit them at a front table and make sure they get the best service. And then finally, well, she has to tell Steve.

Steve stares at Robin, his mouth open just a little. “I’m sorry, what? It sounded like you just said that Eddie was coming to see the show. You can’t possibly mean our Eddie.”

“I do. I do mean our Eddie. Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin front man and our old pal Eddie.”

“How? I mean….do you think he KNOWS??”

“How should I know??” Robin throws up in her incredulously. “Their manager called and said they were coming and could we make sure to have space for them and maybe let them in early and I just said great and of course and no problem and now I’m here talking to you.”

“Okay, Rob, breathe. I’m sorry. Don’t get stressed. You just go out and do your job and I’ll do mine and it will be totally fine. We’ll see him and he’ll probably recognize us and it will be just fine. It’s not like what we do here is a secret, we just haven't seen him since he left.”

Robin nodded. “I know you keep saying it will be fine and I’m sure it will be. Fine. Of course it will. I mean, look at us! He may be a rockstar but WE are fucking amazing ourselves. You’re practically famous in this town as it is.”

Steve smiled big, “That’s the spirit! Hey! Let’s do the VIP number tonight for his table. Make sure Maria sets it up, ‘kay? Love you Rob, but I have to get ready!”

Eddie and the guys are having a great time enjoying the show. The singers are all fantastic and the performance is top notch. Plus the service is some of the best they’ve ever had. Their waitress is attentive and friendly. He makes a mental note to thank whoever it was that suggested they come out here tonight.

Suddenly the lights go out and the announcer’s voice booms out, “And now, our very own, the lovely Miss Stevie!”

The music starts with a quiet riff and suddenly the spotlight shines in front of Eddie. Miss Stevie is sitting on a stool that’s been placed right in front of Eddie. She gives him a big wink and sings,

The minute you walked in the joint, I could see you were a man of distinction, a real big spender.

Eddie sucks in a breath and can feel a blush rising. He enjoys a man in drag, but he wouldn’t say it’s normally an attraction for him. This is a definite exception.

Good looking, so refined. Say, wouldn’t you like to know what's going on in my mind?

Miss Stevie was something else. Gorgeous brown eyes and a teasing smirk. Tall sparkly heels, fishnets, babydoll slip dress. She reminded him of someone, but his mind couldn’t hold on to a coherent thought. She was singing right at him and he never wanted her to stop.

So let me get right to the point, I don’t pop my cork for every guy I see. Hey big spender! Spend a little time with me.

As the chorus of ladies came in to pick up the song, Steve leaned down to whisper in Eddie’s ear, “Hey man, if you want to come backstage later and say hi, just let Rob know” Indicates Robin with flourish and a wink, and hops gracefully back on stage to continue the song. All the while flirting with Eddie for everyone to see.

The song ends and Eddie applauds enthusiastically, wanting it to never end, but also hoping it would end quickly so he could go meet this beauty.

A couple songs and an encore later and Miss Stevie finally struts off-stage for the last time that night, blowing a kiss to Eddie as she leaves.

Robin heads over to Eddie. “Mr. Munson, Miss Stevie mentioned you might want a private tour backstage?” The guys hoot and holler while Eddie blushes, but he eagerly agrees to go. Turning to the guys he shoos them out the door, “Okay, alright, I guess I’ll see you guys bright and early tomorrow! Don't get into any trouble on the way back to the hotel.”

Robin is already moving at a brisk pace, so Eddie picks it up, never quite managing to catch up to her as they move around tables and down a dim hallway past open doors with performers kicking back after the show. Finally, they get to the last door and Robin knocks once and enters.

Steve is at his makeup vanity, wig off, carefully wiping his face when he catches a glimpse of Eddie trailing behind Robin. He turns grinning, and in his best Southern accent says, “Why, Eddie Munson, as I live and breathe!”

Eddie does a double take, “STEVE HARRINGTON?? What the HELL, man??”

Steve and Robin collapse in a fit of giggles while Eddie just stares.

When the fit of laughter eventually subsides amid comments like, “Your face, man! I wish Jonathan was here to capture this all on film!” and “I thought you would have at least recognized Robin, though!”

“Yeah, what’s up with that one?? Have I changed that much since high school??” Robin demanded. Eddie sputtered, “It was dark in there! And no offense, Buckley, but you were NOT who I was paying attention to. Christ, Steve, how does the King of Hawkins High become the reigning Queen of Indianapolis?”

“Couldn’t take your eyes off me, huh, big boy?” Steve purrs, and enjoys watching Eddie turn a delectable shade of red.

#steddie #stranger things #steve is fabulous #rockstar eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #unfinished wip turned into a oneshot #drag #steve harrington queen of my heart

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dancingontheblades · 1 year ago

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When did Viktor choreograph Stammi Vicino and did he commission the music?

When it comes to Viktor’s last free programme, there are two questions that fans have been discussing since the beginning of time—err since Yuri!!! On Ice first aired: 1) the question of whether Viktor did commission the music, and 2) whether he created the programme because of his encounter with Yuuri at the Grand Prix Final of Sochi. In this post, I will examine the source material regarding these two questions and discuss possible answers in the context of storytelling and figure skating as well as their likelihoods.

1. Did Viktor commission the music for Stammi Vicino?

According to Mitsurou Kubo, the aria is a piece of music that exists in the world of YOI. It was written specifically for the anime and did not exist before like Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Lilac Fairy (Young Viktor’s SP) or Mozart’s Kleine Nachtmusik (Fujiwara Hikaru’s FS, ep. 5). However, it’s unclear whether the aria exists because Viktor wanted a special piece of music to surprise the audience it or whether it exists on his own. All we know is that Sayo Yamamoto instructed the composer of YOI, Matsushiba Taku, to compose the song in the style of an Italian opera from the 19th century, using some prepared plot for the piece—the story that is told through the lyrics. Unlike Shall We Skate, Destiny of Nights, or The Inferno, which are from movie soundtracks that indeed exist in YOI, Stammi Vicino has never explicitly been labelled as a song from an opera—neither in the anime nor in any interview.

Or in other words: The information the creators provided can be interpreted either way.

However, we have this shot of Viktor skating Stammi Vicino overlayed with Yuuri’s inner monologue:

That suggests as if Stammi Vicino is one of the pieces Viktor commissioned, doesn’t it?

Of course, it’s possible that the YOI creators used this shot because they lacked the time to animate Viktor skating to an entirely different routine. However, that would be misleading and confusing and would be discouraged from a storytelling viewpoint. Given that the creators had to condense to plot of YOI to ~50% of its initial size to fit it into 12 episodes, they had to be smart about it. Every scene and every image needed to be filled with meaning in order to convey as much of the story within the given constraints as possible, leaving no room for accidental misdirection. If conveying that Viktor had music written for his own programmes was their intention but Stammi Vicino was not one of those songs, a smart solution would have been a series of pictures showing Viktor in different costumes. To save time, they could have recycled the posters in Yuuri’s room for that purpose. The fact that they didn’t do that, suggests that Viktor had the music for Stammi Vicino written.

Combining Yuuri’s inner monologue of Viktor commissioning music for his programmes with footage of Viktor skating to such a programme is clever storytelling because it transports additional meaning through images, which is how visual media work. Being Viktor’s fan, Yuuri knows which songs Viktor commissioned because skaters love to talk about these things in interviews.

The abovementioned scene makes it seem as if Viktor has been commissioning music for his programmes for several seasons at least. While this doesn’t rule out the possibility that he occasionally picked an already existing song for whichever reason, Stammi Vicino applies to Viktor’s situation so neatly that the lyrics must have been tailored to him. The commentator’s words during Viktor’s performance furthermore suggest that this programme shows a new and personal side of him. An while this could work for a song that already exists, it is unlikely that such a song matches the vision of a perfectionist sufficiently. A genius like Viktor would rather think “Okay, that’s nice. But this verse and that verse don’t align with my idea at all. Nah, I’ll call my composer and ask them to write a song for me.”

Stammi Vicino holds unambiguous references to Plato’s Symposium, which the YOI creators have talked about repeatedly. And while this is neither an argument for or against the song already existing long before Viktor even thought about a new free programme, it seems too coincidental for a plausible narration.

Having an aria composed to surprise an audience that is becoming harder and harder to surprise sounds a lot like Viktor Nikiforov, right?

That Viktor commissioned the music for Stammi Vicino is more likely storytelling-wise and aligns better with his characterisation, than Viktor using an already existing song for such an intimate programme.

2. When did Viktor choreograph Stammi Vicino?

Viktor’s first appearance in his Stammi Vicino costume is during the medal ceremony of the Sochi GPF. As the avid figure skating fan that I am, I could let the line of argument end here. But since many fans of Yuri!!! On Ice aren’t familiar with the sport, I’m going to break down why it’s unlikely that Viktor wore the same costume for two difference performances.

Let’s assume for one moment that he indeed wore the purple costume with the golden tassels for two different performances.

While there is no rule against that, it rarely ever happens. Some skaters reuse one of their costumes from competition for a gala programme, but that a skater uses the same costume for another short or free programme is unusual. And there are some very good reasons why that is so.

Music, composition, choreography, and costume build the concept of a figure skating programme. The more perfectionist a skater is (and many of the top skaters are hardcore perfectionists), the more specific you can bet they are about the concept. Having full authority over his programmes, Viktor can be as particular about his programmes as he likes and have costumes tailored that match his vision 100%. And while costumes like Viktor’s are expensive, some figure skaters even get a new costume mid-season if it matches the concept of their programme better.

Figure skating is an expensive sport, but of all the skaters in YOI, Viktor has to worry about money the least. Not only does his clothing suggest that he’s loaded—skaters at his level often get money from doing ads or having sponsors—figure skating is state-funded in Russia, meaning that his skating federation pays for all his expenses.

But wait, what about Viktor changing his free programme to Stammi Vicino right after the Sochi GPF?

Asking that question would lead right to another question: Why would Viktor wear the same costume at the Sochi medal ceremony as he wears three months later at Worlds when the YOI creators gave Chris and JJ costumes that look different from those we seen them wear later for a shot that only lasts a few seconds?

Could it be that Viktor kept the free skating costume because he met Yuuri in Sochi?

To answer that question, we need to take a look at the parameters of the encounter that made Viktor fall for Yuuri head over heels: Being the closing event of a figure skating competition, the banquet happens on the last day when all programmes are skates, all medals have been awarded, and the gala is done. Yuuri and Viktor met there, wearing suits, not the costumes in which they competed. So if Stammi Vicino existed because of Yuuri, wearing a suit would make more sense to narrate the encounter. Unless Viktor wanted to be super abstract about it.

Some skaters change their programme mid-season because their current programme doesn’t work for some reason. Some switch back to an old programme, while others create an entirely new programme. If Viktor had indeed created Stammi Vicino because of his encounter with Yuuri, he would have needed to postpone his work on the routine until late December because his schedule leaves him one week after the GPF to prepare for Russian Nationals—just enough time to pitch the idea to his composer.

A top skater like Viktor could absolutely pull off practising a new free programme in the month between Russian Nationals and Europeans and winning with it. There are a couple of skaters who are reckless enough to do that like Stéphane Lambiel who switched his free programme right before Worlds 2005 and won. Surprising the audience with a new programme mid-season would sound like something Viktor would do—with a new costume.

However, Yuuri started practising Stammi Vicino when his disastrous skate at Nationals ended his season and not one month later (Japanese Nationals and Russian Nationals take place at the same time). And while this isn’t a completely unlikely scenario if one doesn’t take his words of starting right after Nationals literally, it still contradicts the plot and would leave Yuuri less time to produce a perfect copy while studying for his graduation.

To sum this up…

Whereas fan theories deserve to be awarded for their creativity, the likeliest explanation is always the one that aligns best with the facts. There is no valid reason for a figure skater to change their free programme mid-season and keep the costume, even more so if that skater is a notorious perfectionist like Viktor Nikiforov who loves to surprise the audience. The fact that Viktor wore the purple costume in Sochi already can be taken as proof that Stammi Vicino has been his programme all season long. If Viktor changed his programme because of Yuuri, it would have needed to be addressed within the story in some way, even as subtle as giving him a different costume.

There’s an inherent beauty in Viktor having created Stammi Vicino before he met Yuuri because it gives him an agenda beyond his love interest. Well-crafted characters exist outside of their interactions and relationships with the rest of the cast. Viktor had a life, albeit a lonely one, before Yuuri and his (secret) longing for love was an inherent part of it. Especially in a show that is limited to 12 episodes and in which every image is filled with meaning, every little detail needs to be fitted into the narration just perfectly for solid storytelling.

If you enjoyed this analysis, please consider checking out my works on AO3 (link in bio)!

#yuri on ice #yuri on ice meta #yoi #yoi meta #my yoi meta #viktor nikiforov #katsuki yuuri #figure skating #anime #stammi vicino #character analysis #plot analysis #cat's yoi meta

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sfstranslations · 9 months ago

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hi! thank you for all of your wonderful translations ^^ however may i ask what resources you use? i am trying to translate stories as well but i dont have much experience and was wondering if you have any books or videos to recommend

(Disclaimer that most resources I can provide will by nature be tailored to Korean translation.)

