#I would applaud that audacity!

[albontology]

just thinking about how eager logan still is to race and to do everything in his power to be in a car again... sniffles... sobs....

[emotionalmessss]

hope you’re well ♥️ may i request a headcanon where yan!chrollo’s partner escaped but when he confronts them (or however you write it-it’s up to you!) they are really remorseful like “i knew i shouldn’t have left” on their own volition? thank you! ♥️

A/N: ouu, I really like this idea. I can never say no to Yan!Chrollo lol. I’d be more than happy to answer, and I’ll try my best! Thank you for the request, enjoy! :) (this ended up much longer than I expected)

Warnings: yandere themes, unhealthy/forced relationship, stalking, implied kidnapping, kinda implied non-con, psychological abuse, hardcore manipulation. chrollo is a dick.

Chrollo is no saint, but he definitely has the patience of one–though only to a certain extent. With you, however, he seems to have all the fucking patience in the world. Because of Chrollo’s emotionally complex nature, I kind of feel like it’s difficult for him to form emotional attachments, especially with those outside the Troupe. Connections have never really been a priority for Chrollo, nor do they come easily to him. But, with you, it’s different. You’ve always stood out, and his relationship with you is something that he treasures deeply. In his own twisted way.

Ever since Chrollo first laid eyes on you, he’s been utterly fascinated–a reaction that probably confused him at first, considering his interests usually only involve the wellbeing of the Troupe, books, and stealing valuable objects and Nen abilities. Chrollo has utilized all his available resources to gather as much information about you as possible, spending countless hours studying every single aspect of your life. Say goodbye to your privacy because there’s no such thing when it comes to Chrollo. And sure, a few members of the Troupe probably found Chrollo’s behavior unusual, but they knew better than to question the boss.

Chrollo might be completely infatuated with you, but he’s not blind to how difficult the situation is for you–he is well aware of human nature, and even more familiar with you. In fact, he completely understands your struggles. But, does that mean he’s going to let you go? Fuck no. As far as captors go, Chrollo has been incredibly lenient with you, hoping that you’d eventually realize that there is no one else in the world that could cherish you the way he does. And when you escaped from him, you betrayed that sliver of trust he gave you.

Your escape was successful, congrats. Managing to slip past Chrollo’s defenses was a challenge in itself–and you should be proud–not everyone can outsmart the head of the Spider. But, that’s just the beginning, don’t celebrate just yet. Surely, you’ll have to deal with a fuck load of complications, like starting your life over from scratch, fending for yourself, constantly watching your back, and maybe, just maybe, going as far as adopting a completely new identity. Things couldn’t get any more complicated, could they? Oh, they can and they will. 

It wouldn’t be long before you started to doubt and question everything–your thoughts, your feelings, your emotions, your choices, and most importantly, Chrollo. You might’ve thought you had the upper hand, but somehow, for some fucking reason, Chrollo always has the last laugh. Chrollo would never allow himself to show it, but he would definitely feel slightly irritated with the situation and your behavior. You actually had the audacity to run away from him? Have you forgotten who he is and what he's capable of? It’s not very often that someone would defy him, and part of him secretly applauds your pathetic–yet somewhat amusing–actions. Did you truly believe that he wouldn’t be able to find you again? 

I’d imagine that Chrollo probably saw your sudden absence as nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Annoying? Yes. Unexpected? No. Would he have expected you to be remorseful after escaping? Not entirely. Fortunately for him–and unfortunately for you–Chrollo knows you very fucking well. So well, in fact, that he’s become really good at predicting not only your next moves, but also what goes on in your head. He knew it wouldn’t take long for your mind to overwhelm you–that fresh start of yours isn’t feeling all that fresh anymore, is it? 

Chrollo wouldn’t go find you right away, no, he’d let you struggle for a bit before he made a move. The Troupe would probably question their boss’ somewhat unusual approach to the situation, but they wouldn’t push their luck–they knew better than to risk overstepping any boundaries, especially when it involves you and Chrollo. Just because his love for you is fucked up unconventional doesn’t mean he’s going to act impulsively to get you back, that's not how Chrollo operates, his methods are much more refined and efficient than that. 

But, that doesn’t mean Chrollo won’t be thinking of you. You’re always on his mind. He’d deny it, but the mental image of you–somewhere far away and stressed out, trying to move on with your life–was oddly satisfying. Some might say that’s cruel, but Chrollo sees it as conditioning. And Chrollo is a master manipulator. He may appear relatively passive on the outside, but you should never underestimate him. I feel like nothing is off-limits with Chrollo, and he’ll do anything and everything to make it impossible for you to leave him. Not just physically, but emotionally as well. So, it's really not much of a surprise that you’re remorseful about running away. That’s exactly what he planned. 

From the very beginning, Chrollo has been subtly manipulating and conditioning you, instilling doubt and dependency within you. He’d isolate you from the outside world and from the other people in your life, both physically and emotionally. He kept you by his side, never allowing you to stray too far. Even when you thought you were alone, he was watching. He gave you the illusion of freedom–a door that was occasionally left unlocked, access to his entire apartment, the opportunity to go outside, but only with him. He’d make you question the relationships you had with everyone that wasn’t him, slowly turning you against them. Do they actually care about you? Do they actually understand you like he does? Those were his ways of making sure there was nobody else you can interact with, forcing you to become dependent on him for everything.

Chrollo wouldn’t stop there. There were times when he would let his guard down, allowing you to see moments of vulnerability. He would tell you things–his past, his thoughts–enough to make you believe there was more to him than the monster you feared. When you eventually opened up to him about your own thoughts, he’d listen. He always listened so fucking carefully. He made you feel like he understood you better than anyone else ever had, or ever could.

And it all paid off in the end. For him, at least.

It’s almost been two months without Chrollo and surprisingly, it doesn’t feel as good as you thought it would. In fact, your newfound freedom feels fucking horrible. It doesn’t make sense–you should be thrilled that you’ve managed to escape after being held captive for one year. You had planned this escape for months, spending countless nights going over it again and again in your head until it was foolproof. It worked, yet you were far from satisfied.

Feeling more than a little conflicted about your state of mind, you move to sit on the couch in your living room. The old, faded piece of furniture creaks beneath your weight as you settle into the cushions. It felt cold and unfamiliar. The couch was probably older than you–faded, torn, and pilling–unlike the expensive plush one that Chrollo has. That one felt warm and familiar. Anxiously, you stir your half drank cup of coffee and take a sip, grimacing slightly. Even his fucking coffee was better than yours. 

This new life was supposed to be a fresh start, but instead, it was a constant reminder of everything you left behind. It seems that no matter how hard you try, you just can’t get Chrollo out of your mind. Every little sound–footsteps, doors opening–sent you into fight or flight mode, always on edge. It felt like you were living with a shadow that was slowly closing in, but you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to run away from it. Fear, longing, and resentment were just a few of the emotions you’ve learned to cope with, but it never got any easier. 

Part of you missed the late night, deep conversations, the way he listened intently, as if your words were the most important thing in the world. Now, your nights are restless, haunted by constant nightmares involving a certain raven haired man. Maybe it's Stockholm syndrome? There’s no way to be sure–therapy costs money, and you aren’t exactly rolling in it. Your hands tremble as you place the mug down, spilling the dark liquid all over the side table. Still trapped in your mind, you get up from the shitty couch and head towards the kitchen, moving to grab a rag to clean up the equally shitty coffee. 

A small creak from behind catches your attention, making you pause momentarily to glance over your shoulder. Like countless other times, there's nothing there. Maybe you don’t even need a psych to diagnose you, since you’re already going insane. Sighing, you grab the rag and start walking back toward the living room. 

“A bit late for coffee, is it not?” The smooth sounding voice instantly makes you freeze in place, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with a rush of emotions. There’s a certain lightness in his tone that’s not usually present–it’s almost like he’s teasing yet chiding you. Either way, you weren’t going to concern yourself with the semantics.

It feels like your body has been completely paralyzed. Yet, somehow, you manage to summon the courage to slowly turn your gaze towards the source of the voice, finding it at the front entrance of your apartment. What you see is enough to make you feel faint, your head spinning and your stomach dropping like a stone–it’s Chrollo, looming in the doorway, his large eyes focused solely on you as a soft, enigmatic smile plays on his lips. Unconsciously, a whimper escapes your lips and your mind suddenly kicks into overdrive, frantically attempting to process the overwhelming reality of what’s happening. All those conflicting thoughts from moments ago flood back into your mind.

You find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, torn between the relief of finally seeing him again and the chilling fear of what this unexpected encounter might bring. You had started a new life here, a life that was simpler, quieter, more peaceful. But as you stand there, facing Chrollo and the flood of memories he brings, you can't help but question–was it truly peace? You must’ve only been standing there–stuck in your thoughts–for a few minutes, but Chrollo seems to notice your dazed state and decides to speak up again, effectively snapping you back to reality. 

“May I come in? We have so much to discuss.” Chrollo says, his voice as gentle and as reassuring as you remember. Without waiting for your response, he's already stepping across the threshold and moving into your apartment, making his way toward the living room. His approach is calm and measured. It’s almost as if he’s been in your apartment a thousand times before, and as if he has all the time in the world. Rooted to the spot, your hand trembles as you clutch the damp rag, watching as Chrollo takes your previously occupied seat on the couch.

“Chrollo?” You find yourself whispering, your voice barely more than a shaky exhale, hesitant and filled with uncertainty. Saying his name after the silence of these past months feels strange, foreign, but oddly enough, you find yourself not hating it. Chrollo doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, his gaze remains fixed on you as he sinks deeper into the couch, leaning back casually and letting his hands rest on top of his thighs. The silence stretches on, lingering too long, and a part of you believes he’s doing it on purpose. 

“You seem troubled,” Chrollo observes, his dark eyes softening a fraction. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.” He insists softly, tilting his head toward the empty spot next to him on the couch, a silent command for you to join him. Despite his calm demeanor, it’s quite clear that he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. He won’t deny it–your little escape was mildly infuriating. But he wasn’t entirely without compassion–at least, that’s what he liked to believe.

Your chest tightens painfully at his words, each breath feeling like a struggle, as if your lungs are refusing to expand. Your vision blurs as tears gather, threatening to spill over at any moment. You’ve reached your breaking point–the emotions you’ve been painstakingly avoiding have finally surfaced. The ache of remorse gnaws at you, a torrent of regret and guilt that you've been desperately trying to suppress. You open your mouth to respond–to say something, anything at all–but find yourself choking pitifully on a sob, no words coming out. 

The tears start to fall, pouring down your cheeks as you stumble blindly toward the couch, dropping the rag on the ground and barely registering the resigned sigh that Chrollo lets out. You plop down onto the couch next to Chrollo, feeling utterly pathetic about your current state. Not even a second later, Chrollo’s arm slips behind your back and wraps securely around your waist, pulling your trembling body toward his. You don’t fight it, instead allowing your face to bury into the comforting warmth of his chest, while his hand gently cradles the back of your head.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat over and over again, your voice cracking as you sob into his chest. 

Chrollo’s quiet again, the silence only broken by your sniffles and unsteady breaths. His fingers thread soothingly through your hair, softly shushing you. “You’re okay, I’m right here,” he reassures, his voice stripped of its usual firmness, now softer, gentler, almost tender. His expression remains unreadable as he looks down at you, his eyes revealing nothing of thoughts that are undoubtedly coursing through his mind right now. Internally, however, he feels a tinge of satisfaction upon hearing your apologetic pleas. Maybe things can go back to the way they were, or maybe they'll morph into something new, something better. 

There’s another pause, a moment where he lets you compose yourself. He doesn't mention your escape, or the remorse you've shown–not just yet. In truth, Chrollo is not the least bit surprised by your emotional spiral. He knows you well enough to understand that this is not merely a reaction to his relentless pursuit and eventual discovery of your whereabouts. No, this is an entirely different kind of response, one born out of internal conflict.

If it were any other man in this position, they might have felt guilty for putting you through so much torment. But Chrollo is not ‘any other man.’ Far from it. As he watches you break down in his arms, he doesn’t feel any guilt. He doesn’t see your suffering as something he should apologize for. Why would he? For Chrollo, he sees this as a necessary consequence of the bond he’s carefully created. And he can see that you’re finally starting to understand.

During your time together, Chrollo had a way of making you question everything. Slowly but surely, he instilled a sense of doubt and dependency within you. It was never obvious. That wasn’t his style. 

He had a way of making you believe that the outside world was cruel and dangerous. Every time he caught you looking at the door, he’d remind you–without even needing to say a word–that he was the only one who could truly protect you. A raised brow and slight tilt of his head was more than enough to remind you of everything he had told you before. He was never threatening about it, he didn’t need to be. A simple look from him was all it took for you to hesitate, to second-guess walking out that door. 

Would it really be better out there than here? Could you really handle Yorknew City? Surely, there were people out there much worse than him, right? People who wouldn’t think twice about taking advantage of someone like you. You could imagine it so vividly: faceless men with rough hands that wouldn’t give a shit about you, your struggles, or your pleas. They’d only see you as a pretty little thing to use. Chrollo never said it outright, but the implication was always there: he wasn’t like them. His touches, though somewhat unwelcome and borderline possessive, were never violent. 

