#(different verses! don’t be afraid to ask)

[artdcnaldson]

tashi in the mix to this "teach me" verse hold on because..... tashi teaching you how to move your hips on a mans cock to make him crazy, on art because patrick would try to slip his tip in 😒,,,, hands on your hips, guiding you, you can feel her nipples on your back as she helps you rock back and forth over his dick.... art slipping and sliding through your slick folds, moaning when tashi turns your head to lick into your mou- i have another idea for patrick ill be back

hiiiii 🫶🩷

Rating: E (18+)

Warnings: SMUT (f!recieving oral, grinding, orgasm denial)

A/N: Your mind amazes me so bad it’s crazy. Patrick’s part is gonna be so 🤭🫶 I’m excited. Anyways. Need Artashi so bad it’s clinical

When you tell Tashi, her face contorts in a mix of annoyance and confusion. At you, for you, at them— it was hard to tell.

“Jesus, you’ve just been jerking and sucking them off for weeks now?” She asks, her lips turned into a frown

“I didn’t think you’d be upset about it,” you said shyly, feeling an uncomfortable knot form in your stomach. “It’s nothing serious between us, just—“

She stops you, laughing wryly. “No, I don’t give a fuck if they’re your boyfriends or not. I just can’t fucking believe that you’ve been getting them off and they haven’t even offered to make you cum.”

You feel heat in your cheeks. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t ever ask. It’s too embarrassing.”

Tashi rolls her eyes. “Jesus, if you can suck their dicks, they can make you cum. It’s not hard.” And she’s right. It’s not like you haven’t wondered what it would feel like for their hands to fit between your thighs, how different it might feel for their fingers to be buried inside of you— long and thick, different than yours. Or their mouths— even though thinking about it makes your stomach twist with embarrassment. “Whatever. I’ll fix it for you.”

Tashi will fix it. And that’s that.

It’s not even a day later that Tashi texts you, inviting you over to her dorm. “They’re fucking chauvinists,” she explains, knees brushing yours as you face each other on her bed. “They’re treating you like a fucking fleshlight because you’re naive. But you’re not going to be naive anymore. You’re going to get exactly what you want. What you need.”

“But I like it,” you admit nervously, afraid to let her down. “Being wanted like that.”

She smiles, brushes her hand along your cheek. “We’re not quitting. We’re leveling the playing field. They’ve given you some lessons, it’s my turn.”

Art Donaldson is a weak link— needy, sweet, eager. He’d follow Patrick or Tashi off a fucking cliff if they wanted him to. Art’s so easy that it’s no surprise when he’s at Tashi’s door fifteen minutes after she texts him.

Between you and Tashi, it’s easy to get him where you want him— desperate, wanting. All it takes are a few kisses and rubbing his dick through his jeans.

He watches, almost dazed as you kiss Tashi deeply, putting all those lessons from him and Patrick to work. And she’s like a mix of the two in a way— like she’d taken the care and hunger Art kissed with and tangled it up in all of Patrick’s intensity and need.

“That’s nice. At least they’re good for something,” Tashi murmurs against your lips. You nod, mouth open, leaning back in to kiss her again. She smiles, leans back. “C’mere.”

Tashi sits against the headboard, pulls you so your back is against her chest. Art slots in between your thighs with no instruction. He tugs down your shorts and panties at once, and your face burns as your pussy is exposed to both of them.

“Look how pretty she is, Art,” Tashi says. She’s holding your thighs apart, keeping you spread open for them. Her lips brush against your jaw and you sigh contentedly. “Give her a kiss.”

Art obeys easily, and his mouth meets your cunt like he’s making out with it. Slow laps of his tongue through your slit, tasting how wet you’d gotten from kissing them. He moans softly, nuzzles closer.

Your eyes flutter, rolling back as your body melts into the new sensation— lips and tongue, the warmth and wetness and pressure. It’s better than your own fingers, or the cheap vibrator you’d gotten at the mall.

You squeeze Tashi’s hand when his lips seal around your clit, nails digging into her palm, forming tiny crescents. “See?” Tashi says. “He’ll do whatever you want, you just have to make him.”

Art’s tongue dips inside of your entrance, making you moan. Tashi relishes in it— in seeing you experience all of it for the first time. It wasn’t fair, she decided, that she’d been left out from the beginning.

“Use your fingers,” Tashi instructs. “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, Art, you should just do it right the first time.”

He moans pathetically against your cunt as she tangles her fingers in his blond curls. You’re so wet that your body accepts his finger easily, like it belongs. He thrusts it slowly, curled just enough to brush against your sweet spot.

He’s grinding against the bed— desperate, needy. His brow is furrowed in concentration, desperate to make you cum so he can be rewarded and praised. He slips a second finger alongside the first, alternates between suckling on your clit and teasing it with soft licks.

You’re so easy to get worked up, especially when you’re sandwiched between Tashi and Art. Neither of them are surprised when you cum, hard and fast, clenching around Art’s fingers, grinding against his face.

Embarrassment and arousal mingle warm in your belly at the sight of Art’s face— all slick and wet. He leans in, kisses Tashi, then kisses you. He undresses while you’re coming down from it, wanting the two of you to lave him with attention, to take care of the aching need between his legs.

That’s not what he’s there for.

Tashi pushes him down onto his back, pins him there with nothing more than a look. He lays there trying to be patient, with his cock hard and resting against his stomach. You see it twitch as she peels off your shirt and your bra, throws her own shirt across the room.

Art watches in eager anticipation as Tashi guides you to straddle him, your wet cunt hovering right over where he wants it. His head falls back against Tashi’s pillows.

“Patrick’s going to fucking kill me,” Art groans.

“Why? She’s not fucking you,” Tashi said firmly. “You’re just going to lay there and be a prop. Be a good boy and lay still.”

His chest heaves as Tashi settles behind you, pressing her body against yours. “Alright, just move with my hands, okay? I’ll show you what boys like.”

You off wordlessly as she starts guiding your hips in slow, grinding motions. Art whines beneath you, as each slow pass of your hips makes your pussy slide along the line of his cock. His head falls back, and he tries and fails to buck up against you with his hips pinned under your and Tashi’s weight.

She guides your hips in slow circles and you whine at the same time as Art. “See?” She asks. You nod, head falling back against her shoulder. “All you need to turn his brain into mush is right here.”

Soon, the pressure of her hands on you is second to instinct— she lets her hands move up your body to squeeze and cup your tits. You turn, letting her lick into your mouth, relishing in the drag of her tongue against yours.

“Can you cum like this?” She breathes into your mouth. “Just using him like a plaything?”

You shake your head. “I don’t know,” you admit.

She just smiles against your lips, leans in for another hungry kiss. “Try.”

She guides your hand to the middle of his chest, giving you more purchase. The new angle makes you moan, eyes squeezing shut as your sensitive clit rubs against him.

“Good, keep going like that.” You almost whine at the loss of her warm behind you as she moves to sit against the wall. The perfect view of you and Art, both submitting to her whims. The sight of her with a hand between her thighs, watching you with a hungry, unabashed desire makes heat pool in your belly. Her fingers circle her clit with the skill of someone who knows exactly how to get what she needs in all things. “Look at him, not me.”

Art’s a fucking mess— red down to his chest, panting and whining beneath you. Without Tashi pinning his legs, he’s able to grind up against you, to seek that friction. Moans tumble past his full lips, and god, he looks so pretty when he’s pinned beneath you for once.

When you cum, it’s with panting moans and trembling thighs. Tashi finishes at the sight, of you— grinding down against the blond, who’s just lying there and taking it. Tashi rubs your back as you come down, smiling like she’d just coached you to victory.

You move off of Art and he’s still hard, still wanting. Pouting at the loss of the warm, slick pressure on his lap.

“Okay, you can go,” Tashi tells Art, with a soft pat against his cheek. He groans, chest still heaving, pouting. Tashi sighs. “You did your job, Art. Thank you.”

You watch him redress, obviously hard in his athletic shorts. He looks back, like he’s checking if Tashi’s going to change her mind (she doesn’t).

When he’s gone, she kisses you again, easing you onto your back, straddling your lap as she grinds her wet pussy against your thigh. “You’re such a good little student,” she praises against your lips. “No wonder they like you so much.”

tashi/patrick vignette next and they will match each others freak trust 🫶

[feyascorner]

Hear me out! Hear me out!

From Astrion's pov

A Tav who hates physical contact.

But then one night when it's pouring rain Tav comes to Astarion's tent feeling scared and ask if they can stay and then one thing leads to another and suddenly the two of them are cuddled together and Astarion is like "I thought you didn't like being touched" and Tav is like "Normally I'm scared people will hurt me when they touch me. But you are different. I feel safe with you. I trust you."

a/n. I’m going to collapse they’re everything to me AHHH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE PROMPT

Astarion, by nature and by the two-hundred years he’s spent as a vampire spawn, is a touchy person. It’s instinctual. A habit he can no longer break. It’s not even sexual, half the time. It’s simply how he conveys the words that he struggles to say, even if his vocabulary is filled to the brim with flowery verses of love straight from a romance novel.

But he understands the aversion for touch. Because he’s spent so much of his life hating the touch of strangers against his skin, he understands when you recoil when one of your companions attempt to hug you, or someone tries to shake your hand. Even if yours doesn’t stem from the similar situations where he had to set out on a victim under Cazador’s orders, he understands what it’s like to simply dislike it.

He doesn’t touch you, even if his hand itches to brush the stray strands of hair out of your face. Even as he has to yank his arm away when he feels it nearing yours as you walk alongside one another. Even as all he wants to do is drag you to the nearest corner and beg that you just hold his hand.

So when you appear at the flap of his tent, barely shielding yourself from the thunderous weather outside, asking if you can stay, his jaw physically unhinges.

He coughs, gathering himself quickly—or as quickly as he can manage.

“Come here, darling. You’ll freeze away with that mortal body of yours.”

He doesn’t even know how it happens. Well, he does, but he doesn’t really believe it’s happening. Only fifteen minutes later, you’re snuggled in under his blankets, pressed tightly against his side. He stares up at the ceiling on his back with wide eyes, slowly turning to look at you.

“Is this…alright?” He asks, and you peek out from one eye, adjusting your head on his arm. He can smell your shampoo from so close—lavender? No, maybe another blasted flower he doesn’t know the name of…

“What is?”

“This,” he waves his free arm between the two of you. “Don’t get me wrong, darling, you know I’m never against a cuddle, but I thought you—well—“

You stare at him expectantly.

“I thought you disliked physical contact,” he says, softer. “Not just with me, obviously. In general you seem rather opposed to the idea.”

The thunder rings from outside and your brows crease deeper. The light from a lightning strike illuminates your faces briefly before it’s a dim darkness again, with nothing but your own eyes able to adjust just enough to make out one another’s features. He’s sure he sees more than you do, considering his familiarity with the dark, and uses it to notice the way your lips purse at the intrusive sounds coming from outside.

He also notices you leaning closer to him, but hesitant. Your movements are unsure.

If he had a heart, it would’ve been pounding now, surely.

So he curls his arm closer, pushing you into his chest in the process. You tense briefly, but melt into the feeling, and he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Are you afraid?”

Your voice is but a whisper. “Not anymore.”

There’s a comfortable silence hanging in the air for what seems like hours, but he might consider them to be just a few minutes. The rain pounds relentlessly against the tent, but here, even through the thin fabric, he doesn’t even notice it anymore.

“You’re different from everyone else,” you mumble, and he looks down at his chest to see your eyes halfway shut, clearly about to doze off. “I know you won’t hurt me…there’s no reason for me to avoid touching you.”

He blinks, and you bury half your face into the fabric of his shirt.

“I want you to touch me.”

For the first time in decades, Astarion finds himself at a loss for words. He’s said worse things, sure, but coming from you?…

After filing through a dozen possible responses, he settled on one, opening his mouth to respond, but your breath is already heavier. You’ve already left to a dream world he cannot follow you into, and you’ve left him in a state that he would’ve considered humiliating with anyone else.

He stares at the ceiling again, listening to the soft rhythm of your breathing.

“You can’t just say that and then fall asleep you fool…”

[edges-of-night]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request something? Fellowship x reader where the reader gets injured in a battle or something and confessed their feelings before passing out… and when they wake up they find out their feelings r returned 🤭 I love ur requests they r so very cute! Thank u!

That was such a lovely request to write, nonnie! I’m really sorry you had to wait for it so long. Also, thank you for your kind words!

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

Initially, Aragorn would not treat you much differently after your recovery – so much so that you start wondering if you actually confessed your feelings to him or hallucinated that whole part. But all Aragorn wants to do is find the right moment to talk to you. Once he does, he’d gently take your hands in his and tell you how much you mean to him – and that your feelings are in fact reciprocated! Confessing your love first gave him the courage to do the same. “I am not well versed in these fields. But I hope I can show you my heart just as bluntly as you did yours.”

･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir would not be around when you wake up. The others tell you he was simply shocked by your passing out and that he needed time to adjust and would be overjoyed to hear you’re fine – but you suspect it would be something else that scared him away. You’d find him pondering in a lone corner, afraid of how he’ll react to seeing you again – only to see his hardened face light up when your eyes meet his – and then he’d rush to kiss you! “I’ve been a fool for not understanding it sooner. Forgive me…!” ♡

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

I like to think that out of the Fellowship, Frodo would be the most mature to handle your love confession. After all, he knows your injuries aren’t lethal and worries not about what happens next, since he is very clear in his own feelings. After you wake up, he greets you with a smile, takes your hand to make sure you’re fine – and lowers his voice to say, “I’ll call the others right away. But before that, I need you to remember the last thing you said to me. I feel the same.” He’d give you the cutest smile, shining all the way up to his blue eyes.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Gandalf, being the one who tried to heal you in the moment you passed out, tries ignoring your dramatic love confession and silently urges the others to forget what they overheard. That said, he is very flattered – after all, he’s been enamoured with you for a while now. Still, his romance is quiet and subdued. He’d sit next to you with a smile when you wake up. At first, you thought his behaviour was unchanged – until he ends his sentences toward you with “darling” or “my dear”. There is a playful spark in his eyes that tells you everything you need to know. (Eventually, he would also spell out ‘I love you too’ in fireworks or butterflies!)

･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

Gimli stays with you during your recovery, guarding your bed day and night, so dutifully that the others need to remind him of eating. Once you wake up, you’d meet his soft eyes, only to watch them harden when you try to speak to him: “Don’t do that again! Ever!” – “What? Talk to you…?” – “Scare me like that!” he corrects, grumbling into his beard. “What’s a lad supposed to do when his sweetheart passes out in his arms?” You smile blissfully as you understand and offer him a hug that Gimli more than eagerly returns!

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

Legolas is entirely stumped when you pass out after that dramatic “I love you”. There is a frown on his pretty face for the next few hours, waiting for you to wake up again. When you do, you’re terribly embarrassed by the way he’s staring at you through his Elven eyes. He’d fixate you and ask, “Did you mean it? What you said to me?” You’d blush and retort that yes, of course you meant it – and that is enough to make his bright smile and joy return. “What a relief! I feared that if it had been but a fever, my reciprocation would ring false, or sound like a mockery. Please know it’s nothing but the truth!” And he’d take your hands and lean in for a quick and happy kiss!

･ﾟ✧ Merry.

At first, Merry would not believe what he heard just before you passed out. During your recovery, he retreats into dark corners to think and rationalise – people say all kinds of stupid things when they thought they were about to die, right? You couldn’t possibly be in love with him – not when there are so many other people – taller people – all around you. So, imagine his surprise when you do ask him for a private conversation after waking up, to set everything straight. Only Merry doesn’t accept your apology. “What’s there to apologise for? You said what you felt in that moment. It’s not like I didn’t like what I heard, I feel the same, after all…” And then, you both share an ‘oh!’ moment before you laugh and fall into the other’s arms!

･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin would initially be overwhelmed by your confession and subsequent passing out. However, he’s positive you’ll be fine, firmly believing that no matter how important, these matters needn’t be so dramatic. He’d treat you as casually as always after your recovery, though you can’t deny there is a spring in his steps and a smile on his face whenever you’re talking. You now know that your feelings are returned, and yet you still blush when he tells you over a shared bowl of strawberries: “I don’t think I’ve told you yet, but I love you, too! Very much so! I’ve thought of a few different pet names to call you, but I wanted to clarify that first. So, just tell me which one you like best…”

･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Sam would not leave your side, no matter how long you were passed out. Whenever someone would try and tear him away, he’d explain that he has something very important to discuss with you when you wake up. He would practice romantic speeches and poems to recite for you, really thinking the whole thing through – only to remain absolutely speechless when your eyes do meet his. After your initial greeting – “Thank goodness you’re alive!” – he’d just hold your hand and ask you to stay with him ♡

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XX)

Chapter 20 : My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Valentine’s day is here… wondering how Andrew is going to cope with it, huh?

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 2477

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Valentine

My heart has made its mind up And I’m afraid it’s you. Whatever you’ve got lined up, My heart has made its mind up And if you can’t be signed up This year, next year will do. My heart has made its mind up And I’m afraid it’s you.

Wendy Cope

Andrew had a date tonight.

He hadn’t been on a first date since Sam, obviously, he felt rusty and nervous. He didn’t even know the woman, Alex had set up the date. Christina, that was her name. A year younger than him, working as a nurse at St James’s Hospital. Alex had showed him a picture, she was pretty. Apparently, she was nice and a lot of fun. Why not give her a chance?

Andrew was desperate at that point. Desperate to see if he could ever move on from Sam, desperate to prove himself that he didn’t have a crush on you. That this was nothing serious, just his heart longing for companionship when he felt so lonely these days. Besides, it was Valentine’s Day, he was so painfully lonely, he needed to focus on something else than his love life in shambles. He needed to try to move on. And if he did, he needed to do so with a woman who wasn’t you.

So, he had accepted Alex’s offer, had booked a table at a nice restaurant, had tried to look his best for tonight. Elwood was staying with Jon for the evening, he didn’t have to worry about going home late.

And now, there he was, running five minutes late as he walked inside the restaurant, but for his standard, he called that a win. Five minutes… who would care for five minutes?

Apparently, Christina would.

He had a shy but polite smile on his face when he spotted her across the room. He was polite as he took a seat. Meanwhile, she gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Was there any traffic tonight?” she asked, and Andrew knew at once what she was talking about.

“Erm… it just… took me longer than I thought it would to drop my dog off at my brother’s. Sorry about that. I hope you didn’t wait for too long.”

“No, it’s okay,” she admitted, and she seemed to relax knowing the reason for his short delay. “It’s a nice place you’ve chosen, by the way.”

“Yeah? Glad you like it. Should we take a look at the menu, then?”

They quickly ordered their food, and then began the usual dance of questions that came with trying to learn the most basic things about a person while they waited for their meal.

“So… Alex told me you’re a professor? At Trinity?”

“I am,” Andrew nodded, before drinking a gulp of water. “Assistant professor, actually.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Erm… the paycheck, definitely,” Andrew joked, making Christina smile. “It’s a different rank at University… extremely hierarchical organisation. I don’t have a chair. I give classes, I do research, but I don’t have the same prestige and don’t own a chair for my work.”

“Right…”

“Which is normal, I’m not complaining. Chairs are rare, I’ll probably have to wait another decade to get the rank of professor.”

She didn’t seem reassured by that, Andrew wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“For how long have you been working at Saint James?” Andrew asked back.

“A couple of years.”

“Do you like it there?”

“Yeah… I guess,” she shrugged, and Andrew waited for her to say more about the matter, but she didn’t.

“And so… what do you teach at Trinity?” she asked after a short silence.

“Erm… English. Contemporary poetry, mainly, but I cover a lot of modernism as well through novels.”

She blinked a couple of times.

“Right… so… you like books.”

He gave her an amused smile.

“You can say that.”

“The last book I’ve read was a mandatory reading in high school,” she admitted.

“The last time I cleaned up a wound without feeling sick was… never. So, I guess we’re even,” Andrew offered with a smile, and Christina nodded.

And it was alright, of course. People had many interests. And his partner didn’t have to be interested in the same things as he did. Sam was the perfect example of that. Still… he didn’t really know what to talk about next.

