#they did give us 2 new fragments

[justsquibby]

All my gems gone.

Dried up.

Shii, iroha, and Kuroe took me to a back alley and beat me up, then Shii called Shizuka, Livia, Sayaka, & Shigure to all point and laugh at me and then left me on the ground, threw a singular slot for each of them and then they all left to go get sweets and tea with the gems they just got from me….

1 Shii, 1 iroKuroe, 1 copy of each respective memo

1, Shizuka, 1 Livia, 1 Sayaka, 1 Shigure. There were some other single repeat memos I already have MLB

But yeah… pretty bad. I would say kind of tied for IroMado. I mean at least with iromado I got 4 slotted with innocent gems and destiny crystals…

Idk I have two innocents gems I could use. I thought about using them on scene zero Madoka but now idk. But I sadly wouldn’t get their max EX bonus anyway so I may hold onto them until I get a third innocent gem.

And Shii is super cool and super good I’m sad they are stuck at one slot what the hell 😭😭😭

My pics are usually higher res. But I recorded my reaction, so these are screenshots from a video that was taken on OBS. I uh- don’t want to post the video cause I was mean to Sayaka when she showed up and i regret it lol😭😂😂 I was pretty sad and silent the whole video after Livia appeared. I accepted my fate that my gacha luck dried up with Historia yachiyo coming from a single 10 pull. Couldn’t let that slide could ya f4….

[kirain]

Sigh....Galemancers really love to move the goal post when it comes to the grooming accusations huh? You found out Gale was a fully grown MAN when Mystra slept with him so now you have to say, "Well then he was emotionally groomed and the power dynamic is too vast." Mystra is a neutral good goddess because she's Midnight, who was a neutral good human. She hates that her magic has to be used for good and evil. Ao makes her share it evenly but she'd rather not. She would never do anything to hurt Gale. The writers of the game even confirmed she's not a groomer. People like you also downplay the point of Gale's entire story arc, which is he should've listened to Mystra! The whole point of his personal quest is he needs to learn to humble himself and listen to his goddess! He has no one to blame for his downfall but himself.

There's no "post" to move, anon. The game and lore give us all the context we need. Grooming doesn't only apply to children, and people have proven right and left that Mystra is terrible at relationships. She's petty and abusive when she isn't obeyed by her partners, and that's been the case with all of her iterations. Even the narrator describes her as a "jealous goddess" when you visit her shrine. Plus, your information is wrong on many accounts; the most pertinent being that the Mystra of BG3/5E isn't technically Midnight. Cyric and Shar killed her, reducing her to her godly essence (lore-wise that means she died). The current Mystra is an amalgamation of the vestiges of Mystryl, Mystra, and Midnight, as told in the novel Elminster Enraged.

Now, this is about to get complicated, as it always does with Mystra, so from here on out I'll be referring to Mystra #1 as Mystryl, Mystra #2 as Mystra #2, Mystra #3 as Midnight, and Mystra #4 as 5E Mystra. Alright, let's get started.

Elminster had to reform the fallen goddess by giving her fragments of all three iterations of Mystra. Since all three iterations are combined, our current 5E Mystra embodies the good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly. There's even a conversation with The Simbul (one of the Seven Sisters and a Chosen of Mystra) where the newly reformed 5E Mystra speaks of Elminster as her "longest lover". This puzzles The Simbul because that was something of the old Mystra (Mystra #2), not Midnight. The new 5E Mystra replies that she has become a combination of the memories of Mystryl, Mystra #2, and Midnight. This is all in chapter 25-30 of Elminster Enraged. I know it's confusing, but in short: 5E Mystra is not Midnight anymore, and the leading mind is clearly that of Mystra #2, hence her extremely poor judgement—a recurring theme with her character.

Mystryl and Mystra #2 were originally lawful neutral. The alignment changed to neutral good when Midnight took up the mantle, because Midnight herself was a neutral good person. But now it seems 5E Mystra is true neutral, because you are right, anon; Ao won't allow her to do whatever she wants. Midnight tried and was forbidden. 5E Mystra absolutely does not have the same level of humanity or kindness as Midnight, and that may be because Mystryl had no human consciousness and Mystra #2 was a mess.

Regardless of her alignment, she must embody her domain by Ao's decree, which means she needs to spread magic across all Realmspace. Since she has to maintain the balance, she approaches good, neutral, and evil mages with potential opportunities. This isn't a criticism (that's just how godhood works), but rather proof that Mystra is absolutely capable of good and bad. I don't want to hear any more of this "she's a precious little bean and Gale's victim" nonsense. Even if she wants to be, she's not. As Kikitakite said in their post, she's done some fucked up things.

Whether or not the writers intended to make Mystra a groomer, that's exactly what they did. Sometimes writers don't realise they've written an abusive character until they're criticised. Take writer of The Notebook, Nicholas Sparks, for example. He didn't realise he'd written Noah to be an abusive piece of shit until Ryan Gosling pointed it out himself. Gosling has gone on record many times to say he hates Noah, and experts have labeled him an unrealistic and emotionally abusive/manipulative character. The same can be said for Stephenie Meyer, who wrote some of the most celebrated toxic relationships in recent media—with a dash of borderline pedophilia on the side. Therapists have weighed in extensively to tell people that Bella and Edward's relationship isn't healthy and shouldn't be emulated in real life. Indeed, perhaps the best thing to come out of the entire franchise is Robert Pattinson's hatred of Edward and the series as a whole. Jacob's actor, Taylor Lautner, even argued with Meyer's on set because of how weird the "imprinting" segment was and he didn't want to come off as predatory. Meyer argued it was "romantic". 😕

Even if you don't agree Gale was groomed, Mystra is flagrantly responsible for his insecurities and she never should've put her hands on him. The power dynamic is too vast, and even god Gale (conceited as he is) realises it by the end. He only stays in a relationship with Tav if they allow him to ascend them alongside him as his equal. He recognises that anything else would be unhealthy and unacceptable. Also, I researched high and low regarding your claim, but none of the devs have dispelled the idea that Mystra is a groomer. In fact, the most I could find was one dev simply saying, "To Gale it was love, but he didn't know any better." If anything, that only confirms he was confused and didn't know what to do. Their "relationship" was a stunningly horrible idea from the start and that's not on Gale, it's on the literal cosmic being who initiated it.

Moreover, Gale was very likely 17 when Mystra revealed herself to him. This perfectly fits into the 5E Forgotten Realms timeline. If so, no, he absolutely wasn't a grown man. He was a teenager. Mystra may not have slept with him until he was in his 20's, but that still makes it a disgusting teacher-turned-lover situation. Gale even tells us he was "young" when she took him into her fold, and he was only eight years old when Elminster started their lessons. Remember, Elminster is Mystra's biggest apologist. He would've taught Gale to revere her, which means there was almost never a point in his life when Mystra wasn't the main focus. You can tell by the way he speaks about her in Act 1. He's in awe, he's excited, he's proud she chose him. That does something to a child. Something irreversible. If anything, Elminster is complicit in what happened. I've said this before, but he couldn't even be bothered to visit Gale himself. He sent a simulacrum.

As for your accusation that I'm "downplaying" Gale's story arc—you're damn right I am, because the writers made me! Most D&D players I know aren't very happy with how Mystra is portrayed in the game, and that's probably because even they know she isn't presented in a very flattering light. If you really think about it, it's obvious what the writers were going for, but they failed. For example, you said Gale should've listened to Mystra, right? Well, in Act 1 he admits his ambition was his undoing, blames himself for his downfall, and by Act 2 he's literally ready to off himself for her. In fact, he's the only one who sees her ultimatum as justified. Every other companion says she's being cruel and unreasonable. If Gale actually blows himself up at the end of Act 2, the results are catastrophic. The brain is destroyed, yes, but the tadpoles, free of the Absolute's control, complete their transformation and infect/enslave the entire Sword Coast. Anon. She. Is. Stupid. Even the Narrator is like, "You wanna ... you wanna try that again?"

The entirety of Act 2 is Gale learning he shouldn't listen to Mystra. And then she has the audacity to lecture him in Act 3? If he'd listened, it would've been the end of everything. Maybe if Mystra was as infallible as she pretends to be, she would've put her three brains together and came up with a better, less vindictive plan. Because make no mistake, she wanted Gale to blow up in Act 2, which is ridiculous. I know this is an uncomfortable topic for some people, but gods aren't perfect, especially in fiction. They're flawed. They're selfish. Some of them are straight up assholes. The real irony of Gale's arc isn't that he has no one to blame but himself, it's that Mystra should blame herself. At no point does she even consider if she's being unreasonable or unfair. There's no self reflection whatsoever. And the writers expect me to think Gale's full of himself? I wonder where he got it.

Probably from his teacher. ✋🎤

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

[We went on shopping (it didn’t go well)] - TF141*F!Reader

not a chapter actually just a rambling, it's kinda messy and not my style imo, pls feel free to skip this etc. might rewrite this shit when I have time since I’m busy with my job these days and I just accidentally sliced my thumb open making it difficult to type, hence not much to provide sorry :( and the weird stranger incident in the latter part did happen irl damn it’s creepy af, but I was the one telling them to fuck off tho (they harassing my cute friend RAGE)

Summary: You sigh when it's the fifth time someone fights in your poor tea shop this month. You just open it two months ago, in an area ruled by mafia called '141'. Maybe you should find their boss and give them money or what to stop the bullshit keeps happening in your shop. (well, here they come)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

After your car graduates from its car life in about a week, congratulations, the poor shelf accompanies you since your college life is finally undone, fragments spreading across the floor making you shout Mama and mourn for its graduation.

You don’t have a car right now, so when Gaz offers to drive you to buy a new shelf, you agree to his suggestion without a second thought. Yet when the day comes and you open the car door, only to be greeted by the wide smile of Soap and Gaz, you almost slam the door close in reflex.

“Okay, but why do all of you come together? this isn’t an elementary school field trip!” You gawk at them when you squeeze in the car.

“Sounds fun, how can ye not tell us?” 

“Gaz I thought you could seal your lips!”

“Sorry love, Ghost exchanged it with some goodies.”

Oh yeah, Ghost is sitting in the driver’s seat.

Wait, he’s sitting in the driver's seat?

“Goddamnit—“ Your scream dies out on your tongue when said man puts his foot down. 

Ghost does a good job at providing you the same experience as riding a rollercoaster, glad that you didn’t throw up in the car and arrived at the warehouse without dying. If he's your Uber driver, you will give him five stars and block the hell out of him. 

You hop out of the car and walk to the door. As the automatic door parts after sensing your presence, you feel much better when the cold air of the store. Nice a.c. is one of the important features of a nice store, and you already built a fondness for the warehouse with how refreshing the chilly air is inside.

The first area welcoming you is food. Not bad, 6 out of 10 if it needs to be precise. Gaz pushes the cart and follows you as you saunter to the aisle with cereals.

“Oh, they have my favorite brand.” You murmur to him as your eyes travel across the price tag.

Wait, you must still be dizzy because no way it’s 30% cheaper than the same one you just bought from the supermarket.

“Kyle, it says it’s 3 pounds, right?!” pointing at the tag, your voice raises a whole eight-tone with excitement.

“Yes?”

“Good.”

5 boxes of cereal are added to the cart. 

Actually, 9.9 out of 10 for this place, you fix the evaluation as you watch Gaz putting some of those ten bags of chocolate Ghost and Soap dump into the cart back on the shelf, and as a little revenge to Gaz for letting the other two men join the trip without you knowing, you choose to turn a blind eye when you spot Ghost sneaking all of them back in the cart.

Not forgetting the primary goal for today, you go straight to the furniture area after letting Soap throw five packs of gummy bears in the cart and convincing Ghost not to get a cup of tea from the random tea shop. You’ll make a much better one for him when you get home — you coo when he stares at you with unhappy eyes not covered by the mask, glad that he seems to accept the idea, so he huffs and lets you drag him and Soap out of the food area.

“You should buy this.” 

“Ghost I don’t need a green shelf in my shop thank you.”

“Then ye should buy this bonnie!”

“That’s not even a goddamn shelf, Soap.”

“How about this?” 

Your eyes brighten up when Gaz shows you a wooden shelf, it’s stripped-back, with not many decorations, but it surely will fit wonderfully into your store with its aesthetic vibes and high functionality, thus you pick up your phone to type down the product number immediately.

“Oh my, Kyle, you’re the best.”

and you’re too busy typing the numbers down that you don’t notice him shooting the others a taunt of victory.

The last area before the cashier’s counter sets a bookshop. You don’t plan on buying books, but you indeed need to go to the bathroom, so you dismiss yourself and tell them to look around before you’re done.

Why are the bathrooms always hidden in a bloody long hallway? What if someone can’t hold back during their way? Your footsteps echo through the corridor as your mind starts hitting you with a fresh and unnecessary question, glad that you aren’t that urgent though, so you’re able to get to the destination without wetting your pants.

Washing your hands, you step back to the hallway again, but you yelp in surprise when you bump into someone.

“Sorry!” You nod at the man and start heading back to the bookstore.

but it’s weird, the man you just bump into walks so close to you, that you suddenly realize he’s just a step behind you.

Hey, don’t panic, might just coincidence, you try to tell yourself as you make another step.

“Hey, lovely.” Okay, it’s not a coincidence, fucking hell. You curse when his hand touches your shoulder and stops you.

“Sorry for bumping into you, Sir. Anything that I can help?”

“No, I’m waiting for you to separate from the blokes for a while can’t ask for your phone number when they surround you like dogs.”

“I don’t give strangers my number, sorry.” You try to leave, but the man’s hand grabs your shoulder forcefully preventing you from moving.

“Hey, give us a chance yeah? I’m sure we will have some nice time together.”

“I don’t fucking know you!”

Prying off his hand, you turn and start walking fast, almost running when you hear the stranger’s footsteps coming towards you.

Fuck fuck fuck, you haven’t run with such desperation in years, last time must be high school.

“Who the fok are ye arsehole?”

The tears prickling in your eyes when you hear Soap’s voice ringing in your ears before you feel a pair of warm hands drag you behind him.

“Ghost and Soap will deal with him, let’s go.”

Adrenaline pumping through your body finally subsides when Soap and Ghost reappear from the hallway, you don’t want to know what happened to the stranger, maybe hope they’re still alive and in one piece so you won’t involve yourself in another chaos, 

“I think it’s time to go home, Kyle. Is it okay?”

“Of course, wanna grab some food before we leave?”

“I guess Ghost already bought sufficient chocolate for us.”

A burst of laughter catches your attention whilst Gaz looking at the cart with bags of chocolate stuffing under your cereals with disbelief, and a smile crawls back to your lips as you look at Ghost slamming his forehead against a lower door frame and Soap laughing over him.

They aren’t that bad, maybe, or they reserve the remnants of tenderness for you, you’re not sure whether is correct, but at least they have your back when you need them, and that’s enough for you to stop exploring the answer for now.

“Oh.” A book gets knocked off when you shift to stand up. Turning around to pick it up, you have a good look at the shelf behind your seat.

Your eyes dart from ‘Today’s recommendation’ to the book within your grasp.

‘Surrounded by idiots — by Thomas.’

You will rate this recommendation 10 out of 10 for sure.

After insisting on paying yourself and shooing the men off, you take out your card and place it on the scanner.

‘Insufficient balance :( please try again’

You frown when the machine shoves you a nuh-uh, and you open the bank app to check your balance.

So you overspent 10 pounds huh? What a shame to your title for being a successfully financially broken adult. Which link loses and makes you make a wrong shopping decision? 

you scan the list of items with sharp vision until you land your eyes on a product.

Surrounded by idiots - £ 10.61

Ah.

a/n: thx for reading :D sorry it's messy and unlike my previous writings :( hope I can have time to write again btw Price went on business trip so he's missing everything

tag list :D - @blackhawkfanatic @nexthyperfix @danielle143 @goodbyegh0st @reaperxxxxzz @kaoyamamegami @imyprice @cod-z @poppingaround @live-for-fluff @masterstr0ke @mall0ww @ghostysloot @hxnneydew @cutiecusp @beigechristmastree @rejectedbytheempty @lupikekee @hotvinimon @whitetiger846

[sexyandcringe]

Hopeless romantic

Part 1 ◇ Part 2

Warnings: none except mentions of readers past traumas, mention of sexual objectification.

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt no comfort.

A/n: it's my first long-fic, please be nice :)

You're not used to being loved.

Your parents were always strict, hardly ever showing their affection, you didn't even have any close friends until you started working, where you found your best friend who showed you the blessings of a platonic love; but time passes and things happen, you had to move out of the town, leave your one true friend behind.

You are not used to love but especially romantic love, because all men did was see you as the object of their sexual desires, or maybe a good time-pass until a better one came along. Never as a person with feelings, never as a woman who loved them more than they loved her.

Sometimes you were too much, sometimes you weren't enough.

Too affectionate, too clingy, too dramatic, too loud. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not horny enough. You tried and tried to be more, to be less, to be loved, but despite your efforts, love remained elusive, even with women.

So, after years of hoping and yearning, you resigned yourself to a loveless existence.

It is not to say that you never felt happy; even if you didn’t have love, you had fun and drama, you had friends to drink with (accompanied by the ting of pain the day after), you had a lot of books to read (leaving a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you finished one), you had dates and clothes and all the good and beautiful things in life and you've learned to appreciate these fragments of happiness.

But sometimes you get lonely.

You are used to it at this point, the crushing weight in your chest at 11 PM is your daily ritual before you finally give in to sleep.

So when you see Osamu Miya’s warm smile as he greets you in his restaurant, you battle to stop your stupid crazed heart, which is currently trying to jump out of your mouth.

You are just a client, his smile doesn’t mean anything, he is only doing his job, and you have seen him give the same smile to the old ladies who only order a coffee and linger to chatter for more than two hours, too. He’s a professional, after all. You are a regular and all he wants is your money, the bastard.

(you completely ignore the fact that he remembers details about you that no one bothers to remember; like the colour of your jewellery, the names of the dogs in your shelter or how your eyeliner is a little glittered today.)

Still, you are glad you got to know him. If anything, at least he is a good friend to you, always listening to what you have to say and filling your stomach with delicious food.

“ ‘Evening, Y/N. The usual?” He asks. You nod as you sit on the corner of the counter, the same seat you sat on the first day you came in.

(Osamu puts a “Reserved” sign on it every day until your arrival, not letting anyone else sit on it because it’s yours. But you don’t need to know that.)

You chatter with Tsumoto, the part-timer student who works in his shop, about his new crush, giving him advice you wouldn’t listen to nor follow from somebody else, and just as you are about to tell him that he should just write love letters to his crush, the doorbell rings; a pretty girl with dark long hair and the body of a goddess walks in, looking around for something, or better, for someone.

“‘Samuuu!” she calls him just as he comes out of the kitchen, and his face lights up, his arms envelop her figure and her lips meet his cheeks in an affectionate gesture.

… what?

“Emi! How are you, doll?” his voice holds tenderness as he guides the girl to one of the seats available, “Have a seat, I'll fix something up for you.”

She is a beautiful girl indeed, her hair flutters in the air like sea waves and her deep green eyes would make any man weak in his knees. She graces him with a smile, her flawless teeth gleaming.“A coffee is enough ‘Samu, I’m going to meet a friend soon.”

“Roger that!” he nods, signaling to Tsumoto for the order, before returning his attention to her.

He looks happy, you don’t think he has ever looked at you with this much fondness, and you’ve never witnessed any girl embrace him, let alone kiss his cheek. Hell, you didn’t even know if he had any female friends who were not his friends’s girlfriends.

(You feel your vision blur and something clenches in your chest. You swallow it down.)

You have no idea what they are talking about, you are not listening, all you can think about is how much you feel so so stupid. You didn’t hope for anything, you tried not to hope for anything at all, but feelings are hard to get rid of, especially if you see the one causing these feelings every week.

You look at them talking like best friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time and the feeling of inadequacy gnaws at you. You wonder if you ever even stood a chance to begin with. You yearned to be someone close to Osamu, someone who could give him hugs and kisses easily, someone who knew everything about him; you yearned to be part of his inner circle, but now you feel utterly stupid and delusional. Of course, he would never see you in that light, his affection is reserved only for a pretty girl like her. Of course he wouldn’t even think about getting physical with you. What were you even thinking?

Of course, you can’t be part of his world.

Reblogs are really appreciated! - Part 2

[alexa-fika]

PLEASE I'M BEGGING YOU I NEED MORE 🙇‍♂️🙏🛐

I NEED MY DAILY DOSE OF PLATONIC WHITEBEARD PIRATES

Demonically obvious ( Whitebeard pirates x nezuko!reader)

Part 1

A/N HERE WE GO, Im sorry for the wait but finally we got part 2! and lemme tell you I COOKED, Im so exited for this one guys, I had a blast writing it and hope you guys like it as well, HERE YOU GO COSMO, YOU ONLY HAD TO WAIT A WHOLE MONTH XD

Reader here is replaced by dokucha which stands for reader in japanese

Dividers by @/Saradika

-He cared as much as he cared about Ace being Roger's son, aka he did not care.

