#It makes me think the person is boring to me as well

[giannaln4]

Lucky Bracelet

lando norris x fem reader

summary: Making friendship bracelets was one of your favourite things to keep you entertained during race weeks, and you just had to make a special one for your boyfriend.  (1.5k words)

warnings: fluff, established relationship, a couple sexual innuendos

a/n: guys look at me! two posts in one week? crazy. i'm honestly trying to clean up my inbox since i still have a few requests from before my break 😭 so if you sent one, i'm getting there, i promise! now, this is a little bit cheesy and there are a few weird time skips so I apologise for that, but i really hope you like it! pls let me know what you think 🫶🏻

check out the original request here!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

Being constantly surrounded by hundreds of people and the double amount of cameras was not something you liked, but it’s something you had to put up with given the amount of attention your boyfriend got; it was something you have learnt to deal with. Not that you were fully used to it now, but at least it didn’t make you as anxious as it used to when you first started dating.

At least now you found something that helped you get your mind off the intense atmosphere that surrounded you during race weeks: making friendship bracelets. You made a few when you went to see Taylor Swift in concert late last year, and it stuck with you since then.

You travelled with all the materials you needed: colourful beads and cotton threads, tape, scissors — the whole deal. It wasn’t like you made an insane amount of bracelets every time you accompanied Lando to a race, but if you were bored or overwhelmed, you knew you had something to do.

Today was one of those days; Lando was specially busy today, and given your shy and quiet personality, you didn’t know that many people around, so you decided to lock yourself in Lando’s drivers room and get to it, carefully picking the letters and colours you would use.

Lando hated to leave you alone. He was aware of the many things he had to do, but he didn’t expect them to take that long, so as soon as he got a little bit of free time to catch lunch, he went looking for you. 

“Hey,” he greeted one of the mechanics. 

“Hi mate, how is it going?”

“All good, thanks. It’s a bit hot outside but still nice.”

“And yet, you are wearing a hoodie.” He teased him.

Lando let out a laugh, well aware of his reputation. "Well, I still have to keep it in style, don’t I?”

“You do, we know.”

“Anyway, have you seen Y/N?” 

“She must be in your room. I haven’t seen her since the two of you got here this morning.”

He smiled, knowing exactly what you were up to if you hadn’t left the small space all day. “Thanks.”

Lando made his way to his room, carefully knocking on the door before coming in. He didn’t want to scare you and make you drop all your beads, which has happened more times than he would like to admit.

“Come in,” he heard you yell from inside.

He opened the door and gave you the sweetest smile you have ever seen. “Hey, I’m back.”

“Hey, what took you so long?” You dropped everything you were doing to direct your attention at him. 

“Sorry, I didn’t know we would have to be there all morning, but I’m back for lunch.”

“It’s okay, and thank God, I’m starving.” You took a piece of tape to hold your bracelet in place and started to get up.

“What are you making here?” He asked you as he got closer to the small table, analysing what you had on display as the bright-coloured beads caught his eye.

“No, it’s a surprise.” You responded, quickly hiding your unfinished creation with your hands. 

“A surprise you say?” He came behind you to wrap his arms around you, softly kissing your head. 

You melted into his embrace and hummed in response, using one of your bags to hide it instead so you could hug your boyfriend back. “You can’t see it until you win this race.”

“Mhm, I see. What if I don’t win? When do I get to see it?” He questioned, not wanting to jinx his weekend, but he was still curious. 

“The next race you win.” You said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Got it. In that case, I’m gonna have to win this race.” He grabbed your hips to turn you around, kissing you on the lips once you were facing him.

You went to eat your lunch together as you normally did, enjoying each other’s company as you talked about anything you could come up with. Before you knew it, he had to go back to his duties, and even though you tried hard to act normal about being left alone so he wouldn’t feel guilty, he still noticed. He knew you better than you knew yourself, anyway.

“You can come with me if you want, that way you don’t have to be alone.”

“No, it’s okay. I know there are millions of people and cameras when you do these things."

He couldn’t help but feel guilty; he knew you were there to support him, so he hated to be apart from you when you did. “I’m sorry, love. I know you don’t feel comfortable when there are a lot of people around. You know you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to, you could always stay home.”

“If you don’t want me to come, just say that,” you joked.

“No, it’s not that,” Lando replied immediately. “I do want you here, I always do, but I hate that you feel like you have to hide.”

“Lan, I’m not hiding. Sure, I do prefer to stay inside, but it’s not because I want to hide from the world. Besides, that’s why I always bring something to entertain myself with. I’ll be fine, I promise,” you reassure him.

“Okay,” he nods, smiling at you. “But if you want to go back to the hotel, that’s okay.”

The rest of the weekend went on a lot quicker, even though he was just as busy. Qualifying and race days were a lot less boring since you got to see the cars from the garage, enjoying the full wag experience. 

As the race went on, you couldn’t help but feel anxious and excited at the same time. Lando started from pole (which made you assure him the night before he would get to see the bracelet after the race), but you still had the need to crack your fingers every once in a while. There were only a few laps left, and he had led the entire race so far, and with the gap becoming bigger, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

Once he finally crossed that finish line with a 21-second margin, everyone in the garage cheered and jumped, celebrating Lando’s achievement. A lot of people gathered outside to see him get off the car and celebrate his third win himself, shouting his name and patting him in the helmet to congratulate him.

When it was time for the podium, you decided to go get the finished bracelet you kept in your purse and held it close to your heart, feeling extremely proud of Lando for the amazing race he just had. You couldn't stop the few tears that left your eyes; it made you so happy to see him accomplish his dreams. 

The whole thing was finally over, and you waited for him right there so you could finally express how proud of him you were. 

“Congrats, baby,” you said, hugging him as if you hadn’t seen him in months. “You did amazing.”

“Thank you.” Lando couldn’t erase the big smile off his face as he hugged you back. 

“That’s a cool trophy you got back there.”

“Yeah, I don’t really care about that.” He said, puling away and looking down at you. 

“You don’t?” You asked confused.

“No, I’m still waiting for my real reward.”

“Oh… we can go back to the hotel-”

“No!” He interrupted you, laughing loudly at the fact that your mind went there. “I mean my bracelet, didn’t you say I would get it if I won this race? Well, I did, and now I’m claiming it.”

You laughed, your cheeks burning a bit from embarrassment. “Right, uh- it’s not that great compared to your trophy.”

“I’m sure it’s better than any trophy I could ever get.”

Man, he really knew how to be the sweetest boyfriend in the entire world. You pulled the bracelet out of your pocket, hiding it in your fist before dropping it in his hands. 

The colours were the first thing that caught his attention. Fluoro green and black beads. He inspected these first, until he got to the little letters that read ‘MY WINNER’. He almost couldn’t contain his tears; he was so endeared by you and how much you supported his passion.

“I love it,” he whispered, lifting you up and kissing you emotionally before putting you back down and sliding the bracelet in his wrist, admiring the way it looked there. “Thank you.”

“See? I told you you would get to see it today.”

“It must be a lucky bracelet, then. I’m never taking it off.”

You giggled at this, loving how Lando reacted to the bracelet you made with much love, but you still thought he was just messing with you. “You must be tired.” You teased him.

“Mhm. Now, about my other reward-”

“Oh my God.” You rolled your eyes as you let out a loud laugh, holding his hand as you made your way to the car.

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

First off your writing is incredible. I was in literal tears reading your Daryl fic.

But I thought I'd send in a request, a jealous Daryl. Doesnt have to be established reader, pretty easy. I just like it when he's all riled up. 😂 Please and thank you

Jealousy

Summary: He could have just told her, couldn’t he? That would have been simple. He’d had to yell at her instead though, because Daryl can never do things the usual way round. Hand down her skirt and about to run away for the second time really was more his style.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Nervous!Daryl. Angst. Fluff. Friends to lovers. Alexandria era. Vague, very short smut.

A/N: Thank you for this request and the beautiful compliment! I may have rushed the editing a little so if you notice any errors please tell me!

It’s not that she’s been avoiding him, it’s the complete opposite, she’s absolutely, inarguably, infuriatingly normal. He’s clawing at the walls of his own brain and she’s acting as if everything is fine. Maybe it is, he thinks, maybe she’s over it, maybe she’s been over it since the second he screwed it up and he’s the only one still hanging on to whatever it was in the first place. He can’t even claim he’s hanging on to much, they’d barely even kissed and it was months ago, but he hadn’t exactly been good at this kind of thing before the world threw a damn apocalypse into the mix.

He’d loved her since the moment he’d heard her laugh. He’d found her in a cabin in the woods on a run, just after Woodbury had fallen, back when the prison was still strong. He didn’t want to bring her back, one more mouth to feed, one more person to keep an eye on, but she’d saved him from a rogue walker he hadn’t seen coming, shrugged like it was nothing, like she’d have done it for anyone. She’d offered him food and water, a rundown but relatively safe place to lay low for a few hours, she was kind. The words were tumbling from his lips before he’d really thought about them.

He’d avoided her for a good while, despite her efforts to befriend him, he’d lost so much already he didn’t want to let her in. But then he’d said something sarcastic, something snappy and prissy and she’d laughed; an honest to goodness belly laugh that had her head throwing back and him smiling from the side of his mouth despite himself and something deep in his chest felt warm.

So he’d loved her, quietly and from a distance. Safe. Until she’d kissed him.

He watches as she laughs, the same laugh, big and warm and real. It’s not aimed at him, and he hates it. After he’d run away from her, he worried he wouldn’t hear it again, but he’d been wrong, and this was worse. He taps his fingers against his thigh, trying to keep a scowl from his face. Failing. He thinks steam would come out of his ears if it were within the realm of possibility.

He’s always too late. Always takes too long to get comfortable. Always spends so long waiting that he misses out on the thing he wanted, and she’s not a thing but his blood is fucking boiling. At the man she’s talking to, at himself, at her too if he’s a little honest.

The man, who’s name he doesn’t know and now never wants to, is handsome. If you’re into that suburban, well groomed, boring kind of thing. He has a punchable face. Daryl is not allowed to punch people unless its necessary anymore, Rick has told him that explicitly but surely flirting with his…flirting with the woman he’s in lo…flirting with her makes it necessary.

He can’t stand the thought that he might not be the last person to kiss her lips. He can’t stand looking any longer, but he doesn’t mean for his knife to clatter loudly on the floor as he tries to flee. He doesn’t dare turn around, but he’d be able to tell she was looking at him even in pitch black. Knows she’s watching the solid, tense set of his shoulders as he retreats.

-

She startles at the sight of him sitting on her porch, quickly schooling her face into the nonchalance she’s been practicing around him since they arrived. It was easy enough, on the road, to pretend he hadn’t hurt her. They were so busy trying to survive, so busy being busy that she could avoid an inevitable conversation where she’d had to apologise for getting their wires crossed.

But since they’ve been behind the walls of Alexandria? She can’t stop herself from searching him out, finding excuses to be near him, trying to act like they were back at the prison. Friends. She can do friends. She has been absolutely nailing being just friends, as long as she can ignore the tightness in her chest and the way she feels like she’s going to cry every time she walks away. Friends.

She flips the knife in her hand with ease, shielding his hand from the blade as she passes it back to him. He nods his thanks as he squints up at her.

“What crawled up your ass tonight?” She asks, but there’s a teasing smile on her face as leans against the railing to her house. The porch light is dim, warm golden yellow illuminating them. Daryl hasn’t been one for a lot of words in a long time, but he intends to bat the question away, distract her with something funny, something acerbic but good natured. Friendly, he can do friendly. He can’t, could barely do it on the road after everything happened. Now though, when she’s showered and brushed her hair and dressed up, lit up by a damn porch light? He doesn’t stand a chance.

“Dun’ kiss him”

“What the fuck?”

Fists clenching to calm himself down, unfurling them when he feels more grounded, he looks up at her again, daring to lock his eyes onto hers.

“Ya like him…tha’ guy?” He tries to keep his voice steady, hopes she doesn’t understand he’s begging her to say no, begging for her to give him a chance, but how many can one man have?

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Dun’ kiss him, please” He asks again, with a shake of his head, knocking his hair in front of his eyes as the ground in front of him becomes the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. She sighs quietly, but the sound reverberates in his brain, he can hear the disappointment that weighs it down, the disappointment he’d hoped to avoid by avoiding talking about this thing between them entirely.

“I’m not having this conversation with you on the porch” She pushes herself off the railing, turning to open the front floor. She means for him to leave but he follows her inside, tapping his fingers nervously against his thigh as he closes the door behind him. Every part of his body is telling him to run.

“I know I ain’t got no right t’ ask”

“No, you don’t. Why are you asking?”

“‘cause I can’t stand it”

“Why do you care?”

“’cause ya shouldn’t be wit’ him!”

“Who should I be with then, Daryl? Huh?” He doesn’t respond, not that she expects him to, head hanging low toward the ground “You have no answer, because it’s not you, is it? You didn’t want me!”

“I didn’t-what?”

He’d tried to make it obvious, had given her extra food, had nudged her shoulder with his, had talked to her more than anyone else. But she’d tried to kiss him and he’d fled, had retreated safely back into the comfort of his walls. Then he’d come back. He’d kissed her and again he’d fled. Daryl Dixon is the human embodiment of emotional whiplash. He knows he’s not easy, but he thought at least he’d been clear, he can’t imagine the way he looks at her has ever been subtle.

“I did want ya”

Her mind thinks over the weeks he’s been standoffish, the time he’s spent avoiding her touches, thinks back the first week they’d arrived here and he’s barely spoken a word, all the while watching her with an intensity that would have been uncomfortable if she hadn’t wanted his attention.

“I can’t do this, you can’t play with my head because you’re jealous all of a sudden”

“Ain’t jealous” He argues, knowing they both know he’s lying, but he still, even now, won’t let himself be vulnerable. “I know I fucked up, ‘kay? I know, but I’m ‘ere now!”

He snarls, frustrated and bordering on vicious, practically diving towards her as his hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise. He smashes his lips against hers, unpractised and clumsily before his brain catches up and he goes to pull away. Her response is so fast he doesn’t get a chance, dragging him back in as his brain shuts down.

The kiss is hard, angry and fast, all hip bones pressing into hip bones and teeth clacking against teeth. It’s not the romantic, affectionate start she was hoping for. It’s not the gentle steady and slow he was. She’s angry, he is too she can feel it in his body as he presses it against her.

The room spins, air thick and foggy with months’ worth of frustration, tension so thick it could be cut, it’s only when he swallows a heady, deep moan from her that he realises he needs more. Tongue sweeping into her mouth he grips the fabric of her skirt in his hand, bunching it up until he can reach an insistent, rough calloused hand inside her underwear, ripping his lips away from hers to heave a breath in. She’s soaked, dripping around his fingers and he’ll have time to be absolutely fucking floored by that when he recounts this later. His forehead sticks to hers as she moans.

It’s not that he hasn’t had trysts before, it’s just that they were short and unimportant, he’s barely been confident enough to use his hands. He wants to touch her in the right way, wants to know what he’s doing but she’s snaking a hand into his trousers and wrapping her fingers around his cock so thinking isn’t the top of his priorities right now.

It feels incredible, and in the vague recess of his brain he thinks he should have done this at a pace he'd be more comfortable with but he hasn’t done this in years, and barely successfully then so its not long before he comes all over her hand, whining as his head dips down to pant heavily against her collarbone. His fingers still, embarrassed and suddenly full of crippling self-doubt. She knows he’s going to remove them about a second before he does.

A thud echoes through the suddenly too big room as she tips her head back to hit the wall behind her.

“You leaving?” She lets out an incredulous laugh, hurt, betrayed, surprisingly unsurprised. The zip on his trousers seems louder than anything she’d yelled at him less than an hour before. It feels like an eternity before she lowers her head to look at him, doesn’t bother to mask the absolute disappointment on her features.

“I-uh-yeah-I”

She can practically see the walls slamming back up around him, the walls she’s been watching for weeks. A tear rolls down her cheek as he turns away from her, heading towards the front door.

“You don’t get another chance with me, Daryl” the finality in her voice makes him pause, hand on the doorknob. She sighs, hating that she’s about to give him the grace she is “You need to make up your mind, because I’m not waiting for you, not again. If you’re not certain by tomorrow you need to leave me alone”

The shaky nod from him is so small its almost imperceptible.

-

She’s not expecting the knock on her door as soon as the sun is up, really she isn’t. The whole night has been sleepless and filled to the brim with dread, knowing for sure that he wants her but fully believing he will never be able to let himself have her. She isn’t unaware of Daryl’s tendency to self-destruct. Maybe this is it, she thinks, maybe he values her enough as a friend if nothing else, to tell her face to face, but he’d never been able to before and the tiniest hint of hope lights her up as she treads carefully down the stairs.

Daryl stands there with a small, nervous but hopeful smile on his face. The hope hasn’t missed him, either. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, so out of his depth he might as well be drowning, but the knowledge that she wants this too means he’d rather fumble his way through this with her than do well without her.

“I’m a’ idiot”

“Yes you are” She laughs, setting him alight on the inside. The laugh that started al of this, almost. Doubt underneath her voice is the thing that finally settles it for him, makes him pull her towards him, gentle this time, the way he’d wanted. He’ll never let her doubt his feelings even when he doubts himself.

“I always wanted ya” he murmurs against her lips before closing the distance.

“You’re not going to run away again?”

“Ain’t runnin’, ain’t ever runnin’ again”

[alastor-x-reader-stories]

"Bite Me" - Alastor x Reader - Part 2

prev

You....really shouldn't have bitten Alastor.

It was a threat, yep, and the guy did need to learn his actions had consequences, but...er. Was that really worth this?