They spent the next few minutes making chit chat, but it was laborious at best. Andrew used a moment of silence in the conversation to take a look around. The restaurant was obviously busy on Valentine’s Day. The decoration was simple but aesthetically pleasing; candles and white or red roses added to each table to enhance the theme of the evening. There were only couples around.

Only couples…

“Andy?”

He turned around, recognising the voice in an instant.

He couldn’t help it, his face fell for a second, before he could summon the strength to hide his reaction.

The universe itself was set against him at this point…

He got up, forced a smile to greet Sam and Frank.

“It’s so funny finding you here!”

“Yeah… wasn’t expecting to see you!” he forced a smile.

Frank noticed Christina then.

“Oh, honey, we’re disturbing Andrew, I think. Sorry, about that,” he was genuine in his apology as he warmly smiled at Christina.

Sam flinched, but quickly smiled as well.

“Oh, sorry! Have a nice evening you two!”

They moved away quickly, reaching their own table. Just a couple of tables away. Right where Andrew could see them whenever he looked up from his plate.

Nice… grand…

“Erm… what are your hobbies?” he asked out of the blue, trying to get the conversation going again, if only to distract himself from Frank and Sam holding hands across their table.

“Oh… not much. I don’t really have the time for those… I like running.”

“Nice!”

“Do you like jogging?”

“Erm… not that much. But I love swimming.”

“I can’t swim.”

“Right… do you like the sea anyway? Like… the beach? Running on the beach, maybe?”

“Not really, no. I’m not very interested in the sea. It’s a little scary.”

“Oh, okay.”

Andrew focused on his meal, but with every painful question asked and answered, it was more and more obvious that they had nothing in common.

A couple of tables away, Frank and Sam were sharing food, a habit Andrew knew Sam hated. They were holding hands, and giggling, and looking so disgustingly in love, while he was on his own, while he wanted that intimacy back, while he thought of you…

Andrew wasn’t sure at which point of the evening you had popped into his mind, but you were all he could think of, right now. He had mentioned that he was going on a date, but you had not given him any details concerning your plans for the evening. You would call your friend Siobhán, you had mentioned some ice cream… were you reading? Watching crappy tv or a good movie? Had you changed your plans? Were you on a date as well?

Andrew couldn’t refrain the bitter taste of jealousy as he thought of you with someone else… as he imagined you in his shoes, at a nice restaurant, meeting with a stranger, and perhaps you would let him hold your hand across the table and would kiss him at the end of the evening, and even spend the night with him…

A wave of nausea made it impossible for him to finish his plate as he thought of you in another man’s bed.

The couple dining at the table right next to Andrew’s started raising their voices. Not enough to draw attention from the entire restaurant, but enough for Andrew and Christina to overhear everything. An argument was brewing. Jealousy and an unhealthy relationship at its peak.

In a matter of five minutes, the two were almost shouting at each other. Andrew and Christina exchanged an embarrassed look while the guy complained about how often they had sex.

And Sam was still there, every time he looked up. And you were all he could think of. And Christina was nice, sure, but they were absolutely incompatible on every level.

And then the last straw came.

“Are you religious?” she asked, and Andrew shook his head.

“No, not really, no.”

“Oh…”

“What about you?”

“Yes, very.”

“Oh…”

“Is that… like… are you just not going to church, or…”

“I… I don’t know. I’m an agnostic, I would say.”

“A what?”

“Agnostic. I don’t know if there’s a God up there or not. I’m… neutral, I guess you could say it like that. But I wouldn’t go to church even if I did believe in God.”

“Really? Why not?”

“I’m wary of any institution run by men that uses its power to dictate how people should behave, including in the most private parts of their lives.”

She blinked, struggling with this new information.

“So… you would never practice religion…”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Right… Cause it’s a very important part of my life.”

“And I respect that.”

“But you would not start believing.”

“Why would I?”

“For me?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Would you think it was okay if I asked you to give up on your faith to be in a relationship with me?”

“Of course not!”

“Then… how can you ask? We can have different beliefs…”

“But you’re wrong.”

“I can’t be wrong, Christina. It’s faith. And it’s the definition of faith to believe without proof. You can’t say I’m wrong, and I can’t say you are. We just have different faiths.”

She nodded, but had stopped eating.

Next to them the angry couple raised their voices again.

“Can I be brutally honest?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Andrew merely nodded.

“You’re clearly a really nice lad, Andy. And I’m not going to deny that Alex was right when he said that you’re definitely my type. But… it looks like we… don’t match.”

Andrew gave her a kind smile.

“I agree,” he nodded. “I don’t think our lives are very compatible.”

“Not really no.”

“You’re good craic though. And you’re… gorgeous, to be honest.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t think we’d be able to find common things to build a relationship on, though.”

“Me neither. Would you mind if we called it a night?”

“No… no, I don’t mind, I understand.”

“Thanks.”

They paid for their food, left the restaurant while the couple bickered and Frank and Sam were still in love. Andrew waited for Christina to get safely in an uber, before he would walk to his own car.

He heaved a sigh, tried not to cry.

Everywhere he went, Sam’s ghost followed.

Whatever he did, you were always on his mind.

Were you home safe and sound? What were you doing? Was there a man with you?

He reached for his phone, his car still silent in the carpark. He touched your name on his screen, and you answered after three rings.

“Andy?”

“Hi, Y/N! You’re alright ?”

“Sure! Just… about to watch some adorable romcom to remind myself of unattainable standards concerning men and relationships, will most certainly have a good cry over the fact that the man I wanted to marry is probably getting amazing sex with his new fiancée, and I will definitely eat my weight in ice cream. You? How was your date? It’s early still… did everything go well?”

“Argh… don’t mention it. Everything about it was awful.”

He described his evening, and you listened, commented, interjected every now and then.

“You deserve to eat your weight in ice cream too,” you stated.

“I think I do, yeah… although… I think I’ll just go to bed once I’m home.”

“Are you driving?”

“No, no… don’t worry. I just… I felt bad. So, I called you before leaving the parking lot in front of the restaurant. I can see all those disgustingly happy couples walk out of there hand in hand…”

“Outrageous. Don’t they know we’re mourning?!”

“No decency. And God, I hate Valentine’s Day…”

“Me too… I feel… so empty today. Frank and I used to always go to the cinema on Valentine’s Day. He always stole all my popcorn. I found that adorable.”

He heard you sniffing, his heart broke at the sound. He wished he could have been there, hold you tight until the tears would subside, until he could make you smile again.

“What would you have done with Sam?” you asked, your voice hoarse with sorrow.

Andrew shrugged, stared at the night sky, made utterly black by the clouds.

“A restaurant, probably. Flowers. Nothing too fancy, but it would have been nice.”

He struggled to swallow, his throat tightening.

“Frank and Sam were sharing their food.”

“Hmm? Yeah, Frank does that sometimes.”

“Sam hates it. She hates it. She never wanted me to touch her food. Why does she let him do that, then?”

A short silence, your answer in a whisper.

“To make him happy.”

Andrew pondered on your words. You were right, obviously. When he spoke again, his voice was low and soft, barely above a whisper.

“I really wish I didn’t have to do that again to be loved.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend. Change. Stop… being myself sometimes.”

You were quiet, but you were still there. He knew it. He could hear you breathing in the phone. And beyond that reassuring sound, he just knew you were listening. He was never sure with Sam.

“I’d really like that too,” you whispered, and he hummed in response.

A happy couple came out of the restaurant then. Andrew watched them reach their car, laughing, holding hands. He felt so fucking lonely… So utterly alone in this world. No one knew him like that anymore…

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“What is it?”

“Promise me you… promise me you’ll never change for me. Promise me you won’t pretend. I want you to…”

He cleared his throat, brushing the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“I want you to be yourself when I’m around. Can you do that?”

He heard you sniffing again. You were quiet for a moment, but Andrew knew you were nodding, he could hear the quiet hum that went with it.

“Andy?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. Thank you, Andy.”

You sniffed, struggled through a few words, but Andrew was patient, he was drying his cheeks on his sleeves anyway.

“I don’t want you to pretend either when you’re with me, you know?”

“I know.”

He was lying. He didn’t know. He didn’t know at all. He didn’t know how to be loved, except by not quite being himself.

You both remained silent for a while, but it was still reassuring to know that you were there, on the other end of the line. Andrew should have hung up then. He should have let you watch your cheesy movie, and eat your ice cream. Instead, he spoke again.

“I’ve finished Dante, by the way.”

He spent the next forty-five minutes talking about Inferno with you. And after the call had ended, and he was finally driving home, it was harder than ever to deny that he wanted you.

[kikyan]

Hellfire

Cw: Yandere content means Yandere content y’all, dub-con, stalking, obsessive behavior, abuse of power, Father/Priest! Rollo (AS IN PRIEST NOT INCEST), masturbation, body worship, oral (GN! Reader receiving), fingering, riding, religious themes, etc

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland 

Pairing: Rollo x GN! Reader 

Words: 9.5K 

A/N: Everyone look at your calendars and do you see how in reality it isn’t a New Year but rather Halloween and this Halloween special is coming out on the day it was meant to and not almost 3 months later? Fantastic, moving on. . .enjoy :)) 

A/N2: I want to preface this by saying that this fic does have religion/religious themes. This is not an accurate portrayal either, so please do not come for me-! I did grow up catholic but in my teen years became a full atheist so anything said in this fic is me recalling my childhood. Also, I googled bible verses because I don’t remember any and they were all in Spanish so, yeah. . .enjoy! :))

The bells rang throughout Fleur City, signaling the start of Sunday mass. The crowd gathered, rushing to find any available seats to sit down on. Those unfortunate would have to stand, as they did not dare miss the mass. Father Rollo was an exceptional man, his voice and words rang throughout the church and captivated everyone who was blessed to be in his presence. He handled himself professionally, standing with an upright posture and his head was always looking ahead. He was truly a man befitting to be god's messenger. Fleur City was fortunate to have Father Rollo, he was a man adored by his people and [Reader] was no different. They were locked on Father Rollo who strutted with confidence,

 “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you” 

His eyes locked with [Reader]. They broke away from his eyes but could still feel his piercing eyes on them. 

“I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” 

Cheers erupted from within the church the moment he finished his sentence. Mass was shortly concluded after the church staff asked for donations. Plenty of people offered whatever they could spare, but it was appreciated. The church was emptying but a few others stayed behind to have a few words with Father Rollo. [Reader] stayed seated but looked over at Father Rollo from the corner of their eye. He was attending to the people and their needs, he truly was a virtuous man. They averted their gaze when they saw Father Rollo turn to them. He bid goodbye to the troubled crowd. His heeled shoes echoed loudly through the emptying church, stopping in front of [Reader]. 

“[Reader], good morning. How have you been?” 

“Oh. . good morning, Father Rollo. I’ve been well, how about you?” 

“It has been a pleasant morning so far and I can only pray that it shall remain that way. Though I will say, it’s certainly comforting knowing you’re here. I did not see you anywhere last week.” 

“R-Right. . .my apologies. It certainly wasn’t my intention to miss last week’s mass, but I’m afraid I did end up catching a cold. It has since passed and I feel quite better.” 

“ You ought to take care of yourself, [Reader]. It would be a shame if something terrible happened to you. You are, after all, our number one devotee here at the Church. It would be rather quiet and lonely if you were to go.” 

“Ha ha, it was only a cold Father Rollo, not the plague. I assure you, I am fine. Besides, I’m pretty strong enough to handle an illness.” 

[Reader] returned a smile to Rollo, whose face remained expressionless, but his eyebrows furrowed upwards in un-amusement.  

“That you are, you have God’s protection as one of his children. Alas, I must be off. Till next we meet, [Reader].” 

Rollo turned around and left the main hall, leaving [Reader] alone. It was only for a split second, but he turned around to gaze at them again. 

~ 

[Reader] was in love with Rollo. Their greatest sin that would be known to the dead once they passed. They remember their first meeting, plain as day, unlike that stormy night where this story takes place. 

There was a storm and it was pouring. The kind that people were warned to stay indoors because of the severity, yet here [Reader] was running to the middle of the town where the church lay. Their face was coated in rainwater which made it almost impossible to keep their eyes open, they were struggling to breathe, and the cold that accompanied the storm did little to help. They were staggering over to the Church. 

“[READER!] GET BACK HERE NOW AND I MIGHT FORGIVE YOU!” 

Panic rose and they didn’t dare look back, for if they did, surely it would be their last. They didn’t dare scream for help, because they knew their cries would be drowned by the storm. They finally made it to the center, running up the stairs of the cathedral, and lunged to the door. No surprise that it was locked. 

“[READER]! STOP!”

“L-LEAVE ME ALONE! SANCTUARY, PLEASE GIVE ME SANCTUARY!” 

[Reader] pleaded and began to hit the doors with all their might. The person who was no doubt chasing after them continued their pursuit. They were approaching the steps and soon, close enough to reach out to [Reader]. Just in the nick of time, the door opened enough for [Reader] to throw themselves inside. They landed on the cold stone floors and used whatever strength they had to scramble away from the door. They looked up to see a skinny man with a pale face, green-blue eyes, dark bags under his eyes, and silver hair behind the door. He was adorned in an ankle-long robe and wore black-heeled loafers. His outfit certainly was nothing too fancy, then again it was the middle of the night. 

“S-Sanctuary! P-please, give me sanctuary!” 

“What seems to be the matter-!?” 

The man turned to them but was cut from the person chasing after [Reader]. 

“[Reader]! C’mere, now.” 

The anger in his voice disappeared but there was sternness laced in his request. The silver-haired man turned to the other person. The storm showered them, and the mud that they tracked in did not go unnoticed by the silver-haired man. 

“Forgive me. My name is Rollo Flamme, I am one of the priests here. May I ask what seems to be the issue? I certainly did not expect there to be anyone leisuring out in the streets with the storm raging outside.” 

The silver-haired man, now named ‘Rollo’, asked. Rollo turned to the person outside with an unamused expression. 

“Father Rollo, pardon the intrusion. You see, that person over there is named [Reader], they're my partner. My partner also suffers from an unstable state of mind. It would be best if we returned-!?” 

“Father Rollo, is everything alright?” 

They all turned to look at an elderly woman who no doubt worked for the church. Rollo shook his head and the woman took it as a sign to approach the door. 

“Everything is alright here, there is no need for the both of you to concern yourselves over our issues. Me and [Reader] would be taking our leave-!?” 

“I think not. It would be against everything we stand for if we turned away someone who came to this holy place and asked for sanctuary. I apologize, but I’ll be asking for you to leave. Madam, take this one,” 

Rollo turned to face [Reader], 

“This one inside. Run them a warm bath and please get them a fresh set of clothes. As for you, sir. . please leave.” 

[Reader’s] partner scoffed and stepped forward, 

“I wouldn’t recommend that.” 

He stopped after Rollo’s warning. Soon, others started to arrive within the church, including the guards. [Reader’s] partner glared at Rollo but decided against their actions. They just scoffed and went outside. The church’s door was shut and locked following his departure. 

[Reader] had been sitting on the floor, trying to steady their breathing. Rollo walked over to them and helped them off their feet. 

“You’re safe here in the house of God, he cannot hurt you any longer.” 

Rollo then walked away, moving people to their station leaving [Reader] alone with the Madam. 

“Come child, let’s get you out of those freezing clothes and into a warm bath.” 

That was the first time they met Rollo. 

Several weeks later, [Reader] was still within the church and assisting in any way they could. They would sometimes join the community in cleaning the church, making meals to provide during the holidays, and so forth. They were currently helping the volunteers make bread until Rollo arrived in the kitchen. 

“Good morning, Father Rollo! How may we assist you?” 

The elderly woman asked Rollo, who turned to face her. 

“Good morning, Madam. I see you’re all hard at work assisting the church so I won’t take up too much of your time. May I speak with [Reader]?” 

At the mention of their name, [Reader] perked up. The Madam turned to them and asked, 

“Of course, is that alright?” 

[Reader] nodded, dropping their task and washing their hands. They turned to look at Rollo who nodded, 

“This way, please.” 

Rollo led the way to his office and closed the door once they were both inside. He turned to them and offered the chair across from his. 

“Sit, please. Good morning, [Reader]. How are you this morning?” 

“Father Rollo. . .great. This morning has been great so far, busy but no complaints from me yet! How about yours?” 

“Fine, busy as well but such is life as God’s servant. Now, I wanted to discuss some things with you. The man that pursued you when you arrived at our doorsteps, I presume you would be content knowing that he has since left the town. He is no longer residing in Fleur City.” 

[Reader] let out a sigh of relief, since the day they arrived at the steps of the cathedral they have been residing within it. All housing was provided by the church as well as their meals. They weren’t expected to assist with the chores at the church, but they felt it was the least they could do. They would leave to go into town occasionally but always went with a guide or a guard in case anything happened. Rollo had made arrangements for them to avoid any further issues. They weren’t aware that their partner who had tormented them relentlessly had left the city or had any plans to. 

“Thank you. . . Father Rollo. I appreciate you informing me.” 

“ Of course, now that he has permanently left Fleur City we can arrange to get you a small place within the city. Don’t worry, if you still wish to assist the Church it will be nearby and the place will be within the guard's post. The area will be carefully monitored and maintained.” 

“Father Rollo. . that’s too much. I appreciate all you have done since that day, but asking for my living quarters would be too much-!” 

“Nonsense. You requested sanctuary from the church and since then, we have worked hard to provide that for you. It’s no trouble at all, you’re a precious child of God after all and he never abandons his children.” 

Rollo faced [Reader] who was deep in thought. A place to stay without the haunting memories of their partner who could care less about them. [Reader] turned their gaze to Rollo and smiled, 

“Thank you for your kindness, Father Rollo.” 

From then, [Reader] had been living in the house provided by the church. Their place was warm and cozy, but most importantly, theirs. As days went by, [Reader] continued to attend weekly mass and stayed behind to help the community with events. Though Rollo was a well-known priest, he certainly wasn’t the only one present in the cathedral. The community had gotten together to thank the priests and were thinking of how to repay each one. The madam took the request and decided to host a small celebration for them with food and games for the community. 

The entire town was invited to attend and they did, for there was no greater honor than celebrating their townsmen. Rollo stood in the center, overseeing the event rather than partaking in it like the other priests. He saw how his colleagues engaged with the town, his eyes were trained on them. They had no problem mingling with others and taking the front while Rollo chose to stay behind. 

“Are you not enjoying yourself, Father Rollo?” 

He turned to the voice, it was [Reader]. 

“I am, but conversing with others isn’t something I do quite well at. I leave that task, to the others. What about you, [Reader]?” 

“Oh, I am as well. I too, don’t tend to mingle with others, at least not in events like this. It’s still taking me a while to adjust to being in control of my own life.” 

Rollo spared a glance at [Reader] who sadly reminisced. Their partner would often take control of the conversation and not allow [Reader] to speak. They would often leave [Reader] in social gatherings to fend for themselves and never acknowledge their feelings. After a while and per their adored partner’s request, stopped leaving their shared home. This resulted in [Reader] self-isolating.  

“I see. Often, just being in the company of someone you trust is more than enough at events like these. However I do hope that moving forward, we can heal from the past.” 

Socializing wasn’t his strong suit; if he did, it was always formal and respectful. There was no time for jokes or silly banter, that is why Rollo helped Fleur City behind the scenes. He handled all formal matters while the others tended to the city with their words and charisma. Even now, his words of comfort were formal and didn’t properly convey his feelings. 

“One day, I will join the crowd again and this time, maybe I can take you with me, Father Rollo. Oh, by the way, I have something for you.” 

Rollo faced [Reader] who was looking into their pocket. 

“Here! I know it doesn’t mean much and it’s certainly a very cheap gift, but I want to express my gratitude. Thank you for all that you’ve done, Father Rollo. Without you, I don’t think I would be here with the Madam and the Town, so thank you.” 

He looked at his hands to see a wine-red handkerchief with purple embroidery on the outer edges, his name was woven into the corner. It was a simple gift really, but the difference with most gifts that he received was that this was hand-made. Handmade with love, love from the person that he cared the most about. Rollo stammered, 

“T-Thank you, I shall keep this with me at all times. It’s lovely, [Reader].” 

[Reader] turned to see his eyes gazing deeply at theirs. It was different, unlike a small expression of gratitude with professionalism laced Rollo’s eyes betrayed him. Behind his eyes, desire and love peeked through, even if it was for a split moment. 