If you mean resources for translating itself:

For a machine translator, Papago is the main one I rely on. Of course, learning the language yourself remains your best bet and one I would strongly advise over solely MTLing, because there's a lot that machine translation misses, so you'll have to essentially rewrite the text anyway to include nuances, implied meanings of idioms that the MTL translated literally, speech patterns, and more. You also have Google Translate among others, of course, but I find it misses the mark even more often than Papago.

Naver Dictionary will save your life. Of course, you can also look words up on Wiktionary, and also just actual Korean Wikipedia. Namu Wiki can be somewhat useful on occasion but it's rarely if ever got decent citations so don't over-rely on it.

Hinative is very helpful for confirming specific words including slang with native speakers! This one is a cross-language resource.

The Korean Wiki Project also has some useful reference pages, such as the ones on online slang and body part-related idioms.

If you mean resources for learning Korean, then I am definitely not the best person to go to for advice, because the way I did it was just frogboiling myself in 370 chapters of My S-Ranks over the course of 4 years and then slowly realizing I didn't need the MTL to finish processing before I understood what the Korean was saying anymore, which is neither a fast nor simple method 😅

Of course, for the early basics like the writing system and basic grammar, I used Duolingo and the Talk To Me In Korean podcast; here's the latter's SoundCloud with the lessons organized by level. I only listened to a few lessons, but my sister who listened to the whole thing is fluent in Korean! (And also one of the editors/quality checkers I rope in from time to time.)

One thing I would definitely recommend is to make sure you're balancing your exposure to written/spoken forms of the language. I am very much a reader over a listener, and my sister very much a speaker over a writer, so we frequently run into issues where I can't recognize a word she's saying because its pronunciation differs from the actual written spelling and I've only ever seen the latter. And that then creates problems when I need to research something that's in an audio format and can't understand what they're saying. Listening to music and watching shows in your target language can make the balancing process both fun and instructive :)

That's all I can think of at the moment. If I remember any other resources, I'll come back to add them. I hope this is what you were looking for!

#not update #ask #anonymous

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ironunderstands · 1 year ago

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I decided to take notes while I played through 2.3… so here they are

First Scene

-stellaron sealed when we were asleep apparently

-was Sunday the one to tailor everyone’s dreams?

-dreamscape itself exists???

-march’s memories are weird as normal, tentacle tried to reach into her brain but found SOMETHING???

-we were asleep when this all happened and we woke up and immediately asked if it was a dream so something is already up oh boy

Second Scene

-firefly and silverwolf yay

-firefly is still on the wanted list, as Firefly this time

-it was a missing part of her life she got back

-Silverwolf helps her out with not being able to move freely, giving her a way out of dreaming ig??? Helps her navigate through unbothered ?

-idk the mechanics of it if you can’t tell

-Miss Samuel as a fake name lmao

-GENIUS SOCIETY IS HERE?? WHYYY?? HUHHH

-firefly’s script isn’t over yet (third death I assume?)

-“didn’t bring you back to hear an answer like that,” did SW think she already experienced the third death? On her second death was SW the one to revive her, as it seemed like she did that on her own in 2.2?

-yeah she hasn’t done 3rd death yet, and I assume the “unforgettable reward,” is *sighs* time with the Trailblazer

-“How will I know if I don’t try?” Hmmm this confuses me

-SW says she’s already made up her mind

-ooh Kafka asks for some gifts LMAOO, fashionable as always

-to Oti mall I guess, isn’t that one of the people who expressed disappointment in Sunday?

-BLADE ADVICE? telling her to not get tempted, tempted by what?

-YAY SHE GETS NORMAL GIRL TIME THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED

-oat cakes for SW or Kafka or Blade? Aww Stellaron Hunter family bonding

-oh is she trying to defy the script?

-adding new footnotes to her destiny, hmm

Third Scene

-TOPAZ POV

-I DIED OMGNDNAKDJKWJDD

-were are on the Radiant Felddpar ship

-Family is there but “Big Boss” isn’t, I assume that’s Jade

-there’s music notes in the air? Robin?

-Topaz points out how weird this choice of location is

-ship belongs to Alfalfa Family

-npc we are talking to also thinks it should have been held in a more secretive area (Moment of Morning Dew)

-not serious enough atmosphere

-something’s up definitely

-Topaz thinks conference is just a prelude- whatever Family organizer wanted to assess the IPC’s stance beforehand

-she thinks they either have their own ambitions and want a preliminary agreement, or want to make the IPC back off, we shall see ig

-Big Boss is a her (definitely Jade), Topaz complimented, saying others must be cautious of her

-tells subordinate Thomas to just tell the rest of her employees to stay focused on the task ahead

-yeah it’s Jade, act shocked, also she’d get mad if he called her that 😭😭

-walking around time

-there is music all around the ship

-not very important but there are paper birds here too

-none of the important figures have arrived to the meeting room yet, so let’s look around

This is just from looking around:

-why are there dream pools on the ship? I thought we were already in the dream?

-the torment eagle things are here too

-and nightingale paintings

-Sparkles bombs, delightful

-why is there a room on the ship that looks like Mishas room in the dream

-it seems like the Family is already aware of the bombs and is looking for them based on the dialogue of the NPCs

-there’s a lost kid on the ship?

-so many doors are closed off

-absurdist clock fun

-the quest is titled “All About Eve” like Eve from the Bible? Is that referring to Jade?

-exhibit that hasn’t been delivered yet

-Robin has instructed them to prepare some things but it seems like the Family isn’t ready yet?

Ok I’m gonna talk to the workers now

-ok talked to the one by Sparkles bombs and Sparkle started talking

-Numby can hear her I think, I don’t think Topaz did

-yeah Topaz doesn’t know they are bombs that Sparkle hands out, apparently she was disguised as man- maybe Sampo?, uh no all the Buttons are in one place

-somehow nobody pressed a button, I don’t believe that, the NPC also says that all guests are terrified of death, but like, how did nobody press it?

-yep we are in the dream bc she wants to feed Numby and questions the food quality in a dream

-Numby does not like Oat Cake Rolls

-Topaz will give them a better meal in reality

-so why is there a dreamscape pool in the dream

-asks more about Radiant Feldspar, which is also owned by Oti Alfalfa, just like the store Firefly wanted to go to

-built an Amber Era ago, it sails across all 12 hours- so they are connected you just have to cross them I guess? Or like does it slip through dimensions

-Topaz recognizes Old Oti, however what’s weird is that despite how she points out how well decorated it is, there seems to be a lot of stuff missing + Robin thing from earlier

-only prestigious guests are invited, so how did that Pepeshi get lost?

-Ship had been sailing since it was built but was halted due to the recent reverberation

-reverberation aka whatever the fuck just happened in 2.2

-Family attendant repeats that everything has been resolved and the Charmony Festival had to be temporarily postponed

-so it’s gonna happen on the ship now, and will also resume the ships voyage, so I guess that’s why Robin ordered some things and everything is a bit out of place

-However, why are they gathering Sparkles Bombs onto the celebration + meeting ship? Why not anywhere else?

-Talent Motivation Department mention

-ppl still coming after Topaz for Jarilo I will kill them <3

-poor girl can’t get a break, JADE IS HERE

CUTSCENE SO MUCH HAPPENED

-Numby does not trust or like Jade at all

-Topaz is fucking star struck on her knees dying down bad gay gay gay

-Jade commends her for the Jarilo project, saying the Express’s favor is far more valuable than the planet itself

-Jade says Topaz can tell her anything, then holds out her Cornerstone as if Topaz would talk to it???

-hmmm

-“you can always tell me anything, remember?” Ah so they are close, and Topaz seems to trust her and vice versa, however I (and Numby) do not trust Jade so there is something sinister going on

Alright cutscene yapping over

-Jade says to drop the title, that they are equals

-Topaz calls her a senior, but I think she just means in rank

-Jade wants Topaz to be at her best- upcoming negotiations leave no room for error

-true purpose of conference: Oti testing limits of 2 stonehearts before offical negotiations can commence, works in their favor bc it will cause future negotiations to go smoother if they can reach an agreement (this is obvious benefit)

-hidden benefit: demonstrates the Family isn’t all that united bc he’s meeting w them first on his own territory + taking control of Charmony Festival too

-they aren’t entirely influenced by the Harmony so their personal desires shine through, influential figures haven’t suppressed their own

-with the Dreammaster gone, the Family has begun to fall apart slowly, seems like after 2.2 Oti took over

-Jade taught her to Listen, test and strike, Jade teases her that she changed the order on Jarilo- Topaz’s personal experience caused this (her seeing her past/trauma in Belabog)

-meeting time!

-meeting esteemed “supporting actor” hmm

-goal is to create an opportunity for IPC to enter Penacony- Aventurine made a small hole for them to enter, and they are going to tear it wide open

Some more looking around

-the bombs/buttons are gone 😨 and so is that guard

-was there a projector in that room (with the dream pool) before?

-diff family attendant at that spot before

Ok back to plot time

-oh this is the place where the divergent universe takes place (I started it a bit yesterday lol, oops), seems like that’s what the Genius Society will get a hold of at the end of this?

-Oti is a Pepeshi, and I really like his character model, he seems welcoming?

Looking around time again

-the mechanism they use for the Divergent Universe is already there- did Ratio and Screwllum meet with Oti beforehand? Is that how he figured out Dormancy?

-some more locked doors

-Whales outside the window.. (Childe flashbacks)

-let’s talk to Jade before we see Oti

-oh we can’t it just makes us walk beside her

Conversation time

-Oti is hospitable, asks them to forgive him for the wait

-Oti is such a businessman that the Strategic Investment Department makes it a requirement to read his biography

-she’s trying to flatter him but I think Jade is also warning him that she and the rest of the department know everything about him and who he is

-Topaz doesn’t seem to notice that though and praises him for single handedly building Penacony economy

-Oti noticed Jade’s tactics I think

-he gets straight to the point- future of Penacony

-Oti questions wtf Aventurine was doing and why 😭, almost getting killed and for what?

-oh he figured them out LMAOO, yup that was for an opportunity

-haha Jade says “fuck he figured us out” nicely

-she puts the pressure back on him, asking Oti how he would respond

-he first admires her composure at being called out

-“Oti won’t sit idly by when faced with a greedy wolf,” is he referring to the IPC, Aventurine or both?

-offscreen negotiation

-seems he said something that offended Topaz and Jade, Jade says she’s all ears

-Oti says he requested this meeting to dissuade the SID from trying to lay a finger on Penacony

-asks them to back off before they lose face in the future

-Topaz points out their fuck ups- Aventurine almost getting murdered and the Charmony Festival fuck up, that there are plenty of real issues plaguing the area

-Oti says they need to be more creative in the land of dreams

-“My actions will help Penacony take a significant step forward by “self-listing” and going public!” What does that mean

-Jade asks if he’s gonna bypass the IPC and go public on a universal scale (still don’t know what that means)

-rather than letting the IPC take hold, he’s gonna open the sweet dream to everyone in the universe- which is worded REALLY sinister if you ask me- is he gonna try and make everyone in it dream?

-he redirects and says that from today, anyone can become a shareholder in the Land of Dreams, and that’s the Path of Harmony he chooses

-Oti was aware of the Oaks family’s entanglement with the Order, calls them blockheads who prevented this from happening sooner

-Oti is thankful that the “reverberation” (Sunday and Order’s downfall) has allowed for the obstacle between him and his reforms to be eliminated

-publicize their finances so the universe still has faith in them + the Family remains confident in its future

-neither Jade nor Topaz seem happy about this, seems like they don’t feel as if they are on equal footing

-Jade asks Oti if he’s being waiting for Penacony to regain the spotlight, so if the IPC does anything, their actions will be scrutinized by trillions of people

-asks them to consider their next moves carefully

-Jade suggests they conclude the first half of their conference, and that they will respond on the behalf of the IPC later

-he just tells them to take their time (Oti is confident he is in control)

Scene 4- Trailblazer POV

-seems that meeting has concluded as Dan Heng asks if the Alfalfa Family had a meeting with the IPC

-Aventurine told them that to “return the favor”

-I wonder what happened in the meantime to get us here

-Welt points out that Penacony hasn’t changed much since the prison era, suggests that Penacony would rather invite the IPC to the table- on the surface to cooperate- but in reality to secure their own survival

-which is why the Astral Express are now mediators, and Dan Heng doesn’t know who to stand behind

-Welt doesn’t trust the followers of the Harmony to be as innocent as they presume they are

-if either the Family or the IPC were to take control of Penacony, the efforts of the previous nameless to free it from that illusory hedonism would go to waste

-we were in a deep sleep apparently (uh oh)

-one of the dialogue options says that TB felt like they were in a really long dream

-another asks where Himeko is

-Welt says their adventure in Penacony is reaching its conclusion

-After Ena’s dream shattered, Montour System’s branch of the Family took control of the situation, most members of the Oak Family fell unconscious? But their lives weren’t in danger

-Gopher Wood, the previous Dreamaster was confirmed to be the mastermind behind everything, however we know that Sunday killed him. But didn’t he kill him in the dream? So how did gopher wood die in reality? Or did like, the power of the Order that Sunday must have used on him cause that, or did he step outside the dream to face Gopher, then go back in?

