#I hope this helps a little? many of these stories were also about tracing influence and are indicative of cultic conflict throughout the ag

[gingermintpepper]

Sometimes, I see questions posited that seem handmade for me and my particular interests, truly. So, as someone specifically interested in Apollo and his many affairs (and sub-specifically on Apollo's particular brand of divine love which is, as OP surmises, a bit different from his older counterparts) I want to give my interpretation as well!

There are many different roads to take for this; just as Zeus is the father of kings, Apollo is the father of seers and medics and many of his affairs exist to give legitimacy to prominent figures from these classes; think his affair with Evadne to birth Iamus or his affair with Coronis to birth Asclepius. Apollo is also a civilising force and so often has affairs with women who would become the mother of cities; his affair with Cyrene is a perfect example of this.

There is, however, another thing Apollo was known for and was characterised through his affairs and that's Apollo's nature as monstrous commander - the type to completely subplant, to conquer and erase what remained. Something that is horrendously understated in modern discourse about Apollo - especially the kind that happens on tumblr - is how terrifying Apollo is. The HomHymn is a perfect example of this; the gods all tremble when Apollo approaches, none dare approach him except his mother who loosens his bow and his father who offers him a cup.

(HomHymn to Apollo; trans Rodney Merrill)

Furthermore, when Leto was pregnant with Apollo, no land would shelter her because they were all terrified of Apollo. Leto had to BEG Delos to let her give birth, saying that Apollo would surely honour her and even when Delos agreed, she still said that she was terrified of him, that he would dominate both immortals and men, that he would look upon her, find her ugly and abandon her for dead like all the others.

In this way, there's a serious risk of immortals being completely and utterly dominated by Apollo - of their stories and legacies being swallowed up by his power and this is directly linked to the spread of the explosive spread of the Apollonian Cult and practices throughout Greece and how he moved from a relatively rustic Anatolian hunting god to being the 'most Greek of the gods'. Hyacinthus is believed to have originally been a vegetation and tutelary god in his own right before being syncretised with Apollo, likewise his affair with Melia takes place at a time where Boetia was still early in its adoption of his worship and so his place could be threatened by the gods that populated the wilds which Apollo stamped out with extreme prejudice by murdering Kaanthos. Kastalla and Daphne too were implements of a rule before Apollo - Kastalla was born on Parnassus, a literal embodiment of a spring which becomes Apollonian either through her death (and thus her conquest) or by her willingly choosing to join Apollo's number while Daphne, regardless of one's thoughts on the nature of her tale, ends up as the de facto symbol of Apollo despite her rejecting him onto death in her lifetime.

So basically, to answer the question to the best of my abilities, women ran from Apollo and literally preferred death because the guy was legitimately terrifying, actually and Apollo's love life is so messy because there are three aspects of him represented in it at all times; Apollo, the lover, Apollo, the protector and Apollo, the conqueror which is fitting for a god of so many pluralities.

Jokes aside, what the fuck is going on with Apollo's love life?

I mean, we all know how many tragic romances he has. More than any other god or mortal. He is the only one I can remember women literally preferred death over. I can recall at least five cases when women chose death over sleeping with him, and I have a very bad memory for such things.

So the question is why?

When we are talking about greek gods, it is always about some kind of metaphors, natural forces, symbolism and etc. And that translates to the gods' sexual or romantic encounters. Zeus having so many lovers and, therefore being the father of all so many kings and heroes - the metaphor for rain giving life to beings on earth. Demeter sleeping with both Poseidon and Zeus to symbolize connection between earth and sky, earth and ocean. Aphrodite being involved with Ares as a connection between love and war and so on.

So why is Apollo the god that has such a reputation? Apollo, who simbolizes light, youth and beauty, being the god of arts, music, and prophecies, who is the protector of young boys, father to the medicine and overall representing generally "good" things. Of course, he has other things to be known for, such as spreading diseases or being known as a cause for deaths of young boys, but overall, his domain has more of a "positive" connotation.

So I really have zero good ideas on why he is the one to have so many myths about women choosing death over him because the longer I think about this, the less it makes sense.

I have a couple of ideas. For example, I can try thinking about this as a "boys are supposed to marry only when they are older and not this young" but this sounds really weak even for me at the very least because marriage and sexual encounters are two different things. Maybe you can put this into the "youth can be too passionate arrogant and overwhelming in their love so much it can cause serious damage" perspective, which sounds better but still not good.

So I'm lost here.

[kallie-den]

Dykeification Epilogue

After completing Dani’s transformation into a dyke, Grace is ready to move on to a new project... but does Dani have other plans?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

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For Grace Valley, life in Hollywood was a dream come true. It was a sentiment dozens of models, actresses, and musicians would have agreed with wholeheartedly - but for them, the dream in question probably meant something different.

For Grace, the dream was all about hypnotizing famous women and bending them to her will.

She wasn’t exactly sure when or why it had become such an obsession. Maybe all the old, pulpy, Hollywood movies she’d watched as a kid, many of them featuring classic Hollywood starlets falling prey to hypnotists, had something to do with it. But whatever the origin story of her fetish, as she’d grown up, transitioned, and learned that hypnosis was more than just a media trope, she’d ended up devoting her life to the pursuit of it.

And it had gone better than her wildest fantasies.

Now, Grace was sitting in the house of one of Hollywood’s hottest celebs - thanks largely to her own influence - and she could sit back and enjoy the sight of her latest creation: Dani Cartwright.

All trace of the anxious, conventional, adamantly heterosexual woman Grace had met months before was gone. Dani had become a true lesbian icon, dominant, confident, and taking the world by storm. She was now exactly what millions of people pictured when they thought of the word ‘dyke’. Her transformation had been breathtaking; like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. It was the first time Grace had tried to turn a woman into a dominant lesbian instead of a submissive one - making her subject so strong and assertive had always seemed like a potential risk - but it had gone better than she could have hoped.

At this point, Dani’s new identity was completely entrenched and her hypnotic conditioning was totally self-sustaining. She didn’t need any more maintenance trances. Grace had carefully and meticulously built up the pillars of the new Dani’s mind, and now they all rested against one another, mutually reinforcing themselves. Her new sense of self had even been able to withstand being directly told what had happened to her.

Fortunately, all of that annoying business with Cameron, her ex, was now in the past. After Dani had sent him packing, that oaf had done the predictable yet stupid thing and gone public with his accusations. Needless to say, it hadn’t gone well. Not even the filthiest tabloids were willing to run his side of the story; he’d been forced to resort to social media, where he’d immediately become the object of ridicule and criticism. His ex, hypnotized into a lesbian? It sounded conceited, ridiculous, and bigoted all at once. Nobody had believed him.

Now, his career was in ruins, while a few sympathetic puff pieces about dealing with a toxic ex had helped push Dani’s to even greater heights.

Grace’s victory with Dani was so total, she was starting to get the itch. She needed a new project. A new celebrity for her to sink her teeth into. A new way to get someone twisted into a kinky, horny, lesbian. From some of their conversations on the topic, Grace knew Dani would be sad to see her go. But this was how it needed to be. Grace was the restless type.

But that was for another day. For now, she wanted to enjoy the rewards of all her efforts just a little longer. In fact, that was what today was all about.

“Grace!” Dani’s voice, sing-song and teasing, came floating down from the celebrity’s bedroom. “We’re ready for you!”

Grace shivered and a big, horny grin came to her face. She rose from the couch and quickly headed to answer the call. Dani was waiting expectantly for her at the top of the stairs, a cocksure, domineering smirk spread across her face.

She wasn’t quite as dressed up as she often was in public, but even on lazy days like this, the celebrity managed to project dyke energy from every pore. With all her piercings and tattoos, she looked devastatingly hot even in her simple outfit of short shorts, tank top, and comfy hoodie. Dani had gone easy on the jewelry, but she was still adorned with her favorite centerpiece: the padlock chain necklace she’d worn on that fateful night with Cameron.

Of course, none of it really mattered. Grace doubted Dani was going to remain dressed for long.

“In here.”

The door to Dani’s bedroom was closed, but she opened it and led Grace inside. The room was unusually dark, warm and dim, and Grace immediately noticed that the two of them weren’t alone.

“Hello, Grace,” came a familiar voice, as warm and sweet as hot cocoa. “It’s been a while.”

Grace had known all about this beforehand, but even so, the sight of the third member of their ménage à trois made her giggle in anticipation.

It was Dulcinea Amare. She was a star model, a close friend of Dani, and another famous lesbian - albeit, less conspicuously so. Moreover, she was another one of Grace’s projects. The one before Dani, in fact; Grace had used her control over Dulcinea to get to Dani in the first place. There was something almost poetic about seeing both of her creations side by side. Grace felt like an artist standing in an exhibition of their work.

Dulcinea was a very different beast from Dani. She was a classic high femme, and accordingly, Grace had used her hypnosis to accentuate the tall woman’s submissive tendencies. Most people didn’t know that, though. On the outside, Dulcinea looked like nothing less than royalty. Even now, her makeup was immaculate, and she was wearing a long, fancy, designer gown that would befit any runway or red carpet in the world.

Clearly, her glamor and confidence had only grown since Grace had left her side. They hadn’t really stayed in touch, but Grace knew that Dulcinea and Dani had become even closer. Their fans loved to whisper that they were an item, and they weren’t wrong. Why wouldn’t the dyke queen and femme princess of Hollywood hook up, if given half a chance?

“It’s good to see you, Dulcinea,” Grace said, and meant it. “You look amazing.”

“Naturally,” Dulcinea purred. “And so do you. It’s been too long since we had a chance to enjoy each other’s company. Though from what Dani tells me, your tastes seem to have… broadened.”

Grace giggled again. There was some truth to that. Whenever she’d fucked Dulcinea, she’d always been the top. Obviously, with Dani, that had never been a possibility. Instead, Grace had come to love submitting and bottoming. She was a hedonist at heart and there were all kinds of pleasures on the other side of the slash, she’d found - plus, there was an extra kind of twisted gratification in the knowledge that Dani was dominating her, but only because Grace had made her that way. Hypnosis had always been the biggest component of her sexuality.

“It totally has,” Grace agreed. “I’m, like, kinda surprised you were interested in helping Dani top me.”

“She was very, very persuasive.” Dulcinea smiled mysteriously. Grace could guess what that meant. “Dani talks all about you, you know. She says you changed her life! How could I refuse when she explained she wanted to do something special for you before you move on?”

Grace just went on giggling. Oh, she had changed Dani’s life all right. Dulcinea’s too - not that the model knew she’d been anything more than an encouraging presence and a fun fuckbuddy.

And now, as a reward for her misdeeds, she was going to get railed by two of Hollywood’s hottest and most desirable celebrities. ‘Something special’ was an understatement.

Dani and Dulcinea had certainly spared no effort setting the scene. A set of four-point restraints had been attached to Dani’s bed, clearly intended to leave their victim spread-eagle and exposed. Rose petals had been scattered over the sheets, and on the bedside table, a dazzling array of sex toys had been set out on display. Just thinking about what the two celebrities were going to use those for made Grace shiver.

The atmosphere was just as enticing. There was some kind of low, gentle music playing over Dani’s sound system, and the air was full of a strange scent that was warm, intimate, and seductive. The bedroom was dark because the blinds were closed and the lights were off; the only illumination came from a dozen or so candles that had been placed around the room, their flickering light making the shadows grow long.

Grace shivered at those too. Candles were new for Dani. Waxplay? That could be fun. She loved that Dani seemed to be developing even more kinks than Grace had given her.

“I’m looking forward to it.” Grace bit her lip. “Sooooo… how do we wanna get started?”

Dani and Dulcinea exchanged a look.

“Like this,” Dani announced, and, before Grace could react, she reached out and roughly shoved Grace backward onto the bed.

Too surprised to catch herself, Grace landed flat on her back on the soft, welcome mattress. Immediately, both Dani and Dulcinea pounced on top of her.

“O-oh fuck!” Grace moaned, as both of them put their lips to her neck and started to kiss and suck.

Their sheer aggression completely overwhelmed her composure, and the trans woman soon found herself moaning and writhing helplessly as the two celebrities planted hickey after hickey on Grace’s soft, sensitive skin. The dizzying mix of pleasure and pain had her seeing stars, especially as the strange, heady scent that filled the room started to invade her senses.

“My, my,” Dulcinea purred. “It’s nice to see I can actually take you by surprise.”

Dani laughed, and Grace giggled. For her, the room was still spinning, and the way Dani and Dulcinea were kissing her was making it spin even faster. She couldn’t even catch her breath. Their kisses felt like they were coming from everywhere at once. She was used to Dani’s style of topping, but this was something special. And with two of them, it was even more overwhelming.

Not that it was unwelcome. Grace’s body was responding greedily to the attention. Her back arched as she tried to grind herself against the two celebrities, and not only was there a rigid tent in the skirt of her dress, a distinct stain was beginning to form there as Grace leaked precum all over her clothes.

She’d never been so turned on in her life. Experiencing both Dani and Dulcinea at once felt like the perfect climax to all of Grace’s achievements, and seeing Dulcinea behave in such a dominant way was a delightfully hot twist. And Grace was keenly aware that they were only just getting started.

“Someone’s happy to see us, huh?” Dani teased. “I wanna see just how happy.”

As one, Dulcinea and Dani both started to remove Grace’s clothes. Dani reached around her to unzip her dress and pull it away from her body, while Dulcinea peeled her tights away from her thighs. Grace’s lingerie soon followed, and in no time, she was totally naked.

Dulcinea licked her lips as she stared at Grace’s cock, while the hungry look on Dani’s face intensified as she looked Grace’s naked, curvy body up and down. Both reactions made Grace throb with need. She couldn’t resist any longer. She reached down and started to touch herself.

Dani’s reaction was immediate. “Nuh-uh,” she mocked, as she slapped Grace’s hand away from her own body. “This is a feast, babygirl. You can’t go straight to the main course until you’ve enjoyed the appetizer. Dulcie?”

Again, Dulcinea knew exactly what to do. She and Dani were in perfect sync as they tugged Grace’s arms out to her sides and fastened her wrists with restraints. They then did the same thing with her ankles, and then tightened the restraints so that Grace was completely tied to Dani’s bed, pulling her into a spread-eagle position in the process.

Grace didn’t even pretend to resist. Why would she? She was gleefully eager to experience whatever the two celebrities had in store for her.

“That’s better,” Dulcinea remarked. “No more getting ahead of herself. Now we can take things nice and slow.”

“Slow,” Dani agreed, grinning. “But it doesn’t have to be nice. I can think of a lot of ways to be very, very mean to a girl who can look but not touch. How about we give her something good to look at?”

“I like the sound of that.”

Dulcinea bit her lip, and both she and Dani clambered onto the bed until they were kneeling opposite each other on each side of Grace’s legs. With her head propped up on a pillow, Grace could easily look down and see them - and her eyes bulged when they leaned into one another and started to make out.

Fuck. It was unbelievably hot seeing two straight women Grace had turned into lesbians enthusiastically and lustfully devouring one another.

Even in their kissing, it was obvious who held the power between them. Dani was so much more commanding and aggressive. She was pushing her tongue into Dulcinea’s mouth, tasting and invading her as she pleased, and she wrapped an arm around the model’s waist to pull her closer. Dulcinea submitted eagerly to it all, and the rosy glow in her dark cheeks made it clear just how much she enjoyed the new Dani.

Grace was transfixed by the spectacle. She was dripping wet, and a little drool was escaping her lips and sliding down the side of her face. She was so turned on she couldn’t think.

“Wow, look at her,” Dulcinea teased, when the two of them paused for breath. “She can’t take her eyes off us.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Dani laughed mockingly. “Her poor little lesbian brain just can’t handle it!”

It was true. Grace felt like she was overheating from sheer arousal.

“Good thing we’ve got her tied down,” Dulcinea replied. She and Dani were talking to each other, but Grace knew their words were meant for her ears. “She doesn’t really need her brain right now anyway.”

“That’s true,” Dani said. “She doesn’t need to think at all. Not that she can at the moment, I’m guessing.”

Grace whimpered. The gentle lick of humiliation those words gave her was so very sweet.

“Just keep looking, sweetie.” Finally, Dulcinea turned to address Grace directly. “Don’t worry. Soon, we’ll give you all the attention you could ever want. For now, just watch, and listen to how hard your heart is beating.”

Once Dulcinea drew her attention to it, Grace couldn’t stop listening to it. Her heart was pounding like a drum, driving blood away from her brain and toward all the deeper, baser parts of her body.

Dani and Dulcinea returned to making out with each other. Their kissing grew ever more passionate, and it wasn’t long before they were moaning into each other’s lips and reaching out to grope one another’s bodies. Grace just watched it all, totally stupefied. Besides the sounds of their kissing, all she could hear was her own heartbeat, and the strange scent that hung about the room was making her head lighter and lighter.

Grace could have watched the two gorgeous celebrities make out forever, except for one thing: she just kept getting more and more aroused. The need for touch, for gratification, started to gnaw at her, and she started unconsciously straining against Dani’s restraints as she yearned to reach down and touch herself. Before long, a loud, plaintive moan escaped her lips.

“You hear that?” Dani asked, pulling away from Dulcinea. A wild grin was spread across her face. This was what she lived for now. “I think somebody’s getting impatient.”

“Yeah.” Dulcinea was breathing hard, and pleasure was making her voice low and thick. “We’d better be careful, babe. We wouldn’t want her to wake up the neighbors. The paparazzi already print enough naughty rumors about you.”

That made Dani laugh. Half the rumors were true, and she was very proud of them. “Fortunately, I have just the thing.”

Grace shivered and moaned even louder when Dani reached over to her bedside table and picked up a large, black ball gag.

“Open wide!” Dulcinea sang out.

A gag was sure to mean more torment, rather than the sweet release Grace was craving - but she was far too deep in the throes of blissful submission to even consider protesting. Grace opened her mouth and Dani pushed the gag past her lips before feeding the strap behind her head and fixing it firmly in place. Grace was now silenced.

The gag couldn’t stop her from moaning. But with a gag in her mouth, her moans were dulled and sounded even needier and more pathetic, and sent drool frothing through the small breathing holes. Both Dani and Dulcinea laughed at Grace as she writhed.

“Perfect,” said Dani. “Though I gotta admit, now I’m really, really curious to see what kind of sound she’ll try to make if I do… this.”

Before Grace could prepare herself, Dani reached down and scraped her short nails across the sensitive skin of Grace’s inner thigh.

Immediately, Grace went completely rigid. Her back formed a high arch as an electric shock of sensation raced through her, and a strangled, drooling moan forced its way out of her mouth. It took several seconds for her to slump back onto the bed, and both celebrities laughed gleefully the entire time.

“See?” Dani remarked. “It’s so much more intense when you get someone tied up just right.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Dulcinea replied. “But it is very amusing seeing it from this angle.”

Dani nodded. “Can’t move, can’t speak,” she said. “Nothing to do except feel every… little… thing.”

She punctuated those last three words with gentle little caresses on Grace’s skin - across her chest, her stomach, her thigh. Each one made the PA moan yet again. She was unbelievably sensitive.

“I love it when I get a girl this helpless,” Dani continued. Her eyes were shining with dominant pleasure. “I love it when I get to toy with them for hours and hours. There’s nothing like the experience of getting to know someone’s body so intimately, you know exactly where to touch them to bring them to the brink in an instant. Of course, I already have plenty of experience like that with Grace.”

Grace whimpered. It was true. She knew exactly what Dani was capable of doing to her in just a few minutes.

Hours and hours…

“Perhaps you could give me a demonstration,” Dulcinea purred. “I have so much to learn, after all.”

“This is one of my favorites.” Dani put her hand to Grace’s side and started moving it across her skin in slow, gentle strokes, light enough that it raised little hairs on Grace’s body but heavy enough that she could just barely feel Dani’s nails. “Touching someone just… like… this. It seems simple, but the important thing is the rhythm.”

Again, Grace moaned and drooled through the gag. Such a light touch was torture when she was craving so much more. Her head was unbelievably heavy, and it felt like only orgasm would make it clearer.

“You just touch, over and over,” Dani explained, as she kept stroking Grace’s side. “See, when there’s a rhythm, there’s anticipation. It gets them nice and focused. Always thinking about when the touch is next going to land.”

It was true. Grace found her awareness narrowing dramatically. All she was thinking about was Dani’s fingers, the beating of her own heart, and the scent that kept filling her nose. Everything else was too much to keep in her head at once.

“And then you can play with it,” Dani continued. “A little slower. A little faster. A little pain here, a little pleasure there. It’s like music. Breaking the rhythm makes it all the more dramatic.”

She demonstrated, and Grace whimpered at how devastatingly effective it was, even when she was ready for it. When Dani slowed her pace, the time before her fingers made contact with Grace’s skin seemed to stretch out into a torturous eternity, and when she quickened it, even that gentle little touch became overwhelming. Grace felt like nothing more than a puppet. Than a violin’s string, being plucked.

It was so, so hot.

“See?” Dani licked her lips. She was obviously enjoying the way Grace was reacting. Dulcinea was too; her eyes were huge and rapt. “But, baby, we’re just getting started. You know what makes it even better?”

She didn’t wait for Dulcinea to ask. Dani reached over to the table for another toy and held it up so that Grace could see it clearly.

A blindfold.

Grace shivered. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to handle everything Dani had planned with one of her senses taken away from her.

But one way or another, she was going to find out. Dani slipped the blindfold around Grace’s head and tied it tight. Everything went black.

Instantly, everything was ten times as intense. The strange, soporific scent that filled the room was louder, and the need that filled Grace’s body was even more urgent. She couldn’t see where Dani or Dulcinea were, so every time she heard shuffling or felt the bed move underneath her, she flinched and shivered in anticipation of what they might do.

Without anyone touching her, Grace was on the edge of an incredible orgasm.

“Wow,” Dulcinea purred. “Now she really is helpless.”

“Can’t see,” Dani agreed. “Can’t speak. Can’t move. We’ve got her exactly where we want her.”

“Absolutely.” Grace could hear lust - and something more - in Dulcinea’s voice. “We can do anything we want with her.”

“Go ahead,” Grace heard Dani say. “Give it a try.”

Dulcinea’s touch set Grace on fire with lust. She would have been writhing like mad, if all her strength hadn’t completely deserted her. Instead, all she could do was twitch and whimper as Dulcinea started to explore her body, following Dani’s advice and using steady, rhythmic touches that made Grace’s mind go blank. Her fingers felt distinctly different from Dani’s; warmer and more slender, with long, sharp nails that made Grace shiver.