“Of course. . .my pleasure, Father Rollo.” 

Rollo was called shortly after to attend to a matter within the cathedral, but before parting from [Reader], he promised he would return promptly. Rollo left and attended the matter fairly quickly, but before leaving to meet up with [Reader], he walked to his office. Locking the door, he took out the handkerchief and brought it up to his nose, inhaling the sweet scent from it. 

‘[Reader]’ 

Rollo recalled the memory of when he first laid eyes on them. It wasn’t anything too special, he was just in town when he stumbled upon them. Rollo has observed throughout his life all the filth from others and their actions. [Reader] had remained a pure innocent soul devoid of any sins. 

‘ Humans are sinful creatures and  that is why we exist. . .’ 

Rollo had engraved that concept into his mind. There are 7 sins within mankind - pride, wrath, envy, gluttony, sloth, greed, and lust. Humans will lie, cheat, steal, manipulate, and take advantage of others for personal greed. In reality, society has failed itself and remains to be a stain on this world. [Reader] was a positive chum, but was a sight to behold in a world of sin. 

Rollo was walking through town, which was a rare sight considering the only place you could glance at him would be in the cathedral. He noticed hidden behind a stall that there was a child, looking confused and scared. 

‘ No doubt lost.’ 

Rollo thought to himself but did not step forward just yet. He recalled a conversation he had with the Madam, a woman whom he respected as she was not like the others either. She had devoted herself to the church and helping others after the passing of her husband.  She would confess that no human was free of sin, but that didn’t mean that they were undeserving of God’s love and a place in his kingdom. It was silly, but he remembered what he told her after, 

“You’re right Madam, everyone is worthy of God’s love. Though do not underestimate humanity’s free will, some of them choose to sin and relish in their filth.”  

The madam shook her head and reminded Rollo that he should not be so quick to place judgment on others, but it was futile. 

He recalled that memory as he saw the scene displayed in front of him, a defenseless child turning to adults begging for help. Those same ‘adults’ had brushed the child off and some even as far to push the child away. 

“P-Please, I can’t find my mommy-” 

“Not interested.” 

“Stay clear of the road! Damn, brats. . .” 

‘Are these the same people who deserve God’s love, Madam?’

Rollo began walking to the child but stopped when he noticed another individual walk up to the child, 

“My name is [Reader], are you lost? Did you lose your parents?” 

The child nodded and [Reader] lightly brushed the tears that were forming away, 

“I see, well let me try to help you find them. When did you see them last?” 

“I saw my mommy over there. . .” 

The child pointed towards the growing crowd. In theory, this mother could be anywhere but if she was observant then no doubt she noticed her child missing. [Reader] nodded and held out their hand to the child, asking permission to hold their hand. The child allowed it, letting [Reader] lead them into the crowd. The child's grip tightened, afraid to lose their newfound savior. Rollo followed them, wanting to make sure that this child wasn’t going to be kidnapped. He saw how ‘[Reader]’ was holding onto the child and stopping in the area, asking the child if they saw their mother. When the child shook their head, [Reader] would begin calling out if someone lost their child. The town was busy and [Reader’s] cries were lost to the wind, but they did not lose their determination. After half an hour, Rollo heard a woman frantically calling out what was probably the child's name as the child perked up at the mention of it. [Reader] carefully maneuvered their way across the crowd to reunite the mother and child. Rollo witnessed the scene of the mother and child holding each other close, the mother turning to [Reader] and thanking them, and [Reader] reassuring them. Rollo scoffed, one person was not enough to persuade his mind that humanity was any different. It didn’t just stop there, weeks after the incident they had another run-in with them - at a distance, of course. 

[Reader] was in the market with the intent of buying groceries, but instead offered to help the people at the stands. It was a never-ending cycle, when they finished their task another person went to them asking for help. 

‘They’re a fool, they’re being taken advantage of by the others-’ 

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t mind helping but I haven’t finished my shopping. When I finish and if you still need help I can come back.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry [Reader], I didn’t mean to take up your time! It’s fine if you can’t, but thank you anyway.” 

[Reader] politely excused themselves and finished their shopping. A couple of instances off the top of his head that Rollo remembered, [Reader] buying food for a beggar on the street, helping an elderly person cross the street, helping a cat out of their collar once they noticed it was choking from it, and when they helped stitch back up a child's toy once it was ruined. Rollo was getting irritated at this point, 

‘Madam, I swear it’s like you enjoy tormenting me. . .are you trying to prove a point?’ 

The scowl written on his face was unwavering as he continued to observe this happy-go-lucky person. He managed to overhear the conversation between [Reader] and another person. 

“You’re so nice [Reader], it’s so rare to find someone who cares about people the way you do!” 

“You think so? I don’t think I am doing anything too grand, I just do what comes normal to me.” 

“Yes! You have a heart of gold, I mean you offer to help when needed. You should be careful though, people out there would take advantage of that kindness.” 

“Hm, I guess. I mean, I just do what I can but if it’s too much or something I can’t do I’m not opposed to saying no. I think a lot of people just think I’m too nice because they’re just used to being treated with little kindness. I don’t want to be a bystander if I can do something. I hold the door for people if they’re close and I’m not going to shut the door on them, it’s not like it takes too much time.” 

“Aw, you’re so nice.” 

“I don’t think so, I mean would you shut the door on me if I was behind you?” 

“Well. . .” 

“Then you’re just too mean.” 

[Reader] and the person exchanged a laugh before parting ways. Rollo stood still and turned to see [Reader] back in the distance, leaving the marketplace. His resolve didn’t sway, humans were still corrupt and undeserving of salvation, the only difference now was that there was an exception. Rollo would be lying if he sometimes didn’t go into town to glance at [Reader] and if he was lucky enough, he would be there at the same time. Over months though, he began to see less and less of them. He started to worry a bit, for the first weeks he chalked it up to [Reader] wanting time away from town but was surprised to know that nobody had seen them in the market for a month. Rollo approached a vendor, starting small talk, 

“Good morning, Father Rollo. How do you do today?” 

“I’m quite fine, thank you for asking. How about yourself?”

“Aw well, same! Business has been booming but I haven’t seen my top customer in a while!” 

“Oh, and who is that?” 

“[Reader]! They’re a sweet thing but suddenly stopped coming into town. I won’t lie, I am a little worried about them.” 

“[Reader]? I don’t believe I’ve seen them at mass. . .” 

“]Reader] used to go if I remember correctly, but I’m not too sure. I know they used to into town daily, aside from their work they loved to walk around the city. I think they stopped coming out as much a year or two ago, sometimes though they’ll come daily but it’s so rare when they do! I’m not quite sure why-!” 

“It’s because of their partner!” 

Rollo and the vendor turned to another person, an elderly lady who had joined the conversation. 

“Their partner. . .?” 

Rollo questioned, 

“Yes! At first, it was sweet. They met at [Readers’s] work and instantly became close, I would sometimes frequent their workplace you see. Their partner treated them with so much kindness but after a while, it was plain as day, he was isolating them! I remember I was walking home when I overheard them get into an argument, he wanted [Reader] to quit their job. [Reader] refused and that was the end of it, I’m not sure how they managed to persuade him because all I could hear was his yelling. After a while, [Reader] didn’t come to work and I thought they did quit, but when they came back they weren’t the same. They were still kind as ever, but you could tell something was off. Whenever they do come into town, it’s because their partner isn’t in Fleur City. I heard he sometimes goes back to take care of his ill parents.” 

Rollo was conflicted, who was this woman to be spreading such personal information of theirs but he had to thank her, without her, he never would have come to realize what needed to be done. Rollo had to admit, over the time he spent observing [Reader] he did become enamored with them. One true nature is revealed in several ways, how one presents oneself, their thoughts and actions, and what one preaches. Their nature had long been revealed, [Reader] was the only person whom Rollo believed was deserving of God’s love and he would not let them become a martyr for those deserving the flames of hell. 

Rollo set his plan in motion. He carefully wrote a letter and paid someone who the town would never recognize to deliver it into the hands of [Reader’s] partner. Their partner read the contents and before they could react, the person who delivered it had vanished to report to Rollo. 

“It’s been done?” 

“Yes, Father Rollo. May I ask though, what do you plan-” 

“That’s enough, you needn't worry about the content of the letter. Your task was to deliver, which you have. You’re free to go.” 

The man excused himself, leaving Rollo at his desk with his elbows propped but his hands were close together. He was deep in thought, 

“He would be wise to appear later tonight if he truly cares for his parents.” 

Later that night, their partner had walked down to the waterways. There, they met a cloaked individual. 

“Are you the one who sent me that letter? Who the fuck do you think you are to threaten my family-!” 

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” 

The cloaked individual placed their hand out, to halt them from coming closer. They used that same hand to point upwards. When [Reader’s] partner looked up, they were met with several shadows who were not afraid to display their weapons. 

“What do you want?” 

Their partner scoffed out. The cloaked individual spoke out, 

“You have a partner by the name of [Reader]. Let’s just say that they owe me something, that being said it’s hard for us to come in contact with one another. This is where you come in, I need you to lure them into town. Do it on a rainy day, when there are fewer people to overhear, but I need you to lure them to the center of town. Make sure that nobody sees you two or asks about you, do you understand?” 

“What do they owe you-?!” 

“That’s none of your concern! Just, lure them into the center of the town. My men will be watching to make sure no one interferes but remember, if someone comes to find out about this plan. Well, you know what will happen to your family, understood?” 

Their partner gulped in fear and nodded, 

“You may go, and remember to not tell a single soul about this. I’ll always be listening.” 

They remained still for a brief moment, processing the words of the individual, before running out. Once they were out of sight, the person removed their cloak. Rollo stood in the center, looking at the moon and breathing out a sigh of relief. Those armed shadows turned to Rollo and asked, 

“Father Rollo, may I ask who that man is?” 

“Just someone this world would be better without. Keep me updated on his location and if he says anything. Remember, this is all to protect Fleur City.” 

Rollo disappeared within the waterways. 

Rollo approached the fireplace in his office and looked down at the handkerchief once more before tenderly caressing it into his face. 

“[Reader], I’ll repeat your name over and over like a prayer, I’d never tire of it. . .if only you knew of all things I did for you to be by my side. . .” 

The memory rolled over in his head, 

“There is a storm coming, we should make preparations in case of anything.” 

“Oh, you’re always so diligent and a step ahead, Father Rollo.” 

“Madam, one can never be too prepared.” 

The madam shook her head at Rollo’s comments but carried out his request. He had stood in preparation for anything. If what was revealed was true, then [Reader] was certainly being isolated by their partner. Their abusive partner would take advantage of another. That being said, he planned to make it so that they lured [Reader] out into the center of town, where the cathedral lay. Their partner may not know it as he was certain he had never seen him before but [Reader] should. They would request sanctuary from the church and there, He would be by the door, awaiting his beloved with open arms. 

Before he knew it, he could hear the shouts and screams outside the door. 

“Sanctuary, give me sanctuary!” 

Before long, Rollo had opened the door and with a perfect facade, displayed concern. He could tell the way their partner trembled that he had feared for his family, he was caught by the church. Their partner had no choice but to flee the scene with their tail between his legs. After Rollo instructed the Madam to watch over [Reader], Rollo had the guards chase after their partner. In the meantime, Rollo had placed his cloak on and made his way to the outskirts of town where he was being held. 

“L-Let me go! Damn it, it wasn’t my fault-!” 

“Didn’t I tell you not to let anyone interfere?” 

“I-it wasn’t my fault! The church and that stupid priest got in the way! P-please leave my f-family alone-!” 

Rollo removed his cloak and presented himself to their ex-partner. 

“Y-you!?” 

“Don’t worry, your family won’t suffer. Though I will admit, I didn’t think you would go through with sacrificing them.” 

“Y-You threatened my family, w-why wouldn’t I?” 

“I suppose there is some logic to that reason. Tell me, did you even love them?” 

“W-what? I-I suppose I did?” 

“You suppose? You’re not certain?” 

Rollo questioned them further, 

“I mean yes! Yes, I did love them! W-what does this have to do with anything, you said they owed you something no-?” 

“ No, they don’t. I did this more to see what you would do and you played right into it. Once again, I was proved right. Humanity is undeserving of God’s love and salvation, you’re all just scum that turn against each other at any moment it’s convenient. You disgust me.” 

“Y-You did this to prove a point!? Y-You think I won’t reveal to the townspeople who their beloved priest is?” 

“Not very intelligent either, are you? I’m not worried, because this is where judgment shall be passed onto you. This goes a little deeper than what you think, but no matter. I hereby declare you, guilty, and your sentence, punished by death. Dispose of him.” 

Rollo turned around, ignoring the pleas of that man. He did turn around to see their execution, before turning back. 

“We shall burn his body, but in the meantime place him somewhere no one will find out. Oh and, arrange for someone to take care of his parents. Hire a doctor to live with them.” 

The others nodded and carried out the order. Rollo headed back to town with a clear conscious. 

His attention remained on the flames. They had burned his body and afterward, devised a plan to break the news to his parents.  As far as they were concerned, he had passed away from a natural cause but because he was such a good member of the church, he was able to have a doctor stay with them full-time. He placed a chaste kiss on the handkerchief, 

‘This burning desire is turning me to sin. . .’ 

~ 

Rollo was sitting at the Confessional and while he was a man of God, he was also human. Like humans, he was running short of his patience. Father Rollo was a devoted man to his occupation, but of course, even messengers of God need time of their own. He was covering for another priest, Father Phoebus, who unexpectedly became ill. Rollo’s face turned into one of annoyance and anger, he was certain that the priest wasn’t ill but rather skipping out on his duties. 

‘ No matter, confession ends in about 10 minutes. . .I just need to hold out till then.’ 

Rollo’s optimistic outlook was shattered the moment he heard someone else sit on the other side of the confessional. He rolled his eyes before turning to the wooden lattice opening but stiffened when he saw it was [Reader]. Luckily, this confessional was designed so that the priest would be hidden away and the penitent was visible. 

“I do apologize for coming in so late, Father Phoebus. . but I would like to confess my sins.” 

Rollo cleared his throat, 

“Of course, please, confess to me what ails you.” 

He placed his gaze at [Reader], who remained unaware that instead of Father Phoebus, it was Rollo. 

“Right, to be honest, I’m not quite sure where to begin. All I know is, I’m committing a grave sin. I ... . .in love with a man that I cannot have. He is married to a vow.” 

Rollo’s breath hitched, turned to stare at [Reader] who looked down in regret and disappointment.

“M-married? May I ask, which vow this man is married to?” 

[Reader] stiffened at the question, 

“Father Phoebus. . .it's Father Rollo who I am enamored with. He is God's messenger and as such, I know my feelings will never be reciprocated yet! Yet, I can’t help but still love him.” 

Rollo knew that Reader required guidance and genuine support, but he couldn’t help the need or desire after hearing that the one he loved also felt the same. He pulled out the wine-red handkerchief with the beautiful purple embroidery that outlined the cloth and spelled his name on the corner. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help it as his dick hardened at the idea of [Reader]. 

“T-tell me, how much you love him?” 

Rollo swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“O-Oh w-well. . .” 

It was an awkward question no doubt so there was some resistance from [Reader]. Rollo pressed on, 

“I would like to know how deep your admiration goes so that I c-can properly guide you.” 

“R-right. . well, I love him. At first, I thought it was just admiration because he helped me get back on my feet. When I gave him his handkerchief, I saw more than a simple thanks on his face, but a face of genuine gratitude, which made me fall deeper. I know he’s only being kind to me because it’s the right thing to do and not because of any special treatment, but I can’t help but-” 

Rollo continued to listen to their feelings, but he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t thinking about stroking his cock to their voice. Rollo had never experienced such feelings towards anyone before, but after meeting [Reader] he became a victim of the sin of greed and lust. 

“Though I will admit, maybe the reason I love him is because I feel safe and secure with him. With my past partner, I didn’t feel the same sense of security. I did at first, but after a while, they became the aggressor. I’m not sure why I didn’t leave immediately after and I kept beating myself up about but Father Rollo, assured me that it was not my fault. He was so kind and understanding, it was different from the others who told me something similar. It was sincere from both sides, but with him it was. . it was different.” 

When they finished confessing, Rollo spoke, 

“I don’t think you should be ashamed of your feelings. It’s a natural human thing to feel, love that is. You’re right, Father Rollo is a man tied to an oath by the Church. Under the eyes of God, he may not reciprocate your feelings but that doesn’t mean he would see you any less different. Your sins are forgiven, my child.” 

[Reader] nodded and bid farewell to ‘Father Phoebus’. Rollo watched their figure retreat and let out a breath of relief. Though he could not stop the pounding in his heart nor the tent in his pants. 

~ 

“F-Fuck! [R-Reader]-!” 

Rollo had retreated to his office once confessions were over, there he had his handkerchief wrapped around his dick, jerking himself off. The one that he loved felt the same for him but he was sure their love was not the same as his obsession with them. Such a pure and innocent crush on him whereas he shamefully was stroking his cock to the idea of touching them. 

“Ha. . ha. . wanna t-touch you, fuck-!” 

He threw his head back at the pleasure, how would [Reader] react to seeing their beloved Father Rollo fuck the handkerchief that they had gifted him. His orgasm was approaching and his whines were getting louder, he leaned over his table and spilled his seed onto the wine-red cloth, sweat adorning his face. He let out a sigh of relief and sat down on his chair. He thought of [Reader] and this new found confession. Rollo’s mind was made up. 

~ 

“I think we’re all good to go, [Reader] we’re heading out now!” 

“Have a good night!” 

[Reader] bid the other church volunteers farewell before giving the church one last good look. They were about to grab their things to depart as well before the doors opened. They turned to look at Father Rollo, who emerged from his office. 

“F-Father Rollo. . .what brings you out here so late?” 

“I’m just giving the Church one final look, but I did hope to catch you before you left.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, come [Reader], take a walk with me.” 

[Reader] approached Rollo and their walk began. He was taking them across the Cathedral to put out the candles. 

“I know it’s been a while, but how have you been enjoying yourself in Fleur City?” 

“Oh, just fine! Thank you again, for all that you’ve done of course. It certainly feels amazing being able to freely leave and return without being shackled down. Not to mention, it’s a lot more eventful than I remember.” 

“I see, Father Pheobus has attempted to get more events hosted by the church. He would like the city to get together once in a while. It’s something new that he has been doing, but it seems that the townspeople enjoy it.” 

“That they do, may I ask, Father Rollo? Do you not like to get involved in events like these?” 

The main hall of the Cathedral was darkening with each step, 

“I wouldn’t say I dislike it. Socializing with others isn’t my strong suit, I tend to other matters that I excel at rather than mistakenly saying something I don’t mean.” 

[Reader] had noticed that Rollo tended to stay in the shadows and only speak when something needed to be said. If someone approached him and tried conversing, Rollo would maintain the utmost professionalism. He wasn’t one for idle chatter but never turned someone down if they wanted to have a word with him. Rollo continued his task, with [Reader] following close behind. 

“That’s fair. Sometimes not saying anything is the proper response, but I can see how that may stress you out. After all, you are a priest and everyone’s eyes are on you. Sorry, don’t mean to add to the pressure either.” 

As the candles were extinguished one by one, Rollo’s heels added to the ominous vibe that the Cathedral was giving. 

“You’re right, [Reader]. As a priest, all their eyes are on me waiting to hear what I  say but as such, my eyes are also on them. Despite what I preach, I believe that not everyone is capable of salvation. Humans are not devoid of sin, that is the truth. Though we are created in God’s image, we certainly are not perfect. There are those where their sins are mistakes and nothing more. Then some’s sins are perfectly under their control yet still choose to see nothing wrong in their actions. You can have that outlier where one of those wishes to repent and truly feel regret, but then some parade around shamelessly into God’s house asking for forgiveness. It’s laughable.” 

[Reader] remained silent. There was nothing they could say because ultimately, Father Rollo was right to some degree. Though they would be lying if they weren’t off-put by his sudden change. 

“ Did you know that the baker is having an affair? Ongoing for four years actually, yet he never fails to bring his wife and kids into mass every Sunday morning, thanking God for allowing them to live the way they do. They recently had their marriage anniversary, married for 10 years to be exact. I remember I was the one who renewed their vows. His words still ring in my head,”

“I will love you forever and until the end. You’re the pillar that provides me with the strength to keep going. I would never want another partner other than you, the woman I chose to be the mother of my children. I thank God for this blessing that is you, my love.” 

