#<- just in case even though this is pos

[nexus-nebulae]

brrrrr (/pos)

[magnusmodig]

||. thor misunderstanding earthen housing norms in the modern day is SO funny to me to think about. He's doing his best, but between being from another planet with far more advanced technology (and much more "archaic" culture customs) on top of also being a PRINCE, I would imagine some normal practices and understandings of things simply don't click with him more than others.... Not because he's not smart. Thor is incredibly intelligent. ONLY because of the huge culture divide. But... that said: the concept of having neighbors who own their own land right next to yours, but the plots of land are TINY ??? absolutely crazy to him. Why aren't the plots of land BIGGER? why don't more people utilize it to farm crops???

Also don't get him STARTED on the idea - or nature of - apartments.

[minjv]

i wish aespa had stuck with case versions and released one for each of their albums

[raven-cincaide]

Post-Canon! Megumi is a university student. His friends think he needs a break from all the curses and fighting so he can finally heal. Yuji says its a chance for Megumi to find the person who'll Megumi want to live for. Nobara says that even if he doesn't find anyone, they've already sacrificed so much; they need some kind of backup plan in case they ever need to leave the front lines. In truth, Yuji and Nobara just want to spend their youth exploring normal human things, and Megumi honestly can’t fault them. He doesn’t understand it but he doesn’t want to be left behind. So he tags along because.. well.. what else is he supposed to do?

Post-Canon! Megumi doesn’t know what to study. So he picks up a little bit of everything. He creates a schedule that fits his self-applied expectations and overachieving tendencies, going well above and beyond full-time studies. He keeps his mind occupied so he doesn't have to think about how hard it is to blend in, make new friends, and be human. (Un)fortunately, Yuji and Nobara don't let him avoid the campus life forever. 

Post-Canon! Megumi builds a routine he finds satisfactory which includes studying, gym, late night parties and nerdy book clubs. Hell he picks up anything that makes him forget about curses and being a sorcerer. He promised himself he would be 'normal' while at uni and he promised his friends. University life may not be Megumi's calling but he wasn't about to let his friends down. So he does everything to avoid things that would tempt him back.  

Post-Canon! Megumi notices you the second you enter one of his classes. He can tell you are a sorcerer and instantly determines he doesn't want anything to do with you. He tries to make himself invisible, hunched down, reading a book. Despite his closed body language, his eyes flicker over to you occasionally, although he quickly catches himself and goes straight back to reading. 

Post-Canon! Megumi is surprised when you approach his desk- one of the few remaining seats near the front. How you politely ask if you can sit beside him even though he doesn’t own the seat makes him unsure, fascinated, yet flustered. “Sure”, he replies, then a second later, grabs his bag, stands, and walks out of the class minutes. He leaves minutes before the start, skipping his first class ever. He knows he’s being rude; he knows he undoubtedly embarrassed you. But he can’t get mixed up with Jujutsu- not when he started liking uni.

Post-Canon! Megumi swears he sees you everywhere and avoids you like the plague. Yet his eyes always seek you out, and his brain takes note of every little thing about you, from the casual sweatpants and hoodie you wear to morning classes to how you’re dolled up at late-night parties. Your laugh, your make-up, the perfume you wear, depending on your mood- he notices it all. He feels all sorts of emotions when he sees you yet squelches those in the far back of his mind. No, he keeps his distance even as you get close to Yuji and Nobara. If you three are eating together, he’ll skip lunch, if you three are hanging out, he’ll cancel last minute. Sometimes, his friends let him get away with it- but more often than not, Yuji or Nobara see right through him and force him to sit beside you. And the awkwardness can be cut through with a knife. 

Post-Canon! Megumi notices when you’ve been out hunting curses. It’s the faint linger of cursed energy and the distinct smell on you that he pickles up. He notices when there’s a tiny limp in your step. He notices when you’re tired and when you’re practically burned out; the way your eyes drop during the teacher's lecture; the way you scribble down your homework mere minutes before submission, or the way you stress about not being able to buy the course literature before the first assignment is due by poking at your lunch and not answering Nobara. So he leaves his books out before going to the bathroom, knowing Yuji and Nobara will push you to take pictures of the few pages you need.

Post-Canon! Megumi swears he is done with being a sorcerer and that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with curses. Yet when he sees you stumbling out of your dorm room, in your jujutsu get up, barely able to keep your eyes open, he can’t help the pang of worry in his chest. He swears he is done being a sorcerer, even as his feet carry him to follow you.. 

[p0orbaby]

Born to Love You Back

summary: a very important question is on the horizon

warnings: none

a/n: some rich!reader for you all

word count: 1.7k

-

The jeweller’s salon is tucked into a narrow street in the 1st arrondissement, down a street so narrow you almost missed it, the kind of place that doesn’t need signage because everyone who matters already knows where it is. The building itself is unassuming but pristine, a five-storey townhouse with cream-coloured stone, wrought-iron balconies, a double door painted a deep charcoal with brass fixtures that gleam in the waning afternoon sun. Outside, a delivery van idles, spilling faint notes of Edith Piaf from its radio as a man unloads crates of flowers: cyclamen, lilies, eucalyptus branches arranged in bursts of green and white. They’ll likely find their way to the salon’s interior within the hour, arranged with almost mathematical precision to evoke a studied nonchalance.

Inside, it’s quiet—museum-like but less sterile, hushed but alive. There’s a balance between the soft hum of conversation from another room and the faint, barely perceptible scent of lilies and leather. The floors are a herringbone parquet, polished to an impossible sheen, and the walls are panelled in dove grey. Everything about the space is designed to whisper money. Even the receptionist, stationed behind a desk lacquered to such a high gloss that it might double as a mirror. She’s mid-twenties, probably just out of university—Sciences Po, perhaps, or one of the Grandes Écoles—wearing a black crepe shift dress that hits just above the knee. Chanel, you’d bet, though it’s hard to tell from here. Her hair is sleek and straight, parted sharply in the middle, her nails painted in Rouge Noir, a colour so iconic it’s practically shorthand for Parisian sophistication. She greets you in French first, then switches to English the moment she hears your accent, though her tone remains precisely the same—warm but not too warm, deferential but not subservient.

Aurélie is waiting for you on the stairs. She’s maybe late thirties, tall, with that certain froideur that women in her line of work cultivate like a second skin. Her blazer is Saint Laurent—black, sharply tailored, peak lapels—and her silk blouse is an ivory so fine it catches the light in a way cotton never could. Her trousers skim the tops of her Louboutin heels—black patent leather, red soles so subtle they barely register. Her jewellery is minimal but deliberate: a single strand of Mikimoto pearls, their lustre so perfect they almost look artificial, and a pair of matching studs. She smiles when she greets you, her lips painted a nude so neutral it could have come from any number of Tom Ford palettes, but you’d guess Casablanca.

“This way, please,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs with a hand that’s manicured in a soft ballet pink, not a chip in sight. You follow her up, noting the faint scent of her perfume—Chanel No. 19, not a popular choice but a discerning one, with its crisp notes of galbanum and iris that feel both professional and unapologetically feminine.

On the landing, there’s a painting—a still life, maybe Cézanne, maybe a very good imitation. You don’t stop to look, but it catches your eye enough to linger in your mind as Aurélie opens a door to the second-floor where Its quieter, darker. The walls are a deep navy—Farrow & Ball, maybe Hague Blue—and the rug beneath the central display case is thick enough to swallow the sound of your footsteps. The case itself is glass-topped and backlit, the kind of lighting that renders diamonds almost supernatural in their brilliance. The rings are arranged by cut and carat, each one nestled in its own velvet slot, the symmetry of the display both calming and slightly overwhelming.

Aurélie steps aside, giving you space but remaining close enough to anticipate your needs. She stands with her hands loosely clasped in front of her, her posture immaculate.

“Take your time,” she says, standing back with the same attentive grace she’s shown since you arrived.

You nod, your gaze already falling to the rings. You’ve thought about this for weeks, maybe months, but standing here, it feels more real, the weight of the decision settling in your chest. Not because you’re uncertain—you’re not—but because this is a moment you’ll remember, whether you want to or not.

The first ring is a cushion-cut diamond, two carats, set in a band of pave diamonds. Platinum, naturally. The proportions are flawless, the craftsmanship impeccable, but as you turn it in the light, you know immediately it’s wrong. Too ornate. Too eager. Alexia would hate it. You imagine her wearing it for a moment, and the thought feels so ridiculous you almost laugh. She doesn’t like excess, at least not in the obvious sense. Her taste is clean, modern, unfussy.

The second ring is pear-shaped, slightly smaller, but with a brilliance that draws your eye. The stone feels alive under the light, its facets catching every subtle movement of your hand. For a moment, you hesitate, thinking about how it would look on her hand, but then you remember something she said once, flipping through a magazine in bed: “Pear cuts are too delicate. They look like they’re trying too hard.”

You sigh, not quite aloud, but enough for Aurélie to notice. She steps closer, just enough to offer a quiet suggestion. “Does she have a preference?” she asks, her tone light, neutral. “For the setting, or the cut?”

“She likes things simple,” you say, the words coming out more clipped than you mean them to. It’s not her fault, this unease you feel. “Classic, but not boring”

Aurélie nods, her expression unchanged, and steps back again. You wonder if she can sense the weight of what you’re doing—if she’s seen enough of this to know the signs. The third ring catches your eye before you reach for it. A round brilliant diamond, 1.8 carats, set in a plain platinum band. No pave, no halo, no embellishments. It’s striking in its simplicity, the kind of ring that doesn’t need to assert itself because it knows what it is. You pick it up, holding it to the light, and as you turn it, something settles in you. This is the one. You don’t need to overthink it.

Aurélie smiles faintly, as though she already knew. “Shall I prepare it for you?” she asks.

You nod, handing it back, and she takes it with both hands, disappearing into a back room.

While she’s gone, you pull out your phone. You shouldn’t call her—she’s probably still at training, her mind on drills and tactics—but you do it anyway. She answers on the third ring, her voice steady but soft, with that familiar cadence you’ve missed more than you’d care to admit.

“Hey,” she says, her voice clear, grounded, with just the faintest lilt of distraction. In the background, there’s a low murmur of voices, the familiar thud of a ball meeting turf, maybe a coach shouting something that’s swallowed up by the wind. You imagine the sun slicing through the Catalan sky, the kind of relentless brightness that makes the whole city shimmer.

“Hey,” you reply, smoothing nonexistent creases from your blazer out of habit, though no one is watching. Your reflection in the polished glass of the display case looks composed, disinterested, but the sound of her voice pulls something taut inside you. “How’s training?”

“Same as always,” she says, and there’s a pause—just long enough for you to hear her exhale softly, almost imperceptibly. You know she’s stepped aside, moved to some quieter corner of the training complex where no one will overhear. She’s careful like that, never careless, always aware of her surroundings.

“Still exhausting?” you ask, and she laughs under her breath—a low, warm sound that lingers longer than it should.

“Mhm,” she hums, the sound of it makes you smile despite yourself. “But it’s a good kind of exhausting. You know how it is”

“Not sure I do,” you tease, leaning against the edge of the display case, its surface cool against your hand. “I can’t say I’ve run laps around a pitch lately. Unless you count running several businesses as exercise”

“Of course,” she says, dry but affectionate, “such an athlete. Truly inspiring”

The corner of your mouth twitches upward. “I aim to impress”

There’s a faint rustle of movement on her end—maybe she’s leaning against a wall, maybe adjusting the strap of her training bib. You picture her in that effortless way she carries herself: shorts sitting just right, socks perfectly rolled down, hair tied back in that half-loose, half-styled way that only someone like her can pull off.

“Where are you?” she asks, not because she doesn’t know, but because it’s the kind of question you ask when you want the conversation to last a little longer.

“Near Rue de la Paix,” you say, keeping it vague. “Finishing up a meeting”

“You’re always finishing up a meeting,” she says, and there’s a lightness to her tone, but it doesn’t quite hide the subtext.

“You’re always training,” you counter, matching her tone, and you hear her chuckle, soft but genuine.

“Buen punto”

There’s a brief pause. In the background, someone calls her name, a voice you don’t recognise, and she responds with a quick, sharp “Un momento.” The way she switches languages so fluidly—it’s seamless—and yet it reminds you, in a small but certain way, that her world is different from yours. Barcelona, with its golden afternoons and relentless sun, its terracotta rooftops and restless streets, feels a thousand miles away from the polished stillness of this Parisian jewellers.

“You should,” you encouraged knowing full well she’ll make no move to end the call herself.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks, and it’s a question, but not really.

“Of course,” you say, without hesitation this time.

There’s another silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence you could live in, one where nothing needs to be said because the words are already understood. Finally, she says, “Te quiero,” and you hear the faint click as she ends the call.

Aurélie returns with the ring, now nestled in a velvet box so pristine it looks almost untouched by human hands. You slip it into your pocket, the weight of it grounding you, and leave the salon with a nod of thanks.

Outside, Paris feels sharper, brighter. The air smells faintly of rain and burnt sugar from a nearby crepe stand, and the light is just beginning to soften as dusk approaches. For the first time all day, you feel steady.

[queers-gambit]

Commander

prompt: ( requested ) being on opposite sides of the Rings eventually sends your husband back into your arms, and between your legs. haha, nice.

pairing: Elrond x female!wife!reader

fandom masterlist: The Rings of Power

word count: 4.6k+

note: it is NOT said (that i've heard) that Elrond wears his father's cloak - that's just author being sentimental.

warnings: not edited, some obvious angst, mostly hurt and comfort, romance, established relationship, small relationship angst, smut, is this a Commander kink? i'm not sure. small spoilers, sibling reader.

bonus

The trees of Lindon glimmered gold and winked in the sunlight as vibrant veins of restored Light flowed through them all. It was a gorgeous sight; one you were happy to bask in after nearly losing it to the dark depths of evil corrupting Middle-earth. The only reason you had this glorious sight of twinkling beauty was because you had alined yourself with Galadriel and Celebrimbor about the distribution and use of the Elven Rings of Power - though you did not wish to claim one.

You merely desired the salvation of your people on this Middle-earth the Valar gifted The Children of Ilúvatar.

In order to support the Rings, you had to oppose the only person you had ever loved unconditionally, and nothing hurt like that. Despite the pain, disruption, turmoil, the angst it put you and Elrond through, you did not waver in your opinion - but he did not relent in his stance, either.

That was usually a quality you adored in your husband; how stubborn, strong, enduring, passionate, educated, and unrelenting he was. Yet for this, you were beyond frustrated.

You remembered the look of utter betrayal in his eyes when he stormed away the day the Rings were all claimed by Círdan, Gil-Galad, and Galadriel. He couldn't look at you, on those stairs, opposing him and defending the Rings. So, he fled the scene - unable to hide how displeased, unhappy, and horrified he felt.

After that, the two of you began to bicker over simple, common, mundane, marital situations; he instigated fights, prolonged arguments, even lit purposeful fires to force you into verbal altercations. You argued endlessly, needlessly, heatedly about things that voices didn't need raised for. Tension followed you everywhere, filled every room, and after just a few nights... Elrond decided he couldn't sleep in your shared chambers any longer.

You had returned from duty to find him sending several cases of his personal belongings away, freezing when he realized you had caught him. He looked akin to a startled animal. "I did not mean for you to see this," he offered stiffly as if embarrassed, "I-I thought you were on patrol."

"I was switched to the nightshift," you explained meekly, watching servants stream from the room with their arms full of his desired effects. "W-What's going on? What're you doing?"