He hummed after Ace finished confessing both his heritage and the true nature of Dokucha's current ailment.

"Roger, huh, Don't look much like the old bastard," he chuckled, taking another chug of his jar as he glanced at the small girl happily cuddling up to him.

"And a demon, who would have thought? Definitely something you don't see every day," he hummed. 

"I have just told you I am the child of your greatest enemy and that my sister is a dangerous being. Don't you want to kick us out?" 

He let out a bellowing laugh at his worries. 

"See, when I saw you come in with such a somber look on your face, I had thought you had important news to tell me, but I could not think of something more trivial," he exclaimed, laughing further at Ace's shocked expression.

" I could not care less about where you came from or what you are. At the end of the day, we are all children of the sea; your backgrounds do not change the fact that you are now my children."

Ace stares at him for a bit longer until he slumps down, a small smile breaking on his face.    

"you're something else pops."

"Gurararara Had me on my toes, boy. I thought I was going to lose my son and my only daughter."   

Dokucha frowned as he tilted the jar further, gulping more and more of the liquid until she had grown tired of it, and kicked the jar away from his grasp, much to the shock of both men.

Whitebeard frowned, glancing at at the wall she had kicked the jar to, watching as all that remained were small fragments littered throughout the floor. Glancing back at the child, who sat on the corner of the bed, kicking her feet as if nothing had occurred

"I already have the nurses and Marco on me for drinking, now you?"

Dokucha glanced his way, and he could notice a slight upward tilt of her lips wrapped around the bamboo and a mischievous glim in her eye.

"Cheeky Brat," He grumbled.

"Don't take your eyes off her boy. She is going to be a troublemaker; I can feel it."

He chuckled

"She already is. Hey pops?" he called, receiving a slight hum from the older male.

"Thank you."

"Don't you get sentimental on me, boy."

He knew she wasn't human due to her lack of food intake and other peculiarities.

"I know," he stated as he continued cutting the kale on his cutting board, the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the board filling their ears.

"What the hell do you mean, you know?"

"Din't know she was a demon, but I knew she wasn't human either, also." Thatch looks up at him, narrowing his eyes at him and pointing his knife his way

"Stop using those words around your sister; she's gonna end up cursing like us," he grumbled, glancing at Dokucha, who sat next to Ace, dewy eyes staring back at him.

"Hi, pumpkin; you hungry?" he questions, returning to his previous actions of cutting the vegetable, letting out a soft hum when she shakes her head.

"You think I wouldn't notice?" he asks, giving Ace a side glance.

"What?"

"I'm the head chef of this ship, Ace; you think I wouldn't notice the fact that she never eats?" he questioned, raising a brow to the younger male.

"At first, I thought she was shy about eating in the mess hall. We ain't a quiet bunch after all, but she doesn't have any problem with hanging around the mess hall at all," he noted  

"Maybe I was just missing it, so I started looking more. I never saw her take any food, nor did I see you make any action to give her some; she always said no when anyone offered too," he listed

"What, are you a stalker? he scoffed

"I'm observant, ya nitwit," he snapped back.

"Not to mention the odd sensitivity to the sun, and the little bamboo piece she always carries around didn't help the case alone. They didn't mean much, but it kept stacking up."

He rolled his eyes at that, leaning his head on his hand as he stared at him, his sister looking up at the chef, waiting for his response.

"And you're okay with it?"

"Ace, we have fishmen, minks, mermaids and giants in our crew, not to mention most of the 'humans' in the crew aren't the spittin image of a human, have ya seen Marco? He's a walking chicken, or a pineapple.' He muses, grinning when he gets a choked laugh from the freckled man and a joyful laugh from the demon beside him

"She fits right in with us, and even if she didn't, we still would have made it work for the lil pumkin," he spoke, reaching over the counter separating them and ruffling her hair.

Ace smiles slightly at the interaction until a thought pops into his head.

"Marco is gonna kill you for saying that, y'know?" he snickered, remembering the commander's previous jabs.

"Eh, what he don know won't harm'em." 

-Knew she wasn't human due to their first encounter, lack of injuries, regeneration, and discrepancies on her devil fruit. (also that is such a nice gift, look at that man < 3)

"Oh, Was that supposed to be a secret?"

"W- you also knew?!"

"Ah, you probably forgot since you were out of it back then, but the little miss was quite protective of you; lunged right at me," he said, looking down at the small girl who began trying to climb her way into his lap, eyes slightly teary as she did

"Ah, it's okay, Dokucha; I know you only meant to protect him; I'm not mad at you," he reassured her as she nuzzled into him.

He looked up, returning the attention to the fire-user

"Her strength wasn't anything to scoff at and at first I thought it was the Toshi-Toshi no mi, but that fruit was consumed by Jewelry Bonnie," he recalled

"Not to mention that The fruit wouldn't change your body the way it did to her; it would only age you up, so that wouldn't explain the teeth, the eyes and the horn," he said, petting her head as she slowly dozed off.

“Seriously, you guys need to lay off on the staring”

"The cherry on the cake to that was the fact that the injuries she got from our squabble and any other injuries she has ever received healed instantly, much like the Tori-tori no mi Moderu Fenniksu, but last I checked, I'm still alive, and kicking so she can't be the holder of that fruit" he listed, ignoring his previous statement

"She could have just had a different fruit that was capable of those things." Ace pointed out a frown on his face

"Hmm, I thought so too, but I found it weird how, despite her incredible regeneration, she seemed to be incredibly sensitive to the sun, getting quite the nasty burns when she left that umbrella of hers; those are the only injuries I have ever needed to treat on her, it was peculiar but a devil fruit still could have been to blame, until I saw her swimming in one of the islands we stopped in, no care in the world and definitely not weakened by it."

"Hah, I guess we weren't the best at hiding it," grumbled Ace

"You sucked at it," Marco affirmed

"Okay, now you're going too far," he glowered, the scowl on his face growing as the doctor simply threw a smile his way. 

"Do..do you know of a cure?" he asked tentatively.

" I do not." 

Ace sighed at that, slumping down in defeat.

"But I'm sure we will find something; I have gathered a good amount of journals and information over the last few years. I don't doubt that the solution is among one of the journals; we just need to look through them,"

"I have been looking through books and information for the last three years. What makes this any difference? "

"The Difference, Ace, is that you were alone, at most with your crew You had what, twenty people? On the other hand, we have more than a thousand in the main crew alone, and that is without taking into account the dozens of subordinate crews and affiliates."

"I see the humility runs deep here," he mutters sarcastically, giving him an unimpressed look.

"Watch it."

He rolled his eyes, waving him off.   

"Do you really think we can find something?"

"Absolutely"

"You guys may have just recently joined, but you are as much as our siblings as anyone else, not to mention that everyone would do anything for their only sister."

WHAT DO YOU THINK? Again i loved writing this, Like i can just picture Ace dumfounded look as he realized that the crew did not give two craps about it almost everyone already knew, he thought he was being so sneaky. What we thinking of southern Thatch again?

Also cosmo, next request is also yours XD red pirate/whitebeard one. AND after that I have yours holo, second attempt

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

Fic specific taglist (Alarm bell for part 2)

@holoimtrans17

@khaleesihavilliard

@unsuretater-simp

@lunaizhere

[jokeringcutio]

ARTHUR HARROW X FTM READER - PART 2 (Doctor Harrow)

TWO: Summary: You meet Doctor Harrow, he introduces some new kinks to you. Continuation of: You’re part of Arthur Harrow’s community, but hold a special place. [ Part 1 here ] Arthur Harrow (Cult Leader) x FTM Reader. Rating: Explicit (Contains smut, Warning for dub-con, One-sided Breeding Kink from Harrow, talk about getting Reader pregnant, Praise kink, use of good boy, reader curses a few times (mostly damn) ). Words: 5785 Thanks to the wonderful supporter who commissioned this fic ♡

For: @apriltearsbringmayfears Tags: Older man x younger (ftm) reader, dub-con and consensual intimacy, praise kink, touching, kissing, explicit sexual content, bit of powerplay, you x the villainous cult leader, Doctor Harrow is messing about.

Your head was spinning, the world a blur of sterile white. White walls, white floor, even you were swallowed by the stark whiteness of the fabric encasing your body. An asylum patient's garb clung to you, the realization cold and sharp in your mind. You were a patient, trapped in a room that reeks of disinfectant and stripped-down sanity. The air was still, almost suffocating in its cleanliness.

"Good morning," came a calm, composed voice from across the room. You turned your head slowly, fighting the dizziness. There he was. Doctor Arthur Harrow, his hair shorter, slicked back in a mockery of casual sophistication. He sat behind a desk made of glass, aviator glasses perched on his nose. A small mustache curled above his lip, giving him an air of quiet authority.

Your eyes were instantly drawn to the cane that rested against the desk. His cane. But the crocodile heads were nowhere in sight. Instead, you saw a modern black cane with a golden accent and a white handle. No crocodile head. Just plain, clinical efficiency.

This wasn’t your Arthur.

He tapped a white, expensive-looking pen against the sides of his glasses and – to your shock- you noticed a golden gleaming ring on his ring finger. He seemed to trace your gaze and hummed, but said nothing.

Modern clothes clung to his frame, a crisp departure from the red cotton he usually favored. White books and little white trinkets adorned the colorless cabinets against the walls. It made you realize this could not be a real place. No one kept everything in white. Even the hearth, the tables, the chairs, everything lacked color except for a painting on the wall.

But the books. Their covers were all blank.

You knew where this place was. And that you weren’t the first to visit it.

"Doctor..." you whispered, the title tasting foreign on your tongue. You’d wanted to ask so many questions, but your throat felt dry. Memories swirled in the fog of your mind - fragments of a different life, a different Harrow.

"Yes, it's me," he said, smile faint but present. His eyes, hidden behind those reflective lenses, seemed to pierce through you. "I believe I know what your problem is."

You shivered, folding your arms tightly around yourself as if that could keep out the chill seeping into your bones. The room smelled of antiseptic and something else. Something metallic, almost coppery. Blood? No. Just your imagination.

"What problem?" you managed to ask, though the words felt insignificant. There wasn’t anything wrong with you. Not anything you weren’t aware of. "Why am I here?”

"Calm down," he replied, voice soothing but firm. "We're going to try something new. Something that could help you." The confidence in his tone was unshakeable, absolute.

Your heart could be heard pounding in your ears, chest heaving more rapidly now. What did he think was wrong with you? Arthur had always assured you that you were perfect to him. Surely, this mirror-version of him was lying – a fraud. Perhaps not so much a dream as a nightmare.

"Help me?" you scoffed, disbelief mingling with fear. "What are you talking about?"

"A new kind of therapy,” he said, leaning forward, his gaze never leaving you. That familiar smile tugged the corners of his lips. A smile you recognized from your Arthur. Oh, how you recognized that look. Kind, yet mischievous. He already had his mind set on something. Whatever it was, you weren’t going to change his thoughts.  

“A new treatment,” you echoed hollowly, mind racing.

"One that requires your complete trust and cooperation." The confidence in his voice was unwavering, a rock amidst the storm of your confusion.

You stared at him, your heart pounding a chaotic rhythm against your ribs. He seemed so sure, so calm. The sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint hum of fluorescent lights above.

“Why?”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. Questions clawed at your mind. What kind of therapy? Why you? And why did this all feel so disturbingly familiar?

"Trust me," he said, his voice low and hypnotic.

You crossed your arms over your chest, the thin fabric of the white patient outfit doing little to shield you from the cold.

"Why should I agree to this therapy?" Your voice came out sharper than you intended, slicing through the sterile air.

Doctor Arthur Harrow leaned back in his chair, unperturbed, a small smile playing on his lips. "Because you need it," he said simply, his tone smooth and confident. "Everything will become clear. You'll see."

"Need it?" You scoffed, feeling a surge of defiance. "Why should I trust you?"

"Trust is earned," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly behind those aviator glasses. "We’ve already made such progress, haven’t we? I remember you’ve already put all your trust in me…”

And that caused a pang deep inside your chest because, with a start, you realized he was right. You’d come to trust your Arthur blindly. Fully. Your love for him has become irrevocably passionate and wild. A treasure you did not want to lose or abandon.

Trust Arthur? You already did with your whole heart.

But this? This man? He was not your Arthur. Of that you were sure. And defiantly you gazed at him, your own lips twisting in disdain. How dare someone, or some higher power, simulate the man of your desires?

"Faith," you muttered, tasting the word like poison. "My faith is reserved for one alone."

"And that’s a good thing," he said, leaning forward again, his gaze intense. "It is going to make my job so much easier.”

His words sent shivers down your spine, his voice full of dark promises that had you squeezing your thighs together and your cock throbbing to life. You silently cursed for getting aroused by this illusion of the man you loved.

"What job?” you asked, shaking your head and willing your erection to go down. Not that you were successful…"You keep saying these words, but they mean nothing."

"Words are powerful," he responded, his voice a gentle caress. "They can heal, or they can destroy. It's all in how you use them."

"You're not answering my question," you snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. "Why me? Why now?"

"Why not you?" His answer was infuriatingly cryptic, his calm demeanor only adding to your agitation. "Aren’t the favorite disciple?”

There it was. Your eyes flew wide. A confession that made him sound more like the man you knew. Was he the same as your Arthur after all?

“And so you chose me for this new… therapy of yours?’

“Sometimes, the universe chooses us for reasons we can't understand," he continued, voice husky and low. Entranced, you watched his finger trace an imaginary circle on a blank paper on the glass table in front of him. The golden wedding band gleamed in the light.

Was it to symbolize his faithfulness to Ammit? Or to someone else?

To you?

Why were you hopeful?

"That's not an answer," you bit back, your pulse quickening.

"Maybe not the one you want," he conceded, his smile widening. "But it's the one you need."

"Need," you echoed, feeling the word coil around your mind like a snake. "What do you think I need?"

"To see the truth," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "To understand your own need, I will have to show you.”

While your mind was still racing  - running wouldn’t be of any help as there was no place to go – you heard the clicking of his heels as he rose from his chair and made his way around the desk.

Doctor Harrow came to stand behind you, his presence looming. You felt the warmth first, a heavy presence that crept over your shoulder. The air in the asylum office felt thick, almost suffocating. His hand had found your shoulder, firm but gentle. You tried to turn, to look at his hand, to see where he touched you, but the grip he had on you tightened. His fingers, strong and sure, pressed gently into your flesh through the thin fabric.

A silent warning.

"Shh," he whispered, voice low and soothing. It was a command wrapped in velvet.

You swallowed hard, nerves jittery. "What if I don't agree to the new therapy?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. You knew going against his will was going to be a challenge.

Harrow's breath warmed the back of your neck. "You'll give in...eventually," he said, each word deliberate, measured. A strange sensation crawled up your spine, settling deep in your gut. His hand squeezed your shoulder, the pressure both reassuring and terrifying.

"Why are you so sure?" you managed to ask, heart pounding in your chest.

"Because," he murmured softly, his grip tightening just enough to make you wince, "I know how your mind works. I cracked the code and found the combination."

Harrow's hand slid from your shoulder, trailing down your spine. His touch was electric, igniting nerves you didn't know existed. You stiffened, feeling every inch of his presence behind you.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" Your voice quivered, barely audible.

"I’ve started your therapy," Harrow replied, his tone maddeningly calm. "This is part of it."

You shook your head, a weak attempt to muster defiance. "I didn’t agree to…"

"Shh," he interrupted, his fingers tracing the curve of your back, then moving around to your chest. "Trust me."

Harrow’s hand was under your clothes before you could react. His fingers traced a path of fire across your skin, each touch igniting something primal within you. Your breath hitched as he found the sensitive spot just below your navel, his thumb circling it with deliberate slowness.

"Doctor..." you gasped, but he silenced you with a finger to your lips. The gesture felt intimate, almost reverent, and yet there was an undeniable dominance in his eyes.

"Shh," he whispered, his voice a soothing purr. "Trust me."

The way he loomed over you felt dominating – as if he was crowding in on you. And then, it happened.

Before you could protest further, Harrow’s lips crashed against yours. The kiss was demanding, consuming, as if he sought to claim every breath you had. His mustache scratched your face, adding to the overwhelming sensation. Your mind screamed confusion, but your body betrayed you, melting into his touch.

His tongue explored your mouth with a hungry urgency, each movement calculated and intense. You felt his hands gripping your face, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. Time seemed to warp, seconds stretched into eternity. The world outside the asylum office ceased to exist. It was only Harrow. His taste, his scent, his heat.

When he finally pulled away, you gasped for air, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. He looked at you, his blue eyes piercing through your defenses.

This was his therapy? You didn’t want to know how he treated his other patients.

You shivered as his hand moved lower, fingertips brushing against the waistband of your pants. He probably already spotted the bulge there, must have seen the signs of your arousal. Damn him. He took his time, savoring each second as if it were a ritual. The air thickened with anticipation, every heartbeat echoing like a drum in your ears.

Then, his fingers flicked over your bulge, the friction enough to make you gasp deliciously. With a swift motion, he gripped the back of your neck. Not painfully, but firmly, asserting control. The pressure sent a thrill down your spine, making you arch involuntarily into his touch. A smug smile slid on his face, the corners of his lips pulling up in that cocky smirk you loved to kiss away.

Harrow’s other hand tugged at your pants, pulling them down with practiced ease. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your cock popped out, kissed proudly by the cold office air.

"Doctor..." you breathed again, this time less a plea and more a surrender.

"Good boy," he murmured, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. His fingers stroked past your swollen cock, earning him another moan torn from your lips. “So eager,” he muttered. “So ready to please me.”

His hand moved up and down between your thighs, strong fingers teasing and exploring. You couldn’t help the moans that escaped your lips, your body responding eagerly to his touch. He knew exactly where to press, where to stroke, drawing out pleasure with expert precision.

"That's it," he coaxed, his voice velvet smooth. "Give your body what it wants. Let go."

Your head fell back, eyes fluttering shut as waves of sensation crashed over you. Each touch, each caress, brought you closer to the edge. His name became a mantra on your lips, a prayer offered up to this godlike figure who held you in thrall.

"Arthur... please..."

“Doctor,” he firmly corrected you. “Doctor Harrow,” and then he leaned over you again to bring his lips close to your ear. The rasped whisper was enough to bring you closer to your climax. “Or call me daddy, because that is the real issue here. Isn’t it?”

His words confused you at first because you didn’t call your Arthur that. But Doctor Harrow’s fingers moved so expertly, he had you crawling in your seat, back arched, legs trembling, body wrecked with desire. And yet he kept you pinned down by your shoulders, used his own body weight to keep you trapped in your seat as he assaulted you with pleasure.

Just his hand and his voice. You thought it was unfair that he could do this to you.

"You're doing so well," he praised, his voice thick with approval. "But you can do even better.”

The rustling of clothes and the absence of pressure indicated that he had moved. But only when his fingers left your cock did you open your eyes and actually look. Doctor Harrow limped around you and came to stand before you, with a serious and solemn expression. And then he sank to his knees, pushing your legs aside before pressing a hand flatly against your tummy, applying pressure to keep you there.

“Let’s just take this a notch further.”

His lips closed around your small cock and you were reeling. You tried to wiggle under his touch while he sucked and nipped. Your hands found his – shorter – hair and dug into it, tugging at the strands for leverage and a silent plea to let go.

“Don’t,” a hoarse moan. “Stop,” the voice was your own. But damn, this felt good. As did the smirk that you felt against your skin while he kept on sucking and nipping, using his mouth to bring you to the edge, ready to tumble over.

One hard suck – the slurping noise that accompanied it was embarrassing but oh-so-good. With a choked cry, you came undone, your body wracked with intense pleasure. Every muscle tensed, then released, leaving you trembling in the aftermath.

And still, he nipped and sucked until the last of the tremors faded and pleasure became sensitivity, bordering on pain if he didn’t let go and would overstimulate you.

Luckily, he let go of your cock with a loud pop on his lips. One last lick past your cock made you shiver – too much, your mind provided – but then he was done, rising to a standing position in front of you. He withdrew his hand slowly, almost reluctantly, as if savoring the last vestiges of your climax. And when you looked up at him, he was staring down at you intently, yet pensively. As if he was lost in thought.

"Good boy," Doctor Harrow praised you, his tone laced with satisfaction.

You were still catching your breath, glancing up at him. “Is the therapy over now?’ You cheekily asked, not caring if he would think you a brat for the tone of your voice.

Doctor Harrow pursed his lips, the frown above his aviator glasses deepened. “I’m sorry?”

“I asked,” you repeated, this time a little more agitated. He had sucked you off. You were done now, weren’t you? You could leave, right? “Are we done now?’

A pregnant silence filled the air between you.

“My dear boy,” he finally said after what felt like too long. “Why would you assume such a thing.” The way he stood, leaning against his desk, so carefree, so comfortable. It made you want to rage. How could he be so calm and collected?