At least with Chrollo, you knew the rules and boundaries–his rules and boundaries. And he never lied to you, not really. The world really was dangerous. There really were people out there who would hurt you. He made sure that you believed he was the best choice. And who else was there for you, really? Not your friends, the ones he slowly convinced you that they didn’t care as much as they claimed. Not your family, who couldn’t possibly understand the complexity of your situation. No, it was just Chrollo. He wasn’t the monster you wanted him to be. He was something far worse: he was everything you didn’t know you needed. And that was much more fucking terrifying.

Finally pulling himself from his thoughts, Chrollo decides that he’s made you suffer in silence for long enough. “You should not have tried to escape, [name],” he says, his voice gentle but carries a clear note of criticism and disappointment. He deliberately uses your name, refraining from the endearing nicknames he usually employs. It's a subtle punishment, a way to remind you of your mistakes. He knows exactly what kind of impact it has on you–how the distance it creates makes you feel small, like a reprimanded child. “Predictably, it didn’t end well.” His tone is soft, almost conversational.

Chrollo pauses again, his fingers suddenly halting their soothing rhythm in your hair. Abruptly, he withdraws the comforting contact, depriving you of the warmth you didn’t even realize you’d come to depend on. You can’t stop yourself from tensing in his arms, struggling to stifle a choked sob. You can’t see it–not with your teary face buried in his chest–but there’s a faint curl of his lips, a flicker of satisfaction at your reaction. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He lets out a deep, exaggerated sigh, his hand pulling away from your scalp completely. Now it rests on the frayed backrest of the couch, lazily tracing patterns on the rough fabric. 

“Running… it doesn’t suit you.” The words are so plain, so final. It's not suggestion or opinion, but a fucking fact. It’s the way he always spoke to you, as if he knew you better than you knew yourself. “It only leads you to pain and suffering. Surely, you’ve realized that by now?” There is no anger or frustration in his voice, just that same steady, disorientating calm that makes you second-guess everything. He speaks as if this entire situation is simply an inconvenience to him, which makes it near impossible to decipher his true thoughts and feelings. 

And then, Chrollo gently but firmly tilts your head up, leaving no room for you to resist him. Not like it would do you any good. Forcing you to meet his gaze, he studies you intently, his dark eyes partially shielded by the strands of raven hair that fall across his pale face. “You’re an intelligent woman,” he murmurs, and for some reason, it felt more like he was mocking you rather than giving you a genuine compliment. “I’m certain that you can grasp the situation.” As he speaks, his grip on your face tightens significantly, hinting at the threat that lies beneath his words. It’s his little way of telling you that you should know better.  

You wince as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your jaw, more out of surprise than pain. The pressure isn’t unbearable, but it’s enough to remind you of his control. You don’t have much faith in your ability to form a coherent sentence right now, not when your throat feels tight and your thoughts are a jumbled mess. Instead, you nod in response, hoping it’s enough. 

Chrollo’s eyes flicker with approval, and maybe a hint of amusement. It’s impossible to be sure with him. He releases your jaw as he lets out a satisfied hum of acknowledgement, now wiping away a few stray tears from your damp cheeks. The gesture should feel comforting, but instead, it leaves you feeling hollow, like being soothed after a punishment you never deserved. “Good girl.” The praise rolls off his tongue easily, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’re emotional,” he says, almost to himself. “But you’ll understand in time.”

“It’s time to go home. We’ll continue this conversation later,” He adds, reminding you that this matter is far from resolved.

[pitchsidestories]

Secrets II Patri Guijarro x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1877

a/n: inspired by this adorable request. Let us know what you thought of it. <3

Champions League nights were always something special. Especially when your team just secured their spot in the semi finals. You were still on the pitch, applauding the fans and taking in the amazing atmosphere while most of your team mates slowly retreated back into the dressing room.

The cool chill of the night send a shiver down your spine. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to enjoy the moment and not think about anything else. But you could not stop yourself from glancing over to the other side of the pitch where Patri was doing her post-match interview.

You decided to go back and wait for her in the tunnel, in hopes that could spend a few minutes alone with her between leaving the pitch and entering the dressing room.

Patri smiled brightly as she saw you leaning on the wall.

“You love a champions league goal, don’t you, Patri?“, you smirked, hinting at the goal she scored shortly before the game ended.

She laughed: “I really do.“

You playfully pulled her closer to you, tugging on her sleeve: “That was admittedly kinda hot. Especially with the captains armband tonight.“

Your girlfriend winked: “Oh, you think so?“

“Yes, I do.“, you confirmed teasingly.

“Come here.“ Patri wrapped her arms around you.

You giggled: “What if someone sees us?“

The midfielder shrugged in the dim light: “It’s fine. We can go inside in a second.“

“Sure.“

“Come on.“, Patri said, now gently pushing you against the wall.

You raised your eyebrow: “A kiss from the goal scorer?“

Your girlfriend had the audacity to blush, making you want to kiss her even more. “Just a quick one, okay?“

“Okay.“, you agreed reluctantly.

Patris lips felt soft against yours. You wished you could stay in this moment for longer.

“My favourite secret.“, Patri winked at you when she pulled away.

You rolled your eyes and nodded into the direction of the dressing room: “I think our team is waiting for us.“

“Hey, what are you two waiting for?“, Marionas voice interrupted the two of you.

She stuck her head out of the dressing room. You looked for a sign in her face that would tell you if she had seen you. But you found nothing, so you innocently replied: “We’re coming. The captains interview took so long.“

Mariona shook her head as you walked past her into the dressing room.

“Once Patri’s talking, she can’t be stopped.“, Claudia snorted.

Patri grimaced: “Hey!“

“It’s true.“, you added casually, walking over to your locker.

“Rude.“, your girlfriend feigned outrage.

You were in the middle of pulling your shirt over your head when Ingrid turned to you: “Y/n?“

“Yes?“

“Why were you outside the whole time when you should have celebrated with us?“, the Norwegian asked.

You tilted your head: “Missed me?“

“Yes.“, she nodded.

“Don’t worry. I’m here now.“, you laughed.

Caroline joined the conversation: “Yeah. Now.“

Impatiently you asked your Norwegian team mates: “So what did I miss?“

“The usual chaos.”, the forward shrugged her shoulders.

Curious Ingrid looked at you:” You’ll join the team dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, I’ll be there. What about you, Caro? Will you come too?”, you asked her with a teasing smile on your lips.

“I have no choice.”, she sighed, pointing into the direction where Marta was standing. The Norwegian midfielder and you found it adorable that the usual shy and reserved Caroline would literally say yes to everything her girlfriend was asking her to do even if it was team meetings she usually tried to avoid.

The location the club chose to have the team dinner at was beautiful. From where you and Patri were sitting you had the perfect view on the city’s pretty sight. Although you had to secretly admit that you spend more time-sharing stolen glances between you and your girlfriend when staring at the Catalonian scenery.

Your fellow teammates didn’t seem to notice that Patri was holding your hand hidden under the table:” The food is delicious, right?”

“It’s.”, you nodded.

Clearing her throat Ingrid tried to get your attention, she and Mapi were seated opposite of you:” Y/n, Mapi has found someone who could be a perfect fit for you.”

“You guys are trying to set me up again? Do I’ve to remind you what happened the last time?”, you gasped dramatically.

For a second the Spanish defender seemed guilty before returning to her usual self, sounding confidently:” Yeah, that didn’t work out well. But this time we’re sure that she’s perfect for you.”

“That’s sweet of you two but..”, you begun.

“This time it will go great. Just trust us.”, Mapi interrupted you quickly.

“Exactly.”, Ingrid continued in a reassuring tone.

Meanwhile Patri who listened the conversation quietly couldn’t watch it any longer and intervened frustrated: “Why are you even trying to set her up? I’m sure she could have anyone she wanted.”

“Patri.”, the defender rolled her eyes annoyed at her.

“What? Not everyone needs to be in a relationship.”, she countered.

“We only want the best for her.”, Mapi tried to reassure the Spanish midfielder.

“Pretty sure she knows that better than you.”, Patri grumbled.

Before your girlfriend was able to accidentally reveal your relationship, you asked your teammates in an overly cheerful tone:” What do you guys choose for dessert? I can’t decide.” 

“I’m taking the chocolate cake.”, the defender replied too surprised to ask why you changed the topic so suddenly.

You felt relived when you said:” Guess, I’ll pick that too.”

Later at your place, you could feel Patri was still tense from the talk you had with Ingrid and Mapi earlier, softly you lifted her chin, so she had to look into your eyes:” Patri? You know that I don’t want anyone else but you, right?”

“I do.”, your girlfriend hummed, pressing a kiss to your wrist.

“Good.”

“It’s just annoying.”, she added grumpily.

“I agree.”, you said to her while stroking her open hair gently.

Patri let out a sigh: “It’s okay.“

“I love you, Patri.“ You locked eyes with her until a small smile appeared on her face.

“I know. I love you too.“, she replied.

You smirked: “Oh, I know.“

Patri pulled you close to her: “I hope so!“

“Trust me.“

She tilted her head: “Maybe. I’ll have to think about it.“

“Excuse me?“, you asked, playfully pushing her away from you.

You girlfriend shrugged: “You might go on that set-up date.“

“No, I won’t.“, you laughed.

“Are you sure?“, Patri curiously raised her eyebrow.

You nodded firmly: “Very sure.“

“Reassuring.“, she commented before kissing you quickly.

“See?“

“Yeah, sure.“, Patri just said, too distracted by you to continue the conversation.

When you met the rest of the team for training the next morning, Ingrid was in a great mood. She was beaming as she walked on to the training pitch: “What a beautiful day for training.“

“Oh yes, the sun is so nice.“, you agreed, turning towards the sunlight and closing your eyes to soak up the Vitamin D.

Caroline shrugged: “Yeah, could be worse.“

You opened your eyes again, grinning at your team mate: “There is our grumpy sunshine.“

“Ugh.“, she groaned in response, obviously not a fan of your nickname for her.

“Come on, Caro.“, you tried to motivate her and played a ball in her direction for the next exercises.

“No.“, Caroline rolled her eyes in response but still continued the pass the ball.

You were right in the middle of a scrimmage, trying to win the ball back from Keira when you felt a sharp pain in your knee. Immediately, your leg gave out and you found yourself on the grass, holding your knee.

“No!“, Ingrid gasped.

You were too focused on trying to calm your breathing and to stop your thoughts from racing to notice that your team mates gathered around you.

“Y/n!“, Patri yelled and was quickly kneeling by your side.

Caroline looked down at you, worry reflecting in her eyes: “Are you okay?“

“No… it hurts.“, you cried breathlessly.

“Shit!“, you heard Patri curse under her breath next to you while she gently stroked your hair.

“She’s going to be okay…“, Ingrid tried to stay cheerful but the tone of her voice was not convincing.

You carefully tried to sit up and extend your knee but the pain was still there. You flinched.

Patri squeezed your hand tightly: “Love, don’t move. I’m here.“

You tried to focus on your girlfriends touch, you even failed to notice what she said.

Mapi and Claudia exchanged surprised looks: “Love?!“

“I knew it.”, Caroline exclaimed.

“What?”, Ingrid turned to the fellow Norwegian, looking shocked.

Serious the forward stated: “It isn’t that surprising.”

“Right, not when one thinks about it for a bit longer.”, the midfielder agreed after a short moment, playing the recent encounters between you and your girlfriend inside her head, seeing now all the little clues which showed that you were more than just friends.

Much later you were resting your leg on the sofa, looking up to Patri :” The doctor said that I’ll be out for a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?”, she lifted an eyebrow in response.

“Yes.”

A relived sigh escaped the Spanish midfielder’s lips:” Okay, that’s better than what I expected.”

“Sorry, it felt worse than it was.”, you apologized to her, feeling your cheeks turn hot.

She happily told you:” Hey, don’t worry about that. I’m just glad to share the pitch with you in a few weeks.”

“Maybe just in time for the champions league finale. Wait, are those sunflowers, how did you know that they are my favourite.”, you glanced at your girlfriend in awe.

“Oh please. I know what your favourite flowers are by now.” , Patri chuckled.

“Thank you.”, you whispered gratefully as the Spanish woman gave you your flowers.

She softly pressed a kiss on the top of your head: “You’re welcome, love.”  

“Caro claims that she knew about us the whole time.”, you told her grinning.

“I don’t believe that we were so careful”, the Spanish player shook her head laughing.

You agreed with her:” That’s true except for today.”

“Yeah, I guess they all know now.”, Patri nervously went through her hair with one hand.

“It’s okay.”, you reassured her.

In an earnest tone the midfielder thought out loud:” Maybe it was time to tell them anyway.”

With a crooked smile on her face, she added:” They’ll never shut up about it, right?”

“Never.”, you smirked at her.

“Do you think we’ll survive?”, the Spanish woman asked you half seriously and half half-jokingly.

“Yeah, if the other couples in the team can do it so can we.”, you concluded.

“But first, you have to make sure that your knee heals properly.”, Patri reminded you.

“I’ve the best nurse right here.”, you winked at her cheekily.

“Don’t worry. I will take care of you.”, your girlfriend promised you earnestly and the midfielder meant every word she said. Carefully she put the sunflowers into a vase and placed them on the table in the living room.