The Radio Demon had practically been your shadow for the past week. His expression never changed, his tone never shifted. You were like, 90 percent sure he was thinking of the best way to kill you for maximum pain.

Pain wasn't good. You were allergic to it.

...That line usually got a chuckle out of whoever heard it, or in your case, whenever you thought it. However, this time, it didn't quite tickle your funny bone as it usually did.

Because Alastor was standing right there.

And staring at you.

In your goddam bedroom.

"....Hi." You said, chewing on your bottom lip.

Alastor's gaze darted for a second to your lip, then back to your eyes. And he said nothing.

"...Did you need something?" You said.

He continued to stare at you, unblinking.

You sighed "Listen, if you're going to kill me can you just hurry up already? I'm sure it beats how awkward this is."

Other than the slightest twitch of an ear, he still didn't respond.

You huffed, narrowing your eyes as a growl permeated through the air. "At least say something!"

He didn't.

"OKay, fine!" You snapped, throwing your hands up in the air. You crossed them over your chest with a pout, giving Alastor a mean side-eye. "Keep standing there doing nothing. I guess I could use a new hat rack anyway."

"...You don't have any hats?" He said, tilting his head to one side.

"I'll get some so I can justify having a hat rack." You said, tail flicking.

"Mhm... So, how sincere is this threat?"

"What?"

Alastor straightened his posture, taking a couple long strides to stand right at your bedside. "You make a lot of threats, my dear. And I've only ever seen you carry 1 out."

"Usually people listen to me." You said, rolling your eyes.

"So you've never actually follow through before?" He tilted his head to the opposite side than before. His grin seemed to stretched a bit, ears becoming less stiff.

"Does that make you happy?" You said, turning to face him "That you're the first idiot who made me actually do something?"

From how he practically beamed you can only assume it did. You sighed, flopping down onto the bed on your side. The intent was to ignore him until he got bored and went away or got sick of you and killed you.

Instead you found a shadowy tendril wrapping around your middle, rolling you onto your back. Alastor grinned down at you, his body a perfect 90-degree angle bent at the waist.

"I'm the first one you've bit?"

"...Yeah?" You said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean. I think I bit people when I was little and pretending I had rabies, but not really intending to hurt them..."

His grin widened. "How did I taste?"

...

"What."

"I want to know. How did I taste?"

Oh right he was a cannibal. You grimaced internally. Was that just something cannibals got giddy about? 'Hey I'm the first person you've eaten hurrah!'

The tendril around you gave a firm squeeze. You sighed and met Alastor's crimson eyes, giving him a flat look of your own.

"Dry and tough- like badly made jerky."

He laughed. "Well, of course! You bit into my jacket! Silly creature, you."

"....Well, you asked."

"That I did, that I did." Alastor hummed. He tilted his head too far to one side, leaning in closer to you "Would you care for a taste without my jacket?"

"No." You responded curtly.

The silence was palpable. Neither of you broke eye contact or changed your expressions for several moments. Those moments seemed very, very long.

His eye slowly twitched up and his ears dropped ever-so-slighty-

"Hm. Well, it's not like you'd manage that anyway."

"Probably not. Are we done?"

Another beat of silence passed before the shadows tendril dissolved into mist and Alastor was standing up straight again.

"Now, I wouldn't say this matter is done, but I suppose it could wait."

You sat up, staring at him. The more you stared, the more his eyes couldn't seem to decide on what to focus on. Was he...nervous?

That encounter didn't go anywhere else significant. He simply said a farewell and left you to your own devices.

===========

Your eye twitched as you took a long, deep breath.

Alastor was being so horribly, horribly annoying.

The last couple days he resumed his role as your shadow, but this time solely with the task of irritating you. He'd chew loudly, he'd step in an off-rhythm on purpose, he'd claw the surface of things you couldn't stand the sound of and it made your ears hurt and your jaw ache from how much you were grinding your teeth.

You had enough.

"Will you LEAVE ME ALONE!?" You snapped at him. He didn't so much as flinch, simply tilting his head and he leaned closer to you.

"Or what?"

"I'm going to shove your hooves so far up your ass you'll be coughing up horseshoes for a week-"

"I'm a deer, not a horse." He said, eyes crinkling up in amusement at your 'threat'.

You hissed out an agitated breath before taking a couple deep, long breaths and you felt your jaw lax (a little) and your temper die down a bit.

"...Yeah, you're right." You said after a moment "And I'm sorry. I didn't really have much of a reason to snap at you like that."

His eyes narrowed and you couldn't be bothered to wonder why. You said a curt goodbye and meandered off, feeling his eyes trained on your retreating form. You couldn't be bother to think about that, either.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hi it's me the writer. Letting you all know that this is not planned in the slightest and i'm just winging it. No smut will happen EVER though because I don't wanna write it. So kindly look elsewhere if that's what you want. I will put a poll here though with considerations for potential next installment

[descendant-of-truth]

That said, I do think that Shadow Generations being such a more carefully cultivated exploration of Shadow's past compared to what the original Generations was for Sonic is... not doing Sonic himself any favors

General audiences are already kind of under the impression that Sonic as a character is fundamentally not that deep or interesting, and Generations was written during a time that really, really wanted to prove that notion right. Sonic "being deep" was what, seemingly, caused so much critical backlash, so to counteract that, they gave us the blandest cutscenes Sonic has ever had the displeasure of being in.

But that's not really what Sega is trying to push for, now. Frontiers wanted to be more serious, with a mature, down-to-earth Sonic. The movies gave him an origin story that inherently makes him a lot more complicated than usual. Prime put the focus on his emotions and gave him a character arc that lasted the whole show. The IDW comics can get extremely serious, and we're treated to Sonic's inner monologue as he wrestles with difficult choices. They clearly want Sonic as a character to be interesting to people, not just a vehicle for action and quips.

But putting the old Sonic Generations in the same package as the new Shadow Generations is inherently portraying them as equivalent experiences. When Sonic explores his past, it's no big deal - just another day on the hero job! Absolutely nothing worth exploring on his end when it comes to meeting his past self and revisiting his memories! Nope! No need to use time travel as a way to explore his core values as a person who prefers to live in the moment and not be bound by his past, no siree!

Oh, but Shadow? Now that's the actually interesting character! Revisiting Shadow's past is such an exciting event that it requires the whole year to hype up, and Sonic's just so boring in comparison, isn't he? Who really cares about Sonic beyond his surface-level characteristics anyway, right? The Sonic Generations remaster is more of an accessory to what's essentially Shadow the Hedgehog 2 at this point, and that bothers me.

Sure, Sonic doesn't have "a backstory" like Shadow does. But the past that we explore in Sonic Generations isn't his literal origins, but all the adventures we went on with him. Imagine how much depth you could wring out of him if you just took those events as being legitimate parts of his life that he has feelings on! Feelings we could explore!

But because it's a remaster instead of a full-blown remake, all of this effort they're putting into Shadow's campaign is nowhere to be seen in Sonic's. Can you imagine how good of a package deal this would be if Sonic's character was given this much care and respect, too? Like, we have two Sonics, but Shadow is getting more than double the favoritism.

And the fact that this is only going to continue to push the idea that Sonic is just. incapable of being interesting, or even really affected by what happens around him is really frustrating. We already have the movies and Prime drastically changing his demeanor and core traits for the sake of making him "able" to have character development, and as much as I love those versions as characters, it's really doing a disservice to who Sonic is supposed to be.

The last thing we need is for Generations to come out again and make the Sonic from the games seem like the least interesting version of him. Bringing Shadow up should not involve dragging Sonic down - they're supposed to be equals. But this game doesn't seem to be showcasing that very well, on account of essentially being two games written by different people haphazardly mashed together.

People being introduced to the series through this game are going to have such a skewed perception of what Sonic is like as a person, as well as what he's like compared to Shadow, and that just. makes me kinda upset not gonna lie

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi! Congrats on 3k love! So well deserved.

Stressor with Professor!Aaron Hotchner who have to deal with one of his students (she/her!Reader) which is a complete brat during his classes 🫣 ❤️

Thank you!!! ❤️

The art of provoking | [A.H]

Pairing: Professor!Hotch x fem!Reader CW: Smut, MDNI, 18+, power play, age gap (consenting adults), Hotch is the king of consent, also the minister of making sure you're okay, bratty behaviour, teasing, piv, student/professor relationship, authority. WC: 4.5k

Summary: Professor Hotchner navigates the challenges of a bratty student who tests his patience while concealing a deeper desire beneath their banter.

I'm sweating, i'm panting, my nose is suddenly not stuffed anymore!!!! I'm laughing uncomfortably in a good way. I went so overboard with this one that the only thing i can say is bon appétit, enjoy this very delicious meal i'm serving for you.

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           The lecture hall was quiet as Professor Hotchner stood at the front, his voice steady as he explained the finer points of criminal law. His presence was commanding, as always, and his students hung on to his every word - well, almost all of them.

           You sat near the back, arms crossed, your notebook untouched before you, except for the occasional bored doodles. You hadn’t written a single word, and the look of disinterest on your face hadn’t gone unnoticed. You always found a way to test him, whether arriving late to class, challenging his points with sarcastic remarks, or simply tuning out altogether.

           It wasn’t that you didn’t understand the material - you were one of his brightest students, in fact, you somehow managed to ace every single test despite your lack of attention in class - but you enjoyed pushing his buttons. There was something about the way his jaw clenched when you interrupted him, or the way his eyes would narrow whenever you challenged him. You liked getting a rise out of him, watching his usual exterior crack, even if only for a moment.

           Today was no different. As Professor Hotchner continued his lecture, you slowly raised your hand, an amused smile playing on your lips.

           “Yes?” he asked, pausing mid-sentence, his eyes locking on yours with that same unreadable expression.

           You leaned back in your chair, feigning innocence. “I was just wondering, Professor,” you began, your tone laced with mockery, “how much of what you’re saying actually applies in real-world scenarios? Or is this just another theoretical debate you like to have in your ivory tower up there?”

           The room went silent. A few of your classmates exchanged glances, but no one dared to laugh. They knew better than to cross Professor Hotchner, but you? You thrived on it.

           His jaw clenched slightly, but his expression remained calm. He stepped away from the podium, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded you with a cold stare.

           “Care to elaborate on that thought?” he asked, his voice dangerously smooth.

           You shrugged, sitting up a little straighter. “I just think maybe we should focus more on what actually happens out there,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “rather than talking about hypotheticals all the time.”

           Professor Hotchner nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “So you believe this class lacks practical application?”

           “Maybe just a little,” you replied, biting back a smirk. You knew exactly what you were doing.

           There was a brief silence, the tension thick in the room as he considered your words. Finally, he took a slow breath and walked toward the edge of the stage, his hands resting on the edge of the desk next to him.

           “Let me clarify something for you,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Everything I teach in this class is rooted in real-world cases - cases I’ve worked on personally. If you’d been paying attention instead of trying to undermine every point I make, you’d understand that.”

           You felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sharpness in his tone. He was getting annoyed. Good.

           “Of course, Professor,” you replied, feigning contrition. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

           His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might snap, might finally lose that calm, composed exterior he always wore. But instead, he straightened up, his gaze never leaving yours.

           “See me after class,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

           Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected that. Usually, he just brushed off your comments and moved on. But today… today was different. Something had shifted in the air, and the weight of it settled in the pit of your stomach.

           The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t even remember what he was talking about. All you could think about was what would happen after class. You’d pushed him too far this time, and now you were going to have to deal with the consequences.

           When the lecture finally ended, your classmates filtered out, casting curious glances in your direction. You stayed seated, watching as Professor gathered his papers at the front of the room. His movements were slow and deliberate, and it felt like he was taking his time just to make you wait.

           Eventually, the room was empty, and Professor Hotchner glanced up, his eyes meeting yours across the room.

           “Come here,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

           You hesitated for a moment, then stood, walking down the aisle toward the front of the room. Your heart was racing now, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you neared him.

           He didn’t move as you approached, his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. You stopped a few feet away, suddenly unsure of yourself, but you weren’t about to back down now.

           “Do you enjoy testing me?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

           You shrugged, playing it cool. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

           He stepped closer, closing the distance between you in an instant. He was towering over you, his presence even more intimidating than usual.

           “I think you do,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

           The air between you was thick with tension, and you could feel your pulse quicken as Professor Hotchner loomed above you, his eyes locked on yours. He was close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating from him, close enough to make you realize that you may have pushed him a little too far this time.

           His gaze was intense, scrutinizing as if he were trying to peel back the layers of your defiance to see what was really the root of it. You didn’t back down, though. You couldn’t - after all, this was the game you’d been playing for weeks, and retreating now would feel like defeat.

           “Testing you?” you repeated with a hint of mockery in your voice, though it wasn’t as sharp as before. “Maybe I just like seeing how much it takes to get under your skin.”

           His jaw tightened slightly at your words. He hadn’t expected you to admit to it, and certainly not with such brazen confidence. His eyes darkened, and his expression turned serious, a subtle shift that sent a thrill through you.

           “I think you enjoy this far more than you’re willing to admit,” he said slowly, his voice was calm. “You push and push, hoping to see where the line is. But what happens when you cross it?”

           Your breath hitched at the implication in his words, but you quickly recovered, masking your unease with a smirk. “I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

           Professor Hotchner's eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite place - frustration? Amusement? It was hard to tell with him. He was always so controlled, so precise. Even now, standing this close, he hadn’t lost his composure.

           “You think you’re in control, don’t you?” His tone was quiet, almost too quiet, but there was an edge to it that made you shiver.

           You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, he took another step toward you, closing the distance between you entirely. His voice dropped lower, more intimate, as he leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.

           “You’re not,” he murmured. His breath ghosted against your ear, sending a shockwave of heat through you, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “And it’s about time you realized that.”

           The challenge in his tone hit you hard, stirring something deep inside, but you refused to give in so easily. You weren’t going to back down, no matter how intense the tension had become.

           You tilted your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze head-on. “You sure about that, Professor?” you replied, your voice soft but laced with defiance. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’ve been getting exactly what I want.”

           His eyes flashed, getting darker, and for a brief moment, you wondered if you’d gone too far. He wasn’t just some professor to toy with - he was Aaron Hotchner, a man who commanded respect and had little patience for insolence who had climbed the ranks ever since he got his first position within the FBI. Yet, here you were, pushing him to the limit.

           But instead of snapping, his lips curled into a tight, almost predatory smile. “You think this is what you want? You’re playing a dangerous game.”

           His words hit you harder than you expected, the weight of them settling deep in your chest. You swallowed, suddenly feeling the anticipation between the two of you shift in a way that you couldn’t control, and the power dynamic you’d been clinging to started to slip through your fingers.

           Professor Hotchner took a step back, his eyes never leaving yours as he surveyed you, taking in your defiance, your composure - everything you’d used to mask what was really happening beneath the surface. The authority he commanded in the classroom extended here, too, as if there was no escape from the weight of it.

           “I think it’s time you understood something,” Hotch said, his voice low but firm. “You can’t keep walking into my class acting like you can undermine me and expect no consequences. If you think this is all just a game to push boundaries, you’re wrong.”

           You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in. There was no denying the power he held in this moment, and for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were in control of what was happening between the two of you. You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

           “Do you have anything to say?” His voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable authority behind it that made it clear he wasn’t going to tolerate any more of your defiance.

           Your pulse raced as you searched for a response, but the smirk you usually relied on had faded. He watched you closely, waiting for you to either respond or break under the pressure, but you held his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

           After a long, tense silence, you finally managed to speak, though your voice was softer than before. “And what if I don’t stop?”

           Professor Hotchner's gaze didn’t waver, but there was something different in his eyes now. Something darker, something that sent a thrill through you even as it made your stomach twist. His expression remained unreadable, his tone firm but quieter than before as he replied:

           “Then we’re going to have a problem. One that you’re not prepared to handle.”

           His words hung in the air, and for the first time, the reality of what you’d been toying with began to sink in. You’d pushed him far enough to break through the facade he kept up with the rest of the class, but in doing so, you had unleashed something far more vicious than you’d expected.

           And now, you had to decide if you were going to keep playing this game - or back down.

           He took a step closer again, his presence overwhelming as he looked down at you. His voice was calm, but the edge of authority was unmistakable.

           “Because if you don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “I’ll make sure you do.”

           Your breath caught in your throat, your mind racing as the full weight of the power play between the two of you settled in. The tension crackled in the air, and it was clear that whatever happened next was entirely up to you.

           You had crossed that line - now the question was whether you’d be able to handle what came next.

           The air in the room felt suffocating, it was thick with unspoken words and the electric pull between you. Professor Hotchner's eyes bore into yours, and you could feel the intensity of his gaze as he stepped even closer. Your heart pounded in your chest, the sense of control you’d been clinging to slipping further away with each passing second.

           Without warning, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist firmly but not painfully, pulling you forward. Before you could react, he backed you up against his desk, the hard surface pressing against the small of your back. His grip was commanding, as though this was the moment he'd been waiting for.

           “Enough is enough,” he muttered, his voice a low growl, his breath hot against your skin.

           The words barely had time to register before his free hand came to your waist, pushing you back onto the desk in one swift motion. You gasped, your other hand instinctively reaching out to brace yourself on the edge as he towered over you, his presence was overwhelming. Your heart raced, but you weren’t afraid - if anything, the surge of adrenaline coursing through you made everything feel sharper, more exhilarating.

           His hand tightened slightly on your waist as he leaned down, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours. The weight of his charge pressed down on you, but instead of cowering, you met his gaze with equal fire. The challenge in your eyes hadn’t faded.

           And then, before you could say anything, his lips crashed against yours in a searing and desperate kiss.