“This is only the beginning.” And without a warning, Harrow closed the gap between you. You tried to stand up and struggled against his grip as he reached for your neck again. Your pants were still down between your ankles, making it hard to walk away.

Harrow's grip tightened around your neck, his fingers digging into your skin. With a swift motion, he pushed you forward. The cold surface of the glass desk met your chest, sending a shiver through your body. The sound of rattling glass filled the room, mingling with your ragged breaths.

"Stay still," he commanded, his voice firm yet dripping with affection.

You heard the zipper but were too busy trying to wiggle out of his grasp. You barely had time to register the command before he positioned himself behind you. His hands roamed over your exposed skin, greedy and unapologetic. You felt the blunt pressure, then the agonizingly slow slide as he entered you. Your breath hitched, pleasure mixing with pain.

"Doctor..." you gasped, the word spilling from your lips like a prayer. Another deep thrust. Luckily, your walls were slick from your previous orgasm, providing him easy access and an easy slide.

"Good boy," Harrow murmured, his voice heavy with desire. You felt his hips press fully against your ass, knowing that he was completely inside – as far as your body would allow – and suppressed a little gasp. Damn, this man felt good. Even if he wasn’t the real deal. He surely felt real.

A hoarse rasp in your ear, a dark promise: "I’m going to cure you."

The desk beneath you creaked ominously with each thrust, the glass threatening to give way under the force of your combined weight. But the sensation of him inside you drowned out any fear. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you further into blissful abandon.

"Do you feel that?" he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you feel how deep I'm inside you?"

"Yes, Doctor Harrow... oh god, yes," you moaned, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk for support.

"Imagine," he continued, his pace relentless, each thrust deep and hard, "me filling you up, making you pregnant. Wouldn't you love that, my sweet boy? To carry my child?"

The words sent a jolt of forbidden excitement through you. The thought of bearing his mark, of being claimed so completely, was intoxicating.

"Yes," you cried out, the confession torn from your soul. "I want it... I want you."

"That's right," he praised, each word punctuated by a powerful thrust. "You're mine. Only mine."

The rhythm grew frantic, bodies slick with sweat, moving in perfect, chaotic harmony. His hands kept you pinned, his strength a constant reminder of his control. The eroticism of his power, his dominance, fueled your desire, driving you closer to another release.

You liked him like this, always had when he was in control. But him taking you so deep, so passionately… was he truly working you toward your second orgasm of the day?

Your body started to tremble around him, your own voice growing hoarse with each gasp, and cry, and moan.

“More,” he commanded, another firm thrust deep inside. Another echo of wet noises as he pounded you like there was no tomorrow.

"Say it," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You," you screamed, as loudly as your breaking voice allowed you. Your body was twitching and trembling with pleasure. Thank Ammit you had the desk to keep you up because your own legs surely wouldn’t. It felt good, the truth breaking free in desperate gasps. "I belong to you, Doctor Harrow."

A few more firm thrusts. You were nearly there.

And then he paused.

You cursed, teeth gnashing as you tried to move your hips and ass to get some more friction. The glass felt cold against your erect cock, stimulating you – but not enough. Why had he stopped?

You heard the heavy swallow, the way he cleared his throat, then felt how Doctor Harrow leaned over you, cloaking your body entirely with his own.

The hairs of his mustache tickled your ear.

"See?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple. "I told you you'd enjoy the therapy."

Bastard.

You groaned loudly, moving your hips but groaning in disappointment when his hands kept you pinned down, unable to move up and down his shaft.

“Please,” you begged, voice hoarse. It was enough.

"Good boy," he echoed, his tone laced with triumph. "Let go again. For me."

He didn’t wait but started a fast pace, for which you were grateful. Each stroke was deep and hit that right spot inside that had your toes curled and your fingers grasping past the slick surface of the glass.

Your body obeyed, surrendering to the overwhelming tide of pleasure. Everything else faded away leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection between you and Harrow. Nothing else mattered.

You clamped down on his cock, earning the stuttering rasped groans in your ear that betrayed he was near as well. A few more deep thrusts and he followed. Warm, hot liquid poured deep inside while his hands held your hips pressed against the cold glass. Your body was throbbing, but so was his shaft as it emptied itself. You imagined the way his balls must be pulsing right now as they were drained dry completely by your deliciously tight cunt.

“Hmm, so greedy,” he murmured, as if he was reading your thoughts. He leaned a little backward, cock still locked inside you, so he could clap a hand firmly to the cheek of your ass.

You did a little yelp, your body scooting forward on the glass, and then tried to look at him from over your shoulder.

“Do you think it will take?” The doctor rasped, his blue eyes finding yours through the reflecting glasses. You felt the way his fingers pried your cheeks open, then slid lower until they pressed inside your cunt, joining his cock.

“You think you’re going to make me a daddy, sweetheart?”

He slowly retracted his cock and seemed to watch how slick seed came dripping from your hole. Holding his cock in his hand, he used his half-hard shaft to rub past your sensitive lips, pushing the semen back in with the tip.

You closed your eyes and allowed him to play with you, your body tired from a second climax and your breath still rapid and uneven.

You felt him push the head of his cock inside you, dipping in and out – almost experimentally – a few times. Then he retracted and the warmth of his body was gone.

"Up," Harrow commanded, his voice a rough whisper against your ear.

You barely had time to register the word before he pulled you to your feet. His hand remained firm around your neck, guiding you as he maneuvered behind you. The cold air hit your back, stark in contrast to the heat of his body. He turned you to face him, eyes blazing with an intensity that made your heart race.

"That's it," he murmured, as he held you close, his touch almost tender despite the intensity of what had just transpired.

Finally, he stepped back, leaving you feeling strangely empty without his presence. You noticed the limp when he walked. At least that hadn’t changed. But the half-hard cock you had expected to go limp was curling up proudly again, tipping against Harrow’s stomach as he limped to the other side of the desk. Wait? What?

You groaned, taking a few deep breaths while you watched him lowering himself into his chair with a grace that belied his years. He sat there, pants discarded, watching you with a calm, expectant gaze.

You stood there, catching your breath, the silence stretching out between you. What did he want from you?

"What are you waiting for?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Sit on me." His tone was gentle but firm, laced with the promise of more to come. You knew that even if you had wanted to, you could not disobey him.

And a third time? Well, what was one more? Even if this wasn’t your Harrow, he surely was a good fuck. You wouldn’t look a gifted horse in the mouth.

With trembling legs and a racing heart, you moved closer, your skin still tingling from the last wave of pleasure. You discarded your pants fully, even taking the time to take off the rest of your asylum garb until you stood fully naked.

Harrow's eyes were on you, unwavering, his gaze a mix of command and invitation. His hands rested on the arms of the chair, fingers tapping lightly against the metal as if to a rhythm only he could hear.

"Come here," he urged softly, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

You straddled him, knees at either side of his waist. The warmth of his body pressed against yours was intoxicating. Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him, feeling him fill you once more. A squelching sound accompanied the movement, as combined slick from you and Doctor Harrow’s semen paved the way for his hard cock to slide deep inside. A gasp escaped your lips, the sensation almost overwhelming.

"That's it," he whispered, his hands finding your hips, guiding you. "Just like that."

And it was just like that. You preferred this position more, the way your cock rubbed past him, the friction, it was all so much better than the cool glass table had been.

You began to move, the rhythm slow at first, savoring every inch of him within you. He had grown hard again, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside your narrow cunt. Each rise and fall brought a fresh surge of heat, a deep ache of pleasure that built with every movement. His grip tightened on your hips, encouraging, guiding, coaxing you to go faster.

"Good boy," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. "You're perfect. Could only be better swollen with child."

The words spurred you on, driving you to quicken your pace. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, bound together in this intense dance. Sweat slicked your bodies, the sound of your mingled breaths filling the silence.  

"Arthur," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. "I'm close."

"Then let go," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Show me how much you need this."

The coil of pleasure wound tighter within you, threatening to snap. You rode him harder, faster, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. His hands roamed your back, caressing, encouraging, sending sparks of electricity through your veins.

"Come for me," he ordered, his tone brooking no argument.

Your body obeyed, the release crashing over you like a tidal wave. You cried out, his name a prayer on your lips, your vision blurring as ecstasy consumed you. He followed soon after, his own release a powerful surge that left you both trembling.

"That's it, my love," he murmured, holding you close, his breath hot against your ear. “Let me stuff you nice and full. Think of all the cum. Make me a dad.”

He stroked your back gently, the touch tender and soothing. You melted into him, feeling safe, cherished. Even if he wasn’t your Arthur. Nothing else mattered.

“We have made such good progress, haven’t we?” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Progress?’ you asked, blearily. You felt as if your body could take no more, yet he started to gently thrust inside you again.

“One more time,” he said, but you were already shaking your head.

“No.”

“Come on, we have made such good progress,” he moved you up and down his shaft shallowly, but your pussy was oversensitive and each thrust felt like it was too much. You flinched, trying to push him away, but his hand found your cock and flicked against it. You recoiled, back arched, and let out a cry.

“Fuck, I can’t,” you gasped, still struggling in his grip. “It’s too much.”

But as Harrow gently pounded your sore cunt, the world around you seemed to crumble away until everything faded. Even the feeling of being fucked raw.

You sat up and instantly winced. Your body felt sore, pussy even sorer. As if you truly had climaxed three times.

You rubbed your head, eyes slowly getting used to the daylight that already filtered into the room. That was when you noticed him.

Arthur Harrow sat on the edge of your desk, his shoulder-length hair cascading around his face, worry etched into his features. The morning light streamed through the window, casting long shadows that danced eerily across the floor. You’d almost thought he wasn’t real, but then he moved.

"Good morning," Arthur said softly, his voice a soothing balm against your frayed nerves. He leaned forward, the creak of the desk cutting through the silence. "You missed breakfast so I came to have a look. See if you’re all right."

Your mouth felt dry as sandpaper, and you licked your lips, trying to find your voice. "I..."

"It’s all right," he interrupted gently, holding up a hand. "I brought you something." He gestured to a tray beside him, laden with fruit, toast, cheese, and a steaming cup.

The disorientation clawed at your mind, the lines between dream and reality blurring. You stared at the food, your stomach twisting in knots. "Why?"

"Because I care about you," he replied, his gaze unwavering. Those bright blue eyes bored into yours, filled with an earnest concern that made your heart ache.

"Was it... real?" you muttered, the words barely audible.

"Dreams can feel very real, can't they?" Arthur's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. He pushed the tray closer to you. "Eat. You'll feel better."

You slowly got out of bed, unperturbed about Arthur seeing you like this. He’d seen you in worse states.

You reached for the toast, your hands trembling. The memory of Doctor Harrow's touch still lingered on your skin, ghostly and persistent. You took a bite, the crunch loud in the otherwise quiet room.

"Was it another nightmare?" Arthur asked, concern etching lines across his face.

"Something like that," you admitted after swallowing, unable to meet his gaze. Instead, you focused on the tray of food, absently picking at the toast.

"Talk to me," Arthur prompted gently, his voice a soothing balm that eased some of the lingering tension within you. "What happened in the dream?"

“You were there,” you finally confessed, still confused about everything that had just happened.

"I was?" He asked, his voice low and steady. Arthur's blue eyes bore into you, steady and unwavering, as if trying to decipher the secrets hidden within your soul. Your heart pounded in your chest, the lingering effects of the dream making it difficult to distinguish between reality and fantasy.

You hesitated before speaking, the weight of the dream heavy on your tongue. "It was you," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "But not you. You were a doctor, in an asylum."

A flicker of surprise crossed Arthur's face, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. "A doctor, huh?" His voice was steady, but you could see the wheels turning behind those piercing blue eyes. "And what did this doctor do?"

You hesitated, a shiver running down your spine as you remembered the way Doctor Harrow's hands felt on you, the controlled strength in his grip. "He… he was...helping me, or at least, that's what he claimed." The words tumbled out in a rush, a confession burning your lips as you spoke. "But it didn't feel like help. It felt like control."

Arthur's hand tightened on your arm, a protective gesture that sent warmth flooding through you. "Did he touch you?”

“Oh yes,” you didn’t know why you confessed so easily, but once you looked up it was to see Arthur’s eyes darken menacingly. “Said it was this new therapy he wanted to try, Was supposed to help me with something, but it only ended with him telling me he wanted to see me carry his baby. It was really weird.”

You finally finished, taking your time to catch your breath and think. In the meanwhile, you studied him. Your Arthur.

"In the dream,” he began, eyes unfocused. “I was... obsessed with becoming a father."

He hesitated, gauging your reaction.

“You sure were. Or well, he sure was,” you clicked your tongue and picked up another piece of toast. Orgasming three times had made you hungry.

"Interesting," Arthur murmured, his expression inscrutable. "And how did that make you feel?"

"Confused," you admitted, mouth full, frowning. "I don't understand why he would tell me that."

"Perhaps there's a reason," Arthur suggested, leaning forward in his chair. "Dreams can be windows into our deepest desires and fears. Maybe this is something you need to explore further."

"Are you saying that I should try to get actual therapy?" You asked, skepticism lacing your words.

"Not quite," Arthur replied, his voice soft but firm. "Trust your instincts."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. The idea of delving deeper into Doctor Harrow's fixation unnerved you. And the way your Arthur reacted to your dream had left you puzzled. Did he know there was a dream version of him lingering around? Could he influence it? Hadn’t it just all been inside your head? Because you’d been pretty certain Ammit and the other Gods loved to use familiar faces and an asylum room to bring their messages across.

"I’m hungry now,” you said, reluctantly. "I just want to eat.”

"Good," Arthur smiled, his eyes warm and reassuring. "I will leave you be. But just remember, I'm here for you, no matter what."

"Thank you," you whispered, your throat tight with emotion.

You watched as Arthur stood and made his way to the door, the familiar crunch of glass beneath his feet a constant reminder of his devotion. His silhouette framed by the doorway, he paused and glanced back at you, his eyes filled with an emotion that you couldn't quite place. Then he was gone. ~ * ~

[luckybunny555]

Spidey Gang X Hyper, chaotic reader who always needs saving

Gwen, Miles, Pavitr and Hobie x Harley Quinn/Gwenpool(inspired) GN!reader Platonic and general HCs for the whole group(together)

BIG warning: unfortunately, I have never read any Gwenpool or Harley Quinn comics! Most of the things I know about them are just from pinterest, so I'm sorry if this is totally inaccurate, the reader was mostly based on my own preferences either way, I just did this inspired by them because I saved some cute icons and fragments of comics on my board and they inspired me.

Other warnings: cussing? idk if I gotta put a warning for this, but yeah, very brief mention of wounds

A/N: I made this first one with all the characters together, but I'm making one with specific sections for each character, still platonic

edit: part. 2 here!

This is how I'm healing my inner child, sorry if it seems too childish

How they met you

When you were first introduced to the Spider Society by Jess and Miguel, let's just say it was hard to not notice you

You were so excited, asking them a hundread questions and talking so fast and loud, you caught many eyes just by stepping out of the elevator while rambling to them about how you had been dealing with this whole "Spider-Person" thing

You were so focused on your super interesting story(at least for you, it was!) that you didn't even notice how the four Spideys were staring at you - so curious and intrigued by this new recruit

The three boys somehow convinced Gwen to ask Jess later about who was the new Spidey that caught their eyes

For a while, they just keep an eye out at the HQ, trying to get a glimpse of you and find out more about this new recruit

Soon enough, you all get properly introduced for a mission together

Your excitement was totally contagious, and you were so friendly and fun that it was only a matter of time until you became friends

After that mission, they just decide to adopt you basically. You're part of the group now, no escape(and you were so happy about it)

How they are with you(general group HCs)

Whenever you see them at HQ, your first instinct to greet them is to run towards them and jump into their arms or on their back, and they always catch you(specially because of their Spider-Senses), usually spinning you around before letting go of you

You are a menace to Miguel - he totally hates you, specially when Hobie teams up with you to annoy the shit outta him. But you get the job done, one way or another, so he doesn't really have a reason to kick you out of the Society

And unfortunately for him, the five of you work really well in missions, so most of the time, you all get paired together

They're always giving you piggyback rides, not only because you think it's fun, but because that's how they make sure they know where you are and they keep you from running into more problems

You also get thrown over their shoulders more times than you can count - they always gotta drag you away from trouble because you do not know when to stop messing around

They got used to you always running into trouble, so now their protectiveness is almost intuitive

Like catching you right before you trip, without batting an eye

They're not even that surprised anymore when their Spider Sense alerts them that you're in danger during missions(or other occasions), they just rescue you right in time

You tend to get easily(but briefly) distracted during missions. There's always something colorful and sparkly catching your eye, or maybe something cute like a stray cat!

So you just have to stop for a second to pet it and take a picture with it, leading it away from danger until the others are yelling at you to focus on the mission

Or once, when the five of you were in a fight in your universe, and you ended up seeing a cute little kid with a costume just like your Spider-Suit. It was the first time you saw that. You couldn't resist it, you had to go talk to the kiddo(who could blame you, though? so cute!!)

It was adorable, but you quickly lead them away from the fight because everyone was yelling at you to focus on fighting the villain

Internally, they were melting over your cute interaction, but that should be gushed over later, when no one was trying to kill all of you

They had to make deals with you at some point, because Miguel was almost done with your shenanigans: if you didn't get distracted during important missions, they'd take you to your favorite burguer joint after, or let you plan a sleepover for the five of you, or play some game you'd been begging them to play with you... anything they could bribe you with, really

You couldn't refuse, the deals were always too good not to take. They'd accept any hang out ideas you had just because you focused on kicking the villain's ass and saving people?? Oh, you'll have so much fun planning these hang outs

Also, how do you manage to always eat or drink something during missions? No idea. But you do keep everyone fed by sharing your snacks, even when you're fighting some villain in another universe

That's only for snack though, they're actually the ones to make sure you have eaten enough meals, and not only candy and chips

You never mess up that badly during missions though, if there's something you're good at(besides being a menace and causing trouble) is kicking villain ass

You're always giggling and having fun while you're fighting them, and your Spidey friends always appreciated your excitement and playful energy

You insist on taking group selfies when the mission is over, usually with the villain tied up in a web-cocoon in the background, and they just go with it lol

They'd take turns on who would patch you up after you almost got your ass beaten during more demanding missions(not that they mind it, though, because they do love you)

You keep a collection of cute band-aids and first aid items, like Hello Kitty(my personal favorites) or other cartoon themed band-aids, and they always use those for you because they know you love them(and they find it adorable, too)

And you always make them laugh when you ramble about the mission or something cute that caugh your eye while they're taking care of your scratches and wounds

You thank them with friendly kisses on the cheek and tight hugs, which they love

Your 'thank you's were also taking care of their scratches when they got hurt as well, making sure to clean them properly(because you might be reckless but you don't want any of your friends to get sick or hurt even more) and treat their bruises gently

They really appreciate how calm and focused you are in those moments, showing just how much you care for them(even though they already knew)

During Miguel's meetings and 'lecture sessions', they had to be even more careful with you lmao

You were on thin ice with him, and being bored was not something you delt well with...

So they always have to find ways to distract you, or you and Miguel will start an argument and this will last hours

Sometimes, you do that job yourself. Distracting yourself by climbing on the walls, or sitting on the ceiling, spinning around in a rolling chair... you couldn't stay still for very long

Whether in a meeting or just hanging out, though, they're always amused by the way you're always climbing and sitting in unusual places

Or swinging upside down with your webs

Once you got stuck in your own spider web, they all laughed for a while before helping you get out of it lol

(Miles kept taking pictures of you just to tease you later)(he loves you tho)

You're always saying weird, conspiratory stuff they never understand, but it always gets a laugh out of them

Like those 3am "What if..." theories, or silly questions like "can worms have feelings?"

Or even weirder things when it comes to spiritual/universe/philosophical themes, "are you real? can you prove it to me? how can you be sure? how can I be sure?"

If they have time(like, not during a mission), they'll take some time to think about your questions and continue the topic lol

It's even funnier when Miguel is around, because he's trying to get you to listen to him but the five of you are just discussing whether or not someone can prove if they're real to someone else

It's just like that scene where he's like "no puedo más, no puedo más", hilarious

[stylesispunk]

TIME CASTS A SPELL ON YOU, BUT YOU WON'T FORGET ME | CHAPTER 2

Joel Miller x f!oc

Chapter 2: And did you say that she loved you?

Series masterlist | previous chapter | next | masterlist

summary: Fifteen years ago, amidst the filling of divorce papers and the broken promises of a happily ever after, the world collapsed. Amidst the ruins of cities and the remnants of dreams, Joel's search for his ex-wife began. No matter where he turned, the woman who had once loved him held him captive, a presence he couldn't escape.

