#And sure there is the politics element but let me believe that in the moment his heart was on her safety and happiness.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

It's all fun and games until...

[Commission for @dontheckinswear]

[r0ugesun]

I have a fluff maybe to slight spicy request for Aemond Targaryen if you are interested!

Aemond finally becomes betrothed to princess!reader of a different house (can be any it don’t matter) but has circulation problems so she’s always cold and therefore fretted over making Aemond believe she is spoiled. But upon being proven wrong from maybe bonding over books or hell training, falls in love and carries her to bed when the cold gets to her and her bed is just full of blankets to cuddle in.

(Aemond deserves all the intimacy and cuddles)

Thank you for sending me this request anon and sorry for the delay! Ur right Aemond deserves all the cuddles (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

Synopsis: Princess y/n of House Martell arrives at the wintry Red Keep as Prince Aemond’s betrothed. As y/n’s warmth and intellect begin to break through Aemond’s icy exterior, he finds himself drawn to her. In return, Aemond’s protective embrace provides y/n the warmth she desperately needs.

Aemond x Martell!Reader

Prince Aemond Targaryen’s engagement to Princess y/n of House Martell was a union crafted to solidify political alliances. While their marriage was intended to serve as a strategic move, it was marred by the disparity in their circumstances. Princess y/n, renowned for her exotic beauty and noble grace, suffered from a rare condition that left her perpetually cold. This affliction required constant warmth, a need that Aemond initially perceived as a sign of pampering rather than genuine necessity.

From the moment y/n arrived at the red keep in the middle of a particularly harsh winter, the contrast between them was stark. The grand halls of the castle were adorned with tapestries of fearsome dragons and Targaryen banners, but y/n’s presence was marked by her constant need for warmth. She was swathed in layers of heavy furs, her every movement accompanied by a retinue of attendants. Aemond observed from a distance, noting her delicate appearance and the attentiveness of her servants. His initial impressions were marked by skepticism and a hint of disdain.

Their first meeting was formal, a carefully orchestrated affair. Aemond greeted her with his characteristic stoicism. “Princess y/n” he said, his tone courteous but distant, “I trust your journey was comfortable?”

Y/N offered a polite smile, though her eyes revealed a trace of weariness. “Thank you, Prince Aemond. The journey was long, but I am well. Though I must admit, the cold here is harsher than I expected.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow, his gaze indifferent. “You are accustomed to much warmer climates in dorne, I’m sure. Adapting to this cold must be challenging.”

Y/n’s voice was steady as she replied, “It is indeed a challenge, but I am here to fulfill my duty. I hope to contribute meaningfully despite the discomfort.”

Aemond's eyes remained cold as he regarded

Y/n. "Your sense of duty is admirable, though I can't help but wonder if you’ll be a hindrance rather than a help."

Y/N’s eyes flashed with sharpness, though her smile remained placid. She titled her head slightly before she spoke.

“I suppose we'll find out soon enough. I’ve faced challenges before. If I can endure the cold, I’m certain I can manage other… inconveniences.”

Aemond’s lips curled slightly in a thin smile, more of a smirk than a genuine expression of amusement. “Mmm. I wonder if your resolve will hold up as well when faced with the less glamorous aspects of life here.”

“Let’s hope” y/n replied smoothly. “It’s one thing to endure the elements, another to contend with a lack of charm.”

Aemond’s gaze sharpened slightly, but his tone remained even. “Charm is not a luxury I indulge in, Princess. I prefer matters of substance.”

Y/n had a smirk of her own now, her expression thoughtful. “Substance is important, but so is the ability to navigate social graces. Otherwise, one might come off as... unlikable.”

Aemond’s expression did not shift. “And you, Princess, are known for your social prowess?”

“I am known for many things, my prince” y/n said with a wry smile.

“Including the ability to keep my composure even when faced with frosty reception—both literal and figurative.”

Aemond’s eyes flickered with a hint of respect, though he quickly masked it with his usual stoicism. “We shall see if your composure extends to the political intricacies of our alliance.”

“I have no doubt it will” y/n replied confidently. “After all, if I can manage to stay warm and navigate through a wintry castle, I believe I can handle the complexities of court politics.”

Aemond regarded her with a piercing look, as if assessing whether her confidence was merely bravado or a genuine asset. “We shall see, indeed.”

Days passed, and the cold of King's Landing seemed even more relentless. Aemond, finding solace in the library's quiet, often retreated there to escape the castle's demands. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the ancient tomes, he entered the library to find an unexpected sight: Y/N, comfortably nestled near the hearth, a thick fur draped over her shoulders, engrossed in a book.

Aemond paused, his usual stoic demeanor faltering for a moment. He approached her with measured steps, his curiosity piqued. "Princess" he greeted, his tone more neutral than before.

Y/blooked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes before she smiled with a hint of apprehension. "Prince Aemond. I didn't expect to see you here."

"The library is a place of comfort for me" he admitted, his gaze drifting over the bookshelves. "I come here often to escape the... noise."

Y/n nodded, her fingers tracing the edges of the book she held. "I think it’s quite peaceful myself. I find the histories of your lineage particularly fascinating."

As Aemond sat across from her, he noticed the title of the book in her hands. "The Histories of Dorne and Aegon the conquerer" he remarked. "An interesting choice."

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with interest. "I was just reading about Aegon’s failed conquest of Dorne. It seems he underestimated the resilience of the Dornish people."

Aemond’s lips twitched into a faint smile. "Aegon was a formidable conqueror, but he came unprepared, the Dornish have always been adept at guerrilla warfare, using the knowledge of their land to their advantage."

Y/n leaned forward slightly, her interest genuine. "Do you think he could have succeeded if he had approached the conquest differently?"

Aemond considered her question, appreciating the depth of her curiosity. "Perhaps. He tried to discredit your ancestors with slanders and rumors when his dragons failed, of course that endeavor proved fruitless as well, if it were me I would’ve hired mercenaries familiar with the terrain and the culture”

Y/n smiled wryly “Wars are not won with bloodshed alone my prince If he had been more willing to negotiate and form alliances rather than relying solely on brute force, he might have had a better chance. The Dornish value our independence highly, we would not bow to mere threats."

Aemond’s gaze softened, clearly intrigued by her insight. “It seems you have a keen grasp of the intricacies of the histories and strategy. I imagine you would have made a formidable advisor.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, but she remained composed. “Thank you, my prince. I’ve always believed that knowledge and perspective are key to navigating both conflict and peace.”

Aemond’s smile widened slightly, a rare gesture that hinted at genuine admiration. “I look forward to hearing more of your perspectives.”

Their debates on the histories of the realm continued, the conversation flowing easily between them. They discussed strategies, historical figures, and the nuances of Dornish culture versus the Targaryen way of conquest. Aemond found himself increasingly drawn to her intellect and passion, her perspectives challenging and enlightening.

As the evening wore on, Aemond realized with a start that he was enjoying her company. Y/n’s confident demeanor were a stark contrast to his initial impressions. He found himself admiring the way she held her own in their debate, unafraid to challenge his views.

As the days turned into weeks, the cold of King's Landing seemed to grow less oppressive for y/n and Aemond, though winter’s bite was still unmistakable. One crisp afternoon, the pair decided to take a stroll through the Kingswood, a vast expanse of trees and tranquility that lay on the outskirts of the city.

Wrapped in their furs, they walked side by side, their conversation flowing as seamlessly as the wind through the trees. They continued their discussion of history. Aemond found himself enthralled by y/n’s insights and the way she animatedly discussed the events of the past.

As they wandered further into the wood, engrossed in their discourse, they lost track of time. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the temperature dropped sharply. Y/n’s delicate frame began to show signs of discomfort, her shivering becoming more pronounced.

Aemond’s keen eyes noticed her struggle first. “Princess, you appear distressed” he said, his voice laced with concern. “We should head back.”

Y/n tried to maintain her composure, but her attempts were faltering. “I’m quite cold” she admitted, her voice trembling. She winced as she took another step, her limp becoming more noticeable. “Perhaps... we should indeed return.”

Aemond’s brow furrowed as he observed her growing discomfort. Without a second thought, he scooped her into his arms with surprising ease. Y/n gasped, both startled and flustered by the sudden, intimate contact. Her cheeks flushed, though it was not entirely from the cold.

Aemond, maintaining a careful hold, began to carry her back through the woods. His stride was steady and purposeful, though he could not ignore the feeling of Y/N nestled close against him. The warmth of her body against his own was both a contrast to the frigid air and a comfort he had not anticipated.

As they neared the castle, Y/N’s embarrassment was palpable. She attempted to speak through her shivering. “M-my prince, you needn’t carry me. I can manage!”

Aemond’s gaze softened as he looked down at her. “You are in no condition to walk, Princess. Allow me to ensure you are safely returned to your chambers.”

Despite her initial resistance, Y/N found herself settling into his embrace, her coldness slowly melting away with each step Aemond took. The castle’s warmth greeted them as they entered, and Aemond carried her up the grand staircase, his movements deliberate and careful.

Upon reaching their chambers, Aemond gently set y/n down on the edge of the large, ornate bed. He took a moment to stoke the fire, ensuring the room was warm and inviting. Y/n watched him with a mixture of gratitude and bashfulness.

“Thank you” she said quietly as he helped her settle under the heavy, embroidered blankets. “I didn’t expect...”

Aemond interrupted her softly, a rare tenderness in his voice. “There is no need to thank me. It is my duty as your future husband to ensure your well being.”

As the fire crackled and the warmth enveloped her, y/n began to relax. Aemond, though maintaining his usual stoicism, could not ignore the growing affection he felt. He seated himself beside her, his presence a comforting shield against the chill.

Y/n looked at him, her eyes reflecting both relief and a newfound closeness. “You’ve been very kind, Aemond. I appreciate it more than you know.”

Aemond nodded, his own emotions subtly shifting. “I am glad to see you more comfortable. It would be remiss of me to let you suffer.”

The fire's glow cast a warm halo around them, and the room was filled with a tender intimacy that seemed to wrap around them like the softest of blankets. Y/n’s eyes met Aemond's, and for a moment, the world outside their secluded chamber fell away. The air was thick with an unspoken yearning, a deep desire that neither could ignore.

Aemond's gaze softened as he took in the sight of her, his usual composure giving way to a rare display of vulnerability. The warmth from the hearth made her cheeks flush, her lips slightly parted in a way that made Aemond's heart ache with a longing he had not anticipated. He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch tender and lingering.

As he leaned in, their breaths mingled, warm and intertwined. The kiss that followed was not hurried but slow and filled with a profound tenderness. It was as if Aemond was trying to savor every moment, every sensation of her closeness. His lips moved gently against hers, exploring with a careful, reverent touch. The kiss was a quiet confession of his growing affection, a promise of warmth and devotion.

Y/n felt a delicious shiver of pleasure as he placed his warm hands under her dress and caressing her thighs, melting into his embrace, her cold body finally finding solace in the heat of his touch. Aemond's arms wrapped around her with a desperate kind of need, pulling her closer as if he could absorb her cold and make it his own. His warmth seemed to seep into her, chasing away the chill that had plagued her since her arrival.

With each press of his lips every soft touch under her clothes, Aemond conveyed a yearning that went beyond mere physical desire. It was a yearning for connection, for understanding, for something deeper than the political arrangement that had brought them together. His touch was both possessive and protective, He was a fire that would keep her brittle heart warm.

When they finally parted, their foreheads resting together, Aemond’s eye was filled with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

Y/n’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “You bring warmth to more than just my body, Aemond. You’re igniting something in me that I never knew I needed.”

Aemonds eye shone with a mix of relief and affection as he looked down at her. “I never thought I’d find comfort like this.”

Aemond’s smile was soft, almost shy, as he brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek as she spoke.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so unexpected can bring such warmth to our lives.”

Y/n nuzzled her nose with his and wrapped her leg over Aemond’s waist, drawing herself closer to him. The closeness of their bodies created an even more intimate cocoon, reinforcing their shared warmth. The contact of her leg against his body was both grounding and tender, a subtle way of expressing her trust and affection.

Aemond’s hold tightened slightly, his eye closing in contentment as he savored the sensation of her closeness. His hand continued its soothing caress, and he rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers in a warm, gentle rhythm. “You are my only warmth” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/n’s eyes met his with a tender, knowing look. “And you are mine.” she replied softly, her lips brushing against his in a final, lingering kiss. They were each others warmth and comfort.

[artslovergirl]

Stanford!art as a secret admirer pleaaaaase

hiii! sorry this took me literally a month to finish i am still not very good at keeping a drabble a drabble and this one really got away from me but i promise in the future that hopefully wont be the case....anywhoo! enjoy! (ty for being my first request ever!) also shoutout to diya for helping me a bit with characterizing art having a crush on someone! mwah!

admittedly, art felt like a creep. not enough to stop sneaking glances at you across the lecture hall but definitely enough to feel hot shame crawl up his neck whenever you would accidentally meet his eye contact.

he quickly glanced away and stared back at the blackboard, trying to pretend that's what he had been looking at all along.

he began fiddling with his pen, pushing the plastic end of it nervously against his lips. he could feel your eyes on him for a few moments longer before turning back around to face the professor.

great. now you probably actually thought he was a creep. which is not exactly how he planned your first form of contact to go.

...alright, to be fair, he never had an exact plan in the first place? but "make awkward eye contact" wouldn't have been a part of it. that's for sure.

he was a little out of his element here. stanford was a hell of a lot bigger than mark rebellato was.

back there, most of the girls knew him, sometimes even liked him already or he had patrick as his wingman. (or when it came to tashi, competition.) but here? he felt so unsure all of a sudden. it felt like all of the experience he had with dating seemed completely useless.

when he first saw you, he was still pretty infatuated with tashi. but that doesnt mean he didnt notice how hot you were. as more time passed the more he realized that tashi and patrick were apprently locked in (go figure the dude finally learns commitment just in time. read bitterness.) and the more he saw you, the more he heard you talk in class, the more he saw you laugh with your friends, the more you wouldnt leave his mind. not to mention how fucking smart you were. well, are.

the lecture ended and as always you were one of the first people out the door. you were always in a rush. or maybe you just had another class all the way on the other side of campus?

he wondered what your major was. he wondered if you knew he played tennis. he wondered if it would even impress you if you found out. he hoped it would.

---

art was sitting in the cafeteria stabbing his fork into his salad that consisted of like 70% veggies and 30% eggs.

he had to say, he was definitely getting sick of eggs at this point. he took a small sip of his gatorade.

usually, he drank blue, but he decided to try red today. maybe because it was patrick's favorite flavor or maybe because he needed at least a little change in routine.

unfortunately, as he went to place the bottle back down on the table, he almost knocked it over as soon as he suddenly noticed you standing by the vending machine. and then turning around. and.. walking towards him? holy shit.

at first, he thought you would just walk past him, but you stopped at his table. he didn't know if he believed in god, but at that moment, he certainly felt like a favorite.

"hey," you smiled politely, "sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a quarter? that thing doesn't seem to take nickles." you nodded your head towards the vending machine at the entrance of the cafeteria.

"uh." his brain tried to play catch up. "um, yeah, let me check." he let out a small chuckle so he wouldn't sound so nervous, but it sounded more like he was wheezing. he pulled out his wallet, ripped apart the velcro, and checked. he silently celebrated when he noticed he did, in fact, have a few quarters. "yeah, how many do you need?" he looked up at you. his cheeks felt hot.

"oh, just one is fine." he nods, and suddenly, in front of your presence, it seems a lot harder to properly grab the quarter from his wallet. he does manage, though, and as he hands it to you, he feels your fingers brush against his palm.

as if transferred from your fingertips to his palm it felt like a surge went through his body, traveling through his arteries and sparking at the tips of his fingers and toes. you hand him your nickels in exchange. before you could turn to leave, he quickly interjected, "we're in the same class, right? english literature?"

he didnt know where he was going with this, he just wanted to keep talking to you.

your eyes flashed with recognition.

"oh, yeah! art, right? you sit behind me?" you knew his name. "yeah, yeah, that's right." he nodded, his fingers drummed against the table. there was a short lull in the conversation as he desperately tried to grasp for anything to talk about that wouldn't seem like he was hitting on you (even though he kind of was.)

"so, uh, this is actually good timing because i've been sorta meaning to talk to you anyway?" his lips pulled into a familiar charming lopsided smile.

"oh, really?" you tilted your head. "yeah." he nodded, his hand going to fidget with curls on the back of his neck that stuck out of his backwards cap.

"i, uh, need some help with some of the material, and, you know, you're so good-"

"oh, i'm not that-"

"nah, c'mon no need to be modest," there's that grin again, "i don't think i've ever seen you get a question wrong."

you huff, feeling embarrassed at the unexpected praise, "well, it's literature, so it's all interpretation, it's hard to be outright wrong."

"see, that answer just confirms it." he says.

you chuckle, finally giving in and accepting the compliment. "so..you want my help then?" he nods. he really prayed you would say yes because this was really his only plan on how to get to know you.

you mulled over it for a few seconds. then you nodded. "yeah, okay, let me give you my number and we can figure out the details later. i got another class in like-" you glanced back at the clock, "shit, 3 minutes."

you hastily ripped a piece of paper out of your notebook scribbled a number on it and left it on the table. "oh, and thanks for the quarter!" you yelled back (even though you didn't even get to use it) before booking it out of the cafeteria. guess he was right about you always being in a rush.

---

4:58 pm. 2 more minutes till you'd knock at his door. art did another once over of his room. now he wasn't exactly a messy guy but he had to admit his dorm had never been this clean before. actually maybe it was too clean...would you think that was weird? like would you think he was a neatfreak? girls probably weren't into that.

he began messing up his bedsheets just a little so it wouldnt look like he had just spent the past three hours obsessively cleaning every inch of his dorm. even though thats exactly what he did.

it was a pretty small room but you'd be surprised how long it can take to clean if you're doing a real deep clean. not to mention the pain in the ass that doing laundry in college was.

he did all of this because, keeping true to your word, you did make plans with him to help him out with some of the reading.

you : does 5pm on saturday work 4 u?? :-)

art : Yeah, I'm totally free!!

(in hindsight the two exclamation points were probably a bit much.)

just as he was about to check out his hair for the 5th time today, there was a knock on the door. he glanced at the little digital watch on his wrist. 5pm sharp. wow, you were punctual. was it weird that he found that hot?

art quickly brushes a few unruly curls that were sticking out of his backwards cap away with his fingers before moving to open the door.

---

"so, what's the exact stuff you're having trouble with?" you peered at him from his bed, which you were sitting on, which he was being very cool about.

you had asked him if it was okay to sit there after you had exchanged a few pleasantries and then chatted for about 10 minutes.

it was mostly about class at first, then turned into more personal topics. you asked him if he was on the tennis team, because of all the..well..tennis gear in his room.

he nodded and told you about his tennis scholarship. you chuckled and said you had never really watched any matches at stanford so far, but you'd like to see him play.

he really tried to not seem overly enthusiastic about that but he did tell you the exact time and date of his next match.

apparently, you thought the sport seemed "really impressive". ( i.e. you were impressed. i.e. you were impressed by him playing tennis. or that's at least how he heard it.)

then, after he found out you were an english major, which wasn't a surprise, you finally brought up the topic of studying.

he spun in his desk chair, to face you.

"just some of this..interpretive stuff...i feel like i never know what the professor wants to hear from me." he tapped the end of his pen against the book he was holding. "well.." you shifted into a cross-legged postion, you were wearing shorts and he was trying really hard not to stare at your legs.

"you probably shouldnt be thinking about that in the first place, you know, what the professor wants to hear? you should think about what you actually got from the book." he knew this was pretty standard advice but when you said it, it sounded like the most intelligent, world-changing thing he'd ever heard.

"riiight...what if i didnt get anything from it?" he smiled sheepishly, leaning his head on his hand. you scrunched up your nose and playfully rolled your eyes, "oh, come on, how can you read classic literature and not get anything from it? i don't believe that."

you scooted forward a little. a little closer to him. a nervous chuckle left his lips, his gaze swept back and forth between you and the book before settling on you.

truth be told, he was doing fine, at least grade-wise, and even if he wasn't, it wasn't like he was striving to become an english professor, he mostly decided to take this class on a whim. but the part about struggling with interpretations was true, it just maybe wasn't necessarily a dire enough situation to require your help...

"well, maybe youre not asking yourself the right questions before you read." you hummed, gently tapping your finger against your leg. "can i see your notes?"

art panicked a bit at that. he wasn't sure why, but suddenly someone looking at his notes felt oddly intimate. you would be able to read the bits and parts of the book he regarded as important enough to jot down. what he liked. what he didn't like. perhaps it was a little intimate.

he tried to play it casual, though, and nodded as he handed you his english lit folder. his nerves only got worse the longer you took to read through them.

then suddenly, you smiled and nodded a little bit before looking up at him again. he prayed that you couldn't see the way his heart was trying to escape his ribcage right now.

"you know, you couldve just asked me out."

before his brain could even process that sentence, his mouth seemed to go into immediate action to splutter out some kind of denial in order to salvage this, "what? i- no, no, that's not- i mean, seriously why would-"

"i mean, i wouldn't have said no. like you didn't have to pretend to need my help. you clearly don't need it-" you gently tossed his folder back onto the desk. "-plus you're cute."

he didn't move for a good few seconds until he finally caught up to what had just happened.

now, this would've been the moment where he would've liked to be really cool and smooth in his response, but instead what happened was: "um..so then are we..like are you.."

in his defense you kind of caught him off guard. like completely. he had had a plan. how the study sessions would transition into friendship, and then maybe, hopefully at some point would transition into dating. he was a patient guy, really, and you had just skipped like...everything.

"are you free tomorrow?" you asked, as you stood up to grab your bag. wow, you were really taking the wheel at this point. and he discovered that he had shockingly little problem with that.

"uh, yeah, yeah i'm free..like all day." he did have training in the morning but he truly would skip it just this once if it came down to it.

"2pm?"

"sure."

"i'll text you?"

"okay."