           It wasn’t gentle - it was rough, a battle for dominance as his lips claimed yours with the intensity that had been building between the two of you for weeks now. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, your mind going blank as you were consumed by the sensation. You tried to pull back, to push him away, but the second your hands came to his chest, something shifted.

           Instead of shoving him off, you pulled him closer.

           Your hands fisted in his shirt, yanking him down as you kissed him back with equal ferocity. The tension between you exploded in that moment, your lips moving against his in a way that felt both angry and frantic, a clash of wills as neither of you was willing to back down. You felt his hands tighten on your waist, pulling you further against him as the kiss deepened.

           The sound of your own ragged breathing filled the air as you pushed yourself up from the desk, your body arching into his as you deepened the kiss, parting your lips slightly to let him in. You felt his hesitation for a split second before he gave in, his tongue sweeping into your mouth in a way that made your head spin.

           The intensity was overwhelming, every nerve in your body on fire as you kissed him harder, needing more. You felt his hands slide up your sides, gripping you tighter as he responded to the challenge, the kiss turning even more heated, more desperate.

           It was a power play in its rawest form, neither of you willing to give an inch, both of you consumed by the battle for control. The push and pull between you was intoxicating, and for the first time, you weren’t sure who was winning.

           Your lungs burned as you both finally broke apart for a split second, gasping for air. The room spun, your lips tingling from the force of his kiss, and you barely had time to process before Professor Hotchner moved. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you slightly as he flipped you over, your stomach coming to rest against the wooden surface of his desk.

           The movement was swift, almost effortless, and you couldn’t suppress the surprised gasp that escaped your lips. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the desk, your chest pressing against the smooth surface as the world tilted beneath you.

           Your legs hung over the edge, toes barely touching the floor, but before you could shift your position, you felt his hand on your lower back, firm, keeping you in place. The pressure of his palm was grounding, heavy with control as he leaned in close, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

           You shivered, but it wasn’t from fear. The tension had reached a fever pitch, and you could feel it in every inch of your body.

           Without a word, he slid his hand down your thigh, only to pause halfway, gripping firmly before nudging your feet apart. His touch was assertive but not rough, guiding, commanding. You felt a flush of heat as your legs spread slightly, feet planted more firmly on the ground now, creating just enough space for him to step closer, his presence looming over you.

           Your breath hitched as you felt his hand press firmly against your lower back, keeping you pinned in place. Every nerve in your body was on edge, the authority in his touch overwhelming yet thrilling. His warmth was so close, suffocating in the best way, and when his voice came again, low and commanding, it sent a shiver down your spine.

           “Stay right there,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

           Your lips parted, and the words slipped out before you could stop them, breathy and submissive. “Yes, sir.”

           For a moment, there was only silence, but you felt him stiffen behind you, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, he chuckled softly, a dark, mocking sound that sent a jolt of heat through you.

           “Oh, so you do know how to follow orders,” Hotch murmured, his voice filled with amusement as he leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “And here I thought you were incapable of it.”

           His words dripped with sarcasm, and you clenched your fists against the desk, torn between the need to snap back at him and the overwhelming desire to submit. The way he mocked you, the condescension laced into every syllable, made your pulse race. He knew exactly what he was doing - pushing and prodding at the edges of your defiance, breaking you down piece by piece.

           His hands moved with a sharp precision, gripping the hem of your skirt as he flipped it up over your stomach in one swift motion. The cool air of the room hit the bare skin of your thighs, sending a jolt through your body as the fabric bunched around your waist, leaving you exposed to his gaze.

           He stood still for a moment, and you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense as if he were taking in every detail.

           “So quick to submit now,” he murmured, his voice dark and almost mocking again. “I wonder where all that attitude suddenly went.”

           His fingers grazed along the edge of your hips, teasingly light, and you had to fight the urge to arch back into his touch. Every movement was calculated, designed to remind you of who was in control now, and you knew he wasn’t about to let you forget it.

           Professor Hotchner's lips curved into a smirk as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Look at you," he whispered, his tone dripping with satisfaction. His fingers traced the edge of your panties, feeling the dampness that had gathered there.

           "You really are a brat, aren’t you?" he teased, his voice low and sultry. The way he pronounced each word made your heart race, a mix of embarrassment and excitement flooding your senses.

           His gaze lingered on you, taking in the flush that crept up your cheeks and the way you squirmed under his touch. "I didn’t expect you to get so worked up, but it seems you’re enjoying this a little too much," he continued, the smirk never leaving his lips.

           You could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the reality of the situation crashing over you. He had you right where he wanted you - vulnerable, exposed, and ready to follow his lead.

           Professor Hotchner's hand shot out, gripping a fistful of your hair as he pressed your body further into the desk. The sudden pull made you gasp, a rush of excitement coursing through you. He leaned over you, his weight settling against your back, creating a pressure that heightened the thrill of the moment.

           “You’ve been a real distraction in class,” he murmured his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. The way he held your hair firmly yet gently sent a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration through you, amplifying the tension in the air.

           With his body hovering above yours, you could feel the heat radiating from him, and it sent your heart racing. The cool surface of the desk contrasted sharply with the warmth of his presence, and you found it hard to focus on anything but him.

           “What are you going to do about it, Professor?” you challenged, your voice laced with desire.

           A smirk played on his lips as he tightened his grip on your hair, forcing you to arch your back slightly. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, his voice thick with promise.

           He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending tingles throughout your body. “But first, you need to learn how to behave,” he whispered, the words igniting something deep within you.

           As Professor Hotchner pinned your body to the desk, his free hand snuck down to your waist, slowly maneuvering your panties down to your knees. You could feel him as he rubbed himself against your pussy. Jolts of excitement ran through your veins with each teasingly slow thrust.

           He couldn’t take it anymore. The tension had reached a boiling point, and he felt an overwhelming surge of desire pulse through him. He stepped back, allowing the space between you to grow, and a low growl escaped his lips, reverberating through the silence of the room as you tried to move, it was enough to keep you in your place.

           You felt the sudden shift. The sound of his belt unbuckling broke through the stillness, each metallic click sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the intense focus in his eyes, the way he held himself with an authority that both thrilled and terrified you.

           The soft hiss of his zipper being pulled down followed, and you felt your breath hitch, your heart racing as the anticipation built within you. You were acutely aware of the overwhelming silence surrounding you, punctuated only by the sound of your own heartbeat and the rustling of fabric.

           With every sound, your body responded, craving the connection you knew was coming, and the knowledge that he was just behind you, poised and powerful, left you utterly captivated, longing for what was to unfold.

           “Do you want this?” he murmured, his voice husky and laced with an edge of dominance that made your stomach flutter. It was both a question and a command, and the way he said it made your heart race even faster. The thrill of his control was intoxicating, sending a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

           You nodded instinctively, unable to form words, the desire bubbling just below the surface, threatening to overflow. The anticipation was a sweet torment, your body aching for his touch. The fluttering in your stomach intensified, the heat pooling deep within you, urging you to surrender completely.

           “Use your words,” he teased, a hint of amusement threading through his tone. “Tell me what you want.”

           The challenge in his voice ignited a spark of defiance within you, making you shiver in anticipation. You knew he wanted you to submit, to give in to the pleasure that hung in the air between you like an unbroken promise. It was both thrilling and terrifying, the power dynamic shifting and swirling around you like a tempest.

           “Please…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with longing. It felt like an admission of vulnerability, and yet the act of saying it sent a thrill through you, a reminder of the power in your own submission.

           “Good girl,” he replied, his voice low and velvety, sending another wave of heat coursing through you. The praise wrapped around you like a warm embrace, reinforcing the tension that filled the room.  "Will you behave?"

           "Yes sir, please I need it!" You begged.

           And with that he lined the tip of his cock with your soaking entrance, slowly pushing against it, filling you up with a shared moan resonating off the walls in the lecture hall. He set a slow pace as he rolled his hips against you, watching you squirm underneath him as you tried to push back against him to quicken the pace.

           It wasn't long before Hotch started thrusting into you harder and harder with each move of his hips. His thrusts were painstakingly harsh. You grabbed at the edge of his desk, whimpering with pleasure as jolts of pure bliss overtook you. You felt every part of your body respond to him.

           You felt as both of your releases washed over you, the warmth of his cum coating your walls as he filled you up.

           As the tension in the air began to dissipate, Professor Hotchner slowly pulled away, his breath still heavy against your skin. The room was filled with the remnants of what had just transpired, an electric pulse lingering between you both. He shifted his weight, allowing you to turn over, your eyes meeting his in the dim light of the office.

           Your heart raced, still echoing with the thrill of the moment. There was a vulnerability that hung in the air, and despite the heat of passion, a sense of intimacy enveloped you. You caught your breath, letting the silence settle as you and Hotch shared an unspoken understanding, one that transcended the physicality of what had just happened.

           His gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern. The authoritative demeanor was replaced by something more tender, a gentleness that surprised you.

           You nodded, your heart swelling at the sincerity in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you came to your senses. There was a lingering shyness between you now, a recognition of the boundaries you had crossed together.

           His lips curled into a small, affectionate smile, and he leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that held promise and warmth. It was a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before, but it spoke volumes of the connection you shared.

           After pulling away, Professor Hotchner hesitated for a moment, his expression shifting to something more contemplative. “This can’t happen again in class,” he said, his tone serious but softened by the affection that lingered in his eyes. “It’s not professional.”

           You could only smile at his earnestness, knowing deep down that this was more than just a fleeting moment. “I know,” you replied, a playful glint in your eyes. “But maybe outside of class…”

           His laughter was deep and rich, filling the room with a warmth that made your heart flutter. “Maybe,” he mused, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “But we’ll have to navigate this carefully.”

           You both shared a knowing look, a blend of excitement and uncertainty swirling between you.

[watarfallar]

Enjoy your meal!

Grian: Hey, random question, what are your favorite flowers? Scar: Lilacs and poppies, why? Grian: Scar: Were you going to get me flowers? Grian: Scar: Grian: ᶦᵗ’ˢ ᵃ ᵖᵒˢˢᶦᵇᶦˡᶦᵗʸ

Scar: I think I just figured something out. I got to go. Grian: Aren't you forgetting something? Scar: Uuh...*hesitantly kisses Grian's forehead before running out.* Grian: No, pay your bill! Damn, who raised you?

Grian: Are we fighting or flirting? Scar: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck- Grian: Your point?

Grian: I feel like doing something stupid. Scar: I’m stupid, do me.

Scar, sweating: Grian, there’s something I need to ask you- Grian: Finally! You’re proposing! Scar: How’d you know? Grian: Scar, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner. Grian: I even picked it up once.

Scar: Hey, Grian, what do you think it would be like if we had kids? Grian: What would it be like? Inconvenient, mostly. Scar: No, I mean, what would they be like, the kids? You ever think about it? Grian: Can't really say I have. Scar: You know, for someone as eccentric as yourself, you can be boring as fuck sometimes. Grian: Sorry, Scar. For what it's worth, I'm picturing them now. A boy and a girl. Two perfect little freaks of nature raised by people who've clearly got no business bringin' up anybody.

Scar: Grian, you do remember when we agreed we were better off as friends, right? Grian, naked in Scar's bed: No, I absolutely do not. Scar, already taking off their clothes: Fuck... Me neither.

Grian: Just a minute. I need to go take out the trash. Scar: Oh. We're going out? Grian: Wh...

Etho: *about Scar and Grian* They make a cute couple, huh? Bdubs: They certainly are standing next to each other.

Bdubs: So... who's the big spoon and who's the little spoon? Scar: We're chopsticks! Bdubs: Well... that's cute! Bdubs: Does that mean you two snuggle together perfectly? Grian: No, it means that if you take the other away, the only thing the other is good for is stabbing.

Bdubs: I dare you to kiss the next person who walks into this room. Scar: Screw that, I’m not kissing any of you. *Grian walks in* Scar: Fine, I’ll do it. Rules are rules you know.

Scar: Guys, my friend here is bilingual. Grian: Yes. Scar: Which means they like both boys and girls. Grian: Ye- wait, what- Bdubs: Scar, that's not what bilingual means- Scar: Shhh, it's okay Grian. I still love you, man. Grian & Bdubs: ... Scar: bUT NOT LIKE THAT-

[jazeswhbhaven]

Falalalala, Michael is Sold~ (Christmas Miracle Card Spoilers|Summary)

Howdy there lovelies, sorry it took me fucking forever to drop this, I've been distracted with Amy and Sitri (which I still need to finish out the last parts of that lmao) But, alas here we go with seeing how things play out with this bratty, brother-complex angel being sold at an auction... To view the prologue parts for the card I already went over HERE YA GO <3

If you've already saw all of that, I'm jumping right in. Same format as Raphael's Summary. As a reminder since the angels are paid banner only per PB's warning I am only allowed to really just paraphrase and heavily summarize his card story instead of the usual reacts I do.

Enough of the boring yapfest let's go lol

First I would like to thank my friend for continuously sharing card content with me. I wouldn't be able to do these things without such blessing, ;w;

Second, I would like to let the public know Michael was my fave at first due to aesthetics only. The pretty black hair, the one wing on the side of his head, but goodness doesn't he have some demons in him. (I want this to be a joke and a literal thing because..)

Anyways

We lead in with Michael being pissed off that he's having his body shown, and everyone is infauted with his skin describing it as porcelian white. So marks show up very easily.

I like the continued theme that every seraph does not show their body to anyone but God.

The bid was high, like 55 million. Makes sense Tarataros is rollin' in dough.

Some important things to note for Michael's card is that unlike his brother Raphael, he made a lot of expressions each time he was touched.

Instead of cursing and vocally trying to say anything, his body is simply reacting as he's thinking about how he shouldn't be showing ANYONE this and that MC needed to be stopped.

We still have the elements of "non-consent" but it seems it's different with Michael. He's wordlessly threatening everyone's demise but he doesn't put up as much of a fight.

MC ofc is getting turned on by everything he's doing

The guests have started masturbating in their seats (imagine being that one person just wanting to be there for the auction and your neighbor just starts jackin' it/flicking the bean. lmao)

Oop. We're punching them in the stomach again. I think that's going to be a reoccurring thing for Gabriel too.

This is interesting...Michael slumped forward? I don't even think Raphael did that. I wonder without his powers poor Mike is possibly the weakest? He seemed to be the most powerful aside from Lucifer.

Michael is and has been getting turned on by the way since MC started touching him. He doesn't understand, but I'm like...my guy you almost came when your brother plucked out your eye I know what you are....

Now I don't remember if Raphael was branded, but Michael is branded for the auction. His halo starts glowing around this time too. Again I know what you are.

Also, Michael is so pissed off and horny random objects are shattering and he's basically crying buckets. Also his emotions are affecting the weather too. Neat.

Alright so now he's really upset. He doesn't want MC to touch his cock because it's only for God to see and touch. He was not doing much before but he's definitely putting up a fight now.

Even auctioneer was like "Uh head for the decks folks he may cave the walls in on us" and everyone was like "Nah, stfu" like damn ya'll really want that angel bussy.

So as common theme of sounding continues...as you guessed Michael gets a metal rod stuck in his pee hole and well he's losing his mind ya'll.

I bet he would like being called a good boy by his favorite person...

Anyways, after all the poking and probing from MC it appears that he only needs the rod stroking the inside of his cock for him to get to his climax. Nothing anally is being done to him for his story.

So after he cums he basically leaves in a beam of light. The other devils came on him too. They say though that he left wordlessly he stared at MC as if he wanted to say something. Interesting.

Though that's over and done with, basically the end of the story are the devil's bidding on MC's tormenting as if that's something to bid on lmao but Mammon was like yah 10 billion and it's being donated for the end of the year party in MC's name. What's cute though is that MC is referred to as His/Her Majesty along with Mammon. It's like his citizens shipped them already.

ANDDDD that's all folks. That's Michael's Christmas Story. If you want my blunt opinion????

5/10

I'm sorry ya'll, this card story wasn't really worth the money for Michael fans. It falls short in terms of what's done to him, he kinda just sat there for the majority of it until his cock was touched, and he just kinda poofs back home without confirming any feelings whether negative or positive towards MC like how we see in Raphael's card.

However, I did like the elements of Michael being able to withstand being touched and stayed still for the most part. This has me believe something that I will explain in my theories below. Also in adore mode you can play with his tiny head wing, like pulling on it and such. Wings are sensitive I imagine so it's a fun element.

THEORY TIME

I want to say that I think Michael didn't put up much of a fight because to him any other part of his body being touched, though it hasn't been touched by anyone before...is not that big of a deal to him and perhaps he's had these feelings faintly but just didn't push himself to explore that any further.

Now also, we note that his chastity belt was not removed by MC. I feel that the reason this did not happen is because Michael has 0 feelings for MC and thus the miracle didn't extend to that possibility. Now to compare with Rara's card...maybe during the event he started feeling things for MC, curiosity, and some kind of need for them, in that moment perhaps he felt as if this is what God wanted for him so he gave in 110%.

Michael resisted feeling that way for MC, because he simply did not want those feelings. He just wanted to experience being in pleasure only. Because perhaps...those feelings are deep for "someone else" that keeps getting implied ._. But anyways. That's more for those who ship that to go about, I personally do not lol (brother complex is brother complex)

I also think that perhaps the relationship between MC and Rara is meant to build more than the other two seraph angels. I'll just have to see Gabe's card and see what we're working with. I do not have a prologue for him because he was in the Nightmare Pass only last time....I wonder how they will pan out his story and what differences I will notice.

As always thank you lovelies for tuning in ^^ see you in the next react <3

[blueikeproductions]

So the other TFONE Prime cards came out, so what I’ll do is just cover the ones I don’t have much to say about here.

First up Solus Prime.

Solus has had the weirdest design philosophies. This design seems to be primarily based on the Prime Wars webseries look.