-Sunday will face a trial: the Family won’t disclose any further details

-public perceived incident as an attack by evil forces targeting the Charmony festival, believing the Family had failed to safeguard the sweet dream which eroded their credibility significantly

-at least it has the least impact? Even if it’s far from what really went down

-SIOBHAN IS BACK

-she says they will get over it

-“you don’t know who’s awake and who’s pretending to be asleep”- another ominous line

-gives them a toast

-trailblazer asks why she’s there again, Siobhan is just confused

-asks when they will leave Penacony

-Welt says they will stay a bit longer, just not too long

-she says this farewell is missing something

-“maybe a special drink to honor those who are not here” oh yeah Gallagher is gone GONE

-To the Nameless resting in peace… and to Gallagher, oh he’s so gone

Walking around time again

-everyone but Himeko is here

Ok taking this many notes is exhausting and is lowkey killing my enjoyment 😭 so I’ll just leave the REALLY important stuff from now on

-The Family claims the Oak Family used the stellaron to help sink everyone into Ena’s dream

-others had their own delusional dreams

-DH says the hidden dangers of the Order have always been within the Harmony, an issue that has persisted in the Family from the very beginning

-more awareness makes this complicated

-March has a button now too, says she was told the buttons will explode Penacony if pressed

-himeko’s been up to something lately she will tell us at the festival

-Siobhan gives us another drink, saying it will “bring back the flavors of Penacony” which makes me believe it will help us get back here somehow

-Welt is sure it will leave a lasting impression, hmmm

-she says if we happen to find Gallagher, to let him have a sip

Scene 5: Jade POV

-Oti is tricky but there is still hope

-Jade asked Topaz to make a phone call offscreen, presumably to the express who agreed

-talking in code

-Jade asks Topaz if she thinks Penacony is worth it

-Topaz says yes

-Jade questions if this project is too bland for her

-Topaz says she would be here if it weren’t for Aventurine

-Jade pointed out she entrusted him with a cornerstone, which is as precious as life itself to finish this gamble

-however Topaz points at out that Jade’s stone couldn’t have made it in without either of their cornerstones: and that the Jade stone allows Jade to see all desires that flow through the dreams to gain a bargaining chip in the negotiations: this must be the “harvest” Jade was referring to in 2.1, seems like this is her Cornerstone’s ability

-Perhaps that’s why she held it up earlier? To allow Topaz to vent her feelings into the Jade stone?

-Topaz actually staked her Topaz’s stone for Jade’s sake, not Aventurine’s

-Jade is greatful Aven is alive, saying it’s the best outcome, Topaz immediately says they have strayed off topic

-Jade says she will go alone, instructs Topaz to meet “honored guest”- likely the Nameless

-Jade spots Robin

-turns out we were actually in the previously locked off rooms in the back of where we met Oti, he’s still there, and he’s wearing glasses? Was he before? We can’t talk to him tho

-ah this also unlocked some more doors- it’s where the ship is captained, but the captains room is locked

-Robin is preparing for Charmony Festival

-Jade lies saying she’s on her way to meet Oti really she’s just here for info before meeting him

-Robins never met him, she says Alfalfa is respectable when it comes to business, but not necessarily in other respects

-Jade asks where Robin thinks Penacony is heading, Robin is hopeful, thinks Harmony needs new direction

-“no permanent allies or everlasting enemies,”

-2nd half of negotiations- no Topaz this time

-Jade is gonna be meaner bc Topaz isn’t here you go manipulative queen

-says Oti is not the only merchant who has seen the changes in the cosmic market over the past ten Amber Eras

-Jade declares that Penacony has no way of sidestepping the IPC and going public, that they can’t stop the IPC, the IPC will tear down and rebuild as they see fit

-tells Oti that if he doesn’t want to be a laughingstock and have everyone after him, he better drop his “pie-in-the-sky-plan” perhaps he was planning on using Sparkles bombs to take out the IPC ambassadors now that the protection of not being able to die in the dream is no longer there- or at least he has control over it

-Jade reminds him IPC controls more than half the news in the universe

-says trillions of customers will receive a, “The Family’s protection for Penacony has expired. Any mishaps in the Dreamscape could result in permanent brain death,” message from the IPC if Penacony decides to go public

-threatens to make his entire currency worthless with how many contingencies the IPC has, Jade is confident she can pull it off, even from Pier Point

-she promises that the IPC won’t jeopardize the interests of the Family heads under Oti’s leadership if he gives up the plan to go public

-they (IPC) want allies in Asdana, Jade says they can assist Penacony with financing, will acquire 30% equity shares from the Family, and in exchange will also help rebuild Penacony

-Oti thinks it’s too much, and worried about the future

-Jade happily says there are no guarentees- this is based on mutual respect- but the board of directors will consider the interests of the Family heads to some extent

-she points out this would be beneficial for the Family, and for him, if they both take a step back, also points out this will attract more customers like he wanted

-as the head of the Alfalfa family, Oti accepts, seeing no reason to refuse, but as THEIR (Xipe’s) chosen one, he still needs one final answer (hmmm this is an interesting detail)

-talks about the rise of Xipe and fall of Ena, he asks why the IPC seeks to collaborate with the Family (Harmony) rather than the Order, who is far closer in ideals (Preservation)

-Jade says it’s about credit, saying that through the Preservation, the IPC can perpetually ensure credits value, meaning they have no need for the Order, as they have made their own, with Qilpoths “credit” being the heart of everything

-Oti understands this will eventually lead to the IPC taking control over everything

-“this universe doesn’t need two types of Order” (Preservation and the Order)

-Oti says he’s convinced

-code words from before come back in (shit I should have written them down, it was poison something, sweet dew, and apple something, sweet dew shows up this time per Topaz’s invite)

-unsurprisingly, it’s one of the Nameless: Himeko

-Astral Express will be shareholders? Perhaps this is so they can guarantee the future the Nameless wanted like Welt mentioned

-IPC gets 30%, gives 5% to the express to “honor the sacrifices and contributions made by the former Nameless to the Land of the Dreams,” which is A) true B) the real honor is the express now having a foot in the door to prevent Penacony from being like it was before

-Himeko is a member for the board of directors- what board? One in the IPC, or for Penacony, the Family?

-crew agreed to assist in reconstruction of Penacony, and commit to bringing the dreams of Penacony to other worlds

-However, they really wish for the Harmony to not be distorted again, that tragedy must never occur again

-negotiations end, we (as Jade) will go to meet up w Topaz again

-Jade believes the family heads will soon realize the situation, and that Oti’s agreement didn’t just represent their agreement, but the followers of the Harmony in general (this last part is only implied though)

-Topaz says she will handle the arrangements for formal negotiations

-Jade allows her to- gives Topaz a sense of control OOOH THE MANIPULATIONNNNN

-Topaz is shocked bc big responsibility, but Jade interrupts

-she says that Aventurine initiated this case and Topaz was his project partner, but since he overplayed his hand (taking on a case he couldn’t handle on his own?) Jade got pushed to the forefront

-OOH MORE MANIPULATION, Jade says she came here to help Topaz sort out the toughest issues, saying “I trust you’ll be able to wrap things up quite nicely, little Jelena,”

-Topaz’s objections immediately get pushed aside bc of Jades words, and asks Jade to give Diamond her assurance

-Jade tells her to not worry, Diamond has always trusted them, and Jade will put in a good word for her, and Topaz will get her position (P45) back in no time

-Jade claims her business is done so she’s gonna indulge in her own little hobby (I’m scared)

-which is opening a Bonajade Exchange branch on this ship, whatever that is, Jade believes the guests on this ship had or a wealth of valuable treasures tho

-it’s a pawnshop, and Jade says she will leave, saying she’ll “see you around Topaz”

-Topaz has one more question, Jade gladly lets her ask, she asks about the dose of “bitter poison”, wondering how Jade got it (I’m guessing her Cornerstone), it wasn’t her cornerstone, a “lady concerned with the future of the Harmony” told her (maybe this is Robin? But it seems like that was their first meeting? Hmm)

-Jade says she agreed to help her with something later (which makes me think this was Sparkle now haha), and that they can deal with it after they leave Penacony

-“that’s what ‘investment’ is all about”- the seeds of opportunity have already been soon and Jade simply gives them a little bit of nourishment for them to take root, afterwards all they (her and Topaz) need to do is wait patiently

-like right now, and Jade’s final “guest” boarded the ship

I’m insane about this actually yall. TOPAZ CENTRIC STORY??? WHAT IF I DIED. Also I love the way Jade was written in this, they made her as manipulative as I wanted her to be, so yeah I love her THEY COMMITED TO THE BIT I PRAYED FOR TIMES LIKE THIS

Scene 6: Firefly POV

-she boards (rather sneaks onto) the ship, so I assume she’s Jade’s final guest

-oh she’s heading to the pawnshop that grants wishes (it’s definitely Jade’s), perhaps to get those gifts she wanted earlier, or defy her destiny like she wanted to earlier?

-hey those closed off areas are unlocked W

-she spots TB, Robin is also there

-there’s a nice banquet table for people in that room, we got a shot of it earlier during Topaz, Jade and Oti’s meeting, idk what line of dialogue it was for tho

-Firefly overhears Robin saying that she will, “present a gift to the Astral Express on behalf of The Family as a token of gratitude for the Nameless’ contributions to Penacony”, asking for the staff to help her w the arrangements

-Firefly then asks how to get to the pawnshop, yup it’s Jade’s spot, she gets the directions

-Silverwolf was gonna meet w the Genius Society? Why? Also apparently she mentioned Jade’s stuff earlier, I don’t remember that though, maybe I forgot to write it down

-we can look for the TB so I’m going to

-TB is being a dumbass as ever and Firefly is amused

-she wants to talk to us but Firefly wants to meet Jade first

-we can’t go over there even if we want to

-Jade made her exchange in the dream pool room for some reason

-asks Jade to call her Samuel

-Firefly says she wants to give up living, and that she’s willing to give up everything she has

-even Jade is gagged

-Firefly is like yup! Everything!

-Jade says she should turn around bc she’s not familiar with the term, “pawn” aka she’s betting quite literally EVERYTHING

-Jade says she doesn’t have anything of equal value to offer her

-Firefly is upset, says this shop must just be a marketing gimmick

-Jade says she will help Firefly understand what she means, telling her to go and talk to the other customers, when she understands what “pawn” really means

-we see the TB being stupid again, this time w Dan Heng tagging along

-again she plans on catching up w them later

-first person she meets, Stacy, finally won a gamble w the blessing of Lady Bonajade

-there also seems to be way more guests on the ship

-second person she meets, a Pepeshi named Dell, gets his crush named Dorothy to go out with him, implied that he wished for her to say yes

-ppl seem to be gossiping about a grey haired person, either Firefly or TB

-yup it’s TB

-someone has been hiding in the Moment of Sol in Penacony under a fake identity, proposing as a professor at Paperfold academy, apparently this intellatron (Walker) found him (idk who him is) with the help of an influential figure

-ah this is unimportant this was just the wishes of the third person

-Firefly still doesn’t get it, but their wishes did seem to come true

-Jade said it was just to show the exchange was genuine, how she shows how all three of them gave up so much in exchange for their wishes, so yeah, glorified drug dealer, but it is an equal exchange, and Jade only encourages these people’s delusions, giving with the power of her Cornerstone for a hefty price

-uses their endless cycle of desires to get what Jade desires from their whirlpool of horrific decision making

-Jade knows Firefly’s identity, and she asks Firefly if she’s really willing to give up everything, Firefly isn’t surprised though

-Entropy Loss Syndrome was thrust upon all of the Iron Calvary in order to keep them fighting for Glamoth, and from falling into the wrong hands

-Firmament Front is gone so those who know the secret and could cure the disease are nowhere to be found, but Firefly still wishes to continue her existence

-Firefly asks if the IPC has a remedy

-Jade just says there might be a silver lining and leaves it at that

-Firefly realizes that she can’t provide anything of equal value bc nothing she owns has any meaning

-asks Jade if she’s gonna ask her to restrain the other Stellaron Hunters for her survival

-that’s not the case though, Jade acknowledges how remarkable close the Stellaron Hunters are, compares them to the Stonehearts, OOOHH LORE DROP

-Jade says like how the Stoneheart follow Diamond, the Stellaron Hunters are, “Traveling on the Path of Finality but struggling against your destiny, attempting to move in the opposite direction?”

