#So I didn't do it - comforting the woman about it

[lyricwritesprose]

So I've known Winter since she was a weird little goth egg who borrowed my jewelry, but she's never asked for my expertise as a large animal veterinarian before. Winter doesn't have large animals. Winter has three cats, brothers, named Sauce, High Fructose Corn Syrup, and Bobby. (Bobby is the ginger one.)

So I wasn't sure what was up when she told me to bring my "hoof stuff" and not to tell anyone, but you know, she's my friend. An hour's drive and a little secrecy is nothing.

She met me at the door and escorted me upstairs and into her bedroom, and there was a demon lying on the bed. Red. Horns. Tail. Winter's grandma's quilt over him. Very confused expression.

"He says he hasn't had hoof care for a long time," Winter explained. "Apparently conditions in Pandemonium kind of suck."

Well, that, at least, was straightforward. "Yeah, I'll take a look at them. You owe me an explanation or five."

"Not really much to explain," Winter said apologetically. "I needed help with biochem."

"There are about ten thousand ways that statement does not lead to this situation."

"Oh, come on, like you've never tried to summon a demon to do your homework."

"No, as a matter of fact, I haven't, because that's academic cheating and as a vet, it could be a life or death matter for me to actually know stuff. Also demons aren't—" You can't exactly say demons aren't real with one watching you. "Necessarily any better at biochem than I am. So you tried some spell and—oh. Ouch. Yeah, that's a gnarly looking hoof, you're going to need some treatment on that. Looks like maybe you haven't been walking around much?" That was to the demon. "Because the edges should wear down if you have proper room to move."

"I don't." His voice was softer than I expected. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Hoof trim," I said, "first of all. Have you had anything to eat? Do you need anything to eat?"

"I ordered door dash from the Indian place half an hour ago," Winter said. "Should be any minute. It's the only decent vegetarian place around here and I really don't want to deal with the whole question of which critters are acceptable to eat across cultural differences, so—yeah. See, the problem is, Asgrvanisaghl has been through a lot since some asshole 'higher demon' put his name in a grimoire, which means that we've got to find a way to block summonings as necessary or at least keep him from getting controlled when they happen."

"I don't do magic," I said, laying out my bag of tools, "I do comfortable hooves. Although, you know, you could call in Shawn. He's got that mythology special interest going on."

"I texted him. He can come by tomorrow but he's doing a thing."

I nodded. "You are probably," I told the demon, "going to have to repeat the name you want me to use for you several times before I get it. I'm not great with pronunciation. Right, so hoof trimming tools probably look different where you're from, but the principles should be the same. This is—"

"Why are you doing this?"

I shrugged. "I mean. We're humans."

"But—no. Humans want great wealth, or they want their rivals removed, or they want the love of the most beautiful woman in the land, or they want—other things—"

"Humans are bastards sometimes and they should not have treated you like that."

He didn't seem to know what to do with that statement.

"But the main thing about humans is that we clump up in groups. You wanna guess what group me and Winter were in, in high school?"

He shook his head wordlessly.

"The group of kids that didn't fit in. Queer, autistic, whatever. And believe me I'm going to call in all of us until we can make sure you're safe."

"But. I'm not one of you."

I shrugged again. "You are now."

The demon collapsed onto your bed. A vacant stare in his eye as he uttered “this is the 10,000th time I’ve been summoned. can we make it easy? Please?”

[trashwithvariety]

so this has probably already been talked about in great detail since the end of the show (hannibal) but I just did a rewatch and I can't shut up about it. the incredible level of subtle details in this show is already insane but I noticed it much clearer in my rewatch during season 3 part two how quickly we see Will change.

during *The Great Red Dragon*, Will is back to mostly his pre-Hannibal self. We see him married with a family out in the country with his dogs and more specifically his clothes (I am going to be very specific about what he wears in this because it's these details that are so subtle but make his change so much more crispy). He's wearing very practical, warm weather clothes, looks like an outdoorsman.

like, reminder that this ↓

is how he shows up to meet Hannibal again for the first time in years. Glasses, coat, clearly clothes he would not think twice about wearing anywhere, kind of like how he dresses in season one. It's also in his expression and his stature (which bless Hugh Dancy for his portrayal of Will because I don't know who else could have done the subtle changes so eloquently)

now let me take you to the episode directly after (And the Woman Clothed with the Sun) he first sees Hannibal and has to come back to talk to him

i'm sorry??? Immediately with the crisp button down, tucked in, with the top buttons undone, hair slicked back, NO GLASSES and look. Look at how he stands and his expression and how comfortable he is, hands in pockets.

okay further evidence. And honestly arguably the scariest piece

it's the dead-eyed stare for me. We all know what happened to Chilton after this, and it's the fact that he knew what he was doing. God, Will was never more like Hannibal than he was at the end of season three. Clothes are not much different on purpose because he's playing the game now.

Sidebar that in almost all the scenes that he's bitchily talking to Bedelia, he's also very well dressed as if he's taking Hannibal's place in his manipulation of her.

By the time we see him in The Wrath of the Lamb, he has already decided that he wants Hannibal back. Vaguely suggesting to Jack to use Hannibal as bait for the Dragon, as if he didn't very well consider all the outcomes would likely lead to Hannibal escaping. The way they're looking conspiratorially at each other in the back of the van. How Will isn't even remotely surprised he walks out unscathed or how he doesn't question letting him drive them to wherever they're going to meet the dragon.

And once they get to the cliffside house, and they get settled and Will?

His shirt is tight, his expression is the SAME as the one Hannibal had in episode ONE season ONE, as he watches Hannibal BLEED OUT and wonders probably what they will do.

There are plenty of ways everyone that worked on this show displayed how Will was changing but I loved how they used his clothes to do it and how Hugh used his expressions to differentiate pre-Hannibal and post-Hannibal Will.

I could write a dissertation on this show it's insane and I will never shut up about my murderous gay husbands.

[entitled-fangirl]

Rumors and the bastards of one Aegon Targaryen II.

Aegon Targaryen II x wife!reader

Summary: Aegon spent his time on the Silk Streets; rumors always spread. When Aemond encourages the truth of one, Aegon's wife is mortified.

Warnings: brothels, alcohol, being drunk, rumors, miscommunication

A/n: I am an Aegon hater BUT listen listen listen- I hated the fighting pit allegations with his "bastard children" that the twins talk about in the show. Do I think he had bastards? YES. Do I think he did all that? NAH. Also- this was supposed to be based on an ask but I may write another one with that ask cause I don't think I did that part justice

Masterlist

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His wife was not a useless woman who spent her time doing deemed "meaningless" tasks like embroidery. She was well studied, and well spoken. She was not pushy. Alicent would never have let a woman control her son like that. But she found easy ways to state her thoughts while still being considerate to her husband. 

A woman like that felt like one of a kind.

Aegon knew that in his mind. Somewhere deep down. 

But he didn't change his habits when she came around. He still spent some of his nights in the streets of King's Landing, causing trouble and problems everywhere he went. 

Everyone knew of Aegon's "night adventures," though none talked of it. It was not something you bring up during a council meeting or spoke of in the corridors.

…

After a particularly long night out, Aegon rolled over in his bed, covering his eyes as he cringed at the sunlight streaming throughout his room.

This is why he didn't want to be king. Duty awaited him.

He was reminded that with the insistent knock on his door and his servant reminding him of the council meeting only minutes away.

He yawned, groaned with a stretch, and stood to slowly dress himself.

He could take his time, after all. No meeting started without the king.

…

Now a little more conscious, he entered the council room with a creak of the large doors. It earned the attention of everyone at the table.

Criston sat at the King's right side. The queen dowager was next to him and Aegon's wife after that. Aemond at the end. The table went round with others as well, but none were as connected in the king's life as those four. 

Y/n had always gotten along with Aemond. When Aegon was off sullying the Targaryen name, she spent time with Aemond in the castle's large solar, studying quietly alongside him. Different topics, but the shared silence was comforting.

And Aemond almost felt a guilt when he looked at her. Especially today when her husband entered the council meeting late with a staggered step and a clear look that said 'I did things I shouldn't have last night.'

The council was quiet at first, the awkwardness eating any things they had to talk about.

But once the talk of war started, the two brothers began to argue and the council meeting had truly begun.

The queen stayed quiet, her eyes set on the table, her fingers fidgeting absentmindedly with her stone and its place at the table.

Aegon never really had his arse in his seat. He loved to pace. When the arguing grew to anger, he set his anger on anything that annoyed him, prompting him to once point out his wife's fidgeting. Her cheeks turned red and she forced her hands away from the table.

But soon Aemond stood as well, eager to point out his plan in their map. As he did so, he took the long path around, passing by his brother's wife. In his hand was his own stone, which he set on the table in front of her without even looking her way or slowing his pace. 

It rolled towards the edge of the table and she caught it, silently thanking his support.

He felt like he owed it to her for what he had done yesterday.

…

"I'll never understand," Aemond muttered, breaking the prolonged silence of their studying.

Her eyes never moved from her page. "Understand what?"

He rolled up the scroll he had focused on and set it aside. "Him. Being so irresponsible."

Their eyes met, and neither had to question who he was speaking of.

"He did not want this," was her soft reply.

"Neither did you. And still you defend him. You did not wish for a man who spends his time with ale and women rather than home and duty."

Her eyes softened as his words hurt her. "I am Queen of the Realm. Me. Anyone would kill for my seat. One woman of the millions here."

"That means nothing." His eye pierced hers deeply. The gaze of Aemond Targaryen, though only half the gaze of a normal person, was double in the way it would see right through you. It made even tough men flinch. He leans over his papers. "He should be here, spending his time with his wife so she may do her duties."

"H- He does," she tries to defend. "Sometimes."

"Right before he passes out from all he's drank." There's no defense for that. He was right. "My queen, it's not that he can't make heirs with you. He just doesn't with you."

"What?"

His eye darkens. "How do you fancy an adventure down the Silk Streets of King's Landing?"

…

The meeting was over with the wave of Aegon's hand, thank the gods, and they all stood to leave.

"Except you, brother. You'll stay."

Y/n takes her time leaving, seeing both brothers' eyes roam over her for a moment before she left them to talk.

…

She sat by the fire. Since she had lived here, the servants had all begged her to sit in chairs or sofas near the fire rather than on the hard floor directly in front of it, but none held the same feeling that she desired.

She always had a cloak or fur of some sort on the floor, a small nest of sorts always awaiting for her to come back to the flames.

She had asked for a needle and thread, struggling to embroider on one of her skirts as she tried to relieve stress. But she'd never really done so before and it looked messy and her hands were too gruff with it.

Aegon entered after a few minutes. He didn't knock. He never did.

His eyes took in the room slowly until they settled on her. He tilted his head and stepped further into the room until he could feel the heat of the fire. "Aemond doesn't know what he speaks of."

"Aemond only told me the truth. I don't see why you have to lie."

He shifts his weight. "I-I told him to stop meddling in your affairs. He's far too close."