"so..it's a date?"

you had stood up from the bed and were suddenly already on your way out. probably because you could tell he needed a minute.

"yeah, a date." he nodded with a (almost lovestruck) smile he hadn't even noticed had snuck its way unto his lips. you reciprocated with an equally excited grin, "cool."

before he knew it, the door had clicked shut, and he was alone again. he felt warm.

"cool."

[solxamber]

Bid for Disaster - Kaito Fuji x reader

When Kaito borrows money from Romeo again, he's forced to become a product at Romeo's auction. To his surprise, you are the one who bids, rescuing him from the humiliation of being sold off to strangers.

Kaito stood on the auction stage like a deer caught in headlights, his face a mix of desperation and sheer mortification. The crowd murmured in amusement as Romeo paced the stage, drawing out the tension with an exaggerated grin.

“And next up, we have Kaito Fuji!” Romeo’s voice dripped with a sarcastic lilt. “Ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between, a man with... well, questionable judgment but hey, a date’s a date, right?”

Kaito’s eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed a deep red. You could practically see him calculating the odds of survival if he just made a break for it. And Romeo, of course, was in his element, milking the moment for all it was worth.

"Come on, folks! You’ll be helping him pay off his debt to me! A noble cause, don’t you think?"

No one moved. The silence stretched uncomfortably long, and Kaito looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. He shot a panicked glance at you, as if begging for help, though you weren’t sure if it was intentional or just his desperation seeping through.

You couldn’t take it anymore. This whole situation was wrong. He might’ve had bad luck—or maybe terrible financial management skills—but he didn’t deserve this public humiliation. You glanced at your wallet, sighed, and then...

“I’ll bid!” Your voice rang out louder than you expected.

All heads snapped toward you, including Kaito’s, whose mouth was hanging open in complete shock. His eyes locked onto yours, utterly speechless.

The crowd erupted in a chorus of whispers, and Romeo actually froze mid-stride, blinking at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. Recovering quickly, his face broke into a wide grin. “Sold to the lovely bidder in the back!”

You could’ve sworn you heard Kaito let out a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. As the hammer came down, he tried to leave the stage with a shred of dignity, but his nerves betrayed him. In his haste, he misjudged the steps and tripped, rolling down in an almost comical display of limbs, landing in a crumpled heap at the bottom. The crowd gasped, and you winced, trying not to laugh.

This guy had been trying to ask you out for months? He was absolutely pathetic—but in the kind of way that made your heart feel oddly soft.

Despite Kaito’s less-than-graceful exit from the stage, you decided to go on the date. After all, he had tried to talk to you for ages, and hey, maybe he’d surprise you.

He didn’t.

You arrived at the restaurant he’d picked, and from the moment you stepped inside, you had a bad feeling about this. It wasn’t the ambiance—it looked like a cozy enough spot. No, it was Kaito’s jittery demeanor, like he was two seconds away from bolting. His eyes flicked from the menu to you, back to the waiter, then the ceiling, and then the exit—like he was mapping out all the ways to escape. It was endearing, in a trainwreck sort of way.

“So, um, yeah. I hope you like this place.” He fumbled with the menu, almost knocking over the silverware. “I read some reviews, and they said it’s like... good?”

You smiled politely, trying to put him at ease. “Yeah, looks nice.”

The waiter appeared, and Kaito scrambled to order. “Uh, we’ll take the... uhm, I’ll have the chicken... wait, no... the fish... or maybe the...?”

The waiter raised an eyebrow, and you were pretty sure you heard a quiet sigh escape from him. Finally, Kaito settled on something, and you ordered too, hoping for the best.

But then the waiter returned almost immediately, looking apologetic. “We’re out of chicken. And fish. And... well, everything you ordered.”

Kaito’s eyes went wide. “What? How is that even—? Okay, uh, we’ll just have water for now.”

Water. You tried not to laugh, biting your lip as Kaito’s face flushed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t... I didn’t expect this.”

“It’s fine,” you said, trying to hold back your amusement.

But then things got worse. Kaito, clearly flustered, reached for his glass of water—only for it to slip out of his hand and spill directly into your lap.

“Oh my god—! I’m so sorry!” His voice cracked as he frantically grabbed napkins, dabbing at your soaked pants.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” You couldn’t help but laugh now, because really, it was all too ridiculous.

Kaito looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. His hands were trembling as he tried to wipe up the spill, his face so red you were starting to wonder if he’d combust.

The rest of the meal, if you could call it that, wasn’t any better. Kaito kept jumping from topic to topic, trying to start conversations, but every time he looked at you, it was like his brain short-circuited. You watched him stammer through half-finished sentences, laugh awkwardly at jokes that weren’t funny, and at one point, he knocked over the salt shaker, which promptly shattered on the floor.

It was bad. You almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

By the time Kaito dropped you off at your dorm, he looked like a broken man. His shoulders were slumped, his face etched with despair. He turned to you, eyes filled with regret.

“I... I’m so sorry. That was... the worst. You’ll probably never talk to me again, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame you. I... I’ve been trying to ask you out for months, and then when I finally do, it’s... this.” He waved his hand vaguely, as if gesturing to the entirety of the disaster that had unfolded that night.

You stood there, watching him fall apart, and felt something unexpected. Endearment. Sure, the date had been a complete catastrophe, but Kaito was trying. He genuinely cared. And somehow, in his fumbling, pathetic way, it was... sweet.

“Kaito,” you said softly, stepping closer. You could see the tears welling up in his eyes. He was really beating himself up over this. Before he could spiral further, you leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek.

His eyes widened, and he froze.

“I had fun,” you said, holding back a laugh as his expression shifted from utter confusion to disbelief.

“What? Fun? How could you possibly have fun?”

You handed him a small piece of paper with your number. “That’s my number. How about we try again?”

He blinked, staring down at the paper like it was some sort of mystical artifact. “Wait... you... you want to go on another date? With me?”

You couldn’t help but laugh and nod at how utterly baffled he looked. All you could think was: Yep. I think I have a taste for boyfailures.

As you skipped back into your dorm, Kaito remained rooted to the spot, staring at the door in a daze. Slowly, the realization hit him, and his entire face lit up in a giddy, disbelieving grin. He laughed under his breath, still too stunned to move.

Masterlist

[elliespeach]

tear you apart | ellie williams

˗ˏˋ"if your friends won't watch over you, i will." ´ˎ˗

pairing ellie wiliams x fem reader synopsis ellie owns her own vinyl store and the day you wander in changes both of your lives forever. she quickly becomes infatuated with you, desperate for your love that she believes is meant to be. when things in your life begin to spiral, ellie is there to catch you, but you'd never suspect she was the reason you fell in the first place. heavily heavily based on the book/tv show "you" on netflix wordcount 4k warnings gosh where do i start, stalking both cyber and in person, ellie is obsessive, manipulative, a gaslighter, a pervert lowkey, possessive and easily jealous, she breaks into readers apartment and goes thru your stuff, shes also so delusional like top tier delulu, shes based off joe goldberg so i mean put the pieces together. this is all from her perspective, most if not all of the inner monologue is ellie's thoughts about you, the italics is verbatim what she is thinking in that very moment if that makes sense. like joe, all of her actions are justified in her mind, and she doesn't see anything wrong with them. reader has a dysfunctional family. pls lmk if i am missing something! authors note hi hello hi, i have been so excited to post this!! just wanted to clarify this rn, i am bringing in a LOT of elements from the book and show, especially in this part, if it seems very similar thats why. i don't plan on following the plot line for season one, but i needed a good base to jump off of, dont hate me. n yes, readers best friend is shauna from yellowjackets i couldn't help myself. i needed a girl group, sue me. cat is apart of this girl group, not ellie's ex along w dina, also not ellie's ex in this au lol

fuckin’ trash, ellie thought to herself, looking over the torn up vinyl in her hands. the guy who returned it obviously had no fucking clue how to take care of something. especially something so needing of love. she placed the vinyl down on the counter beside the register before stepping into the back of the store, grabbing her tools of restoration. as she rummaged through a drawer, the familiar bell rang from the front door indicating a new customer, but she ignored it and continued searching for the sandpaper she always left laying around somewhere. the last drawer she opened was the winner, taking her supplies, she emerged from the small room into the front of the store, the beads in the doorway swaying as she walked through them. 

thats when her eyes found you, examining the vinyl left on the counter. you hadn’t noticed her yet, too engrossed in the mishandled vinyl. she watched you for a moment as you looked it over, tracing the scratches that lined it. to ellie, you looked to be the definition of a nice girl. sporting a flowy sundress that laid just below your ass. nice girl who likes attention, she thought to herself, looking you up and down from afar. 

she played it cool, keeping her eyes on the sandpaper and cloth in her hands as she made her way back to the counter. you finally took notice of her when she stood in front of you. “oh, hi,” you smiled brightly, to which ellie looked up. “whoever handled this vinyl should be in jail.” a sense of humor, ellie smiled at you, letting a breathy laugh fall from her lips. and an appreciation for vinyls, rare.

“a life sentence, for sure.” she spoke, and you laughed. a laugh that was genuine, not forced by politeness. 

“can you point me to where i could find a david bowie album, ellie?” you asked sweetly, and she had to remember she wore a name tag. flirting with me and you like david bowie? ellie’s grateful its a tuesday afternoon, the store is dead. giving her more time to talk with you. you, who seemed to never stop smiling at her. 

“against the wall,” she pointed. “third box from the left.” she lets you wander over yourself, taking the time to admire the way you carry yourself. you had a pair of red, heart shaped sunglasses resting on your head. ellie could tell you liked to pay attention to details, it was evident in the way you matched your sunglasses to your dress, and she wondered just how many pairs you owned. both short dresses and uniquely designed sunglasses together. her head tilted at the thought, switching her over chewed gum to the other side of her mouth. 

you rifled through the box as ellie’s gaze pierced your back, although you were seemingly unaware. david bowie, she thought again. not another stuck up gen z who only listens to who is in the top one hundred, no. no, you were special. ellie put her focus onto the vinyl in front of her, slowly dampening it with the cloth before grinding the sandpaper over the scratches. but she kept you in her peripheral vision and she couldn’t help but notice you were struggling to find a specific one, or at least it looked like it. 

“need help?” she asked you, keeping her voice neutral.

your body turned to face her, meeting her eyes and a faux pout on your lips.“i think the only one i want isn’t here, or i’m seriously blind.” 

ellie chuckled, coming out from behind the counter, “my money’s on blind, just organized this box a few days ago.”

you huffed lightly, standing to the side while she approached you and the box. “i can’t find the rise and fall of ziggy stardust, it’s one of my favorites.”

of course it is. ellie barely looked in the box before she saw the album, pulling it out and holding it out for you. “i’ll book your eye appointment,” she said with a light grin. 

“ugh, my hero,” you gushed, taking the album from her hands gently. i’ll always be your hero, but something tells ellie that you didn’t really need her help to begin with. 

“c’mon, i’ll ring you up,” ellie led you back to the register and you placed the vinyl down on the counter lightly.

“promise i won’t do what that guy did,” you joked, reaching into your bag for your wallet. 

ellie almost wishes you would. you’d come in a few days later, apologizing for being so clumsy but asking if she could fix it for you. of course, she would say yes. how could she say no to someone like you? “you couldn’t if you tried, pretty sure he did it on purpose.” 

“what makes you say that?”

“just a hunch,” ellie shrugs, scanning the barcode on the vinyl. 

“maybe his dogs got it, or worse, his kids.” you kept eye contact as you spoke, which shocked ellie. a lot of people would break away, divert conversation, maybe even stay silent all together. but not you. 

“if that guy had kids, i’d feel bad for them,” to a lot of people, this comment would rub them the wrong way, and ellie internally cursed herself for saying it. you’re a sweetheart in her eyes, someone who wouldn’t think things like that, but again, you laughed. the transaction was almost over and she was grasping at straws, so she kept going. “guys like him blame everything on everyone else, i wouldn’t be surprised if his kids actually hated him but,” 

your head tilted, waiting for more. to ellie, it looked like you were hanging onto every word she said. and she relished in it. “–thats only if someone wanted to have kids with him, which i highly doubt.” 

“from what i’m hearing it doesn’t sound like anyone would want to,” you’re trusting my judgment. ellie’s lips curled up with your words, and she bagged the vinyl in a plastic bag. you handed her a credit card, which was decorated with flowers along with your name. and you want me to know your name. you could’ve used cash, the vinyl was less than twenty dollars. but no, ellie knew better and she knew you better. your eyes found the scratched up vinyl yet again, “but you can fix it?” 

ellie swiped the card against her own wishes. she’d give you the whole store if you asked with that pretty smile. “it’ll be back in the box within the hour, why? you like pink floyd?”

“yeah, for the most part. i haven’t listened to that album yet,” 

“i can put it on hold for you.” ellie rushes out, and she feels like she came on too strong. you could easily listen to it on spotify but she reminds herself that you’re in her store for a reason. you probably own a vinyl player, an older model you got off of facebook marketplace because the newer ones don’t match your personality. maybe a pioneer or a yamaha, and now shes thinking about how you probably dance around your room listening to music. your response breaks her from her imagination. 

“that’d be great, thanks ellie,” but she can see it so perfectly in her mind, you’d wear a big t-shirt and a dainty pair of underwear. twirling and spinning about, the t-shirt riding up as you did and as you stood in front of her in that short dress her mind seemed to unravel and she had to clear her throat. 

“anytime–” she tacked your name at the end of her words with a smile, handing back your card which you very quickly put in your wallet. her eyes glanced down for a split second, admiring how the dress pushed your tits together before bringing them back up to your face. 

“aren’t you going to tell me to have a good day?” you teased much to ellie’s enjoyment, reaching out for the bag she was holding for you. 

“have a good day,” your fingers grazed hers, and ellie knew it had to be on purpose. a flirt, and a good one at that.

“you too, ellie. i’ll be back for that album.” 

you left the store as quickly as you came, taking your sweet vanilla scent with you. ellie thought about your interaction all day, it consumed her walk home and when she entered her small apartment she fell to her couch and opened her laptop. 

plugging your name into any and all social medias was easy, who could forget a name like yours? all your accounts were public, and very quickly ellie could tell just what kind of person you were. the sweet girl who loved vinyls who had an addiction to posting online. your twitter was filled with random, obscure thoughts and always with a hashtag at the end of them. from time to time you’d tweet about where you were, and ellie tsk’d out loud to herself. anyone could find you within seconds, you need to be more careful. you seemed to tweet about everything in your life and ellie refreshed the page, wishing to see a post about the cute girl in the vinyl shop who helped you find your favorite album. 

yet, there was nothing. and for a moment it hurt her, but the more she thought about it, it was better you didn’t post about her. that means it was real for you, hope remains. 

facebook provided the basics of your family, although the account was inactive. but your parents who divorced a few years back seemed to only post about your younger siblings, leaving her to wonder if they didn’t approve of your lifestyle in the city. she stalked their pages like it was her job and at this point it felt like it was. she discovered that your two younger siblings went off to college out west and your parents even sold their home to be closer to them while still living separate lives. ellie felt pity for you, how could they just leave you behind? 

your instagram feed was an aesthetic one, pictures posted solely to appease your followers. a pretty sunset here, a mirror selfie there, a quick post about the food from the restaurant just down the road from ellie’s shop. there were also posts about your own art, colorful and detailed, just like yourself. a painting you did was the last thing you posted, but this one wasn’t like your other ones, it was black and white and had a lonely floating balloon in the center and the borders were lined with overlapping words. ellie could make out only a few of them, ‘melancholy’, ‘nobody’, and ‘distress’. 

there were lots of group pictures of you with friends. ellie could see you looked more authentic than them, who all seemed to resemble something out of a factory for young adults. you were a pearl in a sea of clams. 

out of curiosity, ellie brought herself to your friend’s pages as well. she needed to see the types of people you spent time with, seeing if they were someone she would approve of for you. one friend made an appearance more than others and she assumed that was your so-called best friend, a spunky city girl named shauna. her own instagram was like an influencer’s guide to posting online, and she seemed like someone ellie would avoid at all costs. shauna’s posts of you always had you in the background, or if you were directly in the frame it was a candid where shauna looked better. she's making herself look better at your own expense, can't you see that?   

your other friend’s social media were bland and unhelpful. ellie brought herself back to the task at hand. she typed your name into google and watched the loading screen. your name brought up a string of links all connecting back to your art pieces you’ve submitted to local papers and art galleries. an artist in new york city, aren’t you ambitious. maybe your parents didn’t like the instability of being an artist. but yet, you still pursue your passion. its admirable. 

what also popped up was a white pages link, with a few clicks, and a small charge to her credit card she found exactly what she was looking for. there wasn’t much she could do with your phone number, texting you would be creepy. there was no way for her to explain how she got it, so the next best thing was your address. which, lucky for ellie, was only six blocks from her own. 

if she could find it this easily, she needed to make sure that no one else did. which is how she found herself standing across the street from your apartment, peering into the windows that had no blinds, no curtains, no protection from the outside world. you were on full display for all of new york. first thing were doing together is buying you blinds. you were lounging around on your coach, scrolling through your phone and periodically shifting in your spot to get more comfortable. 

it was dark now, and again, luckily for ellie, someone standing on the sidewalk of new york wasn’t a weird thing to do and no one paid her any mind. for days she would stand in the same spot, studying your movements throughout your apartment. sometimes you would go to bed on the early side, but most nights you were fully awake, sipping something out of a purple mug which she could only assume was coffee, and drawing lines on a canvas. 

everytime you would take a break and scroll through your phone, ellie would refresh every social media, waiting for a post. your fingers danced on the keyboard and after a few refreshes on ellie’s end, your twitter had a new post. 

@yndoesartstuff: if anyone has tips on how not to procrastinate finishing a wip, please enlighten me

if you just put down your phone, i’m sure you could get it done.

one night she watched as you dipped your wet brush into the purple mug instead of the designated paint water cup. they didn’t even look similar, but ellie laughed to herself while you groaned, tossing your head back before getting up to dump the liquid out of the mug. this would also be the first night ellie gawked at you while your hands dipped below your shorts, she quickly looked around. no one else seemed to notice that you were pleasing yourself with your own gentle hands and her eyes found you again, sprawled out on your couch. 

your back arched, obviously hitting your sweet spot and ellie swallowed hard. blinds. were getting you blinds. 

some days, ellie was too busy with the store to watch over you and she hated herself for it. too tired to walk the six blocks and instead just looking over your social media again, looking through your friends posts to see if you’ve been up to anything. you had never come back for the album, which ellie had finished nearly two weeks ago now. but tonight, as she locked up the store she knew she was going straight to the sidewalk adjacent from your apartment. 

when she arrived at her usual spot she saw you through the windows and you looked too well put together for a night to yourself. you were dolled up and ellie liked to imagine it was for her, you’d leave your apartment and head to the store for the album you said you’d come back for weeks ago. but her hope was squashed when a cab pulled up outside your apartment and a woman who looked way too old started to walk up the steps to the building and entered the main door. ellie had been here enough to know the general look of your building's inhabitants, and this woman wasn’t one of them. maybe someone's mom, maybe she's visiting a friend. she can’t be here for you. no way. 

but through the windows, with no blinds, she saw you open your door for this woman and welcome her into your home. your mom. it has to be. ellie’s eyebrows narrowed when you pulled this woman into a hug, then pulled back and let your lips kiss hers. okay, so not your mom. who the fuck is this?

ellie, whose eyes were going from her phone to the big windows of your apartment, began to search through your online presence and found no traces of her. this mysterious woman who, now, you seemed to be having a highschool make out session with on your couch, was all over you, touching you, kissing you, and worst of all, pleasing you. that sweet smile that had previously been for ellie, was now for this woman and it made ellie’s stomach turn. but she didn’t leave, instead watched while the two of you began to peel each other's clothes off. 

were getting you blinds and were getting rid of this woman. 

the next day while she opened up her store, she couldn’t help but think about you and this woman. she was frustrated, of course. but she couldn’t blame you, obviously this woman was prying on your weaknesses for her own pleasure. taking advantage of you. it sickened her, and she had to know more. she had been through every following list she could think of and still, this woman was a mystery. and as she refreshed your twitter (a new hobby of hers), a new post popped up. 

@yndoesartstuff: lunch date with @shaunamavisxx never felt so right – at hoppers tavern

seeing that, ellie locked up shop way too early. it was fairly easy to make her way into your apartment, all she had to do was play the part. “sorry, my girlfriend hasn’t given me a key to this door yet,” she said with a friendly smile to your neighbor, who out of the kindness of his heart let her into the building. she waited until he was in his own apartment before picking your lock. 

it smelled like you once she stepped inside, and she let the aroma fill her nose as she walked around. it was messy, canvases piled up everywhere along with dirty paint brushes. clothes lined your floor from the bedroom all the way to the kitchen and she had to force herself not to clean it up for you. she examined your paintings up close, admiring how the strokes on the canvas looked. she noticed you draw a small bird in every corner, the bird is plump, uncolored and holding a small twig. it was your signature, and it matched you so well. but, what she really was after was your laptop, she found it sitting on your unmade bed. 

no password? she was shocked, and made a mental note to tell you that you needed to secure your devices. it’s almost as if you wanted her to search through it to get to know you better, and ellie did just that. it was linked to your phone and as she went through your messages they all seemed to be relatively normal. for someone like you, at least. 

loads of messages from a group chat labeled city gals, and she knew it wasn’t you who had named it being as you were funnier than that, and less basic. scrolling up, all the conversation in the chat was merely nothing of note, no mention of this woman to your friends which ellie found odd. maybe just a hookup? but even then, wouldn’t you tell your friends? 

ellie could gauge your friends' personalities through the texts they would send, shauna was most definitely the unnamed leader of this group, probably also the one who named the chat. her texts were mostly about planning activities, meanwhile the others just tacked on with fake enthusiastic responses. even yourself. 

leaving the group chat, she continued to scroll down your messages and found an unsaved phone number which seemed to be the winner. you don’t have her number saved, this is good. a lot of your texts to her went unanswered, left on seen and only responded once you’d ask for her to come over. that usually generated a reply within minutes from this woman, who ellie still didn’t know the name of. it angered her even further, realizing she was just toying you along. only using you for your body when you were so much more than that. 

ellie jotted down the unsaved number into her notes app, saving it for later when she could find out just exactly who this woman was. it was clear from the texts that she wanted nothing to do with you, and you still kept texting her like a sad puppy. it was pathetic, really, but ellie didn’t judge. she knew that your attention seeking habits were brought on by your dysfunctional family, she just wished it was her on the receiving end.

she found herself in your emails and saw you had an abundant amount of unread ones. it was a lot of spam and a waste of time, so she moved on. she decided it was best to go into your search history, restaurants, art galleries that allowed online submissions, sometimes even silly questions that ellie would most definitely answer for you if you asked. 