“How romantic, don’t you think? That same night he went back to his other partner, claiming that they had a big order for an event and he needed to be one step ahead of the game. How could I forget the previous head of the Orphanage, asking for food to provide for the children? The church and townspeople helped with what they could, but every time those children would come into mass they remained as thin as ever but the head remained full and content. It wasn’t until I stepped in and of course, led an investigation to find out that he was starving the kids and eating all the food. Now the orphanage is under the care of the Church, to be more specific, under my direct care. Don’t you see how happy those children are every time you come to mass? I even remember when Madam first came to the church, she told us the story of her husband's passing. She and her beloved husband were walking back home when an armed assailant was waiting for them, upon asking for their valuables he stabbed her husband over 27 times before fleeing. When the man was caught, he was just a petty thief who confessed to the crime. Their reasoning was they had no need to steal but got a kick out of watching the fear in the eyes of the defenseless manifest and to make matters worse, this was his first time killing since he never dared to do it before. What could an elderly man do to him had he chosen to fight back, nothing. That same thief pleaded with God before his execution that I had carried out, to spare him.” 

By the time Rollo had gotten to his part in his talk, almost all the candles were out except for four in the front of the altar. There Rollo turned around, facing [Reader] who stood in the middle closest to the altar. He was closest to the church doors but that area had been pitch black. He continued his speech and though he did not pose a threat to [Reader], yet, They couldn’t help the goosebumps that were forming on their skin and the sudden draft within the Cathedral. 

“Of course, the world is not black and white. There is no right or wrong, for if there was I too would have been punished. It’s not practical for me to base my distaste of humanity on a few bad apples, Madam, even after everything she went through still says that everyone deserves salvation but it’s like you said, [Reader]. We’re all so used to this world the way it is that a simple act of kindness, normalcy if you will, is considered a rarity.” 

[Reader] had recalled when they told that vendor that, those were their words and they still stood by it. The only thing was, they told that to the vendor, not Rollo. They shakily took a step back but kept their eyes trained on Rollo. He noticed their expression as well as their stance, but it was no use. The door to the church was locked and only Rollo had the key. He took a step forward, emerging from the darkness and [Reader] took a step back. 

“F-Father Rollo. . is this what you wanted to talk to me about? Sorry. . I just don’t know how this relates to me. . .” 

He let out a chuckle, 

“ You asked why I don’t like to get involved, right? That is my answer. It’s hard to get involved when I am surrounded by the same people I wish I could condemn. However, you are different. I’ll let you in on a little secret, I too have been keeping an eye on you long before we officially met.  You treated everyone with kindness even those that did not deserve it. You remained as human as possible, someone who could voice their feelings and care for everyone equally, even yourself. It was a sight for sore eyes, like an angel in a sea of devils. You tried your best and worked hard, but you knew what you could and couldn’t do. You were even starting to make me regain hope in this world but I quickly noticed that warm light inside of you start to flicker. It was all because of him, [Partner’s Name]. He had slowly started to dim that warm light inside of you and I couldn’t do anything, or so I thought. Your partner driving you out of your home was not accidental,  I can assure you. I had him lure you here, into the Church. There, I was able to save you from him.” 

[Reader’s] breath hitched. They had always assumed that all the events that led up to now were a mere coincidence, life just being its usual confusing self. It was not unusual for their partner to enter their shared home and demand things, bossing them around. They had assumed that it was the usual same old story. This didn’t change how they saw their partner and their relief that he was no longer in their life, but it changed their perception of Rollo. Had Rollo orchestrated their whole thing? Since when? For how long? Most importantly, for what? 

“Since we are in a church, I might as well confess. I have kept my eye on every single Fleur citizen since I became a priest, but I have kept my eye on you for months now. It’s hard for me to communicate with everyone, but not you [Reader]. Since I’ve been admiring you from a distance, I’ve come to love you. I love your person and your way of being. Your kindness, your truth, your struggles, everything about you I have come to love.” 

By now, [Reader] was up against the altar with Rollo standing in front of them. Both were illuminated by the remaining candles, his hand reached out to caress their cheek. 

“I’ve come to love everything about you, [Reader], even the parts that you aren’t aware of. I’ll remain to love them as well, for there is no one else.” 

“F-Father R-Rollo, I-!” 

He leaned closer to them, his piercing blue-green eyes staring into [Readers] fearful and confused ones. He placed a kiss on their lips, tilting their head back to get a better angle. Seconds passed before he lifted his lips from them, 

“. .And if you were to fall into sin, let it be by my hands.” 

Conflicted could not begin to describe it. The person they loved reciprocated their feelings, so much that they kissed at this very moment. Though logically speaking, Rollo had just admitted to orchestrating the whole thing. Who knew what was the truth and what was a lie? Did their partner move? Was it willingly? Most importantly, did it matter? Sure, maybe there was a time when logic was sound but that time wasn’t right now. Thinking with their heart, [Reader] kissed back. They shared a deep and sensual kiss that neither one dared to break. Rollo pushed his body up against [Reader], grinding into them. The altar luckily wasn’t too high, but there were small steps on either side that allowed them to effortlessly get on the altar. Rollo managed to push their back flat against the cold marbled table, 

“F-Father R-Rollo, are you sure? Y-you’re a man with a vow and-” 

“[Reader], I love you.” 

Their eyes widened once more at the confession and looking up, they weren’t meant with the Rollo they knew. He was no longer stoic and professional, this Rollo was vulnerable. His cheeks were flushed pink as he straddled [Reader’s] hips. His body loomed over theirs and his hands went to open their top. His eyes were glossed over with love and desire. [Reader’s] top was opened to expose their chest and his hands lightly touched their skin. His cold fingers trailed from their neck, chest, and lastly their nipples. Rollo let out a shaky sigh, 

“I love you. Let me worship you, with God as my witness let me prove my devotion to you. .” 

Rollo’s lips neared [Reader’s] and they exchanged a kiss. He lightly bit on their bottom lip, asking for permission to further taste them. A moan escaped [Reader] but they opened their mouth to allow his tongue inside. Rollo pressed himself further into [Reader], afraid to let go. Needing air, [Reader] placed their hands on his clothed chest, pushing against it. Releasing their lips, Rollo straightened but released a breathy moan. [Reader] could see the warmth spreading across his pale skin, but could also feel his growing bulge. Rollo began to lean back down but stopped when [Reader] went to open his top. He allowed them to strip him of his shirt, allowing his pale chest to be exposed. 

“I want to see you too, R-Rollo. . .” 

The tip of his ears turned pink at the comment. He leaned down to their neck, licking up and down. Nibbling and biting down to create hickeys. His lips trailed down, kissing the skin around the newly formed hickey and down to their chest. Moans spilled from both Rollo and [Reader], the pleasure shared between the two. His tongue swirled around their nipple, lightly biting and sucking on them. [Reader] tenderly held Rollo’s head as he worked on their chest. Shaky breaths echoed throughout the Cathedral. 

“F-Fuck. . R-Rollo-!” 

Rollo lifted himself from their chest and saw the bright pink/red circular marks all across their chest. 

“Not enough. . .it’s not e-enough. . “ 

Rollo leaned back down, kissing down to their navel area. His hands played with their bottoms, opening them agonizingly slow. He pulled them down their legs and he shifted back, making sure he could properly remove them. 

“F-Fuck, y-your sex. . .” 

Rollo’s shaky moans slipped out, he stared in awe at [Reader’s] aroused sex. He shifted back before nearing their sex and inhaling their scent. Rollo’s fingers carefully touched around, going to their most sensitive spot and circling his finger around. 

“R-Rollo…right there…feels good….” 

Rollo nodded, continuing to circle his finger. After a while he leaned down, placing his tongue on their sensitive spot. He licked around, replacing the movement of his finger, and began to lick up and down. [Reader] let out soft moans and breaths as he continued pleasuring them. He began to kiss, suck, lick, pinch, and stroke their sensitive bits. Rollo took a break to lick his fingers and pushed them against [Reader’s] hole. Lightly inserting a finger inside, feeling them clench around it. 

“Do you lust for me. . the same way I lust for you?” 

“ I-I’ve a-always wanted you-ngh!” 

Though Rollo wasn’t attending to their sex with his mouth, he was still reaching inside them with his fingers. Slipping a second finger to curl up against that soft spot inside them, pumping rhythmically. Rollo leaned back down, placing his mouth back on their sex. Rollo himself wasn’t too experienced, but based on their sounds, he knew more or so where to touch. His long slender fingers managed to reach thoroughly and the stimulation with his tongue was overwhelming.

“F-Fuck Rollo, g-gonna cum-!” 

Rollo continued to abuse their sex, giving them that final push needed to orgasm. Rollo’s face was drenched with drool and cum, but still managed to swallow everything that they released. He unbuttoned his pants, releasing his cock that was already leaking pre-cum. He wrapped his hands around it, stroking himself. 

“Can I-fuck! P-put it inside you. . .?” 

Rollo’s half-lidded eyes pleaded with [Reader’s], begging to fuck them.  [Reader] propped themself up with their elbow, sat up, and kissed him. Rollo leaned forward to reciprocate. They placed their hands on his cheeks and lightly caressed, 

“You may. . .but can I. .be on top?” 

Rollo softly nodded, letting [Reader] guide him to lie down on the altar instead. [Reader] went to stimulate his already hard dick, but wrapped their hands around it and jerk him, smearing his pre-cum around. They licked their fingers and trailed them down to their hole, lightly fingering themselves to adjust to his size. They scissored themself and when they were ready, hovered over his cock. They lowered themselves onto Rollo’s cock, clenching down on his dick. 

“F-Fuck you’re tight-!” 

Rollo threw his head back at the sensation and his hands reached to hold [Reader’s] hip. [Reader] stayed still to adjust to his size but after a while, began to move. Riding his cock, [Reader] threw their head back as breaths left them, their back slowly arching. Rollo thrust, matching their pace as well. One of his hands moved to their sex, stimulating it at the same pace. 

Aside from the candles, the moonlight entered the Cathedral through the stained glass. The hue of the deep blues and purples reflected off their skin, creating an almost angelic glow. Their moans and whines echoed throughout the church, Rollo’s back was on the altar and his body coated in sweat. His eyes glossed over with tears, looking over at [Reader] who fared the same. Their body was sweaty and warm, their movements were slowing with time. Rollo’s thrust became more erratic, reaching deeper into [Reader]. 

“I-I’m close-! F-Fuck, f-feels s-so good-! Rollo!” 

Mewls spilled out of [Reader]’s mouth. 

“M-Me too-! I-I love you! L-Love you so much! God, I love you so much, [Reader]!” 

“I l-love you too, R-Rollo-!” 

With their final declaration of love, [Reader] came all over Rollo and he came deep inside of them. Their deep breaths were heard throughout the cathedral. [Reader] slumped on top of Rollo with his cock still inside them. They nuzzled into Rollo’s neck, peppering light kisses. 

“Love you s’much, Rollo.” 

“I love you too. . .[Reader].” 

His arms wrapped around them, pressing them closer into him. They stayed like that for a while, before [Reader] perked up, looking at his face. 

“I-I do have a question though. . .did you know that I liked you?” 

Rollo looked down to see their curious gaze, he adverted his eyes with a blush staining his cheeks. 

“It. . .it wasn’t Father Pheobus in the Confessional. It. . .it was me. . .” 

[Readers] face fell, 

“S-SO I CONFESSED TO YOU?” 

[Reader] buried their face in his neck, Rollo let out a soft smile at their antics. 

“That you did. Though I am glad, without you confessing to me, this never would have happened.” 

Still buried in his neck, they mumbled a couple of words. 

“I love you. . .” 

Rollo, of course, said it back. He could hear their soft snores, they had passed out from exhaustion. Only one thought lay in his mind, there was no one else other than him that could preserve the purity within [Reader]. 

‘If hellfire must consume me, so be it. I will never let anyone else take you away from me. Your purity is for me to preserve and to taint, no one else.’ 

This was only the beginning of the tragic tell that would come about to Twisted Wonderland. The story of the righteous priest and judge who burned down Fleur City, all because of their desire for someone they could never truly have. 

A/N: So that was a long one. . .how we feeling? I don’t think I will ever write a part 2, sorry :(( UNLESS I get inspiration but I do want to write headcanons for him so maybe? That being said I will be posting another post that will talk about the future of this blog (I AM NOT LEAVING DW)! That being said, I want to thank my friends for helping me with this fic! Special mention to my friend who helped me confirm his personality for me (I love you Nova) and my other friend, who got horny thoughts when they went to church! :3 

[rpmemes-galore]

The Pretty Reckless : Going to Hell album ... sentence starters

"Have I lost my mind?"

"You want me to burn."

"Blame all your life on me."

"Follow me down to the river."

"Love comes with such a cost."

"Drink while the water is clean."

"Don’t ask me where I’ve been."

"Won't be pretty, won't be sweet."

"Since I met you, I've been crazy."

"Don't confess none of your sins."

"My intention is to fade and I will."

"You'll be left with nothing, again."

"Looks like I’m not coming home..."

"The devil's knocking at your door."

"But I don’t mind, please don’t cry."

"Don't do a goddamn thing they say."

"All this time, the joke was all on me."

"You make everything seem so hazy."

"Did I succeed and make you proud?"

"Everything I wanted was in my hand."

"You are the knight that saves my day."

"Dear boy, what are you running from?"

"But now I’m versed in so much worse."

"Since I've been with you, I've been lost."

"Start your life with your head held high."

"If you listen close, you can hear him cry."

"Come inside, I've got some sweet things."

"For the love that I make, I’m going to hell."

"The night is when the ghosts all come out."

"For the vows that I break, I’m going to hell."

"Maybe I wish I could die, maybe I am dead."

"Now I know that there's a different way to die."

"I wanted you to stay, seems you wanted more."

"Come inside, don't be afraid, I’ll keep you safe."

"Their intention is to kill and they will… they will."

"It's a fucked up world, what do you get from it?"

"Here comes the darkness, it's eating at my soul."

"I got one foot in the cradle and one in the grave."

"No mountain made of money can buy you a soul."

"Now you're on your knees with your head hung low."

"See, I don't know you, why do you wanna know me?"

"I'm waiting for my friend to come and break me out."

"Oh Lord, heaven knows, we belong way down below."

"I am sitting on a throne while they’re buried in the dirt."

"My body breathes. Heart still beats. But I am not alive."

"When you're young, you always take what you can get."

"I’ve been locked up a while. I got caught for what I did."

"I don’t mind if you take what's yours, but give me mine."

"But I don't go 'round and take it out on everyone about it."

"Somewhere in the end of all this hate, there's a light ahead."

"You wanna start a war? You think that anyone would listen?"

"You wanna tell them what you think, you think they fucking care?"

"If it came down to make a choice, I would be the one who’s replaced."

"I’ve told the truth so many years, but no one seems to wanna hear that."

[caesariawritesstuff]

Damaged Goods

Summary: When Jonathan Crane comes to work for the GCPD, he sets his sights on the young detective who's involved with Edward Nigma.

Content Warning: Angst & Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse

Word Count: 6.7k

Note: This fic is purely self-indulgent and currently not canon to the official Cat & Mouse!Verse...but it might be! The Jonathan x Detective brain rot is real and this desperately needed to be on the page.

Following in the path of Edward Nigma was something Jonathan Crane had never quite pictured himself doing. He did not have the same weakness Edward did: he was not bound by an ego so large that it ruled his every move, or an obsession with riddles and puzzles. Jonathan was immune to such weakness. While, of course, one could say his own obsession was with fear – he did not considered that obsession to be a weakness, to be something that held him down. His obsession made him stronger, made him more capable than the others around him – it was simply too bad the others around him were incapable of showing the true fear on their faces when he walked by. He’d only been at the GCPD for a week now. When City Council approached him a few days ago about a case needing to be solved, men and women being murdered and their bodies melting from the inside out at result of a toxin  that the medical examiner could not identify, he found his interest piqued.

Of course, they offered him something in return: for helping solve the case, he would be granted release from Arkham and the chance to reform. It was a tempting offer, however, Jonathan did not have much use for such things as “reform”. What he did not like was competition – someone else out there experimenting with toxins and causing fear and paranoia in the heart of Gotham’s citizens was his job. Fear was his domain, and he would not be upstaged. However, he couldn’t deny that getting out of Arkham for some time would be a nice reprieve away from his cell in Solitary Confinement. He’d been stuck there for the last several months, hoping to get out as soon as the opportunity presented itself – he just hadn’t imagined it was presenting itself in the form of a City Council member with a tempting offer he couldn’t refuse.

Though, Jonathan admitted he felt a bit like a hypocrite. It was only months ago that he was sitting across from Edward Nigma, being told of the same opportunity the man had been given, and feeling a bit like it was a waste of Edward’s skillset.

“The GCPD?” Jonathan had asked.

Edward only nodded, not looking up, his gaze focused on the white chess pieces in front of him. They’d been a stalemate for an hour now, neither one moving their piece.

“Whatever will you do there, Edward?” Jonathan asked. “Commit yourself to a life of humiliating stares from those around you? You know what they’ll think. What they’ll say.”

Edward’s brows furrowed for the slightest moment, the only tell of his frustration that Jonathan noticed with ease. The two had known each other long enough. But even Jonathan had to admit that Edward’s determination to his silly little reform was quite fascinating. The fact that Edward hadn’t even attempted to break out of Arkham in the last three years was telling enough, and Jonathan only wondered what Edward was afraid of now that Batman was long gone. Still, the thought of Batman had a deep anger rumble in Jonathan’s stomach. The Dark Knight was long gone, and he’d won – being the first to unmask the Bat – but it had not come without it’s own price. Being injected with a high dose of his own toxin had sent him spiraling into his own fear state, one that took him months to recover from. But that was a different time, one he had put behind him long ago.

“I’m going to do it, Crane,” Edward finally said. “Batman is gone. I don’t feel like wasting the rest of my life in a cell. There’s so much greater things out there for my genius and I. Think of everything Gotham is missing out on without me there?”

Jonathan held in a sigh. Of course Edward’s patented ego was coming out, no matter how much he claimed he did not have one. He said nothing, contemplating Edward’s words. In truth, Jonathan felt quite differently – there were much better things Edward could be doing than wasting his time down at the GCPD, but he held his tongue.

Edward finally met his eyes, hardened, dark shadows circling underneath him. “I made a promise, Crane. I don’t intend to break it.” With that, he moved one piece across the board and smirked. “Your move.”

If Jonathan had known he would be following in Edward’s footsteps now, perhaps he’d have done something differently. At the time, he’d thought Edward’s “promise” was foolish, one he would not be able to keep, but so far he’d been proven wrong. He’d heard of the cases that Edward had helped solve with the aide of a silly little Detective – a detective, whom Jonathan had come to learn, Edward had quite the obsession with.

Jonathan narrowed his eyes as he looked around at the GCPD morgue. There was quite the chill, but he was used to it, and he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror on the sidewall: three years had done quite the number on him. The mask that had been grafted to his skin had once been his face, but over time, the graft itself had begun to break down. He would have ignored it, if not for the infection that had begun underneath, prompting the Arkham doctors to convince him to go in for surgery to correct more of the damage from Croc’s mauling. Several surgeries later, he still did not quite look like himself: but his nose had been restructured, his lips slightly fixed, though there was still damage to his eye. His brown hair was thinned across his head, fully grown back by now, and yet he didn’t quite care for his appearance. He had been fine with the mask – though the Arkham doctors didn’t seem quite convinced to allow another one to be grafted onto his skin. Perhaps it was for the best, considering the way it’d broken down once.

Frowning, he studied himself a little further, taking note of the little scars across his pale, aged skin. He straightened out the white lab coat he wore, delicately laid out over a pair of tan pants and a brown sweater with gold accents. The brace around his leg was still secure, considering it was permanently broken, but he was used to it. His frown deepened and he turned away, back to the task at hand: the body splayed out across the silver tables, each of the victims’ bodies cold, gray, the stench of death permeating the room. Jonathan’s gaze slid to the other side of the room, where the medical examiner, Dr. Collins, was currently busy working on writing up reports about the victims. Jonathan turned back and headed over to one of the bodies, snatching up the clipboard and quickly skimming the initial reports Dr. Collins had made. The mans findings were…adequate. It was not wonder City Council had called him in to consult on this case; the man certainly was out of his element.

