#'what would need to happen for me to make these choices?'

[sakuravalenp]

He's supposed to be invincible - DC X DP

Just something random that came to my mind.

So, Danny ends up being adopted/fostered by Bruce just months before Damian arrives at the manor, the how and why is your choice, but the GIW is still a threat. 

Now, Danny catches Damian attacking Tim the first time and instead of telling the rest of the family or scolding Damian, he went lik:

“You haven't even defeated me, and you think you have a right to attack Tim? Get in line, kid.”

And so Damian understands that to get the right to fight against Tim, he needs to get rid of Danny first. Climb the power pyramid, if you will. And so, Damian starts his assassination attempts against Danny. 

But here's the thing: Danny is making absolutely no effort to stop him, he just takes the attempts. The first time, Damian successfully stabs Danny, and goes to announce his victory over Danny to his father. Bruce rushes to Danny, worried for his safety, and finds him just chilling there, not a single drop of blood or injury. Damian is gapping.

“Oh yeah, the kid beat me in a round of hide and seek. He’s pretty good.”

Bruce is relieved and pats Damian’s head, not noticing his utter confusion. And so a cartoon-like montage starts: Damian attacks Danny and claims victory, but Danny is completely fine, and says Damian won at some random game. Everyone thinks the two are super close, and that Damian’s excitement about winning is super cute. 

Eventually, positive enforcement wears Damian down, because everyone congratulates him and gives him affection for winning the “stupid things” Danny comes up with. He gradually calms down and integrates pretty well. Danny does end up being his closest sibling because he’s the only one that actually knows all of Damian. The only one Damian could attack with zero restraint and still be treated the same. 

But the important thing here is: Danny becomes an invincible figure in Damians mind. He could be stabbed, decapitated, poisoned, and still come back like nothing happened.

So surely, when Phantom is shot out of the sky by a Blood Blossom, surely he’ll just stand back up in a minute like always. Surely, he’s just waiting to get back to the cave to pretend like he always did for Damian. Surely, he’s just putting on a show on the medbay. 

But hours go by, and he’s still pretending. Still looking pale. Still keeping his eyes closed.

Damian doesn’t understand why he hasn’t bounced back yet. He should be okay by now. Alfred is moving around, changing the IV,dabbing Danny’s head with a damp cloth. There’s commotion outside as everyone is trying to get an antidote.

But this shouldn’t be happening. 

Danny is invincible.

Danny should be back to normal already.

So Damian starts shaking Danny. Screaming to stop pretending and tell them he was beaten in some stupid game again. To open his eyes already. 

Father is pulling him away, trying to calm him down, but he keeps struggling in his arms, because he’s getting Danny to wake up. 

And he doesn’t notice the tears falling down his face until he runs out of energy, and all that’s left is hiccuping in his father’s arms.

...

So… yeah, that’s what my mind supplied today while on the bus :)

Maybe one day I'll write it, but I don't have time, so I would love to see someone else's take on it.

[justoneotherthing123]

We can discuss the minutiae of manipulation, but I feel like that's not going to be really productive because if you think that every act you do that influences others to do something you like is manipulation then we're just going to debate definitions and I don't care about that. So, alright, no nuance, no subtlety, just "manipulation is when you influence others."

Manipulation can be fine. In fact, manipulation is sometimes necessary.

Let's say you're working with Crochety Alex. Alex hates helping others. Alex thinks that there's Alex job and other people's jobs, and the two things shall never be mixed. The only way to make Alex help is to have a boss give Alex a direct order to help, at which point helping becomes Alex's job. This makes Alex a nightmare to work with.

Your job requires Alex to give you the McGuffin. What do you do, do you directly ask Alex to help you, just for Alex to ignore you, forcing you to repeat your questions again and again until it's been a month, you're late, your boss is angry, and you have to explain the problem and now Alex is furious too because Alex considers this "throwing Alex under the bus"? Or do you wait until the boss is in the room and, with a giant smile, go "oh, by the way Alex, for my project I need a McGuffin, which i believe is in your department. Would you be so kind to give it to me at your earliest convenience? Thank you so much," because you know that Alex will be more inclined to say yes and, most importantly, follow through, least the boss thinks that Alex is a bad worker?

If you have any sense you go with the second option, because that's the actually correct option in this case. You can avoid manipulation, or you can get the job done in time without ruining the day of a lot of people.

Now, change of scene. You're talking with a friend. You're thinking of ordering food. The friend proposes pizza. You propose burgers. The friend is totally okay with burgers, but they think that pizza is a better choice because of convenience. You don't want pizza. Instead of answering back with your own burger manifesto, or clearly saying, "I don't feel like having pizza," you keep trying to poke holes in your friend's reasoning for why pizza is the best choice. Your hope is that your friend will eventually relent and go with burgers. According to our definition, this is manipulation. But is it justified?

To answer your question, you have to see the context. Do you come from a culture that sees straight refusals as unacceptable? Does your friend normally refuse to accept a straight refusal on the basis of "I don't want to"? If the answer to either question is "yes," then you're justified. Do you think that a straight refusal will make your friend think less of you, even though they have never given you any indication that would happen? Do you want your friend to not just agree to get burgers, but actually agree with you that burgers are a better idea than pizza for no real reason other than because it's important to you that your friend sees you're correct? If the answer to either question is "yes," then the manipulation is not justified.

So, TL:DR - as a rule of thumb, If the person you're talking to should do something but doesn't feel like it, it's fine to manipulate them. If the person can't or shouldn't or sometimes even just wouldn't do something but you want them to because you feel like it, it's not fine to manipulate them.

there's a fine line between being wary of manipulation and becoming completely paranoid because you get very close to the realisation that pretty much all human interaction involves doing things we hope will lead to a result we like

[heartyluv]

⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆꙳*̩̩͙ ❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Note: I know we’re in May, but I felt like it being Christmas works well in this little story and I’ve had this idea for a few days so I’m excited. I listened to Love Wins All by IU when I wrote this and would I be crazy if I got a littleeee emotional?

Creds to @/anitalenia for the dividers!

Warning: Nothing, honestly. I’m using Caleb becoming a Colonel as the reason you divorced. This is just angsty Caleb declaring his love to his ex-wife.

Word Count: 2,362

Summary: Letting your ex-husband come over for Christmas was bound to stir the pot.

Ex-Husband!Caleb/Reader

You loved your children with everything in your being. They were the most precious things to you in the world and you’d do anything to make them happy. It’s why when they begged you for days to let their father be here when they open their Christmas gifts tomorrow morning, you couldn’t tell them no.

Many people would look at you crazy for letting your ex-husband come into your home and play house, especially with the divorce being so fresh. It’s only been a year since everything was finalized and to this day, your heart still aches when you think about how everything transpired between you two.

When Caleb became a colonel, you thought it was the beginning of something monumental. And in hindsight, it was. It just led to the end of what you both thought would be forever. You found yourself home alone with your first born baby boy all the time, never getting to see your husband in the daylight because he was coming home so late. He missed so many of your son’s milestones and no amount of apologies and kisses made up for the fact that you felt like you were doing it all on your own.

You knew that the job was challenging and demanding, but it was changing him in a way you couldn’t understand. Caleb didn’t agree, telling you at the time that he had to be this dedicated, that he didn’t get to where he is by not giving it his all. He used the fact that he needed to take care of his family as a crutch as to why he was letting the job consume him, but you knew better. His position is something he’s always longed for and you’ve known that in all the years you’ve been together.

But even if you did know better, you still stayed because you swore it would get better.

It’s why you ended up pregnant again with your precious girl not long after your son turned two. But when you saw that the cycle only repeated itself, that it seemed like you lost your husband entirely, you knew what you had to do, even if it broke you.

There was too much fighting, too much back and forth, and it became all consuming in the way that you felt like you were losing him and yourself. It’s why you offered a proposition that nearly drove Caleb mad. But when he saw how unhappy you were, how drained you became, even in the end if it meant breaking his own heart and destroying himself, he’d always put you and the wellbeing of your children above himself. He wasn’t stupid, Caleb knew how he failed you as your husband and he’d always regret it because he wished that it didn’t happen and that he tried harder before it became too late.

You two went your separate ways and it took both you and the kids time to adjust, but you were making it. If it weren’t for them, you don’t know how’d you be. It was so hard telling them that their dad wouldn’t be around at all, that they’d be going to him without you from now on and vice versa.

Caleb was still taking care of you, even if you weren’t together. You told him over and over that it wasn’t necessary, that you’d find a job and handle your end. But he wouldn’t have it.

“You only need to be the mother and woman I fell in love with. There isn’t a thing that you could say or do that would make me stop being there for you and our children.”

In that moment, you felt like your resolve almost broke. But you stood your ground and reluctantly accepted his care, seeing as you really had no choice. He made sure you kept the house, paid for the bills, gave you extra money for yourself and the kids, always stocked up on food. He was treating it like you were still a unit, and you never knew how to feel about that.

Despite it all, you could never deny that Caleb has always been a phenomenal father. It was only being a husband that it seemed to not grasp the entirety of. He gave your babies the world and you couldn’t ask for a better man to have as the father of your children.

It’s Christmas Eve evening as your kids sit in front of the TV, watching classic holiday films you grew up, with when you hear the doorbell ring. You dry your hands, stepping away from the now empty sink and walk to the front door. As you open it, there stands Caleb with a slightly red nose from the frigid temperature. Some snow sticks to his jacket and hair, making him look like a scene out of a movie. He gently smiles at you and you reciprocate, and you step over as the kids come running at him full speed.

“Daddy!” they exclaim with joy as they wrap themselves around his legs.

He chuckles before he kneels down to take them into a tight hug. “My two favorite people in the world,” he hums as they giggle in his hold. “You excited for tomorrow?”

“Yeah!” your son says enthusiastically before he frowns. “Santa hasn’t come yet.”

“I want see Santa!” your daughter folds her arms dramatically. Caleb kisses her cheeks and she giggles. She’s always been a daddy’s girl.

Caleb looks behind them to see that under the tree is empty. He already knows the tradition. You guys always put the presents under when they fall asleep, and it’s no different now. He looks up at you while you watch the exchange, winking with a sly smirk. You shake your head, unable to stop the smile that decorates your face.

“You guys eat?” he asks as he stands to usher them inside the warm home.

Your kids talk his ear off as they tell them about their dinner, the breakfast you plan on cooking, what they asked Santa for, all while you sneak out the back to take the presents he bought and put them in the side closet so they can be added to the collection you have.

It’s not long until Caleb tires them out from all the playing and conversation, tucking them into bed with gentle kisses to their foreheads. After he leaves their bedroom, he walks in the living room to find you already stacking presents.

“Let me help,” he voices. After grabbing some gifts from the closet, he kneels beside you to start laying everything out, just how you like.

“How’ve you been?” he asks. You swallow, clearing your throat. You haven’t really uttered a word to him since he got here and now that you’re alone, for the first time since the divorce, it all feels so surreal.

“I’m okay,” you answer gently. “How are you?” He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Just,” he sighs. “Talking to you like it’s the first time we’ve ever spoken in our life feels…wrong? I don’t know.”

Your jaw tenses. “I get it.” You think of how to shift the conversation, not quite ready to delve into this. “Thank you for coming, by the way. The kids really—”

“I miss you,” he interrupts, and this time you freeze.

“I miss you and the kids. I miss being home. I miss us.”

“Caleb, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Tell you that I never wanted this? That we’re supposed to be together? That not having you makes everything feel fucking impossible?”

“You should’ve throught about that before you put being colonel above being a husband.”

That stings him, slaps him in the face. Feels like it shot him in the stomach. He gulps, staring at you even if you won’t look at him.

He looks down at his hands, watching them turn to fists because of the anger he holds toward himself. “I messed up.”

“You did.”

“Let me fix it,” he begs. “It’s not too late for us, I know it isn’t. I know you still want me, still love me.”

“You’re being so unfair,” you shake your head, feeling the tears burn your eyes. “This isn’t what you came for.”

“I came for my family, and that has and will always, include you.”

You don’t answer and that frustrates him. The way you keep sliding festively wrapped boxes under the tree like he isn’t telling you that he wants a second chance, is enough to make his heart thump even faster in his chest.

“Look at me,” he commands shakily.

“You don’t get to see how much you hurt me, how lonely you made me, watch our marriage fall apart, then try to come in here for redemption after all this time, Caleb!” When you notice how raised your voice has become, you press your lips together to collect yourself. The last thing you want to do is wake up your kids. “Even though we signed the papers a year ago, there hasn’t been nothing family about us for even longer.”

“I was selfish, I know that. I needed to do better, I want to, I always have. Baby, I will. Every time I walk into my empty apartment without you to kiss, to love, to hold… Without my kids…I feel the weight of my stupidity suffocate me with every step I take.”

“I can’t do this,” you sniffle, getting ready to stand, but Caleb grabs your hand before you can. His silver necklace glimmers against the warm lamp light beside him and your eyes trail up his neck, past his perfect nose and into his.

Your lip quivers as he pulls you up. He grabs your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours as a tear falls down your cheek. You brace your hands on his wrists as he holds you, unable to open your eyes.

“I never stopped loving you. I never will,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your skin. “I was lost, and instead of leaning on you, I abandoned you. But know that there is no lifetime, no timeline in any universe, that could keep me from you. Every part of me will always belong to you.” His voice cracks at his admission.

“Caleb…” you say his name as if it was a stress reliever. Like voicing it could make all the ache in your chest dissipate.

“Don’t you remember? How good we used to feel? How good I made you feel? I know your body and soul better than anyone—not even you could take that privilege from me, baby. I was too late before. Let me do better now.”

With shaky breath, unbridled emotions, and conflicting thoughts, you tilt your head up. He looks down at you with pain that mirrors your own, desire that matches your being. And he doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t wait because even while he’s chipping away at your walls, he knows you’ll try and swiftly put them back up—and he kisses you.

His tongue mingles with yours as you hesitate to feel him.

“Touch me,” he begs. “Please, touch me.“

When you succumb to his request and your hands grip his hair for the first time in what feels like forever, he melts into your hold. He devours your mouth like you’ll slip away from him at any moment and based on the reality, it’s a strong possibility. So he relishes in your taste, memorizes you all over again because divorce and pain changes a whole person’s being. He knows this because it did it to him.

He’s not the same man he was. In fact, he believes he’s a better one. He just needs you to give him the chance to show you. It’s unfortunate that it took losing you to correct himself.

“Let me come home,” he bites your lip, groaning at how you whimper. “Let me come home to you and our babies.”

You just keep kissing him because you don’t know if you’re ready to give him what he wants, even if you want it to. It’s because he knows you so well that he doesn’t need you to say it. He just needs you both to stay right here for as long as you’ll allow it.

When you finally pull apart, he’s caressing your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Why now..?” you ask.

“I finally got the courage to face my mistakes. I wanted to fight the divorce the moment you asked for it, and with the little fight that I did give, I only hurt you more. I knew there was no winning side of it all for either of us. Being together hurt and being apart proved to do the same. But we’re here now,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let me be what I should’ve been, right now. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

Your eyes soften, one of your hands gently tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m scared, Caleb. I don’t… I can’t be hurt again.”

“You won’t be,” he promises. “I’d rather die than put you through anything like this again. You and the kids.”

“Will you give me time? To think?”

It’s not what he wanted to hear, but it’s not a no. So for now, it’ll have to do.

“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. Not if my family isn’t with me.”

It takes all your strength to separate yourself from him. He promises to finish putting the gifts beneath the tree because distance is needed right now. So when you retreat to your bedroom and shut the door behind you, your press your back against it and put your palm to your mouth.

You suppress the sounds of your weeping, feeling the emotions rack and shake your body. You’ve missed him so much, you knew the man you loved was never gone. And now that he’s seems to be back, you have to decide for you and your children if starting over is something you’re prepared for. If it’s something you should even consider doing.

If Caleb really wants this, if he’s truly ready, then you’re sure that the love you’ve always had for each other, will win above all.