Secretly Patri hoped that your favourite flowers would remind you during the tough rehab days which were laying ahead of you that after rain the sun would always return, no matter how worse the weather seemed.

[grugruel]

The Game

Pairing: Silco x f!reader

Masterlist

Summary: You and Silco like to keep things interesting by playing a game. Its your turn now, heat flares and tempers rise.

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: Established relationship, hints of smut, brief choking, mentioned degrading, tension? Elutions to sub!dom!silco towards the end.

I throw the doors to The Last Drop open, making my grand entrance.

Smoke billows out through the opening, it curls around my vision as it mixes with the impure air of Zaun and all heads in the club turn toward me.

An uscher of whispers rumble through the crowd and the music suddenly halts. A mans low whistle can be heard ringing out through the crowd, aswell as the consequent "ow" and "hush" as the man next to him elbows him in the side, giving him a stern look in warning.

I was off limits to everyone but one man, and that was considered common knowledge in Zaun.

I take a step inside, smiling devilishly, approving of the general public reaction.

I let the doors slam shut behind me, welcoming the familiar embrace of the murky, green tinted darkness of the club as it envelopes me. I gaze around the room, searching for him.

I am counting on him to be in his office already, as It was a crucial part of my plan for dramatic effect. And when married to a man like him, one couldnt help but look for him in every room you enter.

All that im met with though, is an array of mixed emotions, smiles, glances and a bunch of wide eyed men and women. The crowd was divided between those who, had they not know was good for them, would hollar and applaud my confidence or those who would be scared half to death and couldnt even dare throw a glance my way.

Most bastards, however. Had already let their slack-jawed chins hit the floor at the first sight of me, and oh . . . was I a vision to behold.

Everyone already knew who I was of course, my antics were not news to them, neither were the fact that I am wife to the infamouse Eye of Zaun.

So to explain the situation, Silco and I ha'd been playing a fun little game for some time, just to spice things up. We set two rules of outmost importance, no matter what, we had to follow them.

1. Prizes asked for must be given.

2. Revenge is always permitted.

Meaning whoever manages to outdo the others previous actions in boldness, audacity, mischief etc, wins whatever prize they desire from the other and whatever we did to challenge the other, we could always retaliate however we wanted and those asks had to be met

Usually when it was Silcos turn, he'd experiment, try something new, take me in the hall, in an alley, where anyone could see. Just for the thrill if it, because we can, because who would question him?

But as of late, work has been stressing him and hes been using me. He makes a public display out of me, showing everyone just who I belong to. A power play, of course, reinforcing his claim on me and putting on a show of his brazen nature as for Zaun not to forget who he is.

And he'd do it all with a ravenous gleam in his eye, enjoying every second of my embaressment. But god help any man who makes a remark or even looks at you the wrong way.

And since he has a reputation to uphold, an image to keep clean, being the crimeboss that he is, I had never been allowed to play our game in any type of crowded setting. He needed to be respected and more imporantly, feared. Meaning he could not be put into conpromising positions publicly. Privately was a whole nother situation.

But today, that would be coming to an end. I'd been forced to accept the situation since this whole thing came about, but he needed a reminder of who he married. Although I do not have as important of a position as him, my life did not begin when we married. I was someone before him and I am my own person still.

Blinded by love, and lust. I've let him do whatever he wants to me and although that can be a welcome notion betwix the sheets, it is not when he needs to make an example of someone, not anymore.

Sevika stood leaned against the stairrailings, watching my plan unfold, eyes wide. She sprung into action, ripping the jacket off the shoulders from the unsuspecting man next to her and rushes to cover me up.

She knows you're not the kind of woman who listens to anyone who tells you what to do, with the exception being Silco. And knowing she'd get hell from the man himself if she did anything else than try, she tries.

I reject the jacket of course, gently pushing her away from me. I clasp my hands behind me back and walk slowly towards the bar with her shadowing closely behind me in hope of hiding something from the crowd.

She lowers her head to my height, leaning closer to my ear, a shudder runs through me "He wont be happy" she snarles.

"I know" I answer nonchalantly. And a ghost of a smile flashes over her lips as she shakes her head and turns around, sighing.

I sit down on one of the stools by the bar, watching her as she makes her way upstairs. I order a whiskey and take a look around the room once again, noting all the stares.

"Cmon folks, he'll be down in a minute and you know better than to stare. Get back to it." I say in a low chuckle and they do just that, knowing the truth of my words.

Minutes later Sevika comes back down, she throws me a warning glance that tells me "not in the mood" and a new feeling begins to fester within me, uncertainty. I already knew he'd be cross when I schemed my little plan up, that was foreseen. But now?

I had no time to think of the consequences, because another set of footsteps could be heard a few paces behind her, slow and deliberate. He was already punishing me and I've yet to lay my eyes on him. My stumache flitters despite myself, longing to see how this plays out. Turbulence was to be excpected, but the rewards would be gratifying.

The crowd seems to have heard the destinctive sounds of Silcos footsteps aswell, as their attention turn toward the stairs.

Through the gloom of the lowly lit, smoke filled room, the glowing red of his cigar lights up his features, giving an earie glow to his eye. He looks mightly unimpressed, inhaling a puff of smoke his eyes scan the crowd, eventually settling on my form. Clad in nothing more than the crimson red lingerie that he bought me. He was already incredibly annoyed that you would compromise him like this, but seeing you in the set that he stressed were for his eyes only truly set him ablaze on the inside.

I swiwel the barstool so that I face him completley, the bartender slides my drink toward me and I grab it as I lean back against the bar, forearms supporting me. A pleased expressions washes over my face, this was a serious matter. But I should gloat whilst I still can.

He glares at me for a minute, the club is so silent you could hear peoples breathing, very shallow, careful breaths as they try to avoid catching his attention and possibly turning his displeasure onto themselves.

He takes in my appearance, looking me up and down. Sevika had not known the ordeal of this specific set of lingerie, so she had not conveyed its importance to him.

His patience usually wears thin, but seeing me in the lingerie he clearly told me were for him makes his blood boil.

Turbulence stirs within him, feeling incredible annoyance at your clear disobediance, but also a tinge of impatience to punish you especially since you did look brutally ravishing.

And as if his hair sences his stress, a greying strand of his magnificent hair falls over his eye. He sighs deeply, gathering himself before taking action, he catches the runaway strand by combing his free hand through his hair, placing it perfectly back with the rest.

He moves the hand holding his cigar, wafting it back and forth dismissively as he turns toward the people, adressing them "Avert you eyes ladies and gentlemen, that is my wife." he orders.

"Go ahead, leave, scram, flee." He makes a dramatic shooing gesture and announciates the last word, then taking another drag of his cigar.

He turns to Sevika "Make sure they understand that they did not see anything, then leave you too. No one is to be let in." she nods and posts herself by the door.

The people flock toward the exit, creating a bottleneck effect. Carefully, eagerly even, they follow Silcos directions reinforced by Sevika. They did not need to be told twice, they had already forcibly forgotten the incident and had no intention on stickning around to challenge his temper.

As the last of the crowd have left and the doors slam shut behind Sevika, its only the two of us left, so I stand to make my way to him.

"Stay." Silco says coldly, eyes snapping to me. A shiver runs through my body, I sit back down, crossing my legs, anticipation lining my senses as I smile at him.

We hold eachothers gaze "I missed you" I say.

"So I see" he responds, striding closer, one painstakingly slow step at a time and when hes finally close enough to touch I reach out to him, taking the lining of his tie between my fingers, softly tracing it down his chest, stopping at his vest button to undo it.

He snatches my wrist, holding it closer to him, inhaling the scent of my perfume, loving the way it mixes with the cigar smoke. He kisses my wrist before pinning it to the bar-counter behind me.

Not so easily discouraged, I lean closer to him in an atempt to steal a kiss off of those ruthless lips. I let my eyes fall shut and lean further in until I feel his breath on my skin as I've done so many times before. Heat flashes through me as I imagine the taste of him being less than a mere second away, but my expectations fall short as im met by the the savour of his cigar instead.

"Tsk tsk tsk" he shakes his head "Surely you wouldnt dream it to be this easy my dear?" His tone mocking.

I scoff in pretend defeat as I take the cigar from him, taking a drag and leaning back against the counter again. "I was only teaching you a lesson, husband." I sigh.

"Oh" he exclaims, his demeanor unclear. A mix of entertainment and frustration evidens in his voice "You're teaching me a lesson hmm?" His gaze hardens and an frustrated smile forms on his lips as he awaits my response.

"Naturally."

A gleam of irritation lights in his eye, he takes the whiskey from my hand, studying it carefully as if planning his next move. He takes a slow sip, "So.." he begins, carefully phrasing his words, "Would you like to tell me how come? Because frankly, my dear. Im at a loss here." Agitation evident in his tone.

"Truly?" I question, not sure if he actually wants me to answer that. "I love this little game of ours, it can be... Oh so thrilling" I sigh in reminiscence, thinking back to past adventurez when we've enjoyed eachothers rueful challenges.

"But I do not enjoy to be used as someones puppet, not even yours. You've turned this wonderful game of ours into a show of your power, using me. So, I wanted to teach you a lesson." I repeated myself, nonchalantly.

His gaze bores into my own, furious at your choice of handling the situation, but even more so because theres truth in your words. "I have a reputation." He spits the last word, "How will I be respected if I cannot controll my own woman?" He asks, frustrated.

I sneer, "You forget yourself Silco." Theres venom in my tone, "I may not be known as "The Industrialist" but I have a reputation of my own and it is time I reminded you of it. Zaun will not respect you more for treating me like shit, and your blatant audacity to feel bad for yourself is sickening." I state coldly, and he knows your right, yet he cannot help how your words irk him. His face burns hot with shame.

"Ive let you degrade me in front of thousands of people, just for you to earn your power." I spit back.

"But truth be told, husband. Youre not a king, nor a god, and people will understand that you cannot control me. Ive never been know as conceded woman and I believe I have made that clear today." I fix my gaze sternly on his, making sure hes understood. He glares back, nodding.

Certain hes seen my point, I ease up. Work has taken a toll on him as of late, thats not his fault, but how he chose to counteract it is.

I lean forward again, softening my gaze as I carefully stroke his scar and whisper "You might have chosen me as your bride, but I also chose you, you know."

He sighs, closing his eyes, the anger melting away from him as he remebers you when you first met, and thinks of the woman before him now. Hes loved every version of you that hes had to pleasure to know and hes been incredibly stupid to put you in such positions for his own gain, he will simply find others to make examples of. He meets your gaze again, defeated "Im afraid my dear girl, that you're right, my behavior towards you have been appaling. You win, this time." A releaved expression covers my face as I've gotten my point across.

"However," he says soflty placing both hands on either side of my face, cupping it "That wont stop me from earning my retribution, game rules." He points out, pressing a soft kiss to my lips as a hand slides one hand to the back of my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair, earning him a moan from me.

He strokes my cheek gently with the back of his free hand, then tracing his index finger along my jaw and ending it with a tap at the sharpest point under my ear, "Everything." He says concurrently with the tap.

He strokes a strand of hair behind my ear before continuing to trace his finger down my neck, following it with his gaze, he grabs my throat, squeezing lightly as he carefully yamks me closer to him, making me gasp, "Has." he punctuates, finger tapping again, this time on my artery.

He lets go of my throat an continues to trace his finger outward along my collarbone, stopping at my shoulder, "A." He taps again. Silent anticipation linger between us, as I wonder where this'll end.

He takes the crimson brastrap between his fingers, slowly sliding it off my shoulder as he traces it down to the cup, "Price." He ends, the tension between us culminating, as he taps one last time at the soft flesh of my breast.%I shiver runs along my spine, I lean into again, his lips a ghost on mine.

"Naturally" I whisper against his lips, feeling him smile.

His hands continue downward, coming to a stop at my hips, holding me in place as if I'd ever wish to be anywhere else and melting me completely with his sudden tenderness. But his grip hardens, ready to take what is his. And as much as I would love just that, I was not done and he knew it.

"But, I've yet to claim my price. Game rules." I state, he steps back, knowing that he has to abide by the rules. His eyes shift to mine, pleading and lust battling for controll. "Cruel, cruel woman" he whimpers.

One side of him is itching to do whatever he wants to you and the other begging for you to let him touch you. And you're about to make him beg for it.

[thowawayuntilfurthernotice]

CW: SA, Child abuse.

Quiet on Set is one of the most horrifically depressing documentaries I've seen in a while. I remember having to take a long extended break between each episode, because trying to binge watch the entire series in one sitting would have legitimately broken me.

If ever there was a documentary that perfectly sums up how awful the entertainment industry is when it comes to SA and abuse, it's this one.

What's fucked up about the Brian Peck situation is how quickly it got swept under the rug, everyone just went back to work like nothing ever happened. And the fact that Dan Schneider had the audacity to try and act like a friend towards Drake Bell after everything that Bell went through is downright sickening.

It's like "Yeah, I may be an abusive asshole who keeps exposing children to sexual content at a young age, but at least I didn't SA anyone!"

Fuck you, Schneider.

What Drake Bell went through was pretty horrific and I do applaud him for speaking out about his experience on camera, however, that shouldn't take away from the fact that he took advantage of an underage girl.

But I think what this documentary does well is that it shows you first hand why so many SA victims take years to speak out, it's because the entertainment industry will go out of its way to protect predators and abusers.