Just as he set the clipboard down, the sound of footsteps got his attention and he perked up just in time to see two people walk inside – you, and your partner, whom Jonathan had come to learn was named Mack Rollins. But Jonathan’s gaze immediately landed on you, studying you with a strange interest, taking note of your black slacks and green blouse that was open just enough to reveal a bit of cleavage. Jonathan wouldn’t normally take note of such trivial primal things, but, well…he found himself curious about what Edward Nigma saw in you. He’d never known Edward to have interest in his own primal urges, but knowing that you were capable of wrapping a man like Edward Nigma around your little finger, well…it was quite intriguing. Something he found himself needing to study, to analyze, to pick apart, to understand. What was so special about you that could make a man like Edward Nigma follow you around like a lost puppy dog, with you holding the leash?

That, Jonathan found, was the question he was most curious about.

As soon as you and your partner walked into the room, a strange tension sucked out the air, so sharp it couldn’t be cut with a knife. Jonathan narrowed his eyes, but Mack stepped forward, hands shoved into his pockets and said, “Crane. Have you made any progress on our victims?”

Jonathan studied the man slowly, deliberately taking his time to answer the question. He never imagined he’d be down in the GCPD morgue consulting on a case, but here he was. He set the clipboard aside and said, “It seems the victims have all be killed with a concoction of very lethal neurotoxins. Discovering the toxin compound will take time.”

You frowned, glancing down at one of the bodies, studying it carefully. Jonathan noticed the subtle way your lip jutted out, almost as if in concentration – but that was when he noticed something else, too: there, around your neck, was a silver chain, and dangling from it was a green question mark pendant. Clearly a gift from Edward.

Mack sighed, turning to you. “Whoever this bastard is, he’s killed every week. I don’t doubt he’s going to let up, and what is he planning?”

“This could be a trial run,” you said. “An attempt at seeing how his toxin works before he uses it on a mass crowd of people.”

Jonathan smirked, because he had a feeling you were correct in your assumption. It was entirely possible that the culprit was preparing for something big. After all, one did not perfect their toxin without a bit of experimentation, now did they?

Dr. Collins spoke up, “We’re taking care of it,” he said. “Dr. Crane and I are working day and night to analyze the toxins compounds. We’ll let you know as soon as we have something.”

Jonathan glanced at the man, frowning, even though his words were true. Jonathan was being worked like a dog day and night for the last several days since he arrived, and the weight of his newfound ankle monitor around his ankle was certainly not making things easier. The only reprieve he had was to head back to his city council issued apartment and catch a few moments of sleep, but even that was far and few between, as he kept himself awake most of the night pouring over medical files and chemical compounds in an attempt to understand this new toxin roaming Gotham’s streets – and, perhaps, set his own new plans in motion the moment those fools at city hall granted him his reform. But first, he had to play by the rules.

Mack nodded, and turned on his heels, before heading back the way he came. You followed him, but for the slightest second, you met eyes with Jonathan. It was brief, enough to make something coil in Jonathan’s stomach, a strange curiosity, and then you were out of the room without another word.

______

Several hours later, Jonathan found himself rubbing at his tired eyes. It was getting late, and he needed to send over the new reports that Dr. Collins had written up. Easier to do it by email, but he couldn’t help the curiosity building in his veins. He had not been able to stop thinking about you since you left; his curiosity needed satiating. His thoughts only continued to fill with questions: he did not understand what Edward saw in you, or why he’d gift you anything at all. Even if the necklace did look like a shiny collar more than anything.

Collecting his things, Jonathan made his way down the hall and took the elevator up to the Homicide Divisions floor. He waited patiently until the doors opened, and he stepped out, narrowing his eyes. Most of the detectives had gone home for the night, leaving behind empty desks stacked full of mountains of paperwork, but Jonathan’s gaze immediately strayed to the Cybercrimes Division office down the hall. He wandered through the room, each step a dull ache against his broken leg, but when he peeked his head inside – he realized the office was empty. That was, until voices from the other side of the room got his attention.

There, in the break room, he noticed you standing by a coffee pot, pouring yourself a cup. Steam floated into the air, and you turned back, leaning against the counter as you said, “Edward, I don’t understand why you think this will help us.”

“Because, my dear, it’s important that we cross reference everyone from every single pharmaceutical company in Gotham,” Edward replied, his voice smooth, arrogant, familiar.

“That is going to be hundreds of people,” you sighed.

“Correction, my dear: a few thousand,” Edward replied.

There was moment of silence, and Jonathan lingered back, before he heard a small laugh escape from your lips. His eyes narrowed into slits, but he walked into the room, finding you and Edward sitting across from each other at a small table, a laptop in front of Edward. You immediately turned around and found him standing there, and your lips fell open slightly, as if in surprise to see his presence.

“Crane,” Edward said, a hint of surprise in his own voice. “Finally emerged from your cave, I see. How are you faring here in this wondering institution?”

Jonathan was quiet for a moment, his gaze flickering between you and Edward – taking note of your body language, the way your foot touched Edward’s underneath the table, how your arm was just a little too close to his own. A clear sign of physical connection that Jonathan was not used to seeing Edward display with someone else.

“I have some records for you,” Jonathan said smoothly. “I thought I’d deliver them myself.” He wandered over, handing over the file to you.

You hesitated, but took it, and for just a moment – your fingertips brushed against his own. The sensation was quick, barely a heartbeat, but for some reason it made Jonathan’s stomach tighten with something strange, a stirring deep within his gut. He met your eyes once more: wide, with a heavy coat of mascara, your lips tinted in a pink, glossy sheen. You glanced at Edward as you took the files.

“Thank you, Dr. Crane,” you finally said. “I’m sure this will be helpful to the investigation.” You leaned back in your seat, crossing one leg over the other as you opened the folder, as if no longer considering him and his presence.

“Crane,” Edward said. “Come. Sit. Do regal us with tales of toxins.” He gestured to the seat in on the other side of the table, before picking up a mug of coffee and taking a slow sip.

Jonathan hesitated. He had work to do, too much, but he found himself interested. He hadn’t spoken to Edward much since arriving to the GCPD, but now was the perfect opportunity to get to know you a little better – perhaps, to understand what this strange hold you had over Edward was that had him so intrigued. There certainly couldn’t be anything that special about you, now could there be?

Jonathan pulled out the chair and sat in between the two of you finally, resting his hands in his lap, but he took note of the way you looked up from the folders and shot Edward a look. A silent conversation seemed to pass between you and Edward, something written in your gaze that intrigued Jonathan even more – but what was it? Perhaps it was apprehension. With the way your shoulders suddenly tensed, he couldn’t help but notice the flicker of uncertainty that passed through your eyes. Jonathan lips pressed into a thin line.

“How are you liking it here at the GCPD?” Edward asked, leaning back in his chair as he folded his hands together. “Is it everything you dreamed of, Crane?”

“Why yes, Edward,” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can see why you’ve stuck to your…reform for so long.”

Edward smirked, a low chuckle rumbling from deep within his throat. “Well, I do what I must. Gotham is in need of my services, after all. And what would they do without me?”

You snorted, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Edward shot you a grin and you smiled back at him, an exchange that did not escape Jonathan’s notice.

“Right,” you said, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palm. “Oh yes, the great Edward Nigma, forever offering his services to Gotham. How grateful we are.”

Edward’s smirk grew. “Well, detective, someone has to be.”

Jonathan sensed another silent exchange a words, and a tricky look seemed to fill Edward’s eyes. It was quite clear what your relationship with Edward entailed. Jonathan had not been blind to the whispers he’d heard running through the GCPD. The officers certainly liked to talk, and their mouths were bigger than their brains.

Edward opened his mouth to speak, but Cash’s voice boomed from the other room, “Nigma! Get your ass in here!” he called out.

Edward rolled his eyes. “Apologies, Crane, but the Commissioner calls.” He backed out of his chair and stood up, before pausing to glance at you once more, and slipping out of the room – leaving Jonathan and you all alone.

His gaze slid to you once again, but your attention was back on the folders before you, spreading out a series of toxicology reports. He couldn’t help but notice the look in your eyes, the way your bottom lip jutted out, as if in a pout, and your brows furrowed with the very obvious look that you had no idea what you were reading.

“Toxicology is not your forte, detective?” he decided to ask.

Finally, you sighed and shoved the papers aside. “Definitely not. I have no idea what any of this means.”

Of course you don’t, Jonathan thought. How could he expect someone as simple as you to understand something so complicated? What ever did Edward see in you? He fought the urge to roll his eyes, trying to keep his composure, and he slid one of the papers back to himself. With his index finger, he pointed to one of the toxins, explaining just what it did and how it affected the human body. You listened intently, nodding, as if taking in all he was saying.

“So,” you said when he was finished. “This is more complicated than I thought.” You leaned back in your chair and groaned, crossing your arms over yourself. Your breasts slightly popped out of your blouse with the movement.

Jonathan was quiet for a long moment. He studied you carefully, trying to understand what was so special about you. But you glanced at him, before looking away again, the movement so fast Jonathan registered it for exactly what it was: a moment of fear.

As if you were afraid of him.

A ripple of excitement surged through Jonathan’s stomach. He lifted his chin slightly, his curiosity increasing, and he found his thoughts wandering – wondering just what would happen if he injected you with his toxin, what kind of response he would get from you. What dark secrets would spill from your lips? What was your greatest fear? What things would you scream out as you writhed around, desperately searching for a way out from your nightmares? That, Jonathan realized, was what fascinated him most of all.

“Well,” you said, clearing your throat, your fingers straying upwards to play with the dangling pendant around your neck. “I should be going. Thank you for this, Dr. Crane.” You snatched up the files and began to head out the door. But as you did, you stole one glance back at him, studying him, before slipping out the door without another word.

Jonathan’s lips curves upwards, his curiosity fueling him even more now. He was not sure what it was – but there was something about you that had him…interested, in a way he had not been in a very, very long time. And he was determined to figure out what it was about you that was burrowing into his brain like some kind of rabid parasite, eating away at him. Whatever Edward saw in you, he wanted to find that little thing for himself. And oh, how fun it would be to pry it out of you, to make you squirm, to understand what exactly was so special about you that had Edward wrapped around your little finger. Because if you could make a man like Edward Nigma break…what other dangers did you possess?

That, Jonathan discovered, was what he wondered most of all.

______

The days passed slowly, and Jonathan was no closer to finding the solution to the toxin this new murderer on the streets was using. But with each passing day, as he found himself coming to and from the GCPD, he found himself running into you more often that not. In the halls, he often caught glimpses of you by Edward’s side, and he watched as the two of you left work together, arm in arm, whispering to one another in the shadows. Jonathan was not sure what it was about your relationship with Edward that fascinated him so, but it did not take Jonathan long to learn that the people called you the Riddler’s Whore, whispered about you behind closed doors, found it unbelievable that you would be with a criminal like Edward. And perhaps that was what Jonathan needed answering – why such a respected detective in the GCPD would fall for a criminal, albeit a reformed one, like Edward Nigma.

It did not take Jonathan long to devise a plan of his own, one to get you alone for a small moment, just to ask a few questions. He timed the seconds until he could set his plan in motion, and when the time came, he called upstairs to your desk, asking if you could come downstairs to the morgue. Dr. Collins had already left on his lunch break, and he knew your partner had taken the day off work – leaving you all alone. It did not take long for you to come downstairs, and he heard the elevator doors open, your heels clacking against the floor as you made your way into the morgue. You stepped into the room, hanging back in the doorway slightly.

“You wanted to see me, Dr. Crane?” you asked, one hand gripping the doorway.

Jonathan pretended to barely notice your presence, glancing at you for a split second. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve made progress in determining the toxin,” he said.

“Oh?” you asked, your attention fully on him now.

Jonathan nodded, turning back to his desk, and he glanced at the clock – and right on time, all of the lights in the GCPD went on, bathing everything in darkness. He heard your heals clack against the floor, as if you were shifting back and forth on your feet, and a moment later, a thunderous bang rang throughout, as if the backup generator was kicking on. A soft blue, overhead light came overhead, but most of the room was bathed in darkness.

“Shit,” you mumbled underneath your breath.

It was just as he’d planned – hiring a few men to cut the power to the GCPD and to the elevator. There was no way you’d be getting back upstairs now, at least not until the problem was fixed. He had twenty minutes, tops, perhaps. Enough time for what he needed.

“Afraid, detective?” he asked, busying himself with a few vials of chemicals, carefully not breaking contact from the vials.

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” you said, stepping further into the room.

“Then what are you afraid of?” he asked, curious.

You were hesitant for a moment, so long that he turned back to see if you were even listening, but you crossed your arms over yourself and leaned back against the wall.

“All right,” you sighed. “I’ll play your game, Crane. If you want to know, I’m afraid of being eaten alive.”

“Eaten alive?” he asked, brows raising.

“Yeah. You know, by a shark or a crocodile. Or a dinosaur.”

“Dinosaurs went extinct millions of years ago, detective.”

“Well if you can create a fear toxin that makes people experience their greatest fears, what’s stopping some scientists from re-creating the dinosaurs?” you asked, but there was something oddly playful in your tone.

Jonathan did not know how to respond to that. He did not recall ever being questioned about the scientific recreation of dinosaurs before, but alas, that was besides the matter. He turned back to his vials, the stench of chemicals filling his nose. The clinking of vials filled the quiet space.

Jonathan took a moment to listen for any movements, but you said nothing, so he continued, “You and Edward seem quite close.”

“Well, he is my boyfriend,” you said.

Jonathan scoffed at the word, how juvenile it sounded. He glanced back at you and finally said, “I’ve never known Edward to take interest in such…menial pursuits.”

You shrugged, not breaking eye contact from him. “Well, things change.”

Jonathan finally swiveled around in his chair, studying you with clear, careful intent. “And what will you do when he decides he’s finished with you?”

You straightened. Now he had your full attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It was his turn to shrug, nonchalantly, as if without care. “We both know Edward only cares about himself. His narcissism doesn’t lie. Surely you can’t be that naïve, can you?”

“I know who he is,” you said, quietly. “I know what he’s done, and I’ve accepted it.”

“Have you now?” Jonathan asked, his curiosity growing. Now this was making him grow even more fascinated: what would cause a GCPD detective like yourself to fall for a criminal like Edward? The two of you were on completely opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet, somehow both enamored with one another.

“Yes,” you replied, staring at him closely, eyeing him as if he might make a move. “What does it matter to you, Crane?”

“I’m simply fascinated,” he replied. “What’s so special about you that has Edward so…enamored. I can see the way he looks at you. The way he follows you around like a poor, lost puppy. I’m…curious.”

Your quiet for a long moment, your eyes narrowing into slits. They sparkled in the darkness, the blue hue of the overhead light casting shadows across the room.

“You’re going to have to ask him,” you finally said, your tone level, composed, but there was just a hint of uncertainty in it that Jonathan detected.

“I’m not asking him, detective,” Jonathan replied. “I’m asking you.”

Your frown deepened, and you finally looked away. “Well, I can’t give you an answer, doctor. Ask Edward yourself.”

Jonathan leaned forward slightly in his seat. “Doesn’t it fascinate you as well?” he asked. “Why someone like Edward Nigma would become so infatuated with you?”

You shifted back and forth on your feet, heels clacking, the only sound in the room, in the quiet stillness. Jonathan counted the minutes – he still had about fifteen to get what he wanted, the answer he was desperate for. His own fascination with you was beginning to grow further, a desperation to understand you. To understood what made you tick, what you feared, the pieces of your mind he wanted to shape and mold and understand.

He could see that look in your eyes, as if you were asking yourself the very same question, trying to understand it yourself. A smirk curved at the edge of his lips, realizing he had you right where he wanted you: questioning the very fabric of your relationship with Edward, held together by fragile threads. Jonathan quirked a brow, studying you carefully.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered him, your voice quiet.

Jonathan clicked his tongue in response. So, even you did not seem to know what was so special about you that had allowed you to wrap Edward around your little finger. But Jonathan was determined to figure out just what little piece of you was – to twist it and mold it to his own.

Jonathan finally stood, backing away from the table of vials and taking a step towards you. “You didn’t answer my question, detective. When Edward has decided he’s had his fill of you – that you’re no longer his shiny new toy – what will you do? I’ve heard the rumors. Tell me…has Nigma ruined you? Corrupted you? When he’s finished with you, who will want you afterwards?”

Your mouth falls open slightly and you step back a little, the shock written clearly across your face. It’s clear his question has taken you aback, and that makes a flicker of pride spark in Jonathan’s chest.

“You’re damaged goods, detective,” Jonathan continue. “No one will want you now that you’ve been…tainted by Edward, will they? He’s taken that innocent part of you and twisted it until there’s nothing left of who you used to be, is there?”

“Crane…” you said, a warning in your tone. “I’m not playing this game with you. Stop trying to get under my skin.” Your body went taught then, and he could practically smell the fear radiating off your skin, a deliciousness that only fueled his intrigue more.

Jonathan stepped a little closer now. “No games, detective. A simple discussion.”

“A discussion that’s starting to piss me off,” you mumbled. “Remember, doctor, I can go right to the Commissioner and have them throw you right back in Arkham.”

One of Jonathan’s brow quirked upwards. “No need for threats, detective. I’m merely expressing my concern. Once Edward has decided he’s had his fill, who will want you? Who will touch you? You’re corrupted, ruined…damaged goods. That’s what you are now, aren’t you?”

In that moment – something fills your eyes: a pure, raw rage, unfiltered, as if burning against the firelight. It’s clear as day, the sudden change in your demeanor, how your anger is beginning to take hold of as fierce as a wicked storm. The change is subtle, but enough for Jonathan to take notice, and his brow quirks up even further in interest.

“I think we’re finished with this discussion,” you said, turning away from him, your gaze sliding towards the door. The power is still out, the elevator still out of use, and there’s nowhere to run, but Jonathan can tell you’re searching for an escape route – he can see the fear that you’re trying so hard to control, to keep contained, and it lights a fire in his belly, stirring excitement deep within him.

Jonathan takes another step closer, and your head snaps to him. “You can feel it, don’t you? How you’re nothing but a tarnished toy? That feeling of hopelessness, knowing that no one will want you when Edward has finished his games with you.”

“I don’t remember asking you for a therapy session, Crane,” you snapped.

The snap makes a shudder run through Crane – and that’s when he see’s it: the fear, unaltered, pure, raw, fear. The fear that you know he’s right – that no one will want you the moment Edward has decided to be done with his shiny new toy. Jonathan knows it’s only a matter of time.

“You know I’m right, don’t you?” Jonathan continues. “You know Edward will bore of you, eventually. And who will want you then, I wonder?”

You said nothing – but the fear in your eyes was clear, sending another ripple of excitement through his stomach. Jonathan took another step closer, until he was a mere inches away from you, listening to the way your breath hitched in your throat – but you did not back down, remaining still, defiant – a clear sign you did not want to give into your fears.

The edges of Jonathan’s lips quirked upwards. “That’s what you’re afraid of most, isn’t it, detective? Being cast aside and treated as nothing but his plaything?”

You didn’t break eye contact from him. “This isn’t a therapy session, Crane.”

The bite in your voice made him tremble. “I’m merely expressing my professional opinion, detective. Edward will have his fun with you, and when he’s finished, you’ll be broken beyond repair. No one will want a tainted little thing like you.”

You scoffed under your breath, turning to face him again. The burning defiance was still clear in your eyes, across your face – but there was something about that defiance, something about the way you held strong, unbroken and unyielding, that made something in him snap. Something stirred in his gut, a strange sensation, an excitement he had not felt in quite some time – years, perhaps, but enough to make the hairs on the back of his own neck raise in question.

“Maybe I like being a little tainted,” you finally said.

Your statement caught him off guard. He had not expected such an interesting response from you – to declare that you did not seem to care how Edward might have ruined you for anyone else. Perhaps, if you were anyone else, you would be cowering from him right now – afraid, trembling, terrified of what he might do to them. But you stood firm, the defiance written across every inch of your skin – and that was when it clicked for Jonathan.