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 7: Just a Little Bit of Your Heart

A/N: Please forgive any errors! Lmk what you wanna see next, and I'll try to make it happen :) As always, I hope you love it! xx Elle

Warnings: Using religion to shame, homophobia, manipulation

Word Count: 3.5k

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Paige was intentional when she every choice she made that night. She chose anything that might show she could be soft, safe, and secure. From what Ice had told her about Azzi’s ex, she figured comfort and trust were the most important things she could offer.

The white set she wore was one of the most comfortable outfits she owned. She was planning on driving her Maserati, but that car is loud and flashy – nowhere near the right tone. Instead, she changed to her Land Rover Autobiography. It was same car she used when she was driving with Soleil in the car. Familiar. Warm. Safe.

The Capital Grille was a nice restaurant, one that afforded guests with privacy. She hoped that Azzi would be able to relax without so many eyes on them.

The ride was quiet, comfortable though. Azzi looked out the window, eyes tracking skyscrapers shining against the night sky.

Say something. She’s not going to fall for you if you don’t speak.

Azzi smelled like something sweet, almost like a vanilla cupcake. The scent filled the car, not overpowering, but enough to notice if you paid attention.

“You look really nice.” Azzi’s brown eyes meet blue. “Orange looks good on you.” Paige offered, fighting the urge to cringe as she felt her face heat.

Azzi glanced down at her dress, courtesy of Paige. Her fingers fiddle with the hem nervously. “Thank you. I like your outfit too. It looks really comfortable.” Soft smile.

She wanted to figure out how to make Azzi look that way all the time.

“Do you want a set?” Paige asked.

Azzi’s eyes flashed quickly. “No, thank you.” She turned back to the window.

So, don’t offer to buy her things? That makes her comfortable. Might need to backtrack on furnishing the apartment.

The silence was stiff after that, and Paige had never been so happy to see a valet up ahead.

Paige placed her hand on Azzi’s lower back, guiding her into the restaurant. They were led to the private room quickly.

Paige had been stressing about how to talk to Azzi about her job. As soon as they were alone, she opened her mouth.

“KK told me what happened with your boss.” She wanted to drop her head to the table.

Azzi tensed, “Um, yeah. I’m trying to figure out what to do.”

“I’m so sorry, Azzi.” Paige started; composure regained. She covered Azzi’s hand with her own. “I didn’t mean for this to cost you your job.”

She shook her head, “I mean, I should have thought about it. After seeing how they reacted to you, I’m not surprised.” She took a sip of water. “I should be fine though. There’s a national teacher shortage.”

“I could get your job back, if that’s what you want. If they don’t at least apologize to you, I’m pulling Soleil out. You could be her private tutor. Or you could not work at all; something tells me you don’t get nearly enough rest.”

Azzi studied her skeptically. “I – I’ll think about it and let you know what I decide tomorrow morning. It’ll be early though; they want me out by 7.”

Paige clenched her jaw, “I’ll have Morgan be ready to drive you then.”

The waiter came in with the appetizers, and Azzi was ecstatic at the chance to change the subject.

“So has Soleil always been like that?” She smiled softly. “Bright. Happy. Literal sunshine.”

The brightness of Paige’s smile matched her daughter’s name. “Yeah. I didn’t name her that in hopes that she’d be unnaturally cheerful or anything. She was sunshine. My Sunshine. After everything, she represented goodness, strength, a new beginning.”

As composed as she was, Paige was secretly giddy. This would give her the perfect opportunity to help Azzi be more comfortable with her.

“I guess it’s time for you to hear the story. Everyone else in the family already knows. And I want you to, too.”

Paige paused, gathering her thoughts.

“I started Kairos with one of my professors during undergrad. It’s a private equity firm – we buy companies, streamline their operations, and decide if we want to sell. I built a formula my junior year that basically changed everything for us. My mentor, Dr. Martinez was the best. He was the only person who really believed in me.”

She exhaled slowly. “He died in a car accident seven years ago. He left his share of the company to his kid, Emmanuel. Manny. He said he’d sell me his shares if I married him.”

She caught Azzi’s eye. She looked shocked. Azzi figured it was because everyone knew Paige Bueckers is a lesbian.

I think he wanted to control me or maybe humble me. He knew who I was from basketball and saw me as arrogant. I don’t know. It was a bad marriage. He hit me. Hurt me in ways I won’t get into. I didn’t think I had another option, so I stayed.”

Paige looked at a small wrinkle and swallowed to keep her voice steady. “When I found out I was pregnant, I knew I had to get out. I called Nika for the first time in years, and she helped me make a plan. Then, I found out I was having a girl – I knew I didn’t want her growing up thinking she had to change who she was or disappear to get away from someone hurting her.”

Her hand tightened around the champagne flute. “Manny died in a car accident, and I was free. And four months later, I had Soleil. That whole situation was so awful, but she was so good, so perfect. She was light in my life. She gave me strength and a purpose I didn’t know I could have. Manny didn’t have a will when he died, so everything went to me.”

She shrugged. “I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else hurt my family like Manny did, so I threw myself into work and being a good mom.”

The room was quiet. Paige looked up from the wrinkle in the tablecloth she’d been fixated on. She had no idea how Azzi would react.

“I’m so sorry you went through that, Paige. You’re so strong.” Azzi’s eyes shone with tears. “You’re a great mom, one of the best I’ve ever seen. You’ve been fighting for Soleil since you found out she existed.

Paige swallowed hard. “Thank you, Azzi. I just want you to know the truth. The walls, the façade, it’s to keep the girls, to keep Soleil, safe. It’s hard for me to let them down, but I am trying.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Azzi’s heart ached. She never would’ve guessed all the things Paige had to do to survive. She couldn’t imagine dealing with someone like that while being pregnant.

Paige seemed like she was bracing for impact and judgement.

“I know I haven’t lived what you did, but I–” She started, getting flustered. “My ex was a little like yours. I still hear his voice sometimes. So if you wanna talk, or vent, or anything, I’m just a few floors down.”

She could see the tension melt from Paige’s shoulders, and she felt her own doing the same.

“So, Ice showed me the choices for your place You’re going to live in a sunrise.” She smirked.

Azzi’s lips turned down in a small pout, “I think pink, orange, and yellow look perfect together…and I love sunrises!”

Their conversation was interrupted when the waiter came back in, listing the five options the women had for their entrée.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Paige remembered what Ice and KK told her about Azzi’s deep-rooted aversion to making choices because of her fuck ass ex.

“We’ll take all five, thank you.” Paige said, leaving no room for rebuttal.

Big brown eyes stared at her in surprise. “You just ordered five entrées.”

 “You looked like you were having an existential crisis trying to decide.” Paige said, sinking into the velvet chair. “I don’t think you should have to pick if you don’t want to. Try them all and take the leftover for lunch.” She smirked into her water glass.

“So is this a thing with you?” Azzi squinted. “Going overboard?”

Paige gasped dramatically; a mannerism Soleil had inherited. “Overboard? I’ll have you know this is what caring about people looks like.”

Head tilted to the side, and cheeks pink, “Why did you offer to do this? Why do you care?”

“Most people don’t care. They don’t care about children, or even see them as people, but you do. You made sure Soleil was treated equally, and she loves you. I don’t think you will ever understand how much she loves you, Azzi. You became family the moment you fought for her when I couldn’t.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The rest of the evening flowed smoothly. Conversation was easy and the vibes were surprisingly warm. Paige was playful and sharp in a way Azzi never would have assumed. And she was so kind the entire night. She held doors open, guided Azzi with a hand on her back, and even buckled her seatbelt for her.

Azzi didn’t know if it was the champagne or the company, but her shoulders felt much less tense than normal. As she briefly gazed at Paige on the way home, she was appreciative of the quiet. Of the way Paige hadn’t demanded anything of her.

She could feel her thick, tall walls shaking with the kindness and lack of expectations Paige had shown her. She opened every door, pulled out every seat, and even buckled Azzi’s seatbelt for her, like it was a normal thing to do.

You can’t trust her just because she’s pretty, rich, and nice. People can change in a split second.

When they arrived at the Aurelia, Paige rode to the 59th floor with Azzi, walking her to her door.

“I’ll be taking you to the school tomorrow instead of Morgan. I’ve convened a meeting with the board of St. Paul’s.”

Azzi wanted to tell Paige she didn’t need to before she realized Paige was still trying to take care of her.

And then—impulsively, gently—she leaned in and kissed Paige on the cheek.

The blush that bloomed across Paige’s face was worth every inch of vulnerability.

That was definitely a date.

She closed the door, resting her head on the cool oak. She was blushing. Just like the girl she’d just kissed. What the fuck was that. Ohmygosh. She ignored the butterflies in her stomach as she rationalized with herself; she was just saying thank you.

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Azzi looked around her classroom, smiling. She knew Paige would be coming to help pack up her class, but Ice, Jana, and KK joined as well. It was a small gesture, but one that warmed Azzi up inside.

“Azzi, can I take this book home?” Soleil held up Love You by Heart, the book that got everything started.

Azzi smiled, hearing the question for the seventeenth time. “Of course, Soleil.”

“You’re not gonna have any books left if you can’t tell her no, Ms. Fudd.” Paige threw a playful smirk her way.

Azzi shrugged, “That’s fine. With my new part time job, I’ll be able to afford to buy new books.”

Before Paige could come up with a sarcastic reply, Jana spoke. “Pause. Why are we packing up your classroom if Paige is gonna bitch them out until they give you your job back?”

Heat rushed to Azzi’s face. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to work at St. Paul’s after seeing how they treated people with different views than them.

“Thanks for the reminder, J. Come of Az. It’s time to head to the conference room. Ice, please don’t let Soleil trick you into letting her paint.”

Azzi didn’t hear anything after Paige called her Az. She had a nickname. To Azzi, nicknames were a way to show love and affection. While Az wasn’t super personal, she felt a little brighter knowing someone cared enough to give her a nickname again.

“Azzi.” The blonde’s voice interrupted her stream of consciousness. She stood up sharply, following Paige into the hallway. Her hands fiddled with the hem of her old UCLA sweatshirt. A warm hand covered hers. “Relax, Azzi. No matter what happens, you’ll be good. I promise.”

“Thanks, I’m just nervous,” She muttered, looking at her shoes. “I just – I’ve never really been in trouble like this before, and it’s not even over something I can control.”

As someone who had attended private school, Azzi was intimately familiar with hiding her sexuality to avoid conflict. It never made sense to her; hating someone because of who they love. It’s not like they could control it.

“Fuck em. They think you’re weak, but you’re not.” Paige’s voice dropped. “You’ve survived worse, and you got us now.”

Brows furrowed, Azzi gave a small nod, held herself higher, and opened the door.

The long conference room table had ten people around it, Mr. Smith and the nine board members. There was a chair opened at the end of the table, with one seat available next to it.

Azzi felt inferior in her leggings and tennis shoes, while all the board members wore suits. She glanced at Paige. She looked perfectly composed, despite being in a gray Nike tech fit.

“Ms. Fudd, Ms. Bueckers, thank you for coming this morning.” Mr. Smith said, standing. “Let’s get started, since it’s a holiday and all.”

Each board member introduced themselves, and if it was a different scenario, Azzi would have laughed at all of them being named after a saint.

When the last member, John Paul James (three saint names), introduced himself, he added something to the end. “I was assuming this meeting would be with you, Ms. Bueckers. You said something about donations?”

“She’s here for me,” Azzi replied before Paige could speak. Despite her nerves, her voice came out even. “We are here to discuss my termination.”

Peter Kingsley rolled his eyes subtly. “Ms. Fudd, you’ve been a valued and effective teacher at St. Paul’s, but we cannot retain a teacher who lives in direct opposition of what the Bible teaches.”

Azzi inhaled sharply. “Excuse me? I –”

“For this reason God gave them up to dishonorable passions. For their women exchanged natural relations for those that are contrary to nature; and the men likewise gave up natural relations with women and were consumed with passion for one another, men committing shameless acts with men and receiving in themselves the due penalty for their error. Romans 1:26-27.” Another member says.

“1 Corinthians 6:9-10. Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: neither the sexually immoral, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor men who practice homosexuality, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.” A deeper voice calls out.

“You are a teacher, Ms. Fudd. You are supposed to be a moral example for your students. We don’t want you do lead those children astray.” A woman spoke sternly.

Azzi inhaled sharply. “I’ve always shown them to live a life of love. I have never taught them anything that goes against–”

“You are trying to cause these children spiritual harm, and we will not stand for it.” Mr. Kingsley sneered. “Matthew 18:6 says but whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great mill–”

“I would never do that, I love my k –” Azzi’s voice wavers, eyes shiny with tears.

“You are leading them to hell–”

“Enough.” Paige’s rings out sternly. The tone is so intense that no one dares to speak.

She rises slowly, face controlled, shoulders tense. She stands tall behind Azzi’s chair, placing a gentle hand on the back of her neck. The panic that has Azzi’s body wound up melts a little. She quietly wipes the tears from her face.

“I’ve been biting my tongue out of respect for Azzi. Trying to let her handle it, but you won’t even listen to her. And I won’t sit here and listen to you berate my girlfriend for something she can’t control.”

Her hand leave Azzi has she stalks around the table. “I chose this school because of her.” She pointed. “I looked up reviews of every preschool teacher in the city, and she outshined the rest by miles. Soleil is a shy child, and I needed a teacher who would look at the whole child. Someone who would make every kid feel loved and special, and that’s what Azzi Fudd does.”

The classroom’s temperature has dropped ten degrees as Paige paused. “And you want to fire her? I would love to see you try. Let’s talk about the ramifications of firing Ms. Fudd.”

A smirk works its way onto her perfect, pale face. “I’m St. Paul’s largest donor. I have already donated triple the amount than next highest donor. I am covering the tuitions of fifty students, one of whom bullied my child because I’m gay. I have donated the money for that new state of the art library and have had documents drawn up for a science lab. You fire her, you lose the best teacher, you lose my daughter, you lose me, and every penny I bring in for this school.”

All of the board members tense at her threat.

“This is supposed to be a Christian institution. You like throwing scripture at people, huh? John 8:7. Let you without sin cast the first stone. Galatians 5:22. The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I want you to look me in my eye and tell me which attribute Azzi is lacking in.”

She bends down, getting eye level with Mr. Kingsley. “You preach about shepherding children, and she does it. She does it well. Why do you think all her families love her so much?” Blue eyes throwing an icy glare at the man. “What you’re doing isn’t righteous, it’s pharisaical.”

Paige walks back to Azzi. “We’re leaving.”

Azzi rises on shaky legs. She’s never had someone stand up for her like that.

“Ms. Fudd,” Mr. Smith grits out. “Perhaps we’ve been a bit hasty with our judgement. You are more than welcome to stay at St. Paul’s, with a few guardrails of course.”

“No thank you,” Azzi smiles softly. “Jesus said they will know we are Christians by the love we have for one another. I want you to think if you have shown me the love and grace that you should have, and I hope you won’t make this mistake again.”

She walks out. She doesn’t look back, walking proudly until they got back to her classroom She made a beeline to the restroom, and finally let herself cry.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Paige was feeling…a lot of feelings. She was proud of the way Azzi stood up for herself. She saddened knowing the damage this would do to the woman. She was furious at the close-minded attitude and greedy nature of the board members. But she was enraged hearing Azzi’s sobs.

They didn’t deserve her sorrow. They didn’t deserve her tears. Paige paced in front of the classroom, trying to burn off some of her fury.

“Aye, you good, P?” KK questioned cautiously.

Paige’s head snapped up, remembering where she was, and who was present. The classroom was bare, everything in boxes except for a few pieces of paper and a box of markers for Soleil.

Her daughter’s big blue eyes met hers sadly. “Mommy, why is Azzi cwying?”

She took a deep breath, kneeling to her daughter’s level. “Some people here said some mean things to her, so she’s upset.”