-Firefly remains silent

-Jade hopes all of them will visit her pawnshop one day

-Firefly asks if she can see this as an invitation from Diamond to the Stellaron hunters behind the IPC’s back

-Jade says to consider it a person offer, not representing the IPC or SID

-Firefly says she will pass on the offer, but she has a question

-Firefly points out that SW could let the entirety of Pier Point know of this in seconds, so why would Jade ask this

-Jade says it’s because she believes her and Firefly are the same

OH MY GOD STONEHEART PICTURE

-she believes the Stonehearts band together to get what they want, and have been invited by Diamond to join them whilst on their own journeys

-Jade says all stonehearts carry a void (ambition) that can only be filled from the outside

-also omg Topaz and Aven look GOOOODD GRERRAAAA TOPAZ LOOOS SO FINE EEJFHJEJAKSKWS RAAAAA AVENNNNNNTURJEJNWKAND AAAA

-so Diamond promised them something, he divided the power of the Emanator of Preservation into ten pieces (for the ten stonehearts) and gave each of us a Cornerstone to fill that void

-“Mortal flesh is fragile, yet my heart is unyielding like the monolith. For without this resolve, the way of the Preservation would fade into oblivion.”

-Jade says this pledge goes beyond a mere oath, it’s their collateral in exchange for the Stonehearts desires, and their future

-whatever they gain from it will make the Stonehearts stronger, allowing them to achieve the great cause of the Preservation (what Diamond wants) when the war among the Aeons eventually comes (HUHH WHAT NOWW I MEAN WERE GETTING THEIR GOALS AT LEAST?!!)

-Jade tells Firefly to take her time

-Firefly says she will, and says it’s shame that the pawnshop won’t give her what she wants, as her last attempt (death?) will end with “hope”

-Walker comes to give her his memories

Scene 7: Trailblazer

-he points out how the meeting went smoother than expected

-Charmony festival opening ceremony is starting soon

-AVENTURINE AND BOOTHILL?!!?

-Boothill threatening Aven jokingly but not jokingly, Aven brushes it off

-seems like they came to an agreement off screen

-he notices us + typical flattery, Boothill gives a normal greeting

-Aventurine admits his words are nothing more than flattery and not genuine (at least due to the option I picked)

-Boothill says to set aside the under the table stuff as to not spoil the mood

-Aven gives congratulations bc he can’t be there personally (he’s a hologram) to witness the crew getting celebrated

-Aven says his job was just to give the IPC an opening, which he achieved (even if it was a mess

-Aven says he wouldn’t have been able to dig up such dirty information without the help of a “knowledgeable friend” HMMM IS THAT RATIO???

-Acheron still fucked him up though, and he admits this would have gone smoother had she not injured him

-we thank Boothill, he’s like it’s nothing I’m a galaxy ranger it’s part of our duty, he’s happy Galaxy Rangers are making a comeback and asks the TB to pass on his regards to any Hunt followers he meets

-BOOTHILL STRAIGHT UP ADMITS THAT AVENTURINE IS GONNA HELP HIM FIND OSWALDO SCHNEIDER WHO HE HAS A SCORE TO SETTLE WITH??? HE ADMITS THAT!!? HUHHH, I mean he did say he’s not one to beat around the bush but still

-Aventurine also talks about the feud between the Marketing Development Department (Oswaldo) and Strategic Investment Department (Diamond) is fairly well on wok, but he didn’t expect the Galaxy Rangers to get involved

-he thinks things are gonna get spicy

-I wonder if the IPC knows about this deal between him and Boothill, I doubt it though, and I think Aven might be hiding this from everyone

-this reminds me that he was deliberately acting like he hadn’t grown around Jade during their conversation in 2.2, which makes me think he’s planning to do something beyond just whatever he is gonna do with Boothill, or at the very least Aven wants to make things easier for himself by acting as if Penacony didnt change him

-they wish the TB well, Avens hologram disappears

RATIO.

EVERYONE PAUSSEEE

-he’s standing where the now activated Divergent Universe thing is AAAA

-it’s all over the screen/hj

-OK CALM DOWN BE SERIOUS

-OFF THE BAT TSUNDERE - “your performance at Herta’s space station was… adequate, I suppose,” thats high praise coming from you hehehhehe

-“Hm, no wonder the gambler likes you so much.” HUHHH??! Can’t keep AVENS NAME OUT UR DAMN MOUTH FOR MORE THAN 5 SECONDS??? We didn’t even bring him up

-“This individual is my responsibility during the trip. Hmph, nothing more than an errand from the Office of Academic Affairs,” the who of what now? Not the “hmph” and downplaying

-tells the Trailblazer to take advantage of the opportunity the Charmony Festival provides

-TB asks Ratio how he rates Aventurine, Ratio says that the IPC and Guild position them as strategic partners; but Ratio sees himself as a teacher, and like everyone in Ratio’s life, Aventurine as a student, Aven isn’t an ideal student, but not utterly obtuse. He remarks that the void inside of him (which could be referring to either the one mentioned as being filled by the Stonehearts or just Aven’s general lack of a will to live) cannot be filled by talent and knowledge. Ratio hopes he doesn’t turn into a philosophical zombie. Which I like that up, and it’s basically someone who behaves like a person but does not have a conscious experience. What I think Ratio is suggesting is that what Aventurine is missing isn’t talent or knowledge, but genuine connections with other people, goals, desires, a purpose, things that aren’t so material

-TB teases Ratio, saying they thought he would make them get their act together, Ratio says that saying such a thing means we haven’t grasped the essence of learning, OH MY GOD HE SAYS EXACLTY HOW I BELIEVE HIM TO VIEW KNOWLEDGE SOMEONE SEDATE ME

“Acquiring knowledge aims to enhance living” I KNOW THIS IS A SIMPLE LINE BUT ITS LIKE AT THE CORE OF RATIOS PHILOSOPHY, HE WANTS TO SPREAD KNOWLEDGE TO HELP OTHERS GROW AND PICK THEMSELVES UP

oh my god, that’s why Aventurine isnt his typical student, to improve Aventurine’s life, he DOESNT need knowledge or talent, so Ratio has to try other methods…

Forgive me for the person I’m about to become I fear

-we say good by to him 😭😭😭😭

-“I detest noisy gatherings, as they intrude upon my thoughts.. What a waste of time” AUTISM!! BRO IS OVERSTIMULATED LEAAVE GO ELSEWHERE WHY ARE YOU HERE UR CLEARLY HAVING A BAD TIMEEEE

Alright bye Ratio onto the next one

-TOPAZ AND NUMBY??!?

-Topaz eco ship mention??

-ooh we ask her about her Cornerstone and if she can transform herself like Aven

-her ability isn’t as “visual”? So it’s not a transformation

-LORE DROP; abilities of Ten Stonehearts are all different, some can even read thoughts and grasp desires (Jade), she warns us to be careful

-Topaz is greatful for the timing in Belabog bc it let her and Bronya be friends

-Jade convo next!

-I picked Sundays name and she went “not a bad name, just lacking in virtue,”

-she does her deal shtick, I’m gonna ask to revive Akivili

-poor girl is dumbfounded, but she accepts 😭

-she asks for the tail of an animal and I think she asks for the tail of the cat in the stellaron hunters 😭

-sorry Akivili you aren’t returning

-ARGENTI

-his lines aren’t voiced unfortunately

-he’s talking about the beauty as always, saying we are already walking that path due to our virtue

-apparently if an admirer of Beauty gets lost in the pursuit of power, they risk descending into “the Omen of Evil” a form that’s neither human nor beast

-he compares this to Sunday; whose actions argenti believes were no different from the Omen of Evil, and that he lost his way along the path of righteousness

-he wasn’t there at the final battle because Ena’s dream was too realistic and he couldn’t bid farewell to a fallen friend who had turned into a beast, so Argenti stayed within the dream for a while

-he blames himself for not passing the trial of Beauty this time, and for hesitating, wishing to become more determined that ever

-him and Sunday competing for who has more religous trauma LMAOO

Alright I’m done talking let’s wait for the opening now

-Firefly is here!

-we go over how wack the plot has been

-she asks if we will be leaving again

-I picked the idk option and Firefly says not to worry bc we are on the path of the Trailblaze

-Elio told Firefly that her journey will tell her how to live on and the rest is up for her to find out, and she will hunt for leads everywhere, including Penacony

-TB says that no wonder she was investigating the Watchmaker, but even if she didn’t get what she wanted, Firefly says she get a deal from Jade

-we warn her not to make deals w the IPC bc they are shady

-Firefly is like no dw I didn’t do anything stupid or get anyone involved

-she apologies for lying to us earlier about being from the Iris Family

-I accept it bc I’m not a cunt but I’m glad they allow you to turn her down

-OOH FIREFLY’S STRUGGLE AT EXPRESSING HER EMOTIONS YESS HOYOVERSE THIS IS WHAT I WANTED GRRRRR

-uh oh bloodhound family is here

-Firefly is sad and like “I guess we have to say our goodbyes”

-but she’s hopeful bc her “script” hasn’t ended yet- so they will meet again

-TB is worried but figures she will be fine, we decide to check on her later after we attend the festival

-we get a message from Firefly, saying she handled everything but she’s sad she won’t get to see Robin perform

-Ceremony begins and Robin shows up

-March is fangirling

-Robin is eating as always

-she’s like “yeah this has been crazy but hey we’re doing it now!”

-thanks Oti Alfalfa for his dedication

-she’s like thank god it’s over

-oh she brings up the Watchmaker

-she gives a tribute to Misha/ Mikhal Char Legwork for laying the foundations of Penacony

-thanks him for allowing the Dreamscape to exist, that Penacony’s success is rooted in the Trailblaze that the Watchmaker brought with him and only by honoring that spirit can harmony be spread

-everything is back on track, and Penacony’s family give the Nameless a token of appreciation

-They give the ship to the Astral Express?!!? That’s a fun one, I think Robin pulled some strings for that one to screw over Oti for throwing Sunday under the bus

-she toasts the Harmony, the Trailblaze, the future of Penacony and the universe, and the generous Alfalfa Family Head, Mr. Oti Alfalfa

CUTSCENE TIME

-Oti is amused by Robins cunning

-he’s SPARKLE TIME

-she put a bomb in the ship and we got 10 minutes to find it oh boy

Cutscene over

-she gave us a map at least

-HASTIEST GROUP CHAT IN EXISTENCE TO FIX THIS

-LMAOO

-this is great it’s bomb hunting time

-because the hounds are stupid and gathered everything spending 48 system hours to press all her buttons

-it’s hidden among 999 dolls and the challenge is to find where the real one is hidden

-Robin asks everyone not to panic and that they will prepare for evacuating

-however the Oak Family has relied on the power of the Order for the guarantee that you can’t die in dreams, but since the Order’s blessings are lost, this bomb might actually kill people

-everyone agrees to help

-Aventurine isn’t taking it seriously likely because he isn’t actually there, he’s like “Wanna bet who will survive this?” and Ratio’s like “k” bc he’s done w Aven’s shit and higher priorities

-Black Swan finds 131 fake bombs, area gets evacuated

-Boothill finds 217 of them with the help of the hounds and Ratio wearing his alabaster head, nobodies found it yet but nobody seems too concerned

-Argenti finds 145 bombs but again, duds

-IPC found 329, but again, nothing

-last one is in the cockpit

-Sparkle rickrolls us

-it’s a bomb

-they found the remaining dolls but nothing

-Sparkle gives the coordinates of the last, true bomb, and everyone agrees to gather there

-TB finds Firefly standing by Sparkle’s bomb

-Sweet Dream no longer has the Order’s protection and if it were to blow up there could be bad consequences

-she says the design is unique and as if it’s been locked by some mysterious Path force

-nobody knows how to deactivate it

-Firefly doesn’t think anybody there can fix it

-she says Black Swan might be able to teleport it, but Firefly found a note inside the doll

-a note that’s complete nonsense and says it contains a virus very dangerous to Memetic entities like BS plus a bunch of Bananas for some reason? It’s all very unserious

-Firefly reminds us that she has three “deaths” in the Land of Dreams

-so this is the third time

-we’re like nah ur not dying

-Firefly says she’s not in the dream like normal people, she has a Stellaron Hunters special method (Silver Wolf) that let her to be in here , and it lets Firefly perform feats others can’t

-as long as she can bear the pain of the memoria pressure, she will be able to dive into the primal Memory Zone and extend a lifeline to the Radiant Feldspar

-she’s gonna try and take it into the depths of the Dreamscape (Primordial Memory Zone) so nobody will get hurt

-Firefly tells us not to worry and that SAM will allow her to get back safely if she lucky

-determined to give this story a happy ending

-Firefly reminds us of Acheron’s words, “The so-called impossible is merely something that has yet to happen..”