The fact that only one celebrity denounced her defense of Brian Peck during the documentary's production is very telling.

If you want to know why so many predators and abusers end up working in the entertainment industry, it's because they know they can get away with acting like complete monsters behind the scenes and that nobody will ever hold them accountable until it's too late.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

a certain type of (typically white lower support needs speaking) autistic people: autism is not a disorder because there’s nothing wrong with me and a disorder implies there’s something wrong with me that needs to be cured😫😫people treat me bad because they see it as a disorder instead of the correct thing of difference or a neurotype!!!

half of this type of people: autism is not a disability because there’s nothing wrong with autism i’m not disabled i can do everything just like a nondisabled person and disability is Bad and i’m not bad

(which. disability is not a bad word and all but i at least applaud you for the consistency??)

other half of this group, somehow: autism is a disability because autism is disabling and there’s nothing wrong with disability! disability isn’t inherently bad it’s how society treat us that disables us!!! —but autism is still not a disorder! it’s not a disorder it’s a disability and a neurotype!

(disability isn’t bad but this group also perpetuated a lot of misinformation about the social model. i only have to fight them on one subject (autism as disorder) instead of two (autism as disability and disorder) but somehow this group is even more frustrating to deal with because the sheer cognitive dissonance is going to explode my brains. like so you can separate disability from societal ableism but you can’t separate disorder from societal ableism???)

bonus. all of them: *will come onto the post of a higher support needs autistic person talking about why autism is a disability AND a disorder and half complain half dissecting why some (lower support needs) autistic people are so fucking keen on speaking over higher support needs autistic experience. and then have the fucking audacity to say “well i don’t think autism is a disorder because” and then performatively say “if i misunderstand you’re welcome to educate me” as if the entire fucking original post isn’t an education and as if i owe explaining my entire experience to you*

for the record and for the last fucking time (narrator: it would not be the last time). disorder is not a bad word it’s not an inherently wrong thing it’s not a bad thing and if you think it is please for the love of god work on your internalized ableism instead of externalizing it to a more marginalized person. yes the construction of disorders especially in the realm of psychiatry is shit and a mess but that doesn’t mean what you think it means please. a disability a disorder an impairment is limiting by definition it’s a fact it can be neutral it doesn’t have to inherently mean the societal stigma associated with it is true. a disorder and how society and ableist people treat that disorder is heavily intertwined but the second is not inherent to the first.

if you don’t see your autism as a disorder i’m not going to argue over your own experience but stop fucking implying or straight up saying all autism is not a disorder. stop trying to erase the disorder part of autism spectrum disorder. please get out of your tunnel vision and actually shut up and listen to higher support needs / nonspeaking autistics for once in your life without adding any of your comments please.

disability is not an inherently bad thing. disorder is not an inherently bad thing. impairment is not an inherently bad thing.

[gjsxj0]

the dragon prince's last season was below mediocre, the finale was terrible and the major reveal was the worst thing i have ever witnessed. this post is long and strongly worded and typed up at midnight.

harrow being in pip was predicted since s1. everyone knew because they laid it out clear as day. it was intentionally set up and like all good bits of writing, the audience sees it and knows what is coming up.

why 6+ years into tdp's lifecycle was it made canon. after years of not answering it or just giving "half truths" (aaravos much?) all to just say "screw the audience" and make it confirmed in a scene that has its own issues and it was AFTER A TWO YEAR TIME SKIP.

not only that, it ruins harrow's and viren's relationship to such a degree i can only assume the creators just hated these two in the end. harrow being in pip implies:

viren intentionally did it without harrow's consent, costing harrow his autonomy whilst also making viren never actually caring about harrow in the end (which the canon does not support, i have eyes and reading comprehension). this begs the question: HOW COULD VIREN NOT HAVE UNFINISHED BUSINESS aka show up in the inbetween? harrow was the one relationship he cherished and then they pull this stunt and said "actually no viren is terrible even tho he DIED saving a kingdom that never deserved him."

viren did it and harrow WANTED it to happen which makes harrow look even WORSE than he was already set up to be. a king who struggles with the responsibilities and weight of his crown and is tired of these issues that he... kind of lets happen. it was interesting to see where it goes but wow this makes harrow an asshole if he just flew out of that window and did NOT come back to katolis for over 2 years.

viren... didn't?? do it??? which doesn't make sense because this show never has a mage unless its callum or its for plot convenience (and they die or are a one off character) and we are just back at square one. if they go this route, i will have to applaud the audacity for them thinking their audience is really that stupid.

not to mention the whole "black person spends a good chunk of time in an animal form" trope, which they should have just dealt with early on.

pip theory being canon in a two year time skip... let's pretend i accept this for a second:

they said arc 3 would be another time skip. 7-12 years possible. what the fuck. so harrow is never coming back (he said fuck katolis or he is DEAD EITHER WAY) or its gonna be relegated to a graphic novel or book (if they even complete the draft in time for publication YEAH WE KNOW WHY BOOK 3 NEVER HAPPENED). and even then. the original 2 year time skip. there is not going to be any actual explanation for it just like there was no good reason for rayla to leave callum bc there will be nothing to show for it.

they really couldn't just let this one theory never get addressed. it could have been a poorly done red herring but no. this is a massive fuck you to everyone that watched the show since day 1.

that interview on cartoon universe's youtube page where they just admitted they were tired of being asked where harrow was for so long they just did it. it was intentional and it was to spit in our faces.

their relationship means barely anything now, its too late in the story for them to fix this NOT LIKE THIS SHOW COMMITS TO ANYTHING ANYWAY and i hope aaron ehasz and justin richmond never write another cartoon again.

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 19th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part III of Chapter 8, “Où MM. Firmin Richard et Armand Moncharmin ont l’audace de faire représenter « Faust » dans une salle « maudite » et de l’effroyable événement qui en résulta” (“Where MM. Firmin Richard and Armand Moncharmin Have the Audacity to Have ‘Faust’ Performed in a ‘Cursed’ House and the Horrifying Event Which Thereby Ensued”).

This section was first printed on Friday, 22 October, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward's translation of the First Edition of Phantom of the Opera (either in paperback, or Kindle, or from another vendor -- the ISBN-13 is: 978-0199694570), the text starts in Chapter 8 at, “Moncharmin, ever a man for a joke, said, ‘Actually, quite a good house for a theatre which has a curse on it!'” and goes to Chapter 8, “But a few, who seemed slightly better informed, agreed that 'they'd kick up a storm' at the start of the ballad of the King of Thule, and hurried off to the subscribers' door to tell La Carlotta.”

Please note, however, that a large portion of this section was omitted from Leroux’s First Edition.

There are some significant differences between the Gaulois text and the First Edition. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) This section in the Gaulois was sadly cut from the First Edition:

The Persian was a living enigma who was beginning to annoy Paris. He spoke to no one. He never smiled. He seemed to love music since he attended all of the musical productions, and yet he was not enthusiastic, he did not applaud, and he never became impassioned.

Here is how M. A.D…, a former journalist who had been the Opéra’s secretary, spoke of the Persian:* “For many years, he has been sneaking his way through our Parisian lives, always alone, always silent, but loving and seeking out the crowds, displaying in broad daylight and by lamplight a stone-faced countenance and a slightly hesitant gait, and well, appearing at every performance with his perpetual attire, a Persian hat and a great, black houppelande coat,** in the sleeves of which he continuously wrings his unceasingly nervous hands.”

That evening, like every evening, our Persian was thus dressed in Persian attire; but the new Ambassador of Persia himself was dressed in the latest Parisian fashion, and there was nothing surprising about this, since he had come directly from London.

The seat occupied by the Persian was located right below the Ambassador’s box. At the close of the curtain, the Persian rose and remained standing, turning his back to the box. But certainly he would soon turn around, and the Ambassador would see him. What would he do? Would he recognize him? Was there even anyone in Persia who knew the Persian? There were those who said that he was a very important figure; well, they were going to see!

They saw nothing at all. M. Moncharmin relates in his Memoirs that the Persian appeared before the Ambassador of Persia without even acknowledging him and that there was in the demeanor of the former more aloofness and quiet disdain than usual. In this regard, M. Moncharmin writes that the Persian was one of the most handsome men that one could see, “of average height, with even features, an expressive and masculine face etched with a profound melancholy, with black eyes*** that are intense and sad, a jet black beard, and an amber colored complexion made golden by the sunlight of the Orient.” M. Moncharmin recounts that when the public’s attention turned to the Persian, one heard in the house the discrete sound of rattling keys. The spectators were wary of the “evil eye.” And he says nothing more about that incident.

When the Managers were once again alone in their box, M. Moncharmin said to M. Richard, still with a light-hearted air: (this is where the First Edition picks back up)

*NOTE: As revealed by Raj Shah in his article, “No Ordinary Skeleton" (read more about his research here), "M. A.D…" was M. Adolphe Dupeuty. He described a real incident which happened at the old Opéra Le Peletier in 1857, in which the Persian Ambassador attended a performance at which the "Persian" (Mohammed Ismaël Khan) was also present. This article was published in "La Vie parisienne à travers le XIXe siècle: Paris de 1800 à 1900 d’après les estampes et les mémoires du temps,” edited by Charles Simond.

In his “factional” style (fact+fiction), Leroux “borrowed” heavily from this article in writing his fictional account of the Persian and the Persian Ambassador. The quote from “M. A.D.” was taken verbatim from Dupeuty’s article.

**NOTE: This image below possibly depicts the outfit that Dupeuty was describing, and that Leroux copied into Le Fantôme de l'Opéra (Leroux described the Persian wearing a houppelande and an Astrakhan cap in his narrative).

This image is from Les Célébrités de la rue, by Charles Yriarte, published in 1864, a book that listed notable figures in Paris in the early to mid 1800s. It was published seven years after the incident described in Dupeuty's article, and so is reasonably contemporary with his account. It was also published during Mohammed Ismaël Khan's lifetime, as M. Khan passed away in 1868.

It is worth noting that the Opera House that M. Khan frequented was the Salle Le Peletier, which was destroyed in a fire in 1873 (five years after M. Khan's death). Two years later in 1875, the Paris Opera was moved to the newly opened Palais Garnier (aka Erik's Opera House). So, M. Khan never actually frequented the Palais Garnier, contrary to what Leroux depicts in Le Fantôme de l'Opéra.

***NOTE: Throughout the rest of the narrative, the Persian’s eyes are described as being “jade” rather than black. This was a case of internal inconsistency. In the Gaulois text of the chapter, "The Vicomte and the Persian" (as well as in the First Edition), Leroux described that the Persian had ebony skin and jade-green eyes (instead of bronze-colored skin and black eyes).

It is also worthy of note that the Persian as a character is an example of Lerouxian trope subversion. The Daroga is a foreigner and an outcast. The Parisian operagoers make no attempt at hiding their prejudice against him. And yet he is one of the heroes of Leroux’s novel, and he puts his life on the line to save the very Tout-Paris who rattle their keychains at him.

2) This sentence was cut from the First Edition:

Yes, this was the appointed replacement for the old madwoman, and with her in place, they would see if Box 5 continued to cause a sensation.

3) These paragraphs were cut from the First Edition:

None of the sounds of the sort that are heard at séances and which, as everyone knows, are generally attributed to interference from the beyond, resounded against or within the partition walls, the ceiling, or the floor; the chair upon which Richard was sitting behaved itself in the most admirable way possible, and the voice, the notorious voice, still remained silent.

The Managers were busy noting this, when the door of their box was abruptly flung open by the panic-stricken stage manager.

4) This sentence was cut from the First Edition:

They would see to this in a little while.

5) Sadly, this section in the Gaulois was cut from the First Edition, and replaced with a brief summary:

At this time, MM. Moncharmin and Richard descended from their box. The wings were already overrun. Having arrived on the stage, they headed immediately to the right, towards La Carlotta’s dressing room, whose windows overlooked the administrative courtyard. They then ran into La Sorelli, who was rushing to see the Comte de Chagny before he returned to his box.

They gestured to her, which she understood, for she straightaway left the Comte and came over to the two Managers who begged her to discretely ask the Comte about what might be the basis of the rumors of a cabal organized against La Carlotta.

While they awaited La Sorelli’s reply, they entered La Carlotta’s dressing room. The room was full of friends and comrades, and high above all the various conversations, one could hear the singer’s voice, which proclaimed a thousand threats against La Daaé.

Of Spanish origin, La Carlotta had retained an accent of a very particular flavor, and when some excessive emotion, like anger, hurried her speech, she expressed herself in such a way that it was difficult for those listening to refrain from smiling. And so despite the gravity of the situation, there were many smiles that evening in La Carlotta’s dressing room.

The two Managers approached the singer, who was in the process of placing upon her magnificent tresses, blacker than the night, another no less magnificent coiffure, paler blonde than the dawn’s first light. It was the wig with two thick plaits worn by the gentle Marguerite. The twinkling of La Carlotta’s jet black eyes stood out even more within this golden frame. She rose when she saw “these gentlemen,” and placing a hand upon her heart, she professed her sincerest feelings to the new management so passionately that certainly MM. Moncharmin and Richard would have been moved to tears if they had been able to understand a word of that astounding gibberish. Finally, she handed them a piece of paper whose writing in red ink had the effect of thoroughly commanding the interest of the two Managers. They had no difficulty recognizing it.