“You’re right,” Dulcinea said breathily. “This is amazing.”

Soon, Dani joined her in touching Grace. That made the constant cycle of pleasure, need and anticipation even harder to bear. She started to lose track of which hand was which and who was who, as it all blended together into a delirious mass of sensation.

It wasn’t long before a third hand joined the chorus, then a fourth, each more overwhelming than the last. Grace’s moaning had become nothing more than a set of long, indistinct, animalistic sounds, made wet and gurgling from the drool that was dripping from her ball gag. Despite the blindfold, she was seeing white, not black. In fact, to Grace, it was like her mind and body were starting to come apart. Her body was a live wire, twitching and sparking with unbearable arousal, while her mind was just sinking, sinking, sinking, drowned by the bedroom’s heady scent and the inescapable rhythm of her own heart.

“Oh my god,” Dulcinea giggled. “Look at her!”

“Yeah,” Dani agreed, laughing. Grace could only imagine how pathetic she must have looked. “I’m glad we can give her something special. A fitting reward.”

“Absolutely,” Dulcinea purred. “It’s really the least she deserves, for turning us into dykes.”

It took several seconds for the significance of that sentence to penetrate Grace’s addled mind. But once it did, she immediately went very, very still.

How did Dulcinea Amare know about that?

Dulcinea wasn’t supposed to know that.

Dani must have told her.

Which meant…

“Oops!” Dulcinea giggled when she noticed Grace’s reaction. “Did I spill our secret?”

“Not prematurely,” Dani replied, laughing. “After all, what’s she gonna do about it now?”

Grace was still frozen in place, deeply conscious of her own helplessness. She didn’t bother to try straining against the restraints. She knew that escape was impossible.

“I might as well fill in the rest,” Dani added. “See, Grace, I know you’ve been planning to leave. But that didn’t sit right with me. I’ve been thinking: what could I do, with your hypnotic skills at my full disposal? There are so many women in Hollywood who deserve to be awakened to all the same joys you awakened me to. Plus, after making me so… voracious, I think it’s only fair you help satisfy my appetites.”

Grace could already see what was coming. The scent. The rhythms.

“Once I told Dulcinea everything, she was happy to help,” Dani continued. “And we came up with a plan to give you a taste of your own medicine.”

“We just needed to get you in the right spot,” Dulcinea put in. “Gagged, so you can’t use any trigger words. Hands tied, so you can’t pull any tricks there. Fortunately for us, you were so very obliging.”

Desperately, Grace tried to think. She needed to formulate a way out. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t think. Why couldn’t she think?

“It’s the candles, if you’re wondering,” Dani said, as if answering Grace’s thoughts. “We’re new to hypnosis, so we figured a little chemical assistance might be in order. On its own, it’s just a relaxant. But along with everything else, it’s helped make you nice and susceptible.”

“Even with that,” Dulcinea added, “we were worried we might mess it up. But then we realized that we already had exactly what we needed: a whole audio library of hypnotic recordings, made by someone who’s very, very good at what she does.”

“Here,” came Dani’s voice. “What do you think?”

Grace heard shuffling and then felt something close over her ears. Noise-canceling headphones. Soon after, she started to hear a voice accompanied by deep, hypnotic, binaural tones.

Her voice.

Within moments, it was beginning to work, Grace felt her own, carefully-worded hypnotic language start to tug at her, dragging her deeper into the nascent, drug-enhanced trance Dani and Dulcinea had already guided her into.

“I think we’ll leave you like this for, oh, say, a few hours?” Dani laughed. Her voice was muted through the headphones, but still audible. “I’m sure that’ll soften you up. After that, I’m excited to take care of the rest myself.”

Grace felt her blindfold being tugged aside. Once her eyes adjusted to the bedroom’s dim light, she was captivated by what she saw.

Dani was kneeling above her, one leg planted on either side of her body. A wild grin was on her face, and her body was raised up as if to display herself in all her reborn, dykey radiance.

And dangling from one of her hands was a pocket watch. Grace shivered as she imagined what that was going to do to her.

“Don’t worry,” Dulcinea said. She was kneeling submissively at Dani’s side, but her grin was every bit as wide. “We’ll be nice. I promise you’ll enjoy being Dani’s new permanent assistant.”

As Dani replaced the blindfold, Grace wondered what kind of future they had in store for her. From the sounds of it, they were going to make sure she was submissive and obedient inside as well as out, and keep her totally devoted to Dani. Then, Dani would use Grace as her own pet hypnotist, turning every Hollywood starlet who caught her eye into just as much of a bottom dyke as Dulcinea.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

In her own twisted way, Grace found that an easy fate to make peace with. It wasn’t so different from some of her secret and most shameful fantasies. And she believed Dulcinea. Neither one of them had any interest in being cruel or neglectful.

Somehow, Grace had a feeling she was always going to be Dani’s favorite plaything.

“Bye for now, babygirl.” Grace felt the bed shift as Dani stood up. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Bella Kennedy. She’s already halfway there, but I think she needs an extra little push to break up with her boyfriend. I’m sure you’ll know how to give it to her.”

Grace heard footsteps. A few moments later, Dani and Dulcinea were gone and she was left alone in the dark, helpless, as she was slowly brainwashed by her own hypnotic creations. The solitude just drove home how deeply entranced she’d already become. The drugged candles were all around her, pleasure and teasing had sapped all her willpower, and without her sight there was nothing she could use to distract herself from the onslaught of binaural beats and whispered mantras.

This was it. She was being brainwashed.

The irony of it brought a small, sleepy smile to Grace’s face as she relaxed and allowed herself to submit to blissful oblivion.

—

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of all those who  support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to the following  patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

Artemis, Chloe, J, Secret Subject, Kathryn, Carrie, Lucy, Dex, orangesya, Red, dmtph, Ember, Seph, MegatronTarantulas, Vanessa, Matt, Jeremy, Mattilda, Emily, William, ntad, Flluffie, Scarlett, Silgon, The Flock, ourladyoflilacs, Luna, Abigail, steb, Hypnogirl_Stephanie_, nicholas, Sue, Alan_, mintyasleep, Noelle, Lavender, Madness, Michael, Tasteful Ardour, Michael, Matthew, Full Blown Marxism, Anonymous, GrillFan65, Huge_Nerd, ZephanyZephZeph, Tram345, 8947jts, Chris, Breadloaf, Kyle, Larry, Emma, Jack the Monkey, Paul, Willow, Shadows exile, Drone 8315, Matthew, Alex, Madness, Sam, Selina, Daniel, Bubble_Butt, Francesca, WhyamIhere, John, Sarah, Crittergang, Setcab, Erin, Elysium, Bacon Man, Flintnsteal, JessieGinger, Arik, John, bluaph, Alexander, Kyle, Morriel, Jack the Monkey, Sola, NewtypeWoman, Envy, hellenberg, shoktherapy, L, Jim, Black Star, Kay, Michael, strange item, John, Praxis Memetics LLC, Frank, William, Olives, Christopher, Queenfisher, Charlotte, Faun, Riley, Brinn, Brendon, B, Jackson, Kyle, Dennis, Nandi, Jeff, Sanya, David, Morder, Myles_EXVS, Jade, Jophor, Skylar, Foridin, gabbermoth, Jennifer, Selina, Jonas, Violet, Slifer274, paxDulcetGirl

[interact-if]

Taking the spotlight for Day 6... Lucirene!

Lucirene, author of An Angel’s Song

Latino Heritage Month Featured Author

In the forest of Bres an otherworldly sickness corrodes the soil and changes the creatures within. “A parting gift from the fallen angels”  say the citizens of the Hyaku Region and the mark on your hand confirms it.

Though the scent travelling in the air is sweet and enticing everyone knows better than to get closer. But the mark, it pulses, it burns, the pain spreading as fast as the corruption of the forest does.

Your masters are calling, and it seems like this time you cannot escape them.

An Angel’s Song Demo | Author’s Ko-fi | Author’s Patreon | Read more [here]

Tags: dark fantasy, romance

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: So, tell us a little bit about the projects you’re working on!

I have so many, but the only one public is An Angel’s Song. It’s, more than anything, a story about grief, loneliness and overcoming it all while navigating a hostile environment and discovering long lost secrets about the Divine and about the MC’s country. That one is very cathartic for me to make because of the themes, I feel like I’m working through a lot of feelings I didn’t even realize I had by writing it.

The next one is also an IF and it focuses on comedy, adventure and character interaction. It’s supposed to be more lighthearted, more fun, but knowing me… I don’t know if it’ll stay that way. Basically, it goes: A Captain’s boat falls prey to the storms and the strange creatures living under the sea, and they and their crew end up washing ashore an icy, snowy country. I already have the main cast written down and they have so much synergy, it’s amazing.

And the last one I’ll talk about (a traditional novel) actually happens in the same setting as my second IF, but many, many years before, when their local deity/guardian was born. It’s more of a romance-fantasy than anything, a love story between a Goddess and a half-dragon, however it also showcases many of the situations the people had to navigate and face before their country could become the place you’ll see in my second IF.

Q2: What excites you most about using interactive fiction? What are some of the biggest challenges?

What I like most definitely is how much freedom we have as authors. Of course, one is constrained by one’s ability to code but I think, for the most part, we can do so many things, reach an entirely new level of immersion that would not be possible with a regular novel. It’s amazing how sometimes I’m reading something and get so into it, feel so connected to the MC I feel dread when they do, panic when they have to make a choice that will clearly impact a lot of people in their world. With IF you can really feel like you’re part of the story.

Another thing I like is being able to explore other paths with my writing. Like for example, what if the MC had done this instead of that? How would that have affected their relationships, their world state? Writing branches is a lot of work, especially because they could change so many things, but it feels oddly satisfying when you do decide to include them. 

Challenges… Coding, mainly. I feel like a lot of new aspiring IF authors are a bit afraid of coding and I can understand that, especially since, had it not been for the help of the community, I would have taken way longer to actually start using Twine. Hopefully with time for resources come up and it becomes less daunting.

I don’t know if any other author feels the same way but, though I think branching is a blessing, it is also a curse. I can only write the same conversation so many times, I mean I know I’m writing it in different tones and sometimes with different results but it gets frustrating after a while because it feels like you’re stuck, like you’re not progressing at all.

Another one would definitely be finding a balance between reader interaction and just following your vision. Since it’s IF at times I feel like I have to meet a quota of branches or ways in which you can react, sometimes I also find it difficult to make the MC feel like a real person instead of a reader-insert. I’m working on that.

Q3: What has been something in your project you’ve had to do a weird amount of research for?

That’s a difficult one… I don’t know if I would consider it weird but I do tend to investigate a lot about fashion, especially when designing the main outfits of the characters. I spend hours trying to find out what colors were used back then, what they meant, who was allowed to use them. I have this little image with some palettes for kimonos depending on the season.

I also spend too much time coming up with names, especially for places. Like I look up names of places that already exist, what they mean, I try to investigate if the words that I want to use make sense, then I panic because I can’t find anything, but I think that’s usual for writers. I also spent more time than necessary researching for the name of a tree that you will see way later in the book, which no one will probably notice what the name of the tree means or what it symbolizes but it makes me happy.

Honestly, I feel like the amount of research I have had to do has not been particularly weird? If anything at times I think I should research more, even if some aspects of Japanese culture will not apply to Kyou.

Q4: Which of your characters is most like you? How?

The initial version of the MC from An Angel’s Song, which I miss dearly since they had more personality. They were autistic coded too, and I hope some traces of that still remain. Apart from that I feel like all of the characters from the main cast share something with me, even if their experiences are, of course, more dramatic than my own.

A lot of them have issues with a paternal figure or an absent mother, which also resonates with me. Some of Saori’s traits draw inspiration from ways in which I talked or acted before I became a little better at masking, before I became more self-aware. Hazuki being emotional and caring, K being a bit clingy but devoted, Masa having a temper yet loyal, Miwa being friendly but reluctant to open up beyond surface level information. I think those things describe me.

There’s also Rei but I don’t think I’m writing her book anytime soon. She’s someone that’s very family oriented, she’s a bit temperamental but she means well and she’s not afraid to speak her mind. Now that I think about it, maybe Rei is more the person I want to become.

Q5: Does your heritage influence your characters as you create them? (How? Why or why not?)

I’ve been living in Venezuela my whole life so I think so, even if most of the time I don’t even notice it. I believe that this happens especially in regards to relationships because people in Venezuela are very family oriented and also, from what I’ve experienced, they form strong bonds with their neighbors, which creates this strong sense of community —sometimes it goes well, sometimes it doesn’t, but my mom and her friends always make at least some friends in their neighborhoods and they gossip with some coffee about the happenings of the rest—. So when it comes to writing a character it is very important to me to make an emphasis on family relationships because those are a strong part of my culture, of my identity. 

In An Angel’s Song you have the main cast having issues or conflicting emotions about one or multiple members of their family, which influence their behavior and their outlook on life, but for the most part they are (or will be) able to form similar relationships with people that are not related to them, or to work towards restoring that relationship, transforming it into something healthier. 

In my other books family dynamics are also immensely important. For example, I’m going to mention Rei again because I love her. So, Rei has a sister named Rin, and they are both very close, even if they haven’t spent much time together. Their bond and trust in each other helps them overcome a lot of obstacles and they rely on each other when they need support or encouragement. Rei also has other people that she thinks of as siblings, and restoring that relationship with them is one of her main goals. There’s also this recurring guilt she feels at leaving her birth family and her home to explore, because to her, families are supposed to stay together.

Another aspect that I think influences my writing is religion, even if I wasn’t raised in a particularly religious household nor do I belong to any religion. Religion is a big deal in this country, we have so many events and holidays relating to religious figures. I remember when I was very young I loved going to one of the churches here because the Virgin of that town had a building filled with pretty clothes to dress her with. 

So, in that vein, I try to think about the character’s relationship with religion, do they believe in the Gods? Do they trust them? Do they follow local deities or prefer the main pantheon? How does this religion shape the way people interact with each other and the world? In regards to characters that are Venezuelan or Venezuelan-coded… I do have a few that are Venezuelan, but I don’t think I’m going to be releasing their stories soon, so I’ll keep it quiet for now.

Q6: What is something you love to see in interactive fiction?

People being passionate about their work! This isn’t something exclusive to IF, but it is something that I love seeing. I also like seeing the different ways people innovate within the genre. I feel like sometimes, especially with newer writers, there is this idea that an IF has to subscribe to a specific format and that’s simply not true. If you don’t want to use a stat system you don’t have to, if you want to add combat then go ahead, if you would prefer to write an MC that’s already pretty pre-established (which is something that I personally want to try) then there’s nothing stopping you and I encourage you to give it a go. IF is very versatile and it’s wrong to try and fit authors into a box, especially if they want to bring something new into our little corner of the internet.

Q7: Any advice to give?

In general, I advise people to have fun writing, to not worry so much about how good it is, about if people will like it. Writing, at the end of the day, ends up being a pretty solitary activity and having those thoughts in your head too long will make you spiral. Be kind to yourself, be open to feedback when it comes (and learn to distinguish constructive feedback from destructive feedback) and enjoy the exploration of your world and characters. 

You are not alone in all of this. If you can, join a group of writers you can talk with, exchange ideas, get feedback from or just exchange memes (the ultimate bonding experience). Don’t be afraid, you’re not alone.

[sprnklersplashes]

clean

cw for mentions of suicide, self-harm, death, drugs, and also for making out while naked (but not sex)

Seeing an accident happen in Sunnyvale feels unnatural. It’s like seeing a two-headed deer, or a car flying in the sky. Sam can’t even focus on how terrible it is, or hope that nobody was hurt. All she can think is how unnatural it is, to see such a horrible sight in such a near-perfect place.

It’s the price for a curse breaking, she supposes. The scales of fate are even now.

Her shoulders twitch, her feet move to go over and help, as is her instinct, but before she can, Deena’s hand is on her shoulder, a pained gasp escaping her mouth, that turns into a whimper that almost stops Sam’s heart. Again. She turns, her mouth running dry, and finds Deena’s free hand pressed against her stomach. She remembers, sees it in her mind like a movie, even if the picture is hazy. The tunnels. Her hands, Deena’s throat. Deena’s house. A drumstick breaking over her knee. Deena hitting the floor beside her, and her not caring.

“No,” she mutters. “Oh, no.”

“Sam,” Deena whispers. She sounds so tired, so beyond exhausted, yet she’s still strong. Her Deena. She’s always thought she was tough,everyone did, but now she’s learned she’s tougher than the actual Devil himself. “It wasn’t you.” Sam opens her mouth-to protest, to apologise- but Deena shakes her head, the movement making her wince, and that crooked half-grin she loves appears on her face. She always loved that smile, and would love it now if the situation weren’t so dire. “Don’t even try with me.”

She gasps again, her knees buckle, and Sam gently guides her to the ground, one hand around her torso, Deena gripping her other for dear life.

“We can talk about all that later,” she interrupts. She takes Deena’s face and tilts it towards her, trying desperately to remember her first aid training. Her eyes are clear, or clear-ish, but her skin is ashen and pale and her cheek is clammy against her palm. “Right now, we just need to worry about getting you to a hospital.”

For the first time in a long, long time, she feels like luck or fate must be on her side, because no sooner have the words left her mouth than the siren of an ambulance pierces the air, and a miniature fleet of the white vehicles comes into view. They’re all rushing towards the scene of the accident, obviously, but Sam sees into the window of one. A young driver looks through and her eyes double in size when she sees the pair of them, then triple when she sees Deena. What they must look like to her. They’d look a wreck to anyone, even the lowest of the low in Shadyside, but here in Sunnyvale, where not even the grass grows out of place, she’d wager they’re a scary sight.

Thankfully, this one ambulance pulls up beside them, and the driver calls something into the radio as she jumps out and runs their way. Sam would feel guilty for taking someone else’s help, but as she looks across the road, her guilt eases, for this anyway. There are three ambulances at the scene of the crash, and a siren signalling another’s approach. The lack of emergencies these past 30 years has clearly made them unsure of what to do in this case, and when folks don’t know what to do, they do everything.

“Are you two okay?” 

“She’s hurt,” Sam replies. “Please, please, help her, she’s hurt.” The paramedic runs to Deena’s side, and Sam watches her cringe as she moves her hand away. Sam takes a deep breath and hopes that the lack of practice for Sunnyvale’s medical staff doesn’t have any other consequences. Deena rests her head on her shoulder, and panic flares up in her for a moment before she sees her eyes are still open. Will she ever stop panicking? She’s been doing scared almost her whole life.

“Okay, sweetie,” the paramedic said. “The good news is, it’s not too deep and you got here in time.” The girl gives Deena what is meant to be a supportive smile and shakes her shoulder slightly, keeping her from slipping away. “And we’ll have to get you checked out at the hospital, but I don’t think anything’s ruptured in there okay?”

“Okay,” she pants.

“Good girl. Now, we’re going to get you into the ambulance okay?” She looks over at Sam, seriousness creeping into her face like clouds across a blue sky. “Can you help carry her?” She nods, her grip already tightening. She doesn’t say that she’ll carry her forever if she has to. It doesn’t feel fair to dump that on this poor unsuspecting girl. “Okay, great. On three, right hon? One… two… three.”

Sam hates hospitals. Hospitals mean grandpa forgot to take his heart medication again and it’s her last chance to say goodbye. It means another person was beaten up behind the school, or drank too much at a party, or popped all those pills she can’t name. It means someone has thrown themselves off the bridge because it was the only way out of Shadyside. It means she just watched her boyfriend get stabbed through the heart and is now running from an undead murder, brandishing a knife meant for her.

She hates hospitals, and this is no exception. Even if the news is good.

Deena sits on the bed, her skin as white as the sheets she rests on, her shirt rolled up to show the new scar that graces her abdomen. Right in the side, just above her hip. The doctor found specs of wood in it. Tiny splinters buried in the skin.

“Well, she’s incredibly fortunate,” the doctor says. He talks about her like she isn’t here, and on the one hand that annoys Sam, because it’s almost certainly linked to that ‘Shadysiders are subhuman’ bullshit. The curse may be broken, but assholes are assholes, and a prejudiced town is even harder to get rid of than blood magic. But on the other hand, Deena’s on so much pain medication she might as well not be here. Her eyes are clouded, but not from shock, and she alternates between running her fingers along her new scars and tracing patterns on the back of Sam’s hand. “Like she said, nothing was ruptured, although I’d say you got here in the nick of time. Good thing she patched herself up.”

Deena’s makeshift bandage sits on the table behind her, little more than a bloodstained cloth. Sam can’t bring herself to look at it.

“But I have to ask, Samantha,” he says. She avoids his eyes deliberately, keeping them trained on Deena and her scars. “What happened?”

She considers lying, because she’s too tired and how would she ever explain? How could she explain the hell they’ve been through in the past day? Who would believe her if she did?

She could lie, and maybe she should, but she doesn’t. Because this whole horrible, ugly story began with lies, and continued with them. They lied and lied, and this town was built upon it while Shadyside was ruined by it. It’s over, and she’s making sure it stays over.

“Nick Goode.” She says the words through gritted teeth, against a raw throat. The Doctor shakes his head, as if he misheard her. And Deena frowns, clarity beginning to come to her, silently asking what she’s doing. Sam just takes her hand, a whisper of a smile on her face. This must be what taking revenge feels like. Damn, it feels good.

“What happened to her was Nick Goode.”

Deena is discharged from hospital within a few hours. In that time, Sam gets a few things done. First off, she tells the lady at the front desk to put it under her mother’s insurance. Second, she waits until Deena falls asleep, a combination of her own body and the meds, and slips out to the payphone outside. She slides a quarter in and calls Josh, tells him that Deena’s okay, that she’s with her, that she’s in the hospital, and that she’s going to be okay. She rattles them off like they’re facts for a school presentation and doesn’t breathe until she’s finished, sagging against the wall of the booth. On the other line, Josh absorbs what she said and she said, her nails scratching against her wrist. She expects a colourful array of curse words, or for him to hang up on her without a word. She’d hardly blame him.

“And are you okay?” is what he says instead.

“Um… yeah,” she says. “Heart still beating. Lungs still breathing. And um…. I’m me.” She shrugs and rakes a hand through her hair. “It’s gone. It’s over.”