-the moment that could disprove the “impossibilities” hasn’t arrived yet

-Firefly has so many choices to make before her “death” in whatever form it takes, and she believes that when the moment arrives for us to make a choice, the answer to our end will already be in our hearts

-“it is not destiny that shapes us, but we who shape destiny,”

CUTSCENE

Compare astral express and stellaron hunters like light and shadow and tied together

-OH BOY SO MUCH HAPPENS

-Sparkle detonates the bomb early but it’s actually fireworks

-she then bops us off the edge of the ship but Firefly catches and saves us

-it’s really cute tbh

-she reaffirms what we said, both that destiny is ours to choose and that the reason why life slumbers is because one day we will wake up

-there’s a little procession of scenes of everyone so far

-highlights being Ratio leaving and Boothill pulling out a gun due to Argentis yapping

-and Aven reminiscing in the place where he found himself again

-we also get a little peak at what Acheron is doing

-she put three flowers on the graves of the Nameless, officially saying by to them

Cutscene over

Scene 8; Acheron (although still from TB perspective)

-child wanted to put flowers down for the Nameless? I don’t really understand her first line in this

-oh the child is Mikhail and the flowers are for the other two Nameless, and when he’s gone someone placed one for him

-she says “your wishes will always be remembered by someone,” likely talking not just to Mikhail, but the audience

-Now Penacony has finally welcomed the dawn after the long dark night, even if the path ahead won’t be easy

-“Tiernan, you can now go home”

-the Nameless are also preparing for our next stop

-we say goodbye to the old Nameless, Gallagher and Acheron

-“in the Land of the Dreams, anything is indeed possible,” - March

-“History may not remember the names of the dead, but the stars will attest to their journeys, the first glimmer of light in the prolonged night often illuminates little, as it is fleeting and the darkness too vast. But because of this, people will remember: As long as something shines in the night sky, then when the first star falls.. countless more will follow, streaking across the horizon.” - Dan Heng, I loved his speech so I had to write it

-they give a toast to the fallen Nameless

-“A toast to history that no longer remains silent, the passionate and courage’s pursuit, and a voyage that traverses the stars,”- Dan Heng ur COOKING

-we can talk to Acheron, and she calls it a fitting end to our story

-we say bye to Gallagher, who we don’t even know if he was a “living person”, callback to the 13 thing, an “enigmatic” character for sure

-at least our journey and his love for Penacony was real

-we toast him too, and using the drink that Siobhan made for him

-“to all lies, and the singular truth,”- March

-she also asks him to not speak in riddles if they ever meet again

-we say bye to Micah, Welt apologizes for only now speaking to him, Welt asks what the people of Dreamflux Reef do now, many will continue to live there, and “those accustomed to being away will mostly have a hard time getting used to a life of darkness with their eyes closed,” Micah will also watch over the primal Memory Zone as the Order has faded

-“Penacony’s nights are long, and there are many who are still far from a good nights sleep,”

-they still manage without the Sweet Dream

-toast to the ppl in Dreamflux Reef and their tenacity

-we finally say goodbye to Mikhail, it started from the moment we met him and it ends by saying goodbye to him

-“just like a clock’s hands that turn round and round, the start and end of each day will always land on twelve o’clock- the advent of time moving forward,” - Himeko, it really is over isn’t it, honestly I wonder now is just what that dream pool and projector were for

-the entire adventure started bc of Mikhail and it’s ending because of him

-“And then, a new page will be turned.”

-“To Penacony’s past, present, future… and the child’s unwavering dream unto death,”- Himeko

—“the Trailblaze can illuminate the way, but ultimately, the future of a world belongs to those who live in it,” - Dan Heng, just like Belabog and the Luofu huh

-March has a strange feeling that she had a few stops ago that’s really strong this time, she talks about how many stories these three Nameless have experienced, and she compares them to the current Nameless and their own adventures, and that they lived the “every day” we do now

-but it’s all in the past, and TB says to her that we should live in the present, but that’s what March can’t get out of her mind

-she’s upset at that the Nameless then didn’t get their happy ending, but the TB now shouldn’t live through them, however since us (especially March) has witnessed their lives, their are special to us now, so she hopes their story gets a good ending when it comes

-but what if those Nameless and us now aren’t special, and we won’t get a good ending?

-if Mikhail might not have had no regrets, how can we know we won’t?

-“Then, what is this regret we feel in our hearts right now…?”

-Himeko assured that all of them are searching for the answer to this question, that against the backdrop of a cosmos, our lives are fleeting

-however, even if the universe doesn’t remember the never ending Trailblaze, but people, and those who travel along the silver rail themselves will

-“As long as we remember, their stories (The Trailblaze) will never end,” OH MY GOD THIS MIRRORS WHAT BS SAID IN THE ONE TRAILER WHERE WE WILL CARRY OUR WISHES TO COUNTLESS STARS AAAA

-Mikhail answered this question himself, dying with a smile on his face even after his complicated life

-its meaning will be interpreted by those who come after us

-it’s not the answer that’s important, but what we can learn from others answers

-“This is what Trailblazing is”

-March tells DH to tell a dad joke to lighten the mood

-he won’t

-it’s never a bad thing to reflect

-we got a long way ahead of us WHOOO

-so it’s time to tell PomPom what we saw

-then prepare for the next stop

-time to say final goodbye to Acheron

-she asks if we remember our first meeting

-we reminded her of an acquaintance

-because of the Self-Annihilators curse, what she thought was a familiar meeting was merely an illusion, attributing her feelings of that old friend to us the TB

-however you can ask if it wasn’t an illusion

-Acheron says it’s improbable we ever met before, and there’s nothing left to retrace but Nihility

-I can keep pushing

-she doubles down, said this me and your memory of her aren’t the same person

Red Text oh my god

-“But some things will never change,”

-she just laughs in response

-oh my god she’s talking about her past companions oh no her Kiana her Bronya noooooo NOOOOOOOOOO

-they didn’t achieve the outcome they wanted, but our sheer stupidity makes it feel like they never even left

-she talks about how things can seem so similar yet so different

-Acheron has wandered alone, encountering “acquaintances” who’s silhouettes overlap with her past

-she asks us what we think her “Deja vu” means

-im going with “the wish to return to the past”

-she says all of our possible answers are incomplete

-it’s something that’s not external, but something that’s within us, an emotion spanning across time from a certain moment in our past to reach us

-every time we reminisce, we notice both the tiny but unforgettable things we leave behind, and the other things that remain constant throughout

-that’s the summary of our lives, the proof of our shared path

-within those small moments, those tiny regrets, we glimpse our own essence, and truly “exist”

-Acheron says to “set forth on your voyage without hesitation, Nameless, on the path of the Trailblaze”

-even if our ending has been predetermined (OOH CALLBACK TO 2.1 and 2.2 AAA) there are countless things humans cannot change

-but before that, there are still many things we can do

SHES WORD FOR WORD REPEATING THINGS

-“And because of this, the “end” will thus reveal a completely different meaning”

-“this is the meaning of ‘journey’”

I AM INSANE ABOUT THIS ACTUALLY AAAAAAAAA

THE CALLBAKCS THE REFERNEFES I WAS RIGHT I WAS RIGHT FUCK ALL OF YOU I LOVR YOU ACHERONNNN

-“all those things, beautiful before, are still do now. And I believe… It will still bloom at the end of the Nihility, until we meet again beneath the sun’s rays,” OH MY GOD SHE HAS HER HORNS AND OLD OUTFIT SHES SO BEAUTIFUL

AND WE ARE GONNA MEET AGAIN AT THE END OF THE STORY AAAAAAAA

Back at the Express

-Pom Pom is crying

-Dan and March bickering

-Pom-Pom started crying over the adventure, March has never seen them so sad before

-now they are angry

-we caused so much chaos and threw the time-table off and if we keep acting like this the Express is gonna run out of fuel

-well not really they are just masking their sadness

-we take a break in the next car while Himeko comforts Pom Pom

-we chat a bit, those three Nameless must have meant a lot to them

-we don’t know shit about Pom Pom’s past lmao, but their emotions haven’t become dulled by the grind of time, and they still value every journey

-we might actually run out of fuel bc due to our existence Pom Pom has had to delay the warp jump schedule

-the express converts every “Trailblaze” into the energy it needs to run, like a perpetual motion machine

-we are using up fuel much faster than expected, and can only pull off two more warp jumps at most

-which means we must consider our next destination carefully

-the two worlds nearest to us are the oceanic planet of Lushaka and the Agate World Melustanin

-we still need to vote

-BLACK SWAN SHOWS UP

-Welts like ‘alright give us the juice’

-she overheard how the express obtains fuel

-her suggestion could be the lifeline that saves everyone

-OH ITS THE DH = DF LINES YESS

-“those mired memories of yours”

-if the express needs a special trailblazing expedition to recharge its engine, then they should go to a world that even Akivili never even reached, and the express will never have to worry about energy again

-March is like “is that possible?!!”

-a world many don’t even know exists, hidden away by outside observation, only revealed by the light from the monitor of the Garden of Recollection

-fettered by three Paths, its destiny hanging in the balance

-“The Eternal Land, Amphoreus”

NO THIS IS CRAZY THIS IS CRAZY BECAUSE THAT IS RATIOS HOMELAND SO HOW DID HE GET OUT FROM THERE, A PLACE NOT EVEN AKAVILI HAS BEEN ?!:!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAA

JADE SCENE?!!

YOOOOO

-she calls Sunday a child

-it seems like he tried to escape and got caught

-he thinks he’s gonna die

-his fate is entirely in Jade’s hands

-he wants the pretenses to be over and to just have time to talk

-she’s glad he’s still a cunt

-she came to fulfill Robin’s wishes, to offer a trade if he’s willing to accept

-she talks about his oath between him and Robin of building a haven where everyone can attain peace

-she asks if he would be willing to speak to her if there was a chance to fulfill that vow

-Jade sets him free, tells him to see the world for himself

-Sunday doesn’t want to accept it though

-however the trade is still up, and Jade is willing the wait for his answer

-she gives him a word of warning

-“Life is too short to miss out on golden opportunities”

And it’s over

Wow that was great

OK! I will definitely not be doing this again because oh my god this made the quest take like 10 hours (most of the time was just typing it tbh 😭) made it far less fun than it could have been, however it also really helped me understand what was going on a lot; and I’ll look back on this if I want to remember the plot in 2.3

Overall I think it’s a really satisfying conclusion for Penacony, and any of the things I thought were weird kinda dissipated because they are minor nitpicks at best, and we did say Penacony would have to figure itself out from here

if you somehow decided to read all of these, I admire your patience lmao, and I hope you enjoyed all of the parts in which I started absolutely losing it

I recommend you don’t do this lmao, it’s more fun to just play through and look at the wiki later imo, maybe take more overarching ones after you have already completed a scene? This was certainly a learning experience at least

#hsr #honkai star rail #dr ratio #aventurine #jade hsr #topaz hsr #boothill #argenti #firefly hsr #caelus #stelle #2.3 spoilers #this was definitely a decision I made #Hey at least it will be nice to look back on #I hope this somehow ends up being helpful LMAOO

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themisimagines · 2 years ago

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i could sleep inside the cold of you

inspired by: the 'aimed at your heart' vyn ssr card content: heavily draws upon catherynne m. valente's deathless, 2.5k of seduction & smut so buckle up characters: vyn, fem!reader optional background music: house of cards by bts; take me to church by hozier; religion by lana del rey; the anna karenina (2012) soundtrack

“A marriage is a private thing. It has its own wild laws, and secret histories, and savage acts, and what passes between married people is incomprehensible to outsiders. We look terrible to you, and severe, and you see our blood flying, but what we carry between us is hard-won, and we made it just as we wished it to be, just the color, just the shape.” - Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

The long table is laid with a feast fit for a king. Platters heaped high with glistening honeyed confits, crisp crackling meat, steaming vegetables delicately braised, deep tureens of stew rich in marrow, an excess of riches, accompanied by what you believe are entire truffles, a sharp knife laid beside them for you to shave your desired portion onto your meal, black salt glistening darkly under the chandelier, in addition to a dish of black sturgeon eggs, like so many pearls gathered in a heap for your amusement.

Entering the dining room on Vyn’s arm, you are shocked by the abundance, the sheer extravagance of it all. You are dressed in a floor length black gown painstakingly embroidered with gold thread, produced seemingly out of thin air by one of the maids, saying that Vyn has requested that you wear it this evening. The material is silky against your skin, making you shiver with every move. The emerald bracelet Vyn won at the Umir Festival is the perfect accompaniment. Vyn, is of course, impeccable in his smoking jacket and tailored trousers.

‘Are we expecting guests?’ You ask Vyn incredulously, staring at the food. ‘Surely Mr. Wechsler was confused.’

‘Not at all. But I believe I once made you a promise that you would never go hungry.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Vyn, we’ll hardly be able to finish this on our own.’

‘My beloved, whatever we cannot finish, I promise that I will allow you to take down to the soup kitchen to feed the hungry populace. Such a role is fitting for the lady of this house, after all.’

‘I’m hardly the lady of the house yet,’ you mutter, flushing red at the implication.

‘Before you launch into another complaint about how you don’t deserve such wonderful treatment, may I propose something, my lady?’ Vyn stops at the door and looks quite seriously down at you from the gold rims of his glasses. You turn your face upwards, marvelling in how beautifully his silver hair frames his face, the way his gaze seems to strip you completely bare.

‘I’ll allow it,’ you say. ‘What do you propose?’

‘Do you trust me?’ Vyn asks.