Elrond sighed, unable to meet your eyes for several long minutes. Then, he licked his lips, nodded, and told you, "I just figured, considering the state of affairs, we'd benefit - "

"Our marriage isn't an 'affair', Elrond!" You snapped, tears filling your eyes. "We're just in a strange state, couples are allowed to disagree, there's a lot unknown - "

"I can't stay here anymore, love, and watch how much I'm hurting you," his head shook. "You think you're silent, but I hear your weeping. I know you avoid coming to bed because I'm there first. You used to pin my robes in the morning, and now, I'm lucky if I even catch a glimpse of your skirt as you rush out the door as I wake. We're not happy anymore, Y/N..."

You froze, lungs shriveling into nothing, shock pumping into your system. "Yo-You're not happy?" You stuttered, stumbling back a couple steps as if he had brandished a sword.

Elrond just stared at you, asking, "Are you? Truly?"

"Generally, yes! I am certainly not so unhappy that I want us apart! This is just a difficult position we're in, but we will get past it, Elrond, we always do!"

"This isn't just a difficult position," he snapped, shocking you back another single step. "We're at odds, starshine, and I hate to admit it. But this is bigger than us, than our love - this is fundamental - "

"And about more than us! Yes! That's what I'm thinking of, Elrond, our people!"

"And what of Sauron? What of his influence upon the Rings!?"

"What of the good they've done? What of the connection?"

"What do you mean - "

"Galadriel!" You snapped. "The obvious connection the Ring amplifies within her! There is a grave new sense she and the other Ringer Bearers have. She can use this Ring to-to-to sense evil, perhaps even see ahead of the enemy! It might be his influence, but aren't we stronger? Stronger than him, together?"

"Those who wear the Rings - "

"You speak of your former mentor, the Elven High King, and your greatest friend. Which of them will you predict to fall?"

"After Galadriel’s already fallen prey - "

"But she is the wiser, the stronger for it! She is thrice as determined before! Why must these Rings divide us, Elrond? Why can we not simply say we leave all politics at the door when we are together?"

Sadly, slowly, he shuffled closer and reached out to caress your cheek. "I love you, my star," he reminded, "but in knowing your stance, I cannot allow us to continue being so destructive to each other. Support the Rings, my love," he lowered his forehead to yours, "but I cannot stand at your side while you do so... Not when I know of Sauron's influence..."

You pulled back, sniffling down the tears that surfaced to nod with a sarcastic smile. "I thought when we took our vows of matrimony, we'd hold true... But I can see, you do not intend to see us through this bog."

"That's where you're wrong," he snarled, stepping closer to hold both of your upper arms and jostle you slightly, "don't you see? Don't you understand? We need the space or we'll keep hurting one another, and I don't know if there's a way for us to heal after that. As of now, we stand a chance, but only if we curate distance - so we need to proceed individually as we need best."

His reasoning was logical, but you were beyond hurt by his departure. Perhaps it was for the best; especially when the High King decided to send a scouting party after Sauron, anointing Elrond as Commander, and upon the news, you panicked. Like, fully broke down in worried tears, alone. Yet you did not go to him, you did not speak out, you just accepted the High King's command and gathered in the courtyard with any other loved ones wishing the company safe travels.

Yet Elrond just looked at you sadly and lifted his hand in parting before turning to lead his comrades out of Lindon.

You shed a single tear as High King Gil-galad was felt at your flank, slowly entering your peripheral. "They have passed out of my sight," you informed him, voice trembling.

"I know of the strife between you and Commander Elrond..." the King trailed off, "But I would like to commend you for remaining a pillar in your belief. These Rings," he showed his, "are a power and force we do not yet understand in full."

"Perhaps, in time," you agreed, sniffling. "If you would excuse me, my King."

He agreed, letting you go; and all you could do was return to your chambers and throw yourself into your pillows for a good cry. After a single day or moping, you got up and got back to work; working with the other trusted advisors to devise battle strategies, evacuation plans, and whatever else you could do preemptively. You didn't know how long Elrond was gone for because after leaving your chambers, you scarcely saw him - something you suspect was on purpose. All you knew was that he was gone and you missed him.

"Sister!"

You looked up when Tinnriel, or Tinnie, rushed into the council room. "What's wrong?" You asked in alarm, straightening up to take her in arms.

"I-I saw - I saw Elrond - he's on his way here - "

"Slow down," you pleaded.

"Something's wrong!" She sneered at you, pushing your arms down. "I've been telling you for weeks! But you do not listen! To myself or your husband!"

"Oh, not this again, Tinnie, I've told you - "

"That it is paranoia, yes, I've heard you, but you and Elrond are at odds! That's not my paranoia! You two never feud, he's been gone days and now returns, looking worse for wear!"

"High King, I apologize for my sister's interruption - "

"She's not wrong," Gil-galad muttered, making you pause.

"My King?"

"You are not wrong, Tinnie," He addressed your sister, finding her eyes and holding her hostage by a single look, "for I have felt the darkness, too. There is something amiss, I will agree, but..."

"It is the Rings!" She insisted.

"Oh, not this again!" You snarled, seizing her upper arm. "Out! Now! You will still your tongue before the King!"

"High King!" You heard Elrond calling, rushing down the hall you were surging up. He spoke your name, "Where are you going?"

"To have a word - "

"This is much more important. Trust me, please! With me, now!" He breezed past you, but caught your free arm in his hold - pulling you after him and forcing you to release Tinnie. "High King," Elrond addressed as he lead you back into the room, your younger sister lingering in the doorway to listen, "the Orcs are not in Mordor."

"Elrond, our reports - "

"We've encountered them!" Elrond cut you off, making you silence yourself out of sheer curiosity; not accustomed to seeing him so disheveled and manic... So authoritative. "A legion of them are headed for Eregion." He pulled out Nenya, showing the King, "My wife and Galadriel were right! They were right! You must send the army to Eregion this moment."

Your head bowed in disappointment, wishing beyond wishful thought that you had been gifted with foresight - then you could've seen this, withheld the Elven Armies from marching to Mordor, been better prepared. Elrond noted your silence first, ready to question you, when the High King stiffly informed, "That will not be possible. I have reason to believe that Sauron is the architect of all this."

Choosing his words carefully, Elrond argued slightly, "High King, Eregion is the very jewel of Elvendom. If it were to fall, it would be a mortal blow for all in Middle-earth. You must send aid!"

"Our armies cannot defeat both Adar and Sauron. Not alone."

Something clicked in your mind, straightening up and taking hold of Elrond's arm. You bowed your head in agreement, "Of course, High King, we understand. Allow me the day to catch my husband up on recent events, we might reconvene later - "

"I shall send for you when a decision has been made," Gil-galad waved off, you all but shoving Elrond from the room; almost tripping over Tinnie.

"Go, go, go, just go," you muttered to the two in Sindarin, releasing Elrond's arm - surprise coloring your features when he snatched your hand into his. Yet you did not comment. At the end of the hall, you halted them both, being aware of the stationed guards, keeping your voice low, "Tinnie, go attend to the rest of Commander Elrond's company. I imagine they'll need food, rest, perhaps aid?"

"Camnir was shot with an arrow..." Elrond muttered, "But Galadriel healed him."

"How?" Tinnie squeaked.

"Nenya... I saw it myself..."

You sighed, "Tinnie, please?"

She nodded, "Shall I speak to them?"

"They will want to give their account, please take record for the King," you instructed, Elrond's hand tightening in yours almost unconsciously.

"What're you going to do?"

"Speak with my husband," you sighed.

"No, I mean... If you and Galadriel were right, if the Orcs are marching on Eregion... What're you going to do?"

"We have much to discuss before a decision can be made," Elrond told her, tone hardened, "now, please, Tinnie, go."

Tinnie noticed the darker, deeper baritone to his voice and instantly nodded and scurried away towards the front gates. "How far back did you leave your company?" You asked softly, watching the last of Tinnie's skirts sweep around the corner.

"Far enough. Come," he directed, turning to start down the pathway; leading you towards the quarters you once shared. Yet before you could enter, you reared back; yanking his hand, his concerned expression turning down in gentle aggravation. "What's the matter?" He asked.

"You don't live here anymore."

Elrond heaved a great sigh, turning to you, "Truly? You wish to do this now?"

"For weeks, you've picked arguments. You've been combative, irritable, spiteful. You... You chose a ring over me - "

"That's not true - "

"How would you phrase it then!?"

"I chose ethics! Morality! You chose a Ring of Power, not just a ring!" He barked at you, both cracking under the pressure the Ring had subjected your marriage to.

"And look where it lead! You come storming in, declaring Galadriel and I are right to the High King, and now... Now it sounds as if you still defend your decision!"

"I do."

You shook off his grip, "Then perhaps we might find somewhere more neutral to discuss matters?"

Elrond heaved a sigh, "What's wrong with our rooms - your rooms? What's wrong with your rooms?"

"Exactly that, they're mine. Not ours. It seems, no matter where I look, I am reminded that my husband didn't love me enough - "

"Don't you ever say that again!" Elrond snarled, leering over you; back to a bannister, bending you back slightly as you refused to back down - keeping him in front of you. He was heaving for breath, body trembling; proximity allowing you to count the pores clogged by dirt, blood, and grime. "You may hold all the anger you wish, but never accuse me of something so heinous, impossible, untrue. So unfathomable."

"Then prove me wrong!" You fired back, shoving at his abdomen to force him back a step so you could righten yourself off the bannister. "You proved to me your anger, now prove your love! Your remorse! Show me an apology, do not just say it! You looked at me with such hate, Elrond, and you left our rooms, you left me - over a matter of opinion! Do you know what that felt like? What pain that caused? You swore to me - "

"I know what our vows were!" He snapped, tears tinging his eyes red; the air hot between your mouths as you both seethed in anger. "I know what we promised, but never did I think Sauron would return, let alone offer such threat!"

"I am beginning to think you are angry about something else! Is it Galadriel - "

"It's me!"

You were startled into silence, his voice echoing down the hall as his facial expression turned angry. Elrond turned from you to pace himself in a semi-circle, and for whatever reason, you softly questioned, "Where's your cloak?"

"What?" Elrond scoffed, having created distance that you closed to lay your hand on his bicep.

"Your father's cloak, Elrond, where is it?"

"I do not know - I don't..." His head shook, looking annoyed with himself. So, you sighed and nodded, dropped your hand to his and laced your fingers together before leading him into your quarters. "Don't - "

"Just come in," you nudged his shoulder, encouraging him into the room as you shut the doors and drew all curtains to keep your conversation private. You locked the main doors.

"You rearranged?" He noted, stalking around the room; slotting himself between furniture as he silently judged it all.

"Just trying something new, I can't sleep most nights and need something to occupy my mind," you explained, shutting the balcony doors, too. With a sigh, you spun on the spot and implored, "What did you mean, Elrond, when I questioned what you were angry about and said it's you? Please, talk to me. We did not talk about Nenya, and now..." You sighed deeply.

Elrond seemingly remembered he still had the Ring, looking at it in his flat palm with what you could only describe as terror. His eyes lifted to yours, asking, "Do you have a chain?"

With a nod, you ventured to your personal jewelry box and located a glittering braided chain; approaching him to gently drop it in a coiled pile beside Nenya. His hand shook, hating the feeling of the Ring... So, you gently took his hand to steady it and asked, "Tell me what you meant."

Elrond watched you thread the Ring onto the chain. "You're right, thinking my anger is sourced elsewhere... It's not Galadriel, per se - though, I am angry, for varying reasons. But it's me - I'm angry at myself."

"Why?"

"I did not see..."

You lifted the two ends of the chain slowly to his chest, but when he flinched, you reminded, "Galadriel entrusted it to you, nobody else should keep it." He nodded in acceptance, so, you lifted the necklace again, asking, "What didn't you see, Elrond?"

"Halbrand... While in Eregion, making the Rings, he helped Lord Celebrimbor and I, it was... He was there the whole time... So very present, innocent - feigning a King of Men - "

"Halbrand is Sauron."

"He is," Elrond confirmed, "and I did not see it."

"You are angry Sauron the Deceiver deceived you!?" You gaped, hooking the chain and retracting your arms. "Elrond, do you hear yourself? You are victim, none of you knew!"

"But the Rings - they work! You were right!"

"Elrond - "

"It's why I'm angry," he admitted, "because the Rings work, I've seen it, but also because I did not see Sauron for who he was."

"None of us did," you whispered, seeing the struggle behind his eyes.

"I couldn't protect them, either."

"Who?"

"Well, now, none of us - but Lord Celebrimbor and Galadriel specifically; they were with us, with Sauron. I..." He sighed deeply, "I did not see, now we all suffer - "

"We do not suffer, we are fighting back," you cut him off now, his sad eyes finding yours. "And you, our Commander, because you alone feel responsible for our entire salvation. You will lead us, Elrond," his head shook in refusal, making you insist, "no, listen - hear my words. You will lead our people, command legions of Elves, because you have proven strong and determined enough. Since you realized the truth of Sauron, you have fought tooth and nail for the rest of us - even me, you fought me - to see the truth. We have all been blinded, deceived, and now, we all must fight, but trust that the Rings... With the darkness they bring, they must also bring light - it is not just Sauron alone in them, but you all. Which means, in the grandest scheme, all your good overpowers Sauron's bad - proven by the Light of the Valar returning. By Camnir's rescue."

"I fought..." He whispered, reaching for your face - neither of you moving away, wanting the comfort, "At a time my words were needed most. And now, it's too late."

"It's never too late, Elrond, or have you not been paying attention?" You chortled lightly, sighing as you pet over his tunic; manicured nails gently fiddling with Nenya in admiration as it glimmered in the candlelight. "I... Had an idea I want your opinion on. Born of the High King's decision to send he army to Morodor..."

He nodded, stepping closer so his hand fully caressed your cheek and slid to hold the back of your neck. "Speak it," he whispered, "tell your Commander."

You could not repress the shiver of attraction even if you tried. He leered over you, holding you tenderly, close, pressing you closer as his eyes dared you to lose your train of thought. "We seek help... From the Dwarves, from Prince Durin," you whispered, "for they hold Sauron's Rings, they will need our aid in time - we just need theirs first."

"You would have me go above our King?"

"I would have you lead us, Commander."

Elrond smirked slightly, free arm coiling around your waist to hoist you into his embrace. "Something sounds as if you... Like this new position of mine?"

"It suits you - authority, I mean."

"Oh?"

"Being decisive," you listed as Elrond moved forward, walking you backward, "assertive, argumentative... It's a good look."

"Then are you ready to listen to your Commander?"

"At once, sir."

He paused you, lips hovering over yours; demanding of your ears only, "Strip."

"My Lord - "

"Aht," he tutted, pulling back; leaving you cemented in place.

"Commander," you amended, watching him nod subtly. Slowly, your hands lifted to start unlacing your corset; his eyes dark and concentrated, watching each movement you made. Elrond stood with his shoulders squared, hands clasped in front of him, feet spread apart; ensuring you were operating to his level of completion.

"All of it," he told you when down to your small clothes; pausing your venture onto the bed behind you.

So, you stripped those off, too. He nodded in approval, watching you teasingly turn to crawl onto the bed and settle in the middle of the mattress - facing him. Elrond's eyes locked with yours, only straying when your legs slowly spread to reveal your sweetest point for his viewing pleasure. His shoulders heaved upward as he drew in breath, lifting his chin, eyes darting around to note the speckling of honey collecting between your legs.