Soleil’s dark brows furrowed. “We should make hew feel bettew.” Lips turned down in a frown. “We go get ice cweam!” She exclaimed.

Paige smiled at Soleil’s zeal. “That sounds like a good idea, Sunshine.” She turned to her friends. “Let’s get these boxes in the car so we can go before I lose it.”

Jana, Ice, KK, and Paige loaded up the two SUVs and sat in the classroom, joking around, and waiting for Azzi to come out.

No one noticed what Soleil was doing until it was too late. “Come on Azzi! Time fow ice cweam!”

“Lei! We’re just gonna wait til she’s ready.” Paige rushed to scoop her up.

The door cracked a little, “No, it’s okay. I’m ready.” Azzi said, softly.

Soleil wiggled until her mom put her down. She threw herself at her teachers. “I’m sowwy they was saying mean things to you.”

Azzi hoisted her up, Lei’s little legs wrapping around her waist. “Thank you, Soleil.” She turned to the adults. “So, I heard we’re getting ice cream?”

Paige watched a smile stretch over Azzi’s face, a matching one lighting up Soleil’s face. And for a second, Paige let herself want a future that looked just like this.

[immortalmolloy]

“I trusted you with my life,” Daniel told her. He was horrified and so frightened when he realized what he had become. He remembered what it felt like to have Mina holding a gun to him. He didn’t blame her for that. As scared as he had been, he had still trusted her in that moment. He trusted that she wouldn’t kill him. He trusted she would make the right decision. He trusted that whatever happened from that point on he would survive it somehow because he had her by his side. “I was so afraid, but I knew I would get through it all somehow as long as I had you,” he said.

He couldn’t help but think about how Mina almost died and how he had to decide if he should let her go or make her a vampire. He remembered how it felt to know she would rather die than become like him. He would always respect her choice in the end, even if it killed him. Still, a part of him couldn’t help but feel hurt or even a little betrayed. Maybe it was something he needed to work through in therapy. He hated to have these difficult conversations with Mina, but it was unavoidable at times. These were important topics for both of them.

It had been a traumatic event for both of them. It haunted him still. He really thought he was going to lose her forever. His worst fears had come true in that moment. He could have said yes to Lestat. It would have been so easy to be selfish and turn Mina. He loved her more than anything so he had to honor her wishes even though it destroyed him. He worried that it could happen again too. His nightmares could become a reality. Perhaps next time they wouldn’t be so lucky. Perhaps Mina would not survive it. If she didn’t survive then Daniel did not think he would survive losing her. He never wanted to be in a situation like that again yet he couldn’t pretend it wouldn’t happen again. He thought of Mina and her warmth and her love of the sunshine on her face and he knew he should just let her go if they were in the situation again. He had not come through nearly losing her unscathed. He didn’t know if he could do it again. He didn’t know if he could honor her wishes again. It was so painful. It left a scar on his immortal heart.

“I know you said you were afraid… if you became like me… what you might do with your new power…” Daniel felt like he was stepping foot into a minefield, yet he continued on because it was all too important to avoid. “I had fears about becoming a monster too. But I trusted you. I believed you when you said it would be okay. Do you not believe me when I say that stuff? Do you not trust me with your life? I know you say it’s not about me, that you don’t trust yourself, but could you not trust me with your life the same way I trusted you with mine?”

If Daniel had not had Mina, he would have probably ended his own existence out of fear that he was a monster. He hadn’t trusted himself very much. Mina was what kept him going. Mina was his whole world. Mina was everything to him. Mina saved his life again and again.

“So, you want to interview vampires, so you?”

[elwenyere]

I've been reflecting on the parallels between 1.07 and 2.09 (as visualized in this beautiful GIF set) and what I take away from the placement of these scenes in the overall structure of the show: specifically the way both of them occur right after Cassian has taken part in one of the big set pieces for resistance (the raid on Aldhani and the massacre on Ghorman).

Echoed in the conversations with Maarva and Bix are two recurring desires for Cassian: (1) he wants to be able to choose how when and how he leaves, and (2) he wants to reaffirm to himself that he has everything he needs to take care of the people closest to him. On the level of the psychodrama/individual-character origin story, I can see how both of these responses are entangled with what happened to him as a child on Kenari, and then again when he's incarcerated after Clem's death (having his choices taken away by a force larger than him and thus being unable to protect his family). On the level of Andor's meta-narratives about what organized resistance requires, I can see how both of these desires speak to difficulties in navigating between individual and collective social consciousness (we have to fight knowing we will not see the end of the fight, and we do that because we recognize we need each other to be free, and no one's free until everyone is).

I think there are a number of ways to read what claims the show is making by staging a recurrence of 1.07's "I'm walking backwards into my narrative; I was trying to walk out" structure in 2.09, and YMMV on which you find most satisfying: (1) trauma is necessarily repetitive and cyclical; (2) the commitment to collective struggle is not a one-time decision but rather must be remade continually; and/or (3) it's vital to the mode of resistance Cassian embodies that he never achieves total certainty - not only because, historically, people working for justice never know in the moment whether what they're doing is going to work, but also because, diegetically, his doubt will be as important to his resistance work as his conviction.

With regard to claim (1), I think it's really interesting that in 2.09, the same episode where Cassian is expressing his intention to be done with Luthen and Draven and to leave to Rebellion, he describes himself to Mon as one of the last "survivors of the raid on Aldhani." He doesn't say "we pulled off the Aldhani heist" or "we were on the Aldhani crew together"; he frames himself as someone who survives larger actions when other people don't. There's an echo there to how he describes himself as "one of fifty survivors" at Mimban and the way Maarva describes him as the sole survivor from Kenari - of the look on his face when Melshi asks him how many men he thinks made it out of Narkina and Cassian says "not enough."

And for me it's that learned link between being subsumed by a larger unit (the family, the prison, the militia, the Rebel Alliance) and being prevented from doing something individually very consequential (like going back in time to save Kerri or Maarva or Brasso) that forms the hinge connecting the interiority of explanation (1) to the more structural and ideological levels of (2) and (3). Cassian is a character who's had major choices about how to live his life taken away from him, both in ways that are idiosyncratic to his own trajectory and in ways he shares with a huge number of people living under fascism; and Andor demonstrates how embracing the collective struggle against the latter involves a renegotiation of the need for individual agency sharpened by the former. For me, a central effect of the show's decision to sustain the tension between those desires rather than resolving it is the suggestion that both qualities (Cassian's willingness to give his all in pursuit of collective liberation and his value for individual autonomy) end up being crucial to the decisions he makes in Rogue One. Without his commitment to the cause, he would never have been in the position to help get news to Yavin about the Death Star plans. Without his need to exercise his own judgment and make/allow for autonomous choices, he wouldn't have been ready to buck the chain of command and help lead Rogue One to Scarif. In other words, I think it's possible to read Cassian's behavior in arc three of season two both as a personal trauma response and also as another stage of a dialectical, always-unfinished struggle to navigate the poles of individual agency and collective action. Andor tells a story about how all the things Cassian gathers along the way - everything he already feels and knows, as Maarva says via Brasso - prepare him to be a force for good, including the impulse to set aside more abstract objectives to refocus on the need to protect the person in front of him.

[fernslivers]

The Marriage Game

You were raised as a boy to ensure your parents could pass on their wealth–so far the ruse has held. There's one little snag though… you need a wife. Lucky for you, your parents seem to have found the perfect match, the unwanted former wife of a disgraced samurai.

~~

A/N: AHHH, whew! I hope you like this, anon!! It's going to feature a slightly sweeter Mizu, since I'm trying to write her as she was in the flashback. I figured since that bad moment with the betrayal didn't happen, she would be more guarded but not AS broken and jaded as in canon. I hope it translates correctly and not too OOC. It got a little more spiced than anything I've written so far! I know that wasn't included in the ask so I hope that's okay! :,) [Not beta'd so apologies for any errors in spelling!]

TW: Spice, loss of virginity, unpleasant parents all around, internalized self-hate, gratuitous mentions of M*kio being a dick

-----

“It's not going to work–she's not going to want me,” you mumble to your mother as you wait for your new bride to arrive. She hushes you.

You subside obediently, but your doubts persist. Your family might have money, plenty of it, but that hasn't stopped several fathers from looking down their noses at you as a husband. Uncommonly delicate for a man, one has said. Too short, snorted another. And the daughters, while they kept their gazes lowered demurely as they'd been taught, had let you know with one glance that they agreed with their parents’ disdain.

You hadn't wanted them anyway, no more than you wanted a man. There was something missing from them, something blank in their yielding sweetness that did not appeal to you. Is there something broken in you?

–

“This one will be different,” your mother had insisted, when she first brought home the news. “She's already been sent home by one husband for being unfit–too ugly, I heard. But strong. She'll be in no position to complain about your looks, and she'll be able to handle the chores you can't.”

You had flushed, stung by the implied insult. All you've ever really wanted to do was express yourself through art–lingering in front of painters’ displays, tracing your fingers over the wares at a pottery booth. Or perhaps to be let alone with your animals, which never wanted you to be anything but yourself. Both choices were actively discouraged in favor of menial chores that added muscle to your limbs and calluses to your hands. But nothing your parents did could make your frame taller, or your features less feminine.

–

Now, as you give her a reproachful glance, she sighs.

“Oh, don't look like that,” she waves your feelings away, as usual. “Besides, she can't refuse you. Her mother has already agreed on her behalf–this isn't a prospective meeting, it's a wedding. Your wedding. Be glad!”

Even still, that might be worse. Gods above, how humiliating would it be for your bride to walk away from the very wedding itself?

You're not even sure what your parents expect to happen here. Yes, in theory, they have a son to inherit their wealth and status.

Then what?

Again, it wasn't that you wanted a man. To be sure, your budding orientation had been a fortuitous development for your parents. But most brides are expecting you to be something that you are not. You certainly don't have the necessary parts to give your new bride an heir to follow you, and carry on the family name. Are they already assuming she'll grow dismissive of you, and take a lover to put a child in the cradle?

Probably, you think grimly. Why would they care about your feelings on the matter? They know you're too gentle to be angry with her, and they'll be happy to know there's a continuation of their name. After all, they sacrificed your happiness just to keep their wealth in the family.

There’s some commotion outside, and your stomach lurches. She's here.

You follow your parents outside, telling yourself not to trail meekly behind like a daughter; you're a son. You have to be strong, confident. Assertive. Yeah, right. Framed between them on the porch, you know you cut a small, unimposing figure, one arm nervously rubbing the other.

Two women are climbing out of the litter that's touching down in the front yard. One, the shorter one, steps forward, as the other hangs back. You hang back also, staying up on the porch, where maybe you'll look taller.

Between you and the other woman, the older folks all congregate, loudly greeting each other with exaggerated politeness and cheer. They’re happy, chatty–proud of themselves for making a deal that each person thinks benefits them the most.

Above their heads, you and your new bride lock eyes.

Oh.

You are so far out of your depths.

Strong doesn't begin to cover the aura of the woman you're set to marry. All the confidence you’re pretending to have, she truly owns, carried as lightly as a cloak around her shoulders, moving with an easy grace and smooth bearing that you could never hope to manage. Even from a distance, you can tell she's got to be at least a half a head taller than you.

At least in expression, you can tell she isn't much more confident than you are. Her eyes travel from your nervous shifting to the softness in your features, to the large amount of space between the top of your head and the doorframe above you. You both have the same trepidatious look, watching each other with the mutual wariness of cats meeting for the first time.

Your mother was wrong about the other thing, though. She certainly is strong, but she is far from ugly. You can feel your breath catch as those startling eyes meet yours… and then your heart sinks as her mouth tightens, and she looks away. Disappointed by you, no doubt. It seems impossible that she could expect you to dislike her. Something inside you folds up in defeat.

This is going to be a disaster.

—

Once again, Mizu finds herself in the position of lying silently, waiting for a husband to arrive to claim his bride. This time, she feels no fear of ravishment; she knows what to expect, physically…and unlike Mikio, you were far from gruff during the ceremony and the dinner afterwards. You had carefully offered her the choicest bits of food, asked respectfully about her interests and her travels to come here. Indeed, you were shockingly kind, compared to her last experience.

In some ways, that makes this wait worse. She expected rejection already, and from you, it seems even more likely than before–and she doesn't want it. Mizu doesn't find you undesirable, not by a long shot. But next to you, she feels even less ladylike than she had with Mikio. You are the prettiest, most delicate man she's ever seen, you look like she could snap you in half one-handed. Not the kind of man that's going to go for someone like her.

No. She fears this time that her previous husband was right to call her unlovable. That you won't want her. The thought of having to go through all of this drama to be rejected again fills her with a deep depression. She recalls with horrible clarity the way Mikio had stared at her coldly when she greeted him in her bridal attire, barely bothering to form the words get out. If Mikio had been horrified by her, how much more so will you be? You're no tough old samurai.

She would love to be able to live happily with a husband as pretty and kind as you, even if it meant giving up on her demon’s path. But to do that, she'll never be able to connect with you.

She'll have to forever guard her true self or run the risk of being sent away yet again. Or worse, she wonders if unlike Mikio, you can't choose for yourself; she saw how your parents stomped all over you during dinner. What if they won't allow you to refuse? If you can't send her away, then you might hate her, leaving you both trapped.

She had argued and fought this marriage for so long; only the heavy guilt trip from her mother brought her here. Her mother… the only person ever to accept her besides Eiji; even with the woman's habits and guilting, Mizu finds it impossible to simply leave her uncared for. It’s her duty; something she would never shirk, even if it hurts. She knows from her mother’s long haggling that you've struggled nearly as much as she has in finding a spouse (though, seeing you, she can't understand why), so perhaps you feel as strong-armed into this marriage as she does. Do you resent being shackled to her by a pair of pushy mothers?

She searches every hint of your behavior today in her memory, looking for some clarity on your opinion. Unlike Mikio, you had made no comments on her appearance, but she could feel your eyes lingering shyly on her when she wasn't looking your way. Were you staring out of interest, or distaste?

The door slides open behind her. Mizu squeezes her eyes shut, biting her lip in prayer even though she feels foolish. She'll never be able to admit to herself how much it means to her that someone out there might want her. You were kind at dinner, that must mean something; please reach for her, please show interest, please let it work out this time…

Your footsteps, her new husband’s footsteps, hesitate, standing a few feet back, as though watching her. Then, with a pit of dread opening in her stomach, she hears the steps turn away, and the shuffling of another mat being set out. Her breath hitches in pain, before anger sets in.

No. Not this time. She can't do this again.

She's not going to lay in the dark like a heartsick girl because a pretty man didn't reach for her in the dark. She wants it laid out here and now. She won't deny her ember for another loveless marriage. Not even for mama.

She rolls over abruptly, brow already furrowed.

You freeze in the middle of laying out the blanket, the whites of your eyes glinting as they widen in the dark. Your heart thumps to see the scowl on your new wife's face when she pushes herself up on one elbow to look at you. You had assumed she would not want your attentions, and would pretend to be asleep to avoid them, so you wanted to accommodate her–not as though you could ever lie with her anyway, not in the way you think she's expecting.

“S-sorry, did I wake y–”

“Am I unappealing to you?”

Her voice is different, somehow, low and raspy–nothing like the softer feminine tones she'd tried to use during the day.

Oh no. You stammer for a moment, frozen, unsure what to say, even as you feel a strange flutter in your lower belly. No. Definitely not… unappealing.

“I…I…What?”

Your eyes dart away from hers; do you dare to turn away and ignore her? Instinctively, you know better than to try and command her to hush, whether you're the “man” or not. The very air of the room tells you that you're not in charge, here.

Mizu sits up, still frowning, as dogged in her pursuit of the topic as she is with every other goal.

“It's our wedding night. Why do you want to sleep over there?” She tells herself she's not afraid of failure or rejection anymore; she already believes herself unlovable. But she's bracing for the words all the same. She wants you to say it, admit it, so she can feel justified in abandoning this duty to pursue her revenge. Tell me, she thinks, her eyes boring into you piercingly. Tell me the truth so I can be set free.