Your mind flashes back to earlier in the day, during the hunt. Your bodies pressed up against each other, drawing the bow and nocking the arrow. His quiet instructions in your ear, your breath, held for so long you almost grew dizzy, and then, the blur of victory after, shattering the intimate moment.

‘Yes,’ you say at length. ‘I do trust you.’

‘Then I propose that we play a little game. There is no need for you to speak tonight. Whatever you eat will be fed from my hand. Give yourself to me completely, and trust me to take care of you. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, you can say our safe word.’

You stare into his eyes, and he stares back, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You nod once, slowly. An assent to his conditions. The game has begun.

‘Excellent. Your decisiveness is one of the things I most admire about you. And just once, could you say our safe word, before we embark on this little journey together?’

‘Pomegranate,’ you say, lips parting to let it slide out in a whisper.

‘Very good, my beloved.’ Vyn guides you to where the food awaits, seating you on his right hand side, while he takes the seat at the head of the table. ‘I remember peeking at the suppers my grandmother used to host here. My grandfather would sit at the head of the table, here, while my grandmother sat all the way down there, at the end of the table, both of them as far apart from each other as they could get. The length of the table being a gesture of power, to be sure, but hardly conducive for marital harmony. I believe they even ate like that when they didn’t have guests, or took meals apart. So much nicer to sit together like this, no?’

You almost open your mouth to say something or ask a question, but Vyn silences you with a finger on your lips.

‘I would not be asking you to do this if it was easy, my love, I know it is difficult for you. But we are nurturing this fledgling trust you have placed in me, and the game has just started.’

You watch Vyn’s slow, careful movements as he tears a hunk of golden bread and dips it in olive oil and black salt, the crumb flecked with herbs. He feeds you the morsel gently, telling you about the special wheat used in making the bread and the fields in Svart where it grows. You listen with rapt attention as his voice carries on, moving from dish to dish. As he promises, he feeds you every first bite with his own fingers, their tips gently grazing against the corners of your mouth, leaving your skin tingling and yearning for more.

Your mouth is filled with rich flavours of cream and wild fowl, preserves and pickles, salt and fat, acid and heat. Vyn keeps up the one-sided conversation, reading your mind to say your answers for you, his low tones sending a shiver up your spine. The wine makes your head light and airy. As the meal comes to a close, Vyn feeds you a last mouthful of dessert, his long index finger swiping away a trail of honey from the corner of your mouth. A burst of words comes from you as you impulsively grab his wrist and then place a kiss directly in the palm that has been feeding you all evening.

‘I love you, Vyn,’ you barely whisper, voice hoarse.

Vyn extracts his hand and gives a loud sigh, standing up from the table. ‘You were doing so well, my darling. Like Orpheus, who turned back just at the very last minute and lost Eurydice, so have you lost our little game.’

His eyes are dark, but with a distinct sense of amusement and mischief behind them. ‘Had you won, your prize would have been a fairytale ending, where I swept you off your feet and carried you to the fireplace in the hall, where a magical bower of furs and pillows have been prepared, and you would have sweet love made to you all night—’

‘I don’t care about fairytale endings,’ you interrupt Vyn, standing and moving toward him, a defiance in your tone calculated to push him off the edge, to turn his beautifully crafted game on its head.

Vyn growls and then pounces on you, lips seeking yours harshly, in an attempt to punish you. You kiss him back just as fiercely, biting his lip and drawing blood, smearing it over both your bottom lips, the taste of iron and salt with the sweet still lingering on your tongues. He pushes you both back onto the table, until your legs are wrapped against it and your spine is bent backwards, dress sliding upwards until your thighs are visible.

When he pulls away, it is to admire how rumpled he has left you, how wanting. Your hair is loosened from its carefully piled topknot, lying curled and ragged around your face, which still bears a slight trace of his blood. Your chest, heaving, the tops of your breasts exposed. Legs slightly spread to accommodate his waist, his face looming over yours as if he is about to devour you.

‘Since you seem to be evading my best attempts at seduction, I cannot promise I will be gentle,’ he warns with a smirk.

‘Maybe that was my intention all along,’ you make an effort to retort, although you are aware of how vulnerable a position you are in.

Vyn pushes the dishes off the table, everything landing in a loud clatter on the floor.

‘Vyn!’ You exclaim, turning to look at the food, but he lifts you up onto the table, then pushes your dress upwards around your hips, ripping aside your flimsy underwear. You are about to say something in protest, but then his mouth is on you, trailing heated kisses along your inner thighs, hot breath making you squirm even as he keeps a vice-like grip on your hips. When he licks a hot, wet stripe up the length of your cunt, you cry out in pleasure, spine curving upwards to get more of it.

‘Hm, you seem to be enjoying yourself,’ Vyn pauses to comment. ‘Should I continue?’

‘I will never forgive you if you stop now,’ you pant, and then reach down to encourage his head back between your legs.

He laughs, then applies himself fully to the task, tongue endlessly swirling, and then thrusting inside, all while your hands are twined in his hair, tugging so hard that you are briefly afraid that you have hurt him. He doesn’t show any sign of discomfort, diligently licking and sucking until you are so close to coming, your body a tightly wound mass of nerves. You catch his eyes flicking up to watch your reactions, and just as you are about to come, he pulls away, wiping his mouth away on his sleeve and grinning viciously. You cry out at the sudden loss of heat, writhing in distress.

‘Don’t you think you deserve some punishment for ruining our evening? You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?’ He hisses, then pulls you toward him, forcing you to turn around. Disoriented from the disrupted orgasm and sudden movement, you flail for a moment, then hear the clink of Vyn removing his belt behind you. He grabs your hands and holds them together, using his belt to wrap your wrists snugly, but not too tight. Before anything else happens, he leans forward to where your face is, brushes your hair gently aside to whisper in your ear, ‘Pomegranate?’

You shake your head desperately. ‘Good girl,’ he tells you, stroking your hair.

Then the brief moment of tenderness quickly passes as Vyn grabs your hips, your face sliding across the polished wood of the table and ass sticking up in the air, your cunt completely exposed, only your legs holding you up. Unable to see what’s going on behind you, you can only tremble in anticipation, the feel of Vyn’s hands roughly positioning you so he can enter you.

His first thrust is not at all gentle, burying him to the hilt in your hot, slick cunt. You both cry out from the fullness, at how ready your cunt is for him.

‘Look at you clenching around me, such a needy, desperate little slut,’ Vyn purrs, painfully dragging out his first few thrusts so that despite your limited range of movement, you are squirming and begging for more.

‘More,’ You beg. ‘Please, Vyn, I need more.’

‘You will get more when I decide you deserve more,’ Vyn warns, slowing his hips even more, the promise of more friction hanging just out of reach. ‘It’s my turn to enjoy myself.’

You cry out in frustration, and are met with a ringing slap on your ass, the pain tingling deliciously.

‘Can’t be helped,’ he sighs, pretending that you have forced him to this point, when you can tell that it is taking all of his own self-control not to just thrust into you with wild abandon. ‘You’re forcing me to play my hand, you naughty little thing. Do you want to see me lose control?’

He punctuates the last sentence with a vicious thrust, going deeper than before and making you squeal. The sound makes him stop, and he reaches beside you for a napkin.

‘I think we need to work on your silence,’ Vyn says, hips still moving gently while his hands have left your hips and are doing something else. He leans down, pressing his weight against you and hand coming toward your face with the folded napkin.

‘Open your mouth,’ he tells you, then puts the napkin delicately between your teeth. ‘Now, bite down. If you let the napkin fall, I can only assume it is because you intend on using our safe word, and in any event, that would mean our little game is over. If you want to continue, your only choice is to behave yourself.’

You bite down on the cloth napkin, and Vyn cocks his head sideways to look at your trapped face, giving you a wink before returning to his position behind you. He starts off with slow thrusts again, searching for the right angle, hips snapping leisurely into your ass, the sound of skin on skin turning you on more, if that was even possible. Your soft moans are muffled by the napkin, which is slowly soaking with saliva.

‘Such a good girl,’ Vyn cooes as he thrusts deeply and you give a low, dull moan, trying to stifle your noises. ‘Let’s see how you do under more difficult conditions.’

He reaches down to grasp a handful of your hair, pulling your head upwards so that your spine is arched like a bow, and begins moving faster, each thrust of his cock a blinding shaft of light in equal parts pain and pleasure. If anyone were to walk in on you both right now, or even listen in on what was happening, they would hear a symphony of moaning, Vyn growling to tell you what a good girl you are, how well you are taking his cock, as if you were made for him. Your hands behind your back, back impossibly arched as he grips onto your hair, subject to the pleasure that is invading every part of your body.

Vyn’s thrusts grow harder and more needy, and your cunt has begun to spasm, craving sweet release.

‘I want to see your face when I make you cum,’ He rasps, and then pulls out, flipping you effortlessly onto your back, hair spilling out in all directions. Your arms are crushed behind your back, but the pain of your stretching shoulder joints is welcome, only adding to your pleasure. He is stretched out on top of you, mouth hungry, diving for your breasts, teasing your nipple with his tongue, hand reaching down to rub your clit in agonising circles, then slipping back inside you and groaning at the sensation. You cling on to the napkin for dear life, terrified that if you drop it, he might really stop, and leave you empty and wanting, just like that.

But Vyn doesn’t stop. His eyes locked onto your face, he rubs your clit ceaselessly as he pounds into you, again and again in a vicious, desperate pace.

‘Come for me, my love,’ he whispers, and like that, you are undone, waves of pleasure crashing through your body as your cunt clenches, legs shaking from the effort. A few more hard thrusts and Vyn joins you, thrusting deeply inside you one last time and then collapsing, his cock still throbbing as it fills you with cum.

He only allows himself a few moments before quickly sitting you up to undo the restraints around your wrist, examining them for chafing, pressing a light kiss to each one when he finds you perfectly well and unharmed.

‘Was I too rough?’ Vyn asks, hurrying to hand you his jacket. You shake your head, a mischievous grin on your face as you refuse to drop the napkin between your teeth. He blushes and removes it. You stretch your jaw a few times, which is slightly sore from clenching so hard, but will be fine in a few moments.

‘Please, Vyn, I would have used the safe word if I was being hurt.’ You reassure him. ‘The only thing I regret is that I’m probably too tired to go through all that again.’

‘Too tired?’ Vyn’s smirk returns. ‘I hope not. There’s still a fireplace and a floor full of furs waiting for us.’

In the blink of an eye, you are swept up in his arms, and he is carrying you to the door, like a bride over the threshold of her new home. He hasn’t even bothered to put on any clothes, trousers long forgotten, and his dress shirt hanging loose.

‘Vyn,’ you say, an idea suddenly coming into your mind. ‘You knew I wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, didn’t you?’

‘I will neither confirm nor deny my initial hypothesis,’ Vyn says. ‘But let’s just say, the outcome was above and beyond what I expected.’

As he carries you to the hall and the fireplace, two of his fingers have secretly slipped into your cunt once again, and you sneak a glance at him, grinning.

#tears of themis #tears of themis smut #vyn tears of themis #vyn richter #vyn richter x reader #vyn richter smut #vyn tot #tot imagines #tot smut #mo yi #mo yi x reader #VERY loose canon interpretation (haven't played all the cards)#okay listen LISTEN i am obsessed with the fact that vyn is always playing mind games and testing people esp mc in early game #my vision of him is always negotiating that space of trust #wanting you to trust him more and more and completely giving yourself to him #and because you are so competitive you /want/ to pass all his tests #anyway even though it's been almost 10 years deathless still has a strong grip on my heart everyone go read it

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littlechick1 · 2 months ago

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Eremika Rekindled Heart AU : Me, You & Swiss

Happy Reading

---

Swiss, 202x

The windy of Swiss Alps swept through the windows of the restored 19th-century music conservatory, now transformed into a prestigious orphanage and piano academy—an institution once overseen by Mikasa’s late grandmother. It was quiet, peaceful—the kind of peace she had been craving ever since she walked away from the tangled mess that was her engagement with Eren Yeager. She had come here for healing, for purpose to honor her late grandmother’s legacy by contributing to the pianist education foundation for orphans

Dressed in a sleek beige coat, her long raven hair tied back loosely, Mikasa moved briskly through the marble hallway. Her steps echoed like a quiet melody as she met with Darius Zackly, the ever-smiling deputy director. They stood near the grand recital hall, where the sounds of piano scales filtered faintly through the doors.

"How are the final preparations for the charity showcase going, Mr. Zackly?" Mikasa asked, eyes alert with purpose.

"Everything’s running smoothly under your instructions, the pianists are ready, the press, the investors will be attending," he said with a nod. "In fact, we have some excellent news, a new investor has joined our cause."

Mikasa blinked, her brows furrowing. "A new investor? Why wasn’t I informed about this earlier?"

Zackly nodded, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yes. A very generous one, in fact. He specifically requested to meet with you in person, Miss Ackerman.”

Before Mikasa could ask more, the front doors opened. Golden light poured into the room like a spotlight from the heavens, and there he was.