Which is the superior design vs her original look which has this weird HR Geiger Species vibe I’m not fond of.

Solus’ primary claim to fame is being the first female Transformer, and the only one among the Primes, making most of the famous weapons in the general lore, and pry most tragic: getting shot by The Fallen and dying. Her body serving as the basis for the Well of Allsparks, meaning she functionally given birth to all Transformers going forward. There’s a… lot to unpack there, not helped is shows like RiD15 and Cyberverse use her name as an exclamation/cuss in “Sweet Solus Prime!” Unlike the older lore, ONE Solus dies by Sentinel’s actions, absolving Megatronus of the matter, which honestly I kinda prefer. Whether Solus and Megs were romantically involved here is unknown. I think what I’m most surprised by is the movie resisted giving Elita Solus’ Cog, since I guarantee older stuff would’ve done that. Outside of both being girls tho’, Solus does fit Elita’s hard working personality more than Alchemist and Onyx.

Nexus Prime

Not gonna lie, I’m kinda disappointed about this one. His gimmick is he’s the first Combiner, which again contradicts Aligned’s claim Amalgamous is the first converting robot with the first Cog. The ONE design pushes it more into a G1 Blitzwing direction, with vestigial nods to the combiner idea in that he looks to combine from a jet and tank in particular, again mirroring Blitzwing.

Though it also could be a reference to Flywheels.

Nexus Prime’s original designs nevertheless make his Combiner gimmick expressed more clearly.

So it feels like a bit of a downgrade to me. His gun shield looks like it formed from a tank component to me, but that could be a stretch… Maybe he really IS a Duocon in this universe.

Liege Maximo

If there’s one thing Liege is known for, it’s not having a consistent design.

As we’ve gone from whatever this is supposed to be…

To Loki because the MCU was really popular back then.

The new design still uses Marvel Loki as the basis, but dials it back considerably, instead making him more of a generic knight. Notably the inclusion of a sword is interesting, as Aligned states his weapons are poisonous Legion Darts. Maximo’s initial concept painted HIM as the first Decepticon, of which Megatron and the others are descended from, an evil being created by Primus to counterbalance the first Prime via G2. Because Megatronus later inherited a lot of this, he instead was cast as more of a manipulative trickster, still evil, but not to the same extent as his G2 version was. Liege Maximo is also the Prime of false starts, as his G2 and IDW selves were set up as the next major villain but cancellation saw this unresolved. G2 Liege Maximo saw conclusion in what was unofficial fan fiction written by Furman, while IDW Liege Maximo was unceremoniously killed by Shockwave-Onyx in the main book. His only role that saw a proper conclusion was in RiD15, where he was the villain of the day in a chapter book causing problems for the Autobots because he was bored in the Prime Realm and wanted a cheap thrill. RiD is also the only place his Loki like characteristics were played around with. Because the Primes in ONE appear to all be benevolent, it’s not clear if Megatronus or Liege Maximo are still supposed to be the evil ones or not, but the more heroic looking Liege says no to me.

Amalgamous Prime

The mad lads finally made this horrifying thing work.

Pushing it into a four armed ED-209 direction is much better, and frankly going by his more “primitive” build, they can easily make future Shockwave toys into Amalgamamous. This guy’s claim to fame in the modern lore is being the first actual Transformer with the first Cog, which again is contradicted by Nexus and (possibly) Onyx also being able to Transform… Aligned lore says his Cog informed all future robots on Cybertron of the ability to Transform, but ONE streamlines it that ALL the Primes had Cogs and the ability to Transform, making Amalgamous somewhat redundant. Aligned also claims his direct descendants are “Shifters”, Transformers with omni transformation, rather than the standard robot to vehicle.

Aligned didn’t really do much with this concept because you can’t realistically make a toy of such a thing nor is it feasible to have them as reoccurring characters for both expenses and being OP, with TFP Makeshift and RID15 Pseudo being depicted as shadow creatures in their default mode. The Shifters haven’t returned post Aligned so I think it’s an abandoned concept. Future stuff I would assume would instead say Triple Changers and Six Changers are AP’s direct descendants since they’re much easier to work with in toy and fiction. His new Robot Mode makes me think he turns into a tank, but I’m also not sure if his head is his chest or not….

Vector Prime

Aside from his head and colors, the TFONE version is straight up the original Galaxy Force version.

Though his colors evoke one of Vector Prime’s influences, the Marvel G1 Last Autobot.

Vector Prime’s best known role is in Cybertron/Galaxy Force, where as the Primus appointed guardian of time, he joined the Autobots of the present day to find the Cyber Planet Keys to close the Black Hole that threatened the universe, as it was the end of time. Galaxy Force also showed Vector Prime can manipulate time, but it was a drain on his energy, and using it too much would kill him. Notably he used a brief display of this early on to save the kids and Mini-Cons from certain death, but I guess this version of Vector couldn’t do the same to defeat Sentinel & the Quints…

[gffa]

Final verdict on Padawan's Pride? Feel free to spoil as I'm really curious about your thoughts on this!

I braced myself before listening (knowing how much anti jedi stuff bleeds into anything star wars these days...) but I'm about an hour in and surprisingly (tentatively) enjoying it! There have been a few moments that genuinely made me laugh out loud! Like Anakin straight up going "What would *you* know about intimidation?" to poor Obi-Wan sfghdjdkdlkl & Obi-Wan insisting to Yoda that they both deserve to be punished for Anakin sneaking off even after the council basically lets them off the hook and Anakin furiously shaking his head at him to shut!! up!!! & that mini Vader tease when Anakin's getting ready for the race!!

I'm enjoying Obi-Wan's characterization in this a lot so far, and I don't want to punt Anakin off a cliff like I usually do, which is nice.

Obi-Wan still grieving for Qui-Gon and spending his nights staying up to investigate his death got me right in the feels :( Him over thinking every single thing he does with Anakin while Anakin's thinking he's basically emotionless,,, but then when Obi-Wan's trying to awkwardly apologise/connect with him later and being vulnerable, Anakin is completely uncomfortable & internally going OBI-WAN??? HAS?? FEELINGS??? ABORT!! ABORT!!! DO NOT WANT!!!

I can't give a final verdict yet--I got about an hour and a half into it, realized, okay, no, there's just too much I wanted to quote and clip out for liveblogging and Jedi Citations, so I started over and am converting to text as I go, so now I'm back up to about an hour in.

And so far I love this book! Yeah, there's a couple of moments that made me wary, like I didn't know where this was going, but honestly I think the book is doing a really, really good job of presenting the characters as having the space to actually be characters.

What I mean is, for example, Anakin saying that the Jedi Temple is a prison and he hates it--Obi-Wan's response cuts through that, (Oh, well, perhaps we should take a trip to see the younglings with the laser swords, a thing prisons are famous for.) but not at the expense of Anakin's understandable frustration. He's a bored kid who craves excitement and the rush of adventure, which is understandable! It's something he's trying to work on, he's not evil for it, it's totally reasonable and understandable, just as it's totally reasonable and understandable for Obi-Wan to point out the flaw in that statement.

But what really made me love the book is when that comment comes up later and Obi-Wan makes a joke about it, and Anakin grumbles, "I wondered when you were going to throw that in my face." and Obi-Wan smiles and says he did, too. They were bantering about it! They made a joke about it! They found it kinda funny! This is what's delightful about the book, that the feelings they both went through earlier are genuine, but they're not Direly Serious in this moment in time.

They're allowed breathing room to not be mouthpieces for a meta essay, but instead characters in a story going through things.

It's the same for Anakin being all ABORT!! ABORT!!! ABORT!!!! when Obi-Wan is having feelings at him, it's the same when Obi-Wan insists that, no, they should be punished for Anakin's mischief (when the Jedi Council basically said, okay, what we're going to do is send you on a mission, instead of any kind of punishment for either of them), it's the same when Anakin misses his mom and Tatooine.

The moments are allowed genuine emotional weight, I have such affection and heart-wrenching feelings for both Obi-Wan and Anakin here, but it's characters being given space to be characters with their own personal motivations and reasons, to have conflict between them, but both doing their best to reach out to the other, and you can see the foundations being laid for their future incredible friendship.

I'm also utterly delighted by just how many times these two are psychically connected, like they are CONSTANTLY sensing each other--Anakin sensing Obi-Wan scratching at his incoming beard is HILARIOUS, no wonder Anakin hates Obi-Wan's beard, I'd hate it, too, if it was in my mind making me itchy!

But also that they know each other, they don't have to even be looking at each other to feel what the other feels, because that's what a Force bond is--knowing someone so well that they're connected to your soul, even when you're cranky af at them.

I still have three hours of the book left to go but I've enjoyed so much already and I apologize in advance to those who are exhausted by the two hundred screenshots I'm going to be yelling about. :D

[loz-furbies]

Zelda ages based on when their games came out. Welcome to the team EoW Zelda!

Characters and design thoughts under cut:

For starters, I did a similar Zelda piece a few years ago and ran into the problem that I can't really draw anything else than anime teen girls, which is kind of a problem in a drawing where half the characters are above 20 and their age differences are the whole point. And in addition almost everyone is supposed to be royalty with very similar clothes too. But in my defense, in general it can be pretty hard to tell the ages of 25 to 40 year old anime women anyway.

I needed a reference for the body proportions in order to even get started, so I quickly thought "who is an anime woman who doesn't look like a teenager", and used Yor's character sheet for assistance. The younger characters' proportions are a little inconsistent, since I couldn't choose if I would look at realistic growth chart or go with the anime look (where teens and children are often shorter than they would be in real life) so the result is this weird hybrid.

Four Swords (December 2, 2022) & Four Swords Adventures (March 18, 2004) - Chronologically they are different Zeldas even though they use the same promo art/character design, so I used the promo art design for the original FS Zelda and drew the FSA Zelda based on her sprite. There's not much to these designs, they have very little going on in terms of story or personality to use as inspiration and their character design doesn't offer much anything original when compared to the other more well known Zeldas either. Their only distinct element is the big red hair bow, but I thought it would look too childish when they're supposed to be in their twenties here.

Minish Cap (November 4, 2004) - There's not a lot MC Zelda that I could use for inspiration. But then I remembered that a while ago I wrote about how the pointy hat Queen Ambi wears should be used more often, so I thought I should put my money where my mouth is and draw it here, since Zelda does wear a red cap for a couple seconds in MC. In general the MC Zelda and both FS Zeldas are at a little awkward age for this picture, since they're too old for youthful child designs but not really old enough for more mature queenly designs either.

Skyward Sword (November 18, 2011) - Her design is based on her concept design, which I assume is meant to be her casual look and not the ceremonial costume she wears in the game.

Ocarina of Time (November 21, 1998) - I decided that age-wise she makes the cut of when I start using updos. Why do the Zeldas have such similar canon hairstyles anyway, it was surprisingly boring to work with them. Still not sure about the curls though, my fancy dress design artbook that I used for inspiration had so many cute curly hairstyles but I couldn't really use any here because I worried the characters would become unrecognisable. But since OoT Zelda had some curls in her "sideburns" she fell victim here.

Hyrule Warriors (August 14, 2014) - HW Zelda has a distinct enough design from the other Zeldas that it gives a lot of elements to work with, though her age here limits it a little since she's too young for bikini armour. Also because HW is a spin off, I also considered including the Cadence of Hyrule Zelda, but that led to the realisation that it would have opened the doors to CDI Zelda as well. Which I guess would have been fine, but this is already a pretty wide drawing full of adults, so while a Cadence of Hyrule Zelda would have been easy to fit on the front row, I couldn't justify adding even more adults just for the CDI games. So only HW is included because I've played it and actually like it.

Zelda 1 (February 21, 1986) - The original Zelda is at an age where it's a little awkward how there's little difference between her (38 years old) and OoT Zelda (25). But I couldn't think of any anime that would help me as reference here, and I don't think she's old enough to have that "this character is getting old" wrinkle under her eye (you know the one).

Echoes of Wisdom (September 26, 2024) - I think she looks a bit too old here to be a zero-days-old newborn but work with me here.

Breath of the Wild (March 3, 2017) - She's actually at the age where her mum died, poor girl. She's very refreshing to work with since her look is so different from the other Zeldas.

A Link to the Past (November 21, 1991) & A Link between Worlds (November 22, 2013) - Originally I also had the Oracles Zelda in this since she does have a unique design, but then again I consider the Oracles Link to be the same as in aLttP which ought to apply to Zelda as well, plus the design isn't unique in any interesting way and is just a combination of the OoT & aLttP designs, so in the end I just gave the Oracles Zelda sprite's hair buns to aLbW Zelda. Overall having to use the essentially same design for both aLttP and aLbW Zelda wasn't much fun, especially when neither really offers anything notable in terms of story or personality, but at least they're pretty far apart when it comes to age.

Twilight Princess (November 19, 2006) - I haven't played her game so I don't know a lot about her (other than reading the manga which didn't give me anything to work with either) and she's also close to her canon age (?) here so she ended up looking pretty similar to her canon design.

Spirit Tracks (December 7, 2009) - This was a tough one because technically ST Zelda does have a lot of elements to her story and character that could work for a redesign, but not really for the purposes of this picture. Anything train related is more of Link's thing, and anything ghost related doesn't really fit either since she's not supposed to be a ghost at this age. And as for the Phantom, I got the impression that while she learned to appreciate it, she didn't exactly like using it, and that personality-wise she would prefer not to go on another similar adventure. So In the end I just replaced the regular armour parts many Zeldas have in their designs with the Phantom armour and used the ghost palette for the rest of her look, and I kind of like the result. Her personality looks a little out of character though but I couldn't resist the opportunity to draw this with Grandma Tetra.

Wind Waker (December 13, 2002) - I haven't played WW so I'm not sure how accurate this is, but drawing her with the pirate design definitely added some much needed variety to this picture. I really like her twirly hairstyle in canon, but I also really wanted to draw her with short hair, so it had to go. Maybe ST Zelda can style her hair in a twirl when she gets older to compensate?

The Adventure of Link (January 14, 1987) - Really don't know what happened here, not particularly happy with the end result. I prefer to draw the Zelda 2 Zelda with her sprite design because just reusing the OG Zelda design is boring, but I really should have kept it closer to that since now she's practically unrecognisable.

[animasolaoriginal]

A B A N D O N E D 🥀 1/3

A new-in-town urban explorer stumbles upon a (not so) well hidden secret in an abandoned building, turning his life upside down when he takes more than pictures and leaves more than footprints.

Normal dude meets broken girl turned sex toy

WARNINGS: Urban exploration. Implied past rape. Implied past caning. Wounds and injuries. Objectification. Submissive character. Strangers to lovers. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Eventual smut*. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 7.6k

A/N: This is a spin-off to my original story INFATUATED, set in the same universe. There's no need to have read INFATUATED, just know that there's a man we refer to as Sir who took in (kidnapped) a girl we refer to as Darling to make her his personal little plaything (but then proceeds to develop “feelings” for her), and this is the story of one of the unfortunate girls before her. A "study" on what a normal dude may think about an abandoned sub. Remember: this is fiction! A product of my own sick little mind, a fantasy. Our guy here may have some opinions later that may or may not stem from my own view on things (just some rants about certain kinks, and if those insult you, please forgive me, I don't mean any kink shaming. Everyone is valid around here – except Sir who might not get the best reviews in this story). By the way, the protagonist may have a name here, but it's only mentioned a few times, so you can still imagine any character here if you want to!

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

Glass crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way through the abandoned building. It's eerily quiet, just the wind howling through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The occasional rustle when debris or dry leaves move under the breeze. Nature's completely reclaimed this old house that used to be an apartment building with a bunch of tiny shops on the ground floor. Too off the beaten path, the shops became obsolete when a large mall opened only a few blocks away.

He's also in a very bad neighborhood, and nobody seemed to care about this particular building for a long time. Overgrown and broken, glass panes a good target practice for your usual teenage delinquent or bored child, doors ripped off their hinges by age and decay and maybe some random angry dude who needed a place to vent. Furniture long gone, either taken along or stolen later, things that couldn't be moved too easily (like sinks or toilet bowls) smashed into tiny pieces.

Normally he prefers places stuck in time, where tragedy struck and nobody's been back in decades, with faded photos on the walls or on dusty shelves, the smell of slowly rotting armchairs and a hint of mold in the air. Those make the best pictures. Little time capsules, evidence of older times, in the midst of a blooming bustling city. This building, however, looked more promising from the outside.

He raises his camera and takes a shot of a broken window where thick vines of ivy crawl around the frame and up the wall, the light of the setting sun giving the scene a soft glow. He changes the angle a few times, then moves on, up the stairs, looks through open doors into old apartments, mostly empty, walls vandalized with crude, unreadable graffiti, carpets full of dirt and a (not so) healthy layer of mold.

What strikes him as a little unusual is that the hallways look as if used fairly often, leaves and dust bunnies line the sides, but there's a path between the debris, leading further up the building. Not too unusual, these kinds of buildings usually attract a lot of shady people or bored teenagers, some to meet for illegal business deals, other to party hard in a place Mom and Dad cannot find them.

Maybe it's used for all kinds of things as he notices a growing abundance of empty soda cans, broken alcohol bottles and other garbage lying around (the most striking sight was a trail of discarded condoms and empty lube bottles). His destination is the roof, maybe he can at least snap some pictures of the sunset and the city around him from this place, for all he got now are shots of broken windows, nature reclaiming the urban space and your typical down-the-hallway shot. He even found the one-single-chair-in-the-middle-of-an-empty-room motif.