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: tlou spoilers, angst. no use of y/n

the story's main idea is based on the lyrics from "Silver Springs" by Fleetwood Mac

a/n: Chapter 2 is here. It's way longer than i thought it would be, so I hope you like this chapter please share your thoughts with me (🥺) Comments, and reblogs are always appreciated and they spark up the motivation to write. If you have any questions ask me. Happy reading.💌(If you want to want to be added to my taglist you can tell me)

September, 2003

Sometimes in life, there are some catastrophic events in life that leave you speechless.

Joel imagined that spending his first birthday without Emily as his wife would be the only one, but it was night, the world ended, and he was holding his lifeless daughter in his arms. The world had given him no warning, no chance to brace himself for the cataclysm that unfolded in their life. 

In the stillness of the night, he cradled her, she looked so tiny in the middle of this chaos. Grief welled up inside him like a bubble. He whispered her name, a tender and heartbreaking murmur with no answer. It was defeating. 

The loss of Emily was a bitter taste of what was to come, but the loss of Sarah devasted him. 

As he held his lifeless daughter in his arms, he clung to the memories, the fragments of a life that had been filled with love was long gone. He longed for a world where Emily was holding him, where his daughter was still a part of a reality, where their absence wasn’t just an envelope of pictures playing in his head. 

Emily

I had to find Emily

Through the tears that blurred his vision, Joel's thoughts came together into just one purpose. The world might have ended, but he couldn’t let his family’s memory fade completely. He had to find Emily, not just to mend what was broken, but to honor and protect her amidst the chaos. 

With Emily’s face etched in his mind, Joel dove into the unknown, driven by love, loss, and longing for the only person who could make this new world worth living again. 

Without thinking clearly, Joel stood on his heels and walked away from his daughter,

“Joel, wait!” Tommy called after his brother, quickly following after him “Where are you going”?

“To find Em” Joel answered, his voice emotionless.

“No, stop” Tommy advised, trying to keep up with his pace, but Joel kept walking with determination.

“Joel,” Tommy called again “You don’t know if Em-

“Don’t tell me she might be dead”, Joel shouted. He refused to even think about that possibility. He spotted a car. He walked towards it, and once he got to the car’s door, slammed his elbow without feeling any pain. Nothing could compare to what he was feeling inside. 

“Joel, don’t do this”. Tommy was practically shouting at Joel amidst all the chaos of people shouting and running desperately.

“You know her new address, “Joel said without paying attention to Tommy’s pleas. “Take me there or you stay here.” 

 Despite the lack of an answer from Tommy, Joel felt around for the key. 

“Okay! I will!” Tommy shouted, “Just give me the keys.” 

Joel’s body felt relieved for a second, some part of him knowing that Emily was the only chance he had left to keep him sane. Otherwise, the grief tightened in his throat was going to kill him. 

He forced Tommy to drive fast to her new house, the one where she would start writing pages of a new story without him on it. Maybe she was there waiting for him to save her. 

But when he didn’t find her there, neither did her car. His heart shattered, not because he thought she was dead, but because he thought he would never see her face again. 

Our house, the thought crossed his mind.

Maybe Emily had the same idea, he thought. Maybe she went there looking for them. 

And she didn’t even know Sarah had died. 

When he finally arrived back at his house, there were no signs of her there either, and his hopes of having her by his side again crumbled. His heart sunk into his stomach, all the memories of their home hit him like a thousand bricks. The undone dishes, Sarah’s bag by the door, the ring he had placed beside the door a week ago, the one he and Emily shared as a symbol of love. He placed it back on his finger where it truly belonged, then he set off his journey. He knew that the way ahead would be treacherous.

What Joel didn’t know that night, just a few minutes before, Emily was there too. 

15 years later

The night air grew cooler as darkness settled over their campsite. Ellie was fast asleep, her soft snores blending with the night’s hushed melody of crickets and rustling leaves.

And Emily was there.

Despite the earlier confrontation between her and Joel, she had stayed, and a heavy tension lingered in the air. Neither of them spoke, not wanting to break the silence, lifting the weight of the past and the uncertain present.  

Joel finally broke the silence, his voice low and measured. "You should have left," he said, not bothering to meet Emily's eyes.

Emily sighed, the exhaustion of her aching body and the tension of their encounter weighing over her shoulders "Why?” she replied, her voice softened from its earlier harshness. “Do I scare you?”

Joel's jaw clenched, and he finally turned to face her. The moonlight danced across his weathered face, casting long shadows that seemed to mimic his turbulent emotions. 

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

“I wasn’t following you; I swear. I thought you were dead.” She explained “I didn’t even know it was you until- “

“Until you almost shoot me,” he interrupted.

“You don’t understand”, She sighed, defeated.          

Joel's eyes bore into Emily's, demanding an explanation. The moonlight flickered in the depths of his gaze, revealing the anger he felt. 

"Then make me,” he implored.

“I-,” she hesitated before answering, choosing her words carefully, "There are…These men following me”, her shoulders slumping with the weight of the truth. “They want to kill me” she confessed. 

He could see a glimpse of fear in her eyes, and for the first time in the night, he noticed all about her. Despite the passing of time, her face still carried the signs of youth, yet it had matured with the weight of the years. He noticed the bruises on the left side of her face, dark and painful reminders of a story he didn’t know about. 

Joel's guard lowered as he was slightly worried at Emily’s confession "And who did that to you?" he asked, pointing at her face.

Emily looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "Them”

Despite the events of their story, the thought of someone hunting her down weighed heavily on him.

Something deep inside him felt responsible for this. If he had kept her with him in the past, she wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

"And why are they after you?" Joel asked, his voice no longer tinged with anger but rather genuine concern.

Emily hesitated once more before responding. "Because I killed their people."

The revelation hung heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the harsh realities of the world they lived in. Joel knew he had done horrible things to survive, but thinking about Emily doing the same felt like a knife cutting through his heart. 

Emily’s eyes filled with a haunted look. "They left me no choice,” She finally added. 

A tense silence settled between them once again. 

Joel's mind raced as he considered his options. He had Ellie to protect and deliver to the fireflies, but now, unexpectedly, the woman who haunted him was in front of her again. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her on her own.

“And how do I fit into this narrative?” He asked, cautiously.

“You don’t fit into this narrative, Joel” she clarified. “I just crossed paths with you tonight. I’ll go in the morning” 

Joel contemplated Emily's words for a moment. He knew that allowing her to stay was an emotional risk for him. Nevertheless, he refused to let her go. All what they shared in the past, the love that had once bound them, still lingered, and he couldn't simply abandon her for her own. He didn’t have the heart to do it. 

"No," he finally said, his voice stout. " You'll stay with us until we reach the Fireflies. It's not safe out there alone."

“You abandoned me in the past. Why would I trust you now?” she asked, her voice flat.

“Because you don’t have another choice,” he replied,

Emily looked surprised, with a mix of anger, sadness, and resignation dancing in her eyes. She had been through too much to easily trust again.

"Fine," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll stay... for now."

Silence stretched and hung over them again with unspoken words. 

“Where is Tommy?” she asked, breaking the silence once more.

“I’ve been asking myself the same for the last three weeks,” Joel replied bitterly.

“Typical, is Sarah with him? I wouldn’t blame her."

When Emily met with a defeating silence, her heart broke.   She knew what that silence meant, but she needed to hear the confirmation.

“Oh god,” her voice became brittle "Sarah...”

Joel could only nod, his throat tight with the weight of grief that still clung to him after all these years. Sarah's memory was a constant ache in his heart, and unlike Emily, she would never come back to him.

“When?” she asked, whispering

Joel took a deep breath, his voice strained as he answered, "That same night. There was nothing we could do." He paused a little. “It wasn’t even one of those things. It was a soldier. A man who should have helped us” 

Emily's eyes glistened with tears as she absorbed the heartbreaking truth.

“People are the real monsters, Joel” she whispered, her voice carrying an undertone. 

Joel's gaze remained fixed on the ground; his thoughts consumed by all the events that had happened in his life. He knew Emily was right; it was the people who had become the true monsters. 

Joel didn't reply. Instead, he turned back to watch over Ellie, who was still sleeping soundly. His thoughts were all over the place now. His past caught up with him in the form of the woman of his dreams and now, she was a part of the uncertain future ahead.

Joel woke up to the sound of Ellie’s laugh. His eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, he was disoriented, unsure of where he was. Then, the reality hit him. He had fallen asleep once again when he was supposed to keep the watch. The pass of time was noticeable, the lines of fatigue etching across his face, his body ached and he was tired of surviving. 

Pushing aside his exhaustion, Joel forced himself to sit up, rubbing his tired eyes. 

And Emily was still there, she wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. 

When Emily noticed that Joel was awake, she turned to him with a small smile. “You’re awake,” she said quietly, her voice softer than the previous night.

Joel just gazed at her, he felt strange at having her again and he wasn’t sure how to navigate this unexpected reunion with Emily. 

Ellie was unfazed by the presence of Emily. They already seemed thick at thieves. 

“I told Emily you had a stick upon your ass last night,” Ellie said. 

Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Ellie's comment, and he glanced over at Emily, who seemed amused by the teenager. 

"I'm glad you two are getting along." He said, a little hint of amusement in his tone. 

“We had a good chat while you were sleeping”, Emily replied with a chuckle. 

Joel couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Ellie and Emily getting along so easily. It was like life was showing him the picture of the past in a new form. Giving him the chance to have a purpose again besides sleeping and surviving. 

As the three of them set out together, with Joel leading the way, Emily and Ellie chatted and laughed, sharing different stories, and Joel couldn’t help but feel amused by that. It was rare for him to find satisfaction in these little moments.

“Joel, are Bill and Frank nice?” Ellie asked.

“Frank is,” he answered. 

“Where are we going?” Emily asked, stepping forward to walk alongside Joel.

“To Bill and Frank,” Ellie answered for Joel.

“And who are these people?”

“Good guys,” he said, stout.

Joel and Emily continued to walk side by side, their footsteps echoing along the quiet road. 

“Who is Tess?” Emily asked.

Joel turned his head to look at Emily, 

Damn Ellie, he thought.

His expression grew somber at the mention of Tess. "Tess was my partner," he finally answered, his voice sounded sad. “We trusted each other with our lives. Tess... she was family to me."

Emily could see the anguish in Joel’s eyes as he spoke about Tess. She knew that losing was a wound that never healed. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of jealousy inside her, thinking about Joel finding someone else in this world opened a wound she had never fully healed. 

“Did you love her?” she asked the question that lingered in her mind. 

Joel hesitated for a moment before responding, his voice carrying a deep sense of regret.

""Yeah, she did... and I... I couldn’t” 

Emily couldn't help but feel sympathy for Joel, even though she believed he wasn’t capable of loving someone. 

Ellie, walking behind, stepped forward to walk beside them, sensing the tension. 

“How did you get that scar on your head?” Ellie asked Joel.

Joel sighed, exasperated by Ellie's constant questions about him.

“What? Is it something lame?” She questioned, “Like you fell down the stairs or something?”

“I didn’t fall down the stairs” Joel answered.

“So, what then?” 

“Someone shot at me and missed.”

Emily’s heart sank at that new information.

“See, that’s cool,” Ellie said. “You shoot back?”

“Yeah,” Joel said, shortly.

“You got him?” 

“No, I missed too. It happens more often than you think.”

Ellie pondered over his words “Cause you suck at shooting or like, in general? 

Joel studied her expression, clearly offended. “In general.”

Then, Ellie looked at Emily. “How did you get those bruises on your face?”

“I fell” she lied to her.

“Lame” Ellie chuckled.

Emily mirrored her expression with a smile. 

They walked for a few more minutes until they came into view of a rusty old building which was once a gas station. 

“Wait here”. She instructed both girls, “I gotta grab some stuff, Tess and I, stashed” 

“Why here?” Ellie asked.

“You ask a lot of damn questions,” he said, clearly exasperated.

“Yes,” she smiled proudly.

Joel opened the door to the building. The interior was as one might expect: dusty shelves that once held snacks and supplies, long since emptied or expired, and a counter where a cashier had once stood. It looked dirtier since the last time he was here. 

“So why did you stash things here?” She continued, but as soon as her eyes looked into the old arcade game, Joel lost her attention. 

While Ellie was over the moon with the discovery, Joel was preoccupied with trying to remember where he had hidden the weapons and supplies that he and Tess had stashed there long ago. His gaze scanned the dimly lit interior, searching for familiar landmarks.

Ellie, not one to let a moment of fun slip away, turned her attention to Joel. "Ellie, Joel forgot where he placed his stuff," Emily said, trying to assist.

Joel was prideful and stubborn, and he didn't appreciate anyone pointing out his shortcomings. "I don't need your help," he retorted, a touch of defensiveness in his voice.

Emily couldn't help but remind him of their tumultuous history. "You know, considering the way you acted the last time we saw each other, you should behave nicer," she suggested a hint of sarcasm in her tone. 

Joel just scoffed.

Emily couldn't help but roll her eyes at Joel's scoff and stepped out of the building. She knew that dealing with Joel's stubbornness wasn't worth the frustration, especially when there were more important things happening.

Once back on the road, Emily didn’t say a word to Joel. Ellie tried to strike up a conversation, but her attempts were met with mostly monosyllabic responses from Joel. Emily, on the other hand, remained silent, lost in her own thoughts.

Joel occasionally glanced at Emily through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. He couldn't help but wonder what had brought her back into his life after all these years.

He spent half of the years since all this started looking for her, and now that he had her back, he didn’t know how to feel. 

Finally, Ellie broke the silence.

"Why did you get divorced?" she asked, her eyes fixed on Joel as if he was the one to blame.

Emily turned to Joel, an incredulous look in her eyes. "How did you know?" she asked.

“Joel told me,” She said.

Emily glanced at Joel with surprise and annoyance, but she decided to let it go for now. Ellie's curiosity was relentless, and Emily could tell that the teenager was fishing for more details.

She turned her attention back to Ellie and decided to answer the question, even though it wasn't something she enjoyed discussing. "Sometimes, things just don't work out," Emily replied, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "People change” she added, looking briefly at Joel. 

The action didn’t go unnoticed by Ellie, who was good at noticing subtle cues. The unspoken tension between the two adults was palpable, and Ellie sensed that there was more to the story than Emily was letting on.

“That means Joel changed?” she insisted. 

Joel remained silent; his gaze focused on the horizon. 

Emily hesitated, glancing at Joel again. She knew that there were some wounds that time couldn't heal, some scars that ran too deep, but she didn’t reply and that was enough for Ellie to understand. 

"Well," she said with a hint of cheerfulness, "I hope you two can find a way to fix things now. You know, since we're all together."

Joel remained silent, but his expression softened just a fraction. Emily just offered a small, almost imperceptible nod.

Finally, they made it to Bill and Frank's place, a small town gated by a sturdy fence. Emily couldn't help but be awestruck by the sight of the place. It was a little reminder of those small, tight-knit villages from the time before the world had descended into chaos.

The fence surrounding the town was reassuringly tall and well-constructed, a clear sign that these two men knew how to keep their community safe. Emily felt a glimmer of hope as they approached the gate.

“Stay here”, Joel commanded Emily and Ellie before tapping an entry code into the gate's keypad, allowing them to pass through first.

As they walked to Bill and Frank’s house, Emily noticed the change in Joel’s expression when looking at the flowers outside. They were dry. 

He went forward and opened the front door, being extremely cautious. Ellie and Emily followed him close.

"Bill? Frank?" Joel yelled, but there was no response.

Something isn't right.

"You both stay here," he told the girls. "What if they leave?" Ellie inquired before Joel moved.

Joel considered Ellie's question for a moment before responding, but Emily pipped him up.

“They would have told you, right?” she asked.

“Yes.” 

The sound of a door shutting caught their attention.

"Ellie?" Emily called out nervously, her voice echoing through the house.

Joel's jaw tightened as he exchanged a glance with Emily. He gestured for them to follow the sound. There was Ellie, sitting at the table holding a piece of paper that looked like a letter.

“It’s from Bill,” she said to Joel.

Joel sighed, putting away his weapon, all the façade he always showed was crumbling inside him, another grief was hanging over his head. 

“To whomever, but probably Joel,” she began. 

“So they’re dead?” he asked, interrupting her. He needed the confirmation. 

Joel felt a lump in his throat.

“You wanna-?” Ellie offered.

He shook his head. “Go ahead. You do it” 

“August 29, 2023,” Ellie started to read. “If you find this… please do not come into the bedroom. We left a window open so the house wouldn’t smell, but it would probably be a sight. I’m guessing you found this, Joel because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps. Hehehehehehehehe-“

Ellie stopped for a moment, amused by the last part, before continuing. 

“Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code but in reverse. Anyway… I never liked you, but still, it’s like we’re friends… almost. And I respect you. So, I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand. I used to hate the world, and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here" 

Joel glanced at Emily, who was paying attention to Ellie.

“We have a job to do. And God help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep…”

Ellie stopped there, not knowing how to continue reading. She looked up at Joel, who had an unreadable expression on his face. He couldn’t save Tess. 

“Stay here,” he instructed, walking towards the front door without hesitation.

Emily, on the other hand, didn’t know what to say or even do at the moment, so she looked at Ellie for answers.

"What do you think we should do, Ellie?" Emily asked softly, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Ellie looked back at Emily, her eyes meeting Emily's with seriousness. "We do what they wanted Joel to do," Ellie replied, her voice steady. "We keep going.” 

“Emily, can I ask you a question?” Ellie asked.

Emily nodded. 

“What happened between you and Joel?” she asked. “I see the way you look at him, full of resentment, and I also see the way he looks at you. He is conflicted.”

Emily hesitated for a moment, contemplating Ellie’s words. 

"I don’t know what happened", Emily began cautiously. "One day everything was fine, and the next he told me he wanted a divorce.”

“And do you hate him?” Ellie inquired. 

Emily met Ellie's inquisitive gaze with a mixture of emotions. It wasn't an easy question to answer, and Emily wasn't entirely sure of herself.

"I don't hate him," Emily replied honestly. "But I don't think I ever really got over what happened. It hurts, Ellie, and sometimes hurt can turn into resentment.” 

“So why did you stay with us?” 

 Emily sighed, her thoughts and feelings swirling in the complicated mix of emotions inside her brain.

"Because he asked?” she said, not completely sure about her answers.

Ellie seemed to understand the mix of emotions inside Emily’s head.

“Please, promise me one thing,” Ellie said. “Promise me you will stay.”

“I know if I don’t make you promise me this, you will run and I don’t want that. I want you to stay.”

 "Because I believe you can bring out the best in him, and in me," Ellie said genuinely. "Joel might not admit it, but I think he needs you."

"I promise I'll stay," Emily affirmed with sincerity.

Ellie's returning smile radiated hope, a small glimmer in a world often shrouded in darkness.

"And also, promise me you won't lie to me anymore," Ellie said. 

Emily was momentarily speechless, her surprise evident on her face.

"I know you didn't fall," Ellie continued, her voice filled with conviction. "And whoever did this to you, they won't touch you again."

"I promise I won't lie to you," Emily said with sincerity.

She appreciated Ellie's trust and the bond that was slowly forming between them.

The two of them hugged, and the beginning of a friendship between them started to bloom.

For the first time in days, Emily felt a sense of fleeting tranquility. The sound of the running water drowned out the constant hum of worry that had plagued her thoughts. She reached for a bar of soap and began to scrub away the dirt, sweat, and blood from her body. 

When Emily turned off the shower, she reached out to wipe away the steam off the mirror, revealing a reflection she had avoided for days. This had been the first time that she had seen her face. Her hair was greasy and dirty. The bags under her eyes were dark circles reflecting the sleepless nights she had been through during the last week, the dirt all over her face, and the bruises on her cheeks, a reminder that she was being hunted. 

She reached for the scissors she had found tucked away in one of the cabinets. And like in the old days, when cutting your hair symbolized a new beginning and embraced change. Emily needed to do the same. Carefully, she began to snip away at her tangled locks. Strands of hair fell to the floor, and with each cut, she felt a sense of liberation, each cut was a way to regain a sense of control over her own self. 

Once she finished, Emily stared at her reflection again, and the tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Strangely, the bruises on her cheek seemed less pronounced.

Freshly out of the bathroom, clean, and with new clothes, Emily went down the stairs to reunite with Joel and Ellie. As she approached the living room, she could hear the low hum of conversation between Joel and Ellie. Once she entered the room, Emily was met with curious glances from both of them.

A mischievous grin played on Ellie’s lips. "Doesn’t she look pretty, Joel? she teased.

Joel was momentarily stunned, struggling to form coherent thoughts at the sight of Emily's transformed appearance.

Joel finally found his voice and managed to say, "You look...different." 

Ellie couldn't resist pushing her teasing nature further. "Now that we're all clean and looking pretty, especially you two, could you get married again?"

“I’ll pass on that for now," Emily replied.

Joel stepped forward and whispered, “Is there any reason for this?”

“They are following a lonely woman with long hair” she answered, her tone matter-of-fact.

For Joel, that reasoning made sense, so he nodded in understanding. He couldn't help but notice the ring hanging from her neck—it was their wedding band. However, he chose not to say anything. Deep down, he knew Emily was using him to free herself from the danger she was facing. He knew she didn’t love him anymore, did she?