“how do magicians do their cutting in half tricks?” you would ask her from the couch while ellie made you both dinner. 

she’d call out from the stove, “there’s a fake table, the girl puts her legs through that. the legs you see on the other end are fake, baby.” and you would giggle sweetly as you always did, thanking her for being a know-it-all. 

but as she continued to scroll further and further down your search history, she saw that the day you two had met, you googled “vinyl stores near me” and ellie’s was the first to pop up. she thanked every star in the universe for such a coincidence, but the more she thought about it, it couldn’t have been a coincidence because to her, it was always meant to be.  

suddenly your laptop dinged and a new message appeared at the top from city gals. it was shauna and she was proposing a night out and it didn’t take long at all for the rest of the chat to respond. 

shauna: drinks at our favorite spot tonight?

dina: totally what time 

shauna: like 8 ish? 

cat: sounds good to me

shauna: im with our heavy drinker, she says yes too!! see u guys then

dina: hangin w out us :( rude 

cat: yeah wtf 

shauna: oh hush its no biggie, we’ll see you guys tonight 

ellie sat back as the texts rolled in, heavy drinker? ellie didn’t like the sound of it, and your friends seemed to think it was funny. bet they don’t even watch over you when you’re plastered, leaving you alone where anyone could hurt you. a few clicks on your instagram and she found a group mirror picture in a dirty bar bathroom, and the location clear as day at the top of the post. she confirmed it with a few other pictures and a deep dive of your twitter. gotta stop putting your location everywhere. 

ellie knew your lunch date with shauna would be ending soon and you’d return home to start getting ready for the evening. she shut your laptop down, placing it exactly where it was on the bed before and started towards the door to leave. as she was on her way out, a bright red thong caught her eye. it was so carelessly thrown between the couch and the table next to it and she stuffed them into her pocket before locking the door behind her on the way out. she knew you’d never notice, your apartment already looked like a tornado had been through it seven times over. 

she played with the string of fabric in her pocket as she walked down the sidewalk back to her place, contemplating the night to come. if your friends won't watch over you, i will.

read part two here :)

[dulcewrites]

Unnerved

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader (kind of lol), implied aegon targaryen x reader (wc: 3.1k)

Summary: Being at court is a game, and your favorite opponent is a certain long haired Prince.

A/N: I sort of adapted this from my fool me once series. I got an idea of the reader being slightly more ambitious. But then realized that would change the story so this kind of a new one lmao. Some elements are from like Aemond being married (this time to Floris Baratheon) and possibly cheating 👀. But anyway just wanted to explore Aemond and reader being haters but also having crazy sexual tension. *insert something smart about Aemond hating someone that is a mirror of him*

The heavy fabric of your dress seems to drag more than usual.

The extra care given to your appearance hopefully will not go unnoticed. The gown is your most expensive. A deep blue Lyseni cut dress with beaded bodice, and silk sleeves that slip open and ripple like water.

Walking the halls of the Red Keep is at night is not something you frequent. Working up the courage was always something that made you falter. But the result would make it worth it.

You bite back a smile when you see Ser Arryk not near his post. For a moment you consider knocking, worried that Aegon may be in the room with someone. The thought never bothered you till recently. A surge of confidence overtakes when you just open the door instead.

The fireplace in his is uncharacteristically blazing at this point. You stop in your tracks when you notice long legs extending from chair near the fire. Long silvery blonde hair catches your eye, and your heart sinks. Before you can turn around to make a beeline towards the door, an eye flick towards you.

“My Prince,” you bow your head softly. “You are back from the trip.”

You try to keep you voice bright, and unassuming but you are sure disappointment colors your tone. Aemond gives you sly smile.

“Come to look in on my brother, I assume,” condescension laced through his voice. He gestures to the book in your hand. There were days Aegon did enjoy hearing you read, but most of the time the conversation dissolved into other things. He would start at the seats in his room, you at his desk… till the you ended up on his bed. Faces close, and whispers soft.

“Yes, Prince Aegon always enjoys hearing about the histories.”

Aemond’s polite disposition drops, and he lets out a short laugh. “Right, I am sure he enjoys hearing about the histories from you.”

You feel yourself falter. An unnerved and unprepared feeling burst in your stomach.

But a lady is never those things. Not ever. Your mother’s voice rings in your head. A true lady never worries. The best of them can turn negatives into a positive.

You put on the sweetest smile you can and nod.

“This week we read about all about Maegor the Cruel.”

Something flashes behind his eye that you can’t quite put your finger on. He hums softly, giving you a once over. Inspecting your dress, your hair, your face. The hair jewelry holding back your hair starts to feel like it is digging into your scalp. Not feeling comfortable standing and letting him dissect you, your feet lead you to sitting in the chair opposite him.

“I do hope Prince Aegon is well.”

“What you mean to ask is where is he,” Aemond corrects. “He was not here when I arrived. He may be out on a late-night joyride with Sunfyre. Perhaps wandering the Street of Silk for another type of joy.”

You say nothing, laying the book flat on your lap. It should not shock you. Aegon is not getting that from you. You know Aemond does not believe that by the false innocuous way he mentions his brother’s indecisions. Every bit of attention Aegon puts elsewhere is a win for him. He decides to twist the knife more.

“I bet the discussions you two have are ravishing,” Aemond replies sarcastically, leaning back further in his chair. It only makes you more aware of your posture. More of mother’s words - Back straight, chest out, and head up my dear girl. “Aegon has always been known for his ability to hold a riveting conversation.”

“I think you underestimate your brother. He retains information quite well, and loves to debate,” your hands trace delicately over the large book.

Aemond’s eye doesn’t leave yours. The enjoyment wiped from his face. He just stares soberly.

“You know the sad part is that I genuinely think you believe that. You think you will be able to carry on like this. Pretending this all for companionship and light reading.”

Your eyes drift to the fire. A part of you wonders what it would be like to just stick your hand in it. Would there be excruciating pain or would the numbness that you force into you mind spread through your body? The old wives’ tales Aegon tells of Targaryens being fireproof pop into your head. Maybe that is where Aemond’s gall comes from; the inability to burn the way others would. You wish you could test the theory. What a sight it would be to see him engulfed in flames.

Aemond lip curls a bit. “But at least you can pretend with the best of them. First born sons deserve the best, even the best whores.”

The harsh words are strangely tinged with pity.

“Tis a shame, the way court changes a girl.”

Your eyes snap back to him. “I am not a girl, my Prince. The same way you are not a boy.”

The two of you are the same age. The superiority in his voice is not needed nor appreciated. You must bite your tongue not the bring up the stories of youth Aegon has told you about. His life has been court fodder many times over. It would be too easy to bring up the strife a young Aemond had to go through. Too unladylike to bring up the little boy you know is still tucked under the bravado.

He would revel in taking you out of yourself.

“You could get out of it, before it is too late,” he pushes the subject more. “Marry some lord and be swept away from here.”

The possibility sounds nice. Away from court, away from your family. Maybe a different version of you would agree with Aemond. Acknowledge that being at court, that striving for more has stolen something from you. A life of simple monotony away from the Red Keep sounds lovely. But you are not a different you. You were made and pushed into the world in your parent’s image. Simple is not enough, monotony is not enough.

“I appreciate the advice,” you smile calmly. “But I would miss everyone too much to do that just yet. I would miss Prince Aegon, along with Princess and the children. As well as you and sweet Floris.”

Aemond stands abruptly at the mention of his sister and wife. The light from the fire reflects on the side of his face. He looks like something out of a fairy tale. You are sure he wants to look intimidating but looks more ethereal if anything. He shares that trait with his siblings.

He goes to leave without another, but a sudden urge washes over you.

“Wait, my Prince,” you set the book in the chair and go to where he is near the door.

You wet your thumb slightly, watching his eye linger on your mouth.

“You have a little rogue there.”

Your thumb traces over the vein on his neck, and you feel him stiffen under your light touch. You flinch a little when his hand grabs your wrist firmly. For a moment, you don’t trust your instinct fearing your boldness has taken you to a point you cannot tip toe back from. You become acutely aware of blade resting snugly against his hip. He could slit your throat easily. But you have seen him training; he would go for a more gruesome approach if given the chance. Slow and painful.

Instead, he gently placed your hand at your side. His hand making a route from your wrist to the delicate tips of your fingertips. There is a coldness left when he lets go.

He leaves without another word.

“I will tell Prince Aegon you stopped by,” you lie as you call after him.

Aegon does eventually show up. Riding gloves on, and cheeks splotched, pink from the cold. He goes on and on about something Sunfyre did. You sit, pleasant and accommodating, the way men like him want. Hanging of every word as if you would die not hearing the next one spill from his lips.

Despite the dragon drivel, your mind does not drift often, liking the easiness that comes with speaking with an agreeable Aegon. But when it does, it only fixates on one thing.

First sons deserve the best… even the best whores

“She is not pregnant, Your Grace.”

The maester seemed nervous to tell the Queen. Aemond bites back a breath of relief when the words come out, eye fighting to go back to outside the window next to the wall where he leans. Floris’ face scutches into a frown.

Alicent chews on her cheek in clear aggravation, a tell Aemond can pick up from years of noticing his mother’s ticks. But like any good diplomat, she quickly replaces the disappointment with smile towards Floris.

“Well, it can take time,” she tries to give a good-natured shrug. “No reason to worry.”

Alicent had gotten good at giving her kids the same empty placating statements sprouted to her by her own father. Everything is going how it should. No need to worry. You will be fine.

They do not believe her the way she does not believe Otto. She can at least say she knows her children well enough to see they do not believe it. Alicent is sure her father still deludes himself into thinking his halfhearted attempts at warmness work.

Even the smartest man in the Seven Kingdoms can be mind-numbingly daft at times.

The maester and Alicent jump into words of encouragement and ideas to help a seemingly upset Floris. Aemond assumes he should join in, comfort his wife but his legs don’t catch up with what his brain tells him is best. Instead, he stares out of the tower window, a flash of deep red and black catching his eye.

He sees you walking through the castle with such sure steps, in perfect tow with his sister. A creep of bitterness works its way up Aemond’s throat. The way you have encroached into the inner fabric of his family leaves him feeling uncomfortable. As if you were always meant to be here. A harmless addition, but he knows better. There is nothing harmless about the way Aegon looks at you.

The only vindication he gets is his mother’s shared hesitance. But in the end, he knows Alicent is too tired to say anything unless true harm is being done. Even she can appreciate Aegon having a singular focus for once, even if it not his wife. And she is undoubtedly fond of your strait-laced yet kind nature. You knowing your place makes all the difference. But Aemond sees hints of boldness and rashness.

It feels odd watching a woman not of his family so garishly wear the color that matches the walls of the castle. But too terribly fascinating to look away from. The black dress with Ruby red trimming sits off the shoulders elegantly. Your hair pulled up showing off a swan like neck that he has only seen on his mother.

Poised, well-read, quick witted, and all wrapped up in a pretty package. You are the ideal vessel for a royal bastard; he knows you see it too, you are too bright not to. A perfectly placed temptation.

He knows his brother is foolish enough to try it.

Mindlessly, his hand goes to his throat. The touch is not the same as yours. His sword withered hands nothing like the dainty soft one that danced across his nights ago. He swallows thickly.

“Aemond, are you listening,” his mother voice breaks through his thoughts.

He nods. As he pushes himself from the wall, he swears he can feel eyes looking up at him.

— — —

Aemond starts to wonder if all his thoughts will be tinged with violence and paranoia.

Simple ideas can be quickly shifted into something morbid. He does not when it started. After he lost his eye? After watching Aegon and Helaena get married? After learning about get married himself. It is easy to have this to turn into dust and ashes in this family.

Though Floris is a welcomed difference. The right amount of different yet bland enough that his thoughts on her dissolve into nothing. Sweet, and palatable; things could be far worse he guesses. He could be stuck with far worse. She lets him do as he pleases. Finds ways to occupy herself that has nothing to do with him, a comfort.

When he hears laughter coming from their chambers, he assumes she must be with one of her ladies in waiting. He internally groans at the small talk he must make with them. Pretending to care about whatever court gossip they dither on about. But when he walks in he sees a table full of tea and treats.

“My love,” Floris hops up from her seat, a bright smile on her face. A warmer disposition than the one she had been sporting since the news of not being with child.

Before he can reply, the person in the seat turned away from he springs up with equal vigor.

“Prince Aemond,” you curtesy, polite smile on your face.

For today, the cold, silk targaryen-esque garb had replaced with a lace emerald green and gold gown. Coils falling in way that create a halo around you. He should add chameleon to the list of attributes. The transformation is remarkable. The typical icy demeanor being washed away with a young, sheepish, and girly smile.

Aemond bites back a sneer. His body feels like it vibrates whenever you are near. He has not figured out if it is anger or something entirely different.

“We were just having tea,” Floris looks at you then at the wine on the table, and you two share a knowing giggle. “Chatting away.”

He waits for the moment you finally excuse yourself, but it never comes. The two of you continue to whisper and giggle as if there is an inside joke no one else will be in on. He tries not to focus on it as he takes off his riding gloves, and cloak.

A guard comes into the room asking for Floris. He sends a prayer to the Gods that his wife will take you with him. But all she does is tell you that she will be back soon.

“Did you have a nice ride,” your voice rings through the room. Aemond lets out a deep sigh, turning from the clothing cabinet. He turns to find you lounging in the chair, goblet in hand.

He doesn’t answer, just stares at her leaning against the wardrobe.

“I have always thought about it,” your lips are stained red from the wine. “Taming a dragon, riding a dragon. Your wife is very lucky.”

Aemond blanches at the image that passes through his head. The vibrating feels like it is starting to radiate inside to outside. You down the rest of the wine.

“I am assuming she had ridden on Vhagar with you.”

She had…. once. Aemond had assumed it would romantic or a deep connection would be had. His at the time future wife meeting his first friend. She threw up afterwards, politely saying that she would never want to do that again.

Dragons are not for everyone.

“Maybe my brother will finally put you out of your misery, and let you ride his.”

Your lips curl into a cruel smile. “I would like that. I hear one good ride always clears the head. I am sure you have needed that lately.”

Aemond frowns not understanding what you mean.

“Floris was telling me about your problems. Do not fret Aemond, impotence is very natural while under pressure,” your eyes travel down his body, and you give him a fake pout in pity.

Aemond is sure he is about to lunge at you. His vision goes red for a second. “I am not impotent,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Nothing of what my wife and I do is any of your business.”

He shouldn’t feel the need to explain himself to you. Insolent girl with too much time on her hands, and too many ideas in her head. Aemond slightly curses his brother for being the reason you even come around. You hold your hands up innocently.

“Your wife invited me to tea, and she brought up the conversation. I am only now trying to extend my support.” 

Aemond always thinks the people around him are too trusting, too open. Helaena is painstakingly warm to whoever shows her an ounce of kindness. Aegon is easily swayed with pretty faces or a sense of camaraderie. His mother’s whole being shuts down at the sound of compliments. Floris is alone at court, in need a friend. You meet all of their needs in ways he cannot begin to. You know it as much as he does.

He should feel upset at his wife, but he doesn’t even have the passion to do that.

So, all he can do is focus on how you bring on a nagging tug in the pit of stomach. How he trusts absolutely nothing you do. How embarrassed he feels about you knowing any intimate details about him.

“But if I could give some advice,” you get up from your seat, walking towards him. “If your wife is not doing the trick, perhaps thinking about other things may help. Something that makes the blood pump a little faster.”

Aemond’s throat bobs. He glares, trying to think of cruel insult to dismiss the notion, but he finds his mouth dry and his tongue heavy.

The moment is interrupted by Floris coming in with a smile. “What did I miss?”

The transformation happens again, Aemond thinks. The low voice you had put on, and the hazy look in your eyes instantly go away. You turn to her with a chipper smile.

“I was just telling Prince Aemond about how I am looking forward to going to the orphanage with you, Princess Helaena, and the Queen on the morrow.”

You lock arms with her, and all Aemond can do is watch.

Wretched girl.

—— —

Later that night, when he feels Floris’s lips on his neck, and her hand working down his chest. He tries to think about how lucky he is. Floris is pretty, and kind. He has bolstered his family through the marriage. It should make him happy.

Despite himself, he finds himself thinking about other things. About berry red wine-stained lips, and a perceptive mind. A wet thumb tracing where his wife’s lips are. Heat pulls in the pit of his stomach at the thought of you wanting to ride a dragon. That night he cums harder than expected.

Maybe second sons deserve the best too.

[gojozballs]

Gojo x Reader "Tangle of Faith"

Warnings: [This story contains elements of fantasy, Mature themes, Violence, NSFW]

Materialist

Chapter 1

The Heian era was one of the most tumultuous times in history, where the clash of powerful sorcerers, curses, and clans created a society that teetered on the brink of destruction. Amidst this chaos, one name echoed like a haunting melody across both the rich and poor alike Okazaki Y/n. She was the beauty that even the gods would envy, with her striking features and mysterious allure, but it wasn’t just her beauty that had every nobleman, commoner, and even sorcerer captivated. It was the power she wielded, a power that was as dangerous as it was mesmerizing: Temporal Shatter.

Y/n’s curse technique was as complicated as it was brilliant. Unlike most other sorcerers who manipulated time directly, her technique fractured it, distorting moments and bending the very fabric of time itself. Her ability could create small localized disturbances where time would either stretch, bend, or shatter. A single touch of her power could distort time in ways that would make anyone lose themselves in confusion and pain. It was said that being on the receiving end of Temporal Shatter felt like being trapped between realities, where the boundaries of time and space were no longer clear. To experience it was to be caught in a web of conflicting moments, impossible to escape — and it was as beautiful as it was agonizing.

The Okazaki clan was one of the most feared in the Heian era. Renowned for their intricate and unpredictable manipulation of time, they were a force to be reckoned with. Yet, the most powerful weapon in their arsenal was Y/n. No one was sure if she could defeat the King of Curses Ryomen Sukuna but her cursed energy was undeniably formidable. Some believed she was their last hope to face Sukuna and put an end to the chaos he spread.

But even the greatest sorcerers have their burdens.

The tragic death of the Okazaki clan’s head due to a mysterious disease had left the clan in disarray. No one knew how to lead, how to restore the clan to its former power. The elders debated: Should Touya, the late head’s son, take the reins? Or should it be Y/n, the prodigy who had already proven herself capable? Y/n didn’t care much for politics. She didn’t want the responsibility of leading, of carrying the weight of her clan’s future on her shoulders. Her mind was consumed with a single thought: She could never defeat Sukuna... not with the weakness she harbored inside.

Y/n’s POV

The weight of my responsibilities suffocated me. “Y/n-sama, I heard them talking…” Himari’s voice echoed through the ornate hall, but I barely registered her words. She was telling me that they were going to choose either me or Touya to be the next head of the clan. Touya was the obvious choice, as the late head’s son, but everyone knew I was the one with the most powerful cursed technique. Yet, it didn’t matter. I was not prepared for such a burden.

I wanted to run. To escape this life, this suffocating duty, and let myself be free, if only for a moment. But I couldn’t. Not when my clan was on the brink of collapse, and the King of Curses was still out there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“Himari, I’m going to the training grounds. I wish for no interruptions.”

The training grounds were the only place I could go to clear my mind. To bury my emotions, to face the pain I could never speak of. The place where I used to train under the guidance of the late clan head — the one who always treated me like his own, the one who believed in me even when I couldn’t believe in myself.

I still remembered the day he died, and I still remembered the day I failed to save him. I could have reversed time, could have saved him, but my cursed energy was too weak to do it. The guilt gnawed at me every day, and I couldn’t escape it.

As I entered the familiar training grounds, I whispered the words I had been repeating for days in a desperate attempt to master it:

“Fractured Perception...”

The moment I spoke those words, the world around me began to shift. Time bent, wavered, fractured like glass. In an instant, everything around me moved at different speeds. I felt my own heart race, tears building up in my eyes as I finally allowed myself to feel everything I had been holding back. The pain. The anger. The sorrow. I screamed, my voice trapped in the distortion of time.

But as the technique spiraled out of control, I realized something was wrong.

“Himari!” I called out, but my voice was swallowed by the fracture. I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t even hear my own breath. I felt dizzy, disoriented, and before I knew it, the world went black.

When I awoke, everything felt wrong. The air was different, the ground beneath me felt unfamiliar, and the training grounds — they were… different. No, it wasn’t just the grounds. The whole world around me was different.

I stumbled to my feet, dizzy and confused. I slid open the door, calling out for Himari, but what I saw made my heart drop. The outside was completely unfamiliar. The world was not the one I had known. Where was I?

I couldn’t even process what was happening until I heard voices — voices that made my blood run cold.

As I tried to gather my bearings, the voices grew louder. The figures in front of me I couldn’t place them at first, but their presence alone made every fiber of my being tremble. There was an overwhelming pressure in the air, a cursed energy so powerful that it nearly suffocated me. I had felt fear before, but nothing like this.

I peered around the corner, catching a glimpse of them. The first man was tall, his posture exuding confidence as if the world itself bent to his will. His eyes held an unsettling gleam, and there was something unnervingly calm about him. The second man was just as imposing, with a presence that sent a chill down my spine. His energy was... suffocating.