“Yeah.” He sounds so happy, so triumphant, and she can feel his smile even if he’s all the way over in Shadyside. “It’s over.”

Once those two words had broken her heart, spat at her by Deena in an angry, bitter wave, a final goodbye from the best thing in her life. Now they keep her heart beating, a promise that the darkness that ruined so many lives is gone now. Forever.

Having Deena Johnson in her house also feels unnatural. Like seeing a lion wandering around the mall. She looks so out of place here and well, so does Sam. Because this house, and everything in it, it’s all fake. It was all part of her and her mom’s so-called New Life, out of Shadyside. A Better Life, with a better school and better jobs and better extra-curriculars and better people. Better friends, her mom had said out loud. Better influences, she had said with her face. It was going to be better, safer, happier. Her mom believed it, and for the briefest period of time, she believed it too. Thought that the big house and the red cheer uniform would fix all of her problems.

She was never meant to be in this house, she realises. That’s why it didn’t feel right to her, even when all her things were moved in here. She was always meant to be in Shadyside, not because of the curse not letting her escape. But because of Deena. Wherever Deena is, that’s where she’s meant to be.

“God I need a shower,” Deena announces, her voice half-shaking with laughter. It’s also rusty and hoarse, from screaming and overuse and who knows what else. She holds out her arms, a shaky smile on her face. Her face is streaked with red, her hands caked in dirt, her nails rimmed with grey. Sam looks down and finds her own hands looking similar. Her clothes stick to her body, almost feeling like a second, grimy skin. Her body has been put through everything it can be put through, her bones feel so weary and fragile she fears she could break if she moves too suddenly. It’ll take weeks, months, years to fix herself, if she ever can. But a wash might be a good start.

“Me too,” she says, and she takes Deena’s hand and leads her upstairs.

They shower together, it’s decided with just a glance. Sam isn’t comfortable letting Deena out of her sight for longer than two minutes. It might be over, but they can’t be sure. They don’t know what could be sitting in the darkness, behind the corners, on the other side of doors. If the past days have taught them anything, it’s that nothing is certain. Nothing is set in stone. The curse wasn’t, in the end, but peace isn’t guaranteed either.

So Deena follows her into the little ensuite bathroom, letting out a low whistle as she enters.

“Fancy,” she says. “Like one of those little hotel bathrooms.”

“It’s not that fancy,” she mutters. But it is. Because of Goode. Her house, like everyone else’s in Sunnyvale, is built on the blood of those victims. This house was built some time in the 1920s, according to the realtor. 

Billy Barker. He was 1922.

The pretty house isn’t quite so pretty in this light.

“Hey.” Deena’s hand is on her shoulder, her hair tickling her cheek. Her other arm wraps around her waist and pulls her closer, and it’s only then Sam realises she’s taken her shirt off. Deena rests her chin on her shoulder and she feels, rather than sees, the coy grin on her face. “You need some help?”

She lets Deena pull her shirt off her body, her fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake. In return, her hands slowly undo the button on the waistband of Deena’s jeans and pull them off her legs as she pulls her shoes off with considerably less grace. In other circumstances, the sight of Deena in her underwear would send her mind straight to the gutter, and she’d take her to the bed rather than the shower. But her mind has been invaded and pulled apart and literally brought back from the dead. So she just pulls Deena’s underwear off her, leads her into the shower, and lets the hot water run off them both.

She hadn’t realised how cold she was until the water hits her, a yelp escaping her body as it does so. It burns her skin, turning it from white to red. Deena’s eyes widen, and her hand reaches up to turn it off, but she just shakes her head, her hand grasping Deena’s. The water might be hot, but she can feel it. It’s the first thing, other than Deena, that she can feel since she first heard her name be whispered in Deena’s room, and so she embraces it. Deena doesn’t question it, an understanding in her eyes without anything being said.

Sam’s eyes roam over her girlfriend’s body, but it doesn’t bring the rush of heat to her cheeks it normally would. Instead all she can focus on is the dirt and dust smeared across her skin, followed by trails of blood. It almost forms a barrier around her body, save for the pristine bandage on her side. Without thinking, her hand reaches out and her fingertips graze the fabric, her touch gentle over the wound.

“You’ll get it wet,” she whispers.

“It’s okay. The doctor gave me a couple more just in case.” Sam nods, but doesn’t look away from it until Deena lifts her chin, making her eyes meet hers. “It’s okay,” she says, more forcefully this time.

“Okay.” She looks at Deena again before lifting a bottle down from the shelf and squeezing  a generous amount onto the palm of her hand, a gentle orange fragrance filling the air between them. “Here.” She rubs her hand over Deena’s shoulder before running it down her side, and watches as the dirt of the past few days begins to strip away. She keeps going, her hand moving across her stomach, over her hip, along her chest, bending down to get her legs. She keeps looking up at Deena, searching for a sign to stop, but she doesn’t get one. She only gets a soft, contented smile, and so she keeps going. She only applies pressure where she needs to, where stubborn bits of dirt refuse to come off. She gets them, and watches with satisfaction as it peels away, revealing the brown skin beneath. She lifts Deena’s hand and turns it over, her fingers pusing between Deena’s, her thumb rubbing at her girlfriend’s wrist until it’s clean again. She takes the chance to press a kiss to the skin, the gesture quick and simple. She smells faintly of oranges and overwhelmingly like her, like the jackets Deena used to hang around her shoulders.

Excitement curls her toes when she thinks about the possibility of wearing that jacket again.

“Here,” Deena says. “Turn around.” Sam does as instructed, and then feels Deena’s hands on her skin; her fingers running down her spine and back up before she pushes her hair off her shoulder and scrubs at the back of her neck, on her shoulders. She hadn’t realised how dirty she was, nor how much she needed this. Not just the wash. Deena’s hands on her body. Not fighting or begging or holding her back. Gentle. Careful. Handling her like she’s something precious, rather than pushing her away. How much she needed to care for Deena too, after everything. To embrace her rather than claw at her neck, not stopping until it snapped. It wasn’t her, Deena said, but she now knows exactly how it feels to have her hands wrapped around Deena’s throat.

She closes her eyes and pretends the water running down her face is from the shower.

“Babe.” Deena’s hands are on her hips, rubbing in slow, small circles. “You okay?” Sam exhales slowly. She doesn’t answer because the word ‘okay’ seems to have lost all meaning now. ‘Okay’ now just means ‘alive’. Not perfect, not sane, maybe not safe, but alive. She doesn’t answer, instead turns around in Deena’s arms. She reaches up to caress her cheek, wiping away the grime as she does so. She still looks the same, despite everything they’ve been through. Wrecked and exhausted and broken, but still her. Still Deena. Still perfect.

“I love you,” she says. Deena smiles, and opens her mouth to say something else, but her lips touch hers before she can. The kiss is desperate, hungry, making up for so many lost months and driven by raw need for both of them. Teeth tug on her bottom lip, a small moan escapes the back of Deena’s throat. Sam tilts her head as her hand comes up the back of Deena’s neck, tangling in her hair. It all comes crashing down, the past days hitting her like a waterfall; everything she did, everything they lost, everything Deena risked, and it just makes her kiss her harder. Like she’ll die if she doesn’t feel her touch again. Their bare legs tangle until they’re only standing up through luck and will power, their hips pressed against each other’s like jigsaw pieces.

“I love you too,” Deena replies when they come up for air. “Here, let me do your hair.”

She turns around as Deena’s fingers comb through her hair, shaking out the knots and the God-knows-what-else. A shiver runs up Sam’s back as she works, and she doesn’t need to turn around to see the teasing smile on her girlfriend’s face. 

“We should do this more often,” she says. It almost slips out without thought. “You. Me. Showering.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Deena replies. She feels the water on her head, followed by Deena’s fingers running through the now-clean strands. “Will you do me?”

She obliges, of course. She delicately works the shampoo through her curls, pausing to ask if she’s hurting her. Deena chuckles warmly and assures her she’s doing fine. Her fingers catch on knots and she undoes them gently, and she rubs and rubs until the blood matting her hair is gone, leaving only soft, glossy curls behind.

While she works, Deena lifts her hand and writes in the steam on the door. She writes an S and a D, and a cross between them. She draws a heart, big enough to capture their two initials. Sam laughs, really laughs, and it feels both wonderful and alien.

“That is so middle school,” she says.

“I think we’ve earned a little middle school,” she replies. She turns around in her arms, the water soaking her newly-cleaned hair. She leans in, slowly, and begins the kiss tentatively, as if it’s their first. Sam responds in kind, too tired to go any further.

Soon, they’ll realise they can’t stay in the shower forever, and they’ll get out and dry off. Sam will hand Deena a sweatshirt and her cheeks will turn pink. Soon they will fall asleep on Sam’s bed, still on top of the covers, their exhaustion finally catching up with them. Deena will wake first, images of Sarah Fier tangled in her mind, so much she needs to say to this girl who lost so much. Then Deena will fall back asleep, and then Sam will wake, a scream caught in her throat. Deena will hold her, and whisper that she’s here, that she’s okay. Deena will doze off, and wake with Kate’s name on her lips this time, and this time Sam will hold her until the tears stop. Eventually they’ll pick a video, something easy they liked in middle school, and watch it on the TV in Sam’s room, bodies pressed together, Deena’s head on Sam’s shoulder, two shaking hands joined atop the covers. Sam’s mother will come in, and bawk at the sight of Deena, and Deena’s chin will raise triumphantly. And Sam will fall in love all over again.

But that’s for later, and for now they just kiss, and kiss, and kiss.

support me on ko-fi

[seventhstrife]

SubScorp Week 2021 Day 4: Lust 2/3

I literally don’t even want to talk about this, I’m still so mad it got so long LOL

Read it on AO3

Part 1

Raiden's hand glowed a cool, piercing blue as he passed his palm over the length of Kuai Liang's body in a slow, pensive motion. His eyes were narrowed in concentration and Hanzo, pacing just far enough away so that he would not disturb them, did not like the frown that was slowly growing on Raiden's face.

Kuai Liang was stretched across a small bed, one of many that lined this room in Raiden's temple. It was one used for the sick, and the lingering scent of medicine made Hanzo's skin crawl—though he made himself stay. Clean as it was, he could not help associating the scent with death, for often people found their end not on the battlefield, but later, quieter and painfully and without dignity, trapped in their own bodies as it failed them.

He wanted Kuai Liang gone from this place as soon as possible.

His fears that a simple healing would not be enough were confirmed when Raiden finally retracted his head and gave a small shake of his head.

"I have never seen magic like this," Raiden began. He met Kuai Liang's narrowed, glassy eyes squarely. "Skarlet indeed has crafted something that is as unique as it is deplorable."

"You can not help him?" Hanzo all but demanded, scowling. Once more, the thunder god's machinations cared not for the casualties left in their wake.

Raiden looked over at him, expression grim and apologetic.

"I can not. This magic was created to serve a specific purpose and tampering with it in any way may only increase its adverse effects." Raiden dropped his gaze back to Kuai Liang. "I am well aware of the practices of your clan, but there is no other solution. You must allow this to run its course."

Kuai Liang stiffened, face pinched tight with distaste—though Hanzo alone could also detect the faintest flash of...fear...in his eyes.

"You can not mean—"

"Without a partner, the poison will not abate. And should you ignore it for much longer, the heat will boil your blood until it bursts—a very slow, very painful death, Sub-Zero."

The harsh grinding of Kuai Liang's teeth was audible. "There must be another—"

"There is not," Raiden cut in, as brutally blunt as Hanzo could remember. But he was not unkind, and understanding could also be seen in his expression. "There are many here who would gladly assist one of Earthrealm's defenders."

Hanzo...did not want to hear this, he realized. Raiden was offering to find Kuai Liang a partner, a partner who would aid him while he suffered the effects of an aphrodisiac—the implications of that could not be mistaken, and he was no fool. And while it would have been uncomfortable to hear any ally experiencing such a thing, with Kuai Liang, it burned worse. His mind shied away from even the thought of Kuai Liang with another in that way. He hated it.

Kuai Liang bore an expression that plainly said that he felt the same. He raised himself up so that he sat on the edge of the cot, every visible inch of skin flushed, arms trembling ever-so-slightly—not with fatigue, but pain. Even now, a kaleidoscope of red bloomed just beneath his skin, as if the burning roil of his blood would burst at any moment.

"I will not," Kuai Liang grit out. Even with his voice slightly shaken from smothered pain, his tone brooked no argument.

Raiden's frown deepened.

"This is your life, Sub-Zero. And in service of that life, a compromise must be made."

Kuai Liang winced as if Raiden's words were barbed.

"Bedding a stranger, using them in such a way—it is disgusting," and despite himself, a note of pleading bled into Kuai Liang's voice.

It made Hanzo wince in turn, heart going out to his friend who had not asked for this, who he knew would ultimately endure such a coupling but hate every moment of it.

Hanzo dug his fingers into his upper arms, hard, where they were crossed. He stared at the marble stone beneath his feet, to better master the urge to speak. He had no say in what Kuai Liang chose to do.

Raiden made some noise of understanding and from the corner of his eye, Hanzo saw how he gently clasped Kuai Liang's shoulder, voice pitched low in understanding.

"It must be done," Raiden told him. "But they will be discreet, you have my word."

And Hanzo thought he could do this, could keep his mouth shut and quietly support his friend, even if that meant waiting at Raiden's temple as he bedded another, but he proved to be his own undoing when he saw the look on Kuai Liang's face, pained all this time, yet only now suffering, only now, did the poison truly seem to take hold.

Quiet despair and resignation dimmed his eyes and slumped his shoulders with defeat—a look he'd never seen Kuai Liang wear before and would give much to erase.

Kuai Liang opened his mouth. "...Very w—"

"What if it was someone you knew?"

The words felt as if they were coming from another person, and Hanzo was half-tempted to look behind himself when Raiden and Kuai Liang's heads snapped to him.

The urge to blush was almost as great as the sick fear that seized his heart, but he owed Kuai Liang at least this much, at least an offer. Anything that would wipe that look from his face.

Hanzo uncrossed his arms, straightened from the wall he'd rested against when Raiden's conversation had begun in earnest. He looked at Kuai Liang and Kuai Liang only.

"If you trusted this person," Hanzo continued, barely able to hear his own voice over the riotous clamor of his heartbeats, "Would it be easier?"

"I..." For the first time in memory, Kuai Liang seemed genuinely lost for words. He stared at Hanzo as if he'd never seen him before, brow furrowed, body still wracked with jerks and shivers as the poison progressed. Kuai Liang licked dry lips. "Are you...You would...?"

Hanzo bowed his head, grateful he would not have to offer himself so plainly. "I would."

Kuai Liang blinked, shook his head and turned his head away with a deep frown. "I could not ask that of you—"

"And you are not," Hanzo said firmly, drawing Kuai Liang's gaze back. "I am offering."

Kuai Liang appeared so conflicted and his hand tightened into a fist over the fabric of his pants. Indecision warred plainly on his face, and Hanzo suspected it was not on his own behalf.

Quiet and calmly, Hanzo said, "I will take no offense either way," he assured.

He knew, from time and observation, that Kuai Liang, much like himself, was a deeply private person. While others would suffer no qualms having pleasing, ultimately meaningless sex with another, for Kuai Liang it would be a form of torture. Vulnerability, of any sort, was anathema to his very being, and Hanzo knew how much it would hurt him, to have to compromise his self-control in this way.

And if there was anyone else, Hanzo would have retrieved them and brought them to Raiden's temple already—but there was no one else. Hanzo was Kuai Liang's closest and, truly, only confidante.

But the bonds of friendship did not necessarily mean Kuai Liang would be willing. With his offer, Hanzo hoped to at least soothe—if not all, then some of Kuai Liang's worries. It was his hope that the trust they had forged in their friendship would help ease Kuai Liang's guilty conscience for having to expose himself to another.

Kuai Liang was silent for a long moment as the red marks across his arms and face shifted and writhed like living things. He stared at Hanzo, panting, but his expression was difficult to decipher. He was clearly unhappy, but Hanzo had no idea of what his true thoughts were, whether he was dissatisfied with Hanzo's offer, whether he found the idea distasteful or not, or if he was still wrestling with the concept of having to lay with anyone, period.

"Then..." Kuai Liang bowed, as best he could from a sitting position and wracked with pain, "I accept."

It was difficult not to flinch—but Hanzo did his best to school any shock from his expression. The offer was freely made, and meant, but it was more than a little surprising that Kuai Liang had...accepted.

Raiden, whose face had displayed clear surprise at Hanzo's offer before he'd quickly assumed an expression that was carefully blank, stood.

"Then it is decided," he said, tone firm and business-like. His eyes held a spark of curiosity as he looked at Hanzo, but he did not speak of it. He placed a hand on Kuai Liang's shoulder and held out his other to Hanzo in a beckoning motion. "We are running short on time. I will take you to a place you will be undisturbed."

There was a flash of light and a cacophonous clap of thunder, and Hanzo found himself in a clearing, the trees a pale birch where they skirted the boundaries of a small building, a single-story made of white stone and topped with vibrant red clay tiles that sloped into elegant, pointed tips. It bore a sharp resemblance to Raiden's temple, though on a much smaller, humbler scale.

"This once belonged to an old friend who tended the gardens of my temple," Raiden said. He dropped his hold from their shoulders, eyes going distant as they traced the clearing and whatever phantom memories he saw with his ancient eyes. "But it is within the bounds of my influence and thus, under my protection. You will be safe and undisturbed here."

Raiden appeared to visibly pull himself back from his thoughts. He looked between Kuai Liang and Hanzo and whatever he saw on their faces made him incline his head decisively.

"I will ensure my people are aware that this area is off-limits for the time being." He bowed one final time. "I shall leave you. May the Elder Gods protect you, and should the poison worsen, do not hesitate to call on me."

Raiden raised his fist and in a blinding crash of lightning that nearly deafened them, he was gone.

In the ringing silence he left behind, Hanzo stared at the scorched earth as a slow, creeping anxiety grew, just waiting to swallow him whole as he realized exactly what would happen next—what he had volunteered himself for.

And Hanzo was not a religious man. Not since his clan had been brutally murdered, their cries to the gods answered not by those above, but by cold, merciless blades.

But he found himself calling on them now.

Kuai Liang met his eyes once he forced himself to look away from the place Raiden had vanished from, and though pain tightened Kuai Liang's features and furrowed his brow, flushed his skin with a thin sheen of sweat, Hanzo could feel his heart skip a beat, felt an answering clench in the pit of his stomach that betrayed his true feelings in a way that shamed him.

And the way Kuai Liang looked at him—he was close to this man, had fought countless times at his side, knew him better than perhaps anyone else, but that dark look in his eyes, unreadable but watching in a way Hanzo had never seen before—he was not unmoved by that, either.

...Elder Gods. Have mercy on me.

[hecallsmehischild]

Recent Media Consumed

Books

The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien. About ten or fifteen years ago, I tried to read this and was totally overwhelmed by it. I kept it around, hoping maybe someday I might be able to read it. I finally have, and here are my impressions: WHY SO MANY NAMES. WHY YOU HAVE TO NAME EVERYBODY, AND EVERY TRIBE OF PEOPLES, AND EVERY INANIMATE OBJECT, AND EVERY LANDSCAPE FEATURE. WHY. *ahem* So. I have a general comprehension of the events of The Silmarillion, but I dealt with it by doing what you do for an impressionist painting. I (mentally) stepped way back and let all the names flow by me, and if there were names that were repeated a lot, then I mentally attached appropriate plot points and character details to those names so I could track with who they were and what they were doing. And, actually, I found myself able to hang on and enjoy the book for the most part. This is going to lead into a re-reading of the Lord of the Rings books, since I haven’t read those in about as long…

The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. I haven’t read some of these books since pre-teen years, with one required re-read of The Two Towers in high school (i.e. it’s been many an age since I’ve read these and my memory of the stories has been far more heavily influenced by the movies). In re-reading the first book, I was struck by the extreme tone shift for the Elves and Dwarves. Elves seem much closer to happy, mischievous fairies than these ethereal, solemn pillars of elegance and grace the movies show them to be. And Dwarves are far more bumbling and craftsmanlike than the movies show. Aside from that, The Hobbit was a pretty solid adaptation from the book, and the book also reminded me that this story was the first time I experienced “NO, MAIN CHARACTERS DON’T DIE, HOW DARE YOU,” and probably was the first book to make me cry. I must have been 8 or 10 years old. I FORGOT HOW MUCH THIS STORY INFLUENCED ME.

A Conflict of Visions by Thomas Sowell. I have a longer-than-usual list of things to say about this book. First is that it was just that level of difficult that I was struggling to understand while reading it (on Audible), but I think I got it. Sowell has several base concepts that I see repeated throughout his books, though he does like to dedicate whole books to specific aspects of the same topic. He is pretty damn thorough that way. So, for example, I would put this book in the middle of a three-book spectrum of similar concepts: Intellectuals and Society (most concrete and easiest to read), A Conflict of Visions (next-level abstraction, a little difficult to read), Knowledge and Decisions (root abstract concept, very difficult, I have not been able to get past chapter 2). The second thing I have to say is about a couple interesting concepts it proposes. Its whole point is to help readers understand the roots of two ways of seeing the world that come into severe conflict politically, and he calls them by their root titles: the constrained and the unconstrained visions. He traces the path of each back through the intellectuals that most spoke of them (tending to contrast Adam Smith with William Godwin and Condorcet). Though he leans heavily toward the constrained vision (based on reading his other works) he does his best to make this book an academic study of both, with both of the visions' strengths and flaws and reasoning and internal consistencies fairly laid out. In doing so, he helped me understand a few things that make this situation really difficult for people on opposing sides to communicate. One of them is that root words and concepts literally mean different things to different people. I had some vague notion of this before, but he laid out three examples in detail: Equality, Power, and Justice. It was kind of astounding to see just how differently these three words can be defined. It makes me think that arguing about any specific issues rooted in these concepts is fruitless until first an understanding has been reached on terms, because otherwise two parties are endlessly talking past each other. Another really interesting idea he brought up is the existence of “hybrid visions” and he named both Marxism and Fascism as hybrid visions. This was especially fascinating to me because I have seen the accusation of “Nazi” flung around ad nauseam and I wondered how it was that both sides were able to fling it at each other so readily. Well, it’s because Fascism is actually a hybrid vision, so both sides have a grain of truth but miss the whole on that particular point. In any case, this was a little difficult to read but had some fascinating information. For people who are wondering what on earth this gap is between political visions, how on earth to bridge the gap, or why the gap even exists in the first place, this is a really informative piece.