Eren Yeager.

Handsome, poised, dangerous as ever. The sunlight flared behind him like he had been cast from Olympus itself, he walked with effortless confidence, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his tailored coat and a small smirk on his lips. Mikasa’s heart dropped to her stomach. Her eyes widened.

Mikasa’s breath caught. Why… why was he here? Her blood ran cold. No. No way. He… he can’t be that investor.

Eren approached with that infuriatingly smug smile that made her want to scream and sob at the same time. Darius, completely oblivious to the silent war raging in Mikasa’s mind, leaned toward her with a teasing grin.

Zackly chuckled. “You’re still so shy, Miss Ackerman. I figured you’d enjoy the surprise. After all, it’s not every day a fiancé makes such a grand entrance.”

“F-fiancé?” Mikasa stuttered.

Eren leaned down and casually kissed Mikasa on the cheek. “Hey, sweetheart".

Mikasa froze like a statue. Her entire being screamed to move, to slap him, to run—but her stupid heart fluttered. God, she hated herself. Mikasa wanted to scream. She hadn’t seen Eren in months—not since she walked away from him in her wedding dress with tears staining her cheeks. She had told herself over and over again that it was over. That he had made his choice—Pieck. That their engagement was a painful joke, yet… here he was, standing before her like the past hadn’t destroyed her.

Zackly beamed. “Welcome to Switzerland, Mr. Yeager. I hope the flight wasn’t too tiring. I believe you and Miss Ackerman have quite the reunion.”

Eren turned to Darius with a polite tone, suddenly all businessman. "I’m honored to support this foundation. Mikasa’s work here is nothing short of incredible."

Darius beamed. "She’s the heart of this event, really. You’re lucky to have her."

"Yeah," Eren said, glancing sideways at her, something unreadable in his gaze. "I know."

Mikasa wanted to disappear.

Once Darius excused himself to attend to a staff member, leaving her and Eren alone, the air shifted

"Okay, what game is this?" Mikasa hissed the moment they were alone. "If this is some charade for your image or whatever—drop it. I’m tired, Eren. We ended things."

Eren raised an eyebrow. "Still sulking, I see."

The audacity. Her jaw dropped slightly. "Sulking? We are not engaged anymore! I told my Dad. I walked away because you—"

"Really?" Eren cut her off, smirking. "Strange... because your Dad didn’t tell me that. In fact—" he leaned closer, eyes glinting, "our wedding is next week."

“WHAT?! A-are you lost your mind?”

Mikasa’s phone rang. She grabbed it like it was a lifeline. "Hello?"

"Mikasa!" It was Sasha. "Didn’t you say you broke up with Eren?! Why are all the news channels saying you’re getting married next week?"

Mikasa blinked. "What?! What are you talking about?"

"Literally everywhere! It’s the headline, Mikasa—front page of magazines, social media, TV! The wedding of the century, they’re calling it!"

She turned her head slowly toward Eren, who simply looked at her with that maddening smirk—the one she hadn’t seen in years.

Eren shrugged again, then leaned slightly toward her. “Just making sure the world remembers what you seem so desperate to forget.”

Mikasa’s heart thundered in her chest. she clutched her phone, her heart thundering beneath her ribs. Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“I hate you.”

Eren’s smile widened—just slightly—but his eyes, they flickered with something else. Something softer.

“Good,” he said. “That means you still feel something.”

Mikasa could only stare at him, stunned, torn, and trembling.

---

The heavy oak door to Mikasa’s office slammed shut behind them.

Eren leaned against it casually, arms crossed, like he hadn't just hijacked her life. Mikasa paced across the polished wooden floors, her heels tapping a furious rhythm. Her cheeks were flushed, her heart an erratic drum in her chest. She couldn’t believe this. Couldn’t believe him.

“You’ve lost your mind,” she snapped, whipping around to face him. “Do you think this is some kind of game?”

Eren’s expression didn’t change. Calm, unreadable. But his eyes followed her, like a hawk tracking its prey.

“I’m not playing, Mikasa.”

“Then what do you call this?” she gestured toward the hallway, where moments ago Darius had beamed at their supposed wedding announcement. “You forged headlines. You let the entire world believe we’re getting married next week!”

“Correction,” Eren said coolly, stepping forward. “I never said we weren’t.”

Mikasa stared at him, stunned into silence.

“I told you I was done,” she said, quieter this time. “I let you go. I freed you.”

Eren stopped only inches from her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And you think I wanted that?”

“You chose her,” Mikasa breathed. “You always looked at Pieck like—like she was the one.”

“That’s what you saw,” he replied. “Because that was easier for you to believe than the truth.”

Mikasa blinked, confused.

“Your sister and I finished the thing we had years ago,” he said.

Her breath hitched.

Eren’s voice was raw now, laced with years of buried hurt. “You think I didn’t feel anything when you walked away in that dress? You think I didn’t die a little when you left with tears on your cheeks and I couldn’t do a damn thing to stop you?”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” she cried, tears threatening again.

“Because I thought I didn’t deserve you,” he admitted. “I thought I’d ruined everything beyond repair.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

“And now?” she whispered.

“Now?” Eren stepped even closer, one hand brushing against hers, hesitant but hungry. “Now I know I’ll never forgive myself if I let you walk away again.”

Mikasa looked up at him, eyes glistening. Her hands were clenched at her sides. Her mouth quivered.

“You don’t get to just show up and say all the right things,” she said. “You don’t get to crash into my life and think I’ll fall into your arms.”

“I know,” he said. “I came here expecting a fight.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Then you’re going to get one.”

He smiled softly. “Good. I’ll fight for you. Every day. As long as it takes.”

Mikasa looked away, chest tight. Her fingers brushed the piano behind her, grounding herself.

“You hurt me, Eren.”

“I know.”

“I’m still angry.”

“You should be.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I’ll earn it,” he said. “If you let me try.”

Silence again. The kind that crackled with everything unsaid.

She finally met his eyes, a storm swirling in hers.

“I’m not ready to love you again.”

“I can wait,” he said. “But I’ll be right here, loving you anyway.”

She hated this man.

God help her. She hated how much she didn’t.

---

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mjonthetrack · 2 months ago

Text

The heat clung to everything—humid and sticky as they gathered outside a modest municipal building turned into a temporary case hub. Locals bustled around, a few uniforms standing awkwardly at the fringes, waiting for instruction. Inside, the BAU team surrounded a long folding table, papers spread, crime scene shots pinned to a corkboard.

Hotch stood at the head of it all, arms crossed. “We’re looking at a high probability of this being a serial case—similar MO to a suspect we profiled six years ago, but the signature has evolved. We’ll split into pairs to canvas and consult with locals. They’ve assigned us a temporary liaison who’ll be consulting for the duration.”

He barely finished the sentence before the doors opened.

And in walked her.

“Agent Morgan,” the woman chirped brightly, warm and polished in a tailored suit with glossy curls framing her face. “You didn’t tell me you were assigned here!”

Selah turned slightly at the voice—heard the familiarity in it—and tilted her head just enough to clock the interaction.

Morgan smiled—that smile—and stood, drawing the woman into a hug. His hand rested lightly on her hip as she kissed his cheek, then lingered just a breath too long.

“Didn’t know you’d be working this one,” he said, voice low and easy.

“Well, I couldn’t say no once I saw your name on the interdepartmental log.”

Selah’s stomach twisted as she stared down at the case files, one hand tapping her pen with controlled force. Garcia’s voice from what felt like years ago whispered in her head. Sunshine and thunder.

Her jaw tensed. Thunder, then. That’s what today would be.

She looked up just in time to see the woman slide into a seat beside Morgan, their knees bumping like it meant nothing. Her laughter filled the air—soft and effortless.

Selah gave nothing away, just returned her attention to the photos and began organizing her portion of the crime scene breakdown. JJ and Prentiss exchanged a look but said nothing.

By the time lunch rolled around, they all gathered at a local diner—a worn-in place with decent coffee and better pie. Selah sat at the edge of the booth, earbuds tucked in, music low as she sipped iced tea and reviewed photos on her tablet. Morgan was seated at the table behind her—back-to-back.

And then it happened.

Laughter. Murmurs. That woman again.

And then a kiss.

A full kiss—not a peck, not a friendly gesture. Mouths pressed together in a way that stole Selah’s air.

She froze. Her throat burned. She couldn’t breathe around the angry, bitter knot forming there.

Just a de-stresser, she told herself. A once-off. Two coworkers needing relief.

Except it wasn’t sitting right. Not when it felt like everything that week had cracked her open in ways she hadn’t expected. Not when he carried all those moments without a second glance.

She stood without a word, grabbing her phone and tablet, her empty glass left half-full behind her. Reid barely caught the tail end of her movement.

“Where is she—?”

JJ’s brow furrowed. “Bathroom?”

But Rossi had watched the whole thing. His eyes flicked from the door Selah pushed through to Morgan’s table—still grinning, still locked in flirtation—and he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “She’s not coming back inside.”

—

Selah walked the perimeter of the latest crime scene alone, earbuds in, music blaring loud enough to rattle her ribcage. It was her armor, her distraction, the only thing stopping the tremble she could feel in her fingers.

She set up her forensic kit with precise movements, gloves pulled on with more force than necessary. Her expression was flat, unreadable. A dark cloud rolling in under clear skies.

Morgan hadn’t noticed her leave. Of course not.

But Garcia did.

Back at the table, she leaned in closer to Prentiss and whispered, “Something happened between them. Something real. You can feel it.”

“Then why’s he acting like nothing did?” Prentiss muttered back.

Reid answered without looking up. “Because Morgan’s used to controlling everything—including himself. But I don’t think he realizes the damage that control is doing… to both of them.”

From across the street, Hotch stood at the window watching Selah crouch near the grass, snapping photos and marking prints with flawless focus—like her heart hadn’t just been cracked open.

But even he could see it.

She was sunshine once. But right now?

She was the storm.

—————

Selah didn’t react—not at first.

She was across the lot, organizing soil samples near a shallow grave site, crouched in the sun with her hair tied back and her aviators shading her eyes. She heard the voice float past her earbuds—his voice—and hers.

Morgan. That chirpy little almost that once rolled off his tongue in the middle of their week together. The one he barely acknowledged, just a blip of a mention in passing.

Now that blip was laughing again, her hand on his bicep, and Selah caught every word like her ears were tuned for betrayal.

“You still owe me that wine and jazz night,” the woman said, lightly teasing.

“Pick a night,” Morgan chuckled. “You name it.”

Selah froze.

Oh.

That’s what they were doing now.

Her earbuds were still in, but no music played. She hadn’t turned it on since she hit the field—it was more armor than function now. And this time, it protected her well. Because no one could see the exact moment her spine straightened and her heart iced over.

She took a slow breath, stood up, and adjusted the strap of her utility vest over her shoulder like it wasn’t suddenly weighing a hundred pounds.

Petty activated.

She walked back toward the van with deliberate grace, her hips swaying beneath her cargo pants, a subtle switch in her gait that made people turn without knowing why. Her voice was calm when she passed JJ and Reid.

“I’ve logged the samples. Secondary pit might have evidence deeper—three feet or so. I marked it. You’ll want full exhumation protocols.”

Morgan looked over, their eyes met—

And Selah looked through him.

A blink. A pause. And then she turned to Hotch with a calm, breezy tone. “If you want the breakdown later, I’ll email the notes. I’ve got everything tagged.”

“You okay handling that solo?” Hotch asked, brow slightly raised.

“Please,” she smirked. “I’ve done harder in less time with less help.”

Morgan opened his mouth like he might say something—something light, maybe teasing.

But Selah was already walking away, a low hum leaving her lips, some old R&B song barely under her breath.

Garcia watched it happen from her tablet across the site, eyebrows rising. “Ohhh… someone just got iced.”

Prentiss didn’t look up from her notes. “That wasn’t ice. That was glacier.”

——

Back inside the field lab, Selah worked in focused silence. The fluorescent lights overhead gave a soft glow to the ink on her skin as she peeled off her jacket. Left sleeve exposed, hand tattoos dancing across the keyboard, she muttered notes to herself.

“Clean cut ligature marks… defensive wounds inconsistent with post-mortem staging…”

Morgan walked in. She didn’t glance up.

“You need help sorting the digital files?” he asked, low.

“Nope.” Her tone was short but polite. That specific level of politeness that said, I used to like you, now I don’t even care enough to dislike you.

“Selah…”

She finally looked at him. No smile. Just that same cool, unreadable look.

“I’m good, Morgan,” she said, pulling her laptop closed. “You’ve got plans anyway, don’t you?”

Boom.

She didn’t wait for his answer. She walked out—curves swaying, jaw set.

————-

Outside, Reid stood with JJ and Rossi, glancing over his shoulder as Selah brushed past like a force of nature.

JJ sighed. “What happened?”

Rossi just shook his head. “He fumbled.”

And Reid, almost too quietly, murmured, “She was soft with him. I don’t think he’s ever seen what happens when she stops being soft.”