6) Minor differences in punctuation and capitalization.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 22 October, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Err on The Side of Awesome

(Not my gif)

Kol Mikaelson's Daughter Headcanons

Requested by: @katherinereilly19

Here lies my Masterlist

You were adopted by Kol and Davina Claire-Mikaelson at age six from a Catholic orphanage run by nuns who all thought you were some sort of demon child.

See, like your adopted father, you were a witch and had come into your power rather early. Davina had been sensing some odd power flares in the area and, when she and Kol had gone to investigate, there you were - a sweet, little bundle of mischief with more power than you knew what to do with.

To say that you had Kol wrapped around your little finger from the first second he saw you would be no exaggeration. Seriously. 

Kol had never thought himself fit to be a husband, let alone a parent. It still baffles him some days that Davina agreed to marry him - most days in fact - it just seemed too good to be true. They traveled the world for a while and then… Well, Davina, she…

She said she wanted kids.

She didn't say that she used to want kids or that she would have wanted them had she married someone else. Davina said she wanted to be a mom. With him. She said she wanted to have a kid with him and she wanted Kol to be that kid's dad.

At first, he almost thought it was a joke. Who in their right mind would trust him with a child? But no, Davina was serious. 

And it terrified him.

Kol is well aware of just how miserably his parents screwed up their job and he's pretty sure he couldn't do any worse but that doesn't mean he'd do well.

But the guy took just one look at you and he knew without a doubt that there was no alternative realm, no obscure future, and no minuscule probability in which he could cause you any harm.

For the first little while, you were convinced (thanks to the nuns) that you would have to be an absolute angel of a child in order to be wanted by your new parents. You helped clean things, refrain from using your magic, made your bed, brushed your teeth, and never asked for anything.

Three months in, you dropped a plate and broke down crying, begging Mr. and Mrs. Claire-Mikaelson (because you wouldn't dare call them mom and dad) not to send you back.

What began as your average Tuesday afternoon turned into a deeply formative experience when Kol sat you on his knee, looked you in the eyes, and said:

"Y/N, darling, I want you to listen to me very closely, alright? There is absolutely nothing on this earth you can do or say that will make your mother and I love you any less. There is no such thing as good enough - there is no bar you have to meet - only what you are. Now, a plate is infinitely replaceable, but you are our daughter and I will love you until the end of time. That makes you infinitely more valuable than a plate. Okay?"

"O-okay… dad?"

That was a day you never forgot as you grew older. 

Speaking of growing, no matter how old you get, Kol can and will pick you up by the ankle and hold you upside down. It never gets old.

Also, piggy-back rides.

You did go through a phase where you were convinced there was a monster in your closet.

"Dad! There's a monster in my closet and it wants to eat my toes!"

"Really? Well, I must applaud the audacity."

There were quite a few nights you spent cuddled up between them as Davina braided your hair and Kol told you a story until you fell asleep. 

Kol always refers to you and Davina as "his girls".

He's always willing to play with you, whether it be a game of tag or a complex drama plot with your dolls. (His personal favorite was when you decided to reenact the French Revolution in Barbie form.)

Daddy-Daughter Days are 100% a thing. The two of you are huge movie and arcade goers. Not to mention huge fantasy nerds. From Deltora Quest to Harry Potter to the freaking Wheel of Time - your fascination with the fantastical never fades as you grow. You never thought yourself too old to be read to at night, so Kol never stopped the tradition.

You're a little (a lot) spoiled. But not in a bad way. You're not ungrateful but let's just say you have quite a few pets.

Auntie Bex is always more than willing to babysit when your parents want some time to themselves. You remind her of Kol when he was a kid and she adores that.

Play-Dates with your cousin Hope mean quite a few headaches for your uncles Klaus and Elijah. Aunt Hayley thinks you're absolutely hilarious while Aunt Cami is convinced you're like 4 different varieties of insane. She might have a point there.

When you're old enough to be in school, you can always count on your parents to help you with your homework. You never would have made it through middle or high school without your dad, Kol is insanely good at math and chemistry. However, when it comes to anything to do with history or government, he passes the torch to Davina because even though he lived through it, he literally never paid enough attention to remember anything.

Parent-Teacher conferences are always interesting. 

"Y/N is so intelligent. Truly a joy to have in class."

"Is she now?"

Neither of them buys it for a second. You have a mischievous streak a mile long, the teacher just doesn't know that you're the one putting tacks on her chair. Kol is honestly proud and Davina may try to be the voice of reason but she can't help laughing at just how alike father and daughter turned out to be.

Now, if Hope is "miraculously well adjusted" then you're probably something like a thirty-year-old in an eight-year-old body. You're like the most chill child perhaps ever. However, just like your father, your maturity level varies with the situation.

For example, Klaus once decided it would be a good idea to whip out the "You're not even a real Mikaelson" card at a family reunion. It wasn't long before Davina had thrown Klaus into a wall and Kol and Marcel were at each other's throats. 

You honestly weren't even bothered. You knew your parents loved you and that was enough so you simply said:

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

And went back to eating your dinosaur chicken nuggets.

Marcel - apparently still a little touchy on that subject - was the last to sit down again. Little did he know just how proficient you had become with teleporting objects. Naturally, you were smirking when the whoopie cushion did its noble work.

Kol is terrified that he'll lose touch with you as you grow older.

This fear never comes to fruition.

The trust between you and your parents is something every other child ever would envy. They trust your judgment and, in turn, you trust the very few restrictions they put in place for you. It's crazy because they honestly never get mad. Like ever.

However, their disappointment is the worst thing you'll ever endure. 

 They told you not to go out one night because an old enemy of Klaus' was wandering around town. You went out anyway and you were attacked. Now, you were powerful enough to fight off your assailant and kill him, but you didn't come out of that fight unscathed. You had to limp home and tell your dad what had happened. 

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. I've done much worse in my life, for much dumber reasons. To be mad at you would make me a hypocrite. I just know you're better than this - Y/N, you've shown me that you're better than this. I'm not angry with you. I'm just extraordinarily disappointed."

It happens only once and never again.

Growing up with those two for parents ensured that you quickly mastered your magic and became one of the most powerful and skilled witches of all time. But don't think for a second that you would ever be used. They would never allow that to happen.

As you reach middle and high school, a rumor begins going around that your dad is a vampire. You just snort really loud and make no further comment. It leaves everyone wondering.

First boyfriend?

Heaven help the poor sod. 

"If you ever lay your hands on my daughter against her will, you will find that you no longer have hands. I will use the bones of them to fashion myself a new pen, with which I shall write your death certificate. Do I make myself clear?"

Once you're old enough, the basement becomes something of a witchy lab space.

Explosions are… frequent.

*Coughing* "Thank goodness your mother wasn't home for that one."

"Think again, Mikaelson."

"Oh shi-"

"Uh… Hi mom!"

You're probably the healthiest Mikaelson.

When the time comes for you to graduate, it's a hard dose of reality for Kol. He understands he has to let you live your life and he would never dream of taking that away as it was taken from him, but it's just hard.

You'll never stop being his little girl.

Special thanks to: @her-violent-delights

[fortycumber]

so I'm finally watching till the end of the moon since I couldn't before (life got in the way and I didn't want to skim through it like I usually do with some dramas. I mean, it's rather on the heavier side and it made me quite the emotional wreck the last time I sat down and decided to watch it, I need to mentally prepare to devote myself to it k? 😂😂😂)

and I genuinely have the same thoughts I had then

Like

What do these people expect from Tantai Jin? He's been used, abused, neglected, despised, thrown about, beaten, battered, hungry, thirsty, cold, sick (dunno what more honestly, this guy's been through it all) and they're expecting him to just take it like a champ and die honourably? Because defending himself and literally biting and fighting to survive isn't honorable for them, he should've just remained their puppet to maim and torture forever and thus gain their favor. Yeah OK he's no saint, but the sole reason he became like that was because PEOPLE LITERALLY DIDN'T GIVE HIM A BREAK, back when he hadn't done a single bad thing he was blamed for all sorts of atrocities and then it was expected from him to just I don't know, not be mentally damaged by all of that. It's amazing he had that much patience to take it all in and not retaliate.

The audacity these people have, like, if it were me, I would have applauded him and genuinely supported him through his path to destruction, I mean good for you, go King destroy and look good while you do it!

[bloodlegacies]

I was wondering how everyone would react towards the MC winning a tournament held by Hayden's dad but the MC looks at him coldly and spits on the ground as a direct challenge to his authority? Bonus perk if the MC declares that their people will no longer bend to his will but instead the MC will see the king on the ground with MC's foot on his head thus starting a new war between them

I cannot tell much, but there will definitely be a chance for mocking and even almost sparking a war with the king, but certain people won't allow it. But yeah, that would be a scandal, the future leader of Darian mocking the king and saying he won't bow down anymore? Wow, the Darians would applaud standing up (holding some weapons as support), while the Petrunians would be scandalized and disbelieving of the audacity.

[carolinagirl80]

This is just a genuine general curious question. Have ANY of you j2 Jensen leaning fans ever stoped and thought “wait hold on, maybe Jensen isn’t being objectified as severely as I originally thought” “their are people who have complemented him not just for his looks but other things as well” ? because it will help all j2 fans to be more liked by the general fandom, as who would stop attacking people who are just projecting positivity on Jensen, Misha or anyone in the fandom in general. NOW I AM NOT SAYING YOU SPECIFICALLY, I AM TALKING ABOUT J2 FANS IN GENERAL

Hey Anon, he is....he really is. Yeah, not everyone does it to the degree that a lot of people do, but I have seen a lot of really obscene/unhinged posts out there. It's not that people aren't allowed to think he's handsome, because well, he is. It's just that there are so many people who put that before anything else, and it's just a constant barrage of that all day every day. There are some people, who take it to an extreme as well. Where it's post after post after post from the same persons talking about how gorgeous he is every single day. Then some have the audacity to tag him in their posts too.

I saw earlier that the 0dayssinceJensenwasobjectified (what a mouthful) blog posted a tweet where someone did it right. Yeah, they said he was handsome, but appreciated him as a person too. So, they recognize when people do it right and applaud them for it. As I've said a bunch of times so far, I don't know that person so I can't speak for them, but I don't think the purpose of that blog is solely to put people down for objectifying Jensen, but to hopefully make people see and bring some awareness.

I really am going to dig up his quotes from over the years where it shows how he does have some issues with it one day. I think that would be helpful for people to understand as well.

As I said when answering an ask yesterday, it's not just Jensen, it's Jared and Misha who get it done to them too. They are all human, they all want to be valued for who they are, what they do, and not just what they look like.

____________________________________________________________

I'm putting a line break here, because now I want to address the whole "help j2 fans to be more liked by the fandom" thing. All I keep hearing lately is J2 and JP fans are the worst. The most toxic, yada yada, yada. You do realize that actual J2 fans/JP fans spend most of their time defending them against hellers and AA's right? It's the hellers and AA's that are sending repeated death threats to Jared, or bullying Jared, or just hating on him in general. It's the same people who are being totally gross about objectifying Jensen, or being determined that Dean was bi and ship him with a ship that he has repeatedly, and I mean repeatedly denied existing. Tagging both Jensen and his wife in tweets about it. Tagging him in overtly sexual posts about it. Putting them in poly relationships with Misha and his girlfriend. I could go on and on and on about the atrocities committed by hellers and AA's on a daily basis.

The biggest thing though? The fact that those same people are the ones that come to our asks and say vile and malicious things to us constantly under the cover of anonymity every day. (I'm not really talking about you anon, you were fairly civil which is appreciated). My J2/JP fan friends and I go not go to other blogs and do that to others. If we are saying malicious things, it's generally in response to the ones directing at us.

[katy-l1988]

Chapater IV: The child

Zestial was momentarily paralyzed as he saw Carmilla standing, illuminated by the spotlight, her figure shining amidst the dimness of the venue. Their eyes met, and in that instant, everything seemed to stop around them. Buried feelings and forgotten memories resurfaced in his mind, reminding him of how much he missed her. Araziel, noticing Carmilla's intense gaze and reaction to seeing Zestial, felt a flash of jealousy ignite within him. His fingers slightly tightened on the edge of the table, and a cold, defiant gaze settled on the angel who had interrupted his night.

Meanwhile, Carmilla, standing in the middle of the restaurant, struggled internally, her heart torn between illusion and commitment. On one hand, she longed for the lost connection with Zestial, a spark of nostalgia and desire burning in her chest, something Araziel could no longer awaken in her. Asmodeo seized the opportunity for his own entertainment. Without hesitation, he took to the stage.

For him, it was all comedy, entertainment for his drama-hungry audience. However, behind his mask, there was a disdain for love he had never managed to feel, a belief that darker desires were superior to any romantic feelings.

"Listen up, everyone! Today, three great celebrities from Hell visit us!" Asmodeo exclaimed sarcastically, with a mischievous smile, relishing in the audience's attention. "Come here, Araziel!"