"Touch yourself," Elrond demanded, reaching for his weapons belt and unhooking it.

"Where, Commander?"

He smirked and simply repeated, "Touch. Yourself. If you can't take direction..."

You didn't question him again, watching him slowly unlatch the belts and hooks of his uniform; deft fingers rubbing through your wetness as others came up to pinch your nipple and roll the bud. Elrond shed his boots, discarding them to the side; tunics yanked from his bare torso, leaving the glittering jewelry around his neck. A moan escaped as you dipped your fingers within your cunt as Elrond ripped his trousers open - then paused. He admired the sight of you splayed out, both hands at work, watching him undress.

In Sindarin, Elrond questioned, "Are we still at odds, my starlight?"

You whined, replying, "If you're not inside me in the next minute, Commander, we will be."

Elrond chuckled and shucked his trousers from his hips, down his thighs, then stepping out of them. "Do you forgive me, my star?"

"Nothing to forgive."

"Don't feed me that," he reprimanded, stepping up to mount the bed; his own hand beginning to fondle his reddening cock, stroking himself to straining life. "I have wronged you and your Commander intends to show he is remorseful. Tell him how."

"Move back in," you pleaded, reaching for him as he allowed himself to hover over you, "and do not leave me - not again."

His breath exhaled against your lips, settling to lay against you while a single leg bent to secure his hips on yours. "Never," Elrond agreed, "but I'll need to hear you say it."

"Is that a command?"

Elrond smirked and lined himself up to notch his cockhead at your cunt's mouth; sinking in as he answered, "Of course, it is." You gasped and slapped a hand up to hold his flushing neck, mouth wide at the familiar sting; public hair grinding together as his balls pinned between you, cock fully sheathed. "You've been given a command, my star," he grunted in your ear, "don't disappoint your Commander now."

Like all Elves, your ears had increased sensitivity; creating a legion of goose flesh to shoot across your flesh. Without breath, you affirmed in his ear, "I-I forgive you - fuck - I forgive you, my love. Don't leave me," you whimpered, "and I forgive you."

"What side do you remain?"

You whined, "Yours, yours, my husband, I remain on your side, Commander."

"And will you obey your Commander?"

"Until the end," you nodded, his lips finally findings yours. A sharp whimper ripped from your lungs as Elrond retracted his hips, thrusting into you at his own set, even pace; lips messily sliding against each other from tongues and spit. "You were gone too long," you managed to whisper.

"We won't be apart that long again," he grit, grunting as he held your thigh in a bruising-grip, "I swear it - "

"You can't - "

"I swear it," he gnashed your bottom lip between his teeth, making you gasp in pain and shock before moaning when he suckled at the mark. Softly, he released your lips, whispering, "I promise, we won't be. We go together from now on."

Nenya dangled between you, tracing around your chest from his aggressive thrusting; you agreeing with a nod, "Together."

"Now," Elrond grunted, "'M not gonna last, pet, gonna need you t'cum with me - together."

"Yes, Commander," you moaned, seeing the way his eyes fluttered; cheeks, neck, and ears blushing bright as his orgasm mounted, trying in vain to hold back. Seeing the almost involuntary reaction your words caused, your hand found Elrond's cheek and directed his eyes to yours, encouraging, "I'm so close, Commander, you make me feel so good, so full, it's been so long - too long! I'm right there, my love, my Commander, please - "

"Ah," Elrond hissed through his teeth, "yes, love, I'm there, too; right there, right there - "

"Cum in me... That's a command, Commander," you demanded in his ear, and it was all that was wrote. Elrond bucked wildly his last few thrusts, pinning you to the mattress; your own orgasm triggered by the flooding of warmth filling your too-empty womb.

"O-Oh," he stuttered, humping into you in languid thrusts before slowing to a shivering halt. You watched Elrond try to regulate his breathing, wrapping your arms around him in an instant to bring him in close; resting him on your chest while your one arm wrapped around him, the other threading into his curls. "I love you," he whispered into your flesh.

"I love you, too," you affirmed. Then, while toying with the sweat-curled ringlets of his hair, you mused softly, "You need a cut."

"You told me for years to grow it out, now you want me to cut it?"

"No, I don't want you to; I just know, you prefer a cleaner crop."

"I've... Grown fond of the look."

You smirked, "That is relieving to hear."

Elrond sighed and slowly lifted off you; only enough to help maneuver you so he didn't have to pullout of your cunt but could still hold you as the big spoon. "So... Prince Durin, is it?" He asked in your ear.

You smirked, "Why not? He is a friend, his father wields a Ring of Power... He would more incentive to help than others. And the Dwarves are formidable in battle, it could help turn the tides, by uniting the Free Peoples of Middle-earth. Elf, Dwarf, Man..."

"What alliance of Men would - "

"We do not speak of Men, we speak of Prince Durin," you reminded him; his face nuzzling into your neck. "I think you should go in person. To plead the severity of our situation, how dire the need for aid is. To convey our desperation."

"The High King - "

"Leave him to me," you insisted, holding his arms around you. "I know we just agreed to not part ways, but you need to parlay with Prince Durin and I will keep Gil-galad at bay. When Durin agrees to march to our aid in Eregion, we march our remaining forces against Adar and meet the Dwarves on the field."

"It sounds good..."

"But?"

"Is it possible?"

"We will have to work in tandem, but I would assume the King would not argue asking for aid. I'll inform him of your departure and intention after you've left."

His arms tightened, "We can speak of it more later. I just want to feel you in my arms - it's been too long."

"You will hear no such complaints from me."

After a moment, where you both spent it resettling and nuzzling into the peaceful silence, Elrond asked, "Do you... Do you think one of the company managed to find and grab my cloak?"

In amusement, you replied, "Oh, I'm sure."

"And that Tinnie would have it?"

"Knowing her, by now, surely," you mused, reaching up to pet his cheek; requesting, "now, I have gone too long without the feeling of you beside me and wish to rest."

"As you command, my love."

requesting rules and masterlist

TROP masterlist

[love-toxin]

MR O’HARA HAS ME ACTING FERAL BOTH OF MY LIPS HAS BEEN DROOLING SINCE I WATCHED ATSV OPENING NIGHT… I NEED HIM TO DESTROY ME

RIGHT??? LIKE--LIKE--

(cws: across the spiderverse spoilers, gn pronouns, smut, rough sex, mating press, size kink, biting/venom, belly bulges, mindbreak(?), breeding mention, a bit of forbidden love trope)

Like....imagine, if you will, becoming an assistant for the Spider-society after your dimension is destroyed. It's mostly because Miguel took pity on you since you're not a spider-person, you had nothing to do with the unravelling of your world, and/or you were meant to gain your spider-powers but an anomaly in your dimension prevented it. Since there's no place for you in another multiverse, he keeps you on his team both to give you asylum and to keep an eye on you just in case you prove to be an anomaly yourself....but it becomes pretty clear pretty early on that you're not really a threat. Not for violence, at least.

You're just a sweet thing that gets doted on by nearly everyone in the society--you're either a refreshing break from the endless spiderman variants running around or you remind the spiders of their Mary Janes, their Gwen Stacies, their Gayatri Singhs, and being a civilian to boot makes you the perfect candidate to have your things carried for you and be given web-slinging rides around the facility even though you're supposed to be the assistant here.

But even so, even though you're treated so lightly, Miguel really likes you and even--gasp--enjoys your company. It can be hard to tell with him, but the most perceptive of the spiders notice that Miguel keeps you in his good graces always. When he's stressed or in a bad mood, he collects himself before he speaks to you. He never snaps at you, and on the very rare times you get caught in his crosshairs, he apologizes quietly and gently and reiterates that whatever it was about, it wasn't your fault. He gives you so much wiggle room for error to the point that his companions sometimes complain outright that he's such a hardass, but he never berates you when you make a mistake, and without fail Miguel will come up with some reason for it; "That's because they don't screw up as often as you do" or "At least I can trust them to do their job", or he'll just tell whoever's bitching to leave you out of it and he'll dismiss you to discuss the matter privately.

Surprisingly, those incidents don't bother him nearly as much as when the inner circle starts getting closer to you. He feels this deep need to pull you away when Gwen offers to take you on a trip through the dimensions (although that's just plain dangerous), but it also bubbles up when Hobie hangs around and encourages you to join his band, and when Jess asks you questions about your life and is eager to hear about any potential romances you might be getting yourself into--there's a lot of single spider-people out there, and you're not tied to any dimension, so you've got plenty of options!

God, Miguel hates when Jess brings that up. You don't need to go anywhere, your place is here. You can stay here safely, which is something he can't promise in any of those other dimensions the spiders come from. But that's not the real reason, he realizes that when he feels that tingle at the sight of you holding Mayday and playing with her, having been given the task of impromptu babysitter for Peter when he has to rush off and do damage control somewhere.

It's you. He likes having you around, and it's not about letting you venture off into other dimensions, he just doesn't want you to leave him. That's why he loves it when you reply to those people, when you tell them "Oh, but I couldn't leave Mr. O'Hara! He'd lose his head without me." or "I really like this job, actually. I wanna keep working under Mr. Miguel." and especially "Miguel saved my life, I owe him all I can give. I could never leave him all alone." because it just reaffirms that desire for him to keep you as close to his side as possible. When he replays those videos of himself and his daughter, the pain is dulled for a while as he sees your eyes in hers, and envisions a future where you create a new family with him--one that he can properly protect this time.

It's that fantasy that emboldens him to lay hands on you, your body so puny and small in comparison to his massive frame, so fragile as he holds your hips in both hands and waits for you to tell him this isn't really what you want. He's waiting for it, anticipating it, even reminding you that you have the option when you look up at him shell-shocked. He promises that your answer won't affect your position here. It falls on deaf ears, however, because you desperately want to kiss him but you just don't think you can reach.

It's so adorable to see you try. Up on your tiptoes, clutching at his suit, straining to try and reach him where he's at--all it takes is an arm around your waist and he's got you off your feet and in the air, perfectly situated to press your pretty mouth to his own and awaken his instincts that have laid dormant all these long years. The stress of keeping each and every dimension following its intended canon has nearly broken him, it might have done so already if not for your unexpected appearance in his life. It's riled him up so much he doesn't think twice about taking you back to his place, nor gives him second thoughts when you help him peel that tight suit off and he tears through your clothes just as easily--maybe it really doesn't matter. His world is gone and so is yours, but you're both still here and you're begging him for another kiss, for more attention. How sweet could you possibly be? Pleading for something you'll always have and not realizing it's the least you deserve, perfect as you are?

Miguel just can't help himself anymore, he's too far gone and you’re too angelic for him to let down when you want him so badly. You don't seem to mind the rough treatment as he pushes you down either, no, you thrive on his aggressiveness and even encourage it to come out as he clambers over you. That pretty smile and those giggles as he shoves your thighs apart and spits, his venom sending electrifying tingles up and down your spine as he fingers the makeshift lube inside you. He's so bulky you can't even get your legs all the way around him when he lowers himself, forced to let your heels scrabble down his lower back as you struggle to find some kind of purchase on him--to just grab something and let it keep you steady as he slides in and rocks you into oblivion. The toxins loosen you up too, thank god, or else you'd be seriously struggling to take him in when he's practically twice your size. And he doesn't want to force it in, he just wants to ease you into the process before he allows himself to batter your poor body with thrusts that shake the whole bed--it's a little bit of payback for flaunting your pretty self around his office without ever telling him how you actually feel about him. Now you know exactly what you've been missing.

Drooling, hair sticking to your skin, sweat dripping down your chest, body gripping him like a vice yet endlessly slick....you're a total mess and he couldn't be more satisfied. You don't even try to keep yourself together, but that's all that he wants--he wants you to lose yourself in the way he makes you feel so you won't ever want to leave. The taboo is there; you're not from his dimension, he shouldn't be planning any kind of future with someone who doesn't belong in his world. But it makes it all more thrilling in the moment even if he can reason his way around it, it makes his every thrust gain power until he's breaking your willpower down enough to have your eyes rolling back in your head, hips jumping weakly as you try to participate. You don't even know how good you make him feel without lifting a finger.

Gliding through you as if you couldn't be more willing to take him, his position is clear just from a glance down at your stomach--the bulge is obvious, and as sickening as it could be your whines as you brush your fingertips over it sing his praises without a coherent word. You're so wet and stupid and needy on his cock, clearly he should've done this a long time ago when you were so much worse at hiding your pining looks at him from across the room. If he knew it would culminate into this, he would've saved the assistant crap and turned you into his stress relief toy that very first day. If he had, you might've already had a family by now....knowing him, at least.

It's still just as sweet to lick your tears up now, though. You're already drunk on his cock, it doesn't make much more difference for him to sink his fangs into your throat and pump you full of more venom straight from the source, the shock sending you straight into orgasm and dragging it out for so long he fears you might just pass out from the pleasure. It's like he's juicing up a plump little fruit until it's so ripe it could burst. And as if your own ecstasy wasn't enough, you really lose it when Miguel has you pinned and flooding that sore, fluttering little hole with so much seed it burns. Jets of pearly-white cum squirting down your thighs, painting you like a canvas without him even pulling out, because you just can't take him at his peak and you know it. You just have to whine and squirm beneath him as he fills you up, his hot breath puffing over your cheeks as he keeps you barely still enough not to wiggle away. With a shift of your hips you nearly slip off right up to the tip, his cum sloshing about and making everything too slick--but a hand slides up your neck and grips the crown of your head, his biceps flexing as he slowly pushes you back down with vermillion eyes piercing through your heated flesh. Lower, deeper, until he's seated himself up in your guts again and holds you there to milk those last few shots out of him, keep him nice and warm with those precious walls uncontrollably spasming around him. Doesn't stop you from pulling his head down closer, though, and whispering your praises while begging in whimpers in equal measure, urging him not to stop now. You're not ready to let him go.

How convenient is that? Miguel won't ever let you go, and he's known that deep in his chest since the moment you arrived--it couldn't make him any more satisfied to know that you feel the exact same way.

[sabertoothwalrus]

I'm going to think out loud about the dungeon meshi ages for a sec

I'm going to preface this by saying that this is based on my existing knowledge, and fact checking is difficult because there is A LOT of contentious research out there.

First of all, I think a lot of people come at this from a modern lens, forgetting the context that this is fantasy medieval era. this is fiction. on top of that, this is specifically Ryoko Kui's understanding of medieval era aging. plus fantasy. So before anyone comes at me with a bunch of 'ermmmm actualy's just consider that I don't really care and also it might not matter in this context lol

as far as the "age of maturity" assigned for each race, something I don't see many people talk about is that "teenagers" are a fairly recent concept. For a long time, you were either considered A Kid or Not A Kid. but this doesn't necessarily mean kids were more/less developed then, just our cultural expectations for certain age groups have changed.

Laios says the age of maturity for tallmen is 16. I don't think that means 16 year olds in the dungeon meshi universe are necessarily "more mature" than modern 16 year olds, but moreso that they have more responsibilities. However, things like medicine, smoking, drinking, sun exposure, physical activity, etc all affect age, so it's possible that developmentally they're closer to modern 18 year olds? Izutsumi is 17 (less than two weeks from turning 18, actually), and very much acts like a modern 17 year old.