Movies

The Hobbit & Fellowship trilogies (movies). I mean, it’s definitely not my first watch, not even my second. But I went through it with Sergey this time and that means the run-time is double because we pause to talk and discuss details. This watch came about partly due to Sergey’s contention that Gandalf’s reputation far outstrips his actual powers, so we ended up noting down every instance of Gandalf’s power to see if that was true. Conclusion: Gandalf is actually a decently powerful wizard, but tends to use the truly kickass powers in less-than-dire circumstances. That aside, this movie series was always a favorite for me. I rated The Hobbit trilogy lower the first time I saw it but, frankly, all together the six movies are fantastic and a great way to sink deep into lore-heavy fantasy for a while. And I’m catching way more easter-egg type details after having read the Silmarillion so it’s even more enjoyable. (finally, after about a week of binge-watching) I forgot how much this story impacted me. I forgot how wrenchingly bittersweet the ending is. I forgot how much of a mark that reading and watching this story left on my writing.

Upside-Down Magic. Effects were good. Actors were clearly having fun and enjoying everything. Story didn’t make enough sense for my taste, but it was a decent way to kill flight time.

Wish Dragon. So, yes, it’s basically an Aladdin rewrite, but it’s genuinely a cheesy good fluff fest that made me grin a whole lot.

Plays

Esther (Sight and Sound Theatres). < background info > This is my third time to this theatre. There are only two of these in existence and they only run productions of stories out of the Bible. The first time I went I saw a production of Noah, the second time I saw a production of Jesus. My middle sister has moved all the way out to Lancaster, PA in hopes of working at this theatre. My husband and I came out to visit her. < /background info > So. Esther. They really pulled out all the stops on the costumes and set. I mean, REALLY pulled out all the stops. And the three-quarters wrap-around stage is used to great effect. I tend to have a general problem of not understanding all the words in the songs, but I understood enough. I highly recommend sitting close to the front for immersive experiences. This theatre puts on incredible productions and if you ever, ever, EVER have the opportunity to go, take it. Even if you think it's nothing but a bunch of fairy tales, STILL GO. I doubt you'll ever see a fairy tale produced on another stage with equal dedication to immersion.

Shows

The Mandalorian (first two seasons). Well. This was pretty thoroughly enjoyable. It felt very Star-Wars, and I’d kind of given up after recent movies. Felt like it slipped into some preaching toward the end? Not sure, I could be overly sensitive about it, but I enjoyed this a lot (though I did need to turn to my housemate and ask where the flip in the timeline we were because I did NOT realize that the little green kid IS NOT ACTUALLY Yoda).

Games

Portal & Portal 2. Portal is probably the first video game I ever tried to play, back when I had no idea what I was doing. Back then, I attempted to play it on my not-for-gaming Mac laptop. Using my trackpad. Once the jumping-for-extra-velocity mechanic came into play, I just about lost my mind trying to do this with a trackpad and gave up. Later I returned to the game and played it with my then-boyfriend on a proper gaming computer. Now, after having played several games and gotten better at "reading the language" of video games, I decided I wanted to see if I could beat the Portal games by myself. Guess what. I BEAT 'EM. Yes, I remembered most of the puzzles in Portal so that's a little bit of a cheat, but I'd say a good 2/3 of Portal 2 was new puzzles to me. It is crazy how proud I feel of myself that I could beat Portal 2, especially. Learning how to play video games at this age has really knocked down the lie, "You can't learn anything." Though I still suck at platformers and games that require precision. Since I find those types frustrating, I probably won't be playing many. Games are about enjoyment, so I'll push myself a little, but not to the point where I can't stand what I'm playing.

The Observer. I like the concept and the art but I don't think I could keep trying to play this game. It's really depressing. My in-game family members all died of illness or accident or committed suicide. I also kept getting executed by the state. In order to keep us all alive I'd have to do pretty terrible things that I have a hard enough time contemplating even in a fictional setting.

Baba Is You. Fun and interesting concept, but I got stuck pretty early on. Don't think I want to push as hard on this one.

[anika-ann]

WINSoD - Pt.2

We Move Together...

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2, part 3)  

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word count: 2400

Summary: In which Steve might get a bit tipsy and jealous in a sweet way. 

A/N: As adertised, What I’d Never Say or Do (Had I Been in My Right Mind) is only refered to as WINSoD. Also - enter Age of Ultron ;)

Warnings: mention of superntural creatures, alcohol, language, briefest mention of death, journalists acting like jerks 

Part 1 (previous chapter)

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

The press conference was a thing from nightmares. You did not enjoy all the flashes of cameras; you were not Tony freaking Stark, all charming and witty when over a hundred reporters stumbled through the doorway of the huge conference room. No, you could only manage to be sassy and fun within a circle of your friends. Which you found yourself in anyway, but boy, the presence of the others was still very much apparent and they were the ones asking questions.

Even Bruce had been forced to come, much to his dismay, but him and Clint were for some reason left out when it came to the poisonous questions, their duo considered only unwilling participants of the whole plotting for and against the poor soulmate pair of you and Steve.

You truly envied Thor who was off to Asgard once more. And while you wouldn’t want to be in Bucky’s shoes, you sure as hell wished you could sit this one out as he did, the public still not aware of his existence safe for one priest who had helped him to find his way to Steve.

It was ridiculous. The tone a question was asked with was enough to distinguish whether it was aimed at you and Steve or at someone else. Hell, when it came to you and Steve, they didn’t even bother asking, just stating the facts instead.

“Such a long recovery. That must have been horrible, especially with amnesia involved, wasn’t it.” (Yes, shockingly. What is it to you, huh?)

“Such luck you were able to remember, isn’t it.” (Luck had nothing to do with it. God’s sister has.)

“You must be angry with Captain’s team too, aren’t you.” (No, they are the best, you idiot, this whole thing is a stupid lie.)  

“I am sure you’re willing to share your story since people were grieving for you in such a worship-like way…” (…fuck you.)

In reality, you tried to word your indignation towards this herd-like aggressivity aimed at the Avengers and the blatant pity for you rather carefully, speaking of hardship but justified, and yes, you were very lucky indeed. They didn’t need to know just how much.

Steve received a pretty similar set of questions, but they were more of anger and questioning whether the team was still able to function after such a betrayal that nearly ended up tragically. Steve was surprisingly convincing in his act of a disappointed teammate and friend and expressed hope that they would be able to continue to exist and cooperate, his team slowly earning his trust back.

“Have the outcome had been different, my reaction would be too. But the love of my life is here with me and that is what matters. I cannot begin to say how lucky I am to have her back and I thank God for that every day.”

You bit your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at the private joke and smiled at him instead, earning a whispering wave of ‘awww’ from the crowd and a blinding mess of camera flashes when you gathered the courage to lean in and kiss Steve’s cheek chastely. The reporters went absolutely nuts.

Tony and Natasha on the other hand had to face the stoning. Seriously, there were being personally attacked, questions dripping venom. But they clearly had more experience and knew how to answer without the cunning reporters being able to twist their words into something else, much to the vultures’ dislike and annoyance. Duo Stark-Romanoff fought back and very effectively.

It filled your chest with pride, having friends capable in so many ways. They were so freaking badass.

It made the whole experience more bearable; that and Steve’s hand always touching you, grounding you and reminding you that never ever he would let you face the wolves alone.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You all knew that a public apology and trying your best to deal with the press somehow wouldn’t be enough. Well, you had hoped it would, but hadn’t quite believed, expecting to have to more in near future.

You were right, of course, which was why you were currently dressed up (or dolled up, as Steve loved to say, because you were his doll, after all) and forcing yourself to leave the elevator once it would stop, with Steve by your side.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he coaxed, knuckles brushing your cheek tenderly, planting a soft kiss to your temple, too worried about smudging your lipstick despite Natasha’s earlier reassurance that it wouldn’t smudge under any circumstances as she had thoroughly tested.

You tried not to think about that kind of testing and clearly Steve felt the same.

Instead, you gazed into the cerulean blue with a drop of green of his eyes, not convinced. He was being sweet and all, which you appreciated, but in reality, he had no way of knowing it would be alright. Mostly because Tony went all the way and invited all the important people who could influence the public opinion as much as rising stars of whom he felt could influence the public in the near future.

So next to a senator and a group of big-shot businessmen, there would hang out a pair of lawyers sticking for the little guy and right next to a supermodel, there would be a girl starting a new food bank. Thinking about it, it was a funny parallel to Steve and you by his side, except you weren’t doing any good, unlike them. Not that you would say that out loud.

To be fair, the Avengers decided to spice thing up a little by revealing Bucky Barnes being alive, very slowly leaking his story of a brainwashed soldier. Funnily enough, in a shadow of your big reveal, his own went rather quietly.

People were so freakin’ weird.

“I guess I’m gonna survive…” you murmured, ignoring the icy shiver that ran up your spine at your choice of words. Steve’s gaze seemed to turn distant for a moment before coming back to you, some of the strength he had been trying to project into you disappearing in the wind because of the painful memory. “Sorry. That was-“

The emotion no doubt twisting his gut caused his inhibitions to fly out of the window and his lips captured yours in a searing kiss that took your breath away. You melted against his muscular frame that seemed to engulf you completely, his calloused fingers grabbing onto your bare shoulders, digging in a bit deeper than necessary.

Your head was spinning with the passion displayed so openly and in the back of your mind, you registered that the elevator stopped, but before you could get to the idea of thanking Tony’s AI, your brain got side-tracked when Steve shamelessly licked into your mouth and backed you into the railing by the wall.

Feeling the familiar heat pool in your lower abdomen, sending sizzling heat through your veins, you instinctively gripped the lapels of his suit jacket when his lips retreated to give you a chance to breathe in.

Who needed breathing anyway?

He grinned against your mouth, the little shit he was, and one of his hands guided your head to a tilt for better access. You most definitely whimpered at that as his body trapped you against the wall completely, not leaving an inch in between.

Feeling him this close would never get old and you thought you might burst by the time his mouth moved to your left ear, keeping you in place while his hand moved from your shoulder to trace the line of your dress, slipping between the high slit of your dress to caress your thigh.

“Watch your mouth, doll. Or I’m gonna have to do exactly this to shut you up every time you don’t,” he whispered and your ragged breath caught in your throat when the perfect comeback popped in your head – a reasonable one, surprisingly enough.

“I bet the press would love that.”

His fingers flexed on your leg and his teeth very carefully nibbled on the skin of your neck, causing your heart to skip a beat.

“Don’t care about the press,” he growled lowly, sighing as if in pain when he slowly pulled back, leaving you clutching the railing so you wouldn’t fall as your legs turned into an uncontrollable wobbly mass. Then, as if he wanted to ruin you completely before the night even started, his lips were graced by a soft smile, his eyes twinkling. “I care about you.”

“And you call me trouble…”

He had the nerve to wink at you and thank the AI for the stop he never explicitly asked for.

“My pleasure, Steve,” Jarvis hummed, sounding amused and self-satisfied.

Your soulmate gentlemanly offered you an elbow to lead you out of the cabin.

“Shall we, my lady?”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

In all honesty, the party wasn’t that bad, mostly because it wasn’t just to celebrate your resurrection, but also retrieving a sceptre Thor’s brother had used during The Battle of New York.

You wouldn’t go as far as saying you enjoyed the evening greatly, but you had met several interesting people of which only few had weird questions regarding you; however, weird questions when showing up in public was an everyday occurrence.

You finally truly understood why Steve was happy you treated him like an equal (most of the time anyway).

Every single original male Avenger and Sam and Bucky made sure to dance with you as well as with Natasha and for a good measure, when the song got the right beat, your favourite redhead dragged you to the dance floor for a friendly dance; needless to say Natasha was much better at spontaneous dancing than you. Steve assured you about the opposite by a kiss and a rather filthy promise as soon as you shared your thoughts on your lacking skills with him.

Actually--- yes, you might even say you enjoyed the party very much, uncharacteristically for you, considering the insane number of people attending. The penthouse was way too full, but here you were, sipping on your third glass of champagne, listening to Thor’s colourful narrating regarding Asgardian battles. It wasn’t that you were interested in battles, no – it was the man himself creating suspense and gesturing wildly and making the whole clutch of listeners breathless.

“Careful with the admiring, doll,” Steve whispered to your ear, his arm sneaking around your waist out of nowhere, nearly making you jump out of your skin. “I might get jealous.”

Giddy from the alcohol, you turned your head and brushed his lips with yours.

“We did establish I’d marry Thor if you weren’t an option, didn’t we?” you teased lowly, catching the wink Thor sent your direction as if he heard you despite your hushed voice. It wasn’t flirtation; no, it felt more like mischief, as if he was being your wingman, which he excelled at apparently, because Steve might get little possessive if the grunt by your ear was anything to go by. “As if you didn’t know I only have eyes for you.”

“Just eyes?”

“Why, Captain, are you implying something?”

“Maybe.”

“Of course, my heart is yours as well,” you smirked at him, making his somehow annoyed and pleased at the same time. You leaned even closer. “And everything else.”

“Alright, but what about that hammer of yours? I mean, I saw people swinging around Captain’s shield – though not as skilfully – but no one uses your weapon. Why? Is it that heavy? Are you the only one strong enough to… keep it up?” one of the women asked, apparently more than a little tipsy, judging by her implication.

Gee, she had no inhibitions. Were you being like this now? You really hoped not…

“Well, my lady, that is a very complicated matter…” Thor started, clearly pleased by that question.

“Dance with me again,” sounded softly at your ear and your lips automatically curled up in a smile.

“Whatever makes you happy, my love.”

Steve grinned as he swiftly got rid of the glass in your hand and was already pulling you away by the time you noticed the envious or the amused stares of your companions.

“Green’s not a good colour on you, Steve,” you hummed incidentally, earning an actual pout. “This is adorable though. And I’m not gonna complain about you getting a bit handsy more often.”

“Trouble, doll.”

“I love you too.”

“I do love you. I’m sorry if I got annoying. It’s just… ugh. Thor. You got this look in your eyes and I just-”

Oh.

You sometimes forgot Steve could be as self-conscious as you were. It made your heart ache and yet grow with fondness for your soulmate.

“No, Steve. I might get starry-eyed, because of course I do admire him. It’s easy to get captivated by his stories or his manners, just look at the crowd around him. But you… there’s something about you… that strikes me right here.” You tapped over your heart pointedly. “You know me through and through and yet here you are. You must know I’m yours and still – you treat me every day like you’re courting me and at the same time, we’re comfortable with each other and--- yeah, that. Thor is great. But you’re everything. You’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” he confirmed, brilliant eyes shining, the drops of Asgardian liquor he had consumed adding to the glow. “And you’re mine.”

“Meant to be…” you cooed, happily giving in to his lips when they found yours again for a short moment. You barely realized you stopped in your steps as the slow song had made you only sway. You whispered into his lips then, unbothered. “Plus, I bet you could lift that hammer and keep it up too if you tried.”

His rich laughter filled your ears and he spun you both in circle, planting a kiss on your forehead. You already planned on how you’d get him a custom-made mug with a little hammer on it, reading ‘I am worthy’ or something like that. You were sure he’d love it.

Yeah, it was an amazing party.

Here was a funny thing though; when you had already been confronted with the fact angels and God existed, you should have known blasphemy was a thing.

So, naturally, as you had said ‘I guess I’m gonna survive…’, you should have known there would be a thick chance that you wouldn’t.

That was the first thing that flew through your mind the moment something burst through a wall as if it was made paper thin and not metal.

The second thought? Oh shit.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 3

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading! 

Like I said, chapters of this fic will be less chronologically tight. Buuut, you’ll see ;) Also, sorry it took me so long.

[hcpefulmarshmallow]

Anonymous said:

Once i saw a video on youtube explaining a certain "anime character type", and it compared Akechi with Nagito. (I dont remember the other characters the video mentioned) what are your thoughts about it? Do you think they're similar?

You know, Anon, the dumb lizard brain that governs my every impulse wants to point at them and say: “mentally unstable twinks with great hair and a Very Heterosexual rivalry with the protagonist” and call it a day. Here’s the thing, though: my feelings about Akechi started strong and stayed that way throughout my Persona 5 experience, though the nature of those feelings has changed drastically since my first impression. (And I quote: “Who’s this Light Yagami-looking motherfucker? No, I don’t trust him. That smile is the last thing someone saw.”) And I want to talk about him. I also never don’t want to talk about Nagito. So you know what? I’m gonna. 

 Spoilers, by the way. 

    ---

 In short, I do feel they fall into a very specific character archetype. Namely: the morally ambiguous foil to the main character. Not a villain, not a hero, but rather somebody who follows their own moral code. With a dash of insanity, of course, because anime gonna anime. 

 For me, their most intriguing similarities run deeper than a trope, however, and it all starts with this inflated sense of self-importance they seem to share. I know what I said, just go with me on this one. 

 Nagito, at a glance, seems to have the very opposite of an ego. Forever putting himself down, calling himself all kinds of worthless, and willingly throwing his very life at every cause that comes his way. But herein lies the contradiction that defines him as a character. For all his espousing that the hopeless may never be hopeful, he still leaps at the chance to become worthy. He wants so badly to be more than he is, that he struggles to see a world outside his own perception. He is, of course, compassionate and empathetic; but, unlike Hajime (or even Joker), whose talent with people comes from their respective abilities to remove themselves from a situation and see it as someone else would in order to make a moral judgement, Nagito cannot fathom a world that doesn’t conform to his ideals. Hope and despair, good and back luck -- and there he sits in the eye of it all, defeated yet somehow untouchable. He can’t watch someone trip three feet away from him without assuming his luck has played some role in it. 

 Akechi is much the same way, though he owns it a little better. He sees all things as means towards his ends. He has his idea of how the world and it’s people work, and therein lie his issues with Joker. Because he plays by his own rules, which are fundamentally incompatible with Akechi’s. Much in the same way as Nagito becomes fixated on Hajime, the Ultimate, talentless, worthless, most shining beacon of hope there is; Akechi sees how Joker is consistently beaten down by life and yet strives to carve his own path, and is unable to cope with either the jealously or the admiration he feels, never mind any combination thereof. Moreover, he, too, desires to rise above and be more than he is: the hero of his own story, despite taking rather unheroic steps to get there. 

 I would, of course, be remiss not to mention the similarities in their upbringings that lead to these insecurities. Nagito lost both his parents at a young age, and from there, we’re given no indication of any long-term adult influence in his life. Quite the opposite, he seems to have been demeaned and shunned by his extended family at large. It is also implied at times that his parents were not very loving, though there is some debate around that, so take it as you will. Akechi was abandoned by his father who deemed his mother beneath him because she was a sex worker, and was left with a seething hatred for the man because of it. After his mother’s suicide, he was passed from institution to institution, likewise having no long-term positive influence in his life.

 Both were left to, essentially, raise themselves; glean their own image of the world and build their moral compass around lives that were unimaginably cruel, ruthless, and unfair. Thus, it’s likely their worst behaviours could have been avoided, had they stable home lives. Of course, this is no excuse, plenty of people grow up in unstable environments and don’t go on to harm others, however, it places them a step above senseless. In fact, they also share an incredible intellect, charm, good looks, and quite the way with words. If you’ve played both games, you know what I’m talking about. 

 Furthermore, they have this habit of standing on the outside, looking in. Nagito spends much of DR2 implying heavily that he would like to spend more time with the others as their friend, but does little to actually reach out to them. Viewing himself below them, and seeing no reason why such incredible people would want to hang out with trash like him. Akechi also keeps the Thieves at a distance. There are many times when they reach out to him, offer to help him find his way -- and he almost seems to want to. Yet it is as if he doesn’t know how. He has no idea what, besides hatred and spite, could possibly fuel him. Nor does he really know what there is for him to gain from forming genuine bonds with others, or why he should want them. But he does, that much is clear. They each crave acceptance, while accepting it as a lost cause, even as the protagonist of their respective games has their hand out to them. And this, once again, can likely be traced to their equally terrible upbringings, and lack of any real understanding of the world as it is, rather than as they see it. 

 I could absolutely go on all day down this path. And, hell, at some point, I might. But the overall theme I’m getting at here, is this delicate balance these two characters walk. Being soft and charming, and deadly and dangerous. Intelligent, yet profoundly ignorant. Eccentric and borderline reprehensible, but at the same time, deeply relatable, and extremely likeable. They aren’t psycho for the sake of it, and I’ll argue that to my grave. But moreover, what we have here is the ultimate products of the worlds they were made for. Parallels are drawn constantly between Nagito and Hajime, Akechi and Joker, in a “there but for the grace of god go I” way, and it falls the same every time. Joker forged a home among friends, and people he considered family. Even after being hurt, he found the strength to be vulnerable for someone, and that someone happened to be the right someone; and though these people, he became stronger still. Likewise, Hajime took risks, took responsibility, and became respected and loved through hard work and compassion. He faced his own fear of worthlessness, and in the end, he didn’t fold to it the way Nagito did. He built his own purpose in life, and it was as full of hope as any Ultimate’s. These are feats beyond comprehension to our antiheroes, who may well have turned out to be the heroes after all if they’d only been shown the same support and care. And that’s why I think this character type appeals to so many people, and why these characters become so beloved. I think we become invested in their stories, and we want to show them compassion. There’s a reason why Nagito and Akechi are frequently shipped around, why they exist in so many fix-it fics. At the end of the day, we know the difference between bad people, and people who do bad things. It’s that, the latter may not be beyond saving. 

 And finally, can I...? If you’ve played the third semester of Royal, they really just make Akechi Like That, huh? In the original Japanese, he was apparently supposed to just come off as tired and not particularly wanting to mend any of his relationships or mistakes since he knew his death was looming, so I’m not sure why they took one look at this complex character development and said, “Hm, let’s just make him balls to the wall, shall we?” but hey. I’ve got to give it to his VA, I had to put down my controller several times because holy shit. Just. Holy shit. Give that man all of the awards. All of them, every single one, please. 