For a moment, there's silence, as you meet her gaze, looking stricken. She thinks–at first–that it’s because you're too kind to want to hurt her with the truth.

Internally, you're panicking. What if the truth makes her leave, and your parents turn on you for ruining this? What if she tells her mother, who spreads it across the region via gossip? What if she simply pounds you into a pulp for deceiving her? You saw her lean, muscled arms as she carried in her luggage–she's more than capable.

You’re about to invent some excuse, some lie to buy yourself another night, when you see the barest hint of a flicker in her eyes. Old pain, buried beneath anger and bold demand. What did her last husband say to her, you wonder. You know the humiliation you felt when the word spread that multiple fathers called you undesirable for their daughters. Did she hear the similar rumors that she was somehow undesirable? You feel suddenly sorry for her, stuck with you– a husband that can't give her what a husband should.

At least you can give her the truth.

You look away, sucking in a deep breath.

“I can't… be a husband to you.” Your voice is hushed, the tone cracking at the edges. She takes it exactly the wrong way.

“Because I am ugly to you.” She says flatly, fighting to conceal the sting of hearing her fears confirmed, but then your head snaps around to meet her gaze. So she has heard the rumors, you think.

You have no idea how often she has.

“No!” You exclaim, and the earnestness in your voice disarms her, makes her believe that you mean it even when it seems impossible. “No. You're… you're not at all… you're very–…any man should be proud to have you as a wife.” Your words are a shock, making her heart speed up rapidly as you stammer. Even in the dark, she can tell that you've started to blush, and the ice building in her chest cracks ever so slightly as her own face warms. She can't meet your eyes, suddenly…but then, you’re looking away, too.

“Don't lie.” But her voice wavers uncertainly. She recalls Mikio’s revulsion, his utter refusal to ever look at her again. You're only saying that because you haven't seen the real her, yet.

You shake your head, hands trembling. She deserves to know the truth. But the confession sticks in your throat.

“You deserve better than this,” you mutter, sinking down on your sleeping mat criss-cross, putting your head in your hands. The strangeness of that response gets her attention again.

Mizu stares at you, confused. She deserves-...? She feels suddenly cold as the thought strikes her that you could be feeling an attack of a guilty conscience. Is this all a setup? Were you going to turn her in, but now you feel badly? Was this all a trap?

You’re looking down between your fingers, so a tiny rustle is all the warning you get. You yelp aloud when a sudden weight tackles you to the mat, and she claps a hand over your mouth to silence the noise, both of your other wrists grasped easily in her other hand. Pinned, you’re left staring up at Mizu’s abruptly fierce expression in shock. Despite your alarm, there's a sudden, illogical stab of something squirmy in your lower belly. Her eyes catch the moonlight through the paper windows, gleaming like clear ice in the dark, all shadows and pale blue. This-... this is what was missing from those other girls, you realize, even if you can't parse exactly what this is. She really is something amazing…you can feel your breath catch in your throat, a sudden twinge of mingled regret and desire choking you. If only you could be what a wife would want… you would be hers in truth if you could.

If she isn't about to kill you.

“Who did you tell that I'm here?” She demands, releasing your mouth to let you answer, ignoring her own mixed feelings at the way she can still feel the imprint of your mouth on her palm. Lying below her, your eyes wide and your hair spread across the pillow, you really are lovely. Almost feminine, with your delicate features and full lips. She feels an instant throb of desire, something that had never come on so suddenly or so fiercely in her last marriage. Damn it, she could have been so happy to be married to someone that looked like you. Why does she have to be who she is?

“What do you mean? Why would that matter?” you stammer, confusion dancing in the wide dark pools of your eyes. You've no idea she's got a bounty–you’re sheltered, your parents are wealthy, and don't concern themselves with tracking criminals.

There's something in your genuinely perplexed tone that makes her believe you. You're no fighter, no warrior, only something soft. She knows she would recognize a lie.

As her anger fades, she looks again from your eyes to the wrists that her fingers are wrapped around. Belatedly, with her heart seizing, she realizes that she's done it again.

Attacked her husband, frightened him. Her hands release their grip as she sits back.

Her eyes are stricken, wide with the remembered fallout; the harsh words, the silent packing up, mama’s unforgiving blame. Her heart begins to pound fast once more, certain she's ruined everything. Again.

You sit up, slowly. Seeing her wide eyes, a flicker of fear is building in your chest, too, for a different reason. Her distress seems almost like shock to you, as though she's seen something… You don't bind at night, did she see–...?

Fearfully, you tug the collar of your sleepwear more tightly together.

Mizu recognizes the motion instantly; recalls her own compulsive tugging… and why. Something clicks, cutting through her panic and steadying her. A suspicion, tiny but impossible to ignore, as she watches you look away, your face tight. Your soft-featured face, with that smooth, delicate throat–

It's not possible. The coincidence would be too…

Her expression shifts from guilt and horror to sudden focus. Again, she shoots out a hand, covering yours against your collar, gripping it tightly. You look up, prey-animal fear in your eyes.

“Don't…lie,” she says again, more softly, and the blue searches over your face like an illuminating shaft of moonlight. Your own eyes are luminous in the dim room, wet enough to reflecting the low light, even if men aren't meant to cry.

But… you aren't that, are you–and now she knows it.

—

You explain it all slowly, with your knees pulled to your chest. An instinctive shield.

“My parents… tried very hard to have a son to carry on the family line,” you whisper at the end. “But… after me…something had gone wrong. My birth made it so that there were no more babies. They only had me.” You hang your head, and Mizu recognizes her own guilt, that of a gaslit child, in your face. It stuns her, to see it in another, clarifying her own mother’s actions with sudden horror. She doesn't resent the freedom she's gained to seek her revenge, but in you, she sees that the disguise only came with more shackles. “So because it was my fault… they felt I had to make up for it.”

Anger curdles in her chest.

“It was the gods’ decision if it was anyone’s,” she says fiercely. “Not yours. You were a child.”

You look up at her, hope and hesitance warring on your face. In the silence, an owl cries outside, the haunting call drifting in through the open window. She stops, shocked by the impact of her own words on herself, hearing them said aloud in her own voice. It wasn't your fault. How long has she waited, without realizing, to hear someone say that to her?

“How do you know?” You ask, your smile growing crooked.

Mizu’s hands clench into fists in her lap. Only moments ago, she had felt certain to find herself rejected yet again, certain she would be slipping away before morning, finally feeling freed of obligation, having truly seen the proof that she could never live a normal life.

Now conflict dogs her conscience.

You see the consternation in her eyes, and though you could never know the reason, you rightly assume the situation is causing her some mixed feelings.

Hesitantly, you reach out, your hand covering hers.

“Don't lie.” You murmur her own words back to her, and she can't find a reason to fight the invitation in your gentle gaze.

—

You're astonished when she explains about her vow, about the similar disguise she adopted.

“But you're so beautiful,” you blurt out, unable to believe she could pass for a man, then flush when she meets your gaze with disbelieving surprise. A little scoff escapes her, but when you hold her gaze steadily, serious, she looks down.

“...I'm sorry,” she replies, stumbling a bit over the honesty. You smile shyly, your turn to be flustered, and she feels her heart turn over. Cute. It startles her to realize her attraction hasn't lessened now that she knows the truth.

“For what?”

“I nearly killed you just now. I frightened you.”

You remember the heart-pounding sight of her above you, her gaze glinting like a blade, teeth bared fiercely. The squirm in your belly has nothing to do with fear.

“You didn't hurt me,” you tell her reassuringly. “Startled me, only. You moved so fast. It was…”--hot–“...impressive.” You give a short laugh. “Perhaps you should be the husband. You're better at it than me.”

Belatedly, you see the flash of pain in her eyes. You have to be a boy, Mizu. Stricken at her expression, you begin to stammer out an apology, but she shakes her head, waving it away as though her moment of vulnerability is too uncomfortable to linger on. All she says is, “Being violent doesn't make a better husband.”

“No,” You agree, apologetically. “But I wish I could protect you the way you seem able to protect yourself.”

“I don't need protection,” she says, more harshly than she meant to. At your flinch, her brow softens. There's a little pause.

You draw your knees up, hugging them. “I guess you'll want to leave, now?” The thought is depressing, but hearing her speak of her vow, the spark in her eyes, you can't stand the idea of trapping her here as your fake wife.

“What?” She looks up, eyes widening.

“On your quest?” You clarify. “I would not force you to stay here, no matter what our parents say.” When she doesn't reply, only stares openmouthed, you add, “I can get you the things you need. We have money. I can get you a travel pass, a horse… whatever might help you.”

She closes her mouth, opens it–closes it again. She looks genuinely moved, the icy edge of her eyes softening as her hand convulsively grasps yours, gratitude bubbling up inside her; of the tiny number of people she has let past her walls, you are the first to ever offer even a scrap of encouragement towards her goals. To Eiji she was foolish, to her mother–selfish, to Mikio… well, even in the beginning he had laughed skeptically, and it had only gone worse from there.

But…

“I owe it to mama to make this work out,” she says with a sigh, though resentment burns in her heart. A disloyal voice mutters in her heart that Mama only wants her as a meal ticket, but she dismisses it.

“We could keep your mother here, while you get your revenge,” you offer, wanting to please her so badly, trying to hide your reluctance; already, you don't want her to go. Her hand over yours is warm, it feels so strong…it's the first time anyone besides family has touched you in any capacity.

She smiles ever so slightly, a rare moment of humor, tinged with the truth. “I could not leave you with them; you've done nothing to deserve such a fate.”

You smile gratefully, then bite your lip, thinking.

“Maybe you could…pretend to be me?”

Her brow furrows. “What?”

“On the travel pass–it would have my name. We could travel together, the husband and his new wife,” you expand on the thought, speculating as you go. “You can take up your disguise again when you want to, I can take it up when you don't… either way, all anyone would see would be a man and his wife, traveling legally.”

She's staring again. She looks so blankly dumbfounded that you begin to feel like maybe your plan really is that stupid.

“I'm the heir, remember? I can do as I like, technically.” You grin reluctantly, even as you heart thumps at the idea of your parents' reactions. You've never defied them this outrageously before, but since you're meant to be their son, it occurs to you that they can't protest without outing themselves or losing their heir. It's funny; you've never realized how much power you had, that they need you as much as you need them. Not until you had someone you wanted to help.

“I…I can make sure we have money, and I can stay out of the way…if we can afford horses, and places to stay it will be easier for me to stay out of danger. Maybe with bigger bribes, you won't have as much trouble…”

Still, she says nothing.

“...And your mother can stay here! My parents can't say you left me if we go together, not if they want to keep their son, so they will have to…care for her as an in-law…honorably…” her staring is really starting to make you nervous. “Mizu…?”

She lunges forward again and you freeze; only to feel those hands gently cup your face instead of squeezing your wrists. Softly, at odds with the quickness of her movements, she kisses you.

All your life, you had wondered what it would be like to be kissed; you had simply assumed it was a privilege you would never be allowed. You had no desire for men, and surely no wife would want to once she knew your secret…

It's everything you had never thought you would be allowed to have; her lips glide smoothly and sweetly against yours, lighting up nerve endings you didn't know existed, sending cascades of tingles down your spine. Despite the softness of it, there's an easy sense of control in the way she tilts your face with her hands, guiding you where she wants you, one callused palm sliding down to stroke over the skin of your neck, tugging you closer. You shiver at the muted strength behind that easy tug, how it pulls you forwards against her without the slightest effort.

There's a heat coiling in your belly that you've never felt before by the time she pulls back, her eyes searching your face.

There is a pause.

“...I don't want to sleep alone,” she blurts out, cheeks flushed. Your heart, already fluttering, begins to thump hard.

“Neither do I,” You say breathlessly, watching the way she smiles again, shakily.

You stare at each other, lost as to how to proceed.

“I…I don't know how to please a woman,” she says finally, her flush deepening.

“I don't know how to please anyone.” You admit.

You both stutter out a laugh, mutually nervous, but then the laughter fades to a charged silence.

Slowly, as if trying not to scare you away, she reaches out for you again, cupping the back of your head. This time the kiss is only soft for the first moments before it grows heated, hungrier, both of you relaxing into a desire you never expected to be reciprocated.

The swipe of a tongue over your lower lip startles you; it slips between your lips when they part on a gasp. At your tiny noise, you can feel her tense; she rises from sitting, to her knees, shuffling closer to you, her hand sliding down your spine. Without breaking the kiss, she guides you back to lie down on the mat.

This time when she looks down at you, the fire behind the ice has a very different burn to it, still focused like a beam of light all on you; no less of a thrill. Desire is written across your flushed features, easy to read…along with anxiety; this is all so new to you.

Long fingers stroke your cheek. The blue eyes are intent, focused as always, but determined on something more pleasant now. “I will take care of you,” comes the whispered reassurance. She presses another kiss to your lips, then another, pulling back to watch the way your eyes slowly lose their nerves and become hazy. Her gaze roves over your pretty features, down over the smaller frame beneath her. She swallows back her own nerves; she wants to make this good for you, better than what she had.

The neck. She remembers how good that, at least, had felt with-...no. She's not going to think about him anymore–not ever again.

It's easy to redirect her thoughts; the first brush of her lips against the delicate skin beneath your jaw rewards her with the sound of you moaning her name softly, sending a pulse of desire straight down through her core, more potent than she can ever remember feeling. Without thinking, she bites down, reveling in the soft skin yielding beneath her teeth. You grit your teeth to stifle your cry, desire pooling with sudden intensity between your legs at the little spark of pain.

“Too hard?” Oh by the gods, that raspy voice in your ear…

“Mm-mm,” you manage shakily, teeth digging into your lip.

“Tell me if it is,” comes the reply, firm voice breathless, lips already finding your skin again. Your fingers tighten against her shoulders as she buries her head deeper against your neck.

Her fingers are careful when they part your shirt, while you fumble nervously with the many, many layers of her kimono. She isn't exactly helpful, more interested in letting her long fingers map the contours of your body, finding places that make your fingers stumble and your body twitch. She leaves you to puzzle out her clothes, distracted and eager, so that you’re too busy to be shy…up until the moment her hands push your thighs apart.

You freeze with a gasp, your face going deep red so fast that heat prickles behind your eyes. Nobody has ever, ever seen you like this, exposed, openly desirous.

“Mizu…”

She pauses immediately, breathing hard. Her eyes are piercing, hungry. She looks…incredible. You've managed to get her down to her hadagi, with the base layer garment falling off one lean, sharp shoulder, her hair falling in a rich dark curtain around you both. She looks like a wolf crouched above you, a feast waiting within its grasp, predatory in a thrilling way. But then she looks up at you, and you can see that she's waiting–she's used to self denial. She'll wait forever for you to be ready. “We can stop–” she murmurs.

No. You shake your head, but you’re too overwhelmed to speak. I don't want to stop. Feeling desperate to make it clear, you reach out and take her hand, pulling it down to the pulsing ache at the apex of your thighs.

The touch is a shock to you, even self-inflicted. You suck in air sharply at the feeling of her hand, cool fingers against wet heat. Wide eyes meet hers; you see the predator flare again as the blue color darkens. Cute, she can't help but think, flexing her fingers against you and seeing you arch immediately, biting your lip to stifle your cry. So…sweet.

Once she's seen your face crease in ecstasy, she will take the time to disrobe, properly; she'll teach you how to touch her. She can feel herself throb at the thought of your face in flushed, shy concentration as your hands find the places on her body that ache to be touched. For now she straddles your thigh, pressing her heated core against it as her fingers press inside you, burying her grunt of pleasure in your neck as she feels you shift your muscles to press up against her more firmly. Even in the throes of losing your virginity, you respond to her pleasure.

It's nothing like what she knew before; as she brings you forward into submission, everything is soft and slick and easy, and there is nothing but a pleasure that builds on and on. She knows that for you, this is all you know, and she is determined that this is all you will ever know; easy pleasure under her possessive touch.