The age of maturity for half-foots is 14. Chilchuck was 13 when he got married and had his first two children. Even though, at age 29, he's the equivalent of a modern 50 year old, I don't think he was That much more developed at 13 than a tallman. I think if half-foot 14 is equal to tallman 16, then Chilchuck was Pretty Damn Young for a parent LMAO. Even if you're generous and say tallman 16 is a modern 18, he still would've been younger than that.

The long-lived races are interesting. Marcille is obviously a unique case, and not a lot of this applies to her. We do know what Senshi was like as a minor (miner, lol), and he seemed like a modern 15ish, considering he was 36 and dwarf maturity is 40. I think it'd be really interesting to delve into how a culture functions with people being developmentally adolescent for soooooo long. Imagine middle school lasting 20 years. that would fucking suck. I suppose it makes sense why long-lived races are so patronizing.

Moving onto lifespans, I want to emphasize that they're average lifespans. Even in the manga, they say some half-foots live to 100, it's just rare. So it's less that a tallman 60 year old is "older" than a modern 60 year old, it's that it's easier to keep people alive for longer nowadays. Modern medicine is a BIG contributor. Dental health as well, considering how much your health is affected by your diet (and how much the action of chewing alone aids in digestion). Curious to know what the FUCK elven dentistry is like.

It also makes me wonder if half-foots would have a longer average lifespan if they weren't like, used for bait and treated so poorly, but half-foot 29 does seem to be middle-aged for half-foots. so who knows!

In that vein, I don't know if I can see Mithrun quite making it to 400 😬 like, his experience as a dungeon lord took a lot out of him quite literally, and he's doing exceptionally well despite it! I imagine he'd eventually start to develop a lot of heart problems if he doesn't have them already. Perhaps early-onset dementia. His memory seems still quite intact (he corrects Kabru on his story's accuracy) and he doesn't act like, lobotomized. He doesn't seem forgetful or confused, and he has a sense of humor/sarcasm still. It's mostly his task initiation that's been affected.

I almost want to say that mana affinity could affect long-lived races' lifespans, except dwarves have very poor tolerance for mana, so it's probably not that.

okay anyway I didn't really have a point to this post so I'm just gonna end my rambling here

[firelightmlpoc]

This is Pansear (if you want proof, look at my pinned blog; I'm well aware that there are a lot of imposters out there). I wish to say thank you for being open minded while also acknowledging that- yes- I did fuck up at times. I didn't treat Azriel the best. I was selfish towards the MAP collaborators. I wasn't a particularly great person in general- all that I admit, and I have my own separate posts for those. Overall, I'm sorry.

The harassment was too much and the screenshots were obviously fake. It wasn't fair to me. It wasn't fair to anyone either including those who believed were fake too, even to future potential victims of allegations and former victims of harassment campaigns. I left not in admittance of guilt, but to everything else that has boiled over (again, I detailed this in a post).

I know there's people beaming to know that I'm alive and well (and of course, people who are angry that I'm not). I just want to say that I'm sorry for having to leave everyone in the dark for so long, and that I was basically a POS back then.

It saddens me as well that this whole situation not only affected me- it has affected most of the fandom. It has affected the other artists, who no longer feel safe and comfortable. It has affected my friends, who missed me and feel lost in the dark. It has affected my fans, who worry about me and feel so conflicted about everything. It has affected friend groups who are distanced in their conflicts.

Even for the things I didn't do, I still felt horrible. There were no winners in the end, and any winner I could describe are those vile people hiding behind anons who have hurt the most.

People can already predict that I will never return and that is definitely the case. Not just for the sake of my well-being, but I believe it's for the best for everyone in general. It's been far too long that I danced through the harsh weathers- some strange fucked up game of ping pong, and it's time to put it to rest. I don't care if people will hate me still, all I care about is everyones' safety and for those who have been hurt to heal from this.

I have no real say on the Emily side of things. Indeed what she did to Azriel was irresponsible, but she doesn't deserve the harm and harassment she's got and been getting. Nobody does. Not even my calloutters and my harassers. Looking at their responses and posts just makes me feel bad. I can't help but feel sorry for them.

I hope you yourself are doing well. To all others reading this, I hope you all are too. The fandom isn't the same but I know love can persist somewhere. I am leaving it all up to you to make this place so much better, and that one day everyone can laugh again.

For now, I'm hoping things can rest.

I’m glad to hear you’re doing alright. And as you’ve said: Yes, you have done things wrong, but the actions taken against you were far beyond the pale for what you actually did.

An apology backed by action towards self-betterment is a good apology, & is what you’ve shown to be doing, though I truly wish that the cost you’ve had to pay for this all wasn’t so steep. I hope that you’re still able to find enjoyment in your art still, & hope that you’re able to heal from all of this, even if it takes a good bit of time to do so.

May the path you walk no longer hurt to stand on, & may you find yourself at peace with all of it some day.

[luveline]

idk if you would write for this I checked your guidelines and wasn’t sure but I would LOVE a pregnancy scare with Aaron (May be reader is younger than him?)! And she’s just panicked bc he’s older and already has a kid and etc and the test can be pos or neg totally up to you!

thank you for requesting! 1.3k, fem (possibly) pregnant!reader

cw reader's and hotch's attitude towards pregnancy is mostly positive

Your period is twelve days late. 

That is not a small amount of time. 

You don't notice it at first, and when you do you figure it's a few extra days without an irksome pain, a balm to soothe the ache of your absent boyfriend and a hard job, but when Aaron comes home from a case and you still haven't started your period, the panic begins to set in. 

You have a hard time keeping things from him for obvious reasons. His being a human lie detector felt fascinating when you first met, but now it's making things worse. You would've liked some time to yourself for denial, only he can always tell when something is wrong, though it's clear to you he's not sure exactly what it is. He'll realise eventually, you know. 

"Let's go to the store," he suggests, his hand flirting with the back of your neck. "You always feel better after a sweet treat." 

You've been to the store today, unbeknownst to him, for some emotional support chocolates and a small box you'd rather not think about. You'd hoped that he might get called away to give you time to open it, but without him you're not sure you have the strength. 

You hadn't expected to feel this way. You want desperately to tell him, but you're just so, so scared. 

"I don't feel like going anywhere." 

He hums as his hand moves to your shoulder, squeezing a loving path down to your hand. Jack bangs a toy down in his bedroom across the way, and the washing machine spinning from the utility closet sounds louder than it ever has before, like a rocket about to erupt. You don't know what it is that gets you, but suddenly you're overwhelmed, a confession stuck in the back of your throat as Aaron meets your panicked gaze. 

"What's wrong?" he asks. "Here, honey, sit down." 

He guides you to a kitchen chair. 

"What's wrong?" he asks again, bending at the waist. 

Your head rushes with white noise for a second. You wet your chapped lips with the tip of your tongue; you've missed your period, but it isn't that alone that scares you. Perhaps in an instance of a psychosomatic symptom, you feel weird, other. Something has changed. And you're starting to feel sick. 

"Aaron, I don't know what to do," you say. 

His eyes widen with an expression you don't often see. "Has something happened?" 

It's so, so hard to say. "I think I've messed up." 

"Not in any way I can't fix." 

"Maybe I have," you say miserably, panic hot behind your eyes. 

He shakes his head. "You haven't. I swear you haven't. Please, tell me what's wrong before I have a heart attack." 

You can't say it while he's looking at you, and when you do it's hardly audible. "I think I'm pregnant," you breathe. 

Aaron pauses. You can't even raise your head, anxiety its own heartbeat and nausea rising fast. You let out a gasp you'd held in and try to calm down, even while every little part of you worries about what he's going to say. 

You don't know if you want to be pregnant, or have a baby, but you know it would probably break your heart just a touch if Aaron didn't want to have one with you. You're not sure why. And Jack is a beautiful kid but he's growing up. Aaron isn't young. 

"How sure are you?" he asks, tone completely measured. 

"I… I feel it," you say. "I know that's stupid… 'N my period is really late, nearly two weeks now." 

"You feel it?" 

"I feel sick." Your elbows on your thighs and the backs of your hands pressed to your eyes, you curl in on yourself. "I'm so scared." 

"You're scared?" Hands on your forearms. Aaron gets down on his knees in front of your chair and rubs fondness into your skin, his voice a soothing, familiar comfort as he says, "Sweetheart, you have nothing to be scared of. Don't be scared. I'm right here." 

Tears like a shock, relief and horror mixed into one. "I'm so stupid, I haven't even taken the test yet, I don't know why I'm acting this way." 

"We all react differently to foreign situations than how we might imagine. What's important now is that you take a breath, because otherwise you'll panic." 

While you're afraid of what he's thinking, you trust him implicitly. "Okay." 

"Okay," he says, pulling your hands away from your face. "Just breathe, honey." 

He's more patient than you knew another person could be. He wipes your straggling tears with his hand without a word, his breath coming in even inhales and exhales for you to follow. The small spike of panic swiftly melds to plain old tears. You're embarrassed. You're unhappy. You and Aaron certainly weren't trying for this occasion. 

"What are you scared of?" he asks eventually. 

"Of you. Of what you're thinking, and– and what if I– I mean, what if I'm pregnant?" you ask, as though pregnant is a new word. When you said it at first, you'd meant, what if we end up having a baby together? But now you're more inclined to think about the process itself. What if you're physically pregnant? 

"Well, you have absolutely no reason to be scared of me. I love you." Aaron puts his hand just under your ear, his thumb to your cheek. "Whatever happens. Nothing else matters to me besides you." 

"Because you want a baby," you say unhappily. 

"Who says I don't?" He smiles at you softly. "I think we should've had this conversation a long time ago, but the long and short of it is that I love you. I love you and I'll do what you need me to." 

"I figured you'd be done having babies," you say, still hesitant. 

"Evidently not." He laughs, and you laugh back and he acts like you've hung the moon. "If you're scared of being pregnant, maybe you should take the test before you wind yourself up, hm?" 

"I guess I'm acting pretty silly, huh?" you ask, sniffling and wiping your eyes, the two of you caught in breathy laughter again. 

"Hormonal, maybe," he says. "Don't be scared. I don't want you to be scared." 

"What do you want?" you ask. 

"I just want you to stop crying. It's not right…" He strokes your damp cheek. "If I'm honest? If you take that test, and you aren't pregnant, or if you don't want to have a baby," —his face is calm, a small smile playing on his lips— "then I don't want you to, either." 

"But if I am?" you ask. 

"Then I will be so, so happy, because it's you." 

A missed period isn't necessarily indicative of pregnancy, and you could be freshly pregnant or four whole weeks and the test could still come out negative. Maybe your weird feeling is indigestion. Whatever happens, you really believe that the man in front of you is here for whatever answer you find. 

"I love you."

"I love you, too," he says, bone deep sincerity turned to something lighter, fondly teasing as he lifts himself up and hugs you close. "You know that." 

You let him hold you for a little while, calming down, looking at the positives and all your options. "You think Jack would be happy?" 

"He'd love a brother or sister… eventually." 

You wipe your tears and runny nose in his shirt and he does you the generosity of pretending not to notice. If you are going to have anyone's baby, you'd want it to be his. 

[little-mari-on-a-roof]

Along with finally airing the season 5 finale, Tfou released a version of the two last episodes commented by the writing team!! So, as I already did with the commented version of Evolution, here's an overview of what they said!! It’s quite long given that it was two episodes and they talked a lot so I will put the parts I think are the most interesting in bold!! Obligatory disclaimer, this is my own interpretation and translation so take everything with a grain of salt!

At the beginning, the writers recall that the first episode of the season 5 finale, Conformation, starts with Adrien and Kagami supposedly arriving in London "like rock stars". However, it is actually just an illusion made from the scanned version of them and the two teens are actually being sequestered in London. At this moment, Thomas says "talk about good parenting" in English, which I think is very funny. The team explains that they were first put in regular apartments in the previous episode but are now in rooms without windows after both of them escaped. This is also done to protect them from what will happen, as Gabriel is about to put his plan of akumatising the entire world into action.

The writers say that Gabriel had been imagining his plan ever since Animaestro when he was seen signing contracts with Tsurugi, and has been putting it in place since the second episode of season 5 (Multiplication). They say that he also tested the first part of his plan, to put nightmares in everyone's heads, in a previous episode.

The rest is under the cut!

Talking about previous episodes, they then say that as was the case with the Risk - Strike back - Evolution - Multiplication - Destruction series of episodes (aka the longest day ever), the 5 last episodes of season 5 (Collusion - Revolution - Representation - Conformation - Recreation) go together and there is a direct continuation between them. (However, one of their rules as Miraculous writers is that these episodes can also be watched and understood independently.) Therefore, season 5 both starts and ends with a series of 5 episodes (quintologies as they call them).

They note that Marinette's nightmare at the beginning is reminiscent of the episode Weredad from season 3. At this point, we can see that Marinette starts to understand who the villain is although she's not fully conscious of it yet. Thomas says that you can read it in two different ways: if you don't take the previous episode into account, she's starting to intuitively link things together but if you did see Representation, you know that she knows who Monarch really is. (They say that to highlight the fact that even though this is the 4th episode of a quintology, all episodes can be understood on their own as mentioned before.)

They then talk more about Gabriel's plan. He gives everyone nightmares on the same day and we can see the different characters suffering because of that (for example, Marinette's mom who thinks Tom is overprotective). He will then offer a solution which a sort of relaxation application directly inspired by the different yoga apps people have on their phones nowadays. This app helps them relax, but also makes people addicted since their nightmares come back as soon as they don't use it anymore. They joke about the relevance of this in today's world with people being "addicted" to their phones or people in positions of power spreading poisons and then monetising the antidote, or the corruption of capitalism selling things we don't need or causing mental illnesses to make people addicted. They ironise that nooo they couldn't possibly be referring to all of that, not in a children's show!!

During the scene that leads to Adrien wearing the Alliance ring after being reticent to it, they say that they had a conflit when writing it as they had to find a way for Adrien to not become his superhero self, cataclysm the walls and go help his lady in Paris. The end result is that Adrien is reminded of the devastating effect of his power by the nightmare and would therefore do anything to avoid hurting people, and so he wears the ring. Mélanie says that he "could become Chat Blanc" and the others add that even though he does not remember and has never lived it, Chat Blanc still has an influence on his actions.

Thomas mentions that Plagg (who he calls "Plaggo" and "Plagounet", which are sort of funny and affectionate nicknames) doesn't show up on cameras, and Sébastien jokes that there could be kwamis around them as they're talking but we just can't see them. Speaking of Plagg, Sébastien jokingly calls Fred the "queen of cheese" as she's the one writing the cheese puns and mentions that there are way more cheese jokes in season 5 than there were before, which makes him think that she is getting retributed by cheese industries in exchange for writing them. Fred then replies that she's getting paid directly in cheese.

The writers say that while the episodes are often narratively dense with science fiction elements, Plagg allows them to add humour in the scene and keep a lighter atmosphere for small children (you know, when he shows his butt to the camera while Adrien is having an existential crisis).

Anyway moving on lol, the writers then say that they had actually planned since 2014/2015 that Chat Noir would not be there to defeat Hawkmoth as they wanted a very particular power fusion to happen (aka Marinette wielding both the ladybug and black cat miraculous and becoming Bug Noire).

Fred then talks about how ever since the start of the series, they have incorporated the symbolism of fairy tales with the sleeping princess and the knight coming to save her. However, they're switching the genders in Miraculous as Adrien is the princess and Marinette the knight (while Gabriel is the evil dragon). They add that they already explained this in a previous episode (in season 4) but they're showing it again now in Marinette's nightmare.