She turns her head but doesn't look over her shoulder. "He's been kinder than… most."

That hurt Aegon more than he wanted to admit. "What did he show you? What did you see?"

She begins to sew faster, as if it's a quick sport. "Does it matter? You're the king. Your affairs are none of my bu-"

"-I want you to speak to me," he said with a desperate tone. "How can I keep a kingdom together if I cannot even communicate with my wife?"

"How many?"

His head tilted again in confusion. "How many what?"

She turned her body this time, pausing her efforts on the fabric to look at him. "How many of your bastards run around King's Landing?"

Silence.

This was not a comforting silence like the solar with Aemond. 

This was a silence that suffocated you.

Aegon tore his gaze from her face in embarrassment to look down at his shoes. Like they needed his attention over the woman in front of him.

She tried again. "How many, Aegon?" Her voice quivered with his name and it send sharp spikes down his spine.

When he dared to look back up at her, he saw unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

"I-" he stopped himself. What answer did she want? What answer did he even want? "I don't see how that's relevant."

His deflection forced a sob out of her. It was light and painful, a slow withering of her from the inside out. 

Aegon deemed himself useless when it came to tears.

His jaw went slack for a moment, his eyes just watching in slow motion as his stomach jolted. He blinked and shift his weight again. "I…. I d- stop doing that."

It was a ridiculous ask. They both knew that. But she turned away from him as if keeping it from his sight was enough. 

He watched her shoulders shake with each weep as her fingers tried to pull the needle through the fabric. He closed the distance more, now daring to kneel at her side. He had no idea how to comfort a situation like this. "You have never liked needlepoint," he softly pointed out.

It was a long while before she answered. Sniffle. "I have never liked you either. Yet here I am with both."

That forces him back to rock on his heels. She was quick and had a sharp tongue. It was thoroughly impressive- when it wasn't painful like this.

The only sounds that echoed in the room were her sniffles and the occasional clicks and pops of the fire in front of them. And her tugging of the thread through the fabric.

Finally, he spoke.

"Two."

Her fingers paused. "What?"

"I've fathered two bastards."

Her head snaps back to him, but he makes no hurry to look at her. The flames dance in his eyes as he stares off. 

"Only two?"

Aegon finally lulled his head to look at her. "Two."

"You sound sure."

"I am sure. I'm very sure." He reached up, wiping away a stray tear off her cheek. Once gone, he returned his hand to his lap, pulling at the skin around his nails.

"There are rumors about your bastards…a… at the fighting pit-"

"-Who told you those?" He said in annoyance.

She hesitated. "There were so many of them there. They had your hair."

"Most bastards here do. Does not make them mine." He sighed. "Do you ever think that perhaps I'm not the only Targaryen that has roamed the Silk Streets at night?"

"You're saying-"

"-I'm saying that they could be Daemon's. They could be my father's. They could be his father's, or his father after him. But they're not mine." His kind eyes set on her. "I won't be blamed for all of King Landing's problems. Only the ones I cause."

She set the needlepoint aside and rubbed her hands over her face. "I just wished…"

Aegon waited patiently for what she would say.

"I just wish you would spend more of your energy here. With me. You're forcing me to neglect my duty." She ran a hand through her hair. "I cannot take your mother's insistence again. She's relentless."

He sighed again. He loved to drink, and that usually ended with him stumbling into the brothel with the help of his friends. That was his release from this prison they all called 'duty.' But perhaps there could be silver linings in all of it.

He couldn't say no when he never gave her a decent try.

"Fine. I'll… hold back on the drinking. And the… the late nights. If it guarantees your happiness. I want to make you happy." It would be hard. No, it would be like torture to not drink as often, to not spent hours forgetting life and having to return to it with a headache a few hours later.

But she deserved a decent try from him.

"Thank you. And when I am with child, we can… assess it all once again." She tucked a stray hand of his hair behind his ear. "Thank you. Truly," she added again.

"Of course," he smiled sheepishly. "Just promise me to never assume the trust of the rumors of King's landing. Just ask me. I've done awful things, but I'll admit them to you at least."

For once, she smiled. "That's easy enough. I never should have gone with Aemond last night."

"From now on, the streets will see little of their King and Queen," Aegon smiled back. With a hesitant stretch and groan, he stood. "I have petitions soon. Perhaps you'll wait for my return?"

She pushed herself up to stand, taking Aegon's hand when he immediately offered it. "Of course. But not here. I'll be in the solar."

His brows furrowed. "What's wrong with here?"

"If I have to pull that needle through fabric one more time, I will stab it in my eye." She said it with no emotion, and it caused a bright laugh to pull from Aegon's chest. 

She was witty.

Finally, she broke into a breathy laugh and moved to collect her things for studying.

He followed her for a moment, curious to see what she had before he left.

"In the least, Aegon," she spoke over her shoulder. "Think of the money you'll save when you're away from it all. Whores and drinks are expensive, I'd wager."

His voice was low in her ear as he stood next to her. "Darling, when you're King, they all beg to buy a drink for you. I haven't bought myself a drink in almost a year."

She shivered at his proximity and she spared him a glance- almost one of offense. "Then you spend it all on women?"

He shook his head as if it was a dumb thought. It was true that he spent a lot on the streets. But now that he considered it, no one had ever really asked where it went. The crown just provided it and that was that.

"Then where-"

He put a finger over her mouth. "There are two children with no father to provide for them." He tilted his head side to side, "Perhaps their mothers find themselves with… extra money from a donor of sorts."

Her eyes widened. And just as she opened her mouth to ask more, he walked away, leaving her to her thoughts.

How wrong she had been about King Aegon Targaryen II

.......................................

[satanic-worm]

What if I died right now?

Ok but no, seriously. I cried and screamed and hit things. I think I could die happy now, best Smissmas present, happiest holidays!

Not gonna talk about the whole plot of the comic because I was in shock for most of it with the occasional screaming whenever a character appeared, BUT here are some things I loved:

• Zhanna's prosthetic hand and her and Soldier's children.

• Pyro is SO HAPPY to see Engie again.

• My man Tavish having a moment.

• This interaction after Scout's whole speech, it's great.

• Miss Pauling is not doing well, girl can't have a win even when she does.

• The most girl boss ever, like oh wow I mean fucking damn!

• Beautiful evil woman <3

• Everyone flabbergasted and horrified by what they've witnessed.

• THIS moment of Pyro going 'OH SHIT-'

• Medic and Heavy comforting each other (AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH).

• He actually adopted her, I didn't dare hope for something this wholesome but I guess we actually got it.

• Here you can see the moment Bidwell's heart stopped, he was legally dead for three seconds, I checked.

• Heavy converting won to US dollars on the spot (that's the hottest thing I've ever seen), and that beard looks VERY good on him.

And the team Smissmas reunion near the end might have actually killed me.

• Scout is the most Jerma he's ever looked.

• Spy almost saying "I'm your grandfather" (I swear he was gonna) and taking off his mask.

• Everyone bringing their families + the Eyelander, Archimedes, Medic's baboon, and Pyro's fucking dog.

• Merasmus and Tome Jones together forever in the afterlife, love wins.

• Medic's gonna cut the turkey with the bonesaw (smart choice).

I am over the moon and my eyes are burning. Merry Smissmas am I right?

[maddie-dog-story-blog]

Christmas at his Family's House

"The Thanksgiving Incident."

As you drove to your boyfriend's house for Christmas, you couldn't help but feel nervous after what you have not-so-lovingly dubbed "the Thanksgiving Incident." How were you going to spend three days with his family after accidentally messing yourself in a highchair and spending the rest of holiday diapered?

Maybe they forgot or were willing to ignore the incident, you thought to yourself. Brandon's mom and sister had clearly never told Brandon about what had happened. Or, at least if they had, he had never brought it up.

Regardless, you steeled yourself as you approached their front door with your bags, ready to endure whatever humiliation necessary to make a better impression on the family of the love of your life.

"You're finally here!" Brandon's mother said as she wrapped you up in a big hug, "I'm so glad that you're back! Oh, and look at all of those bags! Why don't you go put them in Cindy's room. We've got a bed set up for you in there."

"Cindy's room?" Brandon asked, a hint of protest in his voice, "Mom, we're adults! Can't she sleep in my room?"

Brandon's mother just shook her head and rebuffed her son's complaints. It was her house, and you were going to follow her rules. That meant not sleeping in the same room until you were married.

You couldn't help but blush as you walked into Brandon's older sister's room and saw the bed you would be sleeping in this weekend. Clearly a toddler bed brought down from the attic, the undersized bed was painted pink and made up with a unicorn bedspread.

Worse, when you set your bags on it, you could hear the tell-tale crinkle of a plastic sheet covering the mattress underneath. Before you had much time to ruminate on your sleeping arrangements, however, you were accosted from behind.

"You're finally here! Sorry about the bed, it was all we had. It should work fine for you though!" Cindy said as she enveloped you in a hug. "I'm just so excited you came with my brother to spend time with us again!"

You couldn't help but blush as the larger woman smothered you in her embrace. However, you also couldn't help but feel comforted by her exuberance at seeing you, and the fact she didn't bring up your humiliating Thanksgiving experience.

You also couldn't help but feel more relieved as the rest of the day went normally. Brandon's parents had picked up an extra chair for you for meals, keeping you out of the dreaded highchair. No one mentioned your messy incident earlier in the year. And, just like at the last holiday you attended, everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming.

So, it took you by surprise when you went to Cindy's room to sleep to find a childish night-shirt and large diaper laid on top of the toddler bed that was yours for the weekend. You picked up the babyish article of clothing clearly meant for you in one hand and looked at it in disgust as Cindy walked into the room.

"Do you need help getting it on, sweetie?" She asked kindly, watching you examine the dreaded reminder of your last visit here.

"Um, no, I'm fine. I'll just wear my normal panties and pajamas," you responded, unable to hide the notes of timidity and fear in your voice.

Cindy walked up behind you and placed her hand gently on your back.

"Oh, baby, that's just not an option. Mom and I don't want to embarrass you, but, after what happened last time, we both agreed a little extra protection was in order, at least at night, until you could prove it wasn't necessary."

You looked up at the taller, older woman with desperate eyes.

"Please," you pleaded.

"Well," she said, taking a step back, "I could go explain the situation to my brother. He probably would have some sympathy for you. You could get a hotel room with him and wear whatever you want to bed! Mom and Dad would be sad, but I'm sure they'd understand."

You could feel your cheeks turn bright red at the just the thought of asking your boyfriend to get a hotel room for the night to avoid having to avoid wearing a diaper to bed because you had messed yourself at his parent's house just a month ago. Not wanting to make a fuss and determined to keep your secret, you took a deep breath and handed the diaper to Cindy.

"Yes, a little help with the diaper would be nice. I've never, um, diapered myself," you said as you began to strip away your adult clothes, and dignity, in front of the other women.

Cindy, for her part, only let one small, victorious grin cross her face before she agreed to help get you ready for the night.