“We are good to go”, Joel announced.

Ellie and Emily gathered their belongings, and the three of them went out of the house. They placed their things inside the truck. 

“You should take the front,” Ellie suggested to Emily. “You two have a lot to catch up.” 

Ellie jumped to the back seat, leaving Emily with no option but to sit beside Joel in the front. As she looked at Ellie through the mirror, a broad grin spread across the teen's face.  

Joel reached over Emily and pulled the belt over her body. “Seatbelt,” Joel said.

Emily’s breath caught in her throat as Joel reached for the seatbelt. It was a habit he had when he used to drive her to her work. This was the closest they had been in fifteen years, and their eyes locked for a few seconds, but Emily quickly dropped her gaze to her fidgeting fingers. 

Joel started up the truck as Emily looked for something to distract herself from his presence.

“What- put it back,” Joel said “Emily.”

She held something up to show Joel. 

“This is music,” she said, popping on the cassette tape and hitting play.

“Is love so fragile and the heart so hollow?

Shatter with words, impossible to follow”

Emily’s breath caught in her throat for the second time in the last minutes, and when she was about to skip the song, Joel hit her hand. 

“No, leave it” he smirked. 

What a turn of events, he thought. 

“This is good,” Joel said as he drove “Stevie Nicks. Do you know Stevie Nicks, Ellie? 

“You know I don’t” Ellie answered, rolling her eyes.

“I search only for something I can't see

I have my own life.

And I am stronger than you know.”

Emily smiled at Ellie through the mirror, before the hurt of the past washed over her once again. The song was the one playing in the background the night she and Joel met.

December, 31st, 1999 

It had been hours since the party started. People around were expectantly waiting for the countdown for the new year, and the couples were already making their way to the dancing floor. There was something magical about finding someone in a moment like this, where the hopes of starting a new chapter were there. 

But not everyone had someone to rely on.

Joel stood there, slightly uncomfortable about being brought there by Tommy against his will. Meanwhile, his younger brother was having the time of his life flirting with a blonde on the dancing floor. He was nursing a drink in the bar, losing himself in the music. Social gatherings like this weren’t his scene.

On the other side of the room, there was Emily moving gracefully through the crowd. She was clearly enjoying her time with her friends, but something about her being the single friend made her slightly melancholic. Especially when the melody in the background was drawing the couples together, swaying to the melody of Leather and Lace by Stevie Nicks. Emily couldn’t help but yearn for a connection like that of her own. 

“But I carry this feeling

When you walked into my house

That you won't be walking out the door

Still I carry this feeling

When you walked into my house

That you won't be walking out the door”

Emily couldn't shake off the feeling of longing that settled inside her, so she decided to take a break from the dance floor and headed towards the bar. Her friends were lost in their own worlds while dancing with their own partners, leaving her to wander alone around the party. 

As Emily headed towards the bar, lost in her thoughts, she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings until it was too late. She bumped into a man, and her heart skipped a beat as she stumbled slightly. Before she could fall, the man in front of her wrapped his strong arms around her, steadying her.

It was Joel, a handsome stranger who took her breath away. He was surprised but not displeased. Emily met his gaze, her eyes filled with embarrassment while they stood there gazing at each other. 

“Lovers forever, face to face

My city, your mountains

Stay with me, stay

I need you to love me, I need you today”

“I’m Joel,” he introduced himself, raising his hand for her to take it. His lips curled into a smirk.

 "Emily," she replied with a soft smile, reaching out to take his hand.

At that moment, the world around them faded away. Their unexpected encounter was the beginning of something neither of them had expected to find that night. 

Now

Once Joel pressed the remote, the gate opened for them to drive out of the momentary tranquility of this place. Emily cast a glance at Joel, and it felt like a scene from an old film she had watched before. Joel behind the wheel, driving her everywhere because they used to be attached to their hips, but now they were two strangers with a past in common. 

Emily knew Joel was using her to fill the void Tess had left, 

Joel knew Emily was using him to escape her fate, 

They were using each other, weren’t they?

As they drove into the new day ahead, the soft melody of music played in the background, and the sun’s warm rays welcomed them back onto the road. The route ahead was uncertain, but they had no choice but to learn how to depend on each other again.

“The first time I saw you

I knew with you to light my nights

Somehow, I would get by

Lovers forever, face to face

My city, your mountains

Stay with me, stay

I need you to love me, I need you today”

tags: @joeldjarin @catchallfangirl

[whileiamdying]

All the Films in Competition at Cannes, Ranked from Best to Worst

The twenty-two films that premièred in the 2024 festival’s main program offered much to savor and revile.

By Justin Chang May 26, 2024

The seventy-seventh annual Cannes Film Festival came to a startling and joyous conclusion on Saturday night, when the competition jury, chaired by Greta Gerwig, awarded the Palme d’Or, the festival’s highest honor, to “Anora,” a funny, harrowing, and finally quite moving portrait of a sex worker’s madcap New York misadventures. It was startling because the movie, though one of the best-received in the competition, had not been widely tipped for the top prize, which seldom goes to a U.S. film; with “Anora,” Sean Baker becomes the first American director to win the Palme since Terrence Malick did, for “The Tree of Life” (2011), thirteen years ago. And it was joyous not only because the award was bestowed on a worthy and remarkable film but because Baker used the occasion to deliver the best, most eloquent and impassioned acceptance speech I’ve ever heard a Palme winner give.

Reading from prepared remarks, Baker singled out two other filmmakers in the competition, Francis Ford Coppola and David Cronenberg, as among his personal heroes. He dedicated the award to sex workers everywhere, a fitting tribute from a filmmaker who has put their lives front and center, with drama, humor, and empathy, in movies like “Starlet” (2012), “Tangerine” (2015), and “Red Rocket” (2021). He tossed some exquisite shade in the direction of the “tech companies” behind the so-called streaming revolution—including, presumably, Netflix, which came away as one of the night’s big winners; its major acquisition of the festival, Jacques Audiard’s musical “Emilia Pérez,” won two prizes. And, in a moment that drew rapturous applause, Baker delivered a plea on behalf of theatrical films, declaring, “The future of cinema is where it started: in a movie theatre.”

I was fortunate to see all twenty-two films in the Cannes competition on the big screen, projected under superior conditions in houses packed with fellow movie lovers. It’s my hope that, when these movies are released in the U.S., as the great majority of them likely will be, you will seize the chance to see them on the big screen as well—even “Emilia Pérez,” which Netflix may not keep in theatres for long, but whose bold dramatic and stylistic risks have the best chance of winning you over if they have your undivided, wide-awake attention.

I have ranked the movies in order of preference, from best to worst. Here they are:

1. “Caught by the Tides”

Jia Zhangke, a Cannes competition veteran, has long been the cinema’s preëminent chronicler of modern China (“Mountains May Depart,” “Ash Is Purest White”), mapping its social, cultural, and geographical complexities with great formal acumen, and also with the longtime collaboration of his wife, the superb actress Zhao Tao. Jia’s latest work, drawing on an archive of footage shot in the course of roughly two decades, unfurls a story in fragments, about a woman (Zhao) and a man (Li Zhubin) who fall in love, bitterly separate, and have a melancholy reunion years later. It’s an achievement by turns fleeting and monumental: a series of interlocking time capsules, a wrenching feat of self-reflection, and a stealth musical, in which Zhao dances and dances, standing in for millions who have learned to sway and bend to history’s tumultuous beat.

2. “All We Imagine as Light”

As the first Indian feature invited to compete at Cannes in nearly three decades, Payal Kapadia’s narrative début (after her 2021 documentary, “A Night of Knowing Nothing”) would be notable enough; that the movie is so delicately felt and sensuously textured is cause for outright celebration. Winner of the festival’s Grand Prix, or second place, it tells the story of two roommates, Prabha (Kani Kusruti) and Anu (Divya Prabha), who work as nurses at a Mumbai hospital. It teases out their personal circumstances—Prabha’s estrangement from her unseen husband, Anu’s frowned-upon romance with a young Muslim man (Hridhu Haroon)—with a quiet truthfulness that, like the glittering lights of the city, lingers expansively in the memory. (A forthcoming Sideshow/Janus Films release.)

3. “Grand Tour”

The Portuguese director Miguel Gomes (“Tabu,” “Arabian Nights”) delivered some of the most virtuosic filmmaking in the competition—as the jury recognized by giving him the Best Director prize—with this characteristically yet extraordinarily playful colonial-era travelogue. Shifting between color and black-and-white, set in 1917 but full of fourth-wall-breaking anachronisms, the movie tells a story of sorts about a roving British diplomat (Gonçalo Waddington) and a fiancée (Crista Alfaiate) he’s in no hurry to marry. But its true fascination lies in the humid atmosphere and wanderlust-inspiring splendor of its East and Southeast Asian locations, ranging from Singapore and Bangkok to Shanghai and Rangoon. It’s a movie to get lost in.

4. “The Seed of the Sacred Fig”

It’s impossible to absorb this blistering domestic drama without thinking of its dissident director, Mohammad Rasoulof, who recently fled Iran after being sentenced to prison and a flogging. (His appearance at his film’s première made for one of the most emotional moments in recent Cannes memory.) Shot entirely in secret, the story follows a Tehran-based husband (Missagh Zareh) and wife (Soheila Golestani) who are increasingly at war with their progressive-minded young-adult daughters (Mahsa Rostami, Setareh Maleki) during nationwide political protests led by women. The result is a thriller of propulsive skill and blunt emotional force, marrying the muscularity of an action film to the psychological intensity of a chamber drama. (A forthcoming Neon release.)

5. ���Anora”

The director Sean Baker is near the height of his storytelling powers with this dazzling (and now Palme d’Or-winning) portrait of a Manhattan strip-club dancer (a revelatory Mikey Madison) who impulsively marries the ultra-spoiled son (Mark Eydelshteyn) of a Russian oligarch. Much comic chaos ensues, some of it pushed past the brink of plausibility, but Baker’s multifaceted love for his characters proves infectious and sustaining, as does his belief that acts of unexpected kindness can redeem even the darkest nights of the soul. (A forthcoming Neon release.)

6. “The Shrouds”

Early on in this elegantly sombre yet mordantly funny new movie, which stars Vincent Cassel, Diane Kruger, and Guy Pearce, the director David Cronenberg, a master of cerebral horror, unveils his latest invention: a technologically advanced burial shroud that allows people to watch a loved one’s body decomposing in the grave. So begins a drolly fluid inspection of classic Cronenberg themes—the deterioration of the flesh, the instability of the image, the paranoia-inducing incursions of technology into every aspect of life—but imbued with a nakedly personal dimension that the director has noted in interviews; the story was inspired by his wife’s death, in 2017, from cancer.

7. “Megalopolis”

In this legendarily long-gestating passion project, which I’ve written about at length, Francis Ford Coppola posits that our fragile, battered civilization is headed the way of the Roman Empire. The grimness of that prospect is unsurprising from a director accustomed to peering deep into the heart of American darkness (the “Godfather” movies, “The Conversation,” “Apocalypse Now”). For all that, the filmmaking here glows with a particularly hard-won optimism, even a welcome sense of play—borne out by an ensemble of actors, including Adam Driver, Giancarlo Esposito, and especially Aubrey Plaza, who fully embrace Coppola’s rhetorical and conceptual flights of fancy.

8. “The Substance”

Sympathetic or sadistic? Feminist or misogynist? Coralie Fargeat’s body-horror bonanza, which won the festival’s award for Best Screenplay, has been one of the competition’s more polarizing hits, which is unsurprising; divisiveness should be expected from a story about an aging actress and TV fitness guru who, desperate to regain her youthful bod of yesteryear, effectively splits herself in two. Whether the outlandish premise (think “The Picture of Dorian Gray” by way of “Death Becomes Her”) and its blood-gushing fallout withstand intellectual scrutiny, there’s no doubting the ferocity of the two leads, Demi Moore and Margaret Qualley, or Fargeat’s sheer filmmaking verve as she pushes her ideas to their sanguinary conclusions.

9. “Motel Destino”

Just a year after the Brazilian director Karim Aïnouz appeared in competition with a surprisingly stiff-corseted English period drama, “Firebrand,” it was bracing to watch him rebound with the competition’s most sexually uninhibited and flagrantly horny title; corsets don’t apply here, and even underwear proves blissfully optional. Set at a seedy roadside motel where the clientele never stops moaning, it’s a feverishly shambling erotic thriller starring three very game actors (Iago Xavier, Nataly Rocha, and Fábio Assunção) in a romantic triangle that plays like James M. Cain with sex toys—“The Postman Always Cock Rings Twice,” as it were.

10. “Emilia Pérez”

A trans-empowerment musical set against the backdrop of Mexico’s drug cartels might sound like a dubious proposition on paper, and, for the many detractors of this genre-melding big swing from the French director Jacques Audiard (“A Prophet,” “The Sisters Brothers”), what actually made it onto the screen was no better. But I was disarmed from the start by Audiard’s quasi-Almodóvarian vibes, his touchingly imperfect embrace of song-and-dance stylization, and, most of all, his three leads: the remarkable discovery Karla Sofía Gascón, a scene-stealing Selena Gomez, and a never-better Zoe Saldaña. All three (along with Adriana Paz) were recognized with the festival’s Best Actress prize, awarded collectively to the movie’s ensemble of actresses; Audiard also won the Jury Prize. (A forthcoming Netflix release.)

11. “Oh, Canada”

After a tense trilogy of dramas about male redemption through violence (“First Reformed,” “The Card Counter,” “Master Gardener”), the writer and director Paul Schrader has taken a gentler turn with an adaptation of “Foregone,” a 2021 novel by the late Russell Banks. (It’s his second Banks adaptation, after the 1997 drama “Affliction.”) In exploring the fragmented consciousness of an aging documentary filmmaker (played at different ages by Richard Gere and Jacob Elordi), Schrader bravely forsakes the narrative fastidiousness of his recent work and takes on grand themes of memory, mortality, and artistic self-reckoning, to formally ragged but sincerely moving effect.

12. “The Girl with the Needle”

This stark and terrifying black-and-white drama from the Swedish-born, Polish-based director Magnus von Horn (“Sweat”) was perhaps the competition’s bleakest entry. Set in Copenhagen immediately after the First World War, it pins us so mercilessly to the hard-bitten perspective of Karoline (an excellent Vic Carmen Sonne), a factory seamstress who becomes pregnant out of wedlock, that we scarcely notice her story shifting in a different, more sinister direction. It’s a bitterly hard-to-stomach brew of a movie, at once hideous and beautifully made, with a chilling supporting turn by Trine Dyrholm as a friend whose interventions turn out to be anything but benign.

13. “Three Kilometres to the End of the World”

The setting of this well-observed but emotionally opaque drama, from the Romanian actor turned director Emanuel Pârvu, is a small rural village where a closeted teen-age boy, Adi (Ciprian Chiujdea), is brutally beaten after being caught in an intimate moment with a male traveller. Pârvu teases out the legal, psychological, and moral fallout with the pitch-perfect performances and laserlike formal focus that have become hallmarks of new Romanian cinema. But, though the movie is persuasive enough as an indictment of small-town religious fundamentalism and homophobia, it proves curiously incurious about Adi’s perspective, to the detriment of its own human pulse.

14. “Kinds of Kindness”

After his Oscar-winning period romps “The Favourite” (2018) and “Poor Things” (2023), the Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos scales back—but goes long—with a sprawling, increasingly tedious compendium of comic cruelty. My favorite of the film’s three disconnected stories, all featuring the same actors, is the one where Jesse Plemons (the ensemble M.V.P., as the jury recognized with its Best Actor award) plays Willem Dafoe’s Manchurian candidate; my least favorite is the one where Emma Stone joins a sweat-worshipping sex cult. The one where Stone slices off her finger and cooks it for Plemons falls—much like the movie in Lanthimos’s over-all œuvre—somewhere in the middle. (A Searchlight Pictures release, opening June 21st in theatres.)

15. “Bird”

My admiration for the English filmmaker Andrea Arnold (“American Honey”) is such that I’m eager to revisit her latest rough-and-tumble coming-of-age story and find that I undervalued it. Arnold is certainly skilled at integrating recognizable actors, which in this case includes Barry Keoghan and Franz Rogowski, into her grottily realist frames, and she has an appealing lead performer in Nykiya Adams, as a twelve-year-old girl who overcomes persistent abuse and neglect. But the story may lose you—as it lost me—with a magical-realist turn that magnifies, rather than minimizes, the tortured-animal symbolism that has often dogged Arnold’s work.

16. “Beating Hearts”

An exchange of insults at a high-school bus stop provides a saucy meet-cute for a good girl (Mallory Wanecque) and a ne’er-do-well boy (Malik Frikah); so begins a raucous and endearing love story for the ages, in which the director Gilles Lellouche, with outsized glee and little discipline, merrily appropriates the conventions of classic Hollywood musicals and gangster flicks. The result is much too long at nearly three hours—the story spans several years, with Adèle Exarchopoulos and François Civil playing older versions of the two leads—but I can’t say I didn’t warm to its rambunctious cornball charm.

17. “Limonov: The Ballad”

Why make a film about Eduard Limonov, the globe-trotting Russian dissident poet and punk provocateur reviled for his pro-fascist sympathies? The filmmaker Kirill Serebrennikov never musters a satisfying answer in this muddled English-language bio-pic, despite an energetically uninhibited central performance by Ben Whishaw and a cheeky panoply of filmmaking techniques—jittery camerawork, lengthy tracking shots—meant to catch us up in the épater-la-bourgeoisie exuberance of Limonov’s revolt. Considering his earlier work, I prefer the rebel-youth vibes of “Leto” (2018) and the dazzling cinematic assaults of “Petrov’s Flu” (2021), both of which also screened in competition here.

18. “Parthenope”

Nearly every new picture from the Italian auteur Paolo Sorrentino could be reasonably called “The Great Beauty,” the title of his gorgeous 2013 cinematic tour of Rome. (It left that year’s Cannes empty-handed, but won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film.) His latest work remains most intriguing for its ambivalent but still sensually overpowering vision of the director’s home town, Naples, from which springs a modern-day goddess, named after Parthenope, a Siren from Greek mythology. She’s played by Celeste Dalla Porta, a great beauty indeed and an empathetic screen presence, though only fitfully does her character seem worthy of this movie’s epic enshrinement.

19. “Wild Diamond”

Another disquisition on beauty and its discontents, this time from the débuting French writer and director Agathe Riedinger. She hurls us the life and busy social-media feed of a nineteen-year-old, Liane (a terrific Malou Khebizi), who has nipped, tucked, and tailored every part of herself to realize her dream of being selected for a hot new reality-TV series. Part influencer-culture cautionary tale, part bad-girl Cinderella story, the movie glancingly suggests the soul-rotting effects of beauty worship, but it falls victim to the trap that Liane is trying to avoid: in a sea of worthy candidates, it doesn’t especially stand out.

20. “The Apprentice”

Donald Trump’s attorneys have threatened legal action to block the release of this drama about his early rise to fame and wealth under the mentorship of the attorney Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong). It speaks to the useless proficiency of Ali Abbasi’s movie that the prospect of such censorship provokes more indifference than outrage. Shot to evoke cruddy nineteen-eighties VHS playback, the movie is well acted by Strong, Maria Bakalova as Ivana Trump, and an increasingly makeup-buried Sebastian Stan as Trump himself, depicted from the start as a sack of shit that gets progressively shittier. It’s not dismissible, but it’s hardly the stuff of revelation, either.

21. “Marcello Mio”

In this trifling meta-comedy from the French filmmaker Christophe Honoré (previously in the 2018 Cannes competition with the lovely “Sorry Angel”), the actress Chiara Mastroianni embarks on a strainedly whimsical personal odyssey to examine the legacy of her late father, the legendary Italian actor Marcello Mastroianni, and her own conflicted place therein. To that end, she spends much of this overstretched movie in “8½” and “La Dolce Vita” black-suited drag as she navigates a roundelay of industry in-jokes; among the French cinema luminaries making appearances are Fabrice Luchini, Nicole Garcia, and, most welcome, Chiara’s mother, Catherine Deneuve.

22. “The Most Precious of Cargoes”

The French director Michel Hazanavicius continues his uneven post-“The Artist” run with this animated Second World War fable, adapted from a 2019 novel by Jean-Claude Grumberg (and narrated by the late Jean-Louis Trintignant). It has an affecting opening stretch, in which a baby girl, thrown by her desperate father from an Auschwitz-bound train, is rescued and raised in secret by a woodcutter’s kindhearted wife. But when the child’s provenance is discovered, stoking local antisemitism, the movie becomes a bathetic wallow in Holocaust imagery, drowned in an Alexandre Desplat score whose every surge turned my heart increasingly to stone. ♦

[nofomogirl]

Metatron's manipulation step by step

Part 6: Divide and conquer

Part 1 - where I discuss the significance of the coffee.