In the scene where we can see that Tikki ate all the croissants, they joke that she did well given everything that is going to happen afterwards. They also jokingly tell the kids watching that they shouldn't do like Marinette and hide in trash cans but eating bananas and croissants is ok (trust me it's funny when they say it). They add that if Fred is the cheese queen, Mélanie is like Tikki because she loves cakes and anything sweet.

We then see Nathalie's nightmare in which Gabriel successfully makes his wish, and therefore manages to accomplish his evil plan which Nathalie knows about. We can see that she's looking very bad and the writers again jokingly give recommendations to the children watching, here to not use a damaged peacock miraculous.

They then talk more about Natalie's past, in which she was a treasure hunter. They say that someone should let them show the fabulous story of Nathalie, Gabriel, Émilie, Audrey and André when they were younger. Indeed, they already wrote what happened in their youth as it is the origin story without which they couldn't have written Miraculous. When Natalie looks at the picture of her in her "Lara Croft outfit", as they call it, from when they were chasing the miraculous and found the peacock and butterfly ones, they jokingly ask what they were chasing and why and say that you have to watch the rest of season 5 to know (basically, they're strongly hinting at sentiadrien).

They say that Gabriel/Hawkmoth and Tsurugi have been allies for a very long time, but it has only been revealed rather recently in the show and we can see it now in a scene where they're plotting together and rising the tension.

In the following scene, we can see all the kids ready for the "miraculisation", except Mylène who is not wearing a ring because while she is not fully anti technology, she is more wary of it and vigilant of its excesses. They then focus on Ivan, who would also like to resist like her but for whom it is too hard. They add that he has "things stressing him out" but that we will only learn about them in later seasons 👀👀.

They take a moment to appreciate the "exceptional" direction and lighting done by Wilfried in the scene where Nathalie threatens Gabriel with a crossbow. Thomas also makes a reference to Citizen Kane but I've never watched it so idk what he meant by that sorry I'm uncultured haha. The writing team says that while they are the ones writing the scenes, they need a director to make the scenes look like what they imagined, and that it's not always easy.

In the next scene, we can see Ladybug looking around in Nathalie's room to find hints about where Adrien could be and finding her tablet with all the information about the miraculous, which makes Marinette realise that Nathalie was Monarch's accomplice right before they enter in the room. They joke about how OMG THEY NEVER COULD'VE GUESSED that Adrien's father was actually Monarch the whole time. We can see Ladybug recording a message for Chat Noir where she reveals his identity, but she never ends up actually sending it.

They talk about how this scene is a huge climax as it is rare to see Ladybug in the Agreste mansion. It had already happened in season 1 during the episode Simon Says where they already played on the dramatic irony of Hawkmoth being Gabriel (which people did not know at the time). This is the second time that Ladybug is in the mansion, while Marinette has been there before a few times (including the iconic pancake moment). While they talk about Simon Says, Fred looks really smug saying that they had planned everything since the beginning.

They say that the scene during which Nathalie gives Ladybug her phone with the pictures and videos of Émilie explaining all of Miraculous's backstory is beautiful, and that if we as viewers had this phone, we would know everything about it (👀👀👀). In addition, they mention that since this is the final episode of the arc, a lot of things happen to get all the final outcomes of the different relationship between characters.

When Gabriel shows the video of Ladybug and Chat Noir kidnapping Adrien and Kagami on everyone's Alliances, the writers explain that people are so disoriented and stressed that they'll believe anything we tell them. They are therefore receptive to any controversy presented to them, just like how people nowadays will engage in numerous sterile debates on social media.

We can then see Monarch using things he obtained in previous episodes: the cataclysm dust from his deteriorating hand and the magical charm Ladybug gave him. We can see that Gabriel had been planning everything from a very long time but that because of the cataclysm he suffered from, he has no choice but to carry it out now. Coincidentally, it is this very cataclysm that allows his to have Chat Noir's quantic signature and put his plan into action. They jokingly compare what he is doing to making a dog sniff a sock, but in a cyberquantic version.

The quantic signature allows the miraculised people to find Ladybug and Chat Noir, and the team says that when they were writing the scene where they detect Ladybug in Gabriel's mansion, they were all going omg omg omg trying to figure out how they were going to get away with it. They say that while Ladybug is trapped in the villain's lair, the writers trapped themselves with the story.

They once again give a shout out to Wilfried's direction when we can see Ladybug getting attacked from all sides by the miraculised people, notably because of the camera motions. They also acknowledge SAMG's amazing animation especially in the scenes including a lot of characters.

My unculturedness shows again when they say that Marinette hiding in a cupboard under the sink is a reference to Jurassic Park. The reference I do get however is when they say that Plagg not being able to shift through the door with his ring was the plot of Mr Pigeon 72.

The action then reaches a maximum as Monarch knows that Ladybug is hiding somewhere in his house, detransformed. We now get to THE moment they had been waiting for since the beginning: when Monarch discovers that Marinette is Ladybug and she transforms into the fabulous BUG NOIRE!!! They keep talking about how cool she is and that they left the best for last: the final fight with Monarch does not happen with Ladybug, nor with Chat Noir, nor with Chat Noir and Ladybug but with BUG NOIRE!!!!!

Fred says the season has a particular taste of closure, even though there is still a next part, and warns to hold on because the latter will hurt a lot 🥲🥲.

🐞🐞🐞

Now, onto the the second episode, Re-creation !! (Yeah the first 2k words before that were on Conformation alone. I am bad at summarising. 😭)

At the beginning of the episode, when we can see Lila laughing when she sees Alec having an akuma induced nightmare on TV, the writers say that it is because she has known who Monarch is for multiple episodes now. They mention that it is because she read something on people’s lips in Evolution (episode 501) which allowed her to discover things. She also stole a case from Tsurugi so she knows who Gabriel really is.

Then, they focus on the fight we "had all been waiting for", and Mélanie mentions that her favourite lucky charm is the piano crashing on Monarch. They say that while they have spent multiple hours finding intelligent and sophisticated lucky charms for years, this one is just simple and exhilarating.

They then talk about how the resistance is fighting against the miraculised people, and how this happens all over the world (in China, Rio, New York) and includes a LOT of different characters. This explains why it takes a long time to deliver the episodes and they joke about how they’re blowing up their budget. However, despite all the superheroes fighting all over the world, it is still not enough.

Indeed, the outcome doesn’t play out in the giant arena outside, but in the KITCHEN. They joke about how they waited long enough to finally get it and that the resolve should therefore happen there, and even nickname the episode a « kitchen-two-room episode » (the joke makes more sense in french since we define homes according to their number of rooms, not just bedrooms).

They say that in the fight between Bug Noire and Monarch, both are so evolved in mastering their powers that neither of them have limits (Monarch can use as many powers as he wants at once thanks to his rings, and Bug Noire can use as many lucky charms and cataclysms as she wants). They lovingly say that our little Marinette from season one has grown a lot 🥺. She’s now super badass (they kept talking about how cool she was) and has learned so much.

They add that the scene where Bug Noire uses her handcuffs lucky charm is a reference to Kung Fu movies where characters fight while being chained to each other (once again, I’ve watched like zero movies so I’m gonna trust them on that lol). They once again mention the amazing direction and get very excited when Bug Noire slams Monarch through the wall.

During the fight scenes outside, they joke that Doorman (the USAmerican superhero whose power is to open doors) and Fang (a literal crocodile who knows Kung Fu) were essential in saving Paris. However, despite all the people fighting outside, the miraculised people remain too many and there is only one person who can save everyone from Monarch’s perfect plan.

Back in the Agreste mansion, Bug Noire is losing and her only escape is to cataclysm the floor which makes them land in the crypt (which was right under the mansion all along !!!). She then sees Emilie’s body and understand why Gabriel is doing all of this. When talking about his motive, the writers joke that if he succeeded, it would be hard to explain to Adrien why his mom, who has been dead for a year, is suddenly back and that while it would be unjust for Gabriel to trade her life for someone else’s, he doesn’t care and would just make Ladybug go away.

The team explains that in the following scenes, there is an alternance between the outside (in Paris) and inside (in the crypt) fights, with the dialogue happening inside continuing while we see what is happening outside on screen. They don’t do that often, which gives this scene all the more impact during the finale. They talk about how this kind of thing is a trademark of Miraculous: the episodes are quite dense despite their short length, thanks to the fact that the story continues when the action is taking place and the emotion continues to be conveyed. They oppose it to classical action movies where some scenes are dedicated to dialogue/story while fight scenes are just about fighting.

The writers say that from the moment Bug Noire gets her glue tube lucky charm, they are already working on the plot of season 6: when she manages to steal the butterfly miraculous from Monarch, she does not actually retrieve it because of how far away she is and it falls in the water below (cf Lila retrieving it which will be relevant in season 6).

At this moment, Gabriel loses and the resolution of the battle is not what we could’ve expected: we don’t have Ladybug winning by thrashing him, but she instead simply talks to him and even detransforms in front of him. It is not Ladybug who defeats Monarch but Marinette. This echoes to a message they have been trying to convey since the beginning : that in the end, it is not violence or strength that wins, but people talking to each other and opening up about their feelings. It is when people are not subject to their emotions, but instead try to understand them to think better and take the right decisions. And this is what Marinette is hoping for here by showing Gabriel the video of Émilie saying that she never wanted him to become evil, and instead just hoped for him to take care of Adrien (which he didn’t do lol).

In the end, Marinette and Gabriel’s main goals are the same : making Adrien happy. She takes a huge risk and detransforms to see how much he loves Adrien, or on the contrary how much he would rather bring his wife back. This is the only moment where we see Gabriel being truly emotional and understand why he has been doing all of that. Fred adds that he is a character who thinks love goes beyond good and evil, and oversteps every boundary, including moral ones. Therefore, Marinette is trying to solve a crisis of feelings by using feelings.

Back to the episode, we can see Marinette taking the biggest risk in her life and extending her hand to her nemesis, even the kwamis tell her that she’s insane. The writers joke that well, they were right, as Gabriel steals both miraculous and it does not end well (or at least not for now). Gabriel has now won as he can do what he has been wanting since the very beginning.

The team mentions that the next scene is one of the biggest reveals of the show, as we can finally see how the wish happens. We discover that the kwamis are not actually little plushies but take this appearance to avoid scaring their wielders, and the writers actually hinted to that in Dearest Family when Tikki ate all the galette des rois. One member of the team jokes that when the kwamis reveal themselves, they become a Swedish hit from the 70s : Gimmi (as a reference to Gimme ! Gimme ! Gimme ! by ABBA of course).

Moving on from the dad jokes, when Gabriel removes all of his miraculous rings, Marinette is released from the bee sting and can now witness her defeat. But the fact that Gabriel laid down his weapons shows that she has actually won, even though it is only shown and not said.

However, they say that there is still some doubt : we do not actually know what he wishes for as his words are cryptic and we only see the outcome of his wish. They do say that Émilie will not be brought back to life as Gabriel has finally mourned her death, which Adrien has already done for a long time. But Gabriel cannot live without her and decides to die with her.

In order to accomplish the wish, they explain that the world has to be destroyed and then re-created, which leads us to the aftermath of the wish a few weeks later and the pool party where everything seems to be going well. Then comes probably the most enigmatic shot of the episode with Nathalie and Amélie/Émilie. The writers say that they’re not telling us who it is but I think we can guess pretty easily based on what they said right before 😭😭. They also add that with Nathalie next to her we can guess what Gabriel’s wish was, but that it is "not what we think" and that there is a trick.

They say that with the final wish, they have arrived at the end of what they wanted to tell in this arc, which is a revolution of the minds. They said that each played their role, including the villain because he gave up on his power with which he could do anything to make his son happy. They add that the new world we are seeing shows the premise of season 6, which will have a "different taste" and in which they will talk about different things.

They say that at the end, some lies remain as Gabriel is presented as a hero. They say that Marinette gave Adrien the twin rings, in what frankly looks like a wedding proposal lol. Then they go insane because it’s time for LE BISOUUUU, and a real lovey kiss that they remember for once, not like in Oblivio, and not a desperate kiss like when Adrien left for London. However, even with all this cute romantic stuff, we can see some ominous butterflies flying around them…

In the next scene, we can see Marinette taking the miraculous that have been standardised and industrialised by Gabriel and putting them back in shape. The writers specify that this is a parabole about craftsmanship vs industrial production. The miraculous will now be adapted to every person, but we can’t see what they look like just yet! In this new world, the powers are all shared, among people who they trust and know will work for the common good. They joke that the "Avengers" shot at the end with all the heroes is something they’d been dreaming of.

In the last scene with Lila, they joke that it’s never really finished because there’s a bunch of epilogues one after the other. Thomas add that the school described at the end is how he thinks all schools should work!

And we’ve finally reached the end!! They don’t reveal anything in the scene where a weird flash appears in Lila’s room to keep the suspense, and just all scream going OMG WHAT’S HAPPENING!!!

🐞🐞🐞

I hope this was helpful to learn more about the writing team and some stories behind the episodes!! Don't hesitate to add stuff if you think I forgot something or ask questions if I wasn't completely clear :)).

[nexus-nebulae]

wow i WILDLY miscalculated the difference between kilograms and pounds

[scholomancefan]

Horrifying prompt/idea:

Omegaverse where Shen Yuan is Shen Jiu and Qiu Jianluo’s son.

For Context: I’ve been reading Sha Po Lang, and Chang Geng’s relationship with his (supposed) mother in his memories had me thinking of Shen Jiu (after escaping the Qiu household) raising Shen Yuan similarly, with alternating murder attempts, machinations, and pity.

Fun fact, in the first draft of Marrying the Scum Villainess's Daughter, Shen Yuan was going to be Qiu Jianluo's and Shen Jiu's! But that was too dark for what I wanted to be a lighthearted comedy, so I cut it 😅 Anyway, here's my first try writing omegaverse! Please be gentle ❤️

“All this time this man has deceived you!” Qiu Haitang cried out. “He’s no beta. He’s an omega, the wife of my brother, and the bearer of my nephew Qiu Yuan!”

Everyone turned to stare aghast at Shen Qingqiu, including Shen Yuan himself.

It couldn’t be true. Shen Qingqiu was a beta just like Shen Yuan. He’d gotten Shen Yuan on some brothel worker somewhere, something Shen Yuan’s bullies on Qing Jing had rubbed in Shen Yuan’s face over and over.

Shen Qingqiu’s eyes were like black marbles, and there was no life in them. Only purest loathing for the alpha Qiu Haitang as she made her accusations.

The Huan Hua Palace Master stroked his beard. “These are serious accusations,” he murmured in a carrying voice.

Because omegas were little better than property to be bought or sold through dowries–treasured in families, to be sure, but one could never hold a position of power. Whether they were even allowed to cultivate was generally the decision of their alpha after they had been mated; how could omegas be expected to control their base lusts without a firm and guiding hand?

“He murdered my brother, Qiu Jianluo, and stole their child,” Qiu Haitang wept. “Qiu Yuan, a precious omega of our house!”

And now it felt like all the air around him had vanished. Shen Yuan couldn’t breathe.

“Baba…” Shen Yuan whispered.

The teas. The damn teas that Shen Qingqiu insisted they drink together every day. Shen Qingqiu had never liked Shen Yuan; had encouraged the other disciples to bully him, had turned away from Shen Yuan’s tears. But he insisted every day at the same time that they take tea together. It was a far cry from family bonding. It was as much warmth as Shen Yuan ever had from him.