–

She wakes you before the sun is up, and you gape at the person above you. It’s still Mizu, but dressed as a man, her hair scraped back into a bun, only that one stubborn curl escaping. She looks sharper, more dangerous, and you feel a pulse of delighted attraction. No matter how you dress, you are stunning.

You pack as quietly as possible. By mutual agreement, you'll stay dressed as a man for now; it's easier to ride, and all of her kimonos are at least a foot too long for you. Besides, frankly, you have no idea how to dress or behave as a woman.

She looks over her shoulder at the house, seeming guilty, as you pack up.

“She'll be fine,” you murmur, taking up your reins. Internally, you think with some vindictiveness that the three of them will probably drive each other completely crazy, and they'll deserve it. But Mizu has honor, and duty, on her mind, and you want to save her the conflict.

“We can come back to visit, or stay, when you're done,” you offer, and she turns to you with a grimace. You have to laugh. You agree with the unspoken thought of how unpleasant that could be.

“Then we’ll settle somewhere new, when this is all over,” you promise her, your chest bubbling with happiness at the thought.

“Hm,” she grunts. Something about her male disguise in the light of day seems to make her more taciturn, more guarded from the soft openness you saw last night in the darkness.

But there's still a tiny hint of that same smile playing at the corner of her mouth as she glances sidelong at you from under the brim of her wide hat.

“How do you feel about raising horses?”

You smile. “How do you feel about becoming artists?”

Something about the word artist seems to brighten something in her eyes, even behind the glasses; she looks almost light for a moment at the prospect.

“An artist,” she says, low and contemplative, turning back to face the road, thinking with a pang of her sword father, how much she can't wait for you to meet him. “Perhaps that is my fate.”

.

[intermundia]

the ends the villains got in this season were so poetic and eminently justified to me. dedra, partagaz, they got what they deserved for their arrogance and ambition, their cruelty and selfishness, and all their contributions to the oppression of an authentically evil empire. syril died unrecognized and unremarkable, a traitor to the rebels who were foolish enough to trust him, and a patsy for an empire and a lover who didn't. dedra was jailed like a common laborer, everything she hoped to avoid, unwittingly helping the enemy create the chaos she despised through her own arrogance. partagaz fell on his sword for his failed leadership, the words of nemick some of the last things he ever heard. the writing of the show didn't excuse any of them, or allow time for their redemption. the audience could feel sympathy at their own discretion, but it was not particularly encouraged. they did terrible things, and were punished in the narrative.

the ends of the heroes were equally rich and earned. luthen died the way he always expected and maybe intended, by his own choice, finally caught, though it took some help in the end. i think the person most openly rewarded ultimately was bix, who held hope in her arms in an idyllic setting, standing amidst a crop ready for harvest. i think some of her trauma will linger on, but she was able to make things right, and punish her torturer, prevent others from suffering as she did. we saw that she went through an ugly period of healing, and it took many years, but in the end she survived, and found a peaceful life. vel lost her great love, the struggle cut cinta's life tragically short, but i think the narrative left her future with kleya open, maybe they could have a new story of their own together. they're both profoundly damaged people, but so capable and with such good intentions.

and of course cassian's story began with the end already told, it was already over, and nothing could be done to change it. the story could only ever manifest it. all his love and loss, it was all setting him up to pass a vital torch, and be a messenger of hope when the galaxy needed him most. i always knew such a rich prequel series would make the tragedy of rogue one hit harder, and as i watch it now, it does. there's so much weight to his presence, all his history and complexity. it was a tremendous loss on scarif, such a powerful sacrifice of such a good person, who did hard things others wouldn't or couldn't. he tried, in the service of the cause of freedom for the galaxy. so many things had to happen in order to make it possible to destroy the death star and ultimately destroy the empire, and the remarkable, precious thing is that they did. it happened because of so many small acts of service and dedication, so much loss. i think the series was profoundly successful in telling that story.

[beef-brisket]

((Sorry this took a hot second, I had to reread things 😂))

Holy shit. He couldn't believe it. Could this work in his favour?

The first man continued to eat his pancakes but occasionally looked up at Lucifer. When he saw his angels, eyebrows furrowed, and he got the sinking feeling again. Like he was drowning. Like something bad was happening and there was nothing he could di to stop it.

Adam: Luci? Are you okay?

The kimg continued to stare at the letter before finally snapping out of it and smiled at Adam: Uh- fine! Fine, buddy! Don't worry about me- how are you pancakes? Still good?

Adam laughed: Luci, I already told you I liked them! I can tell some things wrong... you get that look on your face- your eyebrow twitches when somethings wrong!

With wide eyes, Lucifer touched his forehead, and sure enough, his eyebrow was twitching. He smiled softly. Of course, Adam would notice a detail like that about Lucifer.

Lucifer: I promise, Addie. Nothing's wrong- just... a letter.

Adam: A... letter? What's that?

Lucifer: Paper with writting-.

Adam: Paper?

Lucifer: ...I'll show you paper later on- but, for now, uh... just eat your pancakes, okay? And I'll be back in a minute- I need to see Charlie. Stay here, Adam. Promise me?

Adam smiled: I promise, Luci!

Lucifer kissed his forehead before teleporting out of the room. Adam started to eat his food again, enjoying the strange silence of the kitchen. That's when a shadow opened up, and out came the radio demon.

Alastor: Adam! There you are!

The first man coughed when he jumped as he was swallowing, but he still smiled up at Alastor.

Adam: Hi, deer man! How are you?

Alastor's smile twitched: How kind of you to ask. I'm... very well. But you, my deer fellow, won't be.

Adam: Uh... huh?

Alastor: If you keep eating that poor excuse of a plate of food.

Adam: But... Luci made these for me-.

Alastor: Pancakes are... below average in general. But MY cooking, on the other hand...

Adam: You cook?

The demon almost smirked when Adam smiled widely: Why, certainly! Would you like to try some?

When Adam nodded and moved his plate of pancakes to the side, Alastor snapped his fingers, and a plate of meat and vegetables appeared in front him.

Alastor: Now, this was scored locally, my deer! All products on your plate were brought from Cannibal town! At one of the prized butchers!

Adam: Wow! I have no idea what any of that means- but it sounds good! And smells good! So... it has to be good!

Alastor: Exactly! How about you have a taste, and tell me what you think~.

-

Charlie reached up, putting away some files when she heard a loud groan, making her pull her papers close to her chest. Spinning around, her eyes locked with her father, who was leaning against her desk.

Charlie: Dad?! You scared me...! What's wrong?

Lucifer: C-Chaaaarlie- Heaven! Heaven want a meeting!

Charlie: Oh... dad, we knew this day would come-.

Lucifer: It's about Adam!

Charlie: ...Oh. that's... not good.

Lucifer: They said he's dead! They don't know he's alive- and I want to keep it that way!

Charlie: Dad, you can't choose that! Adam should get a say, shouldn't he?

Lucifer looked up from the desk: Charlie. Apple. Duckling- Adam can't make choices like that! If something stresses him too much... he might...

Charlie: ...Gain his memories back?

Lucifer: ...Yeah... that.

Charlie: ...Dad. I... I think he should choice. Free will, right?

Lucifer: ...F-Free will? He... he hasn't had the apple- o-oh god- he's... he's- fuck.

Charlie quickly went to her father's side and rubbed his back: You need to talk to him, dad. Adam, he's... incredible. You don't give him enough credit. Speak to him. Really speak to him.

Lucifer: ...Will... will you come with me?

Smiling, Charlie nodded: I'll come with you, dad.

-

The king breathed in and out before walking into the kitchen. His daughter was still at his side: Addie-.

The first man looked up from his meal, smiling at Lucifer. He was more than halfway through eating some weird meat on his plate.

Lucifer: Adam? What's... where did you get that?

Adam smiled widely: Can't tell you, Luci! It's a secret! Would you like some? It's really good!

In Your Head

Lucifer sighed as he held the guitar that he took from the battlefield. It was Adams guitar and aside from a few scratches it looked like it was in perfect condition.

Lucifer: I'm going to miss you old friend.

Though, was friend the right word? Adam was so much more than a friend to Lucifer.

Watching him get stabbed like that had been very hard.

Was it though?

Lucifer snapped his head up, eyes wide as he looked at the angel he thought to be long dead, his helmet gone and golden blood staining his robe.

Lucifer: A-Adam? What, how are you here!?

Adam smiled at him and it was too sweet for the Adam of today the one that he turned into. But not the Adam he knew in Eden.

Adam: Oh come on Luci, you're smarter than that. No one comes back from an angelic blade to the heart. Thanks for that by the way.

That nickname sliced through his core, he hadn't heard it in so long he almost forgot that's what Adam used to call him.

Lucifer: You're not real are you?

Adam: Bingo baby! Awww, it's actually sweet. You miss me so much that I actually take up space in that head of yours.

Lucifer: Why are you so..... Nice? But look like that?

Adam shrugged and moved to sit down beside him: Probably because you don't really remember what I looked like in Eden, but more how I acted. So you just kinda...... Married the past with the present. I don't know boo, it's your mind.

Lucifer felt Adam touch his hair as if to tuck it behind his ear, but since he wasn't real the hand just went right through him.

Lucifer: I don't get it, you weren't like this in Eden.

Adam: Maybe I'm a version you've always wanted.

That made sense in a way.

Lucifer: Why would I want a polite slightly flirty version of you?

Adam smiled gently and leaned in: Come on Luci, you know why. Stop lying to yourself.~

His breath hitched in his throat, sure he had always thought about what could have been between them but...... It was always just a fantasy.

Adam: A fantasy you could have made real.~

Lucifer: You didn't want me.

Adam: How would you know? You never asked or tried. You could have had me all to yourself.

Lucifer: I could have?

Adam: Yeah. But now you never will.

@fanofstuff01 @beef-brisket

[tateypots]

Body and Soul

18+ MDNI

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x f!reader, Dark!Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: Part 10 of Collared. Same as before, it's dark so please heed the warnings and skip if it's not for you.

I promised an anon I would put Tommy in a ponytail but I had to split the chapter because it was getting too big. So ponytail Tommy will fall in the next chapter, sorry anon!

Moodboard is for aesthetics only, reader is not described beyond having boobs and a vagina and hair (very brief mention and it is not described). Please refer to this post for more info on the series mooboards.

Summary: You take a step forward in your relationship with Joel.

Warnings: Non-Con, dark Joel, dark Tommy, kidnapping, daddy kink, uncle kink, restraints, stockhom syndrome, praise kink, unprotected piv, manipulation. Let me know if I missed anything.

You heave a massive sigh and bury your head in your hands. What a mess. Your brain is on overdrive following Joel telling you about their bet. And the worst of it is that it’s not outrage at them using you as a pawn in their games. It’s the thought of letting one of them down.

A few hours ago you had been drowning in pride at how well you were doing in your training, how pleased Tommy was with you. How much faith he had in you. The thought of disappointing him makes you sick to your stomach. Because of course it would be him. You had genuinely come to care for Tommy. But you needed Joel. Going 24 hours without him would be an unthinkable torture.

You felt like you should hate yourself for how little thought you actually gave it. Because as soon as the secret slipped from Joel’s mouth, the outcome was inevitable. And to make things worse again, you knew that had been his intention in telling you. A manipulation dressed up in praise and feigned sadness over a loss he knew would never come. And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him, because weren’t you just as bad?

Joel had told you because he couldn’t bear the thought of going without you for that long. And you would risk your relationship with Tommy because you felt the same way about him. That pull you felt towards him was inescapable. It defied all logic. You knew Tommy was objectively the better choice for you. He was younger for a start. More open, fun, where Joel was closed off and manipulative. But Tommy didn’t make your body sing or your heart flutter the way Joel did. So no matter how much you hated letting him down, Tommy never really stood a chance.

Now you just had to figure out a way to do it that would limit the damage. You couldn’t just put no effort in. Tommy would know something was off if you did. And that sent your brain spiralling in another direction. What would happen if Tommy found out that Joel had told you?

You’d often considered what would happen if the brothers turned on you. But it had never crossed your mind to wonder what would happen if they turned on each other. It was clear to you how close they were so it had never really seemed like it would be a problem. But now the secrets between them were starting to mount up. Because of you… You grabbed a pillow off the bed and stuffed it over your face, screaming your frustration into it.

You tried so hard over the next few hours to shut off your brain but it was no good. Your mind ran in circles, searching for a solution that wouldn’t materialise. When Joel and Tommy came in for the day you were amped up, pacing and fidgety.

“Whoa sugar, what’s got you all riled up?” Tommy asks, coming over to still your pacing, grabbing you by each bicep.

You couldn’t look at him, too filled with guilt so instead you leant forward and buried your head in his shoulder.

“Hey now, what’s goin’ on?” He tries to push you back so he can look at you but you resist, wrapping your arms around him and clinging on like your life depends on it. He admits defeat and wraps his arms around you and pulls you in close.

“It’s ok princess, just tell us what’s wrong hmm?”

You turn your head to the side and mumble, “I’m ok Uncle Tommy, just got in my head and couldn’t switch it off.” You lift your head slightly to peer over his shoulder at Joel. He’s looking back at you, studying the scene in front of him, frowning. You see how this must look to him, you diving straight into Tommy’s arms while upset, knowing what it must be about.

The panic wells in your chest. Your breath comes in frantic little pants and you start to feel lightheaded. You reach one arm out to him while keeping one locked around Tommy’s back and whimper out a soft, “Daddy!”

He softens immediately and rushes to you, grabbing your hand and leaning over Tommy’s shoulder to give you a kiss on the crown of your head. His thumb rubs back and forth gently on the back of your hand as tears start to leak from your eyes.

“It’s ok baby, we got you, you’re alright,” Joel murmurs into your hair.

You sniffle and nod into Tommy’s shoulder, feeling so safe, so cared for it almost makes you forget what you were upset about in the first place. Almost.

“M’sorry,” you mumble, finally getting a grip of yourself and stopping the tears.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about princess, some days are just like that. Happens to me and your Daddy too, ‘cept he gets a lot grumpier than I do.”

You huff a laugh and Tommy snickers into the side of your head when Joel gives him a playful clip around the back of the head.

“There she is. Happy to hear you laughin’ sugar,” Tommy tells you as he finally succeeds in peeling you off him so he can look at your face. You take a deep breath and meet his gaze with a little smile, still holding tight to Joel’s hand.

“Right, I know just the thing to properly cheer you up. How bout some of Uncle Tommy’s famous hot chocolate?”

You smile and nod at him. He is achingly sweet and its making you feel terrible for the way you know you’re going to betray him. But it’s somewhat easier to face with Joel by your side, your hand held securely in his.

“Ok, good girl. Why don’ you snuggle up with Daddy while I work my magic,” he winks at you and moves over to the small kitchen to get started.

Joel looks at you for a beat before sweeping you up in his arms and depositing you both on the sofa, you sitting in his lap with both legs off to the side. The raging jealousy he felt when he saw you latch onto Tommy just now is ebbing slowly as he runs his hands over your soft skin. He’d momentarily worried that he’d pushed you too far. That he’d lost you to Tommy completely through his scheming. But as you lift your little hand to cup his face and lean up to give him a kiss on the cheek he knows his worries were baseless. You’re his. You choose him. He kisses your forehead in a soft apology for what he’s putting you through. You just sigh and sink into him. His sweet, tender-hearted girl. He’ll think of a way to make it up to you.

///

By the time you finish your hot chocolate you’re feeling much better. Snuggling with Joel has quieted your mind and reaffirmed your conviction that you cannot spend 24 hours apart from him. And his tenderness has reassured you that, no matter what, he will take care of you. And you know that maybe you’re being naïve. Maybe he’s just playing with your mind to pass the time. But something deep within tells you that’s not it. That he wouldn’t risk his relationship with his brother if he didn’t reciprocate your need for him. And you decide that if you need to have faith in something, it may as well be Joel. After all, you’ve never felt as safe as you do with his arms wrapped around you.