The angel combed his pink hair, which shimmered under the spotlights he loved so much. Among the Infernal Rings, he was known as the "Father of Titans," the first angel to break one of God's sacred rules by conceiving hundreds of Nephilim with human women. These giants were violent beings who wreaked havoc in ancient times, wiping out many human settlements. Upon their death, they became demons of great strength but little intelligence. Araziel gathered them all, turning them into thugs whose services would be offered to sinners and other renowned beings, including, of course, Asmodeo.

"This demon is a legend! The very embodiment of desire and rebellion!"

"If Sin of Lust says so, I'll take it as a compliment," he smiled, delighted that the audience praised him. "Remember, my friends. If you need protection, don't hesitate to call."

"Oh, Carmilla, how did you manage to snag such a stud?"

"Come on, Asmodeo, who could resist my charms?" Araziel continued, addressing his wife and inappropriately groping her breasts.

"Don't touch me!" Carmilla shouted, pushing Araziel away. "Is this why you brought me here? To humiliate me?"

"Look at that! You have a real firecracker, Araziel. These kinds of jewels are too valuable and desired. You should take better care of her," he declared, pausing dramatically before continuing his biting comment. "After all, a 'relationship' of so many years isn't maintained solely by good manners."

"Don't you know any other way to attract your customers?" Carmilla interjected, trying to camouflage her distress with anger, though the pain and shame were evident in her voice. "Or are you so miserable that you only feel powerful by playing with others' lives?"

"Carmilla, enough," Araziel warned, grabbing her arm, but she pushed him away.

The audience, surprised by the woman's audacity, murmured among themselves, some even discreetly applauding her bravery. However, Asmodeo, accustomed to being the center of attention and having absolute control over his stage, felt increasingly uncomfortable for being challenged in that way.

"Touché, Madame," he muttered under his breath, trying to regain his composure in front of the audience watching the tense interaction. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But don't forget who owns this place."

"Oh, I know who you are, Asmodeo. The question is, do you really know who I am?"

Asmodeo, momentarily taken aback by the firmness of her response, quickly regained his composure, though his eyes flashed with a mix of disbelief and resentment.

"Mmm, a purposeless soul? Araziel's doll? A caged bird?" Asmodeo said, his tone sarcastic and contemptuous, echoing Carmilla's doubts and insecurities.

Araziel watched with a mix of amusement and arrogance, relishing in his wife's submission. For him, that moment was like punishment, punishment for always preferring an old man from heaven over him. Shame consumed her, as she struggled to maintain composure under Asmodeo's ruthless gaze and the scrutiny of the audience. Zestial, consumed by anger, chose to use his monstrous form, an imposing and threatening creature. With a quick movement, he moved toward Carmilla to shield her. His eyes gleamed with fierce intensity as he looked at Asmodeo, warning him in a grave and severe tone.

"Don't ever stick your venomous tongue where you're not called, Asmodeo. I won't allow you to dare insult Carmilla again," growled Zestial, his voice resonating with authority and determination.

Asmodeo, surprised by Zestial's intervention and the fury emanating from him, instinctively recoiled, though his expression remained defiant.

"Who do you think you are to give me orders? This is my house, and I do as I please here," Asmodeo responded disdainfully, though it was evident that Zestial's imposing presence made him uncomfortable.

Carmilla, sensing the tension in the air, gestured for Zestial to calm down and return to his normal form.

"It's not worth it," she said, giving Zestial a smile. "Come on, anyway, I don't like this place. It's just trash."

She and Zestial left, leaving the two demons behind. However, they had barely taken a few steps outside the establishment when Araziel quickly caught up to them. Blinded by fury, he pounced on Carmilla ferociously, his hands gripping her hair tightly, and with a swift motion, he pulled her back, causing her to fall to the ground with a dull thud.

Zestial, witnessing the violence against the woman, could no longer contain himself. With a wild roar, he lunged at Araziel, and in an instant, the scene turned into a whirlwind of blows, grunts, and the dull sound of bodies violently colliding with the ground and alley walls. Their fists danced in a deadly ballet, each blow laden with fury and desperation. The golden blood splattered on the pavement, reflecting their true nature. The rage in Zestial's eyes was so intense it seemed to glow with its own light, while Araziel fought with fierce determination, fueled by indignation and wounded pride.

Carmilla, still dazed from the fall and the blow to her head, tried to get up from the ground, but a sudden sharp pain pierced her stomach, paralyzing her completely. The spasms of pain shook her as she clutched her abdomen with her left hand, feeling as if something was tearing her apart from the inside. Desperate and in tears, she screamed with all her might, begging them to stop the fight. As expected, Zestial was the first to react. He pushed Araziel away with a shove, freeing him from his tight grip, and turned to Carmilla. Without hesitation, he reached out his hand to her, offering assistance to help her up.

Carmilla clung to Zestial's arm, trying to alleviate the discomfort in vain.

"Stop pretending already!" Araziel exclaimed, visibly frustrated. "We're not fighting anymore."

"She's not pretending, Araziel," Zestial responded firmly, as he lifted Carmilla in his arms. "She's in a lot of pain. She urgently needs medical help."

Upon Zestial's words, Araziel nodded somberly. Without saying another word, he opened a portal to the Ring of Sloth and rushed Carmilla to the hospital. There, both Zestial and Araziel remained by her side as the doctor examined her. With a peculiar mask reminiscent of the plague era, the doctor asked them what had happened, but none of those present could offer a clear answer. They explained that they were in the middle of a fight, and suddenly she started screaming.

The doctor, with expert gestures, examined the affected area in Carmilla's stomach, causing her to cling tightly to the top of the stretcher, with Zestial holding her to prevent her from moving too much. The doctor didn't offer immediate explanations, instead, he positioned Carmilla in a specific way and ordered the nurse to prepare some additional supplies. He also requested that they call obstetrics, which further puzzled Zestial and Araziel.

Carmilla, feeling great pressure on her back and hips, spread her legs trying to relieve the discomfort. The doctor, observing the woman's unusual position, instantly understood what was happening. Without wasting time, he pulled out a pair of scissors and skillfully cut the pants she was wearing, revealing what was causing her pain.

"Do you want me to prepare her for the delivery room?" the nurse asked.

"It won't be necessary. The baby is already coming, and she won't let herself be moved," the doctor responded calmly, assessing the situation.

"A baby?" Carmilla, Zestial, and Araziel said simultaneously.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?!" Araziel exclaimed, his tone filled with anger and frustration.

"How could I tell you something I didn't know? ¡Carajo!" Carmilla responded, her voice trembling and on the verge of tears.

"Don't give me that! You should have known!" Araziel insisted, his anger growing with each word.

"Enough!" Zestial intervened, his voice resonating with authority. "Now is not the time."

The seraph fought to hold back tears as she clung to the edge of the stretcher, trying to endure the pain. She was aware that God, her father, had designed her with the ability to conceive, but she never thought she would face this situation so suddenly and overwhelmingly.

As Carmilla struggled to stay awake, Zestial approached her with tenderness. His presence was comforting, and his warm hand on hers offered silent support amidst the enveloping agony. Although Araziel was the father of her child and her husband, at that moment, it was Zestial who could help her. Their eyes met, seeking comfort. Despite everything that had happened between them, at that moment, Zestial was her rock, her refuge in the storm.

Araziel, feeling once again displaced by the presence of an elder, stepped away frustrated. Without saying a word, he headed towards the hospital exit, needing a moment alone to process everything he had just discovered. The cool night air greeted him, and with trembling hands, he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter from his coat pocket. He lit the cigarette with brisk gestures, letting the smoke slip between his lips as he sank into his thoughts. On one hand, he felt hurt and angry by Carmilla's sudden revelation of her pregnancy and the apparent emotional bond between her and Zestial. On the other hand, a part of him knew he had no right to feel that way, given the state of his relationship with Carmilla.

As he took a deep drag, a wave of understanding suddenly washed over him. That woman he so desired was having his child. The thought hit him like a lightning bolt, momentarily clearing his mind of all worries and fears. He extinguished the butt, letting the night breeze dissipate the remaining smoke. With firm and determined steps, Araziel returned to the hospital with a clear resolution in his mind: that creature was his, and he would not allow Zestial to take his place as a father, having stolen his wife's heart.

With a quick gesture, the doctor turned back and exclaimed excitedly:

"There you are! Come, do you want to see?"

Araziel approached cautiously, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness as he watched attentively. As he leaned in to get a better look, he could distinguish how the baby's head began to emerge, with strands of white hair identical to her mother's.

With a gleam of excitement in his eyes, Araziel turned to Carmilla, his voice full of enthusiasm and astonishment.

"It's our baby, Milla!"

But Carmilla, still overwhelmed by the pain and surprise, looked away. With one final gentle push, the baby emerged completely. A beautiful girl with silver hair and a tan complexion, identical to her mother. She had no wings, but that was beside the point, as there was a precedent that Nephilim, and even the Princess of Hell herself, did not possess them. Araziel, momentarily forgetting his resentment, cut the cord with the doctor's guidance, and with the baby wrapped in a towel, he approached his wife. However, Carmilla, overwhelmed by confusion, was not ready to face reality. She shook her head, refusing to take the baby into her arms.

"No, I don't want to see it," she murmured, looking away and feeling a lump in her throat. Zestial, sensing Carmilla's distress, tried to reassure her by gently caressing her arm.

"Milla, it's a girl…our daughter," he insisted, his voice soft but firm.

"That's exactly why. What can I expect from her if you're her father? Will she inherit your lies and deceit?" Carmilla responded, with a hint of bitterness in her voice, as she diverted her gaze from the baby towards Araziel.

Zestial knew the child shouldn't bear the brunt of their issues, so he sided with Araziel, and after a few moments, Carmilla relented. With his large hands, she held the baby against her chest, while the little one instinctively sought her source of nourishment. Araziel watched in silence, while Zestial stepped back.

"I can't believe you want to name her that," commented Araziel, furrowing his brow.

"Why not? It's a beautiful and unique name," Carmilla replied, defending her choice with determination, though a hint of doubt lingered in her voice.

"But…Velvette? Don't you think it's a bit…extravagant?" Araziel persisted, not hiding his disapproval.

"What's wrong with that? I like it, and that should be enough," Carmilla retorted, maintaining her stance.

"Fine, I won't argue with you."

Five years passed since that event, when Carmilla and Araziel made the difficult decision to officially divorce. They agreed, of course, on a shared custody arrangement that allowed them both to spend time with their daughter. According to the agreement, from Monday to Friday, Velvette would be with Carmilla, while on weekends, namely Saturday and Sunday, it would be Araziel's turn.

However, Velvette still grew up under the predominant influence of her father. He was her idol, her role model, although let's say he wasn't the best. Under his rule-free upbringing, Velvette became a passionate young woman, with great energy that could sometimes turn into a problem. Araziel, though he loved his daughter, was not the conventional father figure. His approach to parenting was more relaxed, allowing Velvette almost total freedom to explore the world around her. This resulted in a close relationship between father and daughter, but also in the lack of boundaries and structure in Velvette's life.

On the other hand, her relationship with her mother was more distant. Although she lived with her and spent time together, Carmilla was immersed in her career and other responsibilities outside the home. This caused a gap in their relationship, and the girl began to resent her mother for what she perceived as a lack of attention and commitment to her. Arguments between the two were frequent, and the young girl openly expressed her dissatisfaction with the situation.

"I'm home!" Carmilla announced, placing her keys on the bedside table near the door. "Velvette?"

Carmilla went straight to Velvette's room, and upon entering, she was met with a dense cloud of smoke that made her nose twitch slightly. However, before opening the window to ventilate the room, she noticed the surprise on her daughter's face, who had obviously been startled by her sudden entrance.

"Mom! You have to knock," Velvette scolded.

"Not when you live in my house," Carmilla replied, looking at her, noticing the cigarette in her hand. "I've told you not to smoke inside the house; you should go out to the terrace."

"But it's cold outside," Carmilla picked up some things to throw away, then came across a blue pill.

"It doesn't matter, there are rules in this house," she insisted, while picking up some things to throw away, then came across a blue pill among the objects. "What's this?"

"A pill?"

"Don't play dumb, pendeja. Tell me, where did you get this?"

Carmilla, unable to contain her frustration at not receiving an answer, grabbed Velvette's face tightly, her hand covering almost her entire head.

"Mírame, mírame..." Carmilla insisted, shaking Velvette harder. "I'm talking to you!"

Velvette, annoyed by her mother's treatment, looked at her with defiant eyes.

"Since when are you involved in this, Velvette? Since when are you taking drugs?"

Velvette forcefully released herself from Carmilla's grip, turning her face away with fury. Her eyes sparkled with a defiant gleam as she faced her mother.

"Since when?" she repeated sarcastically. "For months now, what did you expect, Mom? We're in damn Hell."

"I don't care where we are. I didn't raise you like this!" Carmilla exclaimed, her voice trembling with a mix of frustration and anguish.

"You? Raise me?" Velvette scoffed, with a look of contempt on her face. "Dad was right about you being a proud, selfish bitch."

Carmilla felt as if a dagger pierced her heart upon hearing her daughter's words. Anger and sadness mixed in a whirlwind of emotions within her. However, Velvette wasn't finished.

"You don't even bother to leave your office to see what's happening with me," Velvette continued, not stopping. "Do you think I don't notice how you hide behind your work to avoid dealing with your own problems?"