“The omega Qiu Yuan of course cannot remain in omega Shen Jiu’s care,” the Huan Hua Palace Master insisted.

This!!! Fucking!!! Setup!!! Everyone was just taking Qiu Haitang’s word for everything, even though Shen Yuan was certain he and Shen Qingqiu were still to all appearances betas. This could only mean one thing… or rather, that one person was behind this.

“We will arrange a marriage for him straight away to a trustworthy cultivator of great promise,” the Huan Hua Palace Master continued.

There it was.

Shen Yuan peered through the crowd and sure enough there was Luo Binghe, watching the proceedings with the smug look of someone for whom everything was going according to plan. For the protagonist everything always went according to plan.

And in this case apparently the plan was to collect Shen Yuan into Luo Binghe’s harem like a special edition Pokemon card!

Gongyi Xiao stepped forward and reached out to Shen Yuan. “It’s going to be all right,” he said softly, the trappings of kindness trying to hide the poison of the lie.

The snap of a paper fan unfurling. Blood spattered the cobbles at their feet. Gongyi Xiao clutched his bleeding wrist and cried out in pain.

And then it was Shen Qingqiu standing there, shielding Shen Yuan from the view of the crowd.

“If you try to take Shen Yuan, I will slaughter you all and dance in your bloody remains,” Shen Qingqiu snarled, and raised his fan, stained crimson at its qi-honed edge.

[thevoidstaredback]

Tales of Conquest, Warnings of Fools:

Letters Between Brothers

Damian Wayne, Dec. 24, 2011

Your forgiveness is more than I ever could’ve asked for. I still don’t think I deserve it, but I will take what you have given me, ahki.

You writing back was unexpected, but I’m so glad you did! Though, I guess this isn’t very secure, huh. Oh, well! As long as nothing incriminating is written down, we should be fine.

How’s father? And your siblings? I understand there are three kids father’s adopted. Also, what about your extracurriculars? Anything exciting going on that you can tell me about? It’s boring, crime wise, where I’m at. No murder mysteries or sex scandals or huge break-ins. Not that I want any of those to happen, but it’d be really fun to get to follow a case that isn’t twelve years old or four states over.

How are you adjusting at all, actually? It was a big culture shock for me for a while, especially because no one here speaks Arabic. Can you believe that? Some of the others still think I made up an entire language just to mess with them! I haven’t been able to speak with someone in our mother tongue in a while, but I’ve been trying not to forget any of it! Even if there’s an accent coming through.

Tell me about your life. Not what the media says. I want to know the real you. Do you have friends? Any pets? What about hobbies? Do you still have that dagger I made you that one time?

Anyway, I gotta go now. I hope to hear from you soon!

I don’t know what holiday(s) father and your siblings celebrate, so I’ll wish you a happy all of them!

سأسامحك دائماً يا أخي لقد وُضعت في أسوأ الاحتمالات وبذلت قصارى جهدك بما كان لديك من معرفة. كنت ستعرض نفس�� للخطر فقط إذا عدت.

Danny Fenton

***

Danny had wasted no time in writing a response. Was he going to come off as eager? Probably, but he didn’t really care. His brother had responded to him! Granted, he thinks this is a trick, but there’s some part of Damian that believes Danny’s alive! He forgives him for not going home! It’s more than Danny could’ve ever allowed himself to hope for.

But, gods was he awkward! He hadn’t let Jazz read the letter at all. She didn’t know what he said the first time, she didn’t know what the response said, and she wasn’t ever going to read any of them if he had any say in the matter. Yes, they’re siblings and he loves her just as much as he loves Damian, but this was something she didn’t have any business poking her nose into. He liked to think that Damian would likewise keep this from his own siblings, though he’d totally understand if Dami shared purely because of the suspicious circumstances.

Anyway, Danny had read and re-read Damian’s letter for hours, trying to come up with the best response, only stopping when Jazz called him down for dinner. Sleep hadn’t come easily, either, because of the adrenaline from actually getting a response. He’d hoped he’d get one, but he was also sure that he wouldn’t get one.

But why did he have to be so awkward writing back? Damian’s his brother, not a total stranger! Damian probably wouldn’t care. Danny’s always been like that, awkward at all the wrong times. He’s just gotten used to not hiding it since he left, though it had taken a while.

He has to wonder, though, if Damian is with father, does this mean he’s left the Shadows? How had he done it? Obviously, he hadn’t faked his death. Father is a very public figure, so anything short of Damian leaving a massacre behind him as he left the Shadows would be unlikely. Unless he is still with the Shadows? In which case, Danny’s just doomed himself. Sure, the PO box was set up in the town over, and maybe he struck up a deal to have the letters sent from there to his house, but that wasn’t going to stop ninja assassins. Nothing short of death would stop ninja assassins!

No! Bad Danny! No use having second thoughts now; It’s too late. He just has to hope for the best. Gods, was he hoping, wishing on stars and everything! He wanted this to work out. He wanted to have a relationship with his older brother-

Damn, he’s still the younger sibling. He hadn’t thought much of it before, but both Jazz and Damian are older than him! If he counts father’s children, which he does only to prove his point this one time, then he’s the youngest of six kids! That’s not fair. Who decided that was a fair trade? Could be worse, he supposed. He could be stuck as a middle sibling. Shutter the thought.

“Danny?” Jazz opened the door with a knock, “You ready to send that letter?”

He groaned into his pillow. “I already did.”

“Really?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Yeah,” he rolled over to face her, “Finished it this morning and shipped it off.”

Jazz hummed. “I still don’t get why you won’t let me read them. I could totally help you with spelling and stuff!”

Danny sat up and stared at her with a dead look. “Jazz, I was taught by people who were the best of the best in their fields. There isn’t a single thing you could do to help me write or read those letters.”

“Why not?”

“Because they aren’t in English.”

“Liar!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! I saw the one you got! It was in English!” She paused. “Except for that last bit. That just looked like a bunch of squiggles.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “That wasn’t a bunch of squiggles, Jazz. It was Arabic, my mother tongue.”

“First,” she adjusted to sit criss-cross on the foot of his bed, “Never say ‘mother tongue’ again; it sounds weird. Second, the simple solution is to teach me Arabic.”

Danny had to pause for a second to let the words register in his head. “You-you want to learn Arabic?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I mean, it can’t be that hard, right?”

“Yes it can,” he sighed, “You’d have to learn a whole new alphabet of letters and sounds. It’s not a Latin based language like English or Spanish.”

“I can do it!”

“I don’t doubt that, but I think an easier language would be better.”

She huffed. “You just don’t wanna share.”

True, but, “I could teach you Romanian? It’s a Latin derived language, like English, so it’s got the same alphabet.”

“Fine,” she agreed after a moment, “Where do we start?”

“Kids!” their dad called from the kitchen, “We have something for you!”

Danny and Jazz shared a grimace. “Down stairs, apparently,” he said. Quickly, they left the room and made their way down the stairs and to the kitchen. Their parents probably didn’t have any actual gifts for them, so they weren’t going to get their hopes up.

They were right, of course. Jack and Maddie Fenton were creatures of habit and obsession; workaholics, in simpler terms.

The two kids joined their parents at the table. “Mom,” Jazz greeted, “Dad.”

“Jazzypants!” Jack smiled, his voice booming, “Dann-o!”

“What’s up?” Danny asked. He wanted to go back to his room and stew over what he’d just sent to his brother. Seriously? ‘I’ll wish you a happy all of them?’ That’s so stupid! Beyond stupid, actually! He wanted to curl up and die. Can people die of embarrassment?

Maddie smiled kindly at her children, somehow matching her husband’s energy but not his volume. “We had another breakthrough in our research.”

“Oh?” Danny had been intrigued by the [now] Drs. Fenton’s research. It was all theoretical, of course, but they claimed to have proof of base for their research. He’d never seen it before, and they’d never offered to show him or Jazz, but they mentioned it in all of their papers. He’d never deemed it worth anything, so it had been pushed behind relevant information like literally anything else.

He still didn’t know how they’d gotten those papers published. They were the laughing stocks of the scientific and occult communities! An accomplishment in and of itself, really.

“Yes,” his mother nodded, “But that’s not what we called you two down to discuss.”

“It’s not? Jazz tilted her head to the side.

“Nope!” Jack’s smile somehow got bigger. “We’ve decided that the both of you are old enough-”

“-and responsible enough.” Maddie added.

“-do go down and see the lab!”

Jazz and Danny had two very different reactions to this statement. Danny was a bit excited to get to see whatever held his parents’ attention at all hours of the day. Jazz, on the other hand, was furious.

“What!” she demanded.

Jack and Maddie didn’t seem to even register her anger. “You two have both proven yourselves responsible in your school and house work, so we figured it was time to let you two in on the family business.”

“But, I don’t want to do lab work!” Jazz objected, now standing with her hands on the table and her chair pushed back aggressively.

“Nonsense,” Maddie waved her off easily, “You’ll love it. Besides, you’ve always wanted to help us in the lab, ever since you were a child.”

Jazz just screamed in outrage. “I’ve never said that!”

She was ignored. “Of course, we’ll have to go over the proper safety measures so that neither of you gets hurt.” Jack stated.

Throwing her hands up, Jazz stormed away from the table and stomped up to her room, the door slamming behind her. Danny has no doubts that she’s locked herself in.

“She must be tired,” Jack smiled fondly, “We’ve got some work to finish up down stairs, Dann-o, but we’ll be back up for dinner, alright?”

Danny nodded and the two left. Quietly, he whispered, “Liar.” to the empty main floor.

***

Danyal Fenton Dec. 27, 2011

Your definition of ‘incriminating’ must be wrong. You reaching out in the first place would’ve put us both in danger had your letter been intercepted. The same remains true for every letter we exchange, though I will not be the one to put a stop to the communication. It is nice to have physical evidence of your conversations, no matter how much time passes between each response.

I am still skeptical that you are my brother, but, as I said in my last letter, I will continue on with a shade pulled over my eyes, ahki.

I have done some research while living with father. My own experiences prove at least some of what they say is true. I never truly believed you had died. I always had a feeling that you were alive somewhere, safe, out of reach of Grandfather and Mother.

Father is well. In public, he is outgoing, drunk, clumsy, able to start a conversation from nothing and let it trail off into a slightly more useful nothing. In truth, he is standoffish, strong, able to talk circles around anyone. He is always ready for a fight and always prepared for the worst. He does not like surprises.

We have four siblings, and one honorary sibling. Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, and Stephanie Brown. Grayson is more outgoing than the others, though he has been with Father the longest, so he is just as skilled as him. Todd was dead and refuses to communicate with Father. Drake is smart, but that is all he has going for him. Cain was raised in the League like us, though not at any of the bases we ever visited. Brown was dating Drake, but has since become more of a sister to the Manor.

Alfred Pennyworth is the family butler. He raised Father and continues to stand by his side. He is a formidable foe, though I have yet to see him in actual combat. He, aside from Father and myself, is the most competent resident of Wayne Manor.

Again, you need to reassess your definition of ‘incriminating’. There is nothing I can share, without consequence, that hasn’t already been made public by the GCPD. I will say, however, that my position as the superior child remains unchallenged. Not that any of those bastards Father has taken in would ever pose any kind of challenge to me or you.

I must ask, you know where I am, so is it not fair that you tell me where you are? The return address you have used leads to a PO box in Elmerton, Illinois, but I doubt that’s where you really are. Your description of ‘boring’ in regards to the crime rate is fully expected of anywhere when compared to Gotham, though that goes nearly doubly so for the midwest.

It was a shock to me as well, though I have been handling it. None of the others have noticed any unease, so I will take it. It will not do to show weakness in the face of enemies. I can agree, however, that the lack of use of Arabic is disappointing. I do not fear that I will ever forget the language or our home, but I do regret to say that I have encountered similar problems you have.

Father insists that I go to school with others my age to ‘socialize’, though I do not see the point. It’s all thinly veiled insults from the adults we are placed in the charge of. I am much smarter than my peers, so I have not been able to have a single intelligent conversation with any of them. The exception, however, being Jon Kent. He is adequate company. Our Father and his father are friends.

I have a cat named Alfred, after the butler. I would like to get a dog, but Father has denied my request. I have, however, managed to hide Goliath in the cave. Father knows he is there, but the others remain oblivious.

As for hobbies, art is the only one worth mentioning. I have several sets of paints and colors and pencils, though I remain partial to charcoal. Paper is the easiest to use, but I prefer canvas.

Of course I still have that dagger, Danyal. I have many weapons, but that is the only one that has never left my person.

Father is Jewish, though he was raised Catholic, and is an atheist; Grayson is Christian; Todd was raised Catholic, but is atheist; Drake was born to a Christian mother, but he follows after his father as an atheist; Neither Cain nor Brown were born into religious families, so they don’t follow any religion, as far as I’m aware.

Pennyworth has decorated the Manor for all of the holidays, though the only tradition I’ve actually seen practiced is the gift exchange from Christmas.

Honestly, you must work on your formatting. You give almost no information in exchange for your questions getting answers. It makes your letters very short. So, I will turn all of your questions back on you. I expect them to be answered sufficiently.

أفضل ما لدي لم يكن جيداً بما فيه الكفاية كنت أعلم أنك لا تزال على قيد الحياة، ومع ذلك لم أفعل شيئًا سوى نشر كذبة وفاتك.

Damian Wayne

***

The letter was a surprise, especially considering it’s a page and a half, though he should’ve expected it. He found it hilarious that the first thing Dami had done this time was to insult him. At least he’d waited a few lines in the last letter! It hurt a bit that Damian still thought this was a trick, but Danny couldn’t find it in himself to blame him. He’d’ve acted the same way if their roles were reversed.

He liked hearing about Damian’s family. They’re so different compared to what the media says. Then again, he expected that. Most people are hardly ever exactly how they’re portrayed to bigger audiences. The Drs. Fenton being an exception.

And, yeah, he knew Dami was going to search the address, but did he really have to come out and say it like that? At least he knew the Shadows (League?) hadn’t gotten in the middle, otherwise he’d’ve been cut down by now. Small blessings.

Ah, Goliath the dragon bat. Danny remembers when they got Goliath. Hiding him was hard, but they managed. Though, he’s fairly certain that Mother knew they had him hidden in the caves of Nanda Parbat. That does beg the question, though, of how the hell Damian managed to get a - by now - fully grown dragon bat across continents and into a cave in New Jersey without being spotted? Did he even really want to know? Probably not.

Danny could remember the expression on Damian’s face when he realized that Goliath was getting bigger. They’d found him on their first mission for Grandfather after leaving the group that had been sent with them. They’d kept him moving between their rooms when they got back, never keeping him in one for more than a night before moving him to the other. Then suddenly, the creature they’d found that was no bigger than their forearms was as long as their arms from shoulder to fingertip! They had only been able to keep Goliath between their rooms for another month before having to hide him in the caves under Nanda Parbat.

And the food! Goliath, even as a baby dragon bat, could eat triple his body weight. It was a wonder no one found him! How does Damian keep him fed? And how have his siblings not noticed the dragon under their house? Thoughts for another time.

Danny closed his book as he finished it. It was the astrology one, clearly written for people new to the topic, but he wasn’t complaining. It was easy to understand and he found himself actually enjoying it more than he originally anticipated. He could see why the girls in his class liked it, too. He could see himself falling deeper into this rabbit hole, but he wasn’t upset about that.