So when Tommy pulls you out of Joel’s lap and guides you towards the bed, you don’t resist. You don’t even think twice. You can give Tommy this at least. Make him feel good as recompense. You lay on your back and spread your legs for him.

For once you don’t fight the uncomfortable feeling that overcomes you every time Tommy touches you like this. You let it wash over you, bathe yourself in it even as he sinks inside you. This is your penance. You’re just grateful he decided to fuck you tonight rather than have you blow him. This feels less intimate somehow. Maybe it’s because there’s no thought involved for you. You can lie back and let your body take over.

He lies on top of you and buries his head in the crook of your neck. He pumps into you steadily, moaning into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. You turn your head and lock eyes with Joel, even as your hands latch onto Tommy, one burying itself in his loose curls and the other grabbing a handful of his butt cheek, encouraging him to beat into you. Tommy groans as he feels you, enjoying you finally reciprocating his advances.

Joel leans forward on the old sofa, leaning his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His eyes never leave yours, it feels as though they brand you with their intensity. 

You mewl softly as Tommy starts to move faster, the curls at the base of his dick catching on your clit with every thrust. You let out a broken moan when Tommy’s cock brushes over that spongy spot inside of you and you see Joel’s jaw clench and his hands ball tightly into fists. You wrap your legs around Tommy, pulling him even further into you.

“That’s it princess, bein’ so good for Uncle Tommy, lettin’ him make you feel good.”

He continues to aim for that spot, pounding into with determination, making you cry out. You see something flash in Joel’s eyes as he pushes to his feet. Anger, jealousy? It’s gone too quickly for you to fully identify as his jaw clenches again and he scrunches his nose, but seeing him getting worked up while Tommy fucks you is what pushes you over the edge.

You come with a wail, your pussy clamping down on Tommy hard.

“Jesus, fuck!” he curses as he slams into you a final time before pulsing deep inside. He slumps on top of you, sweaty and breathless. You gently caress his back and press a kiss into his shoulder. A silent sorry that he will never understand. 

“Mmmmm, so good f’me princess. Such a good girl.”

He pulls out of you and disappears into the bathroom, returning quickly with a damp cloth. He cleans you up and announces, “I’m off for a shower,” before disappearing into the bathroom, not noticing the prickling tension between you and Joel, who has resumed his position on the sofa like nothing has happened.  

As soon as the door locks you climb off the bed and make your way over to Joel. He reaches for you before you fully get to him, pulling you forward with his hands on your hips, desperate to have you near. The rough callouses feel heavenly against your skin and you moan out a breathy, “oh Daddy,” before straddling his lap.

You lean your forehead against his and whisper, “thank you Daddy.” Because you know what that was. Him letting you see how affected he was by Tommy fucking you. Letting you see how little he liked it. It was an apology. And a promise. Dropping his mask to let you know how much he cares for you. How little he wants to share you.

He clutches you to him tighter, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Say it. Tell me.” There’s no authority in it. He’s not demanding. He’s begging.

“M’yours Daddy. Only yours.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and his eyes slip closed. You smile and gently cup his face in your hands, waiting for his eyes to be on you again. When he opens them you give him a smile and lean in and press your lips gently to his.

He doesn’t react at first so you pull back, afraid you’ve misread this entire thing but you barely manage to get any distance from his face before he’s pulling you back in with a groan, his lips pressing against yours, gentle but insistent. It makes your breath hitch and you gasp. He takes the opportunity to suck your bottom lip between his before releasing it with a small smacking sound.

“My. Perfect. Sweet. Girl,” he tells you, punctuating each word with a kiss, each one getting firmer. Your hands fall to his shoulders to brace yourself against falling completely into him with the way he is tugging at you.

His tongue swipes against your lips and you moan. As soon as your lips part his tongue is shoving its way into your mouth. It slides against yours and you hesitantly try to match his movements, uncoordinated and sloppy. It feels divine. You pull away every now and again to gasp for air but Joel pulls you right back into him, drowning in his desire for you. You never expected kissing to feel this good. Your pussy throbs and drools as you get more and more aroused, soaking Joel’s crotch with your slick and Tommy’s cum.

Joel’s hands come up to cradle your face and he slides his tongue out of your mouth to growl against your lips, “he doesn’t get to have you like this.” His gruff, possessive tone has you about to lose your mind and you simply whimper as you crush your lips against his once more. He meets your kiss gladly but then abruptly pulls away again and you chase his mouth.

“Say it,” he demands, and you open your eyes to find his boring into yours, expression laced with desperation. “Kisses are only for Daddy,” you mewl at him and he crashes his mouth against you once more, pulling away to growl a “good girl,” at you before claiming you once more.

You can’t take it any more, you drop your hands to fumble with his belt, made harder by the fact that you can’t see with the way Joel is invading your mouth. You finally get it loose and somehow manage to get the button and zipper of his jeans open. He lifts his hips to help you push down his jeans and underwear, just enough to allow his cock to spring free, all whilst joined at the mouth.

He moans when you wrap your hand around his cock and the vibrations rumble pleasantly against your tongue and around your mouth. You break from his lips, head falling back as you sink down onto him, the tight stretch of him stealing any remaining breath you had. You choke and gasp as he slides further and further inside of you, you think you may pass out from lack of oxygen.

His lips are now attached to your neck, the thought of them not being on you unbearable to him. His arms are looped under your arm pits with his hands grabbing at your shoulders as he eases you down to his base. He groans as he finally bottoms out, your head is still tipped back, you can’t think, can’t move as you pant and gulp for air.

He gently guides you forward until your head falls to his shoulder, air coming more easily in the more natural position.

“Tha’s it baby, just breath for me, good girl, big deep breaths,” he coos at you while he strokes your back and lets you settle into him. He doesn’t move, just sits and lets you recover, enjoying the way his balls nestle against the soft skin of your ass.

“My good girl got all worked up from Daddy’s kisses, didn’t she?”

You hum out a dreamy “uh huh,” before latching your fingers in his curls and planting your lips against his once more. He chuckles against you, sucking and nipping at your lower lip and starting to rock you back and forth.

You reluctantly pull away as he encourages you to start bouncing on his cock.

“Fuck yeah you did. Been waitin’ so long for those kisses baby, even better than I imagined. Shoulda’ known. Always fuckin’ perfect for me ain’t ya?”

You whine and your pussy clenches at his words. You already feel that tightening in your core, your whole body lighting up with the pleasure he’s giving you. You’re almost certain he could have made you come just with his kisses.

He groans as you tug on his hair and ride him with fury. You’ve never felt so feral. It’s savage in the way it grips you, your whole existence stripped back to one fundamental truth. You are his. Body and soul.

It’s dangerous you know, to be lured by these feelings in the throes of lust. That it could just be your body fooling your mind into believing this is more than just raw, primal attraction. That this could be his greatest manipulation of all. But the way he pulls you back in to place soft kisses against your lips as you pound each other tells you different. You are his. But he is also yours.

He sticks his thumb into your mouth alongside his tongue, startling you slightly before he retracts it, slippery with your mixed saliva and brings it to your clit. You wail as he rubs it fast and hard, in time with your movements on him.

The pressure releases abruptly and you feel a gush of liquid pour out of you as you scream for him, the world around you seems to explode in light. You feel as though it must be bursting through your skin, the power behind your high is so extreme. Far too intense to be contained in your body.

You’re fairly sure you black out because the next thing you know, you’re limp in Joel’s lap, he’s holding you still with a massive hand each grabbing one of your ass cheeks hard as he punches into you from below, babbling in your ear.

“Fuckin’ made for me, best little girl I could ever ask for, always so fuckin’ good f’me. Kissin’ and ridin’ and squirtin’ all over me. Always takin’ my cock and my cum so good. Oh fuck! Here it comes baby, FUCK!”

He explodes, pouring into you in several warm bursts. He continues to buck up into you, milking himself dry and making sure every drop is in you. He slumps beneath you and pulls you in for another kiss, slow and languid and so fucking delicious it makes your pussy pulsate around him, making him whimper with overstimulation.

You pull back and smirk at him, biting your lower lip to stop yourself from giggling. He rolls his eyes and smacks your ass with a grumbled, “watch it,” but you see his eyes crinkle with the smile he’s trying to hold in. You don’t say anything but you make a mental note that you definitely want to hear him make that noise again.

You sneak another quick kiss when you hear the lock to the bathroom click and Joel pulls you into his chest to cover the evidence of your squirting. You go happily, listening to the beat of his heart through his soft flannel. Strong and steady and comforting.

Tommy chuckles at the pair of you as he walks through the living area to his room, still damp from his shower and a towel wrapped round his waist, completely oblivious to the potentially life altering events that just happened.

Everything is laid bare now, you’ve surrendered yourself completely. To Joel. You wonder if you should feel ashamed. You don’t. You feel content. Happy even. You luxuriate in it as you soak in Joel’s scent and heat, snuggling in as close as you can get. To the man that you love.

///

@aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @mani-pedro @axshadows @justajoelsreader @ahintofkiwistrawberry @guelyury @rosebuds-and-moonlight @koshkaj-blog @shivispunk @ivoryandflame @tammythr @magpiepills @deviscave @megjohnston23 @pedrosgrogu @pedge-page @guelyury @lamartell @thejoywillburnoutthepain @xoxabs88xox @teapartydreams @baronessvonglitter @a-loneywolf @staley83 @joelmillerswife9 @bunnnyreads-tlou @mushgloomz @gorygladiators @megangovier @lilac-boo @nala2811 @catnip987

[huginsmemory]

@the-neon-pineapple (it's not letting me tag u...) don't leave this in the tags!!

Yeah!!! The shows since the beginning been about trust, about family and community which all relies on being able to trust another person. Literally within the first few minutes of the first episode we have Dipper find J3 with Trust No One written inside, and it's a theme, and HUGE one throughout the show. The first episode ends with Dipper refuting the phrase because he says he can always trust Mabel... Because it was only through trusting Mabel that they TOGETHER were able to defeat the gnomes. This question of trust is raised again at the climax of Not What He Seems... it all comes down to Mabel looking at Stan, and going. After all these secrets I still trust you. I believe you're a good person. Even though Dipper doesn't! He doesn't trust Stan the same way (that MUST haunt Stan, christ). And it's Dipper who engaged the most with the journal, with Trust No One, with Ford's idea of toxic individualism and being the hero (see his comment in Scary-oake about being a hero... Even though Mabel's just as equally a hero most of the time... In which the episode only ends by them, again, singing together). And it's Ford's distrust, his toxic individualism, that makes him choose to not be open with the others about the rift, causing Mabel to not know what she was handing over, which causes wierdmageddon. And of course the finale would end the same way as the first episode, in Stan asking Ford to trust him the same way Mabel asked Dipper to trust her, because Stan and Ford are foils to Mabel and Dipper, and it's a reiteration of that trust within siblings and family, just with much higher stakes. Hell the finale is also about the town coming together, trusting in each other, to combat Bill; even the zodiac requires people to work together, it's not about individual heroics, although certainly it's Ford's big Hero moment when he draws the zodiac. But the emphasis beneath it all is that there's strength in relationships, in family and community, and to do that you've got to put aside some of your own desires to co-operate, and you also are expecting, trusting that others will do the same for the good of the group. And Ford's terrible at that because of his main character syndrome and his belief in Trust No One, but Stan also at the critical moment wasn't able to put aside his own feelings to allow them to banish Bill; and Ford, in retaliation because he was annoyed about this wasn't able to do the same either. But then because of that they're backed into a corner, and they realize they need to trust each other again. And they do, but Stan sacrifices himself as a result.

Although I'd say I honestly don't think Jheselbraum just told Ford what he wanted to hear. An oracle usually doesn't actually know exactly what happens but is just given snippets to see or phrases to say, so it could be she did just see a snippet and say what she said, instead of making a deliberate choice to say something to Ford without details to keep him going...

Another thing from rereading J3 is the fact that Jheselbraum (the Oracle. You know. Implying she can see a bit of the future. Like an oracle does) is that she looks at Ford and literally goes "you have the face of the man who is destined to destroy Bill" and then they party about it. In the two pages he writes on Jheselbraum he takes the time to mention this, because it matters so MUCH to Ford. He's going to be the one to take down Bill. Part of it is definitely the sudden certainty that yes, he will succeed. But it's also in a way a replica of his relationship with Bill, in being like I'm the chosen one, my mission is fated, once again I'm important, I'm special, the same way him making the portal under Bill's guidance was. And oh Ford you didn't change at all did you?

And then, of course. It's not Ford really who destroys Bill. It's Stan, who tricks Bill, allowing them to destroy Bill, and it's the twins together that destroys Bill (how's that for a show that emphasizes strength in community?). So. Yeah. Indeed, Ford, you've got "the face of the man who will destroy Bill", but you've got an identical twin (also like rule 101 of prophecies is never immediately assume things. The wording matters). And of course, unlike what Ford thought, it wasn't about him being the sole hero. It's about the both of them. Which, btw, them destroying Bill wouldn't have been possible if they didn't have the same face.

[nubianqueensworld]

Chapter 4: The Fire Beneath

The room seemed to close in around them as Stack’s words hung heavy in the air. Monet tightened her fingers around the pendant hidden beneath her shirt, its warmth almost a comfort now. She could feel the weight of her situation pressing down, but she refused to let herself break. She had to think, to act. She couldn’t just drift along like a leaf in the wind.

“What do you mean by figuring out what the necklace ‘wants’?” Monet asked, her voice low but firm.

Stack leaned back in his chair, studying her like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “That thing didn’t just drop you here for fun, doll. Magic like that—if it’s real—doesn’t happen by accident. Either it’s got a purpose, or somebody does. You’ve gotta figure out which it is.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” she shot back. “It’s not like the damn thing came with an instruction manual.”

Stack smirked, though his eyes remained sharp. “Lucky for you, I know a guy.”

Monet arched an eyebrow. “You know a guy?” she repeated, her tone skeptical. “That’s reassuring.”

“This ain’t amateur hour,” Stack said, the grin fading from his face. “You want answers? Then you play by my rules. And that starts with trustin’ me—at least a little.”

Monet exhaled slowly, crossing her arms over her chest. Trust wasn’t something that came easily to her, especially not in a situation like this. But the truth was, she didn’t have much of a choice. If Stack could help her uncover the secrets of the necklace—and maybe even find her way home—then she had to take the chance.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But if this goes sideways—”

“It won’t,” Stack cut in smoothly, rising from his chair. “Come on. Let’s go see the guy.”

Monet followed him reluctantly, her mind racing as they made their way down the creaking stairs and out into the cool night air. The streets of the town were quieter now, the buzz of the juke joint fading behind them as they walked. Stack moved with purpose, his long strides and unshakable confidence making it clear he knew this town like the back of his hand.

“Who is this guy, anyway?” Monet asked, breaking the silence.

“Name’s Elroy,” Stack replied. “He’s a bit... eccentric. But if anyone knows about strange things, it’s him.”

Monet frowned. “Strange things? That’s what we’re calling this now?”

Stack shot her a quick grin. “What would you call it?”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure how to describe what was happening to her—or the magic that seemed to pulse from the necklace with every step. Instead, she kept her eyes on the path ahead, the dim glow of streetlights casting long shadows over the quiet road.

They stopped in front of a small, unassuming house at the edge of town. The windows were dark, but faint wisps of smoke curled up from the chimney, suggesting someone was home. Stack knocked on the door twice, then waited.

After a moment, the door creaked open, and a man peered out. Elroy was older, his graying hair slick similar to Stack’s his sharp eyes flicked between Stack and Monet with unmistakable curiosity.

“Stack,” Elroy said, his voice gravelly. “You only show up when there’s trouble.”

“Good to see you too, old man,” Stack replied with a chuckle. “We need your help.”

Elroy’s gaze landed on Monet, narrowing slightly. “And who’s this?”