I didn’t know their names. I couldn’t tell who they were, but what I did know was that their cursed energy was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It radiated with such intensity that it felt as if the very air around them had weight, like they could crush the world beneath their feet with just a thought.

These men… they are not ordinary sorcerers.

The power they wielded was beyond anything I had ever seen, and it felt far too close to the cursed energy of Ryomen Sukuna. I felt my heart race, my breath shallow. The mere thought that their energy could be comparable to the King of Curses made my blood run cold. I had always known that Sukuna was an anomaly, a being that defied the laws of time and cursed energy. But these men… they were different. And I could sense the danger they posed.

I need to leave.

But no matter how hard I tried to steady my trembling hands, I couldn’t move. I was frozen, caught in the grip of their presence. I didn’t know if they were aware of me or not, but I wasn’t about to find out. My own cursed energy was a flicker compared to the storm they commanded.

I turned, my breath catching in my throat as I tried to retreat quietly. But a faint whisper brushed against my ear.

“We know you’re there.”

I froze. The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the air with the same force as their cursed energy. I could hear the smirk in his tone. It was a game to them. And I was the prey.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. I had to get away. I had to figure out what had happened, and how to fix it. The fear that gripped me now was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Their power — it was too much, and I knew that if they realized the full extent of my abilities, I would be no different than a fly caught in their web.

The question now was whether I could survive long enough to learn what had truly happened. How had I ended up here? Why had time broken, and why had I been thrown into this unknown era?

The answers were as elusive as the power these men wielded, and for the first time in a long while, I felt powerless. But I wouldn’t let that stop me. I would learn their names, their true intentions, and I would find a way back — or find a way to stop them. One way or another, I had to survive.

[sciderman]

Reading New Mutants #98 is such a wild experience because Wade still acts as the snarky and kinda sadistic shit talking queen of mercs, but he's also like...super menacing and competent too? Especialy next to today where people fuck him up like a noob, seeing him taking out a group of mutants with gadgets and tricks, body Nathan and having to be taken out by a suprise element was a true shock...and i kinda love it? Like, Wade shows up and he's actually a threat, but a threat that doesn't even take you seriously, he insults you but is also oddly polite to his main target. What is your take on the original version of Wade?

interesting question! really really reaaaally interesting question! new mutants #98 is an issue i've read like, a million times because newer comics always always always recontextualise it - so you find out, wait - domino was vanessa in disguise, so actually, she probably had an insight on how to take down wade better than anyone else - wait, nathan knew wade as someone who saves his life so was probably pulling his punches actually - wait - the guy who sent wade to kill nate was actually nathan's SON?? like there's five million plot twists that come after new mutants #98 that get me rereading it over and over.

i do love that wade's introduced as someone who is equipped and prepared – he definitely was more competent in the earlier comics, he was perpetually a threat, and always had just the contrived weapon in his arsenal needed to take out certain mutants with certain powers.

they kind of gradually started stripping him of all that - i think when he started making the transition from minor villain to empathetic anti-hero, they started stripping him of his teleporter belt, his image inducer, his swiss-army-knife arsenal that made every fight too convenient for him. and now - now he's just a guy with two swords and maximum effort.

i'm not saying it's bad – buuuut... i love the mission impossible movies. i love impossible gadgets. it's so much more fun to see than just, you know, guys hitting and slashing at each other. give me stupid weird gadget that wade has tucked away in some pouch belt of plot convenience specifically to take down this specific guy with weird specific powers. give me a competent wade who did all the research before going into the fight. not a wade wilson who kind of coasts by with dumb luck and gumption.

but - you know, on the topic of wade being hyper-competent in new mutants #98 it's - kind of not something i believe, either. sure, he's a menace to those kids but - remember, he does still get his ass handed to him in a humiliating kind of a way. what a start to his career. and these guys aren't shaken at all. no "oh my god. this guy is someone we should worry about. we should worry about letting him free." no. wade is shipped back to his employer in a box. there's no worry that he might come back angrier. deadpool's kind of a joke.

nathan summers does often maintain a level-head in general - buuut, i just don't think there was any moment in that fight that nathan really thought he was going to lose against wade. there was no "oh no, all hope is lost" moment. wade was just quick with his punches, sure, but i don't think the cards were actually in his favour. nathan wasn't incapacitated, and would have easily taken wade down.

he kind of just didn't want to, i don't think.

i think maybe he wanted to see what wade could do. and i think if nate really thought wade was a threat to the kids, nathan would have protected them more fiercely. there's no reason at all why nathan couldn't have so, so easily just - yeeted wade out of the building. wade really, really wouldn't have stood a chance if nathan really saw him as a threat to him or (especially) to the kids. nate's training up these kids. he probably saw wade as just - adequate practice for them, but no real threat. wade is completely manageable for him.

i think later on wade gets savvy to the fact that nathan usually pulls the punches with him.

nathan could so, so easily just...

if he didn't want to deal with deadpool.

i think vanessa probably knew that too. and i think that's why she stepped in when she did - because she probably thought if wade pushed too far and trod on one of nathan's nerves, it would be the end for wade. so she neutralised him.

i write a bit about it in i love you, wade wilson - my beloved fic about deadpool's early days.

[rachell-redacted]

Here's my review of The Talos Principle 2. It's not a flattering one, but it felt like some things needed to be said.

First of all, let’s get all of ad hominems out the way. This is not a review in bad faith, nor is in written out of malice. I’m not politically opposed to democracy, liberalism, individualism, humanism and women’s rights. I’m somewhat a nihilist, yeah, but a rather practical one. Meanings can be constructed for ease of living and efficiency and all that jazz. I’m also not a puzzle genre hater. I’ve 100%ed Portal 2, and the only reason I do not have 100% at TTP1 is because I could never bring myself to kill Milton off. Who I am though is a huge fan of the first game. This is clearly affecting my perception of this one, so this is relevant, I think.

I’m a huge fan of TTP1 and I hugely disliked TTP2. Is this game a sequel, does it continue the story? Yes. Is it a spiritual successor, does it continue the _narrative_? No, not at all. It feels different, hits different, and for me it wasn’t in a good kind of way.

First of all, TTP2 is overwhelmingly naïve. I do see that this is a deliberate creative choice, but I strongly believe it does not fit the series. It was a bad idea to take a thought-provoking piece of art and continue it as a message rather than as a discussion. TTP1 had space within itself to engage with its ideas and to form individual conclusions. TTP2 clearly wants to tell you something specific, but to truly listen you need to suspend your disbelief a lot more than before. Where the first game would have tackled a question with some degree of nuance, this one tends to postulate an answer. Would like to explore space for some other reasons than our moral duty to light up the Universe with cognition and life? Do not believe in such things? Good luck. Do not think that beauty exists / is inherently good / matters? Good luck once again, now with a chance to disappoint your companions. The list goes on, and while I’m all for humanism, technocracy and progress, I still felt trapped in reasonings game offered me for it all.

There’s also a huge problem with the narrative as a whole – there is no whole. Plot seems strangely fragmented, with Somnodrome arc being a bitter mix of an afterthought and a cut plotline. What was it for? Same goes for the secret society plot. And the main story, including Miranda, is just flat. Writers want us to care for their characters, but with characters being mouthpieces for ideas this is rather hard.

Also, there’s a Theory of Everything is this game. It just is. With it, the Universe is _postulated_ as being fundamentally knowable and understandable, which is unsettling for such a huge philosophical debate. (Put your ad hominem down, I do believe that the world is cognizable, I just don’t think making this a knowable fact is a good choice for this particular game). Moreover, with the Theory of Everything the science is solved. By one person, who consciously excluded their peers out of scientific progress. One person solved science and nowhere in the game is anyone upset about it. Why? Because writers needed a magical solve-all-problems device, and without it nothing would work plot wise. But with it the plot just seems plastic and cheap.

This story has no room for me to challenge it from the inside, it forces me to go and start a one-sided conversation with its authors, which I do not like. In short, it feels rushed, naïve and incomplete. But this is a puzzle game, not a text adventure. So, are the puzzles any good?

Well, I did not like them. I’m not sure if it means that they are bad, but in my opinion, they are somewhat boring. Most of the time solving them feels mechanical, not that much of ah-a! moments for me. More of the “finally, get this, stupid new puzzle element” and “after 500 hours in portal my brain solves this without thinking”. The other category is “to convoluted to be interesting”. But there’s non zero chance this is me and not the game.

Really bad stuff happens between the puzzles, in those huge open spaces. They get old very fast, and fast travel option isn’t helping much. Some regions are almost impossible to navigate even with the compass, and solving for stars just becomes a chore.

Well, most of the game felt like a chore to me. There are other things I’m upset about, like making Athena, seemingly our main character from TTP1, a chosen-one with a God complex (she IS that even without the myth around her) or not including Milton, but otherwise good plot could have made it work. This one did not. It disregards a very personal thing for a fan of the first game – their unique experience. Maybe the new audience will find this alluring. I certainly did not.

[arinnaamin]

THE LIFE, ACCUSATION AND DEATH OF MAHSURI ; Falsehood, Innocence, and What her Curse Meant for Langkawi

POST 1/5 - We explore what's probably been one of my favourite Malaysian folk tales - or should I say, legends - growing up, discussing the reality of the curse she placed on all of Langkawi and the major role her flawless innocence served to play throughout it all.

During the reign of Sultan Abdullah Mukarram Shah III, in Kampung Mawar, Mukim Ulu Melaka, Langkawi, a married couple by the names of Pandak Mayah and Endak Alang (Cik Alang) were blessed with the arrival of a beautiful daughter, by the name of Mahsuri binti Pandak Mayah.

She grew up with a rich understanding of her culture's beliefs and morals, and was quite different from the rest of her friends and playmates in her younger years, bearing a beautiful face and polite manners. In adulthood, her looks and kind heart only shone through even more, making her the talk of the town amongst practically all of Langkawi, with every man in the island practically clamoring to play the role of her suitor. Eventually, she was married to a young warrior named Wan Derus, the son of Wan Yahya, the village chief.

Around 1803-1843, under the reign of Sultan Abdul Halim Shah II Ibni al-Marhum Sultan Ziyauddin Mukarram Shah, relations between Kedah and Siam (now Thailand) became strained, forcing Wan Derus to leave Langkawi temporarily to fight against Siamese soldiers in Kuala Kedah (according to some sources), leaving a pregnant Mahsuri to live with her parents in his absence. At the time, a traveling poet named Deramang made his rounds to Langkawi, and sought refuge in her parents' home thanks to their courtesy, teaching Mahsuri about poetry during his stay. The two soon became good friends.

His way with words and Mahsuri's reputation invoked the jealousy of Wan Mahura (the village chief's wife). She used the birth of Mahsuri and Wan Derus's child, Wan Hakim, to her advantage to spread rumors and accuse her and Deramang of engaging in an affair. The two were apprehended and punished by Wan Yahya (Mahsuri's now-brother-in-law) and brought to the center of Langkawi at the time, Pulau Matsirat, where they would be executed.

Despite repeatedly begging for mercy, Mahsuri was tied to a tree and stabbed repeatedly with spears, but all of them only fell at her feet. Eventually, believing that only her death would appease them, she resorted to telling them that she could only be killed with her family's sacred keris (a traditional Malay dagger). When she was stabbed, the blood that flowed from her wound was not the usual red, but pure white, signifying her innocence. In the last moments of her life, she made her last stand, and for the injustice they had brought upon the land, she cursed Langkawi for the next seven generations.

One thing I'm not too certain of in my retelling of this story is if whether Wan Yahya is Wan Derus's older brother or son. Some sources I made use of suggest the former rather than the latter, some vice versa, but it doesn't really matter since it doesn't change the story in any way.

It's important to note that the courteous, perfect Mary Sue trope that Mahsuri takes on in the legend plays a significant role in the rumors spread by Wan Mahura. Most versions of the reason behind the treachery, including mine, suggest that Wan Mahura was jealous of Mahsuri's beauty and popularity, while others imply that Wan Yahya initiated it, being enamoured by Mahsuri and wanting to use her husband's absence to his advantage. Nevertheless, Wan Mahura remains the main aggressor of the conflict.

At this point, I'm sure you all are curious about the curse, and let me tell you: the curse does have some elements of truth to it. Soon after Mahsuri's death, Langkawi was attacked by Siam, forcing the villagers to burn their rice fields to take control of the situation, but Siam still managed to conquer, leading to decades of failed crops and constant invasions. The villagers remained under the impression that this was all part of Mahsuri's curse.

It is during the 20th century that the seven generations affected finally came to pass, and since then, Mahsuri's descendants living in Thailand have visited her tomb in Langkawi on occasion.

At the time in which the legend was thought to take place, adultery stood as a sin punishable by death, though themes of polygamy are also present in some versions where Mahsuri is portrayed as Wan Derus's second wife.

Furthermore, the strong beliefs of every citizen of the village and how convinced they were, having been swayed by Wan Mahura's lies, serve to represent patriarchal authority, slander, and injustice present within Malay communities in the past. This point in the story also serves to portray the close connections between citizens in spreading false allegations like wildfire, but the story's conclusion essentially delivers the message that whatever goes around comes around eventually.

Works Cited

kathrynwp. “The Legend of the Mahsuri Curse - Langkawi - Chronically Ill Kat.” Chronically Ill Kat, 18 Apr. 2024, chronicallyillkat.com/2024/04/18/the-legend-of-the-mahsuri-curse-langkawi/. Accessed 29 May 2024.

Workman, Vanessa. “Makam Mahsuri, Mahsuri’s Tomb and Legend in Langkawi, Malaysia.” The Island Drum, 30 Oct. 2019, www.theislanddrum.com/mahsuris-tomb-langkawi/. Accessed 29 May 2024.

Catohrinner Joyce Guri. “Langkawi – the Legend of Mahsuri.” Asian Itinerary, Dec. 2014, asianitinerary.com/langkawi-the-legend-of-mahsuri/. Accessed 29 May 2024.

Shamsuddin, Heidi. "Nusantara: A Sea of Tales." Penguin Books, 2021.

[justminawrites]

where do we go now?

AO3

Summary: an epilogue that takes place after the events of Thor: Love and Thunder.

1 | TBC

Love didn’t know many things. 

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep or what had woken her up. She didn’t know how she’d ended up in the infinite emptiness that she’d come to understand was called the Shadow Realm. She didn’t know the name of the pale man who’d died in her arms just a few hours ago, even though Uncle Thor had explained that he was her father. 

Love was sure that couldn’t be true - she’d definitely remember something as important as her father’s name, wouldn’t she? - but she didn’t have the heart to correct him then. 

Love didn’t know many things, but she could tell when someone had been crying. 

She didn’t know how, perhaps she’d become accustomed to seeing sorrow, but the wet face and red-rimmed eyes were terrible giveaways. At some point Love wondered if she should offer the golden-haired god a hug sheerly out of polite confusion, like she’d done with the dying man, but found she didn’t have to. 

“I’m your Uncle Thor,” he said proudly by way of introduction; so proudly, in fact, that she  immediately broke down sobbing, and admitted she didn’t have any idea what was going on. 

He didn’t look the least bit fazed by this. 

“Do not worry,” he shook his head reassuringly, “That’s what I’m for. We shall figure it out together, little one.”

Then he’d offered his hand, Love had reluctantly held onto it, and he’d whisked her off to Earth. 

Love didn’t know many things. 

However, in New Asgard, she found out that wasn’t the case after all. She knew how to count, how to play the flute, and could even speak some crude midgardian, though the answer to how she possessed all this knowledge eluded her. 

She’d clung to her Uncle Thor in those initial few weeks, unwilling to part with the comfortingly large frame of the once-king, no matter how much Lady Sif tried to coax her to play with the other children, or simply leave his side for a short while. 

Love would follow him around, watching and replicating his movements as best she could: only eating what he ate, only talking to people he talked to, occasionally looking up at him for permission whenever she was out of her element.

For his part, Thor didn’t seem to mind it too much; he was preoccupied with building a memorial - a twenty-foot statue for someone named Jane Foster - and often entrusted her with keeping safe his prized hammer, Mjölnir. 

Love decided it must be important because she’d seen Lady Sif tease him about it when they’d first arrived.

“Oh, not again,” Sif sat up from the infirmary bed, grey eyes narrowing on the hammer slung on his right hip.

“I suppose I can’t convince you to return that to the New Asgard Museum? It’s one of our main attractions, your Highness.”

“Highly unlikely, Lady Sif,” Thor smiled kindly and squeezed her uninjured shoulder, “And I believe I’ve outgrown that moniker many decades ago.”

“Don’t jest, you’ll always be– oh! Who’s this sweet thing you’ve brought with you?”

Love poked her head out shyly from behind his red cape at that moment, interrupting their conversation. 

“My name’s.. Love.. ma’am.. uh.. Lady Sif,” she mumbled in broken asgardian, looking up to Thor for confirmation.

“C’mere, let me get a look at you.”

He nodded encouragingly, so she emerged, tentatively stepping closer to the bed until she was face-to-face with the one-armed warrior laying on it. Love held her breath as she watched her own reflection tremble in Sif’s dark eyes.

“By the All-Father,” Sif exchanged a strange look with Thor, brows furrowed in confusion, “She’s got your eyes, your Highness.”

“The universe has a cruel sense of humour, Sif,” was all Thor had to say on the matter.

Love didn’t know many things.

But she did know that the week her Uncle Thor was away, had been the loneliest of her life so far. He had promised to return soon - catching up with a few old friends - but she’d begged him to take her with him. After an hour of fruitless bargaining Thor gave in and left his hammer with her as a compromise. 

“Mjölnir,” he pretended to chastise the weapon after setting it down on her bedside table.

“You must protect this brave little girl with all your might till I return. Do we have an understanding, old friend?”

After a few quiet seconds, Mjölnir glowed a faint blue in affirmation, and her panic was immediately replaced with delight. 

Thor ruffled her hair fondly and left that very night.

Love had only just gotten used to her life New Asgard - she made few friends, minded her manners, even did her dishes without complaining - when the first incident occurred. 

It happened during a harmless self-defense exercise in the Town Square. Lady Sif was teaching her the correct posture with which to hold a wooden sword when a wasp the size of a walnut landed on its tip. Love had been so startled she hadn’t noticed what happened until it was too late. 

The slightly smoking carcass of the insect disintegrated into ash in a blink. 

She looked up at Lady Sif, alarmed, only to find the seasoned warrior looking down at the ground in horror. The cobblestones under Sif’s feet had cracked in a straight line all the way from the edge of her foot to the point under Love’s wooden sword – directly in her line of sight. An inch or two further and Sif’s leg–

“How did you–“ Sif began, but Love had already dropped the sword and fled. 

Love didn’t know many things. 

Like what rumours were, or how they began, but all of New Asgard knew about her condition before suppertime. She’d left the windows of her room open to invite a cool sea breeze but snatches of conversation floated in instead:

“..purple lasers?”

“..from her eyes!”

“–nearly took out Sif’s leg too!”

“Definitely not Asgardian–”

The last one felt like the twist of a knife in her gut. Love had slammed the window shut, pulled the covers over her head and tried not to cry.

Hours passed, but she refused to leave the room, regardless of who knocked. The door stubbornly stayed shut when Lady Sif brought her supper that no one, not even King Valkyrie could coax her into eating, until–

Three soft taps followed by a gruff male voice.

“Will you let me in, little one?”

Dizzy with guilt and hunger, she feverishly threw open the doors to a tired Thor stirring a steaming bowl of potato stew. 

“I’m not Asgardian!” She cried accusingly, expecting him to be surprised.

He only sighed and knelt so she could face him eye-level.

“I see,” he nodded seriously before holding out the food, “Does that mean you no longer eat asgardian meals?”

Love opened her mouth to contest it but the smell of tomato broth had her stomach answer before she could.

“I had a brother who was not Asgardian,” Thor admitted once she’d inhaled the soup and flopped down on the floor beside him. 

“What happened to him?”

“He gave his life to protect them.”

“But why would he do that?” She looked up at him, puzzled. 

“Because being Asgardian has nothing to do with where you were born,” he said, almost to himself. 

“Only what you do.”

Before Love could ask what that meant, she felt the feather-soft touch of sleep caress her face and tip her backwards into a deep slumber. 

Love didn’t know many things. 

She didn’t know why she had no memories before the Shadow Realm or why purple lasers shot out of her eyes whenever she was afraid. She didn’t know where Uncle Thor would go whenever he left New Asgard but there was one fact of which she was certain: he was done leaving her behind.

Thor for his part seemed to agree with this sentiment since he made no effort to dissuade her from tagging along, besides making her promise to heed his warnings if and when he gave them. She readily accepted these terms and they were off once again.

The first midgardian Love ever met was Dr. Erik Selvig. 

A tall, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and kind eyes, who smelled like the cough drops she’d stolen from the infirmary once. He walked out of a shiny, rectangular building to greet them, pulling Thor into a long, drawn-out hug; so long, in fact, that Love wondered if the doctor had fallen asleep mid-way.

“Thor!” He smiled, finally pulling away, “It’s good to see you, my boy! How long has it been since you last visited Earth?”

“Longer than it should’ve been, Doctor,” Thor said ruefully. The tone of his voice was so foreign to Love, devoid of its cheer and confidence, that she stuck her head from behind his cloak to squint up at him.

“Ha! That’s the spiri– oh my! What’ve we got here?”

Dr. Selvig had caught sight of her. He leaned down to peer into her face for a minute and broke into a blinding smile.

“My God!” He exclaimed, “She’s got your eyes! So you and Jane didn’t work out, huh?”

Love quickly introduced herself and asked the doctor how he knew her Uncle Thor. Selvig flushed with embarrassment (the resemblance is quite uncanny) and explained that he was one of the original scientists, along with Dr. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis, who’d met the asgardian when he’d been banished to Earth.

Love didn’t know many things, but she could swear it was out of relief that Thor ruffled her hair then.

“About Jane, Doctor,” He interrupted Selvig’s story, “There’s something I need to discuss with you, privately.”