He moved on to read the second book he’d gotten, the one about witchcraft. Briefly, he chuckled at the image that he was slowly coming to see as his future. “A witch,” he hummed with a smile, “Mother would be so disappointed.”

The book opened up with a brief history about the topic before going into a deep dive about different practices and how things had changed and improved throughout history. It also gave names to famous witches and witch hunters, one that he recognized.

Jack Fenton, about three years after Danny had been taken in by the family, had given Danny a full rundown of his and Maddie’s family histories. Fentonightingale had been the family name until Jack’s great-grandfather had changed it to Fenton when he married. John Fentonightingale was a well known witch hunter in Salem, Massachustes in 1600. He was best known for eating a slow acting poison in the form of - now extinct - flowers as evidence against an unnamed witch on trial. He died shortly thereafter, leaving his grieving wife and children.

The humor was not lost to Danny. “Looks like dad’ll be disappointed, too.”

“Knock, knock?” Jazz asked from the hallway, knocking her knuckle on his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” he called back, closing his book and putting it down.

Jazz opened the door. “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been hiding out here all day. No plans with Sam or Tucker?”

Danny shook his head. “Nah. Tuck’s spending the break with his family and Sam’s been forced to go to a rich person party somewhere in Washington.”

“DC?”

“State.”

“She’s not too far.”

“Too far for an emergency extraction.”

“You sound like she’s gonna get killed or something.”

Danny snorted. “Don’t jinx it, Jazzercise.”

“I’m not gonna jinx it, Danimal.” She leaned against the door frame. “Besides, even if she did die, she’d come back as a ghost just to haunt you.”

He groaned and flopped over onto his side. “Don’t even joke about that!”

“Why, ‘cause I’m right?” He groaned again. She laughed. “Alright, Dannibal Lector, since you’re obviously bored out of your mind, you wanna come watch a movie with me?”

“And risk mom and dad dragging us down into the lab?” He sat up, “No thanks.”

“Come on,” she goaded, “It’ll be fun! I’ll even let you pick the movie!”

“Hmmmm. A documentary on ghost hunting or a mockumentary on ghost hunting? Such a hard decision.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “Come on, D! You can’t stay locked in here forever.”

“Actually, J, I think I can. I’ve got food, water, and entertainment. I’ll be fine.”

“What about when you have to pee or shower?”

“I’ll put a bucket in the corner and dump it out the window.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“And rainwater is clean enough.”

“It’s literally not, though.”

“Well, I won’t know unless I try.”

“You’re not gonna live in here by yourself!”

“Why? You wanna join me? Sorry, but there’s only enough pillows for a one person fort.”

She snorted and shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“What’s hard to believe? Unless you’ve got pillows hidden up your-” He cut himself off with an exaggerated and mocking gasp. “Jazz! Do you have pillows hidden up your ass?”

“Danny!” she scolded, but her tone was fond, “Watch your language, brat!”

“What?” he giggled, “It’s a genuine question.”

Jazz rolled her eyes, “No, I do not have pillows shoved up my ass.”

“Language!” he mocked.

“Are you gonna come watch a movie with me or not?”

“Sure, sure,” he stood, “But if we get dragged down to the lab, I’m blaming you.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

*

Danny was right. He was right and he was never listening to Jazz ever again. He could live in his room until he turned eighteen! That was totally something he could do. It wasn’t like he’d been raised to survive off of less in less space.

Instead of watching a movie they’d seen a million times before, the siblings had decided to watch YouTube on the TV. Halfway into Episode 4 of Buzzfeed Unsolved, their parents came up and dragged them down to the lab to show them their breakthrough from the previous night.

Looking at it, it was much less a breakthrough and more of ‘getting closer to the final picture’. The Ghost Portal had been a project that Jack and Maddie had been working on since college. A friend of theirs had gotten sent to the hospital for this project and had yet to be released. What had given them the idea that this was safe to build in their basement, let alone show their children? Regardless, it was too late now, so Danny and Jazz were forced to roll with it.

“We’re almost done with it!” Jack looked like a proud parent when he was looking at the thing.

The Ghost Portal, as it was now, was built directly into the furthermost wall of the basement. It wasn’t load bearing, thank the gods. The portal was ten feet deep, seven and a half feet tall, octagonal in shape. The paneling that covered the walls and ceiling was black with electric blue circuitry cutting through them. The blank spots where the paneling was not put up were gray, matching the cement floor of the lab. There were some work lights inside, white LED strips that lined the bottom seams where the floor met the walls. The floor itself was made of black tile and nearly completely covered in loose cables and unfinished paneling. There was a red button in place of one of the missing side panels that screamed ‘accident waiting to happen’.

“What is it?” Jazz asked, not daring to go closer than the stair doorway. Danny didn’t blame her.

“It’s the Ghost Portal, Jazzy!” Maddie’s grin was huge, taking up nearly her whole face. “We’ve nearly got it finished.”

“Yep!” Jack nodded excitedly, “All we’ve got left to do is finish the inside paneling, build the outer frame, and turn her on!”

“What about powering it?” Danny wondered just as Jazz said, “‘Her’?”

Jack still hadn’t taken his eyes off of the thing. “She’s already connected to the power grid; That’s why the circuitry in the paneling is glowing, see?”

Danny picked his way through the papers cluttering the table next to him, finding the portal’s blueprints on the very bottom. The handwriting in the margins was messy, obviously from two people and taking up almost every inch of the paper. The schematics of the portal itself was done in white and much neater than the black ink from his parents’ handwriting. A third person, probably their college friend, had been the one to draw the thing with the first basic formuli. Overall, it was messy and a hazard to look at.

“Are, uh, you guys sure that this won’t blow up our house?” Danny asked, unable to keep from scrunching his nose up at the sight of the blueprints.

“Positive.” Maddie sounded so serious, like it was the absolute truth.

“You wanna check out the inside?” Jack asked, practically bouncing like an excited puppy.

Jazz was quick to shake her head, going so far as to take a step back into the landing at the bottom of the stairs. Before Danny could follow her lead, though, Jack grabbed Danny and pulled him forwards.

“Go on,” the giant man urged.

Gulping, Danny complied. He was so going to lock himself in his room now. He didn’t plan on leaving until Sam and Tucker were both back in town! “Alright.” He hoped his hesitation was obvious enough for his parents to get the cue that he did not want to be doing this. Unfortunately, neither picked up on it. Jazz did, but she wasn’t about to risk moving closer in case Jack or Maddie got the idea of shoving her towards the thing, too.

Danny had a bad feeling about this.

Stepping into the tunnel that was the portal was like walking into a different world. Somehow, even though he was only half a foot in and there was light on all sides, it was dark in there. The blue from the paneling was nearly nonexistent, and the white LEDs lining the floor were so dim that they were useless. Was this a purposeful thing? How was this possible?

The cables and cords that had been visible from the outside were almost invisible in the somehow lower lighting of the portal tunnel, same with the unfinished wall panels on the floor. And, as a result of the hazardous mess on the floor and the near pitch dark, Danny tripped halfway through. His training didn’t let him fall, but his inability to keep up the rigorous schedule he’d been raised on made him reach out to steady himself on the wall.

Millimeters before his fingers so much as grazed the button he’d not been able to see after crossing the threshold, Danny heard the barely there whisper of “Time Out.” followed almost immediately by “Time in.” at the same volume.

Catching himself on the cold, softly glowing paneling of the wall, Danny was quick to straighten out and turn around. That thing gave him the creeps and he would much rather go back to reading his book, thank you.

“So, Dann-o?” Jack clapped his shoulder when he got back to them, “What’d ya think?”

Unable to disappoint the people he’d come to see as his parents, Danny plastered a smile on his face and said, “It’s pretty cool. I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s finished!”

Maddie cheered. “Right? As soon as it’s done, those assholes at Harvard will have to take us seriously!”

Danny seriously doubted they would. In fact, he doubted the portal would even work at all. It’s a hypothetical experiment that had the potential and huge likelihood of going catastrophically wrong. How much power would it take to even turn the thing on? Several city blocks at least, right? If that blows up, it'll take out not only their house, but probably half the city and everyone within the blast radius.

Danny should report this to somebody.

“That’s not even the best part!” Jack exclaimed, hurting over to what looked like an electrical box that had been set into the unfinished walls of the basement lab. Opening the small metal door revealed a hand scanner that Jack quickly placed his hand on. After five seconds, a small compartment just above the scanner opened up. Inside was a small glass phial of thick, glowing green liquid. Liquid that Danny recognised.

Shit.

“This is what’s gonna power the portal after the initial launch,” Jack explained, his voice reverent as he cradled the phial in his large hands, “Ectoplasm.”

Ecto-what? Danny knew that glowing liquid. He’d only seen it once, but he knew what it was. He could say, with full confidence and  a puffed chest, that what his dad was currently holding was a phial of Lazarus Water. The color and consistency were the same as the Pits. The stuff even glowed like the Pit Water! It was terrifying that Danny had encountered any of the stuff this far from the Shadows, and he found himself taking several steps back toward Jazz.

“That’s, um, that’s-”

“Awesome, dad!” Jazz said for him, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pulling him back. He was so glad she had because he was sure he was seconds away from freezing in place. “Danny’s getting tired, though, and I’m a bit hungry, so we’re gonna head back upstairs now. Is that alright?”

“Sounds great, sweetie,” Maddie waved the two off in a clear dismissal, “We’ll be up in a few minutes.”

Danny rushed up the stairs, waiting for Jazz in the kitchen. When she joined him she muttered, “Liar.” under her breath before closing the door. “So,” she said to Danny.

“So.” he repeated.

“What made you so freak out down there?” she asked, “Not that I blame you. That portal thing freaked me out, too.”

Danny shrugged. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“It’s not healthy to bottle things up, Danny.”

“I know, I just don’t want to talk about it right now,” Or ever. “Bad memories.”

Jazz’s expression softened. “Alright,” she nodded, “Do you want some chips?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m gonna go to my room.”

“You can’t hide in there forever!”

He was halfway up the stairs. “I can try!”

Translation 1 - Arabic :: I will always forgive you, brother. You were put in the worst possible situation and you did the best you could with the knowledge you had. You would have only jeopardized yourself if you went back.

Translation 2 - Arabic :: My best wasn't good enough. I knew you were still alive, yet I did nothing but spread the lie of your death.

Part 1 Part 3

[shepscapades]

i love your dbhc au but i have a question regarding your last comic

i absolutely adore Mumbo as an android and especially the whole "he isn't allowed to kill anything so any command involving it turns into some kind of crazy automated machine that does it for him" because that's just a really good way of making this infinitely intelligent guy a little bit of a bumbling fool (/pos!!)

but isn't the soulcontract thing against that? i imagine killing grian is even more ingrained than just killing mobs, or is it fine now that he's deviated? (which also, interesting that first kill he gets after deviation is grian cause i assume he just doesn't realise he can actually kill mobs and stuff and keeps up his machinery?)

=:3

OUU This is a really great point. I hadn't really thought about it in detail, but deviating would technically mean that Mumbo is no longer held to his base programming/base objectives etc. I like to think that, for the most part, he keeps to the No Killing thing after deviation (partially because he goes a LONG time pretending he's not deviant and hoping no one notices) but also because by the time his deviancy is up and everyone knows, i would imagine that coming up with bizarre contraptions is just muscle memory at this point for him.

I absolutely love the idea that Grian's death here is Mumbo's first kill, though technically, Mumbo uses a piston machine to squash and kill him (and despite Mumbo's insistence, i highly doubt killing Grian was actually necessary for this "soul exchange." I'm sure Grian could have gone into watcher mode to initiate a weird soul splitting thing whenever LMAO). So, like mumbo's many other "kills" throughout the season, he's gotten a machine to do the work for him and kept the very technical blood off of his hands. And honestly, i'm sure actual hermitcraft mumbo made the machine for this purpose too.

I think him killing Grian this way, despite him not actually killing him by hand, still has a bit of significance, because I can't remember a time before this where Mumbo had to devise a machine to kill another player... So even though his hands are clean, this is still a pretty significan OH JUST KIDDING SCRATCH THAT i think Mumbo kills Joel in Last Life with a stone axe in canon... and i think he's part of the reason Impulse dies? By sword i think? Last life isn't technically the same but it's something at least. ANYWAY LMAO i may end up changing the last life plot a bit for dbhc mumbo so that isn't the case (his end crystal kills wouldn't count against his kill count) But the boogeyman thing makes it hard to work around... anyway that's a problem for future shep DLKGFJDFG i'm rambling now <3 this is a really fascinating concept for him, ty for the asks for pondering!! :D

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 12)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie📍 Part 13 - The Release Part 14 - Someone like her smutty💦

Part 12 Eddie

Brady tried to cut some corners to bring you and Alastor down but ends up just hurting himself.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, still not smut cuz we’re waiting for the special moment, po-po, 5-0, down at the gun club, not an accurate portrayal of 1930s New Orleans Leadership, mystery kisses, brief thoughts of violence, illiteracy, @minkdelovely」

MDNI 👮 🚓

Edward Freeman met Kenneth Brady when the younger man was partnered with him. He was bright eyed, and had a sense of justice Freeman appreciated. He was already tired of the rigamarole of police work, so the fresh energy reinvigorated his early days and long nights. It was rather pointless though, police work, given the people in charge weren’t fans of cracking down on the illegal booze business. It was making too much money under the tables and in handshakes.

The nation was still reeling from the crash of the market nearly two years prior. Any way to get ahead, to stay with your chin above the rising waters, well… what harm is there really in feeding your family? The end justifies the means, right? And Brady didn’t seem to disagree too much with that sentiment. 

So when the typically stringent, but otherwise soft spoken and relaxed, Brady began to…devolve into someone a little too myopic, Freeman wasn’t quite sure how to handle him. They’d been rather laissez-faire about the morality of things for so long. They tried to keep violence at a minimum so their fellow citizens could enjoy their city. That was the extent of it. But, Brady was becoming obsessed. 

It started normally enough. Brady bringing up a missing husband. Later on, a missing bartender. Soon he was snooping on to other’s cases, convinced something was connecting them. 

But, given the times and the character of such people, well, Freeman couldn’t quite understand Brady’s fervor. Sure. Some of them probably ended up under backyards and in the water. Hell, quite a few of them he’d have helped do away once he got the real dirt on them. A conspiracy? Or a mass killer? That seemed implausible at best. There was simply no indication of a grande scheme. 

Brady kept pushing. Walking the streets at night with ears open and eyes peeled, for any inkling of what was going on. 

He just couldn’t accept that sometimes people leave town or jobs. Very few of them were actually reported by loved ones, even the ones that had them.

Then came along the widow Dupre, watery eyed and shaking about her missing adult son. Who, from what they’d uncovered, was a real piece of work.

Freeman let Brady start his investigation, but as it became clear he was adding it to his pile of random disappearances, Freeman had to step away. He could see the obsession ruining his friend. 

At a rare dinner with the families, the stress on Brady’s wife’s face was visible for all to see. She cornered Freeman in the kitchen when he went for more coffee, asking if Brady was stepping out on her or if he truly had been working so hard on something big. 

He hardly knew what to say. Neither were true. He’d been working late, but on a wild goose chase. 

When he dragged a clean cut and confused woman into the station, Freeman knew he’d really lost the fucking plot. 

“She’s his accomplice. I know it. Her fella is the man. I’ve got him fingered.” Brady pointed at you through the closed door. You weren’t listening to their voices in the hall, the name still ringing in your head. The name you'd both sacrificed to keep secret. 

Alastor.