When you woke up in the morning, something felt wrong. Not just the wrong of waking up in a small bed in a strange room. Something else was wrong, something worse. The padding between your legs felt bulky. Bulkier than last night. It also felt cold and clammy.

"No," you whispered as your reached down and pressed your hand to the crotch of your diaper, finding it soaked.

"No!" You said a little bit louder, trying not to cry.

You hadn't wet the bed since you were a little girl. Why was this happening here and now? What was wrong with you? Maybe the internet had answers.

Desperate to find a little bit of reassurance, and maybe to slip out of the room and change before anyone else noticed your soggy predicament, you started quietly searching your boyfriend's sister's room for your cellphone. For some reason, it wasn't where you left it. Before you could locate it though, Cindy woke up.

"Hey, are you ok? What's going on?" She asked kindly when she saw you on all fours on the floor, looking under your bed for your phone, your wet bottom on perfect display to her.

"Oh, sweetie, did you have another little accident? Just potty or did you make stinkies again?" She asked as if she were talking to a child.

Her voice and unexpected accusation caused you to jump, banging your head on the bed. Tears started to form in your eyes as you sat on the floor, immediately regretting your choice as you settled into the cool, soggy padding taped around your waist.

Cindy quickly got out of bed and started rubbing your back, comforting you.

"Don't worry, sweetie! It's ok! You're dating my brother. We're like family now! Your big sister's got you!" She said as she helped you stand up, discreetly checking your diaper for a messy load.

"Oh, wonderful, you're just wet! How about this," Cindy said, dropping to her knees in front of you, "I'll get this soggy thing off of you, then you can go shower? I'll help you change when you get feeling all clean. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Without waiting for your response, Cindy ripped the tapes of your diaper free, letting it fall between your legs with a wet plop. Desperate to escape your shame, you executed the older woman's plan without question, practically running to the bathroom to shower.

When you returned to the room draped in a towel and feeling much better, you immediately found yourself blushing again. The small bed you had just slept in was completely made. On the unicorn bedspread, next to your missing phone sat a clean diaper. Cindy, still in the room, looked at you with sympathy.

"I know, I know! It's embarrassing," your boyfriend's sister started, "But, sweetie, you have to agree it's for the best. We don't want a repeat of Thanksgiving, but, if we do have one, it's best to be prepared."

You sighed in resignation, not wanting to make a fuss. With almost no resistance, you assumed the now all-to-familiar diapering position on the floor and closed your eyes as Cindy diapered you for the third time in as many days spent with her.

After you were diapered, Cindy left the room to give you privacy as you finished getting ready. As you did, you noticed a large plastic bowl with water in it on her nightstand. It was curious to you, but you didn't give it much thought, as you spent most of your mental energy trying to figure out how to keep Brandon's hands off your ass for the rest of the day.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon went uneventfully, just like the day before. Brandon's family continued to treat you wonderfully, and, aside from occasionally having to remind your handsy boyfriend that you were in his parent's house, the diaper turned out not to be much of an issue.

At around 2:00 pm, Cindy went to the dining room to set the family table for Christmas dinner. At 2:03 pm, you heard a crash and swearing from the other room. Everyone jumped up to see what had happened.

"Shit, fuck, what the hell," Cindy said as you all walked in the room, finding her standing in front of a chair that had somehow completely fallen apart in front of her. "The damn thing just fell apart! I don't know what happened!"

She exclaimed as everyone looked at her with concern. As the debris was cleaned up, Cindy looked at her mother with concern.

"Mom," she said, "do you know what this means? We're short a chair again!"

Your boyfriend's mother immediately looked at you, blushing a bit herself as she made the next suggestion.

"Well, I think… I think we'll be ok," she then turned to you, "Baby, I hate to ask you to do this again, but, without an extra chair, I don't have much of a choice. Would you mind sitting in the highchair again? We know you fit."

"Of course she doesn't mind," your doofus of a boyfriend responded from behind you, clearly trying to appease his mom and earn you some brownie points with her. However, he was also completely unaware of your current situation with his family.

"Wonderful!" Brandon's mother said, embracing you in a hug before scampering to the attic to pull back down the dreaded highchair.

And that's how you found yourself yet again, strapped into a highchair at yet another of your boyfriend's family's holiday dinners, sat between your boyfriend and his big sister.

As you ate and conversed, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Those nerves sent butterflies to your stomach that were soon causing an all-to-familiar desperate feeling.

"Hey, Brandon," you whispered to your boyfriend, "do you think you could let me out of this thing? I need to use the restroom."

Brandon smiled as he got up and began to move your chair, ready to aide your escape from your childish confines. However, before he could unlock your chair's tray, Cindy called out.

"Brandon, get over here! I need help with the dishes!"

Brandon gave you an apologetic look as he stopped what he was doing and moved towards the kitchen.

"Sorry, babe! You know how needy Cindy is! I'll get dishes done quick and be right back."

You started to wiggle wildly as he turned his back to you, giving you all-to-familiar flashbacks to Thanksgiving. You looked for anyone that could help you, but your body was wracked by a cramp before you can call for help.

"Brandon!" You chirped out weakly as, suddenly, you lost control again.

You bent forward and grunted as, for the second time as an adult, you loaded your pants with a warm, brown mess while sitting in a cursed highchair.

Not wanting to make a scene, you just sat in your mess until your boyfriend came back with his sister.

"Babe, what's that smell?" He asked as he approached you.

"Sweetie, you didn't? Again?" Cindy asked as she walked over. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised after your little message last night."

"Didn't what? Little message?" Brandon asked, just as confused as you felt.

"She messed her pants, again," Cindi said, somewhat exasperated, "At least this time, you were wearing a diaper, right sweetie?"

You tried to move your head away from Cindy's light touch as she stroked your cheek like a child's.

"But, this is what you wanted, isn't it? You told me as much last night when you texted me about wanting to be my baby sister? My ~real~ baby sister. The family baby, really."

"I did what?" You yelled out stunned, Brandon's family starting to form an audience in the room.

"You know what you did. It's all right here," Cindy said, handing her phone to her brother.

After a few minutes if scrolling, he looked up at you with big, caring eyes.

"I didn't know, baby. I'm sorry, but I didn't know. This is definitely something I can give to you though," he said, way too supportively in your book, given the context of the conversation.

"I knew you'd be on board, and so are Mom and Dad," Cindy said, looking at her parents, who, in turn, were looking at you and nodding their heads supportively.

"No!" You yelled out, "I don't know what this is, but, no!"

Your protests were useless, however. After Cindy whispered quietly in his ear, Brandon pulled you from the chair, lifted you onto his hip, and began to carry you to another bedroom in the house.

You thrashed in his arms, but he held you firmly.

"I know you're going to fight this. I know you want to fight it. It was in your text to Cindy. But, I want you to know, I love you, and I know this is what you really want. Your messy butt here proves it."

Brandon patted your poopy diaper for emphasis.

"I just want you to know. I'm committed, my whole family is committed, to giving you what you want completely, even if that means 'convincing' you it's okay to let yourself give in."

"Put! Me! Down!" You screamed as you unsuccessfully tried to force your way out of his strong arms.

Your struggles stopped temporarily as he opened the door to the new room--a fully stocked nursery.

"Mom never could bring herself to change this room. Good thing for you, huh?"

"Noooo!!" You yelled, even more desperate to get away.

You weren't a baby. You wouldn't be treated like a baby. This wasn't right.

"You were real honest in that text, hm? You're going to make this hard. Oh, well!" Brandon said as he carried you to a rocking recliner in the room and threw you over his lap, messy diaper thrust up into the air. "Have it your way. Just remember, I'm just doing this because I love you. My whole family loves you."

Tears began to flow down your face as, for what felt like forever, your boyfriend ruthlessly spanked your upper thighs and padded ass until you let your body go limp in complete and utter submission.

Brandon then popped a pacifier in your mouth and proceeded to change your diaper and dress you in suspiciously large baby clothes, all at the direction of Cindy. You couldn't bring yourself to fight back, humiliated, and literally beaten, battered, and bruised as you were.

You spent the rest of the evening acting like a perfect infant for your boyfriend's family. Letting them hold, coddle, bottle feed, and burp you.

Eventually, your torment came to an end when Cindy decided to pick you up and carry you to the nursery for bed. As she changed your well-used diaper, you pulled out your pacifier and spoke just one word.

"Why?"

Cindy smiled, patting the front of your fresh diaper, causing powder to shoot out of the waistband.

"I already told you at Thanksgiving, sweetie, I've always wanted a baby sister. And now I have one!"

Cindy popped the pacifier back in your mouth as she lowered you into your crib.

"Don't worry, baby sis, I'm sure you'll come to love it as much as I do! Ni-night!"

The taller woman, ~your~ big sister, kissed your forehead before turning out the lights in the room and closing the door, leaving you alone to ponder what your life had just become.

[genderqueerdykes]

Hello, my niece made this account for me and said I should submit my question to your blog. I’m terribly sorry if this doesn’t belong here. I turned 65 this year and have recently come to accept that I am gay. I have never been on a date with anyone in my life and have never had a social circle. I was only ever close to my brother and sister-in-law and their kids. I only came out to my niece because she’s 30 and bisexual and has been a safe person to talk to, but she has been trying to encourage me to go to a group that she has gone to before. It’s a group that meets at a coffee shop in our city and is for the local lgbtq community. Allies can attend so I don’t have to come out, but I’m scared I will want to. I feel too far past my time to join the community or have a “first boyfriend.” Am I too old for all of this?

this absolutely belongs here, i'm glad your niece helped you create an account here to get some advice, i'm actually really touched!! this warmed my heart a lot

you are DEFINITELY not too old for this!! no one is ever too old for community! elder queers are some of the most important members of our community- if anything, if you go, younger queer people will be over the moon to see someone your age, still identifying as queer, still living, still wanting to be yourself and to accept who you are. it's nerve wracking at first to think about. i joined my college's pride group when i was around 19 or so, and i was scared to death. i also felt like i didn't belong. i think a lot of queer people go through that, you are not alone! it's unfamiliar to you. you're taking a big step in life, change can be downright frightening even if it's what we want

i have met lots of people your age who did not realize they were gay, lesbian, trans, bi, or any other type of queer until much later in life! i've known trans men who didn't figure themselves out and start T until they were in their 70s! i met a trans woman last night who didn't realize she was trans until she turned 60! i think that coffee shop would be absolutely delighted to have you! you don't have to out yourself at all, but if you find yourself feeling comfortable enough to share, please feel free to. your story deserves to be heard. you deserve to be able to express yourself in a welcoming environment!

i hope you're able to go, i think that sounds like it would be very healing for you! i'm really proud of you for realizing who you are and accepting it, and i'm glad your niece is able to be there for you! i genuinely teared up reading this. you are a blessing on our community, not a burden. you will never be too old to be yourself, and surround yourself with people who get you. take care of yourself, okay? please feel free to stop by at any point! i am so happy for you and would love to hear how things go if you do decide to hang out at that coffee shop!

some wonderful additions:

[dobadoo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ BURN FOR ME꒱ ˎˊ˗ arlecchino

You are a ballerina. In the age of advanced technologies that develop faster and more realistically every day, you are afraid of becoming just a shadow of these technologies..