“This is Monet,” Stack said. “She’s got somethin’ I think you’ll want to see.”

Elroy stepped aside, waving them in. “Well, come on, then. Don’t just stand there.”

Monet followed Stack into the dimly lit house, her nerves twisting as Elroy shut the door behind them. The interior was cluttered but cozy, with books and trinkets piled on every available surface. A small fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows over the walls.

“So,” Elroy said, sinking into a worn armchair and eyeing them expectantly. “What’s this about?”

Monet hesitated, glancing at Stack for reassurance. He gave her a nod, and she reached for the necklace, pulling it out from beneath her shirt. The stone glowed faintly in the firelight, its warmth spreading through her hand as she held it up.

Elroy’s eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition flickering across his face. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “That’s no ordinary trinket, is it?”

Monet shook her head. “It... brought me here,” she said. “From the future.”

Elroy didn’t react the way she expected—no disbelief, no laughter. Instead, he leaned forward, his expression serious. “Tell me everything,” he said.

Over the next few minutes, Monet recounted everything that had happened—the funeral, the necklace, the sudden flash of light that had transported her here. Elroy listened intently, his brow furrowed as he processed her words.

When she finished, he sat back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the necklace. “That’s old magic,” he said finally. “Powerful, dangerous magic.”

Monet’s heart sank. “What kind of magic?”

Elroy met her gaze, his expression grim. “Time magic,” he said. “The kind that doesn’t just happen. Someone—or something—wants you here, girl. And they don’t want you leaving until you’ve done what they brought you here to do.”

Monet’s grip on the necklace tightened as the full weight of his words sank in. Whatever had brought her here, it wasn’t random. The necklace had a purpose, and until she uncovered it, she was trapped.

—-------------------------------------------------------

The pendant seemed to glow brighter in Monet’s hand as Elroy’s words sank in. Time magic. Dangerous. Purposeful. Her grandmother had always said the necklace was special, but this? This felt overwhelming, far bigger than anything she could have imagined.

“So, someone brought me here on purpose?” Monet asked, her voice tense. “Why? What do they want from me?”

Elroy leaned back in his chair, studying her with a look that was equal parts curiosity and concern. “Magic like this doesn’t move people without reason,” he said. “It’s tied to events, places, decisions. Whatever brought you here, girl, it’s connected to something this town’s wrapped up in. But finding the why? That’s the hard part.”

Stack folded his arms, his expression tight. “You mean she’s stuck here until she plays out whatever game this is?”

Elroy nodded. “Pretty much. The magic’s holding her tethered to this time—this place. And until it’s satisfied, she’s not going anywhere.”

Monet’s heart sank. “Satisfied? What does that even mean?”

Elroy tilted his head, his sharp eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Could mean a lotta things,” he said cryptically. “Magic’s a funny thing. Sometimes it needs you to learn something. Sometimes it wants you to change something. Or sometimes,” he added, his tone darkening, “it wants you to stop something.”

Monet shivered at the weight of his words. “Stop something? Like what?”

Elroy shrugged, his posture relaxed despite the gravity of the conversation. “That’s for you to figure out. But I’ll tell you this—time magic’s tricky. It doesn’t care what you want or what you fear. It’s gonna put you where it needs you, whether you’re ready or not.”

Stack glanced at Monet, his expression tense but composed. “So we figure out what it wants,” he said. “Fast.”

Elroy nodded. “That’d be wise,” he said. “Especially if Silas is sniffin’ around. That man doesn’t touch nothin’ without a reason.”

Monet swallowed hard, the warmth of the necklace a constant reminder of the strange power she carried. The idea that the necklace had a purpose—some hidden directive—made her stomach churn. But she couldn’t afford to crumble. Not here, not now.

“What do I do?” she asked quietly, her voice steadier than she expected.

Elroy leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “You listen,” he said simply. “To the necklace. To this place. To the people around you. Magic like this? It’ll give you clues. But you’ve gotta pay attention.”

Stack gave her a sharp nod. “That’s somethin’ I can help with,” he said. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s this town and its secrets.”

Elroy chuckled dryly, his eyes flicking to Stack. “And you ain’t afraid to twist those secrets when it suits you, huh?”

Stack smirked. “Gotta survive somehow.”

Monet watched the exchange, her mind racing. She didn’t trust the necklace, didn’t trust this magic that had uprooted her life and tossed her into a world she didn’t understand. But Stack and Elroy? As much as she hated to admit it, they might be the only allies she had.

“Alright,” she said finally, her voice firm. “Let’s figure this out.”

Elroy’s sharp grin widened. “That’s the spirit,” he said, rising from his chair. “I’ll do some digging. If there’s somethin’ about this necklace I’ve missed, I’ll find it.”

Stack nodded, his posture shifting into action mode. “And I’ll keep her safe. If Silas is lookin’ for her, we can’t afford to let her outta my sight.”

Monet exhaled slowly, the weight of the situation settling fully on her shoulders. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do, or why the necklace had chosen her. But one thing was clear: she wasn’t leaving this town until she unraveled its secrets—and her own.

———————————————————————————

If you want to get added to the tag list let me know….next chapter is coming very, very soon ;)

Taglist: @marley1773

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

What happens during their(yes their) pregnancy announcement...part 2 of????

Cw: pregnancy, nausea mention

Based off part one and part two of the a series.

A/N: I once again wake up and choose to make crack I must feed the people and by people I mean me(and also you ily) ;3c

-------

Zhongli's announcement went pretty well with Hu Tao. Perhaps it's because she is used to dealing with all sorts of paranormal nonsense that something like this does not phase her. They come to an agreement that until he begins to show and or have any discomfort he would be given light and mostly desk work. She sends him off on his way alongside Childe and you to go see Madam Ping and Xianyun in a discrete tea shop owned by another adeptus that Childe had rented just for the occasion.

The two women are joined by two men you recognize as Mountain Shaper and Moon Carver in their human forms. They look a little uncomfortable, not quite used to being in Liyue's city but they sip their tea and make pleasant talk with the ladies.

As your little trio gets closer they stop their chatter and welcome you all to sit, some give Childe a light glare considering his past actions but they have accepted that their former lord has made his choice in partners and don't do anything more.

They offer to pour you all a cup but Zhongli politely declines to their confusion and he calls over the owner. The owner comes by with a different pot of tea and pours Zhongli a separate cup, the scent of ginger filling the air.

His friends question if he is falling ill when he gives them a grin.

"Not quite. I am just experiencing some nausea due to my pregnancy. Do not worry I will be alright."

The room is quiet before Xianyun and the others all burst into noise bombarding him with question after question, offering him plates of snacks, and scolding him for not telling them sooner. He laughs wholeheartedly as they flounder about and gestures towards you.

"If you must know they're the "father"." Everyone's eyes lock on to you and you wave sheepishly a bit intimidated by the sudden attention. "We discussed this some months back and agreed that I shall carry while the both of them provide and care for me."

"We would have told you all much sooner but there were some difficulties in finding a proper dosage that was safe enough for them so they could be the "father" of our children." Everyone takes the information in and they congratulate you all, even patting Childe's back though a little awkwardly.

"Are you happy, Zhongli?" Madam Ping asks a little sparkle in her old eyes. Zhongli takes in her question and nods with the softest smile and fond eyes. "Yes. I am very happy."

Jing Yuan rolls over, comfortable as can be as he lazies around in bed ignoring the string of text alerts coming from his phone most likely demanding to know where he is as he's two and a half hours late to show up to work. You stall in the doorway with a tray of food as he rubs his belly fondly and find yourself lost in a trance as you watch him.

But the moment is broken when a projection of Fu Xuan enters the picture. Her hands are on her hips as she glares down at Jing Yuan a bit unkempt dressed in nothing but a light sleeping robe. Her eye twitches as he sends a text to someone.

"General just what time do you think it is?" Jing Yuan doesn't even bother looking at her patting his belly once before sitting up to take the tray from your hands. She notices the congee on the plate, glancing up at his face and notices just how pale his face is her attitude shifting from irritation to concern.

"...Are you sick? Do you need Lady Bailu to pay you a visit?" Jing Yuan hums as he takes a spoonful of the congee making sure to get a bit of egg and takes a bite. He practically melts and you sigh relieved that this didn't make him sick compared to the other stuff he's tried to eat this morning.

He shakes his head. "Perhaps later, I visited her earlier this week but no, I am not sick." Fu Xuan's brows pinch in confusion. "You clearly must be, or poisoned even I'll-" He lifts a hand cutting her off as he smiles cheerfully. "I'm not sick, I'm just pregnant. Surely my charts have predicted as such?"

Fu Xuan's projection vanishes and Jing Yuan hums again as he takes another bite. He finishes at least half the bowl by the time her projection flickers back into the room. She looks absolutely frazzled her mouth opening and closing as she tries to speak.

She barely chokes out a "Congratulations!" before disappearing once more not giving you either a chance to thank her. You watch as he finishes his bowl happily not a care in the world.

"Well that went well. I sent a text to Yanqing, he should be here with the tea from-" Yanqing bursts into the room a hand on the door and an arm carrying a case of tea his face flaming red. "GENERAL YOU'RE PREGNANT?!"

"Yes, indeed I am-" Yanqing runs off without another word and you both hear clatter and clanging as he panics navigating the kitchen. He blinks before laughing to himself. "I'm certainly in capable hands aren't I?"

[caifanes]

this is the LAST time im discussing the poker game before i lose the plot. aka "Ukyo was right but still underestimated Gen's insanity"

i’ve been made aware that some believe gen was scheming (or planned the outcome) in the poker game. it was not my initial (or secondary or tertiary) read of the situation because gen clearly kept most of his motivations and feelings to himself but i have been blindsided before so i decided to analyze it with this lens.

logistically, it was a double bluff. gen was working for ryusui but in a way was still working towards the outcome senku wanted most (a diffusion of conflict between the opposing sides and senku’s choice winning). the only way for that to happen would be to afford his services to ryusui and allow senku to beat him. rigging a contest is always an option on the table but gen came to the conclusion that senku couldnt be directly involved, PLUS he would also be able to tell if gen wasn’t trying honestly to win so he put real effort into winning-- for the loss to be more honest, he essentially put his trust in senku to come out on top. the question then becomes what was the real conflict of this fight? the conversation occuring in the game wasnt between senku and ryusui, it was between senku and gen.

after senku wins, ukyo calls this out as someone who has closely observed their dynamic in private settings. he assumes that gen predicted the benefits of either side winning but if that was truly the case gen wouldnt have needed to get involved. in the image ukyo brings to mind gen is in between senku and ryusui, but very clearly on senku’s side.

Gen's response is to brush off this theory and deflect but he does offer a real response. at first i believed gen was forlorn because he came to a painful conclusion about their dynamic from this moment forward, interpreting the loss as a kind of rejection, but it's far more complicated.

i felt similarly to senku when gen chose ryusui, he was pissed off and that was a genuine reaction. but how could gen have done something for senku’s sake without telling him? well, he factored senku’s frustration/response because at every opportunity where senku has to act he doesn’t do it convincingly. that final shot of senku tells me that even though he won, something shifted in their perception of each other. we never really come to understand what he thought but if i continue my line of logic, maybe he figured out that gen manipulated him and was feeling some type of way bc of how gen predicted the way things would play out.

but that's not the only betrayal that takes place. this language of surprising each other or tricking the other is natural to them, and there is also varying amount of power exchange when this occurs. it’s bad enough that the generals were opposed and created a rift between the entire crew, but senku was also fighting to get gen back on his side. he’d probably rationalize it by assuming that this is his one chance to assure gen never attempts to go against him again in the future. a necessary and maybe anxious move on his part as they move to this next stage in the americas. he very visibly and confidently reasserts his power. in other words, he’s talking in a language that speaks specifically to gen. with this win, senku re-established whatever weird claim they have on each other. somewhere underneath that layer of what it meant for him to “win” is that deep devotion that links them together and they'll never talk about that seriously, only with these indirect, absurd mind games.

because heres the thing: gen did trick him.

when senku and ryusui give their reasoning, senku makes it very clear that they need to get there in time for the kingdom to make use of the corn for all the revival fluid they need.

in ukyo’s theory he concluded that the outcome wouldn’t have mattered regardless of who won. but i think that’s wrong, externally gen expresses that the REAL part was the game, he leaves the rest up in the air because its too intimate, those are feelings and thoughts he's rather keep to himself, or the person who completely saw through him. because when he's on his own, in the belly of the beast, this sick little fuck is thinking about THIS outcome. the pleasure he gets from being able to do something selfish, completely unburdened by moral, all for senku's sake.

i struggled with the idea that gen planned this bc i thought senku MUST have been in the know. but i realize now that not only did he not know, that's where the impetus of the conflict. sometimes gen doesn’t know what senku is thinking! he’s skilled but he’s still human, the important conclusion to draw from most situations that explore their dynamic is that even if they can’t 100% predict what the other person will do, they still completely trust that the other person will act in accordance to the current goal. they're sick freaks.

[tociminna]

Baldur's Book Club, Episode One: Librare

"So it looks like all three of us have thrown off the shackles of an undeserving goddess," Shadowheart said. "Perhaps we should form a book club."

And then they did.

Baldur's Book Club is a new series featuring different groupings of characters and different books for each episode, though Gale will be a consistent appearance since he of course has organized the entire thing.

Tagging: @12thhouse-sun, @residentdormouse, @lemonwoodwrites, @optimisticgrey, @aoifethephoenixqueen . If you would like to be added to or removed from this list please let me know!

Episode 1: Librare

AO3 link

Characters: Gale, Lae'zel, Shadowheart (Team Religious Trauma)

Book: a moral theology text (exciting!)

Words: 1.6k

Lae’zel held a slim, leatherbound book in her lap, somehow managing to sneer and look uncertain at the same time.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” she said, tapping its cover. Its title, embossed in gold, read: What Good the Balance? A Commentary on Aonian Ethics. “Two hundred pages and yet nothing useful contained in any of them.”

“It’s not an instruction manual, Lae’zel,” Shadowheart commented drily, sipping her wine. “It’s supposed to make you think. To elicit a conversation.”

“This is what happens when you allow Gale to choose the text.”

“Perhaps, but here you are regardless. Why did you agree to this?”

“He said he would prepare neogi rolls. I have not tasted them since I left Creche K’liir. I came across some when we were in Creche Y’llek but they were stale and unpalatable - imagine my disappointment.”

Shadowheart paused, wine goblet halfway to her lips. She was unsure what a neogi was, or how it could be rolled, but her memories of githyanki food from the creche were… mixed, at best. “Is that all he’s making?”

Lae’zel snorted. “It is Gale. What do you suppose?”

“He's late. Let's hope that means he's bringing extra food.”

A brief grunt was her only answer. After a few moments of silence Lae'zel spoke again.

“I did not like this book. It was -”

“Shhh. We have to wait for Gale. We’ll be in no end of trouble if we start without him.” Shadowheart poured a generous serving of wine and handed it to Lae'zel. “This will help.”

She had mostly drained it when Gale arrived, bearing a laden tray and another bottle of wine.

“You would not believe the amount of trouble I had sourcing neogi in this city,” he said, hands busy as he set out small dishes. “Cosmopolitan my foot. Why, there are at least three places in Waterdeep where I might have found it.”

Lae'zel eyed the tray with ill-concealed interest. “The smell is… correct,” she said, tapping the book cover impatiently. “Hurry, wizard.”

“Come now, you can't rush quality, ” he chided, placing several rolls onto a plate already prepared with a thick, vinegary sauce. He handed the plate to her with a napkin spread beneath it and bowed slightly. “Enjoy.”

Shadowheart leaned forward as Lae'zel began to eat silently. “Could I try one of those? And what are these?” She pointed at the second dish. On it rested several purplish lumps with slightly fluted edges. The aroma was incredible, spicy and savory, but they were hardly attractive. She knew illithid were functionally sexless, but “mindflayer testicle” kept popping into her mind.