Of course he's not the first urbexer to walk through here, it's been abandoned for a long time, probably old news for the locals, but this is his first time here, in the city too, and he wanted to see as many abandoned things as possible. He heard from others that this house had good bones, meaning stable stairs and floors, no risk of breaking through and landing in the moldy basement with a pipe through your torso. He is looking for adventure, the thrill of being alone in a lost place, inhaling the intoxicating scent of debris and decay, he is not looking to pay a horrendous hospital bill because he's been too careless.

He takes the last section of the winding staircase, stepping onto the upper most floor, the roof access visible at the end of the corridor. There he hesitates. Unlike the floors below him, there's something different here. It's not as dirty, and the most prominent thing: all the doors are intact and closed. It almost looks like an actual floor of a still lived-in apartment building where you would find the same amount of dust and grime on the floors and walls.

Raising his camera, he takes a few shots, cursing when he realizes it's too dark to get it lined up best. The only light source is a badly boarded-up window at the end of the hallway, a tiny skylight above him and the glow creeping up over the staircase from the lower levels. Why is this window boarded up? What's happening up here that nobody wants to have witnesses for? There are other buildings around this one, still functional, mostly, probably for seedy reasons as well, but there's still the chance of people noticing what's going on here.

The closed doors irritate him. Everything else about this building was ripped out and broken and vandalized, nothing left in its former state. He came in through a bent-out-of-shape shutter gate, most of the former shops have so many holes it's fairly easy to get access to the rest of the house. And nobody seems to care about people walking about. There's an old No Trespassing sign near the boarded-up front door, but that's about it.

Though it doesn't surprise him in this kind of neighborhood. He might be new in this city, but he knows a crime haven when he sees one. Everything looks old and run down, shops are only fronts for other businesses, grim looking people stand around, gangs linger in groups in neglected parks or on the curb corners. He also saw some prostitutes walking the streets, looking as worn and shabby as the clothes they were wearing. Most normal people would avoid going deeper into the belly of the beast, but he likes the more dangerous places, and frankly, he fits right in.

Tall and bulky, he could pass as one of those bouncers standing in front of shady clubs, but he looks also young enough to be confused with a fresh gang member or mafia initiate or whatever. At least he thinks so because he's gotten no curious stares as he entered the neighborhood. Though he was glad nobody talked to him, his accent would have given him away for sure.

He feels his heart beating faster when he approaches one of the closed doors, the hairs on his arms rising in anticipation. It's a thrill to find something unusual in a place you've already pushed aside and declared boring. His hand grabs the door handle, twists it... and nothing happens. Locked. A locked door in an abandoned building. How curious. He tries the other ones, the same thing occurs. When he reaches the last door, he almost jumps back when the knob turns and the door opens with a click and then a creepy squeak.

One open room on a floor full of locked doors. His breath quickens, but he forces himself to remain calm. He doesn't even know what he's expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The room is almost bare (but not as empty as the rooms he's seen before), aged wallpaper peels from the walls, the windows are covered by thick curtains, old and rugged looking, there's a couch in one corner, covered in blankets that have seen better days too. But the most unnerving sight is the bed in the middle of the room.

It's literally in the middle of the room, a sturdy looking metal frame he could walk around if he wanted to. But for now he only stares. There are handcuffs chained to the headboard, ropes tied to the low bed posts. And then there are the stains on the old mattress, lighter and darker ones, some are definitely blood. Old and dried, though one looks a little fresher, on the lower part of the bed. He's mesmerized, disgusted but mesmerized, almost forgets the weight around his neck before a shiver crashes through him.

It's an automated gesture to raise his camera and take pictures of what he sees. Pics or it didn't happen. It's a strange sight, but he isn't sure he wants to share this scene on his official page. He's known for showing off decaying architecture and nature reclaiming its place in the world full of stone and people. To share a potential sex dungeon might not be the way to go. But he still has his side blog. He has to share this, work through the experience, hoping somebody knows something about this.

Though he hasn't even seen everything. Slowly he takes a step into the room. There's a table behind the door, a longer one, fit for a person to lie on, and the leather belts attached to it suggest the same. Fuck. Is this really one of those freaky sex rooms?

He doesn't want to imagine what goes on in here, but he can't completely ignore that he has seen similar settings in various porn clips. Echoes of crying girls crash through his mind, creepily leering men in ski masks standing around the bed, the table, the couch, cocks in hand, others holding paddles, canes, vibrators, ready to torment whoever is unfortunate enough to be strapped to the structures.

He wants to believe there's consent involved, a scene being played out, discussed beforehand, those girls willingly trapped with a bunch of horny men, but sometimes it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to go through that on their own free will. He swallows, only now noticing the stench of the room. Sweat and sex, various bodily fluids all around, with a metallic undertone. Blood.

Shivering he can't help himself, he takes more pictures, walks around the room as if treading on thin ice, careful not to disturb the scene. He's also hyper aware of the noises around him now, the low buzz of the city beyond, voices passing by the building, birds landing on the roof above him, pigeons cooing, crows cawing, seagulls screaming. He tells himself he'd hear if somebody came back to clean up the scene he's witnessing right now. He could flee to the roof, hide it out, maybe find a way down from there.

Goosebumps attack his bare forearms when he rounds the bed and notices a pile of blankets on the floor. But it's the hair poking out of it that makes his heart stop. No. He freezes on the spot, staring down, camera heavy in his hand. He's heard stories of other urban explorers encountering unsettling things, the more harmless one coming into contact with a squatter, either awake or passed out in some corner, and the most disturbing one... stepping onto a crime scene, finding blood, bones... or dead bodies.

Yet instead of panicking, with the urge to run as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring with an obscene fascination. His eyes trail the blanket, noticing how it's wrapped around whatever is curled up inside it, and he bends down a little, crouching beside it, the smell overwhelmingly strong down here. His stomach protests, but his curiosity is too obnoxious to ignore. Shifting his camera into his other hand, he reaches out, carefully, knowing he should probably wear gloves, but he also doesn't care. He has to know.

His fingers grip the edge of the blanket, and he pulls, gently, his eyes widening as the scene unfolds in front of him – together with the body of a girl unfurling from its curled-up position. He will never share his first impression with anyone, because it's primal, an instinct, the thought of a man whose cock has a mind of its own: she's pretty.

Also naked, covered in grime and other substances, pale skin adorned with angry red welts and purple bruises, something pink caked between her thighs. She's on her side, legs scissored open, arms bound behind her back. Her thick dark hair is braided into two pigtails, and one of them seems to be cut off as the hair frays out and lies around her head like a dark halo. Tears and sweat allowed a thick layer of dust and dirt to cake to her face. Eyes closed, long dark lashes clumped, full lips swollen and raw looking, slightly parted.

Before he continues taking in every detail of her, he has the urge to bring his finger to her nose, and the relief when he feels the slightest bit of air movement against his skin lets him exhale loudly as well. She is not dead. And there's the problem. She looks like she should be, like it would be the better fate. The sight scares him as much as it fuels his morbid fascination, which may explain why he's still frozen on the spot, staring at her instead of calling the police or an ambulance or doing anything to help her. He can't take his eyes off her.

Her slender neck is covered in dark bruises as if someone has tried to strangle her, probably thought they succeeded too. Why else would she lie on the floor here? Left behind after whoever assaulted her was done? And assaulted she was. Sexually, physically. The welts on her body look horrible, thin red lines all over her small breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, on her ass as well from what he can tell. She was caned, the poor thing. He hates watching those kinds of porn videos. He can see the appeal of spanking, the hand on ass contact, but hitting someone with a rigid cane doesn't seem very pleasurable, it's only about inflicting pain and having evidence of it days later.

A sadistic move, and sadists were definitely at work here. There are more bruises on her thighs, probably from strong hands holding her down and open while various cocks forced themselves into her holes. He feels his cheeks warming up when he takes a closer look at her pussy. Apart from layers upon layers of what he assumes to be cum and other fluids, there are welts and bruises on there too, on the soft skin of her inner thighs, on her puffy outer lips (that look stretched as if held back and open by clamps or whatever these bastards used), but most are on the strangely swollen clit. Ugh. Genital torture, a genre he really hates. Spanking a woman's clit is just downright sick and barbaric.

The more he looks at her, the worse he feels. Not just for what she had to go through, but knowing he can't really help her. How should he? Call the police and wait for other horny men to find her? He never trusted the cops, and in a neighborhood like this he is certain there won't be a good guy among them. Calling an ambulance may be an option, if he does it anonymously and flees the scene quickly, but that leaves him wondering if anyone ever found her. And again, in an area like this, the people who did this may still be around watching the place, stopping help before it can get anywhere, maybe even finishing the job, killing her.

And if he stays and wait, he will be in danger of those people seeing him, and as he now knows too much, even took pictures of the evidence, what's stopping them from killing him too? And even if they don't find him, he fears the damn hospital bill might be his end. Yes, strange priorities, but his brain is buzzing and he feels sick and nauseous the longer he stays in this horrible room, staring down at the poor girl.

She looks younger than him, maybe a few years, maybe a lot, the pigtails give the illusion she might still be a teenager, but her body looks too developed for that. A thin face with high cheekbones, no baby fat, soft albeit small breasts, a narrow waist, plump hips, thighs just rounded enough to create that amazing thigh gap he likes so much. The initial thought is still there, and his cock agrees, she is beautiful, despite the state she is in.

And maybe that's why he forms an idea in his head: why not take her with him? Away from this place, into safety, then assess what help he can get her. She can't stay here, that's for sure. A better man would face the danger of being discovered by her abusers, to make sure she'll get the care she needs, no matter how expensive and uncomfortable it may get. A better man wouldn't crouch beside her limp body and stare and drool.

But he's not. He's a runaway, dropped out of college to party, then got too old and paranoid to return. Too distracted by the world around him. Traveling on a budget, with just enough money to feed himself once a day, couch surfing, loitering, pissing his life away one day at a time. It's only been during the last years that he's gotten a bit more stable, making a name for himself as a photographer, selling prints and doing commissions, and by coming into this city he's hoped to make it even bigger.

Renting an old loft he hopes to transform into a photo studio one day, he's trying to settle down. He still has barely any money, lives off those stupid strangers willing to pay for his pictures even though they're not even that special. He always hopes for the occasional exceptional find, something he could sell to newspapers, but even those prefer to steal their pictures off other people's Instagram instead of paying for a more professional shot. Tough times.

As he crouches next to the unconscious girl, the hand holding his camera twitches. It's an instinct to raise it, bring it in front of his eyes, look through the finder and press his thumb down to take a picture of her. He feels sick for it, but also... not. She's part of this little sex dungeon, the main attraction, actually, and it's an inborn need to burn her image into a bunch of pixels. Pics or it didn't happen. He considers sharing her story with whatever newspaper may want it, but then his name would be attached to the evidence, he could be linked to this scene, and what's stopping any corrupt cop to call him guilty for this? Or the bad guys to come and erase any kind of evidence? Him and her included?

She can't stay here. He can't keep staring at her. Something has to happen.

Before he puts his camera into his backpack, he can't help but take a few more pictures of her, of her wounds and injuries, of the evidence caked to her skin, the blood trailing down her inner thigh. Maybe justice will come one day, but he'll need pictures of the crime scene to make it happen. He also snaps a few shots of her face, peaceful in slumber, of her soft curves, those tiny feet with the ankles covered in rope burn. Those he does in several angles, maybe he has a future in selling feet pics. And it's not his fault the market exists.

The world is a sick place, and he's just trudging along.

Eventually he stores his camera in his backpack, then moves the blanket back around the girl. His hand finds her cheek, and it's warm to the touch, she's certainly still alive, and probably in pain, so he doesn't want to disturb the few quiet moments this cruel world has given her. He wraps her up and scoops her into his arms, a barely there weight, poor thing looks and feels malnourished on top of being treated so horribly.

Lifting her up, he realizes the light has turned from the soft sunset glow into the harsher, darker tones of the street lamps coming to life. Time to go. Maybe her abusers will return soon. He carries her out of the room, she's warm and soft in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, hair and one half of her face peeking out of the blanket cocoon. She's tiny, in comparison and in general, and knowing her fate he feels even worse for her.

His heart clenches by the time he's descended all those stairs, and when he reaches his point of entry, he hesitates. It's one thing to slip into a building during the day, nobody cares about a man with a camera creeping around old houses much, at least not in this kind of area, but knowing this place is frequently used for terrible little sex adventures, he feels uneasy now. The night is fast approaching, and he knows these kinds of things probably happen when the shadows fall.

Looking around, he decides to find another exit, preferably one leading around the back, and luck is on his side when he finds a broken window looking into a backyard filled with black trash bags. With the girl still in his arms, he climbs through, but slips on something at the last second. Curling his back, trying not to harm her further, he feels his backpack scraping over the rough wall, hoping it didn't damage his camera. It's one of his few prized possessions, but thinking about it, maybe he should reconsider his priorities.

He's carrying a life in his arms, a life he intends to save, so a broken camera, a replaceable thing, really isn't that big of a deal. He can always salvage the SD card inside anyway. No harm done. Rolling his shoulders, he shifts her against his chest, then continues through the dark alley. He's parked the hunk of metal he calls his car a few blocks away, at the edge of the neighborhood, hoping he'll still have all tires when he returns.

And indeed they are all there, as full and dirty as he's left them. The old truck was the last thing he could afford after renting out the loft, so even if he's bound to this city, relying on random strangers to finance his life, he has a means to get away if he has to. For now, he's pulling the passenger door open and carefully puts down the bundle of limbs and hair and blankets, and when he does, she suddenly stirs.

He freezes, staring at her as her eyelids flutter open. A soft groan escapes her, but when her wide eyes, beautiful dark irises, glazed and a little dull, but beautiful nonetheless, meet his, she stiffens too, lips parted, and he expects a scream, a distress call, anything, but she doesn't issue a single peep, just looks at him, almost calm, probably just glad she's still alive or thinking she died and woke up in a weird realm between the worlds where it's normal to wake up in unfamiliar places, facing unfamiliar people.

He still feels the need to calm her. “Hey, it's alright. No need to be afraid, I'm not here to harm you. I want to help you, okay? Do you understand?”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but then she utters a barely audible “Yes, sir”, and he feels his heart jumping a little. To his own shame, his cock does the same. He clears his throat, nods to her, then closes the door with a thud and rounds the car, putting his backpack into the covered truck bed. Her eyes are following him when he slips behind the wheel, despite her slouched position on the seat. She's eerily quiet, not at all concerned about a strange man packing her into his car.

He watches her as he pulls the seat belt over her small frame, then buckles himself in. “You'll be alright,” he says softly, giving her the hint of a smile, and she continues staring at him. She must be in shock, no other way to explain this behavior, probably fighting the pain coursing through her, the soreness and burning, the stickiness between her thighs, the memory of the whole ordeal. He can't blame her. It must have been absolute hell.

He starts the car, glad it does so on the first try, and maneuvers it back into the nightly city traffic until they reach the old warehouse at the edge of it. It's the cheapest he could find, between two concerning neighborhoods, but those are still better than the one he found her in. At least he has running water and electricity, and a bed. Hmm. One bed. He'll give it to her for now, trying to squeeze his big body onto the small couch. It'll work.

She's still only staring at him when he unbuckles her and picks her up, though her breaths are a bit more labored. Maybe the shock is fading, letting through the pain more and more. He hums soothingly to her, tells her it'll be alright, knowing the more he'll repeat that, the more she'll believe it. It's his life motto too, fake it till you make it. She's that pliant body in his arms as he carries her to the old elevator, hoping it'll last another day.

When he reaches his apartment door, he shifts her in his hold, and she winces, a horribly pathetic little sound he hopes never to hear again. “Sorry,” he mutters as he fumbles for his key and unlocks the door. “You'll feel better soon, I promise.”

Her warm breath hits his neck as she presses her face closer against him, a strangely submissive gesture, a naive hope to trust a stranger. He takes her straight to the bathroom, where he sets her on the closed toilet lid and slowly unravels the blanket from around her. She's sitting perfectly still, the only movement coming from her almost curious eyes as she watches his every move. She winces when he brushes against the welts on her skin, chest rising and falling a little faster, but that's about all the motion he gets from her.

When the blanket falls away, she's that naked thing covered in sweat and cum and blood, and it occurs to him what a strange situation this is. For him to just take her away, without informing anyone, authority or not, and for her to just accept it like this. She's awake, maybe a little dazed, but conscious enough that a normal girl would stir more, talk more, fuss and strain against his touches, maybe even try to flee or do anything to ensure her own safety.

But she is just sitting there, arms folded behind her back, watching him. She doesn't seem real. Like a robot. A brainless toy... And it occurs to him, that might just be what she is, what she has been. A body to use, handed around between vulgar men, an object to utilize in their sick fantasies turned reality. Of course he's no stranger to the news, especially the darker ones, those about trafficking and forced sex work, even if those stories barely make it past the usual political drama. It's another one of those morbid fascinations he can't seem to break.

He might just be as sick as those actually partaking in these illegal little sex gatherings, he's watched those videos, even though he's handled them like any other porn he's come across. As fake, a scene played out, a fantasy made as real as movie magic can make it, but to find this girl in this room, discarded and abandoned like a broken doll, left behind after everyone else was done and satisfied in their twisted, primal needs, shows him that those were not scenes, not fake, but brutal reality. It makes him angry.

“Can you stand?” he asks her quietly, tilting his head as he towers over her, and she nods, looking up at him, before straining her bruised body when she tries to move. His hands find her elbows, and she flinches, but lets him pull her onto her feet. “Oh fuck, your arms, I forgot,” he presses out, and quickly leans back to grab a pair of scissors off the counter behind him, then carefully moves around her to cut through the ropes holding her wrists and forearms together. When he's done, he lets her go, and she sways, arms flailing a little, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold onto him. He guides her into the shower, then steps back. She turns around immediately, eyes wide. “Do you need help?”