“Oh-Of course! We can go to my office,” Dr. Selvig gestured to the building behind him. 

Once they’d made their way in and up the building that Love suspected was actually a maze designed to trick a person into walking round and round in circles, Selvig opened a heavily fortified door to what looked like a bank vault and slipped inside. 

She was about to follow after him but a gentle hand on her shoulder held her back. Thor shook his head, unhooked Mjölnir from his belt hoop and placed it on the ground beside her - she’d promised - then held up three fingers, indicating that he’d only be gone 3 minutes and disappeared into the doorway after Selvig.

Love frowned but took her place beside the hammer obediently, watching a faint blue glow pulse along it’s cracks. She couldn’t lift it yet, of course, but she’d spent so many nights whispering secrets to it beside her bedstead that she was sure Mjölnir could hear her thoughts at this point. 

She wondered what it could hear now, when her thoughts were so mixed up that she couldn’t pinpoint one feeling from another.

Love didn’t know many things, but the only thing she was certain of was that she’d done something to make her Uncle Thor hate her. 

He’d tried his best to hide it under sallow smiles and half-hearted promises, but he’d kept her at arm’s length ever since he’d brought her to New Asgard. 

Thor wouldn’t attend any school events or training practices, he would take his meals separately from hers and, once, when she’d accidentally slipped up and used the asgardian word for father instead of uncle, he’d stiffened and left the room.

Lady Sif had consoled her by explaining how the God of Thunder had suffered through a tremendous period of loss in his life - he’d lost almost everyone there was to lose, his mother, his father, his brother (thrice!), his friends, half his people, even Mjölnir for a while - and that sometimes, one needs to take the time to grieve the dead before they can fully come back to the land of the living. 

This reasoning had pacified her at the time but it had gotten increasingly more awkward since he’d taken her with him on his missions. Where it had once been one-armed hair ruffles and the occasional head pat, now Thor could barely look her in the eye and Love was convinced it was because people kept comparing them to his own.

She’d tried not to take the rejection to heart, he’d done the best he could, after all, but a part of her wondered if it’d be easier for him if she wasn’t around.

Even though the real reason Thor had left her alone with Mjölnir was in case of an emergency - she’d been instructed to grab onto the handle and hold tight if the hammer should ever twitch or move a fraction - Love liked to imagine that there was actually a person inside it, a guardian of sorts that kept watch over her when he couldn’t. Someone strong, like Sif or even Korg, to protect her when the nightmares got too lucid to handle on her own.

“Yes, yes I understand-“

Love looked up to see the vault like door spin open (unlocking itself from the inside, she realised), and hear the tail-end of a conversation escape out into the hallway; it seemed like the Doctor had just received very unsettling news.

“–but why didn’t she tell me? We worked on her diagnosis together, you know–”

“Perhaps she did not want to alarm you, Erik. Jane was always stubborn about such things.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds like her; my Jane. I just– I can’t believe she’s really gone–“

“She will be missed.” Thor finally emerged from the doorway, Selvig at his heels, a vague sort of confusion still etched into his wrinkles- and gave her a curt nod. It was time to leave. 

She jumped to her feet, dusting off her new jeans (a gift from Valkyrie), and reached out to clasp Thor’s arm. He absentmindedly shook her off as he bent over to pick up the hammer and reattach it to his hip. Love tried not to let the devastation show on her face as she held onto his cape instead. 

“I hope to see you at the funeral, Doctor,” Thor turned back to his friend with a tight-lipped smile as he prepared to open the Bifrost with his axe.

“Wait!” Selvig yelled as the white light cascaded all around them, “ Do me a favour! Tell Darc–“

Unfortunately she never got to hear exactly what the favour was because the rest of Erik Selvig’s words were drowned out by the roar of the Bifrost as a multicoloured rain of starlight descended from the sky and teleported them back home. 

Love didn’t know many things.

She knew the legacy of Dr. Jane Foster, of course, it was all the children of Asgard would ever talk about. 

During recess, during lessons, on the way to and from the schoolhouse, there was always a new story from one of the survivors of the ‘Taking’, as the people of New Asgard had dubbed it.

Though the accounts of the villain differed greatly from one story to another - sometimes it was a man with a face as pale as the moon and eyes like egg yolks, and sometimes it was just a dark shadow with a rows of knife-like teeth - all of them usually agreed on one thing. 

With her shining blonde hair, and silver sparkle her eye, the Mighty Thor intervened at the exact moment all hope was lost and blam!–– blasted a lightning bolt right through the villain (in this case a shadowy spectre), giving the children the perfect opportunity to escape! It was her well-timed attack, and eventual sacrifice that allowed Asgard’s own legacy to live on in the form of its young, and for that she would always have a place in their homes, and their hearts. 

However incredibly entertaining, none of these stories shed light on the relationship between Asgard’s newest hero and its once-king, which was what Love really needed to know. So she decided to ask someone who she was sure had all the answers.

“King Valkyrie,” she huffed, wiping away the sweat that slicked her palms just enough to keep her from holding her staff properly.

“Was Uncle Thor friends with Jane Foster?”

Valkyrie raised an eyebrow but continued to swat Love’s staff with one of her own, forcing her to keep dodging the blows as the afternoon the sun beat down her back. She finally dropped her weapon as Love slipped on the sandy floors of the training ground and collapsed in exhaustion.

Valkyrie had taken over her training ever since the eye-laser Incident, and Love was torn between feeling grateful for individual practice, and resentful for how far her new mentor would push her. While Sif would have her swing a sword, string a bow and call it a day; Valkyrie had undergone the most rigorous tutelage Asgard had to offer, only on par with the royal family themselves, and subsequently decided that Love’s newfound powers merited the same level of attention. 

“You need to focus your energy, kiddo,” Her mentor finally replied, holding out an arm to help her stand up, “And I would say a bit more than friends.”

“More than friends? Were they disciples?” She asked, accepting the hand with no small amount of relief. They’d only been here an hour and her muscles were already aching.

“Disciples?” Valkyrie scowled, “Like religious groups? What put that idea in your head?”

Love cocked her head to one side in confusion; she didn’t understand the question. 

It seemed like a true and undeniable fact of the universe that the natural progression of a friendship (liking one another) was religion (liking one thing, together). 

King Valkyrie’s response didn’t immediately alarm her, many of the other asgardians had reacted similarly to hearing such words; to them God was just a glorified title for favoured warriors and princes, nothing beyond an indicator of great respect. 

“I- I’m not sure,” she frowned, trying to pinpoint where the thought had come from, but much like her memories, the answer seemed to hover right above her tongue, so close but still out of her reach.

“Where’d you hear that word anyway?” Valkyrie narrowed her eyes, unwilling to let it go, “Kids at school saying things they shouldn’t be?”

“No, I think I might’ve heard it in a dream–“

“A dream?”

It was more of a nightmare, really. Love had been plagued with the reoccurring vision since she’d left the Shadow Realm - she was being chased through a barren wasteland by a formless, black wraith that kept calling her name - and each time she awoke, she’d remember a little detail about her past that she wasn’t sure she hadn’t already known. 

It was usually harmless, she’d awaken from a short nap with the realisation that her favourite colour was yellow, or that she’d lost most of her baby teeth already, but occasionally the monster in the dream would catch her; those times were the worst. 

Love would scream as its nails would scrape the skin on her forearms, pull and hold her in its breathless embrace, and whisper strange nonsense in its raspy voice. She’d wake from those dreams crying, a mixture of salt and snot smeared all over her face and the inexplicable exhaustion in her legs, as though she’d actually been trudging across a desert in her sleep. 

It was during one such dream that the apparition had hissed “...daughter of Rapu's disciples.. you are no Asgardian.” a phrase Love had instinctively understood without knowing why.

“Actually, it was a nightmare–“

“What?” Valkyrie furrowed her brows, “What kind of nightmares? Have you told anyone about them?”

Love shook her head obediently. She’d considered telling Thor multiple times but every time she opened her mouth, the raspy voice at the back of her mind would scoff at her– did she think the All-father, Protector of the Nine Realms, had time to sit around and comfort a little girl because she’d had a bad dream?

“Not even Thor?”

“No, ma’am.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“A- a couple of weeks maybe.”

“SON OF A– Mmpfff!“ Valkyrie kicked the staff at her feet so hard it broke in two as it spun away, but Love got the feeling that she was holding in far more frustration than that. Before she could even attempt to smooth things over with a placating white lie however, they were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Do you need a hand, your majesty?” Lady Sif asked cheerily carrying a tray with a pitcher of cool, lemon-infused water. 

Now usually even one of these things would make the most courageous asgardian nervous– Love didn’t think she’d seen Sif pass someone a goblet without a death-glare attached to it, much less bring refreshments with a smile. Yet here she stood anyway, silver-grey eyes flicking back-and-forth between her king and once-protégée.

“Oh, uh, thanks, but I don’t really drink..um.. not-booze.” Valkyrie shrugged noncommittally as she was offered the tray.

“O-Oh right. I must’ve been mistaken.” A faint pink sheen dusted Sif’s cheeks as the warrior hastily bowed in apology. 

Love reached for the pitcher next and and nearly spilled it onto herself out of sheer relief. 

“No please,” Sif rolled her eyes at these antics, “Don’t save any for the rest us. Just like your fa- uh.. ahem.. the All-Father.”

Love stuck her tongue out in reply. 

“Right! Where’s that brute gone off to anyway?” Valkyrie crossed her arms, suddenly recalling her pent-up irritation.

“Him and I need to have a talk. It’s about the kid.”

“Thor? Oh he’s probably at Jane’s statue.. again.. Your Highness?”

“Keep an eye on her will ya?” Valkyrie called back as she set off towards the exit, “She’s too quick for her own good.”

“Yes.. of course.”

But by the time Sif had turned around, Love was already gone.

Love didn’t know many things. Useful skills like forging, lock-picking or gardening were lost to her, nevertheless, she’d spent so much time running and hiding (in dreams and reality) that she’d developed an affinity for secret passageways. 

She knew where all the best shortcuts were in all of New Asgard; for example, there was a tunnel in the fence behind the schoolhouse that would lead right up the clocktower, she’d use it to sneak away whenever her lessons got too much for her to handle. 

Then there was the one beneath Lady Siriana’s flowerbeds that would take you straight to the Frigga Temple, and so on and so forth. 

Love had spent her unsupervised time (of which she had plenty), scouring the city’s catacombs and found that it had once been known by a different name, Tønsberg, Norway, and inhabited primarily by midgardian shepherds and farmers alike. 

Out of all the otherwise undiscovered pathways, her favourite was the abandoned mine shaft that ran right under the training grounds, all the way to the Jane Foster Tribute: a twenty-foot tall monument made of white marble, erected to honour the dead hero. 

Ironically, it was also the one she used the least.

Love was careful to sneak away only during group activities like archery, slipping through a trapdoor behind the stone benches and following a long, twisted passage to emerge above a second trapdoor concealed right behind one of the legs of the giant statue. 

The first time she’d done it, the memorial site was filled with people, some praying, some recounting stories, all consistently praising the fallen warrior; so she hadn’t stayed long. 

The second time however, she’d found Thor kneeling at its foot, softly whispering to the wind as tears trickled down his face. Perhaps it was the novelty of it that scared her, she’d never seen her uncle look so lost, but she hadn’t stayed to listen that time either.

This time - she promised, landing on her knees with a soft thump!- would be different.

The passageway was lit by oil braziers fixed to the walls at evenly spaced intervals, or at least they would have been, if anyone was there to light them. Both times that Love had been down here, she’d stumbled along in the dark, feeling her way through with only her hearing and her sense of touch to guide her. She wouldn’t have even known it was a mine shaft if she hadn’t scraped her knees on the tracks the first time.

Ten minutes of utter darkness and silence later the faint sound of conversation came from somewhere above her head; Love stopped and began to check the walls for a handle or switch of some kind. 

After a few seconds of grabbing empty air, she felt the sleek, cone-shaped design and pulled downward– unfortunately she pulled too hard and the handle snapped right off. For a second, Love was too shocked to react. 

If she didn’t know any better she’d call it a sign from the universe that she wasn’t meant to listen in on this particular conversation.

The logical thing to do was, obviously, turn back but if there was one thing Love shared with her uncle, it was their inability to accept defeat. 

Using the broken handle to identify the most hollowed spot in the tunnel wall, she punched with all her might. 

The mechanism to activate the trapdoor was a simple one– pulling the handle should activate a revolving door with the steps leading upward and outward. Unfortunately, the hinges had rusted over in their decades of unuse, so Love tried to manually rotate the door using her physical strength. 

She punched once, twice, but it was only at the third punch that she felt something behind the wall tremble, like a mini-earthquake. Alright, now she was getting somewhere. A few more punches and she felt the wall move an inch, dragging its heels the whole way– similar to closing a door with a doorstop.

After another strenuous push or two, Love began to deeply regret slacking on her mentor’s physical training exercises. She briefly wondered if the eye-lasers would have a greater effect but decided against it immediately– the last thing she needed was this passageway collapsing in on itself and burying her alive. 

Okay, what had Valkyrie said? Focus your energy. Focus, focus, focus. Love stabbed the broken end of the handle into the stone and took a deep breath. Focus. Then she punched. 

The impact glowed with a faint violet pulse, creating a rippling effect on the stone as the wall turned smoothly to reveal a rocky stairwell leading upwards. She quickly ascended it, popping open the latch on the trapdoor just in time to hear the current and former king of Asgard screaming at each other.

“–she NEEDS YOU-“

“Don’t you think I KNOW THAT–“

Love scrambled to her feet, being careful to drop the door gently, and inched closer to the statue. From her vantage point (sandwiched between the statue’s marble cape and boot), she could see her mentor trying to reason with an unresponsive Thor. 

She ignored the guilt that bloomed in the pit of her stomach and leaned closer to listen.

“At least look at me when I’m talking to you, coward!” Valkyrie snapped, hands on her hips as he remained hunched over at the foot of Jane’s statue. 

“You’re right,” Thor mumbled under his breath.

“What?”

“I said YOU’RE RIGHT–” He shot back, “I’m a coward.”

“I must be a coward because no matter how much I fight, it is always someone else that dies in my stead. Mother, Father, Heimdall, Fandral, Hogun, Volstagg, even Loki got his day in Valhalla. And now Jane. Jane.”

“Thor–“

“I asked her not to do it; I begged her. I said we’d find another way.”

“She made a choice,” Valkyrie sighed, “Asgard owes her more than it can ever repay for her sacrifice.”

“A choice she might have reconsidered,” Thor replied vacantly, “If someone hadn’t given her a pegasus to travel with.”

“Don't you dare put this one on me–“ Valkyrie retorted, “I wasn’t the one who decided to adopt the kid–

“WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?” He roared, slamming the ground with his fist. Love ducked as the impact sent small tremors up the statue, shaking free specs of white dust and debris.

“Would you rather I left her there? A defenceless child in the Shadow Realm?”

“I would rather-,” Valkyrie stressed, “-you take some responsibility for the little girl you’ve been avoiding for the past week and a half, your majesty.”

The honorific seemed to evoke a reaction out of Thor as he finally turned around to face Valkyrie with a scowl. 

“Do not–“

“No, that’s right,” she sniped, “You’re not the King of Asgard anymore, are you? Another thing you just abandoned when it wasn’t convenient for you.”

“You know nothing of my pain–“ He opened his mouth, only to be quickly shot down.

“Oh please,” Valkyrie rolled her eyes, “I know enough. You’re not the only one who’s lost everything before, Thor.”

“I have tried to be patient with you; I’ve tried to let you off the hook. I didn’t say anything when you dumped your duties onto me because you were consumed with your quest for revenge against Thanos. I didn’t utter a word when you called it quits to travel around the galaxy to ‘find yourself’ or even when you had us go into the Shadow Realm without a plan.

I trusted you every step of the goddamn way, but I can’t sit here and watch you give up on this child because you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself, again.”

Her outburst seemed to have an effect on Thor, at least, as the fog in his blue eyes cleared and his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Love swallowed thickly, feeling the faint prick of tears in the corner of her eyes and quietly prayed that her eye-lasers wouldn’t start acting up now. She was so focused on keeping her cool that she almost missed what he said next.

“–anything happened?”

“What?”

“Has anything else happened?” Thor repeated, gesturing to his eyes, “You know, any more of that  purple-laser–eye thing?”

“She’s been having these dreams,” Valkyrie took a deep breath, “Visions; I think she’s starting to remember.”

“When I last spoke with her about her father, she didn’t believe me.”

“Well, maybe you should consider revisiting that talk, unless you want her ending up like your brother.”

“Loki died a hero–“ Thor began.

“And lived an outcast.“ Valkyrie countered, recalling the green-clad, silver-tongued god of mischief, detested by many.

“What do you think will happen when she figures out the man in her dreams is the same one that attacked New Asgard and stole its children? Did you assume our people would be ready to welcome the daughter of that monster with open arms?”

“They never have to know–”

“Your brother,” She interrupted ruthlessly, “–was the best kept secret in all of Asgard. Odin told no one but Frigga, but even that wasn’t enough. People are already starting to talk about her powers, Thor, I guarantee it won’t be long before some of them start asking questions neither of us can answer.”

Love watched their back and forth, transfixed. 

A small part of her knew she should be surprised by everything she was hearing but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything but stare in confusion as the two most important people in her life debated her future like she had no part in it. 

Something like pressure began to build in the back of her skull. 

“What do would you have me do?” Thor asked tiredly. 

Valkyrie pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath, letting the silence between them curdle in everything left unsaid. Love held her breath as this same silence pressed down upon her, threatening to unearth her with even a wayward cough. 

“Take her away–“ Her mentor said finally, and Love’s mind immediately went blank.

“What?!”

“–just for a little while,” Valkyrie pressed, gesturing for him to let her speak. 

“I’ll do some damage control here and when she comes back no one’ll be able to draw any connection between her and the God Butcher.”

“New Asgard is her home–“ Thor refuted, a vein on his neck standing out against his flushed skin.

“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?” Valkyrie pointed at him, equally agitated, “You are her home, Thor– and she can’t even tell you about her dreams. Awful dreams that she’s been having for weeks, by the way. Did you know that?”

He fell quiet at that. Love peeked out from behind the statue to get a better look but all she could see was his back.

“Look, I’m not saying forever,“ Valkyrie sighed when he didn’t respond, “Just for a few weeks at most. I’ll have everything under control before Jane’s funeral.”

Another moment of silence lapsed in the clearing before Thor finally said,

“And you are certain this will work?”

Instead of dignifying that with an answer, Valkyrie gave him a mirthless smile.

“You’ve gotta be more open with the kid, alright?” She fixed him with a meaningful look, “You know as well as I do; she can't trust us if she doesn’t even trust herself.”

Thor replied under his breath, but Love had stopped listening. 

Tears had already left tracks down her cheeks, and the pounding in her head, had now begun to echo in her lungs and throat; a drum beating at her insides like a caged animal, begging to be let out.

The sun dipped below the horizon, scraping the sky of all its blue and leaving only violent red gashes and soft pinks in its wake. Love squinted up at this same sky, and tried to get her bearings.

She didn’t know know what she should focus on first, the truth about her father, the fact that King Valkyrie had temporarily exiled her from her only home or, and perhaps the most painful of all, the soul-crushing reluctance with which her Uncle Thor agreed– but before she could decide, the edges of her vision began to turn purple.

This time, when the lasers came, they brought a sharp, burning sensation behind her eyeballs and the taste of iron on her tongue. 

Love tried to squeeze her eyes shut but the pain wouldn’t let her, and for a brief moment she could see dark spots floating over a blindingly white background before something small stung the nape of her neck and she blacked out.

When Love came to, she was laying on her back, gazing up at a completely dark sky speckled with little stars and two worried faces peering down at her. 

“–an you hear me? Kiddo? She’s not responding–”

“Let me try. Hey, it’s me. It’s Uncle Thor. Can you open your eyes for me?”

“Uncle.. Thor?” She mumbled, squinting vaguely upwards– it felt like someone had squeezed a lemon right in her eyes, and then rinsed it out with salt water.

“There we go. You’re alright.” She felt someone prop her up and resisted the urge to touch her swollen eyelids.

Valkyries face dipped into view twice, once to check her temperature by placing two fingers on her forehead, and once to give her an uneasy look. Thor gave her what he must have thought was a reassuring smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, which only raised her suspicions even more.

“What hap–“ Love began, but gasped when she realised what they were looking at.

A crowd of townspeople had gathered around the Jane Foster statue gaping and whispering amongst themselves in hushed tones, and as she stood to get a better look, Love understood why. 

A large crack had appeared on the hero’s marble cape, spanning from the very bottom of the statue (where she’d been hiding moments ago) all the way up to its shoulders; the gash brutally disfiguring its craftsmanship. 

Love felt a hole open up inside her as she stared at the damaged monument in horror. What had she done?

She spun around, wide-eyed with excuses on the tip of her tongue but felt her throat lock up when she was met with Thor’s gentle gaze instead.

“I’m sorry– I didn’t mean–“

“It wasn’t your fault,” Thor said firmly, putting an arm on the top of her head; a comfort and a warning, Love realised, watching his soft expression shift into a guarded one, as though he expected someone to jump out of nowhere and prosecute her on the spot.

“But I–“

“King Valkyrie!”

Love swallowed her confession as a very short man with a starchy grey goatee and neutral robes stomped up to the monarch and pointed an accusing finger at her. Valkyrie, to her credit, didn’t move a muscle to acknowledge him.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to, Church Keeper,” She replied cooly, tilting her head to one side.

Saying King Valkyrie had a strained relationship with the New Asgard Town Council would be an incredible understatement. Though it had originally been her idea to elect representatives in order to filter through and attend to the town’s problems accordingly (Lady Sif was a council member), the Church Keeper had amassed a large enough following by monopolising the midgardian vote, and wrested control of the local government from her. 