[anime-lover-forever-1127]

A Woman With Vision {Arthur Leywin} - 20. Beast Glades

Beast Glades

*****

Disclaimer - (Cause fanfiction is tricky ground and I hope not to offend the creator of the original story and get sued)

I do not own "The Beginning After The End", it belongs to its original creator TurtleMe. This is only a fanfiction that I was inspired to write by the original work. Please support the official release. Most of the media - such as the art and illustrations, gifs, video's, etc. used in this fanfiction - are from the web. Thus, most of them aren't mine (because I really, really can't draw) unless mentioned. To fit the story, images are also edited by various apps and websites. So they aren't mine, just edited. I get much of the text, especially the fight scenes and thought, aside from my oc's, from the original novel, which can be found on Library Novel. Please support the official release.

Also if you own a picture or Video that I found online, and you either want your name added, or me to take it down. Please contact me and we can talk it out. P.s. I also ask that you do not copy my work and publish it onto any other website.

If you're gonna use my idea, please ask me (If you ask nicely, I for sure, will agree). If I don't contact you within a week, then just assume I'm giving you the all clear and go for it. Just remember to credit me.

I will be writing out scenes even if my Oc isn't in them. As long as she's mentioned, or influencing the characters in some way. This may seem a bit annoying. But that's just how I write. I like to embed my characters into the story line. Because of this, most of the dialogue/scenes will come from the original work.

Playlist

For the playlist you can go to my YouTube channel, which is under "Anime-lover-forever-1127" and click on the playlist titled "A Woman With Vision {Arthur Laywin}". Or you can use this link watch?v=GYlAaNM7WS8&list=PLVKYkztH1Zd8bdl2_a1C8F6u8gPPwfa6D&ab_channel=7clouds 

Warnings: Spoilers for Chapter 30 and chapter 54 of the comic

*****

Today's Special

No one tells you that the hardest part of MOTHERHOOD is when your kids grow up

~ sitiraihana

*****

{Morgana P.O.V.}

Crossing through the teleportation gate, my senses jolted from the scenery. The City of Xyrus had the most teleportation gates among the cities since they were the only way one could enter it, it being a floating city and all. The one we crossed led us directly to the front entrance of the area known as the Beast Glades.

The chirps of birds, occasional cries and roars of beasts, and the constant sound of water flowing filling the background all created an enticing symphony of nature. The sight of tall trees and numerous hills covered in various plants and shrubs made it hard to believe that this beautiful landscape was filled with magical beasts capable of killing even the strongest mages. However, because of abundances of natural resources on the outskirts, it was mostly only the lower rank beasts that inhabited this deeper an adventurer traversed, the more mysterious and treacherous the landscape turned, filled with the lairs of powerful beasts that have amassed their treasures and power in the solitude's of unexplored regions in the Beast Glades.

I took a sip of the crisp air as Jasmine and Arthur arrived behind me through the teleportation gate when, suddenly, I heard a wish, and from the corner of my eyes I saw Sylvie scurry off.

"Wait, Sylv! Where are you going?" Arthur called after her, dumbfounded.

Sylvie transmitted a vague response; I could feel her emotions of excitement as she sent out thoughts about her plans to train as well.

"Did she just?" I asked, pointing at the direction my baby just ran off to.

"Yep, she just ran away from home." He answered weekly, his tone going a little high.

"Oh, Arthur." I sighed, pulling him close and giving him a shoulder hug. I had only known Sylvie for a couple of months, and I felt as if something was missing without her here.

But she was Arthur's bond, and had never left him since the day she had hatched. I could only imagine how big the hole in his heart must feel.

"Are you gonna be ok?" I asked. "We could take a break."

Arthur shook his head, "We just got here. Plus, I'm only a little…" He struggled, unsure of what world to use, "...uneasy. But… I can sense her whereabouts. So it should be fine."

"You can sense her whereabouts?" I asked, surprised.

He nodded, "Wait! You can't?"

I shook my head.

"Close your eyes, and try searching for her aura."

I did what he had said. I could see the mana floating around me, but no Sylvie. I opened my eyes, "Nothing. No trace of her. Maybe we're not just there yet."

Sylvie had explained to me that the longer me and Arthur were with each other, the stronger our mate bond would become. And the stronger it becomes, the easier it would be for me to create an adopted bond with Sylvie. Of course that would only be possible after spending time with her. And if I ever got a bond, it would be the same with Arthur. He would form a bond, through me, until he had a second, slightly weaker bond, with my own, on his own.

So because of that, until my bond with Sylvie was complete, I would be using Arthur's bond, to support my own developing one with her.

Now it was Arthur's turn to give me a sympathetic and reassuring hug. "It's fine mama bear."

"You're right." I nodded, "Knowing you can still

"She'll be okay. Mana beasts have a natural instinct to grow stronger. She must've felt very suffocated being in a sheltered environment all of her life," Jasmine pips up , walking next to Arthur.

"I know." I nod, "But that honestly doesn't make it hurt any less."

Jasmine lets out a chuckle, "It's like your her mother."

"She is" - "I am"

Arthur and I answer at the same time.

Jasmine stops a bit, staring at us long and hard, before smiling, "I think I get what your parents meant now. Well, to each their own."

Both me and Arthur smile at that. She really is a great woman.

Putting her hand on our shoulder, she signalled for us to start moving. "There's a place I wish to visit first before going to a dungeon. We have to hurry though; it gets a little more dangerous at night."

Willing mana into her body, Jasmine bolted off into the distance, her wind attribute mana propelling her even faster.

I followed after her, forming two gales of wind below my feet as I dashed after her, Arthur doing the same, followed.

Everyone in a while, Arthur would give me an update on Sylvie.

"I just hope that she doesn't go after bigger beasts until she's ready." I sigh.

"Don't worry. She knows she has us if she ever gets in over her head. She knows she can always ask us for help." Arthur says, petting my head.

*****

The journey lasted a few hours and it began to grow dark. The only reason Arthur and I had been able to keep up with Jasmine, even when she was at a dark yellow stage, was Arthur had been using mana rotation throughout the way, and I had controlled mine to only use the bare minimum amount mana needed to create a controlled, constant amount of wind. This skill had become almost second nature to me now as I utilised it unconsciously whenever I exerted mana.

By late evening, we had cleared through a dense forest and arrived at a small clearing. Surrounded by trees, there was a small field of grass with a stream of clear water flowing through it.

"We'll camp out here for a few days," Jasmine announced as she set down her bag and took out a couple of items.

"Weren't we going to a dungeon right away?" Arthur asked, setting down his bag as well.

She simply shook her head, picking up a few branches of wood and gathering them together.

Well Arthur and I went into the forest, finding some decent-sized branches to make a fire with. After a bit, we had a fire crackling and popping in the middle of our camp. Making myself comfortable, I leaned against Arthur who had removed his mask and sat silently by Jasmine, next to the fire.

Trying to break the silence, Arthur asked Jasmine, "What made you want to become an adventurer?"

"…"

Her gaze never left the fire and after a few minutes of more awkward silence, I just stared back at the flame, assuming she didn't want to answer.

"I wanted to get away from my family." I almost missed what she said from how quietly she spoke amidst the wood of the fire snapping fiercely.

"I see… were you on bad terms with your family?" Arthur responded, his eyes focused on the fire.

I choose to just listen to their conversation.

"…"

"The Flamesworth House was a major contributor to the war against the elves. Our house has provided many powerful mages, both conjurers and augmenters. Our lineage in the fire attribute element was second to none. We took great pride in this, because fire is considered to be the most powerful of the elements," she stated monotonously.

Despite her short sentences, this had been the most Jasmine had talked in one sitting.

"But Jasmine, aren't you a…" Arthur asked, looking up at her as she nodded in response.

"Since early on, when I had first awakened and started training, my family tried to test my mana for fire affinity. I went through various tests so they could see how my mana was exerted and how it flowed through my mana channels." She took a pause and poked at the fire before continuing on. "When it was made clear that I had no aptitude for the fire attribute, my family regarded me as lesser."

"…"

Arthur didn't know how to respond to her. For the first time, the always aloof and cold Jasmine seemed…vulnerable.

"I'm sorry for what happened…" was the only response Arthur managed to utter.

But so much for staying silent, I stood up to my knees and crawled over to Jasmine until I was face to face with her. Looking her directly in the eyes, I told her firmly. "Your family is wrong… and crazy." Her eyes went wide at my statement. "Wind magic is probably stronger than fire when you get down to it! All your family is, is a walking matchstick. All they can do is shoot out flames, a pillar if they're really getting creative. But with wind magic… we can create tornadoes, fly, move objects across a room. I mean it was because of wind magic we covered a distance that would have taken us days, in mere hours. Do I really have to say more?"

Jasmine's eyes widened and she shook her head, she gave me a faint smile. "The Twin Horns have treated me well and I don't dislike what I am."

I smiled, "I know that. I can tell it on your face whenever you're with your party, that you're clearly happy. But I'm just letting you know that your family is wrong. Everyone is entitled to their opinion, but theirs… is just plain stupid."

I glanced at her palm as Jasmine formed a small swirl of wind, different emotions running through her face as she peered at her hand.

This world was a place of discrimination and classification. The hierarchical roots embedded into this land would never truly disappear. Normal humans were considered second-rate people, while even amongst mages, augmenters were discriminated against by conjurers. It went further than that where, unless one was a deviant or a dual element specialist, some elements were considered "higher class" than others.

Being born from a family of powerful fire attribute mages, she was discarded as inferior because of the elemental attribute she had; something that most mages would kill to acquire. She was a dark yellow augmenter skilled in fighting and mana manipulation at the ripe age of 24. Many would consider her a genius but from the standards she grew up with, she considered herself lesser.

We placed more wood to last through the coldest parts of the night and laid out our sleeping bags a few feet away so we could still feel the heat.

As we got ready to go to sleep, Arthur leaned into my ear and whispered, "I know subtlety isn't really your strong suit. It never has been."

I sent him a glare, "This better be building into a compliment."

He sent me a smile, "Well, more of a request. But I'm not shy to add one in there. Anyway, if we ever meet with nobility… and royalty again - assuming you haven't scared them enough yet. Could you at least try to hold it in. Until we least have a chance at beating them."

I huffed, "Speak for yourself. I already have my network ready. Of course it really isn't anything that great yet, but it has potential. The seeds are planted, and ready to sprout like a butterfly bush at a moment's notice." I winked at him.

He stared at me confused, "Who would-"

I cut him off, "Finishing school is quite boring when you've actually played the high society game. But, when it comes to making connections with little girls eager for your approval, there's nothing like it. As for informats, they're easy to buy. Mom and dad's allowance has always been generous, and I know exactly how to put it to good use." I smirked as I thought of the various amounts of blackmail I had collected for various families.

Arthur stared at me, wide eyed. "Damn, why didn't you say anything?"

I shrugged, "I thought you knew me?"

"I do!" He defended himself. "But I may have accidentally underestimated you. I thought your network may take you another two to three years. Sorry. Never again."

I smiled into the fire, "Well… If I'm being honest. It's nowhere near as good as my old one. But it's better than nothing. Information is the name of the game. And plus, every now and then, I do find a few pieces of gold." I said, remembering the little golden nugget of information I'd collected on a certain elf princess. I don't wanna be mean, but if she pushes my hand...

My eyebrows furrowed as I remembered, "Where's my compliment?" I pouted.

Arthur chuckled, "What you said to Jasmine, was truly amazing."

"Of course it was." I said, smiling and accepting the compliment. I ran my fingers through his hair, and added, "Though, we really do need to work on your elements. You need to do so much more than just creating pillars of fire." I felt a sweat drop roll down the side of his neck as I began making plans. "I've made a lot of progress with my wind, though I definitely need to work on my water. Before we start school, I would like to start working with ice a little bit. Though I'm not sure how much I could exactly get done between practising wind, and working on water, and relearning the sword." I pouted, eyeing the blue blade Arthur wouldn't let me touch unless he knew for a fact I wouldn't drop it on myself.

As much as I hate to admit it, I don't really blame him for it. Considering he never lets me forget it, I know for a fact he remembers how bad my first sword training lesson went. And to be honest, as fun as it would be to swing it around again, I don't wanna know how well it would work out with my current build. It was too big for my current body. So until I grew a bit, I'd have to use a practice sword.

Eyes closed, I waited to drift off when I heard Jasmine mumble something.

"…It's weird. When I talk to you two, it doesn't feel like I'm talking to children."

I didn't respond. Pretending to be asleep, I hoped she wouldn't push further for a reply.

*****

"Good morning." Jasmine was up and cooking something over the fire by the time I had gotten up and out of my sleeping bag.

My stomach rumbled to remind me that I hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon as I looked hungrily at the skewered fishes being grilled on the fire.

"Good morning! You should've woken me up, Jasmine. There's no need for you to do all of the chores on your own."

I turned my head to see Arthur rubbing his eyes.

"…I tried waking both of you up… But you wouldn't budge." Her half-closed eyes that give off an apathetic stare regarded us with concern. "If I didn't hear you breathing, I would've mistaken you for corpses."

"Haha…" Arthur let out an awkward chuckle. "I'm sorry, I really need to fix that."

"You and me both." I nodded. I usually woke up early on my own. But if I didn't, then nobody could wake me up.

After devouring the grilled fish for breakfast, we put out the fire. Using the nearby stream to wash myself and my clothes.

Arthur put on his mask and swords, well I wrapped my cloak around my shoulder, and placed my contents lenses in, assuming we'd go hunting for some mana beasts around the area, when Jasmine stopped me.

"Your opponent for these few days will be me."

"Huh?" I couldn't help but be surprised at the turn of events. We came all the way here to spar?

"This area is close to the dungeon we will be exploring, but for these days, I want you to focus on fighting me. I noticed that your fighting style seems… awkward at times. Like, you know it in your head, but your body doesn't listen to you… or something like that." She told Arthur and then turned to me, "You have your control down. But you need to focus on increasing your mana amount. We can stay in a dungeon for days at a time. So you're going to need to work on that."

Unsheathing her two daggers, she pointed one at me, continuing, "We won't use any kind of mana for these next few days while sparring."

I hadn't expected Jasmine to catch on to what I had been worried about, but it was a good opportunity.

"Good idea," Arthur replied, unsheathing his short sword.

I sat down on the grass, getting ready to meditate.

{Arthur's P.O.V.}

"Use your other sword…" Jasmine's eyes flickered toward Dawn's Ballad.

"How did you know this was a sword?" I wasn't planning on hiding my weapon from her but I was still caught off guard.

"Knowing you, that black stick should be something more than just a cane or a practice stick," she shrugged, walking a few steps closer to me.

Giving her a confirming nod, I tossed the short sword to Morgana, who caught it with her eyes closed. From my position, I could see the mana around us, begin to gather towards her.

As the sword soundlessly glided out from its scabbard, the translucent blade glowed a light teal as it reflected the sun's strong rays.

Holding it out in front me, I positioned myself. "Ready when you are."

"Y-Yeah," Jasmine stuttered as her eyes remained glued to Dawn's Ballad.

We dulled the edges of our weapons using mana before beginning. Without mana strengthening my body, I realised just how much I had been neglecting myself. After a few swings, my arms felt heavy and my legs trembled as they pushed feebly off the ground.

This was my mistake. I knew of the limits that my juvenile body had, but instead of trying to fix my shortcomings, I chose only to mask it using mana.

While magic in this world was capable of many things, it should be only used as a supplement to your abilities, not a replacement to cover them.

I lunged out with a sharp thrust aimed at Jasmine's sternum. Even though our swords were coated to prevent fatal injuries, it would still leave bruises and even broken bones if taken lightly; this made the sparring experience much more intense and real.

Jasmine swung her two daggers down in an outward arc, parrying my lunge and knocking the blade of my sword into the ground.

I brought my rear foot forward to maintain balance as my teal blade sunk into the ground below her. However, by that time, Jasmine had already brought her daggers back into position to follow up with a quick, downward slash.

Prying out my sword, I immediately pivoted my body to the side to avoid the overhead slash. As her daggers grazed harmlessly past my loose shirt, I kicked her arm away and stepped away into a more comfortable distance.

My arms were burning from the quick, consecutive movements as I positioned my sword in a defensive stance.

"It's my win," Jasmine said, sheathing her two daggers deftly into their scabbards attached to her thighs.

"You're right," I laughed as I dropped Dawn's Ballad on the ground. We had sparred for a little less than five minutes but my arms and legs screamed in protest from overuse. Massaging my forearms, I picked my blade back up and slid it back into its black sheath.

The duel had ended with me with the upper hand, but I didn't have the strength to proceed. It was my loss.

"Hey Jasmine, I think I'm going to need more than a couple of days to work this out," I confessed with a chuckle.

Her lips curled up slightly as she nodded in agreement.

I had three years before I'd attend Xyrus Academy. During my time at school, I would have plenty of chances to focus on studying mana.

I knew what my priorities were at this time.

Making a rough calculation in my head, I held up two fingers. "Two years, Jasmine. I'll dedicate two years to getting my body truly adjusted to sword-fighting without relying on mana."

"That's it?" she said, surprised.

"Just watch," I smirked.

*****

A Butterfly bush is a really fast growing plant. I could have used weeds, but referring to an information network as weeds, doesn't sound nearly as nice.

Also, finishing school only takes about 6 weeks. So I didn't have to worry about that.

I get the whole bond system is a little confusing, especially with me throwing in mate bonds and secondary bonds. So if you have any questions, please feel free to ask. Because I do have plans to keep using and referencing the bonds - so it would be easier for you guys and less confusing, if you know what's actually happening. (Or if your just here for the romance - I guess you can sort of skip it - though again - their is the mate bond)

I feel like I should give you guys a heads up, that the next chapter is going to likely be on the shorter side (and the two after that as well). But man will it leave a huge impact on you guys. I'm actually willing to bet the title of the next chapter alone would be worth the hype (and the happiness and excitement you would get from four pages - why four you asks, one page for each word in the title.)

In fact, here's a little teaser (Feel free to try and guess what may be happening, and the contents of the paper):

Next Time~

Morgana untied the bright red ribbon and uncurled the scroll.

Her eyes widened as they flew over the contents of the paper, before tears began streaming down her cheeks.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Oh, I will be the first to admit that messing with people's memories is highly questionable at best, and the Moonlaces know that. They spent ages agonizing over the decision, going back and forth over it all and trying to figure out if there was any other conceivable way. But they wanted to give little Calliope as much protection as they possibly could, and the best way to do that was to make sure no one could trace her back to them, and small children don't exactly excel at keeping secrets. So, even though it tore them up inside, they came to the conclusion that it was for the best that she not remember them, at least not until after the war.

Talia ended up being the one who worked the magic. It just so happened that in the course of her work in her private cursebreaking firm (which focuses on cursed objects and people, and involves no raiding of tombs) she had come across rather a few memory spells and through figuring out how to unravel them had gained a unique understanding of how they worked. She knew the subtle difference between erasing and suppressing a memory, and how best to make it retrievable at a later date without harming the person in question.

However, this? Making Calliope forget everything she'd ever known in preparation for sending her away? This was extremely emotionally stressful for Talia. In many ways she was more Calliope's mother than their shared mother was. Mr.&Mrs. Moonlace, while loving parents, had always been very busy people, working Ministry jobs (that I've never specified lol) and so whenever she was available to Talia ended up handling Calliope's day-to-day care. If Talia wasn't able to watch her Calliope was with their brother and his boyfriend/fiance/husband/whatever label they were using that week. (I'll talk about them in another ask because they're fun) So, yeah, the older siblings had essentially split custody of Calliope most of her life, they were the ones who were raising this little girl for the most part. They were the ones most heartbroken over this turn of events. And in turn those extreme emotions effected the magic. That wish Talia was holding in her heart that she didn't have to do this, that Calliope could have kept her memory, influenced the spell and, unbeknownst to Talia, it was incomplete. Calliope would always have vague memories of her birthfamily, and of just how loved she was. And those memories would only unobscure themselves more over time. Never completely, it would never break on it's own, but still.

The Moonlaces had always intended to find her after the war, to make themselves known and restore her memory. If she was happy with her muggle parents they weren't going to take her away, but they intended to be a part of her life again in whatever way they could. Unfortunately, by the time the war ended and it was safe that young muggle couple had divorced and moved, and they had no way of knowing where they had gone, or which parent Calliope had gone with, leaving the poor Moonlace family utterly heartbroken once again. They could only hope that Calliope would reenter the wizarding world on her own one day, and that by chance they'd meet again.

I'll likewise admit that there are justifiable situations when it comes to the use of memory charms. There's obliviating muggles to protect the secrecy of the wizarding world, and...yeah, that's about it. Even that is a bit of a gray area, especially if they realize what you're about to do and express opposition to it. I guess you could also argue that it's okay, if a person is say, blackmailing you with private information, to respond with the ultimate power move and erase said information (and nothing else) from their mind. Basically what Talbott wanted to do to Merula. Sure, you could make a case for that...but I don't know, I'm still not sure about it. In this case? Sorry, I'm still gonna say I don't approve, even if I'm sure they thought they were doing the right thing. It's the inverse of what Hermione did, and yet it's also so much worse because it was parents doing it to their young child.

Oh my god, the more I hear about this, the more it's kind of like the most recent storyline in Doctor Who, for those who have seen it, except with an arguably more noble storyline. The whole idea of a certain figure in the child's life being more important to them than their birth parents is something else I will never not relate to for the personal reasons of my own life shenanigans. Actually, this entire idea reminds me a lot of the Remembrance timeline because this is basically what Luca goes through, being subjected to a memory charm that is incomplete (though in their case, it's because they have inherent resistance to mental magic at the time, long story) but damn if this tale isn't tugging on my heartstrings. I cannot help but love that Talia made a wish and it came true, all through magic. That is actually destroying me with how beautiful it is, how dare you. That said, as much as the tragedy of them losing her in the sea of the muggle world does make me choke up as well...I mean, what did they expect? It's kind of the risk they took.

[cogentranting]

Tracing the Fall of Snow

*Warning: Full Spoilers for the book*

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes is a story about human nature. Within it characters embracing different philosophies (Collins cites Rousseau, Locke, Hobbes, and the Romantics) are thrown together and their philosophies tested. While characters like Lucy Gray, Sejanus, and Dr. Gaul are fixed in their outlook, Coriolanus is not. This book asks questions about human nature, while also crafting an origin story for the evil tyrant we see in the original Hunger Games trilogy. 

When we meet Coriolanus in this book, he’s not evil. But he’s not good either. He’s closest to being a “blank slate”-- a Locke theory that Collins describes as a “theory in which all we know comes from experience”. Coriolanus at the start of the book is not fully a blank slate, but he’s a mix of his experiences and influences. We’re shown the way he connects with Tigris and the Grandma’am. Generally positive relationships. However, we also see his elitism, his ambition, and his disdain for the districts. In essence, the competing forces can be summed up in two representatives: his parents. His mother was gentle and sweet, and loved music. His father was hard and cold and went to war. 