Ah. There it is, he realized, as the puzzle pieces came to place in his own mind. It was your fire – burning as bright as a dying star, refusing to be smoldered – that had Edward so captivated by you. The way you spoke, carried yourself, a flame never going out, no matter how much damage had been done to you. And there had been quite a bit of damage, Jonathan had come to learn – and yet you were not allowing that damage to break you.

And, perhaps, Jonathan liked that, admired it even. A strong mind was rare to come by.

Crossing his hands behind his back, his excitement growing, he began to circle you, like  a hunter stalking its prey. His eyes roamed over every inch of you, taking in the parts that he had not allowed his eyes to stray to for too long. He was not a man who gave into such…primal desires before, but standing here, listening to your defiance – it excited him, in a way he had not been excited in a very, very long time.

“So, you enjoy the thought of being ruined and tainted by Edward? Interesting, very interesting,” he murmured, making a mental note of every word out of your mouth, how your body language threatened to betray you.

“What does it matter to you anyways, Crane?” you sighed, a sound out of your mouth that somehow sounded both bored and exasperated.

That made him pause, stopping his tracks right in front of you. His gaze roamed over you from head to toe, before landing on the green question mark necklace resting delicately at the hollow of your throat. Jonathan took a step closer, before reaching forward and capturing the pendant between his first two fingers, rubbing at the surface with slow, delicate care. You sucked in a breath, your body going taught, and you began to take a step back, but Jonathan only tightened his grip on the necklace, making you pause.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” he continued, his voice low. “The way he touches you. Edward is positively smitten with you. Now I can see why.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. You were just inches away from him, enough that he could take in every delicate line on your face. “Let go of me,” you whispered,

He ignored your demand, swirling his thumb along the dips and grooves of the pendant, before his gaze met yours again. “This little trinket says quite a lot more about your relationship with Edward, doesn’t it? That you belong to him?”

The breath hitched in your throat. “So what if I do? Does that bother you?” There was a tremble to your voice now, one Jonathan couldn’t help but notice.

He quirked a brow. “It’s simply an observation, detective,” he said. “But when the time comes for him to discard you, whatever will you do? That’s what scares you the most, isn’t it? That desperate, primal need to be wanted, even if it’s by a man who will never love you?”

You sucked in a shallow breath, as if trying to keep yourself composed. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, Crane. If I want therapy, I’ll get it from someone else.”

The bite in your voice makes Jonathan pause, but the corners of his mouth quirk upward. He tilts his head to the side, his gaze roving over your body in fascination, wondering what a dose of his toxin would do to you – what sort of secrets you would reveal, how long it would take for that precious little mind to break. But he could see it in your eyes, the truth you were fighting so hard not to reveal: your true fear was not being eaten alive. It was being tossed aside and unloved, forgotten, unwanted. Jonathan could see it written across your face plain as day.

But you didn’t break your gaze from him, the defiance still written clear as day, as if you were trying to prove to yourself and to him that you weren’t afraid. Excitement bundled in Jonathan’s stomach, a desire, a need, an aching suddenly pooling in his core, to watch that defiance in your eyes fade into nothing but submission and surrender. Jonathan smirked, his thumb continuing to trace circles over the pendant in slow, meticulous strokes.

Your breathing was shallow, but your gaze narrowed, and you finally reached up to swat his hand away, but with his other hand, he grabbed your wrist tightly. You gasped as his fingers dug into your skin, and he nudged you back, until your waist hit the small metal table. His grip tightened on your necklace, carefully yanking your head closer to him, until he was but inches away from you, your breath on his skin.

“Come now, detective,” he said lowly. “Acts of physical violence aren’t tolerated here at the GCPD, now are they?”

“Crane…” you said, a warning in your tone. He could feel you shuddering against him, the terror in your eyes exciting him, even though you fought hard to control it.

He finally dropped the pendant, but his fingers hovered a little too long near your collarbone, before he dropped your wrist as well and dropped his hands back to his sides. Excitement pooled in his stomach, aching deep inside of him. He took a step back, and just as he did, the lights flickered on once more, bathing the room in a bright white light glow. He took a step back and tucked his hands into his pockets, turning away as if the entire interaction hadn’t happened at all, returning to his desk and the vials and reports surrounding him. As he slid back into his seat, he watched you spin on your heels, muttering something vulgar under your breath. Jonathan chuckled lowly to himself, and a moment later, he heard the elevator doors ping out.

“Detective?” Dr. Collins asked from down the hall. “Are you all right?”

Your gaze slid back to him, then to Dr. Collins. “Everything’s fine.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Dr. Collins asked, lowering his voice, but Jonathan could still hear, listening in.

You were silent for a beat, before shaking your head. “No. I’m fine.” Then you turned and walked away, out of the room, your heels clicking on the way down the hall.

Jonathan returned to his work, smirking. A productive session. He’d already learned enough about you in twenty minutes than he had all week – and what he’d learned had been very, very fascinating. Now he understood what Edward saw in you, what would draw you to him, make him…crave you. Jonathan paused, his fingers hovering over the vials as a hint of something pulsed in his stomach, spreading down to his loins, tightening in the confines of his pants. Crave. That word meant a lot of things. And, the more he began to think about it, the more his own craving for you began to grow into something deeper, into something he had not felt in quite a very, very long time.

Smirking, one thought crossed his mind, Until next time, pet.

It was a good thing Jonathan didn’t mind damaged goods.

The amazing @finzphoenix did a wonderful job of drawing what I imagined a post-Arkham Knight Jon would look like, which you can find here!

[hotchs-big-hands]

HI ADA 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

okay so do you think Aaron would hit you or choke you or anything like that during sex? THIS IS SO STRAIGHTFORWARD IM SORRY 😭

I mean it in the way that he sees so much in his line of work that it's sorta out of the question for him. Like he couldn't do what he sees others do, let alone to you

Ykwim? If you talk about it and you tell him it's okay and you enjoy it, maybe he'll start slowly (and end up enjoying too maybe 🤭) but at first this sweet ass man would be so shy and afraid to do so i love him 😭🫶🏻

JSJCWJFJSJ helloooo anon thank yu for sending this ask!! Yur fine being straightforward LMAO💅

Okay so! I have thots (thoughts) abt this! Imma put them under the cut cuz obvs it’s nsfw and also it’s not everyone’s cuppa tea which is understandable and okay!

Minors dni 🔞

Short answer is: with sitting down to do some research with him and educating him about choking/slapping different areas and how to do it safely, he would definitely be up for giving it a try and I think he’d be quite into it. But ion think he would do choking/face slapping when he’s like. Angry fucking you. He would draw the line there.

Now the longer answer!

At first he’s like um. No. That’s abuse. He isn’t too well versed in BDSM culture and many kinks, so he thinks choking as in cutting off your windpipe, rather than applying pressure to your pulse point. And slapping as in assaulting you, rather than slapping sensitive areas like your ass, breasts, pussy and light face slaps. So you ask him if he would be willing to sit down with you sometime to do some research into it and if he still isn’t into it then that’s that. He agrees.

Now if it were me I’d make a whole fuckin PowerPoint presentation LMAO but whatever means of introducing and showing him these different kinds of play, you’re gonna have him taking it really seriously. Explaining to him about the pleasurable benefits of such play, how they could be incorporated into your sex life, but also the risks that are needed to be aware of. And if he tries something and doesn’t like it then you stop and don’t do it again.

Introducing them to the bedroom would be one thing at a time, and only doing one each time at first. Spanking your ass first, then breatheplay choking you the next time, then slapping your breasts and pussy. And finally face slapping. Every time you’d introduce something you’d do a tester for each thing to see how far you want to go with it, the pain level, the amount of pressure to your pulse point.

He’d only slap your face enough to surprise you, rather than actually hurt you. Slapping it when you don’t tell him what you want fast enough, or if you don’t call him sir (or daddy hehe) and accidentally use his name (during those sessions). He likes the dazed look on your face, the way you whimper and whine, the way your eyes roll back when he’s fucking you hard and choking you. Over time you start incorporating them together in one session, and it’s safe to say he enjoys how fucked out for him you become.

But also after these sessions he needs a lot of reassurance that you enjoyed yourself, that you were more than okay with the choking and slapping/spanking (which is true to irl as well. Always give your dominant partner their own aftercare and reassurance). And he’d become more confident with it, initiating such play with you. Perhaps you’d wear an item of clothing or accessory that tells him subtly you’re okay with him going ahead with initiating without asking beforehand.

Ofc this is just my opinion about it and ik it’s not for everyone/other people may think he wouldn’t be into it. And that is very valid! But yeah that’s my thots on this :3

[vesora]

dealing with fear of abandonment through LOA + general tips

personal backstory / long post ahead

“Change your conception of yourself and you will automatically change the world in which you live. Do not try to change people; they are only messengers telling you who you are. Revalue yourself and they will confirm the change.” ― Neville Goddard, Your Faith is Your Fortune

as a child, my needs were not met and therefore, i developed a schema that people were meant to disappoint me and leave me and my relationships, both platonic and romantic reflected EXACTLY that.

countless times, i was ‘left’ without any reason, always strengthening the notion i had always felt that people were meant to abandon me. even if i was close to someone, i would still engage in self-sabotaging behaviours when i felt disappointed by the expectations i had set for them. feeling this lack of control when it came to relationships because i was so deathly afraid of being left alone; of disappointing the other. not putting myself first because i felt the only sense of worth i had was through whether another found me worthy. this is all very hard for me to say of course, im a private person but i felt maybe someone at least needed to hear this. my parent would be nice at one point and disinterested in the other, i felt i had to work to gain their approval and for them to be nice to me all the time. i needed them to view me as perfect, so they wouldn’t leave me. but guess what guys? thats stupid, bcos fuck perfection.

in my abandonment activation strategies/self-sabotaging behaviours, my body would go into a state of desperation, in dire need of any sort of relief and safety, crying my heart out because i was so scared, leaving people because i was scared of being left first. being scared i was being clingy by asking for reassurance which in turn sends me into another frenzy, isolating myself from people so i have no chances to be hurt, feeling resentment when someone doesnt meet my expectations/needs through no fault of their own. my inner child would just take over my body, repeating the same distress i experienced as a kid. 

but i am not a kid anymore. i am a well-functioning adult and i cannot continue this abandonment schema. so what do i do?

i use loa. 

how to use loa + general tips for this:

recognise that everything and everyone is you pushed out. your relationships play out the way you assume they will. this is not to say at all what happened when you were a child was your fault. we are not to blame. our needs were simply not met.

change the way you view relationships, no matter how hard it may be. if everyone is just us, how can anyone else abandon us? not even that, why would anyone leave us? we are amazing and fun and good people

be someone YOU are proud of, irrespective of what other people think. all is mind, so why do you think you need to impress someone who’s just another part of you? a part that can easily be molded

you are not clingy. you are not desperate. you are not unworthy. you are not unlovable. repeat affirmations that you are lovable. that you deserve to have your needs met. that everyone meets your needs. that you never feel abandoned. that you love yourself unconditionally. YOU are on the pedestal, NOT anyone else.

if someone is emotionally unavailable, this DOES NOT mean they do not love or care about you! they might be busy, not be well-versed with showing emotions in a healthy way, express their love in a different way than yours or they may simply be going through something in their lives right now. 

when this happens, you can talk to the person about it and usually in my experience, the person understands and reassures me that they still love me and that we are okay. if a person is not willing to make sure you are okay, maybe rethink their position in your lives. you are the pedestal, not them. now just because someone reassures you doesn’t mean you don’t work on yourself. you do work on yourself through LOA and useful strategies.

take deep belly breaths when you feel yourself get triggered. it is okay. you are going to be okay, i promise. the next day im sure you will feel fine. it is not the end of the world, i promise you. the world IS you. just change it.

reassure your inner child and your adult self that you are okay now. you are the best version of yourself right now. you are safe. you are secure. you are not in danger. your life is in YOUR hands. YOU are in control. YOU created this life. the only way to change it is within.

if you feel impatient and you want things to change IMMEDIATELY, i.e. when youre having a panic attack, take deep breaths and remember this is temporary. remember you are in control of what happens but also do not be attached to any outcome, just have faith that everything works out in your favour.

if you feel resentment when someone doesn’t meet your expectations, do NOT use strategies to hurt them or leave them. just calm down and view them with a gaze of love. transmute this feeling of resentment and abandonment to love and understanding, you can even visualise it. they still love you, you can manifest them to love you the way you want to idk but still they love you! don’t try to make them jealous, don’t distance yourself, don’t do whatever you do to get ‘revenge’ idk, it is NOT healthy. it only hurts YOU in the end. plus, LOA dictates the way people act with you is a reflection of yourself, so all you need to do is change self.

no matter what, KNOW you are loved. even if your body is freaking out and wants to flee, tell yourself in the moment it will pass. it has to. your trauma trigger reactions are NOT you. 

it may be hard to believe that someone loves you. for me, i felt like i was delusional. that i was kidding myself, because how dare i assume someone loves me? that’s why i kept seeking external reassurance for any semblance of love because i was not giving that reassurance to myself internally. and when someone didn’t give me that reassurance in the 3d, i’d freak out, even though i had manifested it unknowingly. how can i go to the 3d and ask for love when everything, good and bad, is within me? as the creator, how can i not tell myself i am worthy of love and that people close to me love me? how can i not believe that when all is me? it is a bit stupid to think like that, no? well i did, and to an extent i still do. but i’m recovering. i deserve to live a life where i am not constantly afraid. i deserve to live a life where i can speak with confidence that someone loves me. it is hard for me, even now, but i know i will get through it, as will you. 

let’s be brazenly impudent together, shall we?

“Dare to believe in the reality of your assumption and watch the world play its part relative to to its fulfillment.” ― Neville Goddard

[amica-aenigmata-naboo]

I See You

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: gorgon reader, self doubt, Astarion being a soft boi

---------------------------

You always had your cowl on. It covered your eyes and all of your hair, it was one of the first things Astarion noticed about you when you started traveling together. You had rejected all of his physical advantages and when he confessed he actually felt something for you, you were honestly quite shocked. You had tried your best to keep your new companions at arm's length. They were sweet people, you wanted to protect them. You liked Astarion too, and begrudgingly you admitted that to him. He was elated, as were you. You liked that he was slow to touch. He only ever touched your hands. He tried to hold your face once, but when he saw you move away from him he only smiled understandingly. He never pushed you. But as of late you could sense a question building up inside him. You became a bit reserved, fearing the worst. 

“Darling…” Astarion called into your tent.

You scrambled to flip your hood up “Yes?” you said as you slipped your glasses on. 

He slipped inside, the soft orange glow of candles tinting his skin. “I… Can we talk?” 

You nodded, the lump in your throat would give you away if you spoke. 

He sat on the floor with you, random pillows and blankets strewn about creating a comfortable environment. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions… and please know I am not trying to be rude when I ask them…” his voice was gentle, you could feel his sincerity.

Your tense muscles eased a bit, “Alright.” you said kindly.

“Your hood… it hides a lot of you… May I inquire as to why?” he said as he rubbed his thumb over your knuckles, holding your hand. 

You froze for a moment. In all honesty, you knew you could only live in blissful denial for so long. You knew this day would come and you would have to reveal your true self to him. You let out a shaky sigh before answering “It’s because of what I am.” you said flatly.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, you could hear his confusion. 

“I’m… I’m a gorgon.” you whispered.

“Pardon?” he asked, a bit of disbelief in his tone. 

You slowly pulled your hood off. Snakes of all shapes and sizes tousled about, finally free of their cage. You kept your sunglasses on but your eyes remained glued to the floor. The tent was so quiet, all you could hear was the wriggle and hisses of your snakes. 

You felt his finger tilt your chin upwards. “My sweet, is that all? Were you afraid I would think differently of you?” 

“Do you know what gorgons can do?” you asked, and eyebrow raising.

“If I’m honest, I’m not extraordinarily well versed in the creatures of the far realms. I’ve heard of gorgons but nothing specific comes to mind.” his cheeks would have tinged with blush if they could.

“We aren’t creatures… we are monsters. Hideous and… cursed.” you curled into yourself, pulling your knees to your chest. 

“How so?” he asked with a slight scoff. You were amazing, a monster is the last thing you could be. 

“Our eyes… they turn the living to stone. Statues frozen in fear for eternity.” a tear slipped down your face. 

Astarion moved his hand up to your face slowly. Your mind screamed at you to move back but you didn’t. He held your face, wiping the tears away. He took your glasses off in a swift motion. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to feel for your glasses with your hand. 

“Sneak a peek…” his lips whispered next to your ear.

“I can’t…” you responded, a shiver running down your spine from his comment.

“Trust me.” he kissed over your jaw before nipping your lip and kissing you.  

“Astarion please…” you whimpered out.

“Trust me.” he repeated as he kissed just below your eyes.

You cracked them open ever so carefully, just barely letting light hit your eyes. You caught a glimpse of him before you squeezed them shut. “I don’t want to scare you…” 

A soft chuckle seeped out of Astarion, “Little love, there is nothing to be afraid of.” he assured you. 

He held you close, you felt safe. You wanted nothing more than to relent but how could you? If he became stone you could never forgive yourself. He was your first friend, your first lover. You can’t, and yet you feel yourself open your eyes. Tears slipped down your cheeks as your snake-like eyes adjusted to the sudden light. You focused on Astarion. Wow. He was beautiful; time stood still as you two gazed at each other. Every detail of him burned into your brain. This was the first time you two could truly see each other. The air between you was thick with tension. He moved first, crashing his lips onto yours. The kiss softened immediately, a delicate waltz between the two of you. Every fiber of your being was consumed by him. You pulled away, gasping for air while you held his face in your hands. 

“I see you…” he whispered against your lips.

“You’re not afraid? Not… disgusted?” you asked, your voice wobbled. 

Astarion tiled your chin up, your eyes met his. Red like garnet. Sharp, yet soft. “Never.” he said as he kissed your cheek.

You cracked a small smile “Why aren’t you stone?” you wondered aloud as you caressed his face, kissing his neck lovingly. 

“You turn the living to stone.” he repeated what you had told him.

It clicked suddenly, “You’re… undead.” you said aloud, piecing things together.

“Can’t get anything past you.” Astarion teased.

You chuckled at him, one of your smaller snakes landing a playful nip on the arch of his cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…” you whispered, looking away from him.

“You weren’t ready, I can understand that better than most darling.” He said pulling you close to lay against him. 

You hummed in agreement, “We should sleep…” you yawned as you snuggled into him further, pulling a blanket over you both. 

“Goodnight my love…” he whispered against your forehead, long after he felt your breaths even out and your body relax completely with his.

“Love… you..” you mumbled almost inaudibly as you adjusted your position half asleep. 

Astarion’s heart flipped at your words, he kissed your head before finally slipping into slumber himself.

--------------------

Naboo's Note:

Hello everyone! So sorry this took forever to get out. Life and work and mental health have all been pretty overwhelming lately. I'm gonna try to write more soon, but I hope this is good until then. As always, thank you for the likes, comments, reblogs, and requests. TTYLXOXO ILYSM <3

[londonfoginacup]

not the same anon and i’ve already asked this to someone else without an answer. i’ve never been to a show in the usa but it feels to me like there’s a different atmosphere in general over there so this comes from genuine curiosity: why do you feel like you have to bring a rainbow flag to a concert? let’s forget about louis for a second, just think of a random concert. you said you’ve gotten bad looks for bringing one but also you (and others) claim that flags in concerts are meant to feel people safe. do you not feel safe if you don’t bring a flag? do you not enjoy a concert if you don’t bring one/see one? what’s the need to bring flags? i promise this comes from curiosity because in all the years i’ve attended music shows and festivals, i’ve never felt like bringing the flags i own, but again, i’m not from the usa and i’m not well versed into tumblr queer culture.

Hi anon. I will take this as a good faith question, although your phrase “I’ve asked this to someone else without an answer” is something I suggest you do not include when asking things in future, because it implies you’re upset or blaming that other person for not responding. People have many reasons to not respond, some of which are simply time or time of day or spoons! We are all simply trying our best out here.

Now onto your question— I think that what’s missing here is fandom history. You said “forget about Louis for a second”, but actually what we need to do is look back at One Direction’s history.