Carmilla was overwhelmed by Velvette's barrage of accusations. The tension in the room was palpable as mother and daughter faced off in a battle of wills.

"¡Ya basta!" Carmilla shouted, her voice trembling with emotion. "I won't allow you to talk to me like that, do you hear me? I'm your mother, and I deserve respect."

Velvette let out a bitter laugh, her eyes filled with disdain.

"Respect. Do you think you deserve respect after everything you've done? You know nothing about me, Mom. You never have."

A heavy silence filled the room as Carmilla's words hung in the air. Tears of helplessness began to well up in her eyes as she looked at her daughter with a mixture of pain and resignation.

"If that's what you think of me, then there's nothing more to say," she said firmly, though her heart was breaking in her chest.

Velvette looked at her with disdain, no hint of remorse in her gaze.

"Fine by me. I don't need anything from you anyway. I've always been self-sufficient, remember?"

Her daughter's words were like a direct blow to Carmilla's soul. She turned away, unable to bear the pressure of the moment. With heavy steps, she left the room, heading to hers. Velvette stayed in the room, feeling a strange mix of anger and sadness for what had just happened. She knew that things between her and her mother would never be the same again, but for some reason, that didn't matter to her as much as she thought it would.

On Friday afternoon, when Araziel came for his daughter, Carmilla led him to her room to discuss in private. Velvette knew that her mother's anger wouldn't last long, as every time those two were together, their instincts took over. Anger turned into desire, into bites, and scratches. The teenager, aware of the situation, sought refuge in her headphones, trying to block out the noise emanating from the next room. The muffled sound of

music flooded her ears, providing her with a barrier of isolation against the intensity of the encounter between her parents. With closed eyes and a heavy heart, she swallowed a pill, letting herself be carried away by the sweet promise of oblivion it offered. The enveloping melodies of her music intertwined with the passionate whispers filtering in from the adjoining room, creating a separate world where she could temporarily lose herself. However, even in her self-destructive retreat, a thread of concern persisted within her.

Once her parents left, leaving behind a charged and messy atmosphere, Velvette felt a momentary relief. She sighed deeply as she removed her headphones, allowing the silence to fill the room, if only for a moment. The tranquility was interrupted by Araziel's voice.

"We're ready to go," Araziel announced, his tone firm and decisive. "But I need to talk to you seriously once we get home."

Velvette followed her father with quick steps, feeling Carmilla's gaze boring into her back. Though she tried not to look directly at her, she could sense the anger emanating from her mother like a stifling wave of heat. For the first time in a long time, Velvette realized that she had crossed a line, had hurt her mother in a way she hadn't anticipated.

Carmilla watched her with a mixture of pain and disappointment in her eyes. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and her expression was cold and distant. Though Velvette tried to read her thoughts in her face, Carmilla's gaze was impenetrable, hiding her true feelings behind her mask. For a moment, Velvette wished she could turn back time and undo her words, but she knew it was already too late. She had made a grave mistake, one that had angered her mother to a new level.

[teecupangel]

If the "Desmond is Jennifer's son during her time in TopKapi palace" route is further developed, won't people outside of Ziio's tribe start to think that Desmond is Ratonhnhaké:ton's real father? (I can see Desmond quite embarrassed but enjoying the mess with Ziio and Jenny after Haytham finds out about the rumours)

The idea of Desmond being reborn as Jennifer Scott’s son here.

Okay… So let’s see if this would work… math-wise.

Since Jennifer was sent to Topkapı in 1735 and Ratonhnhaké:ton is born in 1756 (with Haytham saving Jennifer in 1757), that means that Desmond would have to be born around 1736~1740 for people to think that, yeah, he could totally be Ratonhnhaké:ton’s father. It is also possible for 1741~1743 but that’s like the iffy questionable age group.

In other words, yes, this could work.

You know what would be funny?

If Desmond knew Haytham would be coming to save his mother but not when. So he’s been preparing, even has a failsafe in case Haytham took too long and he needed an exit strategy soon.

His plan?

To frame Haytham Kenway for murdering the sultan’s favorite son and that son’s mother.

Desmond needed to fake his and his mother’s death and, as much as Desmond knew that Haytham had a sucky childhood, and he was truly coming to save his mother, Haytham Kenway was still a dangerous Templar who willingly tried to kill his own son...

Said son is also one of the few people Desmond cared about, either out of his own freewill or because of the Bleeding Effect doesn’t matter to Desmond...

He embraced his Bleeding Effect and Haytham is a danger to Ratonhnhaké:ton regardless of what noble intentions he may have in saving his mother.

Also, Desmond was still annoyed by Haytham’s backseat sailing from that memory, and he knew that Haytham would be able to survive this.

… he might be forever hunted down by the Ottomans but Desmond sees that as a good thing. Gonna be hard to do Templar shit in Desmond’s territory now, right?

I’m just imagining that Desmond had his mother taken out by the Assassins already and is wearing a guard’s outfit. Two bodies that are quite similar to them, both Templars or allies of the Order, are staged into a bloody massacre and Desmond made sure that they would be indistinguishable even by modern means, and he looks Haytham dead in the eyes as he said, “Hello, uncle.”

With fake politeness he had learned as a son of a sultan, he said, “I am quite glad that you have come to save my mother. And, if you truly do care for her, then you must know what role you have to play.”

Haytham doesn’t get a chance to say anything as Desmond puts on the guard’s helmet and shouts, “Intruder! The intruder has killed the prince!!!”

And like the guards have been stationed to be near Desmond and his mother’s rooms, they all get there quickly and find Haytham standing in a bloody room while Desmond pretends to be injured, clutching his arm with bloody hands that were actually from the two fake bodies he had prepared, “He did this! He killed both the prince and his mother!”

And Haytham plays along because he has seen Desmond’s face, know that he is his nephew and everyone here knows how much he loves his mother. If he was being used to finally get away from this place then he will simply applaud his nephew’s audacity and play along.

Only to finally get a headache when it turned out that his nephew and sister has sailed back to the colonies, and he had to learn that from an Assassin who went, “On behalf of the Ottoman Brotherhood, we thank you, Grand Master Haytham Kenway, for becoming a pawn to our mentor’s escape plan.”

For a brief moment, he wondered if it was Jennifer. If Jennifer had managed to become an Assassin and a mentor while stuck in the harem but then the Assassin continues, “The mentor told us to let you go this time as a sign of his thanks to his mostly absent uncle. He did leave you a message: ‘See you in the colonies.’”

And Haytham realized that, if anyone was succeeding his father as the goddamn Kenway Assassin, it would be his devious nephew.

Sidebar: Holden was knocked out by the Assassins because he saw them taking Jennifer to safety but, because Desmond insisted there will be no deaths, they had to take Holden with them and gave him back to Haytham (unharmed other than the ropemarks on his wrists and the bump on his head) when the Assassin came to give Haytham Desmond's message.

Smashcut to Desmond unintentionally undermining Achilles’ mentorship and questioning the Colonial Brotherhood’s actions against Shay Cormac. By the time Haytham gets there, Desmond had already made contact with Shay and was trying to appear as a kind of Assassin inspector and that Achilles’ actions have come into scrutiny and the Brotherhood wishes to hear Shay’s side of the story.

So now, whatever kindness Monro showed to Shay (whether genuine or not) takes the backburn as this becomes a tug of war between Desmond and Haytham to sway Shay to their side with Haytham going for “you know how the Assassins are now, can you truly trust him?” while Desmond is going for “This is not what the Brotherhood is meant to do, Shay, you know that. Help me make this right.”

Then that’s when we smack Haytham with news that Desmond has a child (with a ‘savage’) and Haytham knows he couldn’t have one. The timeline doesn't fit.

He sees Desmond with Ratonhnhaké:ton and he grows suspicious…

Then he hears Ratonhnhaké:ton call Kaniehtí:io mother and…

Desmond raised his head to look at where he had been spying at them and waved at Haytham.

And Haytham just knew…

His nephew certainly got the audacity and the deviousness of a true Kenway.

(Meanwhile, Jennifer is enjoying her retirement in the homestead. She has nothing to add to whatever drama is happening in the Brotherhood but she’s not inclined to help Haytham as well because, as much as her heart warms at the thought that Haytham came to save her even though it was a bit too late, he still became one of them. One of the people who killed their father and Jennifer may not hate him for it because she understands the circumstances that led to it but, at the same time, she feels no desire to reunite with a Templar)

[pocket-lad]

CH 1- A Dying Man's Wish

Hey, we're back with a sequel to Only a Couple Days! Join Adelaide and Ian in their adventure to Isla Sorna. All new characters and all new situations, but the same ol' g/t. Links to the prev story below.

Masterpost ● Next

Adelaide woke up in a dark, soft, and confined space. A fast and rhythmic thumping pounded against the wall behind her. That’s what had woken her up. 

Curious and a little groggy from her unintentional nap, Adelaide started to pull herself to the top of Ian’s pocket. It was his heart that pounded behind her, but she wasn’t sure what he could possibly be nervous/excited/mad about. 

She had almost made it to the top when a gentle pressure pushed her into Ian’s chest, sending her back to the bottom. It was probably (hopefully) his hand, and he probably passed it off as an itch or something to the outside world, but this was his way of telling her not to come out. Just as quickly as the pressure appeared, it vanished. 

Instead of kicking him and stubbornly trying again, Adelaide decided to actually use her ears and figure out where they were before she moved. She chided herself for just assuming she was in the clear. 

There was a loud, ever-present clattering noise that she couldn’t identify, and the faint sound of people talking. Then, a much louder, much closer voice spoke. 

“You’re him, right?” 

Ian responded, and his voice reverberated throughout Adelaide’s body. It was louder than usual, as it often was when he spoke to other Beans. “Excuse me?” 

“The scientist? The guy? I saw you on TV.” 

Ian’s heart rate picked up even more, and Adelaide started to catch on. After they left the island, there was a ton of ‘legal drama’, though she didn’t understand much of it. What she did know was that someone or something powerful was mad at Ian because he spoke out about what happened. That earned him a lot of negative attention, and he frequently complained about it to her when he got home. 

Adelaide didn’t leave the house very often, so she never experienced this firsthand, but now, here they were. And he was right. It was annoying. 

Without a response from Ian, the guy kept pushing. “I believed you.” Again, Ian didn’t say anything. The guy then roared, imitating a dinosaur. 

Ian just shifted away, sending Adelaide to the other side of the pocket, but she didn’t even register the movement, too preoccupied with this guy’s audacity. She applauded Ian for his restraint because, if it were her, she would have already gone feral. Who did this guy think he was? What kind of asshole would act like that? Adelaide had to restrain herself from jumping out of the pocket and sticking him with her knife. The only thing holding her back was the fact that it sounded like more people were around. 

After that, the guy left them alone, but Adelaide stayed fuming for a long time, and she could not sit still. The pocket was cramped, and though it was cozy when she needed a nap, it was stifling when she was full of energy. 

Eventually, Ian stood up, and gravity forced Adelaide to the bottom of the pocket. As he started walking, she dared to peek her head out, but upon seeing a vast sea of people, ducked back down. Adelaide felt a little exhilarated. This was the longest trip she’d ever taken outside, excluding Jurassic Park, and the appeal of adventure was tantalizing. Sitting in Ian’s pocket, she was invincible, and she could go anywhere. 

Actually, not too long ago, Adelaide actively did not want to tag along when he went places, but on one particular day, Ian won her over, as he so often did.

*** 

“This sounds very familiar... Oh yeah, it sounds exactly like that time you begged me to come to Jurassic Park and we almost died,” Adelaide said. 

“Hey-” 

“No, I’m sorry. That was too far. I was joking. Not a good joke... I just don’t have any desire to see John Hammond ever again.” Adelaide had long since forgiven Ian for dragging her along. She never really blamed him in the first place. John Hammond, however...

“Neither do I, but he um, he insists. What am I supposed to do? Not honor a dying – a dying man’s wishes?” Ian protested. 

Adelaide stopped. “Woah, he’s dying?” 

“That’s what it sounded like.” 

She gave it some thought. The appeal of seeing new sights and feeling fresh air on her skin was strong, so half the battle was already won for him. And Ian was right – they couldn’t just ignore someone who was dying.

“Man...” Adelaide trailed off, unable to think of an argument she hadn’t used yet. 

“Please don’t make me do this by myself,” Ian complained. 

“Fine,” Adelaide conceded. “But no dinosaurs!” 

“No dinosaurs,” Ian agreed. 

*** 

Adelaide pounded her fists on Ian’s chest. 

He looked down, wondering what she was getting at, and checked around himself before he pinched the pocket open. “What?” 

“Is it clear? I’m dying,” Adelaide whined. 

Ian checked around again, just in case, then gave her the all clear. “Just be prepared to uh, duck back down. We’re almost – almost at the door.” 

Adelaide rushed to the top, hanging her arms dramatically over the edge of the pocket. Fresh air met her face, and she closed her eyes as she took a long, deep breath. This felt nice. 

The world around her was gorgeous. Lush green grass with all kinds of colorful flowers lined the walkway, which was impeccably clean itself. The sky was crystal clear, and an active, ornate fountain stood up ahead before a massive house. House? Castle? Adelaide didn’t know it was possible to have a house this big. Ian’s was big, but it was nothing compared to this. 