✧ warnings — NSFW. Hurt/Comfort, fem ! ballerina ! reader , gentle sex, romance, minors & non nb/wlw do not interact. ✧ a/n — I thought about the backstory of the fic for a long time, because I didn't want to write nsfw just like that lol, this is the first time I'm writing to a girl on my account, I mostly only wrote to boys..😅😅 (Arlecchino step on me)

You are standing on a small stage. You are wearing a white ballet skirt. A little fluffy, covered in detailed patterns, a little sparkling in the dark, gloomy little performance hall.

There are people sitting in the chairs, all dressed in the latest fashion, and somewhere above, a couple of important Fontaine officials are sitting, looking down on you like hawks at their next victim. And you dance, dance and dance like a white swan on the lake, your movements as precise as they are elegant.

And you are scared. Sweat runs down your back, making the fabric of your dress unpleasantly sticky and wet. It is stuffy, your head is spinning from the music, and if you look into the distance, it seems as if the whole space is shimmering.

.. And the music ends.. You hear applause.

You breathe heavily, trying to hide it. You stand up straighter, arching your back almost to the point of crunching, and bow. But when you straighten up, you understand that people are not looking at you. And opposite you, there, on the other side of the stage, is a robot. Without heavy clothes, without makeup that hides almost all the flaws of the face. Without ballet shoes shoes..

..Without a face that needs to be constantly controlled. Without eyes that can look into the abyss of feelings, if only you look into them in response..Without a heart.

The robot opposite you is singing a melody for your own performance. People surround this robot, looking at the miracle of mechanics with delight and childish spontaneous curiosity. They applaud, praise the creator of the robot and Fontaine's new policy regarding technological progress.

And you stand right in front of this crowd on a huge stage, in a belle skirt and ballet shoes. You see these people. Who applaud some robot, they listen to a mechanical repetition of how someone sang in the past. A repetition devoid of feelings and sincerity. A repetition set by some algorithm of numbers of a simple code - "one" - "zero" - "one" And so on - to infinity

And you Dance, stand. Dance, stand. And so on - to infinity.

You remember how a few years ago everything was different. Children loved to watch your performance, and people in the big theater did not take their eyes off you and looked at you with delight. You try not to look in the direction where the robot is standing and there are people who with trepidation and admiration surround this insensitive and heartless robot. When all the people left the hall, leaving you alone in this space..

You shudder.

You hear the only sound of applause very close, you turn your head to the side. A woman is looking at you and applauding, it seems, at you, and not at all at the robot. She is looking you straight in the eyes. Her smile is sincere. The woman's eyes are two strokes of scarlet, which are permanently burned into your retina.

She is tall, slightly taller than you. Slender, her waist is very thin. The woman is completely covered by some strange, but elegant clothes

of an alien style. Black-white-red. Three constants in her clothes.

You are silent. Over the past two years, you have forgotten how to perceive recognition. You bowed again, you smiled at her. You curtsied and the woman let out a chuckle.

The woman suddenly comes closer to you. There is something in her movements that you involuntarily take a small step back, still standing on your toes and in that damn ballet skirt, and it seems that you are still shorter than her.

The woman moves so close to you that you feel the air around you change with her breath. You feel the warmth, not of a machine, not of a monster.

Warmth. A little burning, unfamiliar, but inviting.

The warmth of a human body.

"Good performance. And a good mask on the face," the woman whispers in your ear, sending goosebumps through your body.

The woman barely noticeably runs the fingers of her right hand along your shoulder. You feel how sharp her nails are, but you don't feel pain, only unnatural warmth.

The woman's hand suddenly moves away, and you feel something cold in your hands.

The moment of warmth disappears as quickly as it appeared. The woman moves away from you and with the same smirk on her thin, even lips, goes somewhere, passing by the switched off robot where people were looking a couple of minutes ago. And you stand, looking after her as if amazed. Like the statues of the Archons, who are eternally motionless and which nothing can revive - not even the prayer of a desperate mortal.

You suddenly realize that you have barely breathed all this time and have heard nothing but a low, hoarse female whisper.

You blink, look around, but it is too late - the woman has already managed to leave the hall, haha, and you did not even hear the slamming door.

You automatically look at your palm and find several large mora coins.

You swallow as you gradually return to reality and begin to see and hear everything perfectly. You look at several mora coins in your hand. The mask on the face always needs mora so that it continues to be beautiful and perfect.

But the heart burning in the darkness - no.

Your routine is simple. Put on makeup, put on a ballet skirt, bandage your chest so that it does not stick out, and put on ballet shoes. Lace up the corset. Repeat the dance that you have rehearsed countless times before. Inhale - exhale. Count to ten, put a smile on your face - and go out on stage. Lately, you are rarely invited to participate in solo performances in the theater. You look like a robot among artists, although in fact you are an artist and there are only mechanical iron things around you.

You stand up, long accustomed to the blinding spotlights in the first seconds of the performance. A couple of young magicians performed in front of you, you met them before, nice guys, they helped you once… but you don’t really care about it.

And it’s your turn, you start dancing, spinning, doing pirouettes and complex movements. All this is a continuous performance, and all life is a theater, you all need to play your roles on time. But isn’t there passion and tragedy in the theater at the same time?

You close your eyes and remember that very warmth. So human and inhuman at the same time. You remember the hot breath and inspiration that washed over you the moment you saw that streak of scarlet in that strange woman's eyes. If the heart could burn with a living flame, all your clothes would have burned away long ago, charred, and you would be dancing naked on this stage. But haven't you been naked for a long time? Doesn't inspiration burn away a person's outer self and set fire to his inner self?

You know that this woman is in the audience; sitting among the few spectators who still enjoy a living human performance, despite all the technological progress in Fontaine.

You don't wonder about her reaction, you don't think about the smirk on her perfect marble face. You don't imagine her words that would send a pleasant, euphoric shiver down your body.

You stop your dance with a bow as the music fades. You've already torn your heart out of your chest, it's burning - so why prefaces and afterwords? You open your eyes, the spotlights, as usual, blind you a little. But they seem like shadows compared to what's burning inside you. You look ahead. Someone is applauding you, but you're looking at that woman whose eyes are piercing your entire body like needles.

She's clapping too, and on her face is the same smile-smirk.

The spotlights disappear. The red curtain closes. And you exhale, carrying within you, somewhere deep in your body, that very spark. And the fire that started from that spark and turned that same spark into nothing.

---

You gasp for air and grip the edge of the dressing room vanity table with your hands. Someone else's lips on your neck are like tongues of flame and cold, sharp peaks at the same time. Thin, dark fingers with long nails gently brush your hair back. A bouquet of blood flowers that this woman gave you is lying around somewhere in the dressing room after the show. The dim light from the lamps dances bizarrely across the woman's face, making her look like something unnatural, illusory.

You swallow and exhale again, pressing your back against the tabletop. You reach for the human warmth and put your arms around the woman's back, running your hands over her bare, thin, slender waist.

"What is your name?"

You ask hoarsely between deep, shuddering breaths. The woman grins. She runs her hot, long tongue down your neck, leaving a thin trail of saliva. She looks up at you with her eyes, a thin scarlet streak. Then she straightens up a little and whispers in your ear, "Arlecchino"

Her answers are always like that - short and laconic. Always appropriate, even though you've only heard her answers a few times in your life.

Arlecchino spreads your legs with her knee, then smoothly lifts you by the waist and makes you sit on the countertop, pressing your back against the vanity mirror. The woman's hot hands fall on your hips and stroke them through the layers of your dress. You swallow and reach for another wet kiss, smearing the lipstick on Arlecchino's lips, mixing your lipstick with hers. Her tongue touches yours, and you shiver, feeling how wet you are becoming. Her hot, slender hands slide under your dress and touch your naked skin.

You break the kiss and throw your head back in pleasure, you painfully hit the cold mirror behind you with the top of your head, and Arlecchino removes one of her hands on your hips, and pulls this hand to your head, to the back of your head, to protect you from the unpleasant, cold pain.

You moan softly when someone else's lips touch your neck again. A hot tongue slides along your skin down to your collarbones. Arlecchino removes her hand from your hip and begins to feverishly quickly pull down the top of your dress, exposing your chest. When her hot mouth and hot tongue touch one of your nipples, you arch your back, breathing heavily and moaning with pleasure. If Harlequin hadn't protected the back of your head with her hand, you would have definitely broken the mirror.

The woman looks up at you, although she bends over because of her height. Her eyes burn with desire and anticipation when she sucks your nipple into her mouth again with her lips and makes a loud smack. You shudder again. You gently squeeze the other's breast, and your hand rests on her thigh.

The woman suddenly touches your breast in a certain place and hoarsely says: "What I like, I do not give. And if from this my hands become even more charred, then I will only enjoy it."

You suddenly understand where exactly this woman's hand is on your naked chest. Her hand is near the place where your flaming heart beats greedily. A crooked smile creeps onto your lips as you tremble with desire. You whisper with heat in your voice, looking at the blood-red streaks in the eyes of the woman in front of you:

"Well, then burn. Burn for me. Arlecchino.."

She thin lips opposite stretch into a hungry smile. You are kissed again, the tongue penetrating deep into your mouth. You respond to the kiss, clinging with your hands to the shoulders of Arlecchino.

You never really cared about the politics of other regions of Teyvat, too busy with your own problems. So you had no idea that this strange name "Arlecchino" had its own meaning, but you had a feeling that she was somehow connected with the fatui..

You were just thinking about how interesting this name was.

You will definitely understand everything much later: who this woman in front of you is, what she does, why her hands are so black, as if they were really charred. But maybe it's even for the best. Why prefaces and afterwords when the spark has already become a flame?

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee

[gothsoyl]

┊┊┊⁺ ⁺ DECEMBER CHALLENGE

"A treatment" +18

lenny busker x reader

word count: 1,3k

summary: you're in a mental hospital because of your anxiety and panic attacks. she's your... you don't know how to call her. maybe she's your buddy here since she was the first who offered you some kind of comfort. she lets you take her dessert and listen to music in her headphones.

to be honest, you didn't see any point in going to a psychiatric hospital. you were just a little anxious... just a couple of panic attacks a month. that's not a cause for concern, is it? for a while, you really thought that's what most people face.

it wasn't until things got worse that you finally listened to your psychiatrist's persuasions. he said it would be better this way. he said they'd help you there. and you agreed.

but did you have any other choice? your anxiety didn't really allow you to work, and you were afraid to go outside for fear of another panic attack. not to mention that you were also afraid to be at home, because if you had a panic attack, you would be left alone.

everything was strange in the psychiatric hospital – there were strange people here, even those who were treated here laughed at. and you felt sorry for them, even though you couldn't help them.

one of the first days, you were sitting in the cafeteria for lunch. a man in a wheelchair is sitting in front of you, viscous saliva is flowing from his mouth, and no matter how disgusting this sight might be, you couldn't bring yourself to tear your eyes away and start eating.

and, let’s just say, you didn't have much appetite after that.