Freeman hissed, “You can’t arrest people for knowing a guy! A boogie man at that, Kenny. Come on.” 

“I have her confession for prostitution. It’s all clean and by the book. And, I have a witness.” Brady tapped Freeman’s arm with the back of his hand and led him down the hall to another room, “He saw her and her guy throw a body in the river.”

Well, shit.

“You found a body? The Dupre son?” Freeman considered what he’d said. The river? Why the river? Bodies didn’t always make it to the sea. It’d be a sloppy misstep for this supposed murderous mastermind.

Brady sighed, his parade a little rained on. “...No, but I have a witness right there. And, I got the name of her fella. I just need to find which station he’s at and I’m off to the races. I bet you my house this guy’s good for it.”

Ah, so. He had next to nothing. Freeman just nodded and took a calming breath. “Alright, are we starting with the woman or this guy?”

“Oh, for sure her.” Bready turned to open the door, but Freeman shot his hand out to stop him. 

“And this is the one who gave you the runaround?” Freeman had heard so much about you already, he wanted to prepare himself for whatever tricky shrew was waiting for him. He followed his partner through the door and took you in fully. Your stare was distant and glassy. You’d been crying and you seemed to be shaking slightly from the cold of the room as fall’s night air slipped in through the window. 

You could, reasonably, be his daughter. A similar age for sure, similar build, same hair color. Same penchant for the wrong kinda guy, apparently.

He recalled all of the ways Brady had spoken about you. The image in his head was a bird faced woman with sharp eagle eyes and tight lips. Someone decidedly ugly with a permanent scowl and mischief behind quick glances.

And here was a woman, vulnerable and quite nice to look at it. Hair obviously groomed well when not manhandled by cops, and a rather handsome dress which indicated a good personality by the current standards. The shoulders had flat bows that let their ribbons fall onto your bare shoulders. Feminine. Suitable. Not much skin showing. otherwise. A burlesquer seemed to the kind who didn’t wear clothes often, but he supposed everyone has a work uniform after all. Even the nude dancers. Who was he to judge you for your professional clothing requirements? You were here and modest and that’s what mattered.

He took a seat, sliding the folder Brady had set down into the space in front of him. “I hear you’re not too fond of disclosing your personal information.”

It had been several hours since you’d arrived, and now they chose to grace you with their presence? You’d been tossed into a room and left alone for so long, it seemed more like punishment than bureaucracy.

Brady’s bright blue eyes only get clearer and darker with every ounce of anger you inspired in him. An angry sea churning up violently behind his mean mug. He was practically sneering at you. 

“Can you blame me? The men in this city are certifiable. Case in point, this hound you call a cop.” You had the forethought to keep your shoulders pulled inward, gesturing with your chin.

“Detective.” Brady corrected. 

“Same thing, jackass.” Eyes rolling, you pushed back against the chair causing the front legs to lift for a second. Returning your glare to him, you honed in on the messy details. You remembered his hair well from that first meeting in front of the cafe. It clearly had become oily and weighed down from less frequent washing. The skin under his eyes was looking dark and thin. “You look like shit, by the way. Should sleep instead of bothering honest performers.”

“Ha, there you are. True colors shining through finally.”

“How was my mom? Not much of a talker.”

“Fu-,” Brady flinched forward, chair squeaking against the linoleum floor. It took a tensing of your arms to keep from openly reacting.

“Ya’ll, enough. Now, don’t be too sour with us. We’re just working off your own words,” Freeman opened the folder to find your confession. It had been typed nice and neat and labeled DOE, JANE. He turned it to you briefly, eyebrows hitching as if to ask if you remembered it. You glanced at it long enough to see the conversation and names and nodded. Yes, you’d had that conversation. Brady must have typed it mostly from memory, you thought, or he had some quick shorthand. He brought it back to face him and as his eyes roamed the sheet, his shoulders stiffened. He wasn’t seeing what he was expecting. “Could you-?,” he motioned for Brady to point out the part of your last conversation that constituted a confession. Brady tapped a line of text. 

BRADY - Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged. DOE, JANE - Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently. BRADY - And who was that? DOE, JANE - S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening. BRADY - And then he knocked you around? DOE, JANE - Yeah. Got me good. BRADY - And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that. DOE, JANE - Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection. But as soon as he got his money he left.

Freeman’s head lifted slowly from the paper to look at you over the folder, across the table. Your arms were crossed, makeup smeared and running with long dried tears. Your hair mussed. His head turned with a crawl, weighted down with a steel ball of apprehensive horror, to look at Brady. He was leaning on the table with both elbows, staring at you like you’d busted out his car window and shot his dog. 

“Can I speak to you for a moment?” He pushed back, resting his hand on Brady’s shoulder and walking out. In the small room that looked into the interrogation room where the male witness fidgeted, he set the folder and your words down. 

He motioned for Brady to close the door behind him. As soon as the latch clicked into place, he smacked the table. 

“That isn’t a confession! It’s a fucking victim statement, Kenny.” He looked through the one way glass at the man seated, “And he wrote a witness report?” He gestured with his head, the man Brady called Joseph sat quietly waiting for their return. His clothes were pulling at the seams, his fingernails crusted with dirt. 

Brady nodded, “Yeah. He came in yesterday and after he told me what he saw he wrote it down there and signed.” He was pointing to a piece of paper he’d left on the same table Kenny was now trying to use for stability. Trying was the keyword. His disbelief was dizzying. 

A small laugh, petulant and bordering annoyed, left his lips. He grabbed a pen, wrote something down, and brushed past him. Freeman marched into the witness room, Brady closely following behind.

“Sir, do me a favor and check I’ve spelt your name properly on this paperwork please.” He held it up. The man looked, found where Freeman's finger was pointing, and nodded.

Freeman looked at Brady with dead eyes, the shutdown of his feelings was an automatic attempt by his body to try and keep from grabbing Brady by the shirt in a fit rage, and turned the paper to reveal the name written to Brady. 

Josanna. Written neatly in block letters. 

Without breaking eye contact with Brady, “And just refresh my memory, sir, what was your statement in regards to again?”

Joseph cleared his throat, “I saw it happen. Down by the river.”

“Saw what happen?”

“The crime.”

“What crime?”

“The one with the guy and the girl. It’s all in there.”

Freeman shoved the written statement into Brady’s chest, “You have half a second to get to the captain’s office before I do.” 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“That man can’t even read his own name let alone write. From what I can tell he’s a random homeless you plied with confiscated booze. What is going on with you?” The gray haired man bellowed from his chair, hands resting on a large pot belly. 

“What does that matter! It’s an illegal hooch den! Naked dancers! Race mixing! She admitted she-,” Brady was pacing a small three foot by three foot square in front of the desk. Freeman had his arms crossed while seated.

“A victim told you she was assaulted. And I-,” the captain leaned back in his chair, “You know exactly how we feel about the wet spots in this city. The, uh, race thing is another issue but— Kenny, you’re one more rogue act from losing your beat. Do you not get that?”

“Rogue? I’m doing legitimate police work. I’m investigating crime! What the fuck is happening here?!” He stopped pacing long enough wave an apology to his boss for the language. 

Freeman sighed, long and heavy. A huff of breath that somehow conveyed his disappointment better than words.

“I decide what constitutes police work and this is not that.” His boss shook his chair side to side, thinking about how to get Brady in line. “It comes straight from the commissioner and the mayor above him. We aren’t to hound the bars under our purview.”

‘I’m not!” He started up pacing again, hands up and open in genuine confused frustration. 

“You’re harassing their dancers! Stalking around their establishments at night freaking people out!” He laughed in disbelief, “Her manager is outside now. Had to shut down for the night because of your little show.”

Brady put his hands on his hips and faced away from the captain. His face enough alone to have him dismissed. 

“I know she’s involved. I know her guy did it. And I know someone’s killing people. Lots of people.” He said it confidently into the corner of the office.

“Kenny. Enough.” Freeman shook his head and stood to leave. 

“One complaint about you and you’re being chained to a desk. Cut her loose, apologize, and go home. I don’t wanna see you anymore tonight. Your freaky little eyes are getting under my skin.” His captain removed his small rounded glasses and rubbed his hands down his face, exasperated his life had come to telling men to stop doing their jobs.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

While you were here anyway, and Brady shooed off Joseph, Freeman decided to speak with you again. He offered you a nod and took Brady’s seat.

It was hard to be friendly, you found. Every minute or so you had to sniffle, nose running long after the tears dried up. Your eyelashes stuck together when you blinked.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get your name, sir.” You sniffled again, hands warming your arms.

Freeman leaned over and offered you his hand, “Detective Eddie Freeman.” You shook it, keeping your hand rather limp to give the appearance of weakness.

“I just-,” he laughed as he set his hand on the table, clicking his ring twice out of habit, “I gotta ask. Did your fella kill Tommy? Are you in some kinda trouble?”

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you found yourself, “No,  but I wish he had. What’s the point of being good if people assume the worst of you anyway?” Reaching out for his hand again, you held his large one in both of your smaller ones, “At least if he’d killed him I’d be sure Tommy’s never coming back to keep his promise.”

Your mother always taught you to make yourself small. Remind the people you needed to believe you that you were not a threat. Play the part they always pigeon holed you into. It was easier than fighting the assumptions. There was power in deception. 

“Your pal is really ruining my life. Even more than Tommy.” You squeezed, 30% strength.  

When you looked up at him, he could only find you to be the image of pitiful girl, “Let me check some things and I’ll have Kenny sending you on your way, miss-?”

“Doe.”

“Right.” His ring rapped against the bright wooden door frame, two times, and your brief time knowing Freeman ended. 

The paralysis set in as soon as the door was shut. You could hear Alastor’s name echoing around in your head, the sound so sharp it made fresh tears well. Brady had heard it, of course. It was for nothing. You worked so hard, kept his name off of your tongue despite the way it always felt so good there. 

Conjured images of Alastor barging into the police station haunted you. What would he say in anger? Brady wasn’t crazy, he was smart and lucky. Nothing could be worse. Alastor could say anything while mad, and Brady could make conclusions he had no business jumping to.

And then he was there in the room with you, and you had to return to the moment and try to calibrate yourself. Who were you now? He already knew you weren’t the damsel in distress, he knew you weren’t weak and frail. Right?

Maybe you’d just be yourself, like you’d let slipped earlier. Your mouth opened and his hand flew up, “Don’t. Shut it.”

“Excu-”

“I’ve been told to apologize and send you home.”

“Oh? And are you?”

Brady smiled, and for a moment you forgot how scary that should be. “No. You’re a liar and you’re aiding a criminal. But you work in a place I’m not supposed to bother. Luckily for me, Alastor’s work surely isn’t one.” Your eyes rolled. Hearing him say the name was like hearing a dog sing opera. Unsettling and unnatural. Perhaps a little impressive from a distance. Unfortunately you were front row and center.

Time with you felt so rare, he wanted to keep you a little longer but couldn’t think of what to say or do. Briefly he entertained grabbing you and violently shaking you until you confessed. He managed to find the strength to bury that down, mouth opening instead in preparation for words he didn’t have yet. 

“Can I go home now?” Rubbing your arms to make it clear how uncomfortable you were, you cut him off like he had you. Not that he had anything to say. 

Brady motioned with his thumb down the hall and said, “Your guy isn’t here to pick you up. Funny name by the way. I got a complaint for an Alastor last week. Socked some man for no good reason. Sounds like a violent fella, kinda guy with a temper when someone speaks I’ll of his lady, or fiancée, I’m told…Anyway, dropped the case since the guy wouldn’t give any more information but maybe I should follow up.”

“Are you so sure I have one, a guy that is?” You simply couldn’t admit Alastor was yours. Never. Not for Brady. “No one’s coming for me. No one’s punched anyone for me either. Though, I’m flattered you think I’m worth the charge. Am I free to leave?” The little tug of your lips into a halfhearted grin warmed you. It was thrilling, lying to his face when you both knew the truth.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t let you take this moment from him. He’d made a massive victory in this personal war and your nonchalant attitude was making something in the back of his skull itch. Somewhere beneath his bone. A new sensation.

A brief and violent flash of knocking the smirk off your tear stained face startled him. You noticed him swallow hard, expression shifting from amused to bewildered. From the outside, all you could read was a frightened widening of his eyes.

“Brady…? If you’re waiting for some man to collect me, I’ll be here all night.” Your voice was softer now, while you couldn’t uncover what was happening in his head, you could tell he was in some kind of turmoil.

A man unable to control his face was often a man unable to control his hands.

His legs lifted his body up and dragged him over to the door.  He opened it, slowly, before leaning against the wall beside it to ensure you passed him in close quarters. He knew he couldn’t keep you there forever.

Maybe this Alastor was a real rough fellow. So cruel he wouldn’t even care if his dame was in a bind. The kind of man to abandon his closest allies when cornered. Maybe he really wasn’t coming for you. Which was fine, he told himself. He’d be seeing him soon.

Following you out, he took the walk as an opportunity to warn you again.

“This won’t end like you think it will.” He said it too loudly for how close he was to you, “It never does for the women.” He stopped at the station’s front desk and leaned into the glossy wooden counter, “Oh! I almost forgot! Congrats on the engagement.”

Turning to say a harsh good night, you caught yourself and turned back, exiting through the station doors without another word to him. No need for polite pleasantries anymore. The game was well and truly over for you. 

“Oh thank god,” Johnny was sitting on the steps of the station and jumped to his feet when you came out, a sight you weren’t expecting. You stopped, confused. He smiled seeing your brows knit and eyes wander past him in search of someone else, “I was going to bail you out but they said there wasn’t any need. Alastor is waiting for you.” 

Like a leak in the hull of your iron-sided ship, it seemed the second Ruth so sweetly dripped that name into Brady’s waiting maw the ocean was spilling in. Every time you heard it fall from another person’s mouth the breach in your metal barriers tore wider. If the Titanic could sink in calm weather what luck did Alastor and you have in the tempest of Brady’s fervor?

“Oh…,” you tried to hide the dejection. He sent Johnny? That was smart, but, why did it sting?

Perhaps it was his six sisters, or maybe he was genuinely a good man, but Johnny’s heart ached at the pitiful tone. He leapt up two steps, “He wanted to come! But I told him it was a bad idea. Tempers and all that. Don’t need any more issues for you tonight. Though admittedly he didn’t seem mad, necessarily.”

A slow nod. Johnny told Alastor what to do? Your eyes looked to the left, that was an odd mental image.

“Thanks, Johnny. I need to return to the theater first.” Your hand reached out for his arm and gave it a squeeze, “I appreciate you.”

“Dont mention it. And your bag is with Alastor.” He let his hand come to yours, “He’s kind of a mess, that one.”

You tensed, accidentally pinching his arm in a flit of panic before drawing it back, “Did he drive home like that?”

He shook his head and handed you the card, “He said,” a pause as his eyes rolled up to search for the exact words, “to tell the host you’re there for him. Called it the Golden Dish, but the card doesn’t mention anything like that…. Sorry, I didn’t think to ask more questions. Like I said, he seemed out of sorts.”

You looked down to inspect it, nervous at the sudden introduction of a paper trail. Nodding, you finally took it with both hands. The face was rather plain: an address in the corner with just the number and street, and an interlocked G and D in the center. Turning it over, you found a pink lipstick kiss stained haphazardly across the back and a small squiggle. Your thumb ran over the clipped right bottom corner. 

What was the Golden Dish? And who was kissing Alastor’s business cards?

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