While Valkyrie was preoccupied with alien passport documentation and expanding asgardian labour supply chains, the Church Keeper and his cronies had slowly turned Asgard into a tourist trap, complete with an Infinity Conez Ice Cream Parlour, and the mighty weapon Mjolnir on display in the Museum; all while trying to undermine their king’s authority at every turn.

“The statue!” The Church Keeper spat, his raised voice steadily drawing more attention from the other citizens, “It’s cracked!

“Indeed it is,” Valkyrie affirmed, still unmoving, “Thank you for pointing that out.”

“This is no time for jesting, your majesty! We are in danger!”

These words seemed to wash over the crowd and dissipate into a flurry of confused whispering; the inhabitants of New Asgard were still on edge from the whole ‘Taking’ incident, after all. 

“Is that so?” Valkyrie unsheathed a dagger from her hip and began to flip it in midair, a careless display.

“Let’s not make any hasty decisions here, Church Keeper– do you have any evidence that what happened to the statue was an act of malicious intent?”

“Well, no, but the perpetrator could’ve been trying to send a message–“

“By leaving marks on a cape?” Valkyrie raised an eyebrow, catching the dagger without looking at it, “Wouldn’t a more effective target be the face? Or the hammer, even?”

“Well, yes, but–“

“And who do you think is responsible for this message? The only people present at the scene were you and I, and, of course, The All-Father, Protector of the Nine Realms, Thor Odinson.”

“Unless–“ she pointed the wooden hilt right below his chin, “–you’re implying that your King had something to do with this?”

Love watched the man’s face swell with every counter-argument Valkyrie threw at him, turning redder and redder until his beady eyes caught sight of her and he lunged forward.

“You! Girl! You were there!“ He hissed, snatching at her forearm, “Did you see anything?!”

Love cried out in surprise but Thor had already put himself between her and the Church Keeper and seized his wrist, in one move.

“Careful,” Thor said pleasantly, tightening his grip enough to turn the other man's face purple, “There’s no need to scare her; she’s only a child.”

“Perhaps you should run along before you make a bigger fool of yourself,” Valkyrie said coldly, tucking the weapon back at her hip. 

The Church Keeper harrumphed and made a big show of extricating himself from Thor’s grip, muttering about how this wasn’t over and taking half of the citizens with him as he proceeded to stomp his way back to the town.

“Are we really in danger, your majesty?” A lilting voice asked. 

Love popped her head out from behind Thor to see Grace, Axl’s mother and Heimdall’s wife, step forward, tightly clutching her son’s shoulders as though she was afraid he’d disappear if she didn’t.

“Of course not,” Valkyrie’s eyes softened, “The danger is long past us. Jane’s sacrifice made sure of that. I’m sure what happened today was the result of someone’s prank–“

“What if you’re wrong?” Grace pressed, “What if that monster comes for them again?”

Love winced; in all the commotion she’d almost forgotten how exactly she’d ended up here. 

Her father - the man who died in her arms - was the shadow man who’d abducted the children of New Asgard; how could she be sure she wasn’t any different? 

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the look Thor exchanged with Valkyrie - the subtle dip of the chin that meant I’ll take it from here - and blindly shuffled alongside her uncle as he put a hand on her shoulder and steered her away from Grace, the crowd and the statue.

Once they were far enough that the townspeople had become smudges of colour in the distance, Love stopped and sat on the grass, folding her knees to chest. Thor obediently followed suit, crossing his arms, and the two of them sat in silence for an excruciatingly long five minutes. 

“You know, I used to meditate–” He started, ready to launch into a story about his various yoga lessons, but fell quiet when he realised the slight shaking and snuffling sound was coming from the little girl beside him.

“Is something wrong?”

“EVERYTHING–” Love coughed out, trying to brush away the tears as quickly as they spilled down her cheeks, “Everything is wrong!”

“Why didn’t you tell me I’m a monster?”

Thor narrowed his eyes.

“Hey, listen to me,” he gently pulled her arms away from her face, “You are not a monster.”

“Stop lying!” She snatched her hands back and curled tighter into herself, “I heard what King Valkyrie said– she thinks I need to be banished. That I’m dangerous.”

“Come now, nobody used the word banished– more like a holiday–“

“I’m not stupid, Uncle Thor!” She bared her teeth and he fell silent. A few seconds passed and Love began to feel the familiar stirrings of guilt in her stomach before he finally spoke again.

“You’re right,” He admitted, resignation heavy in his voice, “I should have told you.”

Love reluctantly peered up to see Thor staring off into the canopy of trees opposite to them, completely unfocused, like he could see right through them and all the way back to the past.

“The truth is a heavy burden, are you sure you wish to hear it?”

She nodded quietly.

“Alright; your father, was not a monster.”

Love opened her mouth to object but Thor gestured to let him continue, so she closed it.

“He was a man who’d been wronged by the gods,” he recounted, “A disciple of the highest faith, he never asked for a single thing for himself. All he asked was that they protect his daughter when he was gone. That they protect you.”

“But Gods are not kind creatures,” His expression soured, “Even those you’ve looked up to for years, ever since you were a little boy, running through the palace of Asgard..”

She must’ve looked puzzled because Thor quickly changed direction.

“Anyway, you get the point. Gods are incredibly selfish and just the worst.”

“Mhm,” Love supplied.

“Your planet wasn’t fortunate, it was mostly desert with resources being few and far between, not the ideal conditions to raise a child. Something unfortunate happened and you.. fell sick.”

“I fell sick?” She frowned thoughtfully, but Thor didn’t meet her eyes now.

“Yes, it was a.. sleeping sickness. You were trapped in endless sleep.”

“And then what happened?”

“Your father begged the Gods to help, but they were too full of themselves.”

“That’s awful!”

“It is,” he agreed, “So he found another way to help you. He went to Eternity.”

“But what about the kidnappings?”

“Shh– I’m getting to that. He needed the Bifrost to get to Eternity, which means he needed Storm-Breaker.”

“Oh.”

“Your father didn’t believe I’d help him willingly, you see, because he thought I was like all the other gods, so he kidnapped some children–“

“All the children–“

“–all the children,” he acquiesced, “–of New Asgard to bargain for my axe. Jane figured it out first–“

“Dr. Foster knew him too?”

“Uh.. yes. She did. Anyway, you have to understand that your father was very desperate to wake you up–“

“Did my father hurt Dr. Foster?” Love asked, alarmed, “Did he kill–“

“No, no,” Thor shook his head immediately and she let out a relieved breath she’d been holding.

“Jane passed away because of other health concerns.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” he sighed, “Now– what was I saying?”

“My father was desperate to wake me up..”

“Right, exactly, so he made a deal with Eternity and exchanged his life for your cure. But not before he made me promise–“

“Made you promise to take care of me, I know that part already.” Love finished half-heartedly, trying to process all this new information. 

In hindsight, she probably should have figured it out sooner that her father and the kidnappings were connected, but the descriptions of the perpetrator were so wildly inaccurate, more fiction tan fact, that she didn’t really blame herself. 

Love also knew that there were a lot of things her Uncle Thor wasn’t telling her– like why she’d heard Valkyrie mention the term God Butcher, or why Dr. Foster’s death was hailed a sacrifice, but a part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know any more today.

“Uncle Thor?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’ll become like my father?”

Thor considered the question for so long that she was afraid he hadn’t heard her at all. 

“My brother Loki–” he replied finally, “–wanted to be like our father so badly, he destroyed a part of himself because he thought it would make him more worthy. Of approval. Of love.”

He leaned against Love and pulled her into a side-hug. She felt warmth along with the comforting smell of rain, wrap around her and nestle into her skin, into her bones, as Thor pressed a soft kiss onto her temple.

“I don’t know who you’ll become, little one, but I promise to love you the whole way there.”

[getcuboned]

See. Actualy. Yesterday I just dismissed this because you didn't actually Say anything. Now that bothers me.

You haven't actually Said much anything in response to me which is not how a conversation works.

You mumbled in the notes about not believing in ACAB, which is not how ACAB works. This "lecture" has been me talking about the thing You mumbled about. Which is me talking to you specifically. Weird how that works.

You quote authorial intent, which is entirely irrelevant even if Wildbow Thinks he can't avoid death of the author. In a Two person conversation, I would thing that Your intent and reading would be the one that's revelant, if anything.

You try to say that shorthand is counter productive. Which is only true when the shorthand in question is considered controversial, ans only because people see a controversial topic and disconnect from the conversation. ACAB is only controversial because it benefits the political systems of first world countries to make it controversial. That's a statement of fact, not an opinion. Feel free to find a way to contradict it as commentary on history, but I'm not going to listen if you try to make it opinionated. The only force painting cops in a good light is propaganda.

You make some weird jump about democracy, which lets be real here: This is not a democracy. This is a conversation, I'm not here to "democratically" change your mind. We also don't get to "democratically" alter history so that we can "democratically" refuse to acknowledge that police institutions exist to serve bad laws and shelter useful bullies.

The one thing you've said is that the PRT didn't know about Sophia's actions and that she did get punished. Which is a Half Truth! Congratulations, half truths are how people pardon institutions that shelter bad cops. Sophia acknowledged it herself that the moment she stopped being useful they threw her in juvie. Taylor thinks that part of that is Sophia herself burned too many bridges to keep her useful, but nowhere in the text is there evidence that its wrong to think that the PRT/Protectorate sheltered Sophia to the best of their ability until it was made Public that she absued a girl so much the girl ended up in a psyche ward. Once it's public, Shadowstalker stopped being a useful cop. If the PRT/Pro actually cared about vetting bad cops they would have given even half the attention that Weaver got to Shadowstalker. If Sophia hadn't burned all of her bridges maybe some other team of well intended cops would have taken her in, but she's been absolute thug so they didn't. Therefore, she's useless. The idea that the PRT "didn't know" isn't a defense for them. It's a fact for sure, but its a fact that only enhances the idea that they turn a blind eye to bad cops because they're useful.

Worm is too well structured, despite its line by line presentation, to have things be separated arbitrarily. There is a recurring theme in Worm of examining systems of power and identifying where bullies live in them and how they operate. This is because we see things from Taylor's perspective, which is the main perspective of the entire series. The heroes are just flying cops and Taylor can see that. When we see things from other character's perspectives, they fixate on different parts of the world. That's really good characterization! But it also means there's an instinct to say "that's just Taylor's perspective". Everyone's perspective contains elements of truth. Taylor's focus on bullies doesn't Make bullies, it exposes them to the audience. When you expose a system, such as the police, and observe how it shuffles truth behind curtains and turns a blind eye to abuse, you get the idea that being part of that system makes you part of the problem. Hence ACAB.

That's why Khepri could win. She could see through everyone's eyes and use everyone's perspective and ability.

My whole point with all of this. I despise TLDR's because you Should be reading what I'm saying, but my Whole Point: I will not accpet cherry picking themes and ideas. The idea of heroes being cops, with well intentioned heroes being purposefully obtuse in the face of hard truths, or being bad people behind the mask, is what ACAB means. Wether Wildbow meant it or not, he reinvented ACAB through Taylor's eyes.

As for literally anything else. Yeah. Taylor could have been more forth coming with friends, teamates, and family. I already said that. That's what she did wrong. That's what she regrets. There's nothing more to that unless You want to bring up things that were actually wrong, rather than making me do the work of identifying what is worthy of discussion.

If we, as readers, are meant to see a character as in the wrong, or see that the character's own baggages and hangups are the reason they're doing certain things, rather than a fair appreciation of the facts...

then we actually have to see the character be wrong, directly, on screen.

Like, Taylor has issues with authority, trusting authority figures, etc. This is a result of the Trio and how the school admin and teachers never listened to her, her Dad had checked out, etc. All fair, all understandable. And that absolutely fuels her own reaction to Armsmaster and, later on, other figures in the PRT and the Protectorate.

But equally, Taylor's own attempts (as Skitter) to reach out and work with the PRT and Protectorate consistently go bad, and not largely because of her. Armsmaster is useless and dismissive to her. She tries again, goes nowhere. She gets betrayed by Armsy at the Leviathan fight and sees how that goes for her. She finds out the Protectorate has been sheltering Sophia (as she sees it). The whole part where Legend ordered her chained up and was coming and no information was actually given to her as to WHY sure leaves her in no good place (Amy didn't /help/ but she didn't create the situation), and then her little confrontation with them doesn't help either.

Her attempts to get somewhere talking to the PRT/Protectorate during the S9 arcs go nowhere and again, they're unwilling to even pretend to work together -

I mean, like, consistently, Taylor's distrust of authority in the form of the PRT/Protectorate is proven to be pretty well founded, at least her experiences of it. And yes, the Interludes and stuff show it fairly clearly that she's not entirely right in her read of them, sure, but SHE never actually sees anything else.

If the narrative really does want us to see Taylor as somewhat in the wrong... we have to actually see her... in the wrong. Because Taylor just gets her own belief that the PRT just cannot be worked with reinforced over and over again, and that's what leads to her escalation in 21.1. Absolutely the wrong choice, but exactly what the PRT and Protectorate earned with their responses.

[juletheghoul]

Common Courtesies

I've been thinking about monster versions of the Pedro boys ever since I wrote this horny fever dream - and thanks to this ask from @sweetangel0069 I am back on my bullshit. I imagine this as sort of a Mr. Darcy, regency period type of thing only Demon Din is a feminist icon because that's what we do here.

Enjoy some Demon!Din.

Pairing: Demon!Din x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: (18+ NO MINORS) **pussy-eating** language, age-gap (legal, reader is of age) dirty talk, supernatural elements, sexist society, sexist comments from readers father

Let me know if I missed anything!

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist ask prompt

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

The moon was full and bright, it drew your eye as you finished the small glass of water in the silent kitchen.

The manor was blessedly quiet at this hour and you took advantage of it. Everyone was asleep and it felt as though you could steal a few blessed moments of peace. No mother hovering and nagging about your lack of a suitor. No sisters gossiping or bickering - no overbearing father to deal with and just like you’d been doing since adolescence, you dallied.

You wandered through your empty halls, wondering if your guest was sleeping comfortably in the rooms your father had provided him. Whether the bed was to his liking, if he had enjoyed the view before succumbing to sleep.

You thought about him a great deal.

There was something about him, something… different.

He was polite, exceedingly so. He was attentive, listening with genuine interest to what you and your sisters had to say. Most of the men your father invited into your home had courtesy to be sure but it was different. Whereas they listened, with a stiff upper lip and forced smile - he engaged. He cared about what you had to say.

Your mother had been wary at first. A handsome man of his age, unmarried and unattached - there had to be something wrong but much like everyone he encountered in your presence - he won her over.

Now she was determined to marry him off to one of you, it didn’t seem to matter which one and she wasn’t shy about presenting each of you to him in such a manner. He dodged her advances on your part gracefully.

“Oh I would make a terrible husband, believe me.”

A creak just inside the drawing room froze you in place for a moment and it was difficult to pick up any new sounds through the booming in your ears. A few breaths to steady your nerves was all the preparation you gave yourself before creeping over to take a peek inside. What you’d do if it was someone with ill-intentions, you hadn’t decided.

With baited breath and clammy palms you chanced a glance, doing everything in your power to make as little noise as possible.

It was your guest. Mr. Din Djarin, sitting comfortably in your fathers chair -facing the moonlight. You frowned.

What are you doing awake?

You knew it was him, but the longer you looked - the less it looked like him. He seemed much taller, the chair looked almost small with him occupying it. He turned towards where your head was poked around the open door and it took everything in you not to gasp.

This couldn’t be the man you knew? His eyes were black jewels, his fingers were long, with nails that you knew would be like razors. His teeth glinted and they were too white, too sharp. The horns were another matter completely and for a moment you felt like a fly trapped in honey. You held your breath as he scanned the room, hoping he didn’t see you. How you managed to silently step away you’d never know.

The vision of him, of the transformation he’d gone through played through your mind endlessly. Until exhaustion finally claimed you.

-

It was hard not to yawn the next day. Hard not to conjure up the image of him, of what you’d seen when he sat at your table. When he smiled politely at catching you staring.

He looked ordinary now, back to the visage you’d been accustomed to and too late you realized what the topic of conversation had been.

“Surely you must be looking to marry Mr. Djarin? Don’t you want children to carry your name? Any one of my daughters would make a fine wife I assure you.” You perked up despite the embarrassment, curious as to his answer.

“I wouldn’t want to inflict any of your lovely daughters with me. Believe me - they are better off but you are kind to think me worthy.” He held her hand in his, mollifying. Charming.

“How old are you Mr. Djarin?-” You saw the scandal on your mother’s face at your impolite outburst, a lady doesn’t ask that. “-I’m sorry to be impolite - I was merely curious.” You tried to look braver than you felt and he smiled, a twinkle of mischief in his eye.

“I’m older than you think.” He winked, enigmatic.

“My apologies for my daughter’s rudeness.” She spoke to him, but her eyes were focused on you.

“Think nothing of it, ladies should be able to ask what they please. We are well aware that men do so without impunity.” Your father tutted at his response, obviously unhappy at the comparison. He raised his eyebrows slightly at your father. “You disagree?” It was asked offhand but there was an undercurrent of confusion.

“Well, there is a place for everything, and women should be aware of theirs - just as men should.” He drank the tea as he spoke, imperious. “There are times when women should be seen and not heard.” It wasn’t said maliciously, despite the implications. Your father’s view was frustrating - but sadly common within the social circles your family ran in.

“I wholeheartedly disagree.” His eyes were a rich brown, nothing like the inky black you thought you’d seen the night before. “It seems to me that men have inflated their importance to a laughable degree, it’s not up to them to dictate what place women should take up within society. Everything would be a great deal better if everyone was equal.” Your mothers mouth hung open, your father looked almost angry. If it hadn’t been for the vision that was dominating your thoughts you might have been dumbstruck also.

“I suggest we change the topic of conversation Mr. Djarin.” Your father warned and Din smiled contentedly, unbothered and unafraid. His gaze kept returning to you though, kept catching you staring, wide eyed with trembling hands.

You couldn’t help yourself, your eyes lingered on his fingers, on the seemingly hornless forehead; his mouth.

“Are you well?” He dipped his head, pulling your eyes down from their focus.

“I-yes, yes. I am quite well thank you.” You kept eye-contact with him despite the pounding of your heart, the exchange lasting a few seconds, or possibly a few hours before your sister broke the tension.

“Will you be in town for long Mr. Djarin?” Her soft voice pulled his eyes away and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding in.

“I never linger too long, I haunt for a time, and then I move on.” He smiled warmly at her, he never went into detail - never gave more than he had to. You were determined to find out who, or what- he really was.

-

The hours ticked by in uneasy silence. The normal sounds of everyone winding down and making their way to their beds found you sitting on the edge of yours, waiting for the right time to go looking for - what? A monster?

This is insane, am I really expecting to find a creature masquerading as a handsome bachelor?

A heavy footstep down the hall snapped you out of your circling, doubtful thoughts - the servants made almost no noise. It was usually easy to tell who was walking around but you were sure you’d never heard anything like this before, whatever it was it sounded massive. It hardened your resolve and with fear prickling at your skin - you ventured out of the safety of your room.

Your footsteps were light, as light as you could make them - the skirts of your nightdress and dressing gown were clutched within your iron grip as you made your way towards the drawing room. A few steadying breaths was all you gave yourself before you peeked inside.

Again you found him, sitting in your fathers chair - staring up at the night sky through the window.

“So you did see me.” His voice was deeper, richer - full of something. “..and still you came to investigate.” He turned towards your place at the door, his head a slow swivel that was synchronized with a bead of icy sweat skating down your spine. His eyes, two bright flames in a sea of black. “You must be very brave, or very foolish.” It was said without cruelty. “We mustn't linger in doorways, come in.”

It both shocked, and annoyed you that he would invite you into a room within your own home, that alone moved your legs towards him.

“Are you going to hurt me?” You stood just inside, hands fisted at your sides to hide the tremble in them.

“Why would I hurt you?” His head tilted. “I have no reason to, here - I think you would be more comfortable if I were to present myself how you’re accustomed to seeing me.” He scrunched up his face in obvious discomfort, slowly shrinking down.

“Wait-” The words bubbled out of your mouth almost without thought. “I would like to see you.” You couldn’t help but fidget under his eye. “Please…”

“As you wish.” Within a moment he was ‘himself’, the look of relief on his face wasn’t lost on you.

“Does it hurt?” It was your turn to tilt your head.

“It is uncomfortable to make myself small for such long periods, come- sit.” He gestured to the chaise in front of him and despite your momentary hesitation, you did as he asked.

He let you take stock of him, let you stare at your leisure. He was content to soak in the moonlight while the gears in your brain ran and ran. Eventually though, you felt impolite.

“I’m sorry to stare, I am at a loss for words.” Your voice seemed loud in the peaceful silence of the room. “Would it be rude to ask what you are?” You brought your knees up, wrapping your arms around them as best you could.

“No, I don’t think you’d know even if I told you. You can think of me as an incubus if you like.” He smiled at the shocked look on your face. His teeth were sharp, bone white but oddly attractive. “I am not a danger to you.”

“Incubus.” The word was strange in your mouth. “You don’t look or act like what I’ve read about.”

“No, I don’t. I’m not here to haunt anyones dreams or rape sleeping women. I merely feed off sexual energy.” He raised his eyebrows, amused by the novelty of speaking frankly if you had to wager a guess. “I do so with a willing partner but lately, it’s been harder than you’d think. People have turned into such prudes.” This surprised you.

“How so?” Your eyes ate him up greedily, never focusing on one thing.

“The concept of purity and virginity, saving yourselves for marriage. Nonsense.” He scoffed and it took you aback.

“Why is it nonsense?” Not all of the girls you knew growing up saved themselves - but there was a very clear difference between who did and who didn’t. Most of all in their prospects and how society treated them. “Why is virginity nonsense?” You couldn’t help but press.

“That a human man would believe that being the first one to have sex with a woman would somehow fundamentaly change her is the very height of avaris. The very audacity for men to think that highly of themselves is ridiculous.” Dark waves of anger blurred the edges of him and it thrilled you slightly, despite the hairs raising on the back of your neck.