“oh my God.”

you flinch when you suddenly hear a woman's voice next to you. you didn't even notice how she sat next to you.

“what do you think he ate that makes his saliva so viscous?”

you swallow nervously and look first at the man and then at the woman next to you. she's tapping out a strange rhythm with her fingers on the cassette player and looking at you with a strange twinkle in her eyes, and everything inside you is sinking with panic.

and what should you tell her? you don't want to seem weird or anything... but is it weird at all to try to look normal in a psychiatric hospital? 

“I don't know...” you finally shrug and look at the cherry pie on the table. for some reason, you feel strangely embarrassed next to her, and the man opposite has long since left your thoughts.

“are you going to finish eating, or should I continue talking about his saliva?” the girl puts her hand on the table and supports her cheek with it, looking at you at the same time so attentively and so indifferently.

you're about to nod, but you glance at her headphones and cassette player.

“if you let me listen to music,” a slight smile touches your lips and the girl opposite laughs loudly and pretentiously, and you already think that you have said too much. but the she finally calms down and takes off her headphones, putting them on the table along with the player. you chuckle and slide her a plate with a piece of pie, concluding your agreement.

***

lenny busker.

you learned her name after a couple of weeks of your communication. for some reason, every time you asked what her name was, she changed the subject, or told you to call her whatever you wanted. 

It pissed you off, but you didn't really argue. you loved her company after all.

she was funny and constantly calmed you down when you had a panic attack – she just sat next to you and when you felt a little better, she gave you her headphones and turned on some old song that you hadn't heard in a hundred years.

you felt better with her. It's like everything was really okay with you, even if you're both not quite “normal.”

***

one night you woke up to the creaking of your own bed. you immediately tensed up, feeling a sudden wave of anxiety, and tried to get up to see what was going on, but immediately felt someone's hand on your shoulder and a quiet, familiar whisper, “shh... it's just me.”

you immediately freeze, not knowing what to do or how to behave.

“what are you doing here?” you ask quietly as she did and want to look at her, but she squeezes your shoulder harder, not allowing you to turn around. your throat gets dry and you don't even know what's going on. so many bad thoughts fill your head, but you try to get rid of them, telling yourself that lenny would never hurt you.

you lick your lower lip when her free hand wraps around your waist and pulls you closer to her. her hot body is pressed against your back and she leans so close that you can feel her breath on your skin.

“I just decided to check if you were okay,” her voice is saturated with playfulness and she gently bites your earlobe, making you shudder unconsciously. 

“I'm fine,” you say, and your whole face starts to burn red with shame and excitement. you're not entirely sure that your psychiatrist was talking about it when he sent you to a mental institution.

“I see,” lenny hums, and her lips slowly slide over your neck, leaving wet kisses, “just relax and we'll start the treatment.”

you can feel your body slowly starting to relax under lenny's gentle and assertive touches, even if your brain is still sounding the alarm. you're used to it – your brain is always on alert and afraid of everything, even if it's something minor or something you've done a hundred times before. It pisses you off. you're tired, so you don't resist.

you'd be lying if you said you'd never thought about what it would be like to kiss lenny. you're lying if you say you don't want her at a time when you can literally feel her heartbeat.

you close your eyes and try to push away the annoying thoughts. a sigh escapes your lips when lenny's fingers get under your t-shirt, scratching the delicate skin with her nails and squeezing your breast until it aches pleasantly. her lips are still exploring your neck, leaving barely noticeable hickeys and biting in some places only to run her tongue later.

your body shudders as she slowly pulls off your panties and the cool air touches your bare skin. lenny just grunts and nuzzles your hair at the back of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“I could do this for days on end...”

she laughs low, her fingers moving between your folds, collecting all the moisture, and you just bite your lip, trying not to moan at her every touch. you'd like to answer her, but you're afraid it might be louder than you planned. and the last thing you want is for the paramedics to come running at the noise and find you like this.

“come on...” you squeeze out such weak words, but it's enough for lenny, who slowly begins to insert her fingers into you, teasing and not letting you fully feel her. you move your hips, trying to speed up the process, but she doesn't let you – she presses you to the bed with her free hand and continues to tease. her movements are slow and measured, and you're one second away from begging her. 

“please, lenny...” you whimper, burying your face in the pillow, your own fingers grab the blanket out of desperation, and only then do you begin to feel the brutal thrusts. lenny whispers something in your ear, but you can't make out what it is.

you feel too good at this moment and you don't have a single thought in your head. just lenny's fingers, stretching you from the inside out, forcing you to grab the pillow with your teeth just to keep from moaning.

the bed starts to creak even more, and you move your hips towards it, before your walls contract for the last time, hugging lenny's fingers and your body begins to tremble from orgasm. you're breathing fast and hard, and your legs are still shaking from everything that happened, even after lenny pulls his fingers out of you with a wet sound.

she doesn't press you to the bed anymore, but even so, you can't turn to her – the treatment went so well that you no longer have the strength.

only for the second session.

[narcjsistx]

𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 | kaiser x reader

— part ten

plot: kaiser comforted you after a bad and slow breakup, but what will happen now considering what you two shared? is everything still unexpected or is there something you both simply have yet to realize?. fluff shit 'cause yeah!!

words: 1.9k (1967)

extra: it will probably become a multi part story, tell me if you're interested in a part eleven! I also realized that maybe I write shorter chapters better, so abandon the 2.5/3k word chapters

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!. you can find the other parts of the story by searching in the section dedicated to bllk

Since the parade had taken place you had completely returned to the path you were on, as if the hatred that so many had directed at you had dematerialized: on the one hand you appreciated this thing, but on the other it still made you so angry when you remembered how they had treated you. Many agencies, both German and foreign, had asked you to collaborate, but you had decided that for the moment you would only stay with TraumLaufsteg, which still had many answers to give you; you still wanted to understand what kind of relationship there was between Ursula and Gabriel, and how he was one of the founders. These were questions that tormented you at night, but for some time now you have been spending them more peacefully in Kaiser's arms, where you felt good

The media had begun to suspect the alleged relationship between you and the German prodigy, but beyond speculation there was obviously nothing confirmed. You and Michael were careful to keep things low profile, as complicated as it was for both of you. No one had yet understood that you had moved back in with him, and no one should have understood that now hugs weren't the only thing you exchanged

Michael had been on tour in the Berlin border areas for a week now, and for convenience he didn't come home, as much as he wanted to. You missed him, but he would be back in less than a few days, so you were happy. Life with Kaiser was going great, and that made you fall in love with him even more. The only problem was that Gabriel had suddenly started managing the company's models, including you: this meant being in contact with him more than necessary, and as much as I didn't want to, it was work

"Okay, one last time, whole runway" says the man sitting in his comfortable chair, while you and the other seven models return to the starting position. You had been doing the exact same thing since this morning only with different clothes, and if it hadn't been for the presence of your ex you would surely have been happier. You take a deep breath, taking the first position as the top model. You start walking, gaze fixed and movements flowing, swinging the wide skirt you had to wear as a test. You walk the entire length, reaching the tip where you put a hand on your hip, looking at the imaginary audience and then walking back, always with the same grace. The other models repeat the gesture taking their time, but you always feel Gabriel's gaze on you

He always looks at you, as if it were something that would make him breathe. Even when the attention should be on the other models, his gaze doesn't move from your figure, and you can't do much more than glare at him. Since he started working with you again, he has this toxic habit, which always makes you feel bad even though you haven't done anything. It gets worse when Ursula is with him, who occasionally attends the rehearsals next to the man: it makes you laugh a little how she tries to get his attention, failing miserably... and yet on the day of the show they seemed like best friends. Ursula doesn't talk much with her models, much less with you, so you don't know much about this woman who, in your opinion, knows a lot about you

"Okay ladies. Monica, more movement, you're modeling, not going shopping... and Iseut, more expressions, you have a cute face, use it. Also for our top model..." says the man, waking you up from your thoughts and noticing that everyone has modeled "Nothing to say, we all know she's a professional" he says giggling slightly, and while the others nod you want to do nothing more than go to him and strangle him. You hate his behavior, you hate everything about him and how he tries to flatter you every time. You'd be tempted to intentionally screw up everything to see his reaction, but at the same time it's not like you to ruin your always impeccable work for someone like that, unworthy of so much fame

You are about to leave the room to go to your dressing room and finally call your boyfriend, when you hear the doors of the rehearsal room open, and two video cameras enter followed by Ursula herself. You are surprised by this, because from what you knew from the other models in the agency access to the video cameras is prohibited

The cameras are roaming around the room, as you and the other models stare at them. You hear someone muttering something confused about this, and you don't know how to react even though you've been used to being in the spotlight for years now. You don't know why, but it stinks

Ursula stands next to Gabriel, and from the knowing smile they exchange you understand that the bomb you were waiting for is probably about to explode right now. The stylist's snake-like gaze looks you over, and a cold shiver runs down your spine as you watch the cameras finally settle in front of the two buddies, who are now scenographically side by side. You need to leave now, because the situation is feeling stranger by the second, and you don't like

"Welcome to the agency! Gabriel and I are very honored to be able to give you the opportunity to document life in the TraumLaufsteg, which for a long time has not given such a chance to anyone. Feel free to ask me and our models anything you have in mind" says Ursula in front of the first camera, while Gabriel nods "You have entered at the end of the shift of the models who will participate in the next fashion show, I was just taking care of that" he says charismatically, and the woman nods. One of the two video cameras is put down, while the man holding it comes in front of the screen, probably taking the place of the interviewer "Could you tell us more about the next show?" says the man "You can ask our models, they are ready to answer" says Gabriel, and the object moves towards you, catching you off guard. You and all the others know how to handle the situation, it is a quality that you have to acquire if you do this job, but it is still strange

The interviewer approaches, taking the girl at your side "Could you tell me how a normal shift goes?" he asks, and the woman shows off her best smile while improvising some cool answers, but in truth you don't listen to. Gabriel's oppressive gaze, now a few meters away from you, continues to stare at you with an almost maniacal smile, the same one that Ursula gives you. You gulp down a lump of saliva as you fix your hair, trying to ignore the situation. "How does it feel to walk with an internationally famous model?" the interviewer suddenly asks, and the woman remains silent for a few seconds, honestly not knowing how to respond. They all know who the man is referring to, and you can't help but smile at the camera filming you, one that actually hides a bit of anxiety and perplexity underneath