Part 2 - where I take a look back at season 1

Part 3 - from Metatron's arrival on Earth to sending the Archangels away

Part 4 - inside the bookshop after sending the Archangels away

Part 5 - at the table in the street

In the previous part, I discussed the fragments of conversation in which Metatron made his offer.

This is how the conversation ends:

"Well, you don't have to answer immediately. Take all the time you need." "I... I don't know what to say." "Well then, go and tell your friend the good news."

Doesn't it seem weird to you?

I was never offered a job as a Supreme Archangel, obviously, but I was offered a few things in my life. I also made other people various offers. And I've been part of the talks where someone made somebody else an offer. And in my experience, you don't normally say "You don't have to answer immediately" to someone who has already said "yes".

That's what I meant by all those asterisks in Part 5 - we never see Aziraphale actually agree to go to Heaven!

Crowley asked Aziraphale if he said no, and Aziraphale answered first with a stunned "Not at all" and then choked silence. And both Crowley and us as an audience, in the heat of the moment assumed that it meant Aziraphale said the opposite. But it doesn't! The fact that Aziraphale didn't say no doesn't automatically mean he said yes!

Then we see Metatron acting as if it was all settled. He just comes into the bookshop and asks Aziraphale if he's ready to start. We see Aziraphale go to Heaven. So it only seems logical that he agreed to it right after it was offered, during that conversation outside, at the coffee table.

But here's the thing - I really truly doubt he did. The possibility of pardoning Crowley made him very open to it, yes, but it was not a done deal. He expected to take it after Crowley was on board, and he expected Crowley would be on board. But he didn't give Metatron any definite answer.

And working around it was, in my personal opinion, the evilest part of Metatron's scheme. He basically tricked Aziraphale into acting on a choice he didn't actually make.

Just look at the scene after Crowley leaves the bookshop. It's all Metatron just rushing Aziraphale, and very purposefully not giving him a single second to think and process.

He said "Take all the time you need." but then he was inside the bookshop the second Crowley was gone. Like honestly, if he tried to enter any earlier, he and Crowley would bump into each other in the doorway.

He said "Take all the time you need." but then when Aziraphale mentioned his bookshop he just announced he had already entrusted it to Muriel. He doesn't even ask beforehand, he just makes those plans for Aziraphale.

He said "Take all the time you need." but when Aziraphale falters, he just pressures him with "Anything you need to take with you?" uttered in a borderline condescending tone.

Throughout the entire scene, he acts as if Aziraphale was trying his patience by unnecessarily delaying their departure and he's clearly desperate to lead Aziraphale out of the bookshop immediately.

I can't think of another reason for his behavior, for putting this fake time pressure on Aziraphale, other than the fact that for Metatron's plan to work Aziraphale cannot be allowed to just stop and think. If Aziraphale manages to gather his thoughts and calm down, the chances are very high that he will turn Metatron down and stay.

Because why would he go?

We clearly saw he wasn't interested in the offer until it was extended to Crowley. That was the hook. But now that Crowley had refused, what was the point of going again?

If you think it's illogical and far-fetched, I assure you it's a common trick used in real-life manipulations. If you want someone to do something they don't really need or want, just act as if it was already decided. Speak quickly, rush them into acting, and preferably trigger their emotions somehow, so that they aren't 100% rational.

Aziraphale right after his argument with Crowley was a perfect target for this strategy. He was very VERY emotional and incapable of thinking straight. Putting him under just a little external pressure was enough to make him go along with pretty much anything.

The question is how could Metatron know he would have Aziraphale in such a vulnerable state, to push him where he needed him?

The answer is, sadly, Crowley.

We all focus on how Metatron fooled Aziraphale, and rightly so. But it's time we start talking about how he played Crowley. Because play him he did, like a bloody fiddle.

In fact, Crowley did most of his work for him.

Metatron could get only so far in convincing Aziraphale Heaven is not that bad. But Crowley attacking Heaven AND simultaneously lashing at Aziraphale? That, unfortunately, was bound to push Aziraphale towards Heaven.

It's really a tragic irony that Aziraphale approached Crowley with the intention to only take Metatron's offer if Crowley took it too, but was left to take the offer because Crowley rejected it so vehemently.

Metatron could bank on Crolwey's and Aziraphale's interaction to turn into the communication disaster that it was for a very simple reason - he knew what the offer would do to Crowley, and he knew Aziraphale wouldn't be able to understand what was happening.

In short: Metatron knew what Crowley's triggers were, and Aziraphale didn't.

Add to that the fact that, in case you didn't notice, Crowley has some serious anger issues this season. The best (and one of the very few) takes on the topic I've seen so far is this post, originally by @weirdgirlcore, with insightful comments by @ineffable-aurelia. And during his outbursts, Crowley is NOT rational - which I've mentioned here.

Metatron knows this. He knows because even if he hadn't been paying attention earlier, Crowley's lightning fit was pretty conspicuous...

He knows Crowley is a ticking bomb right then and he knows how to set it off. He didn't need to know how exactly the shards would fly. He just needed to know the explosion would happen so that he could stroll into the crater afterward to wisk away the shell-shocked angel who had no mental capacity to resist.

So he does just that.

He enters the bookshop and pushes Aziraphale.

Continued in: Part 7: Finishing touches

[jedimandalorian]

Ahsoka- Notes on Episode 2 and Kiner’s musical score made by a Sabezra shipper. (You’ve been warned.)

Ahsoka hears voices. She seems to be hearing Sabine’s dream. Sabine is dreaming of Ezra once again. A fragmented rendition of Ezra’s theme can be heard very briefly along with the voices in the dream, but the music is mostly mysterious and unrelated to any other character’s theme.

Baylan & Shin at the stone circle. The end of this track reminds me of purrgil song. I didn’t see them until someone pointed them out in this screenshot.

Lothal tower. Ahsoka hears voices from the past (Sabine vs. Shin fight). Ahsoka’s theme (fragment). Flute plays during loth-cat’s appearance.

Ahsoka inside the tower scene: Music from the Clone Wars is heard. [Edit: It’s from Rebels.] A quiet quotation of Ezra’s Theme is played by the cello when his hologram is activated. Ahsoka destroys assassin droid.

Hospital scene with Sabine trying to recover the droid’s memory. “It’s now or never” is a line that Sabine says that was spoken by both Ezra and Sabine in Rebels. Hera’s Theme can be heard when she tells Sabine “You did good.”

Morgan arrives at the stone circle. Morgan opens the star map for Baylan & Shin. Mostly new musical material here. Thrawn’s theme is heard when Morgan mentions him. There is purrgil imagery in this scene and the first mention of the Eye of Sion. Sinister and mysterious music is used here with a big crescendo to end the scene.

Ahsoka arrives on Corellia. Incidental music here does not use familiar themes until Hera asks Ahsoka to teach Sabine again. The music here is based on Ahsoka’s Theme until Hera asks that question.

Sabine & Huyang and the lightsaber. Sabine says it is “Ezra’s lightsaber.” Huyang says it is hers now. No music during most of the conversation. Sabine says she does not have the talent “like Ezra.” We finally hear Sabine’s Theme when Huyang says “The only time you are wasting is your own.”

Hera & Ahsoka on Corellia. Incidental music doesn’t make use of familiar themes until we hear the first three notes of Ahsoka’s Theme when she leaps out of the window. Fight with Inquisitor and droid. Hera & Chopper in pursuit of stolen SSD hyperdrive. Action sequences have new incidental music.

Sabine returns to the tower. Sabine’s Theme is heard as she lays out her armor. After she cuts her hair the first two notes of Ezra’s Theme crescendo as the scene changes.

Hera, Chopper, & Ahsoka on Corellia. Ahsoka gets a holo from Sabine saying that she’s ready. This is new incidental music until Hera’s theme is heard as she watches Ahsoka’s ship leaving at the end of the scene.

Sabine at the mural. This is new music until Sabine walks toward Ahsoka. A subtle rendition of Ezra’s theme is heard here. From NLB’s acting and the music we know she’s going on this quest because of Ezra. ❤️

Ahsoka & Sabine depart. Segue to the Eye of Sion under construction. Morgan mentions Thrawn and his theme is quoted briefly under her dialogue. The other music used is new.

End credits music: Intro, Sabine’s Theme, Ahsoka’s Theme, Hera’s Theme, and a reprise of Ahsoka’s Theme.

When they find Ezra and Thrawn I hope we hear more of their themes used with the end credits. I loved how Kiner sometimes changed the end credits Music for Rebels to fit with the mood of the episode. I hope he will do that in this series too.

Bonus: a new arrangement of the End Titles Music.

[mayimkjs]

All of my DID Research for FOOL's MATE So Far

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CRITQUE THIS IF YOU ARE A SYSTEM! IF THERE'S ANYTHING YOU THINK I SHOULD ADD, PLEASE TELL ME IN ETHER THE COMMENTS, REBLOG THIS, DM ME OR THROUGH THE ANNONOMOUS FEEDBACK FORM.

Taken from the FOOL's MATE research doc

Introduction

Mikoto has Dissociative Identity Disorder. This means that he has multiple personalities/identities called “Alters”. DID is developed by repeated trauma typically before the age of 9 or 10 while one’s identity is not fully formed yet. In order to keep the host safe and functioning, the brain dissociates from those experiences and amnesia walls are put up. These walls interfere with the identity from fully integrating, and because of that, multiple identities are created. DID is the most severe form of PTSD.

Terminology

General

Alter: An individual “personality”. Alters are their own entities with their own consciousness, opinions and free will. They are each their own person, not a personality. They have their own names, genders, sexualities, ages or other identity traits. Alter is short for “Alternate Stare of Identity”.

System: The group of alters in one’s body. Sometimes, the system gives itself a name. For simplicity's sake, I will be calling Mikoto’s system the “Kayano System” or "Kayano Sys".

Inner World: A world that the mind has made for all the alters to live and communicate in. This is sometimes called “Headspace”.

Integration/Fusion: The act of 2 or more alters becoming one. This can happen randomly, when an alter is unneeded or from an alter coming to terms with or processing trauma. The new alter may change genders or names.

Split(ting): The formation of a new alter.

Switching / Fronting

Switch: The act of the alter who is in control of the body changing and switching to another. They can look slow, fast, immedient, very dissociated or many other things. They can also be intentional or unintentional. 

Front(ing): The alter who is in control of the body.

Co-Fronting: When multiple altars are in front at once. This can differ from system to system. 

Triggered Switch: These switches are not desired by any of the alters involved and occur when a stimulus has been registered that forces out an alter who can better handle it. 

Co-Conscious: When one alter is close enough to the front to know what’s going on in the outer world but isn’t in front. This is often called “Co-Con”.

Think of being able to tell what’s going on outside like a house. Someone is talking in a room and the closer you get to them (front), the more you can hear.

Roles

Host: The alter who is in front the most and handles day-to-day activities. This is seen as the main alter. These are not necessarily the “original” alter. However, it’s very common for the host to be the alter that has been around for the longest. Co-Hosts can also exist.

Protector: The alter who’s job is to protect the system from more harm whether it be physical, mental or emotional. There are many possible types of protectors like personal, primary, sexual, physical, spiritual, emotional and more. Protectors can slightly manipulate who is in front. 

Gatekeeper: The alter who is essentially like the administrator for the system. They can choose who fronts and manages/has access to all the memories in the system. They help the system stay organized and make sure nobody is remembering trauma they can't handle. 

Caretaker: They take care of and comfort the system or body. 

Fragment: An alter that is not fully differentiated or developed. They may exist to carry out a single function, to hold a single memory or to represent a single idea. It’s possible for fragments to develop into more elaborate alters if the need arises or with further use.

Types

Trauma Holder: An alter who holds trama. 

Non-Human: Sometimes, alters may appear as something other than human.

Introject: An alter who is based on a real person. The amount that they are based on someone can vary.

Fictive: An introject of a fictional character.

Little: A child alter. They stopped developing during the initial trauma or they extant to retain a type of childhood that the system was unable to experience. 

Others

Dissociative Amnesia: Not necessarily a DID thing and is really only a symptom. This is caused by someone unconsciously repressing traumatic or stressful memories as a coping mechanism. 

Singlet: Someone who doesn't have DID.

ANPs: Apparently Normal Parts have little knowledge of trauma. They are the rational, present-oriented and grounded parts of the system that handle daily life. 

EPs: Emotional Parts have awareness of trauma. They are the parts that represent dissociation and are often drawn to the front by reminders of trauma and may not experience much of everyday life.

Notes

Physical reflexes can differ between alters.

The debated average number of alters in a system is around 10-20 but you only need at least 2 alters to have DID.

Switching can also cause headaches and migraines. 

DID is the most extreme form of PTSD.

PTSD > CPTSD > DID

Medication cannot help DID it’s self. It can only manage symptoms such as anxiety or depression. 

Some alters may be neither apparently normal nor emotional parts but a combination of both.

Stress alone or in combination with genetics is not enough to cause PTSD. 

Misconceptions

What it is & How it’s formed

Someone can develop this but not have any symptoms until they are older. That is likely the case with Mikoto. 

Not all alters have trauma. 

DID isn’t always formed from abuse but it’s the most common way it’s formed. It’s not linked to a certain type of abuse. 

It’s not a personality disorder. It’s a trauma disorder. 

What are people with DID like?

People with DID can do anything someone without it can. 

Not all systems or alters are dangerous. 

Alter Relationships

Alters can be in any type of relationship. 

It's not always fun to have multiple people in your head. It's like a roommate you can't escape. 

All alters are responsible for each other’s actions. 

Alters can get into arguments and have their own opinions of other alters.

Kayano System

Roles

Mikoto: Host

John: Protector (ex-fragment)

Midokoto: Gatekeeper

Notes

They’re communication is horrible, if not non existent.

[morri-draws]

Gwaine x Reader - 'The Threads That Bind Us' - Chapter 6

Story Summary:

You, a humble dressmaker from Camelot’s lower town, are commissioned to make a new gown for Queen Guinevere. Impressed by your skills, she offers you the position of Royal Clothier. During your time in the castle, you catch the eye of one of the knights of King Arthur’s inner circle, Sir Gwaine. What starts as a sweet courtship is turned upside down when misfortune strikes and you must deal with the aftermath, as well as an unwelcome visit from Gwaine’s unpleasant sister.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Female Reader/Gwaine, set between seasons 4 and 5, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Words: 4,042

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 2 | Read Chapter 3

Read Chapter 4 | Read Chapter 5

Read on Ao3

The king smiles from the courtyard steps, ready to greet his queen, but when the party, or what remains of it, comes into view, his expression darkens in an instant. The party is but a fragment of what had left days ago.

He rushes down the steps, taking two at a time, to meet his love, helping her dismount. She falls into his arms.

“We were attacked by bandits,” She says, her voice wavering with emotion. “They took (Y/N),”

Gwen sobs into Arthur’s shoulder, before pulling back.

“You have to save her, Arthur, we have to help her,” Tears fall down her cheeks. “She’s my friend,”

“We will, Guinevere,” He rests his finger under her chin, gently lifting her face so her gaze meets his. “I promise you, we will bring her home,”

He looks behind his queen, meeting the gaze of his most senior knight. Gently asking Gwen to go inside, he gestures for Sir Leon to approach.

“The others have just finished training,” The king says. “They should still be in the armoury. Tell them to gear up, we’re heading out,”

“Right away, sire,”

~

Sir Leon rushes to the armoury at his king’s command, where he does indeed find the other knights of the inner circle packing up their gear. Sirs Gwaine, Percival and Elyan’s conversation ceases as they look up upon hearing his approach.

“There’s no time for rest, gear up and be ready to head out within the half hour,” Sir Leon says.

“What’s happened?” Sir Elyan steps forward. “Is it Gwen?”

“No, she’s made it back safely, but we were attacked by bandits. They took (Y/N),”

“What?” Gwaine pushes past Elyan, coming face to face with Leon. “How did this happen? Why didn’t you save her?” His voice rises, wide eyes searching Leon’s.

“I couldn’t save both (Y/N) and the queen,” Leon replies.

“You could have,” Gwaine growls, grasping Leon by the collar. “If you really cared, you would have found a way,”

“It is not a question of caring, Gwaine. We were outnumbered. My first duty was to my queen,”

“I should have been there,” Gwaine shakes Leon. “I should have been the one to go. Her worth should not have been thought as lesser, she should not have been sacrificed,”

“That’s not how it was,” Leon starts, but Gwaine raises a fist, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

“Stop!” Percival’s voice booms as his hands pull the two knights apart. “The longer we spend arguing, the further (Y/N) slips from our reach,” He looks between his two friends. “Put the accusations aside, Gwaine, and get ready to head out,”

Gwaine looks to Percival for a moment, before giving a curt nod. Percival releases Gwaine from his grip and heads to the armour rack. Gwaine shoots Leon a glare before doing the same.

“We’ll bring her home,” Elyan places a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.

~

You’re jolted awake by a sharp poke to the ribs, and ordered to get up and eat some breakfast, as the camp is being packed up, ready to move on.

You and the men move out on foot except for the bandit leader, who rides one of the horses, the others being used to carry supplies and loot.

You walk all day, your mind in a daze, as if you’re phasing in and out of existence, the pain in your feet the only thing dragging you back to reality. You catch part of a conversation two of the men are having, overhearing them mention that the party has now crossed the border into Odin’s kingdom. Any small hope you have carried of being saved leaves you. No matter how pure King Arthur’s heart, it would be foolish to risk crossing the border to save an employee.

Any thoughts of rescue now banished from your mind, you wonder what’s in store for you. The only hope you cling to now is that you will be purchased for a lady, perhaps to be a maidservant. That mightn’t be so bad, if she isn’t cruel to you.

When the sun is low in the sky, the bandits make camp again. The night is much the same as the last, with the occasional jeers and gestures from the men, but they stay true to their leader’s wishes: they do not touch you. In fact, they keep their distance, as if an invisible barrier surrounds you. But any feeling of safety that might bring is overshadowed by the uncertainty of your future. When you go to bed, your broken sleep is accompanied by restless dreams fuelled by your fear.

~

Already awake when the men rise for the day, a sharp poke isn’t needed to rouse you this time. You get up and have breakfast, returning your bowl to the pile once you’ve finished eating. When you turn around, you notice figures emerge from the trees. Your first thought being that they are more bandits, perhaps ones from a different clan, you back away and head for the horses, crouching beside them.

“Merlin, get (Y/N) to safety!”

You whirl around at the mention of your name and find King Arthur of Camelot, dressed very unlike himself, in a blue tunic and brown leather vest. The blue tunic which you made.

Within moments, Merlin is at your side.

“Are you hurt?” He asks, his eyes searching you frantically.

You shake your head and take his arm when he offers it, letting him help you to stand. Once you’re steady, you glance up, eyes widening as you spot two bandits heading straight for you. Merlin turns, following your gaze, before murmuring in your ear.

“Run for the trees,”

You do as he says, finding a particularly wide tree to hide behind, when you hear a shout. Peering around the bough, you spot the two bandits, now flat on their backs by the campfire, clothing aflame, and Merlin, sprinting your way. He takes your hand and guides you away from the camp and behind another tree.

“Stay here, out of sight,” He pants.

“Please don’t leave me,”

“I need to help back there. Stay here and you’ll be safe,”

You nod reluctantly and Merlin runs back the way he came.

You pull your knees against your chest so your form remains as small as possible, the tree’s uneven surface pressing into your back. You attempt to steady your breathing, which proves difficult with the sounds of battle thumping in your ears. You hate not knowing what’s going on, which side is besting the other, so you lean out slightly to take a peek.

Your eyes scan the camp-turned-battlefield, spotting Sir Leon, Sir Elyan and Sir Percival. You continue, noticing a bandit not engaged, his gait stealthy, as he approaches a knight clashing with another bandit.

“Gwaine!” You shout as loud as you can.

Sir Gwaine’s gaze leaves his opponent and finds you, pointing to his yet unseen attacker. Gwaine whirls around and raises his sword just in time to block the incoming blow before thrusting his blade into the stealthy bandit’s chest. Pulling the blade free, he spins around, continuing his battle with his original opponent.

You exhale with relief, the thought of what might have happened unbearable, and return to your position behind the tree, meaning to keep watch in case of another dishonourable attack, when a lumbering figure comes into view. The bandit leader’s hulking form limps toward you, his face set in a scowl. He brings his fingers to his mouth, whistling loudly. The sound of pounding hooves approaches, a horse coming into view, stopping some feet away from the bandit leader, waiting for its master. The bandit reaches for you, yanking your arm so hard that you fall to your knees.

“Let her go!”

You hear a shout from the camp and look up to see King Arthur, a crossbow trained on your attacker. The bandit’s large hand still grasping your arm, he pulls you up, snaking his arm around your neck, your back pressed against him. He takes small steps towards his horse, your feet dragging with him, as he uses you as a human shield.

“If you put her on that horse, you’re a dead man,” The king shouts from his position, edging closer.

Your captor stops in his tracks. You feel him moving behind you, his other arm fumbling for something.