Coriolanus’s development over the book is complicated but generally negative. He’s disgusted by the cruelty of Dr. Gaul, but excels in her way of thinking. He is saddened and horrified by his classmates’ deaths, but quickly moves past his initial grief reaction to focus on his own interests (e.g. writing the proposal for class, or criticizing the portrayal of Arachne at her funeral). It could even be claimed that his initial reaction was not grief at all, merely a reaction to the violence and chaos. Which, as an interpretation, leads us to the central question of his development: his relationship with Lucy Gray. 

Coriolanus’s two “closest” connections-- Sejanus and Lucy Gray-- are two characters who are cast in positive light, though to different degrees. Sejanus we are meant to view as good and noble. Coriolanus is perceived as being very close to Sejanus, going from friends, to best friends to “like brothers”. But Coriolanus’s inner monologue, as expressed through the narration, makes it clear that this is all a show. All of the actions that Coriolanus takes which are perceived as demonstrations of support and friendship are really done with his own good in mind: he hands out sandwiches with Sejanus so that his own tribute will get food; he goes into the arena because he is forced to; he goes to check on Sejanus’s injury in the hopes that the Plinths will reward him. The narration never indicates any sort of affection from Coriolanus. The most positive reaction he ever has to Sejanus is when he first joins him in District 12, but even then Coriolanus’s excitement is for the news and ideas that Sejanus brings. Sejanus himself is really only appreciated for being “someone to talk to who knew his world and, more importantly, his true worth in that world” (344). Coriolanus appreciates having someone who can appreciate him; he does not value Sejanus himself. 

The same distinctions can be drawn within the more central relationship between Lucy Gray and Coriolanus.However, Lucy Gray is-- as her name suggests-- a more gray character than Sejanus, and the connections between her and Coriolanus are proportionately more complicated. While Sejanus’s motives and actions are generally clear, Lucy Gray is at times ambiguous. She is generally kind, cares for her family, values freedom and beauty. She does not condone or value killing like some characters, but unlike Sejanus she does kill in self defense, and unlike him, she has no noble cause she fights for. There are also points of distinct ambiguity-- what were her intentions with the snake at the reaping? Do Billy Taupe’s comments about her suggest a complicated past? And most significant, did/would she turn on Coriolanus at the end? 

Coriolanus believes that he loves Lucy Gray. However, much like with Sejanus, the narration does relatively little to suggest that this is the case. When the narration shows his thoughts, it rarely, if ever, reveals thoughts about him liking her. Most of the time their relationship is discussed in terms of him wanting her to want him. Rather than actual affection we see possessiveness. His strongest emotions come when she sings about or speaks to Billy Taupe. This aggravates Coriolanus because his possession of her feels threatened. During the interviews before the games his mindset is expressed in this way: “Hi girl. His. Here in the Capitol, it was a given that Lucy Gray belonged to him, as if she’d had no life before her name was called out at the reaping”(172). When that idea is challenged by a song about another boy-- note: not even current lover, an ex-- Coriolanus feels “betrayed” and “humiliated” as if Lucy Gray has wronged him by existing separate from him. When she does eventually sing a song directed at him, Coriolanus’s first instinct is not to respond directly to her, but to make sure his ownership of her is noted, thinking that “it was nice, after all, to have someone else who knew the significance of the song” and wanting “to tell people around him. I’m her true love. And I saved her life” (367).  Throughout the relationship, Coriolanus is paranoid about having Lucy Gray stolen away by Billy Taupe. Even after his rivals death when he and Lucy Gray are planning on running away together “he would have preferred not to meet up at her old lover’s rendezvous spot” (486). Jealousy is still the primary emotion defining their relationship. 

In the same way that selfish acts were perceived as being for Sejanus, many of Coriolanus’s actions are interpreted as being for Lucy Gray when they are not. The basis of their relationship is that he helped her survive the games. She sees this as him saving her life and risking everything for her. He even begins to take this view of his own actions himself, seeing it as a grand act of love where he “risked everything to save her in the Games… risked it all again to save her from Mayfair”(480). But his motivations during the actual games were clear; he was trying to win in order to secure his own future. Again in the murder of Mayfair,  where his first thought was “with her would go his entire future” (460). In both instances, Lucy Gray’s wellbeing was secondary, if a consideration at all. The truth of his feelings come out when he for the first time is asked to actually give up something solely for her. When the climax of the book comes and he has the choice of giving up the life he’s dreamed of to run away with Lucy Gray, or to go train in District 2, it’s revealed that his love-- the one noble thing he could potentially be credited with at this point-- isn’t real. It’s not even just that the love isn’t strong enough. He doesn’t just choose his ambition over love. If he had he would have just left her. Instead, he instantly turns on her and tries to kill her, suddenly projecting his own deviousness onto her as he convinces himself she would destroy him if he left her alive. 

The falseness of Coriolanus’s positive instincts are seen elsewhere as well, even at the start of the novel. He claims that he has a strong moral compass, and Tigris calls him a good person, but this view of Coriolanus is never demonstrated. Similarly, Ma Plinth believes Coriolanus to be compassionate and generous, though the reader knows the truth of his motivations toward Sejanus and the Plinth family.  Most people in Coriolanus’s life see him as a better person than he really is. Part of this is because, even before his real descent into evil begins, he’s highly manipulative. This is most clearly demonstrated through his hyperfixation with appearances. The attempts to dress as if his family is still wealthy, and control how he acts around food are harmless enough. The real origin of his downward spiral is in how he manipulates emotions. Particularly in his Academy interactions, Coriolanus’s reactions are more often expressed in terms of what attitude or emotion he’s trying to convey, than what he’s actually feeling. The most glaring early example of this in action comes with Arachne’s death; when she is attacked he goes forward to help her, not because he has anything to offer or because he it is his impulse to help, but because “he did not want to be seen cringing and clinging” (180).  Even before he begins to do wrong things, Coriolanus seems to lack a nature that pushes him to do right things. 

Still, early in the book Coriolanus does have things that could be considered good. He has a fondness for his mother. He is reviled by the violence and by Dr. Gaul. He is loved by and to some degree cares for people like Tigris and Lucy Gray. So despite his potentially sociopathic traits, he is a dynamic character who goes from being a neutral force to an evil one. This descent is demonstrated through the deaths he causes. 

Coriolanus’s descent is demonstrated through seven deaths. The first is Arachne. This death is not Coriolanus’s fault, he does not wish for it, and he actively tries to prevent it, despite his motives being less than heroic. This is the baseline for Coriolanus’s moral character. The second death does not actually occur-- Clemensia. Here Coriolanus is present for the attack (which could have killed her) and makes a minor attempt to intervene, but after he becomes more aware of the situation he does nothing; he does not visit her in the hospital, he does not tell her parents, and he does not reveal the truth of her attack. For this instance, he is passive and does nothing to prevent a potential murder out of fear. The third death is Bobbin. Coriolanus kills Bobbin out of self defense, though the force used is excessive and the death itself could perhaps have been prevented without endangering his own life. Still, it’s something he was forced into to defend his own life. The fourth death is Sejanus. This death is a betrayal. Coriolanus does it to protect himself but in a more calculated, self-serving sense. However, though the betrayal was intentional, the death was not, and Coriolanus seems to have genuinely not intended for Sejanus to die. The fifth death is Mayfair.This one is murder. Coriolanus justifies this murder by calling it self defense, but it is his “future” that he worries for in the moment that he kills her, not his life. There is no panic or instinct this time-- it’s cold blooded, killing an enemy to protect his ambitions. The sixth death is Lucy Gray, though we’re left unsure whether or not she actually died. This one is premeditated, and the worst sort of betrayal. He claims to love Lucy Gray and yet tries to kill her to secure his own ambition. The seventh death is Dean Highbottom. Self-preservation was present in all the previous ones. This one is simply cold blooded for the sake of petty revenge, and perhaps ambition. 

However, Coriolanus’s murder of Lucy Gray (or attempted murder)  is the climax of his progression. The scene where he chases her is his final choice of which influences he will cave to. He chooses the Capitol and its control over freedom. He chooses himself over Lucy Gray. He chooses evil over good. And this is symbolized through the emblems of his father and mother. During the entire journey out of 12 and the chase, he is carrying his mother’s compact powder, pictures of his family and his father’s compass. His mother’s powder has been throughout the book a symbol of love and comfort. During the chase, this powder and the pictures are destroyed. These were items he treasured throughout the novel but here he “threw the whole thing in the trash” (506) with no mention of any emotion over this loss. His choices in the woods have destroyed his connection with the gentle loving mother. All that is left, is his father’s compass. From now one, he is steered by the influence of the cruel manipulative father* who first conceived the Hunger Games.  

The Epilogue demonstrates the fullness of this change, first through the casual murder of Dean Highbottom with the method that will become Snow’s signature. Second through the use of names. Through the entirety of the book, the narration refers to Coriolanus by his first name, separating him from the evil figure in the original trilogy. The Epilogue switches to referring to him exclusively as “Snow”, further embracing the legacy of his father, and clearly demonstrating that he has become the man we saw in the original trilogy. Coriolanus is dead and President Snow has been born.

*EDIT: His father who is responsible for the initial inception and instigation of the Hunger Games.

[dessarious]

Broken Harmony Pt9

Trigger warning - Massive stupidity present in the follow text :)

Master List 1   Master List 2    Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

Marinette stood abruptly, her emotions still in a jumble, but when everyone in the room focused on her she flushed and embarrassment overrode everything else

“I… uhh… bathroom.” She mumbled the words before heading for the hallway.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes Maman?” She had basically frozen in place.

“You might want to grab some sweats or pajama bottoms from your room first. Trying to deal with the zipper and button on your jeans with one hand will be frustrating.” Damian felt relief spread through her song. Obviously she had been expecting something else.

“Of course. Thank you Maman.” She changed directions to a set of stairs leading to a trap door and disappeared through it. When she came back down, sweats in hand, she didn’t make eye contact with anyone before heading to the bathroom. Tom sighed.

“How did we miss this?”

“Because she’s always come to us when her problems get too big for her to handle and we just assumed she always would.” Sabine was staring at her mug as she answered her husband. “We were also trying to give her space since she seemed so lost after Fu died. I know she blames herself for not saving him. But I thought she’d come to us when she was ready. I didn’t take into account how much stress Hawkmoth is putting on the situation.”

“She was so scared that we would end up Akumatized that she felt it was better to suffer.” They shared a look. “We should have seen that coming. Our baby always puts others first and after what happened to get my mother Akumatized we should have known she would do anything to keep it from happening to us.” Tom’s voice broke on the last word. Bruce opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a knock at the door.

Tom frowned, glancing at the clock before walking over a looking through the peephole. His entire body stiffened and he turned back to the table. “It’s Adrien.” His voice rumbled softly, just barely enough to be heard but Sabine scowled and the door like she wanted the blood of whoever was on the other side.

“Who’s Adrien?” Tom blinked at Damian in shock at the question but it was Sabine who answered.

“Adrien’s the one who told you Marinette was overreacting.” Another knock sounded and she sighed in annoyance. “Damian would you go down the hall and wait for Marinette. Don’t let her come back out here until that boy is gone.”

Damian nodded and rose to do as she asked. He walked down the hall just enough that he couldn’t be seen from the door but close enough he could still hear. 

“Tom, it’s good to see you!” Damian shared a look with his father who was still at the table. This kid couldn’t be serious.

“Adrien. I’m sorry but Marinette isn’t here right now.” His voice was tense. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I’m actually on the way to a photoshoot but I wanted to stop by and talk to you and Sabine about something first.” Damian was starting to think that calling him an idiot was actually a compliment. His Angel chose that moment to surface from the bathroom and looked confused at his presence. She opened her mouth but she motioned her to stay silent and beckoned her closer so she could hear as well.

“Really, what was it that you wanted to talk about?” The edge in Sabine’s voice was obvious but the boy still seemed not to sense anything wrong.

“Well it’s about Mari. Schools been getting really tense lately.” He saw hope on Marinette’s face for a moment before her expression fell with his next words. “And she’s really not helping at all. I was hoping you could talk to her about it?” The astonishment coming through Marinette’s song was understandable. His was even worse. Did this kid really think her parents were going to help him?

“What exactly seems to be the problem?” Sabine had to be gritting her teeth for her tone to be so strained. While they couldn’t see anything, Damian also had a feeling Tom was just standing there in shock. He hadn’t made a noise since greeting Adrien.

“Well there’s this girl that Mari doesn’t get along with. I’ve told her over and over to take the high road and not make a fuss but she keeps antagonizing her.” He sounded exasperated. “And just today she pretended to get hurt to get everyone to feel sorry for her. It’s getting out of hand.”

Damian had never wanted to murder someone so much in his life. It would be easy. No one would ever be able to trace it back to him, not with his training. A gentle hand touched his arm and Mari’s song thrummed peacefully in his head. She was trying to keep him calm while listening to her parents get closer and closer to full blown rage. Well Sabine anyway. There was no telling how Tom was handling things since they couldn’t see him.

“Why does Marinette have a problem with this girl? It doesn’t seem like her to just dislike someone for no reason.” Her tone held a sickly-sweet quality. The boy was about to walk into a trap and he didn’t even recognize it.

“She just likes to tell stories and exaggerate sometimes. But like I told Mari, her lies don’t hurt anyone so there’s no point calling her out on it. She’ll just get Akumatized over it. It’s best to just leave it be.”

“You’re certain no one’s getting hurt by the lies?”

“Oh yes. Everyone else loves Lila and once she gets enough attention I’m sure she’ll get better, but not if Mari keeps poking at her. I know she wants her friends attention back but Lila needs it more. She’s already been Akumatized five times,” Marinette muttered what sounded like ‘seven actually’ under her breath. “and I know Mari won’t ever have that problem. I’ve seen her turn away an Akuma myself.”

“What!?” Tom finally joined the conversation with the thought going through everyone else's mind. Marinette winced and he felt guilt once again. He also caught his father staring at her in shock.

“Well she was upset, over something little really, and an Akuma came for her but she just took a few deep breaths and it flew away. Everyone else in our class besides me has been Akumatized so right now it’s better if Mari is the only one upset. Of course if she would just do what I told her it wouldn’t be a problem in the first place.”

“Get out.” Damian was certain Sabine’s tone dropped the temperature in the room. He felt a chill and it wasn’t even aimed at him.

“But Sabine…”

“It’s Mrs. Cheng and Mr. Dupain to you and all those other little hoodlums in that class. Now get out and don’t come back. You can tell your friends that they’re not welcome either.”

“But Mari’s the problem! Everything would be fine if she just went along with Lila. Instead she just has to be difficult.”

“My daughter is trying to do the right thing by keeping a liar from influencing her friends and you just want to silence her because she’s making your life difficult!” Tom’s voice boomed through the home. “You were told to leave, so leave. I’m just glad we’re getting her out of that awful school so she doesn’t have to deal with your nonsense anymore.” The door slammed and Damian and Marinette peeked out from the hallway. 

Tom still had his hand on the door knobs as if debating opening it so he could go after the boy and Damian was surprised there wasn’t a hole in the door with the way Sabine was glaring at it. Marinette rushed into the room.

“Maman, Papa, please calm down. It’s okay now. Like you said I’m out of that environment now.” Sabine’s glare transferred to her daughter and Mari actually took a step back when she saw it.

“How many times?” His Angel just looked confused at her mother’s words.

“I’m sorry?”

“How many times has an Akuma come after you?”

She paled drastically and began to fidget. She wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes again. “It’s really not that big a deal. I just calmed down and it wasn’t an issue.”

“How many.”

“Okay, you have to understand that the number sounds worse than it is. The week after Master Fu died, and everything else was just a really bad week for me so really all that should count as one.”

“Marinette.” She flinched and backed into the couch at her mother’s voice. “How many Akuma’s have come after you? How many times has that magical headcase tried to possess my daughter?” She shrunk in on herself again and Damian wanted to end this for her sake as he felt the guilt, despair, and fear bubble up i her song. But he also didn’t want to overstep again and honestly he wanted the answer to. She mumbled something none of them could catch. “What was that?” Marinette took a deep breath before meeting her mother’s gaze.

“Thirty four.”

Master List 1   Master List 2    Prologue   Beginning   Previous   Next

Tag list for Broken Harmony

Thanks for all the positive responses! Here’s the tag list I’ve go so far. If I missed anyone let me know. Still trying to get the tag list sorted. Don’t know why it’s not finding certain people.

@crazylittlemunchkin @iggy-of-fans @captainmac6 @shizukiryuu @origami-dreams @yamadochie @drama-queen-supreme @miraculousbelladonna @mjisntme @zebrabaker @driftingmoonlitpetals @slytherinhquinn @politelyvicious @mystery-5-5 @constancetruggle @synnesstra @im-here-for-the-content @slytherinsheashire  @myriad-of-passionate-pettiness @cyborgcandy @rhub4rb @satans-favorite-homo @beautym3 @ayuchan07 @zalladane @moonlitarchangels @mooshoon @mindfulmagics @saphiraazure2708 @chrismarium @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @tog84 @littleredrobinhoodlum @cupcakeandkisses @kiara-rose-blackthorn @moonlitarchangels @graduatedmelon @lunar-wolf-warrior @tbehartoo @zoerayne2426 @ellerahs @heaven428 @my-name-is-michell @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @myownworldstayout @alexzandria-747 @k-rena-k @vivilakitty  @redscarlet95

[7-wonders]

Money, Power, and Glory

Summary: The sordid history of Duncan’s rise to the top, and hand-to-hand combat lessons that lead to other activities.

Word Count: 3855

A/N: Hello and welcome to another chapter of Memento Mori! I hope everyone’s had a fantastic holiday season. As my belated gift to you all, this chapter includes what everyone’s been waiting for: SMUT. A big thanks to my lovely angel @divinelangdon for letting me spitball ideas at her at any time of day, and to @lvngdvns for inserting the original ‘what if’ into the minds of this fandom.

Warnings: Murder, mafia, drugs, fighting, sex; what you would usually expect from a story about a mob boss.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

By all accounts, Duncan Shepherd is not a man known for showing emotion, unless that emotion is sadistic pleasure gained at the expense of others’ well-being. Nobody would describe Duncan Shepherd as patient or helpful, a gentleman or a teacher. Instead, Duncan Shepherd is often referred to as cruel, vicious, heartless, and bloodthirsty, to name a few. But most of all, Duncan Shepherd would not be described as weak. 

Duncan’s proud of the reputation that he’s cultivated through his few short years as the official “head” of the Shepherd family. However much he hates to acknowledge it, he has his strict upbringing to thank for that. 

An absent father who died when Duncan was barely old enough to walk, followed by rumors that the supposed grieving widow was the one who ‘accidentally’ gave her husband too many sleeping pills mixed with a hearty glass of aged bourbon with the endgame of joining her brother and building the Shepherd name into one of the most powerful monikers in Washington D.C. Being passed off from nanny to nanny, his mother and uncle too busy climbing their way up the elitist ladder to take care of the sole heir to the elaborate empire they were crafting. 

The Shepherd family had always been wealthy, but the wealth became exorbitant upon Annette and Bill’s foray into the underbelly of the city’s privileged class. Suddenly, Duncan was shipped off to the best boarding school in North America, with business and political skills instilled in him from the very beginning of his enrollment at the Andover Preparatory School (along with how to dodge punches and how to go on a coke binge and still show up for your 8 a.m. looking none the worse). Prep school was difficult, but it was much more preferable than being around his uncle.

Duncan’s met a lot of douchebags through his close association with the GOP, but Bill Shepherd embodies toxic masculinity. For a man so fond of collared shirts and quarter zip pullovers, he knew just how to emasculate even the most confident of men with a few well-shot insults. For his detested nephew, however, “a few” insults was a daily occurrence that could be counted on with the regularity of the rise and fall of the sun. The physical aspect of Bill’s temperament, slapping and punching and the feeling of his fingers digging into Duncan’s jaw as he commands him to “use your empty, good-for-nothing brain and just listen to me, god damn it,” marred Duncan’s late teen years. 

His uncle saw him as a threat. Even if Duncan wasn’t able to discern that himself from the increasing beatdowns, whether physical or verbal, as he reached adulthood, his mother was sure to remind him of that fact whenever he was younger and would come crying to her about the mean things that Uncle Bill had said to him. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel her hand carding through his light brown locks and her soft voice reminding him that everything under the control of the Shepherd name would be his one day, regardless of what her brother said. She never confronted Bill about the abuse, but she had tried, in her own fucked-up way.

Ultimately, Duncan has Bill to thank for his rise to the top of the Shepherd Freedom Foundation, Gardner Analytics, Shepherd Unlimited, and, of course, the Shepherd family itself. It was Bill who accosted Duncan after the young Shepherd had gotten into a gunfight with a rival group that had attempted to blindside him on his first solo meeting to restake territory claims over the different wards of Washington D.C. It was Bill who grabbed Duncan by the collar of his bloodstained black shirt, throttling him and bitterly spitting out that he would never be a “true” Shepherd. It was Bill who took a swing at Duncan, a horrified Annette frozen with fear across the room.

And, in the end, it was Bill who was too slow to react to Duncan pulling a knife out in retaliation and jabbing it into his uncle’s abdomen. Annette had screamed, but Duncan had hardly heard her over the sound of his blood roaring in his ears as he stared at his hands, soaked in the blood of his uncle who was on the floor and gasping for his last breaths. Duncan’s Goliath was finally slain, dead on the floor with blood slowly spilling out from the stab wound. His first murder had been his most difficult, and while the easiness of ending somebody’s life scared him, the fact that Duncan enjoyed killing his uncle frightened him the most.

It had been all too easy to frame Bill Shepherd’s death as a robbery-gone-wrong. Annette, already shaken from seeing her brother stabbed to death by her son, had been able to pull on years of experience with lying through her teeth to recount to police the harrowing ordeal of how she came to the building that housed the various Shepherd businesses only to see Bill bleeding out in his office. With the notability of the victim and the million dollars that had been stolen from the busted safe behind the bookshelf (in reality, the money was funneled into one of the family’s many offshore accounts, but that was neither here nor there), the case was textbook open-and-shut.