The woman remains silent, smiling nervously. The interviewer now turns to you, the microphone pointed at your mouth. “This would be the first interview you’ve had since the break” he says, and you nod. “It would have come sooner or later. You’ve obviously had more luck than the others” you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as usual. The man nods “You’re probably right. How does it feel to be back on the catwalk?” he asks “Oh, it feels great. I’ve missed doing the usual things, and going back to the catwalk was like getting some fresh air after keeping my face under water for too long” you say. The microphone shakes a bit "And why choose an agency right here in Germany? And then, such a small one" he says, and you understand why Gabriel was smiling before. You suspect that they are ready-made questions, that they are aimed at putting you in difficulty and make you look like an idiot

"Well, I moved to Germany a while ago, and starting again with an Italian agency would have been uncomfortable because of the country difference. I chose TraumLaufsteg because I saw potential, and I would say I made the right choice when I see the results of the last show" you say, using all the trump cards you can give. It's a smooth answer, but it doesn't reveal anything wrong, or at least that's what you think

"How coincidental, however, to choose TraumLaufsteg, which is precisely the agency where Gabriel is the founder. Is there something in between this choice? After all, there has been a lot of chaos between your boyfriend and you in the last few weeks" says the man, and finally you understand that it is all a trap from the beginning, designed only to advance the main topic, that is, you and Gabriel. You see an immense satisfaction in the man, and you can't help but want to kill him

"There is absolutely no correlation between my choice and the situation you are talking about, since my ex and I are no longer together. I saw potential in the TraumLaufsteg without asking myself too many questions about who the founders were" you say in a serious tone, one that has the aim of not letting anything but your disgust transpire. The interviewer looks surprised, as does Gabriel who leaves Ursula's side, taking steps towards you. You watch him approach, feeling yourself suffocated with each step that brings you closer. He comes to your side, making his way through the models, putting his arm around your waist. Your eyes widen, moving to step aside, but his firm grip doesn't let you move. He smiles at the camera, as if nothing's wrong. If he wants to play like a jerk he's doing it perfectly

"My Y/n is just kidding, we all know in the industry how her humor can almost seem truthful. I don't know what's going on in her head, I just know that we are definitely not exes" he says playfully in front of the camera, which frames the two of you while you are doing everything you can to keep him away. You look at him disgusted, like you have never looked at anyone before. He wants to change the story every time to suit his own convenience, first calling you a traitor and now again calling you his girlfriend

It only takes a second for you to feel his lips crush yours. Your blood runs cold as you feel the sickening sensation you had forgotten and that had comforted you for so many years. He lingers on your lips, feeling them as he always has. You move to pull away, but it's no use because of his firm grip. You would like to cry, slap him, push him as far away from you as possible, but you can't do anything but remain perplexed by the gesture, appearing in front of the camera like a dead person. Now that you've gotten used to only Kaiser's lips, why do you feel those who have only spoken badly of you?

"See? Couple as always" says Gabriel, joking with the interviewer. You watch it disgusted, and everyone on television could tell that you were clearly not comfortable. Because yes, unbeknownst to you this was live nationally

And a certain blond German soccer player was watching the scene in his cold hotel room

tag(s): @rroxii ; @kittenish0 ; @bungoustraydogsno1fan (if you want to be tagged tell me!)

[dreamswritten]

English is not a language I handle perfectly, I apologize in advance if there are any grammatical or spelling mistakes, you are free to correct me.

Giyuu has been given a few days off from his missions, and what better way to enjoy them together with his beloved wife. The pillar of Water thanked Mr. Ubuyashiki deeply when he gave him the news. Now, under the first rays of the sun, he heads to the farm with an unusual calm and a barely perceptible smile.

Mornings were usually too short for him; he used to get up first while his wife curled up on the empty side of the futon. He would go to the washroom to wash up and then return to the bedroom to leave a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaving. But now, he feels blissful: he can stay cuddling her for hours, watching her calm breathing and how peace is drawn on her face as she sleeps.

He smiles and gently plays with a few strands of her hair that fall softly over her face. He settles closer to her, closes his blue eyes and allows himself the luxury of lingering a few more minutes, resting in her warmth. When he opens his eyes again, he finds her awake, looking up at him with a wide, sweet smile. That smile, so bright and sincere, makes Giyuu's heart beat fast. Without thinking, he raises a hand and rests his palm on her cheek, caressing it tenderly.

—You are beautiful.

The young woman's cheeks are tinged a soft shade of pink as she covers herself with the blankets of the futon, shyly peeking out her face and returning a warm, sweet smile. The black-haired man remains at her side, playing with a few strands of hair; the sparkle in his blue eyes reflect the immense love he feels for her. He can't help but lean over and place a soft kiss on her forehead before whispering.

—Would you like to go out today? I want us to spend the day together, carefree.

The proposal takes his wife by surprise, but her smile only widens.

—Where will we go? —she asks, letting out a small sigh of happiness.

—Wherever you want. But I thought we could walk around town. Maybe have a bite to eat at that restaurant you told me about.

She nods excitedly, and they both get up to prepare for the day. As they walk together down the quiet street of the village. Giyuu keeps his hand entwined with hers, something he doesn't do often, but on these off days it seems as natural to him as breathing.

The sun was at its highest point when they arrived at the restaurant. It was a cozy place, with wooden tables and a delicious aroma that enveloped them as soon as they crossed the noren curtain. They settled at a table by the window, enjoying the view of passersby and the fresh air coming in through the small opening.

As they waited for the food Giyuu ordered for both of them, laughter and familiar voices brought them out of their bubble of quiet and intimacy. Tomioka looks up just in time to see Mitsuri and Obanai entering the restaurant, followed by Sanemi, Tengen and Kyojuro.

—Tomioka! —Mitsuri exclaimed, waving a hand excitedly at the sight of him.

She blushed slightly under the curious gaze of the other pillars, but Giyuu didn't pull his hand away from hers. Instead, he gave her a calm, comforting look before nodding towards the others.

—She is my wife —he said with his characteristic serious tone, but his words carried an obvious pride.

Mitsuri let out a gasp of excitement, running over to the table and taking the young woman's hands in his.

—You're so cute! Why didn't you introduce us before?

—Because it was none of your business —Giyuu replied, but his comment was drowned out by Tengen's laughter.

—Wow, Tomioka, you really had it in for him! I thought you were the dullest of us, but it turned out you were hiding a beauty.

Kyojuro nodded with his characteristic energy.

—It's a pleasure to meet you! Giyuu never told us about you, but now I understand why. He must be completely enthralled!

The rest of the pillars end up settling around their table, asking questions and sharing stories amidst laughter and jokes. Although Giyuu seemed a little overwhelmed at first, he didn't let go of his wife's hand or stop looking at her tenderly as she joined in the conversation.

By the time lunch arrived, even Sanemi had softened her attitude, making an effort not to intimidate her with her gruff character. By the end of the day, she felt like part of their quirky little family, and Giyuu couldn't have been more grateful to have had the opportunity to introduce her to the other pillars in such a warm atmosphere.

When they finally said their goodbyes and returned home, she gently squeezed Giyuu's hand as they walked.

—They are very nice. Now I understand why you appreciate them so much.

Giyuu glanced sideways at her, allowing himself a small smile.

—They like you too now. But, to me, you will always be the most important thing.

The words made her pause for a moment, looking at him with surprise and love in her eyes.

—And you to me —she murmured, before rising on tiptoe to kiss him softly.

That afternoon closed with the promise of more days like this one: full of laughter, warmth and the certainty that their love was the center of their world.

[oddluver]

Here's the thing about Via's reaction to Stolas:

Via doesn't know the full picture. We, the audience, do. It's called Dramatic Irony. It's used to tell a narrative that the viewers know something the character does not and in the process of story telling, the character will eventually find out on their own. This kinda gets a lil long.

If you look at it, Via thought her parents were in a loving relationship, hence, why else would they have a child and all those family photos on the walls? She doesn't know that she is a precautionary heir because no one told her. We heard from Paimon that Stolas was to marry Stella for that sole reason and we heard Stolas say it about Via when confronted by Stella when she berated and hit him on his balcony.

But, that illusion of family was first shattered when Stella refused to comfort her own daughter when Via had a nightmare. Stella further doesn't care about her daughter when she talked about how she birthed her, "an egg falling out of her." Jeez, what a way to show you care about your kid. We only see Stolas take care of her, while her mother is usually annoyed at Stolas, seen fighting directly in front of Via, plotting assassination, and even rubbed it in Via's face that she can't interact with Stolas anymore. Not once has this woman shown any genuine concern for Via and even then, when Stella hugged her during Stolas' trial, it was for her own selfish gain. Alternatively, to Via, it looked like Stella was finally warming up to her and for once tried to comfort her daughter during a very serious moment in her life. Stella hugging her was the validation that Via needed that a parent still loved her, even if meant that person was Stella.

A younger Via became rightfully attached to the sole parent taking care of her. And when the parent that she loved and trusted, decided to cheat on her neglectful mom? Via became worried about being abandoned and for good reason too. Although when she confronted Stolas the first time at Loo Loo Land, Stolas didn't have the words to explain why he did what he did to Via. Even the second time around, he couldn't get the chance to tell her about his desires that we the audience already know and that Via is still stuck in the dark, despite only knowing that her dad chose Blitz over their family. Her refusal to hear him out is not her being "a dumb teenager" for plot, but rather the times that her father couldn't sit her down and talk about the reasons for his infidelity. The pills were the last and final confirmation that validated her feelings that her parents truly did not love each other and by extension, her.

She is seen as an obligation because that's what all she saw growing up from one parent to the other. To Stolas, his destiny was decided for him and when he got a taste of autonomy, the desires he so desperately wanted while in a relationship, he took the chance. Yet, he also only saw Via as his saving grace in the marriage. I believe he truly does care for Via and he wants both things, but unfortunately to Via, he's selfish and for the wrong reasons. And without Via knowing the deeper meanings as to why he loves and wants Blitz, she is creating a deeper wedge to spare herself from more disappointment and heartbreak.