As they approached the door, Adelaide took one last breath, savoring the crisp fall air. Then, she retreated back into the pocket. Hammond knew about her, sure, but she didn’t know who else would be there and she didn’t want to chance anything. No way he lived in that big of a space by himself. That would just be greedy.

Ian checked to make sure Adelaide was in place before he rang the doorbell. 

They didn’t have to wait long before an old man hesitantly opened the door. “Who should I tell Mr. Hammond is calling?” he asked in a fancy accent. 

“Uh, Ian Malcolm,” Ian said. “I’ve been summoned.” He gave a light shrug. 

Adelaide hated not knowing what was going on. She trusted Ian completely, but she preferred to see where they were and who was around, just in case. The anticipation of literally anything happening was unbearable sometimes. 

As they entered the mansion, Adelaide heard faint music. It was almost immediately interrupted by a semi-familiar voice. 

“Dr. Malcolm!” 

Another familiar voice. “Hello, Dr. Malcolm!” 

Oh my god ! It was Lex and Tim! But like.... definitely older. They did all the “great to see you's” and such, and she felt them give Ian a hug. 

Adelaide was torn. Again, she didn’t know who was around, and she hadn’t seen these guys in forever. They were still kids, still dangerous, but they literally survived near-death experiences together. That had to count for something, right? 

“Is Adelaide with you?” Lex asked. It seemed Adelaide’s decision was made for her. 

“Oh yeah, she’s right here,” Ian said as he patted the pocket, knowing full well how much it would annoy Adelaide. 

“Dude!” Adelaide called after being repeatedly shoved into his chest. She was not amused, but it certainly sounded like the kids were, if their giggles were any indication. She guessed that meant she should come out and say hello. 

Adelaide stuck her head out, but almost fell back to the bottom of the pocket when she saw just how big they were. Lex was at eye level and Tim was fast approaching. 

“Hi,” Adelaide said after an awkward pause. “You got... tall.” What else should she say? 

“You didn’t,” Tim snickered. 

“Tim!” Lex chided, smacking him on the arm, but Adelaide laughed. 

“That was my bad. I uh… walked into that one,” she chuckled. The kids sobered up quickly and Adelaide noticed that they seemed.... stiff. 

“Is everything okay?” Ian asked, picking up on the tension in the air as well. 

“Well, not exactly,” Lex admitted. Not a second later, hordes of footsteps could be heard trampling down the stairs. Adelaide turned to look but was blocked by the wall that was Ian’s chest. Better safe than sorry. 

“That sounds like my cue.... Good to see you guys again,” Adelaide said. She wasn’t sure if that was true, but at the very least it was polite. She applauded herself on the normal social interaction as she ducked down just in time to hear someone call Ian.

“Here to share a few campfire stories with my uncle?” it said in a cold, pretentious, and accented voice. 

Ian’s heart rate picked up again. “You can convince the Washington Post and Skeptical Inquirer of what you want, but I was there. I know what happened and so do you,” he said. 

“Do you actually believe that everyone who chose discretion did so for a nefarious motive? Even Lex and Tim?” the man countered.

Oh. This felt different than the guy on the subway. This man sounded smart. He sounded like he was well aware of the situation and knew how to handle it. He sounded exactly like the guys Ian complained about. 

Adelaide felt herself get riled up all over again. She listened as they argued about stuff she already knew. Signing an agreement, misinforming the public, compensation for Ian's injuries (which he didn’t take, much to Adelaide’s protests), and the loss of his tenure. 

Her blood boiled as they continued to talk. Ian kept trying to defend himself, but it was a losing battle. She wished he would just punch the man square in the jaw instead. Ian wouldn’t win by talking – he was good at it, but it sounded like these guys were better. He could definitely win by brute force. Apparently Human Beans frowned upon that, though. 

Adelaide didn’t notice how much she was moving, frustrated that she couldn’t defend her friend, through words or fighting or otherwise, until Ian once again laid a hand over top of her. Entirely not in the mood, she kicked at it until it left. Maybe she should show herself. Maybe if the man saw her, she could use his momentary shock to attack. 

In fact, Adelaide almost did that when she heard him say, “Careful. This suit cost more than your education.”

Not long after, Ian pinched the pocket open as he approached Hammond’s room, annoyed. “Stop moving so much!” he said. His face took up the whole opening, making Adelaide feel like she was under a microscope. She had to remind herself that he wasn’t annoyed with her , it was just a shitty situation to be in and she probably wasn’t helping by wriggling around.

“I can’t help it! It’s cramped and I’m pissed off! He shouldn’t talk to you that way!” 

Ian laughed sadly. “That’s uh, just the way the world works.” 

“I need to move around,” Adelaide said. “I have too much energy and I might just channel it into stabbing that guy's eyeball.” 

“Okay,” Ian blinked. “That’s... maybe we need to take it down – take it down a skosh.” He knocked on a gorgeously carved wooden door, and a faint ‘come in’ was heard. 

Adelaide let out a frustrated noise as Ian opened the door. The appeal of adventure was wearing off by the second, and she regarded the pocket with distaste as she plopped down again . Maybe going outside was not her thing. There was enough adventure in the walls, anyway.

“You’re alright, it’s uh, just Hammond,” Ian said aloud. 

Adelaide didn’t like that he announced her presence, but Hammond probably already knew. Plus, she didn’t come all this way not to at least say hello. Tentatively, she peeked out. 

Ian stood near the doorway, and across the room, in a decorated wooden bed, lay John Hammond, looking worse than the last time they met. He was surrounded by medical equipment that Adelaide recognized from their week in the hospital after Jurassic Park. 

Adelaide didn’t even have time to wonder who was going to speak first, or what anyone was going to say. 

“You were right, and I was wrong. There! Did you ever expect to hear me say such a thing? Thank God for Site B.” Hammond spewed those words out as if he’d been rehearsing them. He was absolutely the same man, but his energy was a lot more subdued. 

Adelaide glanced up at Ian who was glancing down at her with the same confused expression.

“Site B?” Ian asked hesitantly, fearing an explanation would confirm what he thought might be true. 

“Isla Nublar was just a showroom, something for the tourists. Site B was the factory floor. That was on Isla Sorna, miles from Nublar. We bred the animals there and nurtured them for a few months, then moved them into the park,” Hammond elaborated. 

Ian slowly approached Hammond as he spoke. “Oh, really?” His tone was cautious, not wanting to give away exactly what he thought just yet.  

Adelaide didn’t know what she expected. At least a ‘hello’, right? Some form of introduction or ‘how are you doing’? But they just sort of jumped into business. At the end of the day, that’s what John Hammond was – a businessman – but the immediate gravity of the discussion was jarring. 

Hammond continued to explain that a storm wiped out the human facilities on that second island and the animals were somehow thriving, despite all the efforts to keep them from living without human involvement.

“How?” Adelaide blurted. 

Although his smile was warm, Hammond’s cold, blue eyes focused in on her for the first time since they arrived, and it made her uneasy. 

“That’s one of the thousand questions I want the team to answer,” he said. 

“Oh,” Adelaide muttered, dissatisfied. 

“Team?” Ian prompted calmly, also dissatisfied but knowing how to keep the conversation going. He still maintained his cool until he knew for sure what was happening and why exactly they were here. 

Hammond continued his explanation as he struggled to get up out of bed. Ian offered a hand, which Hammond took, but then he was off on his own to the other side of the room. Adelaide stayed frozen and tense the whole time. Ian followed. 

Apparently, Hammond gathered a team of people to study and document the dinosaurs. There were no fences on the island, but they’d stay away from the interior so as to avoid the ‘dangerous ones.’

As Hammond spoke, he addressed both Ian and Adelaide, so Adelaide had to pretend like she understood what he was talking about and nod along. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she climbed up to Ian’s shoulder, which was not easy when he wore his leather jacket. Even then, she dragged out the process to avoid engaging in the conversation. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not making the same mistakes again,” Hammond assured. Adelaide couldn’t help but snort at the absurdity. They sure sounded like the same mistakes. 

Maybe she should have been a bit more careful, but with the state Hammond was in, Adelaide doubted he posed any threat to her, especially up on Ian’s shoulder. So, she let herself laugh, but then almost immediately felt bad for thinking that. Jesus Christ, he’s dying. Be nice . 

Ian voiced her thoughts aloud. At least, the ones about ‘making mistakes.’ “No, you’re making – you're making all new ones. Who are the four lunatics you’re trying to con into this?” 

Oh no. Adelaide was fairly certain she knew why they were here now. Why else would Hammond invite them? 

“Ian-” Adelaide started to warn him, but Hammond interrupted. Her voice was quiet, so probably not intentionally, but it peeved her off nonetheless. 

“Nick Van Owen, a video documentarian.” Hammond handed Ian a stack of files as he spoke. “Eddie Carr, a field equipment expert. We have our paleontologist, and I was hoping you might be the fourth.” 

Unfortunately, Adelaide assumptions were correct. She also didn’t miss the way Hammond didn’t count her as a person. “Absolutely not,” she said immediately.

Hammond took Ian’s arm and Adelaide pressed herself against Ian’s neck, just in case, but he only used it to help him walk. 

Hammond tried for sympathy instead. Their company, InGen, was in legal trouble and there were some who wanted to exploit site B to bail them out. Apparently, a stupid rich family stopped on the island and their daughter obviously got hurt because it was full of dinosaurs, so that sped up the process. Essentially, Hammond no longer had control of the company. 

“Don’t care,” Adelaide shrugged. Hammond ignored her, turning his attention fully to Ian. 

“Public opinion is the one thing I can use to preserve the island, but to rally support, I need a complete photo record of those animals alive and in their natural habitats,” he said. 

“So, you went from capitalist to naturalist in just four years. That’s - that's something,” Ian mused, but Hammond pushed on. 

“It’s our last chance at redemption,” he pleaded. 

“Don’t. Care.” Adelaide repeated, actively hoping to draw his attention back to her, which was... new. She was getting bolder, and she didn’t care that Hammond was a giant. She wasn’t going back to any island, Ian wasn’t going back to any island, and neither of them were ever going to see dinosaurs ever again. There was no argument. And Hammond needed to know that. 

“Della,” Ian held up his hand, which meant ‘shut up’. Insulted, Adelaide was about to argue, but Ian continued, and it seemed like they were on the same page. Thank God. “John. No. Of course, uh, no. We’re not going. And I’m gonna contact the other three members of your team, and I’m gonna stop them, uh, from going. Who’s the paleontologist, by the way?” 

Ian turned to go grab the other file and Hammond suddenly got defensive. “She - she came to me. I want you to know this.” 

“Who did?” Ian asked. 

Once again, Adelaide was fairly certain she knew who Hammond was talking about. It wasn’t good. And Ian was going to be pissed. She wondered if she should break it to him, or if she should let Hammond do it, or if Ian would figure it out all on his own. None of the options seemed appealing. So, Adelaide braced herself. 

“Leave it to you, Ian, to have associations, affiliations, even liaisons, with the best people in so many fields.” Hammond intentionally avoided the question. 

That was all it took, though. Ian stopped moving completely, and Adelaide was worried he stopped breathing. “You didn’t contact Sarah,” he exhaled. It wasn’t a question, or even a statement, really. Ian was speaking that sentence into existence. Hammond could not have contacted Sarah because Ian said it was so.

Hammond defended himself and Sarah while Ian frantically searched for a phone. His breathing became shallow and quick, like he was on the verge of a panic attack. Adelaide desperately wanted to do something, to be of literally any help, but she didn’t have the faintest idea what to say or where to start. 

“Ian, breathe. I can feel you shaking. You need to calm down. You know Sarah. You know how smart and how capable and-” Adelaide could tell the words she whispered into his ear were not making it through to his brain, or if they were, he was ignoring them. 

“It’s too late,” Hammond said. “She’s already there.” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” Adelaide yelled. “You didn’t have raptors chase you through a kitchen. You didn’t have your leg obliterated by a T-Rex. Why the hell aren’t you there, then? If you think it’s so safe?” Though she already had a couple small outbursts, this one took Hammond by surprise. He blinked, not expecting something so forceful to come out of such a small creature. Adelaide even surprised herself. It was a little harsh, but she stood by it. 

Ian continued her train of thought as if they were the same person. “If you want to leave your name on something, fine. But stop putting it on other people’s headstones.” With that, Ian got up to leave. Their visit was over. 

Hammond ignored the point they were making by diverting the conversation back to Sarah. “Oh, she’ll be fine. And believe me, the research team will-” 

“It’s not a research expedition anymore,” Ian interrupted, stopping in his tracks to look Hammond in the eye. “It’s a rescue operation, and it’s leaving right now.” And then they were on their way out. 

Adelaide exhaled as she let her body slide into the pocket from Ian’s shoulder, but she felt nothing. She felt numb. This was it. They were going back to Jurassic Park. 

.

Next

[vienamoi]

❛   i wondered when you would make your way to me. ❜ lestat's tone is downright bored as he continues to scrub at half of his face with a makeup-remover wipe. he doesn't even really spare @devourcr more than a glance in the mirror. ( * he's not completely rude ! you should always look at your guest at least once. ) ❛   showing up in my home is a bold choice, though. i applaud you for the audacity. ━━━━━━━━ just be sure to keep your shoes off the sofa. that's genuine cheetah fur upholstery. ❜