The “grieving” Shepherds had publicly vowed that their figurehead’s death would not be in vain. They would build on his legacy, just as he would have wanted. Behind closed doors, Annette had begrudgingly admitted that Duncan was in the right when he shoved a blade into Bill’s stomach, especially upon seeing just how capable of leading Duncan was. More money, more power, more territory, more influence: the more the Shepherd family became a name at the forefront of every conversation about the VIPs of Washington D.C., the more determined Duncan was to reach the top. He would stop at nothing to be better than his uncle, to prove to him one last time that he was more of a man than Bill Shepherd, cold and rotting six feet under, could ever be. 

So maybe people are right when they refer to Duncan Shepherd as a callous, cruel, bloodthirsty, monster of a mob boss. But Duncan is certainly not weak.

Why, then, does he feel so weak when he’s around (Y/N)? The woman shouldn’t even warrant a passing thought, not when Duncan has far more important matters to be dealing with. He should have killed her; it would have been far easier, and created less of a lasting effect (for Duncan, at least). Yet, when he heard about how she nearly scaled a wall when attempting to run from some of his men, and when he saw the fire blazing in her big eyes as she spit at him when he tried to touch her face, he knew he couldn’t.

Duncan’s found it impossible to stop thinking about last week’s shooting lesson. How she looked to him for guidance on what, to Duncan, is the most basic of tasks. Her defiant comments that make him angry while simultaneously making him chuckle. Her wide smile when she hit the target. The smell of her hair as Duncan loomed behind her to check her sight.

The way that her body slotted perfectly against his when he closed his hands on top of hers.

Duncan’s stirred out of his unusually soft reverie by the chiming of his phone. An email notification from one of his tech employees shows on the screen, the subject line warning him of an extended search of his name and family in the metropolitan area. It may sound conceited, but any search taking place within a 30 mile radius lasting longer than a few minutes carries with it the potential of a threat against the empire that Duncan has so carefully built. He’s sure it’s nothing, but clicks on the email just to be certain.

His eyes scan quickly over the contents of the message, noting the IP address and the approximate length of said search. The IP address traces back to a physical residence, the location of which makes Duncan smirk. It’s (Y/N), and he has no doubt that he’s been on her mind just as much as she’s been on his. Finding her file (because of course Duncan Shepherd is going to have an extensive file for every person he’s ever interacted with) on his computer, he types her number into his phone and sends her a short text.

“Training tomorrow, 3 p.m., same location as last week. Oh, and the next time you’re interested in learning more about me, you need only ask. -D.S.”

//

The embarrassment of knowing that Duncan Shepherd knew that (Y/N) was searching for information about him still controls her emotions as she readies herself to once again meet the notorious mob boss. She thinks she would rather die than see the triumph that sparkles in his crystal blue eyes of the knowledge that she cannot stop thinking about him. 

In (Y/N)’s defense, it was merely an informative search. Not being from the area, she figured that it would be a good idea to learn a little bit more about the man she is now indebted to for the foreseeable future. What she had learned was sad and brutal, but also what she expected. Wikipedia described a rich boy who was coddled until he was old enough to receive a position at the top of one of his family’s companies, while the gossip tabloids loved to speculate on the true amount of wealth that the family possesses. Forbes Magazine called him a bright, young entrepreneur whose tenacity was forged out of the tragedy of his uncle’s murder, and the Washington Herald painted a compelling narrative of various criminal activities and how they lined up with events in the rise of the Shepherd family.

(It’s probably no coincidence that, shortly after the three-part investigative story had been released, the Herald’s editor-in-chief, Tom Hammerschmidt, was found floating face-down in the Potomac river with a bullet lodged in his head. The official cause of death was ruled a suicide, but the popular rumor is that a furious Annette demanded his murder.)

She could skip today’s proposed “training” with Duncan, but that’s useless when he knows where she lives and can quite literally kill her for refusing his demand, so she slips on a pair of black workout leggings and a purple-and-white patterned sports bra.Throwing a sweatshirt on, (Y/N) quickly grabs a water bottle and her phone before rushing out the door so as not to be late. Although she doesn’t know much about Duncan’s personality, she assumes that he hates people who are late.

The man in question is waiting inside the doors of the high-end training gym when (Y/N) enters, slightly out of breath from nearly running to make it in time. A small smile starts to spread across his face as he appraises her outfit, and (Y/N) self-consciously crosses her arms over her chest.

“Sorry that my clothes aren’t right off the runway like yours,” (Y/N) says as she gestures to Duncan’s figure. While he’s wearing workout clothes as well, his joggers and zip-up hoodie carry an air of wealth with them.

“They’ll do.” (Y/N) huffs as Duncan spins on his heel, repeating the same procedure as the last time they were here in order to get through the private door. 

There’s training mats set up in the open area next to the shooting range, and Duncan waits until (Y/N) places her stuff against the wall before walking to a bench and grabbing a roll of athletic tape. “We’re not doing shooting training today?” (Y/N) asks.

“No, I feel like you have a pretty good grip on shooting. Today I’m going to teach you how to fight, as that will most likely be what will happen if you do get into an altercation while under my orders.”

“When am I not going to be under your orders?” She rolls her eyes as she pretends not to watch Duncan take off his hoodie and reveal his strong, muscular arms. (Y/N) realizes that she’s never seen Duncan in shirts that didn’t have long sleeves, the monochromatic tattoos that decorate his skin coming as a bit of a shock.

“Once I decide that there’s enough to implicate you in crimes as well, if you were to ever run to the police.” She scoffs as he holds out his hand. “Give me your hand.”

She shouldn’t talk back, she knows, but she’s feeling defiant after hearing just how Duncan plans to keep her quiet. “Why?”

“This tape isn’t for me.” Giving her hand over, (Y/N) watches as Duncan swiftly wraps her wrist, checking the support of the tape on the joint before repeating the process on her other wrist. “This will help make sure you don’t injure anything. While the main goal today is to make sure you know how to take down an opponent, I also want to know that you know how to effectively punch somebody.”

Duncan lets go of her hands, and (Y/N) takes off her own sweatshirt before joining him in the center of the training mat. He’s conspicuously not looking at her chest, and (Y/N) bites back a laugh at the polite behavior of the crime lord before her. “Hold your hand out in a fist,” Duncan commands.

His eyes are narrowed in calculation as he studies her fist, adjusting her thumb so it’s on top of the space between the first and second knuckles of her index and middle fingers. He’s a good teacher, and he explains his reasoning as he makes adjustments, “you never want to have your thumb tucked inside your fist. You’re almost guaranteed to break your thumb that way.”

“Thumb on the outside, got it.”

Duncan steps back, holding his arm up with his palm facing (Y/N). “Punch my hand.”

“What?” (Y/N) looks at him warily. “I’m not going to punch you! What if I hurt you?”

“I promise you won’t hurt me,” Duncan says with a laugh. “Now punch.”

(Y/N) squares her shoulders, rearing her arm back before punching Duncan’s hand as hard as she can. He nods, and she punches once more, this time with her other fist. “I’m impressed,” Duncan says, “you punch really well.”

“I’ve taken a couple of self-defense classes in the past. They didn’t teach punching, but they did teach how to throw your weight into your hits.” Duncan’s eyes flash with a hint of pride, and (Y/N)’s chest uncharacteristically clenches at the thought of making him proud.

“Great, then we don’t need to work too much on that. Unwrap your wrists and we’ll practice some sparring.”

It seems like a good part of her life lately is following Duncan’s directions, but (Y/N) complies anyways. Duncan’s joggers look like they were tailored specifically for him, his black tank top showcasing the tattoos (Y/N) had found herself staring at earlier. This time, Duncan does notice. “Do you like my tattoos?” Duncan asks with a smirk.

“I just--you don’t seem like the type of person to have tattoos,” (Y/N) stutters.

He quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “I’m a mob boss.”

“Still don’t seem like you’d have tattoos,” she mutters before placing her hands on her hips. “What’s the goal here?”

“The goal is to take me down. When you’ve had me on my back for five seconds, today’s training will be over. However, there will be no dirty moves, got it?”

“But kicking someone in the balls is okay if I’m fighting an attacker, right?”

“Yes, but not in a practice scenario.” Duncan starts to slowly circle (Y/N), watching as her spine stiffens under his gaze. “I suppose I should warn you that I will not make this easy for you. You will be fighting to win, not fighting to learn.”

(Y/N) nods, turning to stop Duncan from pacing around her. He takes two steps back, standing in a defensive stance as (Y/N) attempts to get a feel for how to spar. She snaps her arm towards Duncan suddenly, in an attempt to catch him by surprise, but the man simply blocks it with a quick dodge.

The punch leaves (Y/N) defenseless, and Duncan lunges forward to shove her. He would never actually punch her; he’s been trained in combat since he was 10, and she learned to throw a proper punch 10 minutes ago. It would be unfair of him to swing at her, so Duncan settles for pushing her instead.

(Y/N) attempts to regain her footing, but Duncan’s too quick. His arm wraps around her neck in a chokehold, and (Y/N) gasps for air as she tries to wriggle out of his grasp. Avoiding panicking, (Y/N) thinks desperately to the aforementioned self-defense classes, trying to remember any of the acronyms the instructor swore would save the class’s lives one day.

Rearing her arm towards her body, (Y/N) swings her elbow back as hard as she can to elbow Duncan in the stomach. He releases her with a pained groan, obviously not expecting that move, and she turns around and kicks at his leg. 

“Fuck you,” Duncan gasps out, stumbling backwards but refusing to fall.

“Fuck you!” (Y/N) retorts. “You tried to choke me out!”

“And I warned you beforehand what you were getting into.” The two move warily, neither person wanting to make the next move. (Y/N)’s eyes crackle with anger, and Duncan grins wildly at the fierce expression she wears.

He swings once again, (Y/N) dodging before punching him in the chest. Duncan seizes the opportunity to sweep her leg with a well-placed kick, and (Y/N) goes falling to the mat with a thud. She inhales heavily, trying to get her lungs to work again after having the air knocked out of them. (Y/N)’s barely able to scramble backwards before Duncan is on top of her, his legs straddling her waist as his hands pin her wrists above her head.

Chests heaving, both Duncan and (Y/N) glare at each other as he waits for her to give in, but she refuses to admit defeat. She becomes acutely aware of the fact that Duncan is pinning her down to the mat with his weight, his strong hips against hers making movement impossible. It’s borderline-indecent, and (Y/N) chides herself for finding being held to the ground any shade of arousing. Although she can’t tell if she wants to kick him or kiss him right now, she knows that Duncan feels the same when he glances from her eyes to her lips, and back again.

“Can you get off of me?” The end of (Y/N)’s sentence is muffled as Duncan presses his lips to hers.

The shock of being kissed by the man who just defeated her at sparring quickly wears off as (Y/N) eagerly reciprocates the action, feverishly kissing him back. Her hands flex in Duncan’s grasp, desperate to grab onto any part of him as a way to ground herself. Duncan refuses to acquiesce, so she brings one leg up to the back of his knee and applies as much weight to the vulnerable area as she can.

“Ah!” Duncan groans, the buckling of his knee giving (Y/N) the opportunity to flip them over. Now it’s she who has the upper hand, grinding her hips down harshly on him as she kisses him once more. Duncan licks at her bottom lip, attempting to gain access to (Y/N)’s mouth and getting frustrated when she refuses to let him slip his tongue into her mouth. He’s done playing nice, and nips at (Y/N)’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He moans when the copper taste of blood hits his tongue, (Y/N) pulling away and panting harshly.

“You fucking asshole, that hurt!” Duncan just chuckles, flipping them over once again and roughly yanking her leggings and underwear down her legs. (Y/N) lets out a surprised moan when Duncan’s finger runs over her clit, collecting some of her burgeoning arousal and using it to slide effortlessly into her cunt.

(Y/N) is not the type of person to engage in casual sex with a person she hardly knows. She’s not even sure she’s had an actual one night stand before; the couple times that she had, it’s been with somebody she knew fairly well. So to be under the most dangerous man she’s ever met, his fingers buried inside her as he works her open, is certainly unlike her. It would, however, be impossible to deny that she’s not thoroughly enjoying this endeavor.

One hand grabs at Duncan’s bicep, and (Y/N) briefly admires the elegant script inked into his skin. Her other hand goes to grab at his sizable bulge, gripping onto his erection as roughly as he’s currently fingering her. Duncan lets out a choked groan at the sensation that’s both painful and pleasurable. Once he’s decided that neither party can handle the tension any longer, he withdraws his fingers from her cunt and pulls down his pants.

After (Y/N) gives his shaft a couple of quick strokes, Duncan lines himself up with her entrance and thrusts into (Y/N)’s tight walls. Matching moans ring out through the training room as Duncan begins to set a quick and deep rhythm. (Y/N)’s hips snap upwards, meeting Duncan’s as the two thrust in tandem. Every other sound, feeling, or experience fades away as Duncan continually bottoms out in (Y/N)’s cunt, his balls slapping against her ass. Her head lolls back against the ground, giving her the perfect chance to admire Duncan’s lustful expression and how his hair falls into his face with each sharp roll of his hips.

(Y/N)’s head begins to spin as Duncan’s rhythm begins to stutter upon nearing his orgasm, and she bites down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder in an attempt to muffle a scream as she cums unexpectedly. He cries out at the sharp pressure of her bite and the fluttering of her walls, speeding up his thrusts before pulling out and tapping at (Y/N)’s bottom lip with the swollen head of his cock. 

She turns her head towards him, eyes glazed with lust as she opens her mouth. Duncan only needs to thrust into his fist a few times before he cums in (Y/N)’s mouth with a deep groan. Her lips are painted white with his seed, and he nearly cums again when she licks it all up before swallowing with a content hum. Duncan collapses next to (Y/N), whose bones feel as if they’re made of Jell-o. As they both come down from their highs, (Y/N) has only one thought on her mind: What the hell did they just do?

//

Tag list: @sammythankyou @girlycakepops @ultragibbycentralworld @ajokeformur-ray @nana15774 @queencocoakimmie @lichellaw @grim-adventures58 @dandycandy75 @trimbooohgodplsnoooo @everything-is-awesomesauce @ccodyfern @jimmlangdon @omgsuperstarg @queenie435 @dextergirl12345 @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26 @kahhlo @storminmytwistedmind @1-800-bitchcraft @langdonslove @cuddletothecake @born-on-stgeorges-day @xavierplympton @michaelsapostle @hecohansen31 @venusxxlangdon @idespac @tcc-gizmachine @hexqueensupreme @wroteclassicaly @queenmismatched @youngandfleeting @hecatemacbeth7 @lambofcairo @myluciferiscody 

[nazario-sayeed]

Vulnerable (Mal x F!Elf)

Summary: I used two prompts I found here on tumblr to write this fic: "I turned out liking you a lot more than I originally planned.” and “Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” “Yes, we can.” I think that's pretty self explanatory isn't it 

Author’s note: This is my first Mal x MC fic but I already have a few others planned, hopefully I'll work on them soon. I named it after Vulnerable by Selena Gomez, so that's my recommendation for today. English is not my first language. 

Word count: the last time i checked it had 2.1k words but I added some things.

Warnings: it’s not exactly smut but it’s close. Some swearing too, a bit of angst. 

Masterlist

Tagging: @moonlightfreya @soft-for-drake @dailydoseofchoices @nyastarlight @magdagamaleldin @otomegamesaremydrug @brightpinkpeppercorn @laragazzaconunsogno​ @magdagamaleldin @virtuallytakenby​ 

permanent tag list: @lahelalove @donutsgirl36 @queenkaneko @msjpuddleduck​ @flyawayboo @jlpplays1 @desireepow-1986 @embarrassingsmartphonegame @mfackenthal @cerisesayeed-ramsey​ @malsvolari​

Trying to get the shards meant spending a lot of their time moving around Morella, following the leads from one place to another and camping in unusual and unfamiliar places. They were used to it; Myriani went hunting, Nia and Tyril set up camp, Mal collected fruits and plants they could eat, Imtura chopped down wood to make a fire, Threep kept sleeping unbothered. They had a routine, and they were good at it.

By the time the sun went down, they were gathered around the fire, passing the flask with ale between each other and listening to the same stories they had heard Mal tell at least 10 times- something about contessas and alcohol. None of them bothered listening anymore. Somewhere along the bumpy road, their party became quite close. Two elves, two humans, an orc and a nesper sounded like the beginning of a joke, but somehow they worked well together. They protected each other, fought for each other and enjoyed each other's company- even Tyril was caught smiling every now and then.

They were all exhausted that night, so they went to their tents right after they ate whatever animal it was that Mariani had hunted for them. That night was colder than they were used to; winter was showing its first signs. Their tents were set up close to the fire that they hoped would last all night. 

Myriani couldn’t sleep; she kept tossing and turning in her tent until she gave up sleep altogether with a sigh. She couldn't stop thinking about her brother- everyday they got closer to finding the next shards, but they still had so much ahead of them. With each passing day, the possibility of finding him felt more and more thin. 

She closed her eyes and let her elf senses feel the atmosphere around her, trying to sense some peace within the woods around her and fall asleep. Instead, she felt that the person in the tent next to hers wasn’t sleeping either. Mal.

I could go join him in his tent, she thought to herself. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve slept together, in the literal meaning of the word. Kissing and sleeping together. That's all they had done so far- sneaking in each other's tents or rooms to make out until both of them passed out, usually too exhausted to do more. But she wanted more. Sometimes she wanted him so badly it hurt. She knew he wanted her too; whenever they were kissing and she straddled him, she could clearly feel just how badly he wanted her.

When they were alone together, sometimes she caught glances of the real Mal, the man underneath the character he had built for himself. He seemed vulnerable and real for a few seconds- but before she could truly appreciate it he went back to his act. She liked his flirty and carefree personality, but behind his crooked smirk and teasing comments there was a real man who she liked even more. In the mornings after they had spent the night together, when they were with the group again, he always pretended nothing had happened. He came back to telling his many tales as an adventurer, his sex escapades and whatever else he thought would fit his reputation best. She didn't know if she ever expected anything different, but she couldn't deny it stung a little.

She debated on her head if she should really go to his tent, even if she already knew she would eventually give in- so she did. She silently got out of her tent and crawled to his, carefully opening it. When she poked her head through the tent, she saw Mal instinctively reaching for the dagger he kept by his side, relaxing when he realized it was her.

“You should be more careful next time. I was close to throwing a dagger at you” he said with a smirk and she rolled her eyes, climbing in the tent and closing it behind her.

“I’d like to see you try, Mal the Magnificent” she said back and he let out an amused chuckle, leaning back and resting his head on his crossed arms.

“Did you come into my tent to challenge me for a duel or do you have something else in mind?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. She rolled her eyes again and threw the pillow she had brought with her at him, feeling glad that the poor lighting wouldn’t let him see the blush on her cheeks.

“Get your mind out of the gutter” she said, laying down next to him, blaming their proximity on the small space of the tent. She could barely make out his face in the dark, the only light coming from the fire burning weakly outside their tent.

“I just couldn’t sleep, and I knew you were still up so…” she trailed off, and he turned to face her, searching for her eyes.

“What’s keeping you awake, kit?” he asked and she could tell it was an honest question, like he actually cared about the answer. About her, even. 

“It’s just… this journey has been the most exhausting thing I’ve ever been a part of, but it’s also the most fun I ever had. It’s a bittersweet feeling because I’m having the time of my life finally living the adventure I always dreamed of, but Kade isn’t here to share it with me. It was his dream too and I….” her voice broke. “I don’t know. I wish he was here too.”

Mal reached between them to give her hand a small squeeze.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to bring your brother back, Myriani. But if there’s one team that can do it, it’s ours” he said, sounding more optimistic than she could ever remember him being. She could feel the honesty on his voice.

“Mal, was that you being supportive and optimistic? What’s happening to you?” she asked him with fake concerned, and he laughed.

“Your lot has been a bad influence on me. Mostly you and the priestess” she couldn’t see the smile on his face but she could hear it.

“You probably can’t wait to get rid of us huh” she tried to tease him, hoping it had sounded casual enough. The truth was that deep down, she was scared he would agree. She knew Mal was lonely wolf, that he went where he could find the best opportunity for him. But after all of these weeks they had spent together- kissing, talking, getting to know each other- some part of her hoped he wouldn’t leave as soon as their mission was over. She didn’t know exactly what she expected, but she wished she had time with him after all of this to figure it out.

“I…” he started, hesitating for one second too long to make Myriani instantly regret what she had said. Before she could say anything to take it back, he went on, his confident tone back “Nah, you’re not all bad. I turned out liking you a lot more than I originally planned”

"Are you going soft on me now?" she asked, her voice too shaky to be casual. He smiled and instead of answering he tentatively moved his hand that was on top of hers to her hips, her skin on fire where he was touching her over her clothes.

“Mal…” she whispered, closing her eyes as his hands move up her sides to the back of her neck, his calloused hand caressing her skin.

“I don’t think I wanna talk anymore. Do you?" he said, his voice just the right amount of teasing and seriousness. She knew he was dodging her question, but at that moment, she didn't give a fuck. 

Instead of answering him, Myriani pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. He let out a soft gasp and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss.

She threw her legs over his hips before he could react, straddling him. He barely had time to groan his approval before she leaned down and kissed him more passionately.

Mal moaned softly into her mouth as she grabbed his long hair and pulled it  hard. His hands explored her sides, her hips, her backside- anywhere he could find. With each second, their kiss grew more heated and their movements were more intense.

One of her hands slid under his shirt, feeling his firm muscles reacting to her touch. She traced every line of his stomach with her hand, tracing the hair there with her fingers to where it disappeared under his pants. Just as her hand brushed the waistband of his pants, she pulled back from him, making him groan his disapproval.

“Take off your shirt, please” he could tell by her tone it wasn't a request- it was an order. 

"So polite..." He teased, making a show of removing the shirt. 

As soon as his shirt was off, she leaned down to kiss him again. More heated, more passionate, rougher. She traced kisses down his jaw and neck, biting him with just enough strength to leave a mark.

His own hands didn’t stop exploring her body, pushing her skirt over her long legs, until his hands were above her knees, sliding closer and closer to where she was now aching for him. She rolled her hips on top of him, moving in a way that could only be described as griding on the very obvious bulge on his pants. It felt so good, it felt too good- they couldn't help the cry that left both of their mouths.