[princesssmars]

concrete jungle with the devil.

some victoria neuman x reader headcanons.

part.ii of this

you’re beautiful, you’re talented, and you’re the secret girlfriend of a hot and potentially crazy congresswoman. what more could you ask for?

contains : fxf relationship. fluff. angst. manipulation, pretty toxic relationship because its the boys and its victoria, mentions of smut. readers hair and face not described.

wc : 2.415

a/n : started this when season two was airing. look at what an idiot i was.

you had forgotten how much walking was done in certain cities in the states, especially in the big apple. to be fair, you’d forgotten quite a few things.

you remembered things you had forgotten gradually after that night when you realized you were not only a supe, but a supe that had been unknowingly manipulating yourself with your apparent superpowers into forgetting parts of your life. would be a cool plot for a book if it wasn’t your entire life but, whatever.

after managing to think of the revelation without nearly having a panic attack and ‘crazy high blood pressure’ as victoria so eloquently put it, you’d fallen into a kind of…ease?

in her ‘loving worry’ the woman had put you under her watchful eye, moving you into her home to prevent you from doing anything ‘drastic’ and helping you acclimate to your new state of living. she paid for your expensive hotel for another week before not subtly (and not asking) recommending you stay in her townhome.

and she’ll make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be the entire time. find the guest bed uncomfortable? her first offer is for you to just sleep with her, but she’ll settle for making sure you have a new mattress and comforter set. feeling sad over your rapid change in diet? a personal chef is hired to make you authentic parisian dishes to your hearts content.

it’s completely jarring how she has such a hold on your heart. you know a part of you can’t move on because of your powers, but every time you try to remind yourself of how weird your situation is you’re roped right back in when she comes home from work and tells you how she was thinking of you all day, giving you physical affection when you seem open to it by pressing a sweet kiss to the side of your head.

as childish as it is, a small part of you wishes you had an actual label for your relationship. ‘woman who wooed me then flew me across the globe to accomplish my dream and then revealed she wants to take advantage of my unexplored power’ was more than a mouthful. even ‘partner’ would be preferable.

it’s amplified by the fact that you aren’t really in a relationship.

you’ve slept together, something you embarrassingly think about often at night when your hand trails beneath the soft satin pajama set she had gifted you. at the end of the day you do have needs, and having your sexual world rocked only to have to (reasonably) avoid the perpetrator as best as you can is all too confusing to process.

not to mention that she still treats you sweetly and romantically when in private, fingers brushing over your arms and pet names whenever she sees you in a room of her house, but outside and in public her career calls for…propriety? and a relationship with another woman in your career would hurt her numbers apparently. at least that's what her publicist said. she didn't seem very bright yo you, but victoria was throwing hundreds at her to support her campaign.

and oh yeah, she decides to tell you randomly on a thrusday night in while making dinner with her daughter that she actually is talking with another politician about running for president and vice president. zoe had to help you when you nearly choked on your pasta.

you hadn't delved too deep into politics when over in paris, only googling the basics about small party leaders who'd show up to bars and would likely engage in small talk over a few drinks. the first time you even learned about vic's profession you already heard alarm bells in your head, but president? seriously?

she tried to reassure you about it, listing off all the benefits it would bring to her family - which now apparently includes you. a better government position meant a better quality of living, moving into the secure grounds of number one observatory circle with access to the government's protection, connections, and loads of money. you and zoe both perked up at that. you looked at the girl curiously and she shrugged her shoulders, admitting later that she would like to be able to travel to more places farther than the met.

unsurprisingly, you grow closer to zoe. you aren’t given many opportunities to make a lot of friends, and the only adult conversations you get are your friends back in pairs over the phone and victoria along with her campaign help. at first you helped her a little with her homework, even if the curriculum for her private school was leagues above what you learned in your little low-budget middle school. eventually, you start to just talk about shared interests, and you're pleasantly surprised to find out the girl is musically gifted. its sweet to see that vic set up a corner of her office for the girl to practice her talents, and whenever she offers you listen to her play a piece on her cello.

you never bring it up, but one time victoria stopped at the house for a long lunch once and overheard the two of you talking about a piece you both loved before zoe practiced it on her instrument. she stood out of sight in the doorway for a minute and just observed. as soon as you noticed her presence she was gone.

when things start looking up in the polls vic starts to show a little leniency with letting you have an actual life. of course she uses some backdoor connections to get you a boost in your career, and you find a great deal of peace in being able to perform to your hearts content. it only helps that the atmosphere of entertainment in new york is alive and bursting, you meet so many fellow musicians and singers.

slowly but surely you start to fall for the city. sure it can be dirty and smell weird and have heaps of garbage everywhere, but just like with paris you’re able to find the hidden jems that lurk just below the surface.

and after some pestering whenever the two of you manage to be in a room alone together for more than a few minutes, victoria finally starts to explain to you…well, you.

you’d always gotten a bad feeling by vought, never liked the way they profited off of the supers and marketed them to certain countries and people. finding out that they made you the ‘way you are’ . apparently, both you and vic’s parents thought letting a company shoot some super drug into their children would a smart idea, that you’d both go on to do something great.

“well, i guess you are kind of great, in a sense. smart enough to become a politician, raise a good kid. are they proud of you?”

she only gave you a dry chuckle as she took a sip of her dark wine.

“yeah, yeah they’re really proud.”

as much as you start to try, you cant get in to her head. you’ve been thrust into the middle of her life and routine and there’s still so many things about her you don’t know. hell, you don’t even know what her power really is still. you can tell she wants to let you in some, either for her own feelings or because she wants to help you explore your supercharged feelings for her to understand more about your abilities.

but just like when you talked about vought, as soon as she’s about to open up you see that look, one of a fear you’d never quite seen before flash in her eyes before she quickly dismisses you.

so you decide to tale a.. drastic measure to get some things out of her.

you had been exploring your power a bit in your new daily life, just little things that didn’t make too much of a difference or affect anyone too greatly. a simple request for the customer ahead of you to apologize to a barista they’d needlessly ridiculed, innocently asking a rushing passerby to give you directions to a cafe you had just been dying to try. it took a few weeks to get the hang of it, the fact that it apparently worked best when you were singing and the toll it could take on your body, but the dizziness fades eventually.

it’s a rare night where the two of you are in the house alone together and you decide to celebrate your recent well-perceived performance by opening up a bottle of bubbly and sitting on the couch, dressed in some maybe too revealing pajamas and waiting for her to inevitably join you once she finishes settling in from a long day at the campaign office.

she joins you and clink s her glass to yours, rolling her eyes into your drink when you immediately ask her a question about all of her plans.

“its gonna take more than some expensive champagne and you looking like that for me to crack, but nice try sweetheart.”

“oh yeah?” your finger teases the rim of your glass, eyes trained on her movements.

“yeah. let’s stick to the basic questions for now.”

you hum a short tune to yourself and take another sip of your drink. “okay. you should tell me what you had for lunch today.”

“patricia picked me up a ceasar salad today. it had too many croutons, a really absurd amount. sat confused for a few seconds.”

her eyes scrunch up slightly and flick to yours. you take her silence as a sign to keep going.

“i never really get to talk to your assistant. she told me once her name was morticia.”

she laughs and sets her glass on the coffee table, “think she might’ve been intimidated by you. she can be a real tightass but she’s a hardworker, believes in my campaign and message and all that shit.”

“dont try to skirt past that, tell me why she’s intimidated by me.”

her eye twitches, clearly annoyed by what you’re doing and not used to someone having this kind of control over her. but each time you do it you notice the way her hand clenches on the cushion of the sofa, how her tongue darts out to quickly lick over her bare lips.

“she wants me, checks me out sometimes when we’r ein the office. but the reason i hired her is that she’s incredibly observant, and she’s probably picked up that the two of us have a weird thing going on.”

your eyes slightly scrunch together. “what do you mean by ‘weird thing’ ?”

clearly your aggravation at how she decided to describe...admittedly whatever this weird thing between the two of you was, its enough for your concentration to slip and allow her to get out of the concentrated hold you had on her mind. in only a few seconds she’s pinning your body down to the couch, your wrists held down by her hands and your drink falling to the floor with a loud shatter.

‘ugh! vic, what the hell-” you struggle to get out of her grip, thrashing your arms and trying to kick up your legs that are trapped under her thighs. you apparently greatly underestimated how strong she is.

“that’s it baby, get angry, let it all out.” she has a fascinated smile on her face that does nothing to quell your frustration, only giving you the desire to get right back to messing with her anyway how.

“tell me why you’re doing this to me!”

“i like watching you under me, plus i like having control over you. definitely don’t want you turning the tables on me again.”

you notice that when you command her to explain her voice takes on this fast tone, like she’s rushing to answer you as soon as you finish speaking.

“you think i’ve dont you what you’ve done to me?”

“isn’t it fucking obvious? you just forced me to tell you something i wasn’t supposed to mention. i have to keep sharing things with you, you make me want to share things with you. you’re controlling me and you don’t even know it.”

“why don’t you want me to control you?”

“because i’ve been controlled before. its horrifying. you could be horrifying. because it’s not part of the plan. none of this is. god, you were supposed to be gone by now but i just can’t…i don’t-”

both of you’re eyes are wide when her speech starts to slip, fighting against the control to keep telling you what she’s hiding. her head jerks and you feel a rush of hot liquid rush down your face, your hand miraculously free to let you feel the blood pouring out of your nose. you look back at her and she’s scrambled to the other end of the couch, eyes trained ahead of her as she gets herself out of the daze.

abruptly she stands up, swiping off any leftover unease and starting her trek towards the stairs as you wipe off the now slow moving trail of fluid trailing from your nose.

as soon as she reaches the first step you call out to her, blood dripping into your mouth as your voice takes on a bittersweet and melodic sound.

“how do you feel about me, victoria?”

her manicured hand clenches around the wood bannister so hard you fear it’ll snap.

“you’re powerful. you’re useful and you’re terrifying.”

tears prick at your lashline as you swipe at more of the red covering your mouth. her head turns to meet your blurry gaze.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

you zone out to the sound of her footsteps rushing up the stairs and the light-headness from exertion.

you had forgotten what one one of the worst things about being in a city was. how despite being surrounded by thousands of people and hundreds of lives, inevitably came those times where you were alone as a person could be.

[icycoldninja]

FLUFFCEMBER DAY#21: (Idia x Reader)

Save me

Oh man.

Oh man.

What were you thinking? What kind of delusional high were you on when you asked Idia to come with you to a friend's Christmas gathering? You should have known better, especially since that friend of yours had promised a "fun" "wild" party with loud music and lots of people. Seriously, that description alone should have told you this place was not for Idia, not at all. You had to have been drunk when you begged him to come with you, that's the only answer that doesn't destroy your confidence in your own intelligence.

"Where are you?" You mumbled, mostly to yourself. Half of you hoped he would hear you and emerge from the crowd of chattering bodies; the other half was sure he wouldn't. Why would he? He was probably terrified out of his mind, lurking in the corner curled up in the fetal position and crying. Even if he caught sight of you maneuvering through the room, he likely wouldn't have the courage to leave his hiding place.

"Idia?" You shouted in vain, the booming beats of a vaguely familiar EDM track drowning out your words. The subwoofers continued barking; the bass vibrated in the floorboards beneath your very feet. "Idia! Can you hear me?"

A woman standing next to you who was tipsy on spiked punch heard your cries and turned around to ask you if anything was wrong.

"I'm looking for my friend," You told her, hoping she wasn't too drunk to help you. "He's about this tall, kinda pale, got pointy shark teeth, and has bright blue hair that looks like it's made of fire--well it is, but most people don't believe us when we tell them that--and he's got a big jacket on. Have you seen him?"

The woman gaped at you for five whole seconds before slowly shaking her head and making her way back to the punch table.

"Well, she was no help," You grumbled bitterly, continuing to push through the congregation of swaying people, squinting into the neon-illuminated darkness, looking for any signs of your partner. You debated calling his name again, and after a few moments of internal discussion, decided against it since it was pointless, and kept searching quietly. Then you caught sight of a flicker of bright blue that glowed like eerie fire from a ghostly candle, the kind you normally only find sitting around in Halloween.