“Are you not a man though..?” You didn’t understand - he looked vaguely man-shaped, he sounded like a man, was he built like a man? Your skin heated to imagine it.

“No, I am not. Men resemble me.” It occurred to you then, how old he must be.

“You mean to say men are made to look like you?”

“Well, I was here first.” He said it offhand and the absurdity of it almost didn’t fit within your mind.

“How old are you Mr. Djarin?” It was almost funny to call him that.

“...Old…”

“How long have you been around?” You tried a different tactic, but he smiled.

“I have always been around.” He looked back up towards the sky, his throat bobbed and you suddenly imagined yourself running your tongue up the long column of it. Your nipples pebbled in your shirt, your thighs clenched together. “It’s normal. You’ve been around me in my natural state. I would have an effect on your biology - feel free to run along to bed. I will stay a while longer.” You didn’t want to leave him.

“Why do you watch the moon?” You ignored his dismissal, craving his presence for as long as he allowed it.

“This is my time, this is when I feel the best - when I don’t have to hide.” You could see the pale, almost full moon in his eyes.

“Let us take a walk then.” You rose tentatively, hand nervously outstretched towards him, hoping that he’d take it. He stared in confusion before smiling a wide sharp smile, and engulfing your small hand, with his large, clawed one.

-

He towered over you, forcing you to crane your neck to meet his gaze as you walked through the grass outside your home. It was a cool night, lovely and fresh compared to the heat of the day. Soft breezes ruffled the fabric around your legs and his hair around his horns.

You were content to follow him quietly, to enjoy the serenity of the night, crickets chirped nearby; a brook bubbling just down the hill.

“It feels nice to be myself.” His voice was soft, carrying on the wind.

“It must be awful to hide most of the time.” You stopped within a little copse of trees that hid you both should someone glance out a window.

“Mostly It's fine, but after a while- it’s not pleasant.” He stretched out on the soft grass, long and lean, both natural and completely at odds. You couldn’t help but stare at him, his skin was golden and almost luminescent, darkening around the horns and darker still when it reached his hands. Your body was responding to his presence, blooming for him. “You smell wonderful.” He smiled to himself. Caught.

“I do?” You inched closer, your knee brushed against his ribs.

“Oh yes, you smell like honey.” His eyes were closed but his face turned towards you slightly. “You’re dripping.” Your eyes widened, an ache was steadily building between your thighs, begging for relief. You said nothing, instead you watched him, your body bringing you closer and closer until your legs were pressed up against him. “What are you thinking?” He turned to watch you then, a small smile on his lips.

You gulped, sweat beading along your hairline as you licked your lips. Your heart raced as you imagined him kissing you, would his teeth prick at your lips? Did you care? Not even a little bit.

“I am thinking wanton thoughts, things I’ve only ever thought about within the confines of my bedroom.” It both shamed and thrilled you to say these things aloud.

“Would you like me to accompany you back inside? You can go to sleep and forget you ever saw me this way.” A way out, a reprieve from the want and the craving for him, this is what he offered.

“No. I’d like to stay out here with you.” It came out less sensual than you’d hoped it would and now that you’d said it- you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

“Would you like me to touch you?” It sent a thrill through you, to possibly know what his hands would feel like on you.

“Yes- but please, be gentle with me.” Your heartbeat pounded in your ears and in your cunt, all of it calling to him and when he rose your stomach fluttered.

Wordlessly he lay you down on the downy grass, his hands much gentler than they appeared. With a soft touch he lifted the skirts up, grazing the skin of your thighs on his path towards the juncture of your thighs. He didn’t reach it though, instead he ran his hands along your skin, up towards your hip.

“Can I touch you?” You’d raised your hand towards his face, but stopped just short. He pressed his cheek into your outstretched palm, nuzzling into it like a touch starved cat. You traced the lines of his face, the pad of your thumb smoothing his brow before threading through the soft brown waves of his hair. He smiled before curling those long fingers around the waistband of your undergarments, letting you lift your hips to help pull them down.

Your breathing sped up when he pressed his face against your sternum, careful not to hurt you with his horns. The nightdress was paper thin, letting you feel his breath against your skin. He found the pebbled peaks of your breasts poking through the fabric, a small gasp escaped when he bit at one softly. The sensation shot straight to your cunt, the ache intensified, your legs rubbing together to alleviate it but he just made it worse. A whine from your throat made him smile as he moved to the other side.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it all better.” The smile widened when you saw his tongue was forked, your eyes big as saucers. “You’ll enjoy it, believe me - I can smell how wet you are and I’ll make your little pussy come so hard. I’ll make it good.” His tongue swirled around the bud through the fabric, soaking it before biting gently.

His words lit a fire within your belly, they ramped the arousal further still and soon you were writhing in the grass like some animal. He tsked softly, his hands mapping the path down towards where you wanted him most. His lips pressed against the soft skin of your thighs, of your fluttering belly.

The considerable breadth of his shoulders had your legs spread wide and being so open made you unsure of yourself. No one had ever seen this part of you, no one had ever been this intimate with you before and before you could say anything he was lifting his head.

“You are divine. So lovely and I am ravenous for you.” He ducked his head to kiss your mound. “Can I taste you?” His hand rubbed from the top of your knee, down towards your dripping folds.

“Yes - please.” Your voice was a breathy whisper, unrecognizable. He smiled before diving in.

His tongue dipping to the source of your slick, circling the rim of your opening before gliding back up. It was a strange but intensely pleasant sensation, completely different from your fingers. You shuddered to feel the two sides of his tongue surround the pearl of your pleasure, you felt him groan into your skin.

“Oh my darling, I could eat your gorgeous little cunt for centuries.” He spoke almost reverently before kissing you where his tongue had just been, open-mouthed and passionate. The pleasure was unlike anything you’d ever felt in your life. It rendered you speechless, reduced you to a puddle of arousal there on the lawn of your home.

Your body climbed higher and higher, waves of arousal radiating out from where his tongue flicked against you - out towards the tips of your fingers and toes and when he pulled you closer, when he flicked faster - it exploded. Your legs strained against his iron grip but he held you open, held you vulnerable for his mouth.

“That’s it, you took that so well.” He smiled - kissing your mound while you caught your breath.

“That was - that was really good.” The words seemed tawdry and inconsequential compared to the pleasure he’d just given you. “Your skin…” You hadn’t noticed but he seemed brighter, somehow lovelier than before.

“You’ve fed me well my darling.” He continued kissing you as he spoke. “I want more though, I’m not done with you yet.” He dipped low again, collecting the slick that drooled out of you with a groan. Your hands grabbed at his horns before remembering yourself - unsure if that was rude.

“I’m sorry-” He growled into your skin before you finished your sentence, putting your hands back onto them.

“Guide me.” He moaned out the words, relishing the way you gripped him; the way you ground your hips into his mouth.

It felt like he ate your cunt for hours.

He pulled climax after climax out of you. Some of them quick - others slow and torturous and by the fifth or sixth you couldn’t take anymore.

“Please- please Din, no more,” You pushed at his face weakly, your body was a raw nerve. Your pussy was puffy and over sensitive, reluctantly he pulled away.

“I was being serious-“ He nuzzled against the little patch of curls on your mound, the skirts of your dress moving with the push of his face into your skin. “-I could just keep eating you. Just want to bury my tongue in this perfect little cunt forever.” His tongue flicked against your clit once more before helping you dress.

You half expected him to have his way with you, to bury himself inside you right there on the lawn but he didn’t. Instead he led you back inside on shaky legs, his form adjusting down to human size.

When you finally made it to your bed, you fell asleep almost instantly, and dreamt about the moon.

--

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[very-sleepy-head]

Day 24: FREE

AU: stripper Mickey (no manic dancing phase for Ian) I can’t believe kinkmas is over! Please enjoy this super long one (over 4K words) ❤️

Previous Read this on Ao3 Master List

The music inside the club was loud as Ian and Lip walked in.

"A strip club? You brought me to a fucking strip club, Lip?"

Lip smirked as he sat down to order 2 fruity drinks, "A gay strip club, Ian."

"For fucks sake," Ian mumbled under his breath as he looked around.

As they started drinking, Ian's brother was hit on by a blonde girl in a little black dress. Only Lip would find a straight woman in a gay strip club. Ian immediately gave him a thumbs up under the table. 

"Are you sure, E?" His brother was a bit skeptical, but Ian just replied with a simple "Lip, she's your type and I don’t need a babysitter. Go get laid," and let him go.

All alone now, his attention turned towards the stage, and he was captivated by the dancer at the front.

He had dark hair and sparkling blue eyes, He was short but fit, earning grins and stares from every man in the crowd.

He looked irresistible, strong defined thighs, perfect slim waist, gorgeous neck and hips that Ian could see himself holding onto.  Ian was mesmerized by the way he was dancing, his moves were graceful, he was in his element. 

He was different from the rest of the dancers. He looked tough, like he wouldn’t take shit from anyone. 

He wore tiny little sparkly black booty shorts that were now on the top of Ian’s mind. The dancer’s hands teased the crowd by playing with the band of his shorts. And that was the moment Ian noticed his knuckle tattoos. He couldn't help but be turned on by the sight, but he also was curious as to why a guy as badass as him was dancing here.

Ian was sweating a little and trying really hard not to show how much he was enjoying the show.

A twink sat next to Ian and nudged him, earning a polite nod. "Are you here to watch or get some action?" he asked, disappointed that he got nothing in response other than a polite smile. 

“I’m Byron,” He tried again.

Ian finally opened his mouth, “Sorry, I’m just watching.”

Byron got up and left while grumbling, "You're not even that hot anyways."

The man gripped the pole with both hands and then heaved himself up onto it with a grace Ian didn’t know was possible, legs wrapping tightly around the pole, muscled thighs catching the light and it looked almost like his shorts were going to rip if he flexed his legs anymore.

The light caught on something on the man’s chest and Ian realized he had nipple piercings. 

Fuck that’s hot.

As he looked out towards the crowd Ian swore their eyes met just for a moment and he shuddered, watching as the dancer did one final spin around the pole, holding on with one leg and one hand, and flipped the crowd off. Moments later the song ended and the stage was doused in darkness.

Ian just took another sip of whatever stereotypical fruity drink Lip got him, watching the stripper end his show. With a bit of liquid courage in his system he decided to approach the beautiful stranger as he got down from the stage. 

He got up fast, moving towards the man who caught his eye, afraid he’d miss his chance if he waited too long.

When he finally reached him, Ian noticed how much shorter the man was up close. "Hey," he said, biting his lips, "How much for a d–"

"100$ take it or leave it, babyface." The dancer spoke, not surprised by the blush on Ian's.

"It's good,” Ian's hand slid 100$ into his shorts. “Not my first time, don't worry."

The stripper blushed, surprised but quickly came to his senses. “Okay, let’s go, firecrotch.” He smirked as he motioned Ian to sit down on the couch near them. 

Ian did as told and sat down, keeping his hands on either side of his lap. A new song started playing and the stripper began dancing for him. 

"So you've been here before?" The dancer asked, staring into his eyes seductively while beginning to move his hips on the redhead's lap.

"Not here. If I knew a guy like you worked here I would've, though," Ian flirted as he checked him out, and without thinking, slid his hand towards the stripper's waist, squeezing lightly.

“Try that again, asshole,” the dancer snapped, “I’ll break your fucking fingers.” He rejected, causing Ian to raise an eyebrow. It took him a moment to realize what he had done wrong. He pulled his hand back immediately.

“Shit, sorry.” Ian apologized sincerely. 

"Even though you're hotter than the average gariatric viagroids around here, I'm only here to dance, I'm not a fucking prostitute or something."

Ian raised his arms up, putting them on the backrest of the couch. “Won’t happen again.” He promised.

The stripper just chuckled at the theatrics, making Ian grin, "So, Red, what's your name?"

Ian eyed the dancer up and down, watching his moves closely and biting his lip, debating whether he should lie or not.

"Ian." he finally said after a moment of silence.

“Suits you.” The dancer replied simply.

Then the song changed and he got up with a smile, turning away.

Ian rose up immediately, getting up from the couch as fast as humanly possible and grabbing his hips, "Hey, that's it? A 100$ bill and you're gonna tease me with one song?" He let go and whispered in his ear, "Don't I deserve just a little bit more?"

The dancer turned his head around just for one second, winked at Ian, and left the dance floor.

—

Ian couldn’t get the dancer out of his head. No matter what he did, he kept dreaming about him.

He never anticipated returning after the one visit, but there’s just something about the foul-mouthed stripper, something about his unapologetic attitude, his effortless moves and his hot body…

Ian just couldn’t get him out of his head.

So when the next weekend rolled around he went back to the club, in the hopes of finding him.

The dancer was in the middle of his set when Ian walked it.

This time he didn’t bother ordering a drink. He waited until the beautiful man finished his dance before he approached him.

As soon as he was in ear shot the dancer called, “Missed me already, Red?”

“I–,” Ian was surprised he remembered him, but it gave him hope that the shorter man felt the connection too. “Can I have another dance?” He pulled a 100 dollar bill from his pocket and pushed it into the dancer's faux leather costume.

When the dancer gave him a slight nod, Ian began following him, "What's your name?" he asked but the man in front of him didn't answer, just put his arms around the taller's waist, squeezing it.

Ian froze and looked the stubborn man in the eyes, waiting for an answer. 

"I’m here to dance, not for you to listen to my life story, man." glancing around, he continued, "Besides, if you don't know my name, it's better." The stripper kept a smile on his face, but it didn’t seem genuine.

Ian didn’t hide his confusion, but he let it go. "So, do we-" He started before the feisty man cut him off, "Sit."

And Ian did as he was told, sitting down on the couch.

The dancer stuck around for two whole songs this time, but didn’t give Ian any information. Ian didn’t mind that much, he was just happy to feel the beautiful man’s energy was enough.

—

The next time he came to the club, Ian asked for a private dance. Maybe this way he could get more time with the mysterious man.

“Feeling comfortable there, big guy?” The dancer asked him as he stood in front of the pole in the private room. Ian sat on the black leather couch, his legs spread as he adjusted himself in his pants

“Would be better if I had you on me… or under me. But the couch is fine.” Ian said playfully, he could tell the guy was okay with his flirting. He trusted he’d make it known if Ian crossed a line.

The dancer leaned on the pole, looked Ian up and down before flirting back, “I think I’m gonna start with this pole, even though I can tell yours is almost as long.”

Ian just chuckled and the man in front of him started his dance. 

He spun around the pole, lifting himself up, never losing eye contact with Ian.

Ian noticed how strong he was, using his hands and thighs to hold himself up. Ian couldn’t want him more.

When the short man crawled closer to Ian, he asked, “So, Ian, do you think you could keep your hands to yourself this time?” 

Ian smiled. “If that's what you want me to, I will play nice.” 

“Don’t want to call security on you, so you better stay still.”

Ian nodded and the stripper kept crawling closer sensually, arching his back to make sure Ian got a view of his ass.

"What's your name?" Ian breathed out again as the dancer sat between Ian’s thighs, running his hands up Ian’s legs.

He kept dancing without missing a beat, a groan left his lips in annoyance yet he replied, "Mickey. Now move your hands so I can get on you."

"Oh," Ian was taken back but his body moved and he removed his hands from the place they rested in his lap.

“Now let me enjoy this,” Mickey said and resumed his slick moves against Ian’s body.

Ian had a hard time processing what just happened. Not only the hot dancer told him his name, Mickey, Mickey, but he told him he wanted to enjoy this. Like Ian wasn’t the only one enjoying the way their bodies pressed together.

Maybe Mickey felt this too.

When their time was up, Mickey got up quickly but lingered by the door before saying over his shoulder, “Kinda hope to see you again, Ian.” And with that he left.

Ian needed a minute to recover.

—

Mickey was horny as fuck tonight.

Mickey had two objectives as he took the stage: to make fucking bank, and to take the redhead home.

As always, he’s nothing if not goal-oriented.

He hasn’t seen him in two weeks and he was on edge.

If his audience is under the impression that he’s the prey in any sense of the word, they’ve got another thing coming. As soon as he stepped out on stage he noticed the dopey looking redhead. His favorite client in a long time. Ian’s attention was on him from the first glimpse of his move.

Fucking bingo.

It's the energy that radiates off of this guy. He's just magnetic. Mickey felt his eyes on him. Ian was sitting with his legs spread and his spine straight, and he didn't shy away from ogling Mickey immediately. But when Mickey winked at him, he could notice the blush on the guy’s cheeks all the way from the stage.

Mickey‘s gut instinct from day one was that behind the slight shyness, Ian would know how to handle his bratty ass.

Doe-eyes was in the front row tonight, so Mickey decided to give him a bit of a VIP treatment, to see how he’d react. Mickey started to dip, sliding his forearms down the pole and giving him a nice full view of his ass.

The guy has the audacity to smirk, like he was finally catching on, enjoying the little private show Mickey was giving him. That was the moment Mickey knew for sure that his instincts had been on point.

Even so, Mickey took his time making eye contact with the entire crowd, earning his tips that they threw  his way. 

When he began his most jaw-dropping part of the  show, it only proved him right. None of those other men could handle him like they think they could, wolf-whistling and waving their cash, yelling sexual suggestion that would make other strippers crawl.

He entertained them and at the same time he didn't. He didn’t grab cash from the floor, not risking getting too close to the crowd.

The only times he got closer to the edge of the stage were when he stood in front of his favorite redhead.

It was such a fucking thrill to ignore the audience, to set his eyes on one person but make him question his own sanity, to make him wonder whether or not he was imagining it. Mickey knew he was driving Ian crazy tonight.

Mickey licked his lips, and the dude looked absolutely starstruck.

It gave Mickey a rush. It felt like no one else was in the room, the way this man got Mickey with just his eyes. Almost like Ian understood him, as Mickey moved his body on stage for everyone to see, it was for his guy to see.

And god, he was hot as fuck.

Mickey is taking him home tonight.

After he finished his set and walked down the stairs he could still feel Ian’s eyes on him. Once he made eye contact he signaled Ian to come closer and nodded towards the „employees only“ sign.

Ian walked to him slowly, keeping his cool. Mickey liked it.

When the tall man reached where Mickey was leaning on the wall he placed a hand by Mickey’s head. 

“Your show was really–”

Mickey couldn’t help himself. “Let’s go to the Employees only bathroom. It locks.” His coworkers pulled this shit in the bathroom sometimes, it always pissed him off, and he was about to be that hypocrite. Fuck it.

“Follow me, Ian.”

Preventing potential confusion, Mickey used his name as he grabbed his arm and led the way. He wanted to affirm that he remembered him, that he didn’t pick him randomly. He has never done anything like this before.

Mickey found the door he was looking for and turned his back to it, using his shoulder to open it while asking Ian with a smirk. "Enjoyed the show, huh?"

Once the door's shut and locked, Ian pushed Mickey up against it. He wasn’t crowding him, not really, but sizing him up, drinking him in. Mickey took the same liberty to scan Ian’s body, his tight shirt and well-fit jeans, the way his big muscles filled them.

It was obvious that Ian was already half-hard, and it got Mickey’s heart racing.

"Felt like the only guy in the room," Ian said smugly, like it was an explanation, and that gets Mickey’s body on him.

Though Mickey was usually opposed to kissing his hookups, with Ian it almost felt like a necessity. So when Ian made the move to kiss him against the bathroom door, Mickey was putty in his hands, responsive and loud. He moaned when Ian kissed down his neck or squeezed his ass.

The more he heard, the more Ian felt like he should have done this sooner.

Mickey was almost too caught up in the fact that he found a person he actually liked hooking up with, to even notice that Ian was certainly tougher than his shy general impression suggested.

Ian was enjoying all of these varied responses from Mickey, his touch growing more playful, more adventurous. Something about Ian's openness encouraged Mickey to let himself indulge, and he didn't hate it.

Usually, men can’t even handle Mickey’s attitude, but this guy… 

Ian had Mickey wrapped around his finger, it was clear that this guy had something different about him.

Mickey was so fucking here for it.

Mickey felt like he was dreaming. Ian stuck his tongue in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but moan into the kiss. Ian grabbed his waist, pushing him against the door. He slowly kissed down his jaw, and began leaving hickies on his neck. One of his hands went down, giving Mickey’s hard cock a squeeze.

“Someone’s excited.” Ian smirked, not like he had any room to talk, Mickey could feel his boner against his hip. Mickey peaked behind Ian’s head and saw his own reflection in the mirror, looking like he just got fucked. He looked back at Ian, he was just smirking at Mickey. He began rubbing his hand on Mickey’s cock, who bucked his hips to get more pleasure but that was quickly put to an end, “Stop moving or I’ll leave you here like this.”

The whimpers coming out of Mickey's mouth was like music to Ian's ears.

Ian began to undress Mickey, removing his dancing shorts and underwear in one go, "God, I can't wait to see your body… Your gorgeous body." Those words coming out of his mouth only turned Mickey even more.

Mickey couldn’t move, pinned entirely against the wall by the bulk of Ian’s body. He was aware of how large Ian was, it’s impossible not to notice— but now Ian was towering over Mickey. There was nothing gentle about the way Ian was kissing him right now or the way his hands squeezed every part of Mickey he could get his hands on.

“Come on, Red, get on with it!” Mickey urged, hoping Ian would start fucking him already.

But Ian dropped to his knees, digging his fingers into the meat of Mickey’s thighs hard enough to bruise. He wanted to tease Mickey, nuzzling and licking until was a begging mess, but he didn’t have the patience right now. Tonight, he just took Mickey’s entire dick in his mouth, sucking it real good. Mickey shoved his fist into his mouth to stop himself from shouting in surprise and pleasure. He wanted to thrust into Ian’s mouth, to do anything but stand here and take it, but Ian’s grip on him is implacable. Mickey could only squirm and whine against his fist.

Suddenly there was a knock on the bathroom door. Ian pulled off Mickey’s cock with a loud pop and cursed “Fuck off,” he growled.

The stranger walked away.

Mickey laughed. “Well, that’s one way to do it, my— oh, shit.”