She bites her swollen lip. “Please,” she croaks, and the hoarse sound of her voice breaks his heart (but also thickens his cock). He nods, swallows hard, trying to fight the strange warmth pooling in his stomach, before he toes off his boots, strips off his hoodie and jeans, then steps behind her in just his boxers. He wants to show her he's not a predator, but he also doesn't want to get his only good pair of jeans wet and dirty. One day he'll be able to afford another one.

He grabs the shower head and turns the knobs on the wall, waiting for the water to heat up. She's shivering, her frail little body so tiny in front of him, one hand rubbing up and down the other arm, a mindless gesture, trying to ease her nerves probably. Her eyes, however, stay on him and his every move, very attentive, almost eager. It should feel a little bit more bizarre to share a shower with a girl he's just met (or rather found), but it's as if he's running on instincts, feeling the need to help her, make her feel better, ease her pain.

The steam fills his nostrils, and when he puts the water jet to her shoulder, she winces, flinches away, lets out a little whine, but ultimately returns under the spray and lets him clean the grime and sweat and other substances off her skin. He's careful not to put too much pressure on her bruises and the welts, and is glad they didn't break her skin, even though they look horrible, shining in a bright red as if the blood is pulsing just beneath her pale skin.

When he lowers the shower head to point it between her thighs, he hesitates, looks at her, but all she does is take a little side step and spreads her legs a bit more to allow him to do so. So fucking obedient, it's almost scary. The grime on her inner thighs is so persistent that he has to move his hand over her skin before he realizes he should probably use a wash cloth. Stepping back, he leans around the open door and grabs a small towel, wets it and then proceeds to rub the dirt (and cum and other things he doesn't want to think more about) off her thighs. She whines quietly when he moves the soft cloth over her folds, and he holds his breath, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

When he touches her clit though, she shudders and gasps, legs trembling, and her hand is on his arm then, holding on tightly, with a strength he wouldn't have expected from her. He watches how her eyes roll back, how her lips part and a little moan escapes her, and he just freezes, wash cloth pressed to her sensitive nub, unintentionally drawing a strange little orgasm out of her. Was she trained to be this sensitive, so responsive? To come on touch alone? He didn't even rub that hard.

He takes the cloth away slowly, and she calms down a little, breathing just a bit harder, but when her eyes meet his, she furrows her brows, bites her lip, mumbles a croaked “Sorry” as she lowers her head. He frowns at that, tilting his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says quietly. “I... uh, didn't mean to do that either...”

Is she one of those poor girls who was bound to their master's (or whatever the man called himself who had her) will, to only do as he told her, to come on command, and to feel bad if she does so without permission? What a horrible fate... He would never ask her to hold her orgasm, he would want to see that reaction over and over again, allowing her all the pleasure she can get. Not that he'll ever want to do anything to her, but... in theory, of course.

He keeps cleaning her then, lets the warm water soak her bruised skin, and she just stands there, chin tilted up, eyes closed, wet hair cascading down her back, hanging over her shoulders, one side shorter than the other (how cruel to take away something from her, even as benign as part of her braid, but it's definitely crueler to treat her like a soulless body, and he's glad she's not missing any fingers or limbs instead).

Considering, her state could be worse. She's standing on her own, breathing just fine, she's probably very sore and aching, but the pain will fade and she could have a normal life after this, more or less, not counting the psychological trauma that seems to still hold her hostage. Well, it's not ideal, and maybe death would have been a relief after the torment, but she's young, she can work through this, it's possible. And maybe he can help her cope...

Looking at her petite frame, he feels his stomach tensing. It's wrong to feel like this, he knows it, he shouldn't even allow the smallest little thought into that direction, but he is just a man after all, standing with a naked young woman in his shower, and it's blatantly obvious what his cock thinks about this whole situation. He hopes she doesn't notice the tent in his boxers.

But he shouldn't worry, she doesn't seem to notice much, standing still under the spray of the water, and when he turns it off eventually, deeming her clean enough, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes, blinking away stray water drops. She remains immobile, and while he turns to grab a towel, she doesn't move an inch. When he starts drying her off, rougher than he intends, but his hands feel like they are shaking from the tension growing inside him, she winces a couple of times, but then presses her lips together and endures.

He's watching her like a hawk, apologizes for accidentally hurting her, tries to be as gentle as possible, and her eyes are glued to his face, not completely focused yet, still glazed and hazy, pupils blown for some reason, her gaze almost curious. What a strange little creature. He'd expected a victim of whatever type of rape she's experienced to be more... hysterical?

When he finally wraps the towel around her small body and another one around her damp hair, she seems to relax even more. Then she opens her mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispers, looking up at him before bowing her head.

He stares at her, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you're welcome,” he says. “But, uh, you can call me Sam, okay? I'm Sam. No need for... honorifics or whatever, you know?”

There's a frown on her face when she looks back up, her lips moving as if she's repeating his name in her mind.

“What's your name?” he then asks, leaning against the sink as he watches her.

The frown deepens, her eyes moving away from him, flickering here and there as if she tries to find the answer somewhere in his bathroom. “I...” she starts, eyebrows furrowed before she exhales deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It doesn't matter,” she then replies.

“Huh?” he makes, staring at her. “What do you mean it doesn't matter? I'm sure you have a name. Did you forget?” He kicks himself mentally for assuming as much and for his harsh tone, but it's ridiculous.

She shakes her head, not to say no, but to clear her mind maybe? It's a frantic gesture. “It doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am... I am yours to... to use,” she mutters under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“What now?” He gapes at her.

And then she is suddenly on her knees in front of him, the towel falling away, her small body folded with her hands lying neatly on her lap, her chin tilted up, looking at him with big eyes. “Please use me,” she says quietly.

He takes a step back, bumping into the cupboard next to the sink, staring down at the girl. Is she serious? He shakes his head, then walks back and grabs her elbows. “Come on, get up, no need to kneel before me, okay? Get up!”

His harsher, also slightly agitated tone makes her wince, but she's on her feet immediately, letting him pull her up, then stands stock-still before him, head lowered, a soft little whine escaping her. “I'm sorry...”

“Stop apologizing!” He lets go of her and runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I mean, ugh, wow. I'm sorry, too. You must be... well, you've been through so much, I don't mean to scare you or anything, I just...”

“Please,” she mumbles, breathing a little harder. She's shivering without the towel, the one on her head coming undone as well the more she shimmies on the spot. He stares at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her sex and squeezes her thighs together, small breasts squished, nipples erect, a deep blush almost hiding the red welts on her skin. “Please use me,” she then says again.

“No!” he blurts out, and she flinches, another sob escaping her. He groans. “I mean, come on! I will not just use you, I just met you, I found you! In that freaky sex room after you've been...” He stops when he suddenly meets her gaze. Her pupils are fully dilated, her already dark eyes shining entirely black. “You're in no condition to do anything but relax now, okay? Take it easy. Come on, I'll show you the bed.”

He's about to grab her hand when she turns her shoulder, avoiding his touch. He freezes, frowns. “In... no condition? Am I... not good... anymore?” Her voice is that feeble little hum, a desperate song sending shivers down his spine.

“What? No! You are good, you are perfect, you are so beautiful!” he croaks out, unable to stop the words. She tilts her head, blinking. “I mean, yeah, uh, you are, but that's not what I mean. You are... Look, whoever treated you like this, whoever hurt you, just left you there. And I couldn't not take you, you know? I want to help you, do you understand that? I want you to feel good again after –”

“Then use me,” she whispers, breathing harder, hands falling away from the obedient pose as she rubs them up and down her thighs, still squirming on the spot. “Please, it hurts...”

“Of course it hurts, they hit you with a fucking cane! They raped you!” he shouts, a little too loud, his emotions getting the better of him.

She flinches back, gasping with her lips parting, her eyes wide. “No... no, they were... they had to punish me because I... I was bad... I deserved it... and they... they used me like they should use me...”

Her words are mumbled, but he can still hear them, even though he wishes he couldn't. What a sick way of seeing things. What a fucked-up world where a pretty girl like her has these thoughts planted into her head.

Anger makes him clench his hands into fists. “They shouldn't have done that. You are a human being, a young woman, a beautiful girl, not a doll to play with, not a toy to use!”

She stares at him, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling faster, small breasts bouncing. Really not the time to notice that, mate!

“But,” she whispers, wincing slightly as she starts chewing on her lips. “But that... that's my purpose... I am... I am yours to use,” she repeats these last five words like something she had to learn without knowing the meaning behind it.

He approaches her slowly, carefully, his big hands find her small shoulders, and the touch makes her look up at him. “You are your own person. You have a name, even if you can't remember it right now, you had a mother and a father, maybe even siblings. You went to school, you had a job, maybe. You had dreams, everyone has dreams, for the future, things you wanted to have, places you wanted to see. You are not just a body for strange men to use. Not like that. Not without consent! You were not made to be punished, to be hurt because some random sicko gets off on it. Your body is so much more than just... holes to fill... and a canvas to soil with bruises and welts and... cum...”

His voice has become calmer, like a mantra, new thoughts to plant into her muddled brain, so he hopes, and she listens with her lips parted, eyes directly looking at him. Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she blinks, and when he finishes she licks her lips.

“But I want this,” she says quietly. “I want to be used...”

He sighs deeply and lowers his head, then shakes it in frustration. “No, somebody told you you should think like that! Nobody in their right mind wants to be raped and mutilated like that!”

A single sob makes him look up, and he lets go of her, straightening up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes watering before tears stream down her face. He lets out a groan.

“I'm sorry,” he grunts. “I didn't mean it like that! You are valid, whatever you want, of course, but... but you gotta agree it's a little strange?” She only cries harder, her small frame shaking. “Okay, look, no kink shaming or whatever, I just... I assumed, the way you were lying in that room, the state you were in, I thought you needed help! You looked horrible! I was about to call the police!”

She freezes at that, staring up at him. “No,” she gasps. “Don't do that! Please! I... I don't want any trouble... I... I'll do anything, but... please... not the police!”

He raises an eyebrow at that. This reaction surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She averts her eyes, breathing harder. He isn't very fond of them either, but why wouldn't she? Why would she prefer being gang raped and beaten and strangled over calling for help?

She presses her lips together, doesn't say a thing. For a moment they are both silent, standing in the bathroom, the naked girl and the guy with his tented boxers. Even now his cock doesn't agree with him. But he doesn't care about it anymore. This is a mystery he wants to unravel.

“Tell me,” he says, tone harsher, pointedly. She seems to reply better to commands.

And it seems to work. “He said he'd kill me if I talked to them,” comes her quiet answer, spoken to the tiled floor.

“He? He who?” he asks, his arms falling to his sides.

“Sir,” she replies, her shoulders shaking.

“Sir? Who calls himself Sir? Who is that? The man who did this to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He... he found me, he took me in, and then... he... he sent me away because I was... a bad girl and he... he... they...” A series of sobs escapes her before her hands fly up to cover her face. Her cries pierce his heart. “Why did he send me away? What did I do?” she wails softly, muffled from behind her hands. “I was a good girl... always a good girl... did everything he said...”

He can't watch it anymore. While his rage for this unknown man grips his insides, he steps forward and pulls her against him, arms wrapped around her shuddering form, but she keeps crying, lets it all out, desperate and heartbreaking. He scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom, her tears hot on his skin, her whines loud in his ears.

Putting her down carefully, he pulls the blanket over her naked body and tucks her in, gently rubbing her side as she curls in on herself, continuing to cry miserably.

“Please stop crying,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hand still on her hip. “I'm sorry he treated you like that. But he let you go, you said so, so why don't you use that as a chance to move on, look ahead, find a new Sir? Or live your life without any man for a while? I'm sure that's nice too...”

She stares at him from under her clumped lashes, momentarily paused in her sobbing, only to cry out again when he suggests moving on. He sighs, letting her wail and whine until hiccups shake her form. She's not calming down, but she gets quieter, and he stands up then, walking down the stairs into the kitchen to get some water and a snack. When he returns, she's lying on her side, staring blankly ahead, eyes reddened, face flushed and wet, but she's stopped crying for the moment.

He sits back down on the edge and holds the water glass to her face. “Come on, drink something. Please.” She doesn't even look at him. He exhales loudly and puts the glass on the bedside table. “Fine. Well, it's there if you want it. I also brought some crackers, maybe you're hungry. I can get more later. Or just sleep, you definitely need that. Rest, get better, and tomorrow we'll figure something out, okay?”

She doesn't give a reply, and he shakes his head and leaves again, settling on the lumpy couch under the stairs, his eyes drifting back up to the loft area every now and then. He falls asleep thinking it was probably a bad idea taking this girl with him. For his sake. What if she is so sick in the head she'll stand over him with a knife in the middle of the night? Great thought to slumber over, really.

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

End notes: *And this was the plot part of our story, stay tuned for the sex frenzy to begin in the next chapter!

There will be three chapters in total, I'll upload every Wednesday.

Thank you for joining me on another little original story I needed to get out of my system.

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Picture Day

Tee Higgins x Chase!Reader

Desc: You start getting antsy 5 weeks postpartum and find something to do with your hands.

TW: nothing too bad, mostly fluff.

Princess Ti | Main Masterlist

WC: about 1k

＊✿❀ *. ꕥ * · ❀✿＊

The buzz from your clippers fed your creative soul. You had only come in the salon to reminisce and take some time to yourself while your baby girl naps. You couldn't help but miss the chatter of clientele and the smell of coconut oil usually in the air. The pristine white counters in front of each station were completely bare, only each counter’s handheld hair dryer sticking out of the black cubbies.

Sitting in front of the first station, you think back to when your husband asked you what you really wanted in your home. It was a ballsy ask, in your opinion; you weren’t even sure what he meant by it. But he said you could turn the basement into whatever you wanted. It baffled you because you thought he’d want a man cave to escape the realities of marriage. That’s what your dad did, so you thought it was normal to think so.

So you tossed around the idea of taking on more personal and private clients in a home suite. A month later, he pleasantly surprised you with a fully furnished and functional home salon. It resembled a mini version of your main salon in the city. There is nothing that man wouldn't do for you.

After giving birth, Tee kicked into full dad mode. When he said your only job once Tiana was born was to just take care of her, he did not go back on his word. He's been an absolutely phenomenal father and partner, always taking her when you need a break, making sure you eat and stay hydrated, and even getting up during the night to calm her down. Him and your brother are literally upstairs putting together a new nursery glider so your morning feedings can be cozier.

Maybe that's why you're so antsy. You were so used to always caring for others; now that someone is holding you down the same way, you don't know what to do with yourself. You don't even cook anymore. Your mom has been handling all the meals so you can take time and heal. Everything they were doing was amazing, and you deeply appreciated it, but damn, you were bored.

The sound of your phone buzzing made your train of thought drown.

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

we're done with yo fancy ass chair, come see it while Titi still sleep

sent at 2:23 pm

You thought about going back upstairs for a minute, but a different idea caught your attention.

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

I have a better idea, you bring your wack ass fade to the basement and come sit in my chair😌

read at 2:27 pm

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

arent you supposed to be resting, imma tell momma👎🏾

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

Im offering you a free haircut and you wanna go rat me out😑 don't you have team pictures in a few days👀

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

fine im coming, but when momma finds out I'm blaming you

To: Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea right, just come down here. AND DONT TELL TEE!

Bigheaded Dumbass🐧

yea... a little late for that one😬

read at 2:33 pm

Great, just when you thought you'd be able to do your own thing, your little brother goes and fucks it up before it happens.

Oh well, you shrugged and walked over to the back of the salon for your supplies to set up for Ja'Marr's haircut. You grabbed an apron for you and a barber cape for him (even though you should let him be itchy for threatening to snitch), your black pro clippers, a razor, a number 1 and 2 comb, some holding spray, and a brush. Then, set up your chair.

Minutes later, you were all ready, and your client walked in with your husband.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" He asked with an amused smirk on his face.

"I'm giving my brother the haircut he so desperately needs." You smile back, patting the back of the chair for J to sit down.

"You're supposed to be resting." He crosses his arms as you drape the cape over your brother.

Smirking, you untie your apron and walk up to your husband with your hands on your hips. "Look at me, babe." You slowly spin around to give him an eyeful of your postpartum baby body.

"I see you, mamas. Trust me, I see you." The very nice thing about everyone making sure you take care of yourself these last few weeks has been your ability to prioritize your "snap back." You weren't working out to get to a certain shape. You were just prioritizing strengthening your core, which meant some belly binding, light ab exercises, and self-care. You were nowhere near your pre-baby weight, but you liked the extra curves, and someone else did too.

"You can't just expect me to just sit down and wait for Tiana to wake up. I gotta keep my body active, practice my trade."

He knew you were saying words, but ever since that apron came off, his mind was somewhere else. "Oh, I know how you can get active."

"Alright, y'all just nasty. Am I getting my hair done or what?" Ja'Marr groans from behind you.

"Yea Tee, you gon' let me work or what?" You say, biting your lip.

He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. "Fine," he says, pulling a waiting chair over to the corner of your area. The 6-week rule playing over and over in his mind.

"Good, now let's get to work. Don't worry babe, you're next." You chirp, picking up the brush to begin the haircut.

But Ja'Marr jerks his head away. "Ay, Y/n don't go too rough now."

You can't help but snort. "Yes, yes, I know. You too tenderheaded for my skills."