I’ve written this out and tried to shorten it a number of times now, but the long and the short of it is that while the band was active, especially 2013-2014, the way that One Direction the Brand and Management handled rumors about Louis and Harry was to create a rift between “respectful fans” and “everyone else”. And the “everyone else” was people who thought Louis and Harry were in a relationship, yes, but it was also simply queer fans. Because those circles often overlap, OR because other fans would see that they were queer and put them in the same category.

Rainbow Direction was a movement made by fans in order to feel safe at One Direction shows specifically, because it was one direction shows specifically that people did not feel comfortable at, but desperately WANTED to feel comfortable at, because this band and these boys brought them comfort, spoke words in their songs that connected to their queer experience, etc.

I would not say that it’s USA specific so much that it’s 1D specific. I don’t… believe (I could be wrong) that I’ve brought a flag to a non-1D (or 1D adjacent) show, although I HAVE seen flags at those shows, like Declan McKenna I feel like I saw a flag or two there, for instance.

But honestly anon, when I bring a flag, it is not to make myself feel safe. It’s so that someone else who is queer can see that flag and know that I am a safe person. Likewise, when I see someone else with a flag, I know that I feel safe with them. It’s a way of saying you’re not alone.

Now, it might be helpful to know that I have attended EVERY 1D/Harry/Louis/Niall concert (but one) with @lululawrence . It’s her flags that I wear. She is the best sort of person you could ever hope to attend a concert with, but that’s beside the point. My point is that the one show that I remember the most dirty looks and feeling the most uncomfortable was the one Harry show we attended in… 2021? The end of the 2021. Harry’s fan base grew EXPONENTIALLY over the pandemic. That night, we saw maybe two flags in the pit and none anywhere else. There were more people dressed as bananas than people with flags. Sus and I had the bi and ace flags, and honestly anon, I started to want to hide it. The people around us gave us looks, I heard them talking about us although I tried not to listen. I wasnt afraid for our safety, but I was viscerally aware that the people around us didn’t understand the flags and didn’t want us there.

And I had been there in Nashville at the Ryman, when every flag had been confiscated and the security had been terribly mean and Harry had had to pull out his own and set it on stage at one point when the lights went down. That had been upsetting but we had all been on the same page, the fans and Harry, that the flags were important. Post-2020, that show was different. I felt like a creature on display for people to gawk at.

So when you talk about tumblr queer culture, I don’t actually know how much this extends past 1D/Louis/Harry. But in the beginning of 2023, when Sus and I went to the first concert we had booked (we had… four or five that year), and noticed how few flags there were, the two of us were specifically worried about concerts feeling the way that one in 2021 did. That’s why we did spent the next few months sending flags to every North America Louis show (and don’t get me wrong, I’d have done his other legs if I had the money to get them flags too. But all those flags in the NorthAmerica shows? A few friends whom I ADORE helped but mostly that was almost entirely out of my own personal budget). Because we wanted to make sure that everyone felt the safety of being able to spot a flag in the crowd and know that whoever was holding it was not someone who would reject them for their gender/sexuality.

Sure, another option is that no one brings flags and we all just sit and enjoy the music. That’s really fine. But I think for our fandom in particular it’s a bit of history, of being loudly rejected during the 1D days and then surging our support for one another for the solo tours.

And tbh yeah. Okay. America is scary and people are mean and i know so so SO many people who are ONLY out online or at shows like these. I want them to know im there with them.

So, I don’t know if I answered your question well. @takemehomefromnarnia or @lululawrence or any number of other people could probably answer it better.

[worldsewage]

What's your inkfish ocs opinions on water, given how wet your AU is? Any of them wish they could swim without getting melted into a pool of goop?

To most Inklings the opinion on water is similar to asking people what their opinions are on hurricanes. But because a lot of my ocs are from different zones theyre all gonna have different opinions.

If you ask an Inkadian their answer would either be “it’s water, whatever!” (Inksports Inklings who have probably fallen in water before during competitions and assume that’s what it’s like ((it’s not))) or “not messing with it” (inklings who have seen floods and have heard or have been affected by them, and understand the danger)

Respawners outside of watered areas(such as salmon run grounds or turf war stages, or even public areas) are extremely well made, they are perfected, a lot of young inklings who fall into the water get swept up so efficiently into the respawner the effects of water damage has zero time to settle in, nowadays Artificial Ink usually gets spat out around respawners, too, usually in Stages / Running Grounds, lessening water damage even more by diluting the water— so many inklings don’t think water is too scary since they don’t understand how quick water damage is if you fall into respawner-less waters.

July’s nervous around water wasted territory in a typical Inkling Fashion. They’re probably so nervous around water they’d splat ankle deep out of sheer anxiety.

Alligator grew up far east, which is primarily flooded farm land so she’s well versed in the wreckage and death that comes with that, so she’s not as afraid around water, she knows what’s dangerous and what isn’t. Alligator is a tad older too, so she grew up in a time where Inklings were still figuring out how to combat homerunning salmonids who would blaze trails through their farmland— and sometimes dig up paths that lead more water into Inkling territory as they seek places to lay eggs. Her family is born her so her skin is naturally tougher, anyway.

Saint grew up in the south-western Salmonid Territory, it’s an awkward ink and water wasted zone that’s pretty lawless due to frequent feuding between salmonids and the inkling clans that live there. Saint— due to growing up along-side salmonids, doesnt fully understand the danger of water, but knows how to be safe around it. Maybe their ease around water-wasted zones makes them seem reckless, I think a bad slip would make them far more skittish— but otherwise they’re safely wrapped up and ready to go.

Fido is an ex-grizzco employee who grew up far east, much like alligator, a farm boy. Half of his family is krakened since they work in water wasted fields that reach knee-deep. So he’s pretty adjusted to the injuries and aches water can leave, he lost his leg at grizzco— surprisingly, not due to falling into water, but years of water damage finally got to him, and his leg collapsed in on itself sometime during a salmon run, and his skin was too damaged to reform. He still works on water fronts but I think that’s just because he has a weird fascination with water now. He likes that he has an excuse not to tread around on water, though, and his boots stay mostly dry on the boat. He’s probably the only one who would wish to go for a swim.

Samah and Valentine— Despite being Inkfish, are Octarian, meaning they are a species who is united with Salmonids. They understand the dangers of water since their brother species is extremely reliant on it, and Octarians have a higher water tolerance, being submerged is dangerous for Octarians, but otherwise— treading through knee or even waist deep water provides no real danger to Octarians unless they get splatted by some other outside force, forcing them to submerge completely.

Of course, Octarians aren’t gonna go for a dive, but they’re not as skittish since they have less to be afraid of. Samah even more so than Valentine, Samah— despite being from the domes as well, is a Salmo-Octarian. They’re not a hybrid species (that’s not possible) but rather a species of Octarian who grew up along side Salmonids. They’re speculated to have a higher water tolerance but there’s no real scientific basis on that statement, chances are they’re just better versed on how to navigate water.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

From the Ashes Pt. 38

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, MC POV, departure to Asshai!,

Words: 3,007

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 3.5  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

Dritan’s cheek stung from where Rhiannon’s hand had slapped him. Away from the prying eyes of party goers, even in the dark archway the Fiery Hand soldier could feel the intensity of Rhiannon’s glare.

“I don’t want to hear you ever speak ill against (y/n), let alone my sister.” She growls out her warning. So much did she remind Dritan of her older sister Thalina. From her gold hued eyes to her hefty soft brown hair, but the sisters were so different. “If you know what's good for you.”

Her words brought up the memory of when Dritan last encountered Thalina.

Clenching his fists, he found the bitterness inside of him grow and fester. “She will lead you to your death as she did with Thalina. All of you will perish in Asshai for trusting that darkin. She is too young, too naive. The moment she allowed the darkin to live was the moment she condemned us all!”

“Do you desire another slap?” Hissed Rhiannon, prepping her right hand if need be.

Like many others in the temple, Rhiannon was blinded by the miracles (y/n) had performed during her time in Volantis. Dritan alone could see earth swirling around the Westerosi girl, the one Thalina had forsaken him for. When word of Thalina’s ultimate fate was leaked, Dritan had done his best to persuade her to stay for in his heart Thalina reigned supreme. Hard did he fall in love with the clumsy red priestess. Within the first few months of his service to the temple, Dritan knew that he wanted Thalina as a wife. He had even gone so far to confess his love, hoping it would be enough to stop her. Nothing could change her mind, not even the potential of romance. Thalina broke his heart in the same breath she used to scold him. This was her duty and she was happy to follow out the flame’s divine plan. How content she was to go to her death!

Rhiannon was following in the footsteps of her sister. Stubborn and polluted by the faith of R’hllor. There was no talking her out of it.

They were all sheep.

Not having anything else to say to Rhiannon, Dritan stormed to the barracks that housed the temple’s warriors. Rhiannon watched his departure with narrowed eyes. She debated on going after him or even alerting a priest of his blasphemous speech. Disparaging her sister’s memory by condemning (y/n), uneasiness produced a lump in Rhiannon’s throat. It made her worry about leaving. What would Dritan’s resentment lead him to do?

“That one has always been filled with unquenchable anger, I’m afraid.” Dreamy voiced Alizah walks out from the shadows, her traveling cloak around her shoulders and hood pulled over her head. Behind were the quiet figures of Haakon and Kafele who possessed hair like flames.

“You are leaving so soon?”

Her pale face grows sad as she nods. “Yes. If I am to get there in a timely manner, I must leave at once.”

Pursing her lips, Rhiannon tentatively asks “Are you allowed to divulge where you’re going?”

Alizah pauses for a moment before Kafele whispers into her ear. Whatever he had told her makes Alizah’s features alert once more. “In due time. We must be off. Remember your lessons, Rhiannon. The night is dark and full of terrors.”

The trio hurries past Rhiannon leaving her alone. Her destination must be important if they were in such a rush to leave. To herself, Rhiannon finishes the verse that Alizah had left her with. “The day is bright and beautiful and full of hope.” That’s what (y/n) represents for the future. No matter what Dritan had to say.

You swore your brain had a pulse as your head ached from the night before. Taking everything in you to start getting ready for your long journey, thankfully Rhiannon and Inanna had arrived to help you gather at least your necessities. Every now and then though you were seized with the need to throw up.

Small Inanna, although still terrified of the small dragon curled up in your sheets, hurried to your side with a tonic Siofra had produced. “This should help you. Siofra worried about this last night.”

The thought that people were looking out for you warmed your heart and just that was enough to make you feel better. “Thank you, Inanna.” Her dark eyes sparkle at your gratitude before she laughs at the face you make. Unbearably bitter, you were sure that it was meant to truly make you vomit but in a few minutes your nausea all but disappeared.

“It will definitely be quiet while you are gone.” Inanna admits a little sadly as she folds her hands in front of her. “I’m sure Ser Jaime and Lord Tyrion will offer some entertainment to those who will miss you.”

“Is it really okay for Weles to be leaving the Fiery Hand for so long? He is the captain afterall.”

“Iyan is second in command, capable of doing all that Weles does.” she informs you. “The others respect him as much as they do Weles.”

Rhiannon snaps your leather trunk closed, having finished gathering all that you may need. “Besides, that’s the least of your worries. Where we are going is a place hardly anyone has ever ventured. Stygai is the territory of the darkin and other shadow creatures. Things that shouldn’t be alive dwell there.”

Entering your chambers with a plate of cooked meat, Siofra sets it down on the bed next to a dozing Latilth who promptly wakes up at the smell. Crawling on her belly, she begins to toss back her breakfast with delight. You and Rhiannon chuckle at what a messy eater she was.

While helping you dress, Siofra comments “I wonder how big Latilth will be when you come back.”

Inanna nods. “She’ll certainly be a sight to see.”

At hearing her name, Latilth hobbles away from her plate and stretches her wings in an attempt to fly to you. Her wing strength was still weak, only being two days old, and was unable to pick up any air. Upset, she squawks unhappily until you go to her and allow her to scramble onto your shoulder. Her nails certainly scratched up your skin but it was a small price to pay.

Sirvart is called upon as are Ilta and Vidarr to help with your two personal trunks and one of Rhiannon’s.

During your trek through the temple to the docks that were below the cliff, red priests and priestesses alike joined your entourage silently to see you off. Even a handful of temple slaves sneaked away to add themselves to your retainers. Some sang hymns and others prayed for R’hllor to watch over you and your companions.

The sun was barely an hour into the sky when you made your way down the wooden staircase that curled up to the training ground. The Red Temple had their own section of docks for personal use. Nippy winds brushed your short hair away from your face and made you cling tightly to the little furnace that was Latilth. You could make out moving dots on the boardwalk leading to what assumed was your ship. They carried large crates up to the side of the ship where they would hoist it up with ropes up on the deck.

At the base of the cliff, you turn to Inanna and Siofra who had joined you up until that point. The rest of your group that you had accumulated on your way, watched up top. Dozens of figures clothed in various shades of red and orange.

“We all wish you great fortune on your journey, nuha kosh.” Siofra bows low, her tight curls on her head springing when she rises back up.

Inanna offers a small smile as she too bows. “Please be careful. All of you. We will make sure your brothers are taken care of.”

“Thank you. Both of you.” You take each by the hand and give them a small squeeze.

Rhiannon gives each of them a hug, lingering a few seconds longer with Siofra as she whispers something. When she pulls away, Siofra gives her a firm nod. “Don’t worry about us here. Take care of nuha kosh.”

You and Rhiannon depart from your group and follow Sirvart, Vidarr and Ilta to the wooden platform that leads up to the awaiting ship. Already your brothers were there speaking with Weles. Tyrion’s face was set in a stoic facade until he spotted you. One green and one black eye deceived how he was truly feeling. The breaking of your heart was definite at such a face. You were leaving him again. There was no worse thing than that knowledge and you half consider taking him with you.

You couldn’t be that selfish. Who knew what perils there were in Asshai. Tyrion was safer here with Jaime and the rest of the temple’s residences. They would protect him and raise him in your stead. Asshai was no place for children let alone one like Tyrion. Ture that the myths you had been told about the darkin were false, but Inniros himself had verified the validity of the myths about his homeland. One could not tread safely in the Shadowlands. Many who iced there wore masks for belief that it protected them against such evils that lurked.

Tyrion gets Weles and Jaime’s attention, pointing to you and Rhiannon who were fast approaching. The three Fiery Hands move around them, briefly giving a salute to their captain before passing them to drop off the trunks.

Gloom settled above your brothers now that the time had come. This was really happening.

Tyrion clears his voice and quietly asks “Do you have everything?”

“Everything except for my brothers.” You sigh and bend down to gather a stiff Tyrion in your arms. Close to the side of his face, Latilth preens his unruly curls. Eventually Tyrions does melt into your embrace. “I’ll bring you a souvenir.”

He shakes his head, face buried in your chest. “Just come back safely and soon.”

Tears brimmed your eyes and with great reluctance, you release Tyrion and quickly wiped your eyes. You’re faced with Jaime now.

Jaime. . .

Vague memories of last night dance in your head but you couldn’t quite put everything together yet.

Conflicting emotions waged war inside of you. Since leaving Westeros it had only ever been the two of you. How would you survive without his reassuring presence? Your relationship with Jaime has come a long way. Through childhood he had been a complete stranger. Now he was the one person in the world you were closest to.

You throw your arms around his waist and hide your face in his robes. Jaime’s powerful arms encircle around you. Yes, this felt familiar. Did you hug him last night as well? The two of you were never really a physical pair, but you couldn’t help yourself now that you were leaving him.

Where did you even begin to tell him how much you loved him? How important his presence was in your life. You had grown to cherish Jaime. Your younger self would have never considered Jaime an important figure in your life.

You bite your lip and simply tighten your hold. Words could never describe the loneliness you would feel without him. Your tears were enough to tell Jaime.

Abruptly, Jaime lets go and takes a step back. Understanding his action, you gently smile at him. He tries to hide his face by looking away from you. Warming your heart was the knowledge that Jaime would miss you just as much.

“Both of you behave while I’m gone.” You sniffle, barely able to maintain even a small smile.

Tyrion nods and gives your hand one last squeeze. “Next time you leave for another far off land, I’ll be ready to go with you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Tyrion was proving to be a man of his word. Next time he will be ready. The next journey you plan on making will be back to Westeros. Once Latilth was big enough to carry you and your brothers.

Weles turns around to wave at the approaching Melisandre, Inniros and the red priest who must have been Rayzer. The priest had long, dirty blonde hair and the telltale fire priest flames tattooed on his olive skin. He carried only a burlap sack and a leather pouch hanging from his sash.

“Good, looks like those who need to be here are present. And no one else.” Just to make sure, her red eyes scan the docks. Sirvart and the other two Hands were walking back up but other than that is was your small group. A few yards away were fishermen going about their daily lives, unaware of the dark destination your ship was routed for.

The red priest smiles at you and bows. “It’s a pleasure to actually meet you, nuha kosh. I am Rayzer, but you may call me Ray.” Smile lines crinkled around his brown eyes and mouth as he spoke. Most of his hair was gathered in a top know while the rest easily flowed on to his shoulders.

“The other red priests were just briefing Ray on his duties for this trip. Of course Iomhar put in his piece on how Ray should behave.” Rhiannon rolled her eyes and gave Latilth a scratch under her chin. Evidently she enjoyed such attention for it made her normally unblinking eyes closes with content.

Ray’s eyes sparkle when his gaze lands on Latilth. “Extraordinary! I had seen glimpses of the dragon last night but I didn’t get the chance to actually approach you.”

You notice how precise his Common Tongue was. Many of the hands and priests you have met had heavy accents. Ray didn’t seem to have one. His speech was that of a native to Westeros.

With a smile, you show Ray the honor he bestowed upon you with a small curtsy akin to what you would see in the Seven Kingdoms. “Thank you for coming with us. Our journey will be safer with you in attendance.”

He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “I will do my best, nuha kosh.”

Melisandre turns to look at a very quiet Inniros. “Shall we board then?”

Stiffly, Inniros nods and makes his way for the ship, brushing past you in the process but not before shooting Jaime a suspicious glance. Jaime’s demeanor changed to almost one of hostility.

Not phasing Inniros, he continues his stride; Melisandre feet behind him.

This was it.

One last group hug with your brothers, you turned to follow them. While your stomach performed acrobatic tricks inside of you, you breathe deeply and place your foot securely on the first rung of the dangling ladder. Latilth peeks over your shoulder, pressing her body closer to your neck to prevent herself from falling over. Men waited above once you reached the edge of the deck. They helped you onboard, making sure your feet were planted firmly on the creaking wood floors. Your brothers were so small on the docks yet your eyes held onto them for as long as you could. Siofra’s tonic, working its way through you, prevented the wave of nausea that would have swept you up from being on the sea again.

The wind air exciting her, Latilth clambers off of you and jumps onto the much taller Inniros who had just been pulled up. Inniros eyes the dragon on his shoulders, stoic as ever. In a soft tone, he starts speaking to her in a language you had never heard before. Having traveled through most of Essos, you had thought you had experienced all the languages out there.

A breeze tickles the back of your neck sending a chill through you. You close your eyes and pray to whoever would listen:

Please take care of Jaime and Tyrion.

Rhiannon’s cheek lands on your shoulder but did not startle you. “They will be okay. Trust in Ser Jaime.”

You press your head against her’s. “I do. That does nothing to alleviate how lonely I will be without them.”

“You may not have your brothers, but you have your sister.” She smiles.

You hug Rhiannon. That was right. Rhiannon was your sister; blood be damned. You weren’t accustomed to having a decent sister, this would be a good change.

“Ladies, will you join me in a small prayer for safe travels?” Rayzer bumps in, separating you and Rhiannon.

Nodding, you grab his hand with your left and Rhiannon with your right. Melisandre and Weles joined the small circle, leaving Inniros as the odd man out. He stood off to the side, making sure not to get in any sailor’s way while also scratching Latilth atop her head.

Letting go of Rayzer’s hand, you hold your now free one out to Inniros, beckoning him to join.

Hesitantly, Inniros leaves his spot to awkwardly situate himself in between you and Rayzer. The fire priest smiles and offers his hand to Inniros. “You don’t have to do anything. Just being in this very spot is good enough.”

Inniros tilts his face down, wanting to avoid any eye contact with the others in your circle. You hadn’t missed the sharp stare that Melisandre fixed on him nor the twitch in Weles’ sword arm. There was still unfriendly air swirling around them.