They kept kissing and touching each other, his hands already undoing the laces on her clothes when she heard something outside the tent. She froze and pulled back, attentitve to every movement and sound around them.

It was dark, but she could only imagine what they looked like at that moment. Him with his shirt off, his hair a mess from all the pulls she gave it, his lips swollen and his neck and chest already showing some of the marks she left there. Her with the laces on her outfit half undone, her skirt hiked to her waist barely covering her hips. Both of them panting, trying to catch a breath.

“Did you hear that?” She whispered. He stopped, trying to listen to whatever she had heard. But his senses weren't as heightened as hers.

“Hear… what?” He said back, don’t minding the interruption and sliding his hands up her bare legs “The only sound I heard was you moaning and-“

"Shh!" She put a finger to his lips to shut him up and there was the sound again, like someone shuffling around but trying to keep quiet. 

Only then she seemed to remember they were in a tent in the middle of the woods with four of their companions sleeping a few feet away. Very exposed, not at all alone. She thought they were all asleep when she sneaked out but… Myriani and Mal hadn’t been exactly quiet, someone could've easily woken up. She heard a quiet cough and Mal seemed to have heard it this time too, because she could feel his body tensing up under her.

“Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” She asked in a low voice that she hoped only Mal could hear.

“Yes, we can” all of their companions- Tyril, Nia, Imtura and even Threep- said in unison. Tyril sounded exhausted, Nia sounded embarrassed and Imtura sounded amused. Threep sounded like a mix of all three. Well, if they heard that, they definitely heard everything else, she thought to herself. 

Mal’s and Myriani’s eyes met in the dark and although some part of them felt embarrassed to have been overheard by their group while they heavily made out in the middle of the night, they burst out laughing together. She was laughing so hard she fell on top of him, trying to muffle the sound by burying her face onto his chest while he rubbed her back trying to calm her down- but he was laughing just as hard.

Outside the tent they head a long sigh.

“Can you please, please stop? Some of us want to get some sleep before we have to spend all day tomorrow traveling through the woods” Tyril was done with their bullshit. They heard a small chuckle in the tent next to theirs- Imtura.

“Sorry, guys. We’ll tone it down” Myriani said, still feeling low-key amused.

“I much appreciate it. Goodnight” Tyril said, annoyed; this time Mal and Myriani managed to hold back their laugh. 

“We’ll pick up from here another day?” She said to Mal with a smirk, his hands on her back.

“You better be fucking sure we will” he pulled her face down for one last kiss before she climbed out of him and let him wrap his arm around her, his bare chest to her back. She was at least 10 inches taller than him but somehow they made it work. She felt comfortable sleeping with his arms around her.

He kissed the back of her neck and she let out a content sigh, snuggling against him.

“Goodnight, Mal”

“Night, kit”

She felt his breath on the back of her neck and his heart beating against her back- it felt so right to be like that. She ignored the part of her brain that kept telling her this would end with a goodbye and a broken heart. At that moment, it was enough to feel his arms holding her close. She could let herself be vulnerable and hoped he would too. 

[perditaalottachocolate-blog]

Nap Buddies

A @kittylovezine story (also on AO3 / fanfiction.net )

Yay! I can finally share this with you. A huge thank you to @clueless-lost-daydreamer and @goblin-alchemist for betareading the fic. And an enormous hug to @da-tasuky​ for the amazing, wonderful, stunning art she drew for this story!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There is probably no better thing in this world than napping with your cat cuddled into you. Any proud cat owner will tell you that. The softness of cat’s hair. The kneading of the paws. The gentle nuzzles. The warmth spreading through you. And of course the purring. Ah, the purring! It’s as if the time has stopped and enclosed you in a personal bubble of happiness and comfort. 

So can you really blame Marinette? Who would have resisted an opportunity like that or refused a sweet kitty his cuddles? No one in their right mind and with their heart in the right place. And that would be her last line of defense.

Because Marinette was sinking into the alluring claws of addiction, and sinking fast.

How did it come to this? She honestly had no idea. All she remembered was being carried by Chat Noir after he found Marinette near the battle scene, tired to the point of almost falling asleep on her feet. That last akuma on top of a very busy day, on top of an even busier week took its toll. 

The musky scent of Chat’s cologne blended with light cheese overtones filled her nostrils and his heartbeat so close to her ear drowned out other noises. She didn’t notice when she fell. Asleep, of course.

She woke up to the delightful purring of her cat pillow. Only her pillow had never purred up until that very moment. Intrigued, Marinette opened her eyes and stared at a very black, very toned, and very not pillowy chest of Chat Noir. 

She blinked, hoping to chase away the remnants of a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time she dreamed about Chat, not that anyone knew. But blinking didn’t help. The leather clad chest rose and fell to the soft vibrations only a cat could provide.

Slowly, carefully Marinette raised her head but the movement was enough to rouse her pillow substitute. Similarly to her Chat blinked in daze, then blinked again as all the important bits of reality registered. And then he jostled away, only the chaise they were cuddled on was not so wide, so with a thud, he landed on his butt. His legs stuck straight up, bending at the knees so his boots dangled miserably in the air at her eye-level.

‘What happened?’ Marinette pushed his feet aside and looked down at the feline hero sprawled on the floor.

‘I don’t know,’ he whispered in horror. Ever the gentleman he stared at his claws, unwilling to meet her gaze. ‘I… I’d better go,’ he muttered, scrambling to his feet.

Marinette couldn’t decide if it really would be better, but before she could even think of something to say Chat climbed to the skylight and left into the night with one short nod of goodbye. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the treacherous blush that warmed her cheeks.

Fighting with some very peculiar thoughts on the matter (ones she would never ever say out loud), Marinette did a great job of ignoring Tikki’s pointed looks and not talking about the nap for a whole day. And then the mangy cat came back and ruined everything.

‘That was the best nap I ever had,’ he mumbled after a long moment of awkward silence, totally oblivious to the fact that he just voiced her own assessment of the whole ordeal.

Marinette’s disobedient heart did a little whoop. She scrunched her nose, letting her logical side lead the way. Nothing good would come out of this “following one’s heart” nonsense.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she said, taking a huge step away from him, albeit a little too late. Her lungs were now full of his scent. It reminded her of warmth, comfort and safety. He smelled like the only pillow she ever wanted.

Chat started picking on the end of his tail. ‘I want to do it again,’ he whispered.

‘Yes, please’ was what Marinette almost blurted out in an instant. Her heart was now beating wildly, let loose in her chest. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ it begged. She winced, as the little voice of reason, which sounded suspiciously close to what Tikki would say, kindly pointed out that napping with the cat hero (or any hero for that matter) was by and large the most ridiculous idea she could ever come up with, “Operation Secret Garden” included.

Marinette sighed inwardly. The voice of Tikki was right of course, despite the frantic mantra of her heart. She crossed her arms in front of her chest in vain attempt to get her emotions under control. She needed space. She needed to be away from that boy before her resolve crumbled to dust. 

‘We can’t do it again,’ she stated with much more determination than she felt.

Chat shrunk and looked at her with those damn kitten eyes. Even his voice oozed misery when he asked, ‘Why not?’  

She just raised her brow, afraid to do anything else that would probably end in them reaching a nap arrangement. For the sake of them both she had to be the reasonable one in this if he couldn’t. 

‘Fine,’ Chat huffed, turning away. ‘We never had this conversation.’

‘Fine,’ Marinette echoed pursing her lips.

It wasn’t fine. The stupid cat ruined naps for her and seriously messed up her sleep schedule, because she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that she couldn’t sleep. She always could. With school, bakery, friends, designing and her superhero extracurriculars it was a miracle she hadn’t keeled over in the middle of the street yet.

But no snooze, nor a full night's sleep could rival that catnap. So was it really such a surprise that, when after a week of this torture Chat appeared on her balcony, looking every bit as doleful as she felt, Marinette wordlessly opened her arms and let him sink into her embrace and subsequently to the deck chair where the two of them happily conked out?

It all went downhill from there, with a silent agreement between the two newly established nap buddies. Chat’s visits became a regular if a bit random occurrence. There were short naps. There were long naps. There were on-the-chaise naps, on-the-chair-naps and on-the-carpet naps and even blanket fort naps.

And once they crossed the physical boundaries of their personal spaces, there was no telling in what position they’d end. Sometimes Marinette woke up sprawled on top of Chat. Sometimes Chat leaned into her, burying his nose in her hair or snuggling against her side. He also loved to nap with his head in her lap, when she didn’t feel like sleeping. She usually slipped her fingers into his hair and deployed the purr factory. 

The pattern of his visits evolved with time. Marinette made sure to keep her room clean and always provide a plate of snacks and a glass of fresh milk for her kitty. Adrien’s pictures disappeared from her walls after a while. But that, as Marinette claimed stubbornly despite Tikki’s comments, had nothing to do with Chat, but everything to do with Adrien. She felt plain weird cuddling up to her nap buddy while the model stared at them from the walls. Especially since she caught her classmate glancing at her a few times in school with a very disturbing expression. It all seemed a bit too creepy for her taste, so she bid the pictures goodbye. 

The longer it continued the happier Marinette felt. Of course she’d heard about the beneficial influence of cats on the health of their owners, but Chat wasn’t a cat after all nor was he hers. Even if the thought made her blush. 

That evening Marinette woke up enveloped in Chat’s tight embrace. Their legs were tangled and if it wasn't for Chat's suit it would be difficult to tell where one of them ended and the other one began. She breathed in the familiar warm scent of leather, musk and cheese. She ran her hand through his soft hair. She rubbed the skin behind his false ear. 

He watched her through his half-lidded eyes, tracing lazy patterns on her back with his claws. His gaze explored her face, like dozens of times before, but there was a new fire burning behind the green irises, something she noticed recently though it looked strangely familiar. His eyes seemed to be drawn to her lips and he licked his own, as if considering the taste of a delicacy he was about to devour. And maybe he was.

Marinette’s treacherous heart launched into an excited staccato and a churning heat stirred deep in her belly.

‘So are you going to kiss me or what?’ she murmured, ready to laugh it off should things go sour. 

His lips crashed into hers in a blink. It was desperate, hungry, insatiable. She briefly wondered how long had he been wanting to do that. But soon all reasonable thought evaporated under the onslaught of Chat’s kisses. He kissed her like there was not only no tomorrow, but today was also questionable. He kissed her the way he fought his battles, recklessly and with everything he had. She doubted she could ever have enough. 

When they finally broke apart, their lips swollen, their hair in disarray, Marinette gestured between them. ‘Does that make us “kiss buddies” now?’ she jested, trying to hide her giddiness.

Chat sent her a long, searching look. ‘How about girlfriend and boyfriend?’ he finally suggested.

She couldn’t help but smile as she nestled closer to him. ‘As long as there’s more kisses,’ she bopped him on the nose, ‘I am totally okay with that.’

And then there were more kisses. Many, many more.

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 7

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence)

Also available on AO3

--

Tilly had a hard time getting her mother's attention on the way home.

“Mama, I had fun with Emma today!” ... “I showed everyone my cat!” … “When are we going to finish my wings?” … “Mama?” … “MAMA!”

Her mother finally responded, but Tilly was angry. Her mother always listened to what she said, and she didn't like this development at all. She stomped the rest of the way home.

The change that evening confused Gaston. With a furrowed brow, he listened to Tilly's stories of the day spent at his aunt's house. Belle stared at nothing, and made no attempt to enter the conversation. It was strange at first, talking to a child. He told her some anecdotes about the people she'd met that day, and she was interested. Gaston loved attention, and her childish questions and enthusiasm flattered him.

Belle was industrious the next day, keeping her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Mr. Gold. The garden was weeded, clothes were scrubbed, and the floors were washed. Tilly grumbled at all the work. Belle suggested they make a cake, which brightened her mood in an instant.

Gaston didn't notice her clean floors, but he liked the cake, which Tilly took credit for.

As she lay in bed that night, she could not decide if she hoped for rain or sun.

---

After a breakfast of leftover cake, Gaston split kindling for the stove. Tilly skipped and sang as she stacked it for him. Belle occupied herself in the garden until it was time to leave. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so Tilly joined her. As they walked, Belle reminded her daughter to thank Mr. Gold for his gift.

Gold was pleased to see them both. He liked Tilly; she spoke to him with a friendliness he had not encountered with other children. And with her here, he had an incentive to keep his hands to himself.

“Thank you for the cat, Mr. Gold.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Nicholas and Ava didn't believe me when I told them you made it for me.”

He groaned. After this, his reputation would be in tatters.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” There was nothing to be done for it now.

While Tilly frolicked outside, Gold remained seated, not trusting himself to go near Belle while she played. He kept his hands occupied with his knife and a fresh piece of wood.

At the end of the session, Tilly informed him, “There’s a play next week, and I'm in it. I'm going to be an angel with a pretty blue dress and wings. Mama can only come one time next week, she has to help set everything up.”

“Yes, the annual mission holiday play. I almost forgot. Just one day is fine. And you will make a lovely angel.”

---

It was raining. No Tilly today, so there was the possibility of two keys. The anticipation coursing through her was for getting her piano back sooner. That was all. The delicious shivery feeling inside called her a liar.

After tea, she struck two black keys in quick succession, her eyebrow raised in a question.

“Yes, two keys again.”

This time she was prepared for his touch. His hands, gentle on her arms and shoulders, mesmerized her. She reveled in the sensation; it was even more thrilling than she remembered. Events proceeded much the same as the previous time. Until his hands deviated from their earlier route and caressed her breasts.

He tantalized her with the slightest amount of pressure. A butterfly landing on her would have been more forceful, but it reverberated straight down to her core. Her nipples tingled and hardened. How could a light touch be so intense? Did she want him to stop or keep going? She felt his warm exhale on the side of her neck, his nose tracing the shell of her ear. Her breath caught as her body clenched with yearning.

When Gold heard her gasp, he was disgusted with himself. A lecherous beast drooling over a vibrant young woman. She must find him repulsive. He hurried to throw a book on the bench, then busied himself with some tools on the table, keeping his back to her to hide his obvious arousal.

“That's enough for today.” He needed her to leave so he could calm down. He didn't move until the door closed, and her boots thumped down the steps.

Belle's knees trembled with the intensity of the feelings Mr. Gold had called out of her. When she was out of sight of the cottage, she leaned against a tree and closed her eyes.

She had not been with a man since Tilly's father, long ago. He had been her piano teacher, the first man other than her father she had spent any amount of time with, and she was naïve. Her mother had died when she was very young, and a series of governesses had raised her. The last had taught her piano, and her proficiency amazed the household. Maurice hired a piano teacher, and her talent grew by leaps and bounds.

The instructor's attention flattered Belle. He had not forced her; she wanted to please him, thinking he loved her. But the experience was messy, painful, and embarrassing. He had found pleasure in her body, but the act itself disappointed her. When she asked him if this meant they would marry, he quit his post without so much as a goodbye, leaving before Maurice suspected any impropriety.

At first she was heartbroken, then angry. He’d hadn’t loved her, and she’d only been lonely and didn’t love him either. She refused a new teacher; she didn't need one anymore. Her music came from within. And then, to her father's shame, it became apparent that she was pregnant. Maurice threatened to hunt the piano teacher down, but nothing ever came of it.

Was the arousal she experienced when Mr. Gold touched her what sex was meant to feel like? If so, she now understood what all the fuss was about.

---

The rest of her free time that week, Belle helped with preparations for the play.

She spent an informative day with Mary Margaret attaching feathers to sets of angel wings. It was tedious work, and it made their fingers sore. She was certain Cora had assigned them this job on purpose. When Mary Margaret brought out some refreshments, Belle took the opportunity to ask her a question. She wrote her a note: “Why do most people dislike Mr. Gold?”

“Well, David and I haven't had many interactions with him, but I can tell you what I've heard...”

Belle nodded, eager to learn more.

“He owns a lot of property and has tenants. He insists on rent being paid promptly.”

That didn't sound so bad.

“He evicts people with no leniency, charges high-interest rates, and never hesitates to seize the collateral if you can't come up with the money. He'll exploit every loop-hole.”

That sounded worse, but people shouldn't enter a contract without knowing the terms and being prepared to honor them. Exploiting loop-holes was more troubling.

Mary Margaret warmed to the topic. She shifted her seat closer to Belle.

“No-one knows his given name. It's only ever been 'Gold'. Isn't that odd? And he lives out in the forest, alone in that little cottage, and spends more time with the Maori than his fellow settlers.”

Belle understood being odd and an outsider. She didn't consider that a character flaw. She made a motion with her hand to indicate Mary Margaret should continue.

“I was told Mr. Gold used to be like the other translators, making deals with the Maori that worked to our advantage. Now, he always tries to arrange things so the Maori get the better part of the arrangement. Now they won't trust anyone else to negotiate for them. Many settlers feel he should be loyal to his own people, not the natives. David and I think everything should be fair for everyone, of course, but some are very resentful, and think he has too much influence.”

Mary Margaret stirred her tea, considering if there was anything else to add to her story. “And Cora really doesn't like him. She's always polite, but you can tell by the look on her face she wants to strangle him.”

Belle thanked Mary Margaret for the information. She went to bed that night with aching fingers and more curiosity than before.

---

Props were constructed, costumes finished, lines memorized, and finally the day of the performance arrived. Belle wore her best dress, and Gaston wore his finest suit. He looked very handsome, but he should. He'd taken twice as long to get ready, combing and re-combing his hair, polishing his boots, and straightening his cravat.

They carried Tilly's costume. She wanted to wear it right away, but to keep it from getting dirty on the walk, all the children were to get dressed at Cora's home. They left Tilly there to prepare with the other girls. Belle kissed her and wished her the best of luck.

It was strange that the holiday season was warm, she thought as they strolled to the neighboring building, another thing in her new life different from her old one. Tilly didn't care what temperature it was. She loved her angel wings, her friend, and the excitement of stage debut.

Inside, the mission was chaotic. Everyone was here, chatting and laughing while they found seats. Gold put in an appearance each year, seeing it as an opportunity to conduct business or intimidate troublesome tenants. He saw Granny talking to some old acquaintances. He greeted Cora with a smirk. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him, and she said, “Good evening,” through clenched teeth. How he'd enjoyed turning her down when she'd propositioned him after her husband died!

“With your influence of the Maori, and mine over the settlers, the two of us could rule this corner of New Zealand. Think of the power we could have.”

“I'm flattered, but uninterested,” he said, laughing. “Why would I tie myself to a woman who'd rip my heart out the second I turned my back? No, dearie. I'm far better off on my own.”

His remembrances abruptly cut off when he saw Belle. She was radiant, and he could not take his eyes off of her. She was brighter than anything else.

Belle spotted him at the same time. He made his way through the crowd, approaching her and Gaston, and she felt panic. All the air vacated the room. An overlap of the two lives, the one in Mr. Gold's home with her piano and the one with Gaston, was not acceptable nor appropriate. They were separate; they had to be. She was still overwhelmed and confused by the whole situation.

She moved in the opposite direction, sitting down in the first empty seats she found. Gaston followed. Mr. Gold did not take the hint and sat down one seat away from her.

Now she was irritated. How dare he sit there, calm and unconcerned, as she sat here, flustered, between him and her husband? He looked like he didn't have a care in the world. She'd mistaken a man's sexual interest for genuine feelings before. Was that what was going on? At least she knew where she stood with Gaston.

In a fit of pique, she took Gaston's hand in hers, placing them on her lap where Mr. Gold could not miss her display of affection. Gaston looked at her, confused. She patted his hand and gave him her biggest smile, batting her eyes. In her peripheral vision, she saw Mr. Gold noticed her actions, and his face filled with pain. He stayed a few more minutes, then stood and left. She received great satisfaction from her triumph. Until she didn't.

Belle forced herself to focus on the play. Tilly was a natural little actress. Her voice was clear and confident and she didn’t look a bit nervous. Everything else passed in a blur. One person after another introduced themselves. Mary Margaret brought her husband David over, and Granny paid her regards. Cora stopped to make a sniping remark. She was spinning. Why had she reacted with spite? To show herself she had power over Mr. Gold? She knew that already. It was not in her nature to be unkind, and it bothered her. What would happen at their next lesson?

Gaston enjoyed the evening. Everyone complimented him on Tilly's performance. He was told what a pretty step-daughter he had, and how demure and sweet his wife was. He hadn't realized what an asset Tilly could be. She made him look good, and he congratulated himself on procuring such an attractive family. Maybe he'd even let her be in the wedding photo Reverend Hopper would take after the holidays.

---

Gold rode home with a heavy heart. Seeing Belle with her husband made everything real. Why was he tormenting himself this way? She was not his, and she never would be.

He was a fool, but he didn't have to be a villain. He could continue this path with Belle, he could offer enough 'keys' and she might even have sex with him to get her beloved piano and books back. The thought made him ill. How could he do that to her? Why was he putting her in this position? Belle and Gaston looked like they belonged together, even if the man was a self-centered idiot. He was young and strong. He wasn't a crippled, bitter old misanthrope.

And Tilly. She deserved better, too. He'd entertained a fantasy of asking her to help him with his reading, picturing happy afternoons pouring over books. She’d teach him sign language, and he’d surprise Belle with a proper conversation. Embarrassment filled him for his fanciful thoughts. The realization that he was the actual idiot here, not Gaston, depressed him.

He sat and thought long into the night, drinking tea and then whiskey from the chipped cup. When dawn arrived, he knew what needed to happen.

---

Belle was on the path, trudging through the rain to Mr. Gold's house when she came upon the piano carried by Kamira and other Maori men. He gave her a cheeky one-handed salute as they passed. Startled by the turn of events, Belle ran the rest of the way.

Belle burst into the house, door slamming against the wall. Mr. Gold was sitting at the table. Her hands flew, demanding an explanation. He didn't need to understand sign language to grasp the question.

“I have given the piano back to you,” said Mr. Gold, his voice calm. “I've had enough.”

Belle felt dizzy. He had enough? Of what? Her? The music? She made a strangled sound in dismay.

Mr. Gold stood. Disheveled and pale, he appeared to have not slept.

“This arrangement will end with you a whore, and me a monster.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to care for me, but you can't.” He sat back down and poured more whiskey into his teacup. The one she had chipped. “Don't worry. They're returning for your books after they deliver the piano.”

Belle trembled. Her piano was hers again, however her overwhelming feeling was not joy, but rejection.

“Leave.”

She did not move.

“Go on, get out,” he hissed. “And don't come back.”

Belle lifted her skirt and fled.