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

~ a/n: yall see what I did there ;) last addition to the au for a while. time to go work on some other fics ♡

[skyfallscotland]

I’m very curious about your (make him worse) thoughts - if you could shape onyx storm however you wanted to, what would you have happen in it? Specifically to Xaden and Violet (and XadenandViolet)? ☺️

I just think seeing Xaden as venin but not tortured by it in a woe-is-me situation would be so much fun! I think it would be very on brand for him to be wild with power and still be one-track-mind in love with Violet Sorrengail. Will being venin really change the man? We don't know enough to say, yet! I mean Jack was already a psycho, he's hardly evidence of power corrupting. What if a bunch of farmers only became venin a thousand years ago to defend themselves because dragon kept eating their sheep? You don't know their side of the story! 😂

I'm personally a bit disappointed Rebecca's editor convinced her to change it so Xaden turned at the end of Iron Flame and not Violet, because I think first-person perspective of veninism would be super interesting too! This also all sets us up for a classic narrative I'm not sure I'm down for.

Personally I'm just hoping whatever she goes for isn't too cliché. My feelings are that we might be headed for a book where Xaden tries to fight against it and ultimately fails, ends up hurting Violet or someone she loves (I think one of two characters is about to meet an untimely end and I'm not telling you who yet) and then takes off to 'protect her' from himself. Next book we'll be in a game of cat and mouse while Violet finds a cure, at the end of the book we'll cure Xaden (I have thoughts on what that will be too) and then we'll roll on into the big battle/war (book five).

So that's what I think will happen and I think it's kinda formulaic and boring. I'll be happy if it's anything else. Not that I won't enjoy that if that's how she rolls with it, I just wish for more, you know? Every time she says "I wanted to do x originally but my editor said—" I die a little inside because her instincts are GOOD, y'all.

As for what I'd do, well...can't tell you yet. I have a little series, I don't know if you've heard of it, it's called Basgiath: Remi's Version and I'd hate to spoil it for anyone 😉

[paulyenvol6]

Byka Atroksia (Chapter 9)

Contains: fluff, possessiveness, mentions of arranged marriage, inappropriate relationship between uncle and niece

Wordcount: ~4.08k

Masterlist of this story

After you had finished your breakfast you went with Rhaenyra to help decorate the garden. You put flowers on the tables and in the trees and pulled up the Targaryen banners. A little later you found yourselves in the keep again and then at around noon the King, Rhaenyra and you entered the garden and the feast began.

There was music playing, the children excitedly running around and the table seemed to almost crash under the weight of the delicious food. You sat between Rhaenyra and to your opposite was Daemon who had crossed his legs relaxed. He looked around bored and watched the feast while holding a cup of wine in his hand.

Then noon passed, the congratulations had been spoken and your father, who sat next to Rhaenyra suddenly leaned forwards to look at you.

"Daughter. There is something I wish to discuss with you." His voice wasn’t very loud which told you that it wasn’t something for everyone’s ears. Only your sister, Daemon, the hand of the King, Laena, and a few other lord of the small council watched and listened to him.

"What is it, father?" He cleared his throat and looked joyful but a little nervous at the same time.

"Well. I… have news to you. It is… You know how your sister told you earlier that Lord Cordin Stark of Winterfell will attend the feast." His eyes wandered to a tall, strong man who sat at the other end of the table, deeply invested in a conversation with your greatuncle Jaerion. You nodded and Viserys eyes looked at you again.

"Well, he… He came here to discuss something with me as well. We spoke yesterday and… we decided to wed you to his eldest son Jorlan Stark. Heir to Winterfell."

You were speechless and you could only stare at your father. Everyone except the King’s Hand, Laena and Lord Barler, master of laws seemed to be surprised by these news and your sister’s jaw even dropped.

"What?", she asked with an open mouth.

"Rhaenyra, please.", your father spoke and smiled but he looked rather insecure.

"W-What?", you stuttered as well and Viserys took your hand.

"He’s a good match, daughter. A noble man from a noble house. It will be a good thing to finally unite the north and the crown by marriage. You will be the Lady of Winterfell someday, my dear."

Your eyes instinctively fluttered to Daemon and you could see that he looked more serious now. Dangerous, even and you could see that his jaw was tense. You quickly put your attention on your father again.

"B-But it’s so far away. I-I don’t know, I – "

You didn’t know what to say. Of course you didn’t want to marry a strange boy you had never seen before and move to the north, where you didn’t know anyone. The climate was uncommon to you, as well as the nature and the people of the north.

You looked at Daemon again. Just for a second. You wanted him to do something, say something. Tell your father no, you couldn’t marry him. It wouldn’t be a good match and you should remain in King’s Landing. With him.

Your hands were shaking and you could still feel the gaze of almost every person around you on you.

"Vhaela.", your father spoke softly. "You’ll understand soon that this is a good thing. Jorlan Stark is a honourable and kind man. He will protect you and keep you safe. If I didn’t know him to be a good man I wouldn’t agree to this betrothal."

You just sat there. Staring at the food on your plate while you could feel Rhaenyra caress your back. Your father came a little closer.

"I know the thought of leaving the city is hard and I assure you it is hard for me too but I don’t think there could be someone more suitable, Vhaela. Just wait until you have met him to make a judgement."

You heard his words even though they sounded a little muffled and his face was blurred before your eyes. You didn’t want to meet him. You didn’t want to find out if he was suitable for you. You wanted… Daemon perhaps? You didn’t even know what you wanted, you just knew your head was burning and the different smells of all this food made you feel sick.

"This might be a little much right now, daughter. You should sleep on it and in the morrow everything will seem different. Better, hopefully." Your father looked around and chuckled forcedly. "Let’s continue to eat now, Deston? Bring the cake please!"

It took you some time to get your gaze off the ice cream that was by now only a puddle. Rhaenyra still comforted you by stroking your back and hair and you just tried not to let the tears fall down. In the corner of your eye you could see Daemon watch the cup in his hand and then you but you couldn’t look at him now. It took all your power to get through the rest of the feast and the your sister brought you back to the keep.

The king had soothingly caressed your shoulder and assured you everything would be fine but you couldn’t believe it would. Not only didn’t you want to move in the north to Winterfell and leave your sister, your father, your uncle and all your other relatives behind and then… well there was Daemon. And, you hadn’t even thought about that yet, but you were not a maiden anymore. What if your husband would notice and question your virtue. You exhaled loudly and tried to calm your fastened heartbeat.

"Shh, sister.", Rhaenyra whispered while taking you all the stairs up to your chambers.

"What if he’s horrible?", you whimpered and your sister shook her head. "Father said he knows he’s a good man."

"But one can cover up his true nature. Perhaps he acted like a saint in front of father but in reality he – "

"Don’t, Vhaela.", Rhaenyra whispered and caressed the back of your hand. "This won’t bring you any good. Wait until you get to know him. If he turns out to be a monster… I’ll kill him for you." Even though you didn’t feel like it you couldn’t help but laugh at her words. Rhaenyra smirked and then you stood in front of the door to your chambers.