You grab his hand, surprised at how warm his palm was. His frame went rigid at your touch but you simply offered him a smile. From the angle you had of him, you could only see the eye patch that hid his missing orb. Slowly his fingers curl around your's, reciprocating your offer. Latilth hopped from Inniros' shoulder to your's and in an odd way, she bowed her head as if listening to Rayzer's impromptu sermon.

Rayzer’s prayers in the Valyrian tongue was more beautiful than any poem and reassured you that you would return to Volantis soon.

Taglist:

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[mckiwi]

The Dance of 1650

Chapter Five: Guardian Angel

Read on AO3

Start<< Prev< >Next

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Category: Gen

Fandom: Good Omens

Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley, Aziraphale/Crowley

Characters: Aziraphale, Crowley, OFCs, OMCs

“I did the ‘I was wrong’ dance in 1650, in 1793, 1941–” -Aziraphale S2:E1 39:45

If 1793 was the crepe incident and 1941 was the magic show, what happened in 1650? Or rather, what happened the time Crowley was accused of witchcraft?

---

This is written for Whumptober 2024. All of the prompts will be used by being divided up between six chapters throughout October. Each chapter will have a list of the prompts used in the tags.

“You can quit the begging and praying. No angels will come save you.”

“He will if he ever wants to see me again!” 

Aziraphale wrung his hands together and paced in one of the church’s back rooms. He’d gotten Crowley off of the consecrated ground, at least. That was his most pressing concern, but now that she was dealt with, he didn’t even know where to begin. This was as far as his hastily put-together plan had taken him. 

He could really go for some crepes right about now. And a drink. With Crowley. Far away from this town and Scotland in its entirety. The weather here was too dreary and chilly for his liking, anyhow. 

That could wait. General Bell would be back anytime now, more than likely wanting to discuss Crowley’s sentence. Obviously, he didn’t want her to die, that was simply unthinkable. If Crowley were to be discorporated, she’d be downstairs for decades! Who could he possibly thwart in the meantime? 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could admit to himself he’d miss her company immensely, regardless of the accompanying wiles. But those were thoughts for the back burner, once those were invented. For now, he had more pressing matters. 

Four knocks in quick succession at the door broke Aziraphale out of his thoughts, “Yes? Who is it?”

“General Nicholas Bell. May I enter?” The man announced. 

Aziraphale steeled himself and crossed to open the door, “Hello, General. How can I help you?”

The general seemed slightly put out. “Afternoon, Brother Fell. I was just wondering of your intentions with the demon.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” the angel lied.

Bell searched for his words for a moment before stating, “I’ll admit, at first I thought your intervening with the trial to be troublesome. Brother Rowe let my men and I decide the fate of witches. Your insistence has delayed the witch’s sentence, certainly. But for that very reason, I’m thankful. If we had proceeded with the sentencing without knowing the truth, that poor woman the demon is possessing would have died unjustly.”

What about all the other women who died? A voice that sounded suspiciously like Crowley argued. Aziraphale shoved that thought to the metaphorical back burner, too. “I see. Pardon me if I sound obtuse, but, what difference does it make if your subject is a witch or demon?”

“That’s what I was here to ask you,” Bell answered. “I’m a Witch Hunter. I’ve no experience with the supernatural. You, however, gave me those verses to reveal a demon’s nature and how to cleanse a body with holy water. Do you know of a way to kill a demon?”

Yes. He very well knew how to kill a demon. It was his job, admittedly one he was very bad at. 

Aziraphale looked down at Crawley. Would he kill her? He looked out across the mass of tattered blankets and sleeping children. He looked at the baby who had never been safer than in the arms of a demon. The ark gave a particularly awful lurch, or it might’ve just been the guilt settling in his stomach as he turned the other cheek. “I’ve been commanded to protect every life aboard, and that’s what I intend to do.” 

“You can’t kill this demon,” Aziraphale said in way of an explanation. It wasn’t a lie. They can’t kill Crowley. He wouldn’t allow it. “The most you could possibly do is send it back to Hell.”

Bell nodded, “and how do we do that?”

Aziraphale hesitated, “Give me some time and I’ll have a solution. This is a very delicate matter, you see. I can’t afford any mistakes.”

The general accepted this, “Understood. Thank you for assisting me. Is tomorrow morning sufficient time for you?”

“That should do, yes. I’ll be here in the morning.” Aziraphale agreed. 

His wording seemed to trip something in the other man’s memory, “Your lodgings! I’m sorry for the state we left it in. I will have some of my men repair things for you. By the time this ordeal is over, all of your things will be just as you left them.” 

Nothing would be the same after this was over, but he let it go with a short hum. General Bell took it for the dismissal it was and left Aziraphale to his thoughts once again. 

The sun had long since set on the horizon. Aziraphale had papers strewn out in front of him and a cup of tea that had hardly been touched. It was fortunate angels didn’t need sleep, not that Aziraphale would be able to regardless, not when he still didn’t have a plan in place. 

He’d had several ideas, though none of them seemed worthwhile. His most promising idea thus far involved causing an earthquake and breaking the doors to the cell, allowing Crowley to escape, but that’d been done before, and it’d surely be noticed by humans and Heaven alike. Scotland wasn’t exactly known to have foundation-shattering quakes, after all, so that idea carried about as much potential as a piece of wet firewood. 

Wet firewood… he could suggest Crowley be burned at the stake, but–

No, that wouldn’t work. Aziraphale hung his head in his hands and scrubbed at his face harshly. How had they gotten into this situation again? 

He mulled over several more ideas in the following hours. One such idea involved Crowley turning into a snake and slipping out unnoticed through the mob of people. He thought better of it when he remembered what God had last said to the Serpent of Eden. He will crush your head, and you will strike his heel. Best not to have Crowley around that many snake-crushable boots. 

As the sun rose and the fog dissipated, Aziraphale set out through the village in search of… something. He first stopped by the cells but found them guarded and locked. Crowley was inside, he could sense that much. She wasn’t on the verge of discorporation, at the very least, though Aziraphale would wager Crowley’d complain she’d ‘die of boredom’ if only given the smidgen of the chance. She loved to complain and gripe, though hardly ever did anything to solve the apparent problem. “Why would I thwart my own wiles? That’s meant to be your job, innit?” She’d said once. 

There were three ways they typically executed witches. He visited all three sites and plotted. 

Trial by Water. This was the most common trial, and perhaps the only execution that could somehow be deemed a ‘trial.’ The accused would die either way, but there was the possibility of a posthumous decree of innocence. The witch was tied and thrown into the lake. They would either drown, proving their innocence, or they would survive, only to be convicted of witchcraft and hanged for it. 

Aziraphale eyed the docks of the nearby lake. They didn’t technically need to breathe, so perhaps Crowley could stay submerged long enough for the crowd to disperse and for Aziraphale to fetch her. 

Trial by Hanging. This wasn’t so much of a trial as it was a death sentence, plain and simple. The accused would be hanged for their supposed crimes. At the very least, it would be a swift death. 

Again, they didn’t technically need to breathe, but the rope might cause undue damage to Crowley’s throat or even decapitate her, and Aziraphale didn’t want to risk it. Though, if the rope frayed just so, and if it just so happened to snap… Aziraphale tucked away that idea for further review. 

Trial by Fire. It was less an execution than it was an act of theatre. A spectacle for those fully believed to be witches and to serve as a warning to others. A pyre of wood was lit aflame with the witch tied to a stake in its midst. 

Could he make it so the fire wouldn’t ignite? Or at the very least not harm Crowley? Their corporations were resilient, yes, but still mostly human. Fire would destroy her corporation all the same. 

Hellfire might not, though. 

——————

That afternoon, Aziraphale convinced General Bell the only way to send a demon back to Hell was with fire. Hell was often depicted as a fiery pit of sulfur and brimstone, after all, so it wasn’t too difficult to have the General come to this conclusion. The best lies always hold an element of truth, as Crowley had told him once. 

And so Aziraphale began to plan this spectacular escape. He couldn’t get too close to the Hellfire himself, else he meet a rather gruesome and permanent end, dooming them both in the process. He could remove the Miracle-dampening shackles, however, and tie a knot loose enough around her wrists to trick onlookers but be enough for Crowley to slip through. 

Now all he had to do was get down to Crowley’s cell and tell her of his plan! She would think his plan was genius!

“Full offence, Angel, your plan’s horrible.”

Or perhaps not. 

They bickered the point back and forth until it suddenly came to a screeching halt. 

“Why not!”

“Because it could destroy you!” Crowley bellowed. Aziraphale stared in stunned silence. “I’m not living in a world where I’m the reason you’re not.”

What could he possibly say to that? Aziraphale swallowed, “And the feeling is mutual.”

It didn’t take long before Aziraphale caved and brought the demon into his arms. She stiffened at the contact and the angel retreated, fearing having hurt her, but she ignored his concerns and leaned into the hug. He allowed himself this moment. They would figure things out. They would be okay in the end. He mustered up enough self-control to stand and leave the cell with a promise of wine tomorrow night. 

——————

The rising sun was met with cheerful birdsong, unbeknownst to Aziraphale’s emotional turmoil. A pyre was being set up while other people went about their everyday lives as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. Aziraphale felt sick to his stomach. 

Soon enough, a band of people strode forward with two people in tow, one of which being Crowley. She still had the Miracle-dampening shackles on and a gag in place, looking worse for wear. Three days chained to a cold, hard floor hadn’t done the demon any favours. She looked as if she hadn’t slept the entire time if the half-lidded eyes and sluggish movements were anything to go by. Or that could just be the old wounds reopening from the unusual movements after being mostly stationary. Aziraphale, not for the first time, felt a tug of regret. He shouldn’t have ever gotten them tangled up in this mess. A torch was lit aflame and Aziraphale took a stabilizing breath as Crowley was led to…

The docks?

What?

Aziraphale was about to question the purpose of the pyre when he took notice of the second person being brought to trial. 

Doctor John Davis stepped up and was tied to the stake.

“Hang on just one moment! This isn’t what we discussed!” Aziraphale exclaimed and strode over to General Bell. “We said Crowley would have a Trial by Fire! Whatever happened to that?”

Bell nodded, “I understand your confusion. I do appreciate your valiant effort to help the cause, but the more I thought over your words, I realized that if you want something done right, you’ll see it done yourself.”

Aziraphale gaped, “what about the doctor? Where does he get involved in this?”

“He confessed to being a witch in exchange for his daughter’s life,” Bell answered. 

“This is– this is a right outrage! We had a deal!”

“No, Brother Fell, I don’t believe we did,” Bell chided. “I asked for your advice, which you gave. I never said I would do what you said.” Aziraphale was struck with the thought that Gabriel and Nicholas Bell might get along splendidly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have a Trial to get started.”

Bell nodded toward the man holding the torch. The man pulled away Davis’ gag and asked, “Any last remarks?”

Davis took a deep breath and spoke, “I only hope my wife will be there to catch me should I fall for my sins and that God will forgive me for my trespasses.” 

Aziraphale sent a quiet Blessing his way. 

Bell nodded toward the man holding Crowley and removed her gag. “Any last remarks?”

Crowley licked her lips and wrinkled her nose in disgust, “yeah, no. I’ve already done the whole ‘Fall for my sins’ bit. Not a fan. But really? This entire charade has been something Hastur would love to hear about. In fact, I think I’ll introduce you to him personally.” At that, Crowley levelled Bell with an impressive demonic glare, which really wasn’t helping her current allegations. 

“That is all then,” Bell started. “I hereby sentence Doctor Davis to burn at the stake and the demon Crowley to be cleansed by holy water.”

Angel and demon looked up in utmost alarm. “I beg your pardon?!” Aziraphale all but shouted. 

Bell exhaled heavily and cast Aziraphale an annoyed glance, “Yes, Brother Fell? Are you in objection to my using the verses you gave me specifically for if a demon should come across my path to God’s Light?”

Aziraphale huffed, “Well I didn’t mean for it to be this particular demon.”

The Witch Hunter caught onto his wording like a hound to a fox’s scent, “Be careful how you speak. You being a minister doesn’t give you any protection from the righteous flames of the pyre.”

Crowley struggled in the man’s hold, “Oi, watch it!” She spat even as the man tightened the ropes. 

“I’m growing tired of these interruptions,” Bell seethed and raised a hand, “benedic aquas has in nomine angeli!”

Aziraphale saw the way Crowley instinctively shied away from the water despite not feeling the effects himself. “So that’s it then?” Crowley asked the Hunter. “You tie me up and throw me in just to die either way. I’ll sink or swim.”

Bell hummed, “‘Sink or Swim’ you say? I like that. I think I’ll use that.” At Crowley’s indignant scoff, the Hunter looked out across the gathering crowd. “Light the fire. Throw her in.”

Aziraphale and Crowley screamed as one as the demon’s back hit the water. 

[artist-issues]

What do you think about the Spider-Verse movies, if you've seen them? I love the first one a lot but I've only seen the second one once and, while I think I really liked it too, something about it felt off and I can't quite place it.

I'm glad you phrased this question this way because me too. I totally couldn't place what felt off about Across the Spider-Verse and have been trying to answer the "why" question ever since.

Just to get it out of the way real quick, I thought the first movie was amazing, of course, no surprises. You can tell they really know who the characters are (and I mean, they know what they want their own interpretations of those characters to look like) and that shows in all the emotion and the dialogue. The pacing is perfect. Don't need to say anything about the art style because we all know it's very very good.

I like that Miles has to learn his own version of "with great power comes great responsibility," but in a different way from Peter. Like, with Peter, you get the sense that that lesson is being applied like "if you have the power to do something good, do it."

But it's applied differently with Miles. Not "you have the power to help others, so take responsibility for that." Instead, it's, "you have the power to be something more than you are, so take responsibility for your potential."

Think about it. Uncle Ben dies because Peter didn't stop a bad guy. Something good he could’ve done, but didn’t do.

But Uncle Aaron (in this version, very intentionally) dies because of his own choice to save Miles after using his talents to be a force for evil (kind of showing Miles what “living up to our potential too late” looks like)—and then Miles, unlike Peter, gets to hear his Uncle's last words—which just so happen to be a specific encouragement for Miles to fulfill his potential.

And of course, every other character in the movie is asking Miles if he can be what they expect him to be.

It's not till he hears it from his dad, though, that he believes it. I think all that is great (though not nearly as impactful as Peter Parker, because Peter Parker's application of "responsibility" is more selfless. But both Spider-Men have to think less about their own comfort zones and personal success, and more about others.)

Also, real quick, Peter B. Parker learns the same facet of responsibility as Miles in this movie, too. I mean, they drop him into this story as a Peter Parker who’s already learned his own version of “take responsibility for the good you can do.” Now he needs to learn, as a guy who’s afraid to be a dad, how to take responsibility for his own potential.

I mean, there’s really no such thing as “ready,” in these big life decisions. You just do it, as best you can, and you get ready along the way. Heroics, fatherhood, you name it. Leaps of faith. Applicable to all.

Anyway. I said that was going to be real quick, it wasn't, but whatevs.

On to Across the Spider Verse:

I’ve seen this movie twice. And I think I’d need to see it again to really…get what it’s trying to say. There’s some parts about what I think the Main Point is that I like, and some parts I really don’t. There’s also some parts about the actual “art of storytelling” in it that I like, and some that…I think miss the mark, if I can be that bold.

The movie seems to be saying “be true to who you are.” I hate that message. Because human beings are flawed and every-changing, even though the connotations of the phrase “true to” imply something constant. You can’t be “true” to who you are if who you are is always changing. Even if you want to say “yeah, I’m always changing, so I’ll just be true to whoever I am in the moment,” well, what’s the point of that? Ultimately, your “self” is a terrible thing to point the compass of your life at.

But Miles and Gwen both have to decide that they don’t care what everybody around them tells them to be—AND they have to trust others with their identity. Choosing who they are, and then forcing everyone around them to accept it, (Miles telling his alt.universe mother his identity, declaring himself Spider-Man whether the spider was meant to bite him or not, Gwen remaining Spider-Woman regardless of what it forces her father to do, etc.) is treated like a good thing.

That’s not always great, when it’s contrasted with this idea of “the greater good” or “accepting the grand plan for the sake of the world.” The movie makes the “greater good” look like a bad thing.

…But the movie also equates the negative “greater good” with “let one person die because we can’t save everybody.” So it’s like…yeah. You have a point, Miles. If the “greater good” means you know someone is about to die and you just let it happen—instead of letting that person choose to be the sacrifice knowingly—that seems messed up, morally.

And I like parts of that, because I like the valuing of life, and I like the idea that being a control freak is a bad thing, because it’s prideful, etc. But who’s the control-freak? The kid who thinks he can do it all? Or the outer-dimensional watchdog who’s literally “holding all the strings together?”

And then there’s the cop-out of “Well, maybe none of these questions have answers because it’s only PART ONE!”

Basically, I’ll stop here, and just admit; I haven’t got a handle on why I don’t wholeheartedly like the second movie, either. It’s just not as tight and well-crafted as the first one. Still incredible, don’t get me wrong. Just…something is off.

I’ll talk about other stuff, instead of the Main Point.

I think the pacing is weird. Too much time is given to characters like Pavitr Parker and Hobie (yes, Hobie, I don’t care, he gets too much screen time.) and even The Spot. As much as I love seeing Andrew Garfield, all the cameos take up too much time. The chase scene? Waaay. WAY. Too much time. But that’s the gimmick they leaned in to, so that’s that.

The first movie knew when to make shots that were super artsy few and far between so that they added to a climactic moment. In this movie, just about every shot is doing something new and flashy with the effects, the backgrounds, the stylized icons, all of the above. Only scenes like the ones where Miles and his mom are talking on the fire escape have that “Gorgeous But Normal” vibe. So you feel like you’re just being firehosed with cool artwork, instead of the artwork melting seamlessly into the story and then popping out to enhance impactful moments.

Also, the facial expressions, particularly in the mouth-areas, are all not as impactful as they were in the first movie. The mouth movements aren’t dramatic enough to fit what the voice actors are doing in a lot of important scenes.

Finally, if I had to pick one big beef with the movie, it would be what they did with Peter B. Parker. I mean, just…relegating him to comic relief, entirely. No arc. No emotional depth. And his baby is just like…there. There’s nothing about him that acts like Spider-Man would.

Anyway, I’ll watch it again, I promise, and come back with more organized thoughts. (But that’s sort of the problem. A well-crafted, finely-tuned story usually doesn’t need this much analyzation to make it’s point—usually it’s clear. But there’s always the chance that it’s a me problem—an audience problem—so I’ll watch it again.)

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hello! I know you don’t generally answer MAG questions, since it’s done with and you have the Q&As to stand on their own, but I have just the one highly specific question that’s been haunting me for three years now so I figure it can’t hurt to at least ask w the knowledge that this is an unlikely avenue to receive answers!

Anyway— in MAG - 07, The Piper, was the description of the eponymous piper as a figure of War inspired in any way by the last book in the Anne of Green Gables series (Rilla of Ingleside) or was it a different source/its own separate invention? I read it as a kid and grew up thinking that the Piper from Walter Blythe’s poem in that book was like a known Thing TM/metaphor/symbolic character/whatever you want to call it of WWI, and listening to the statement only confirmed that, until I tried to actually explain/source it to a friend of mine, and the poem, the MAG episode, an American propaganda poster for war gardens, and a fair bit of info about actual bagpipers in the trenches so! It’s just been driving me wild as to whether that’s a coincidence or not ever since then! Thank you so much for your time and works, I’ve yet to meet one I haven’t enjoyed, and I hope you’re having a good day!

I've never actually read any Anne of Green Gables, I'm afraid. The original seed of The Piper actually comes from Uriah Heep's song "The Fires of Hell" off the album Sea of Light. As a young teen my music taste was shaped (as many are) by my dad's CD collection, and so I got very into 70s prog - Uriah Heep's 30th anniversary concert was actually one of my first live music gigs. Now, Sea of Light was one of their albums that my did didn't own (understandable, as it's pretty mid in terms of their discography), so I bought myself a copy. It was one of my first CDs and I listened to it a lot, and for some reason "Fires of Hell" lodged in my brain. It's sort of a prog rock rendition of a WW1 soldiers letter home, and one of the verses talks about "hearing the pipers song". In retrospect it's not a particularly great song, but that image never left me, and after about ten years of percolation and reading more about the great war, it finally found expression in Magnus.