“And if I let the woman go, you’ll allow me to walk free?” The bandit bellows from behind your head, making your ears ring.

“That’s right,” The king says.

Gwaine steps up beside Arthur, speaking quietly in the king’s ear. The king responds in the same inaudible tone.

“If you’re planning to trick me, the wench dies,”

Your stomach drops. “Please don’t kill me,” You beg. “That is King Arthur Pendragon. He is an honourable man. He will keep his word,”

He grunts, before shouting to the camp again. “I let her go, and I get on my horse and ride away,”

“That’s right,” The king replies.

The bandit removes his arm from around your neck, bringing a moment of relief, until you feel a pull against your scalp as he tugs on your braided hair.

“I won’t be left with nothing,” He murmurs in your ear.

Your head lurches forward as the pressure on your scalp suddenly dissipates. While at first you think he’s simply let go of you, your head feels unusually light. Horror dawns on you as you reach a hand around the back of your head, feeling the hacked ends of your hair. You turn to your captor, spotting the glint of a knife as he returns it to his belt, and in the other hand, a bundle of hair, your hair. A guttural scream escapes you as your knees buckle. The bandit mounts his horse and urges it to run, just as a crossbow bolt buries into his leg. He cries out but the horse keeps its pace and is soon out of view.

Merlin rushes forward, skidding along the ground to kneel beside you.

“I’m so sorry. I lost sight of him,”

You glance up at the sound of crunching leaves, spotting Gwaine jogging toward you, crossbow in hand. You hastily pull up the hood of your cloak as he crouches down in front of you.

“Are you hurt?”

His eyes flit about, searching you all over. You want to curl up and hide under your cloak, but since you cannot, you simply shake your head. He stands and extends an arm to you. You reach up to take it and he helps you to stand, staying by your side as he leads you through the camp, Merlin following behind, when you spot the stolen saddlebags.

“Those are the silks we got from the market,” You say. “They stole them too,”

Gwaine shoots a look at Merlin, who steps forward and picks up the bags, swinging them over his shoulders.

You make it to the horses and Gwaine takes you to his, positioning himself to give you a leg-up.

“Gwaine,” The king calls out. “(Y/N) can ride with Merlin. I need you to be ready to fight if the need arises. Who knows if those bandits have more friends hiding in the woods,”

Gwaine frowns and takes you to a different horse, where Merlin is checking over the tack.

“You hear that, Merlin?” Gwaine asks his friend.

Merlin nods. “I’ll look after her,”

Gwaine gives you a pained look before returning to his own horse. Merlin helps you to mount his before climbing on himself. You hold onto the back of his jacket as the party starts to ride, your head resting against his back as fatigue washes over you.

~

When the sky darkens, the party stops to make camp. You sit upon the fallen leaves on the ground as Merlin builds a fire and prepares a meal, while the knights tend to their horses.

You stare into the flickering flames, just as you did the last two nights with the bandit camp. You should feel relief at being rescued, to be away from those foul men, but you seem to have no feelings at all.

“Here,” You’re jolted from your stupor by Gwaine passing you a bowl of stew. “First serve from the pot,”

You take the stew and allow its scent to fill your nostrils. It seems Merlin is a better cook than the bandits. Gwaine gets a serve for himself and sits next to you as you slip the spoon into your mouth, the stew slightly too hot against your tongue.

“The bandits,” Gwaine says quietly from beside you. “Did they give you anything to eat? I can get you a bigger helping,”

You swallow your mouthful and clear your throat. “They fed me,”

Gwaine nods, taking the first spoonful from his own bowl. You continue eating, noticing from the corner of your eye that Gwaine keeps glancing your way. You wish he wouldn’t, and consider turning away. For the past couple of days, you’ve been watched at all times, even when you needed to answer a call of nature, you were escorted and watched, your skirt offering the only privacy. It matters not that you are now watched out of care and concern. You wish more than anything that you couldn’t be seen.

You finish your stew and place the bowl beside you.

“I’m tired,” You say as you stand.

“I’ll fetch you a bedroll,” Gwaine says as he gets up as well.

You stay standing by the fire as he does so. You don’t expect to get much sleep, but feel that if you are believed to be sleeping, then people will stop looking at you, questions and pity in their eyes.

Gwaine returns with a bedroll and offers to set it up for you, but you decline and take it from him, finding a spot between the horses and a tree. There won’t be room for anyone to set up a bedroll next to yours, which is what you want.

~

The party sets out the next morning, you riding with Merlin again. After a few hours on the road, the party arrives back in Camelot. Once you’ve reached the citadel’s courtyard, the horses slow and come to a stop. Merlin dismounts before helping you to do so. You hear your name called out and look up to find Gwen running toward you. She embraces you, holding you tight as her head rests on your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N), I’m so sorry,”

While you’re startled at first, you sink into her embrace, wrapping your own arms around her. After a few moments, she pulls back.

“We must have Gaius check over you,”

While all you want to do right now is disappear in your chambers, the look in Gwen’s eyes makes you give in. She threads her arm through yours and leads you into the castle. You turn your head at the sound of rushed footsteps behind to see Merlin and Gwaine following.

Once you reach Gaius’ chamber’s, he beckons you inside and leads you to sit on the edge of his bed.

“Did the bandits hurt you in any way?” He asks, his voice gentle.

You shake your head. Hearing a shuffle from your left, you look over to see Gwaine and Merlin standing nearby, watching you. Gaius follows your gaze and sighs quietly.

“Gwaine, Merlin, please give us some privacy,”

You glance at them guiltily, but are relieved when they do as Gaius says, closing the door behind them.

“Do you want me to go?” Gwen asks from beside you. “I won’t be offended,”

“No,” You reach for her hand. “Please, stay,”

She gives your hand a gentle squeeze in response.

“Now that you don’t have an audience, I shall ask again: were you hurt in any way?” Gaius asks.

You swallow. “No… their leader told his men,” You cough to clear your throat, which has begun to swell, impairing your voice. “He told them not to touch me because… I’d be worth more unspoiled,”

Your voice breaks on the last syllable. Gwen puts her arm around you, holding you close.

“Worth more?” Gaius says. “Do you mean to say they were intending to sell you into slavery?”

You nod shakily. “He said that every part of me was worth something. I suppose that’s why, before he escaped, he did this,”

You pull down your hood, revealing your hacked hair. Gwen gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth in shock.

“I am sorry this has happened to you,” Gaius says. “The only consolation I can give is that your hair will grow back in time,”

“How much time? How can I be seen like this?”

Gwen leans her head against yours. “We’ll work something out together,”

Gaius walks over to a shelf and plucks a small bottle from it, which he brings back and offers to you.

“A tincture to help you sleep. Take three drops when you go to bed. All I can prescribe is rest,” He looks to Gwen. “Please take (Y/N) to her chambers,”

Gwen nods and helps you to stand, before leading you out the door. Gwaine and Merlin are standing outside in the corridor. You turn your face away to hide the evidence of any emotion as you pass by them.

When you arrive in your chambers, you notice two neat piles of cloth have been placed on your worktable – the fabrics from the market. Apart from that, your chambers look just as they did when you left them, but you don’t feel comfortable as you should in your home.

“I can’t rest,” You say. “I feel… dirty… and I can still feel where that man’s arm was, as if he is still restraining me,”

Gwen gives you a sympathetic look. “Do you have a tub?” She asks.

You nod. “It’s in the bedroom,”

Gwen enters your room and returns a few moments later, rolling the round bathtub along the floor, before setting it down in front of the fire. Looking about the room, she spots the large pail of water in the corner and finds two pots, which she takes to the pail and fills, returning them to the fireplace.

“If you can get a fire going and start heating the water, I’ll have some more fetched for you,” Gwen says.

“You needn’t go to the trouble,”

“Please,” Gwen says firmly. “Let me do this,”

She strides across the room and opens the door, looking back at you before she leaves. “Don’t forget the fire,”

You nod and turn your attention to the grate, where you begin to assemble firewood and kindling.

By the time Gwen returns, the pots of water are hanging above the fire, beginning to simmer.

“Some servants will be by soon to bring the water,” She says. “How about you go up to your room and get undressed?”

You do as she says and enter your room, finally removing your cloak and stripping down to just your shift, before heading over to the basin stand. You hold your breath as you peer into the mirror to see your reflection for the first time in days. The hacked ends of your hair are uneven, wisps of longer hairs poking out between the shorter parts.

You hear Gwen’s voice as she presumably lets the servants inside, since you hear the sounds of several footsteps and splashing water. After the noise dies down, there’s a knock at your bedchamber door.

“The servants just left,” Gwen says. “Everything is ready for you,”

You descend from your room to find the bathtub full of steaming water and your dressing screen positioned next to it for privacy.

“Thank you so much, Gwen,” You dip a finger into the water. “It feels wrong to have the queen doing this for me,”

“Do not think of me as the queen,” Gwen replies. “But as your friend who wants to help you in any way she can,”

You smile, hoping she understands how much all this means to you in a time you cannot express it in words. Stepping behind the screen, you remove your shift and step into the bath, lowering your body into the water until just your head and neck remain unsubmerged. To your left you find your small table with soaps set atop it. You wash yourself, each stroke cleansing away some of unpleasantness of the last few days, making you feel a little more like yourself. You wash your face and lastly your hair.

You sigh. “What am I going to do about my hair? I can’t have anyone see me like this,”

“You could wrap it, or wear a cap or veil?” Gwen suggests from the other side of the screen.

“I suppose those are my options now. I’ll put something together tomorrow,”

“Would you like me to tidy it up, at least? So when it grows, it will be even?” Gwen offers.

“Yes, thank you Gwen. My scissors are on my workbench by the window, and I have a hairbrush in my room beside the basin,”

You hear a chair scrape back as Gwen goes to retrieve them.

“May I come in?” She asks when she returns.

“You may,”

Gwen steps around the screen and into view, scissors and brush in one hand and chair in the other. She places the chair behind you and sits down, beginning to brush your hair gently. You close your eyes, relaxing at her delicate touch, the gentlest you’ve been handled in days.

“I’m going to begin cutting, just taking off enough so that it’s nice and even, alright?”

“Go ahead,”

Gwen’s fingers brush against your neck as she takes the first section of hair and you hear the scissors snip, the cold metal gliding against your warm skin. She brushes through your hair again and snips a couple more times.

“There,” Gwen says, placing the scissors down on the small table.

You jolt at the sound of knocking at your chamber door.

“That’s probably Gwaine come to check on you,” Gwen says, standing up. “Shall I tell him to come back later?”

“No, tell him I’m resting,”

Gwen nods and disappears behind the screen. You hear her footsteps reach the door and it unlatching. You listen to murmured words, but can’t make them out, however you do recognise the visitor’s voice as Gwaine’s. A pang shoots through your heart, thinking of how if it were another time, where none of these terrible things happened, you’d be overjoyed to see him.

Gwen returns, standing at the edge of the screen.

“It was Gwaine. He wanted to know how you were doing and asked if he could see you. I told him you were resting, like you said,”

You hang your head. “I just can’t bear to see him again today,”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Gwen says gently.

“The water’s starting to get cold,” You say. “I suppose I should get out,”

Gwen removes the towel that’s hanging on the dressing screen and brings it beside the bath, spreading it out to give you privacy. You stand, water drops streaming down your skin, and step out of the bath. Gwen drapes the towel over you and steps behind the screen again. You dry yourself and head to your room, where a clean shift and robe are waiting for you, and you put them on. When you step back in the main chamber, Gwen is standing by the dining table, a plate of food in front of her.

“I had a meal brought up from the palace kitchens. I was going to whip something up but you don’t have much in,”

“Gwen,” You stride toward her, pulling her into an embrace. “I don’t know how I can ever properly thank you for your kindness. It means more to me than words can describe,”

“Don’t worry about that,” Gwen smiles. “It’s what friends do,”

She gestures for you to sit. When you do, she places cutlery next to your plate.

“Now, eat and get some rest,”

Gwen bids you good day and leaves your chambers. You finish your meal and following her instruction, return to your bedroom, draw the curtain and climb into bed.

[the-broken-truth]

Shattered Fragments [2] - [Papa Crewel] [Big Brother Sam] [Enma Yuuken/Male Yuu]

Summary: Yuuken's recovery has been progressing slowly and steadily, and only Crewel and Sam have been allowed to visit him since Crewel prohibited the Nurse from allowing anyone else to see him. Today is the day before Yuuken is discharged, and Crewel plans to teach his son a lesson about who he should and should not associate with, using a teacher-style approach.

[The Infirmary: Yuuken's Section]

Yuuken watched his father set up a tall silver stand before placing a long vertical magnetic board on the stand, grabbing it by the closest edge and giving it a light shake to make sure that the board was stable before he reached into his bag once again and started sticking things on the surface of the board. Yuuken looked back at his plate sitting on the serving table Sam brought him and lifted his fork to pick up another piece of pancake and brought it to his mouth and chewed it the moment the soft breakfast bread hit his tongue; using his other hand, he got a piece of bacon and handed it to Grim who was sitting beside him at the head of the bed.

It had been a week since Yuuken's accident, and he was recovering surprisingly quickly, which was unusual for a human without magical abilities. His father and older brother forbade him from doing his normal training routine, fearing that he might reopen any wounds or fragment any weakened bones. Instead, Yuuken spent most of his time doing light exercises to keep himself busy and to keep his blood flowing. Only Crewel and Sam were allowed to visit him. One day, the headmaster entered his room and tried to get him to do some paperwork, which Yuuken found confusing. However, before the headmaster could explain it to him, Crewel burst into the room and threw the headmaster out, telling Yuuken not to interact with him. Yuuken was still shocked by what happened and could only nod in agreement.

After Yuuken finished his breakfast, Sam took the empty place and serving tray off of Yuuken's Lap before handing him a glass of water, which the younger male drank before handing the glass back to his smiling older brother. Sam placed the used dishes on the nightstand beside the bed before folding his arms and both of them looked in Crewel's Direction when the sound of his pointer hit the surface of the board.

The magnetic board was covered in name tags and pictures; those names made the back of Yuuken's Brain itch, just as those pictures did. The people in those pictures seemed familiar to him but he couldn't give them names to their faces; it made him rather upset that he seemed to have forgotten people that appeared to be important to him. Yuuken looked rather upset before Crewel tapped the board again with his pointer stick to get his son's attention.

"The nurse informed your brother and I that you will be discharged tomorrow morning, and you will be able to go to your classes. Your memory is slowly returning, but you seem to have trouble remembering a few things, such as the people on the board. As your father, it is my responsibility to help you remember and understand your relationships with these people before your accident, as well as the new relationships you will have with them now that you are getting better. Please listen carefully, and save your questions until the end, okay, Puppy?" Crewel said.

"Yes, Father." Yuuken nodded.

"Father is too formal right now. Whenever we are not in class or in a professional setting, I would like it if you called me 'Papa'." Crewel requested.

"Okay, Papa." Yuukened said, causing Crewel to smile before he cleared his throat, turned back to the board, and tapped the surface with the tip of his pointer; Yuuken was in full student mode.

"Night Raven College consists of seven dormitories, and if we include Ramshackle, the dorm you are in charge of, then it makes it eight. Each of these dorms is inspired by one of the Great Seven - The Seven Entities that are worshipped in Twisted Wonderland. The names of these dorms are Heartslabyul, which is ruled by the Queen of Hearts. Savanaclaw, which is ruled by the King of Beasts. Octavinelle, which is ruled by the Sea Witch. Scarabia, which is ruled by the Sorcerer of the Sands. Pomefiore, which is ruled by the Fairest Queen. Ignihyde, which is ruled by the King of the Underworld. And Diasomnia, which is ruled by the Thorn Fairy. I hope you're following along, Puppy!" Crewel asked Yuuken, who nodded remembering to keep his questions for the end. Crewel smiled at this and turned back to the board.

"Each dorm in the facility has a Dorm Warden who is responsible for managing it. Additionally, there is a Vice Dorm Warden who assists the Dorm Warden in their duties. Therefore, each dorm has a Dorm Warden and a Vice Dorm Warden. You are associated with all of these dorms, their wardens, and their vice dorm wardens because you have been providing regular assistance to them. Furthermore, you helped them when their Dorm Wardens and the Vice Dorm Warden of Scarabia made errors that led to some serious damage in the form of their Overblot Episodes." Crewel said.

Upon seeing the confusion on Yuuken's Face, Sam decided to speak his piece, "Overblotting is when someone loses control of their magic or their magic is influenced by negative emotions. It sends people into a crazed state and they enter a new powerful form called Overblot State; while they are stronger, they don't use logic and attack anyone who goes against them. You defeated every single Overblot that popped up here and gained the respect of everyone at Night Raven.".

Yuuken nodded and turned his attention back to Crewel, who continued his presentation.

"Now, we shall start with Heartslabyul." Crewel said as he placed his pointer on the picture of a red-haired boy with a crown on his head under the Heartslabyul Section.

"Dorm Leader of Heartslabyul, Riddle Rosehearts, who is responsible for enforcing the 810 Rules of the Queen of Hearts' Court in Heartslabyul. He works with Trey Clover, his Vice Dorm Warden and Childhood Friend. While Riddle is a dedicated student who follows all the rules, he has a short temper and tends to use his Unique Magic on those who upset him, particularly Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade. They are known as Heartslabyul's Rule-Breakers, and Riddle is always catching them for breaking the Queen of Hearts' Rules. There is also Cater Diamond, who is obsessed with MagiCam. However, if you value your friendship with him and maintain your studies, I will allow you to continue these friendships." Crewel finished his presentation about the Heartslabyul Students Yuuken was involved with before moving his pointer to the next session: Savanaclaw.

"Savanaclaw is mainly composed of Beastmen under the Leadership of Leona Kingscholar, Dorm Warden & Second Prince of the Sunset Savannah; you are associated with him, his Vice Dorm Warden - Ruggie Bucchi, and a fellow first-year, Jack Howl. Out of all of them, Jack Howl is the only one I approve of; Kingscholar is far too lazy and disrespectful while Bucchi is always following Kingscholar's Orders. You are not to associate with Kingscholar any longer - he is one of the responsible parties that placed you in this situation. Understood?" Crewel asked.

"Yes, Papa." Yuuken nodded as his father moved on to Octavinelle.

"Azul Ashengrotto is the Dorm Warden of Octavinelle and owner of the Mostro Lounge, a cafe located on campus. He is known to associate with the Leech Twins, Jade and Floyd. Jade is the Vice Dorm Warden and is considered to be the more responsible of the two. It is advised that you avoid all three of them unless you have been tasked by me or the Headmaster to visit their dorm or the Mostro Lounge. While the lounge is known to have good food, you are only permitted to visit for a treat every now and then. Under no circumstances should you befriend any of them, and please ensure that Floyd Leech does not hug you. The most important thing to remember is this: Never sign a contract with Azul Ashengrotto! If you need something, come to me or your brother and we shall get you whatever you need. Don't make deals with him. Ever." Crewel snared before moving along.

"Kalim Al-Asim is the Dorm Warden of Scarabia, but he doesn't take his role seriously. He is more interested in throwing extravagant parties, and as a result, most of the dorm's responsibilities fall on the shoulders of the Vice Dorm Warden, Jamil Viper. Viper is a brilliant mind and has many talents, but he can be as sneaky as his namesake. His Unique Magic is extremely dangerous, and if you see a red shine in his eyes, it's best to close your eyes and turn away from him. Don't make eye contact with him when his eyes are red." Crewel explained.

"Don't worry, Crewel, I have a way to warn my brother if Viper tries to Snake Whisper him. I'll take care of it when you are done." Sam said.

"Good." Crewel said before looking back at his board, "Pomefiore is controlled by Vil Schoenheit as Dorm Warden & Rook Hunt as Vice Dorm Warden. Schoenheit is obsessed with all things beautiful and that includes you, Yuuken; if only could remember just how he attempted to abduct you when you dressed up for an event, it would be hard to get you back. Rook Hunt is a skilled hunter and he loves beautiful things as well; he calls Vil 'Roi de Posion' and tends to call you 'Trickster'. There is always Epel Felmier and I have no real issue with him or the other two I have spoken about. Feel free to remain friends with them if you so choose, just don't allow Vil to abduct you again." Crewel moved on.

"Ignihyde's Dorm is managed by two individuals: Idia Shroud, who is the Dorm Warden, and his younger brother Ortho Shroud. Idia is not very fond of socializing, and as a result, he spends most of his time in his room. He uses his tablet device to communicate with others, so if you happen to spot a floating tablet around the campus, there is no need to be alarmed. You and the Shroud Brothers share a good relationship, and you even have game nights with Idia every Saturday." Crewel said before moving to the last dorm.