"Relax now, little sister. That was a lot to take so you need some time." You nodded with a big lump in your throat. "Thank you, Rhae." She smiled and then closed the door behind you.

~~~~~~~~~~

All afternoon you felt like you were rotting in your bed. At first you had laid on your back, trying to bring some order to your thoughts but that hadn’t worked. There was just too much scrambling your brain and so after some time you had given up and tried to get some sleep. But because it was still early in the evening you hadn’t been able to fall asleep so you watched the sun getting closer and closer to the earth.

At some point your eyes were hurting and so you had turned to your side to stare at your beside table. You had counted the annual rings in the woods and the seconds and minutes had passed slowly. You wanted, no needed Daemon in your presence. You needed to see him, talk to him, tell him that you didn’t want to marry Jorlan Stark and beg him to do something. You wanted to feel safe with him next to you and just for a moment think that everything would be fine and Daemon would find a solution to all of your problems. Where was he and why couldn’t he come and see you for a little while? You felt that you were a little unfair but you just craved seeing him even if it only was for a short time.

One time, it had knocked and you had jumped in your bed. The disappointment was immense when it had only been your handmaiden who had brought you a tea.

You now laid on your stomach with the side of your face pressed in the pillow. Maybe you should simply suffocate, you thought. You fingers pulled at some loose yarns of your big wool blanket that was way too warm for these temperatures but the blanket gave you some kind of comfort. Then there was a knock on your door and you mumbled.

"Come." Had they heard you? Yes, you heard the door open and someone approach you but you couldn’t see who it was because your face was turned away from the door and you were too lazy to lift your head. The steps stopped and you waited for a word.

"Byka atroksia." If you weren’t too powerless, you would’ve widened your eyes. Now you could only feel tears gathering in your eyes and you slowly turned so you laid on your back.

"Daemon.", you said weakly and the knowledge that he had come almost made all those tears roll down your face. But you didn’t allow them to because you didn’t want to cry now. Daemon looked fierce, cold almost but you didn’t know if his anger was actually your fault. Seeing him gave you new energy for some reason and suddenly you couldn’t lay in bed anymore.

You got off the bed, moved your hair behind your ears and stood in front of Daemon. For a moment you only looked at each other and then you started to speak.

"I don’t want to marry some Stark Prince and move to Winterfell, uncle." Your voice sounded a little thin but him being there made you feel like fire was flooding your veins. Daemon moved closer to you and his hands made contact with the sides of your face. He looked at you intensely and made sure your eyes were fixed on him.

"You.", he said quietly but very clearly. "Are mine, little owl. And I’m not going to let some weak Stark cunt take away from me what’s mine."

His fingers held you tigthly as if he wanted to support his words by it and you laid your hands on his wrists.

"And I don’t want to be taken away.", you whispered.

"I will not let him. I’d rather kill him and everyone that attempts to step in my way." You smiled softly but knew you had to keep a clear head now. As much as you liked to hear him say that he didn’t want this betrothal as well, it wasn’t a realistic or good solution to simply kill everyone who asked for your hand.

"But… What are we gonna do? If my father wants me to marry him, I can’t just refuse him and you know you can’t just kill him.", you chuckled desperately.

"Of course I can. Or do you think he’d defeat me in a fight?", Daemon whispered darkly and your hand reached out to touch his face.

"Daemon, please. I’ll have to marry some day. If Jorlan Stark turns out to magically drown somewhere or choke on something, my father would find me another match."

Your uncle didn’t answer you but just ran his thumb over your soft skin as if wanted to make sure you were actually there. You looked at him with sad eyes but then hopefully.

"But marriage is only a political arrangement. You told me this so often when I was young. Perhaps this doesn’t mean, that…. That I’ll never see you again."

You almost shrieked in surprise when Daemon suddenly forcefully grabbed your neck and pushed you against the wall. His hand wasn’t very tight around your throat and you could still breathe properly but he roughly pressed you against the wall and you felt fear creeping up on you. He towered over you and his face got close to yours. His eyes glowed with rage and he hissed his next words.

"I am NOT going to be your whore." You looked at him with big eyes and felt your hands shivering.

"I’m not gonna be your whore to warm your bed whenever your cunt of a husband is out hunting somewhere because he prefers to fuck wolves over you. Do you understand me?"

You quickly nodded and didn’t break eye contact with him.

"Yes. Yes, I understand." He suddenly let go of you and took a step back to walk around in your room thinking. You tried to collect yourself and inhaled deeply as you had just realized you had hold your breath the last seconds. You put your hand on your stomach feeling the air entering your body and then looked at Daemon again. He was still walking around and you just wanted him to hold you. Whisper comforting things against your hair. Your uncle didn’t look at you though but scratched his forehead, his eyes still spitting fire.

"Wed me, Daemon." He turned around suddenly and observed you with small eyes.

"What?" You walked towards him.

"Take me as your wife. It would solve all of our problems. I wouldn’t have to marry Jorlan Stark and be sent away to live at Winterfell. And no one could ever question my virtue and honor if I married you. And we wouldn’t have to keep a secret from Rhaenyra, my father and any other person here anymore."

"No.", Daemon plainly said and took a step back from you to aimlessly walk around the room again.

"Why not?", you asked chasing him in an attempt to make him look at you.

"Because I said so." You lifted your arms in despair. "Tell me, uncle. Give me a reason why this is not a good solution." Daemon shook his head.

"My brother wouldn’t accept it anyway." He chuckled. "He wouldn’t give his precious little girl to me."

"But we could try at least. Or do you have a better plan?" Daemon rolled his eyes angrily and then glared at you. "I’m NOT going to take you as my wife, Vhaela."

You felt anger rising in your chest and had changed your hands to fists. "Is it because the idea comes from me? Is it because you only view me as a child? Because you don’t take me seriously?", you said with a weak voice.

"Careful, little owl.", Daemon growled and came a little closer to you again.

"What? I’m speaking the truth.", you said with teary eyes. Daemon watched you disdainfully and he rested his right hand on your cheek.

"Shut it. I don’t see you as a little child and I take you seriously. I simply know that your 'plan' is not going to work.", he hissed.

"But we don’t have a better one." Daemon lifted your chin and raised his eyebrows.

"I’m going to talk to your father. Tell him that I don’t believe that this betrothal is a good idea. He might not always trust my judgement but perhaps I can at least give him something to think about."

You looked at him and just felt miserable. Your father wouldn’t listen to his brother and you knew that for a fact. He loved Daemon, yes, but he knew how repulsive he was. And yet you nodded and looked up to him with big eyes.

"Fine.", you whispered and suddenly felt very small in this world. Daemon moved a strand of hair out of your face and pressed a kiss on your hair.

"Iksan ivestragon ao bisa arlī, byka mēre. Ao sagon ñuhon. Daor se Stārke's. Ñuhon.  Kesan daor ivestragī zirȳ gūrogon ao qrīdrughagon." (I'm telling you this again, little one. You're mine. Not the Stark's. Mine. I will not let them take you away.)

You nodded and let him pull your head to his chest. His warmth felt good and you enjoyed his arms wrapped around you. He caressed the back of your head and then after a few moments ended the hug. You would’ve liked to stay like this a little longer but Daemon looked at you with a tilted head and a slight smirk.

"Sleep well, riña (girl)." He walked towards and you watched the back of his head. "Good night, Daemon."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hahaha.", Daemon heard, standing in front of the door. It was late, the hour of the owl but he didn’t care. He should probably wait until the morrow but if he had something important to do, he would do it immediately. Even if it meant interrupting the King at a late hour. Also, Daemon wasn’t tired yet. The adrenaline he had felt today had triggered his nerves and he felt as awake as if it was in the middle of the day.

The guard who was positioned in front of the door opened it and walked in. Daemon could only hear muted chatter and then the door was opened for him. He walked in, a serious look on his face and smirked slightly when he saw the King sitting on a chair in front of the fire place.

"Brother.", he spoke and Viserys turned to him, looking not as surprised as he had thought him to be.

"Daemon. Come and sit with me." He walked towards another chair and let himself sink on it. Then he crossed his legs and exhaled loudly.

"What brings you to me at such late hour, dear brother?"

Daemon chuckled and laid his arm on the armrest. "Do I really need an excuse to spend some time with my brother?" Viserys smiled but Daemon could see in his eyes that he looked at little tired and thought if it had been a good idea not to wait until the next day. Anyway, he would speak to him now.

"Well, actually I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Aha.", Viserys made and lifted his eyebrows. "Speak then. I’m open to listen to the matters of the man who has won back the Stepstones for the crown." Daemon smirked, looking down but then lifted his head to look at his brother.

"It’s about Vhaela. And the betrothal with the Stark Prince." Daemon could sense how his expression faded a little and his eyes looked sad.

"What of it?"

He exhaled and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I don’t think it is a good idea."

Viserys rested his elbows on his legs and frowned at his brother. "Why? It is a good match for her." He looked at Daemon with small eyes and then threw his hands in the air.

"Now you’re coming to me about that as well, Daemon. You’re making this even harder for me or do you think it is easy for me to send my youngest daughter away to the North? Do you think it will be easy for me to marry her to a lord twice her age and simply trust that her husband and the people in Winterfell will treat her well?"

Daemon shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows. "Then don’t. Don’t wed her to him."

Viserys chuckled. "With what reasoning? From a strategic point of view it is the best we can do. And she has to marry soon anyway."

"Well, I think you can do better than that."

Viserys frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I think that you can make a better match for her than the Stark boy."

"Who are you talking about Daemon?"

He straightened up in his chair and exhaled. "The rebellion in Braavos, brother. I know that you don’t like to hear that but I agree with Lord Ellion. The whole situation has the potential to be a threat to the crown. And yes, Lord Hotorlan is negotiating with the crown at this moment and right now there are no signs that there will be a war, but the situation is tense. And we can’t risk letting it escalate. A war with the free cities would be a catastrophe. We should do our very best to avoid it at all costs."

Daemon looked at him insistent and Visery's frown intensed. "What are you suggesting, brother?"

"Don’t marry Vhaela to the Starks. Keep her in King’s Landing and wait. Lord Hotorlan has sons of his own, if the situation threatens to boil up you can send a marriage proposal and ask him to wed one of his sons to your daughter. It would be controversial, yes, but with this marriage we could avoid a war before it even starts."

There was silence in the room and Viserys stared at the rings on his hand. Daemon watched him for a reaction but it took several moments until Viserys started to speak again.

"Vhaela was a gift from the gods.", he said quietly with teary eyes. "After we had Rhaenyra, we were so happy, Aemma and I. And we thought it would be like this forever now. How could you think it will ever be any different when you have your child in your hands? But then, almost two years later, Aemma was haunted by demons. She wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t eat. She wouldn’t go outside even." Viserys looked at his brother and a single tears rolled down his cheek.

"She would just lay in bed all day without any motivation to get up. I don’t know if you remember it. She suffered. And so did I and Rhaenyra as well. A newborn who didn’t get any attention from her mother….But then she became pregnant again. At first I didn’t know what the condition would do to her. I thought the demons would take her child and consume it as they had done it with Aemma. But no. The child in her belly lit her up. Really, it was like a light shone through her. I remember being by her bed. She looked me in my eyes and told me that she hadn’t bled for two moons. That she had a babe inside her. A daughter. I waited. And then she smiled. I hadn’t seen her smile in months, Daemon. I had even forgotten what she looked like when she smiled. It was like someone returned to me that I hadn’t seen in months. She just smiled. Vhaela made her happy. I know carrying a child can be hard and painful, but still… My Aemma was happy again. And then she was in childbirth and afterwards she held her. Vhaela was so tiny and Aemma just couldn’t stop crying. Not because she was sad, no, because Vhaela had lit up her whole world. She had brought joy in Aemma’s life."

More tears had gathered in Viserys‘ eyes and one by one, they rolled down his face. He cried silently with his head lowered and Daemon just watched him with teary eyes as well.

"And then the demons took Aemma away from me, Daemon. And to this day, I don’t know why. I don’t know what the gods have punished me for." Viserys lifted his head again and intensely looked at his brother.

"I can’t lose my daughters, brother. I just can’t. I can’t let the gods take another person I love." He chuckled sadly. "And now you suggest to me to wed Vhaela to a Braavosi Prince who I don’t know and whose family are not loyal to us as the Starks. Sending her to Essos. I can’t do that."

"I’m not suggesting you wed her to him in the morrow, brother. It would only happen if the situation with Lord Hotorlan was to escalate. Which might not even happen. You simply need a reassurance. A plan. Refuse Lord Cordin’s offer, keep Vhaela in King’s Landing. She’s 16, she doesn’t necessarily need to be wed for another 2 years. If the crown will be able to hold Hotorlan under control for the next two or three years you can wed Vhaela to another highborn lord. Maybe even a Stark. But if not, she could be the key to uphold peace in the realm."

Viserys shook his head. "I don’t know, Daemon."

"What speaks against it?", Daemon asked with lifted eyebrows.

"Lord Cordin wouldn’t be delighted. And I don’t know if I could just send Vhaela to Braavos."

"Not giving her to the Starks wouldn’t automatically mean that you’ll send her to Braavos. It’s simply a second option, a insurance for our differences with Braavos.", Daemon said a little louder.

Viserys remained silent.

"You’ve changed, Daemon.", he then said and smiled softly. "It suits you."

[shinischis]

so i read your fic and i really really like your bc of kaito smelling like vanilla and how shinichi finds comfort in that scent, it’s cute how he gets all sleepy all around kid, not because he’s bored but just because he’s tired and there’s finally some sort of comfort it’s actually so sweet, i love how you wrote their dynamic.

are there any other things you headcanon about these two sillies? i wanna know some other peoples opinions on them

HELLO HELLO

tysm for reading my fic, I'm glad you liked it, I was worried about it not being up to people's expectations bc it was my first ever kaishin or dcmk fic in general.

You did get the point I wanted to let out through the fic perfectly. Shinichi gets sleepy around kaito because he feels comfort around him for a reason he doesn't really know, and because kaito smells like vanilla, he associates said comfort to that scent, and that's why he gets a candle at the end of it hehe

I do have some more headcanons about these two, I think about them a lot and I kind of had a whole ass list in my head,

Okay a little list here of my kaishin headcanons just bc i said so

- shinichi likes a lot of things about kaito, they're very specific and very little but he wants to always be around for those specific things.

Those include Kaito's morning voice, the way he smells like vanilla (because of his shampoo or shower gel or whatever), his hands for whatever reason (he thinks they're interesting to watch them at work, especially if picking locks), and the way kaito can always make shinichi laugh when he's trying to act serious (he would never admit it though)

- kaito also likes a buncha things about shinichi, he thinks they're stupid and would never admit them to shinichi.

Those include the way shinichi smells like coffee (but he's dramatic and acts like he hates it), the way he rants about his interests and keeps going on and on for god knows how long (but kaito will sit and listen to every damn word like the idiot in love he is), shinichis focused face when he's trying to figure out something (his furrowed eyebrows and hand on his chin and all), and also.... his "football thighs"

- they're both hopless for one another in different ways .

Shinichi is more of quiet, just yearning from afar, his ass would never make a first move

Kaito is more out going about it, he flirts and kisses and has no sense of personal space and acts like they're already together before they even get together

- autism 🤝 adhd couple fr

Shinichi has autism, I'm 101% convinced and no one can tell me otherwise. I'm self projecting. And his special interest is sherlock holmes because his ass knows too much and won't stop .

Kaito is adhd, he diesnt have it, he IS it. That's just how it works.

- they're too gay, I need his about that as well

I was thinking bi shinichi, starts as fem leaning when he first figures it out but over time finds out he's more men leaning.

Then there's pan kaito, he gen likes anyone, he doesn't give two shits about gender anymore

- top kaito, bottom shinichi, pls and thank you

- I think in uni they'd have total different paths.

Shinichi going for police dep obvi just bc he has to be his detective self as always, kaito is no way near, he hates cops and will act allergic to his own boyfriend of he ever sees Shinichi wearing a cop outfit or something like that, would probably hiss at him like a cat hisses at water until he changes his clothes

Kaito would do gemology in uni, he knows a lot about gems, he's seen a lot of gems, he's stolen a lot of gems, so why not do things related to it for a living. He's probably opening a little jewelry shop after that, maybe after all the kaitou kid stuff is over a d he just wants to settle calmly

That's all I got for now, somehow I forgot everything else I had in mind the moment I was asked ahahaha

[kurishiri]

16 . . . alfons main story (with letter)

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— by the way, if you want “alfons’ side” of this chapter, i would recommend giving the ecb story from roger’s past records a read! i copied and pasted some lines from there in this chapter as well.

— cw: mentions of child labor or abuse.

Roger: Even after getting hurt by that villain of a man, you just never learn, do you, lil lady?

Roger’s face was right there before me, so close I could feel his breath.

He was honestly a wonderful person, and I was sure if we had met at the bar, without knowing the circumstances, I would have happily gone along with his slightly rough invitation.

(But...)

Kate: I’m really sorry... but right now I’m not in a headspace where I can humor your jokes...

K: Besides, I thought you mentioned you choose your partners?

Thankfully, Roger withdrew his hand from my shoulders, albeit not without a wry laugh.

Roger: You’re right, I did mention that, but I would absolutely take a woman like you any day.

(Could it be he came here to cheer me up?)

My heart, having felt cold and hollow, now felt a tad bit of warmth.

(Oh, come to think of it...)

Kate: ...If I remember, you are doing research on the Cursed ones, right?

Roger: That I am, but what of it?

Kate: If it’s not too much trouble, could you tell me what Alfons’ tragic fate is...?

When I asked Roger what had been occupying my mind since before he came, he shrugged his shoulders, his movements stiff.

Roger: If he knew I was the one to tell you, he’d hate me more than he already does.

Kate: Then whatever you say here will stay between the two of us.

Roger: I mean, sure, but I’m pretty sure he’d still catch on even if you didn’t say a word.

R: Well, despite what I said, I’m more than convinced he couldn’t hate me any more at this point, so I don’t really mind.

(Now that we’re on this topic...)

I remembered I couldn’t help but feel the way Alfons acted toward Roger made me a bit uncomfortable.

[1] So you two go way back. (+4 / +4)

[2] Does he hate you?

[3] Which one of you is older?

Kate: So, I take it you two go way back?

Roger: And what makes you think that?

Kate: Well, I guess when you two were speaking, it looked like you weren’t pulling any punches on each other, so to speak... but also I felt you two were a bit distant...

K: So I thought something might’ve happened that made it that way, perhaps.

Roger: Well well? Look at you and your keen eye. But as for the reason he holds some deep-seated grudges against me——

R: ...It was because the one who had told him what his ‘tragic fate’ was so casually, was none other than me.

R: His life had always been a bit twisted, so to speak, but then I came in and wrung it more.

(Wha...)

Roger: You want in on it?

(If I nod here...)

The story that Roger was about to tell——

Surely, it would cover a part of Alfons that he would never let me so much as step in.

(...I wonder, will knowing more about him really do much?)

(Perhaps, knowing would actually make it harder to forget.)

I bit my lip slightly.

(But, even so——)

Even if it was just a tiny fragment, I wanted to grasp at his true form, however much of a mirage he may be.

Kate: ...Yes, please tell me more.

—— Flashback ——

The story I’m about to tell is neither a dream nor illusion.

It is nothing but the ‘truth’ that one can’t escape from——

Once, there was a boy who bore ashy gray eyes: an orphan from the East End.

And ever since the time he was aware of what was going on around him, he had been subjected to harsh labor at the orphanage.

The work environment was poor at best, and even a slightest mistake would result in corporal punishment.

However, this boy held a certain skill as well.

He knew the art of escaping from the reality that dealt him with hardships and rendered him famished and in pain by dreaming.

‘This isn’t me’——such were the chants of the boy who looked into his own reflection in the muddied water.

Whenever he did this, his consciousness would distance itself from him, going somewhere outside. And so, even if he was being punished, he felt nothing.

Not to mention, there were countless children who died as well.

...Children whose names he could no longer remember. And when the time came, it would surely be the same for him as well.

——But even so, there was but a single thing he had held dear in his heart.

Gray-eyed boy: Come here, won’t you?

Out in the alleyway, there was a trembling kitten.

He never had much bread in the first place, but nonetheless he split it with the kitten; he would fall asleep while hugging it to his chest on colder days; and he would pet it on the back of its neck.

Whenever he did so, his heart would calm down.

(That’s right, I’m different from those adults. Because unlike them, I have love in me.)

(And I’m different from those nameless kids too, because I’ve got this fella here.)

(This cat knows me, if no one else. It remembers me too.)

Thinking this helped keep his sense of self.

Gray-eyed boy: I love you... so that’s why, if no one else, you have to remember me, okay?

The kitten’s warmth, the feeling of its soft fur, and the small meows...

Surrounded by bricks that were on the verge of falling apart, that very place was the ‘reality’ he lived in.

—— End flashback ——

—— Flashback ——

Roger: Huh. A cat...

One fateful day, the young boy met another named Roger in the East End.

Roger appeared slightly older than the boy who was polishing shoes out on the streets.

And judging from his attire, he was probably not a noble, but more likely than not he had come from a relatively more well-to-do family.

‘I heard some rumors about the orphanage, so here I am,’ Roger had said, wanting in on the boy’s story, almost to an excessive extent for some odd reason.

Roger: So? What’s that cat doing now? After all, the fact you’re polishing shoes out here now is because you got kicked out from the orphanage, right?

When talking about the cat, the boy’s ashy gray eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly.

Gray-eyed boy: That fella’s still at the orphanage. Someone there’s probably looking after it, maybe?

Roger: .........And you? What’s your name?

His name——that young boy had an inkling that he had forgotten he even had such a thing in the first place.

Gray-eyed boy: ...Alfons, I think.

Roger: You think?

Alfons: Well, I heard it was written on the box I was in.

That alone was enough to hit home the fact that he had been abandoned the moment he was born.

He had no memory of the time before he found himself at the orphanage.

And that orphanage was the very one he had been recently driven out of.

Roger: Do you really not know the reason you were kicked out of the orphanage?

Alfons: How could I? It was so sudden, so...

—— End flashback ——

When the needle on the clocks overlapped, I found myself back in the present time.

Roger: I had heard a certain rumor circulating around at the time, so that’s why I tried to get in touch with him.

Kate: A rumor...?

Roger: Yeah. A rumor where ‘the director of the orphanage was made into a cat.’

(Did he just say... he was ‘made into a cat’...?)

Kate: What in the world does that mean...?

Roger: At the time, I already knew I was Cursed, and I had already begun researching about Curses at that point.

R: Through my father, who was a town doctor, I searched around for any documents about patients who could possibly be Cursed.

R: And it was among those I found something particularly strange, that being rumors of a person who could ‘overwrite other people’s perceptions’——

R: And there were strange cases of amnesia where that came from.

(Am...nesia...)

When I thought of Alfons’ face, I stifled a breath.

Roger: White could be perceived as black, and vice versa——there are a great many who experienced that firsthand, thinking such things were reality.

R: But interestingly enough, none of them could remember who had made it that way. Their name, what they looked like, where they lived, everything.

R: And when I checked the registry of that area and any records... I was confident there was some unnatural ‘white space’ there.

R: It was clear as night and day that there was a single person who had just up and disappeared to thin air from both memories and records. ...Strange, isn’t it?

R: I was more than sure that person who held such an ability was a ‘Cursed one.’

At that moment, I had a bad feeling.

But nonetheless, I simply swallowed my breath and continued to listen.

Roger: So when I first heard the rumor that there was a ‘human who had turned into a cat,’ I thought he would be Cursed.

R: And at the time, I was hoping to find a Cursed one aside from myself in earnest.

R: ...That’s why I ended up doing something rash.

—— Flashback ——

Roger: You’ve got some strange ability, don’t you?

All of a sudden, Roger had asked this with a serious expression, causing Alfons to back away with slow steps.

Alfons: What do you mean, ‘strange ability’...?

Roger: You know, like by touching somewhere and whatnot, you can make people think any lie as the truth. Something like that.

Alfons: ...Any lie... as the truth...

Roger figured that since Alfons hadn’t asked what he was talking about, he probably was at least somewhat in the know.

Believing this without question, Roger took a step back before spreading both his arms.

Roger: So try something on me, won’t you? Anything’s fine.

Alfons: ...

After staring at Roger closely for a while...

Alfons: ...If you pay me, I could do it.

He made a proposal to the well-dressed Roger.

And from there, the two did this and that to test his ‘ability.’

After all, Alfons himself didn’t know how to activate it.

Roger: Looks like just throwing words out won’t do it.

Alfons: So then I’d have to touch you somewhere too or something?

And then, Alfons held Roger’s hand, touched his forehead and whatnot, and after a lot of trial and error——

Alfons: “This isn’t shoe polish, but your most favorite food.”

—— End flashback ——

Roger: When he touched the back of my neck, his ability activated.

Kate: ...And how did you know that?

Roger: Well, by the time I came to, I realized I was eating shoe polish, and he was there on the side laughing and pointing his finger at me.

(Gosh...)

Roger, laughing it off, continued the story.

—— Flashback ——

Roger: I knew it, you really are Cursed.

Alfons: Cursed?

A: What in the world are you saying, mister [1]? Just hurry up and pay me, will you?

Alfons’ eyes grew cold, and he extended his head, waving it.

And Roger grabbed both of his shoulders.

Roger: You have the ability to distort the minds of other people. You saw it yourself before, didn’t you?

R: And those who are Cursed will have to face a tragic fate as a price for their abilities.

Alfons: Wh... what’re getting all excited for?

There are those who were cast with a Curse since the moment they were born——such people are known as ‘Cursed ones.’

And at this point in time, Alfons still didn’t grasp such a meaning.

Roger: I mean the Cursed ones are born “to commit sins and meet a tragic fate.”

Alfons: ...Are you sure you shouldn’t go to a hospital, mister? There can’t be such a thing as a tragic fate and all.

Roger: I know it sounds like a lie, but it really is true! And I think in your case, it would probably be——“to die without leaving your mark on anyone’s memories.”

R: That’s the fate you bear.

Alfons: ——!

In exchange for an ability a normal person could never have, they were dealt the hands of a ‘tragic fate.’

Roger: But, I’m sure these fates can be changed. In fact, I’ll do just that.

R: After all, I was finally able to meet someone other than myself who’s Cursed! Hey, do you——

Alfons: .........get out.

All of a sudden, Alfons pushed Roger on his chest. Hard.

Roger: ...? What’s up with you? Looking pale as a sheet like that.

Alfons: Whatever, just get out of my sight!

Pushing Roger so hard he was almost sent flying, Alfons ran away——

never to return there again.

—— End flashback ——

Roger: ...And then a little while after that,

R: I heard a rumor around that ‘there was a kid who could show weird illusions over at the slums.’

I was reminded of how I had seen Alfons in the warehouse that had long become ruins, showing illusions to the people there.

—— Flashback ——

Alfons: I have been doing these things even prior to joining Crown, you see.

A: So I see no reason to stop, simply because I’ve been told to, or it’s a supposed ‘national secret’ and what have you.

—— End flashback ——

Roger: At the time, I was hoping he could work with me on my research...

R: But if I had to say, I got too caught up in talking about his fate, and as a result I had ended up pushing on him a reality he could never go back from again.

Just like that, I felt as though a hole had opened up beneath my feet.

The past I didn’t know of,

the day I had first understood what his ability entailed, and... the ‘Curse’ his body had ended up bearing.

(“To die without leaving his mark on anyone’s memories”——such was Alfons’ tragic fate.)

to be continued…

Acceptance is important, you know

Good day to you. How have you been faring?

...So I do ask, though I couldn’t really care less, if I had to be honest. But even so, do make sure to eat and sleep properly, alright?

After all, would you not agree that destroying your body and suffering because you had been pulled by the whims of some irresponsible hedonist is nothing short of a ludicrous tale?

The quickest way to overcome a lost love would be liquor and food, along with the discovery of your next love. Such is usually the case.

If you indulge in a delicious liquor, I imagine you will come to realize this love was naught but some silly affair. In fact, I’m more than certain of it.

Should you seek out a pleasure no deeper than the surface, then I will be more than happy to play together with you once more.

Well then, until next time.

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masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️

NOTES:

[1] Here, Alfons refers to Roger as [お兄さん] (onī-san), which literally means “big brother,” and it could be used to refer to someone else’s older brother, but here it’s used more in the context that Roger is a guy a little older than Alfons, so it’s just like a casual way to call someone you’re not super close with or don’t know the name of, not because they are blood-related in any way. Think of it kinda like “bro” in modern terms maybe?

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