———

Nighttime – The Hotel

Selah hadn’t noticed at first. Not until she turned off her white noise machine to plug in her phone and caught the first thump through the wall.

Then came the whines. Grating, breathless, exaggerated. The unmistakable, rhythmic slam of a headboard meeting drywall like a damn drumline.

And then his voice.

His voice. Low and rough, just like it was the night he whispered against her skin and slept on her rooftop. The voice she heard talking about constellations one night, now soaked in sex and someone else’s name.

Her stomach twisted.

No tears came right away. No tantrum. Just the silence of heartbreak cracking her ribs in slow motion. She laid back, stared up at the hotel ceiling, and bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted iron.

Her chest burned. But still, no sobs. No outburst. Just the slow leak of pain behind her eyes and the brutal realization—he picked her.

Across the hall, in one of the shared rooms, Prentiss flinched.

“Is that…”

JJ set her glass of water down hard, muttering, “He has to be joking.”

Garcia sat up straight in her bed, eyes wide behind her glasses. “No. No. Is that—?”

None of them said Selah’s name. But they knew. Knew enough to be angry. Knew enough to share the heat between them.

The Next Morning – Group Breakfast

Selah showed up stunning.

Hair in a slick, high bun. Lashes for days. Lip gloss poppin’. A black blazer over a cropped top and high-waisted pants that screamed unbothered CEO energy. If pain lived in her chest, it never touched her face. Not anymore.

She sat down first at the diner booth, legs crossed, phone in one hand, barely glancing up.

“Morning,” she said flatly, sipping her coffee.

When Morgan walked in with the other woman—his consultant friend—the air turned ice cold.

JJ glared.

Prentiss folded her arms tight.

Garcia looked like she might key a car on sight.

Morgan slowed, confusion flickering over his face as Selah didn't spare him one look. Didn’t even blink. Just kept sipping her coffee, scrolling her phone, chuckling at a meme. Effortless.

He slid into a seat across from her. But that wall? Oh, it was fortified.

Hotch arrived last, glanced around, and saw everything without anyone needing to explain a thing.

Later – Morgan’s Perspective

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Not the version in the tight black fit and perfect gloss this morning.

No.

The one with her curls tied up, barefaced and sweet-smiling. The one who rolled a blunt with slow fingers and danced barefoot to Mariah Carey. The woman who climbed onto his back at the beach, who kissed her dog goodnight and patted the bed in a haze of liquor asking to be held.

He fucked up.

And he knew it.

Morgan rubbed his face as he leaned against the back wall of the field lab, trying to get his breathing under control. The way Selah looked right through him at breakfast? Worse than if she’d cursed him out. Worse than if she’d slapped him.

She erased him.

And the thing that ate at his chest like acid?

He deserved it.

He thought the week with her had been a calm before the storm—something precious. He felt something with her. Something real. But then he let old habits take over. Let that woman from before get too close, too loud, and too fucking visible.

And Selah heard every goddamn sound.

He clenched his fists.

He could see it now. The way she looked at him on the rooftop. Her laugh during the horror movies. The tenderness in the way she’d said “thank you for being here.”

Morgan dropped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

He didn’t just break something.

He shattered a trust he didn’t even know he’d built with her.

——-

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Selah didn’t even flinch when Morgan approached her. She was leaning against the SUV, hands tucked in her pockets, shades low on her nose despite the overcast sky. The morning briefing had ended, and the team was gathering their gear, but Morgan made a direct line toward her.

“Selah—can we talk?”

She looked at him slowly, chewing on a piece of gum, expression unreadable. “Talk?” she echoed, brows raised slightly. “About what?”

He shifted, uncomfortable under the weight of everything he should’ve said earlier. “About… what happened.”

She tilted her head, smile cold. “Oh,” she said, stepping closer. “You mean the week where we laughed, lived, and slept under the same roof, and you made me feel like maybe we were building something? Only for me to hear your little concert with your consultant at 2 a.m. through the wall?”

The words were a quiet stab, each one measured, deliberate.

Morgan’s jaw clenched. “It wasn’t like that—”

“No,” she cut in, voice sharp, but still level. “It was exactly like that.” She leaned in, patted his cheek softly. “Don’t worry though. I’m good. Next time you screw someone with a voice like a balloon being let go slowly, maybe put a sock in her mouth. I’ve got work to do.”

She turned away before he could respond, walking toward Prentiss and JJ, who watched her with fire in their eyes. Prentiss mouthed damn, while JJ shook her head and gave Morgan a pointed look of disappointment.

The case turned physical quickly. It required hands-on terrain navigation and defensive strategy. Morgan, normally the team’s enforcer, was off his game—sluggish, distracted, quiet. Hotch noticed. Rossi noticed. Everyone did.

Selah? She was a goddamn storm. Fast. Precise. Ruthless. Shooting drills—dead center. Physical conditioning—unmatched. She barely spoke to anyone, but her body was screaming with adrenaline and quiet rage. And it worked for her.

“I’ve never seen her like this,” Reid muttered to Garcia, who’d come in with water bottles and snacks.

“That’s heartbreak rage,” Garcia said, biting her lip. “He hurt her. I don’t know how, but he did.”

Out in the field, Selah clipped her empty mag, slamming in another. She didn’t spare Morgan a glance when he stumbled on a run or misfired in drills.

He looked at her then—her long limbs moving like a trained predator, lips pursed, jaw set, fire in her eyes. He felt it. The regret. The grief. The weight of his own damn stupidity.

And still, she didn’t break a sweat.

Because Selah Nyree Ellis was not going to let him break her.

She was going to make him watch.

——————

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Morgan hadn’t planned to see her again that night.

He sat in the rental car, watching the quiet lull of the hotel parking lot after the long day’s field work. The air was thick with a tension he couldn’t shake—not from the case, not from the stress—but from the ghost of Selah’s voice earlier, that damn pat on the cheek, and the memory of her walking away like he never touched her.

He didn’t know what he was doing outside again, walking around to clear his head, when he saw her.

Selah.

She was at the side entrance of the hotel, dressed down in that careless way that only made her look more beautiful—sweatpants hugging her hips, hoodie zipped halfway up, curly hair piled up on her head. And standing beside her, all easy grin and too-familiar confidence, was him—Marcus.

Derek’s fists clenched before he realized it.

He watched them laugh, her head tilting back just a little, Marcus leaning in to say something in her ear that made her shake her head with a smirk—and then she nodded.

She unlocked the hotel door and opened it. Marcus followed. She looked around once before stepping in—and for a second, Morgan thought maybe she saw him. Maybe she hesitated.

But then the door closed.

And Derek stood there like a fool.

He didn't sleep that night. The walls were thin again, but he heard nothing this time. Silence was louder than anything. It was worse.

Checkmate.

The Next Morning

Breakfast at the local diner was standard BAU protocol post-case, just as much a ritual as the profile building.

Selah was already there.

She sat at a booth near the window with JJ, Garcia, and Prentiss. Her curls were down, wild and free, shades on her head, glossy lips curled in a soft laugh. She wore a tiny, soft tee tied at the waist, jeans that hugged her hips, and a vibe that screamed untouched, unbothered, and not thinking about you.

Morgan stepped in with Reid and Rossi and scanned the room instantly, eyes finding her without permission.

No Marcus.

No trace of him.

Only Selah. Beautiful and bulletproof. Smiling like nothing in the world was wrong. Like he had never existed.

Rossi gave Morgan a sharp look, like he already knew what happened.

Garcia sipped her juice and caught Derek’s eye over her sunglasses. Her look wasn’t pity. It was simple.

She told you not to fuck up.

Selah looked up finally. Caught Morgan’s gaze.

Then turned away and clinked her fork against her plate, laughing at something Prentiss said.

And just like that, he was the ghost.

——-

Chapter Thirty “Too many times I’ve been wrong, I guess being right takes too long...”

The restaurant was packed with warm lights and laughter, a local spot doubling as a karaoke bar the team gravitated toward after the case closed out earlier than expected. A well-earned night to unwind.

Selah walked in late—on purpose.

She was a vision in black: a halter crop top dipped low, hugging every curve like it was sculpted on her. High-waisted leather pants clung to her hips with silver hoops dangling from her ears and a pair of heels that made the sway of her walk a fire hazard. Her lipstick was wine-dark. Her nails matched. Every inch of her was sharp, stunning, intentional.

Morgan felt it the second she stepped in.

The team did too. Conversations paused. Heads turned.

She didn’t even glance in his direction.

She hugged Garcia and JJ, gave Rossi a cheek kiss, flirt-teased Reid with a playful tug on his tie, and sat herself right across the room from where Morgan and Hotch were. Prentiss ordered her a drink before she even asked. It was clockwork. The girls had her back—and everyone knew something had shifted.

Morgan? He was quiet. He hadn't touched his drink. Barely looked up from the table. Hotch had said nothing—but his brow furrowed in a way that meant he was reading every room, every silence, every look.

“Spit it out,” Rossi said eventually, under his breath.

Morgan didn’t.

But his jaw twitched.

Later That Night

“Up next,” the host grinned, reading the slip of paper. “We got... Selah, hitting us with a little classic heartbreak. Y’all show some love.”

The crowd cheered.

Selah slid from the booth, hips swaying to the stage. She snatched the mic with the ease of someone who knew she was about to hit a nerve.

The instrumental kicked on.

Chris Brown’s “Deuces.”

JJ nearly spit her drink. Garcia let out a low, “Oh shit.”

And Morgan?

He watched like it was a car crash he couldn’t look away from.

Selah hit every line with a syrupy, bitter edge—voice clear, sultry, eyes never landing on him once.

“All that bullshit is for the birdsYou ain’t nothin’ but a vulture...”

She smiled when the crowd sang along, biting her lip between lines. She pointed to the air at random, moving her body with the beat like it owed her something. She performed. And the last hook?

“I’m movin’ on to something better, better, better...”

Her gaze swept the room and finally landed on him for a heartbeat.

Then she dropped the mic into the stand with a casual, “Thanks y’all,” and walked back to her table like she didn’t just lay his entire soul bare in public.

Morgan felt like she’d body slammed him in a velvet glove.

Back at the Table

“Damn,” Prentiss whispered. “She’s good.”

“She’s mad,” Garcia muttered, eyes wide.

“She’s heartbroken,” JJ corrected, then added, “...and pissed.”

Hotch leaned back, arms crossed. “And still doing her job better than most.”

Morgan didn’t say a word.

He was trying not to spiral again—because now, everyone knew something happened between them. But no one knew how deep, how quietly it’d happened, or how badly he messed it up.

He couldn’t stop replaying her laughter with Marcus, her coldness, her power on that stage. The way she shut him out so fully, so confidently. It was like he’d never touched her at all.

And when he turned to look again, Selah was laughing—laughing with some new guy from the karaoke crowd, his hand brushing her shoulder as she leaned in, smiling.

Garcia leaned over to Morgan, sipped her straw, and said quietly:

“You better come correct next time, Chocolate Thunder... or not at all.”

————-

Chapter Thirty-One “Don’t sweat me, baby. You already had your chance to matter.”

Morgan didn’t even realize he was moving until he was already outside the karaoke bar, the night air doing nothing to cool the heat crawling under his skin.

What the hell was that?

He heard her before he saw her. Laughing again—low and carefree—still talking with that same guy from earlier. The one who clearly didn’t know Selah wasn’t here for anything real from anyone anymore.

She walked out a few beats after, heels clicking softly against the pavement. Alone.

He caught up to her halfway to the hotel entrance.

“Selah.”

She didn’t even flinch. Just kept walking like she didn’t hear him.

“Selah.” More firm. A little too close now. “Don’t walk away from me.”

She stopped.

Turned.

And when she looked up at him, it wasn’t rage.

It was apathy.

“You don’t get to demand anything from me, Morgan,” she said, voice calm and precise. “Not after how you moved.”

He scoffed, stepping in front of her. “You’ve been throwing attitude like I committed a damn crime. You think I planned for her to be here? You think—”

“No. I think you planned to treat me like a good time and nothing else,” she cut in, eyes flashing. “And then made sure I heard you treating someone else like a good time too.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

She tilted her head, taking him in—really looking at him. “You think a week with you changed my world? Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Selah—”

“No,” she said, holding up a finger. “You don’t get to say my name like it means something. Like I meant something. You already dropped me. Don’t circle back now because your ego can’t handle watching me thrive without you.”

He clenched his jaw. “You think this is about my ego?”

“Isn’t it always?” she whispered with a mocking smile. “Let me make it real easy for you: Whatever you thought that week was, it wasn’t.”

He stood frozen, blinking.

She stepped forward, patted his cheek with those sharp, manicured fingers, and added softly, “Nothing happened between us that mattered anyway. So don’t sweat me, baby.”

Then she walked inside, hips swaying, head held high, and never once looked back.

Morgan stood in the night air, fists clenched, jaw tight, wondering when the hell he lost every ounce of control he once had.

#romance #fanfiction #x black oc #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds fic #derek morgan x oc #derek morgan fanfiction #mature fanfiction #alternate universe

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