"Idia, there you are!" You couldn't help but hiss, as you bounded over to the source of the flickering blue flames. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on the floor, his nose buried in not a book, but a glowing game console, his pale skin given a sickly glow by the white-appearing bluelight. He didn't notice you approaching him at all, not until you knelt down and gently flicked his forehead.

"Oh, hey," He droned emotionlessly. "Nice of you to come visit me." His words were dripping with sarcasm, a fact proven in the little eyeroll he gave you before returning to his game.

"Now stop that," You began, before catching yourself and realizing how nagging you were beginning to sound. "Look...uhh.." You found yourself scratching your head, unsure of how to proceed. "I'm sorry, for dragging you here. I really shouldn't have asked you to come, but I see now that this was a mistake, and--hey, are you listening to me?"

Judging from the vacant, almost lifeless expression in Idia's eyes, no, he wasn't.

Blowing out an irritated sigh, you placed your hands on your hips and began pacing back and forth in front of him, trying to work out a plan of action. You could try to drag him away, but he looked pretty comfortable in that spot, and since his fingers were mashing buttons like crazy, he was in the middle of something so important, he might get mad if you interrupted him. Then again...he was so invested in his game, he might not even notice you pulling him away until you were already back home. Oh, what to do, what to do?

"Save me already, what are you waiting for?" Idia suddenly mumbled, though it was unclear whether he was talking to the game or you. You decided to seize the opportunity, blame it on miscommunications if he got upset, grabbed his arm, pulled him to his feet, and dragged him towards the exit. Surprisingly, no one noticed the unusually tall, pale man with flaming blue hair who was swearing at his game console while literally being towed to the door. Ah well, it's all for the best.

[uselessbard1031]

Snowflakes & Sunshine -- Sevika X Chem Baron! Reader (C1 Preview -- AO3 link at end)

You can hear your captive before you can see her. Three of your largest men drag her into your hideout, yet still she is grunting and growling as she tries to fight them off. All the theatrics. Sevika really did live up to her reputation, now didn't she?

You tuck the book you were reading away into the built-in wood shelves of your basement hovel just in time for the twins (Ratchet and Clank) to shove her forward and remove the blindfold from her grey eyes. Your captive stops fighting, instead glaring at every shadow and corner, daring it to attack. As she takes in the room, you pour yourself a cup of tea from the kettle on your single burner stove. It sits between your cot of a bed and the entrance to your bathroom. After that, it's your desk and the bookshelf along with an old five time hand-me-down loveseat in desperate need of a reupholster. The buttons on the tufts don't match and two have popped straight off. But it was here when you got here and was comfortable enough for a seat.

“What is this dump?” Sevika scoffs. Some of the hair from her half-back ponytail falls in front of her eyes. She blows it back the way a bull does before it charges. 

“My office,” you respond simply, leaning against the front of your old wooden desk. “It's where you'll be staying until your boss pays up. You're free to explore the other rooms too, once you cool off a little.”

“No locks?” She half scoffs half laughs. “No chains?”

“Unless you try to leave or attack me, I don't find them necessary.”

With a disbelieving -- no, challenging -- grin the woman turns for the door instantly.

“Do you want locks and chains?” You sip your tea. “Kinky.”

“You can't stop me,” she says it like a fact. Which it is. She's easily twice your size. A fight is unlikely to go in your favour. Good thing you don't plan to fight.

“No,” you agree. “But Brutus can. Brutus?” The burly man comes in from the hallway to block the door. To block her path. If he were to enter your room, he'd have to duck. And bend his knees. And maybe squeeze his shoulders together too. Good thing he's not entering yet. “If she tries to leave, chain her up. I think she likes it.”

Sevika turns. She can't face him. But she can more than face you. 

“You don't know who you're messing with here,” she warns. How cliche. “Silco has a lot on his plate right now. The last thing he needs is to be wasting time with some nobodies so cowardly they had to jump me to get me here.”

Silco needs her. Hopefully more than he needs is attention to be elsewhere. He won't fight you. No. Like she said, you're nobodies. Fringe at best in the chem baron game. So he won't waste the men or the time. He wants Sevika back? He'll just pay you off. Deal with you later. If he feels like he can crush your forces without trying, then he'll leave you in the palm of his hand for now -- if only not to strain his wrist with the fist he'd need to make to end you. Besides, he's focused on Jinx. You had it on good authority that the girl's favourite holiday was the one coming up. Even better authority said that your gift to her was about to arrive. 

You crack a smirk. “You’re just a ray of optimism, Sunshine.” 

She growls at the nickname. You laugh, pushing yourself off of the desk.

“Get cozy,” you say, patting her cheek. She jerks her head away, a threat in the way she bares her teeth. “I think there's going to be snow for Christmas.”

There is indeed snow for Christmas. Of course there is. And it's all thanks to you. 

You see, Zaun hasn't seen snow for the last decade and a half due to this obnoxious Piltovian factory built right above the promenade level. It's wide and flat and pumps all of its smog and runoff down to your city. Between it and the bridge, about three quarters of Zaun has had only the rain of pollutants in all this time. Someone had to blow it up. With the workers on a union strike far away and safe from the crossfire? That someone became you.

The explosion is enough to rattle down the valley walls of the city and wake every alleycat and drunkard left out on the streets. Snow falls at first in a big white sheet that covers everything from the ground to the rooftops. Then it doesn't stop; a flurry of soft white dots like horizontal stars in the window. Outside the main door of your hideout (a bookstore and cafe offering both free books and coffee on most days when your heart strings are pulled by someone hopeful but broke), it's like a small white step has appeared; one stair up closer to the opulence of those who live above. A few people leave their homes. At first, they're curious, then, rather swiftly, curiosity turns to wonder and awe and snowball fights and snow angels. For once, it'll be a white Chsirmas in Zaun. 

You notice Sevika looking out the window and have to chuckle. Though her tough girl mask attempts to cover it, there's this sparkle like a snowflake in her steel eyes. That childlike magic of a snow day beckons her the same as everyone else only, she fights it off with a stick.

“Brutus!” You call over your shoulder. The giant appears between two tall oak bookshelves. “Get the cocoa barrels from the basement. Make sure everyone's got a scarf and mittens. I'm taking our new pet outside.”

...Continued on Ao3

[wrongtvrns]

The way the blonde looked at her, the way Maeve spoke with softness and understanding, compassion and sympathy lacing every tone — it was obvious that this young woman knew what Kira was feeling. On one hand it was comforting to know she wasn't alone, that someone understood just how heartbreaking it could be to see couples merry and bright together. To see families holding each other tight and sharing glee. The brunette had the attention of many, came with the territory of being a celebrity, but the holiday only highlighted just how alone she was. Just how broken she felt internally. Somehow a little laughter bubbled up and spilled out, soft and light, that smile not quite reaching her eyes. "You're right about that. This open bar of sorts just sounds like trouble." And knowing her ex had now moved to her city? The possibility of running into Leti and the likelihood of some beautiful woman on her arm nearly had Kira running to the eggnog herself.

"The sweaters are amusing because people are so passionate in their hate for them yet people seem to be having fun with them?" Kira was trying to avoid that tug on her heart. Pretty, dark eyes framed with long lashes scanned their surroundings. Maybe some part of her had hoped she could soak up the love and cheer through osmosis. Could that have been why she subjected herself to this? But those words... just to remind us of what we don't have... caused the brunette to swallow down the emotion knotting in her throat. "Wait — you don't have family around?" They hadn't quite shared their stories. For some reason protective of their pain. Talking about things made them all the more real, didn't they? "I feel so out of touch," she said blinking the fog in her head away and shaking it gently as well, stepping a little closer to Maeve, "I'm sorry, I think I assumed you had a partner. I do listen, I apologize, I've just got my head so far up my own ass feeling sorry for myself..." Kira offered a rueful smile.

The humor was appreciated and a more genuine look of amusement momentarily crossed Kira's face. She wholeheartedly appreciated what Maeve was trying to do and even let out a chuckle, but those would be problems she'd love to have. With her parents she still wasn't allowed at the table.The boyfriend? He was for show and to gain some ground back with her parents. Friends were busy with their own lives and families and loved ones. She was becoming weak enough that she might call her ex in the middle of the night just so she could feel a little something. Even if that would end up only being more torture. "No, no... you're right. Sorry, I'm being such an insufferable bitch, aren't I? Just wallowing over here." The brunette hauled in a breath and tried to sober herself of the downward spiral she'd been taking on. She perked up, listening with a faint smile at the blonde talk about her little plans with her little one. "That's really sweet and so meaningful. Even if she's too young now, there's a day soon where that will be the world to her." The invite had actually surprised her and Kira was certain her initial reaction had displayed that. Before she could form the words in response, however, Kira was nodding. "We could..." The brunette encouraged, more nodding of her head. "We could cook up a little dinner and do presents." She wasn't even Christian but she wanted to be apart of something somehow. "Thanks to my mom's bakery I'm fairly decent at that. I could make us some treats?" She was starting to go off with ideas, just tossing out and seeing what stuck with Maeve. "You'll regret the ugly sweaters but I'd love that. If I wouldn't be imposing of course."

Maeve listened, her soft gaze never wavering as Kira spoke. There was something unspoken in the air—something heavier than the twinkling lights or the festive music surrounding them. It was in the way Kira’s smile faltered just slightly at the edges, in how her words danced between humor and heartache.“Oh, I’m sure someone will make a scene before the night’s over," Maeve teased, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "The holidays do bring out the best and the worst in people… especially when questionable sweaters and too much eggnog are involved.” But as Kira’s tone shifted, Maeve did too. Subtle. Softer. She tilted her head just slightly, a quiet understanding settling over her features. “It is tough,” she admitted, no judgment in her voice. “All those picture-perfect moments—it’s like they’re lit up in neon this time of year, just to remind us what we don’t have.” There was no pity in Maeve’s tone, just the honesty of someone who knew that ache far too well.

Her lips quirked into something gentler, a faint, reassuring smile. “But don’t let the staged scenes fool you. Half of those people are fighting over whose turn it is to take the trash out, or burning the turkey.” Her voice dipped a little, almost conspiratorial. “And you? You’re not the only one who’s had a rough go of it lately, I promise you that.” The question about her plans earned a small chuckle, low and self-deprecating. “Christmas? New Year’s?” Maeve ran a hand through her hair, her shoulders lifting in a loose shrug. “Honestly, my plans are mostly kid-centered. I don't have any family here so it's just me and my little one this year around.” Her expression softened as she added, “She keeps me grounded, though. Reminds me that the holidays don’t have to be perfect to mean something. I mean she's still too young to know it but I want her to always know that.” She glanced at Kira, brows raised just slightly as if testing the waters before offering, “What about you? If you don’t have plans, maybe we could, I don’t know… make some of our own? A little less ‘Hallmark movie,’ a little more us.” Maeve’s smile grew, teasing but sincere. “I’ll even let you pick the ugly sweaters.”

[wistfulwatcher]

bau members + near death experiences