Because Ian was sucking his cock again, as if there was no interruption at all. His hands slide back to cup Mickey’s ass, pulling him closer. He would probably lose his balance, if Ian wasn’t holding him up. 

He was definitely going to have bruises on his ass, Mickey realized. Marks on his skin in the shape of his new lover’s fingers, which would hopefully last for days, if not longer, even after he and Ian part ways. The thought is almost as hot as the slide of Ian’s lips around his cock.

“Shit, shit! gonna cum,” Mickey whispered and Ian pulled off but his grip on his ass only tightened.

“No. Not yet.”

Ian surged to his feet and Mickey almost lost his balance at that, but Ian pushed him back against the wall, kissing him again.

Mickey let out a little whimper. When he felt the press of Ian’s cock against his hip, he pushed forward instinctively.

"Can you feel what you do to me? Can you feel me baby?" Ian leaned forward whispering the dirty words against Mickey’s skin, it drove him crazy, made him feel so out of his mind with need. He nodded trying to catch Ian’s lips again but he just moved his face, his hand moving to grip Mickey’s jaw lightly, forcing him to look into his eyes, his hand snaking around Mickey’s lower back, helping him grind down. It was hot, so hot and sexy he couldn’t even think straight.

"I said can you feel me?" Ian repeated and Mickey nodded fast, his mouth falling open as Ian moved his hands down to cup his ass in his big hands, squeezing his soft round cheeks.

"Fuck. I can feel you, you're so fucking hard" he whimpered lowly his hand moving down to grip Ian's cock through his jeans. He decided he needed to feel it. He opened Ian’s jeans and pulled his cock out of his pants and boxers. He was throbbing and leaking, and Mickey couldn’t wait to feel it inside of him. Ian groaned in appreciation of the touch, leaning forward to attach their lips in a wet kiss, he bit down on Mickey’s bottom lip.

"Hold on, beautiful."

Mickey obeyed, wrapping his arms around him tightly, he knew exactly what's coming when Ian lifted him up, and carried him a little further until his ass hit the cold sink edge. He whined at the cold hitting his bare ass that Ian was still groping.

His hands not knowing where to go, moving from Ian’s neck to his broad shoulders, he wanted to feel him all over. He needed to fucking feel him.

Mickey was a bit embarrassed but he wanted Ian to get on with it so he confessed, “I’m ready, come on!” When he noticed Ian’s confused expression he explained, “I fingered myself before… before my set.”

Mickey squealed as Ian’s fingers pulled his cheeks apart as best he could in this position, his thumb rubbing against his still open hole. He was still a little bit sensitive so it made him let out small whimpering sounds and hide his face into Ian’s neck, but it felt good.

"I'm still open, just fuck me-" he didn’t know how to speak through the harsh breathes he's letting out, but he didn’t think he'd be able to get through Ian fingering him open without cumming. He knew it was going to sting a little, and maybe take some time to adjust, but he felt so desperate, he needed this.

“Fuck. Yeah, okay. Let me turn you around, Mick.”

Ian nodded , kissing him deeply for a moment before setting him on the ground. Mickey’s eyes widened when he took a moment to properly look at Ian’s dick. He wished he could go down on his knees and suck his cock nice and wet, but they both didn’t really have the patience at the moment, so he let Ian spin him to face the bathroom mirror.

Ian reached into his back pocket to take a condom and single-use package of lube out of his wallet. He quickly slipped the condom on and rubbed the lube on himself and pushed two lubed fingers into Mickey. Ian bit Mickey’s shoulder as he fucked them into him hard and fast, only for a few moments, before pulling out.

Ian helped Mickey position himself against the sink and lined his cock against Mickey’s hole, “push yourself on my cock, baby.”

Ian’s mouth fell open, his eyes closing and rolling when Mickey pushed himself back on to his cock.

Ian’s fingers dug into Mickey’s hips, as he took over and thrusted gently until all of him was inside of Mickey’s ass. It was a big stretch and he wished Mickey let him finger him properly beforehand.

Mickey was in heaven. The angle was perfect, it wasn’t quite on his prostate but he knew Ian will find the perfect way to fuck into him. 

“Holy shit. That's it baby, that's it baby" Ian was mumbling under his breath.

Mickey threw his head back as the breath knocked out of his lungs, Ian fucked him in slow thrusts out until he was comfortable to thrust hard and fast.

Ian was so in tune with Mickey. Every pleased expression, every time his mouth fell open with a low moan, every time his eyes rolled back. Ian changed the rhythm of his thrusts to match. The second he was confident he was pushing every right button and could give Mickey what he deserved, the bastard met Mickey’s eyes in the bathroom mirror and asked, "Do I feel good?"

"Shit," Mickey cursed, stunned. Ian pushed inside him once, twice. "Fuck yeah."

"Shit, okay, come on," Ian grunted, reaching around, to get a hand around Mickey’s dripping cock. "Cum with me. Fuck, cum with me, yeah?"

Mickey noticed his own expression, chewing his lip again, his hair was everywhere, his skin blushing around his neck. Mickey’s eyes flicked back to the mirror, and Ian’s already there and Ian–

Ian didn't stand a chance.

“Ian,” Mickey moaned as his orgasm took over, Ian kept thrusting into him as he felt himself getting pushed over the edge.

Ian was certain he had never cum so hard. It could be Mickey’s perfect ass, squeezing him hard from base to tip, but deep down Ian knew it was more than that. He felt his whole body pulse as he came into the condom, Mickey’s own climax milking him through it.

They both collected themselves in a weirdly non-awkward silence. It might have something to do with the massive grin Ian had on his face, or the way neither of them can keep their eyes from one another for long.

“Will I see you again?” Ian asked eventually, hoping Mickey felt the same crazy connection he did.

“Of course you are, Red.”

Ian cleared his throat. “Not just in the club, I mean… I love watching you dance, but I was hoping to see you outside of this club too.”

“Oh I’m not done with you, Ian. Not for tonight, and possibly not for the foreseeable future. Wanna get out of here and go to my place?”

“Was I just invited to sleep over?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you is what you’re invited to.” 

“Would much rather fuck you, Mickey.”

“Then you better get your freckled ass out of this nasty ass bathroom.”

MASTER LIST

[preemshots]

the definitive post of WHERE IN THE WORLD IS JOHNNY SILVERHAND’S BODY?

AKA the post of HERE’S WHY I WANT TO BELIEVE WE ARE GONNA GET JOHNNY’S BODY BACK IN DLC. 

buckle up, gamers. it's time for some lore. this is a very long post. 

warning: this will contain a million spoilers. both for details of multiple game endings, a wee bit of the “where’s johnny” comic, and the cyberpunk RED book. if you want a sparknotes version this is the post for you. my main source here is the cyberpunk RED book as well as as some references to the cyberpunk 2077 world book to cross examine the lore. 

i have no idea if someone has made this post before or what anybody else has been finding in their own lore diving. this is just me documenting my own findings from the sources i’ve been using.

it would be disingenuous not to preface this with the ways in which cyberpunk 2077's telling of the arasaka assault differ from the version told in the TTRPG books. the books =/= the game. pondsmith acknowledges in the intro of RED that this is a bridge between the old cyberpunk world and the new world of cyberpunk 2077. 

we also know that johnny's an unreliable narrator and his memories presented to V are often different than real events. but on top of that we don't know if the reason why many elements are changed is simply CDPR editing/adjusting/condensing the storyline for their own canon, or if it's due to johnny's construct being manipulated by outside influences such as arasaka.

some of the main differences you need to know from cyberpunk RED canon:

in 2023 johnny doesn't bring the nukes to arasaka tower. he's solely there to free alt.

johnny and rogue and their team from the atlantis/the aldecaldos are actually hired by morgan blackhand. 

morgan blackhand is the one who plants the nuke, unbeknownst to many members of the team. 

morgan blackhand promptly disappears after this event and no one knows if he's alive or dead. (claire confirms this fact to jackie and v before the heist in 2077 canon)

johnny's silver cybernetic arm is its own character, separate from himself. it seems to have a mind of its own and johnny interacts with it and/or is influenced by it.

when he, spider murphy, rogue, thompson, shaitan, and a team of los lobos from the aldecaldos (who are there in place of santiago, as he’s busy as the leader of the aldecaldos at this point) are attacked by adam smasher, johnny and his arm actively choose to draw smasher's fire in a deliberately suicidal move. smasher downs him instantly, but the distraction is enough to also save his friends.

spider murphy shoves a mysterious chip in johnny's dying head as they escape that alt had downloaded to her a long time ago.

johnny's body is later "rumoured" to have been retrieved from the rubble by a full-body borg groupie that was a first responder to the ground zero of AHQ and then hidden away in a nearby garage.

here comes the political lore that makes my eyes cross, so hopefully this accurately summarizes it: the 4th corporate war begins to end. arasaka is ultimately blamed by the NUSA government to have nuked themselves in a political move to protect their secrets and promptly banished from the USA. arasaka denies this all the way back to japan, then eventually returns to “liberate” night city in the unification wars.

but what the public doesn't know is that kei, saburo's oldest son, had actually hidden an EVEN BIGGER MORE DEVASTATING NUKE at the bottom of the tower to, well, do exactly what they were being accused of doing, even though blackhand was the one who actually dropped the smaller nuke on them. and luckily the bigger one didn’t go off.

arasaka tries to find their nuke in the rubble so they don't get in even bigger trouble, only to discover that it was moved and hidden away to... surprise! a nearby garage.

to compare with 2077:

in RED: we have no johnny loading the nukes into the elevator. no johnny being carried off the premises. no meeting saburo. no johnny getting soulkilled.

in 2077: there's a parallel moment to RED's version of events right after johnny uploads "liberator" from alt's old cyberdeck with spider's help into the arasaka mainframe in saburo's office. adam smasher comes for him as he's trying to escape, knocking him off the second floor of the atrium into the rock garden below.

visually this is the same atrium we always meet alt in in cyberspace and also where V meets johnny for the first time. hmmm. meaningful, perhaps.

not unlike what happens in RED, johnny unloads a clip into smasher at that point, but from there the scene instantly cuts to him running to the roof attempting to board the AV with rogue, where smasher shoots him down again. it’s possible johnny actually died to smasher in the atrium and we have some fabricated memories going on. 

either way, in 2077, we lose the character beat of johnny dying for his friends, and the current-day general consensus from rogue and others is that he’s perpetually a selfish asshole with ulterior motives. 

and, just to wrap up the politics of it all: morgan blackhand is rumoured to have been secretly hired by the militech-backed NUSA government to help end the 4th corporate war by... you guessed it! nuking arasaka.

HERE'S WHERE JOHNNY'S BODY ENDS UP IN CYBERPUNK RED (SPARKNOTES VERSION):

RED ends with a story called "black dog" set in 2045. black dog is the last song johnny recorded right before the assault on arasaka tower, but the final copy is a bootleg copy of the song and only a fraction.

we're introduced to a fun group of cybernetic-enhanced characters that represent the classes in the TTRPG and based on/designed by real people in collaboration with CDPR.

this group includes trace santiago, santiago's son, who is a media that is curious about the mystery surrounding the circumstances around his father and the arasaka bombing. 

just connecting lore here: if you talk to saul at the aldecaldo camp in 2077, he confirms that santiago was killed for his involvement with johnny and the bombing, something that rogue and johnny reference when they talk about their now-dead crew from the afterlife, and in chippin in, santiago is a friend that johnny lists as someone he had disappointed.

the group sets off to find any info about black dog, and meet up with a full conversion chrome woman named samantha in a garage who is blatantly a johnny silverhand fangirl. trace discovers she has a history with johnny, having rescued him from a studio fire at some point in 2015 and speculates she could have been a groupie also.

she mysteriously has a more complete recording of black dog, though not perfect, and offers to trade it for a service: she wants the group to transport a large crate to a facility in new mexico, asking them not to open it.

shit goes down. evidently everyone in night city wants to kill them for this package once it starts moving. eventually they open it. it's the arasaka nuke that had been hidden and never went off, emblazoned with warnings.

trace inquires about the circumstances surrounding the arasaka assault with an older member of the lobos who had been present with rogue and johnny. the man mentions that it was weird, because morgan blackhand organized the whole thing and then ran off immediately with a mysterious bag that we now know contained the nuke. 

michiko arasaka intercepts the gang, explaining the situation around the bigger nuke, that other factions in arasaka want to utilize it for their own goals (presumably hanako and yorinobu) and her father's legacy, that she feels responsible for. she escorts them to new mexico so that the nuke can be dismantled once and for all.

they meet up with a woman named angel in new mexico that takes the crate from them, at a facility that specializes in nuclear material. she gives the group the full recording of "black dog". the group leaves successful.

this woman is also a johnny silverhand stan. once alone, she calls up samantha, who says, "i promised i would get him to you in the end" and reveals that she had already gutted/dismantled the original nuke and discarded the material into the bay.

angel opens the "nuke" to reveal a hidden cryochamber, and greets the face of the person inside with, "hello, my love."

i mean, holy shit. okay! so that’s DEFINITELY johnny’s body. cool!

now let’s go into all the references to this story in the actual game of cyberpunk 2077 that SUGGEST we are going to pursue this story AND johnny's body since it’s such a HOT FUCKING TOPIC. 

and i know many of the following can just be considered easter eggs. but my personal interpretation of this game is that it has a really delightful way of intentionally glossing over important story details—and not by ONLY putting them in shards (which people tend to dislike because lol reading) but by also hiding them in plain sight, constantly deferring to V's own ignorance, distracting us with shallower, shinier things, encouraging us to actually play as the fool hero of this story. 

so here's the fun list of “””evidence”””:

this one’s a reach, but fun. in the initial arasaka assault flashback in 2023: we can interact with the groupies at kerry's show as johnny. samantha doesn't appear to be present, but the first person and groupie you can encounter in the flashback has a passing resemblance to angel in that she has a cybernetic arm.

in chippin' in, where we go to johnny's "grave" in the oil fields: if we are to take the 2077 retelling of events as truth, the story could instead be pretty easily be changed that samantha procured his body from there.

mike pondsmith, who wrote these stories and created the TTRPG can be heard on the radio narrating various conspiracy theories. and sure, these can just be easter eggs, intended to reference the differences between the TTRPG lore and the game, so take it with a grain of salt:

johnny. bro. tell him it was morgan blackhand

to top it all off, mike also directly references the actual WORSE nuke arasaka had hid in another arasaka conspiracy: 

SPOILERS FOR GAME ENDINGS AHEAD.

in the rogue ending of the game we discover rogue has a son. it's possible her son is trace (edit: nvm NOT LIKELY, since in RED’s black dog story rogue is listed separately from santiago’s mom in conversation) OR possibly one of the other characters. she tells her son to "pull over and look at the stars" or something along those lines. maybe just details, so that screams nomad to me.

rogue also has a photo of herself and johnny with mike pondsmith in her apartment/office in the afterlife. i initially read this as a delightful cameo but it also can mean mike the CHARACTER knew johnny and rogue, and rogue therefore has some kind of relationship to him and these conspiracies on the radio. and why the fuck not make him a full on character? we have a smattering of streamers and personalities already integrated into quests in the game. the creator of all this should be no exception. fuck it! 

rogue and johnny constantly dance around this accusation of her “selling out”. it’s repeated over and over that she and adam smasher worked for "the same people". i'm beginning to wonder if this wasn't meant to imply only arasaka since smasher mysteriously disappeared after the AHQ assault in 2023 and returned to SOMETIMES take jobs from arasaka... but possibly morgan blackhand and/or by extension, the NUSA or any other greater influences. (like nightcorp? we still don’t know where all this shit with nightcorp/the peralezes/sandra dorsett’s discovery about their research into mind control is gonna go) this also doesn’t account for the multiple factions inside arasaka with VERY different motives. 

morgan blackhand and adam smasher are rivals in the TTRPG, a role that appears to be at least partially filled by johnny instead in 2077. in relation to the arasaka factions, it’s worth nothing that smasher specifically works for yorinobu as his bodyguard at the beginning of the game, in part i assume because yorinobu is avoiding working with arasaka security details as he stole the relic and is plotting against his father. he is then promoted to head of security by yorinobu when yorinobu assumes power. 

in the ending as you work your way through arasaka tower with rogue and shaitan and johnny, rogue remarks:

michiko at this point in 2077 is the leader of the more “liberal” faction within arasaka, so it’s possible we’re seeing that while rogue and smasher work for the same people/family, they couldn’t be more different. 

you can also encounter rogue more than once on the phone fighting with wakako, who has apparently crossed her. wakako also seems to have her own ulterior motives and works mainly with the arasaka-backed tyger claws. she notably gives v/takemura the parade security info for “play it safe” without asking for anything in return, enabling hanako’s kidnapping. my theory is that yorinobu intentionally leaked the parade info to her to give away to put hanako in danger or at least continue to destabilize arasaka. 

in the takemura/devil ending of the game, there is a point where violence breaks out at the arasaka board room meeting when yorinobu-allied security open fire on them. one of the only people that survives along with hanako is michiko arasaka, who was at odds with hanako’s decisions, but  very involved in the preceding discussion.

and now for is my favorite detail! in the afterlife AT ALL POINTS IN THE GAME (but it can only really be inspected in the rogue ending when we are allowed behind the bar), we can find a photo of the squad that transported johnny's body from samantha to angel on the shelf below johnny's tequila, of them hanging out in front of the afterlife sign:  

this implies rogue has some relationship with them, and sentimentality, if we're to judge by the placement. she maybe even took the picture. i don't know, it's charming, it could be all easter eggs. who fucking knows.

either way, rogue and these kids both have in common that they worked with or at least interacted with michiko arasaka. 

and you know what my final evidence is? more wishful thinking! black dog plays on the radio in game. we got a full recorded version of it by refused. if not an oversight, i go ahead and take it to mean the final version was finally released to the public by those kids that were looking for it. 

i haven’t the slightest idea how this is gonna wrap up in future DLC. who has johnny’s body now in 2077, decades after it was dropped off in mexico? what is the truth?? where the fuck is morgan blackhand?? from the devil ending, we know that arasaka stole jackie’s body and put his soul into mikoshi, so the idea that they would just toss johnny’s corpse has always been laughable. the “where’s johnny?” promotional comic was even about thompson unsuccessfully trying to find johnny’s body. i know i am biased here but i cannot fathom all this talk about johnny’s body ending off with us NOT finding it, whether it’s just to bury it, shove johnny’s engram back in it, make out with it, or WHATEVER.

if you made it through this slog, congrats. thanks for reading! 

[davidxhall]

“I think the last time I was here…” David paused for a moment, doing the mental math required for him to remember the last time he had “enjoyed” the Haus services. He didn’t want to do that sort of thing in the outside world for one never knows when their private life would become common knowledge to the rest of the world. The element of secrecy and the value of privacy had always been things that David respected and wished others could do as well. Nothing against the media – they were merely doing their jobs, but it was also a complete and utter disregard for someone’s privacy to post their romantic or sexual life on the first page of a newspaper. I believe it was… three years ago? Or was it four?” The Blackwell brothers were still the ones in charge. Not that he had dealt directly with them – more with their lawyers and representatives but it had been quite a decent amount of time since he had last visited the Haus. “I don’t have as much free time as I’d like. And to drop by for a weekend or something along those lines – it would feel… cheap? Is cheap the right word?” Sure, he did come to the Haus to enjoy the company of men but that didn’t mean that he could just drop by, spend one night with a lucky staff member and fly back home the following day. Something about that felt and sounded absolutely wrong. “Go to politics, my father said. It will be rewarding! My lack of personal social life disagrees, really.” Hearing Mike’s suggestion to memorize a waypoint so that he wouldn’t get lost as often brought a smile to David’s face. Honestly – he had never considered something like that. Find something unique, memorize it, and maybe next time he wouldn’t get lost around the place. Like the palm tree that he was being pointed towards. “That’s… that’s really a very good suggestion. Here you are, saving my bacon again. Do you have a tendency to get lost as well or… you just really observant of your surroundings and that comes easy to you?” Was that question too personal? Not that he was trying to pry but since they were getting to know one another, David saw no issue in asking his own questions.

“It’s a bit of both vacation and a personal thing.” Would it be ok to share that he was there searching for his brother? Maybe Mike was aware of Jonah – anything but in the biblical sense – and could give him some extra information. “Long story short because I won’t bother you with the details… a couple of months ago my father passed from illness and before he died, he told me I had a brother. I did some digging and some research and ended up learning that he was here. Working.” Nothing against sex workers. It was a valid job as any other. “I never met him before so I also came here to introduce myself. You can imagine how much I’m dreading that conversation.” David let out a little chuckle and played pretend by offering his hand to Mike. “Hello, Jonah. I’m David, your half-brother.” That was going to be peachy. He could already tell. “So… yeah. That’s why I’m here. How about you? Vacations? I totally see the appeal on a tropical island.”

He nodded, "You too." Mike was interested in seeing who showed up on the island. There seemed to be several different walks of life that happened by. While, yes, all the clients were rich in some way or another, how they got that wealth was interesting to hear and why they chose to come to the Haus of Perses. However, over his time there, he had quickly come to the realization that most people didn't really like to be asked question after question, so Mike was making a conscious decision to chill out on those. Even if his mind was constantly racing, wanting to know as much as he could.

As the man spoke more, his brow raised, "That must have been a while ago, huh?" He asked. Mike didn't know much about the Haus before the new ownership and the move to the island, but he sure was curious about it. "Perhaps you should make waypoints in your mind." Pointing over towards the left, he nodded towards a particular palm tree that he always noticed when he was walking across the beach, "You see that tree?" He asked, "Compared to the rest of the trees around, it's remarkably taller, right? Use that as a marker to know that you're halfway back to the cabins." Pause, "Or vice versa, halfway back to reception." That's what Mike did. Who knows if it would be helpful.

He shrugged slightly when the other continued to carry his bag. It wouldn't have been a bother to Mike either way but whatever he wanted, "What brings you back after so long?" He asked and paused for a moment, "...If you don't mind me asking."