"We have finally arrived at Diasomnia Dorm, which is led by Malleus Draconia as the Dorm Warden and Lilia Vanrouge as the Vice Dorm Warden. Sebek Zigvolt and Silver are also part of the dorm. As I mentioned earlier about Leona Kingscholar, you are strictly prohibited from speaking or interacting with Malleus Draconia, as he is one of the individuals responsible for your accident. He has a habit of lurking around Ramshackle during late hours and engaging in conversations with you, but you must avoid him at all costs. Keep in mind that Sebek Zigvolt is very protective of Malleus, and he may get angry with you for refusing to interact with Malleus. Therefore, it's best to avoid Sebek as well. Silver, on the other hand, tends to sleep a lot and doesn't involve himself in matters that don't concern him, so there's no need to worry about him. As for Lilia, the only thing you should be cautious about is his cooking. It's better not to consume anything he makes." Crewel turned to Yuuken before slamming his pointer into the palm of his free gloved hand, "Understand all of that, Pup?"

"Yes, Papa. I understand." Yuuken said with a smile.

"Good. Now, I need you to stand up and take off your shirt and pants for me, Pup; I need to get your measurements for your new wardrobe." Crewel said as he snapped his fingers and Sam reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out some measuring tape, and tossed it to Crewel who caught it flawlessly.

Yuuken threw the blanket off his body and stood up before removing his shirt and pants, leaving him in his boxers. Crewel began to take measurements of his height, wingspan, waist, and everything else he needed while calling out the measurements to Sam, who wrote them all down on a notepad with his magic pen. Once everything was done, Yuuken put his clothes back on and started doing his exercises while Sam and Crewel were talking about something before Crewel left the room with the measurements in his hand.

[END]

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

Fragments of Eros (Part 5)

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Adult

The last of the embers turned to ash, and something brushed her hand. She let out a small cry at the brief touch, the anticipation of claws or teeth that followed. But none did.

Only the feel of a warm circlet of gold slipped around her ring finger by human hands. The sound of a man’s voice, gentle, and not a beast’s.

“With this ring, I thee wed.”

A Cupid and Psyche/(Beauty and the Beast) AU, inspired by and encouraged by schokoleibniz.

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

Chapter 5: The Athenaeum

By the time she reached the castle’s inner yard, Jane realized there was nowhere for her to run. The doors were all barred to her, the walls far too high. She was without her shoes and still dressed in her bedclothes. She thought only to hide, and hoped that the creature she left in her room wouldn’t come for her. 

With every possible shelter taken by their new guests, Jane found herself again climbing the apple tree she had found before, hiding herself among the darkened leaves there. 

It didn’t take long for Jane to notice she was not alone atop the branch. A speckled hawk sat at her side, only barely visible under the new moon. Jane nearly smiled at so easily recognizing the strange form of her old friend, but her feelings were conflicted. 

“You knew,” Jane accused.

And then it was Susannah, the woman, at her side.

“Aye, but it’s not as bad as all that. He only looks frightening,” her friend assured.

“There was blood,” Jane began.

“There’s always blood, even if he were to only eat apples all day and takes no meat.”

“Where does it come from, then?”

Jane’s mind pondered over yet another mystery.

“We were hoping you might figure that out - but that’s telling too much. He’s supposed to be the one to ask you.”

“Ask me what?” 

Susannah merely tapped the side of her nose. “I think it’s time you talk to him.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Jane frowned. She wasn’t about to go back there. 

“Because he’s your husband,” Susannah laughed. “You just spent the past two days searching the whole bloody castle for him.”

“But I didn’t know then,” she started.

“You did know though, Jane. You knew all along he was one of us.” 

Jane felt her friend’s disappointment in her words. Jane had professed to all of England that the beasts were not to be feared but to be seen as equals. And now here she was running away at her first encounter with one that hadn’t been so charming in appearance. It was easy not to fear a bird or a rabbit, and even the wolves and bears among them seemed so docile as to be mistaken for housepets. Her husband had a far more fearsome visage. 

But he had not hurt her. Perhaps it was only her surprise - and his own - that had made him seem so fearsome in the candlelight? If she returned, he might appear more as he truly was.

She nodded at the wisdom of friend’s words, and made her descent from the branches. Susannah was right, she and Guildford needed to talk. He might even finally give her the answers she sought, if he was not too angry at her for tricking him.

“Do you think he’ll forgive me?” She asked her old friend, still so gracefully perched on the branch above, though in human form.

“He had better,” she grinned. “I warned him that eventually your curiosity would get the best of you both.”

And with that she was a hawk once more, flying back to her own lover who awaited her.

Lady Jane gathered back her courage as she ascended the familiar staircase back to her room. She convinced herself that Guildford’s beast could not be so horrible as she remembered it - it had merely been the dark night and the surprise of his metamorphosis that had caused it to take on such a menacing aspect. Lost in such thoughts she found herself back at her own door before she had quite fully prepared herself. 

She knocked tentatively.

“Jane?” Came the familiar voice of her husband. “You must shut your eyes before you come in.”

“No,” she refused. “I wish to see you as you truly are.”

“I am many things, but the beast is not my true self. You may see it if you wish to but you must not get too close.”

“Susannah told me I was in no danger.” What was the truth?

“And you won’t be - if you can temper your natural curiosity, as difficult as that might be for you.” 

His teasing tone relaxed her greatly. This was the man she felt she had known.

He repeated his warning, however. “Stay out from underfoot, and remember that its teeth can be sharp.”

Jane puzzled at Guildford referring to the beast as something other than himself - so unlike their other friends - but cast her agreement through the door all the same.

“Then, if you are certain.” He invited her in.

She entered the room slowly, remembering his words, though she anticipated finding his beastly form far less frightening at this second meeting.

It was not to be so. The light of the reawakened fire had in no way diminished the horrifying aspect of his transformation. The beast was still nearly at the height of the ceiling, and it was a wonder he had not crushed their bed under the weight of his hooves - the wooden chair that once sat in the corner had not itself escaped such a fate. Though he held steady as possible, the beast still moved in such a way it was clear he would never be fully reigned in. The eyes were just as fiery as she recalled, and the teeth as sharp and bloodstained, its breath smelling of ash and death. The coal dark body and rough mane of the beast in no way invited her to reach out to it, so it was no hard task indeed to obey her lover’s warning. It was clear this was no ordinary beast - something unnatural such as not even Archer’s gigantic bear shape had been. 

Jane nearly trembled at the sight, but held herself still in its presence. She had asked to see this, and she wouldn’t back down now - even though it still frightened her in some deeper part of herself that she could not control. She wished she still had his voice here with her, to answer her doubts and set her at ease, even with his jesting. She could imagine no better anodyne to this moment than his mockery.

Guildford had told her that if she were to look at him, that he would disappear - she realized now he meant that the man she knew would go away. He had apparently been telling the truth in this. Though now she wondered if the opposite was true.

She shut her eyes. There was a strange noise, the slight feeling of air rushing past her bared limbs. The warmth from the fire blew out towards her and the horrible scent of death disappeared. And then she heard his voice.

“Was I really so frightening? You do not need to hold your eyes shut quite so firmly.” He teased, but she could hear the undercurrent of truth to his question. 

“I wished to speak with you again, and it is difficult to keep one’s eyes closed in a conversation.”

The low rumbling of his chuckle ghosted over her ears, he was standing far nearer to her now. “Then you now understand my reasoning for blindfolding you.” 

“I understand you thought it necessary.” It is as close as Jane will come to conceding his point. “Will you now tell me what you are?”

“First I must show you something. It will be easier if I blindfold you once more.”

If Jane found it surprising that she could trust him again so easily after all he had hidden from her, she ascribed it to merely her own desire for answers. And so she allowed him to tie the cloth back over her eyes, and let her eyelids relax beneath the protective darkness of it. 

He took her hand within his own - strong, human, familiar - and gently led her down the staircase. She recognized their pathway at first but lost track as he continued to guide her deeper within the castle, to where she had rarely explored herself. It felt as though they were in some kind of narrow passageway, the walls closed in on either side and above her. Only their soft footfalls made any sound within the space, echoing forward and behind them but with none of the familiar sounds of the castle’s other residents. This must have been how he avoided being seen by her in the daylight. 

Eventually, they emerged into a larger space, though this too was equally devoid of other inhabitants. He let go of her hand, asking her to stay. She could hear the soft flicker and hiss of a candle being lit - first one, and then another, and then many more, until she could almost glimpse their soft glow through her blindfold.

And then she heard his voice echoing from somewhere behind her, “you may look now.”

She pulled the blindfold from her eyes to take in the room before her. More than a room, she realized - they had somehow entered into the castle’s chapel. Though small in appearance from the outside, inside, the stone walls and high windows lent it a more impressive air. Starlight dimly glowed through the stained glass arch at the front of the chapel - an ancient portrait of the Virgin with the Child cradled to her heart, both of them haloed with gold and light. All else was lit by the many flickering candles placed around the small sanctuary, most of them atop the large altar at its center. There sat a large collection of books, in fact there were an unnumbered many littered across windowsills and pews. As if someone had tried to turn this small chapel into something of a library. She clasped the first volume she sighted.

“Quam ut rememdium bestia,” she took up another, “Das Biest Beenden, Euripides, Diodorus Siculus - these are all books on beasts, and ancient myths.”

She looked back without quite meaning to, though her lover had hidden himself well enough behind the stone columns at her back. 

His voice echoed from the shadows of the narthex, his tone less certain. “To answer your earlier question, I don’t know what I am. I had hoped to find the answers in these books, though I have not yet found any such satisfactory account.”

Jane turned back to marvel at the collection. “How did you even find all of these? Many of them are said to have been lost.”

“My man Rupert travels the world to collect them for me, any time I get word of a new volume. He has always been loyal to a fault.”

“Most of these are in ancient Greek or Latin - though this one is in the Sicilian dialect, and this in Aramaic - can you read Aramaic as well?”

“I know some little Church Latin, and Rabbit knows some German, but we are none of us able to translate the preponderance of these. I had heard that you were the most learned woman in the kingdom, a polyglot of sorts.”

“SÌ - though I’ll confess I know the Florentine Tuscan better than the Sicilian.” 

She was already trying her hand at the Diodorus Siculus in front of her.

“Dante or Petrarch?” He guessed at the source of her knowledge.

“Boccaccio,” she argued. Though in Latin, his De Mulieribus Claris on the great women of Italian history had been as a bible to her.

“Jane, will you close your eyes again?” Came his voice from behind her.

Reluctant though she was to set down the ancient manuscript, she acceded, turning towards the columns to show him that she had done as he asked.

She felt both her hands taken into his. He was now directly before her. The temptation to open her eyes nearly overwhelmed her, even though now she knew precisely what she would see.

His voice was filled with solemnity. “Will you help me then? To discover the source of my curse and its cure?”

“Your curse?” It was the first she had heard the word, but as she said it she started to understand. 

The other beasts could take what shape they willed, could walk in the light as man or beast. None were so terrifying as her husband. But also, none could protect them half so well.

“You wish to cure yourself?” She altered her question. 

“You wish to be wed to a monster?”

“I had no wish to be married at all,” she reminded him. “But you are the source of safety for all these people.”

“And at what cost?” His voice grew bitter.

“Yes, I understand something of that cost,” Jane’s hands tightened in his. “But you have succeeded where I failed to protect them.” 

He pulled away.

“And for how long? How long will they stay safe with me? How long will you? I cannot stay trapped in this castle any more than you can. I have no control over this.”

Jane could understand this feeling, more than perhaps anyone else she knew. She had endangered everyone she loved in challenging the laws and tradition of her Kingdom. The nobility had turned on her swiftly, even as she held the support of the people, and they were all of them stripped of their former station. Still, she is not certain she would have acted differently, even knowing how it would all end. Her family had survived, whatever the personal cost to her own freedom.

Guildford sensed her hesitation, though he did not seem to understand its true source. “If you were to find a cure, we could both leave here. I promised you I would set you free when it was safe to do so - this is the only way I can honor that.”

Janed frowned at this. Apparently his earlier promise had been more conditional than she had hoped, and now he expected her to do the impossible. In all of her studies she had never read of such a condition, far less any possible cure.

“What do Archer and the others say of this?” Surely if anyone knew of a cure, it would be his fellow beasts.

“Archer insists there is no curse, that I must accept what I am to gain mastery of it. But it is curse enough to remember what the beast is capable of - controlling it would only compound my guilt.”

Jane’s breath halted at his words.

He continued. “Surely you don’t think a mere glance at me was enough to scare away the Kingsland guard - even though it clearly set you running.” 

“It merely took me by surprise,” Jane insisted, not wanting him to think her still afraid of him. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

But Jane had heard their screams, and she had seen the blood on his teeth - no matter that Susannah had assured her it was no more than false conjuring. If this was indeed a curse, there must still be some source. How many stories were there of those driven to such an illusion by their guilt?

Jane couldn’t find it in herself to condemn his actions however. Though she had been unwilling herself to demand the execution of her opponents, they had never held a sword to the throats of her friends. She imagined someone threatening one of her sisters, or Susannah, or even the man in front of her in such a manner. Jane knew already she would make the same choice to defend them, by whatever means she could.

“Then will you help me?” His hands took hold of hers once again.

“I will try,” she hesitated to promise.

“Please, that is all that I ask. It is the only way I will be able to set us both free.”

Still, she had her doubts.

“But Guildford, what if it doesn’t work?”

His lips pressed to hers, taking her by surprise.

“What was that for?”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name.”

She blushed to hear the delight in his voice at so small a gesture.

“This is the first time I feel as though I actually know something of you. But Guildford,” another kiss, “I still have so many questions.”

“I expected you might,” he teased.

“To start - how does this work? Can no one look at you? Or is it just me?”

“No one.” His hands tightened around hers.

Jane breathed out a small sign of relief. At least she was not bound up in this curse as well.

“Can you look at yourself then?”

“No. If I were to see myself in a mirror I would transform just the same.” 

Jane realized there were no mirrors in her room, no reflective surfaces at all.

“So then you don’t know what you look like as a man?”

“Jane, I have not always been what I am now,” he chuckled.

And of course, she knew that. He had been a part of the Court once, and she recalled hearing of his name as his father’s son. But first one and then all three Dudleys had been exiled from the Court before her ascendancy to the throne.

“Wait, let me turn around - I don’t wish to be blindfolded again but it is difficult not to look at you.”

She turned from him, but he lingered near, wrapping his arms around her and pressing his face into her curls. This way, she could not so easily glance around to see him.

“Why didn’t you tell me at our first meeting?” This question is foremost in her thoughts.

“I had thought you might run at the sight of me, and, as it turns out, I was quite correct.” His words were harsh but his tone was teasing. He did not fault her for this, at least.

“I might not have, had I had some warning.”

“I did warn you not to be so curious.”

“You might as well ask a bird not to fly, you knew what might happen.”

He laughed. “I had hoped I might have a little longer to convince you to stay.”

Jane thought  back to their nights together - every time she had asked him any real questions about his nature, he had drawn her back into their marriage bed. Had it all been an attempt to convince her to stay with him?

“And that was how you thought you might win me over?”

“I believe the seduction was mutual.” A soft kiss was pressed to the side of her neck, and she shivered at the touch. Jane couldn’t deny that she had drawn him in just as readily. “But how does one win over a Queen? Surely you wouldn’t be impressed by jewels or fine dresses.”

“If I were, then Rabbit might better have won me over,” she teased. “I think I’d rather have books than any other gift you could buy.”

“I thought offering you any from my own collection might give away my secret too soon.”

“Then perhaps the way to win over a Queen is with honest conversation,” came her retort.

The low rumble of his laugh tickled her ear. “I gave you poetry.”

“I prefer non-fiction.”

Another laugh. “I presented you with a challenge, which I know you like best of all.”

This she could not argue, though she greatly desired to do so. Instead, she reached for the blindfold still atop the altar.

“I thought you didn’t wish to be blindfolded?” He asked, even as he helped her to tie it once more around her eyes.

“Can’t I change my mind?”

“Yes - I often expect you to do so.”

There were many ways she could interpret his words, though she hoped to persuade him that she would not go back on her promises to him at least. She would aid him, as he had asked her to, and would stay with him until she was assured of both their safety, and that of her friends - whether she cured him or not. She would not be afraid of him again. 

Jane could think of no better means of communicating this than to turn and take his lips with her own. Her fingers slid into the soft familiarity of his hair, and his lips opened easily to the tender press of her tongue. His arms stayed wrapped around her, hands flexing against her spine as she drew a pleased noise from her reavowed lover. 

She pressed him back toward the altar rail, and he went willingly at her tough. But in her blind state she could not accurately judge the direction of her aim, and Guildford instead stumbled over the raised dais. He fell back to seated just beside the altar itself, laughing as he went. He reached up to pull her down with him, until she was settled astride his lap, the stacks of books just over their heads. She pushed at his shirt, realizing that he must have dressed himself after she had caught her all too brief glimpse of his naked form, and she could imagine no greater shame. Her hands traced over the muscles of his chest and stomach, melding the tangible sensation with her memories of their appearance. She wished she could see him again, feeling greedy for the sight of her lover - and jealous that he could so easily see her. All of her but her eyes, at least - despite it all, their eyes had never once met. This thought suddenly overtook her.

“My eyes are hazel,” she breathed out, thinking to even this score between them. 

His lips met hers again with fervor, and she knew he had understood what she was trying to share. He pulled away but for a moment. “If you can cure me, perhaps I will one day see them for myself.”

“I will do my best to see that happen,” she promised, and Guildford’s lips surged towards her once more.

But Jane was now placed above him, and it was so easy to slide her hand along his jaw and into his hair, catching at the thick tufts of it tightly enough that she could take control of their kiss. She felt his groan of pleasure against their lips.

It was the work of only a few moments as they tugged off his trousers, and rucked up her chemise so that the heat of her was pressed against his waiting skin. Jane pushed him to lay back as she positioned herself above him, breathing out his name as she took him back inside herself. Her own name was on his lips as their bodies met, both trembling at the feel of what they had almost lost. 

When Jane attempted to shift her hips upward, Guildford’s hands pulled her back down again, and together they built a rhythm between them. Their sounds of passion echoed through the church but no one was around to hear them. 

She spared a thought for her cousin, the Queen Mary, and how she might view this as proof that Jane truly was a heathen. And perhaps she was, though there was nothing unholy about this union with her husband. Even if the bonds between them weren’t til death, he was hers to have for as long as she stayed here. And in this moment Jane saw no reason to leave.

[ozzyeelz]

Here to ask you abt your ocs.

How did Shifter get his powers/abilities? Who's the merc he gets along with the most [personality wise] and complements the most [on the battlefield], if you had to choose?

And for your original universe ocs. What are they up to? Devious acts, I presume :3c?

I’ll answer these numerically just so it’s more organized, get ready for a long post yall!

1. How did Shifter get his powers/abilities?

Honestly, not even Shifter himself has a solid answer on that😅

As part of his backstory, when he was discovered by Mann Co. in his late teens, he was heavily experimented on, leaving his memory fragmented (and a bit traumatized). When they couldn’t find anything else useful about him, they shipped him off to fight in the gravel wars.

Due to this, he doesn’t really have any memory of where exactly his powers come from (or where he’s from, or his exact age, etc.), though through distant memories of his childhood, he guesses that he’s had his powers from birth! 

2. Who’s the merc he gets along with the most? (Personality wise)

I personally feel like he would be friends with Pyro, Demoman and Scout the most (with a little bit of Soldier and Sniper in the mix)!!

I feel that Demo and Shifter would be friends with a father/son (more like weird uncle/weirder nephew) dynamic going on! Shifter kinda sees Demo as his friend he can go to when conflicted, and Demo gives surprisingly good advice! Other than that, Shifter looks up to him for some reason hehe

Shifter and Pyro are definitely besties at first sight! Pyro was one of the first mercs to aproach Shifter when he arrived on base, all of the other mercs being too wary (or uninterested) to talk to the new hire. And because of Shifter’s sharp ears, they are able to understand Pyro pretty clear through the mask, so they just like to talk about whatever interests them :3

Because of Shifter’s ability to mix-and-match the animals he can turn into, he loves getting suggestions from Pyro of mythical creatures to turn into!! (Pyros favorites are dragons and unicorns, and Shifter loves to indulge them :3)

He can be quite mischievous when he wants to be, so he has no problem getting rowdy and indulging in some play-fighting with Scout!

Him and Scout are definitely friends, and though Scout had his reservations about the guy who looks just on the verge of non-human, as soon as Shifter discovered Scout’s love of challenges (especially when it comes to speed) Shifter became adamant on becoming friends with him! They also get into plenty of mischief together, with Scout’s favorite pastime picking on the other mercs, and Shifter’s love of chaos, trouble is bound to happen at some point!

They also both have a healthy fear of Medic (Shifter because of his time being experimented on by Mann co. (resulting in a fear of doctors/medical scientists), and Scout because who isn’t afraid of Medic)

3. Who’s the merc he compliments the most? (On the battlefield)

I feel like either Medic or Pyro would make an unstoppable force on the battlefield with him!!

Other than that, he already has a counterpart that works perfectly with his abilities (my other tf2 oc Comm (short for Communications))!!

(A quick sketch and early concept of this post!)