“Those are night orchid blossoms, stuffed with rice and aromatics and gently braised. Also very difficult to source, I might add.”

She looked at him for a moment, mouth open. She hadn’t even known they were edible. “All right,” she said finally, “you are forgiven your tardiness. And your choice of book.”

Gale beamed. “I thought you might like it. Eat up, ladies, you’ll need your energy for our discussion! And here, try this wine. I chose it to match the theme of the book - it’s quite balanced.” He winked knowingly as he opened the bottle.

Lae’zel rolled her eyes, but did not stop eating. Shadowheart groaned faintly as she held out her goblet. 

Gale did not eat much himself, only picking at the stuffed blossoms while he scribbled at a set of notes. Between them Shadowheart and Lae'zel finished the rest, and sat back comfortably when the plates were cleared by his very convenient Unseen Servant.

“Book club might not be an entire waste of time,” Lae'zel said thoughtfully.

“Glad you think so! I've prepared a series of questions to guide our discussion.” Gale held up a sheet of paper. 

“Oh,” Shadowheart said, attempting to summon some enthusiasm. He looked so excited. “Thank you?”

“It was my pleasure. Now, let’s settle in. Here’s the first question: During the Time of Troubles, do you believe the actions of Lord Ao to restore the ‘balance’ of the realms accomplished that aim?”

“Firstly,” Lae’zel said, leaning forward, “I would have you note that at no point did the author define ‘balance’.”

“True,” Gale said, noncommittal. “And?”

“How should we judge? What is being balanced? Does it alter on the whim of some…” she flapped her hands, likely frustrated at not being able to find the word in Common, and Shadowheart hid a smile. “Some higher being? Who determines?”

“Ao himself determines, does he not?” Shadowheart answered. “The Overgod answers to no one.”

Gale cleared his throat. “There is substantial debate on that matter, I think you’ll find.”

Shadowheart scoffed. “By wizards, and clerics with nothing better to do. No thank you.”

Lae’zel interrupted, recovering her momentum. “And, if all the gods who died in the Time of Troubles were lost forever, and all the new gods brought into being were in service of balance, why did the Spellplague happen shortly after?”

“True,” Shadowheart mused. “The only balance I’ve been able to see is a sort of chaos. It’s like if you knocked over all the mountains and then admired the rubble for its flatness.”

Gale held up one hand, and scribbled something furiously with the other. “Excellent observation, thank you.” 

He laid his quill down and looked back to his prepared page. “Lae’zel, you’ve led me into the next question. Do you believe the Spellplague to be directly caused by the events of the Time of Troubles?”

“Chk. It is so obvious a child might see it fresh from the egg. Even one who did not know their history might have predicted what happened.”

“But would you say it upheld a balance, or destroyed it?”

Lae’zel drew her dagger, always at her hip even in camp, with a flourish. A sudden memory struck Shadowheart, of a time when that dagger had been very near to finding a new home in her gut. It seemed so long ago - but it was only a few months, really. 

The dagger winked in the low evening light as Lae’zel turned it. She placed it on the table before her, slowly and carefully, somehow managing to balance it on its round pommel.

“How did you do that?” Shadowheart asked, fascinated, and leaned forward. Even that small motion shook the table enough to cause the dagger to wobble and fall.

“Practice.” Lae’zel lifted the dagger again. “That was balanced, you would agree?”

Shadowheart nodded. So did Gale, whose eyes had lit like torches. He was on fire with some new idea, she was sure. “Continue,” he said. “I think I know where this is going.”

“That was Ao’s balance,” Lae’zel said. “Why would that be desirable? Why not something like this?” She laid the dagger on its side, where it lay still and stable.

Gale grinned. “Yes! Exactly!”

The dagger disappeared into its sheath. “It matters not, in the end,” Lae’zel added. “My people are not much disturbed by the workings of the gods here in Realmspace.”

“I think you’ll find there are other people in the world who mind it very much,” Shadowheart said tartly. “And if you’re so separate from the gods of the Realms, why did your great leader make a deal with Tiamat?”

Lae’zel grumbled, frowning, but did not answer.

There was silence for a moment as Gale poured another round of wine. “So in general, ladies, may I ask your opinion of the book? Overall?”

“We haven’t even got to the Second Sundering,” Shadowheart said. “Why make us read the entire damned thing if we aren’t going to talk about it?”

“I’ll be honest and admit I wasn’t sure you would read the entire thing,” he said with a twinkle.

“It is not a good book,” Lae’zel said flatly. “My only pleasure in it has been denouncing its claims in this discussion. The food was also acceptable.”

“I didn’t like it,” Shadowheart said. “I’ve read enough breathless paeans disguised as reasoned analysis in the course of my religious education to spot one on sight. This one just happens to be about a god with no following to speak of.”

“I’d love to chat with you sometime about what your education was like,” Gale said. “It has to be very different to the way I was raised.”

“Given the memory erasure and frequent beatings, I’m sure it was,” she answered, deadpan, and he winced. 

“Fair.”

“Do you like this book? You haven’t said a word either way.”

“I didn’t want to bias your comments. But… no, I don't like it. I think this book is complete tripe. Utter drivel dressed up in pretty language.”

“What?”

Lae’zel made a show of drawing her dagger again.

“If you knew this book was a waste of time, wizard, why did you force us to endure it?”

“Well, you see,” Gale paused, eyes shifting a little. Was he blushing? “I’m currently engaged in a rather, er, heated correspondence with its author. He’s a dunce of the highest degree, but the man just won’t admit when he’s beaten. So I thought I’d enlist the help of an experienced cleric and an outside perspective.”

Silence.

He looked up, smiling cautiously. “You’ve been tremendously helpful. I shall be sure to cite you when I send my next missive. I should begin it now, really, while my memory is fresh.”

“You can’t,” Shadowheart said. Next to her, Lae’zel had risen, a cushion from the settee in hand.

“Why not?”

“Because Lae’zel is going to smother you with a pillow.”

"Wait!" Gale protested as they advanced. "I made dessert!"

[thetravelingmaster]

Short Story: Upper Deck Late Night Meeting

"Excuse me, Miss.” I said as she came closer. “ It's pretty late… May I ask what you are doing on this upper deck balcony?"

"Huh... I'm... I'm not sure..." she said, clearly a little slow and confused. "I... I think I'm supposed to... To meet someone here..."

"Ahh... That’s pretty common on this balcony after hours..." I said, admiring her choice of outfit. "Whoever you are meeting... I have to say that they are a very lucky person to enjoy the company of such a stunning lady."

"Thank you..." she smiled, a little embarrassed. "I'm not sure why I dressed up so much though..."

"Regardless... I can assure that the person you are meeting will surely appreciate it." I said, smiling warmly.

"Right..." she said, eyes growing slightly vacant again as she looked around the deck. "If only I knew who I was supposed to meet..."

"Well... Might I be so bold as to suggest that maybe you came here to meet me?" I said.

She looked back at me, as if for the first time and as expected, she slowly began to recognize me.

"Hey... I know you don't I?" she said. "Aren't you that hypnotist guy from the bar on the 18th deck?"

"Guilty as charged!" I said with a big smile and bow. 

"Wow!" she said, smiling softly. "Your show was amazing the other night!"

"Thank you for the compliment my dear." I said. "I do aim to please the crowd."

"Yeah I could tell! But... Why would I come here to meet you? Did you hypnotize me at the show and leave some sort of suggestion to meet you or something?” she said with a frown, but playing it all off as a joke.

“Oh it’s been quite a few days since you graced my audience with your presence.” I said. “Anything I suggested to you in a quick covert trance after the show wouldn’t have been effective so many days after the trance. For suggestions to work in that context, it needs to still be fresh in the subject’s mind for it to work.”

“Yeah that makes sense!” she said, but then frowned. “So… Since it’s obvious you didn’t hypnotize me to come see you tonight… Then… I’m back to square one… I came here… And I feel like it was really important that I did… That it’s imperative that I meet up with someone… I just don’t know who!”

“Hmm… Well if we want to get technical about it… I only said that any suggestion I gave you after the show you came to see wouldn’t be effective specifically today, which is days later.” I said, trying not to smile. “As for WHY you came here tonight, I can’t help but think that it’s because you know it’s time to continue your training…”

"Training? What training?" she said, utterly perplexed for a moment before my little trigger phrase allowed partial memories to float back to the surface of her mind. "Wait... This... This isn't the first time we've met up here... Is it?"

"No my dear." I said, still smiling my warmest smile.

"You… You said that you couldn’t have hypnotized me after the show to come here tonight without knowing why…” she said as the truth slowly came back to her. “But… But that implies that if you… If you did hypnotize me after the show… You could make me come meet you… That very night… Oh god… We've... We've been meeting up here... Every night since the show... Haven't we?" 

"We have." I said. "And what happens when we meet up here?"

She swallowed hard, looking a little like a deer in headlights.

"You... You hypnotize me..." she finally whispered, too stunned to speak up.

"I do..." I said, taking another step forward. "And then what happens?"

"I can’t resist your voice… It makes me all calm… Docile…" she said softly. "Then you... You tell me to follow you to your room below deck… And… I follow you… Without hesitation…"

"You certainly do..." I said, taking a step to finally close the gap between us. "And what happens once you find yourself in my room?"

Her breathing had slowed, but I could tell her heart was racing, which was a wonderful side effect of her returning memories of our time together.

"You... You hypnotize me even more... Bring me so deep..." she said, swallowing again. "Then... Then you train me..."

"You’ve become so good at dropping so very deep for me…" I said as I gently took her chin. "Tell me… What am I training you for?"

She couldn't help but lick her lips as my past conditioning surfaced and overwhelmed what little anxiety she felt from our discussion.

"You... You are training me to be..." she said softly. "Part of your show… You’re training me… To be one of your planted volunteers…”

"That's correct my dear..." I said, caressing her lower lip. "And how do I go about training you?"

I could almost feel her lips quiver as she stood motionless before me, completely captivated by my soft piercing gaze.

"You... HHmm... Bring me in… And out of trance… Again and again…” she said, eyes glazing over a little more. “Until I’m deeply hypnotized… Helpless to obey your suggestions and triggers… Unable to resist being conditioned to respond to them without thought… Without will… Making it so easy… And pleasurable… To be part of your show…”

“That’s right Darling.” I said. “It’s so pleasurable to be part of my show, isn’t it?”

“Yess…” she said with a faint smile. “It would feel wonderful to be part of your show…”

“That’s why you don’t mind that I’m using my hypnotic talents to help you realize that there’s nothing you want more than to be part of my show.” I said, taking a step closer to her. “Isn’t that right?”

“Yess…” she whispered. “I don’t mind that you are using hypnosis at all… I… I like being hypnotized… It… It feels so good to sink into your voice… To let go… To surrender…”

“Of course it does my Dear… Especially since you do it so well already.” I said warmly, noticing the slight flush of her cheeks at my praise. “And since you like how it feels to surrender, you trust that I know what’s best for you… You trust that I know what you need most to be the perfect subject during my shows. Don’t you?”

“Yeess…” she said. “I trust you completely…”

“And what do you need most to be the perfect subject for my shows?” I asked.

“I need… To be hypnotized… Every day…” she whispered. “I need… To be trained… Conditioned…”

“And what’s the best way to achieve that my Dear?” I asked, caressing her cheeks.

“The best way… Is to be present…” she said. “Available… Ready and willing…”

“Hmm…” I said, still caressing her cheek. “Well then that presents a problem because if I’m not mistaken, you’ve told me that your trip ends when we make port tomorrow. How then will I be able to continue your hypnotic training if you’ll no longer be aboard? Furthermore… How will you be able to join my show if you disembark? You can’t join my show if you are not in the crowd… Can you?”

“No… I couldn’t…” she whispered, clearly a little upset. “But… But I want to…”

“I know you do my Dear…” I said. “But for that to happen, you need to stay on board and continue sailing with us. Is that what you want?”

“HHmm… Yeesss…” she said, clearly happy. “I want to stay aboard… I want to join your show… And be… The perfect hypnotic subject…”

“I see…” I said, smiling faintly. “If that is truly what you want, there are any number of ways you can stay aboard… You could purchase another ticket… You could apply for a job and become part of the staff and crew… Or even better, you could even stay aboard as my guest and stay in my room. That way, since my room would also be your room, we wouldn’t have to meet up here on deck because you’ll already be there, waiting inside for me to train you. Doesn’t that sound like the perfect solution?”

“HHmm… Oh Yeesss… That sounds perfect…” she said, clearly pleased.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I said, smiling. “However, since I’ve had you forget our nightly training sessions so far, convincing your awake self to stay onboard so you can move into my room might be a hard thing to accomplish. After all, to your waking self, it would appear as if a man, a stranger really,  invited you to stay in his cabin for another cruise. A self respecting woman like yourself would normally never accept such an offer. If we had a few days to properly associate and mingle, then maybe the proposal would make more sense to you while you weren’t in this hypnotized state. Therefore, I don’t believe this solution would work if we do nothing to help it along. What do you think my dear?”

“I… I agree…” she said softly. “I would never… Accept to move in with a man I don’t know…”

“As I thought…” I said, releasing her cheek from my touch. “You’d need me to help things along. Help you like I’ve trained you by implanting the idea in your mind and making it grow until your awake self will believe the idea was all its own. Since your awake self has no idea that it wants to be part of my show and we need it to stay that way if we want people to truly believe you are a normal volunteer, we need to come up with a logical reason for us to move into the same room. What do you think my dear? What would make the most sense to you?”

It took a moment for my words to sink in, but once they did, her cheeks noticeably blushed as an idea materialized in her mind.

“It would make sense… For me to move into your room…” she said softly. “If… If we became lovers…”

“I see… That would certainly make the most sense…” I said. “My hypnotic talents are great, however, for that idea to properly take root in your mind overnight, you would have to already be, at least a little, attracted to me. Tell me my dear… Are you attracted to me?”

“HHmm… Yes…” she said, faintly squirming. “I am… Mildly attracted to you…”

“Excellent!” I said. “Then I believe it is possible for me to use our hypnotic evening together to convince your mind that we are lovers. And if that succeeds like I expect it will, then it will be easy to implant the desire you need to ask me to move into my room. Is that what you wish me to do with you tonight? Do you wish me to hypnotize you into believing you are my lover for the purpose of continuing your training as my show’s perfect subject?”

Of course, I already knew her answer because I had been slowly building up to it all week during our sessions, but it was still fascinating to see her faintly smile as the answer formed in her mind.

“Yes…” she whispered. “That’s exactly… What I want you to do with me…”

“Then that’s what I shall do once we reach my cabin.” I said, smiling as I extended my hands outwards. “Since there’s no reason to delay here any longer, why don’t we adjourn to my cabin so I can deepen your trance and work on your mind until your attraction for me grows to a point where it will convince your waking self that you want to stay on board for me…”

She smiled a little more as she nodded and took a step forward. In her trance state, she already knew the way to my cabin so all I had to do was follow her. Which gave me a nice view of her curves as she took step after step towards her future. I couldn’t help but lick my lips at the thought of her living with me and be completely open to my hypnotic influence. No more working around her schedule to steal away an hour or 2 when possible. Starting tomorrow, she’ll be eagerly waiting for me in the comfort of my cabin. Available to be tranced at all hours to truly deepen my influence and control without worry that someone could disturb us.

Under those types of conditions, I’ll have all the time in the world to properly train and condition her to be my obedient little cabin mate that will have no other desire except to fulfill my own. The thought of her body being utterly at my disposal was making my blood boil and it made me wonder how much sexual experience she already had.

Then again… It doesn’t really matter what type of experiences she’s had because I’ll have plenty of time to show her all the tricks and techniques I like most. Hmm… What a lovely toy she’ll make for me to play with…

But I need to be patient and not get ahead of myself if I want this lovely creature to eventually call me Master. For now, I needed to keep my libido in check and work on the next part of her enthrallment so that, in time, I could work on how much pleasure she’ll experience while serving my desires.